Everyone's Island

by Kris Schnee

  Garrett swore. "What do you think you're doing? I can't have drugs on this station!"

  "Lighten up," said the man. "We're doing our thing, not hurting anybody."

  Noah muttered, "Dumbass."

  Garrett said, "Your fumes are getting into the vent system."

  The man wheeled to look at the air duct. "Oh, oh, I'm sorry, man. I've got a towel. You got some duct tape?"

  "Yeah." Garrett reached for one of his tool-stuffed vest pockets by instinct, but stopped. "Wait. No. I can't let you do drugs."

  The woman said, "Why not? You've got no rule about it."

  This was true. There was a posted list saying in fancy language, "No killing, no stealing, and no destroying stuff", plus the occasional joke someone added like "No fraternizing with dolphins". But that list didn't rule out being a fool and hurting yourself. Garrett sub-voiced to Noah, "It's not against the official rules. I can't bust them."

  "Sure you can," said Noah out loud. "You're the law around here."

  The tourists were watching. Garrett was within his rights to punish them, wasn't he? Still he hesitated, thinking. Am I an administrator, or a tyrant who changes the rules on a whim?

  Noah said, "You're not."

  Had he voiced that? "I can't rightly punish you, this time, but I think this is check-out day."

  "Can we get lunch first?" they said.

  Garrett sighed; at least their money was good. "Noah, would you mind being these people's 'tour guide' until they leave in the next few hours?"

  "Fine." But he added in a sub-voice, "I don't like this, Captain."

  "We'll talk later." Garrett asked the tourists, "Where did you get that, anyway?"

  "A friend on Cuba."

  Garrett relaxed; he'd feared a secret greenhouse. "Don't do this again."

  So, he mused later in his office, the matter had been resolved. He wasn't at all confident it'd stay that way. Even with those two gone, the next bunch might have crack or something. In his limited understanding, some of the new drugs weren't physically addictive, but they were just as illegal.

  Come to think of it, he hadn't yet caught anyone using tobacco. Since Castor was a workplace, it was illegal to smoke within a hundred feet of the station under American law. But Garrett was already breaking any number of workplace rules, some of which were physically impossible to obey here. And he'd not registered Zephyr, he didn't carry all the required insurance, he was operating a de facto hotel without a license, and he was suspicious of the corporate structure tangled in Martin's records. He was pacing, hands behind his back, when Phillip and Tess arrived for a meeting.

  Garrett said to Tess, "You've got Zephyr listening, right? Good." He went on. "I'd like to bring Martin in on this, but he's busy, and it's not something to discuss over a public channel. We just had drug users on the station. The larger problem is, I don't think we could obey US law if we wanted to." He explained the situation.

  "That's stupid," said Tess. "We don't have to follow foreign laws, except maybe Cuba's."

  "Foreign." Garrett pondered the word. "We're American. We could be jailed if we disobey."

  "No way. Nobody could arrest us while we're offshore."

  Phillip broke in. "I am fairly sure they could. The question is whether they would."

  Garrett said, "We can keep this incident quiet, but it's sure to happen again. I'd like your thoughts on what to do."

  Phillip said, "You were the one who refused even a common-sense set of moral laws."

  "No, I agreed to the common-sense ones --" Garrett stopped himself from getting into that argument again. "Look, I still have no police force."

  "Why don't you use your robot to watch visitors for trouble?"

  An answer came from a nearby computer and from Tess. "No."

  "Bah. If the robot won't enforce the law, then, and we humans can't, what does that leave? Anarchy?"

  "It's not that we can't enforce any law at all," said Garrett. "It's that we don't have the resources or the authority to do more than boot people out. And we're breaking US law, like it or not."

  Phillip sat and thought. "What if we stopped being citizens?"

  Tess said, "Huh?"

  "If I and Captain Fox and Martin were to rid ourselves of the whole mess by renouncing our citizenship --"

  "Absolutely not!" said Garrett. "What are you thinking -- that I should give up what I am because it's too annoying to comply with the rules my elected government has imposed?"

  "All right, Captain. Where shall we put the differently-abled car parking spaces? How about the passenger-only elevator? We need to monitor our employees' diet and exercise habits; how shall we do that? Are we spending the required share of our profits on minority-owned businesses within a ten-mile radius of the workplace? And we do need to get the robot busy monitoring all residents' social media posts for hate speech such as positive references to the Confederate States of America."

  "We'll get exceptions for those things. I'm saying --"

  Phillip said, "You'd rather be a criminal and a weasel than say, as the girl has put it, that these rules are stupid?"

  Garrett faced Phillip down. "What you're proposing disgusts me. I'm not here to play at being a rebel. I'm here to make an honest living, and I'll figure out a way to do that."

  "Fine highfalutin theory, Captain. To focus on the drug problem alone, how do we prevent people from getting high?"

  "We can't. We can only say it's not allowed here, and if we catch you we'll throw you off. Not literally."

  Tess looked puzzled. "But we can't let people just do what they want. We have to make sure they stay within the rules in advance, right? But then, I don't want us to be in everyone's faces and ordering them around. Gah, I don't know! Why do we have to decide this at all?"

  Garrett sighed. "I suspect that if we don't find a reasonable answer, others will answer for us. Thanks for your input, everyone. It's a lot to think about."

  * * *

  Garrett found Tess among the Pilgrims, feeding fish. "Come with me tonight to the Hidden Pirate Cave."

  Tess sputtered, "I, uh, all right! Sure!"

  Hidden Pirate Cave was the leveled-up version of the dinky plastic dome Tess had installed underwater. This version was anchored to the seabed and to the main platform. Garrett and Tess dived at sunset when things were getting quiet. By now Garrett was good enough to wear diving gear as easily as a shirt and wise enough to know his limits. He swam slowly with Tess, chatting along the way. "How is Squeaky?"

  "Oh, the little bot? We've gotten some use out of her, inspecting that broken cage we had yesterday. If my mad science department had the equipment we'd do even cooler stuff."

  Garrett was quiet as they entered the depths. The white geodesic dome was only about twelve meters down, but it felt like another world. When his head reached the airspace inside the dome, there was no sound but the water sloshing beneath the trapped air.

  He cranked the lighting system with Tess and they sprawled on the broad ledge that gave the inverted bowl a partial floor. Tess pulled out towels and some pretzels and bottled water. Garrett cranked more charge into the lights and sat there, drying off, knowing he couldn't stay long.

  Tess said, "What if we gave ourselves nitrogen-scrubbers in the blood, so we could stay longer at this pressure?"

  "I guess it'll be possible someday. That and some kind of hybrid human/crocodile hemoglobin for breath-holding." Diving was limited more by physiology than by technology; stuffing more air into a tank wouldn't help if your body chemistry couldn't handle it. Divers had run up against basic physical limitations of their own bodies, and the only way to improve any further was to upgrade themselves.

  "Someday," said Tess with a sigh. "But when? And who's gonna do it?"

  "Maybe us." Garrett eyed her, trying to relax but failing. "Are we actually private down here? Has nobody got access to us -- Zephyr included?"

  She wasn't wearing her headset. "They don't. We're private."

  "Good. I've been wan
ting a little time away from everyone."

  Tess twisted the towel in her hands. "Oh?"

  Garrett watched the light ripple over the water. "Don't take this the wrong way, but -- what's going on between you and Zephyr?"

  "I don't know what you mean." Garrett looked at her until she gave in. "We took some intelligence tests. I'm smart. Zephyr is pretty bright. We are a genius."

  "When you work with him, you mean."

  "It's more than that. We're almost always together. We almost share thoughts and memories. I've told him things."

  "Even...?"

  "The incident with the priest, yeah. We have a kind of friendship going that I'm not sure is even possible between humans."

  Garrett groused, "I bet there are things he can't do for you."

  Tess blushed.

  Immediately Garrett regretted it. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't tease you."

  "You're jealous of us, aren't you?"

  Garrett slumped against the dome's wall. "I guess I am. I want you to be happy, but since Alexis -- since the hurricane, I've been kind of alone. I feel upstaged by Robo-Casanova. Please, for the love of God, don't repeat that."

  Tess smirked, but turned serious again. "I might not be able to help it. When you're subvocalizing a commentary on everything you see, everything you think, things slip out. I sound crazy with all the jingles, obscenities and other nonsense that goes through my head."

  Garrett's jaw hung slightly open. "I've never heard someone else say that."

  "You too? It's not just me and Val?"

  Garrett gave a wan smile and tapped his head. "It's a jungle in here. What do you mean about Val?"

  "Zephyr used to do a simpler version of our chatter with his maker, sometimes. They were close."

  "Close."

  "Yeah. Imagine how he feels at being simultaneously kicked out and kept at home to be redesigned by his creator."

  Garrett thought back to the lobotomized Mana AI that had come with the new body. Deleting that one hadn't felt like killing. "He's not plotting revenge or anything, is he?"

  "He's not like that. I'd know."

  "You'd tell me if there were some problem with him, wouldn't you? I'm not comfortable with knowing that he's listening everywhere."

  "That? That's why we're down here? I thought..." She wouldn't look at him.

  "What?"

  Tess mumbled, "Captain Fox, I thought you might kiss me."

  Garrett sat there for a moment. "Do you want me to?" She nodded, and hesitantly he pulled her close. Their lips met for only a few moments before both of them were too embarrassed to go on. He was wrapped around her with her hair tickling his cheek, and he said, "Someday, maybe."

  She nodded, not needing to speak. There was a closeness here that made him want to have her all to himself -- but that was wrong. He didn't want a relationship except by everyone's free choice. Maybe in a few years, when they were both a little more mature and had some idea of what they were doing.

  Garrett asked, "What will you do when you go back?" The fall school semester was ending, and Tess had promised to be home by Christmas. That didn't leave much time.

  "I guess I can put up with the spring term, and then" -- she moved to look him in the eyes -- "I want to come back here! I don't need college!"

  "What? When did you decide that?"

  "Now. I've found something worthwhile to do, where I can be respected for being useful instead of some BS about having self-esteem for no reason. I can do stuff here. And you're going to stay, right?"

  Garrett started to feel gloomy, as he'd felt on the day of his departure. The lights of Las Vegas, the Constellation at anchor -- he'd never see them again. But that was stupid, a baseless fear.

  "Right?" said Tess.

  Garrett was still a young man. He could declare Castor a success, sell out his share, and go do something else. He felt like he was on autopilot, continuing because he had no plan to do otherwise.

  "Tess, what does this place mean to you?"

  "I don't know."

  "'I don't know' is for the walking dead. I need a better answer."

  "It's unique," she said. "It's a place where we can play at being pioneers. Explorers. I sound silly, I know."

  "You don't. I like it."

  * * *

  The weekend didn't mean much on Castor, except that the Pilgrims were especially tiresome on Sunday. It was Monday night when the radio crackled. "Hispaniola to Castor Station."

  Garrett heard Martin's tired voice and answered. "Castor Station. Hey, Martin. You're riding back with the dive shop's boat?"

  "Yeah. Got another party of visitors. Have you seen any fast boats in the area? There's something odd nearby. Our position is --" He gave coordinates.

  "Any trouble?" Garrett scribbled down the numbers. "We haven't seen anything but the odd sailboat today."

  Martin didn't answer.

  Garrett said, "Come in, Hispaniola. Don't screw around."

  Static.

  Garrett cursed.

  15. Martin

  He shivered when the radio fuzzed out. He exchanged a glance with Carlos the dive shop owner, who sat clutching the boat's wheel.

  "What do we do?" asked Carlos. The unknown boat was approaching, though its red and black hull was barely visible.

  "Full speed ahead to Castor." Martin tried to sound confident.

  Their dinky dive boat, a rigid inflatable, surged through dark water with the engine thrashing. It felt fast. The divers sat in the back, fingering rented scuba gear. One said, "It's probably a coincidence, with the radio."

  "I wouldn't bet my life on that," said Martin. "People, have you got dive knives?" The divers shook their heads, and of course Martin had left his back on the station.

  Carlos said, "I've got one." He nodded towards a locker, unwilling to pry his hands off the wheel.

  Martin pulled out a diamond knife that glittered beautifully. There was something primally satisfying about holding a heavy, sharp thing, as inadequate as it would be in this context.

  Carlos looked at the oncoming vessel. "We're not going to make it." Castor was barely visible.

  Martin tried to hail Castor again, then decided to let the other boat know they saw it. "Hispaniola to unidentified craft approaching us," he said on a range of channels. "We'd feel a lot better if we knew who you are."

  No one answered, and Martin couldn't get anything on the radio but static. The boat drew closer with a hum of water jets, until what looked like a machine gun became visible with a man behind it.

  The hailing, when it came, was raw sound instead of radio, rippling at them in a focused beam. "This is the United States Coast Guard. Stop immediately and put your hands on your heads!"

  Carlos's hands were already in the air. Martin looked at the other boat in disbelief, then reached for the neglected controls, shut them down, and put the knife away. The other boat was in charge.

  It had four men visible. There was a USCG flag, but the men seemed dressed for a fight. "What's this about?" said Martin, hands on his head as three attackers boarded.

  "Let's see some ID. You have passports? Registration?"

  Martin relaxed a little; they were probably legit if they cared about the paperwork. Good old bureaucracy.

  "Who's the captain?" the Guardsmen said.

  Carlos was too scared to answer. Martin said, "He's taking us to Castor Station, of which I'm the leading officer here." He slowly handed over his passport.

  "You, then," said the leader. "Do you have any weapons on board, sir?"

  "A knife, over there."

  The leader took it. "Any drugs?"

  "Drugs! I certainly don't. Any of you?" Martin looked at the frightened faces, wanting to throttle anyone who did. No one answered. The leader nodded to his men, who began searching the luggage, one with a chemsniffer. The other saw a bulging seat cushion and slashed it, finding only stuffing. Thank God, thought Martin.

  "Hey!" said Carlos, leaping from his seat to protest, though being held
at gunpoint had left him mute. "What are you doing? Where's your warrant!"

  "Sit," said the leader.

  "You damaged my property!"

  Martin laid a hand on Carlos and pushed him into his seat before anything worse could happen.

  The leader nodded to Martin, then read the boat's identification papers. "We don't need a warrant. We received a report of drug smuggling, which makes this a counter-terrorism matter."

  Carlos was saying, "Look at a map, you --"

  "Shut up," said Martin. The gears were starting to turn in his head. He did not want negative publicity, not at this stage. "Sorry, sir. If you can tell me more, I'll be happy to help."

  "Two suspects were arrested in Virginia this weekend with cocaine, and explained to the local police that they'd been to your 'research station'. Do you know anything about the production, transport or use of drugs there?"

  "This is news to me. Rest assured, I'll look into it as soon as I get back."

  The leader looked the boat over, finding nooks that his men had missed, but there was no contraband. "See that you do. Sorry to bother you." He put the confiscated knife back in Hispaniola's locker and departed with a salute. Martin returned the gesture, feeling like an idiot.

  Carlos hissed like a fuse for ten seconds as the Coast Guard boat left them, then launched into a fit of curses against Martin, Castor, his boat, the US, the UN and druggies. Martin listened, metaphorically warming his hands by the fire.

  * * *

  Garrett ran to meet him by the dock, looking pale as bleached coral. "Seven hells, man, what happened?"

  "I want you to stop having disasters while I'm away."

  Carlos blurted, "The damn Yankees thought we were drug runners!"

  "They were doing their job," said Martin.

  "Off my coast?" said Carlos.

  "Yeah, they do that."

  The party of divers looked terrified, listening to the exchange. Garrett took charge while Martin was considering how to pacify Carlos: "Welcome, everyone. I don't know what the problem is out there, but here we'll show you a good time." He offered his hand and managed to coax the guests aboard.