Anthropology Isekai Ch. 02

Nothing to say here, except that I AM going somewhere with this. Just wait and see.

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In the early days, the smell of gasoline used to transfuse the air. Generators ran 24/7 in some places, providing what energy and light "vital" establishments needed. These generators were hungry for heavy hydrocarbons.

People who owned personal boats, of which there were many, had grown disgruntled by the time Mark was aware of anything at all. With the expatriate fleet had come a couple of huge fuel Navy tankers that could have provided for everyone, they said, until they could figure away to find oil to tap. Or when they could properly set up a chemical plant to make synthetic gasoline.

And the Admiralty did dole out a ration of gas for people who had jobs considered "vital" to the colony. Though, in retrospect, even that much probably hastened some of the bigger tragedies of his youth, but they simply didn't know. But then, when they discovered that nothing anyone made, not gasoline, not gunpowder, not gun cotton or even black powder, combusted, well...Mark was too young to know anything except that his mother needed to divorce his father.

Well, Markus was not his mother's first husband, Mark's true blood father, but he was the man whom Mark had grown up calling "papa". And he was the father of his second brother, Antony.

Ah, little Antony. They used to be thick as mud, he and Mark. He remembered taking his brother everywhere until, one day, his father left with him. Mark called out after them and he recalled well the look Marcus gave him when he called him "papa" for that last time. The memory still hurt, but it at least taught him to not get attached to any of his stepfathers.

Divorce and family laws were still being hashed out, as the Colony was still deciding which State framework it would adopt, if indeed it would not make one up of its own. So judgement and execution of those judgments still layed with the armed forces. It took them until his mother's fourth marriage to finally give the order to allow Mark's mother to have shared custody of Antony, but they already had achieved that before then.

A year after they left, a year into her third marriage and 5 months into her third pregnancy, Marcus was forced to let him have him. Otherwise, they would have been in danger of starving. But that year had changed him a lot.

The thing was, at that time people needed to relearn how to fish without gasoline engines on their boats and, in the land, they needed to learn what they could and could not live off of. They needed to treat what farm animals that they had managed to bring over like holy relics, lest they die and leave them with nothing to eat in the future. They needed to husband and protect what seeds they had brought over until they had enough to give out without worry that an alien plague or vermin would render all of their crops extinct. They were literally one bad harvest away from eating nothing.

Mark's third stepfather could provide for him, his mother and their upcoming child. But little Antony turned out to be an unwelcome strain that put that marriage on the rocks. But Mark didn't know enough to worry. He had his brother back after all.

He never asked Antony what that first year away from them was like, but even years later when he grew up eating what Mark did his body was still marked by that brief stint of starvation. He came back a quiet boy when he had been a loud happy one. He came back a reserved quiet kid when he had been an open one. He came back smaller than Mark was when he had been as tall as he, despite being a few years younger.

It didn't take long to draw the boy Mark was still sure was inside of his brother, thankfully, just in time for them to watch in amazement as their mother's body produced another of their siblings.

Things started to pick up a few years later. Seeds were handed out and people claimed fields left and right. Boats started to bring catches with more regularity as hard experience allowed fishermen to exploit the bounty of a sea not touched by commercial fishing, and farm animals started giving birth to their next generations. They would be by necessity inbred, and that was a problem NOW, but back then....

Well, back then Mark and his younger brother played around with his third brother. There were other kids around, of course, but, the state of flux in the colony meant that they were never around them long enough to form tight long-term friendships. Not that they were alone in this experience, but it meant that the kids he interacted the most with were his own siblings. And it was grand, fun and nice while it lasted. Because when things got better, Marcus came back for Antony.

And much like Mark, his mother didn't want to let go.

In the end, it was two against one, Marcus and the third stepfather against his mom. Mark lost his younger brother again and, if that wasn't enough, he also lost his youngest sibling when the marriage soon dissolved.

The fourth and last Stepfather was rich. Or what came across as Rich in the Colonies, or so he was told. Because Old World wealth was beyond his imagination. Personally, any man who was front of the line to get one of the newly made houses was someone with more wealth than sense for Mark. But this man at least didn't care that Mark or any of his other brothers were extra mouths to feed. Food and resources weren't much of an issue for him at all.

But then, that was just the price for him to marry his mother.

Deep into her fourth pregnancy, Mark and his brother managed to get together again for a few blessed months. The best years of his life without doubt and something he would swear up to god. Antony, Peter and Mark all played the part of the dutiful older brothers for the last sibling of theirs to be born. They were a gang of snot-nosed little shits, but they were so happy to have each other back then.

And it all came crashing down with the birth of their fourth brother.

Their mother, the woman who had been there, and fought for them tooth and nail all their lives, died shortly after that birth. The Colony had run out of antibiotics at that time, and an accidental infection soon turned necrotic for her. He would never forget the way she cried when she held them for the last time.

Nor how uncertain the future looked for them.

He had been 11 at that time and, to his third stepfather's credit, he didn't throw him out immediately out of the house. No, no, he only gave him "encouragement" to do so until, at 14 years old, he left that particular nest. But then, his childhood ended the second his mother died.

But until that second, when there was someone who was undoubtedly on his side no matter what, when his brothers looked up to him as a leader and he tried his best to not lead them off a cliff somewhere...he still dreamt of that time.

"Wake up," a voice called out, sounding so much like his younger brother used to back when Antony couldn't sleep at night.

"Mark, wake up," the voice called out again, a bit wrong for how deeper and more mature it sounded, but Mark would have recognized Antony no matter his age.

"Wake up, you heavy asshole!" the voice said in frustration and Mark frowned; None of them much cursed when they were children. Their mother didn't like it.

And that's when he realized he had been dreaming.

"Antony?" Mark murmured as he rubbed his eyes.

The morning was still a bit dark, but the sun was starting to peek out of the horizon. His tent was on the outskirts of the Tents, given there was no way he could claim a much better spot, but he supposed he wouldn't be that hard to find. What with fighting publicly the day before.

"Yes, me," Antony said as he handed him a wooden cup. The aroma from it made his mouth water and he took a drag.

"Coffee?" Mark said in disbelief as he enjoyed the bitterness as it went down.

"I am helping it grow on the north hills," he replied with pride, "And they let us have some instead of cash."

"That can't be legal," Mark answered as he got up and winced.

Yep, there were bruises on his arm and torso that hurt like a motherfucker.

"Probably not," Antony agreed, "But it helps me work more, so I don't care. I am going to need that cup back, by the way, so hurry your ass up."

"Jesus, give me a second," Mark whined as he started sipping faster and faster.

"So, anyway, I heard you won a fight yesterday," Antony said as Mark was almost done finishing the cup.

"Not my best fight, but I won," Mark agreed.

"...can you help me out, bro?" Antony asked, for a second looking like he did back when they were kids.

Mark should have known that he would only be here this early to ask something of him, but then his brother always did know how to strike at the right time. He would have been a good fighter himself if he wasn't so mild-mannered.

And small.

At five feet and five inches, Antony wasn't a midget or anything, but he was significantly below the standard of the colony. He had brown hair that had once been yellow like Mark's, as well as their familial nose and brown eyes. He also looked like his own father, but Mark wasn't about to put that against him.

"What does Markus need?" Mark sighed as he drained the cup and passed it back. His brother very carefully stowed it away in a satchel before he nervously licked his lips and nodded to himself.

"Nothing too big," Antony said, "Just some medicine is all. Dad's cough is getting worse and it costs an arm and a leg to get anything."

Mark grimaced; his brother wasn't kidding about medicine being an arm and a leg.

For a brief moment, he was tempted to tell him "no". That he only had enough money to spend on the things that he needed. Which was point in fact true. But then, his younger brothers always turned to him for help. His mother, who he hoped rested in peace if an afterlife really did exist, had always asked him to do so. Because he was big and strong. Because he was capable. Because he was the oldest.

"How much is it?" he found himself asking instead.

And then found himself wincing when he heard the sum.

"W-will you help me with that?" his brother asked him as he had always done; like a dog not sure that his begging wasn't inherently wrong. But then, Antony never took Mark's help for granted.

"Let me just...see if I can fit it into the budget," Mark sighed and, from how his brother's face, lighted up, knew that he would not be able to bring himself to say no.

And so it was his brother went along with him when he packed his stuff up and headed for the merchant streets.

"How much for that?" Mark later found himself pointing at a radio set that he had had his eyes set on for a while now. They were in an honest-to-goodness shack, one made of corrugated steel walls. It was large enough to have been a rather compact home back in Old Earth, but in the colony as it was now? It was palatial compared to the tents.

"Probably more than you can spend, son," a white-haired man over the counter replied, "That's for big boys heading out."

"Well, as you can see, I am a big boy. And not that it's anyone's business, but I am heading out," Mark drily replied.

The man laughed and told him the number.

It was exactly as much as it had been 7 months ago. Which meant that it was putting a strain on his budget.

"What about that there?" Mark hissed between teeth as he pointed at a case next to it.

"High capacity battery," the old men smugly noted, "Straight from the Naval workshops. That also runs a pretty penny."

For the most part, the old nuclear reactor from the USS Enterprise had been providing the Town with all the energy that it used and probably would for as long as the Navy engineers could keep it running. Out of the original 4 carriers that had made it to this side, one had been beached and brought inland to work as a reactor for the whole town around the time that Mark had been born.

The Steel House, as some people called the whole "building", was also where the governor's office was and where he resided. It was a jaw-dropping sight that made him understand, if only a little, how much they had all lost on the way here.

But at least the naval workshops managed to regularly churn out the batteries that almost all of the colony's vital machines ran on.

For the most part, people started picking up the slack long ago and set about making personal crafts to make up for the slow rate of machining that the precision-driven mechanists in the Navy workshops aspired to. But given the low availability of tools to work with, a lot of these homemade items were rather poorly made and barely worked. All the same, something was better than nothing.

"What are you going to do, bro?" Antony asked as he looked at the radio and batteries as if simply staring at them would break them. It was a sum of money that was outright unthinkable for someone like him. For Mark, it was simply the sum that stood between what he wanted, "I mean, that machete HAD to have been from the old world to cost that much. And the sled..."

"It'll be fine, Antony," Mark groaned. It was true, he was burning through his budget at a rapid pace. But if the radio and batteries were things that he really wanted, then the Machete and sled were things that he really needed. There was no question about whether he would get those.

But that did mean that he was left with a conundrum.

He had enough money to buy the radio and the battery, yes. Enough to have leftover to help his brother with the medicine. But he did not have enough for all of that and the food, alcohol, water and other supplies that he needed to survive in the wilds. Not at this time of the year, with winter in the mountains coming so fast.

Maybe if it were spring or early summer...but then he might as well wish for more money.

...bah, he made it this far without a radio set to play around with. He could last through the winter and get more pelts and plants to sell next spring and get his two-way radio then. They probably wouldn't increase in price. Hopefully.

"That a VHF?" Mark pointed at the least ugly-looking homemade radio there.

"That? Oh, that's one of Jimmy's works," the shop owner said, "Boy does good work, but VHF is all he's managed to make. If you like something with a higher frequency, I got some UHF radios around."

"I'll take it," Mark immediately said.

"Alright," the white-haired man reached out and placed it on the counter, "Anything else?"

"I'll take the battery too,' Mark said, pointing at the high-capacity battery.

"Are you sure?" the shop owner raised his eyebrow. Instead of answering, Mark pulled out his sack of coins and set them on the counter.

"Well, shit," the shop owner said, impressed, as Mark pulled out the exact sum, "Let me make write the bill then."

"Does killing animals out in the hills really make that much?" Antony asked after they had left the shack. His eyes had almost bulged out when Mark pulled out his purse.

"It should," Mark grumbled, "But no, I got this from fighting yesterday."

"Haha, I heard about that," Antony said with pride, "People were talking about how you made an unlikely comeback."

"It wasn't a sure thing," Mark shrugged, "But Romani wasn't taking me seriously. Not really."

"Who?" Antony asked.

"It doesn't matter," Mark waved him off, "Let's just get that medicine of yours."

He wouldn't be able to purchase all the supplies that he wanted, but if he cheaped out he could still be enough for the winter. Meh, jerky wasn't that much more delicious than hard tack. And if he kept telling himself that he would, hopefully, at some point believe it.

Absconding with his hard-earned coin hurt Mark, but the relief that came over his brother once he had medicine in hand was more than worth it.

"Look, I got coffee," his brother dragged him towards the tent he shared with his father, "Let me at least make you some."

"You already did," Mark replied.

"One more cup," Antony begged, "One last warm drink before you get lost in the forests."

So, against his better judgment, Mark found himself waiting outside his brother's tent.

"You don't have to come inside," his brother had told him, "You don't even have to see Dad. Let me just go in, brew you a cup and that's it!"

"Hnrg, you're early, boy," the only man Mark had ever called "papa" grumbled from inside that tent. Just the sound of his voice was enough to make him want to leave. Made him want to get lost.

"I went to get your medicine," Antony from inside replied as the sound of water being set in a pot reached Mark, "Told the foreman I needed the day off."

"Stupid boy," Markus chastised him, "If you aren't there, they'll just get someone else. And if they get someone else, you'll become replaceable. You should have minded your own business."

"You're sick, dad," Antony replied, "I can't let you just rot!"

"Does it look like I want your help?" the man grumbled, "How did you find the money for this anyway? If they pay you enough to buy this stuff then that's the more reason to not let that job go!"

"Ah, well, they don't," Antony answered with misgivings, "Actually, I heard that Mark was in town, so I-"

"Mark?" Markus asked, sounding offended, "You went to that little bastard to ask for money?"

"Dad," Antony groaned as Mark gritted his teeth, "I'd really appreciate it if you didn't talk like that about him."

"The day I keep my mouth shut about that parasite is the day you are burying me 6 feet underground," Markus spat, "Bad enough that he leeched off the food that I brought for you when you were kids. But now you owe that son of a whore?"

It was one thing to be insulted. It was quite another to have anyone call his mother a whore.

There was an ugly urge inside of him. An urge to go inside that tent and, what, beat a sick old man senseless? The hatred that Markus had towards him had never made much sense to Mark, but this whole thing had long ago gone beyond the personal. Mark didn't LIKE feeling like he did towards his once-stepped father.

Yet here they were.

The conversation was thankfully derailed into more innocuous things, but the damage was already done. By the time Antony came out with the same wooden cup he had offered him that morning, looking very embarrassed and ashamed.

"Here is your cup, bro," he said, numbly handing Mark his drink, "I-I am sorry about Dad. I shouldn't have mentioned you at all, and I-"

"-It's fine," Mark calmly told him. It wasn't, but as the older brother, it had to be.

"...take the cup with you," Antony told him.

"You sure?" Mark asked. It was obvious to him that his brother might not be able to afford another one on short notice.

"I'll be fine," he said, "But you? You have to travel out there. It's already mid-day, and I don't want to be responsible for making you late."

10 or 20 minutes wouldn't seriously hurt him.

But the shame on Antony's face told him everything he needed to know.

"I'll bring it back next time I am here," Mark promised him. It wouldn't be for another half a year, maybe, but the longer he stood outside this tent listening to this old bastard the longer he had to make a stupid decision.

"You do that," Antony sighed. "Goodbye, bro and...thank you."

It took him, indeed, a good 20 minutes to drink the brew. And by then, he was pulling a sled full of nails, corkscrews, chisels, food, a cheap radio and a high quality battery. They joined his bag where he kept his machetes, his old one and his new one, as well as the food and drink that he still had before he made his trip to town.

The sled, an honest-to-goodness small carriage on top of two long curving boards, slid with ease on the rich grass of the hills Mark took. He used to have an old rickety sled that he brought back and forth, but the boards that the sleds were made out of were fantastic building materials all on their own. So he had taken to buying one every time he went to town and took them apart to build his home.