Lisica Chapters

Thanks for joining us for the second volume of 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:

24 – On Fire

“We couldn’t get anywhere close to the opening above. Jay said it was pretty choked with branches. All dead. Like somebody threw them in from above with the intention of stopping it up.”

“But there’s a platform? At the top?” Mandy’s knife has stopped chopping. She likes so much of what Amy is saying. Finally, a way up the cliffs to the spot of her dreams! This could be her own private access point, where she wouldn’t have to depend any more on Katrina and the drone or the goodwill of the Lisicans. She could build a proper weather station up there. If there’s enough room on the clifftops she could even set up camp…

Amy finishes washing and stacking the prep dishes. “I mean, after breakfast I can show you what I saw… Maybe someone has better binoculars. Maahjabeen’s look pretty beefy. Or we can fly the drone over it.”

“That’s totally what we should do.” But first Mandy needs to finish chopping the rehydrated mushrooms. The pan is already on and the oil is starting to sizzle. “Have I told you yet how much I adore you, Amy, for bringing mirin?”

“Don’t leave home without it!” Amy beams, happy someone appreciates the little things. She opens a tin of water chestnuts and adds their water to a boiling pot.

“Jay!” Mandy calls out. “Tell me!” He emerges from a cell, disheveled, his face still puffy with sleep. He only blinks at her. “The chimney! Filled with branches. Amy said you couldn’t climb it but what do you think: could someone smaller, like me?”

Jay stares at her, clearing his head. He slept so poorly. He’d never realized what a restless sleeper he is. But any time he had the impulse to switch positions or shift his legs he’d freeze up, afraid of waking Flavia. She’d been plastered against him all night, snoring like a sailor. Now his back is stiff and his hip doesn’t work right.

He needs some yoga before anyone hits him with complete sentences like this today. And this feels like a prime candidate for a wake and bake. Finally he collects his thoughts. “No way, dude. It’s totally stuffed. Nothing could get through bigger than one of those foxes I bet. They really did a number on it. I figure it must have been the villagers, bringing in logs and branches from topside and just dropping them in for years on end.”

“But I want to get to the top! The data, bro. Think of the data.”

Jay nods at her, recognizing a fellow scientist’s passion. “Yeah, you’d get heaps. Well. Uh. I don’t know. We could just 420 blaze it and start a fire at the base. Wouldn’t take long, I figure. It’s all old deadwood at this point. Be kinda cool. Anyway, can I steal a cup of hot water? My cottonmouth is gnarly.”

Mandy clears her cutting board, pushing all the ingredients into the pan. Amy drops wide noodles in the pot. Nice. This will be like a Pad Thai. If they only had fresh cilantro.

“Katrina. Darling.” Mandy sees her slim silhouette moving near the door. She wipes her hands on a dishtowel and hurries after her.

Katrina bestows a sweet smile on Mandy. “Morning, love.”

“I have a favor… I mean, what kind of battery life does the drone get? Could it do two trips today?”

“Not on a single charge.”

“Oh. That stinks. I want to check out this new spot. But I don’t want to lose a day of weather data. Hm.”

“But we do have two batteries.”

“Oh! Right.”

“Swap them out and away we go again. Where we going?”

“Amy found a platform on the cliff. Way up high. Sounds perfect for a permanent meteorology base.”

“Like… what kind of platform? Like a big bird nest or…?”

“She saw like actual boards.”

“Ooo. Sexy. Well let me just get cleaned up and then let’s get your station data. Then we can hunt for that platform.”

They meet on the beach a half hour later. Maahjabeen’s binoculars, 18×56 monsters that can cleanly resolve the top of the cliff, have little trouble finding the single pale board sticking out like a broken bone from the cliff face above. There is a brief flicker of white as a bird or animal crosses the lower left corner of Amy’s view, but it is instantly gone. She hands the glasses to Mandy and points, directing her gaze upward.

“Oh my god they’re so heavy. This is crazy. Where am I looking? Oh. There. Yeah, that’s a board. Woohoo! An actual board! See, Katrina? That’s where we’re headed.” She passes the binoculars on. Excitement bubbles in her and she hops up and down.

“Righteous.” Katrina fixes the spot in her mental map of the cliff as she removes the drone from its carrying case. She puts on the headset. “First, the weather station. Then the drone.”

The wind today is heavy and wet from the west. It smells like Kamchatka, mossy and ancient. The drone fights against its gusts. They drop Mandy’s little station to the beach and download its data. But before they return it to its spot above, they use the drone to investigate the platform first. If it’s ready, they can just drop the weather station on it until they can get better access.

To Mandy’s bitter disappointment the platform is unusable. The planks of what used to be a wide deck have been busted up and the few remaining intact boards are tilted at such an angle it would be impossible for the weather station to stand unaided. As is, this platform will provide no benefit over the spot they already have.

“Aw, sorry, Mandy. It was a good idea, though. And thanks again for that yummy breakfast. Probably our best one yet.” Katrina leads Amy back to camp. But Mandy stays where she is. It feels like black steam is rising in her, a mix of despair and fury. This defeat is harder to take than all the rest. Everyone around her is doing groundbreaking world-class science and she’s just marking windspeed and temps like a fucking college freshman.

She stares at the broken platform again. Ugh. And it’s in such an ideal location. That must be why the Air Force put it up there. A forward observation post or radio or weather platform, with like an unobstructed three-hundred degree view. Only a small ridge blocks the north, but that probably protects it from the worst weather too. Perfect.

Crap. Why does she always have to be the unlucky one?

Ξ

Triquet emerges from the sub deep in thought. They grasp a folder in careful hands. Without saying a word to anyone they cross through the bunker and pass outside into the camp. In this moment, Triquet’s mind is entirely blank. They still won’t let the magnitude of what they found impact them yet. They need to share it with Alonso first.

He’s sitting in his camp chair on the big platform, facing the sea. Alonso works on his laptop. Plexity is really up and running now and its founder is very pleased. Thanks to Katrina, the content can be accessed in a number of linear and non-linear ways. And he is gaining a new appreciation for Jay, who is collecting far more samples and specimens than everyone else combined. Amy is right. The boy has a gift.

But now someone needs his attention. “Yes, Triquet?”

“Do you have a moment, Alonso? Actually maybe more than a moment. It might actually be a lot of moments.”

“Yes? What is it?” Alonso scrolls through a column of bivalve findings, wondering how they can be presented in a more Plexity way, with more linking perhaps, between the salinity of the water and the calcium accumulations of the shells… The sharpness of Triquet’s eyes pricks at him again. “Yes, Triquet?”

“I’m sorry, Alonso. I just need your full attention for this. Please let me know when you can give it. I can wait.”

“Mierda.” Alonso sighs deeply to fight off his dark thoughts. Then he puts Plexity once again on a shelf and turns to Triquet.

Triquet’s eyes flicker upon regarding Alonso’s face. Wait. Who is this leonine godlike figure? The man is transformed from when he first got here. The beard is gone, the black and silver curls are now piled back, making his high forehead even higher. His eyes are dark and sharp and clear. “Whoa. Alonso. Look at you. You look great. Oh my god. You know who you look like?”

“Raúl Julia. Yes, it has been said to me…”

“No, that’s not it. Who is it…? I know! You look just like the dad from the Addams Family. Gomez Addams.”

“Yes! That is who I mean! That is Raúl Julia! There is no way that Triquet of all people doesn’t know the great Raúl Julia!”

Triquet drops the act, giggling and swatting Alonso’s arm. “Of course I do. Kiss of the Spider Woman is my favorite movie. I’m just fucking with you. And you do, you look like his cousin. Aw, I miss him. Definitely died too young. But no. Serious stuff now. You’re busy. Okay. I just made a bit of a discovery in the sub. Well, rather, I finally had time to take a closer look at some trash the Air Force left behind, and in the bottom of the bag I found a bunch of torn up black and white photos.”

“Torn up?” Alonso looks soberly at Triquet. “Ai mi. I’m not going to like the sound of this, am I?”

Triquet shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. It’s the truth. And that’s what we’re here to find, right? Whether it’s the interactions between bugs and plants or between people from long ago. It’s all the truth, regardless of what it means.”

“And what does it mean?”

Triquet presses their mouth into a thin line. They wish for a fleeting moment they were in a less garish fit during such a profound moment than the pink satin vest with sequins but it is what it is. They open the folder.

“This definitely took a few hours of puzzle work. And a couple of the pieces might be off…” The photo had been torn into tiny bits, then painstakingly put back together with scotch tape on the back. Its innumerable edges stick up like furred ridges. “But I think it’s pretty indisputable…”

Triquet must have worked intensely on this to rebuild it. Alonso shakes his head in wonder at the amount of work done and peers closely at what is shown him. In the photo, a woman with blonde curls holds a small Lisican child with blond curls on her lap. She smiles at the camera. The child fingers her chin. Alonso blinks. “Is that, uh…?”

“Maureen Dowerd. Yes. It’s got to be. And this is the center of the entire mystery. Right here.”

“And this mystery…?” Alonso pulls back. He doesn’t even want to touch the photo. He still sees this entire subject as a distraction. Why, it’s distracting him from Plexity right now.

But Triquet has another photo to share. This one is dark and blurred, the tears almost making it unidentifiable. Yet two faces can be seen, one dark and one pale. Kissing.

Alonso looks up with a grimace. “This feels so… I don’t know, Triquet, intrusive. Okay. So she had a Lisican lover. So what?”

Triquet spreads their hands across the photos. “She had a Lisican baby, Alonso. These were the final clues that had it all fall into place. It’s all proven now. The blonde curls. The betrayed child who became an old lady. This is the evidence. Photos they tore to pieces. I’m just glad they didn’t burn them. Think about it. It all makes sense now. Maureen Dowerd told them she’d be back some day but she never did because good-bye became known as betrayal after they killed her and buried her in the grove.”

“Wait. I missed something. Who did? Who killed her?”

Triquet falls silent. “Well, that’s what we still don’t know,” they finally manage. “But now we’ve got motive. Who knows? Jealous lover. Racist lieutenant. Maybe it was one of the Lisicans? We just don’t know. But now it’s time.”

“Time? Time for what?” Alonso rubs his forehead in irritation. He doesn’t like the sound of this. It has the sound of something that will even further delay his plans.

“Time to talk to the Lisicans about what they know. I’m going to put together a little presentation for them. Documents and photos. We’ll record the whole thing. See what they say then try to break down the translation later. This is big, Alonso. This is, like, potential criminal liability. There’s any number of scenarios here where the American military conducted some kind of violent mission against an undiscovered, unregistered native population. That’s an actual international crime. And for a very good reason.”

“Slow down. Slow down, Doctor…” Alonso holds up his hands. Ye gods, this crazy archaeologist is going to get his entire project shut down. “This is just conjecture so far. You don’t know any of that. It’s just an interpretation. Look in your hands. All you have is two photos of happy people.”

“I’ve got a body in a grave right over there, Alonso.”

“Absolutely. I’m not disputing that. It’s just…”

“Just what?” Triquet shares a troubled gaze with Alonso. This resistance is not at all what they expected. The old man needs to understand that this is a far more serious issue than he evidently does. Their careers could be at stake.

Alonso registers the fire in Triquet’s eyes and relents. He sighs again. “I guess I’m just thinking it’s so old. Sixty years. All these people are gone. Whatever statute of limitations…”

“She’s still alive, Alonso!” Triquet points at the cliffs, indicating the crone in the village. They wish their voice hadn’t come out so shrill. Being accused of hysterics would help nothing. But Triquet is invested in this story now. They need justice for the memory of Maureen Dowerd and the plight of the long-suffering Lisicans. At least until evidence appears that contradicts this scenario, that is. “And telling an archaeologist that sixty years is too long ago is like telling you that opera sounds like nursery rhymes.”

Alonso lifts a hand. This is outside the scope of… of whatever he is capable of dealing with at the moment. Restless irritation shivers through him. “Fine. That is fine. You know, I have already delegated the investigation of this—this issue to you and Doctor Daine. Please discuss it with her.”

Triquet can’t believe Alonso is so cavalier about this island’s dark past. Does he just not appreciate history? How can a scientist operate like that? Triquet has the archaeologist’s deep conviction that without knowing the past we cannot know ourselves. Does Alonso not want to know himself? Well, after all he’s been through lately, maybe not.

Triquet nods, looking away. “Yes. Well. Fine. We will write a report and present our findings shortly.” Their voice is prim and professional. But Alonso doesn’t take note. He is already back at work on Plexity.

Triquet leaves him and finds Miriam instead. She is in the bunker at a workstation collating contextual data that will allow her mineral surveys to be uploaded into Plexity.

Triquet’s gravity makes her turn and make space on the cooler she sits on. Triquet sits beside her. Miriam’s eyes fall to the folder.

Triquet realizes how much easier this is going to be. Without a word, they take out the first picture of Maureen Dowerd and the child, then the second of the two people kissing.

Miriam looks at them for a long moment. “Blonde curls.”

Triquet sighs. “Exactly. I tried to tell Alonso but he didn’t have time for it. What is wrong with him? He’s still in denial about how important the Lisicans are to this entire project.”

“He is worried about time, that’s all.”

“Why is he worried about anything? Shouldn’t he be happy now? I thought they all dragged him down into the Captain’s quarters for a Molly orgy. What happened with that?”

“They said he cried for five hours and then fell asleep. There is just too much in there for it to all be healed in one session. Katrina said he has a lot more crying to do.”

“I guess it made him crabby.” Triquet sits back. “That’s what I get for proposing something new and difficult the day after a big binge. Well. Here’s my plan: I’m going to return to the village. I need to talk to them about what they know. But I can’t go alone. Will you come with me?”

“Now?”

“No, I need to… Well, I’m putting together a powerpoint for those folks first. So, like, after lunch?”

“A powerpoint? For the Lisicans? Who else are you bringing?”

“Well. Not Flavia. And not Amy, that’s for sure. And I guess not Alonso. Anyone else is welcome to join. Katrina is probably a good choice. Not too many of us…”

“Will I get a chance to do any fieldwork while I’m there?”

“Uh. Yeah, I guess that’s what we’re all doing. I guess so.”

“Splendid. I’ll bring my best samples and see if they can tell me anything about them. Maybe where I might find more.”

Ξ

Pradeep runs his fingers along Maahjabeen’s skin, from the curve of her bare hip down to her knee. Her skin is so indescribably soft. He can’t stop touching it. But his touch doesn’t seem to be making her happy. Now that he is growing used to making love with her and starting to take more chances, she is suddenly twitching away from the contact like a cat.

“What is it?” His voice echoes in the sea cave, in the silence between waves splashing the rocks. They lie on a blanket on a rock shelf near the entrance. The two kayaks are out of the water and all evidence of them is out of sight-lines from any who might enter the sea cave from the inland tunnel. They are hidden. Private. And yet she pulls away. “Should I not…?” Pradeep lets his hand fall.

Her brows pinch in frustration. She grabs his hand. “No. It’s not that. I mean… I just find this all very weird. All this… this gentle focus on my body. It’s just a body. No need for hesitation. And all these questions. I never had a lover like you before. Like, I’ve read in books about boys who don’t manhandle women, but who are generous and sweet in bed, but the best I’d ever gotten was spoiled or sulking. I—I don’t know what to do with all this attention, Pradeep. I’m not so special. You don’t have to touch me like that if you don’t want.”

“Don’t want?” He laughs. “I can hardly keep my hands off you!”

She laughs, but still squirms under his caresses. “I am sorry. It may take a long time for me to un-learn that I am… ehh…”

He stops again. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I only want you to feel as good as I do.”

“Don’t worry. You already made me feel… things I have never felt.” Maahjabeen recalls how sultry that night had made her, how she’d been filled with a secret magical power that allowed her to overcome all her normal barriers to friendship and love and find physical and emotional pleasure in the arms of this stunning man. “I just don’t know… how… or what we are supposed to do with each other on a regular basis when we aren’t currently swept away with passion. Moving forward. It shouldn’t become an obligation.”

“My mother said when I was a baby I loved to cuddle. Honestly, Maahjabeen, just lying here pressed up beside you is as great an intimacy as, uh, anything. I don’t need sex.”

“You… don’t?” Now this is a bit too much for Maahjabeen to believe. Who is this man, seemingly divorced from all the passions that rule his gender? What kind of ascetic bullshit do they teach their boys in India? Now she feels a bit sorry for him.

Maahjabeen rolls even closer against Pradeep and kisses him, his mouth tasting of sandalwood. She slides her legs between his and feels him stir against her inner thigh. That’s what she thought. “Are you sure you don’t have any… expectations?”

“Well… eh…” Pradeep is taken aback by her sudden turn. He is blinking as fast as he ever has. “I’m sorry, I did mean to ask you about protection. Pulling out isn’t something we can depend on…”

“Yes, I am on the birth control pill for my cycles. I would never have allowed you in otherwise. But I did make assumptions about your recent sexual partners… I shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have. As scientists, we should have discussed it.”

“Absolutely. You’re right. Oh good. I was very worried. Thank you for taking that responsibility. But I also tried to be very careful. And also, the burden of birth control shouldn’t fall unfairly on one of us or the other. I am sorry if—”

Maahjabeen waves a weary hand. “No no, you have been very respectful, Pradeep.”

“Why do you say that as if you’re disappointed?”

“I am not! Does it sound that way?” Maahjabeen tries to hear how her voice sounds in his ears, but she has always been bad at that. “My unhappy experiences in bed. Eh. Like I said, I need to get over them. But I don’t know how to start.”

“I don’t either.”

“What have your lovers been like?” Maahjabeen feels a stab of jealousy run through her heart, which dismays her. Her feelings for Pradeep are getting too deep too fast.

But he only shrugs, shy. “There have been precisely two girls I have kissed, both in college, one month apart. The second girl, who was very nice, had me touch her breasts. That is the extent of my sexual experience.”

“You were a virgin? I’m the one who took your virginity?” Maahjabeen can’t help but laugh at how sad that sounds. He joins her, chuckling into the hollow of her neck. He kisses it. “Mmm. Yes. That is nice. Although your beard is very scratchy.”

Pradeep pulls away. “I am sorry.”

“No. I like it. And stop apologizing. Nothing is less sexy than a man apologizing for everything. Know what you want.”

“Uh. Okay.” Pradeep’s eyes dart. His mind races. He kisses her clavicle, then spreads his hand across her ribs under the swell of her breast. “This is what I want.”

Maahjabeen’s breath catches and her body tenses in shock.

“What? What is it?” Pradeep pulls back. Maahjabeen pushes herself to her knees. “I’m sorry. No. No apologies. Right. But it was the wrong thing. I won’t do that again.”

But Maahjabeen won’t look at him. She only stares at the entrance to the sea cave. He has lost her. Finally she tears her gaze away from it back to him and reassures him by slipping her hand into his and resting her head against his shoulder. But then she jerks her head up and looks at the entrance again, where the light plays on the water, reflecting against the worn chalky roof.

Now Pradeep is stiffly formal. “Perhaps we should go. I have obviously made you very uncomfortable. We don’t want to be—”

But Maahjabeen clutches him, pressing herself hard against his chest. “No, no… It’s just… Ehh. I am so bad at sharing secrets. If I tell you my secret, will you promise you won’t ever tell anyone?”

This isn’t what he expected her to say. “Uhh… Yes. Of course. I promise.” Pradeep can hardly breathe. He has no idea where this is leading. He only knows he can’t get enough of her intoxicating scent. Their heads are tilted down toward each other; they’ve created a world no larger than a handspan apart.

“It’s the orcas, Pradeep. The orcas saved my life.”

This is her secret? Pradeep blinks. “Wow. Oh, wow.”

“When I was lost in the storm. I would have died. I did not have the energy to paddle back. I was done. Then they found me.”

Pradeep nods. Perhaps she doesn’t remember that she told them all about the orcas when she returned. She wouldn’t shut up about them, raving incoherently for hours. “That’s incredible. I love orcas. What did they do?”

“Well…” Maahjabeen laughs, a brief bitter sound. “Many things. They played around me to bring my spirits up. They tried to share the remains of a sea lion with me. They pushed me when I drifted off course. And they—” She shakes her head, unable to tell how Pradeep might respond to her mysticism. The last thing she needs is him losing respect for her as a scientist. But she needs to tell someone. And more importantly, she needs to tell him. She wants Pradeep to know who she really is. She wants to share everything with him.

He is only watching her. There is love in his eyes.

So she tells him. “They talked to me. They really did. They told me their names. They welcomed me to this part of the ocean. Well, their part of it. They told me they were happy to meet me. They told me…” she looks up at Pradeep’s open face, “…that everything was going to be fine.”

This is new. She hadn’t mentioned orcas speaking to her before. “Really? Like using words or…?”

Maahjabeen releases her breath, only now realizing she held it. Pradeep isn’t even looking at her strangely. He actually seems comforted by the news. “I—I can’t really say… I mean, I wasn’t fully conscious any more. It wasn’t like a clear use of English or Arabic or… Maybe it was more like their words were in my head, or I was able to tell what their sounds meant. Maybe I dreamed the whole thing. But they did bring me back. They did save my life. I know that much.”

Pradeep is so relieved that her secret is about the orcas that he falls back onto their blanket and stares at the eroded gray rock above. “That’s amazing. But you know you’re never supposed to tell anyone what your spirit animal is. I guess you’ll have to kill me now.” They giggle. “So like, what were their names?”

“I can’t… I guess they were like orca sounds with clicks and whistles and… one meant something like slipping-through-the-dark-water-hunting-silver-fish.”

“There are lots of stories of interactions with orcas and humans. Really complicated interactions.”

“So you don’t think I’m crazy?”

“I just want to know what made you think of it right now.”

“Oh!” Maahjabeen squeezes Pradeep’s arm. “Right! I didn’t say! That’s because one just swam in and is watching us right now!”

Ξ

“And if you open up this panel…” Triquet lifts a cardboard flap to reveal a collage of photos with lines connecting different people. They pull two other flaps out and now it looks like a science fair project about their family history. Documents adorn the panels, with drawings of the beach and lagoon and photos of the sub.

“Impressive,” Esquibel declares. “But I still don’t understand why you aren’t just bringing your laptop.”

“The medium is the message,” Miriam says. “You know, I met Marshall MacLuhan once at a mixer when I was young. Strange man. Anyway, we don’t want the Lisicans spending their time marveling over the wonders of screens and keyboards when we’re trying to get some proper answers out of them today.”

Triquet nods. “Miriam convinced me to employ my prodigious crafting skills instead in pursuit of harmony between the two peoples. But I thought yarn and gold stars might be a bit much.”

“It would be a distraction again.” Esquibel nods. “Yes, I like this. It is very straightforward and simple. When are you going?” She will show outward support for this mission but when she gets a chance she’ll privately stock up on trauma kits and check that all the medications are fresh. Be prepared for every eventuality. That is all she can do here with her beloved herd of cats.

“Wait, Triquet,” Mandy says. “I want to hear your spiel. I mean, what are you even going to say to them?”

Triquet nods. “So, start with our shared common denominator, right? Maureen Dowerd? Start a conversation about her. But I’m just hoping one of the villagers points at one of the pictures or drawings here and just starts rattling off a whole story. That would be best. I don’t know. Anybody else have any ideas?”

“My idea,” Jay says, “is that this is going to be a blast. I can’t wait to see the village and the whole rest of the island.”

“You are going?” Esquibel says this with more sharpness than intended. But Jay only lifts his leg and silently flexes his ankle.

“Solid, Doc. As a rock. Ain’t nothing holding me back.”

“But… Jay…” Esquibel looks from face to face. She can’t be the only one with reservations about Jay of all people joining their delicate diplomatic mission.

“Don’t step on any trails until they invite you,” Amy says sourly. “And take lots of pictures. So I can see at least some of it.”

“As a matter of fact, let’s just all defer to Triquet.” Katrina says this with a surprising quiet maturity. “This is their… project. Let them tell us who comes and goes and what we do when we get there.” She looks around the small circle, clustered near the kitchen in the back of the bunker. It’s only the seven of them. Triquet, Esquibel, Miriam, Amy, Katrina, Mandy, and Jay.

“Oo neat.” Triquet surveys the group. “I never got to pick the kickball team. I was always just the last one picked. Hmm.”

“I am not going.” Esquibel holds up her hands, palms out. “But I will insist that you must pick at least one other person, preferably two. Preferably someone with some kind of military background. Jay, did you ever serve?”

“Nah, Doc. I’m a pacifist. Got pretty good at Capoiera at one point. If shit goes down I can sweep legs with the best of them.”

Esquibel shakes her head in disapproval. What a clown this man is. He is more trouble than he’s worth.

Triquet points at their choices. “I’ll take Jay and Miriam and Katrina, I guess. Unless you really want to come, Mandy.”

“No, that’s fine. I’d just be useless.” She gives them all a tight smile. “Five’s probably too many, anyway.”

“Well, then.” Triquet looks at their team. “Away we go!”

Ξ

None of them have been in the tunnels since Esquibel tried to seal them. They appear unchanged. The mud is as unavoidable as ever. The final climb is still a challenge. Jay ranges ahead, eager as a spaniel. He climbs the shaft with vigor and doesn’t wait for them at the top. “Daylight!” he cries out as he nears the cleft in the interior cliff that leads to the village. “It really is a—! Oh. Hi.”

Jay finally pulls back, waiting for the others. They all take the precaution to put on masks and nitrile gloves.

“Morska Vidra!” Katrina calls out. “Bontiik.” She approaches him and chucks him under the chin with the knuckle of her forefinger. His face is impassive. She hopes she’s doing it right.

His silver fox sniffs at Jay’s shoes. “Hey, buddy.” Jay crouches down, holding out his gloved fingertips, but the fox dances away, miffed by the sudden movement.

“This guy’s like a security guard at a museum, goddamn.” Triquet laughs. “You just sits here at the entrance all day? Waiting for us to come out? I mean, what kind of life is that?”

“He Is The Gate Keeper.” Miriam says it as portentously as possible. “Got to be a real senior position, that.”

“I suppose you’re right. And maybe it’s only when we’re around, but still… We should bring him one of the camp chairs at least.”

Morska Vidra turns away and walks back to the village, followed by Triquet, Katrina, Miriam, and Jay.

“Wow…” Jay turns slowly in the middle of the village. The huts are both more sophisticated and more rude than he thought they’d be. A lot of giant pieces of redwood bark used as walls and roofs. They probably keep things nice and watertight inside. And redwood bark has strong antibacterial and insecticidal properties. So the walls won’t really rot. These huts could be like twenty or thirty years old.

The earth is all stamped down from the traffic of countless bare feet over time. Mostly a pale orange clay, the brown duff of the local redwood grove is scattered atop it. They’d let a few bay trees and madrones grow tall among their huts, but otherwise the village stands well clear of the dark redwood grove. Jay nods in approval. “Yeah, it’s cold in there, I bet. Under the big trees.”

All these eyes are on him so it’s natural to talk, right? Triquet is still by the tunnel entrance conferring with Morska Vidra and Miriam is already staring at the cliffs with hunger. Katrina crosses the open space between the huts, intent on a destination. Five or six kids and teens are staring at Jay. So he just starts talking.

“Redwoods are too cold to live in. Stay out here in the sun, right? Or… whenever you get sun. If ever. Yeah, but this is a nice spot. Yep. Good wind protection from the ocean for sure. Probably too much shade in the winter, but who knows? Maybe you get winds from the south then?”

One of the teens mutters something and they all giggle. Are they making fun of him? “Yeah, I’m a big goofy-ass white dude, for sure.” Jay takes a deep breath and removes his mask. He makes a face and the kids all go still. He tries another face, as silly and non-threatening as possible. But they only look at him like statues. Do they not know they can make faces? He puts the mask back on and expels his breath. “Come on. Anybody can do this one.” And he squeezes the left side of his face. “Or try touching your nose with the tip of your tongue.” He takes his mask off and goes cross-eyed in the attempt.

But they still only watch him, silent. Where’s the laughter? Kids love his faces. Has he broken some taboo? Probably. It would just be fucking like him, wouldn’t it? Hadn’t Esquibel told him to keep his mouth shut? And all he’s doing is yapping like a dog.

Jay excuses himself with an embarrassed smile and pulls away from the curious kids to follow Katrina. She stands at the entrance to a low-roofed dugout, even older and more dilapidated than the rest. A middle-aged woman stands in front of its door, urging her to do something or other. Katrina listens intently, trying to divine what the woman wants. She offers a hand but the woman ignores it, still talking forcefully with a great number of sing-song words.

“Jay… See if you can get a recording of this…” Katrina keeps nodding and smiling, trying to accommodate the woman. But she doesn’t appear to be anywhere near the end of her speech.

Jay pulls out his phone and starts recording video. The woman looks at the plastic and glass oblong in his hands and falls quiet. Deciding something, she ducks into the dark entrance of the hut.

Katrina shakes her head, mystified. “Dan. She kept saying dan like the Russian word for day. And she didn’t like us being here. The wrong day?” Katrina leans forward, to pitch her voice through the low dark door. “Ne tot den’? Not Russian, though. Ah, what’s the Bosnian word…? There was a Bosnian girl in one of my classes. We taught each other because it was so easy. But she never taught me how to say wrong. Loš dan? This is a bad day?”

“How could they possibly speak Bosnian?” Jay isn’t too solid on his geography but he’s pretty sure that’s completely on the other side of the world. He couldn’t think of a more preposterous link to this island than a tiny Eastern European country like that. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Lisica is a Bosnian word. And there have been a few others too. It’s the only way we’ve made any progress.”

“Maybe a coincidence? There’s no shortage of words rushing out of their mouths, for sure. A few of them sound familiar and…?”

“Lisica means fox.”

“Right. Huh. Weird.”

The woman re-emerges. She starts a hectoring sing-song again, “Jas ÿan keéna, pročistili se…” She spreads her small brown hands wide, encompassing the tree tops outside the village and the low cliffs beyond. She addresses the sky, and then points with her thumb to the earth and presses one hand against the side of her face like she has a toothache.

Jay records it all. But he feels like he doesn’t need to know the specific words, it’s pretty clear the lady doesn’t want them there, at least right now. Smiling and nodding, Jay gives her a namaste and starts backing out. Katrina is still trying to engage with choice phrases in Russian, but the woman clearly isn’t interested.

Triquet finally arrives, delaying Jay’s retreat. Morska Vidra accompanies them. “This is the old woman’s hut here. So what’s happening? What’s the conversation about?”

Jay shrugs. “All I know is that we missed the party. They want us to try some other time.”

“Seriously? Another time? But I just have a few questions. Here.” Triquet steps forward, beside Katrina. The archaeologist nods at the woman, dressed down in khaki top and slacks. The woman only allows a hitch in her cadence to acknowledge Triquet’s arrival. “Ta-daa…!” With a flourish they open the panels of the display, revealing photos and documents.

The woman falls silent.

“Katrina.” Katrina introduces herself, spreading her hands against her ribs. But her charm, for once, is getting her nowhere.

The woman peers at the photos, squinting at them in turn. She speaks with Morska Vidra: “Kin yet. Adátxʼi haat yadustaa.”

He grunts, crouching beside her to inspect the photos. With his thumb he points at Maureen Dowerd, then they both unwillingly glance at the door of the hut. Their voices are too low to hear.

Finally Morska Vidra stands. He lifts the display to return it to Triquet and it awkwardly folds in his grasp. He doesn’t understand how the materials work, so he goes still.

Triquet guffaws apologetically and pulls the display from the old man’s hands. Morska Vidra speaks with authority, pointing with his thumb at the clouds. “Tuzhit.” He repeats the word in a variety of contexts, pointing to the trees and the huts.

“I think I understood a bit of that,” Katrina murmurs. “Tuzhit is like someone’s name. And he said something like, come back when the sky is… something. Clear? Dark?”

“Will do. Don’t want to overstay our welcome, y’all.” Jay raises a hand in peace. Why aren’t the others taking the hints? They don’t want to lose these people completely. They can come back some other day. They’ve got plenty of time.

“Hold on. Hold on…” Katrina takes out her phone and starts scrolling quickly through her notes. “I thought we’d have way more time for this. But I put together some phrases from a few linguistic family groups and I want to see how they’ll hit.”

Katrina stops in the center of the village. “This is Samoan. ‘O le a tatou faamamaina i tatou lava.’ What do you think?”

But none of the villagers react at all to her words.

“Okay. Wait. Let’s try… Hold on. This is Chumash. From the California coast. ‘C-al’ a.’” She points at her liver. “Or… pVwV. That’s your knee.” Really sparse list here.”

A few of the kids watch her, frowning. The other Lisicans have resumed their daily chores, many wandering away. But Katrina has too many plans to abandon them all so soon. “Wait! Wait!”

“Katrina…” Jay indicates Morska Vidra waiting patiently by the tunnel entrance—the Gate Keeper ready to shut the gate.

She approaches the old man. “Hold on. One last try here. This translator does Bosnian. ‘Gospodine, mi smo vaši prijatelji i samo vas želimo bolje upoznati.’ What do you think? Anything?” But Morska Vidra just stares at her.

“What a miserable day.” Triquet is crestfallen. “We had such high hopes. I just want to study a few artifacts. Is that so wrong?”

“Yep. Cannot wait to get down into those valleys.” They can’t see them from here but Jay can sense the land rolling away to the north, unbounded at last. At least, as soon as the locals let them check it out. It’s classic surfer dynamics here. You got to respect the locals or you’re doomed. Usually a six pack or a couple joints is the currency. Here, Jay has no idea what to try. “Katrina. What did you say to him?”

“Sir, we are your friends and we just want to know you better.” She shrugs, hands raised. “I tried to keep it as neutral as possible.” Finally she gives up in defeat. Her shoulders slump and her head hangs forward. She smiles weakly at Morska Vidra. “Tuzhit.” She points above the village with her thumb tip, agreeing that they must depart. Then she includes the trees and the top of the cliffs. “Tuzhit. Tuzhit.”

But Morska Vidra isn’t listening to her. He has turned away, peering down the dark tunnel, crouched with expectant tension. After a long moment his fox trots out of the darkness, ears back. It stops, one paw up, and looks over its shoulder. The fox flinches. A distant crash rises from within the tunnels and a billow of dust and smoke reaches them.

Smoke. The tunnel is on fire.