Lisica Chapters

Thanks for joining us on our Scientist Soap Opera escapist journey to the mysterious island of Lisica! You can find previous episodes in the link above or column on the right. Please don’t forget to subscribe and leave a comment if you enjoy what you find!

Audio for this episode:

20 – Her Lovely Smile Fades

The rain pounds against the bunker. People lie huddled in corners with their lights and screens, trying to block it out. But Jay can’t settle. Just when his ankle has healed and his body has decided it’s time to climb some trees, this fucking storm has shut everything down. He paces through the bunker, weaving between the cells and workstations in endless figure eights.

“Jay.” Flavia’s voice is as cold as the storm. “Please stop walking past my door every fifteen seconds. You are driving me crazy.”

“Sorry, Flavia.” Jay stops. Mandy flashes an irritated glance at him and Amy clucks, shaking her head. Shit. He’s gone and done it again, annoying everyone. It’s hard being a big loud guy sometimes when you’re locked in a little box and you have no ability to turn it down. “Maybe I’ll go do laps in the sub. That’s okay, isn’t it?”

Nobody answers. Nobody has an answer. Most aren’t even listening to him. Finally Triquet calls out, “Go ahead.”

“Thanks, Triq.” Jay heads toward the trap door. “I’ll let you know if I see anything I shouldn’t. Anyone…” He tarries at the stairs heading down. “Hey, you know what I just thought. That NDA we all signed. We can’t say a thing about this whole experience to anyone when we get home, can we?”

Esquibel leans her head out of the clean room and nods. “That is correct. The NDA is completely ironclad. What happens here stays here. Everything.”

“Like Vegas times a thousand. Well well well…” Jay rubs his hands together. “Huh. That’s gotta make things way more interesting here, don’t it? I mean, we could all have like a giant drug orgy every night and nobody would ever know. We could… Huh. Well, the possibilities are endless. I never felt more free.”

And with that innocent observation, he descends the stairs and opens the door to the sub. When it closes, the bunker is silent. Only the wind and the rain fill the space.

Mandy is intent on building her airflow model for the transition zone between the treetops and the cliff face. But Jay’s last words echo in her ears. She looks up at Esquibel, who is studying her with narrowed eyes. Unintentionally, Mandy’s eyes glance sideways at Katrina. She instantly pulls her gaze back to Esquibel, her face growing hot. How could a glance be considered cheating? As if she and Esquibel have made any promises to each other out here anyway. There hasn’t been any point.

But Mandy’s fears are groundless. Esquibel is also looking at Katrina now. The funny thing is that DJ Bubblegum has also stopped working and is herself staring at Triquet with idle fascination. Triquet mutters to themself, shaking their head, as they continue to write out their latest outline, a composite of two earlier outlines that they realize they can now marry since the autopsy. But the breathless pressure of the bunker finally unnerves them. They look up to find all these girls staring at them. “What.”

“I wish we could time it with like a big thunderclap.” Triquet sits with Maahjabeen near the reed door of the bunker. They’ve set up their lights to shine against the walls of the cells in the most theatrical way possible and Katrina is somewhere in back cueing up a slamming house track. “You know, for the first big moment.” The electronic beats start to speed up toward a raucous anthem. “And… action!” Triquet claps their hands together then manually flips the lights off and on in a poor imitation of a strobe.

Amy is first, strutting out of the narrow hall wearing Triquet’s floral housecoat strapped tight around her waist with a wide black sash. Amy’s hair has been tight-braided against her scalp and huge black cat-eyes drawn from the corner of her eyes outward.

She unhooks the sash and winks at them, grinding to the music, then flashes them wearing Miriam’s bodice, which is nearly bursting with middle-aged muscle and cleavage.

Triquet screams like a bobby-soxer and their phone’s flash goes off again and again like paparazzi. Maahjabeen squeals with laughter, unable to applaud, and pulls at Amy’s forearm to get her to cover back up. But Amy, haughty, pulls away and stalks off stage with a steamy glare over her shoulder.

Katrina is next in her rave princess gown of shimmering blue satin, clinging to her. She dances out, showing off the twine sandals she’s made, and busts a move, spanking her own ass. Then she leans over and kisses Triquet, then does the same to Maahjabeen, who only laughs more and pushes her away.

Mandy and Miriam come out together, hand in hand, wearing a collection of scarves wrapped artfully around their bodies. Mandy pulls Miriam into an embrace and begins dancing with her, backs straight, eyes locked. With a brief kiss they dance off-stage.

Then it is Esquibel, her eyes smoked and her lips glossy pink, in a literal wrap she has made of the remaining translucent plastic sheet. It hugs her shadowed clefts and crevices and she moves with sinuous grace. The audience is shocked to see this side of the good doctor, and perhaps there is something in her vulnerability in the way of making amends, but the sight is so stunning all the others can do nothing but goggle. Esquibel’s eyes are closed as she sways lightly to the music, a faraway smile on her face. Then she bumps against Maahjabeen’s legs and her eyes open. She sees how utterly stunned the Muslim woman is and Esquibel laughs, spinning away into Mandy’s embrace.

There is a long pause and the audience begins to grow restless. Finally Pradeep shuffles in, squinting into the light. He wears a safari jacket and white-collar shirt, with an ascot accenting his jaw. But he is painfully uncomfortable as the center of attention, regardless of how dashing he looks. Amy has worked his hair back and it is now a black lacquered helmet pulled back from his high forehead. He puts his hand up over his face. “Can I go now?”

“Oi!” Miriam shouts at him, “we’ll need more quality from you, mate, before we let you sit. Put your hand down.”

“And stop squinting!”

“And start dancing!”

But each command just makes him more and more anxious. He squirms in the light. Finally Maahjabeen rises from her chair and grabs his hands and leads Pradeep back to her seat. “There there. Don’t listen to them. I think you look rather smart.”

Pradeep collapses gratefully into the camp chair, face dark with embarrassment. Then:

From the back, a deep opera baritone sings an improvised line over the house track. Then Flavia and Alonso step into the light.

He is in full drag, wrapped in Triquet’s feather boa with his hair pulled back by an embroidered headband. Blue and yellow eyeshadow stripes his lids and transforms his face like a Kabuki villain. But his lips are red and the gown borrowed from Triquet isn’t even zipped up the back.

Flavia is in a simple black pantsuit with her hair pinned back and a white towel over her forearm. She attends Alonso like a manservant as he careens around the stage in bombastic style.

Alonso sings a mashup of Latin, Italian, and Spanish, rhyming his verses as well as he can, striding back and forth before them blowing kisses and striking poses. The crowd goes wild. It is the best he’s felt in ages.

Amy embraces him. They sway back and forth to the music, unable to keep passé dance moves of the 80s from sneaking in. Soon they are all dancing together, repeating the lyric line that Alonso has invented, “Sueño simplicado…” over and over.

Jay emerges from the trap door and walks through the cells to find the party going full bore. He giggles. “What have I done.”

Ξ

Late at night, a shadow appears at Pradeep’s door. He isn’t asleep. How could he be? They are all dancing the night away. The whole last thirty-six hours has been a nightmare of crashing thunder and close-quarter contact. And now someone wants something from him? Oh dear.

“Do not mind me,” Maahjabeen growls at Pradeep. “I am only here because they have taken over my bed and every other bed. I think they are into Katrina’s drugs now.”

“Ah. Yes. Of course.” Pradeep grips the interior edge of his sleeping bag tight up against his chin, glad that he is still wearing tights and not just boxer briefs as he does some nights. He feels like a spinster aunt caught by the gardener, clutching at his hems.

Maahjabeen enters Pradeep’s cell, head pounding, resentment throbbing in her. She shuffles her feet across the concrete, sure she will find piles of gear there as it is in her own cell. But no, here the floor is austerely clean. Cold. And it will be her bed. She sits.

There is a long silence. Finally Pradeep turns his head and regards her, the silhouette of the woman in his cell backlit by the light outside the cell. “Uh, what are you doing?”

“You don’t have a spare blanket or pillow or anything, do you? I couldn’t rescue any of them.”

“Yes, of course.” Pradeep automatically sits up and offers her his pillow. “I mean… Here. You should go ahead and take my bed. I’m not really using it.”

“No no…”

“I mean, I’m not sleeping. I can’t sleep. I’ll sit up and you sleep.”

“Stop it, Pradeep. La. La. I can’t take your bed.”

“It’s fine. Really.” Pradeep stands. Maahjabeen does too. They face each other in the darkness, a handspan apart. “It’s a warm bag and, uh, you should find that—”

Maahjabeen takes Pradeep’s hand. She kisses him.

He quivers. They separate with a wondering sigh.

“There isn’t, ah… I mean, your family in India…” Maahjabeen’s voice is even huskier than usual. “There isn’t any chance that you come from a Muslim family, is there?”

“Devout Hindu.” Pradeep blinks at Maahjabeen, his dark eyes filled with bewildered concern. “Why did you do that?”

Maahjabeen places her palm against his chest, admiring the flat muscles, amused by the hammering heart beneath. “You are a very beautiful man, Pradeep.”

“Ah. You do know, yes. I was afraid,” he stammers, “that it was a case of mistaken identity and you thought you’d kissed someone else, in which case…”

“Stop.” Maahjabeen pulls him close and kisses him again. There is something of cinnamon to his taste. And salt. She decides he is delicious. With regret, she pulls back. “Are you a practicing, eh, Hindu? Or is there any chance I might someday persuade you to join me in Islam?”

But Pradeep is reeling. Kisses from Maahjabeen are like sips of ambrosia from a holy chalice. “More of an agnostic, really. I’d say. Why are we talking of…? Oh.” His brain catches up, to realize the significance of how she stands, nearly demure, by the side of his bed. “I, uh…” His anxiety is hammering at him, trying to take this night away from him. But he can’t. He won’t let it. He’s stronger now. As a child he had no control of it but now… Now he does. “I don’t know… uh, where my faith or lack of it might lead me. But I really like you, Maahjabeen and, uh… I guess I’m willing to follow wherever you might lead me.”

She draws him back down to the bed.

Ξ

Katrina doesn’t want to disentangle herself from the pile but she really needs to pee. And in this storm doing one’s business has become a major production. So she groans, head pounding, mouth filled with sand, and slides her arms and legs out of the soft embrace of Triquet and Esquibel and Mandy to find Jay passed out, thoroughly crushed beneath them. They literally have been using him as their bed. She giggles despite herself and hauls herself to her feet. A mew of longing escapes Esquibel but she doesn’t even open her eyes.

Katrina careens out of the cell and tries to find her own. But it’s so dark in here and everyone’s in the wrong beds. She finally finds her cell and reaches for her raincoat, bladder near to bursting, and bumps a cot where one isn’t supposed to be. She looks down to see Pradeep and Maahjabeen asleep and naked in each other’s arms.

Katrina gasps in silent shock and shakes her head at the ways of the world. Well well well. Everyone gets lonely after a few weeks. How sweet. She can’t think of two more deserving people. And they would make the most beautiful babies in the entire world.

But where is her bloody cell? She doesn’t have any time to find it. Out of desperation she snares the coat hanging in the corner and hauls it on. Pradeep’s storm coat, still damp and smelling of him, a salty tang. Good. It’s so big it reaches halfway down her thighs. Barefoot. No time to find her shoes.

Katrina hurries for the door. Relieved, she finds her phone in her pocket as she pushes it open. The cold shocks her and she sputters, lighting her way across camp and into the bushes on the far side of Jay’s sodden hammock. This is preposterous. The water is sheeting across the ground. She doesn’t even think she needs to make it all the way to the trenches. They might already be flooded.

With that thought she decides where she stands is as good a place as any and she squats to relieve herself, Pradeep’s giant hood and shell forming a bit of a tent. But she soaked her leggings when she pulled them down and now pulling them back up over her bottom is super unpleasant. She shivers. It’s time to get back to bed.

Then she sees them, a trio of young children from the village above. Lisicans. How long have they been hiding there? They’ve edged out from the shadow of the woods so Katrina can spot them. They wear feather capes smeared with mud, branches sticking out of them. Their eyes are earnest.

Katrina sputters and eventually finds her voice. “G’day, uh, everyone. Your parents somewhere close?” Despite the universal-acceptance vibe that Katrina always has going, this spooks her no end. What if their parents are? How many Lisicans are here? And why? Are there enough to like overwhelm her and carry her away?

The poor dears are drenched, their curly hair plastered against their dark, wide faces. The tallest one points at her with his thumb. It’s a boy, perhaps ten or twelve. He says something to her in his thick impenetrable language. The others echo his words.

She holds an apologetic hand up. “Of course you are always welcome down here. It’s your island, after all. We’re just guests. And we know it. We’ll be gone soon and then…” Katrina shrugs, shivering again. She needs to get back inside and quick. “Then who knows what happens. Life goes on.”

But the cold rain doesn’t seem to affect the children. They regard her solemnly, waiting for her to do something or say something more. Finally the little girl at the boy’s left elbow points at Katrina with her thumb and sing-songs, “Sad…So! So sad… So!”

And with this enchanting warble, Katrina realizes they want her to take her phone out so they can hear Elton John again.

Ξ

When Maahjabeen wakes she is alone in an unfamiliar cot. That must be bad. But a deep languor fills her, making her limbs heavy. She doesn’t want to get up. She likes it here. It is so warm and cozy, and smells like her deepest desires. But where exactly is here?

She rolls her head to the side and sees Pradeep’s clothes hanging from hooks in the reed walls. Ah, yes. Her wild indiscretion. She shakes her head in prim judgment as her eyes roam the walls, studying the one photo he’s hung beside his bed. It is a close-up of insect larvae, a heaped slimy white lump with little black eyes scattered like poppyseeds. Absolutely disgusting. Where others would place a picture of their mother or wife or children, he has these little nightmare slugs. Of course.

Maahjabeen realizes she’s holding her breath. She lets it out in a thin stream, controlling it and forcing herself to be calm. Why is she doing that? Well, obviously, she’s awaiting God’s punishment. Or her own decent self to rise up within her and shame her for her unwed romance. At least when she had sex with Amal she was able to convince herself it was fine because he was a good Muslim boy and they were getting married. But then he met her mother and, well, that’s when it all fell apart. They hated each other on sight and Amal suddenly became controlling and cruel. It hadn’t taken Maahjabeen long to decide that her own freedom had been worth more than the regard of his family or even hers. That had been the beginning of her travels.

She touches herself in the places Pradeep had. Nothing is bruised or hurt. The sex had been more like twisting gently in satin sheets. Lots of sighing. That’s what she remembers most. Pradeep’s long lean body was so delicious, his skin and hair so soft. She could wrap herself in him like a blanket for days.

And, who knows? Maybe the wisdom of the Prophet could cure his anxious mind. And if not the Prophet’s wisdom, perhaps her own. With that thought, she realizes he will never come back to her here in this bed on the morning after. Unless their encounter gave him more heart than she thinks is possible, Pradeep is probably somewhere out there shivering like a PTSD victim. Ha. Is that what she will call her lovers? Her victims? Ha.

Maahjabeen exits Pradeep’s cell to find that Esquibel and Mandy and Triquet and Jay are all in a snoring pile. Alonso and Miriam and Amy are in another, as she can see through the open door of her own cell. They even brought in a second cot so there’d be enough room for all. Even passing out at the end of a party, middle-aged people are so sensible. Maahjabeen aspires to it.

The storm rattles the door. She doesn’t want to go out there and somehow, perhaps because of how abstemious she was last night, she doesn’t need to yet. Is Pradeep out there in the wet and cold? She prays that she didn’t drive him outside with her lust.

Or perhaps he’s down in the sub? Unlikely… but still worth investigating. Maahjabeen crosses the bunker to find it sealed up. Someone has placed heavy bins atop the closed trap door, as if worried about the Lisicans bursting through from below. Odd. She didn’t recall any paranoid passages at the end of the night. But she had fallen asleep long before the others.

She’s just so relieved nobody saw her in Pradeep’s arms.

Then Maahjabeen finds him. He is sitting in Esquibel’s clean room. His hazy brown and black silhouette is seated in the center of the floor, facing the wall. Is he meditating? Then he looks up. No, he is on his phone.

Maahjabeen slips silently within the plastic sheets behind him. She lightly clears her throat and his head twitches to the side. Then Pradeep slowly swivels toward Maahjabeen, eyes unable to hold hers. He quickly looks away.

“Ehh. Good morning. I don’t know what happened last night. If I did anything wrong I am very sorry—”

Maahjabeen steps in and puts a finger against his lips. She leans down and kisses Pradeep. He holds her chin gently, his lips and fingertips trembling. She pulls back and gives him a dimpled smile. “I know you are. But la! Listen to me, Pradeep. You do not get to use me and our night together as more fuel for your panic. Not me. Not last night. That was too nice.”

She releases him. Pradeep blinks at her, his gaze wounded, filled with disbelief. He can only repeat, “Ehh…”

Maahjabeen laughs at him.

“Really?” Pradeep can’t make the next leap. The big one. Of all the scenarios he had concocted about how this morning might unfold, this one had never occurred to him. Maahjabeen still likes him? Even after last night? Madness. He looks up at her with wonder. She is astoundingly beautiful. Her skin is polished bronze, her hair a disordered black river. Her wide-set eyes gaze at him with level affection. This is like when his mum used to get Glamour magazines and he would take them into the bathroom to stare at the models in the perfume ads, amazed that such beauty could exist. And here is a model just for him. Impossible. He has never been attracted to the women most men consider pretty. Usually he is first drawn to a woman’s mind. But in this miraculous case he is being offered both. A brilliant, ferocious mind and the beauty of a goddess. For a moment he believes in reincarnation again. What amazing sacrifices did he make in some past life to earn all this?

Pradeep lifts a hand to touch her incredible face but stops short. She must hate being objectified. He remembers this lesson from his cousin Ashra. Pretty girls grow up different, always under a lens. They become self-conscious and hardened to the attention. The last thing he wants to do is objectify her. He drops his hand.

But Maahjabeen catches it and lifts it to her cheek. She presses it against the side of her face, her cheekbone settling into his hand. This feels so good. She won’t let him retreat back into his hole.

Pradeep can’t handle the unbearable vulnerability in her gaze. He flushes, his eyes welling with tears, and drops them. But she lifts his chin.

Maahjabeen softens her gaze. It is no longer a yearning. Now it is a confident belief in him. In them. She finds herself falling so far so fast now. He better be okay with being Muslim because she’s never felt anything like this before and she can’t imagine ever letting it stop. Wait. Is this what Alonso and Miriam felt, that day on the beach in the rain? It had seemed excessive when it happened but now maybe she understands. Nothing is sweeter than love. It has its own holiness. She covers her mouth with her hand. “And we can even share the water.”

It’s a random, bizarre statement but Pradeep instantly divines what she means. For some reason, this is the signal he needed to truly believe that he really can be loved. Maahjabeen means the ocean. They can paddle together in the places most important to her. The compliment she has just given him rings through him like a bell. How fantastic. The ocean goddess has looked upon him with favor. This is like falling under the spell of a mermaid to live with her for a thousand years under the waves. He is blessed.

Adoration for Maahjabeen rushes through Pradeep. Suddenly he needs to know everything about her. First he will learn her language and eat her food and meet her family and study her religion. Islam? Sure. Anything that will allow him to stay near this miraculous creature. Or is that objectifying too? He really doesn’t want to do that. Perhaps she is the essence of humanity and he is the creature, something weird and malformed outside the realm of normal men. But no. The way Maahjabeen looks at him… For perhaps the first time Pradeep doesn’t feel like he is alone and cold outside, looking in on the laughing crowd. He is the one who is in. This is inside. He is inside the world for once, with her. And it is glorious. Pradeep stands and Maahjabeen steps back.

His eyes are dark and burning, filled with an intention she has never seen. But it is not alarming. There is a compelling masculine allure to his gaze. Maahjabeen melts within it. Pradeep squeezes her hands so hard they hurt. He pulls her close.

They kiss. Maahjabeen collapses against his strength, marveling at it. This is the most romantic moment of her life. She feels like a movie star.

No. Better. She feels like the beloved of a worthy man.

Ξ

Alonso’s eyes snap open. Limbs cross his. His back is cold. Oh no. He is back in the yama. The punishment pit the torturers threw him in when they were done with him. The yama was deep and cold and he was never the only one in there. The bodies were broken. Some had been dead. The smell… He did not think that stench would ever fully wash away. Rats came in the night. Blue bare legs across his chest. Crushed hands, twitching.

He finds a strength he never had in the yama before. He pushes the limbs off him and rises up…

Miriam and Amy fall away. Amy gets pushed straight off the cot onto the platform. They both look stupidly up at Alonso, blinking sleep out of their eyes.

He is naked in the center of the cell, eyes far away, panting like he’s run a marathon. Miriam reaches for him, her voice muzzy with the final stages of a drug trip. “No, Zo. It’s okay. I’m here.”

“Aaah!” His eyes finally clear and he sees what he has done. The relief knifes through him with a delicious thrill and as he stoops down to help Amy back into bed he remembers how they rolled around like children for hours the night before. What joy. The intense swing from terror and despair to luxurious pleasure is almost too much for his heart and brain to encompass.

“Oh my god…” Amy croaks, shaking her head sadly. “Are you okay, Lonzo?”

He registers her words distantly. At first it sounds like just a general question but then she touches the scars on his chest. The brands and punctures. He reflexively jerks away but then realizes he doesn’t need to. He is safe. He closes her hand over them. “Yes, dear one. These wounds, they are closed now.” Brave words. Maybe someday he can make them come true.

But he’s not fooling anyone. He had just thrashed his way out of bed like he was fighting to get out of hell. “Come back,” Miriam pouts, her gaze still clouded with hallucinations. “Let me put my arms around you.”

“Yes.” Alonso smiles down at Amy and Miriam, his eyes still sad. With effort he tells himself, “This is good. This is… love. Health. Happiness. It is like the preamble to our own constitution, no? It guarantees the right to parties and sex and dreams coming true.” He runs his hands along Amy’s body. He still isn’t used to it in moments like this. When they had been together long ago Amy had been a boy and Alonso had adored his little square hardness. But it turned out that Amy had a very clear sense of who she was, and after years and decades of quiet desperation, had realized that the hardness was exactly who she wasn’t. It degraded her like an infection, one she couldn’t get rid of for ages. She told Alonso of the beatings when she wore dresses as a young boy and how she’d never forgotten the shame. But cross-dressing was just so true, the truest thing she’d ever done.

Alonso leans down and kisses Amy before rolling over her onto the bed. He settles with a sigh. Miriam digs her pointy chin into his chest. She takes a sharp breath, to clear her head and engage speech centers like a normal human. “Something I noticed, eh?”

“How good I look naked?”

“Well, of course, love, always. But no, when you jumped up you didn’t react to your feet. Think about it. The whole time you stood. Nary a grimace nor a scowl.”

“I think you’re right.”

“How do they feel now?”

“Pulpy.”

Amy cuddles close. “Mmm. Octopus.”

Alonso laughs. “Yes, basically, I have two octopi at the bottom of my legs today. It is like some of your kinky Japanese porn, Amy.”

“Not my porn, you pervert. I can’t stand hentai. It’s all about controlling women and invading them. Super gross.”

Miriam sighs. “Isn’t everything?” She runs her fingers through Amy’s hair. Her eyes are starting to clear. “I kind of don’t want this to end. Eight weeks seemed a long time at first but now it doesn’t seem long enough. I don’t need to go back to all that shite.”

“If we weren’t gonna run out of ramen packets in the next five weeks, I’d agree.” Amy glories in the warmth of Alonso’s body. It has been far too long since she could just cuddle someone all night long. It restored her in a way she’d forgotten she needed. And what a way to get restored! Alonso was one of the most beautiful boys she had ever seen and being with him had been her every dream come true. Now, he is barrel-chested and smells musty but he is still one of the great loves of her life. So is Miriam. The warmth spreading through Amy turns into contentment. She is home, where she is understood, accepted, and loved.

They begin to drowse again. But it is only moments before movement in another cell prevents them from drifting away.

“AlphaFold.” Flavia’s eager voice is like an alarm. She is already awake, standing in the door of this cell. Her words startle them and Alonso jolts awake. Miriam, in his embrace, stirs but doesn’t open her eyes. Amy rolls over and throws a comforting arm over him. She settles again as Alonso unsticks his eyes and regards Flavia.

“What did you call me?”

Flavia sits on the side of the bed with her laptop and one of the Dyson readers. “I was smoking one of Jay’s mad blunts last night and it hit me. The characteristics of the math in the Dyson interface reminded me of something but I couldn’t remember what. Then I remembered. While I was dancing. What do you know of AlphaFold?”

“Yeah, I know those guys. It’s a distributed software platform, right? It predicts folding proteins. But my knowledge is five years old. They have advanced?”

“So much. Their refinement transformations have revolutionized the field. People are unironically calling it specialized A.I. now. So that’s just what DeepMind and Google are able to do in the public sphere. But these Dyson readers are from the black labs and their science fiction advances that nobody knows. So I started hacking the reader, to integrate it with a bit of Plexity here, and I realized they have gone so much farther. Look.” She turns her laptop to show him columns of numbers. “Here is one of Pradeep’s latest samples. A marine bacterium called Prochlorococcus marinus marinus. Now the channels have already rendered the sample down to the chromosomal level but the proteomic readout it provides is what reminded me of AlphaFold. At their conferences they theorize that with enough computing power they can not only predict the folding of every protein but also take those proteins back in time, tracing the origins of each genetic lineage. Here. You see this work here? It looks like a bizarre simple algorithm, no? Well they must have some super geniuses in those labs because that is the most astounding piece of mathematics I have ever seen. These readers. They must have like a terabyte of memory in them or more. Look, Alonso. We can even turn the visualizations on. That is thanks to Katrina. See? The bacterium goes back in time, only a tiny number of superficial mutations over such a long time. Very stable genome. But here. Now I will show you this blood sample from one of the sea gulls that Amy got. You get down to the proteomic level, and… I mean, it’s a whole story. It’s like taking any organism back to all its earlier versions of itself. Incredible.”

Alonso goggles at the richness of the data revealed to him. His mind whirls with an infinity of possibilities. But the deepest insight is the most thrilling. “Time… Time itself vanishes from our studies. Or becomes an independent variable that we can tune to our liking. Astounding. But I need…”

Flavia shakes the reader in his face. “The most incredible thing I have ever held! Who knew they were working so hard on life sciences? I thought it was all lasers and bombs in those secret labs.”

Alonso grunts. “Such a Devil’s choice. Live in comfort. Every resource is yours. No more grant writing ever again. Just pure research. Or at least that’s how I imagine it. Now that I say it out loud I figure it must be just as deadly as academia, just with bigger budgets and secret oversight. Horrible. But before you say another word, Flavia, you have to get me one of those cups of espresso so I can think like a human being again.”

“Sì. Aspetta un momento.” She disappears and Alonso shakes his head, listening to the rain sheeting against the metal roof. Well things could definitely be worse. They certainly became a family last night. And after such a bitter fight between Esquibel and Miriam… One of his last memories is watching the two of them intertwined on the dance floor, weeping, gripping each other’s hands. Perhaps the Kenyans fight like the Irish do, fiercely but with much forgiveness after.

“Was that important?” Miriam’s voice comes from faraway. “It sounded important.”

“Very. But don’t you worry your pretty little head, my love. You need more sleep after your big day.”

“Mmm.” Miriam settles. “Can’t sleep. Drugs are bad, Zo.”

“They always are the next day, yes.”

“The pictures in my head were so cool for the first few hours but now it’s been all night. I just want them to stop.” Yet her words trail away and soon she is out once more.

“What day is this?” Alonso has lost all track of time. He picks up his phone and consults it. “April second. Twenty-three days. Thirty-five left. That means that yesterday was April Fool’s. Yes. That is definitely what it was. A day for fools. Por supuesto.”

Just as Alonso is about to fall back to sleep he is roused once more. Why won’t Flavia give them just one or two more hours?

But it isn’t Flavia. It’s Esquibel. “Doctor Alonso.”

He grunts, opening his eyes again.

“It is Katrina. She is missing.”

They dress as quickly as they can, forcibly reminded of the dangers the island holds. “Where is Flavia?” Amy asks. “Does she know?”

“She is helping us look.”

“Could Katrina be in the sub?” Amy asks.

“We blocked off the trap door last night. The bins are too heavy for one person to move. And they haven’t been moved.”

“So she’s outside…?” Amy shakes her head, dubious. The rain has been unrelenting for about eighteen hours. Anyone outside would be in danger of getting literally washed away.

Jay returns from his initial sweep of the camp. He went out with no raingear and his base layers are drenched. “No sign. All the shelters are down and empty.” He’s already shivering. Maahjabeen appears with a towel and starts vigorously scrubbing his back.

Triquet is the first one fully suited up. “Okay. I’ll start at the trenches then move my way back toward the waterfall pool. Whoever comes next, start at the pool.”

“Will do.” Amy only needs to find her boots then she’ll be right out after them.

Triquet swings open the door, bracing for the cold.

Katrina stands outside, reaching for the door herself. She is completely soaked and trembling, nearly blue.

Triquet exclaims wordlessly and hauls her inside.

“Towels! More towels!” Amy calls out, hustling for the stove. Hot water is the answer here, and as soon as possible.

Esquibel kneels before Katrina, who only stands silently before them, shaking hard. Mandy wraps her in an embrace and Katrina sags against her. “Someone like boil water!”

“It’s coming!” Amy’s voice calls out.

Esquibel inspects the dear girl’s fingers and toes for signs of hypothermia. But nothing is purple and swollen. Nothing seems painful to the touch. Just exposure. And a dangerously low core temperature. “We should put her in a bath. Hurry.”

“Ha. We have no bath,” says Flavia. “Or I’d be in it every day.”

Maahjabeen says, “A kayak. Waterproof, eh? Can keep water in as well as keep it out. Come, Triquet. Help me.” She pulls on her storm shell and joins Triquet at the door.

Pradeep says, “Are you sure you want to put hot water inside the kayak, Maahjabeen? What if it damages it?”

“First we will save Katrina and then I will worry about that.” Then Maahjabeen ducks out into the storm, Triquet on her heels.

Mandy mothers Katrina, murmuring baby words as she strips the shell and her soaked clothes from her. “Somebody find her something fresh and dry. Where are her bags?”

Miriam roots around in the duffels they brought in and stowed beneath the workstations. “This one’s Katrina’s yeah?” She holds up a bright yellow sack, then unzips it before hearing any answer. She brings it all to Katrina, pulling out a heavyweight thermal top. “Here, love. This one looks warm.”

Pradeep has taken over toweling Katrina’s naked body. She looks like a forlorn waif rescued from the gutters, hair plastered against her head. But he balks at her private parts. Mandy takes over, making sure the icy water is all gone. Then she wraps Katrina up again as Amy appears with the first steaming pot.

Esquibel makes compresses and puts them across the base of Katrina’s neck, the inside of her wrists, and the tops of her thighs. “More water, please. A steady supply.”

“Yes. Of course.” Amy hurries back to the kitchen.

“We just need to get your core warm, darling.” Esquibel puts a hand on Katrina’s face and smiles at her. But Katrina is in shock or otherwise incapable of speech. She only looks urgently outward, at a point just beyond Esquibel’s face.

The door opens and Pradeep holds it wide as Triquet backs in carrying one end of Aziz. “Sorry it took so long. The whole platform is a shambles. Had to pull it out.”

“Not the… Love Palace!” They are Katrina’s first words and everyone cheers. But her teeth chatter too much to add more.

“Not too hot!” Esquibel calls out to Amy. “Gradual increase is better than a sharp shock!”

“Then I might be ready now! Jay! Give me a hand!” There are four pots in the kitchen that are eight liters or larger. Amy has filled them all with lukewarm water. Now they pour one after the other into the kayak, nearly filling it.

Esquibel and Pradeep lift Katrina. Maahjabeen guides her stiff legs into the cockpit until she is sitting within. “Okay,” the doctor says. “Now gradually increase. You can pour boiling water bit by bit. Maybe in this back hatch.”

“Coming up! Jay, fill the pots with me. Rainwater’s fine.”

“I call next bath.” Triquet peels off their rain gear and shivers as well. “That rain is so damn cold.”

Mandy stands behind Katrina, breathing hot breaths onto the base of her neck. The poor sweet dear. How could she do this to herself? Mandy can never forgive herself for letting Katrina slip out of their lovely little dog pile. What had Mandy been thinking?

Katrina spasms and then releases a long-held breath. Her words come in bursts between chattering teeth. “Oh my god. So cold. But they… kept me… out of the rain.”

“Who did?” Flavia pushes herself through the crowd to face Katrina, her face a storm. “Wetchie-ghuy?”

“No. No…” Katrina shakes her head and smiles at the memory. “It was the kids. They missed the music. I played them music when we left… and they wanted to hear more. That’s all.” She leans back as hotter water makes its way to her. “Aaahhh. Thanks, Amy. That’s… uh, that’s better than sex.”

They all laugh. But Katrina’s eyes catch on Pradeep’s. Hers sparkle merrily. His face flushes with heat. Wait. Does she know? How does she know? Uh oh. She was wearing Pradeep’s shell. How had she gotten it? It was hanging right beside his bed. Oh.

“Did they take you back to the village?” Miriam cracks the door open to see if she can spot any villagers out there in the morning rain. But the camp is empty.

“Not the village. They have another cave. One we hadn’t found. So big. Nice and dry too. We just played with my phone and sang songs… all night. It was… it was actually… really nice.”

But Pradeep no longer hears what Katrina is saying. He has to deal with the fact that his huge transgression is public knowledge. Stricken, he looks across the room at Maahjabeen. She is smiling, listening to Katrina’s story. But as she sees the look on Pradeep’s face, her lovely smile fades.