Lisica Chapters

Thanks for joining us for the third 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:

43 – I Miss Him So

Flavia sits alone in the warrant officer’s cabin on a single pillow, her laptop balanced on her crossed legs. Its pale blue light is the room’s only illumination. She is deep inside a logic chain, a basic structure from which she will create another Plexity module.

A knock on the closed door interrupts her work. “Pronto,” she calls out absently. Maybe she can persuade whoever it is to set up her machine down here in the sub and make her an espresso.

Alonso enters with Katrina. “There she is. Come. Let’s tell Flavia our good news.”

“You have good news? We can leave? It is safe?” Flavia’s head snaps up so quickly she’s afraid she strained something in her neck. She rubs it, then stretches. “What time is it?”

“No no.” Alonso tempers her expectations with his soothing tone. “Nothing so exciting. Well. Actually, I think you will find this more exciting. It is almost 8 am. The good news is that I am giving up.”

Flavia frowns. “To the… Russians?”

Alonso’s mouth hangs open. He is so deep in the implications of his decision that it takes a moment for the emotional shockwave to hit him. Giving up to the Russians. The images run through his flesh like ice and he waits for them to pass before continuing. “No. To you. I surrender.” And he puts his hand to his heart and bows, like an old patrician handing over his saber.

Flavia frowns. “What is this all about, you two?”

“Plexity,” Katrina answers. “This is Alonso like surrendering to your wisdom and expertise.”

But Flavia is too cynical for this. “What the hell are you on about now? And why do I feel like I am about to be blamed for it?”

Katrina and Alonso both laugh, leaning against the wall and doorframe. Their presence crowds the tiny room. And they don’t smell great, especially their ripe exhalations when they laugh.

“Yes, I suppose I deserve that. No. No blame. I set an impossible goal so I cannot blame you for not reaching it. I am surrendering to the idea that we will not be able to characterize the entire island on this first, initial trip. We must focus only on the lagoon.”

“Oh thank god.” Flavia kisses her own fingertips. “You were making me crazy.”

“I was making myself crazy. But now we have to think about what comes next: a streamlined Plexity with harder bounds, a few more loose ends. But it is what it is. And we must also figure out our conception for the new grant proposal that will come, yes? We need to frame the data in such a way that any board will have to say yes. So our new puzzle is how can we optimize our pitch with the findings we already have? That is what we need to do now. Start putting it all in a package. Now I am not saying that we need to have a polished presentation ready to go when they pick us up on the beach, but we would be fooling ourselves if they didn’t start interrogating us pretty much immediately. And we really need to put our best foot forward.”

“Oh.” Flavia nods, looking down at the columns of data that will become a flow chart. “Well, I don’t even know if we will need this at all, then. This is… a big waste of time.”

“Why? What is it?” Alonso wheels around and bends down, stiff-legged, to peer at Flavia’s laptop.

“Oh, well, an adaptive filter. Plexity is having trouble placing a spectrum of samples among the Cnidarians and Ctenophores. I did a bit of research with your offline Wikipedia and learned a bit. You see, years ago, they used to be grouped together but now—”

“Pretty sure the ‘C’ is silent, mate. Nidarians and Tenophores.”

“Really?” Flavia makes a note of it. “I have never said the words aloud, so… I mean, why even put the Cs in front if they will just be silent anyway? Okay. Today, they are separate phyla but—”

“Plexity does not use phyla.” Alonso frowns at the screen. “What are you up to this time, Flavia, and what will it break?”

She waves his accusation away. “Of course. We are classifying connections, not organisms, but it is the connections that Plexity is having trouble with. And in certain historical examples, it was those connections that kept them from being classified properly. I mean there is one group called Myxozoa. They used to be like jellyfish but then they evolved into parasites you can find on other creatures. Pradeep would love them. Some are only one cell big now. Simple, tiny creatures. Say you have a Cnidarian like an anemone and a Ctenophore comb jelly and they are both feeding on the same phytoplankton, which ends up exchanging a cloud of proteins and acids in the water, which they both take up. And they are both infested with Myxozoa. It is nearly impossible to describe using maths, but these kind of edge cases will now be…” She lifts her shoulders and makes a face. “Too bad.”

“Why, this is all very necessary, if we are staying by the lagoon, my dear. All these marine interactions are very sexy.” Alonso pats Flavia’s shoulder. “You know, perhaps it is in the interaction of the water and the land that we can make our best pitch. Por su puesto, of course it is. What do you think, Katrina? Maybe we put a special focus on the tide line, the creekside, the waterfall? It will make for nice images at least.” A brittle irritation inside Alonso threatens to break out. He smiles even more widely instead. This isn’t their fault. It isn’t anyone’s fault but his own, for dreaming too big.

But Flavia isn’t willing to let Alonso so easily off the hook. “So… wait. Now you are saying that you can make a reasonable version of Plexity with just this initial shoreline data? Because according to you that was impossible. That is what—”

“Yes, well, perhaps I didn’t understand exactly how closed off the interior of the island was until I came down here and looked into that long dark tunnel Pradeep and Jay took. It is really something, isn’t it? Just how disconnected the edge of the island is from the rest of it. A perfect hermetically-sealed biome for us to—”

“Oh, now it’s perfect. I’m not sure I like this side of you, Alonso.”

“What? Which side?”

“The hustler. I like the data scientist better.”

Alonso’s laugh is a short cynical bark. “Yes. Well. I do too. But it is time we start thinking of the outside world again, and in that world, I am absolutely a hustler. Katrina, take note. If you want to advance in academia or, well, anything really. It is all politics and marketing, yes?”

“Oh, for sure. That’s why I don’t go by my first name.”

“Your first name?” Alonso raises his eyebrows. “It isn’t Katrina?”

“Olga.”

Ξ

“Miriam, are you working?”

Miriam stares at her screen. She hasn’t written a word in perhaps fifteen minutes. Instead, she’s gone off on a mental tangent about her subject here, the stratigraphy of that immense shaft that Mandy burned clear. It’s a real shame that the walls are covered in soot. And Katrina won’t let them fly the drone in there. Maybe the rains are washing the faces clean. It would be such a perfect use of the drone as a remote sampling tool, especially for geology. Unlike the biologists, her samples don’t fight back. It would save her countless days of work. Wait. Somebody spoke to her. She blinks at the dim shadows of the bunkbed frames. “Aye?”

“Then I will not bother you.” Maahjabeen lowers herself stiffly on the cot that has been placed in one of the old frames. All their gear is piled precariously in corners but the beds are empty. The others have moved on, to different corners of the boat.

Miriam shakes her head clear. “Sorry, love. I meant, ‘Aye, what is it?’ not ‘Yes, I am working.’ So what is it? Are you okay?”

“I am just waking up with a very sore shoulder. It will not move. And it is making me very angry. Would you please get Mandy?”

But instead, Miriam levers herself to her feet and hurries to her, kneeling at Maahjabeen’s side. “This one?” And she clasps both sides of Maahjabeen’s shoulder in her hands, compressing them.

“Ah. Yes. It… Ah… Yes, that is what it needed.” Maahjabeen settles once more on her back, Miriam’s warm hands holding the angry ball joint in place. She does not move her hands, she only holds it intimately, like a mother embracing her child.

“And breathe.” Miriam smiles down at Maahjabeen, whose wrinkled brow still holds back a storm. “Breathe…” There was a time in the 90s when Miriam had almost given it all up after a visit to the Tibetan Plateau. She’d been a yoga fanatic just like everyone else in those days and she became fluent in its language of physical metaphors. Now she imagines her own breath releasing through the bottom of her feet into the earth and her chakras opening.

Tears leak from Maahjabeen’s dark eyes.

“Do you still want me to get Mandy?”

Maahjabeen shakes her head no. She takes a deep ragged breath and settles even more deeply into Miriam’s grasp, allowing herself to be held. But the jagged images from her restless sleep still haunt her. “I do not think I can do this any more. I need… I can’t be shut off from the ocean like this. Not now. Not will all these threats around. The open ocean is where I always escape the threats. But now I can’t. The ocean is where the greatest threat is coming from. And sure I can get to the sea cave from here, but I can’t fit my boat through the mud tunnel. And there’s no point being in the cave without a boat. From in there I can’t even see the sky…” Her sob shuts off any more words.

“Shh shh. There there.” Miriam just holds on, letting the fierce woman find her own way through it.

They stay like that for a long time. Up until they hear a noise from the chamber behind them. Footsteps.

Miriam turns, hoping it might be Mandy. Why, she could put her hands on Maahjabeen too and together they might make a difference. But it isn’t Mandy. It’s a bedraggled figure in a yellow rainsuit, covered in dirt and soaked to the skin, their fair face now deathly white. “Triquet!”

“They’re gone,” Triquet croaks. “You can come out now.”

Upon hearing this, Maahjabeen finally releases all her tension with a ragged sigh and sags against the cot.

Miriam withdraws her hands and claps them. Then she gets up and hurries to Triquet to care for them, suppressing a random flash of irritation at finding herself in such a maternal role today. “Here, dear one.” She picks at the zipper of their sodden yellow raincoat and pulls it open. The undergarments are all wet. “Oh, my days. You must be frozen.”

“Hug.” Triquet begins shivering uncontrollably, open to the air for the first time in ages. The stress of what they’ve endured now rattles through them.

But first, Miriam pulls the rest of Triquet’s layers off and scrubs their skin dry with a blanket, careful of the angry red welt on their upper arm. Then she wraps their hairless body in a sleeping bag. She zips it up around them and only then does she hold them in a deep clasp, breathing warmth into the crook of Triquet’s neck. Finally she leans back and makes a prim line with her mouth. “Now. Sit. Or lie down. I’ll go get everyone. You’re sure? It’s safe out there? There was… someone in camp and now they’re gone?”

Triquet nods, weary. “Good plan. Yes. Get everyone, so I can only tell this once.”

Miriam nods. “Of course, darling.” She presses a hand against Triquet’s cheek. “So very glad to have you back.” Then she ducks through the far hatch, deeper into the sub.

Only then does Triquet register Maahjabeen in her cot across the room. “Oh. Hi. How are you?”

“My shoulder hurts.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Otherwise I would get you a cup of tea.”

“Sounds lovely. You don’t have to. But where would I find such a thing?” Triquet considers crawling like a cocooned worm in the sleeping bag to anywhere hot water might be.

“I thought it was in that first room, where you just were. Did you see any stoves in there?”

“Ah. Right.” Triquet recalls that last moment again, that final excruciating moment of being alone, after they had finally cleared the bunker’s floor and opened the hatch and hurried down the narrow stairs they know so well, relishing the fact that they’d survived this latest ordeal. Triquet hadn’t even really looked at the contents of the first room. They’d only seen it was empty of people. Did they walk right past a pot of hot water?

Maahjabeen lifts her head. “Pradeep is not back yet. I am very worried. So the bad men are gone? We can go back upstairs and I can finally get back out on the water? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Uh, well, I don’t know about that. For one thing, it’s raining again. And, I mean, who knows how far they went. Men with guns, maybe right over the horizon?” The sleeping bag is finally starting to warm Triquet up. Their shivers subside. “I do not know how Milo does it, day in and day out.”

“Who’s Milo? One of the soldiers?”

“No. Good grief. I didn’t talk to any of them. Or who knows what they’d have done to me. No, Milo is one of the golden childs. Kept me alive last night. Ugh. That was definitely the worst night of sleep I’ve ever had at a Best Western. Zero stars. And the breakfast buffet was cold.”

“You were actually out there in the storm? All night?”

“Yeah. I just couldn’t bring myself to come back in, because then we’d never know what was happening out there. You know?”

Maahjabeen slowly nods, understanding the logic of it and profoundly impressed by the sacrifice Triquet has made. “You did that for us? What a good person you are. I do not know if I could have done the same.”

“There you are.” Alonso swings himself through the hatch with only a little groan, then hobbles his way over to Triquet. “Oh, dear one, we are so glad you are back. Pobrecito. You look like a kitten who got drowned in the rain.”

“I’ll get them some tea.” Amy pushes past Alonso to the stoves in the first room. But she comes back a moment later as the others pile in behind Alonso. Alarmed, Amy says, “Guys… The hatch is open. The first hatch. Leading up to the bunker.”

“Aye, that’s where Triquet came down from.” Miriam sits at the foot of Triquet’s cot and chafes their feet through the bag.

Amy frowns. “And you left it open? Is that… wise?”

Triquet shrugs. “They’re gone.”

“They? Who, they?” Alonso sits at the cot’s side and pulls the plastered hairs away from Triquet’s splotched face.

“Well, I never got a formal introduction. But… Miriam, could you find my phone? It was in my coat.”

“Doctor Daine? Can you reach it? It’s the yellow one right behind you.”

Esquibel lifts the coat and unzips a pocket. “Here is the phone.”

Triquet’s arms emerge from the sleeping bag and they tap at the screen to cue up a video. “Yeah. Just watch this.”

It is a close-up video of the beach, at the edge of the lagoon. Triquet’s blue boots can be seen at the bottom of the frame, the phone’s camera tilted down. Right at the narrow surfline, text has been scrawled in the dark sand. It is already being washed away by the lagoon’s gentle waves. But the words are not in English.

Alonso squints. “Is that Cyrillic? Katrina?”

Katrina grabs the phone and starts the video again. She reads the words aloud and translates them. “My znayem, ‘chto… We know that… We know that you are here… Uvidimsya snova… cherez dve nedeli… See you again in two weeks.”

“Oh my god, they really are gone and it really is over.” Alonso presses his hands together. “You are sure? No sign of them left?”

“All empty. Land and sea. Except for the golden childs. They came back out of hiding, right when the rain started up again.”

“Perfect. So they also think it’s clear. They should know. Well. Sounds like we can at least get back up in the bunker, yes?”

“That is all it says?” Esquibel frowns. “That is a threat, no? It is nothing but an explicit threat.”

“Or some kind of…” Miriam waves a hand, “…misdirection? Like they want us to think we’ve got the whole beach to ourselves for the next two weeks then they sneak up on us one night.”

“Who were they?” Esquibel asks Triquet. “Who did you see?”

“I heard a whistle and I realized that these like, kind of short fat silhouettes, I swear that’s all I was able to see, maybe soldiers I guess, gathered back on the beach. Maybe four? Maybe five? Then by the time I saw them next it was just a little gray boat on the far side of the breakers heading out to the open ocean.”

“Not back to a larger vessel?” If Esquibel could get Triquet to describe a blue water ship or craft, important clues might give her an idea of exactly which Russians she’s dealing with here.

“Not that I could see.”

“Maybe they are a sub crew. During my mission briefings there was never any mention made of possible new Russian interference. Not that it is impossible. Contact with the Soviets on this island had been documented since the 60s. Things got particularly bad in the 70s, with a number of murders and disappearances on both sides that remain classified, but the return of the Russian Navy is certainly a valuable intelligence data point.” Esquibel’s laugh is bitter. “Assuming we survive to communicate it.”

“But why is it in Russian?” Katrina frowns at the words in the video, watching the tide wash them away.

Esquibel shrugs. “It’s the only language their sailors knew.”

“Or they weren’t writing to us.” Katrina shrugs. “Maybe they think there’s some Russians here. I mean, how would they know we’d even understand it? Or maybe it’s some kind of crazy double-feint and they weren’t even Russians.”

“Now, wait. You were the one who said the golden man called them Russians, Katrina.” Esquibel can’t keep the accusation out of her voice, nor does she try very hard.

“He did. But maybe he was lying. Or maybe he doesn’t know the difference. It may be that they come back in two weeks and surprise us all. What do you think?”

“That is very unlikely. I think that if it is the Russians,” Esquibel frowns, “we cannot take any chances. All we know for certain is that a military squad was here and will be back in two weeks.”

“How did they know we’re here?” Mandy pinches her features together, the stress making her ill. “Are they just playing with us?”

“It’s a big ocean,” Maahjabeen says. “Maybe they needed some supplies. Fresh water. This will get them back to wherever they are based. Then they can recharge and come back again.”

“Well, not if they are any Navy I’ve served with.” Esquibel doesn’t like contradicting Maahjabeen but this is her field. “This isn’t like Magellan. This is the 21^st century. They aren’t facing scurvy and spoiled water. At least they shouldn’t be.”

“And how did that golden man know,” Mandy asks, her voice rising, “that soldiers were coming? Have the Lisicans been spying on us? Do they have like a radio in those golden masks?”

“Or maybe,” Flavia says, “the Russians always come at this time of year. I think that is more likely, no?”

“Jay said Kula had a radio,” Katrina adds. “But he wasn’t sure if it worked.”

“Well.” Flavia stands. “I for one am looking forward to a shower in the waterfall. Anyone join me?”

“We can’t.”

A silent displeasure greets Esquibel’s words.

“No. Think about it. The soldiers can come back any moment. We now have proof, documented proof, that they were here. Good job, Triquet, capturing that message before it vanished.”

“Yes, but Doctor Daine…” Alonso needs to get back upstairs as much as anyone. “These bad guys, if they are bad guys, already know we are here. They could have come after us at any moment. But they didn’t.”

“Because maybe they couldn’t find us.”

“Then how did they know we’re here at all?” Mandy isn’t ready to hear all the reasons why they must still be under threat. She can’t handle any more. “I mean, we got to just, you know, trust the golden childs. If they’re out of hiding, then I’m out.”

“No…” Esquibel once again finds herself set against the entire rest of the crew. She raises her hands. “That is not how it works. Just because they were right about one thing does not mean they are right about everything. Katrina was just arguing that the golden childs can’t even tell the difference between us and the Russians. They are not the experts we need here.”

“So what are you saying?” Maahjabeen sits up, grimacing. “That we have to spend the next two bloody weeks in this—this coffin?”

“It is probably the most defensible structure we have left.”

Maahjabeen’s face drains of color. “I cannot. I am sorry. But you cannot expect me to—”

“What if we go further in?” Miriam catches up Maahjabeen’s hand, who snatches it away again.

“Further in? Like into the tunnels?” Maahjabeen can’t think of anything worse.

“No, please, Miriam,” Alonso shakes his head in displeasure. “Perhaps a geologist can spend two weeks underground, but…”

“I don’t mean the tunnels, Alonso. I mean the interior. Like a camp beside the Dzaadzitch village. It’s time. We’ve been on this bloody island for six weeks and we still haven’t gotten more than a few peeks at it.”

“No no no. Have you forgotten,” Flavia asks, “about the crazy shamans in there who are trying to take us as slaves?”

“Well, they already know exactly where we are, and the golden childs will just have to keep protecting us.”

“Yes.” Mandy likes this plan. She can set up weather stations wherever she wants, dependent upon no one. “Miriam’s right. We got stuck on the beach for too long. It was too comfortable.”

“Forgive me,” Maahjabeen scowls, “but I did not get ‘stuck’ on the beach and if you propose to take the oceanographer away from the ocean then I can’t even say what I am doing here any more.”

“Finding Pradeep.” Miriam says it quietly but it prompts bright tears in Maahjabeen’s eyes. “Just help us find him, love. Then all this madness will pass and the two of you can go back to romantic sunset paddles again, eh?”

Maahjabeen silently nods.

“No.” Flavia stands. “We just decided. We can’t leave the lagoon now. Plexity needs us to stay. Alonso realized… Tell them.”

But Alonso is spooked by this conversation. It feels as though the whole world is passing him by. “Yes, there are many problems with your plan, Miriam. I was about to… I mean, that is a different conversation, for sure. But for the sake of the science, yes, it would be best if we kept our focus for the time being on the beach. It is the only way to make use of Plexity in the short time we have left. And also, personally… I would just have to say that from the way you talk about these tunnels I am certain you would have to leave me behind. Which,” he holds up a hand to forestall their protests, “I understand. If that is what will keep my team safe, then that is what will happen. I am just not sure if that is what will happen.”

Esquibel stands. “It is, Doctor Alonso. It is what will happen. Doctor Truitt is right. We cannot stay down here. We have to move to the interior of Lisica. And we will find a way to get you through those tunnels. It will be possible, right?”

“Oh, right,” Triquet says. “Esquibel doesn’t know either. Both of you haven’t gone through, have you? Well, there’s a tight fit in one spot and a lot of climbing at the end. I mean, it isn’t easy. But you’ll be fine, Alonso.”

“Eh,” he pats his solid belly. “This fat man doesn’t like hearing anything about a tight fit.”

“Then this is what I shall do.” Maahjabeen sits up, ignoring the stiffness in her shoulder. “I will paddle my boats out of the lagoon and down the coast into the sea cave and leave them there. That is where you will find me. Then I will be able to join you when you need me through the tunnels. Yes?”

“I’ll paddle with you,” Amy volunteers. “Nobody should run that gauntlet alone. First break in the storm.”

“Fine.”

“But, Alonso…” Flavia turns to him, isolated now. “We can’t, right? We have to stay on the beach. We just decided.”

“It is not even a decision,” Alonso mutters, his insides queasy. “We are being forced by the demands of the project to remain on the beach. If Plexity will work at all we do need to focus our efforts there. But if it is the Russians…” He falls silent.

“Come on, Flavia,” Miriam tries. “Don’t make Alonso…”

“But it isn’t safe in the interior! I am telling you! I was the first one they attacked! And they aren’t done with us yet!”

“The problem, mate,” Katrina says, “is that nowhere is safe. It’s all danger. So we just got to pick our poisons.”

“Then I will stay in here. This will be my poison. I will stay in the sub with some crackers and energy bars and pee in a bottle!”

And nothing anyone says can change Flavia’s mind.

Ξ

“Come on, Jay. Quickly. This way.” Pradeep grabs Jay by the arm and hauls him through the brush. His only thought is that if he can get Jay back to the village before Wetchie-ghuy attacks again they might make it out.

“Fuck this…” Jay’s voice is muzzy, thick with concussion. Why’s he got to be in so much pain all the time? Now it’s his right ear, which stings so bad his eyes water. And the base of his skull where he like wrenched his neck.

“Oh god…” Pradeep pulls up short at a slick chute of gray rock pouring a tributary of water from the cliff on their right straight down into a cluster of dark broadleafs obscuring where it joins the wider creek. There is no clear way across it.

Over the hiss of the water and the drumming of the rain in the canopy above, a distant piercing giggle reaches them. It is manic and wild, a predator on the hunt careless if his prey hears him.

“That him?” Jay turns back and blinks at the steep slope and shadowed understory. “The fuck’s his deal, anyway?”

“He went crazy. He struck you.”

“He did? When?”

Pradeep has already told Jay this. Now he will need to tell him again. “When you got him high. And it made him… insane. Like a wild beast. What was in that joint you gave him?”

“Just some Sour Diesel, my dude. Why’d he hit me?”

“Gah. We need to get across here. Nowhere better. Come on, Jay. Do you think you can jump?”

“Sure…” Jay sways, the earth tilting under him like he’s at sea. “It’s just the landing part I’m not so sure about.”

“I’m afraid he really rang your bell. If we can just get across this part we might be able to put some distance between us. Here.”

Jay squares up at a cluster of gray boulders crowned with purple-dark lichen. “We should collect some of this for Plexity.”

“No, bhenchod! Not now! He is coming!” Pradeep pushes his mate up onto the rocks. “Jump across! I am right with you!”

Jay’s many years of experience with impaired movement serve him well here. He doesn’t struggle against the kaleidoscopic pain of the concussion. He rolls with it. It seems to have deadened a nerve circuit that runs all the way down his right side. So his arm and leg are just dead weight. He’ll have to somehow swing himself around that weight up over the gap. Just a couple meters…

Jay hurls himself through the air and lands heavily on the rocks on the far side, knocking his breath from his body and crunching his incision scar. The multipoint agony blanks his mind. He is nothing but pain.

Pradeep lands lightly beside him and pulls him to his feet. “Come on, Jay. We’ve got to keep running.”

“Running.” Merely moving is like stabbing himself with knives and this asshole wants him to start running? Pradeep grabs his wrist and pulls him ahead. “Wasn’t I just like… on acid?”

“Focus, Jay. I can’t do this alone.”

“But why aren’t we dead?” Jay stumbles down the sliding slope, his feet catching on roots and stalks. “He came at me so fast.”

“Somebody saved us.”

“Who?”

“I didn’t see. It all happened in a blur. A dark blur. And then you were just crumpled at my feet and they were gone.” Pradeep slows. “Oh, no…” There is an outcrop here blocking their way, a sheer cliff that thrusts outward from the ridge above to drop in a vertical line to the rushing water below. “Can’t traverse. No way. We got to go back up. Fuck. That’s like a hundred meters.”

But Jay isn’t listening to Pradeep. He’s watching Wetchie-ghuy coalesce out of the shadows above. The shaman is playing with them, just toying with their sorry asses. Whoever got in his way back on the flat land is gone now and he’s ready for the kill. The old man looks hardly capable of such agile speed. His barrel body and short legs are full of terrifying power, though. After he held out that joint, Jay never even saw him coming. “This is heinous.”

But Pradeep and Jay aren’t alone. “Stand back.” Rushing silently up beside them, Jidadaa puts herself in front. She holds a warding hand up to Wetchie-ghuy and speaks a forceful incantation of some kind. It makes him blanch and turn his head to the side, but it doesn’t dislodge him from his position blocking their way.

“Careful, Jidadaa!” Jay squawks as Wetchie-ghuy steps forward. But she pulls a cluster of twigs and feathers from the folds of her clothing and waves it at the shaman, calling out in a mocking voice, “Tu dah-ne, at udéine!”

The shaman pulls up short, his hand going to his belt, his actions indicating that she stole whatever that is from him and he’s just finding out now. He snarls, her name coming out as a curse, and leaps at her.

But she has already slipped away from him back in the shadows, retreating deeper into the ferns behind. Jidadaa leads him away.

“Now! We have to climb!” Pradeep churns at the loose soil that spills down beneath his soles to the creek far below. “She gave us a chance!” And he pushes Jay, who is still caught in a moment of stark terror.

“Careful, Jidadaa!” Jay repeats, the only thing he can think to say or do for her. Then he starts to climb.

It is a motherfucker of an ascent. His legs are already dead and this is like scaling a wall of loose soil and thorns. And he has no adrenaline left. It’s all just tremors and gasping now, chased by the fear of an iron grip on a trailing ankle or a hand clamping his shoulder. But nothing like that happens. They both win free and swing up onto the rocky mount of the outcrop to catch their breaths before they continue their way down the canyon.

From up here they can see over the treetops of the canyon floor. It is a dense winding carpet of redwood for another five hundred meters or so, then they can barely see the beginning of a more open valley ahead. “That’s it, Prad. That’s the spot. Gotta be. Where I first saw golden childs. First time ever. Where I crossed the river. Super close now. We got this. Come on, brother.”

Ξ

“So many things…” Amy gasps, working hard, “…we can’t bring to the… the interior…”

“Alonso’s cask of wine.” Miriam stands straight, cheeks pink with exertion, pulling a stray curl from her face. “Maahjabeen’s boats. What else?” They work in the control room, Miriam stacking bags and containers, Amy’s head poking above the gap in the floor. She hauls another heavy load down to the lower level of the sub.

Esquibel hears them as she enters. “Bins. All our food. Medicine. I’ve been re-packaging what I can but we don’t have enough small containers to protect everything that needs to be protected.”

“All my lovely stacks,” Triquet sighs, entering with an armful of papers. They set it carefully down and wipe the perspiration from their brow. “Back to their original places belowdecks.”

“That is a big load. How is your arm doing?” Esquibel grabs it and pulls Triquet’s sleeve up without asking.

“Oh, frankly, I haven’t thought about it in…” Triquet falls silent and Esquibel goes still. The hardened resin that had covered the wound for the last few days is gone now. All that remains is a long red patch of irritated skin. There is no sign of the eagle bite. The incision has vanished as if it never was.

“Impossible.” Esquibel rolls Triquet’s arm back and forth. “We worked on this wound site for—for… It was so long! You had a deep cut in the flesh of your arm!”

“Yeah. I did.” Triquet is filled with disquiet. With a convulsive impulse, they drop to the deck and pull their sock and shoe from their left foot. “Oh, god… Look!” They hold out their foot, so all can see the dark dots of tattoo between each knuckle. “That’s like assault, isn’t it? Tattooing someone against their will?”

“How did your arm heal so quickly?” Esquibel is astounded. She knows of nothing that can heal like that. It must be the sap, that burning sap… Somehow it heals and doesn’t even leave behind scar tissue. Why, every surgery incision, every bullet wound, every dog bite… This is how researchers and doctors become rich. If she can find what bioactive compound that shaman used and patent it before anyone else even knows about it, she’ll become the richest woman in the world. No. This is too wild. Her eyes narrow and she takes a step back. Life is never so easy. There must be some cost. Those tattoos? What are they doing to Triquet? “Why did you check your foot? Could you feel the tattoo?”

“No!” Triquet is near tears. “That’s the problem! I can’t feel anything wrong at all! My arm! My foot! Whatever Sherman did, it’s all inside me now. Ugghh. Doctor Daine, you’ve got to get it out of me. Now.”

“I would very much like to.” Esquibel is torn. Did she preserve any of that resin? After all the packing and moving she can’t recall. She wants to inspect Triquet more closely but she knows this isn’t the place. What is that sap? The implications of its use whirl through her head, making her dizzy.

“Come on, Triquet.” Miriam kneels beside them, helping to put the sock and shoe back on. “We need to find new laces for your shoe. I’m surprised it isn’t falling off. That’s it, darling. All will be well. We’ll just get it all moved first and then we’ll take care of you. Just a few more hours of the drudgery.”

Her calm words help, if only a little. “Yes, Miriam.” Triquet is miserable. Claimed. Experimented upon. This is the nightmare they had always managed to avoid.

“Come on, everyone!” Mandy’s voice, too bright, breaks the mood. She enters carrying a stack of bins, happy about this plan and eager to put it into action. “Got to keep moving! Time to go inland!”

“That’s it. Just a few more paces and you’re there.” Katrina leads Alonso through the passage opening into the sea cave.

He stops, wiping the mud from his hands, taking in the luminous water and walls shimmering with refracted daylight. He shakes his head in wonder. “I am an idiot.”

“What? No.” Katrina’s laugh echoes in the cavern. “Why do you say that?”

“That waterfall…” Alonso traces its route upward. “That is our creek, no? This is where it drops into. Miriam was right.”

Katrina waits patiently for Alonso to take it all in.

“I thought…” Alonso lifts his hands and lets them drop. “I saw the map that Colonel Baitgie shared and… it was like a cartoon. Just a little drawing. And I thought the island was the perfect size. I actually worried that it might be too small and wouldn’t hold our attention for eight whole weeks. But of course that simple map didn’t show all the cliffs or canyons or the tunnels or the villages or the caves. What a fool I am, Katrina. An arrogant fool.”

“Nah, mate. There was no way to tell until we got here. In order to measure something you got to interact with it.”

“Well, like my dear friend Arthur Limas the quantum physics professor is fond of saying, measuring something changes it. Always. So not only did we blunder into this place with little to no idea of what we are doing, we stained everything we touched with our own essence. I thought we would study Lisica as objective and empirical scientists, but instead we are ruining it.”

The guilt is unbearable. Alonso shuffles to the water’s edge, where the rusted remains of the pier rock in the waves. He grabs one of the remaining pylons, cold and unforgiving in his grip. Iron. This is how he has to be. If he is going to survive he needs to be iron. No, not only survive… If he is going to lead.

It had been an appalling amount of pain and effort to get him to this point. He had barely pushed his way through the mud tunnel and now he is filthy. But his ordeal is not over. There is more crawling and climbing ahead and his feet and legs are already burning. “Do any of your party drugs do anything for pain?” He sits at the edge of the rock shelf and pulls his shoes and socks off. With a sigh he drops his feet into the water.

“That’d be something, wouldn’t it? An anaesthetic party drug. Well. I guess that’s what ketamine is but I didn’t bring any of it. Or like any of the opiates. That shit’s nasty. Ruins your life. But yeh. I think about designing my own drugs all the time and I could never think of an effect better than sex with gods, but that’s just cause I’m young and carefree, innit? I can see that now. After a little more life lived there’s nothing better than pain relief and a clear mind. Maybe that’s what I should spend my time on.”

Alonso hardly hears Katrina’s chatter. As the pain subsides he begins to gain another sensation, one that surprises him. It is pride. He did it. He overcame his broken body and made it down through the sub and past the worst of their obstacles. He really didn’t think he’d be able to squeeze through but Katrina had been right, he had lost more weight than he knew. And there was more strength in his arms and back than he remembered. It had been ages since he’d tried to do anything with his muscles. He’d thought he’d be as weak as a baby, but accumulating mass appears to be what middle age is all about. He is still strong.

“Eh! See?” Maahjabeen enters the sea cave. She is wincing and working on her shoulder, but her face is relieved. “Isn’t it so nice in here? Better than being inland and away from the water. I do not trust the native people, either.”

“Yes, it is very nice.” Alonso gasps as a splash runs further up his leg than he wanted. “A bit cold, but a nice spot out of the rain.”

“You got to give the islanders a chance,” Katrina says. “Most of them are totally fine. It’s like anywhere else. There’s always a couple assholes ruining things for everyone.”

“As a matter of fact,” Maahjabeen declares, “I don’t have to give them a chance. Not if I am living in here. And it is probably a good idea for us to have at least one or two of us out of their clutches.”

“Two. Yes.” Alonso turns, worried at the misanthropic edge in Maahjabeen’s voice. He would rather appeal to her humanity. “You and Pradeep. Together again.”

A brief sob escapes before Maahjabeen can suppress it. “Yes. My Mahbub. I miss him so.”