Strandline
Nancy Brauer
© 2010 Nancy Brauer
This work is licensed under the
Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License.
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Cover and interior text design by Nancy Brauer
The background photo in the cover art by Flickr user devlyn
Smashwords edition / November 2010
Visit the Strandline website for new episodes, readers’ comments, media, and more.
Foreward
Strandline is a web serial and possibly a novel about the new subspecies Homo sapiens nictans. Why am I not sure if it’s a novel? Because I’m writing this sucker by the seat of my pants and looking to readers for direction. It may end up as a novella or three, or a series of short stories.
New episodes posted every week or so, as well as on the Strandline website, where you can sign up to get updates by email or by RSS.
If you’d like to see more of a particular character, let me know! Have a wacky idea that will probably throw me for a loop? Tell me, please. You never know what wonderful tangents might be explored.
Strandline had its beginnings earlier this year, when I wrote a short story for Ergofiction's new anthology Other Sides. My contribution, "Sixth of November," is effectively a prequel to the first Strandline episode. So if you'd like to see how just how bad of a day Kristin had, download a free copy in PDF or ePub format. . For details about the Kindle version, print edition, reviews, and more, please see the Other Sides site.
Episode 1: Jumper
Kristin’s bare legs dangled over the edge of freighter’s deck, her heels thudding against its metal hull. Her chin rested on her folded hands, which were supported by the many-times-painted metal railing. She leaned forward to peer 100 feet down at the swells slapping against the boat. It would be so easy to slip between the bottom rail and the deck. The water would be cold, she figured, so she’d probably go into shock before she drowned. That wouldn’t be so bad.
A shadow fell across her, cutting off the sunlight that had been warming Kristin’s back. The steady west wind carried the scents of beef and salt to her nose. “I figured you must be pretty hungry by now,” a friendly tenor said.
Kristin was too tired or too apathetic—she wasn’t sure which—to turn around. “Nah.” Then her stomach rumbled in protest.
Miguel chuckled. “Uh-huh.” He set down whatever he was carrying behind her, then slid his skinny teenaged frame beside hers. Kristin envied his jeans and jacket. She’d have dressed appropriately if she’d known she’d be hitchhiking across the Pacific. But she couldn’t have, so she was stuck with her T-shirt, shorts, sneakers, and purse—the sum total of her worldly possessions now.
Her stomach spoke up again. “Maybe I am hungry,” she admitted, glancing at Miguel. She immediately wished she hadn’t. He was giving her that look again. Concerned but trying to hide it, like she was a wounded animal who’d spook easily. Six hours ago she’d have assumed it was an act. Now she wasn’t so sure.
“If you eat that—” he nodded behind Kristin “—you’re hungry. I sure was. That salisbury steak is more salt than steak, though.” His grin took the edge off of the complaint.
Kristin twisted around to take a look at the alleged food. Miguel had brought a plastic plate, fork, and a cup of water. The meat patty on the plate looked die-cut and the gravy gelatinous, but her empty stomach didn’t care. She managed a small smile as a thank you, then dug in. She ate so fast that she barely tasted it, then drank the water.
“There’s more in the galley,” Miguel volunteered. “Creamed spinach, too.”
“Oh goodie.” Despite her sarcasm, there was no bite to Kristin’s remark. Maybe food had done her some good. She didn’t feel like jumping anymore, either. Not that she felt any less lost.
Light flashed to Kristin’s left. She yelped as Petra, a thirtysomething African-American woman, materialized. Kristin frowned at her, then faced forward. “I’ll never get used to that,” she muttered as she stared east. Somewhere over the slate gray horizon was home. The city that used to be home, anyway.
“You’ll get used to it,” the petite woman said as she sat to Kristin’s left. Now Kristin was flanked by her would-be rescuers. Fantastic. She wished they’d give her a moment’s peace. It wasn’t like she was going to jump… Oh, right.
Out of the corner of her eye Kristin saw Miguel look past her to his friend. “What did Captain Demopoulos say?” Hearing his Latino accent applied to a Greek name was mildly amusing.
“That we can sleep here tonight, if we want.”
“Cool,” Miguel said.
Kristin blinked, then looked from Miguel to Petra. “On the deck?”
Petra grinned. “No, silly. In one of the cabins. There are bunk beds. Nothing glamorous, but it’s clean.”
“You do this a lot?”
Miguel shrugged. “Occasionally. We’re couriers. We get tapped out sometimes.”
Kristin gulped. She didn’t want to ask, but since she was like them she figured she might as well. “Tapped out from, um, teleporting?”
“Yeah,” he confirmed.
“It takes energy to teleport,” Petra continued. “E = mc2 and all that. And Miguel and I have traveled a long way today.”
“Oh.” Questions swirled in Kristin’s mind. All that came out of her mouth was “I thought we stopped here for food.”
Petra nodded. “Yes, that, and we can’t go any farther in one jump.”
“How far did we go?”
“For this last one?” Miguel asked. Kristin nodded. “About 900 miles.”
Kristin’s eyes went wide. “How much farther is it? To… wherever?”
Miguel looked to Petra, who replied. “We’re going to Strandline. It’s an island about a thousand miles west of here. After the three of us get some rest we’ll get there in one hop.”
“What do you mean ‘the three of us’?” Kristin didn’t bother trying to keep suspicion from her voice.
Petra shrugged. “You helped Miguel and I with the last jump. I know you’ve had a rough day—” She ignored Kristin’s sniff. “—but that’s probably what wore you out the most.” She glanced at the empty plate behind Kristin. “I’m glad to see that you ate something.”
“Let’s get you some more before the galley closes,” Miguel said. “And it’ll get cold fast once the sun—”
He
stopped talking, and Petra jumped to her feet. Kristin craned her
neck to see what had them on guard in time to catch a flash of light
out of the corner of her eye.
Episode 2: Unexpected
The burst of light coalesced into a man in mid-stride. With the setting sun behind him, the man was a silhouette scrambling toward the pile of shipping containers in the middle of the deck. After a few steps he stumbled, landing hard with a thump. Something else clunked on the metal deck as well.
Miguel stepped in front of Kristin, who wasn’t about to argue. He exchanged a look with Petra. She nodded and took a step toward the newcomer. It’s okay, she broadcast telepathically.
Kristin fought the urge to shake her head. Telepathy was something else they told her she’d get used to.
The man didn’t respond.
Petra tried again. Can you hear me?
The man propped himself up on one elbow. With his back to Kristin, Petra, and Miguel, his view was of the wall of containers and the darkening sky behind them. “Craig!” he cried.
I guess not, Miguel remarked.
“Hello there.” Petra said, using the same gentle tone she had with Kristin a few hours ago.
The man whirled around. Although shadows still obscured the details, Kristin could see that he was moderately dark-skinned, wore stained work clothes and boots, and held one of his arms against his chest. He brandished a large wrench with his other hand. “Stay away from me!”
Petra slowly moved her hands out so the newcomer could see that she was unarmed. “No one’s moving any closer.”
The man got to his feet and looked around as best he could while keeping an eye on the three of them. “Craig!” Desperation tinged his voice.
“You’re the only one who arrived,” Petra said.
“That’s impossible.” Then he frowned up at the ship’s bridge, and some sort of realization dawned. “This isn’t the Champlain.”
“No, this is the Lachesis. A Greek freighter.”
“Shit.” He started to lower the wrench, then turned to face Petra, scowling. “Are you Greenmen?”
“No!” Kristin blurted. Miguel shot a displeased look at her over his shoulder, but she didn’t care. He and Petra might be Greenmen, but she sure wasn’t!
“We’re not,” Petra said. “We’re nictans headed back to Strandline.” She nodded toward the bridge. “You can ask the captain.”
The man lowered the wrench, but didn’t let go. “Damned Greenmen attacked my ship. Craig—my friend—tried to get us out of there. He’s a nict.” He glanced around, worried. “I need to find him. He got burned bad.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s not here,” Petra said. “I don’t sense him.” She looked over her shoulder at Miguel, who shook his head.
The newcomer’s frown deepened. Kristin felt bad for him; he was having almost as bad of a day as she was. He asked, “Could you send me back there?”
Petra bit her lip. “Not tonight. I’m tapped out, and I’d be guessing at where ‘there’ is. You might land in the ocean or worse.”
“Worse?”
“Inside something solid,” Miguel said softly.
Kristin’s eyes went wide, as did wrench guy’s. His voice was almost a whisper. “Seriously?”
Petra nodded. “You’re lucky you got here safely.”
“I guess so.” His arm fell to his side, all of the fight drained out of him.
“I’m Petra,” she added, “and these are my friends Miguel and Kristin.”
The man managed a smile. “Naveen.”
“I’d say it’s nice to meet you, Naveen, but I’d rather it have been under different circumstances. Would you put the wrench down?”
Naveen blinked. “Oh, right.” He set it down.
Petra and Miguel moved toward him. Kristin followed. She noticed that her companions circled around a bit, bringing Naveen out of shadow. He looked to be of average height, with wide shoulders and a stocky build. Soot smudged his Indian features, and grease—or maybe blood—stained his jeans and plain white T-shirt. He filled it out well, Kristin noticed.
“Are you hurt?” Miguel asked.
“I think my arm’s broken.”
Petra and Miguel halted a few feet from Naveen. Kristin stayed a half-step behind. “We should get you to the sick bay,” Petra said. “Splint your arm at least.”
Naveen nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“Would you and Kristin take him, Miguel?”
He nodded. Kristin apparently didn’t have a choice. But she didn’t argue; she had nowhere else to go.
Petra continued, “I need to tell Captain Demopoulos that he has another passenger. Then I’ll meet you in the galley.” She told Naveen, “We were headed there anyway.”
“Okay.” He walked with them to the stairwell and headed below deck.
A cargo ship, Kristin learned, was less than glamorous. Miguel told her that the beige-painted metal walls and worn utilitarian carpet in the narrow hallway made the Lachesis one of the nicer ships he’d been on. Although unimpressed, Kristin just nodded. At least it was warmer down here. If Naveen had been paying attention to their exchange, he made no indication.
The sick bay turned out to be little more than a walk-in medicine cabinet. They found painkillers for Naveen, splinted his arm, and put it in a sling. After he’d washed up—a few of the stains on his clothes were blood, but not his—Miguel led them to the galley.
Galley apparently was ship-ese for miniature cafeteria. Fake wooden panels lined the walls of the windowless room, and linoleum covered the floor. A swarthy, bored-looking man wearing an apron stood behind the counter bearing the salisbury steak she’d already had the pleasure of sampling, and other culinary delights.
On the other side of the the room were six long tables. A handful of deeply-tanned, dark-haired men sat at one of them, eating and joking in what Kristin presumed was Greek. One of the men, who had a salt-and-pepper beard and wore a Coca-Cola T-shirt, noticed them and stared. His companions silenced and turned to face Kristin, Naveen, and Miguel.
Miguel gave the sailors a little wave. “Geia sas,” he said. “Eímaste diaménoun móno ti nýchta.”
Coca-Cola guy sniffed. “Kalí.” His friends turned around and resumed their conversation. Kristin thought she heard one of them mutter “Nict.”
“You speak Greek,” Naveen said to Miguel.
Miguel led them toward the now less bored-looking cook. “A little. Knowing other languages comes in handy when you’re a courier.”
Naveen nodded. “Makes sense.”
“What’d you say?” Kristin asked.
“Hello, and that we’re just staying overnight.”
“And he said?” she prompted.
“Good.”
Miguel ordered a plate of food for Kristin, something that she presumed was a dessert for himself, and a beer for Naveen. The newcomer understandably wasn’t hungry. He and Kristin thanked Miguel when he paid for the food with unfamilar-looking money. Greek currency, Kristin assumed. She wondered how many different kinds of cash he and Petra carried around.
By the time Petra joined them, Naveen’s beer (and probably the painkillers) had helped him relax. He chatted with Miguel primarily. Petra listened, as did Kristin, who wasn’t in a sharing kind of mood. Naveen told them about his work as a mechanic on the Champlain, a Hawaiian freighter. They were about to enter the Honolulu port with cargo they’d picked up in Seattle when the Greenmen attacked.
“But why?” Kristin asked. “Because you’d been to Seattle?” Everyone knew that the Greenmen hated the Western Coalition.
Naveen shrugged, which shifted his bad arm in its sling. He winced, then said, “Dunno. We’d hauled freight from other Coalition ports before. Los Angeles, San Francisco.” A pang of homesickness swelled from the mention of Kristin’s hometown. She fought to ignore it as Naveen continued, “Never had trouble before.”
“There’ll probably be something on the news,” Petra said. “There’s a TV in the lounge. Last time we were here it had a few Hawaiian channels. The Republic tends to have the least biased news coverage.”
“What do you mean, least biased?” Kristin blurted. Naveen looked at her as if she’d grown a second head. “What?
“She’s from the Coalition,” Miguel said.
“Oh,” Naveen said, as though that explained everything. He looked at her sympathetically. “And you’re a nict? Ouch.”
“I’m—” Kristin frowned. She really couldn’t argue. But she wasn’t a terrorist, dammit!
Petra said, “She broke out today.”
“Ah,” Naveen nodded. “You should like Strandline. If that doesn’t work out, come to the Republic. You’ll have to register, but otherwise it’s okay. That’s what Craig says.” He gulped, then frowned at his empty beer bottle.
Kristin found herself hoping that Naveen’s nict friend was okay, too.
Episode 3: Topside
‘Veen! Craig’s mental voice rang in Naveen’s head. He jumped, and the pipe wrench he’d been using clattered to the engine room floor. Topside, now!
Naveen scooped up the wrench and bolted for the exit. (What’s wrong?!) He wasn’t sure if his friend would hear him. He wasn’t a nict, and there were probably a few decks between them.
It’s—
Metal groaned as the cargo ship listed to port. “Holy shit!” The emergency alarm blared, all but drowning his cry. Naveen’s left arm collided with a half-assembled winch. It hurt like hell, but the machinery had kept him on his feet.
Once the boat stopped listing—it had to be at least 10 degrees!—Naveen darted the rest of the way to the stairwell. Glad for the metal handrails, he took the stairs up two at a time. His shipmates’ shouts and footfalls sounded above and below him.
Naveen stepped out into bright sunshine and the acrid smells of smoke and diesel. Squinting and coughing, he stumbled away from the stairs. “Craig!” he shouted.
His friend didn’t reply in the seconds it took for Naveen’s eyes to adjust to the sunshine. He almost wished they hadn’t. With his back to the aft tower, he could see most of the ship tilting to port, which he presumed had everything to do with the titanic bite taken out of the hull near the number two hatch. Dark fuel spilled into Mamala Bay. The diesel wasn’t on fire, but some of the supplies in the middle of the deck were, and…
Naveen did a double take. A white guy with long blond hair and dressed in plain military fatigues stood against the bent railing near the hull breach. He was gesturing at the oily water, which was moving. Moving up and swirling, like a waterspout.
A cable snapped, and fiery debris slid across the deck toward the number four hatch. The raised lip of the huge metal hatch blocked the smoldering crates’ path, sending them tumbling like a sooty rockfall.
Craig’s scream filled Naveen’s ears and mind. Naveen sprinted toward the hatch, peering through the smoke for his friend. He found him curled in a fetal position, blood pouring from a gash on the side of his head, and his dark skin blistered on his back.
“Craig!” After making sure that they weren’t in the path of any more mobile fires, Naveen kneeled beside him, pulling one of Craig’s arms around his shoulders. His friend’s scream made him wince, but he persevered. “C’mon, man. We gotta get out of here.”
Gritting his teeth and leaning heavily on Naveen, Craig got to his feet. Naveen steered the two of them toward the nearest lifeboat. Craig mumbled something.
“What?” Naveen asked, half-listening. Only twenty more feet until the lifeboat.
“Greenmen.”
Naveen’s eyes went wide. He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder to see what the magical/psionic/whatever terrorist was doing. “Bastards,” he growled, continuing forward. “Almost there, Craig.”
A tremor shivered through the metal deck. Air rushed past them toward the middle of the ship, and Naveen knew that they wouldn’t make it.
Fire roared behind them, but Naveen felt almost cold, pins and needles all over as he lurched forward. His foot caught on something and he fell, his wrench clattering on the floor like it had not long ago. Pain shot up his left arm. That was new. And Craig was gone. “Craig!”
No answer. Again.
Naveen picked up his wrench with his right hand; his left arm throbbed. The ship had righted itself somehow and it was cooler and darker and nothing was on fire. What the hell had those Greenmen bastards done now?
“Hello there,” a woman’s voice said.
Naveen rounded on it. On her. The Greenman.
Episode 4: Homecoming
Petra slipped out of the cabin before the others awoke. She padded down the narrow hall, her only company the muffled chug of the Lachesis’ engines.
A flight of stairs brought her up to the cargo ship’s deck. The sun hovered a few degrees above the eastern horizon, just starting to warm the early morning air. Thankfully at this latitude the temperature stayed mild. Her light jacket, blouse, and capris—the clothes she’d worn yesterday—were enough to keep the chill at bay. If she’d known that she and Miguel would be hitching a ride with Captain Demopoulos, she’d have packed an overnight bag.
Petra sat on the starboard side of the deck with her back to one of the dozens of containers. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the sun and salty breeze while she could. Once Naveen and Kristin awoke she’d have her hands full.
An hour later Petra met Miguel, Kristin, and Naveen at the cabin, then walked with them to the galley for breakfast. Miguel, bless his heart, kept up small talk as they made their way through the line for plates of scrambled eggs and bacon. Petra pretended to listen while keeping her mental attention on the ship’s sailors. Thanks to the Greenmen’s escapades, nictans were less than welcome.
The four of them sat at the table furthest from the sailors. Kristin silently dug into her food. After taking a few bites of his breakfast, Naveen caught Petra’s eye. “So, um, d’you think you could send me back to Honolulu? I’ll pay you, of course. Miguel said that you and him are couriers, and I know it’s a long way. Judging from the stars last night, it looks like we’re at 35 degrees north or so.”
Petra blinked. Not many people could navigate by the stars, even a little. “That’s right. And you don’t have to pay us, but we’ll have to take you to Strandline first.” Naveen frowned a bit, and Kristin looked up from her food. Petra continued, “You don’t want us to guess at where we’ll arrive. It’s best if we call one of our contacts first and arrange a time and place.”
Naveen nodded. “Okay. If you need a place to crash—not like, literally—you’re welcome to stay at my place. It’s nothing special, but, you know, free.”
Miguel chuckled. “We might take you up on that, Naveen. Like you said, it’s a long way to Honolulu.”
“Cool.” Reassured, Naveen turned back to his meal.
They ate silently for a few minutes. Petra was pleasantly surprised when Kristin spoke up. “Do you guys do this a lot?” She looked from Petra to Miguel and back. “Teleport people around?”
“Occasionally,” Petra replied.
“It’s usually documents or small items,” Miguel added. “Sometimes just a message. We charge a lot to transport people because of the risk involved.”
Naveen worried his lip, so Petra interjected, “It’s okay, Naveen. You’re not our usual client. The risk is from the circumstances involving a potential client. We screen them carefully to keep ourselves safe.”
Kristin’s brow furrowed. “You don’t have to be a courier,” Miguel assured her. “That’s why we’re bringing you to Strandline. There’s all sorts of stuff that needs doing there, and no one will care that you’re a nictan. Most everyone is, anyway.”
“Okay.”
Kristin didn’t seem encouraged, but Petra wasn’t worried. She
just needed time. All of the newcomers did.
***
Shortly after breakfast Kristin followed Miguel, Naveen, and Petra up to the deck. The nicts told them to join hands, as they had for the jumps they’d taken with Kristin the day before. Naveen grinned from ear to ear. It was easy for him, a passenger, to be excited. He wasn’t an outcast because of a freakish ability he hadn’t asked for.
Now-familiar energy tingled, and the ship’s sun-drenched deck dissolved into what looked like a living room. Kristin pulled her hands back and looked around, surprised. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but a deep, narrow room with what looked like adobe walls wasn’t it. Most of the corners were rounded, and area rugs softened the dun-colored adobe floor. Rough-hewn timber beams supported the ceiling overhead. Whoever lived here must have been an artist, since colored glass circles were embedded into some of the presumably non-load-bearing walls. They glowed from sunlight streaming through windows in the adjoining room, which appeared to be a kitchen. The overall effect was a hybrid of southwestern, Caribbean, and comfy.
“Welcome to my home,” Petra smiled.
Kristin smiled back tentatively. “This is Strandline?”
“Yep,” Miguel answered, striding toward the kitchen. He tossed over his shoulder, “Mind if I get a drink, Petra?”
“Help yourself.” She turned to Naveen and Kristin. “Want anything?”
“No, thanks,” Kristin and Naveen said in unison. After giving her a brief, amused grin, Naveen wandered toward the kitchen. “This is cool,” he said, touching one of the glass disks in the wall. “Hey, these are bottles!”
Miguel’s chuckle carried from the kitchen. “That’s right,” Petra said. “I put most of them there myself.”
Kristin blinked, impressed. “You built this place?”
“With a lot of help from family and friends, yes.”
Miguel returned to the living room with a glass of water in hand. “And it’s a lot of hard work, let me tell you.” His grin showed that he wasn’t complaining.
“Would you like the tour?” Petra asked.
“Sure!” Naveen enthused. Kristin’s agreement, although genuine, was more subdued.
The tour, which Petra had clearly given before, lasted the better part of an hour. Petra called her house an “earth-bermed, passive-solar structure made of reclaimed materials.” The description itself was a mouthful! Sand pounded into stacks of used tires made up the load-bearing walls, which were arranged in adjoining U-shapes and covered with a locally made plaster. The top of each “U” faced south, where banks of slanted windows let in sunlight.
A single long hallway oriented east-west connected the house’s five rooms. Container gardens ran its length, and plants—a few of which were fruit trees—flourished in the sunshine. Petra said something about the plants being part of a “gray water system,” which Kristin made a note to ask about later. She was an engineer, after all.
Naveen reached out for a ripe banana, then stopped and looked to Petra. “May I?”
“Absolutely,” Petra grinned.
He plucked the yellow fruit from the tree. “This is pretty sweet.” Naveen pulled the peel back, took a bite, and said around a mouthful of banana, “So you grow your own food?”
“Some of it.”
Miguel added, “We don’t have the resources to be fully self-sustaining.” Then he turned to Kristin. “We do a lot of trade with the Republic for the stuff we can’t make or get from the other Gyre Islands.”
“Gyre Islands?” Kristin echoed.
Naveen looked at her askance. “They don’t teach you anything in the Coalition, do they?”
Kristin frowned at him. “Enlighten me.”
Petra, who seemed to have unlimited patience, explained, “After the war in ’78, the Dodgsons fled the Western Coalition. Lewis… well, he’s kind of a genius, and his wife Nadine is a nictan. They decided to found their own country way out here in the North Pacific Gyre. Because of the rotating ocean currents, all sorts of marine trash collects here. Lewis and Nadine put it to use. Strandline is completely man-made. It’s a floating island tethered to an underwater mountain meters below us.”
Kristin wrinkled her nose, then looked past the banana tree and through the windows. Unmowed grass grew on sandy—if suspiciously multicolored—soil. Straight ahead were a series of low ridges, which Kristin suspected were more of these odd houses, as well as small windmills. “It doesn’t look like a garbage dump.”
“Exactly,” Miguel said, pleased.
Petra looked between Naveen and Kristin. “Would you like to see more of Strandline? I doubt that Lewis and Nadine are available, but we can try. Or maybe I should contact my friend in Honolulu first. How soon do you want to get home, Naveen?”
Episode 5: Unnatural Resources
The banana leaf in Naveen’s hands suffered horribly as he waited for the nurse to come back on the line. “Mr. Patel?”
“Yes,” Naveen said into Petra’s cell phone. At this rate he was going to owe her a lot of money or a lot of favors.
“Mr. Parker is here. He’s in serious but stable condition. I can’t give out more information over the phone. Visiting hours…”
Naveen didn’t hear the rest of the woman’s sentence. Although he was relieved that Craig was alive and getting care, “serious but stable” didn’t sound good. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said and ended the call.
“Anything?”
Naveen turned away from the indoor garden to find Kristin padding into Petra’s living room, her shoulder-length black hair still damp from the shower. He presumed that her new clothes—beige capris and a purple babydoll T-shirt—were Petra’s. They fit the young asian woman reasonably well, if on the snug side. Naveen wasn’t complaining.
“Yes, finally!” he replied. “Craig’s in Queen’s.”
Kristin tilted her head. “Queens, New York?”
“No,” Naveen chuckled. “Queen’s Hospital in Hololulu.”
“Oh!” A chagrinned smile lit Kristin’s face. It was a nice change from her usual despondent expression. “So I guess you’re leaving soon? To visit him, I mean.”
Naveen nodded. “In a little while. Petra’s friend said to give him an hour. I kinda want to wander around the island for a while. We don’t—” He frowned, recalling the hole in the Champlain’s side. “—didn’t stay in port for long. The furthest inland I ever got before now was the Clamrock.”
“Clamrock?”
“A bar on the harbor. Fun place.”
Kristin looked at him thoughtfully. “You’ve been everywhere, haven’t you?”
“Compared to your friends? Nah. All over the Pacific rim, though.” Kristin had tensed at “friends,” which Naveen chose to ignore. She really needed to get over her whole nict thing. From what he’d seen, Miguel and Petra had been nothing but nice to her.
Petra, now wearing a blouse and wrap-around skirt, entered from the hallway on the opposite side of the room. “Anything?” she asked.
Naveen grinned. “Yeah. He’s okay…ish. In a hospital in Honolulu.”
“Oh, good. After seeing the news reports last night…”
Rather than dwell on that, Naveen walked up to Petra and returned her cell phone. “Thanks again. Seriously, if there’s anything I can do to help you guys, call me. Or, you know, drop in.” He grinned the last.
“We will,” Petra smiled back. Her gaze widened to include Kristin. “Naveen and I have an hour to kill before leaving for Hawaii. Shall I show you two around?”
Kristin managed a small smile. “Yes, please.”
“Ditto,” Naveen agreed.
Petra’s tour showed Naveen that there was more to Strandline than he’d imagined. From the Champlain he’d seen the row of west-facing windmills, the small airport, cluster of satellite dishes, and farmland dividing the southern half of the island into neat green squares. Most of the taller buildings—none more than four stories—were on the northern part of the island. He’d never had reason to wonder what they were for.
The largest building on the island was the power plant on the western shore. Petra pointed out what looked like three lines of yellow buoys about a half mile from the beach. They weren’t closely placed buoys, but the tops of huge, mostly submerged mechanical flaps. The devices swayed with the waves, moving hydraulic pistons. The pistons in turn pushed pressurized water through a pipeline that lead to a hydroelectric turbine in the power plant. Wave power, she called it. Ingenious! The next time Naveen visited, he’d try to get a look inside the power plant. He was curious about the mechanical details.
Much of the electricity from the power plant went to the adjoining desalination plant. Rainwater cisterns provided much of the drinking water for Strandline’s 1,200 inhabitants, but not enough for crop irrigation and the plastic, glass, and metal recycling plants. Raw materials from the latter came from marine waste, which was primarily small plastic bits floating beneath the surface. Much of the work available on Strandline involved harvesting the man-made bounty from the ocean, procuring shipments of beach trash from elsewhere in the Pacific, working in the recycling plants, or fashioning new items from the recycled material. Naveen had no doubt that they’d have raw material for years to come. He’d seen plenty of garbage on beaches during his travels.
After taking them past the power and desalination plants, Petra led Kristin and Naveen east through the residential part of the island. Most of the houses were the sort of underground ones like Petra’s. They stopped to say hello to a small group working on a new one. The work site looked more like a pile of sandy dirt with low walls of overlapping tires than the beginnings of a house. Apparently it all came together eventually.
The tour concluded with a walk along the bay on the Strandline’s east side. A mixture of earth-bermed and conventional buildings held offices, restaurants, and shops. It reminded Naveen of a rough-around-the-edges version of one of Hawaii’s coastal towns.
Naveen grinned when Petra stopped in front of the Clamrock. The bar’s weatherbeaten wood and corrugated metal exterior hadn’t changed a bit. “Are they open yet?” he asked.
Petra peered through one of the windows. “Not quite. It’s a little early for lunch.” To Naveen she said, “Tim should be ready for us in Honolulu.” Then she turned to Kristin. “Do you want to come with us? I need help to cover the distance in one jump. It’s okay if you don’t. I’ll get Miguel.”
Episode 6: Well Wishes
The Republic of Hawaii, to Kristin’s surprise, looked just like it did in magazines: a tropical paradise. Granted, Honolulu teemed with traffic and tall buildings, but it was warm and sunny and functional. She’d had the impression that it was a last refuge of slackers and hippies. Apparently a lot of her impressions were flawed. Just a hypothesis, she told herself. Observe, analyze, then revise as necessary. Considering how her world had been turned upside down, she didn’t have much choice.
Ironically enough, Petra’s friend Tim was a hippie, albeit an aging one. Kristin couldn’t help but grin at the dancing bears tattooed down his right arm as she, Naveen, Petra, and Tim had lunch in the man’s cluttered apartment.
Kristin listened as the others talked, quietly eating the bologna and American cheese sandwich that Tim had supplied. She felt like a third—or fourth—wheel, but the others didn’t seem to mind her being there.
Her attention wandered to the bit of driftwood sitting on top of newspapers in the middle of the table. The pale yellow wood had a strange grain, and was twisted into a Möbius strip.
“Like it?” Tim asked, smiling through his salt-and-pepper beard.
Kristin blinked. “Yeah. It’s interesting. Where’d you find it?”
Tim chuckled and tapped his temple.
“I, um, don’t understand,” Kristin said.
“I carved it!” Tim proclaimed, scooping up the piece of wood. He thrust it at Kristin, who accepted the supposed objet d’art. “It’s my best piece yet.”
Kristin gave Tim a grin. “Cool.” Although she didn’t know a thing about art, she was happy to compliment her host. Besides, Möbius strips were cool. She turned it over, noticing how light it felt. “What kind of wood is it?”
“Pineapple.”
“Pineapple wood?” Naveen asked around a mouthful of sandwich. “I guess there’s such a thing.”
“The fruit,” Petra said, smiling. “It’s dehydrated pineapple.”
Kristin tried not to frown. “Oh. That’s, um, different.”
“You bet,” Tim agreed. “The gallery on Sixth Avenue has sold four already. I’m pioneering a whole new art scene!”
“That’s awesome, man!” Naveen leaned across the table to high-five Tim. Kristin watched the celebration with a polite smile plastered on her face.
Petra, Naveen, and Kristin entered Queen’s Hospital a half-hour later and went straight to the third floor. There was no need to stop at the gift shop. Naveen carried a get-well present from Tim: a dehydrated pineapple carving of a turtle, neatly wrapped in newspaper from September. Kristin couldn’t wait to see Craig’s reaction.
They arrived at room 314 to find a white-coated doctor standing with his back to them beside what Kristin presumed to be Craig’s bed. She’d never seen a doctor with long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail before. Maybe Hawaii was a refuge for hippies after all.
Naveen stopped in the doorway. Kristin and Petra stood a respectful distance behind him. “Hey, Doc,” Naveen said. “How’s my buddy doing?”
The doctor mumbled something. Kristin thought she saw one of his arms make a sweeping gesture, but with Naveen blocking much of the view she wasn’t sure.
“Doc?” Naveen said, taking a step into the room. “Craig? You okay, man?”
“It’s okay,” a male voice said in a near-whisper. “Let him finish.”
Naveen waited, clenching and unclenching his free hand. Kristin lowered her mental protections for long enough to feel the young man’s emotions: worry bordering on anxiety.
Petra moved into the doorway. “What’s wrong… oh.” The hippie doctor continued muttering inside the room.
Kristin gulped, then asked the nict telepathically, What’s going on?
Wait out there.
Her reply made Kristin more uneasy. I’ll get security.
No!
Kristin started to argue, but movement in the room distracted her. The doctor’s arms shot straight up, and something glistened on his hands. Her stomach sank; it was blood.
The doctor leaned forward and down, out of Kristin’s field of view. Both Petra and Naveen tensed, but didn’t move otherwise.
The muttering ended. Someone drew a deep breath.
Naveen stalked into the room. “You!”
Petra hurried after him. “Naveen, don’t—”
Kristin moved into the doorway. Naveen was closing on the doctor, a slender, fair-skinned man. Despite his bloody hands and the bloodstained knife laying on the hospital bed, the supposed doctor seemed unconcerned.
The young man, whose dark skin was unmarred, bolted upright in the bed. “Stop!”
The doctor turned to face Naveen, raising one red hand.
Episode 7: First Impressions
Only Craig’s whispered “Let him finish” kept Naveen in the doorway to the hospital room. It must have been drugs talking. Why else would Craig want the Greenman who’d attacked their ship waving a bloody knife over him?
As soon as the terrorist stopped muttering supposed magical incantations, Naveen advanced on him. “You!”
“Naveen,” Petra said behind him, “don’t—”
“Stop!”
Craig’s voice brought Naveen to a halt. He turned so he could keep an eye on the Greenman masquerading as a doctor. “Why—” Naveen’s retort evaporated when he laid eyes on his friend. Craig was fine; more fine than a day at a hospital should make him. The gash on the side of his head was gone. There were no stitches, or even a scar. Judging from how he sat up straight in his bed, the burns on his back were gone as well.
“You… He…” Naveen reluctantly faced the Greenman, who looked far too confident. Although they were the same height, Naveen had 30 pounds of muscle on the fair-skinned man. He bet he could take him in a fair fight, even with his left arm in a sling.
“Naveen,” Craig said, keeping his voice down. “He healed me.”
“Why?” Kristin—who Naveen had pretty much forgotten about—echoed his thoughts. He glanced in their direction. She and Petra stood just inside the doorway. Both looked wary.
“We hadn’t meant to hurt anyone,” the Greenman said. Naveen was about to laugh in the bastard’s face, but his expression was sincere. “I’m trying to make things right.”
Kristin sniffed. Petra frowned and met the terrorist’s eyes. “Perhaps you should select your targets more carefully.”
The Greenman held her gaze. “Our tactics are none of your concern.”
“They are when your little crusade gives all nictans a bad name.”
“Then—”
Naveen stepped between them. “Waitaminnit.” He turned to Petra, waving at the Greenman with his good arm. “You know him?”
“Yes.” The woman’s answer dripped distain. “His name is Bryce.” She glanced over her shoulder at Kristin. “He won’t hurt anyone. Not here and now, anyway.”
“Dammit, Petra,” Bryce growled.
Craig cleared his throat. “If no one’s going to hurt anyone—” He glanced pointedly at Naveen and Bryce “—perhaps we should shut the door.”
Petra gave him a small smile. “Good idea.” She nodded at Kristin, who stepped inside and pulled the door shut. “Hello, Craig. I’m Petra, and this is my friend Kristin. Naveen’s been worried about you.”
“That makes two of us,” Craig grinned.
Naveen almost smiled as well, but caught himself. How could Craig be cracking jokes when the man who’d attacked him stood at the foot of his bed? He turned his frustration on the Greenman. “What the hell, man? You run around bombing ships, then track down the survivors and heal them with pixie dust? That’s fucked up!”
Bryce glowered, balling his fists. Blood dripped from the hand he’d cut with his knife. “We didn’t attack your ship.”
“I saw you there!” Craig said.
“Me too,” Naveen confirmed. “You were making a magical waterspout to sink the whole ship or something.”
“I was cleaning up the copycats’ mess!”
Stunned silence filled the room. After a few moments Petra said, “Copycats?”
“Magical waterspout?” Kristin murmured.
Bryce pursed his lips, then snatched up his dagger from the bed. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.” Although he addressed them all, his eyes lingered on Petra’s the longest. Then he frowned at Naveen’s arm. “I can heal that, if you want. Decide now. I need to leave.”
Episode 8: Stuck on You
Bryce made no sense to Kristin. Why would a terrorist care if he hurt people or not? That was the whole point, wasn’t it? The Greenmen were exacting revenge for how humans supposedly raped Mother Earth. That’s what she’d always heard.
The terrorist posing as a doctor studied Naveen’s broken arm for a moment. “I can heal that, if you want. Decide now. I need to leave.”
Naveen’s brow furrowed as he considered Bryce and his bloody hand and knife. His eyes turned to Petra, who made the tiniest of nods. “Okay,” Naveen said.
Bryce nodded in acknowledgment, drawing the flat of his dagger across the leg of his black jeans to wipe it clean. He tucked it into a sheath hidden under his doctor’s coat, then stepped up to Naveen. “This will only take a few seconds. Hold still. Your arm may feel warm or itchy as it heals, but it won’t hurt.”
“Uh-huh,” was Naveen’s somewhat shaky reply.
Bryce raised his bloodstained left hand, now clenched into a fist, a few inches over Naveen’s splinted arm. “Asclepius, hear my plea.”
Kristin bit her lip to hold back a nervous giggle. The tension in the hospital room, Bryce’s quiet intonation, and his silly-sounding words were almost too much. She glanced at Craig, who’d been quietly watching from his bed. He solemnly watched the terrorist supposedly cast a spell on his friend.
“Heal this man,” Bryce continued. His fist tightened, dripping blood on the bandages wrapped around Naveen’s arm. Naveen flinched, but otherwise stayed still. “I offer my blood to mend his wound.”
The trickle of blood slowed. Naveen frowned at his arm, then at Bryce, and back. “I don’t feel—”
Bryce gasped, his eyes wide, as his bloodied hand opened and slammed down on Naveen’s arm. Naveen shouted and jerked back. He stumbled into the wall, pulling Bryce along with him. “The hell?! Let go of me!”
The terrorist blanched as he fell to his knees, his hand still clamped on the other man’s arm. “Stop… stop…” he gasped.
Craig leaped out of bed and grabbed Bryce’s other arm, pulling him away from his friend. Kristin narrowly avoided colliding with him as she darted to Naveen’s side. She barely knew the Indian man, but wasn’t about to let a terrorist hurt someone who’d been kind to her. She grabbed Bryce’s wrist with one hand and Naveen’s with the other and tried to wrench them apart. When physical strength didn’t work, she added telekinesis. Still the two remained attached.
Kristin gaped at the two men. Bryce was trembling and slumped over, and Naveen panicked, his eyes dilated. “What the fuck! Get him off!”
“Naveen, sleep.” The empathic command in Petra’s words rippled over Kristin’s mental shields. His eyes closed as his body went limp. Kristin managed to get her shoulder under Naveen before he toppled over. She absently noticed that Bryce’s hand slipped free as she struggled to not fall over herself. Naveen was heavy!
Craig, who wore only a hospital gown, stepped over Bryce and ducked under Naveen’s other arm. “Put him on the bed,” he told Kristin, who happily obliged.
Once Naveen was laying down, Kristin and Craig turned to Petra. She kneeled beside Bryce, whose eyes were half open, holding his bloody hand and looking close to panic herself. “Petra?” Kristin ventured.
“I need…” Her voice cracked. “I need a minute.”
Kristin had never seen the older woman so rattled. It scared the hell out of her. “Sure,” she murmured, and turned back to Naveen. She couldn’t help Petra, but maybe she could help him.
Craig seemed to have the same idea. He gave Kristin a sympathetic smile, then untied the sling supporting Naveen’s injured arm. To her surprise, no blood stained the bandages binding Naveen’s forearm. She and Craig carefully unwound them, revealing unmarred skin. Kristin had helped bandage it two days ago; it had been swollen and bruised then.
“It worked,” Craig breathed.
“Yeah,” Kristin said, keeping her voice down. “But why…?” She didn’t bother finishing the question.
“Bryce,” Petra said gently. “You with us?”
Kristin and Craig turned around in time to see an ashen-faced Bryce manage a nod. With Petra’s help he sat up straight, wincing when his lacerated hand touched the floor. He scowled past Craig and Kristin at Naveen. “Keep that thing away from me.”
Episode 9: Gollum
Craig glared at Bryce, who leaned against Petra for support. “Who are you calling a thing?!” Although his voice bounced off the hospital room’s walls, it wasn’t enough to wake up Naveen. His friend was out cold thanks to Petra’s psychic suggestion.
“Him,” Bryce snarled, nodding at Naveen’s prone form on the bed. The witch shrugged off his white doctor’s coat, wrapping one arm of it around his bleeding hand. Without the coat, Bryce looked like an ordinary, if skinny, white guy.
Angry enough to ignore the fact that he wore only a hospital gown, Craig strode over to the terrorist. “Look,” he said, scowling down at Bryce, “I’m grateful that you healed me, really. And my friend, who is not a thing. You—”
Bryce easily met his gaze. “How long have you known him?”
“What does it matter?” Craig shot back.
“Bryce,” Petra warned, “don’t.”
“How long?”
Craig ignored Petra’s admonishment as well. “A year, I guess. So what?” He glanced over his shoulder at Naveen, who was still asleep. Kristen sat beside him, eyeing Bryce warily. Hey, ‘Veen, Craig called. Wake up, man.
“What do you really know about him?” Bryce continued. “Not much, I bet.”
Craig heard Naveen mutter something as he turned to face Bryce. He was about to tell the terrorist where he could shove his stupid, paranoid questions when Kristen spoke up. “If Naveen’s not a sapien or a nict, what is he?” She gave Craig an apologetic look. “For argument’s sake.”
“He’s a golem.”
Craig frowned at him. “A what?”
Petra gave Bryce a sour look. “A creature from Jewish folklore,” she explained. “Sometime in the 1600s, a rabbi supposedly made a man-like creature out of clay to defend his people.”
Naveen propped himself up on one elbow, blinking sleep away. “I’m an atheist,” he mumbled.
Bryce barked a laugh. “You’re whatever your creator wanted you to be.” Craig lowered his mental shields for a moment, and caught a hint of fear from the witch.
Naveen hauled himself to a sitting position. “What the hell are you talking…” He frowned at his healed, unbandaged arm and broke into a grin. “It worked!” Then he looked at Bryce, and his expression darkened. “What was with all the dramatics?”
Bryce sniffed. “It wasn’t dramatics.” He slowly and shakily got to his feet. “Petra, would you take me to the basement?”
“What are you going to do?” Naveen snarked. “Blow it up?”
Ignoring the barb, Bryce said to Petra, “I had other plans for getting out of here, but Golem Boy ruined that.”
Naveen’s puzzled expression would have been comical if not for the tension in the room. “‘Golem Boy?’”
“Later,” Petra said gently but firmly. “I’ll, ah, see Bryce out.” Light flashed, and they were gone.
Naveen looked from Kristin to Craig. “Why was he calling me the creepy little dude from The Lord of the Rings?”
Kristen giggled. “That wasn’t what he meant. But don’t worry. He’s nuts. He must be to be a terrorist.”
“Yeah,” Naveen agreed. Then he grinned at Craig. “Let’s get outta here. Can you, like, Jedi mind-trick your doc so you can leave?”
Craig
gave him a sly grin. “You bet.” The air conditioning kicked on,
raising goosebumps on his bare arms and legs. “Right after I get
dressed.”
***
Craig tilted his head as he studied the odd, twisty carving* that Petra’s weird friend had gifted him. He supposed it was dehydrated pineapple, or maybe that was the beer talking.
After leaving the hospital, he, Kristen, and Naveen had taken the bus to his and Naveen’s apartment. Although the hospital had washed the clothes Craig had been wearing when the ship was attacked, he had no intention of wearing them any longer than necessary. He’d changed into a clean T-shirt and shorts while Kristen and Naveen waited in the living room. Then they went straight to Mike’s. There wasn’t much that a pitcher of Fire Rock Pale Ale and Mike’s bacon cheeseburgers couldn’t fix.
They’d finished their burgers and started their second pitcher of Fire Rock when Kristen remembered the newspaper-wrapped carving she’d stuffed in her purse before they left the hospital room. “From Tim,” she’d half-giggled across the molded plastic table. He was glad she was relaxing a little. Kristen had been quiet and intense for much of the short time he’d known her.
“Dude’s nice,” Naveen said, tilting his plastic chair back on two legs, “but pretty out there. He’d totally hook you up at 4:20.”
“Four-twenty?” Kristen asked.
Craig and Naveen chuckled, prompting a self-conscious blush from Kristen. “Weed,” Craig said. He gestured as if taking a drag on a joint.
“Oh.” She tried not to look embarrassed and mostly failed. “Petra, um, called? talked to me earlier.” She waved one hand near her temple, which Craig took to mean telepathy. “Said she was checking in, and that she’ll catch up with us later.”
“Sure.” Craig stretched, enjoying the evening breeze and long shadows cast by palm trees to the right of the patio. As he reached for his half-full glass, he caught Naveen sneaking another look at Kristen. Suppressing a grin, he said, “So, Kristen, how’d you get mixed up with this loser?”
Naveen mock-scowled at him. “Some friend you are,” he retorted, flinging a french fry across the table.
Craig caught the projectile and ate it, then returned his attention to Kristen. Her expression was a curious combination of amusement and self-consciousness. “Well, um,” she began, “Petra, Miguel, and I were on our way to Strandline. On a freighter. Naveen kind of… appeared.”
Naveen raised his nearly empty glass of beer toward Craig in a salute. “Thanks to you,” he said, his smile genuine. “Why didn’t you come with?”
Craig shrugged. “Dunno. That was the plan. I guess I couldn’t concentrate enough because of the pain. Seriously, man, you don’t want to get burned like that. Shit.”
“I believe it.” Naveen drained the last of the beer from his glass and set it aside. “I totally lucked out. Miguel and Petra said that I could have shown up anywhere. And you have a hell of a reach, man.”
“Huh?” Puzzled, he reached for the pitcher to fill everyone’s glasses.
“You dropped me a few hundred miles east of Strandline.”
Craig hesitated with his hand on the pitcher’s handle. He deliberately avoided his friend’s gaze. “Really?”
“That’s what they said,” Kristen confirmed. “Not that I had any idea where we were. It was ocean in every direction.”
Nodding, Craig filled everyone’s glasses, which emptied the pitcher. After sitting down he took a long swig of beer; he didn’t like what he was hearing. He donned a smile and said, “Definitely lucky.”
Kristen’s eyes darted between Craig and Naveen, but she didn’t comment. Instead she took a sip of beer and asked, “What do you do on the Champlain, Craig?”
He gave her a grateful smile. “More like did, considering the damage to the ship.”
“Bastards,” Naveen grumbled.
“Yeah,” Craig agreed. “I—”
A sharp crack caught him by surprise, and the long, rumbling boom following it even more so. The classic rock sounding from speakers cut off as the lights winked out. Everyone on the patio seemed to hold their breath in the evening gloom. The distant squeal of tires on pavement brought the moment to an abrupt end.
“What the hell was that?” Naveen exclaimed, echoing several other people’s sentiments.
Kristen twisted around in her seat. She peered up at Koʻolau Range, now a dark shadow looming to the northeast. “Is the volcano erupting?”
“No,” Craig said absently as he peered looked around as well. Not all of the city’s power was out. The southeastern part of the city was lit up like a Christmas tree. “The volcano’s extinct.”
A soft hum crescendoed to a whine, then silenced. He wasn’t sure if it was the weird noises or something else that raised the hairs on the back of his neck.
Kristen stood up so quickly that she knocked her chair over. “We’re trapped,” she breathed, her eyes wide.
Naveen took a step toward her. “What? Kristen, it’s—”
“No,” Kristen said, shaking her head and backing away. “You don’t understand. I worked on them.”
The pretty young woman was a hairsbreadth from full-blown panic. Craig stood as well, projecting calm toward her. Either her shields or anxiety rebuffed his efforts.
Kristen’s eyes darted around wildly, then seemed to settle on something to the east. She took off running in that direction, dodging around tables.
“Shit, Kristen! What the hell!” Naveen sprinted after her.
Craig was on Naveen’s heels as he left the patio and headed down the sidewalk. But between the glare of passing cars’ headlights and deepening twilight, he soon was colliding with pedestrians and stumbling over obstacles.
“‘Veen, wait!” Craig shouted as he slowed to a halt. He stepped out of the flow of foot traffic as he caught his breath and waited for his friend to stop. He wasn’t going to break his neck running in the dark, especially when he could teleport to Naveen’s side once the idgit stopped running. So Craig waited, wondering what on earth had spooked Kristen so badly.
Episode 10: Godzilla
If not for the people on the sidewalk he had to dodge around, Naveen would have caught up with Kristen already. She was fast, but his strides were longer, and Kristen was stumbling an awful lot. Odd considering that it wasn’t even dark yet.
Ahead King Street turned sharply to the east, but Kristen seemed oblivious. Finally Naveen grabbed her arm, jerking her to a stop before she collided with the side of L&L Hawaiian Barbecue. The headlights of a passing car threw more light on the obvious obstacle.
Kristen, shaking and panting, blinked at the painted cinderblock wall, then at Naveen. She managed a small smile. “Thanks.”
“Sure,” Naveen shrugged. She didn’t seem like she’d bolt again, so he let go of her arm. “That woulda hurt.”
Kristen just nodded. She put her back to the wall and looked to the south as she caught her breath.
Naveen followed suit. From this vantage point the power seemed to be out in much of the city, presumably from whatever that boom had been. He wouldn’t be surprised if the damned Greenmen claimed responsibility. Why they were suddenly picking on the Republic he didn’t know.
Kristen’s breaths had slowed, but she still wasn’t talking. Keeping worry and frustration out of his voice, Naveen asked, “What were you talking about before? You worked on what?”
She pursed her lips for a long moment. “Godzilla.”
“Huh?”
A blinding burst of light flashed to Naveen’s right. Even as he yelped and threw up his arm to shield his eyes, the glow materialized into Craig. “Jeez, man!”
Craig gave him and Kristen an apologetic look. “Sorry. Everyone okay?” The question was mostly directed at Kristen.
“I guess.” She peered nervously to the south again.
Craig and Naveen followed her gaze. All Naveen saw was a lack of city lights… and smoke. A plume of smoke twisted into the darkening sky.
“What is it?” Craig asked.
“Godzilla, apparently,” Naveen replied. Craig frowned at him. Naveen shrugged and gestured at Kristen. “She said she’d worked on him.”
“It,” Kristen confirmed.
Craig blew out a long breath. “Seeing how there are no overgrown lizards trashing the city, care to elaborate?”
“Faraday cages,” she stated. Naveen and Craig looked at her blankly. “I worked on the containment part of Godzilla, the Faraday cages. They’re electromagnetic fields turned to keep nicts out… or in.”
“That was the whine?” Craig asked.
Kristen nodded. “Yeah. The field generators powering up. It sounded like it came from this direction—” she waved to the east “—so I went this way. Anyone can walk through the field. You just can’t teleport through it.”
Naveen considered that for a moment. “That Farscape thing—”
“Faraday,” Kristen corrected.
“—right, Faraday thing sucks and all, but I don’t see anything to run from. So we’re cool, right?”
Kristen smiled sheepishly. “Right. I keep forgetting this isn’t the Coalition. Even with the palm trees.”
Craig stared at her. “You’re from the Western Coalition?” She nodded, and he laid one hand on her shoulder. “I’m glad you got out.”
She nodded again, but didn’t seem to share Craig’s relief. “So, um, I guess we should go back to Mike’s before they think we were pulling a dine and dash.”
“Good idea,” Naveen grinned.
As they walked west on King Street, multiple sirens sounded from the south. Craig, Kristen, and a few other pedestrians stopped and peered toward the noise.
Naveen stopped and looked as well. He wasn’t surprised to see that the column of smoke had widened. “Just the fire department,” he said.
Kristen stood on tiptoes. “You can see fire engines? I can hardly see my hand in front of my face.”
“Well, no,” Naveen said, choosing not to point out that it was still twilight. “I assume they’re responding to the fire that’s making all of that smoke.”
Craig and Kristen exchanged a look, then faced Naveen. “What smoke?”
Naveen waved at the sooty plume in the distance. “Uh, that one?”
Kristen looked in the direction he’d indicated, then back to him and shook her head. Craig gulped, of all things! “‘Veen, man,” Craig said, his voice hesitant, “I can’t see shit over there.”
“Are you blind?” Naveen pointed straight at the smoke. “Right there!”
“The sun set a half hour ago, Naveen,” Kristen said quietly. Craig nodded beside her.
Naveen frowned at them, ignoring how his stomach had tied into a knot. “You need to get your eyes checked.” Then he nodded toward Mike’s and resumed walking.
Kristen caught up with him moments later. Craig’s soft footsteps were just behind them. “Naveen,” Kristen said with the same quiet, careful tone she’d just used. “I think something happened in the hospital room.”
“No shit,” he shot back. He saw Kristen tense out of the corner of his eyes. “Sorry,” Naveen said with a rueful smile. “I mean, yeah. Something definitely happened.” He held up his formerly broken arm and canted his head toward Craig briefly.
“More than—”
“Hey, I have a question,” Naveen interrupted. He had no desire to think about the craziness in the hospital room any further. “Why’d they call the Farrah Fawcett thing ‘Godzilla’?”
Kristen cracked a smile. “Faraday.” She studied Naveen for a moment, then said, “The Faraday cages are only part of the project.” She lowered her voice a bit more. “It’s a military system to defend against the nict— um, terrorists. We figured that Godzilla was a silly code name.”
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