The beach

By J.M. Varlet

Yvernia. Crowning the volcanic rocks of the island of a distant planet, the high walls shelter this gigantic city. A protectionist community has prospered there for years in luxury and technology, far from the gaze of the galactic authorities. Those who are excluded must live on what they can find, or on what they are given. They are condemned to survive on the other side of the fortifications that defend the city against the whims of nature and undesirables. Only one place allows them to have dry feet : a strip of sand a few hundred meters long covered with makeshift shelters. Its inhabitants call it « the Beach ».

• Language: English
• Publisher: Les Éditions du Net
• Release date: Feb 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9782312131283

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The beach

J. M. Varlet

The beach

LES ÉDITIONS DU NET

126, rue du Landy 93400 St Ouen

Du même auteur

The beach (one volume)

Colony: the first ones (nearly edited in english)

Colony: the natives, complete edition (not translated yet)

Colony: the renegades, complete edition (in progress)

© Les Éditions du Net, 2023

ISBN : 978-2-312-13128-3

To the Women in my life

Foreword

Oh, don’t worry, I’m also one of those who immediately turn the page with the words « foreword » on it.

However, for those of you who haven’t already done so, let me say this little (very little) thing.

While social inequality is increasing every day, how many children around the world seem to have no other destiny than what is on their horizon?

These lives are automatically dedicated to the struggle for survival at all costs. Life even without pleasure, but life, even if it means death.

And then, curiously, sometimes, in the darkness, a spark of hope springs up. A shooting star in a dull sky that attracts glances and towards which faces turn. How many people are surprised to think: « Why not me? »

I believe deeply in hope. It is the strength that allows us to shake up certainties, overthrow tyrants, change the course of a life, overcome illness…

I once heard that when there was no hope, you would die.

I remain convinced that there is always that fragile little ember that glows faintly in our hearts, that voice that whispers tirelessly and pushes us forward: « What if…? »

I used deepl to translate this book, in order to share it with more people. If you find the sentences strange after that, please consider my « damn » French accent in a humorous way.

Friendly

J. M.

FIRST PART :

Hurricane

Countdown

3…

A jolt threw the small man against the metal bulkhead of the ship as he struggled through the brightly lit gallery.

Romuald Schmitt was wearing an orange suit covered with stains. The polished steel ring that was supposed to allow a quick and efficient locking of the helmet was bothering him, he spent his time refocusing it around his neck. Barely in his thirties, his handsome face was framed by brown hair with white streaks. Long enough that his bangs disturbed him when they passed in front of his eyes, they would have deserved a combing. This evening, it was not a problem, because they stuck to his forehead covered with sweat.

The suit, when closed, could regulate the temperature, but his helmet was still in the tactical pc, at the other end of the corridor, and he had come far enough that he didn’t want to go back for it.

And then he felt like he was suffocating with…

A sound of falling behind him, followed by a rolling sound, informed him that, in any case, the helmet had just fallen and rolled to an unknown destination, according to the shaking of the « damn » device.

Despite all that was going on around him, he wasn’t really afraid. He had that unconsciousness that comes with being too focused on your own task to think about anything else. And his mission at the moment was to fix the mechanical problems of the « Liberty », the rest did not concern him. Besides, he was not short of work and, since their departure, he and the pilot had been constantly confronted with a chain of incidents.

He grabbed as best he could at the pipes that ran along the ceiling to avoid falling, and didn’t let go until he reached his destination: the cockpit door.

With a grunt, he crushed the electric opening button with his foot. It was not flexible, however, and he owed his salvation to the solidity of the pipes that allowed him to hang himself, despite serious squeaks of protest.

The door slid away from him to the left.

The cockpit had three comfortable seats side by side behind the large control console that sloped back toward them like a table.

The multitude of controls and switches competed with the number of LEDs and screens that lulled the place into a warm atmosphere.

On a sort of platform, behind the three seats, was a fourth chair, with its own control desk.

The commander’s place.

It was empty.

And for good reason: the Liberty had just been completed, equipped and armed. The shipyard, urged on by the client, had dispatched two men to deliver her to Yvernia, her home port, where her crew was waiting. A pilot and a mechanic. That was the minimum… in good weather.

All the technical panels were flashing and illuminating the room from all sides to the ceiling.

Along the front wall, about a meter in front of the control panel, the thick 50 cm high glass went from one edge to the other following the shape of the huge control panel.

The middle seat was occupied by Timothy Fergusson, a slim man in his thirties, dressed in dark pants and a light beige t-shirt. Under his armpits and back, sweat rings were visible amidst the black marks left by their last tow. The two men had known each other for many years, and often spent time together between flights. Exceptionally, the lap belt was tightened around his athletic waist to keep him in his seat. The chair swiveled and tilted on its axis to dampen the pilot’s fidgeting at the controls.

– How’s it going in there?

– About the same as usual Rom’.

– That bad?

– Well… it sounds like that funny noise you heard earlier was a part of our heat shield being blown away…

– Wait Tim’, this device is new! It’s just out of its trial period and it’s going on a mission for Tyclon. Maybe it’s normal, it was already making a noise it seems…

– Well, now he doesn’t do it anymore…

A long and increasingly loud creaking noise made the whole ship vibrate. A dull shock and then a sort of detonation put an end to it. The patrol boat began to pitch more and more.

Timothy got carried away, clutching the tubes, still in the doorway.

– On the way back I catch the team that took care of this shield and I hang them with their guts!

– At the rate we’re going, I think the heat shield will be the least of our worries. Tim, this damn storm is going to tear this thing apart, we need to get back to space!

– It’s too late now. The remaining parts of our shield are hanging down the hull and slowing us down like airbrakes. We’re running out of speed, we can’t go back up. Go check if everything is okay in the other compartments instead.

The man in the suit shook his head vigorously from right to left.

– Certainly not! This is the best way to get something on the corner of your face right now! There are boxes of more than five hundred kilos behind. If they get around, it’s too late, too bad!… And if there was a problem, our « friend » in the hold would have already informed us through the intercom.

They exchanged a knowing look, pursing their lips crookedly. They didn’t like what they had been told to do when they left: a last-minute load, with a grumpy-looking guy as a bonus to make sure nobody got too close. They couldn’t even find out what it was, they could only get information about the weight so they could organize the cargo. The mobster caricature was left with the crates, much to their relief. At least the rest of the ship was all theirs.

Romuald continued.

– And then with all the shaking anyway, I’m unable to move. Even the gravity generator can’t compensate for the G*! If I let go of these lines, I’ll be flying through the ship.

(*G: acceleration of gravity)

The pilot barely listened to him and looked worriedly at one of the gauges in front of him, whose luminous numbers were decreasing rapidly. This meant that the ship was going down fast, really fast.

Too fast.

– Don’t stay there… close the door… Wait, do you have a cigarette?

The plane swerved violently downward, as if a giant had just slammed it on the roof. Romuald’s feet rose up and he was almost pinned to the ceiling. Then he went down again, holding on with his hands. The pipes he was holding onto creaked, and then one of them gave way.

The man toppled over against the metal partition, crushing the left side of his face with a sort of muffled groan. The second pipe dropped in turn.

– And shit…

Each of the cut tubes projected a dark, greasy liquid, jerking as Timothy pushed the controls.

At the dull shock of the mechanic’s fall, the pilot turned for a brief moment to see the bottom of his companion’s shoes.

– But what are you doing back there? My controls are getting stiffer and stiffer… I told you to close that door!

With a firm gesture, he pressed a button, hidden behind a safety cover that he opened with his thumb, to switch the device to « safety » mode.

The mood lighting went out and the door slid open in front of Romuald. His whole field of vision was plunged into a red halo. He rolled and swore towards the other partition, carried away by a sudden left-handed heel of the aircraft.

This mode isolated each compartment in a watertight manner. From then on, the doors could only be opened mechanically, from the control boxes above each of them. Red letters, « safety light », shone on their face and now provided the only illumination of the sinking ship.

This mode of operation also had another interest: it made it possible to put all the power of the energy generator at the service of the pilot, with the detriment however of the artificial gravity generator. It was this last one which made it possible to neutralize the effects of weak gravity, or to walk normally on the ground, even if the apparatus was on the side or upside down.

Timothy turned his attention back to the panicked altimeter, whose readings of the smaller units were too fast to follow with the naked eye. The hundreds of meters were decreasing at a rate of nearly two per second. He tried to mechanically look through the windows in front of him, where huge drops were crashing down before trickling down the outside.

It was horribly dark and nothing appeared in the lines of light of the powerful projectors. From time to time, a huge bluish lightning bolt zapped the sky, without any noise.

With a hoarse whistle that became deafening, the 160-ton transport ship gained more and more speed towards the ground.

Subconsciously, he thought they had no chance, but the pilot felt responsible for his mechanic. As such, he was inflated with hope as he refused to admit that he could see him die without him being able to do anything.

His whole being was tense towards his goal: there had to be a solution, and he was going to find it.

He tried all the possible technical configurations, he tried to estimate how the force of the air was exerted on the hull of the device to offer him the maximum of resistance, while keeping the control.

Shut down the main engines, divert power to the auxiliaries, correct the course, restart the right thruster to cancel a flat spin…

With effort, the numbers on the altimeter began to slow down. Imperceptibly, then more and more clearly, they finally slowed down, then stopped, before starting to progress in the other direction. Timothy smiled victoriously, he had succeeded.

– That’s good… I knew you could « Liberty »… come on, now we’re going to get some altitude… nicely…

2…

It was very dark in this small room. A bit of the dancing glow of a flame came through the door, revealing a floor so dirty it looked like dirt. On closer inspection, it was actually made of sand.

From outside, one could hear the roar of the raging sea, the deafening roar of the waves breaking on obstacles, and the cries of men trying to make themselves understood despite the tremendous whistling of the storm-driven wind. Two men were talking just behind. A thundering voice dominated all the other sounds, at times it sounded like it was shaking the door more than the wind.

– It’s Morel time. It’s now or never. I hope you have everything.

– Look Plovoke, we know what we have to do, don’t forget your end of the bargain.

– Tonight if you fail, I’ll raze your shack!

A woman’s voice suddenly rose, it remained calm and soft, almost a whisper.

– Don’t speak so loudly, you’ll wake up the girl!

– What? What? But who do you think you are « chick »? Here, I am at home! If I want to wake up the whole beach, I mmmfff…

– You’ll get what Triak asked for, Plovoke, but if anything happens to my daughter, even a simple nightmare, I’ll kill you, is that clear? You won’t be the first. And you know that your size, your men… death itself couldn’t stop me from coming back and sticking it to you.

– …

– Now don’t forget your end of the bargain, said the other male voice. Given the storm that’s coming, I think you have better things to do. I have a feeling that this one will be particularly strong, much stronger than our « friend » let on. You should evacuate the rafts I think.

– That’s my problem Morel, for now, « captain », you’re no better than the rest of us here.

A few moments later, the door opened smoothly, revealing a tall young woman, long red hair tied behind her head, a sad smile on her face. She was dressed in a kind of black work pants, lined with more or less full pockets and reinforcements at the hips and knees. The metal-reinforced soles of her brodequins gleamed in the gloom despite the rust that was pitting them. A dark tank top fell over his hips and left his shoulders bare.

When she leaned over the small bed, a medallion in the shape of a drop and cut in a blue crystalline stone, hung at the end of a fine golden chain, came to oscillate in front of her face.

After a hesitation, she took it off and put it around the sleeping girl’s neck.

Behind her, a man with a finely trimmed beard appeared. The gnarled body, he wore the same style of clothes, plus a short jacket reinforced with protective plates that revealed the wide buckle of his belt. He put his hand on the back of the young woman’s neck while also leaning over the bed to see what she was doing.

Their eyes sparkled as they exchanged knowing smiles and silently exited, lifting heavy equipment vests and grabbing them at the collar. The door closed behind them without a sound.

Almost hesitantly, the woman resumed.

– I entrust you the little one, Plovoke…

– I know, I don’t need to add to it. I’ll take care of her in the meantime. Don’t delay. The wind is already strong. I’ll walk you to the water, let me carry this thing Loreen, it’s heavy as a dead man.

The voices were gradually fading away.

– Your references are always terrifying, you know? Don’t you have an expression that doesn’t take into account your « activities »?

– To hear that from you, « chick », is really the pot calling the kettle black.

– This is better already.

1…

Aboard the Liberty, Timothy Fergusson was swimming and still fighting the elements and the seemingly unstoppable fate.

The aircraft maintained its approximate altitude and was heading in the air like a snake towards an island called Yvernia.

Meanwhile, just on the other side of the partition, Romuald stood leaning against the door and covered in hydraulic oil. Deliberately ignoring whatever was going on behind the door, he was busy trying to stem the leaks.

After sleeving them, he rolled up some kind of wide tape to prevent the last residual leaks from his makeshift repair. To get his heart into the work, he would rant against his pilot friend in a grotesque imitation.

– « It’s too late… can’t go up anymore… gnagnagna… »… damn it!

In the cockpit, apart from the dull rolling of the drops on the windows, everything seemed to return to normal. Of course, there were still many flashing lights here and there, but the aircraft in difficulty was gradually gaining altitude.

However, the storm in which he found himself continued to shake the Liberty.

From time to time, he would fall back a good ten meters, not to mention the incessant tossing from left to right.

Timothy was trying to contact the controller at Yvernia, the place where they were to land, hoping that there would be enough room to crash-land if needed.

– Yvernia de Liberty 9845…

– Yvernia de Liberty 9845…

A female voice with a secretarial tone answered him.

– Here Yvernia controls 9845…

– This is 9845 on approach, I request emergency landing vector

Behind Timothy, the manually operated door slid open with a bang. With the pipes repaired, Romuald came to the news. He wiped his oil-spattered face in the sleeve of his suit.

– Roger 9845… Correct your heading of +37, you are a bit low and too fast. Reduce your speed by 105 by gaining some altitude.

– Received Yvernia contr…

A sharp snap sounded against the right side of the Liberty, which immediately lurched to the ground in a wide spiral to its right, followed by a piece of shield that swirled behind it. As it passed, it bounced against the thruster on the same side. Spinning at full speed, some of its moving components were shattered and thrown around by centrifugal force. Fragments went through the closest thrusters.

Thick black smoke billowed in the wake of the aircraft as a new series of audible alarms sounded on the bridge.

In the cargo bay, the hooks securing the cargo nets popped off one after the other. Twenty tons of cargo, which the gravity generator, deprived of power, could no longer control, slid towards the right bulkhead. The crates crushed everything in their path and most of them broke against the right bulkhead. This new tremor accentuated the angle of the device which tilted completely on its side.

The hissing sound of air friction became deafening as the aircraft spun more and more on itself. Timothy, focused only on his flying, didn’t know what he was saying on the radio.

– 9845 mayde mayde! Yvernia here 9845 mayde… 9845…

He finally keeps quiet.

Romuald saw in a flash the raging surface of the sea over the pilot’s shoulders. The dark green waves, crowned with foam, were colossal in size.

In utter terror, he pushed open the heavy armored door of the station, which slid open before him, separating him from his friend. He crouched in the corner, head in his hands, groaning unconsciously into the rising clamor.

– 984598459845984598…

Clinging to the controls, Timothy pulled as hard as he could to get back up, all the while bracing himself for the impact. He knew he didn’t have a chance… but maybe… who knows… After all, it was a warship… And the window was made of transpacier, it wasn’t really glass…

As the circle of spotlights rapidly widened on the surface of a dark, gigantic wave, he planted his feet firmly on the bottom of the hull and turned his head back in a dodge while keeping his eyes on what lay ahead.

No! He would not die!

His gaze was drawn to something small that floated around the periphery of the illuminated area. He imperceptibly straightened up and raised an eyebrow.

– What…?

The plane crashed into the waves, their roar completely drowning out the sound of the disaster. The thick armored glass of the cockpit shattered like crystal under the force of the water, sweeping and shattering everything in its path as if it were mere sheets of paper.

Tossed by the monstrous waves, turned over in the foam like a common toy, the ship floated for barely more than a minute before disappearing into the dark water.

0!

On the beach, the situation was dramatic. Many of the rafts had already been broken by being thrown against each other.

Some of the larger ones had been propelled onto the first shelters on the beach like balls in a bowling alley. The surf had done the rest, dragging debris and inhabitants of its force out to sea, in its current.

For the lucky ones, drowning was a release. The others were condemned to a long hopeless wandering, clinging to debris, whose conclusion could only be death by cold, thirst, fatigue or despair.

In the midst of the turmoil, Plovoke, the colossus, put his strength to the contribution of his subjects.

His stature had naturally allowed him to take the ascendancy over the others. His strength of character and his sense of organization had earned him the reputation of being a true leader, often cruel. But what made him loved by many was that he felt responsible, and as such he was not stingy with his person for those on the beach.

That night, with his arms crossed, he was trying to hold on to a rope at the end of which one of the last rafts on the water was swaying, tossed by the current and the wind that were pulling it out to sea. On this one, only a young woman remained, clinging as best she could to what remained of the superstructure. The shreds of the canvas which, a few hours before, was still used as a roof were clattering above her head.

Prostrate on the sand, amidst the ruins of the shelters destroyed by the elements, the other surviving inhabitants held on to each other to find some warmth and security.

The rope was wrapped around the giant’s right forearm, but that didn’t stop it from sliding irresistibly. With his other hand, Plovoke clutched at a deeply embedded beam. His soaked fingers could feel the wood slipping away. His feet sank deeper into the leaking sand as the waves receded around him. His deep voice carried over the howling of the wind and the roar of the sea.

– Pull up the rope, kid!… Drop the raft and pull up the rope!

A voice that was strangely calm despite the circumstances sounded in the wind.

– Gee, Plovoke, what the hell are you doing here? You’ll catch a cold. Why didn’t you stay dry in the boat?

Behind him stood a man with a sinewy figure, thoughtfully stroking the goatee on his chin. The confident smile and the calmness he wore contrasted with the surrounding tragedy. One could make out several individuals standing back, unmoving.

A vein throbbed on the forehead of the colossus who tried to tighten his grip on the rope with each wave that relieved him a little.

– Ulgard! This is no time for jokes!… help me! Help me guys! the giant shouted to those waiting behind.

The smile his second widened in front of the obvious distress of his interlocutor. He passed his hand in his wet hair and waved his index finger in front of him as a sign of refusal.

– Nononon… it’s not that simple…

– Ulgard!

– Actually, your people and I… sorry, the people and I, we thought it would be better to have someone more focused on our interests…

– Ulgaaaard!

The rope had just snapped, leaving a burn mark where it lay around Plovoke’s forearm. Fortunately, he had had time to close his hand on the reddened end of the blood. The jolt caused the woman still clinging to her raft to scream as she tried to grab the rope.

– … and after much discussion between us, it turns out that you don’t fit the bill… too sentimental… you understand…

The colossus’ fingers slipped off the beam, he was thrown forward on his knees and had to let go of the rope to avoid being dragged into the sea. His two impressively large fists clenched on the sand. He raised his face in the rain and let out a kind of bestial roar, covering the woman’s howl of horror as she disappeared into the darkness.

A few seconds later, lightning itself seemed to strike the sea in front of them. There was a long, hoarse whistle, then the raft, already far away, reappeared briefly in a flash of light from the sky. A huge noise like the crashing of a wave sounded and the rain redoubled for a brief moment on the beach.

Indifferent, Plovoke, shaken in spite of himself by a sob, turned towards Ulgard. He started to get up, staring at him with a black look. He was boiling with a barely contained rage. He was going to grab him by the shoulders and tear him in two!

– You just made a terrible mistake…

A heavy blow to the back of his head threw him forward. Anyone else would have been killed instantly, but after a second’s hesitation, he grunted, and began to get up.

– Bunch of cowards!

Several men then threw themselves at him armed with heavy iron bars of various shapes. Ulgard turned away from what was happening. He walked past a dark-skinned man who had remained behind him, ordering in a dry voice.

– Don’t kill him, he may be useful to us one day… Just make him understand who is in charge now.

– Good.

The man snorted in the rain, tossing back the many braids of his long hair with a shake of his head as he raised his face to the sky.

Contrasting with the night and his skin color, a wide white smile lit up his face. He liked what he was about to do. With a heavy piece of wood in his hand, he joined the others.

He blew hard as he struck the first time.

Plovoke did not cry out in pain. He tried many times to get up, to resist, before sinking into unconsciousness.

His tortured body was left on his back in the rain, amidst the remains of shelters shattered by the storm that continued to rage. No one made a move among the survivors, who were huddled together barely ten meters away. The henchmen walked back to their shelters in the pouring rain, joking among themselves.

Chapter I

1

A wreck was lying on the sand at a depth of ten meters. Entirely metallic, it had taken on that brown tint that rust gives and many holes had appeared here and there. What the sea had left useful, the men had already taken away.

The sand swallowed the immense vessel, which was gradually sinking with a strong list on its right side. The water that had invaded everything reached fifty centimeters from the deck on the most sunken side. Above the bridge, a mast was still standing, carrying, as high as possible, the frame of a lookout post and a shroud carrying completely rotten navigation accessories.

The sun, which had recently risen, was shining on the back of a young girl with a tanned complexion, about fourteen years old. Covered in a gray tank top and a black loincloth, she stood motionless at the end of the superstructure, about twenty meters above the water. Her long red hair fluttered in the wind before her. They didn’t bother her, her gaze stared as if hypnotized by the glow of the water below.

This was his moment.

No one could take away the feeling of freedom she felt at that moment.

– Yahaaaaa…!

With a great cry, she launched herself into the void with her arms crossed, her legs tight, her body stretched towards the horizon. A brief moment she had the sensation to be frozen in the airs then, bending her body to the square, she dived towards the limpid waves which undulated hardly at the foot of the gigantic carcass.

After a few long seconds, she reappeared with her face raised to the sky.

Turning her back on the boat, she slowly made her way back to shore.

2

In the shelter of the wreck, forty meters further, grouped on a width of about ten meters, stood frail skiffs made of odds and ends, up to the edge of the beach.

The beach.

Originally, this stretch of clear sand dotted with volcanic rocks and sparse palm trees looked like paradise. When the wall was built, no one bothered to maintain this natural spot. The artificial private beaches offered much more. Waste had accumulated. The first inhabitants had used the vegetation for shelter or heat.

The beach was now entirely covered with houses made of recycled materials right into the water.

This « village » spread out to the foot of the gigantic futuristic towers of Yvernia, against its high wall which protected it from the wrath of the sea, and allowed to control the access.

The city covered the rest of the island’s surface, firmly attached to the volcanic rock of which it was made. Seen from the sky, it had the shape of a ship’s hull, and somewhere, it was probably one.

It was « sailing » in the middle of a powerful ocean current, undoubtedly the one that was at the origin of its shape and that had worn it down little by little throughout centuries of erosion.

The « front » was the volcano that had created the island. On the front line of the floods, its blackened rocks had not been spared and from its flanks only sharp fangs were left, reaching up to the sky. It was not asleep, however, and continued to spew columns of smoke from its more recent crater, which was stuck against the city wall.

On the other hand, the beach was the only place where one could set foot on land around the island without being in the city. Schematically, it represented the « back ».

It was sheltered from the current broken in two by the land. This one closed again some two hundred meters further, as if stirred by the gigantic propellers of a boat. The eddy was as powerful as the current that animated it and the high waves were formidable traps for all those who would have let themselves be carried away.

On the horizon, in « front » of Yvernia, one could distinguish on a very clear day, the dark mass of the wild continent. It seemed to be covered by a deep jungle. Trees so tall and dense that it was said that the sunlight never reached the ground. This continent was frequently mentioned in most of the legends of the beach, and especially in stories to scare children. Its coasts were bordered by this current which then came to break on the island. As a result, many things were carried away. To manage to seize them was risky, and particularly difficult. One could sometimes see strange animals of various sizes, alive or not, that went along the coast and then disappeared in the waves, then out to sea.

On rare occasions, they managed to get a foothold. This had been the case for Swit, who had since become the companion of the young Elayn.

It was difficult to know what type of population had started living on the beach. Either the outcasts or the castaways. Yvernia did not practice capital punishment, so the city’s leaders were content to banish undesirables and outlaws from their city. The punishment included the entire family. This cruel law had two advantages for the council of Yvernia: it made parents think twice (it was frowned upon not to have offspring), and it avoided having dependents.

On rare occasions, shipwrecked people would also come ashore, but often very weak or injured, few of them managed to survive. Only the poor and the anonymous could not benefit from the city’s help.

There was a recently built gate (in the past, the first banished people were lowered by a system of pods), but it was indestructible and protected by the armed guards of the city’s security.

Few people in Yvernia crossed the threshold willingly, especially with the possibility of returning. On the other hand, every morning, volunteers were chosen to perform the lowly tasks of the city in exchange for food or barter.

Those who entered were equipped with a cumbersome collar with explosives and a locator. It was useless to hope to deceive the vigilance of the security to prolong one’s stay or to go to the forbidden sectors.

Yvernia’s garbage was food, merchandise, and currency. The city was content to throw all its waste into the sea via underwater pipes and slide-like ramps. And the sea took care of carrying them out to sea, unless they were recovered.

On the beach, everyone lived by bartering and had to put up with the law of the strongest.

And the strongest of the moment was Ulgard.

He lived aboard an old warship that had run aground on the far left side of the shore,