Chapter 59 – All The Love But None Of The Attention
February 10, 2025
Thanks for joining us for the fourth and final 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!
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59 – All The Love But None Of The Attention
Triquet climbs the narrow stairs through the open trapdoor up into the bunker. The structure is forlorn in the shadows, showing no sign of the life it held for so many weeks. They emerge into a gray morning. Their second to last here. The camp where they had so many parties and arguments is now covered with new detritus. The stump that cradled the barrel of wine is just a stump again.
They cross to the beach and survey the length of it. Such a tiny little world they inhabited. But it had everything they needed. Ennui fills them. Oh, great. They’re going to bawl like a baby when this is over, aren’t they? How odd. They’ve never had such a reaction to a field trip ending. Usually it was some measure of relief and excitement to get back to the lab so they could analyze their finds. And there is some of that here as well. Excellent finds. But this has been one of the most special and significant episodes of their whole life and they will never forget any of these people.
Ah. There they are. At the edge of Tenure Grove. Arguing, as always. Triquet approaches, holding their treasure up like a bible.
“But what we’re saying is that this isn’t going to have any kind of island-wide effect.” Jay, for once, has a dispute with Pradeep. “Bro, there’s like no conceivable network that connects these trees to the trees in the interior, which is the whole—”
“And I am saying the same thing,” Pradeep interrupts with impatience. “That is why we do it here first. To see if there is any effect on the grove before we unleash it on the entire island.”
“But what we are also saying,” Amy adds, “is that we don’t have enough time to meaningfully monitor our effects. We will be gone by the time this forest can express any kind of reaction. So this is a waste of time here. We can’t tilt the conversation of the island in the time we have left, and certainly not from here. I appreciate your desire to be methodical, but either we do this or we don’t.”
“Then I say we don’t,” Pradeep declares. “It is too dangerous. The communication networks of forests are hardly understood. We might be doing grave damage and we would never even know.”
“It’s a bloody good idea, though,” Katrina sighs. “You got to admit. Once we learn the languages of plants and forests we’ll be able to talk to them no problem. Oh, what a world that will be! ‘What kind of apples are you growing here, mate? You mind if I climb up and sit in your branches?’ Anyway, I wrote a bit of a, well, a piano concerto. I tweaked it so it has overtones in the ultrasonic range, well as much as my shitty phone speaker can emit, to see if I can get close to what the trees hear. Jay said that’s their range. I was going to play as you did your work on the trees.”
“That is very sweet,” Pradeep allows, “but I’m afraid the study showed the trees only make the noise when they are under stress. The more noise, the more stress. So we need to make sure your music doesn’t sound like alarm bells to them.”
“Yeh. Right.” Katrina quirks her mouth in thought. “I’ll just have to play it like super soothing, I guess. Legato. Legato.”
“Maybe this is not a terrible idea.” Alonso places a hand against the spongy bark of the redwood which towers over him. “Maybe we cannot change the, the tenor of the whole island, but at least this grove, our special grove where only we lived, can get our blessing. And who knows? Maybe some of us will come back some day and see the results of our work. Ehh. Then we will tell the others. How would those results manifest, Amy?”
“Just Tenure Grove…?” Amy steps a couple more paces into its shadows. “Yes. That’s a lovely idea, Alonso. Let’s just leave the best of us here in this beautiful spot. Who knows? Maybe things will grow more lush, more inter-related. I think of it as harmony…”
To illustrate, Katrina plays the opening chord on her phone’s piano app. It is like glass breaking, in a bittersweet, minor key.
Amy nods. “Yes, exactly. Those five days with the vixen… I could feel it. I can still feel it, what that level of connection to the living world is like. I hope I never lose it. It’s like speaking to god…”
“Yes,” Maahjabeen agrees. “For as the Prophet said to his companions, ‘If the Hour of Resurrection is about to come, and one of you is holding a palm shoot, let him take advantage of even one second before the Hour has come to plant it.’ In Islam we love trees and respect our environment.”
“So how do we do this?” Alonso asks. “Maahjabeen will pray. Katrina will play her very nice music. What can the rest of us do?”
Pradeep lifts a tray filled with open dishes of cloudy liquids and a cartoonishly-large syringe. “These are mostly alkaloids for the mycorrhizae, for their signaling channels. There’s some salts as well. I just drew on what I know about them so far. It’s all about increasing signal strength. I don’t want to tell them what to say, I only want to increase their ability to say… whatever they want.”
“Right on.” Jay pats his shoulder. “Mister free speech over here. I was thinking of a couple things, myself. You know, trees talk with pheromones through the air so I was trying to think of ways to share mine. You know, like, if I’m thinking beautiful thoughts. Get into those alpha waves. Then once I have a good groove going, release some stank, talk to my brothers and sisters here. But I want to shoot it right into their veins and this outer bark is so thick I don’t know how to reach the cambium. I mean… I was just going to like hug big fella here, but… then I thought… maybe I should like dig a shallow pit and crouch down in it. You know, let the feelers of its roots pick up my vibe.” He lifts a foldable spade.
“No no no,” Pradeep answers. “No digging. That will invariably cause stress, don’t you think?”
“Yeah…” Jay’s face falls. “Probably right. Maybe I can get up in the canopy and sing like a bird.”
Esquibel cannot help herself. She bursts out laughing. Flavia does too. Even Miriam joins them. “I’m sorry,” she gasps. “It’s just the idea of Jay dressed as a songbird, crouched on a branch up there, whistling…” Esquibel laughs again, until nearly all of them are.
“Nah, dude. I was going to rap.” But that just makes them laugh even harder. Jay’s earnestness dissolves before all this mirth.
“It’s just all so silly…” Esquibel finally manages. “I was trying to be respectful, but we have strayed so far from established science with this claptrap that I couldn’t…”
“I am so glad you did,” Flavia tells her. “Because I was about to. There is a difference between experimentalism and—and voodoo.”
“Yes, yes. The unbelievers have had their say.” Pradeep smiles modestly, readying his syringe. “Cynicism is easy. Of course there is only a tiny chance that these efforts have any affect at all. But we don’t actually know. Like Alonso said, I want us all to promise that if any of us come back here, we must do every possible test on this tree and this grove to see if our work has done anything at all.”
He shoves the cylinder of the syringe into the earth and pushes its plunger. Katrina plays more of her shattering, ear-piercing piano concerto. Jay yelps in alarm, realizing it’s happening now, and embraces the tree. His face is muffled so they can’t make out his words, only that they follow a beat.
Esquibel and Flavia laugh again. Alonso peers upward, fighting the stiffness in his back and neck, trying to see a hundred meters to the top. The trunk vanishes into the dark green canopy, and wind flutters its limbs. “I would like to think,” he says, placing a hand against the wall of bark, “that we will leave this place as friends.”
“And I’d like to offer,” Triquet finally says, having waited for the proper moment, “the words of Lieutenant DeVry, who left a bit of a journal I just found. Remember him? He was the delinquent one always fraternizing with the locals? We thought he was like chasing skirts but it turns out he was actually quite the sensitive soul. He was fascinated by the Lisicans. But he never really understood them. ‘They remain closed to me and won’t ever speak directly to me. But they have finally become animated in my presence. The parents are very tender and warm toward their children and they love a good squabble. What led their ancestors to this godforsaken rock I have no idea. But since it has been peopled, at least we are lucky that they are a gentle folk. Suspicious, but gentle.’ At the end of his journal, he complains several times about being prevented from seeing them any more. He says, ‘by the end of my time here I enjoy the company of the natives more than my own race, even though they still don’t speak with me! Perhaps it is because they don’t speak with me. Ha ha. I’ve never been comfortable as the center of attention. I like to stand aside and observe. The villagers let me. Boren never does.’ That’s the Staff Sergeant. Doesn’t sound like old Clifton DeVry got along very well with him.”
Katrina concludes her concerto and Jay releases the redwood. Amy brushes a spider from his hair.
Mandy looks up at the waving tops of the tree, thinking how Jay first proposed to turn it into a tower for her weather station. She’d thought he was a real meathead then. Now she has much more tender thoughts for him. He smiles at her, abashed. But she reaches out and snares his hand to squeeze it. “That was so sweet. Now don’t forget. You and I aren’t done. We’ve still got more scar tissue to pull apart when we get back home. You promised to visit.”
He beams, squeezing her hand back. “No doubt, sister.”
“And now,” Esquibel declares, “ceremony complete, let us get back underground, or at least away from where approaching ships might spy us. Remember. The American boats aren’t the only ones who promised to come back tomorrow.”
Ξ
Alonso rests a hand on the wine barrel and tilts it. “About halfway empty. We drank perhaps one hundred fifty bottles. In eight weeks. Fifty-six days. That is nearly three bottles per day, a good amount. I am proud of us. Our appetites. But now, my liver needs a bit of a break.” He peers at Amy, who is putting the last of her things in her duffel. They are in the sub’s ward room that is closest to the surface, where they have removed all the furniture so they have enough room to organize and pack all their gear. “Perhaps the rest of it, we can leave with the sailors who are coming. Or maybe someone else wants it. But I will never drink a Château Ausone again without thinking of this place. And all you lovely people.”
He shares his smile with Amy and Mandy, the only other person in here. She is struggling to pack with one good arm. Amy finally notices her difficulties. “Oh, dear. Let me help you.”
“Thanks.” Mandy steps back with a sigh, clutching her shoulder. “All this movement. Starting to hurt.”
Amy nods, sympathetic. “Sorry. I should have realized… Just got caught up in my own mess and didn’t look up for…” She falls silent as she works on folding Mandy’s t-shirts.
“Where is Esquibel?” Alonso wonders. “Perhaps she can help?”
Mandy and Amy both glower at Alonso.
“Ah.” He recalls the status of their relationship. “My apologies. It is too sad that things have ended as they have. I remember when we first got here and how happy you made each other. Now, we haven’t heard the good doctor laugh like that in too long.”
“Alonso. Mandy doesn’t want to hear…”
Mandy sighs. “No, it’s fine. It’s actually like good to talk about it. I haven’t had anyone… She doesn’t have anyone to… I mean, break ups can be so lonely. And I don’t even know if that’s what this is. I mean…” She shrugs, helpless. “I don’t know where we stand. I can’t blame her for—I mean… I can’t look at anything Esquibel did and say she should have done something different. She had her orders.”
“And she followed them as well as she could.” Alonso agrees. “We always like to have a dream, this fantasy that there exists a place somewhere that is truly cut off from the troubles of the rest of the world. But such a place does not exist. Even here. We are all one planet, and no matter how far we travel we bring the sins and crimes of the world wherever we go.”
“The sisters pushed the father of their children into the sea.” Amy doesn’t know if she necessarily agrees, but this is what his words made her think. “And yet they didn’t consider it a sin.”
“I don’t know.” Mandy sits back against a bin, shoulders slumped in defeat. “Getting shot… It’s like it knocked the wind out of me and the wind never came back. Maybe it will with time. I just thought, I mean, even a few days ago I still thought that we’d go back and I’d be in Topanga and every once in a while Esquibel would come to port in Long Beach or San Diego or whatever and we could have a lovely weekend or week, but now I don’t know. Now I think that we…”
“We are just too different.” Esquibel slips through the hatch between ward rooms, her hands full of folded sheets. “My path is far too dangerous for a wonderful, beautiful person such as you, Mandy.” She says it factually, her voice flat, her eyes downcast. “I love you too much to put you through that.”
Mandy eyes Esquibel speculatively. “Oh, you do? You’ve made that choice, have you? You know, I think that might be my biggest trouble with our relationship after all. Esquibel, you never once let me decide. You never told me about your secret life, and then when you did you said you could never change and that I can’t be near you. Now you’re breaking up with me before I even get to say whether that’s what I want or not. And that’s fucked up.”
Esquibel looks at Mandy with astonishment. “Meaning… what? You don’t want to break up with me?”
“I don’t know.” Mandy flails her good arm outward. “All I’m saying is that the real problem isn’t that you’re a spy, or that I’m in danger, the real problem is that you never let me decide for myself! Okay? We have to make this decision together, or there really is no hope for us.”
Esquibel smiles, shy. “So you think there might still be hope? Oh, Mandy! Yes. You are right. I am a control freak. Just like you. But even worse. And I am so sorry. I thought if I just kept you safe and comfortable you could ask for nothing more. But I never made sure that is actually what you wanted. I just… I just came here with things inside me that I thought could never be negotiated. Like, upon pain of death. And that—that hardness in me, it has only pushed you away from me. Now I don’t deserve you.”
“Stop. You’re doing it again. Why don’t you let me make that decision?” Mandy asks. “You know I love you. I know you love me. Let’s work together to see if we can find a way through this?”
“My god, Mandy,” Amy murmurs in admiration, “listen to you. Who taught you to be so wise?”
Mandy shrugs, then winces. “I guess that Chinese spy. And his gun. I learned from them that life is short. And it can be so easily stolen. That’s what I now know. So there’s no more time for regrets. Come here, Skeebee.”
With a sob of relief, Esquibel kneels and puts her head in Mandy’s lap. Hot tears flow from her tightly-squeezed eyes. A sound she’s never made comes from deep in her throat.
Mandy pets Esquibel as she quivers and gasps, watching in silent wonder as her lover finally unlocks. How long has it been since she has let her guard down and unclenched these held muscles? Has she ever? Esquibel trembles in her lap, clutching Mandy’s legs like she’s drowning. What has it been like for her, working on ships year in and year out, tending the wounded sailors of a different nation? How solitary has her life been?
“What’s that sound? Is there trouble?” Triquet appears in the hatch, then Miriam and Maahjabeen.
“No trouble,” Alonso reassures them. “Just forgiveness.” He wipes his own tears away. “And sometimes it can be messy.”
Ξ
Their last dinner is cold, the remains of torn sheets of seaweed and dried banana chips. This would have been an unpalatable dish when they first arrived but their tastes have been forcibly changed by the environment. Now it satisfies them.
They sit on and lie against their stacks of gear, silent in the dim ward room. All of them are present, drowsing after a full day of effort. Jay chews the nori like gum, studying Katrina across from him. She has aged dramatically in the eight weeks here. Not just in the weathering of her fair skin but the look in her eye, her poise. Nobody would mistake her for a sixteen year-old any more. “Yo, dude. We should have one last concert. Don’t you think?”
Katrina shrugs, flips a hand. “All packed up. And I ain’t…”
“No no no, you’re right,” Jay agrees.
“But that doesn’t mean we can’t have a concert.” Alonso closes his eyes and tilts his head back. In a moody baritone, he sings the melody of Dvořák’s Serenade for Strings. His voice echoes in the metal chamber. Eyes closed, they all absorb the waves of sound washing over them.
A metallic clunk interrupts him, from deeper within the sub. Eyes open. The room waits in quivering silence.
“Got damn Chinese spy still out here.” Jay rises, looking for a weapon. “And he’s still got his orders. Just cause he’s somebody’s slave doesn’t mean…”
Esquibel has already fetched her satchel. She waves an urgent hand at the room. “Turn off the lights, Triquet. Everybody back against the walls.”
In a quiet rush, they all comply with her orders.
A slender figure steps into the hatch. “No more music…?” It is Jidadaa. She blinks into the darkness of the ward room.
“Oh, sweet!” Katrina cries out. “It’s Jidadaa! Aww. Wasn’t sure we got to see you again, love. Come here!”
“But the music?” Jidadaa asks. “Where is it?”
“Ah. You mean some of this?” Alonso laughs, self-deprecating, and begins again. This time Bach’s first Cello Suite. He waves his hand back and forth in the air like a fish’s fin in the water as the notes rise from him. Jidadaa kneels down on the deck, entranced. “Yes, lovely, is it not? Ahh. Just imagine hearing Bach for the first time. I envy you, young lady. Everything we have been talking about here, about the rhythm of nature and Her harmonies, has already been fully given voice by Johann Sebastian Bach. From hundreds of years ago. What do you think, Jidadaa? Eh?”
“More.”
“Yes, it sounds of the truth, doesn’t it? The secrets of life?”
“But, wait.” Esquibel leans forward. “Before you continue, Alonso. First, a few questions for Jidadaa. Are you alone?”
Jidadaa looks steadily at her. “I have Kula.”
“No. Just right now. Is anyone with you tonight?”
“No.” But as she says it, she nods her head yes.
“Eh.” Katrina reaches out. “No is a shake of the head this way.” She demonstrates.
Jidadaa laughs. “New to me. English words with my body.”
“So you are alone right now?”
“Jidadaa last saw the people this morning.” Her tone suddenly shifts. “This is a story about the ecchic oviki.”
Triquet finally gets the light back on. “This is?”
“The house of Thunderbird rests along the path to the house of Inchwi, god of winter east wind. That is what they say.” Jidadaa turns and unerringly points aboveground toward their secret village in the trees. “They say the god sends the cold wind to drive their enemies away. But the Shidl Dít say the wind make them strong. Their skin thick. Their blood hot. I do not say it. I do not believe. But I feel the wind. I sleep with them last night.”
“Oh, up on those platforms?” Katrina longs to console the lonely girl, to encircle her in her arms. But she knows she cannot touch her. “They sway so much it’s like a ship at sea.”
“And how are our old friends the golden childs?” Alonso asks.
But Jidadaa is too literal for this question. “Only people of the pollen in the spring. That season is past. No more golden childs. Now they are people of start of summer. People of the green sea.”
Alonso nods. “Understood. Are they well? I hope they know how much we appreciate all they have done for us.”
“It is a happy village. Three fox babies for them, young people and old. Great blessing. Old curse is lifted. The Shidl Dít say the prophet poem that the island has chosen is mostly their own.”
“Oh!” Katrina squawks. “It happened? The doom has passed and we’re now in the new era?”
“For most. Then I go to Ussiaxan. Not happy. Shouting. The people only have one fox and the girl, she is not strong. Village split. Many want to join with Keleptel. They have four fox now. Many want to find mama fox. To them she is new god. Shaman tell them to find her.”
“But isn’t the shaman their slave?” Flavia frowns. Then she holds up a hand. “No. I will never understand. Do not explain.”
“So, wait. When we first got here there were only three foxes,” Pradeep inventories. “Morska Vidra’s, the old one with the exiled shaman on the north coast, and the vixen. Where did the vixen come from? The Shidl Dít?”
“Yes.” But Jidadaa shakes her head no. Then when she sees Katrina correct her she laughs and imitates the nod.
“And then ten babies?”
“Eleven.” Amy lifts her own kit, now sleek and full, with colorless fur shading toward silver. The vixen still feeds her kits, appearing twice a day on an endless circuit around the island accompanied by her mate. “And I think I can finally safely say this one is a female.”
“Three with the Thunderbird. Four with the Mayor’s village. One with the bad guys. Aren’t there two missing?”
“Other íx̱tʼ on island.”
“Aye,” Miriam agrees. “Other íx̱tʼ. Whoever they are. The mysteries never cease. We could stay here our whole lives and never really learn the way Lisica works, could we?”
“Wait…” Amy holds up a hand like a student. “That’s what Xaanach called out, isn’t it? When she killed Wetchie-ghuy. She repeated that phrase again and again. What was it?”
“Ja sam sada íx̱tʼ!” Katrina mimics the girl’s triumphant cry from the clifftops. “The first part is Slavic. Like, ‘Now I’m the…!’ And the last part is íx̱tʼ. What Jidadaa just said. What is íx̱tʼ? Shaman?”
“Yes…?” Jidadaa tentatively nods in agreement. “Wetchie-ghuy was íx̱tʼ. Daadaxáats is íx̱tʼ. Aan Eyagídi was íx̱tʼ before—”
“Yeh. That’s it!” Katrina puts the puzzle together. “Now I’ve got it. She said, ‘I’m the shaman now!’ So Xaanach killed Wetchie-ghuy and became the shaman in his place. Bloody circle of life, mate. I thought that may have been it. Does that mean she got one of the missing foxes?”
Jidadaa frowns. “I look and look. No Xaanach. No more fox kit. This is a story of ecchic oviki.”
“Oh, right. What is that?” Katrina starts recording video on her phone. “Ecchic Oviki. Or who…?”
“Sacred stone. On the path to Northwest forest god. That is what they say. I climb there, follow its poem. From ecchic oviki, see like bird over Agleygle valley place. See all island of the south gods.”
Katrina tries to square this with the relational framework she has puzzled out in their language. “So the story is about the place from where you searched for… Xaanach? The baby fox? It isn’t about your search or her hiding from you or even about the vixen. It’s about the rock. And, what? How it like bears witness?”
But Jidadaa frowns at these questions. They are evidently the wrong ones. She makes a flushing gesture with her hands, pushing them away from herself. “The current ran from me, too fast.”
“I see.” But neither Katrina nor any of the others do see.
Finally Jidadaa collapses with a sigh, leaning against Katrina’s legs. “No find her. My heart hurt. So I come to you, under the grounds. Then I hear music.”
Alonso offers, “Yes. Would you like more music? Perhaps a little Brahms lullaby to put us all to sleep? What do you think? Nice and gentle…” And he begins to sing it.
Jidadaa nods happily one last time then slumps, the simple lyricism of the lullaby affecting her deeply. She rests her head against Katrina’s knees and sighs again.
Katrina hasn’t moved since the unexpected contact. She is too surprised. But as Jidadaa settles against her, she reaches out and touches Jidadaa’s hair. The girl does not startle. So Katrina runs her fingers gently through the tangles. After a while, she begins picking at them, grooming her like the fellow primate she is.
Jidadaa is the first to fall asleep.
Ξ
In the dark, Flavia pulls herself through the tight squeeze of the lower tunnel to win through to the culvert beyond. She takes out her phone and turns on its light, looking in despair at her clothes. These are her favorite top and pants and she’d hoped to travel in them but now they are filthy, and will only get more so when she returns. But she needs to empty her bladder too much to care.
“Ah! Blinded!” Mandy’s head emerges from the tunnel, her black hair streaked in mud, and gets a face full of Flavia’s light. She shuts her eyes with a grimace and drags herself from the tunnel.
“Eh, sorry.” Flavia whips the light away, to the water racing in the culvert below. “I think, maybe, we should just pee in here.”
“I’m not going down that slope. Looks slick. Might fall in. And then what?”
“Yes, you are right. Better somewhere in the cave…” With an aggravated sigh she leads Mandy to the rusted steel door and they step through.
“Who is that?” It is a male voice. Pradeep.
Flavia startles, then laughs. “Oh, great. Just looking for privacy. Didn’t find it. Sorry. I have to go!”
Maahjabeen sits up, clutching her pillow to her bare chest. “Go? Go where, Flavia? What time is it?”
“Ehh…” Flavia can’t hold it any more. “Go to the bathroom!” And she hurries in the other direction from the sleeping pair, toward the rotting pier and curtain falls in the back corner.
“Me too!” Mandy ducks into the cave and hurries after Flavia, squatting like her at the edge of the fall’s wide but shallow pool, adding their own fluids to the Lisica freshwater and the ocean’s salt. For the sake of decency, Flavia turns the light off and they finish in darkness.
“Creepy.” Flavia stands and sorts her clothing. She turns the light back on and joins Mandy, who is waiting a few paces away. “I thought something would jump out of the water and bite me on the ass! The whole time!”
“Oh, god!” Mandy cries. “So glad I didn’t think of that.”
“You didn’t? How? What were you thinking of?”
“I was just thinking how nice it was. The dog pile we were all in. Me and Skeebee and Jidadaa and Katrina and Jay. But I don’t think you were in there? I didn’t… like, feel your skin.”
“Ehhh. I was in another pile of skin. Triquet and Alonso and Miriam and Amy. Like the sea lions on the rocks. Best sleep I’ve had in weeks. I never knew I liked sleeping in a pile!”
“Huh. Maybe it’s like,” Mandy approaches the door, her voice dropping as they near Maahjabeen and Pradeep, “it’s the ancient way of doing it. How we slept for like millions of years. Everyone spooning each other every night. Young and old, cousins and strangers. The only way to beat the cold, right? Imagine, like, you got into a fight with someone during the day. But you still had to sleep with them at night. That’s like super healing, you know?”
“Or,” Pradeep’s voice emerges from the dark, “one of you is held to be in the wrong by the larger group so you are shunned and you must sleep on your own. Those would be some pretty strong social contracts. Risk death of exposure for not conforming.”
“Like the world is not full of homeless people now,” Flavia says. “Or maybe the group splits. Some agree with you and some agree with the other one. And this is how we get the first like individual houses. From some prehistoric drama in the bedroom.”
Maahjabeen’s sleepy voice mumbles, “What are we talking about here? I am trying to sleep.”
“Ah. Sorry.” Flavia tiptoes by to the door. “Group sleeping. How it must have been the status quo forever, until we got too emotional or something.”
“Yes, come here.” Maahjabeen doesn’t even open her eyes. Flavia can only see that she holds out her arms to her. Without hesitation, Flavia goes to her, embracing the woman she still privately considers a living goddess.
“Aww, so sweet.” Mandy joins them, taking the edge of the mat behind, enclosing Flavia and Maahjabeen between her and Pradeep.
“Sisters,” Maahjabeen grunts, kissing Flavia once and petting Mandy with a heavy hand, before falling right back to sleep. Flavia is not far behind. She begins to snore.
Minutes pass. Pradeep coughs.
Mandy whispers, “I can’t believe this is our last night. I hardly got to know any of you. And at the same time…”
“One big Cuban family,” Pradeep whispers back. “I’ve hardly ever known a group of people better.”
“You and Maahjabeen just have to stay together.” Mandy reaches across the two sleeping bodies to clutch his arm. “Oh, please promise you will. You two give me like so much faith in humanity.”
“Yes, we are working that out. Money will probably be the main concern, as well as visas and all that nonsense. But Monterey has a huge oceanic sciences and kayaking community. We’ll be able to find something fitting there for Maahjabeen, especially with Amy and all her contacts.”
“You know, LA is only like five hours away. If you guys would ever… like come by for a dinner or something?”
“Really?” Pradeep’s hand clasps hers. She feels something deep within him release. “You know, you people are so good for my anxiety. I never knew I could be so… liked.”
“Loved,” Mandy amends.
He squeezes her hand. “Yes, Mandy. Loved.”
Ξ
“Good lord, dude, I couldn’t tell what I was looking at there.” Jay laughs and approaches the giant log on the lagoon’s beach, behind which Esquibel stands in her purple jacket, peering out at the gray haze of dawn. “You looked like another log, just like vertically resting against…” He reaches her and rests his sternum against the cool, wet wood. Jay studies the horizon. “So what are you doing?”
“The Russians…” Esquibel doesn’t take her eyes from the water. “They said they would be back in two weeks. As of midnight, it has been two weeks. They could arrive at any moment, yes?”
“Uh… yes. Right. Dawn raid. Total Call of Duty commando-style. Too bad we can’t lay down trip wires and C4. Right?”
“This isn’t a video game.” Esquibel sighs. She has been standing here for an hour and the chill has penetrated to her bones. With a hiss, she rubs heat into her legs and claps her arms. “And you aren’t a soldier.”
Jay grabs her hands and blows heat into them. Esquibel scowls and begins to pull them away but the sensation is too nice. “Ehh. What are you doing out here, Jay? Why aren’t you asleep?”
“Scouting the perimeter, yo. Like a sheepdog. You know me. Damn, sister. Your hands are like ice.” Without asking permission he wraps her from behind in a bear hug and breathes hot air into the back of her neck.
Esquibel squirms. “You can’t just grab me!” Then she relaxes into his embrace. His hot breath cuts straight into her bones, warming them. She sighs. “You really haven’t learned a thing about consent, this whole time? Surrounded by women?”
Jay pulls back, shocked and hurt. “Oh! Did I do it again? Fuck. So sorry, dude. I just thought…”
Esquibel shivers again. She draws his head back down. “Just don’t ever do it again. But now. Just blow.”
“Aye aye, Captain. And you keep watch.”
Esquibel does so, glaring at the blue smear of a horizon with hostility. She hasn’t had a man this close to her in years, and never so gladly. This must be what it is like to have a brother. Esquibel was never really exposed to the masculine world in her home. The home was for the women, and her father was out drinking every night until late. She would only ever see him in the morning, contrite with a hangover, sipping coffee and demanding quiet. Friends had told her of their own brothers, and how much grief they gave their sisters. So growing up, she had never wanted anyone but her mother and herself. But now, it makes her wonder what it would have been like to have a little brother who loved her.
“Good Heavens, I couldn’t tell what I was looking at there.” Triquet approaches through the mist, their face pinched in a frown. For this chilly morning they’ve brought out the vintage ski bunny coat with the ermine hood fringe. It’s so warm there hasn’t been too much opportunity to wear it here. But Triquet is determined to finally make its weight and bulk worth all the effort they’ve put into hauling it around for eight weeks by wearing it on the open water when they get picked up. “Well, if it isn’t the most unlikely couple I could imagine here. Pardon my interruption.”
“She’s just cold.” Jay breathes another lungful into Esquibel’s neck. “I ain’t macking on her.”
“Looking for the Russians?” Triquet shifts closer and wraps their own arms around Jay and Esquibel.
“Someone must.”
“You know Mandy’s plan? To be up on the cliffs where her weather station was? Scouting from the highest point, but from a spot where she can’t be seen. I think Amy’s going with her. But I don’t know what kind of luck they’ll have in this fog.”
“Well if they don’t get up and start soon, their plan won’t be of any use at all.”
“They’re already up and heading out. What, you think I woke up of my own accord at five in the morning?” Triquet laughs. “Amy was my blanket.”
“Good. And perhaps we should have a string of runners through the tunnels, to shout it out and relay the news faster than they could carry it. Everyone else is staying in the sub, yes?”
“As far as I know. Mandy said she left Flavia and the lovebirds in the sea cave. They were still asleep.”
“We should all stay together now. Remember,” Esquibel speaks softly in the gathering fog, “the Russians have always used that west beach entrance before. So they may be there this time. Or they are waiting for the dead scientist, and when he doesn’t arrive there they will sail back over here again. That is my thought.”
“It’s a good thought,” Triquet nods.
“I wish we knew,” Esquibel continues, “what killed that scientist. If it was intentional or not. But no one is talking.”
“They say the dead tell no tales but I wish I’d been there with you,” Triquet says. “ I’m sure I could have gleaned something from his gear and his context. They don’t call us forensic scientists for nothing. God, what a bloody place. He’s dead. Wetchie-ghuy. Those two Chinese soldiers we found.”
“The bodies in the bunker on the west beach,” Jay pauses in his warming breaths to add. “The ones Maahjabeen told us about.”
“Maureen Dowerd,” Triquet continues. “And look at you, with your broken hand and twisted ankle.”
“And the spear blade along his ribs.” Esquibel shakes her head in despair. “The report I will write… My god. They will bring me up on charges. Not for the espionage work, but because I did such a poor job protecting the health and safety of you lot.”
“Pradeep and Maahjabeen getting poisoned…” Jay lists. “Katrina had that night of exposure. And Flavia did a couple times. Then Maahjabeen almost getting lost in that storm. And Mandy getting shot. Shit, we’ve really been through the wringer out here.”
“Not to mention what Alonso arrived with.” Triquet grimaces, then confesses, “Then there was my miraculous healing from the bird bite and those unhygienic tattoo dots between my toes… And I haven’t been able to take a deep breath since March.”
“What? You? Why?” Esquibel shakes Jay off so she can inspect Triquet, who only waves her away.
“No, Doc, I’m fine. It was just that dive through the waterfall after I got lost inside the cliff. It hit me hard. Hyperextended my spine or something. Never really got over it.”
“You should have let me look at it,” Esquibel admonishes them. “I’m sure Mandy could have helped.”
“And that is why,” Triquet purrs, “I never mentioned it. I heard all the screams of the tortured. No thank you. Motrin and jacuzzi for me. I’ll be right as rain. As much as I’ll miss all of you and this beautiful place…”
“Motrin and jacuzzi,” Jay echoes. “Yeah, that’s hard to beat.”
“Look, it’s Alonso.” Esquibel peers over Triquet’s shoulder to see the man’s width resolve out of the fog.
“Aha! I found you. I woke up alone and I wondered where everyone was. For a moment…” Alonso shakes himself and wipes the sleep out of his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I was afraid I’d been left here. The boat had come and gone.”
“Oh, lord.” Triquet laughs. “Could you imagine? How sadistic we’d have to be, to leave one of us here.”
“Not just anyone.” Esquibel laughs as well. “To leave Alonso.”
“No, but I awoke from the most lovely dream. And then that panic almost made me forget it but I…” Alonso shakes his head, a fleeting sadness washing through him. He sees they are waiting, expectant, so he tells them. “It was morning. Bright and sunny. Not like this. And the ship was here. But the tide was very low. So we started packing it and we had so many things, a mountain of things that needed to be piled on the boats and taken out. And I was very busy. We all were. Then the tide went out. Like far far out. And the lagoon became very shallow. Like it didn’t even cover my feet. So then we were able to work very fast, moving back and forth across the water right up to the hull of the ship. And I would pop the things in the hatch and go back for more. And I worked so hard everyone else got tired and collapsed on the beach so I…” Tears suddenly spring into Alonso’s eyes and his throat closes. “I began to run. And I was so fast. And it didn’t hurt at all. But everyone was so tired so I just picked you all up like my children, carrying you one or even two at a time through the water. And I was so strong. And I had so much energy. And my legs didn’t hurt. Not at all…” Then he can’t speak any more. He buries his head in Triquet’s embrace. Jay pats his back.
“Our big Cuban papa.”
“Doctor Alonso,” Esquibel stands at attention and speaks with formality. “I do not know if you would ever want to work with me again, but I would very much work with you again, sir. You were in a difficult position, between the military and your scientists. And you handled the situation as well as anyone could. I have learned from you, how to be a leader and how to…” She shrugs eloquently, “as inappropriate as it may sound, you and your incredible wife and your crazy graduate students have taught me how to love. Better than I ever have. And because of that, I will miss you.”
“Aww, Esquibel…” Jay goes in for the hug.
She wards him away. “You, not so much.”
Alonso laughs and pulls Jay into an embrace with Triquet. “No, don’t listen to her, Jay. We love you so much. You are our mascot. You are the littlest brother. In every family, it is the same. You get all the love but none of the attention.”
Chapter 58 – Saving The Baby
February 3, 2025
Thanks for joining us for the fourth and final 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:
58 – Saving The Baby
“I really don’t think this is a good idea,” Alonso confesses, his legs ready to give out from the pain. It clouds his mind, making it hard to think or make decisions or be brave. And the hillside ahead only goes more steeply down, each footfall an increasing stab of agony. “I am sorry, everyone. Here is where I reach the end of my limit.”
“Then here is where we pop you onto the travois.”
“Mirrie, I already told you…”
“Stop, Alonso. Just stop.” Miriam puts a calming hand on his hunched shoulder. “Look. It’s too far to turn back, eh? So if we’ve got to carry you, it might as well be forward as back.”
“I cannot abide the idea of being a literal burden. You know—”
“Zo. Darling. Sweetest?”
“Yes, mi amor?”
“Shut the fuck up and get on the travois.”
Once he finally does so, they follow their earlier tracks down the slope of loose soil under the trees, pine camp behind them. Miriam leads a large knot of the crew, six in all, back to the canyon and the lake. Back in the sub, she’d promised an evening swim. Everyone but Flavia, Mandy, and Esquibel had enthusiastically grabbed towels and followed. Now Amy and Jay range eagerly ahead, finding better paths on the hillside. Maahjabeen descends with Triquet and Miriam toward the stream at the bottom, as Pradeep and Katrina drag Alonso awkwardly downhill. He grunts at every impact and won’t stop complaining, loudly and bitterly, in Spanish.
“Why don’t you sing us something, love?” Miriam asks with forced cheer as she takes her turn at Katrina’s travois pole.
But the way she looks at him only makes Alonso feel more like a child. “No!” he shouts back, petulant. “No lo haré!”
They finally reach the banks of the stream. Alonso rolls out of his conveyance and scoots down the steep bank until he can soak his legs in the cold water. He groans with pleasure and falls back against the rocky shoal behind him. Time passes. He listens to their efforts to dismantle the travois of nylon straps and branches. The warmth of the day fills him. He nearly falls asleep. Then someone blocks the bright sky and he squints up at them. “Yes?”
“We have built a raft for you.”
“Now this is getting ridiculous…”
“Not a word, you ungrateful sod. We have three extra inflatable sleeping pads from storage. Never needed them. Two get used today. Everyone’s been working hard for you while you’ve dozed.”
“Yes, yes… How very kind.” Alonso heaves himself to his feet and stares at the long black avenue of the stream, curving into a canyon dark with woods. There stand Pradeep and Katrina, knee-deep in the shallows, proud to show dad what they made for him. The gesture touches him and he holds up a hand, resolving to act with more grace, regardless of what happens or how much it hurts.
They have bound the mats loosely into an X. He drops himself in the middle. The water is nearly shocking at first, but the streambed is dark, warming the water, and it is getting later in the season. Soon he finds the current refreshing. Amy tows him, wading hip deep upstream. Now he can sing. “Don’t cry for me, Argentina…!” But the ballad isn’t suitable and he lets the echoes fade to silence.
They enter the canyon, wading through the rushing stream. His bottom bumps against the rounded riverstones. Alonso hasn’t ever seen a forest like this. The grove at the beach was just a fringe of trees compared to this deep wilderness. The nooks and crannies of this canyon have never felt the tread of human feet. So this is the pure unspoiled natural world environmentalists rhapsodize about. It is hypnotically beautiful, with glowing mushrooms and hanging lichen and flitting birds and bugs. The winding side canyons they pass are chock full of redwoods and ferns. Their amount of organic wealth defies reason. The higher orders of emergent processes that he and Flavia spoke so persuasively about are writ large here, with such a degree of fineness in the clouds of buzzing gnats and haze of pollen dusting the leaves, that it scales up out of his ability to sense it. Now this is where actual magic is, where we can tell that even after we’ve reached the limits of our measurements, there is still something immeasurable beyond.
The eight people speak in a hush, as if in a cathedral. The water sounds fill the canyon instead, and the intermittent cries of raptors overhead. The sky cracks open just as Alonso looks up through the trees, and a banner of blue appears between the gray clouds. Rays fall on the stream, making its pale-green waters luminous. “Mira.” Alonso tugs on the strap Pradeep hauls on. “The sky. What do the locals think when the blue sky shows up like that, eh? You said you think their sky is a surface. So what is this? Their egg is cracking?”
“No, the idea, as far as I can tell,” Pradeep answers, “isn’t that there’s anything beyond the clouds. They are a ceiling. A dome. Therefore, the blue we see is only a dash of paint against that surface. Their cosmos is enclosed, according to what Jidadaa has told me, although she has nothing but scorn for Lisican beliefs. But what must they think on the rare occasion they see the blinding sun? Where does that light and heat come from? God has gotten angry, very angry indeed.”
“Or the phases of the moon?” Triquet asks, wading at Alonso’s floating shoulder. “Do they even recognize it as the same body when it’s all over the sky in different shapes and colors when they can catch a glimpse of it at all? Can they track the craters and think, ah yes… a planetoid lit from various angles! I doubt it. They’re all just in this big like room of island and water, however many kilometers wide, with a perpetual gray ceiling and people appearing every once in a while from what she called the line between the sea and the sky. How many kilometers is it? Someone do the math. On a clear day how far is the horizon away?”
“Well,” Alonso reasons, “first we must know the curvature of the earth. And then the height of their point of view. I think, standing on the beach, we could see no more than a kilometer or two.”
“Yes,” Maahjabeen adds, “even standing on that fallen log on the beach, you could double the distance. These cliffs, ehh. How high did we say? Four hundred meters? We have seen from the top. It is very far. Maybe a hundred kilometers or more.”
“I’m getting a radius of like 34, 35, if I’m calculating it right.” With one hand, Katrina consults her phone for the equation while she trails her other fingers in the stream, tapping its surface like a keyboard. “Distance = 1.226 x the square root of the height.”
“So that is the extent of your whole world. Seventy kilometers in diameter on a clear day. What is that, like a couple hundred square kilometers?” Triquet muses. “A tiny little universe indeed.”
“And only like twenty of those square kilometers are land. It is nearly all open ocean. But even so, these still aren’t any kind of seafaring people.” Maahjabeen luxuriates in this water, pushing against the strong current. keeping herself in the deeps up to her waist. It is so much warmer than the ocean. And just kinder to her in nearly every way. She has very little experience with fresh water. There wan’t much in Tunisia so she spent all her time on the beach and in the sea. “The Lisicans were always completely closed off from the ocean by the surf and currents just like we were so they could never learn to build boats. Just net fish in the lagoon. So, to people like them, the ocean must be as impassable and mysterious as the sky. What do they think happens beneath its waves? They must see whales and all the marine life break the surface. How do they…? I mean, do they know fish live down there? They must. Their ancestors were a whaling people, yes? Didn’t they teach their children how the world works before disappearing in here?”
“Who knows?” Katrina muses. “They didn’t bring music. I thought music was essential to being human. So that means all kinds of things can be lost or forgotten. Even the sea and the sky.”
They finally fetch up at the base of the deadfall that blocks the canyon, damming the rest of it upstream into the lake. But it is a serious climb, perhaps thirty meters up at a steep angle, on slick black logs poking out every which way. Alonso regards it, baleful. This is impossible. He gives up before he even thinks to try.
“I think the best route is over here,” Jay calls out from the far left of the dam. “Got to hug this side on the way up to avoid a big hole in the center. You don’t want to drop down into like dark rushing water and never be heard from again.”
“Yes,” Alonso declares loudly, “I think I will be just fine here. You can all go on. Please do not worry about me.”
“But we can’t leave our big papa behind!” Katrina pats his head and smiles down at him with love. “We’ll figure something out.”
The others have already started clambering up the wreckage. Miriam turns her back to the dam and sits, scooting upward, using her arms. “Look, Zo. You can do it like this.”
“It is too far, Mirrie.”
“Oh my god, listen to you.” Amy laughs at him in disbelief. “Can you believe this is Alonso, Mir? Our Alonso? Boy used to swing through the trees like Tarzan now you ask him to scooch a bit—”
“And he bawls like a baby.” Miriam joins in her laughter. Alonso scowls at them both. They don’t know how depleted he is.
“Be nice.” Katrina comes to his defense. “Good days and bad days. I learned with Pavel. Probably for a very long time.”
But the older women aren’t chastened. They both sit backwards and scoot their bums up the broken terrain, laughing as they go.
“Fine.” Alonso sits up in his floating mats and grabs the nearest broken branch. He hauls himself to his feet and wades toward the dam. He even manages to take a dozen steps upward before the cold wears off and the pain returns. Then he turns and sits as they did and scoots himself ignominiously backward up the fallen logs. Each move provokes a grunt, but he does find a rhythm, recalling once again the strength that remains in his arms and shoulders. Soon he is the only one left on the face of the dam, the only sounds a trickle of water and his echoing sounds of effort.
His gaze drops. Below, one of the Thunderbird clan stand at the edge of the stream, watching him. Seeing the youth makes Alonso’s breath catch in his throat. He had been lost in his misery, thinking he was alone. But there are few more powerful forces in the human heart than vanity. What a pathetic figure he is. They’ve surely never seen anything like him before, a pale gray man bloated with all the ills of the modern world, unable to climb a pile of logs.
Pride deeply stung, Alonso stands. Ignoring the shattering pain, he marches stiff-legged over the last logs to clear the top edge and behold the lake for the first time.
A patch of sun shines on it. Ancient primeval trees crowd its banks on both sides. The sunlight is luminous, blue and green and gold. All his toil is forgotten. This lake is a paradise. The pain and the humiliation have been worth it, indeed.
The others follow Pradeep, stringing along to the left at the base of the canyon wall where a fringe of lakeshore provides a narrow path further in. Except for Katrina. She’s already in the water, paddling happily beside them like a dog.
Alonso sighs in pleasure and rolls into the lake at his feet.
Their waterproof packs provide both Dyson readers and lunch. At the pocket beach ringed by willows, they find the gravel sharp but the logs plentiful. They set up a porch and benches and a camp chair for Alonso. But he refuses to get out of the water yet.
Maahjabeen does too. Now that she’s in the lake she relishes it. Fresh water has so many different properties from salt. She is less buoyant here and has to work harder to stay afloat. But the water is cool and crisp. So fresh. And she can drink directly from the lake. The best water she’s ever tasted. No, she will never get out. They will have to drag her kicking and screaming from this lake. From now on she is no longer a proud and noble orca, she is an eel slithering about in the mud. And it couldn’t feel better.
Her crew on the shore are busy setting up their day camp. Look at them. Her very own Pradeep, busy and serious as always. Amy, who has gently removed the weak little kit fox from where she kept it, in the chest zipper pocket of her windshirt. She now crouches at the shore, digging up grubs or any other nutrients she can get in its mouth. Katrina, standing unabashedly naked in a spot of warm sun, wringing her hair out. Miriam kneeling at the edge of the treeline, rearranging her backpack for geological work. Triquet in a sarong, picking their way barefoot to the shore, collecting flowers. Jay, scrambling restlessly further in. They are her family. They really are. It did happen. All those she cares about right now in the world are here, in this sacred little valley hidden away from the rest of the world. Sure, add Esquibel and Mandy and Maahjabeen’s Italian sister Flavia and she will be complete. This lake shall be her private little ocean, this canyon her temple to God.
Alonso floats beside her. His trailing hand accidentally snags a strand of her hair that has snuck out from under her wet scarf. “Oh, I am very sorry, Miss Charrad.”
“It is no problem,” she turns her body in the water to face him, “Papa.” And she favors him with a dimpled smile.
Alonso beams with satisfaction, like he just completed a jigsaw puzzle. Maahjabeen had surely been the last holdout, hadn’t she? They had all embraced the family, except for her. But now she has found her own way in, through the love she shares with Pradeep.
“I never want this to end,” she continues. “You are all too dear.”
“Here we have found our heaven,” he agrees.
And then they hear a distant cry, from above the canyon’s rim somewhere, a ragged scream of outrage and pain. It stops them all. Everyone stands and those in the water paddle over to a fallen log so they can stand too, hip deep. The cry comes again, from a voice they don’t know. It is human, certainly, but that is all they can tell.
“Dear lord. Impossible to say…” Miriam studies one rim then the other, “where that originates. Which side…”
“Yeah,” Jay agrees. “First I thought it was from the far side up there. Then our side. Now… I don’t know.”
They wait for another cry. They wait and wait. But it never comes. Five then ten minutes pass.
“Starting to feel foolish here…” Triquet mutters. “Who even was that? And what do we do now, people?”
“Are we sure that was human?” Amy asks. “I’ve heard some calls from rutting elk that didn’t sound too different.”
“Seen any elk on Lisica?” Miriam asks.
“Well, no, but…” Amy shakes her head, none of the catalog of life she has found here appropriate for that tortured sound. “I don’t know. Maybe it is human. But they can’t be looking for us. Right?”
“Maybe they are,” Pradeep shrugs, “but they just can’t find us. Maybe that is their frustration at losing our trail in the stream.”
“Well, I am getting cold,” Alonso decides. “Let us all keep doing what we were doing. Get to work. All we can do is keep our ears open. But I don’t think we should go anywhere. Doing anything rash like moving back to pine camp now will only expose—”
The cry reaches them again, like a white noise wolf’s howl from over the horizon. Its pain and rage is horrible to hear. Whoever it is must be tearing their throat to shreds.
“Yes,” Maahjabeen agrees, climbing up the submerged log until she can grab one of its upraised roots. She holds a hand out for Alonso to join her. “Let us carry on. You are right. Nothing else to do. But Jay, please don’t go any farther. Stay close.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right.” Jay’s spidey sense is totally tingling. That sound is evil, like straight up dangerous. He had been about to skirt around an outcrop to see what the next inlet held but now he returns to the safety of their little pocket beach. Leaning down, he hauls first Alonso then Maahjabeen from the water.
Katrina dresses as they dry off. Jay locates a nice stout branch that would make a good club. Amy begins preparing lunch.
Alonso sits and listens, their watchdog. He leans back and scouts the broken edges of the canyon rims above, their dark shadowed slopes against the sailing clouds. Bits of sky still break through and patches of sun race across the redwood treetops of the far canyon wall. He hears nothing. Idly, he removes his laptop from a dry bag and arranges his workstation with the external hard drive and a pair of batteries. Might as well get some Plexity tasks done.
Miriam finishes ordering her kit and hauls her pack on, facing the wall of the canyon behind them. She only needs to go a few steps before she touches a formation of pale epidosite hiding behind a fern. Finally she might get to see the island’s interior ophiolites in all their glory. It is just further confirmation in her model of uplift and the remnants of the Kula plate beneath. “The Late Cretaceous,” she muses to herself, “was a happening place.”
Maahjabeen joins Pradeep in preparing the Dyson readers for lake organism collection. They have five with them and a couple aren’t charged. They plug those in and Jay takes one, leaving the two others for Pradeep and Maahjabeen. Pradeep crouches at the shoreline, looking under rocks for pale annelids and Belostomatidae waterbugs and Pacifastacus crayfish. She re-enters the water with a sigh, wading out into its velvety embrace. Now it doesn’t feel cold at all. She takes one sample of the lake’s surface water at the edge, then others at meter increments heading into deeper water.
AAAAACCCCCCHHHHH!
The cry echoes through the canyon again, this time closer and if anything even more wild and urgent. Triquet flinches, weaving the flowers into a garland, and scowls at the sky. Maahjabeen ducks her head under, instantly resolving to get water column samples from a place she can’t hear that awful scream. Reveling in the silence, she opens her eyes underwater. It is still and deep green, only turbid and dark below her feet. With her fuzzy vision she looks at her glowing hand and the white reader. Pressing a pair of buttons, she takes a sample at the depth of one meter, then two.
She surfaces just as another scream erupts from above. Yes, it is indisputably human now, there is a slur of inaudible words in the gaps between. Maahjabeen swims over to Pradeep. He looks up at the cliff tops with an anxious frown. No. She will not let him slip into the clutches of his panic. She will hold him tight.
Now there is no break in the screams. The unseen figure circles above somehow like a raptor, their cries splitting the air again and again. The crew share worried glances and draw close.
“There!” Jay shouts, pointing down canyon toward the top of the cliffs. They can all see the huddled figure atop the highest stone, lifting his face from where he found something at his feet all the way up to the sky. But he uncharacteristically sways, this barrel-shaped Lisican, and lifts his arms in triumph. With a final scream he steps confidently out into space, arms windmilling.
They all cry out in shock, watching him plummet over a hundred meters to the ground. His last scream is cut short by impact.
Alonso stifles a sob. Triquet cries out, burying their face in Miriam’s embrace. Maahjabeen can’t move. Her mind is blank. Pradeep whips an arm around her and turns them away.
“No way.” Jay edges back toward the dam. His breath comes in fast shallow gasps. “No fucking way. That just happened.” He can’t process the gruesome event. He doesn’t even want to. But his feet move him to the dam regardless. The man landed past it alongside the stream below on the same side of the canyon they occupy.
Pradeep joins him, as do Katrina, Miriam, and Amy. In silence they make their way down the slope of fallen logs back to the stream. It is the oxbow where they had stopped during their first exploration of the canyon that they halt again. “Yes,” Pradeep estimates. “It was directly up there…”
Jay finds the body a surprising distance from the cliff, in a field of rubble. The man lies still, on his side in a pool of blood and gore, quite dead. “Yooo. Oh my fucking god. It’s Wetchie-ghuy.”
Miriam joins him, clapping a hand over her mouth at the gruesome sight. One of his eyes burst from his skull on impact. His jaw is shattered and blood still leaks from his skull.
“Dear god.” Pradeep grips Miriam’s arm as nausea sweeps through him. Even his trained clinical detachment is challenged by this much carnage. He retches.
Amy stays back, looking up to the clifftop. “There’s still someone up there. Waving.” She waves back.
A tiny voice reaches them, repeating the same phrase again and again: “Ja sam sada íx̱tʼ! Ja sam sada íx̱tʼ!”
“It’s Xaanach.” Amy shades her eyes with her hand. “She’s got something in her hand. Like a paper. Oh! She dropped it!”
The small parcel flutters down to them with the weight of a leaf. It lands in the stream and Jay has to chase it down like a retriever. He returns with his prize, holding it up wordlessly for the others.
It is a small ziploc with a pair of pills and chalky residue in it.
“What am I looking at?” Amy asks.
“Oh my days,” Miriam sighs, recognizing it.
Jay’s voice is flat. “This is the bag of drugs Katrina brought. It was like pretty full when Jidadaa stole it.”
“And then it somehow ended up with Xaanach and…?” Pradeep falls silent, staring up at the cliff top, dark thoughts gathering.
“He lost our rap battle and took off. I didn’t see him again ‘til now…” Jay shakes his head in horror, his own part in this tragedy becoming clear. “I mean, fuck. This is seriously hardcore. Way way too messed up for me. They fed dude the whole freaking bag. “Tripping balls. That was like forty hits of acid and a whole handful of MDMA. He didn’t even know where he was. Or what he was doing when he fell off the cliff. Never even knew he died.”
“Oh, he knew… He knew what he was doing.” Pradeep backs away from Wetchie-ghuy’s corpse to the water’s edge. He can’t take his eyes from the clifftop. “See, that’s where Xaanach left my blood. On top of that rock. Then she filled him with drugs and led him here. That’s my blood on the rock.” His voice trembles, the anxiety clawing at him, impossible to deny. “This wasn’t accidental. He was hunting me.”
“And Xaanach killed him,” Amy tells him, in an attempt to allay his fears, to soothe his trembling limbs and startled eyes. “He’s gone now, Pradeep. He can’t hurt any of us any longer.”
Xaanach sees him from above. She lifts her own ring finger, the same one as Pradeep’s where she drew his blood. Xaanach laughs and calls out to him again in triumph, repeating the same phrase as before. “Ja sam sada íx̱tʼ!”
Ξ
Mandy finds she can move her arm again. It hurts, and it makes her ill thinking how torn and ruptured the fibers of muscle and flesh are, but she can move.
She sits up in the clean room. Esquibel has rebuilt it around her. Pine camp is quiet. It is amazing how exhausted she is from getting shot. Hollywood’s got it all wrong. It’s such an emotional event. There is somehow so much grief in it, like she’s lost a part of herself that she’ll never get back. Like her soul was just punched right out of her frame. And that makes her so tired. But now a bit of her energy has returned. Enough to get her moving.
She finds her sandals and shuffles out the slit door. Esquibel is at the stove, cursing a teapot. Flavia sits in Alonso’s camp chair on her laptop. She looks up in surprise when Mandy appears. “Eh, the soldier rises. She is ready again for battle!”
Mandy smiles at her weakly and waves with her right hand. She moves toward Esquibel, who watches her critically, with a doctor’s assessing eye. “How are you, Mandy?”
“Uhh… great. Fantastic.” A tear leaks from the corner of her eye and she wipes it away. “Hungry.”
“Ah. Well.” Esquibel sets the teapot down and steps away from the table. “That is one thing Flavia and I found we do not do well. Perhaps you can show me how to turn on this stove. And then I can try to make you a—”
“You don’t know how to turn on the stove? It’s been eight weeks.” Mandy doesn’t mean to sound so critical. Or maybe she does. She doesn’t know how she feels about Esquibel anymore.
“We all have our specialties, no?” Flavia calls out.
“You know how I feel about kitchens,” Esquibel says.
Mandy just shakes her head. Cooking is too essential. It’s like saying you don’t know how to bathe yourself or brush your teeth. She turns the stove on but even before she hits the electric ignition she can tell from its silence that its canister is empty. In a bin at her feet she finds a pile of them, the empties mixed with the few full ones left. “Could you please…” Bending hurts. Talking hurts. She nods at the bin. “A full one.”
Esquibel frowns at the bin. “How can I tell which are full?”
“They’re heavier. And they have caps. Please, Esquibel! Stop being so useless right now!”
Esquibel looks at her with a level gaze. “No one has ever called me useless before.” She bends down and grabs a canister, placing it silently on the table before retreating to the clean room.
But Mandy doesn’t have the ability to care. She is bruised, inside and out. She just wants some tea, then some soup, then—
“Phone.” As if by magic, Mandy’s lost phone appears in the air before her, gripped by a slender brown hand. She squeals and jerks back, hurting her shoulder and nearly losing her balance.
Jidadaa stands beside her, a simple smile on her face. She laughs at the physical comedy. “Mandy phone.”
Mandy gathers herself and snares the filthy phone. Its pink shell is cracked and the battery is nearly dead. “Why did you…? What did you do to it?”
“Vid-yo for you. See?” Jidadaa reaches for the phone again but Mandy wards her away.
“Video?” Mandy opens her phone to find a series of photos, most of them obviously unintentional blurred shots of green. But there are a pair of 41 second and 54 second videos near the end.
The first is a covert view of the Ussiaxan village from a distance. Jidadaa, watching over her shoulder, exclaims in disappointment. “Ai. People so little.” Mandy spreads her fingers on the screen to zoom in, eliciting another exclamation from Jidadaa. The people on the screen are now fuzzy blobs of dark pixels in their town square. But she is still able to identify them. “Chinese man. The Daadaxáats shaman. Kasáy.”
“The one we call Lady Boss. What’s her name? Kasay?”
Jidadaa nods. “Means ‘always sweaty.’ Here her men.”
Flavia stands and joins them. “Eh, what are they doing?”
“Kasáy, she make decision. Chinese man her koox̱ now. See?”
He wears a collar and they lead him like a dog. One of the villagers pounds a stake into the ground and they leave him there, leashed to it. The video ends.
“Seriously?” Flavia asks. “That is what Wetchie-ghuy hopes to do with me? Lead me around with a collar and leash?”
Jidadaa shrugs. “If you don’t act good.”
The next clip is from a closer vantage from above. Jidadaa must have taken refuge in a tree. The camera is canted, panning and tilting with frantic energy. Screaming people run beneath the tree. None think to look up. They are all focused on the edge of town.
Nearly a hundred people congregate, surging toward the treeline. They have left Jidadaa behind. Something gray flickers before them in the canopy and they all fall to their knees, like they’ve all been chopped down. The whole crowd falls silent, unmoving.
“What is this?” Flavia demands. “What are we seeing?”
“That is first time they see dla x̱ald, mother fox. First time for Ussiaxan since the eleventh mother. She will choose to give baby fox to one person in Ussiaxan.”
“Wait. The fox decides?” Flavia hadn’t believed this silliness until now. But here is the proof, digitized and indisputable.
Mandy points at the screen. “Look, here comes Kasay-jah like a big bully. Oh my god, even she falls to her knees? Wow, she looks like she’s starstruck. This must be like such a big deal.”
Flavia scowls. “No, do not give the fox to that mean woman…”
Jidadaa laughs as the video ends with the people crying out in shock and outrage. “She do not. The baby go to young girl. Starts big fight. Kasáy try to take baby fox. All people say no. She is sent out of village with her koox̱. Now they must find new home.”
The phone’s battery dies and the screen goes black. Mandy stares stupidly at it. What has she just witnessed? Somebody’s life was just really really fucked with. Two people, actually. The Chinese spy and Lady Boss. Things will never be the same for either of them.
Jidadaa claps, remembering another detail. “And the Ussiaxan wreck the Chinese man radio. No more orders. He is lost.”
Mandy doesn’t know how she feels about that. It brings her no joy that the man who shot her is now a bound slave to an outcast village chief on an undeveloped island thousands of kilometers from his home. Maybe a vindictive person would feel pleasure. But he must have a family and hopes and dreams of his own that have nothing to do with being discarded on Lisica like this. But at the same time, Mandy can’t quite bring herself to feel sorry for him. Fucker shot her.
“Who is there?” Esquibel calls out from the clean room door. “What do you want?”
“It’s just Jidadaa…” Mandy begins but Esquibel interrupts her.
“No. There. Out on the meadow. What do they want?”
Mandy and Flavia turn. Among the green and gold grasses a hundred meters away stand two women, the Mayor and Yesiniy. They watch pine camp, standing patiently in the open.
Jidadaa answers. “I tell them. You leave soon. Sewat and Yesiniy say no, they must tell woman story first. Woman to woman. They do not ever see woman on Lisica. Only Maureen Dowerd. Then only men. Now you are women.”
“Now we are women,” Flavia echoes. “Well, I didn’t know girl power mattered. I mean, if it did, they could have been a lot more nice about it before now. Okay. We have a sisterhood now. Fine. What is this woman story? Some secret?”
“Come.” Jidadaa beckons to Esquibel as well. “Come, please. They wait for you. To tell.”
“Brilliant,” Esquibel mutters. “More nonsense.” But she follows, bringing a chair.
As they approach, Flavia asks, “Ehh, where is Katrina? None of us speak their language. She is the one they want.”
“Maybe one of you could record it for her?” Mandy asks. “My phone’s dead.”
Both Esquibel and Flavia agree, taking out their phones. And not a moment too soon. Before they even reach the meadow, Yesiniy begins intoning a chant.
“Wait! Wait!” Flavia calls out. “We haven’t started recording yet!” They hurry into position as Yesiniy continues.
Jidadaa translates. Esquibel puts her chair down and turns her own camera on her. “It is the story of two sister. First mothers. In beginning they were Ganaaxteidee clan, hibernation frog. Before they are mothers. They are little girls. Two sisters only share little names. Names they only call each other. They forget their old names. They call each other Init and Ta.
“Init and Ta live in Qe’yiłteh. Alone on island. The people do not like Init and Ta. They make their family live alone. They are outcast family. There is no love. But then white men come in big ship. There is fight. Men from the village are killed. They take one white prisoner. This is Tuzhit. He is slave. They make him live with family outside town. He meet Init and Ta.”
“Wait,” Flavia interrupts. “You’re telling me this is their origin story from like three hundred years ago? Can they prove any—?”
Mandy hushes her as Jidadaa continues her translation.
“Hibernation frog clan do not like Tuzhit. Treat him like dog. Tuzhit and Init and Ta steal boat. They try to go down coast but storm take them out to sea. They think they die. Eh. Here is where Yesiniy tells about gods of water and wind. Many gods. Some love, some hate. Three people on the ocean and one mama fox, babies in her belly. Now there is more talk of the gods of wind and water. Sewat repeat what Yesiniy say. Repeat three times. The boat land on Lisica. Here they become big family. Init and Ta have many children. Children marry and have babies. Again and again.
“In the time of sixth mothers there is new shipwreck. Two men. One is dark from south islands named Mkuwelili. One is pale like Tuzhit named Kristaps. Lisica people take them as slave. But time is bad. Island is sick. Too many foxes. Mkuwelili and Kristaps say must kill foxes to save bird and little animal, so people do. They kill many many fox. Then there is almost no fox left and island lose its heart. They blame Mkuwelili and Kristaps. Make them exile in north canyon. Forget their words, forget their language. Only names remember of them.”
“So they were like off some nineteenth century whaling ship?” Esquibel wonders. “Grim end for them, I take it.”
But Jidadaa continues, keeping pace with the chant. “In the time of ninth mother first Japanese ship. They cruel. Lisican people hide. Then American soldier and Russian soldier, all bad. People of all village fight to keep them only on beach. But then Maureen Dowerd come. Everything change.”
“The woman story.” Mandy smiles at the Mayor, who continues her litany uninterrupted.
“Fox say,” Jidadaa tells them in an aside, “Lisica is for woman. First fox tell Init and Ta. They listen with their hearts. That is why, after Tuzhit give them babies, they push him into water and kill.”
“Wait, what? Init and Ta killed Tuzhit?”
“He was first bad man. Bad white man. Bad soldier. Init and Ta escape from bad village. Only after he gone, Lisica is good.”
“Escape from the village back on the Alaskan coast?” Flavia asks. Yesiniy and Sewat have fallen silent, realizing they’ve lost their audience. “So this is the lesson they learn? Murder solves your problems? Their whole lives were bad until they killed the father of their children? But these sisters are not like the Christians, are they? They do not call this murder their original sin. Instead they say it’s when things finally got better. Eh. A brutal age.”
But Jidadaa doesn’t understand the question. She repeats what they already know, just slower. “Init and Ta have clan that hate them. Hibernation frog. They escape with bad man. Come here. Start the people. Past is bad. Him and old clan. So they forget all. Teach children new way. New gods. New traditions. Follow the wisdom of fox.”
“Damn,” Mandy grimaces. “They went hard.”
Sewat, the Mayor, takes up the tale again. Jidadaa shares her words but they already know this part, about Aan Eyagídi the shaman and the love affair between Maureen and Shanno and the baby that came of it. The disputes with Ussiaxan and the advent of the Chinese. The burial of the sub, which cut off their access to the beach for a long cruel time. And how the cycle is coming to a close, with the arrival of the lidass and their inescapable Jidadaa ending this time of peace and prosperity once and for all.
“But why?” Mandy asks. “Why does it have to end? That’s what nobody’s told us. Everybody’s all ready for the good times to turn into the bad times. Why aren’t they like fighting against it?”
“Jidadaa you cannot escape,” the eponymous girl says with a sly smile. “It come when it come.”
“But why are they being punished?” Esquibel shakes her head in disapproval. “This is just a story. There is no real external factor here causing this change, is there? They could stop it if they really wanted to, eh?”
Jidadaa patiently explains. “In the days of third mother they forget to honor first mothers. First bad time. It start long string of curse. First Mkwelili and Kristaps. People from between sea and sky who come. Even Maureen is curse. Yesiniy is curse, all her life. Kula and me. The people deserve Jidadaa very long time. Curse split them into three village. Fox grow very few. Ussiaxan get dark in their chests. Divide island with the creek. Then you come.”
“Oh, yes? We are part of this story now?” Flavia would rather not be included as a co-author on any such disreputable paper.
“You are women,” Jidadaa responds with a simple shrug. “You hear the story and remember.”
Ξ
“No, really. Go on,” Amy tells the others on their return from the lake, stepping away from them. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
“Well… ask him if he like needs anything,” Katrina calls out as she and the others keep walking, heading back to pine camp. The dark mass of the crew disappear into the gloom. They are still mostly stunned from the tragic events of the day and none of them have the energy to argue with her about splitting up.
Amy watches them go, then turns back to the small fire Morska Vidra has built in front of his tiny hut. She approaches the grove of madrones in which he has built it. Her sandals make noise on the dried leaves. In response, his dark head pokes out of the narrow doorway. The old man watches her approach.
“Bontiik.” Amy chucks his chin. He does the same to her. “Where’s your fox?”
But Morska Vidra just looks glumly at her, his face closed.
“I know. Can’t live without them, can we?” Amy gently removes the fox kit she keeps in her pocket. The poor thing is fading. She just can’t find enough nutrients for it.
Its appearance makes Morska Vidra exclaim in shock. He pulls away, outrage flaring in his eyes. He begins to lecture her.
“No no. The mama rejected it. She told me I could have it. It would have died otherwise. I swear.”
But Morska Vidra won’t hear it. He tries to take the baby from her but Amy is afraid of what he might do with it. She clutches it close, daring him to fight her. Protective instincts surge in her.
Morska Vidra sees the ferocity in Amy’s eyes and hesitates. He goes back to appealing to her, his words coming out too fast for her to follow at all.
Amy pulls back and waves goodbye. “Uhh. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here. I’m sorry.” Perhaps she can catch the others before they get too far away.
The old man suddenly stops talking. He looks out at the gloom instead and asks a loud question.
“Oh, shoot.” Amy turns, dismayed. “Someone out there?”
But who emerges from the gloom isn’t human. It is two foxes, Morska Vidra’s fellow and the vixen he impregnated.
“Wait!” Amy cries. “Mama, what are you doing here? Where are your babies? Oh my god, you didn’t lose them…!” She can’t make sense of it. There isn’t hardly a single mammal in the world that will abandon her babies so soon after giving birth.
The vixen’s teats are swollen with milk. Amy drops to her knees as the silver foxes approach. She holds out the tiny kit, wriggling in her palm. Its mother blinks at the tiny thing and approaches. She nickers at it, licking its head, then nudges it toward a teat.
Morska Vidra carefully approaches as Amy encourages the tiny thing to latch and suck. He may have opinions about its life or death but he won’t gainsay its mother. But it may have already been too long. With a gentle pinch Amy coaxes a drop of milk from the teat and the little thing starts slurping greedily.
Morska Vidra’s fox sniffs his child, blessing it with a lick.
The man looks up at Amy, his face filled with wonder.
“Uh… This wasn’t my idea. I only did what she told me.”
It is dark now. Morska Vidra’s face is in shadow. She can only see his eyes. Still he stares at Amy. There is something coiled in him, as if he is about to pounce on her.
“What? What is it?”
His fox pounces instead, landing in Amy’s cross-legged lap. But she is too familiar with animals to react. Staying still, she allows him to crawl around, sniffing at her. The creature stands on her bent knee and watches the mother and baby nurse. Amy finally releases a held breath, which ends with a quiet laugh.
Morska Vidra laughs too, scratching his old boy between his ears.
As the infant finally gets the nourishment it needs, Amy’s maternal anxieties finally ease. “Thank you, Morska Vidra. And thank you, mama.” She reaches out and strokes the vixen’s head with a fingertip. “Thank you for saving the baby.”
Chapter 57 – A Straight Demon
January 27, 2025
Thanks for joining us for the fourth and final 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:
57 – A Straight Demon
“I have been thinking lately about time. How the present moment is a collision between the path stretching behind us and the future racing ahead. A perfect fusion.” Pradeep sits on the edge of the bunk, Maahjabeen at his side. “This is your realm more than mine, Triquet. Although in your case, maybe less about the future. But I would like to hear your thoughts on the subject.”
“Yeah… It’s weird.” Triquet sits further down the ward room on a bunk with Miriam and Alonso. But now they stand, pacing up and down the narrow aisle, weaving between the outflung arms and legs. Since Maahjabeen and Pradeep returned from the sea cave none of them have moved. They’ve all been in this ward room for hours, processing the events of the past few days. Now, after the most urgent subjects have been properly covered, their thoughts are turning more philosophical. “All these destiny and prophecy themes. Think about how all the Lisicans consider time and chronology. They have a hard date for the beginning of their world and evidently an equally hard date for its end. That’s got to change how you approach each day.”
“And the sky is a ceiling that contains only you and the ocean,” Pradeep adds. “Yes. We are in a place with different geometry. At home we think of the generations growing and developing, often in contrast or rebellion to the generation before. And this is a limitless line of progress stretching to a vanishing point ahead. But here? What would be the point to build or develop anything if your world will end in 72 days with a cataclysmic Jidadaa of doom?”
“Or, in this case,” Katrina chimes in, “72 hours.”
Pradeep nods. “Quite so. Why be curious about the outside world if it is invisible and impossible to reach? The arrival of outsiders must really mess with this cosmology.”
“Except,” Amy says, “that they themselves were once outsiders and I’m not sure there’s been like a real break in immigration since they first arrived. There’s always someone new here. Maybe the Lisicans are just ethnocentric and don’t think the rest of us are worth their time. And why would you, if you lived in paradise?”
“Eh, as far as islands go, I prefer Sardegna.” Flavia doesn’t even look up from her laptop.
“Yeah, it’s like…” Jay searches for the words. “I just went up top to get baked and I was thinking about that. Here I am in a bunker built in 1961 smoking a plant that was illegal when the soldiers were here. Imagine how much I could have blown their minds! You said they were all unhappy here, Triquet. Well, here comes Doctor Jay from the future with a jay.”
“Layers of time,” Triquet nods. “We make our own fleeting little depositions here in the sub and then in a few days we’ll pass on just like the sailors did. And someday someone else will sit in this bunk and wonder why it smells faintly of marijuana smoke.” The room fills with laughter. “Oh, I need this. Some unstructured thoughts. How about it? Breakout session, everyone. Let’s hear everyone’s most out-of-the-box ideas about these last few weeks. Nothing’s too wild. Come on. Miriam? How about you? What do you got?”
“Well…” Miriam smiles at Esquibel’s aggrieved glance to Flavia. “Nothing too crazy, ladies, I promise. But yes, I have been waiting to tell my own tale. Just a few things I found up in that canyon with a lake.” She pulls her backpack from its storage beneath the bunk and unzips it. From a hardshell container she removes a handful of white chip fragments and shows them to everyone.
“Fossils,” Triquet says. “Far older than what I usually handle.”
“Oh, far.” Miriam takes out another, a rounded lump with a series of short curved lines along its side. “This is a Trigonia clam. Unmistakable little ridges there, that look like eyelashes, aye?”
“Aye.” Katrina peers at the fossil. “It’s cute. How’s it taste?”
“Nobody knows.” Miriam holds it up. “The entire Trigonia genus has been extinct since the Paleocene, 56 million years ago. This lad solves my chronology riddle. So here’s my Plexity datum, right here, thank you very much. The limestone layers that make up so much of this island’s geology are at least 56 million years old. Certainly older, but that’s the nearest in time it can be. And I was able to get some pretty solid geomagnetic readings out there too. The bedrock below is rare stuff. It shows fragmentary clues of the theorized plate that existed here before the Pacific plate subducted it around 48 million years ago. Which means there was an eight million year window where the ancient plate and the limestone crust atop it still had exposure to the surface. So this is our time range. Now near the end of that window was the transition to a new geological epoch. I imagine the Paleocene-Eocene thermal maximum must have been a real pivotal time here, when ocean temperatures spiked and there was a mass die-off, leaving all these fossils. But that subducted plate… I’ve never really studied North Pacific plate formations before. You know what it’s name is?”
“Uh… Jerry?” Jay guesses.
“It is the Kula Plate, an ancient remnant that hasn’t been seen on the surface in 48 million years.”
“Kula!” Jay exclaims. “No way. What are the odds? All buried and covered up for sure.”
“And it turns out Kula is a Tlingit word,” Miriam continues, “a word that actually means ‘all gone.’”
“So is that her name or is that just what the villagers decided to call her when she got buried in the tunnels?”
“Subducted.” Katrina says the word with distaste.
“Poor Kula. What a life. Imagine being named ‘all gone.’ Yeah, you’re going to name your daughter ‘doom.’ This shit sounds like a Johnny Cash song.” Jay snorts. “Hey, Miriam, if you’re all finished can I go next?”
Miriam nods. “Aye. I’m done.”
“Right on. Now. Prophecy poems.” Jay nods slowly. “These are wild. So I started like researching them. And I came across the songlines of the Australian aborigines. Anyone heard of these?”
“Oh, yes. I had a seminar on them a few years ago.” Triquet still can’t sit still. They climb onto an empty top bunk and start doing exercises. “Love love love their dreaming tracks. But Lisica hardly compares. This place has only been inhabited for three hundred years. The aboriginal culture stretches back over sixty thousand years in Australia. Their dreamworld is unimaginably deep.”
“Oh, no doubt,” Jay agrees. “But I think it’s got some of the same like features. Rhythm. The aborigines would walk in these long rhythms for days, and the songs are sung in that rhythm. The chants here are something like that. And the Lisicans have woven all their plants and rocks and mountains into their chants, kind of in the same way.”
“I do not know,” Alonso tells them, “about these songlines. What makes them so significant in Australia?”
“Well,” Triquet answers, “say you live in your village in Australia and for various cultural or religious reasons you’ve got to travel like a thousand kilometers on a special journey. Off you go. You don’t ask anyone directions. You already know the way. It’s in the songs you’ve been taught since you were born. And this way-song is like literally a list of directions as well as a kind of literary description of the first ancestors who walked this way and created the land as they walked it. Created all the plants and animals with each step and word. And now you’re just re-tracing their steps while you sing their song. But that’s just the barest description of it. Their whole culture is based around these songs that are like baked in to the actual landscape. A mountain is a story is a dream is a journey.”
“I don’t understand,” Alonso confesses.
Triquet nods in agreement. “Oh, for sure. Nobody who isn’t aboriginal really does. I mean, it’s like the Eyat, where it just forces you to stand on your head and look at the world in a fundamentally different way. Time is different to them. Life and death. Same with the Lisicans, I’m sure. Totally unique beliefs.”
“I would guess,” Flavia contributes, still not looking up from her laptop screen, “that our Tuzhit founding father fellow mustn’t have been a very pious Christian, or we’d have Orthodox iconography all over the place. And these people would be a lot more tortured.”
Maahjabeen waves the insult away. “You just can’t help yourself, can you? Flavia, you think more about religion than I do.”
“So…” Jay interposes, in an attempt to head off the argument, “I decided I’d make my own prophet poem, about this island, and being lidass and all that. I mean, I know plants and animals. I can rap about like cliffs and forests all day. And I can’t just let all these others decide my destiny. I can’t just be a cameo guest appearance on someone else’s track. Time to get my own voice out there.”
“MC Jay on the mic!” Katrina crows.
“So what is the song?” Miriam asks. “Have you finished it?”
“Uh, still a work in progress, but…” Jay shrugs. “Takes a rhyme to beat a rhyme. You said you wanted wacky. Here’s wacky. The wackiest shit on this whole wack island.”
“It certainly is,” Esquibel sourly agrees.
“Well, what about you then?” Jay asks with a frown. “You’re pretty good, Doc, at telling everyone where they’re wrong. But what about you? What’s the craziest most far-out weirdness you’ve seen here? Huh?”
Esquibel has to think about that. It is true that this island is a strange place, but she learned growing up on the outskirts of Nairobi that her future lay with the modern world, not with the ignorance and superstitions of her neighbors messing about in the bush. And she saw how many times their forecasts and warnings were wrong, and how easy it was for them to explain those misses away. But science and medicine do not make those same mistakes. They work or they do not, at least if properly applied. The clear problem here is that science is no longer being properly applied. They are falling into unreason and a kind of new age voodoo that she absolutely despises. “Weirdness… I only have concerns about what this place is doing to our objectivity. I think, if we had just been able to keep a solid internet connection, that most of this madness wouldn’t have affected us so strongly.”
“Oh now you would give my satellite phone back?” Flavia cries. “I cannot believe you.”
“Seriously?” Miriam laughs at Esquibel. “After all that has been done to us here, you’re still saying there’s really nothing out of the ordinary with Lisica? Are you blind?”
“I am saying there is no magic. No prophecy or omen or curse here that has any power in the least.” Mandy lies sleeping behind Esquibel on the bunk. The doctor turns and places a comforting hand over Mandy’s gunshot wound, indicating with her action what is really important here. “There are only imperfect humans with our imperfect senses.”
But Maahjabeen isn’t buying it. “So you have no faith.”
Esquibel sneers. “I never did. If I did I would be married and trapped in some man’s house giving him children and free labor.”
Maahjabeen shakes her head no. “Oh, like me? I understand the challenges you faced and I am not saying it is easy. But you don’t have to run so far in the other direction that you would deny that a world exists outside science—” She speaks louder to override both Esquibel and Flavia’s objections. “And yes I understand that it cannot be properly measured or replicated or characterized by our brains. But you are crazy, willfully blind, if you insist that it doesn’t exist and we only live in your, ehhh, deterministic clockwork.”
“Says the average 16th century woman,” Flavia retorts, “on the subject of unsolvable mysteries such as gravity and medicine. Just because we don’t understand the phenomena yet, doesn’t mean—”
“Oh, we’ve solved the science of gravity now?” Miriam mock wonders. “That’s grand.”
“And medicine? Ha.” Maahjabeen grips Pradeep’s arm. “When we were poisoned Doctor Daine had no clue what was happening to us. No offense, you did the best you could to the limits of your abilities, but you weren’t the reason we were healed. It was those shamans and their spells. No, medicine is as much an art as a science and you know it.”
“So what you are saying, Flavia,” Alonso rumbles, “is that these things that some of us are interpreting as mystical events are actually real-world phenomena that can be characterized by physics and mathematics. We just don’t know how yet.”
“Exactly. My grandparents didn’t know about chaos theory. And now, without it, the whole modern world could not exist. Quantum mechanics is used in my laser pointer when I lecture. I have a whole bit about it with my phone, how we hold so much exotic computation so easily in our hands. There are even higher-order outputs, as systems get more and more complex and interact at more refined levels. These things might manifest to us as emotions and dreams and ideas like faith and destiny. But it is only because there are an innumerable amount of particles and interactions collapsing onto this moment in spacetime all at once that we have to abstract and simplify them just so we can see them. But our sight is imperfect, eh? And in the end we are all still drooling monkeys with monkey brains. So we hold on tight to these ideas rooted deep in our biological brains. Family. Sex. Fear of death. Belief in higher powers. I mean, until a few centuries ago, Maahjabeen, you would have told me lightning was your god being angry with me.”
“Sometimes it is.”
“Then you say things like that and I despair for our future…” Flavia holds up a hand, surrendering after that cheap shot. “No. I am done. The world is full of all kinds of people, that is for sure the truth. Some looking forward and some looking back. And some,” she leans to the side and rests her head on Jay’s broad shoulder, “who are happily here in the present.”
“Facts.” Jay nods judiciously, deciding it’s a compliment.
“Okay. I think what Flavia is describing,” Alonso ventures, “is ultimately a positive vision, an idea of progress where our greater understanding of crazy things like what is happening to us here can eventually fall under the domain of formal things like public policy and therapy, instead of shamans and curses and doom.”
“Yeh, that’s where I am,” Katrina agrees. “Except I like a bit more ghost in my machine. It ain’t mechanistic what Flavia and I do, Maahjabeen. That’s the thing. It’s both science and religion all at once. We’re all saying the same thing here, just with different terms. Remember, there wouldn’t even be any higher maths today without the great Arab thinkers like Al-Khwarizmi and Omar Khayyam. And they invented their mathematical concepts as a sacred language in glory to Allah, yeh?”
“Yes, I love maths,” Maahjabeen agrees. “I do. And I appreciate your understanding of the history—”
“All I’m saying is that the sacred language of maths just keeps getting closer and closer to god. We develop it like you develop your own sacred works, with more pronouncements coming out from your faith leaders on a regular basis, yeh? They’re trying to understand the world and the divine that much better. We’re on the same path, everyone. None of us here are trying to hide from the world, like nearly everyone I know back home. We’re the weird ones. That’s what I love about my big Cuban family here. We’re all looking for the truth, with our hearts and minds and everything at our disposal. We’re just hungry, you know?”
The sweetness pouring from Katrina mollifies them all. After a brief silence, Pradeep is the first to continue. “I really appreciate what you said, Katrina. But I want to circle back to something else Flavia mentioned before we change topics. Emergent phenomena. Yes, Amy is nodding her head. She knows what I mean. This is how emergence feels, what we are experiencing here. There is, like I said about time being a collision between the past and future, it’s like all of Plexity’s factors and metrics are colliding upon us all at once, and it is… breathtaking. Too much for my mind to track all at the same time. Never have I felt so…”
“Much like a horse wearing blinders,” Amy finishes for him. “Oh my god that’s exactly how it was in there with the vixen. After the first couple days I felt the rhythm. Remember how we were talking a few weeks ago about plants chirping like reef ecosystems? I could feel it. Not hear it. These old ears can’t hear much. But…”
“Yes,” Pradeep jumps back in, excited. “And that is what I was trying to show you last month, Alonso, with those mycorrhizal networks, the way they were speaking to each other, the grand networks that exist everywhere…”
“Yes…! Yes!” Alonso does remember. Pradeep’s insights had sparked visions that lasted his entire trip. “Networks everywhere! The flow of information! It can be unbearable at times!”
“And then I asked if you could hack the language of the trees so we could change the tune?” Katrina adds with a laugh. “What ever happened to that idea?”
“Yes…” Pradeep frowns, his enthusiastic charge halted by the audacity of the concept. “But I couldn’t imagine it would help then and I still can’t see how it would help now.”
“Oh my god.” The epiphany rises in Amy like a sleeper wave, flooding her with a holistic overview of the entire island. “When they say the foxes rule the island, this is what they mean. Keystone species. Gentle nudges of the ecosystems. Harmonics. Remember, Alonso? Way back at the beginning. We were talking about all the harmonics that Plexity can measure. The microfluidic channels of the Dyson readers being more analog than digital. Remember those arguments, Pradeep? Flavia?”
Alonso laughs, a deep sound filled with pleasure. “Ha ha ha. She has got you there, does she not, Flavia? Your harmonics were too mystical for this old data scientist, remember? We are all at the edge of our respective disciplines, and sometimes we step off. But this is what Katrina was just talking about, isn’t it? We are all striving toward the same goal with different languages?”
“Harmonics is a very well understood mathematical concept.” Flavia shrugs, defensive. “But if you want to make it like a Harry Potter spell or whatever, with like a long string of nonsense rhymes and wiggling fingers, then be my guest.”
“Wait.” Pradeep reaches across the aisle and grabs Katrina’s hand. She inhales sharply at the same instant, her eyes scanning the ceiling.
Then she sees it too. Katrina cries out, “Oh my god.”
Flavia holds up a hand, seeing what they see. “Oh, no no no.”
Pradeep tries to infect her with the beauty of his vision. “No, it’s everything, Flavia. It’s everything that we’ve just talked about. It’s not just… hacking the forest. It’s—”
“Wait.” Alonso scowls. “What is going on here with you three? You can actually do that?”
“Well,” Pradeep stops his runaway train of thought once more to address this. “I mean, it’s just communication. And the most direct means to speak with a forest, for example, would be with fire, yes? Trees react quite dramatically to the presence of—”
“No, you can’t!” Amy protests. “What are you thinking?”
“Or water,” Pradeep allows. “I’m not a monster. I’m just saying these are basic elements we can use. Sunlight. Cold. Parasites. But what I am really saying is that we all need to think much bigger here. Think like Jay.”
“Like Jay?” For Esquibel, this is too much. “You are joking.”
“What I am saying is that he’s writing a prophecy poem and the rest of us are providing him the language. But the audience for his poem isn’t the Lisican villagers. It is the flora and fauna of the island. The winds and the rain and the stars.”
“You are…” Esquibel bites her tongue, trying to find a gentle way to say it. She likes Pradeep and admires his intellect. “A romantic.”
But this is the final piece of the puzzle for Jay. His head rocks back. “Whoa…” He nods, his destiny locking in. “Ohh, this is what they meant by the whole lidass thing. Oh, man. Me myself and I. I’m the man of words and the man of action. Right place at the right time and all that. Dude. Fuck. Got to choose the right words, though. I can really get into some trouble out here, can’t I…?”
“What the hell are you all talking about?” Esquibel demands. “Talking to the trees? What? Singing to them? Changing their song? This doesn’t make any sense.”
“I will begin with an analysis of some of these networks we’ve identified in Plexity,” Flavia tells Pradeep. “And tell you where the most likely entry points into the wider systems might be.”
He nods and points at Amy. “Ring the whole island like a bell. And Amy can help me identify what means we have to introduce permutations to the ecosystems. There are a few pheromones we can isolate and I think we can perhaps also trigger some reactions with compounds we currently have with us.”
“You are going to change the ecosystem of Lisica?” Alonso echoes, his heart dropping. “Isn’t that the one thing we said we would never do?”
“Well.” Pradeep takes a deep breath. It seems like every choice he’s ever had to make in his life is a devil’s bargain. “This is like climate change, Alonso. It is already happening, whether we do anything or not. This island will change in just a couple days, is already changing to hear Jidadaa tell it. The Russians are here, the Chinese are here. Wetchie-ghuy is enslaving people and trying to steal foxes. Everyone is already trying to change it. And this is the means we have to short circuit all their efforts.”
“But to what end?” Esquibel wonders. “Each mission must have a goal. This cannot just be an exercise for its own sake. Just to stop what others are trying to do? Is that why we’re here?”
“Yes, listen to this. Esquibel makes a very good point. What do we say the goal of such a project should be?” Alonso surveys the room. They are for the most part excited by this topic. Good. He loves that they are all once more working together.
“I don’t want to choose sides,” Flavia asserts, “between all the geopolitical monsters. China, America… I don’t care.”
Amy nods. “And I won’t do anything that contributes to the destruction of the habitats here. Not a single thing.”
“Perhaps,” Miriam offers, “our mission goal here is just that old medical guideline: do no harm. Eh, Esquibel?”
“Can’t it be more proactive than that?” Pradeep asks. “More like ‘we are here to de-escalate conflicts,’ or something like that. Like what the blue helmets do for the UN. ‘Send your wounded to us.’ I just want to be a force for actual harm reduction, not just avoidance.”
“I think,” Jay says in the silence, “that if this is like the songlines, what we’re supposed to do is dream up the most beautiful world we can, the world we really want to see, everybody all shiny and healthy and happy, and that’s what we sing into the trees. Show them the best possible world and have them yearn for it. Love not war, yo. It’s not just words or a concept. It’s a… vision. Now it’s up to us to speak it into existence.”
Ξ
Perhaps an hour later, the sub has fallen silent. Some work at their screens, others drowse. Katrina hums as she plays a game on her phone. Then she stops. “Hear that?”
“Hear what…?” Jay lifts his head, blinking away his runaway thoughts. “Oh.” The faintest knock comes from belowdecks. It repeats. “Shit. The spy found us?”
“Doubt he’d knock.” Miriam sits up. “He didn’t seem the polite type. More of a shoot-first-ask-questions-later kind of chap.”
“Then who is it?” Jay rises, frowning at the hatch leading further into the sub. “And what do they want?”
He takes a step but Esquibel grabs his leg. “Wait. He is armed. We can’t take any risks.”
“And what’s he knocking on?” Katrina wonders. “You didn’t barricade the way in down there again, did you, Esquibel?”
“I couldn’t. You people stole all my materials.”
Jay makes a decision. “Well, I’m going to see who it is. We can’t just hide in here for three days.”
“Why not?” Flavia demands. “That is exactly what we should do. We shouldn’t even go back into the island’s interior now that we have an honest-to-god spy after us.”
Jay appeals to authority. “Come on, Esquibel. Let me go check it out. Somebody might need us.”
Esquibel sighs, looking up at Jay with a total lack of confidence. She turns and regards Mandy for a moment. She has her eyes open and she watches Esquibel in turn. “Don’t worry, Mands. I won’t let anyone harm you.”
“See who it is,” Mandy tells her weakly. “We can’t just hide.”
Esquibel frowns, then stands. “Okay. But stay behind me, Jay.” She grabs her black satchel and steps toward the hatch.
She leads him down the narrow hall, past the door leading to the warrant officer’s cabin. Then as they pass the locked door of the radio room the knock is repeated, so close it startles them both and they fall against the far wall.
“It’s from in there.” Esquibel removes her pistol and points it at her feet, the safety still on.
“No way. How did somebody even get in there?” Jay is spooked. “I thought it was coming from below. Had to be. You know…”
“Like someone from the village, yes.” Esquibel’s eyes are wide. She is having trouble controlling her breathing. “But this…”
The knock repeats. It is a tentative sound, with a halting forlorn rhythm. Jay inspects the door. The steel panel is set into the frame with no gaps. He tries the knob. It doesn’t turn.
But his efforts have been noticed on the far side. The knock comes again, more urgent, and Miriam ducks through the hatch behind them. “Who is it?”
“Uh, the radioman, if we’re making guesses…” But Jay doesn’t like his own joke. He steps back. “Somebody trapped in there. We should like get them out.”
The knock sounds again.
The three of them share glances. “You could like shoot the lock off,” Jay suggests.
Esquibel looks at him as if he’s deranged. “Does the word ricochet mean anything to you? Anything at all?”
Jay ducks his head into the Captain’s cabin, looking for tools. “Just like need a crowbar or…” He searches the desk drawers, only finding a paper clip hidden in a corner. “Hold up. This might work. Did some larceny as a kid. Let’s see if I still got it.”
Jay pulls out his phone and kneels before the radio room door. He shines his light into the old-fashioned lock and starts poking at it with the paper clip. “Naah. Shit is frozen. Need some lubricant more than anything. See if Triquet can—”
And then a giant bang shakes the door and the door knob falls off. The seal cracks for the first time in decades, a sharp sound of rust flakes breaking off.
Jay pushes on the door. It swings inward with a billow of dust. Inside the cramped room stands Jidadaa holding a metal strut. She is panting, smeared in mud, eyes wild.
“What?” Jay is disappointed. “Aw, it’s just you. How the fuck did you get stuck in there?”
Jidadaa steps aside to show him the hole in the wall behind her and the tunnel leading down into darkness. “Jay lidass. I have been to Ussiaxan. Let me out.”
Jay turns away from the door in disgust. “Fuck. It’s just Jidadaa. Stirring up shit. I’ll be in my bunk.” He pushes past Esquibel and Miriam to return to the ward room.
Jidadaa hurries after him, smearing her mud on both women. “Wait, Jay. The Chinese man. I can tell.” She ducks through the hatch, Esquibel and Miriam following, to address the entire crew. “I can tell you all. He is in a cage.”
“It’s Jidadaa!” Katrina cries, scrambling to her feet and reaching for her, then pulling her hands back. “Who’s in a cage?”
“The Daadaxáats shaman argue with Chinese man. Ussiaxan decide Chinese man is wrong. They put him in cage. He is stuck in it. You are free to go.”
“Put him in a cage…?” Alonso asks. “They imprisoned him? They put the spy in jail? In Ussiaxan jail?”
“Yes.” Jidadaa is relieved to hear the right words. “Chinese spy in jail. No more sneak at night.”
“Ha! Seriously?” Katrina cackles. “Ha! Tried to get them to come after us and they were like, nah, mate. We’re looking for foxes now. Chill out.”
“Yes!” Jidadaa claps her hands. She steps forward and leans over Mandy. “No more spy. No more blood.” With her thumbtip she points at the gunshot wound, leaning close. Then she pulls back abruptly and addresses the room. “You are safe. Now I must go.”
Ξ
“We are here,” Katrina informs the Mayor, her words slow and deliberate, “to find Jidadaa. We think she stole Mandy’s phone.”
The Mayor’s expression does not change. She stares at Katrina and Jay with a flat expression of disbelief, or perhaps distaste.
“Uhh… Where is everybody?” Katrina peers past the Mayor to the village beyond, at least what she can see from the cave mouth. She can only see Yesiniy and the non-binary youth, who plucks the feathers from a dead bird the size of a partridge. She holds her own phone up. “Looks like this but with a pink case. Chinese model. Has all her stuff on it. Uh…” Katrina edges past the Mayor and slips into the village. “That Jidadaa’s sure got sticky fingers.” She nods at Yesiniy, who gapes irate at her. “Ma’am. Don’t mind us. Just passing through.”
Yesiniy’s response is a hoarse warble that reminds Katrina how close to the end the old woman is. She must be like seventy or more, which has got to be old here, without any modern medicine. Perhaps Katrina can find a time to persuade Yesiniy to record a few long interviews before they go. She can translate them when she gets back home. Her perspective would just be so invaluable to preserve. Then Katrina looks away, guilty at the appraising look she measured the crone with, as if she was already dead. Instead, she should focus on what Yesiniy’s saying. Her condemning tone. Okay. She is obviously telling Katrina that things are going wrong. And that she and her friends won’t win. The fox always wins.
Katrina emphatically nods back and uses all the Lisican, Eyat, and Slavic constructions she knows to signal her agreement. “Yes. Absolutely. We won’t win at all. Totally. That’s why we’re leaving in a couple days. Just need that phone first.”
Yesiniy’s response is even more heated and she tries to get to her feet, but that is difficult now without help. The youth hurries over and gives her their hands. But as they pull her up their own voice rises in contrast to whatever point the old woman is making. The two Lisicans argue face to face, in an embrace, shaking each other. Finally Yesiniy falls silent and looks away in surrender. All Katrina can tell the fight was about was some mention of Yesiniy’s sacred tree and, somehow, the allocation of water to each hut. Strange. Must be a list of random grievances getting worked out.
The youth turns their smooth brown face to the two trespassers and looks blandly at them. They have a stronger jaw than most of their kin, and a body trending toward stoutness in a few years. They also have the longest hair in the village, black ringlets intermixed with gold, braided loosely around their face to keep it out of their eyes. Their shift is a style that only the women wear. And their easy manner reminds Katrina of a brash middle-aged Filipina bar owner in Lidcombe she knows and loves. She decides she likes the youth, and nods, giving them her most brilliant smile. “Cheers.” She places a hand against her chest. “Katrina.”
After a long moment of consideration, the youth decides to share their own name. “Xeik’w.”
Xeik’w turns away and deposits Yesiniy back on her mat in front of her hut. Jay notices the streaks of drying bird blood that remain on Yesiniy’s upper arms from where Xeik’w grasped her. Wicked. “Man, now I get why you cats all decided Jidadaa wasn’t welcome in the village. Fucking thief. Mandy needs her phone back pronto. Mui importante.”
“They don’t speak Spanish, Jay. That’s been well-established.”
“They get what I mean.” But the three villagers have all returned to their tasks and are no longer paying attention. “But seriously. Where’d everyone else go? Pine camp?”
Following this assumption, they withdraw from the village and head down the path toward the creek. But as they go, they hear the mewling cry of a child echo around them, urgent and lost…
Katrina and Jay stop at the trailhead and look back up the slope of the hill behind the huts. Is that someone moving in the dense undergrowth? “Xaanach?” Jay calls out. “That you?” He turns toward the sound and moves toward it. “What’s wrong, kid?”
But the Mayor and Xeik’w hurry to intercept Jay. There is real fear in Xeik’w’s face. The Mayor has the blackest gaze Jay’s ever seen. “What is it? Is she okay? I just wanted to check on her.” Then Jay remembers that Xaanach doesn’t belong to the village. She’s an outcast like Jidadaa. Oh, is this like the pariah treatment they gave Amy? Man, these people sure do like kicking folks out.
“Uh… where is she?” Katrina asks, slowly returning to the village square, trying to puzzle out the Mayor’s response.
“I only saw the bushes moving up there.” Jay points at a spot, but as he does so he hears the cry come from a further spot, downslope at a diagonal, at a surprising distance. It is an uncanny sound. Even though it is filled with a child’s heartbreak, something about it makes Jay’s hackles rise. “Nah, dude. Stop. They’re right. Come back to me. Uhh. So creepy. That ain’t a child.”
“What do you mean it isn’t a…?” Katrina tries to reconcile his words with the cry for help that tugs at her heartstrings, and in the pause that it takes her to process, Wetchie-ghuy scuttles onto the trail between her and the village, cutting her off from the others.
“Aw, shit. Hey.” Jay strains in the surprisingly strong grip of both the Mayor and Xeik’w. “Hey, you leave her alone. Katrina. Stay back. Don’t get near him.”
Katrina puts her hands up, her breath suddenly fluttering in her breast like a trapped bird. He has divided her from the others like a sheep dog with his flock. But Wetchie-ghuy isn’t facing her. He confronts the others, hunched over, smelling ripe and evil. She steps further back, nearer the trailhead, to get out of his range.
Wetchie-ghuy mewls like a lost child one last time, then cackles and says something derogatory about Jay and Katrina, with a careless gesture behind him to include her.
“No, fuck you. You can just—” But Jay’s heated words are cut off by the Mayor’s even hotter response. She quivers in fury, spitting her words at the shaman, cursing his filthy bare feet. And Wetchie-ghuy just crouches there and takes it, face split into a malevolent grin. No, there’s no joy in that face. It’s a grimace of pain. He bares his teeth at the Mayor in challenge.
“Isn’t she his sister, yeh?” Katrina calls out.
“Oh, fuck. You’re right. Totally spaced that. Yeah, look at them. That’s how siblings and only siblings can—”
Wetchie-ghuy suddenly storms forward, holding up a talisman of bone and sinew. The Mayor meets his charge and tries to slap it out of his hand but he is too fast. They both are. In an eyeblink they have wrestled themselves into a deadlock, standing hip to hip holding each other by the wrists down by their ankles, trying to pull each other off balance.
Wetchie-ghuy springs free. The talisman has lost one of its sinew straps. He hisses in fury and backs away, chanting.
The Mayor marches after him, in the rhythm of her own chant. These must be their prophet poems, at war. “Oh, hell yeah. Full on rap battle.” Jay cheers. “Get him, sister. Chop him up.”
Xeik’w holds Jay back, calling out a chant in care of the Mayor. Yesiniy lends her own screeching cadence from her door. These rhymers don’t even take turns. It is pure cacophony.
But then Wetchie-ghuy steps past his sister and reaches for Jay, his rhyme ending in an unmistakable—lidass!
“Oh, you coming for me now? My turn?” Jay throws his arms wide, fronting, blood rushing to his brain. This dude wants a battle with him? Jay is up for it like he’s never been up for anything. But the noise is too much, all the fools yelling so nobody can’t hear nothing. Jay bellows, “You coming for me?” and the white-hot fury in his voice finally silences them.
His favorite MF Doom song springs unbidden to his lips. He quotes Megalon at the opening: “Who you think I am?”
The existentialist cry fills the air. Before Wetchie-ghuy or the Mayor or anyone else can respond, Jay drops into the rhymes.
“…Loved not for who you think I am,
but who you want me to be
A true thuggin emcee, true thugs, with no strings attached
I wanna give you my slugs and don’t wanna take em.”
Katrina screams in pleasure. She had no idea Jay could be so hot on the mic. She falls behind his bouncing figure, his hype girl, shouting out echoes and refrains of each line’s end. Opening an app on her phone as she bounces, she makes quick adjustments, and instrumental beats fill the square in time to Jay’s rhymes.
Wetchie-ghuy is dumbfounded. The Mayor falls back, amazed. The look on Xeik’w’s face is a mixture of amazement and horror. MF Doom is obviously unlike anything they have ever heard.
But the heat keeps rising in Jay. This motherfucker has been after them since they got here. No more. Jay drops the memorized lyrics and switches to a snarling freestyle, getting personal with his bars:
“You want Doom? I’m your doomsday killer.
Rap battle? Ain’t no MC sounds iller.
Cold clock? You been sneak up by my bed
Reach for me, homie, gonna wish you was dead.
The birds in the trees and the bees all know
That motherfucking Wetchie-ghuy is the one who’s got to go.
Lee-dass? Lid-ass? You want a piece of this?
When you coming for the chosen one you best not miss.”
The wall of hostility is too much for the shaman. He steps back with a scowl, his words just fragments, trying to find a way to force his way back in but Jay is too much.
“Got fools scared cause you call yourself the shaman,
but you’re the wicked one who should be feeling all the shaming,
so lame how you frame the facts to rig the game
accusing all others when you’re the one to blame.”
A strong hand pulls Jay back. It is the Mayor. She cautions him from following Wetchie-ghuy too deeply in his retreat. Now it finally dawns on him and his flow falters. Oh, shit. Jay isn’t defending the Mayor. Wetchie-ghuy didn’t come here to confront his sister, he came here for the lidass. And if Jay takes another couple steps out of her protection, the bastard might actually get him. Jay’s not anyone’s white knight coming to the rescue here. He’s the precious one they’re trying to keep alive. Crazy.
Now Wetchie-ghuy’s face collapses into an even more black scowl. All his attempts to confront or kidnap the lidass have been confounded. With a last curse and shake of his talisman he vanishes into the underbrush. But they can hear him for a long time as he departs, refusing to give up, shouting his prophecy poem in a shaking voice that sounds of nothing but futility.
With a wild cackle, Katrina opens a keyboard app and plays a final few chords, just to put a fine point of resolution onto the conflict. Then in the ensuing silence her laughter is the only sound. She squeezes Jay tight. “Aw, lad! Where’d you learn to spit like that? You’re a straight demon!”
Chapter 46 – Pork On The Barbie
November 11, 2024
Thanks for joining us for the fourth and final 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:
Book IV – Hypotenuse Of Hope
46 – Pork On The Barbie
In the Dzaadzitch village the next morning, Mandy and Miriam try to share gifts and make plans. With Morska Vidra beside her, Miriam watches a trio of younger villagers emerge from the cave mouth, bearing fish from the beach. “Oh, that’s a lovely catch. Now that you’ve got the lagoon to yourselves it’s fish every day, eh? You were just waiting for us to leave before you went back down there, weren’t you?”
But the villagers don’t engage with her. They are intent on their feast, exclaiming over the shining fish.
“What I was saying,” Mandy repeats loudly and slowly, trying to regain Morska Vidra’s attention, “is that if it’s okay with you guys we want to get out to the cliff tops daily. Day-lee. Understand?”
The silver fox appears, scrambling up the leg of one of the youths to sniff at his catch. They all speak to the fox with deference, waiting for its blessing. With a sneeze the fox gives it, darting away, and the villagers call out, pleased. They disperse to gather their fixings. The Mayor starts building a fire while others bring baskets filled with mash wrapped in green leaves.
“And do you have any rope?” Miriam extends an invisible line through her hands, trying to communicate the concept to him. But he hardly takes his eyes from the fish. “I want to drop down that shaft up there. Study the rocks. The layers and the history of the island? The rocks?” She points at the cliffs visible through the trees. “Hanging from a long rope, tied to something solid at the top?”
But before they can gain his approval, a young girl appears from the far side of the village. She passes between the huts and enters the village square, chanting to them all about something she just saw. The village falls silent. The Mayor stops building her fire and listens. The girl stops, turning back again and again, to poke at the air behind her with the tip of her thumb or her little pointed chin. The Mayor finally stands and says something. Then she points with her own thumb at Miriam and Mandy, directing the girl to them.
The girl skips forward, as light as a fawn on her feet. Her small dark eyes are alive with excitement and her black and gold curls bounce like springs. She chatters at Miriam and Mandy, fearless, then waits for their answer.
Morska Vidra turns to Miriam. She shrugs at him, confused. He pushes her gently toward the young girl.
“Aye. You want me to…? right.” Miriam bends over, the girl is quite small up close. “Hello, love. How can we help you?”
The girl slips her narrow hand into Miriam’s and pulls her forward. “Oh. Come with you?”
“Not alone.” Mandy starts, nervous as a rabbit, delaying Miriam with a hand on her elbow. “Never alone. Not after Amy.”
“And all the other disappearances. So come with me, please.”
“Uh, where?” Mandy peers doubtfully into the woods from which the girl emerged. “This is how we get in trouble, isn’t it?”
The girl pulls more firmly on Miriam, ignoring her resistance. But then she stops, trying a new tack. She places her other thumb against her chin. “Xaanach.”
“Shah-nock. Xaanach. Oh my god, I remember Flavia talking about you.” Miriam stops struggling and falls in step with the girl. “You’re the one who saved her from Wetchie ghuy, aren’t you?”
“Wetchie-ghuy…” Xaanach makes a horrid face. She tears at her own windpipe, then crosses her eyes and lolls her tongue out the side of her mouth. Then she laughs and pulls on Miriam again. “Pođi sa. Hwai.”
“Come on, Mandy. She hates him as much as we do. And she wants to show us something. We’ll be fine. At least we know she isn’t leading us to that sour old bastard.”
But Mandy really doesn’t have it in her. She’s here to climb the cliff behind her facing the sea, to reset her weather station, and that will take all her energy. She’s sure of it. With a groan she collapses against her companion instead. “I just don’t think I can do this any more, Miriam. I mean, honestly. I didn’t sign up to be, like, hunted. Russians on the beach, shamans in the trees. Come on.”
“Don’t fret, darling. We always have our golden childs with us.” Miriam indicates the patient figure standing outside the village, waiting for his two charges to return.
Giving in with a growl of supreme irritation, Mandy clenches her fists and follows, knowing with every step she takes that she is heading further into danger. “Why do we keep doing this?” she wonders aloud. “We know this is just going to be trouble but here we go again anyway.”
“Not sure what our other options are.” Miriam is committed to this course now and her long strides keep up with Xaanach’s happy bounding. “Come on, Mandy.”
As they pass the last huts and climb the forested slope behind them, Miriam examines the girl pulling her. There is something different about Xaanach, the particular weeds woven into her hair, the rattiness of her shift, her ebullience. And the way the Mayor spoke with her… There was a formality to it. It wasn’t how she speaks to any of her own people. Xaanach isn’t of the village. “Well, that must be right,” Miriam says to her aloud. “You pulled Flavia out of Wetchie ghuy’s hut in the middle of the night and by all accounts that’s like an hour or two from here. They wouldn’t let a… what are you, eight? nine year old girl? out alone, would they? All night, messing with the medicine man. Where the devil are your parents anyway? Just who are you, Xaanach?”
The girl stops and touches her chin with the tip of her thumb. “Xaanach.”
“Yes. Miriam.” She repeats the gesture on her own chin.
“Mandy. Nice to meet you. Please don’t hurt us.”
“Mee-yum. Man-dee. Hwai.” Xaanach waves them forward.
Somewhat mollified by the charming little pixie, Mandy allows herself to be led upward to the edge of a thicket. Down they go, crawling beneath its sharp branches, and out the other side to a rocky cliff face. Xaanach has been chanting this whole time, telling them all kinds of fascinating details about the world around them. Now she points at the cliff and finally releases Miriam’s wrist so they can both climb.
Mandy falls back and groans again. “I knew this was a bad idea.”
“It would be…” Miriam peers at the cliff, picking at it with a fingernail, “if Xaanach hadn’t just led us to a deposit of plagioclase feldspar. What is this doing at the surface? My my my.” She croons at the crystal admixture. “You’ll be changing my island models for sure. See, Mandy? This is already a beneficial side-journey.”
“Yeah… I’m not sure how much climbing I’m good for.”
“Look. Xaanach’s already vanished up there in that cleft. Seems like it’s just a few meters then pop.” Miriam hauls herself onto the stone wall, the fractured face offering plentiful hand and foot holds.
Xaanach’s little face re-appears above, calling out, “Mee-yum. Man-dee. Hwai.”
“Why are you so, like, brave about all this?” Mandy really wishes she could let go of all this irritation but her unresolved fight with Esquibel has made her crabby and defensive, dragging her mindset back to the first few weeks of this trip, when she couldn’t ever get anything done. “Aren’t you worried about where she’s taking us?”
“Aye, for certain I am. But listen to yourself. You seem to have this notion that there’s an option here that gives you everything you want, and that’s just not how things are out here, love. It’s not like we say no to Xaanach and then just get to choose how the day goes. This is a… I mean, like, if we dropped ourselves into Times Square and said we’re going to live here for eight weeks, we’d have to spend a fair bit of time negotiating with the locals and making sure everyone was fine with us being there, aye?”
“It’s just…” Mandy drops her hands, knowing she’s lost yet another fight. “This has nothing to do with atmospheric science, okay?” With a muttered curse she hauls herself up the cliff face.
At the top, they find themselves at the top of a slope that drops away into a nice wide valley interspersed with oak groves and green meadows. Far away, there is a lighter bit of emerald moving against the dark green carpet of bushes. It is Jay in his softshell jacket, picking his way through dense growth. His face is burned red by the sun and wind and he is limping, his hand at his side.
“Jay!” Mandy calls out.
He is quite far away, hundreds of meters. Jay stops, unable to locate the voice, or even tell if it was an auditory hallucination or not. He blinks at his surroundings. Where is he now? Traversing this wide bowl, coming down from a steep motherfucking gradient behind him where he nearly got wrecked in a minor landslide. Its aftermath prevented Pradeep from following at a healthy clip.
“Jay! Over here!” The voice is so thin. It’s got to be one of the crew, though. Up ahead? He shades his eyes, the overcast sky still bright enough to matter. Are those figures up there? He waves.
Within moments, Miriam and Mandy and a little Lisican girl are down in the meadow with him. They drape his arms over their shoulders, and even though it stretches his scar, he lets them support his weight. “I am so so so happy to see you. Swear I could like kiss you both.”
“Deal.” Miriam laughs and kisses his cheek. “Ah. Maybe a wash-up first then I’m all yours.”
Mandy frowns. “But where’s Pradeep?”
“Yeah, he needs more help than me. Back this way.” Jay tries to turn them all around. Reversing course is the one thing he really hates doing. But it doesn’t matter now. He found help at last.
They tell Jay about their days and nights of labor and the move to the pine camp inland. He exclaims, “No way!” a dozen times at the proper intervals, shocked that the Russians or someone like them really did land on their beach. “The lagoon’s out of bounds? Like for the whole rest of the trip? Just when we set up the gill net? Aw, man. That is a major major bummer.”
“Why did you leave Pradeep behind?” Mandy’s worry grows. “Don’t you know we can’t do that any more?”
“Yeah…” How to communicate what the last day has been like? How they’ve woven their own paths, despite all their best attempts to stay together, across the southwest of the island? “It’s just, like, really choked with vegetation in there. Like really choked. Like, we haven’t seen a real trail in days.”
Jay leads them to another slope, this one carpeted with soaring Douglas firs like a proper Oregon forest. He just spent all morning coming down that way on feet and knees screaming with agony. It wasn’t that he’d put a lot of steps in, really, it was more that he just hadn’t been able to ever stop and rest them.
“Is Pradeep injured?” Miriam is starting to feel Jay’s weight. Just how far back are they going to have to go?
“Nah. Just… I get into a zone and… I should have waited but…” He shakes his head. There was so much he was going to tell these people! But now that he sees them, all the words he’d prepared in his endless hours of walking lack any meaning or power.
They walk under the tall firs, their brown needles carpeting the ground. After a few minutes of steady climbing, Jay stops.
On the slope ahead, a tableau:
Pradeep’s long dark form is face down on the hillside, unmoving. A golden childs stands on the far side of him, his back to Pradeep, arms raised. Wetchie-ghuy is crouched on a stone above, clutching a forked stick. Jidadaa is at a right angle to their stand-off, holding Wetchie-ghuy’s fetish. They are all stone still, so the newcomers also fall silent. No one speaks, not even Xaanach.
“Prad!” It is Jay who finally breaks the spell and charges forward, lumbering uphill with a bad limp.
Twitch. Wetchie-ghuy vanishes from the boulder.
In three bounds, the golden childs stands where Wetchie-ghuy had just crouched but the shaman is nowhere to be seen. Twitch. The golden childs also vanishes from view.
With a smile, Jidadaa turns to Miriam and Mandy. “Ah, hello, friends. Wetchie-ghuy, he almost gets this one,” she points at Pradeep, who still doesn’t move, “but we say no no no.”
Ξ
The racks that hold the solar panels were damaged in the move, struts now bent and bolts missing. Flavia tries to fix them with sticks and twine, but it is slow-going. She has placed the array at the edge of the trees facing the sun to the southeast. Finally she is able to make it sturdy, although it no longer has the ability to be adjusted. This will impact their recharge rate. Yet another thing to slow their research down.
Regardless of this frustrating task, Flavia likes it here in pine camp. Or, more precisely, she prefers it. She doesn’t actually like anything having to do with Lisica. She hasn’t felt any actual pleasures of satisfaction or desire since she left home. But that is probably due to the fact that home is Italy. She has heard this from Italian migrants before. Nowhere in the whole world is quite so warm, so bright, so emotional as the Italian Peninsula. Outside the borders of Her sea and mountains, people grow cold, the food bland and ingredients cheap. Even politics are more interesting and fierce in Italy than other countries, although they drive her crazy. But that’s the thing, other places don’t drive Flavia crazy. They only inconvenience her, like with these branches and this twine on this godforsaken frozen island in the middle of nowhere.
And yet, it is far better at pine camp than at the beach. That ocean wind had been driving her mad, the relentless movement of air that robbed her of peace and steadiness and the basic ability to think. Now, here in this protected valley, she can hear the songbirds trill instead of the waves boom, and she is mollified.
Flavia returns to camp. She checks her laptop to find it is now charging, the skeletal power network she has built for the camp now alive with solar-derived electricity. She loves technology that is so clean, with no moving parts. Moving parts are so… industrial revolution. Flavia likes her tech more elegant than that.
Alonso is at work in his camp chair, hunched over the laptop balanced on his knees. Now that she has checked off her first task of the day, it is time to move on to the second one before she gets hungry for lunch. Flavia locates an empty bin and turns it upside-down for it to be used as a chair. Then she places it facing Alonso and joins him at his platform, their knees nearly touching.
He is deep in Plexity. He grunts at her but his fingers don’t stop typing. She knows better than to interrupt him.
By the time Flavia arranges her laptop’s windows into her standard workflow, Alonso is able to break away.
“Yes, Flavia?”
“Buongiorno, Dottore. How are you?”
“Eh.” He makes a face. “You really don’t want to know. Really. I mean, I feel like… I’m a chef who has to feed two hundred people tonight and only half my ingredients have been delivered. Not even half. Just a tenth. Just… the eggs. And some water. Feh. What am I supposed to make with that?” He shakes his head in despair. “No, I am not looking for your pity. I understand that it is my fault. What I asked of the team here is impossible. The sheer number of unique inputs required is staggering. But Plexity is… I mean, I have to keep working on it. Can’t you see? Nothing else matters. Not really. As soon as I had the epiphany about it in the gulag and I saw it in all its glory, what it could become and the answers it could provide, then there was no point in ever working on anything else. Because the fundamental answers to nearly every problem can be found in Plexity, in its connections, in the web of life. So. How am I? Not very well, thank you. I just keep banging my head against this very firmly shut door, trying to salvage something from our six weeks in that lagoon. But the gaps in the data are too large. I can’t establish any of the baselines necessary to derive meaningful measurements. You of all people must understand what I mean.”
Flavia only stares at Alonso, mute. If she was the one feeling such frustration, any possible response he made would only end with shouting. She would lash out with all that anger. And she doesn’t need to be Alonso’s target, so she keeps her mouth shut.
Alonso nods, bitter. “Of course you do. This is what you’ve been trying to tell me since we got here. And now,” he gestures at his screen, “it is all ashes. Worse than ashes. At least ashes used to be wood, and when you burned them, the fires warmed you. This… this was all just a fool’s errand, with no benefit in the least. Just chasing our tails for six weeks.”
Flavia shrugs. “The American generals will not think so.”
“You don’t know. I got us here with some very big promises. Bold promises of what Plexity will be able to do.”
“Oh, yes? Like what? How would the military even use it?”
“Well, they had those two biologist contractors who were very impressed with the scalable resolution we should be able to offer. They could see its promise, especially at macro levels. With enough collectors and boots on the ground, they are certainly right. In the end Plexity will still probably be what I was able to promise. I will just never be the person who is seeing it. They will cast me aside and it will be someone else who—”
“Wait, wait.” Flavia holds up an urgent hand. “Cast aside? Are you telling me you don’t own the rights to Plexity any more?”
Alonso does not look up from his screen.
Her head rocks back, the implications hitting her like a truck. “Are you telling me all this work we are doing is for the American military, for a new technological platform that the American military will control? Ai, Alonso…”
“It is a very generous license they have given us for academic use and publishing.” His voice is quiet. “It is not something I wanted, for sure. And… they said it was a change in the contract that came down from the top at the last second, but no, I didn’t believe them. They probably knew how they were going to play me all along. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been in a bargaining situation where the terms were changed just as I was about to sign. But what could I do? I had to sign the rights away. I had no leverage.”
Flavia slams her open hand down onto her knee. “You say no. You walk away when that happens.”
Tears spring into his eyes and Alonso holds his shaking hands out, pleading. “But I couldn’t walk. Flavia, I was in their hospital, after they had rescued me. And healed me. And their scientists said I could be of use. You don’t know. After five years, hearing those words… Being of use. Nothing sounded better.”
Flavia shakes her head, disgusted by the machinations of large bureaucracies. Che pazzo. She had been about to make his day brighter by proposing a new approach to Plexity, a modest way to salvage what they could of their enormous project. Flavia thought they might use the data they’d already collected as a massive filter for what they found next, screening every life form and compound from pine camp against what they’d found before in the lagoon, focusing on the scientifically-significant differences between biomes instead of the connections, per se. Then they might at least return with a handful of deep insights for their masters. But now she knows how much her masters the military men are. No. She will not work for them, not when they will enjoy all the data and share nothing with the wider academic world. Flavia has refused all military industrial complex work during her career and she has no intention of starting now. “But Alonso… The problem, as I’m sure you know, is that this… ehh, we should have known that… Well. I guess this just forces us to realize what the end-result of all this data collection will be. You must realize if we find anything too valuable with Plexity it will never be published, yes? It will disappear into their black budgets. Let us show them a failure instead. Or at most just the smallest amount of progress. We need to be thinking much much more strategically about what we are doing on this project. And you need to share with us the terms of your ‘generous academic license’ so we can figure out what we can tell them and what we cannot. Oh, Alonso. Were you really going to give them a fully-operational Plexity? And expect them to keep their promises about what you would be able to share?”
Alonso shrugs. “Look, those biologists were the only ones in the room who understood anything of what I was saying. The others didn’t have a clue. They could just tell the eggheads were very impressed and the general in charge really trusted both them and Colonel Baitgie. So I thought maybe I’d go back and if I’m lucky the contractors wouldn’t be there and I’m presenting to a room full of nothing but morons in uniform. Even Baitgie wouldn’t really understand Plexity’s implications if I kept it technical enough. They would just say, ‘Yes, great job. Mission accomplished,’ and I would leave with all my licenses and prototypes intact. And sure, maybe that is a little naive, but it is the best I was able to do.”
They stare at each other, two individuals trapped in the decisions they’d made with their lives. Neither feel there are any options for them to change their circumstances. Neither see any way forward.
The corner of Alonso’s mouth twitches. “This is when Amy is supposed to swing between us with an offer of tea. I miss her very much. Do you think she is okay?”
Flavia knows Alonso means that he wants her insight into what Wetchie-ghuy must be doing to Amy. It must be Wetchie-ghuy who took her, despite the efforts of the golden childs and their retreat to the pine camp. And nobody knows more about Wetchie-ghuy’s enslavement than Flavia. So Alonso wants her to relive that madness. She shivers and shakes it off. No. She won’t. “I have no idea, Alonso. I just hope they are a very happy couple.”
“Esquibel…!” A distant voice comes from the meadow near the creek. “Maahjabeen…! Esquibel…!”
“Is that Miriam?” Alonso tries to twist in his chair but his legs have fallen asleep. With a grimace he gets them working again and he stands. Flavia rises beside him.
“Who is calling my name?” Esquibel pokes her head out of the plastic slit door of the clean room. “Who is that?”
Maahjabeen emerges from her tent and stands atop her platform, shading her eyes. She squawks. “That is Pradeep! Alhamdulillah! They have Pradeep! Come!”
She rushes through the trees to him, Esquibel on her heels.
Miriam and Mandy drag Pradeep’s black-clad body through the grasses toward the camp on a crude travois, Jay limping beside them. There is no sign of Xaanach nor the golden childs who left with them.
Maahjabeen throws herself down beside them when they are still fifty paces from camp. Pradeep is unconscious, his head lolled to one side. She gathers him with a sob in her arms and holds him. “What is it? What happened to him?”
“Wetchie-ghuy…” Miriam is gasping. It has been a long journey. “He did something horrid to him, some voodoo bullshit…”
Maahjabeen wails and hauls on Pradeep, pulling his slack torso forward and tugging at his clothes. Alonso arrives, hurried across the meadow by Triquet and Flavia’s strong arms.
“No, there’s no fox or whatever on his tailbone.” Mandy reels away from her handle of the travois, her palms burning, her arms exhausted. She shakes her arms and groans. “We checked.”
“And Jidadaa told us,” Miriam adds, “that the fox was a symbol of the other one anyway, not Wetchie-ghuy. That Sherman the shaman. They’re the one who poisons people and puts the stamp on our spines, not Wetchie-ghuy. She told us a lot.”
“Then what is it?” Maahjabeen kisses Pradeep’s slack face, trying to transfer her love into him like she did before, when he was dying of that cold mud. She chafes his frozen hands.
“Uh…” Miriam shares a furtive look with Jay. “Well, according to Jidadaa, she said Wetchie-ghuy took Pradeep’s soul.”
“Not true.” Jay’s first words are a rasp. “I bought it back from him with a joint. Fair deal. Pradeep doesn’t belong to Wetchie-ghuy any more. He smoked that whole reefer to his head.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Triquet can’t make sense of any part of Jay’s statement.
Jay tries to recap but his head is buzzing with fatigue. His own words echo in his skull. “Pradeep knew that Wetchie-ghuy had claimed him and the first time that old asshole showed up he was just going to like go with him. But I made a deal to give him my weed instead and that’s when Wetchie-ghuy started smoking like a chimney and he just went apeshit and attacked me. Then…”
Jay falls silent, remembering what the golden man had begged of him all those nights before in the tunnels: Kill Wetchie-ghuy. Jay is lidass. It is his destiny. But he turned his back on that, didn’t he? And now his buddy got taken instead, despite all Jay’s best efforts. He failed Pradeep. He was supposed to take care of him, defend him from Wetchie-ghuy even if it meant killing the old man. As if Jay’s actually capable of taking a life. As if he could actually get his hands on the old man. And what that would have done to Jay, all that blood on his hands… Well. Looks like it’s one soul or another, Jay’s or Pradeep’s. That’s the price Lisica is demanding.
But the others aren’t listening to him any more. They’ve moved on without him, hurrying back to camp, Esquibel racing ahead. Jay stops and looks around, his face bitter. Well here it is. This is the meadow he’s been seeking for days, this broad expanse from weeks before where he first saw the golden childs and the Katóok tribe and all the rest. And now the crew lives here, up in the trees a good hundred paces from the creek. Well well well. Plenty of places to hang a hammock, for sure. Almost back to normal.
But now they said Amy’s gone. The one person he’s closest to in like his whole life right now. Man, she’s not just a boss. She’s his mentor and friend and guide. Without her, Jay wouldn’t even be in grad school, and he knows it.
“If I’d killed Wetchie-ghuy when I saw him… Pradeep and Amy would both be here.” He shakes his head in wonder at the surreal nature of the universe. Him. A killer. And not of just anyone, a shaman of an endangered Pacific Island tribe. At the request of another shaman from another endangered tribe… I mean, that’s who that golden man was, yeah? A third shaman? But so far him and his kids have been good to the team, watching over them and protecting them, for whatever reason. He was the one to beg Jay to kill Wetchie-ghuy. He must have known what was coming.
“I got to talk to that dude again. Maybe with Katrina in tow. Get some answers.” Jay shakes his head at how much they are up against. He takes one last look at the cold gray sky before stepping under the trees. “That’s what we need now. Answers. Information war, my peeps. It’s where we at.”
Ξ
Maahjabeen hurries from her tent back to the clean room, her head empty. She realizes distantly that for the first time in memory she has no thought of the sea. Or of God. Only Pradeep fills her heart and soul. She knows it is blasphemy but she is quite close to not caring. Maahjabeen has never known love before. She thought she had, but those were the first tottering steps of a child compared to the—the splendid dances they share. And love is all.
These disquieting revelations about her true nature almost make her stumble. She isn’t pious after all, but an imperfect creature of passions both romantic and sexual. Yet she hurries on regardless, back to the clean room with a clutch of socks, to give Pradeep a bit of a sponge bath and make him more comfortable, even in a coma.
She slips through the plastic slit, relieved to find the clean room empty of others. Only Pradeep is here, covered in blankets, an IV drip feeding him, and his eyes are open!
Maahjabeen rushes to him and covers his face with kisses. He only stares at the ceiling, hardly responsive. “Pradeep! Pradeep…!”
“Yes.” The word is like a pebble dropped into a pond, cold and inert. His eyes remain distant.
Maahjabeen pulls back. “What is it? Are you okay?”
“No.” He says it in the same empty way. His eyes do not move from their point on the ceiling.
“What is it? What is it, Mahbub?” She encircles him in her arms, pressing his slack face against her. But when he doesn’t respond she holds him at arm’s length again. “Tell me. Is it the cold mud?”
“No.”
She frowns. He doesn’t struggle. He is awake, just merely not present. And he apparently only answers yes and no questions. “Is it something else?”
“No.” Wherever she moves his head it stays, same with his arms and body. They are all heavy and inanimate.
“It’s… nothing else?” Unlike all the atheists here, Maahjabeen knows it is the soul that animates the body. So when she heard that Wetchie-ghuy had claimed Pradeep’s, she’d taken it quite seriously. And now, this dispassion is what one would expect of a man whose soul has been taken. He is nothing now but a golem. “Nothing at all in there…?”
Maahjabeen grabs his hand and spreads both hers and his against his chest over his heart. He blinks. “Yes.”
“Oh, where is it, Lord? Where has he taken it?” Maahjabeen laces her fingers with Pradeep’s and kneels by his side, in prayer.
This is how Esquibel finds them a timeless interlude later. She puts the packages she carries down and crosses to the cot. “Eh, he is awake. I knew he just needed some rest and fluids. How are you, Pradeep? Eh?” Esquibel is surprised by the storm in Maahjabeen’s eyes. She had expected to find relief there. “What is wrong?”
“He can only answer yes and no questions!” After this inexplicable statement, Maahjabeen dissolves into tears.
Puzzled, Esquibel turns to Pradeep. “Nonsense. He is just tired. How are you feeling? Can you tell me your name?”
Pradeep looks dully ahead, into the middle distance.
Esquibel takes out her phone and shines its light into Pradeep’s eyes. He has no pupil reflex, none at all. No reaction to the light response test, the swinging flashlight test, nor the near response test. Both pupils remain unchanged, with a median pupillary aperture, despite any stimulus. She leans into his field of view, frowning. “Can you… can you see me?”
“Yes.”
Oh, she doesn’t like the sound of Pradeep’s voice at all. Cold as a corpse. Frowning, Esquibel finds his pulse. It is like… footsteps in sand. Not weak, just… contained, with no real resonance to it, like a machine is pumping his heart instead of contractile muscle. She passes a hand over his brow. “Can you tell me what the day of the week is?” Silence. Esquibel tells Maahjabeen lightly, “I’d have been surprised if he knew it. I’d have to check to know, myself.” Then back to Pradeep, “So can you tell me your name?”
He only stares ahead. She snaps his fingers beneath his nose. No reaction. She taps the sharp edge of her phone against the patellar tendon of his knee. No reflex response. “What in the world?”
“Pradeep,” Maahjabeen forces out his name from between sobs. “Tell us, Mahbub. Do you have a soul?”
He turns his hollow eyes to them. “No.”
An icy chill runs down Esquibel’s spine. Forcefully, she shakes her head in cynical rejection of it. “These god damn medicine men and their hallucinogens, I swear. But this one seems to be more of a dissociative, I would guess. Shutting down the perfectly good brains of my colleagues. Why don’t any of these dangerous substances come with antidotes?”
“Oh… They do.” Maahjabeen remembers Pradeep telling her of how she had been brought back by a foul-smelling concoction of rotten black leaves when she was suffering. “That girl. Jidadaa. She brought me those herbs. We need her to…”
But Esquibel is shaking her head. “No. No more drugs on top of drugs. And Jidadaa was already with Pradeep, anyway. She saw what had happened to him and she was the one who said he had a, what? A soul-ectomy? Some kind of metaphysical amputation? So she obviously can’t be of any more use.”
“Then this is a matter of faith.” Maahjabeen resumes her prayer.
But Esquibel interrupts it with a firm hand. “No, this is the time for modern medical interventions. I was too worried about contra-indications and unknown side-effects when you were both poisoned but with hindsight I don’t think being so tentative did anyone any favors. So this time I will respond more strongly. First, deactivated charcoal, and then perhaps some epinephrine.” She puts a hand on Pradeep’s arm. “Are you in pain?”
“No.”
“Well that’s a relief. Maahjabeen, I need you to do your religious practice somewhere else. Here is where his monitor must go.”
“There is nothing medically wrong with him.”
“Oh, here we go again.” Esquibel rears back, hands on hips, about to deliver another lecture on the dangers of superstitious thinking, when she is caught by the torment in Maahjabeen’s face. It reminds her of the day workers she used to see in Kenya when she was a resident, the young women with hopeless eyes and faces worn twice their age from brutal lives in factories and workhouses. And that forces her to recall what originally made her become a doctor: to ease suffering. The world is filled with so much of it. Palliative care is the best one can do for the bleeding world.
With a sigh, Esquibel rearranges the clean room so the monitor can be placed on Pradeep’s other side. She drapes a blanket around Maahjabeen’s shoulders, pats her bowed head, and leaves the two lovers alone.
Ξ
“What if I grab your hand? What then?” Katrina reaches for the hand of the golden childs accompanying her. The youth pulls away and she is delighted by his meekness. It is one of the only really human responses she’s ever seen from them.
They sit in a narrow cleft of gray stone, a fissure running down into the next valley to the northwest of pine camp. Katrina needs to be alone today, as much as is safe, and at first the golden childs gave her the solitude she craved. But the knots in her mind became no less untangled. Finally, surrendering to the impossibility that she could find any solutions to her troubles, she’d set a bit of an ambush here for the golden childs following her. She needs to talk to someone about this.
“A ty govorish’ po russki?” The youth just hides quietly behind his bloody golden mask and doesn’t say a word. “Okay, can you speak any language besides Russian? And I know you can speak behind your mask. The golden man did. Zolotoy chelovek sdela.”
Katrina takes a deep breath, trying to clear her head. “Why does your chief speak Russian, though? They must come here often. But not to the south? Not to the beach? The Russians must have some other way to access the interior of the island? One the Yanks don’t know? Okay, but why? Listening post… Regional base… Look. Mr. Singlung He was my sponsor for the Singapore Conferences and he used to go on and on about maritime supremacy being the foundation of regional hegemons. But the Americans must have known the Russians were here. They must. Their own little Cold War, yeh? Right here in paradise, murdering each other in their sleep. God, the spooks always think they’re so fucking clever…”
She tosses a rock from her perch in the fissure down the slope into the bushes below. A cluster of dark birds wing away.
“Multi-polar. A multi-polar island, with at least four axes. The way I see it you got your Americans here…” Katrina places a jagged piece of quartz in the dust at her feet. “Your Russians. Your Lisicans, who can be further divided into the competing villages and shamans with all their different agendas…” Then she picks up a small flat stone. “And the Japanese.”
Katrina watches the golden childs to see if the word triggers any reaction. But the pollen-laden mask remains impassive.
“I said what I said. She told me last night it was the Japanese. I told her that I hope they like show tunes because that’s all I put on the USB stick she gave them. She said I didn’t understand.” Katrina pushes herself again to her feet. “Thought she was going to kill me then. Wouldn’t take her hand from her gun. So I didn’t push it. But Christ how many players are there at this table? We thought Lisica was all remote and empty but now we can hardly spend a day without finding a whole new nationality has arrived. What, do you get the Hawaiians here too?”
Katrina entertains herself with images of barechested Polynesians paddling longboats through the waves at the mouth of the lagoon.
She sighs, studying the youth. “You’re a good bloke. Don’t talk too much. I like that in a man. But the big problem is what am I going to do? Should I tell Alonso? Mandy? I mean, yeh, I definitely will. I don’t hold any allegiances to Esquibel. Kind of a bitch, to be honest. But I don’t need to like ruin her life with one ill-considered confession to the wrong people at the wrong time…”
Katrina reflects on how it had ended last night in the dark. They had been so close, whispering urgently in each other’s ears, gripping each other. Full darkness. The only sensations were Esquibel’s stale exhalations against her cheek and her strong hand encircling Katrina’s arm. She had just finished a breathless tale of subterfuge, insisting that selling the Plexity secrets to the Japanese had been an order from her superiors. She shared how it had all started six months before, when a very nice elderly Japanese naval officer had made an initial contact with Esquibel at a medical conference in Jakarta. He’d made an offer so oblique she didn’t even understand what he was asking until she’d had time to consider it. But when she did she’d gone straight to the spooks at Langley and they’d ordered her to keep quiet and string the Japanese intelligence agency along. They told her the Plexity data wasn’t significant but sharing it would build trust. She was one of the good guys, she swore. She wasn’t doing anything wrong, but Katrina had to understand that they must keep up appearances.
It occurs to Katrina now that Esquibel might have very well killed her and hidden the body in pursuit of her mission’s goals. Yet what stopped her most likely wasn’t decency but the presence of the golden childs, four of them crouched at the edge of camp. So instead she implored Katrina to forget what she’d seen and to keep her mouth shut. Otherwise there might be a real nasty mess when they got picked up in two weeks. If, say, at the Air Force debriefing, Katrina suddenly starts going on about a Japanese soldier in the night then all kinds of hell could break loose. Be discreet, Esquibel had begged her. I love you all and I am here to protect you, she’d finally confessed, emotion choking her voice. Then she’d stepped close, a leg sliding between Katrina’s to press up intimately against her, and kissed her. Then she’d repeated, “I do love you, Katrina,” which put her in a state of wordless shock, before Esquibel had disengaged and slipped off into the cold dark night.
Katrina hadn’t slept a wink since then.
She picks up the dark flat rock that signifies the Japanese. “Just… like… We got enough going on here, folks. Don’t come back and everything will be fine.” She tosses the rock into the bushes below.
This time, the rock hits an animal in the bushes and it squeals, a dreadful baritone rattle. The bushes shake with violence.
Now the golden childs beside Katrina stirs. He leaps forward and puts himself between the creature in the bushes and her. The animal storms out from under the branches, still outraged. A boar. It’s a huge boar, like the size of a moped. And not much slower. It charges up the slope toward them with dreadful speed.
“Climb. I’ll climb.” Katrina hears her own breathless words in her ear. They sound faint and weak and tardy. This monster and its ragged tusks are going to wreck them both. She hauls herself onto the fissure’s wall, trying to swing herself up and clear of the ground below. But she isn’t fast enough. The boar is beneath them now, tossing its head against the golden childs.
The youth leaps at the last instant, clear of the splintered tusks, and lands on the opposite wall of the fissure. He scrambles up before the boar can turn and charge again.
“There’s boars…” Katrina pants, over and over, “boars here on Lisica. There’s boars… on Lisica…” Finally she climbs to a safe perch and crouches there. The golden childs pulls himself up, nearly to the top edge of the cliff. “When were you ever going to tell me? Come on, then. Time for some pork on the barbie.”
Chapter 36 – You
September 2, 2024
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:
36 – You
Maahjabeen finds Pradeep at sunset, tears in her eyes. He stands beside a tall Toyon analyzing its spiky leaves. When he sees the look on her face he drops the reader and reaches for her hand. She throws herself instead against him. Only when he envelopes her in his arms does she begin to sob, deep ragged sounds of grief.
“What…? Oh, love. What is it?”
She breaks away and begins shuffling back to camp, unable to speak about it. He quickly gathers his things and follows, a look of immense care on his face.
They arrive at the Love Palace in silence and she begins hauling at Aziz, the blue kayak stored beneath. Pradeep stows his things and helps her. He lifts the rear and she hauls it, still sobbing, out of camp toward the lagoon.
Flavia emerges from the bunker. “Ah no. What is it?”
But Maahjabeen has no words.
“What is wrong with her, Pradeep?”
As Maahjabeen leads him out of camp, he makes sure to match her strides. “I don’t know yet!” he calls out over his shoulder.
They navigate the fallen redwood and re-emerge onto the beach. Firewater, the yellow kayak, is already here. It’s been pulled a good ten meters clear of the tide line. He is shocked that she’d ever leave one of her boats alone out here for so long.
In moments they are on the water and she is paddling straight as an arrow to the far right side of the lagoon, the southwest corner of the whole island. There is something dark on the rocks there.
It is the corpse of an Orca calf. The markings are unmistakable. And it has been chewed on frightfully. Its fins are torn and whole pieces of its side are shredded, with only a small amount of viscera still spilling from the open wound. Its eyes are gone.
Now Maahjabeen is weeping uncontrollably. Her kayak starts to drift away in the current. Pradeep paddles to the far side of it to keep her from heading toward the lagoon mouth and all those unforgiving rollers. He knows intuitively that there is a meaning in this death that has not been revealed to him yet. The loss of marine mammals always makes him sad too, but this… this is somehow personal to her.
“It’s okay, babi. It’s okay.” The diminutive for her springs unbidden to his lips. His mother used to call him that when he was a child, facing one of his panic attacks. He pets Maahjabeen’s arm, as close as he can get to her in these unwieldy craft.
“La. La…” And Maahjabeen unleashes a torrent of Arabic that Pradeep is incapable of following. But she keeps repeating one word over and over.
“What is ‘Ama?’ I don’t…”
“Ama was my mother. She died last year.” Maahjabeen drops her face into her hands and the paddle slides from her grip.
Pradeep collects it, slides it under a couple shock cord lines, and holds onto her kayak. He’s running out of hands here. And he needs to keep both boats out of the current.
“In a car accident. I didn’t get to see her. I didn’t get to ever say goodbye. I was on the Red Sea.”
“I’m so sorry… Look. Just hold on. I’ve got to paddle.”
“Yes, of course.” Maahjabeen hooks her fingers under Aziz’s lines. “And her ghost… I feel her all the time, Pradeep. She is always watching over me.”
Pradeep waits patiently, unsure how all these things fit together.
“This poor baby…” Maahjabeen gestures listlessly toward the dead calf. “It is a sign. A sign from God. It is all coming to an end.”
She falls silent. Pradeep tries to figure out what she could possibly mean. What sign? What end? He knows so little about Islam and the Quran. It doesn’t have killer whales in it, does it? How could it? The whole thing is set in the desert.
“The orcas…” Maahjabeen whispers her secret, staring out over the horizon. “They watch over me. They saved my life in the storm. They are mine. I am supposed to watch out for them and I can’t even do that, because of this horrible surf! I am supposed to be out there with them, their protector, keeping things like this from happening!”
Pradeep looks at her, caught between befuddlement and wonder. “Is that what you do on the open water? Adopt whole pods of orcas? Protect them? Wow. That’s so amazing, darling.”
“No. It isn’t… This isn’t like a choice, like they are the animal I chose to study for my senior thesis or something. This is what has happened to me on the water. They chose me. This is real.”
Pradeep only nods, shocked to see how off-balance his lover has gotten. “Yes. I see that it is. But help me understand.”
Maahjabeen opens her mouth and then closes it again. There is a whole other world here, a profound hidden world of signs and ghosts and intuition, all presided over by a loving God. How do you describe that to someone who only lives in this cold hard modern world? “They are all… connected. They all… watch out for me. Do you see? It is a holy commitment, what we have. Mother and daughter. Human and whale.”
“I see.” Pradeep feels immeasurable compassion for Maahjabeen. He just wants to kiss and hold her and make her happy again. But he doesn’t know how. The wind shifts, riffling the water, and for the first time the smell of the rotting corpse hits him. He hacks a cough and then turns away from her resentful stare. “I’m sorry. I caught a real whiff there and it…” But her face is only getting more irate. He should stop now. “I love you so much, Maahjabeen. I’ll do anything for you. What can I do?”
She crumples into tears again. Relief washes through her. Of course this is the way forward. And this is how Pradeep can join her unseen world, with the magical power of their love. Love is how he can be one of those watching over her, as she will watch over him in turn. Love is how she can share her wordless bond with these mighty spirits of the sea. And love is how she will get the ghost of Ama to rest easy. It will be his love that her mother will appreciate. Even if she will not approve of him for a whole host of other reasons, Pradeep’s love for Maahjabeen will solve her problems! Suddenly grateful, she lifts his hand, in awe of the gentleness of his spirit and the capacity of his heart, and worshipfully kisses it.
Ξ
Katrina leads Mandy up the final climb to the entrance of the Dzaadzitch tunnel mouth village. Morska Vidra and his fox are already there, as if expecting them. The two researchers stop to put masks and gloves on before getting any closer. As they do so, Morska Vidra departs, out into the daylight.
“Uh, hi and bye. That’s not a good sign.” Mandy carries the camp’s largest backpack and she is sore from wrestling it through all the tight underground passages.
Katrina shrugs. “Who knows? New behavior for sure. He usually accompanies us the whole way. But maybe, you know, familiarity breeds contempt. We’re old news by now.”
Mandy hoists the heavy pack again. “I hope so.”
They emerge into a village filled with the business of daily life. Children strip long reed leaves and thresh dried grains. Adults cook and weave and repair items. Morska Vidra has already joined a trio of women hoisting a wide slab of redwood bark onto the hole in a hut’s roof. Nobody remarks on their presence. It’s almost as if Katrina and Mandy are invisible.
“Okay, then.” Katrina looks around but none will meet her eye. So she ventures further into the clearing, the town square where all the activity is. Jay has given her directions. Where the cliffs rise to her left, there is a game trail beyond the circle of huts leading to the top of the ridge. “That way.” She points discreetly, not wanting to venture forth yet until she gets a better idea of why they’re being ignored. “But I don’t know…”
“What did we do wrong this time?” Mandy has to fight a sudden irritation. That last climb to get through here was even worse than reports had indicated. And the disassembled pieces of her weather station are such awkward shapes in the pack. They seem to catch on every corner. Why, she had to practically inch her way up the tunnels. Something naïve in Mandy expects the villagers to register what a huge effort this was from her, but of course they don’t know. And they don’t care about her personal victories. They’re the ones who made those tunnels. Hauling a twenty kilo pack through them probably doesn’t impress them one bit.
Katrina listens to the many voices around them. Something has changed. The words are muttered instead of chanted. She sees the soundwave in Pro Logic: a flat tonal shift has knocked down all the rising and falling waveforms, leaving it narrow and compressed. Is this the sound of mourning? No, they don’t sound sad. More like resigned. Or depressed. Great. They gave the Lisicans depression. Now Katrina can’t bear to cause them any more anguish. “Okay, ready? Now or never. Let’s just slip through here… Pardon us…” She takes Mandy by the hand and hurries past the villagers and their huts to a spot where the cliffs transition to a steep slope. It is the only possible trailhead. And she can kind of see some footholds scaling upward. But it will not be easy. “Ugh. Watch out. I’m not any kind of mountain goat. This might get embarrassing.”
“Yeah, I’m not what you call a real hiker either.” Mandy does enjoy the outdoors, but only really when it keeps to itself. Growing up with an uncle on Oahu’s North Shore, she was no stranger to the kind of storms they’d been getting, and family trips all over the islands were no less challenging than what she’d done on Lisica for the last few weeks, but diving into the great unknown had never been her thing. She looks up the eighty-degree slope, pretty sure her legs aren’t strong enough to carry all this weight up over the top. Well. She’s been waiting weeks to get here. It’s time to find out if she finally gets to be a scientist on this island or not.
With a grunt and a heave, Mandy follows Katrina’s uncertain path up the slope.
It’s a good sixty meter climb, following the shallow depressions left in the earth, pulling themselves up the maze of switchbacks to a brow of manzanita at the top. Mandy grabs their iron twigs and pulls herself the last few steps up to the rounded crest. Katrina is in a thicket of flowering yellow branches, gasping, waiting for her. Mandy, her legs afire, pushes her way through the clawing twigs to keep up.
When she reaches Katrina the wind changes. Her new senses pick it up acutely, delivering such a wealth of information and sensation all at once it nearly brings her to her knees. This is it. They’ve reached the top. They’re up in the zephyrs now, finally above all the land that blocks her from the sky.
Katrina leads Mandy through manzanita to the true crest of the ridge. They climb the broken spine of it and balance on reddish brown rocks, their clothes whipping in the thin cold wind. The horizon falls away to all sides. This is the view the drone first got when they sent it up over the top weeks ago. From due east to west the ocean fills their view, with the beach and lagoon below obscured by the intervening trees and brush. The endless sea is banded shades of blue and gray, with a patch of bright silver sunshine to the east. The wind comes from the northwest, as it often does, and it carries a saline tang mixed with an arctic chalk. It almost hurts Mandy’s nostrils to breathe it in. It’s the wind of an entire hemisphere. And they can see so much of the island now, this bowl-of-a-thousand-rims. It dominates their view to the north, with several long ridgelines obscuring the far end.
Katrina silently leads Mandy down the cliff, which looks utterly perilous. But the footprints here are unmistakable. This is a path that humans regularly traverse. Which means she can do it as well, even if it seems like they’re pitching themselves off a six hundred meter drop with every step.
Soon a shallow fold at the base of the cliff, hidden until they’re nearly upon it, provides a respite from the terrors of the heights and the whipping wind. They sit.
“Huh. And we’re not even there yet? Not quite as freeway close as I’d hoped.” Mandy’s brave attempt falls flat. She’s so tired.
Katrina just studies their surroundings with a troubled gaze. Then her eyes light up. “Aha! Look. We are already there.”
Mandy follows Katrina’s eyeline. Oh my god. There it is. That’s the platform, the remains of the wooden deck that had been built up here. It’s out and down, in a bowl of a depression another ten meters below them. These cliffs aren’t sheer at all. They hide all kinds of secret spots. With a cry, she scrambles down to it.
The vegetation surrounding the shaft’s mouth was blackened by the fire Mandy had lit. Most of the platform has also burned away. What remains is a length of tilted decking that extends outward toward the sea. Mandy swings wide of the shaft and hurries over to what boards are still nailed together. She tests them with a firm shake. “Still solid! Check this out! I bet they built this for their own weather observations! Now with just a little TLC it’ll be ideal!”
She works to prop the platform back into position. Katrina sighs in relief. Finally Mandy gets to be part of the team. They gently remove the weather station’s parts from her sack and piece it back together, Mandy fine-tuning it as Katrina scours the area for heavy rocks to secure the station’s base. Soon it is complete, an ultrasonic anemometer’s spikes crowning it like a junkyard Christmas tree.
“It needs regular manual downloads and the batteries are good for about sixty hours so I’ll need to come back up every forty-eight to swap them out.” Mandy’s shoulders slump as she realizes how many times she’ll be running this obstacle course. Her irritation mounts again and she hurls a small rock at the shaft’s dark mouth. “Nasty old Skeebee. Wouldn’t let me and Amy figure out a way to get up and down the easy way. I mean, just look at it! It’s obvious this is what those Army dudes used.” Finally she hears a clink as the stone hits the bottom.
Katrina shrugs. “Getting up here’s the hard part but we could totally base jump back down sometime. I do have the remains of that parachute that was hanging over the camp. But it’s like military surplus and needs some like, serious repair.”
Mandy shivers, imagining the struggle she’d have just to find the impulse to jump off this cliff. She doesn’t have it in her. “No, thank you. I’ll brave the passive-aggressive villagers instead.” She steps back and admires her handiwork. “Data… data…” she croons to the weather station, like it’s a beloved houseplant she just watered. “Give me all the data…!”
“Are we done here?” Katrina has a faint hope that when they head back down, the temper of the village might have changed and they’ll be receptive again. She has loads of questions about their history and language. Triquet has a whole list they expect her to get answers for. This Lisican silent treatment is very inconvenient.
Mandy takes one last deep breath of this amazing rarefied wind. It’s surprisingly dry. No storms for a while. And there’s a stillness in the gaps between gusts that indicate no systems coming. Fantastic. The last thing she needs is a cyclone to pop up and wreck her instrumentation here. This whole rig is probably worth as much as a new car. “Yes, babe.” Mandy reaches for Katrina’s hand. She lifts it and kisses it without taking her eyes from the silhouette of the weather station against the shades of banded blue and gray. “Thanks so much for bringing me. I wouldn’t have made it without you.” And then, knowing deeply this is the moment between them if it ever is, Mandy steps close and kisses Katrina, a long breathy, dreamy kiss filled with tenderness and passion.
Mandy steps back and opens her eyes. Katrina looks upon her with affection and warmth, but not heat. Ah, well. It’s not like she was going to tear the chick’s clothes off, not here in all this wind. Then Katrina’s eyes skip past her to look at someone above and behind Mandy.
“Oh, hi,” Katrina waves at the willowy girl watching them from the heights above.
“Hi,” Jidadaa replies, waving at them. “How are you?”
Ξ
“Ecch, where is everyone?” Maahjabeen marches through camp, peering into all the empty tents. “Hello?”
“What’s up?” Jay pokes his head out from the awning covering his hammock.
She starts. “Ah. Jay.” Maahjabeen tries and fails to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “I was just… I need a… I mean, where did they all go? When I left, everyone was here. It was so busy this morning.”
“Yeah, everyone’s out on missions now or whatever.”
“Ugh.” She opens her mouth, closes it, and turns away. How can he possibly help? The answer is clear: he can’t.
Jay squawks, rolling out of his hammock. He pads barefoot across the sand to her, hand covering his left side. He forces his grimace of pain into an eager smile. “What’s up? You need a hand?”
It irritates her that this is the exact phrase she was going to use when she practiced in her mind how to ask someone for help. A hand is exactly what she needs. But… it is Jay. The one person in this whole camp she still doesn’t really respect. She nods. “Yes, but you can’t fool me. I know Doctor Daine put you on bedrest.”
“Ugh, it is so boring in there! I’m going absolutely insane in the membrane. You got to let me… I mean, I can at least like tag along and offer some suggestions.”
“Suggestions I do not need. I know what I need to do. It would just be very much easier with another person. But no. You cannot help. You have to be an adult and take care of yourself, yes?”
Jay presses his mouth into a displeased line. “You know, a lot of you guys think like I don’t hear the condescending tone or I don’t mind being lectured or talked down to all the time but…”
Maahjabeen turns away with a snarl of impatience. Getting into a spat with Jay about—about… she doesn’t even know what it is about! And she only has a short window when the tide is low. She slams the door of the bunker open and ducks her head in. It is dim. “Hello?” But the interior is empty. Even Doctor Daine is gone.
Maahjabeen crosses the camp. Jay waits for her, his face eager. “So where we going?”
“You are going back to your bed and I am going out to the lagoon to hang a gill net.”
“Fuck yeah. Clams for days. So so glad you finally allowed some harvesting in the lagoon. We were running out of the tinned stuff and things were looking pretty dire.”
“Yes, well, it is not as pristine as I had hoped. Now go away. I will not have the Doctor yelling at me about your wound.”
Maahjabeen hurries back to the beach. When she climbs the fallen trunk, she studies the ocean. Such a perfect vantage. She has grown to love the extra three or four meters of height this massive log offers. Distant sunbeams slant at an angle onto the ocean through breaks in the gray mantle. God is serene today.
Maahjabeen drops off the trunk and hurries back to the beach. Okay. Maybe if she spools the rope and net and slowly unwinds it as she paddles out to the anchor point she’s identified. No. There is no way the net will remain untangled. What if she carries the entire net out, ties it off, and then unspools it on the way back? That might be simpler. Still no way to conceivably keep the net together. Perhaps if she just lays it out carefully on the sand and slowly drags it at a diagonal…
“Oh, I see your problem.” Jay startles her. He stands behind her, studying the net she has made and the lagoon. “You just need me to stand in the shallows and feed it to you, right? I can do that.”
She stares at him with open hostility. Regardless of the fact that this is exactly what she needs, Maahjabeen is so outraged that he ignored her direct order to stay away from her that she thinks of filing a complaint. “I am telling you to leave me alone, Jay.”
“Damn, this has nothing to do with you, Maahjabeen. I just want some clams. And you need a hand. Why you got to be so uptight all the time? I ain’t hurting anyone by being here.”
“When someone tells you they want to be left alone, you have to respect that. It is the law. And it is decency.”
“Sure sure. But I don’t got to be anywhere near you. I hold the line, you’re in the boat. And guess what? I’m the best person in this whole camp to do it. I used to run these really fine gill nets for the fingerlings at the hatchery. I know how to keep them untangled. You go out there and set it and then I leave you alone.”
“You can’t do it one-handed.”
“Look. I’ll use my foot. Just hand it to me so I won’t have to bend over. Then I can let it out easy like. Come on, Maahjabeen. I’m not like harassing you. You were the one who came into camp looking for help but for some reason you just hate me. Come on. I’m not a bad guy.”
“Jay. Listen to yourself. When someone tells you that you are harassing them, you cannot argue it. You just have to respect them and give them space.”
Jay lifts a hand. “Hey, all I’m saying is you got it wrong. It could be Amy or Miriam or Morska Vidra asking me. You don’t got to turn this into a federal case or anything. Fine. If you don’t want to set the net, I sure as hell can’t do it without you, so… Peace.”
Jay shakes his head in frustration and turns away. What the fuck? Why did he come back from the other side of the island again? Oh, right. Because they were trying to kill him. But that hidden garden of Kula’s sure was sweet. And she and Jidadaa treated him with a hell of a lot more respect than—
“Jay.”
He turns back.
Maahjabeen studies him. She remembers being a teenager on the streets of Tunis protesting American intervention in Libya. She has always hated the Americans. And this is how they always look and act. He is a picture-perfect representation of them. Tall and blond and cute, unformed… and they can never take no for an answer. “Just stand here and unspool it and then stop being such a bother.”
“You got it.”
Later, after the net is fixed, Jay follows Maahjabeen back up the beach as she drags her kayak home. She stops one last time and looks out at the lagoon with a frown. “There is no telling,” she says, “how successful it will be. It is very possible all that work was for nothing. Or that it will only catch things we can’t eat.”
“Or…” Jay counters, “we feast like kings. I’ve got a cream sauce I want to try with the dehydrated milk and garlic flakes.”
“Your optimism is annoying.”
“Well, your pessimism is hella sad.”
Maahjabeen turns back to him before she navigate the roots of the fallen tree. Her eyes twitch with ire. There is such a gulf between them. “My pessimism is earned. Your optimism is not.”
“Uh, I’ve spent my whole life on the beach, lady. And the ocean always provides. I thought you knew that.”
“The ocean is my sanctuary. But it is not easy. Nothing is.”
“Man, some people…” Jay shakes his head in despair. “You’re like my mom’s always been. Nothing means anything unless it hurts. Unless you sacrifice something for it. But why? You and I are scientists. We know that isn’t how things work. Things work or they don’t fully irrespective of whether or not they’re hard for us. The universe doesn’t care about your feelings.”
Maahjabeen stops again. “That is where you are wrong. The universe cares very much about my feelings. My thoughts and actions. Purity of both is the only way to paradise.”
“Paradise? I’m talking cream sauce.”
“God knows everything you think.”
“Well, that’s creepy.”
Maahjabeen loses her temper. “Gah! Get away from me! What is wrong with you? Go back to your toys and your made-up world of comic books. Seriously, I have no idea what Pradeep sees in you.”
Jay draws himself up to his full height. She has finally gone too far. “You might think I’m like too laid back to be offended. But you’re wrong. You’re totally one hundred percent wrong. And if you can’t figure out why Pradeep and I are buds, then that’s on you, not me or him. The fault’s in you. And you might want to check yourself before you lose us all.”
Then Jay turns away from camp and instead slips into the vegetation leading toward the waterfall.
Maahjabeen watches him go, her own heat fading. She wants to call out a last insult but she visualizes Pradeep hearing it and she knows how much it would hurt him. Feh. What a mess.
Ξ
“Has anyone seen Jay?” Pradeep ducks into the bunker. Amy and Triquet and Esquibel all share a workstation, discussing how to word their findings regarding the grave of M.C. Dowerd.
“Isn’t he in his hammock?” Amy remembers that she was going to bring him dinner an hour ago. But it slipped her mind.
“First place I looked. Not in the grove. Not on the beach.”
Amy sighs. “Shoot. I should be keeping a better eye on him. You know how he likes getting in trouble.” She turns back to the others. “Triq. You’re the best writer. Just make sure you add sentences in the lead paragraph about the setting based on my notes. I bolded the important bits. Seems I’ve got to find a wayward child.”
“He isn’t a child,” Esquibel mutters bitterly. “And you should all stop treating him as one.”
“Huh.” Amy barks a short laugh. “Jay’s like one of those high-performing special needs kids. Can hardly dress himself but he’ll spot four different species of lacewing while Pradeep and I are still getting our bearings. I know he can be a little much but we absolutely need him in the field. Which is where he probably is.”
“Yes…” Pradeep agrees, following her outside. “But where?”
They find Jay sitting beside Alonso at the waterfall’s pool, playing cribbage. Alonso soaks his feet and they share a joint.
“Ahh. Gambling. I should have known.” Pradeep slips through the dense brush at the edge of the pool and crouches beside them.
“No money on this game,” Alonso rumbles. “Or I would be very poor right now. You may think he is an innocent boy but he is really a hustler.”
“Just the luck of the cards, my dude. Sup, Prad. Hey, Amy.”
Pradeep leans down. “I think I figured out how he got up there.”
“Seriously? No shit.” Jay drops his cards. “I’ve been cracking my brain on that. Total mystery hour.”
“Who got up where?” Amy is glad she carries her daypack. She unslings it now and gets out a few snacks for the players.
“Amy, that is too kind.” Alonso unwraps a packet of crackers and dips them in the pool’s cold water. “Hm. Surprisingly good.”
Jay opens an energy bar and tears off a huge bite. “Show me.”
Pradeep takes a packet of dried fruit. “It is the Lisican fellow we saw in the crown of the redwood when the ospreys attacked. We couldn’t figure out how he got up there.”
“Way high up. Like a hundred meters. We were like, dude!”
“But there is no hurry. You should finish your game first.”
“Shit, it’s already over. Sorry, Alonso. Double run. And fifteen-eight is sixteen. Not your day, homie.”
Alonso glowers at the cards. Amy pats his shoulder.
Jay wheezes as he pushes himself to his feet. “I know…” he forces the words through the pain, “…not to pull the stitches open but I got to stretch the scar tissue or… ah!” He stumbles up, wincing. “Never heal properly otherwise. Good to go, Prad. Let’s get it.”
Pradeep and Jay leave Amy to get Alonso back to camp. “Ah, well. Boys will be boys.” She starts cleaning up their picnic.
“Eh. Unless they become girls.”
“Or nonbinary.”
“Precisely. Jay told me about the osprey nest. He says they can’t get blood samples unless they kill them. I told him—”
“Absolutely not.”
“Yes, I told him absolutely not. But it made me realize we need a policy for collection. We have no trouble killing all the insects and tapeworms and sea life. But birds? Mammals? I mean, as a field biologist, where do we draw the line?”
“It really depends on our values as principal investigators and how challenging it is to get our results. Do you think you can get an accurate report from Plexity without…?”
“No. Of course not. I mean, they are apex predators in this ecosystem, aren’t they? You people have always told me those are the keystone species.”
“Ospreys certainly are. But I don’t know how to get the samples you need.”
“Maybe something with the drone…?” Alonso taps his chin, lost in thought.
Amy stares at him as if he’s lost his mind.
Down the trail and across the camp hurry Pradeep and Jay. From her platform, Maahjabeen watches them go off together and her lover can’t understand why her face is so sour. But he doesn’t have time to find out. He’ll ask later.
They make it through Tenure Grove to the far side, where the osprey nest is. Here is where they saw the man standing so high above. Jay is full of guesses and theories. “You found a way he got there from the cliff, didn’t you? No, wait. There’s like a whole permanent village up there isn’t there? Oh, man. That’s it. I can see where he stood. And there’s totally room for a swank pad up there. I mean, I guess. Can’t really see which tree…”
“That is the big problem I had.” Pradeep points up at the spot in the distance he hopes to reach. “That’s the tree, right? That one. Okay. Now follow me. It’s that one. It’s that one…” As Pradeep ducks into the understory, he tries to keep his arm pointing at the correct tree. But it is soon hidden from view. By the time he can see the redwood canopy clearly again, he is at the base of a cluster of them. “Now which one is it?”
“Uhh.” Jay tries to orientate himself. The trees are so fucking huge their tops seem disconnected from their bases. “I don’t think it’s this ring. I think it’s further in.”
“Well. Good eye, is all I have to say. Because I spent far too long trying to figure out how to climb these trees here. But you’re right. It is another group, through this way.”
Beneath a close canopy of rhododendron and fern they crawl, popping up to find massive striated reddish columns once again towering above them.
“This one?” Jay guesses, pressing his hand against it. He needs to take a breather. His side is burning like a motherfucker but there’s no way he’s going to tell Pradeep that. He’d make them go back home, right when it’s getting good.
“Close. Up and over and the big one on the far side.”
“Up and over, huh?” Jay doesn’t know if he has it in him. And the brush is so thick there’s no way to skirt this fairy ring and its high walls of entangled roots. He has to climb them.
“Maybe you should wait here…”
“And maybe you should kiss my ass.” Jay grunts, reaching as high as he dares with his right hand, and pulls himself upward onto the foot of the redwood trunks. A hiss of agony escapes him.
“And now I regret bringing you…”
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
“Fine. You’re in. This is it. You made it. Just wait here now.”
But Jay’s looking at the redwood duff and bed of moss beneath his feet. “Somebody’s been here alright. Like a lot. See here and here? Trying not to leave tracks but that only works if you’re light on the land. Not if you’re coming in every day.”
Pradeep studies the brown and bare patches in the moss. They lead right toward the burn scar in the tree that is their goal. “Yes, good eye. That is where they go.”
“In the goose pen?” Jay struggles across the uneven bed of moss to the yawning seam an ancient fire had burned in the massive trunk. This is one of the largest Coast Redwoods Jay has ever seen.
“Goose pen?”
“Yeah, the settlers in the redwoods would keep their geese and chickens in the burnt redwood trunks. They just put little gates across the openings then boom, eggs for days.”
“Yes, well, this one isn’t a goose pen. It’s a lobby.”
“A lobby?”
“Well, whatever the ground floor is with the stairs leading up.”
“There’s stairs? Where?”
But Pradeep is already inside the goose pen, a voluminous space as large as an average bedroom. He has fitted his hands and feet to indentations cut in the blackened interior bark. Following them spirals him upward.
“Whoa…! Dude! You did it! Oh my god! This is totally like in Swiss Family Robinson! You ever read that? I fucking loved that book. They had this treehouse with a secret interior way… but, I mean, how will you get all the way up? Does it go fully to the top?”
“I mean…” Pradeep grunts with effort. This isn’t very easy. The trunk’s interior tapers the slightest bit, which makes each step a little bit greater than ninety degrees. “It has to, doesn’t it?”
“And if I had to guess I’d pretty much assume they don’t want us poking our heads up there.”
“Yes, but…” Pradeep wants very much to get to the top of this tree. “We can’t do a full survey of the island without it, can we?”
“Careful. That’s the kind of thinking that got me involved in some pretty heavy prophecies last week.”
“Well, what would you have me do?”
“I just want you to wait a few more days for me to heal up so I can come with you. One person shouldn’t go it alone.”
Pradeep sighs. “You’re right. I hate that you are right.” He drops from his spot, a good four meters up, and lands on the goose pen’s floor. He stares upward. Is there a dim bit of gray light up there at the top of this narrow cone? Or is it just a trick of his eyes?
“We need to come back with Katrina. And the drone.”
Ξ
“Success!” Flavia returns from the lagoon with a bucket filled with sea life. “The gill net was very full.”
“Oh, sweet Jesus, let me see what you got there.” Jay limps up to the kitchen tables of the camp. “Amy, where’s my filet knife at?”
Flavia places the bucket at his feet. Squirming fish, their backs red and mottled brown, can barely be counted, much less recognized. “Holy shit, a bonanza! You sweethearts. Papa’s got a plan for you.”
“Well, I will take that as a sign to start drinking.” Alonso moves with slow care toward his barrel, holding a wine glass.
“Look at you, Zo!” Miriam calls out from her spot on Katrina’s platform, where she works on her laptop. “Graceful as ever.”
Alonso laughs and makes a florid gesture with his arms like a ballet dancer. “Just don’t ask for a grand jeté. No, but I am doing much better, darling. The swelling has come down, more than I thought it would. Mandy, I thank you. Where’s Mandy?”
“She and Katrina have been gone all day,” Esquibel informs them as she exits the bunker. “Is it dinner time? I am starving.”
“Almost, Doc. Going for the simple fish fry tonight.” Jay pours a profligate amount of oil into their largest pan. “Man, this is way too much fishmeat for one meal. We got to keep the rest for later. Flavia, we need more seawater for these guys. Keep them fresh.”
“Fine. Water is something I can do.” Flavia lifts an empty bucket and heads back to the beach. She passes Maahjabeen, carrying her kayak, as she goes. “Chef needs another bucket.”
Maahjabeen nods. She has just unloaded on Flavia about Jay and a sour unspoken message passes between them.
“No, seriously, Alonso…” Miriam puts aside her laptop and goes to him, where he is dispensing his first drink of the night. “You look so much better. What did you do all day?”
“Well, I had my feet in the pool. And then I joined Maahjabeen for a dip in the lagoon. Have you been? Very bracing.”
“That’s a weasel word for freezing and you know it. But you don’t care. You’ve always burned so hot.” Miriam leans in and nuzzles Alonso’s rough chin. Her arms drape around him.
“And you have always been my cold-extremities girl.” He kisses her temple. “Triquet. Mi amor. Can I get you a glass?”
Triquet is touched that Alonso and Miriam so easily include them in such intimacy. With a groan of pleasure, Triquet crosses to them and falls into a welcoming embrace. “You know it, big boy. I’m thirsty as hell.”
They all giggle at the flirtation. Alonso kisses Triquet’s temple as well. “And how about you, Triq? Do you run hot or cold?”
“You know me, Alonso. I’m like quicksilver.” They favor him with an arch smile. “Catch me if you can.”
Miriam kisses Alonso’s ear. “I told you they were naughty.”
Alonso laughs. “Ah! Where is Katrina? We need music! And dancing! Tonight is a real supper and we should all be here!”
“Let’s see. Maybe I can…” Esquibel crosses the camp and climbs onto Katrina’s platform. She begins picking through the DJ gear. “Does anyone know where the power button is on this thing?”
But everyone is busy with their own pursuits. Amy has joined Jay at the stovetop. Maahjabeen has stowed her boat and gone to Pradeep at his platform. It is up to Esquibel to figure out how to get this system to make music.
She opens Katrina’s laptop and it asks for a password. Of course. Esquibel can’t just go snooping through someone else’s machine. But that does remind her of her other mission. And this is perhaps the perfect opportunity. The second pocket of the laptop case yields a black and chrome USB stick almost identical to the first one she loaded with Plexity data. Into a pocket it goes. “Ehh, I can’t figure it out. We will need to be acoustic, I guess.” Esquibel lifts a small tambourine, festooned with satin ribbons, and bangs it against the heel of her hand.
“Doctor, a glass?” Alonso has both Miriam and Triquet hanging from him. His smile is wide, wider than Esquibel has ever seen. It is good to see her patient doing so well.
“Why, yes, Doctor. Thank you.”
“Maybe for a song. Can you sing for your supper?”
The others call out for Esquibel to sing. But she has never had much of a voice. She tries to think of something that will satisfy them. She bangs out the rhythm on the tambourine to an old Kenyan nursery rhyme from her childhood:
“By short/shot I love you baby
The baby to the sun/son
The sun/son to the owner
The owner to the men
The men to the bush—”
Esquibel stops. Figures appear in the bunker’s door. Katrina exits into the camp with a squeal of delight. “Ooo! Sounds like a party!” She is followed by Mandy, shuffling behind, very tired.
Finally, blinking and smiling at them all with hesitation, Jidadaa exits the bunker behind them.
Jay is caught up in the cooking. But he finally turns when the camp goes still to behold their visitor. When he sees Jidadaa in the doorway, he slams the spatula onto the table with surprising force, silencing everyone. “You.”
Chapter 33 – Into The Shadows
August 12, 2024
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:
33 – Into The Shadows
“No. Seriously. Stop planning this. It is madness.” Esquibel stands on Mandy’s platform. From up there she can loom over them and dominate the argument.
But Mandy and Amy don’t stop lashing bundles of tule reeds together. Their mouths are pressed into grim lines, their eyes stubborn. The rain has stopped and now it’s go time.
Esquibel pleads, “Think about it. What happens if your raft capsizes or gets waterlogged? What will you do?”
Yet they’ve already told her they plan on testing it on the lagoon before they take it inside. They’ve been over this a hundred times.
“I forbid it.” Esquibel crosses her arms.
The bundles are only being lashed together for the test, so the knots are relatively loose. They’ll need to disassemble the raft to get it through the tunnels. Then they’ll lash it all together again in the shaft before stopping up the water and rising to the top. It’s a quite simple plan.
“And what good does it do you to get your contraption up there, Mandy?” She’s trying a new tack now, hands on hips. “So you have a weather station up there. Big deal. You cannot get it down without doing
this stupid bloody trick again.”
“Twine.” Mandy reaches her hand out for it. Amy passes it over the bundles to her. This is really Esquibel at her worst. She is so… stony when it comes to being protective. And she was always like this, long before anyone in the military thought giving her a fancy title and real authority was a good idea.
“You are only thinking about getting there. Not returning. How will you do it?”
Finally, Amy sighs, realizing she’ll have to engage with the woman if she will ever have peace. “Pull the plug, Esquibel. Sink.”
“Okay. Fine. When? When will we know to pull that plug?”
Amy frowns at her tormentor. It’s true she hasn’t worked this part all the way out. But it’s simple and they have a lot of time. She gives it a moment’s thought. “Katrina. On the drone. She’ll be the spotter looking down into the shaft. When she sees that we’ve got Jay back and the weather station is securely in place, she can tell someone to pull it.”
“But the drone can only hover in place for like ten minutes at a time. That isn’t a real solution. And how does that even work? You want someone to slash the tarp? Get inundated with a million liters of water in a tunnel? That’s how you’ve described it. I mean, I haven’t personally seen this tunnel, but—”
“No. You’re right.” Amy scrubs her face and squints her eyes shut. Keep it simple. “You know what? We’ll just bring Jay back through the village and the tunnels and everything. They won’t be able to keep us out. We’ll make it quick. Just cross the square and make a beeline to the exit before they can protest my filthy ass.”
“It would be better if we wait. Why doesn’t someone just go talk to them now? Make sure they will be friendly when you pull this stunt. We don’t need…”
“You know what?” Mandy asks brightly. “That’s a great idea. We can get Katrina to do it. Have her go visit the village and ask the Mayor for her blessing or whatever. Get some diplomacy going. Thanks, Skeebee. You always think of the best details.”
But Esquibel isn’t buying Mandy’s glassy smile for an instant. And hearing Katrina’s name so much is starting to piss her off. Why is the golden girl the one Mandy always thinks can solve her problems? This is the absolutely wrong moment she should have to wonder about Mandy’s fidelity. No, not fidelity, just… During these last few weeks. Esquibel has been enough for her. They have been for each other. And she’d hate for that to end. She can drink of the Mandy River as long as it flows. But just how long will it flow?
“Could you go ask her for us?” Mandy gives Esquibel a sweeter smile and touches her arm. Despite this disagreement, they really are in love. “Please, dearest one?”
How can Esquibel say no? Off she goes across the camp, into the bunker, and finally down into the bottom level of the sub, where Katrina and Triquet eat lunch, smoke a j, and play each other old songs on their phones.
“And that is the great Harry Nilsson. Me And My Arrow was—”
“Katrina.”
“Aye aye, Captain.” Katrina giggles, high as a kite, and flips a salute at her.
Esquibel sighs. “Oh. Never mind. I did not know you would be worthless on drugs. We will talk later.”
Katrina giggles again, then physically wipes the grin off her face. “No. No, I can listen. I promise. What is it?”
“It is Mandy!” Esquibel sags against the table, the words bursting from her. She is surprised by her exasperation. And by her need to share it. But it is a safe topic. “She and Amy won’t give up on that crazy idea! Will somebody please help me talk them out of it? Now they want me to send you to the village and be like, ‘Oh, hello, my friends are about to flood that entire shaft they already burned. Yes, remember when they scared you so much that you wouldn’t talk to us for ten days? Well, they’re doing it again. Oh, yes. And then they’ll be bringing Amy, you know the one of us you really hate? Yes. Well, we’ll be bringing her through your village at the end. That will be okay, won’t it?’ And then they want you to come back and give them a thumbs-up as if that will convince me their idea isn’t a complete disaster waiting to happen!”
Her voice rings in the sub. Triquet and Katrina only regard her. After an awkward moment Triquet holds out the joint.
Esquibel flips up her hand, rejecting it. “No, I don’t want your bloody dope. I want your help. I am not crazy. I know this. Are you crazy like them or will you help me?”
“Uhhh…” Katrina thinks about it, long and hard. “Well. You wouldn’t catch me floating on a raft like they’re talking about. That’s totally insane.”
“Thank you.”
“And you also won’t catch me asking the Mayor if all these things can happen. I think she’s just starting to trust me. And this will, well…” Katrina mimes an explosion beneath her cupped hands, flying outward.
“Big boom.”
“That is what I’m saying! That is all I am saying. Jay’s absence is very serious. It is our number one concern. But what they are proposing will only cause more problems. We need to get Jay back some other way.”
“How?” Triquet makes a face, trying to think of a way to rescue their lost colleague. “I mean, who would we even send? Alonso can’t go. People like Mandy and Flavia don’t have any kind of background in rescuing people. Pradeep? He’ll have a nervous breakdown in five minutes. I don’t think we could get Maahjabeen to care. Who’s left? Katrina and me? Miriam? Shouldn’t you go, Doctor Daine? You’re the only one who has the proper training. And isn’t that your mission here? To protect us?”
The question is innocent but the implications are too much for Esquibel to discuss. She shakes her head no. “No. None of us are properly trained for retrieval. That is a very specific skillset. Those Air Force Parajumpers who rescued Alonso are perhaps the best, and they are the very best soldiers the Air Force has. No. This is a mission for experts like them. We would just be getting ourselves in trouble. What we need to do is ask the Lisicans where Jay might be and if they can get him back for us.”
Katrina throws up her hands, helpless. “I already have! He crossed the river no one crosses. They won’t help us with that. Until he comes back, he’s pretty much gone. Oh. Here. Wait, Triq. This is my friend’s super lush synthwave track. Listen. It’s so fresh. His name is General Zed.” The opening warbling chords of what sounds like the soundtrack to a 70s science fiction film fill the sub. Triquet nods sagely and takes another hit.
As Esquibel assumed, Katrina will be no help. But, really, there is nothing for any of them to do. Wait here. Stop antagonizing the natives. Make their collections then go. Just four more weeks.
“Ay-eh,” Esquibel mutters, plucking the joint out of Katrina’s hand and taking a thin drag. This is what Mandy needs. A mild dissociative and relaxant. Come on, Esquibel! Just keep them all out of trouble for one more goddamn month.
Ξ
At a junction, Jay finally finds a door. He’s been running a good solid 10,000 meter track pace for what must be hours now. His feet are in agony, the impact strikes of his heels against the concrete something he just can’t handle any more. His hips and lower back are starting to go too, especially since his left arm can’t be used to swing properly. His left hand still grips his ribs, where the blood has thankfully stopped flowing. Now it just fucking burns.
His cardio is good though. And the heartbeat in his ears topped out only around 120 bpm so he’s definitely got more in the tank. He’ll need it to deal with whatever might be through this door.
He edges toward it, tip-toeing forward on the balls of his feet to save his heels. He shines his phone light on it. Oh wait. There’s no door. Just a doorway. He ducks through, into a long dark passage with a shallow shelf of a concrete pathway along the left wall. At its end he can see the iron rungs of a ladder.
Wait a sec. This looks just like the way he got in. But there’s no way he’s already all the way back there. How long has he been running, anyway? He checks the time. His phone says 8:23 am. When did they attack him, midnight? He’s been running for eight hours? Yeah, it’s possible. At one point he chained his phone to the battery so he could keep its light on. That was the last time he’d stopped. That was… yeah, that was a long fucking time ago.
Wow. This is some kind of personal record. Eight hours at a track meet pace? Yeah, boy. Rock on with your bad self. Funny what running for your life can get you.
He reaches the end of the passage and puts a hand on the rungs. So this is it? This is the end of the epic chase and maybe the end of his life? Certain death behind him, likely death at the top of this ladder? How will he even deal with popping his head out?
Think, Jay. It’s been hours. Maybe even a full day since they came after you. The hunters can’t have someone just waiting there, poised to strike. It’s not like I pop my head up and get it instantly chopped off. If someone’s there, they’re just like on lookout. And they’re tired of staring at the hatch. So I’ll have a few moments. Maybe I can spook them with my phone again. Flashing lights and heavy metal. Ha. Lord, save me.
He preps his phone, going classic with Ozzy’s Crazy Train. Then he starts to climb. At the last rung up he pauses. The tricky spot is actually pushing his head up over the lip. The morning is gray, he can see that from his vantage, like a groundhog worried about hawks in the sky. He thinks about playing dodge ball in the pool with his cousins. He’d hold his breath as long as he could, knowing they were waiting for him to surface, arms cocked. Then he’d kick up and grab a quick gasp and then be right back down again before the balls could hit. Same thing here, sport.
Jay pops up, flicks his gaze up and around, his survival instinct screaming that a blade is about to chop into the back of his neck. But it doesn’t. He drops back down and reverses his grip. Then he pops back up and twists around to find the redwood fairy ring empty of life. He’s alone here.
The silly fuckers didn’t leave a guard after all.
“And, I mean, why would they?” Jay pulls himself out of the hole and dusts himself off. “This isn’t a super likely scenario here, that I’d somehow, you know, escape. And then come all the way back. Jay-zus. What am I even doing here? Nah, I’m good. I just got to keep moving and they’ll never catch me. Sure of it.” But man oh man, he regrets losing his Salomon approach shoes. They were new and they cost a couple hundred dollars and now he’d never see them again. Just starting to break them in, too…
Jay backtracks, out the glade and up the slope, under the bracken, which provide his feet with a whole new level of pain. He gets lost in the gloomy tunnels and starts having to criss-cross an unfamiliar wood channel of bare stone that bisects his path. This doesn’t look right. He’s somehow gone off-course here in this fucking rodent maze. Back and forth, cramping and wheezing and shuffling on screaming feet. And then, against all odds, a smear of golden pollen appears on a dark limb and he’s right back on track. Ha! It’s still visible from, what, like two days before? Three? How long has he been out here now? It feels like ten years.
Jay finally scrambles out from under the dark thickets and finds himself in the silent pine woods leaking fog from russet carpets of needles and duff. He approaches the meadow from above as it leads to the river. Sweet Christ he’s actually going to make it back to the tunnel mouth village. And who cares about how he gets across the river this time. He’ll just throw himself in and kick his way across. Fuck it. But wait. He should get some things in a plastic bag first. He’s still got one somewhere in here, doesn’t he?
Jay takes off his pack and searches the bottom of the pockets. There. A small white plastic shopping bag that says WAH MEI GROCERY on it, with Chinese and Vietnamese characters below. Oh, right! He remembers getting this bag. Just last month in Daly City. He was on a booty call with Janey’s friend Megan and he’d forgotten condoms. But a late night run saved the date. And now this bag will save his phone and his battery pack and his wallet and a bunch of papers from getting wet.
He ties the top of the plastic bag tight and places it in the pack’s top pocket. Now he’s ready. Looking forward to getting off his feet, even if the water will make his nuts go numb.
Jay ventures out into the meadow. It is a long sloping field, larger than he remembers, dropping from the trees into a wildflower basin. He emerges from the last of the trees to finally see the river, a shining band of gray steel cutting the valley in half.
And on this near bank, in full neolithic battle array, waits the whole-ass village who have been trying to kill him. They stand in ranks, with crazy feather collars of white and black and capes of hide, spears bristling like a Greek fucking phalanx.
Hope dies in Jay’s breast. There are just too many. They wait between him and the river. And he can’t turn back. They’ll chase him down no problem. His feet are a ruin. Aw, man! But—but he can’t just let them execute him! Jay is nowhere near ready to die. An inescapable, dreadful sadness grips him and crumples his face like a child in the throes of a tantrum.
Then he hears his name. “Jay and Jay. Bimeby you listen.”
Jay clears his eyes. Stupefied, he picks out Kula’s squat silhouette off to the side of the village’s military formation. Jidadaa is there as well, holding a halter that leashes the three hunters who attacked them. Ha! They beat them! Ha! Kula and Jidadaa are okay! But how did they get here so fast? And what is happening here, some kind of parley? “Jidadaa. Man am I happy to see you. But what…? How long y’all even been waiting here today?”
Jidadaa points at the gray horizon. “From the sun.”
“Sunrise? So a couple hours? Damn. How’d you…? I mean, I ran like the fucking wind. Oh my god I was so sure they were gonna kill me. Hey. Could you… just like keep them kind of occupied until I get back across the river? I’ll just kind of edge my way…”
“No.” Jidadaa says the word with such force Jay stops. She lifts a hand. “No across the river, Jay. Not yet.”
The villagers stare at him stone-faced. Lady Boss, who spoke the last time they met, is in full battle array, with a splendid headdress of fur and feather and shell, her eyes ringed in black. Neither her nor her personal guard move.
“Okay. No across the river. Yet. Uh. Sure. But why not?”
“You break custom. You must pay.”
“Uh, fine.” A wild, hysterical laugh escapes Jay. “I got, let’s see, I think like forty-seven dollars in my wallet. Or is there punishment too? Is this like one of those online traffic school kind of things? You know, with the stand-up comics and the tricky tests?”
But nobody else laughs. Now they all stare at him in silence.
Jay grimaces. “Yeah. Bad joke. Does an apology help?”
“Blood.”
“What?”
“Pay is blood.”
“What, mine? The fuck it is. I’ve already lost like half a liter last night from that joker and his fucking spear. Look!” And Jay finally removes his hand from his side. The shredded base layer gapes open. His skin is stuck to it. Jay grunts with the sharp pain of removing his hand, reminding himself how badly he got sliced.
Jidadaa consults with Kula. Kula calls out loudly to the leaders of the village, gesturing at her own ribs in sympathy of his case. It seems negotiations are back open.
Jay nods. “Yeah. I’ve already fucking paid. You tell them, Kula. Fucked up my feet. Lost blood. Got the shit scared out of me. Then I had to run halfway around the island. So I think I’ve already paid as much as I’m gonna pay. Blood blood blood. You tell them.”
Kula keeps talking, adding the details that Jidadaa translates from his story. Jay just keeps punctuating her points with outraged comments like, “Yeah!” and “Fuckin’ A!”
Finally Kula stops. Some of the younger members of the village cast sidelong looks at their Lady Boss, waiting on her decision.
Lady Boss makes a low speech in a reasonable tone. At the end of it, she pronounces the word, “Jidadaa!” and then she turns her back on the meadow. Her followers all do the same. After a long moment, to perhaps drive the point home, all the villagers finally set off, back into the trees from where they came.
Jidadaa drops the halter. Two of the hunters pick up the third one, who still seems to be suffering from Jay’s tackle, and follow.
After they disappear, Jay turns to Jidadaa. “Now seriously. How the fuck did you guys get here so fast? Did I miss some shortcut?”
But mother and daughter are deep in conversation and not listening to him. Finally, Jidadaa shares, “Now Jidadaa happen to you, Jay. End of era.”
“What does that even mean?”
“You are lidass. You break the world.”
“No, I didn’t!” Jay fights not to whine. “I just swam across a river. Tell Lady Boss! I didn’t… I mean it’s not like I boned her daughter. I didn’t assassinate the fucking president. Come on!”
Jidadaa says a few words he doesn’t know then says, “She is in danger place.”
“Wait. I didn’t get who. Who’s in a danger place, Kula?”
“No.” Jidadaa points at the villagers who have retreated. She says the same few words, which just don’t stick in Jay’s brain at all.
“Is that Lady Boss? The leader?”
“Yes. She is in danger place. Jidadaa here, Jidadaa all around.”
“Jidadaa is? You… are?” Jay is utterly mystified by this.
“No, no…” Jidadaa shakes her head, downcast. “Jidadaa. Is not name. It is word… It mean… doom. No escape. Doom.”
“Doom?” Jay wheels on Kula. “And that’s what you name your daughter? My sweet little baby doom? What mother does that?”
Kula responds with a brittle laugh, her dark eyes sharp.
Jidadaa continues, “Doom for breaking tradition.”
“What is? You are? Or me, crossing the river?”
“Both.”
“Oh.” Jidadaa’s very birth spelled doom to her and her mother. And she’s had to live with it her whole life. Jay frowns. “Like, do they even know what real doom is? This is nothing. I mean, like everyone’s still here. Nobody died.”
“Custom. Tradition. Tradition die.”
“Well, then, fucking too bad. Tell them to wake up and get with the program. It’s the 21st century, after all. Shit has changed out in the world, yo. You don’t need to let them treat you like this any more. You’re saying they, what, like ran Kula off for sleeping with soldiers and wouldn’t accept you your whole life? Well I’m happy to break that custom. They can eat my ass. Out here just ruining people’s lives left and right because of some stupid tradition. Then they send killers after us because of it? No fucking way.”
“No send. They do no send. Young hunters. They want to end the doom. They think to kill you they end it. But Jidadaa no work this way. The… uh… Lady Boss say. No her idea. Only them.”
“Ohhhh. That’s why they left? And that’s why I’m still alive. It was just a dumb plan by some kids. They tried to get on her good side and she was like, ‘You did what? No! His Jidadaa ain’t like that now. Oh, fuck, now I’m gonna have to be nice to that white boy.’ Something like that? So she wasn’t here waiting for me, she brought the whole village to, what, apologize?”
“No apology. Doom.”
“Yeah. Jidadaa. Got it.”
“You are cut off. No more on this side of river.”
“Yeah. I got to leave. That’s something we can all agree on. And I’m not invited back? That’s fine. It’s a big world out there. I’ll figure out how to survive for the entire rest of my life somehow outside this tiny speck of land in the middle of nowhere.” Now he’s blabbering. Not a good look. He shuts his mouth. “Well.” He sticks his hand out and Jidadaa shakes it again, as they did when they first met. “Sister Christian. Nice knowing ya. Kula. Keep growing that dank herb. Peace. I’m going off the rails on a crazy train.”
“No.” Jidadaa shakes her head, hair falling across her features, corners of her mouth dimpling. For the first time, Jay is struck by her feral looks. “We come.”
“You come? What, with me? Really? Uh…” Jay isn’t sure this is a good idea. In fact, he’s pretty sure it’s not. But he certainly owes them his life, probably several times over. He can’t really say no. “Okay. Well. Just so you know, that river water’s really fucking cold. I hope everyone can swim. And I got to take the rest of this hike slow. My poor fucking feet…”
Jidadaa exclaims wordlessly and reaches into a woven bag at her feet. She takes out Jay’s lost shoes.
“Aw, yiss! Dude! I fucking love you!” Jay hugs the shoes to his chest with a whoop of blind joy.
He never sees the blush on Jidadaa’s cheeks nor the worried scowl from Kula in response.
Ξ
“You know…” Katrina stretches the second word, curling her hair around her finger, “I knew. I knew for like a week before anyone else did. Kept that tea in the cupboard, I did.”
“You knew what?” Pradeep follows her, a step behind, dragging the blue kayak named Aziz.
Katrina stops and gives him an arch half-smile, eyebrow cocked. “That you and Maahjabeen were getting down. I saw you two in bed together the night we all dressed up in Triquet’s clothes.”
“Yes. I see.”
“And I didn’t tell a soul. Kept it to myself. How long had you been boning before that?”
“Ehh.” Pradeep is instantly beleaguered. “I don’t really care for that word, if you don’t mind.”
Katrina hugs the bundle of her wetsuit, fins, and Flavia’s spear close to her chest. “Oh, they’re romantics! That’s so… well… romantic, I guess. Not just an island fling. Pretty serious, huh? So what are your plans for my daughter?”
Pradeep bravely soldiers on in silence, dragging the rear of the kayak through the sand. But as they round the uprooted trunk of the fallen redwood he needs her help to lift it clear. “Could you, please?” He nods at the tail of the craft.
“Oh, yeh. No answer, eh? Well that’s not very salacious. My followers will not be enthused by that silence at all. I wonder what the opposite of salacious is? Prim?”
“Modest.”
“Ooo that’s the perfect word for you. You know, I’ve never gotten to tease such a gorgeous man for so long. You do know you’re gorgeous, right? I mean, look at you.”
He just offers a tight smile and reminds her, “Modest.”
“Fair play. Well, can we at least talk about what a stupendous smoke show your girlfriend is? She’s hotter than hot. She’s like… nuclear fusion hot.”
This brightens Pradeep’s closed face. Extolling the wonders of Maahjabeen has become his favorite pastime. “Oh, yes, quite. She is astounding. I never in a million years thought that someday I, this random little Chakrabarti boy from Hyderabad, would ever even speak, much less touch, or… I mean… You aren’t really going to post this on social media some day, are you?”
They put the kayak down on the clean sand of the beach, the lagoon blue gray and calm. Katrina storms up to Pradeep and pokes him in the chest. “Bitch, I’m the discreet one who didn’t ruin your secret for over a week. You know how hard that was for me? I say every bloody thing that pops into my head. I was literally biting my tongue over you two.”
Pradeep allows a sheepish smile out. “Uh, thank you?”
“Cheers. So what does she look like naked?”
Pradeep groans and turns away, dragging the kayak to the water.
Katrina giggles, following. “What fun! I can keep this up all day.”
“Get in the water, please,” Pradeep calls out over his shoulder in a tone that is as close as he can get to
her raillery.
“Oh, just try to shut me up. Look, I’m fully aware that if I poke fun at Maahjabeen she’ll like cut my off head with a scimitar…”
“That’s racist.” Pradeep puts the kayak down and begins to unpack what he’s stowed in the hatch. First, he’ll need a windshirt and maybe gloves, depending on the temperature of the water.
“Is it? Yeh, I suppose it is. Sorry. See? But I can dish it with you and you won’t get violent, just hilariously uncomfortable.”
“You know this is a work environment and we are subject to rules and laws concerning sexual harassment, don’t you?”
Katrina waves it away. “That’s bosh. Alonso says we’re all a family, remember?”
But now that Pradeep has brought up policy, he has trouble moving on. “Katrina…” He tries to frown at her elfin face. “Look, just because you’re this cute little anime character, it doesn’t mean you get to be inappropriate with your co-workers.”
She throws her arms into the air and screams in joy to the horizon. “He thinks I’m cute!”
Pradeep sighs and turns away, to finish unpacking the nets and dry bags in which he will store Katrina’s haul.
She drops to her knees beside him. “Okay. I’m sorry. This is new territory for me. Usually I’m the one on the receiving end of all the toxic attention and you’re right. Sorry for the inappropriate work environment, mate. I’ve just… nobody has ever taken me seriously before so I always get to say what I want and…” She shrugs. “Real teachable moment there, Pradeep Chakrabarti. Thanks. Hope I didn’t ruin our, you know…”
Now he feels ashamed. This lovely sprite, this sweet young genius, chooses to bestow her attention on him and all he can do is act like his grandfather, storming out of his study with a rolled up newspaper. All she wants is joy. Light and laughter and love. From deep within himself he dredges up a dry giggle. And the more he pulls at it, the more it gives him. He shakes his index finger at her, finding a mock scolding voice, very much the Hindi schoolmaster. “You are a very naughty child.”
“Oh, good, he forgives me!” She catches his hand and kisses it. Then in a single motion she pulls her top off.
Pradeep squawks and turns away.
“What? Just putting on my wetsuit.” Then it’s Katrina’s turn to laugh. She feels the cool morning breeze on the bare skin of her chest, which gives her goosebumps. She rarely wears a bra. Now she has to wrap herself in her shortie, never a fun process. The neoprene is always cold and tougher than it looks. Finally she’s got herself wedged in and she turns her back to Pradeep. “Be a dear and zip me up, would you?”
“Yes, Miss Oksana.”
“Ooo, he’s getting formal. Kinky.”
Pradeep puts on his spray skirt and stows his things in the hatches before and behind. “Push me off, will you?”
“Never, doll. I mean, sure.” Katrina waits for him to get in, then shoves the kayak into the short waves of the lagoon. The water is chill on her feet, not frigid, but sure as shit not warm. This is going to be an adventure no doubt. She sits in the surf and fits the fins on her feet and the mask and snorkel to her face. Then she backs in, falling into the next wave with a shock of salty cold. Oh, this is about three degrees colder than she’d hoped. She may not be able to stay in it too long. Just breathe, Kat. It’s the North Pacific. It will never be as warm as Sydney Harbour.
She falls in and rises with a gasp, breast-stroking out to him. It only gets colder out here, as the sand falls away beneath her feet.
“Careful. Lots of kelp in close today.”
She whoops. “This will get your nipples hard! Oh my god. I’ve got to warm up!” Katrina begins swimming, long overhand strokes with a powerful kick. The frigid water is filled with luminous color. Ghostly stalks of kelp disappear into the dark green floor.
“Where…?” she gasps, kicking strong, to keep her head out of water, “…did all this kelp come from?”
“It was already here. Just hadn’t grown up yet.” Pradeep points to a clump blocking her path with the blade of his paddle. “Bull kelp can grow a meter in a week. We just haven’t been here since it matured. It’s an annual. Completely dies out at the end of the year then starts over again. I should collect a sample, actually. See if it is in any measurable way different from other kelps we’ve sampled.”
Katrina treads water, thinking of how vibrant the life is in coastal waters, how quickly it can grow. She puts her mask underwater and watches anemones and urchins blooming on the rocks, filtering their food, sea stars and red crabs. She’ll have to be careful where she touches, and not let the currents sweep her onto the rocks.
A shadow flits through the kelp stalks beneath her. A twinge of fear turns to sudden wonder as the shadow returns, rolling over to display the inquisitive face of that same Northern fur seal. He steers entirely with his tail, his front claws folded over his chest. After staring at Katrina for a long time, he opens his paws and releases the remains of a crab upward, as if in offering. Katrina reaches out her free hand and snares the fleshy bits still attached to the shell. She mimes eating it and gives the seal a thumbs up, before he shoots back down into the darkness.
Katrina surfaces with a gasp. “Here. Sample this.”
“What?” Pradeep can’t make sense of what she’s handing him. “Oh my god. Did you just eat a crab raw?”
“No, a seal did! He gave it to me! Straight magic, that.”
“A seal? What kind?”
“Light gray with spots? Amy said…”
“Hmm. Juvenile monk seal? How big? Male or female?”
“Nah. Northern fur seal. Male. Amy said. Super sweet.”
“A fur seal? Extraordinary! At some point we’ll need samples from all the pinniped species of the lagoon, but I don’t think any of us have worked out how we will do that yet.”
“You know, when I was down there…” Katrina has finally adjusted to the cold and her mind has started to work properly again. “I was thinking about what you said, you know, about the kelp. It’s an annual. Well, with all these cycles, we should get samples of them in the morning and in the evening.”
“Yes, you’re right. I did get others in previous weeks.”
“Brilliant. I’ve got kind of a stress-test for Plexity. I want to present Flavia with a couple samples stripped of all context tags. To see if she can use the program to derive from initial readings and processes what time of the day it was taken.”
“That’s crazy.” Pradeep’s head cocks to the side. As someone used to original, orthogonal thinking, he understands what must prompt this line of thought. He admires it. But the math involved, or even the import of such an exercise, flies right over his head. “I’m not sure what value it would have in that project, apart from collecting the samples, I suppose…”
“Well, the science of big data is all about how to find needles in haystacks, right? You must have taken the prerequisites.”
“Yes, I have my bioinformatics Eagle Scout badge.”
She giggles. “Right then. So it’s all about designing ways to get at the data you want, right? The filters and algorithms…?”
“Yes, yes. Of course.” Pradeep catches up, blinking, his thoughts coming fast now. “So Flavia can, what? Automate the guessing of raw data stacks into machine learning and train it to recognize daily cycles in the data without needing to be explicitly told?”
Katrina nods. “That’s it. A start at least. But I’m getting cold. Talk more in a sec.”
As she dunks her head back down, Pradeep calls out, “Happy hunting! Or fishing? But nobody says happy fishing. What do they say? Catch a big one! Something like that.” From his vantage flat on the water, Pradeep has trouble seeing too far beyond the edge of the lagoon. The rocks that divide it from the open ocean loom up too large. But a cold wind is blowing in, and a dark horizon is threatening rain.
Just as he thinks it, he sees Mandy walking across the beach diagonally toward them, her hair blowing like a banner in the wind and a sarong wrapped around her doing the same. She looks like some vision of an island girl stepping out of time.
“Storm coming?” Pradeep calls out.
Mandy opens her mouth, pointing at the horizon, then closes it and nods. She beckons to him. “Where’s Katrina?”
“Getting dinner.”
And as he says it, she breaches the water, her breath exploding out of her lungs. A long silver fish is on her spear, thrashing, snapping its fearsome fangs and staining the water with blood. “Help! Gah! Pradeep, help me with this fucking thing!”
It is nearly a meter long, a more powerful swimmer than she is, and it takes all her strength to keep her head above water and not let go of the spear.
“Here! Lift it up to me!” Pradeep coasts alongside her, reaching down. “Holy shit, that’s a Sphyraena argentea, you lunatic!”
With a grunt of effort, Katrina hauls the shining fish into the air. Its hinged jaws snap in protest and it slaps the water with its tail.
As Pradeep reaches for it, a flash of fur and teeth passes between them. The fur seal leaps up and fastens its teeth on the fish’s spine. With a shake of his head the spine cracks and the seal tears the fish in half.
Katrina squeals, jerking away. An appalling amount of blood fills the water. The seal turns and spins twice and vanishes, taking both halves of the fish with him.
Katrina retrieves the spear, gasping and coughing bloody water. She hooks a hand around the prow of the kayak and tries to regain her breath. Then she hears a distant voice screaming at her. “Is that Mandy? What does she want?”
Pradeep calls out. “I’ve got her. She’s fine. Just no dinner. The seal stole it.”
Mandy screams some more, in helpless fear for Katrina and Pradeep’s safety.
“We’re fine…! Just give us a moment.” He paddles strongly, compensating for the woman hanging off one side. “I won’t tell her,” Pradeep stage whispers to Katrina as they approach the beach, “but Sphyraena argentea is the Pacific barracuda.”
Katrina screeches in outrage. “It’s the fucking WHAT?”
Ξ
On his back, Jay’s chest heaves, fighting for breath, the gray sky above wheeling as his head spins. He’d almost lost Jidadaa in the frigid current of the river. Then he’d nearly drowned his own sorry ass. Finally a branch hanging down from the bank had been his salvation and he’d been able to drag himself free. He’d never seen someone who was unable to swim take so bravely to the water.
Her head had vanished so fast underwater the surface tension had snapped with a little cartoonish ploink. Jay had yelled and reached for her, pushing a dog-paddling Kula and his floating backpack toward the far bank as he sucked in a huge breath and dived deep.
Her hands found his wrist. Her grip had been so strong, nearly pulling him down instead of letting him pull her up. It took the strongest kick he’d ever kicked to get them back to the surface. Then he had to lifeguard-carry her across the current and nearly kill himself getting her up that treacherous bank.
After that, he’d fallen back into the swiftest current and gotten spun back out into it. But he didn’t have anything left in the tank. His side was on fire. His arms and legs were made of concrete. Jay’s body started to sink… Then he’d hit that branch hanging off the far bank and lived to see another day. Hallelujah.
His shaking arm rises to his rib. It’s warm but when he wipes it he doesn’t get his hand coated in blood as he fears. Just a bit of pink. Something’s keeping his blood from leaking out. He must have pressed his veins and arteries closed on his big run. Just a little capillary action left. Motherfuck but it hurts.
“Kula. Hey. You still got my pack, right?” He calls out to the sky, unable to lift himself up to check. Losing his phone would be the biggest bummer possible. Four more weeks without his fantasy books and tunes. No thank you. “Kula?”
Jay finally rolls onto his side and sits up. Jidadaa and Kula have vanished, along with his pack. In their place are the two kids who had followed him from the tunnel village to the river, crouched at the edge of the meadow, watching him.
“Whoa. Hey. What’s up, guys? You see two ladies…? Uh… They got some of my stuff.” Jay rolls onto his hands and knees and takes a few shuddering breaths. He has surfed some of the biggest waves in the world over the years but he has hardly ever gotten this close to death. And his fucking rib is just screaming in pain.
With a sharp bark of agony and an indrawn breath against his teeth he regains his feet. Yep. They’re actually gone. Almost no trace, except where the grass is pressed down beside the bank. Fuck. He’s traded his shoes for, well, everything else. His favorite pants, his toiletry bag, his phone, his battery, his bag… Shit. Well. He better get back home before night falls, for sure.
Jay looks across the river. Four masked faces, covered in pollen, are pointed back at him, one cocked comically to the side as if asking a question. The golden childs have returned to the meadow.
“Yep,” Jay calls out to them. “End of an era. Now the next three hundred years belong to me.”
Something catches on his wound, one of the layers of cloth or something, and tears his skin a bit more. He screeches in pain and grabs at his side. Grimly, he limps toward the pair of kids watching him with dispassionate, lupine stares.
Good riddance to the other side of the fucking river. Good riddance to the golden childs and the prophecies and the rest of the island with its secret goddamn tunnels. Good riddance to Kula and Jidadaa. He just needs this adventure to end.
“Man…” Jay groans as he follows the kids up the incline out of the valley to their village up on the ridge.
“Never even discovered any new organisms. What a fucking bust.” He sees another figure, dark and toad-like, crouching off-trail, watching him. “Hey. Freak. What’s shakin’? Course you’re here. Wetchie-ghuy. Yeah, I know who you are. Don’t try any of your tricks with me. I’ll sick the fox on you again. Remember that? When you stole our message? And then the fox took it from you? Huh?” But Wetchie-ghuy only watches him with patient malevolence. “Lisica?” Jay mimes the fox biting Wetchie-ghuy with curved fingers as fangs on his arm. Then he draws tears running down his cheeks and whines like a baby. “Wetchie-ghuy,” he points, reminding him of his defeat.
Wetchie-ghuy only scowls and withdraws into the shadows.
Chapter 32 – Let’s Go For A Run
August 5, 2024
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:
32 – Let’s Go For A Run
In Miriam’s dream, her little brother Denny is dying again. He is slowly drowning himself in his tub with pharmaceuticals, just as he did in real life, and she’s on the phone with someone who is there at the house, watching him but unable to stop him. It’s her Nan, or someone’s auld wan, her creaky voice dispassionately narrating how Denny’s face turns bloated and blue and his eyes lose their light. But Miriam is stuck in traffic, helpless, raging against the oppressive modern world, her face a teary mess.
Then a hand grasps her shoulder and shakes her urgently. She reaches for it in gratitude. Oh, praise be. Someone came to rescue him. She grabs the slender forearm and forces herself awake, the grief sliding off her like a shroud.
“It’s Pradeep!” Mandy squeaks, shaking both her and Alonso. Wait. Where is she? Right. This mad island. And Pradeep is…?
“What is it, Mandy?” Miriam glances at Alonso in the halo of white light that Mandy brought. His curls are wild and his beard is coming back in again. He looks ghoulish, and whatever dream he claws himself up from looks even more harrowing than her own.
Their minds veer toward calamity. Mandy would only ever waken them if he had died. But her face splits into a relieved but tired grin. “He’s awake. He’s back. It’s passed.”
Mere moments later, shivering in their base layers, everyone save Jay are crowded in the lantern-lit clean room, surrounding the cot. Pradeep still lies there with Maahjabeen, and they are arguing and giggling at the same time.
“No, I am telling you that I need to get up.”
“And I am telling you that you just spent nearly three days in a coma and need to take these things slow.”
“I am also not very comfortable with everyone looking at me while your arms are around—”
“No, you cannot turn this into one of your panic attacks, Mahbub. Everyone knows we are in love and nobody cares.”
“What do you mean, nobody cares?” Katrina scowls. “We think it’s a fabulous idea.”
“I’m just jealous,” Flavia adds. “But to say I don’t care would be false. You two are my new favorite soap opera.”
Pradeep giggles some more, the anxiety releasing its grip. He has long thought that the anxiety itself is neuronal circuits primarily in his brain but all along his limbs and deep inside his enteric nervous system in his gut as well. Neurons are always seeking out new connections and at some formative point in his development as a boy he learned to build these extremely strong anxiety pathways. They have nearly no off-branches and they only travel one way. If he thought neurological networks could spiral he would say that’s what his did. But he knows it’s more a feedback loop of endless repetition, the same images and feelings and scripts of fragmented condemnation that flit through his head in interminable cycles. But they are fading. His anxiety cannot hold him right now. The love they all share is too clearly demonstrated here to be questioned. And they are all such lovely people too. “No. Seriously. I’m ready, Maahjabeen. Please let me sit up.”
She scowls, just enough for him to see the ferocious creature she can be when she wants. Then she relents. “Yes, fine. But I am watching you.”
Her grip goes slack and he pushes himself up with gasps and groans until he is sitting cross-legged. Maahjabeen kneels beside him, her hand on his arm. Pradeep drinks water from a flask, then nods at everyone watching him silently. “Hello, everyone. Uh. What time is it?”
“3:32 am, the morning of the twenty-first of April.” Esquibel records the time in her notes then turns on her phone’s light. “We are very happy to have you back. How do you feel?”
“Hungry. Very sore. Kind of… restless.” Pradeep giggles again. “You can all go back to bed now. Please.”
“Yes you are sore from all the CPR. Lean forward?” Pradeep does so and Esquibel lifts the back of his shirt. She takes a photo and displays the screen to the others. “No marks. None at all.”
Pradeep frowns. “There were marks back there?”
“In the shape of a little fox.” Mandy draws the figure in space with pinched fingers. “No, really.”
“It was very much,” Alonso pronounces, “the craziest thing.”
“I’ve got a working hypothesis,” Esquibel tells them. “Obviously no natural process would create such a distinct pattern. It was proof of human intent. Someone poisoned you, Pradeep. Attacked you somehow. I think of it like, well, imagine an old hairbrush, but instead of bristles you have fifteen or twenty poisoned needles in the outline of a fox’s head. You bring it to camp and when your target presents the opportunity… whack!”
“Did anything like that happen to you the night of the big feast, sweetie?” Triquet smooths Pradeep’s hair out of his eyes and cups his chin. “Anything you can remember?”
Pradeep is flattered, nearly dazzled by all this attention. “Uh, no. No, I left the party early. The news that there might be others on the island who weren’t villagers… It shocked me. I was sure we were doomed.” His giggle becomes more neurotic. “Any news on that, by the way? Any, I don’t know, Russian paratroopers discovered on the far side of Lisica while I’ve been down? Any…?”
But they all talk him down, with a chorus of soothing words.
“Wait wait wait.” Miriam holds up a hand. “I want to hear more from Esquibel. What kind of poison would that be? Is it one of these plants here? Should we be worried?”
“I do not know.” Esquibel shrugs. “Perhaps we could have a patient interview discussing its effects from an internal point of view, but I do not have any knowledge of a poison or venom that has primary CNS neurotoxicity with the… phlegm or whatever it was that the woman was able to expel. Maybe it is one of the tree-frog or marine invertebrate toxins but that is pretty far outside the literature. I’ve been looking.”
“The… phlegm…?” Pradeep’s smile turns a bit sickly. “That doesn’t sound good. Oh, dear. Have I been gross?”
“No, no…” Maahjabeen presses her head against his shoulder. “You’ve been so strong.”
“Don’t worry, Prad,” Amy tells him. “You’ve been super sick but you’re better now. And we’ll just keep making sure you get better every day.”
“Good advice.” Esquibel takes out a stethoscope. “Now clear out everybody. I need to take another set of readings and our patient needs his rest.”
“Yes. Well. Happy dreams, everyone,” Alonso says. “We can all sleep easy now that we have our dear Pradeep back.”
“Wait.” Pradeep frowns. “Where’s Jay?”
Ξ
In the morning, Esquibel wakes up in Katrina’s arms. The blonde girl blinks sleepily at her when she feels her stir. Esquibel doesn’t remember anyone joining her and Mandy in bed. But somehow she doesn’t mind. It is very comforting. “Oh. Hello.”
Katrina grunts softly. Her voice is a sleepy drawl. “Mandy said I should hold you…” She drifts off and rouses herself again. “Like Maahjabeen holds Pradeep. You need it.”
A sweet tenderness for Mandy fills Esquibel, and Katrina by association. Nothing sexual, just a softness in her heart. Katrina is a lovely girl, no doubt, and Esquibel could imagine all kinds of erotic delights for her to indulge in with her and Mandy, but she is feeling rather monogamous these days. Mandy just satisfies Esquibel so completely she can’t imagine needing anything physically from anyone else, even someone as luscious as this.
So they hold each other for another long sleepy moment. Then finally Esquibel rouses again and checks the time. Nearly 10am. Ai me. How did it get so late? She should go check on her patient. “Thank you so much, Katrina.” She kisses the tip of her sharp nose and pulls her limbs free. “You’re a doll.”
Katrina rolls onto her belly and gives Esquibel a devilish smile. “Don’t you objectify me.”
Esquibel puts on a light layer of tops and bottoms. The air is so mild. She can take her chances with sandals. She exits the cell and the bunker into camp, where Amy is picking shellfish out of a net and Flavia is working on her laptop. After visiting the trenches, Esquibel finds some breakfast—a mug of hot water and a packet of crisps. She should get something more substantial in her later today but she has a lifelong habit of surviving too long on mere handfuls of crap. The wonders of cuisine have never meant much to her.
Finally she makes her way to the clean room to find it shockingly empty. No Pradeep, no Mandy, no Maahjabeen. She curses under her breath. Those damn kids. Where are they? He needs a week of observation before he should even think about leaving his cot.
She exits the clean room to find Triquet climbing out of the sub. “Hello, Doctor Triquet. Anyone see my patient?”
“No, Doc.” Triquet lifts a thick file. “Been sleuthing the morning away. Did you know the lagoon used to be full of sharks when they first got here? Nurse sharks, by the description, although maybe the biologists can tell better. And the Air Force just fished them all out. Didn’t even eat them. In this one report they say how they were more comfortable swimming in the lagoon after that.”
Amy has entered and caught the last half of that statement. “Whaaa-aat? Well, that’s appalling. Here we are wringing our hands over whether or not we can harvest a few handfuls of seaweed and our grandparents were committing wholesale shark slaughter. Great. Let me see that description.”
Triquet hands Amy the report as Esquibel continues her search for Pradeep. She exits the bunker, crosses the camp, and scrambles atop the fallen trunk to scan the beach. There they are, all three of them at the edge of the water, sitting in the sand.
Esquibel climbs down the trunk on the ocean side and crosses the sloping beach to join them. They are watching a whirling cyclone of white birds out on the open ocean. “There you are. What do you think you’re doing out here?”
“Fresh air.” Pradeep looks dramatically better. His color has returned and his eyes are no longer stained black. His cheeks are still hollow from lack of nourishment over the last few days, but he looks otherwise hale and whole. “Look. It’s feeding time. There must be a giant shoal or school of sardines down there.”
“Fins!” Maahjabeen points at a line of small hooked black fins breaking the surface of the water on the far side of the breakers. “Too small for orcas. Pacific porpoises. So many!” And following them in the air is a line of brown pelicans, thirty or forty strong.
But Esquibel sees enough of the ocean’s wonders aboard ship. She lifts Pradeep’s wrist and finds his pulse. “You have been very sick and we don’t know if there might be a relapse. You had…” But his pulse is quite strong and balanced, even better than her own. She shakes her head. “I am someone who often prescribes some time outdoors to my patients but this is just too soon.”
“I couldn’t be in that bloody plastic box any longer.” Pradeep realizes how this must sound to Esquibel and quickly amends it. “I mean, I am sure it is a snug and proper working environment for you, quite lovely, but I have just spent too long…”
Esquibel pats his hand. “It is fine. I get cabin fever too. But you cannot make these decisions without consulting your doctor first.” She wheels on the girl beside her. “Mandy.”
Mandy shrugs. “Yeah, I made the call. I couldn’t wake you up. You two looked so cute sleeping there.”
Esquibel frowns at Mandy, wondering what her game is. But she only gets a playful glance in return. Well. More to figure out there later. “I think you should come back anyway. You are painfully thin, my good fellow. Have you no appetite?”
“It’s true. I’m starving. I just needed to see the sea.”
“And, as I was just telling them before we were so rudely interrupted…” Mandy stands, pulling Maahjabeen to her feet. “There’s another storm coming. I can just feel it.”
“Feel it?” Esquibel takes Mandy’s hand and rises, dusting sand off. “Now you are becoming one of the mystics?”
“No! I’m just able to see what’s there. Finally. I can just tell now, even without my instruments… I can smell it on the wind. I’ve been forced to use other tools, like older tools, and—”
“You’re a pattern-seeking primate,” Pradeep interjects.
“Exactly. And I’ve been here long enough to see the patterns.”
Esquibel scans the horizon. It looks like it always does, gray and endless. “I don’t see any storm coming.”
Mandy points at the bulk of the island behind them. “That’s why I think it’s coming from the north. Come on. Let’s get back before it surprises us.”
And just as Mandy predicted, as the four of them enter camp a few minutes later, a swirling wind from above the clifftops carries dark clouds with fat raindrops that hit their tarps with flat slaps.
Everyone withdraws into the bunker. Mandy finds Amy. “Hey! I’ve been thinking more about your idea. And look! It’s raining! Now we can fill the elevator shaft up even faster!”
Amy nods. “Right. How wet do you think this storm might be?”
Mandy shrugs. “No clue. But it started well. Lots of moisture in this front with these big drops. And now it’s really pouring! If we can get, like that reservoir, you know wherever that pipe is draining from? If it fills all the way up then like a ton of water can flood the shaft, and maybe we can fill it up in just an hour or two.”
“Should we go down now? Build the raft? Stop up the tunnel?”
“Now? Ehh…” As eager as Mandy is she needs to think this all the way through. Her mouth opens then closes again.
“I know. It’s a one-way ticket. And if we have second thoughts there’s nothing we can do but wait till we get to the top.”
“Maybe we wait, until right at the end of the storm? It’s not like the shaft will fill up with rain falling from the sky. It’s all the other water that’s been building up in the other chambers.”
“Yeah. It’s the drainage. So the more it rains the better and then over the next couple days after that is when the water will flow the heaviest. So we keep waiting?”
“I know you want to find Jay.” Mandy squeezes Amy’s hand. “I want to find him too. We just have to choose the right time. I’ll figure out all I can about this storm and then we’ll get started.”
“Wait! Here is the guy I’ve been waiting to have up and ready for this idea. He can really help. Pradeep.” Amy pulls him out of an intimate conversation with Maahjabeen. “Listen. I need your brain for this. Mandy and I have an idea to flood the elevator shaft in the tunnels so we can ride on a raft up to the top. Back when she lit it on fire you came up with some equations…”
Pradeep shakes his head, as if he hadn’t heard Amy clearly. “Wait, you want to what?”
Esquibel exclaims in wordless exasperation and slaps herself in the forehead with an open palm. “Are you people trying to kill yourselves? I mean, honestly.”
Ξ
“So my mom was a hippie and my dad was a Marine.” Jay walks through the understory of a beautiful glade, the first time he’s been above-ground in two and a half days. Jidadaa walks beside him, her long athletic strides signaling a confidence in this place, an expectation of security and safety. So he tries to relax and answer her many questions. Her English is surprisingly good. She just doesn’t know what anything actually means.
“Wait, Jay. What is…?”
“A hippie?”
“…a Marine? She marries the water? The sea?” Her accent is so cute, hard on the r’s, with almost a liquid sound in her mouth. But when she speaks any of the Lisican words the guttural consonants in the back of her throat sound like a car crash.
Jay laughs, his hands trailing over the soft branches of a young madrone. “No! Ha. A Marine is, uh, a kind of soldier. They live on ships. Well they used to, historically. Anyway, I never met the dude. He took off when I was still being born in the hospital. It was just me and ma. Kind of like… I mean… Kula’s your mom, yeah?”
Jidadaa nods at him. “Yass. She is outcast.”
Jay nods back, slipping down a game trail to the steep bank of a stream. He lifts rocks, hunting crawdads. She joins him, crouched easily at the edge of the water, her brown hair falling in a wave to the water. “So… Your dad taught you English?”
She shakes her head no. “No. Not dad. Chief Master Sergeant Chilton Kincaid of the USAF of America.”
“Oh. He wasn’t your dad, though?”
“Kula has many men.”
“Ohh.” More of their story comes into focus. An awkward silence ensues. Now Jay feels sorry for her. There was evidently just one prostitute on Lisica and she had many customers. And now the islanders want nothing to do with her. Or her daughter. He tries to think of something neutral to say. “So he never taught you about the Marines? Yeah, sounds about right. The Air Force are all a bunch of stuck-up pricks, for sure.”
“You do not talk like him.” Jidadaa’s hand twitches, fast as lightning, and she snatches up a red and brown crawdad, its plated tail curling around her thumb. With a giggle she pops its head off with a practiced flick and slurps on the body while it is still kicking.
“Whoa. Hardcore. Alright.” Jay’s belly growls. He finds a silvery fingerling, probably some trout, in the mud nearby and grabs at it, but it slips out from between his fingers.
Jidadaa laughs at him, then cocks her head and looks up at the canopy. “Egg season. Good to climb.”
“Yeah. April. Definitely the late days of egg time. What we got here? Like, uh, pheasant? Grouse? Quail?”
“Dáax’. Big bird. Fat.”
“Fat is good.” They stand and scramble back up the slope to scan the treetops, seeking movement. Gray mice run rampant across the boughs. Songbirds flit through the eaves. What a pretty day. A pretty place. Jay knows from his view out the gun emplacement’s port that they are on the east side of the island somewhere. Fine living here. If it’s anything like the Hawaiian Islands the east side is wet with tons of storms and rough surf while the west side is dry with big reefs and killer waves. But there’s no reason to think that necessarily applies here. Different ocean and air currents up here. Still. He visualizes building a cool little treehouse and hanging solar panels in the trees. He could live here no problem. Him and these ladies. He chuckles. At least until those hunters track him down.
Jidadaa selects a madrone and scales its lower branches with ease. She is barefoot and her feet seem too big and wide for her size. Probably just from so much use. Her hands are big too, strong and stained dark.
She levers herself up into a high fork in the branches and an outraged squawk greets her. Jidadaa cries out, flapping her free hand, trying to scare the mother hen off the nest. It is a big grouse, dun and off-white, stubbornly defending what is hers. The girl is able to slip a hand in and snare a single egg before retreating, her own blood running down her forearm.
Jidadaa giggles as she drops back to earth, proudly handing Jay the egg. He grabs her arm to inspect her wound.
“Oh, you got sliced pretty—” Then he falls silent. She has gone utterly still the instant he grabbed her. He gently releases her arm and takes a step back. “Sorry, dude. I shouldn’t have just grabbed you like that. That wasn’t…” But the feline stare she gives him robs him of words. Best if he just doesn’t say another thing.
They head back to the hidden manhole that leads to Kula’s underground garden. Jay inspects the egg. Nice size, a bit bigger than a chicken egg, pale blue. Now just add a bagel and some avocado and maybe a bit of salsa then ya boi is livin’ large.
Kula waits for them. She has harvested a salad of her baby greens. She also has old onions and garlic in storage. Is that how her transactions occurred? She led the men to her mattress and they’d leave her some fruit or vegetable seeds? Hoodies and Reeboks? Better than money, for sure, but still. It’s like some appalling fairy tale.
Kula coos over the size of the egg and protests when he tries to talk about sharing it. She pushes it onto the carved plank that serves as Jay’s plate. “No no no. Jay and Jay.” But it’s clear she and Jidadaa expect him to slurp it down raw. And he will, if he has to, but he just really misses hot food.
“Any chance… we can build a fire?”
Kula makes a face, then silently leads him to a pile of garbage beside the edge of the emplacement’s curving gunport. Beneath leaf litter and trash he can make out the remains of a propane stove. It is a dilapidated mess. The canisters are empty. The pan still has a black crust of carbon from whatever meal they cooked on it last. It has quite obviously been years.
“Aw, man. You guys been eating cold this whole time?”
“Not cold, no no,” Kula says, leading him to another spot along the curving view, where a blackened campfire still glows with ruby embers. He recalls that she was smoking a fat joint when he first arrived. She must have gotten the fire from somewhere. Here.
“Right! Excellent. Check it out. Uh… Here.” Jay still holds the neglected pan. With a twig he scrapes it clean and then uses his sleeve to finish the job. Then he places it as levelly as he can on the coals. He cracks the egg onto the pan and they stare at the golden yolk, waiting for the pan to heat up enough to cook it. Soon the whites of the egg are turning milky and the edges are crackling. Jay’s mouth waters in anticipation. “Aw, yiss. This is gonna be so fucking good.”
When they sit again he prevails upon both of them to try the cooked egg. Kula chortles with pleasure, slurping on it, but Jidadaa is uncertain. The consistency is too unfamiliar to her. But her mother pokes fun at her in a guttural dialect that Jay can’t follow at all. Blushing, Jidadaa swallows a mouthful and bestows a weak smile on Jay.
“Yeah, you’re right. Needs butter. But you don’t got to act like I poisoned you. Okay, let’s talk. So, like, I’ve got a whole crew back on the beach. Really solid folks. You’ll love them. And we’ve all got a metric fuck-ton of questions. Maybe you can answer? I mean, we’re just a bunch of scientists and researchers and we’ve been here like a month and we can’t figure anything out, know what I’m saying? There’s all these mysteries here. Like: you know the outside world doesn’t even know Lisica exists, right?” As soon as he says it, he regrets it. They look stunned. Aw, man. It isn’t his job to lay such a heavy trip on them. They need like an anthropologist for this shit. They need a therapist is what they need.
Jay has to start slower. “So. Wait. How long have there been people on the island?”
Kula and Jidadaa confer. “Kula is fourteenth mother.”
“Ah. Aha.” Jay doesn’t know what that means. But then it clicks. “Oh, you mean generations? Like, uh, you’re fifteen? And her mom was thirteen? And her mom’s mom was twelve?”
“I am not fifteenth mother until I have baby.”
“Got it. So, like twenty years per generation… Y’all have been here like three hundred years?”
They just frown at him. In the awkward silence he eats one platter of salad, then another. His appetite is ravenous. The egg is long gone. Finally he stops, afraid that he’s eating into their stores. Kula sure as shit didn’t expect some giant American to suddenly show up and eat her out of house and home. They might even be expecting him to provide some new seedlings or something. Shit. Jay pushes his plate away, still hungry. He’s got to be careful here.
“Wait. I know. Dessert.” Jay takes out his kit and grinds a blend of his Kush with a touch of the Jack. He rolls a fat joint and hands it to Kula, who chatters at it, marveling in her own language at how thin the papers are and how neat the package. “You got to hit this slow, mama. Okay? Tell me you understand. This shit is fire. It will knock you on your ass.”
Jidadaa says something cautionary to Kula, who looks at Jay with lidded eyes, suddenly wary.
“No, it ain’t dangerous. Just take one puff. A little one.” He pulls it from her hands and lights it with his disposable orange Bic. She and Jidadaa both exclaim over the lighter even more than the joint. He instantly realizes how much it could revolutionize their lives, at least until it runs out of fuel. “Yeah. Sure. I got a spare with me and more of them back at camp. Here.” He holds out the lighter and bows his head, smiling as he offers it as a gift.
Kula marvels at it. Jidadaa frowns, a little spooked, and keeps her distance.
After Jay teaches Kula how to use the lighter he passes her the lit joint. She puffs it like a cigar. “No no no!” He pulls at her arm, laughing. “New weed. Big weed! Kula’s head goes boom!” And he mimes her mind getting blown.
But Kula just giggles, until she rolls backward onto the floor and loses her balance. She laughs louder, kicking her feet up.
Jidadaa frowns at her mother, then at Jay. He doesn’t offer the joint to the daughter. Her vibe is all wrong for it. But she doesn’t look upset with him, just disappointed in her mom. Jay takes a drag and asks, “So what’s the deal here? Lisica used to be some kind of… like secret military base then what?”
Jidadaa shrugs. “The men leave ten years.” She holds up all her fingers. Still eating, she has the appetite of a bird, pecking through her salad with nimble fingertips for choice morsels.
“Ten years? Wow. That’s a long time to be alone. And you haven’t seen anyone that whole time?”
“We see men.”
Jay’s eye twitches. “Okay. What does that mean? So the men are gone but you still see men?”
Jidadaa talks to Kula in their pidgin, low and fast. They have a long conversation, perhaps a bit of an argument, and then finally reach an agreement, echoing each other’s phrases.
Kula turns to him. “Yes and yes.”
“Cool. The men are gone. You still see men. I like it. Kinda surreal for sure. And what’s the deal with all the villages? Kula, you don’t like them?”
“Village? Which village?” Jidadaa asks. “Village village village.” She counts off three with her fingers. Then, touching the tip of her thumb like the other Lisicans do, she points at various corners of the island and counts off, “íx̱t’, íx̱t’, yéik deiyí.”
“Huh.” Jay nods emphatically, as if he understands. “So, you’re saying there’s three villages and… then… a whole bunch of other stuff. Got it. Well we’ve only found two villages yet, unless those kids covered in pollen were from the third. You know about that? I saw four kids in the field beside the river with their faces just totally covered in pollen? Thought I was losing my mind.”
Kula asks Jidadaa what he means. She does her best to translate and he waits. Kula’s face falls. She covers her mouth with a hand. She whispers something.
“When? Where did you see the gold childs?” Jidadaa is worried.
“Uhh… Just on the, well, let’s see, that’s the east side of the river in that valley down in the south. You know the one, where the two villages won’t cross it or look at each other? So just after I got across it, they were in the meadow. Super trippy. Fully covered their faces with masks. And then the hunters came and…”
But Kula and Jidadaa have stopped listening to him. They are engaged in an anxious conference, counting days.
“Aw, shit. What is it? What did I do wrong?”
“The golden childs…” Jidadaa frowns. “We do not see them. My whole life we do not see. Now they are here.”
“Wow. First time in twenty years? You’re like, what, twenty? I’m just guessing. Which I’ve been told back home I should really stop doing with the ladies. I don’t know if you have any of the same… I mean… conventions.” Jay flounders. “But like it’s been a while. Got it. So… Why? Why has it been so long? Just not any good pollen season for the last couple decades or…?”
“The golden childs. Bring death. Destruct.” Jidadaa has trouble finding the words. “Old time over. New time begin.”
“End of an era. Got it. That’s wacky. And I saw it happen. Wow. Part of history here. That’s awesome. Yeah, lots of things are about to change. You know they’re about to open this whole island up to…? Yeah. There’s no way you know that. Well, guess what? The men are coming back. A whole bunch of men. Probably heaps and heaps of men. But hopefully they’ll, uh, be nicer this time.” Jay’s words fade out. He has no reason to be optimistic about that. “Oh, wait. End of an era? Because of us? Is it because we’re here?”
“Jay cross river.”
“Yeah. Had to see what was on the rest of the island.”
But Jidadaa only stares at him.
“Oh, fuck! You’re saying I brought about the end of the era? That it was me crossing the river that did it? But—but no…!” He falls back, shocked to have such an effect on the island. They got to understand. “I was just… I mean, my entire fucking job here is to crawl all over the island just like picking up bugs and mushrooms. Right? I had to get across the river if I was going to see the rest of the island.” But they still only regard him in silence. “So, uh, what kind of era are we talking about?”
Jidadaa grins fiercely, her eyes flaring with sudden vengeance. It transforms her from a waif into a fanatic. “The end of Lisica.”
Ξ
“Jay is really who you want for fishing and hunting. I’m really more of a molecular gastronomy guy.” Pradeep looks up from his laptop at the spear and net Amy and Flavia have fashioned. The rain has stopped for a bit and many of them have taken the opportunity to escape the bunker. Some to work on their datasets, like Pradeep. Others, to fashion fishing gear.
“Well he is not here.” Flavia thrusts the spear at him. It is a softwood branch from a bay tree as long as his arm and whittled to a point. “And now that I’ve tasted the fish here, I need more. The big purple one was best. It tastes like steak. I could not believe.”
“Yeah, I can come out on the water with you, Prad.” Amy hoists her net, made from twine and twigs. “I just thought the activity might do you good. Or maybe you’d prefer to get out with your girlfriend instead.”
“Ai, don’t call her that!” He drops the spear and claps his hands over his ears. “It is… excruciating… knowing that everyone follows my personal life this much.”
“Yeah, sorry, champ. But this is what love feels like.” Amy claps him on the shoulder. “Familial love. It’s all support. I mean, you’re welcome to be as private as you want, but we all live together and we all love each other so… better get used to it.”
Pradeep snaps his fingers. “I know! Katrina brought a wetsuit.” He escapes his discomfort by grabbing the spear and wheeling away, crossing to the bunker. “Spear fishing would be perfect for her. It’s probably like a bloody class in Australian high school. Oh, Katrina?” Pradeep opens the door and escapes inside.
Amy shares a smile with Flavia. “Well. At least I can get you some clams with this contraption. Will that be good enough?”
“Ramen con Vongole,” Flavia shrugs. “It is a new dish, but sounds promising. We just need white wine.”
“That’d be super yummy. I didn’t know you were so interested,” Amy ventures, “in helping with the food.”
“Well, I am done for the time being, you know, with my work on Plexity. Or I am just waiting for someone to break the next thing. And I can’t get any more data for Mandy until she puts her new weather station up on the cliffs. So, when I got hungry, I thought about how I might eat better.”
“Don’t tell Alonso or he’ll have you grab a reader.”
“I told him I would take a turn and he told me to ask Miriam. She said later. So now I am on break. And I make fish spears.”
Amy high-fives Flavia. “Nice spears too. Oh. Here comes the rain again.” They listen to it drumming on the canopy as they hurry into the bunker. “Falling on my head like a memory…”
In the bunker, they find Mandy and Miriam returning from a session with the readers in the creekside understory. They are filthy and cold, striped with white and yellow streaks of fungus. Pradeep is cooing at his phone, reading their results in real time. “Oh my god, do you know how long I’ve been looking for a plasmodial slime mold like this? Fuligo septica but different, I’d bet my life on it. Mandy, you might just get a slime named after you!”
“Oh. Wow. Great!” She tries to marshal enthusiasm and fails. Everyone who hears her valiant attempt laughs.
Triquet catches up her hands. “Aw. Now, whenever I see you, Mandy, I’ll think of a slime mold!”
“Super!” she responds with even less enthusiasm.
The door bangs open and Maahjabeen enters. She is doused and shivering. “Here. Here is your stupid reader, Alonso. It is good they can float. I almost lost it. Then I almost lost my oar trying to get it back. And then I got soaked…” Pradeep fetches a towel and starts scrubbing her before she can even get her clothes off. “Ehhh. Thank you, Mahbub. That feels very nice.”
“Let’s get you into dry clothes.” Pradeep leads her to her cell.
Flavia brings her spear to Katrina at the workstations. “Did Pradeep tell you we need more of those big purple fish for dinner?”
Katrina, reading up on language families, pulls her eyes from her screen and gives Flavia a polite smile. “Um? What’s that, love?”
“He says you have a wetsuit.”
“Yeh? Is that a spear? Spearfishing…? Oh my god, I’m supposed to just swim down and run this thing right through their little fishy bodies, am I? Bloody work, that. Wow. Give me a moment to wrap my head around the idea, will you? I mean, um… Maybe later? I’m not sure anyone will let me outside in the storm anyway.”
“No.” Esquibel crosses her arms. “I won’t.”
Katrina nods her head slowly. “After the storm passes then. Yeh, those reef fish are delish. I guess I can give it a shot when things calm down. I did see Aquaman in the theaters five times, I’ll have you know. Jason Momoa could eat me like a snack.”
Flavia waits for more clarification. When it doesn’t come she looks at Amy. “I think that is a yes. Until then, oh well. I guess we are surviving on more packets of tuna and powdered eggs.”
A crack of thunder in the distance makes them all catch their breaths. The storm is intensifying.
Amy sighs. “Fucking hell. Jay is out there somewhere in that. Hope he’s staying dry.”
“I’m sure he’s safe.” Miriam kisses Amy’s hairline and squeezes her for assurance. “Warm and dry and… living his best life.”
Ξ
Jay sprints screaming down the curving concrete tunnel. His blood is hot and slick, running down his side. He keeps slipping on it, barefoot on concrete. His left hand is pressed against his ribs, where the blade slid, tearing his favorite base layer and opening his skin. He won’t remove his hand, not for love or money. Who knows how much blood he’d see then.
They’re still behind him, far back. He can tell. They’re doing the hunter thing, letting him run himself down while keeping a steady pace, to eventually corner their quarry and kill him. He wonders if they will ask for forgiveness or sing a prayer of thanks like Kalahari tribesmen. Or will they just slaughter him like a goat?
He runs harder. What they don’t fucking know about Jay is that he’s a goddamn monster. He can run all day and into the night. Even with blood loss and like zero adrenaline left. His baseline for fitness has always been the ability to hike ten miles uphill, in the rain, at night, while sick. Apart from his recent troubles with his hand and his ankle he’s got that amount of stamina right now no problem. They want to chase me? Eat my fucking dust.
They had come upon him in his sleep. Three hunters. Jidadaa must have heard them and gasped. The sound woke Jay up and all he saw was a shadow darting toward him. He instinctively rolled away and the spear blade opened up his side. Then he just started kicking, whipping his pack around, tangling them in his bivy. If it had been zipped shut he’d be a dead man but it had been a warm night and he’d worn it like a blanket. One hunter got his spear and legs snared in it, clueless how tough the nylon was. The littlest one beside him danced away.
Jay kicked the shaft of the third one’s spear and its point went wide. That dark figure leapt back. In a sudden hot flash of self-preservation and rage Jay picked up his cot and hurled it at them. The littlest one went down.
Jay knew he couldn’t let them corner him. And he knew that he must be endangering Kula and Jidadaa by staying here a moment longer. He charged in behind the cot and missed by sheer chance a spear thrust from the third. He ran past, out of range, but heard his attacker leap after in close pursuit.
Out the passage and into the garden. But Jay hitched his step and swung around. When the hunter appeared in the passage entrance, Jay juked left like a linebacker, lining him up, then slammed the slight youth against the wall with a piledriver of a tackle.
The kid rolled away, gasping and retching. He wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while. Jay grabbed his fallen spear and threw it out the emplacement’s port. Then he paused. Jidadaa and Kula were still struggling with the others in there. Should he go back? But an unfamiliar voice shouted in fury and Kula cried aloud in despair.
“Run, Jay!” Jidadaa’s voice pierced right through him. He considered shoving this fallen hunter through the gap but didn’t know if he’d fall off the cliff to his death. Jay didn’t know if he was ready for murder, even though they quite obviously were. He was barely awake. This wasn’t even his idea. He’d just run instead.
Now, a timeless stretch later, he’s on the curve, spooling back the klicks he’d climbed through the spiral. It’s got to be a spiral, right? That’s the only way it could go on so long. He’s fine with the dark. There was never any obstruction underfoot, he recollects, except when he got to the junctions. And maybe if he’s lucky he can find another door at one of them he could pop up a hatch and get back above-ground.
Yeah, but then what? He knows where these hunters came from. They tracked him from the bad village. And if he goes back up he might still be in their lands and facing far more than just three young ones. They could get like the whole town after him. And he’s leaving a blood trail. No bueno.
Let’s see. He’s running clockwise down the east side of the island, at this point like probably toward the southeast of the coast near four o’clock. If he could, he’d climb to the top now. He must be close to his friends; they’re just on the other side of a mountain of rock. He can’t make any mistakes here. All he can really do is make this a strict out-and-back. Don’t deviate from his former path. Just hope the hunters didn’t like leave anyone back at the first hatch to the south. Well, only one way to find out.
Jay runs. He loves to run. He’s built for it, all legs and lungs and implacable willpower. A lot of people think he’s flighty, just some silly hophead skating by in life. But you don’t survive Mavericks without being a peak athlete. You don’t survive getting lost in the Sur for eight days when you’re fourteen unless you got something fierce in you. At least that’s what the EMT who found him told him. And he’d always taken it to heart. When shit went down, as it so totally has here in the dark underground, Jay likes his chances against nearly anyone he’s ever met.
So come on, you little fuckers. Let’s go for a run.
Chapter 31 – Ja Sam Wetchie-Ghuy
July 29, 2024
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:
Book III – Methodology of Madness
“Ideas are like rabbits. You get a couple and learn how to handle them, and pretty soon you have a dozen.”
— John Steinbeck
31 – Ja Sam Wetchie-Ghuy
“And what do you make of this?” Triquet pushes their taped-up photo across the table before Morska Vidra. The elder stares at the image of the Tlingit tapestry, carved bone fishing spear, and word written in Cyrillic that Triquet has reconstructed.
Morska Vidra studies the photo in sad silence.
“Ji-na-háa.” Katrina sounds out the Cyrillic letters phonetically. But the word is unbearable to the old Lisican and he leans away from her, blanching. Finally he murmurs an answer.
“What’s that? Could you repeat, uh… povtori pozhaluysta?”
Morska Vidra speaks a few more broken sentences. “Something like, he’s only seen these once as a kid. The people who are beyond the river. They have them? These are their artifacts?” Katrina picks up the photo and mimes giving it to people in the interior of the island.
Morska Vidra only falls silent. He glares at her, apparently resentful that she brought it up.
“Ji-da-daa,” Katrina repeats. “I want to learn what that is. It seems to be key to the whole…”
But repeating the word is too much for Morska Vidra. With an outraged chuff he pulls himself awkwardly from the unfamiliar camp chair and stalks away, toward the creek. He does not return.
“Oops!” Katrina squeaks. “Sorry! God, this is just so… random. There’s this whole perspective shift thing I still do not get at all. Like in Lisican you’re not an actual being. You’re just a collection of other people’s impressions of you, who you’re related to, where you stand, where you’re going. It’s all very postmodern I guess.”
“Sounds like Plexity.” Alonso’s voice comes from the far side of his big platform. “Environment is everything. I think maybe I’ve gotten these people wrong. Perhaps they are very wise.”
“I guess it makes sense if you think about it,” Katrina continues, while Triquet studies the photo with frustration. “Maybe we all started with this kind of deep subjectivity. But how did we ever disconnect from thinking about the world that way? Imagine everybody understands that they’re all part of the web, right? And then one day some absolute psycho shows up and says, Fuck that. I’m only me. And I’m holy. And I’m in charge. And I’m not connected to any of you bitches or anything in the whole world around me. I mean, what an absolute bloody narcissist.”
Alonso laughs. “Context. It’s all context. We live in a data-rich age of context, right, Katrina?”
“You know, we did this breakout session at one of the security conferences I attended,” Katrina tells them, “where we had to try to re-imagine law and justice to be more fair. And they all got into how laws could be more universally applied. But I was like, hold up, that’s retrograde thinking. Three hundred years old. Our ancestors conceived of universal justice like that because they couldn’t see how to do it better. But we can. My idea is that each punishment or rehabilitation strategy should instead be tailored to each criminal as specifically as possible. Context, yeh. So I proposed that each person gets an official profile, open-sourced and secure, and we assign hundreds of numerical values to a whole spectrum of factors: upbringing, job, education, intent when committing the crime, you know, any amount of remorse… and then we use that profile and a shit ton of machine learning to construct a custom solution for every perpetrator.”
“I mean, isn’t this what we’re already doing?” Triquet sighs in surrender and puts the photo back in its manila folder. “Apart from your creepy digital profile idea, I mean, isn’t this what the justice system already does? At least it’s supposed to. It gives weight to things like background. In most countries at least, right? There’s steps to this. Pre-trial hearings. Jury of your peers. Sentencing. They already take things like intent and remorse into account. We don’t need a robot deciding who goes to jail or not.”
“Yeh, it wasn’t very popular at the conference, either. But I’m just talking about deriving more nuanced solutions for each crime. It’s all context now. That’s all I’m saying. I mean, you’ve heard of personalized medicine, yeh? Same concept. Individualize diagnosis and treatment, with increased efficacy that drives down the price. Everything’s data science now. Everything.”
This conversation is straying into territory that Alonso has hardly ever allowed himself to seriously consider. But the wild ideas he gets at night right before he falls asleep suddenly seem a little less wild. “She is right. This young generation will forever be known as the great collectors. Everything is about input now. We aren’t even really collating the data yet. That will be the goal of the next generation. Now is when we record the richness of life on this planet before it vanishes completely. Details, and the patterns within the details. That is our gold. And then, who knows, in a few hundred years, after the world has finished burning, it will be these records we are making right now that will bring all the life back.”
“Ji-da-daa…” Katrina repeats it again, looking up the word in first her Eyat then her Tlingit vocabulary lists. “I mean, there’s ‘jinduháayi,’ which means post office, or more precisely, ‘Building, around paper, delivered by hand.’ See what I mean? That’s some convoluted bullshit there. Or, ‘jinkaat,’ which is their number for ten, but specifically means, ‘hands facing each other.’ Whoa.” She drops her hands, helpless. “I’m sorry, Triq. This was supposed to answer a bunch of questions, but instead…”
Triquet stands, shrugging philosophically. “We just get more questions. It’s the way of the world, little sister.” They kiss the top of Katrina’s head and collect their things.
The door to the bunker opens. Esquibel stands in the frame. “What is this I hear about one of the Lisicans visiting us?”
Katrina falls back against her chair. “He’s already gone.”
“What? Why? We need one of them to look at Pradeep! He’s been poisoned or something! How did you just let him go?”
“Oh. Ack. Sorry. You’re right.” Katrina stands. “I’ll go find him. He went this way. Just… Ugh. I’ll be right back.” She hurries away.
Triquet grimaces in apology. “Sorry, Doc. It was my fault. I’m just trying to solve all these mysteries.”
“Yes, well…” Esquibel tries to find something to say that won’t indicate how very cross she is. “Me too.”
Ξ
“Okay, Pradeep. We’re going to roll over on three, okay?” Mandy holds his legs. Esquibel grips his shoulders. Maahjabeen still won’t release her full-body embrace.
The Lisican woman they refer to as the Mayor stands in a corner of the clean room, frowning terribly. Katrina hadn’t been able to find Morska Vidra, following his trail all the way back through the creekside tunnels to the village. But she had implored the Mayor to return with her. She suspects the woman might even understand a bit what is needed. Now Mandy and Maahjabeen and Esquibel all wear masks and gloves, their delirious patient fighting for breath.
Pradeep groans, a weak wet sound, phlegm rattling in his throat. They roll him over so Maahjabeen is on her back with him above. Esquibel pulls up his shirt, revealing the fox’s profile of angry red and black dots and the swelling at the base of his spine.
The Mayor pulls back with a hiss, like she’s seen a viper. She looks at each of them with wide-eyed outrage, pointing the tip of her thumb at each while intoning a chant.
“What is it? What?” Esquibel begs the woman.
“Lisica, yes?” Katrina prods her, outlining the shape of the fox’s head on his skin with her finger.
But the Mayor disagrees vociferously, her words coming in such a clashing rush that Katrina can’t follow. She fumbles her phone out and begins recording just as the Mayor’s speech ends.
“Okay. Got it. I mean, I didn’t get any of it, but I got that this isn’t Lisica. No. This is… some other fox then? I’m so confused.”
The Mayor is very upset with them. She begins lecturing, Katrina recording. The Mayor picks up the closest items off Esquibel’s bins, a short stack of paper. She tosses them to the ground, indicating that they are useless. Then with a loud wordless yell—Ayo! she leans over Pradeep, resting her elbow in the middle of his back. The Mayor puts her weight behind her elbow and presses until he expels his breath, a bubbling wetness. She presses harder and he expels more, finally ending with a trickle of milky brown rheum trickling from his chin. The Mayor stands back and points at it, careful not to touch it. “Kadziyiki.” She repeats the word again and again until Katrina echoes it.
“What is that?” Esquibel inspects the discharge, but the Mayor draws the doctor’s hand away before she can touch it. So she looks at it through her otoscope from a handspan’s distance. “Fine. I won’t touch it, I promise. But I should get a sample for testing…”
“Let’s see. Kadziyiki means…” Katrina scrolls through her vocabulary list. “Mud. A swamp place.” She points at Pradeep’s belly and repeats the word.
As confirmation, the Mayor repeats the word as well.
“I think she’s saying it’s magic of some kind or other. A curse.”
“Why would Wetchie-ghuy do this?” Katrina asks.
The name stops the Mayor in mid-sentence. She bares her teeth in an involuntary show of disgust and makes it clear with words and gestures that Pradeep’s illness is not the work of Wetchie-ghuy. But a new thought appears to interrupt her and after a long moment of consideration she repeats the name. “Wetchie-ghuy…”
Mandy releases Pradeep’s feet and shakes her hands to get his illness off them. The nausea seeping into her immediately fades. “Uh, then what if we get that Wetchie-ghuy guy to help Pradeep?”
Esquibel holds up an importuning hand. “Wait. As your doctor, I am not in favor of this idea.”
“Oh, because you’ve still got so many ideas of your own?” Mandy giggles to take the sting out of her words, but Esquibel scowls at her regardless. “I mean, if it’s some weird infectious fluid, wouldn’t we rather have them deal with it instead of us anyway?”
“I think we’ve got a bigger problem than that,” Katrina says. “How can we bring Wetchie-ghuy into camp without Flavia losing her mind?”
Esquibel demands, “I will not allow some—some herbalist to treat one of my patients. Especially since we know he is hostile. Or is she perhaps not saying that Wetchie-ghuy is responsible for doing this? That is crazy to think there might be another one. I mean, how many shamans does an island this size need?”
“Pradeep…” Maahjabeen murmurs. The others fall silent and she blushes. “Mahbub. I need to go to the trenches. I will be…”
Pradeep groans. His eyelids flutter. He seems to struggle at the edge of consciousness, unable to break through.
“I am so sorry. I’ve been holding it for hours…”
“That’s fine,” Katrina says. “I can wrap him up for a bit. You go take care of yourself. Maybe grab a bite.”
“No. I can’t.” Maahjabeen gasps when she releases her embrace. She’d forgotten how newly healed her shoulders are and now they scream as she moves them. Pradeep is unmoving. She slides out from under him, the pain and the heartache making her sob.
The Mayor watches her, stone-faced. Maahjabeen locks eyes with her and vows that she will not show another sign of weakness to this cypher of a woman. Maahjabeen can be stoic. Just watch.
Mandy and Katrina pull her free and she stands, clamping her mouth shut. She is still staring at the Mayor, whose black eyes seem to possess a reservoir of strength that Maahjabeen can access. Now she realizes the Lisican woman isn’t judging her, but silently lending her support.
Katrina scoots into position. “So… just like give him a good cuddle? Anything I should know? Any places I shouldn’t touch?”
Mandy giggles.
Maahjabeen can’t wait any longer. Her mind has no space for the prospect of beautiful blonde Katrina wrapping herself around Pradeep and nursing him while Maahjabeen departs. But the jealousy she expects doesn’t appear. Only a tired gratitude for Katrina and a screaming terror of worry for Pradeep. She pushes herself through the plastic sheets of the clean room, determined to do this as fast as possible.
Katrina lies down beside Pradeep. “Come here, luv.” She wraps herself around him, drawing him over her like a blanket. His sandalwood scent, which she had found so attractive before, has now turned sour. She recalls their spider hunt in the bushes, when she had such a strong impulse to kiss him that she’d kissed Mandy instead. Now she has no desire for this ailing man. But isn’t this when he needs her affection the most? She turns her face and kisses his ear, softly, with real tenderness, and breathes through her nose into the nape of his neck. Somewhere deep inside he quivers but his limbs are so heavy they’re nearly rigid. Poor bloke. What had he and Maahjabeen done out there to deserve this?
Suddenly a sharp wrongness knifes through Katrina. Horror fills her. “Wait. Esquibel. I don’t think he’s breathing. I…”
Esquibel curses and with a strong hand pulls Pradeep away from Katrina, who shifts herself entirely off the cot onto the floor. Esquibel rolls him onto his back and straddles his prostrate form. She pulls her mask off and points at the Mayor, “Get that woman out of here!” before beginning a strenuous round of CPR and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
Ξ
An hour later, a muddy Amy finds Mandy at the camp’s kitchen tables, fixing a pot of tea. “Could I get one of those?” Amy has already cleaned her hands in the creek before returning to camp but she still pinches the handle of a mug daintily, afraid the mud on her sleeve might touch it.
“Of course. What’d you do? You look like something the cat dragged in.” Mandy fills Amy’s cup with steaming green tea.
“I was in your elevator shaft.”
“You were?” Now Amy has Mandy’s full attention. “What were you doing in there?”
“Figuring out how to get to the top.”
“Oh my god. Really? And did you? Oh, please… That would be so… I mean, why? Why do you even want to get to the top?”
“I’ve got to find Jay, Mandy. As soon as possible. We have no idea how much danger he might be in. He’s my responsibility. My grad student. But I can’t even cross the fucking village to get to the trailhead he took. They won’t let me. So I need to find another way into the interior. Or my time here will be an entire waste. No. Worse than that. I swear to god if I have to go back home without Jay or Pradeep I’ll just…” Amy suddenly dissolves in tears.
Mandy catches the blocky little woman in her arms and kisses the top of her head. “Oh… Oh, no… He’s fine. I’m sure of it. Jay’s like some super outdoorsman. Living outside here is a snap for someone like him. And Pradeep…” She has no words for his condition. Esquibel had barely been able to bring him back from the brink last time, and he hadn’t stabilized until Mandy had gone to find Maahjabeen, who raced back to wrap her beloved once more in her arms. Instead, she tries to change the subject with gossip. “So. Did you know Maahjabeen and Pradeep were a thing? Or did everyone know but me?”
That stops Amy’s tears. Her breath catches in her throat. “They what? What kind of thing? What are you talking about? No, honey. I’m pretty sure Pradeep is a virgin.”
“Well maybe that’s what Maahjabeen loves so much about him. His purity. Katrina said she found them one night last week. She was in his bed. Isn’t that sweet?”
“Really? Sweet, uh, yeah…” For some reason, Amy can’t process this new information. It’s just so unlikely. “I’m not sure if, I mean, I don’t know if Maahjabeen is really introductory girlfriend material, know what I mean? And why’d he hide it from me of all people? Just… Seriously? Are you sure?”
“Maahjabeen won’t let anyone else hold him. She said it’s their love that’s keeping him alive. And after he coded last time she let go we’re inclined to believe her.”
“I don’t know what to say. Pradeep. You secretive bastard. Ah… he couldn’t tell me because of her. She needed it to be a secret. Some weird Muslim thing, right? That’s it, isn’t it?”
Mandy shrugs and rests her forehead against Amy’s in sweet intimacy. “Who knows? Love works in mysterious ways.”
Amy shakes her head in wonder. “Well. I hope it works out. Their children would look like… movie stars, that’s for sure.”
“I know, right?” Mandy giggles and releases Amy.
“Thanks for that, dear one. And let me repay you by telling you how I think we can get to the top of the shaft.”
“Fuck yes! Oh, Amy, thank you so much! You have no idea how hard it’s been for me to figure out a safe way to the—”
“Well, don’t get too attached to that ‘safe’ idea.”
“Oh, crap. What is it?”
“I mean, it’s as safe as I can come up with. But it is like hundreds of meters straight up. There is no super safe way for people to go up and down that thing without like a professional construction crew. But ain’t none of us here engineers so we’ll do what we can.”
“Now I don’t know what to think.”
“Well. Let me just drink my tea and you get some caving clothes on. It’s easier to show you what I have in mind than tell you.”
“Kay kay. Meet you back here in five.”
Later, after all the descents and struggles through muddy tunnels, Mandy stands with Amy at the base of the shaft. It is no longer flooded, and when the water drained it took a lot of the ash and cinders with it, leaving a long black trail down to the concrete culvert and the sea cave. Now they can tell that beneath the blackened ashes that remain is a solid concrete floor to the shaft. But whatever anchor points Mandy had been trying to blindly find with her frozen feet a few days before are not there.
They drag the last intact limbs clear of the center of the floor and stare upward at the small dot of gray light far above. It looks impossible to Mandy, and nobody wants to get up there as bad as her. But it’s just so far.
“Tell me what you see.” Amy’s voice echoes in the shaft, a harsh reverberation off the concrete walls.
Mandy swings her phone’s light up the shaft. “Not much. Lots of vertical. No handholds. Uh… Tons of burn marks. Can I have a hint? What am I looking for here?”
“Okay. What are the walls made of?”
Mandy drops her light to eye level. She brushes her hand over the smooth blocks. “Yeah, okay, it’s only concrete here at the bottom. Then it’s, I don’t know, what is it up there? Clay? Rock?”
“It’s rock. Care for another hint?”
“Please.”
Amy silently points at the trail of ash and cinders at their feet, leading out of the shaft’s base into the tunnel.
“Uhh, neat.” Mandy turns away so Amy can’t see how irritated she is. “Maybe I’m just not as smart as everybody else here, okay, Amy? Maybe I don’t have all these spectacular doctorates from world-class programs so you’ll have to excuse me—”
“No, no. I’m not—You’re not… Sorry. I’m being too playfully obtuse. I was just standing where you are, looking up, cursing that little fucking hole in the top. Then I thought to myself: How did this shaft get made? They didn’t drill it. It’s not quite that regular.”
“I don’t know. How did all the other tunnels get made?”
Amy lifts her eyebrows and points once again at the trail of black slurry running out of view.
“It burned…?” Mandy scrunches up her face. “But that makes no sense. What burned? The rock?”
“No. Sorry, Mandy. I’ll stop playing games. It’s water. Water carved this shaft, and nearly all the tunnels we’ve seen in here. Now come here. Let me show you something else I found.”
Mandy is still mystified. Amy keeps telling her she’ll tell her what she means and then she just keeps adding more and more random details that make no sense. “Sure. Now what?’
Amy takes Mandy back into the tunnel, but before it reaches the junction with the passage that heads upwards to the Lisican village, Amy stops at an outcrop of rock. She points her light at a pair of rusted iron pipes that run vertically from ceiling to floor. “Listen.”
“Listen…?” Mandy wipes the pipe as clean as she can and then presses her ear against it. Liquid, and not a trickle. These old pipes are still functional.
“The Army Corps of Engineers must have been in here. These are probably drainage for some other chamber up above to keep it clear. I bet it empties into their culvert and then the sea cave. But look.” Amy pockets her phone and grasps a circular handle. Her forearm muscles bunch and she grunts. Then it turns.
After a few rotations the pipe closes off. Amy pulls Mandy to the wall beside her and points to a bypass pipe. Now the water shoots out its end, much more than a liter per second. It splashes onto the tunnel’s floor and runs down back toward the culvert.
Mandy looks at Amy, who has the most self-satisfied smile on her face of her life. But then her smile drops when she realizes that Mandy still doesn’t see what she means. “Oh. Right. So… Next step. Block the passage leading down to the culvert there with tarps and rocks, forming a plug. And then ta-daaa!” Amy spreads her hands wide. But Mandy still only glares at her. “Ah. I mean, of course, the final thing I still have to mention is that we’re floating on a raft. In the elevator shaft. And there’s nowhere for the water to go. Except up. We fill the shaft and ride it to the top!”
Now Mandy laughs. “Are you insane? I set the shaft on fire and now you’re going to flood it? Is this some kind of competition?”
Amy laughs too. “No! Think about it! I mean, it’s got its share of drawbacks, for sure. It’s not something we can do, well, probably more than once. And I have no idea how long it would take to fill it. A day or two? So that part stinks. I mean, there’s a lot wrong with the whole idea but I just can’t figure out how else to do it!”
“I asked Katrina if she’d fly the drone up the shaft and try to attach some cable or something up there.” Mandy shakes her head. “But she said the shaft is too narrow. She’d have to turn collision-avoidance off and then she said she wasn’t good enough to not crash manually into the walls.”
“Well and then what?” Amy grimaces. “Let’s say we’ve got like three hundred meters of twine dangling down to us. So? We don’t have more than a third of that distance in climbing rope. What else are we going to use? Dental floss? I mean, I could manufacture some rope from the long-fiber creekside plants but that would take days if not weeks. We need to find Jay now.”
Mandy thinks about sitting in a raft for hours on end as the water level slowly rises toward the top. Just her and Amy and her weather station. But it wouldn’t even have any weight requirements this time. She could load it up with all the best gear. Hygrometer. Full windspeed rotor. She could even bring spare batteries and just hook them up in sequence. And she wouldn’t have to check on it more than once every few days. “Wait. Ugh. I should have asked him when I had the… Ah, hell.”
“What is it?”
“Jay! When he got trapped in the village with Triquet and Miriam he said that one day he went with the villagers to see the top of the tunnel, where the fire came from. And I was like, ‘Aha! The villagers can lead me to the spot from above. He said they climbed over the edge of the cliffs and came down to the top of this shaft on the ocean side. And I was going to have him show me so I could start making that my route but then we stopped talking to the villagers. And then I forgot with all the other madness going on. So now we’re all buddies again but he’s gone. Crap!”
“Well, still. That solves your problem, doesn’t it? You can go ask the villagers to lead you to any spot you want on the cliffs. It just needs to be high and like securely-placed, right?”
“Yeah, but…” Mandy sighs. “I think I still have your problem. Not that they hate me per se…”
“Oh, thanks.”
“No! It’s just that they can shut off the village to us whenever they like and I need regular access to my weather station. We can’t depend on them. We need our own way in.”
Amy nods. “So… What do you think we could make the raft of?”
“Maybe we could use Maahjabeen’s kayaks.”
“Yeah, and maybe Brad Pitt will be my sex slave.” Amy laughs in such hilarious disbelief that Mandy starts to as well.
Ξ
Pradeep twists and turns on the bed, fighting for his life. He thrashes, the cords in his neck straining. He drums the back of his head against the pillow, fighting to rid himself of this horrid infestation.
But he knows that in reality he does none of these things. His body remains slack, eyes glazed. The fight is entirely internal. Nobody can see how hard he struggles.
He knows he is about to die. He tries to find peace. Maahjabeen pressed against him gives indescribable relief. After his unending struggle against the cold pit of mud within him he is almost ready to surrender to oblivion. He has gotten to love the most beautiful woman on Earth. What more is there, really, after that? It is such an impossibility for a kasmaalam nerd like himself to have loved such an angel. Death is really the only possible thing next. But his regret will not let him go. Regret for not knowing her better, touching this unbelievable skin just a bit more. Regret that they will not grow old together, that he will not be there for her when she will need him. That is such a distasteful thought that it gets him to fight once more against the pit.
The little bit of his brain that remains working now puzzles out a possible way to combat the pit of mud. Within himself, where he feels the edges of it, he has drawn a ring of fire around it, stopping its slow seeping spread up into the rest of him. The fire is love and anger and every scrap of his survival instinct that he can muster. Now he has the fire burn down, all around the sides of the pit. He will excise it entirely with fire. He will find its bottom and burn beneath that and then isolate this cauterized pit of mud within him like a giant bloated splinter. Once it is encased entirely in fire then he can remove it. He can take himself back.
Burn… Burn… He doesn’t know what it is he burns here in the abstract internal world of his spirit. It is certainly some essential part of himself. Tissues… or memories… Perhaps he is destroying himself to save himself. Yes. Like a fever. Without fever he will die.
Why was this done to him? What did Pradeep do to deserve this? They say a fox bit him in the back, which makes no sense. And now he is dying of, what… rabies? Is that what this is?
It’s all muddled. He can’t keep straight any of the details they’ve told him. Disjointed phrases keep circling in his head. He realizes how slowly they revolve. Too slow. The cold mud is winning again. Where is his fire? Has it gone out?
No, it has just disappeared deep into the black firmament of his mind, still surrounding the pit of mud as it crackles its way downward. Now Pradeep feels an attenuated pain, as if someone strikes his spinal cord like a piano note. This time he grunts and he knows Maahjabeen hears it. Pain. Yes, pain is good. Pain is life.
She looks at him, her eyes ravaged from so many tears. But she is not hopeless. So he cannot be. He fights the words out, the corners of his mouth twitching upward bravely. “I am… not… dead.”
Ξ
“Ventilation ain’t your problem, Kula. It’s got to be humidity. I mean, this is like fog grand central. Here.” Jay holds up the frosty bud, its fan leaves curling, nearly black. “Look at the cola, dude. Smell it. You got to harvest now or shit’s gonna mold out on you.”
Kula, the Lisican gardener, stands at his shoulder smoking her joint. Her face is seamed with a perpetual smile and her black curls are a frizzy mass. She grunts and waters a row of lettuces with a cracked plastic watering can. “Bimeby Jay help. Wit Kula, yaw?”
Her pidgin is surprisingly understandable. Jay has no idea what that indicates about the island, or, more importantly, his safety here. Who taught her to speak English? Where did she get all this gear? And what about all this weed? Not that there aren’t a wide variety of other fruits and vegetables in these planters. Jay wonders why Kula doesn’t cultivate her garden on the surface. “This can’t be the best spot to grow on the island. You need more sun, sister.”
Kula claps her hand on his shoulder. She’s been friendly from the get go. She pushes her cigar at him again and he takes a big wet toke. Very grassy weed. Probably not too much in the way of THC but who knows about its terpenes. Once they get settled he’ll bust out his homegrown Kush and blow Kula’s goddamn mind.
Rows of raised beds, built from raw saplings bound together with frayed nylon straps, have been filled with a dark loamy soil that probably came from the redwoods above. And it looks like a lot of starters are already pushing through the surface. Her spring plantings are a success. What day is it? Like mid-April? He takes out his phone. The date is April 20.
“Yoooooo! Look at that, Kula! 420! 420! We hit it just right!”
But of course she has no idea what he’s talking about. She just gabbles something he doesn’t understand, much like he’s gabbling something at her. But that’s cool. They’re high. And hidden. And safe. “Four twenty…!” Jay leans out the gun emplacement’s curving opening, shouting over the open ocean far below. His words are immediately snatched by the wind. But he doesn’t care. He laughs, falling back. “Hey… Maybe you can help us, Kula. If you know like all the plants here, maybe you can like, I mean, we’re sort of doing a survey, you know. Flora and fauna. Maybe you could like help us identify a whole bunch of genera.”
“Eh. Eh.” Kula nods vigorously. She pulls something up by the roots, like a stringy white carrot, and pushes it into Jay’s hands. “Takee boss. Jay good good. Je rotkvica, yass.”
“Okay. If you say so…” Jay brushes the rest of the soil off and nibbles at its end. It crunches between his teeth and releases a clean watery taste across his tongue. It’s good. “Right on. This would be so good in a salad. Man, I’m gonna make the best fucking salads. Any olive oil and balsamic here by any chance?”
But Kula is back to her watering and weeding, talking to herself in a satisfied sing-song, the words a jumble of English and Lisican and who knows what else. What an odd duck. For one thing, she’s fat. Jay hasn’t seen any fat Lisicans before. Her skin is bad and she’s wearing an old hoodie with HOLLISTER stenciled across the chest. Her formerly-white Reeboks are split along each side. Her hair is lank and greasy. She is obviously suffering the effects of prolonged contact with the modern world. Now she looks just like any other shut-in anywhere in the world. Just get her a laptop and a VPN and she’d never see another live human ever again.
He wanders away from the plants for the first time to a dark corner recessed in the bare rock. He expected to find some kind of rat’s nest of bedding but instead he finds a neatly cut-out rectangle in the rock that runs as a passage to a contained chamber, far enough back to protect its occupants from explosions in the gun emplacement. This must have been command and control back here. The room is only like five by six meters, with seven wide ventilation shafts in the ceiling. Since its abandonment, these holes have allowed in trickles of detritus and the shafts are no longer clear; they only let in a bit of diffracted daylight.
Beneath the seven holes sit undisturbed conical piles of dirt surrounded by a scattering of leaves. “Ooo, creepy. Looks like some kind of… crypt in here yo.”
Kula, behind him, giggles. “Atsa sugoya eet ká. Yass, Jay. Me an me.” She takes him by the hand and leads him to a flattened and stained Navy cot mattress against the far wall. Ah. The rat’s nest.
“Uh… Not here looking for love, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m a grad student. Not a… I mean, not that grad students don’t get down. It’s just… That’s real flattering, Kula, you know what I mean? But, uh, I’m kind of in the middle of something right now.”
Kula giggles at him some more, hooking her fingers into his pockets. She snares a wad of leaves he collected and she frowns at them. “Me and me and Jay make three…” But her voice falters, looking at him with concern.
“What? Those are some rhododendron variety I found down in the river valley. You know the one? Over by the…? Well you got your tunnel-mouth tribe, down in the southeast corner of the island. You know, the one with Morska Vidra? And then there’s the bad guy village. Somewhere deeper in? Yeah. That valley.”
“Morska Vidra…” Kula’s nose twitches like a rabbit’s. She wipes it with the back of her hand and sneers. She lists off a bunch of other names. The only one Jay catches is “Wetchie-ghuy…”
“Yeah. That’s the one. That’s where I got the leaves. There.” He points where his internal compass guesses southeast is.
“Yass. Me and Jay znamo.”
“So I was wondering if you could help me with the classifica—”
But Kula hisses and throws the leaves on the ground. They are unclean to her or something. Then she stiffens. She casts a devilish grin sideways at Jay. “Jidadaa.”
Jay just nods stupidly, wondering what she means. Her change of mood is so mercurial he can’t follow it. Kula crosses back to the entrance to the chamber but a low black oblong against the wall to his right catches Jay’s attention. It is a decades-old military radio. And its power is on. A bank of batteries are connected and several wires run up one of the ventilation shafts to the surface. Jay peers at it closely. Its glowing analog dials and needles twitch slightly, picking up some signal. He squints at its frontpiece, finding the volume knob. He turns it, hearing static and garbled voices and nothing more.
He turns, calling out, “Where’d you get this, Kula…?” And then the words die in his throat. Someone new enters, slight and tall for a Lisican. Young, like twenty at the most. Her face is more pale and narrow. Her eyes are gray and sad. She is singing. A Lisican girl is singing, a soft wordless ballad. When she sees Jay she stops.
“Jidadaa.” Kula points to her. “Jay.”
Jidadaa just looks at Jay, her face neutral, hands hiding each other, lower lip glistening in the dim light.
“Hey, what’s up?” His greeting feels so awkward and paltry he resolves to do better. “Jay Darmer. Uh. Nice to meet you.” It’s clear what he’s looking at here, a mother and daughter. And now the whole story makes sense. Kula fell in love with some mystery military dude. They had a baby. She had to hide. He still provides for her somehow? They’re in touch by radio? “I like your song.”
Jidadaa’s eyes twitch and a tiny smile teases the corner of her mouth. She is angular with a prominent nose and wavy brown hair, but her mother’s slyness is still in her, around the broad cheekbones and shifting eyes. She edges her way into the chamber, beginning to sing again. There is a coiled excitement in her that makes Jay think she’s about to spring some surprise on him. But she looks so harmless. How bad can it be?
Jidadaa hugs herself in her stained hoodie, one palm running up and down the other arm. Her song seems to be nonsense syllables in a simple scale, like when someone plays around on a piano without knowing how to bring it to life. Jay starts adding his own notes to her song and she stops, clapping a hand over her mouth. Now she is quite close to him. She sticks out her hand.
“Uh, hi.” Jay and Jidadaa shake hands, like business partners.
Ξ
When the vessels of your body are empty, they collapse, the walls sucking up wetly against each other. Your esophagus doesn’t stay open when not in use. It rests flat like a bike tire’s uninflated tube.
It is in such an evacuated space that Pradeep now finds his body. The walls of the pit cling to him, robbing him of sight and sense and air. Freezing mucus and mud coat his skin, leaching the last of his vitality away. He has finally lost his battle against the curse within him and slid down, down, down… For too long he’s been thrashing in a panic to get out. Now stars are blooming in his vision and he knows that oxygen isn’t getting to his brain. This is the end. And he can’t feel Maahjabeen’s embrace any more.
The stars cover his vision and the world goes white.
Pradeep kneels on cold flagstones. He is bent into a deep prostrate pose, like he’s doing yoga or praying to Maahjabeen’s god. He looks up, surveying a space filled with light, infinitely wide. Is that where he is? Has he crossed some threshold into the divine?
People at the end of their lives talk about letting go of their earthly cares. But Pradeep burns with regrets. A coruscating waterfall of hopes and plans and memories rushes through him, filling him with an unbearable ache of lost opportunity. He was by every measure too young. And his life was just about to get really really good.
Footsteps echo in the distance. He turns, trying to locate their source, but he can’t find anyone approaching from the glare on the horizon from any direction.
He opens his mouth to call out but he realizes he would only do so as a function of his anxiety. What? Oh, fucking great. Not even in death does he escape it? Bloody hell. It has become too much a part of who he is for him to leave it behind. Anxiety is in his soul.
So this is his soul. It did survive biological death. Fascinating. And how many of the other stories are true? He recalls the five layers of a human form in the Taittiriya Upanishad. The body on the outside, then biological energy, mental energy, intuition and wisdom, and deep inside is his core essence, a seed of eternal bliss. Well let us get on with it. I am ready to shed the outer layers to find my blissful center, because I certainly do not feel it now.
Remembering the lessons of his boyhood, Pradeep sits cross-legged in a lotus pose and rests his wrists on his knees. He closes his eyes, or whatever passes for eyes here, and allows his mind to calm so he can more properly listen.
He hears the footsteps again. He had thought that whoever was coming would inevitably reach him here but perhaps that isn’t true. Perhaps they’re looking for him in this bright directionless place and can’t find him. Perhaps they’re lost.
Pradeep’s mouth opens to call out. But then his anxiety, disguised as common sense, reminds him that he may not want who-or-what-ever it is in this unknown place to find him. He may want to remain hidden. At least until he knows more of who it is.
His eyes snap open, anxiety building toward panic. Oh, he just had to introduce the idea of extra-dimensional terrors into his list of neuroses, didn’t he? Now how will he ever have a moment’s rest again? He takes a shuddering breath of sharply clean air and tries to master himself. Come on, Pradeep. You can do this. You have no choice. Face your future.
With an assertive impulse Pradeep rises to his feet. “I am here,” he calls out in a ringing voice. Too loud. But it had sounded resolute. Liking that, he stands taller.
The footsteps grow louder, seeming to come from all around. Then they resolve into a shadow, a dark stain in the glare directly ahead. A hunched figure waddles toward him. It is an old man with a brown face, bits of feather and fur hanging from his fringes. He grunts at Pradeep then mutters in a sing-song Pradeep almost recognizes. This isn’t who he expected at all.
The man stops in front of Pradeep and scowls up at him, still muttering. Pradeep realizes it is the language he’s been hearing the last couple weeks. “You’re Lisican.”
The man holds up a leather loop in one hand and turns a glittering stare onto Pradeep. “Ja sam Wetchie-ghuy.”
Chapter 27 – Ji-da-daa
July 1, 2024
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:
27 – Ji-da-daa
Pradeep’s phone buzzes. It is one of the reminders he set to repeat each year, every April 12th. FILE TAXES. Well. That will certainly be a problem. He is surprised at himself for not anticipating this. Usually he is very detailed and obsessive when it comes to financial matters. He just hadn’t connected the fully off-the-grid nature of this project with his finances. “Fuck. Damn.” He is so poor at cursing. And now he can hate himself for that too. “Bollocks!”
He throws off his bag and pulls himself from under his pyramid tarp and stalks away barefoot onto the sand, rubbing sleep from his eyes. The camp is lit by the faintest blue light of dawn. Nobody is awake. But Maahjabeen ducks her head out, quickly scanning the silent tents before shooting him a meaningful, intimate glare.
Pradeep wants to call out, wake the whole camp, ask who else forgot to take care of their basic paperwork. But half these people aren’t even American and others, like Alonso, have had bigger problems. This is Pradeep’s alone to deal with. So he gestures uselessly at his phone and makes a plaintive face at Maahjabeen, then wanders out toward the beach. He climbs the log, the chill of the wind off the open ocean cutting through his base layers. It is far too cold to be out here without a windbreaker. Whatever. It is his punishment for being such a dumbass.
The horizon is dark, bruised nearly black. Perhaps a storm passes them to the south, heading for the coast of North America. It will slam into the waiting Pacific Northwest and cover it with rain. That unbroken stretch of green forest that runs from Alaska down to like Santa Barbara is so amazing. Fed constantly by these storms spinning outward like a reverse whirlpool, flinging wind and water and life itself out into the wide world. Lisica is like the seed of all life, right in the center of this vortex like the pearl of an oyster. The vision thrills him, reversing what he thought was surely true. In this scenario, it is the genesis point itself, using the storms to cast all kinds of embryonic potential outward. Lisica, not Eden, is the secret garden from which all life emerged.
It’s a silly notion but it takes his mind off his troubles. Another figure scrambles onto the log beside him. It is Maahjabeen in her coat and boots. “What is wrong?” Her face is intense, nearly irate.
Pradeep steps away from her, afraid for her sake they might be seen together by anyone else. But she steps closer, clasping his arm. He just shakes his head. Her passion is too great for his silly error. It makes him feel a fool. He shrugs. “It’s just. My taxes. I forgot to pay them, I mean file them, before I left. It’s nothing.”
“Ohh…” She releases his arm.
“I’m just an idiot. I’m just angry with myself.”
“That is such a relief. I mean… I thought, well, I thought you had somehow found out, I mean, from your reaction back there, I would have guessed someone in your family had died.” She casts her eyes down, her brows flickering with pain.
They haven’t yet spoken of this. They haven’t had enough time alone together to peel away the layers of grief still tormenting Maahjabeen. He has wanted to say something but he doesn’t ever want to presume. He just wants to kiss her and take her in his arms and baby her while she lets it all go.
She scowls, clearing her head with a sharp toss. “I knew there was no way you could be getting a notification. I still… I had to see. Because, you know, when I found out such a terrible thing myself, I was totally alone. For a long time. And that made it very hard.”
Pradeep is overwhelmed by longing for this goddess beside him. Casting caution to the very cold wind, he pulls on her hand and they topple forward over the far side of the log so that no others might see them. They crawl across the freezing sand into the shelter she rebuilt, unable to resist touching and tasting each other.
He’s shivering. Oh, her sweet boy is too thin to survive this ocean wind without the proper gear. She will be his blanket. Maahjabeen unzips her jacket and covers Pradeep with her warmth.
Ξ
“Anyone seen Jay this morning?”
“He’s in the sub with Triquet and Mandy,” Katrina calls out from the tables beside the bunker.
Amy enters, shaking her head. “We had a date to collect some creekside gametophytes. What are they doing in the sub?”
“Who knows?” Katrina is busy with her linguistic puzzles. “They’ve been down there since last night.”
“Crazy kids.” Amy descends through the trap door into the sub, where she finds the entire top floor empty. She lowers herself to the next level to find Triquet in the main room among their stacks. For the first time, Amy realizes Triquet hasn’t dressed with their usual flamboyance since their ordeal in the village. She hopes nothing’s wrong. “Uh. Hey there.”
Triquet looks up, a bit of a worn, sad look on their face. “Oh. Hi, Amy. Is it morning already?”
Amy nods. “My goodness, Doctor. Have you been up all night?”
Triquet nods, glum, trailing long delicate fingers over a stack of files. “Couldn’t let it go. Haunted.”
“Haunted by what?” A shiver crawls up the back of Amy’s neck but she quickly suppresses it.
“The image of Katrina’s shawl. That Eyat piece. I swear I saw something similar in the files here. At some point. But I’ve checked my notes and I can’t find it. I must not have annotated it, like a big dumbbell. Or maybe I did but I used a descriptor for it I’m just not remembering. I really need a better tagging system. It’s driving me craaaaazy.”
“What was it? A photo or…?”
“I can’t remember! There’s so much material here and I’ve gone cross-eyed over the last few weeks trying to index it all. Thousands of entries. Tens of thousands to go. But I just know I saw… ugh, something. I just can’t remember what.”
Amy gives Triquet a hug. At first their body is rigid, intent on their project. But soon the warmth and human contact sinks deep. Then Triquet allows themself to be held. The two of them stand in silence, needing it. “Oh… thank you, Doctor Kubota.”
Amy steps away. “You’re welcome, Doctor Triquet. Any time.”
“People… who need people…” Triquet begins to sing, lacing their fingers in with Amy’s.
“Are the luckiest people…!” Amy joins in.
“In the world…!” They finish.
Amy laughs. “Hey now, you’re not old enough to know Barbara Streisand. That’s illegal.”
“No way. Yentl was my first crush.”
Amy sighs. “Young Babs is my kryptonite. What’s Up, Doc? Ooo baby. She’s amazing.” They share a laugh.
Triquet sags, wilting in the face of so many documents. They don’t know what to try next. This is hopeless. Finally someone actually needs an archaeologist to be of use on this crazy trip and Triquet is unable to provide.
“I didn’t even know you had such… neutral clothes.” Amy picks at the sleeve of Triquet’s khaki short-sleeve work shirt.
“It was for the Lisicans. I wanted to dress, well, I didn’t want our interaction to be about my fashion choices. I wanted it to be about that stupid display that none of them ever looked at. And the other reason is I have just loads of laundry to get done.” Triquet lifts a thick file they’ve already gone through five times and drops it again. “I swear, Amy, if I have to take another loss today I just think I might have to bring out the black veil and get maudlin.”
The words are lightly-spoken but their bitterness can’t be denied. Amy rests her head against Triquet’s shoulder. They are so much taller. Just a pale figure, standing strong and alone. Amy tilts her head back and smiles up at Triquet. “You know what, Triq? I really admire you.”
Triquet shakes off the compliment. “Wha-a-a-at? You admire that I can’t keep track of my own collections? How sweet.”
“No. I admire… who you are. The path you’ve taken in life. Sorry. Kind of out of the blue, I know. I just wanted to let you know. I know it’s not always easy. Actually, it’s never easy, is it?”
Triquet smiles gently, feeling a bit patronized. “Thank you, dear. That’s very nice, I guess. No, it isn’t ever easy, watching everyone pair off and have flings while I’m left with no one. No one but my chiffon and lace! You’re very sweet to think of me. Most people don’t. But what made you think of it? Do you… have someone like me in your life?”
“Do I…?” Amy’s brow wrinkles. “Uh, yeah. Me. I have me in my life. My whole life.”
Triquet doesn’t understand what all that pronoun wrangling is about. They just pat Amy’s hand and shake their head, a teensy mystified and bemused. “Yes. Well, we all do, don’t we?” Oh, well. It had been a nice gesture, but now Triquet is beginning to feel a bit like they’ve just been All Lives Matter-ed out of their identity. Of course everyone has their own memories of shame and ostracism. It’s just a bit different being non-binary.
But Amy won’t let it rest. “Oh my god, didn’t anybody tell you? I was sure Mandy would have told you.” She guffaws into her hands.
“Told me what, sweetie?” Triquet tries to force their attention back to the records. This conversation is getting too awkward. But they are just so tired. Maybe they should go crawl in bed.
Amy seizes Triquet’s hands and beams at them. “I was born in a male body, Triquet. I transitioned… well, half a lifetime ago now. I mean, I still transition every day. And I’ve had to deal with all of it. Lost a teaching position. Sued the university. Got hate mail. Still get hate mail. Chased out of a bathroom once, well, actually—”
“Oh, sweet child!” Triquet has no idea where the tears suddenly come from. They wrap Amy in a fierce and passionate embrace. Then they hold her out at arm’s length. “You are? Why didn’t anyone…?” But Triquet knows the answer to that before they finish asking it. Everyone handles their gender issues in their own way. Oh, but what they wouldn’t have given to know they had a real sister here this whole time! “Oh, Amy. You are the most beautiful goddess I’ve ever known!”
Amy laughs. “You said it again! Remember? When we met? You called me a goddess? And I said we were going to be best friends?”
“Ohhh it all makes sense now. You sweet sweet little…” Triquet is filled with love. Relief. Safety. A sense of belonging. They catch Amy up in another fierce hug and dot her face with kisses. “But wait. I don’t understand. Did Alonso…? I mean, when you were dating. He knew you were trans, right? He must have.”
“It was before, when I still identified as a gay man.”
“Wait. Alonso’s…? Aaaaaaaahhh! What is happening? I thought I knew who all you people were!” Triquet grips their head in their hands, reeling against the work table. “I’m always telling people not to fall victim to their own assumptions and I just—wow. I’m so sorry, Amy. I’m making more assumptions than anyone.”
“Not at all. I just wanted you to know. So you don’t have to feel so alone, Triquet. We—I mean none of us are gender-fluid—”
“Non-binary.”
“Non-binary. Right. Sorry. But the point is, we’re not the squares you think we are. Not in the least. In fact, go back a few decades the three of us were considered positively dangerous. We’re just old and tired now.”
Now Triquet thinks of a young dashing Alonso, a fierce Miriam, a brave Amy. Wow. The 80s just got a lot more interesting. These people must have been young gods. Triquet shakes their head in disbelief. “Did you come down here just to tell me that? I mean, why now? Do I look so forlorn?”
“Oh. Right. No, I’m looking for Jay. Have you seen him?”
“Yeah, he and Mandy went into the tunnels hours ago.”
“Well.” Amy steps back from Triquet with a sweet smile. “Guess I’ll go find them. Good luck with your haystack and needle and everything. But you should really get some sleep first.”
Triquet nods, the emotions draining from their limbs, leaving nothing but heavy-lidded exhaustion. But now it is a different exhaustion. Triquet feels swaddled up like a newborn. As Amy ducks through the next hatch, they call out, “Hey.” Amy stops and ducks her head back under with a querying look. “I admire you too. Goddess of the Hearth.”
Amy shakes her head and rolls her eyes in pleasure. “You always know just what to say!” She blows a kiss and returns to the dimly lit chamber ahead, still in search of Jay and Mandy. Into the last room and down the hole… The remains of Esquibel’s barricade have been neatly stacked against one wall. She sits on the edge of the metal panels and dangles her feet over. The joys of being short.
And then, at the bottom, where she has to wriggle through the long mud cave, she gains no advantage from her small stature. Because as well as being the shortest member of the team, she’s the thickest. So, if anything, she gets even more filthy than the others. The joys of being… spherical.
But Amy has long ago accepted that she will never be the girlish Liza Minelli in Cabaret of her dreams. Although she did all she could through college to learn those tap dance routines. Well. That was an unexpected encounter with Triquet, but so necessary! And now, by the light of her phone, she navigates to the left-hand tunnel and the sound of voices in the distance.
Amy pops out into the bottom of a chimney filled with a meter or more of wet ash and a slurry of cinders. Jay is crouched on a bit of solid ground above the mess on the far wall. Mandy sloshes through the stew, drenched and stained nearly black by her hours of exertions. “Hey!” Amy calls out.
Mandy screams in surprise and nearly loses her footing.
Jay gasps at Amy, then immediately starts laughing to expel the sudden shot of adrenaline. “Hey hey. What up, boss.”
“We had a date, young man.” Amy peers upward, to see the chimney arrow straight upward with a ragged hole of gray way high up at the very top. As she watches, a tiny cloud crosses the opening, proving to her what she sees. “Who-o-o-o-a…!” She looks down at them in wonder. “How high is that?”
“Thinking like 400 meters or more,” Jay shrugs. “Straight up.”
“You two are crazy!” Amy laughs at them. “That’s so high! What do you even think you can do in here?”
“Well. It’s kinda been a long process, I guess.” Jay scrubs his hair while Mandy continues wading in circles, feeling for something with her feet. “It took hours just to break the last of the big burnt pieces into little pieces so we could get in here. Then we, well, we made some silly guesses about what we were seeing until we figured it out. It’s much more clear now, with the daylight up there.”
“We sort of had to reverse-engineer… No! I’ve already been here! Ugh.” Mandy reverses course. “So I mean yeah, Jay and I argued, and I now admit that we might not be able to get to the top this way ourselves but we started thinking, well, how the fuck did the military ever get up and down this shaft?”
“Elevator?” Amy guesses. “Honey, you got to get out of that water, your teeth are chattering.”
“In a minute. Right. An elevator. Must have been. Ain’t nobody climbing a ladder for hundreds of meters. So if I can just find the old metal connections down here… Not here… Oh, my feet are so numb I’m not sure I’d even feel them if I did. Like pulleys we think? Or at least some kind of anchor points…”
“And Mandy won’t let it drain any more before she checks.” Jay gave up an hour ago. “Sorry. Forgot about the date, Amy. Or, I mean, I actually didn’t, I just didn’t know it was already dawn.”
“It’s like 8:30. You two have been down here for like ten hours.”
“F-fine.” Mandy has waded over toward Amy and now holds her trembling arms upward like a child asking to be picked up. “We can come back in an hour.”
“Ha.” Amy pulls the waifish girl from the water and drags her up the slope of the passage floor to a dry spot before letting go. “You can come back tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow!” Mandy wails, but she doesn’t resist as Amy pulls her close and briskly rubs her back with a strong hand.
“Yes, Mandy. Tomorrow.” Amy shares a perplexed glance with Jay. What is wrong with Mandy? Her obsessive behavior is going to give her pneumonia.
Jay slides back into the slurry, wincing at the cold as he wades across. He is so done with freezing water. Even his bones are cold. “I know, but what was I gonna do, leave her?”
Ξ
Now that Plexity is mostly up and running, Flavia has taken a break from all the bug reports its users are generating to work a bit on the atmospheric modeling Katrina suggested they do for Mandy. First, they need to build a model of the lagoon and cliff faces in a virtual environment, then they should be able to start running processes.
It seemed like an impossible task at first. But Flavia discovered that the drone captures its flight path down to the closest meter. It also has collision-avoidance that doesn’t allow it to get closer than three meters to an object. So she and Katrina have spent all morning criss-crossing the lagoon, beach, creek, grove, and cliffs up to about a hundred meters, all at a three meter distance from said objects. Now their batteries are re-charging.
She has downloaded the flight data and created a plot of 1m2 resolution. It’s nearly a square kilometer so at a hundred meter height she has one hundred million data points. She can already feel her poor CPU crying. Katrina says she’ll build a beautiful visual representation of the wind current data but Flavia needs no such graphical user interface. She is happy with the columns of raw data. It is a nearly randomly-generated testbed, like a Minecraft seed. But it still follows organic principles of fractal erosion and Fibonacci propagation. The record in this dataset for vertical change between one square meter node and the next is on the cliffs, where there is a thirty-one meter differential. Amazing. They should also skin these tiles. Then she can assign friction values to each and perhaps, who knows, heat and humidity values? Well. Flavia will create the template and Mandy can hang whatever values she likes on them. Assuming they don’t melt their processors. But there will be shortcuts aplenty once it is up and running. Algorithms will automate nearly all of it once it is properly characterized. This will be fun! Of course it remains useless until they get proper readings for wind currents in the higher atmosphere but it is a good start.
Triquet emerges from a cell wearing their fanciest evening gown, dark blue satin adorned with costume jewels. They sashay around the bunker, dark red lipstick making their mouth a voluptuous heart. Without a word they approach each person and kiss them soundly on the cheek before discreetly re-applying the lipstick and moving on to the next. Soon, Flavia, Esquibel, and Maahjabeen are all kissed. And they are each given small gifts, chocolates wrapped with a tiny hand-written-and-decorated invitation.
Flavia cackles when Triquet kisses her. She needed someone to brighten her mood and here they are. She opens the invitation. It says, “Something special is in the air!” Bells and stars adorn the card. “Lunch outside at 1pm sharp, please.”
There is something about this day where everything feels settled. Flavia’s past life in Torino and Bergamo seems a faded dream now. This is her daily routine. She has adapted to squatting over the stinking trenches and casting handfuls of sand on her feces. Cold showers under the waterfall have become a thrilling treat and her little cell makes her imagine herself a nun in a convent, devoted in contemplation to the grand mysteries of life. And the beauty of the island can’t be denied. It is filling her with something deep and green, like the ancient Roman alabaster statues that grow moss on their lower fringes. She is ancient now like them, integrated into the world in ways she has never been, or ever wanted to be.
Katrina spins down the narrow hall between the cells, as pretty as a doll in Triquet’s borrowed finery. Her arms are above her head like she is some kind of calypso dancer and she is adorned with shiny bells and bands of gold. Her slender body is wrapped in tight layers of gold and silver lamé. A lion’s face has been artfully painted upon hers, with whiskers above hollows in her furred cheeks and a golden brow. “You are absolutely a vision!” Flavia catches her hand as she passes and kisses it.
Katrina purrs, “You think I don’t know?” She bumps her hip into Flavia’s shoulder then bends and kisses her other cheek.
“What is happening here? What is so special? Is it Carnaval?”
“No idea, love.” Katrina giggles. “But when Triquet tells you it’s open season on their wardrobe you don’t ask questions.” With a flourish, Katrina passes through the door to the camp outside.
Flavia hasn’t been on many field expeditions. In her experience, a career in mathematics has generally led to a lot of solitude with workstations and socially-inept conferences in sterile work spaces. But are life sciences expeditions all like this? Flavia turns to Maahjabeen. “Eh, sorellina, is today a holiday and I didn’t know?”
Maahjabeen is staring at her phone, hypnotized by the display options Plexity is offering her as she inputs tidal data from various points on the lagoon. Katrina has really outdone herself in offering ways to present, annotate, and track data. She is so impressed she doesn’t see Katrina’s costume and can’t tear her eyes from her screen. “Eh, Flavia…? What did you call me? What is a sorellina?”
“Ah. Little sister. No. Listen. I feel like I have been missing out. Are all biologist field trips like this such a party all the time?”
“What? No. Never.” Maahjabeen grimaces at the door and dismisses it all with a backward wave of her hand. “These people are weird. It is because of Alonso, I think. He is the first weird one. And he got Amy and Miriam to bring all their other weird people here. Then there is Katrina with her music and that drug addict Jay. These are not normal scientists. Not by any means.”
“Oh, good. I felt like I was taking the crazy pills. How do these people ever get any work done? I mean, not that I mind. I don’t always need it to be so formal…” And as if to prove her point, Katrina’s music blares from the camp, a lively Brazilian festival tune with a cheering chorus and lots of horns and drums.
At that moment, Jay and Mandy climb the stairs to the trap door and emerge from the rear of the bunker, shaking with cold and covered head to foot in ash and mud. But the music immediately grabs Jay and he shuffles stiffly forward. “What’s that I hear? The song of my peeps. All right. Hold on, DJ Bubblegum. On my way.”
His filthy appearance and joyous reaction are so preposterous that the initial shock Esquibel, Maahjabeen, and Flavia had upon seeing Jay and Mandy is released as gales of laughter. Jay waddles out the door, whooping like a cowboy. But Mandy is in more dire need. She collapses in Esquibel’s arms.
“Oh my god, Mands. You’re a mess. What have you done?”
“I’ve been…” Mandy releases a shuddering breath, “doing real work. Finally. After all these weeks. I’ve been working.”
“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Esquibel begins peeling clothes from Mandy’s soaked body.
Amy appears with two large towels, wiping her own clothes clean. “Wait. Where’s the boy?”
Flavia leans forward and peers out the door. “Dancing. Poorly.”
“What a loon. Oh, wow. What’s the big celebration here?”
Flavia shrugs. “Nobody knows but Triquet.”
Triquet, dancing a fair bit better than Jay, reappears in the door and hands out more invitations. They kiss Amy soundly on the cheek and crow, “This party is for Doctor Kubota! Goddess of the Hearth!” Then they hand Mandy an invitation but Esquibel fends off their ritual kiss until she can scrub Mandy’s cheek clean.
“There.”
Triquet leans in and kisses the clean cheek presented. “Oh, dear one. You’re freezing!” Triquet breathes into the hollow of Mandy’s neck and holds her icy hands as Esquibel scrubs her back.
Flavia realizes she will get no more work done this day. With a sigh she saves her work one last time and puts her laptop to sleep. Well, she is hungry anyway. And if there is drinking in the future she needs to have something in her empty belly first.
The day outside is eerily beautiful. The marine layer that nearly always covers the sky now only rests atop the island, like a dark gray hat that protects it from prying eyes. But the surrounding sea is luminous green with sunlight. And the wind is warm. Ahh. She could get used to a warm wind. It feels like such a luxury.
Katrina is up on her platform, swaying in time to her beats. Flavia is struck once again by the vision. This lively sprite… she deserves a better nickname than DJ Bubblegum. It occurs to Flavia that she must actually have one. She is a real DJ in Australia. She must have like a professional stage name. She crosses to Katrina and shouts up at her, “You are fabulous. What is your real name?”
Katrina isn’t sure she heard Flavia right so she pulls her headphones all the way off and laughs. “Repeat that?”
“We call you DJ Bubblegum. But what is your real DJ name?”
“Oh. Ha. I’ve had several. When I was fifteen me and my mates just took silly names. I was Seventy-heaven and I spun J-pop and house. Then when I was really into dark techno and gabber they called me Lamassu. But for the last few years I’ve been on this lush electro thing and I’m known as haiku triplet.”
“Haiku triplet? That’s what people call you?”
“It’s my slogan, a haiku with a little extra on the end:
First I will measure
the breadth of my life
and then I will cut to its depth.”
Flavia nods, appreciating the rule-breaking rhythmic triplet of the last line. Katrina hops back to her decks for a transition into a disco beat. Flavia turns away, recalling her mission to get food, but Jay grabs her by the hands and gets her dancing with him. She does all she can to avoid his mud and ash but within moments they mark her clothes. Ah well. Not that this top was clean anyway.
She finally disentangles herself and slips away to the kitchen tables, where she locates a clean plate and fork. Peeking under several pot lids rewards her with beans and rice. Topped with some of this horrible American parmesan and olive oil it isn’t half bad.
Flavia sits on the edge of Alonso’s platform beside him in his camp chair. She puts a hand on his shoulder, to ask if she can get him anything, but before words can issue from her open mouth he gasps. They all do. A troop of young Lisicans has issued from the door of the bunker. They are bare-chested, carrying nets and double-pronged fishing spears. They had been chattering but when the door opens they fall silent and goggle at Katrina’s music and the details of the camp.
“Uh oh. Wait. Hey.” Amy doesn’t know what to say. She stands and waves her hands ineffectually in both warning and welcome.
Katrina cuts the volume by half and grimaces in apology. She doesn’t know how bizarre that looks through her lion makeup. Jay, dancing with his eyes closed, raises his arms when the volume drops and bawls, “Aw, c’mon!” Then he opens his eyes and sees the villagers huddled by the door. “Ah. Oh. Hey, what’s up, my brothers and sisters? Fuck yeah. Little bit of dancing, little bit of fishing. This day’s looking up!” He claps his hands softly to the beat as he approaches the Lisicans, waddling on stiff legs. “Hey, gang. How they runnin’?”
The boldest of the Lisicans, a young woman they have seen before up in the village, steps into the camp. She speaks a long string of words to Jay, then points at him with the tip of her thumb, as if she is identifying him. “Ya-assa-ghay.”
Katrina mimics that last word into her mic, “Ya-assa-ghay,” looping the phrase over and over again in an echo. The Lisicans turn toward the sound in wonder as it skirls up a major scale and shatters like glass. “Okay. Sorry, that was a bit much. But check it out, peeps. Uh… ‘Lisica,’” she breathes, making it echo gently in a soothing refrain, fading like waves on the shore.
The villagers talk energetically to each other, recognizing the word. Katrina squeals with pleasure, jumping from her platform and bringing the microphone with her. She stands in front of the young woman with her friendliest smile. “Good morning.”
The young woman points at her own face with the tip of her thumb and says, “G̱óo-n-aa.”
“G̱óo-n-aa? That’s your name?” But the rising inflection of the question is obviously wrong. Katrina repeats it as a musician, not a linguist, getting the pace and intonation right. “G̱óo-n-aa.”
G̱óo-n-aa smiles when Katrina speaks her name into the mic.
“I’m Katrina. Uh. Bontiik. Listen up. G̱óo-n-aa…” She sings it, a long pretty croon that maintains the tonal profile but elongates the vowels. Katrina retreats to her platform where she records another loop and mixes the name into a violin arpeggio. G̱óo-n-aa cries out in a register that’s alien to the researchers. They can’t tell if it’s pleasure or outrage or terror. The other Lisicans start calling out G̱óo-n-aa as well, layering their voices in with the dance track. It is soon a discordant wreck, but everyone seems merry about it except for G̱óo-n-aa.
She steps through the camp, gaze turning from the laptop to the kitchen tables to the parachute hanging above. Then her eyes drop to the beach. She is alarmed to see the huge fallen redwood trunk, and calls out to the other villagers, making it clear that she hasn’t seen the beach since the tree fell a couple weeks before.
“Who wants to hear their name next?” Katrina asks into the mic.
Alonso holds up a hand. “Katrina. It’s too much.”
She smiles, abashed, knowing it’s true. With a sigh she steps back, shaking her head in rueful surrender. She just couldn’t switch gears fast enough and now she’s spooked them. Not that there was going to be a chance they’d meet in the middle today, not when her enthusiasm was already so high. “Good call, Alonso. I was about to offer them some LSD.”
“Katrina! How could you—?” Mandy sputters, outraged that she could ever consider such a thing.
“Joking. Just joking here.” Katrina holds up her hands. “Sorry. I like cracking jokes in inappropriate settings. I thought we’d already discovered that about me.”
The Lisicans, unburdened for a moment by the attention of the researchers, take the opportunity to slip out onto the beach. They climb the trunk and disappear on the far side, Jay not too far behind. The others only watch as he clambers stiffly over the log and calls out to the Lisicans before dropping out of view.
The others stand, watching, the forgotten music still pumping out a disco beat. Finally, Pradeep rouses himself. “So this lagoon is a regular fishing resource for them. We should have registered that when they came through last time. So that changes our approach here doesn’t it? This lagoon and beach isn’t any kind of pristine ecological environment, Alonso. It is being harvested and most likely cultivated by this, uh, this civilization here. This is a garden, not a wild forest. We can’t properly characterize the life on Lisica without…” He trails away, knowing Alonso doesn’t want to hear it.
But Alonso is a scientist, and this is where the data leads. Human presence and all that it implies. He sighs in acceptance. Regardless of the headaches it will cause, Lisicans fishing in the lagoon is what life on the island is actually about. Now he just wishes he’d thought to bring his friend Alastair Brock, a wonderful anthropologist. He would have known just what to do with these villagers. But none of the rest of them really do. “We will need to figure out how to handle these interactions. Like Esquibel said, we need some kind of protocol. We should work on developing that, team. Until then… Eh… Just keep the locals safe and treat them with respect. That is our first priority.”
“Yes, we should all be wearing masks, people.” Esquibel hurries to the kitchen tables and opens one of the plastic bins beneath, where she finds a box of unopened masks. She hands them out. “Ugh. And we should definitely be getting one to Jay.”
“I’m beginning to wonder if they really have any effect.” Miriam holds hers in her hands, not yet putting it on.
“Oh, Doctor Truitt,” Esquibel begins. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those. People who think masks don’t work aren’t—”
“Nay, I’m not an idiot. I know a properly-fitted medical-grade mask does its job. I’m just saying we’ve been afraid this whole time that we’d get these islanders sick. But so far our hygiene has been… not great, and we keep having contacts with them where they have long exposures to us when we’re not wearing masks, I mean, like that one time when the kids had Katrina for hours in the rain down here? And as far as we know none of them have gotten sick. Has anyone seen any signs of illness in the Lisicans since we’ve made contact?”
They all shake their heads no, sharing frowns.
“No no no. That is very bad news,” Pradeep stands and crosses his arms. “Because I can only think of a couple scenarios where that is possible and one of them isn’t possible at all, that they have some kind of super-universal immunity to all the diseases that we have stored in us.”
“Yes, there is no way that is true.” Esquibel is at a loss. “That would be a medical miracle that has never been seen yet it is impossible. But it has only been a couple weeks. Perhaps many of the diseases we have infected them with are still incubating?” Her voice trails off even as she says it, the likelihood of that being true of every strain of herpes and rhinovirus that they carry as a matter of course can’t be true either.
“So then what’s your other scenario, Pradeep?” Flavia demands. “The one that is making you so nervous?”
He blanches. “The other, likely, possibility we may have to consider here is that the Lisicans have enough regular contact with others in the modern world that they’ve already had their plagues and adaptations and gained enough immunity to global diseases. And if that is the case, then that means we may not be as alone here as we think we are…”
“Ehhh… No, I do not like that idea,” Esquibel exclaims. “Like who are we talking? Like—like spies?”
“Shouldn’t you be the one who knows?” Miriam shakes her head with worry. “But getting back to my original point, let me be clear: I’m not saying we should stop using masks. I’m just disturbed by the lack of, uh, medical issues that have been caused so far.”
“Who else could it be?” Flavia wonders. “There was that Chinese plane wing that Maahjabeen discovered.”
“Maybe the Japanese? How long have they been gone from that other bunker you discovered during the storm, Maahjabeen?”
“No no.” She dismisses the idea. “The Japanese have been gone since the end of the war. The Russians were in there after. Maybe it is them. Maybe there are still Russians who come in. Or maybe it’s more American military types. There is no reason to believe, well, anything they have told us about the history of the island. It has been nothing but surprises since we came here.”
“Or… somebody private…?” Katrina thinks back to the Jules Verne book she read when she was like twelve about an island in the Pacific and the evil genius who lived in the sea caves beneath. “Wait. Wasn’t that Captain Nemo? In the story?” But she can tell she’s lost them all. “Or maybe like a James Bond villain somewhere down there. We could’ve been drinking martinis this whole time.”
Esquibel shakes her head. “No, please no fantasy stories right now. It makes no sense. But Pradeep is correct. With the amount of contact we’ve had, we should have seen at least a common cold or two by now. But I don’t know how to actually plan for that. We just don’t have evidence for other, eh, modern people being here. Yet another security concern for us. I wish you would let me at least fortify the bunker. We must remain vigilant.”
The music stops. Katrina scurries off to the bunker, to return with her laptop and its list of Eyat phrases. Triquet sighs, sad. “Apparently so. Mother mercy it’s hard getting you people in a proper party mood and when I finally do, the locals show up and ruin all our fun. Colonial tourism just isn’t the glory it used to be.”
“What is this party anyway, Triquet? What is it about a lunch?” Alonso is glad the subject has been changed. He is never happy to have geopolitics and paranoia dominate his science mission.
“Oh. Well. Just a little celebration I wanted to have. Not that I did any cooking. You’re all on your own for that. But I just wanted to… I’ve been feeling… very alone here… But I had a marvelous little gabfest with Doctor Goddess Kubota here and found out I’m not quite the special little pony here that I thought I was.”
“What are they talking about, Amy?” Alonso turns to her, helpless with confusion.
“Triquet didn’t know you and I were gay lovers.”
“Ah! Yes. The good old days.” Alonso chuckles.
“Wait. What?” Maahjabeen looks from face to knowing face. Evidently she is the last one to not know this. Gay lovers? Is she not understanding some weird American slang? How could that even be true between Alonso and Amy? She is missing something here. She studies Pradeep’s face. He appears unsurprised. What is this, an inside joke? She will ask him when they are alone together.
“Bless. Amy’s old news is worth celebrating?” Miriam laughs. “What if I told you I once made out with Sinead O’Connor?”
Katrina’s head snaps up. “Fuck off. No way.”
Triquet squeals and throws themself into Miriam’s lap. “Details! Details! Was she still bald? What did she smell like?”
But Miriam is laughing too hard to answer.
“See. Here’s the problem.” Katrina slams her laptop closed and gestures at it as if it’s misbehaving. “There’s no Bontiik in this Eyat list. And no Ya-assa-ghay or Wetchie-ghuy. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe they’re from a different language group entirely. And I just can’t wrap my head around some of this phrasing.” She opens her laptop again and reads out, “A ee- ⁓ a- (postpositional pronoun) her; him; to | to her/him (a non-main character of a narrative or event) | third person obviate postpositional • used in certain verbs where something is going towards the object (literally or figuratively).” She screws her face up in consternation. “I mean, there’s this whole weird way of looking at the world they have that is just so alien to us. Like their homeland is an object toward which the sea is directed. But the movement of the sea is the important part. Not the object, the homeland itself. Or it is so modified by activity and motion upon it that it becomes something else.”
This dense info-dump stuns them into silence. In the distance they can hear Jay whoop with joy but they still can’t see him.
Triquet dusts off their skirt and smirks at everyone. “Great party, no? I only throw the best. But anyway. Before I lose the spotlight completely here, I just wanted to share one other little thought about things. Amy, you know how I was down in the sub looking all night for an image I’d seen that reminded me of Katrina’s textile artifact?”
“Oh my god.” Amy sits up. “Did you find it?”
“I did. I couldn’t remember where I’d seen it because it was just a fragment of one of the torn-up photos. And I couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing when I sorted them. But now I’ve put it back together.” Triquet crosses to their platform and lifts a manila folder. Opening it carefully, they show everyone the photo they have painstakingly re-assembled.
“What is that word?” Alonso squints at the letters written above the wall in the grainy black and white photo. It displays an altar with an ancient Eastern Orthodox cross, a battered lacquer reliquary box, a fishing spear made of bone, and a tapestry like the one Katrina photographed. “I think the letters are in Cyrillic.”
Triquet shows the photo to Katrina. Phonetically, she sounds out a word unknown to them all: “Ji-da-daa.”
DW Draffin -- Lisica 