The trade winds coming from the East allowed them to set their sails for a comfortable broad reach and they let the autopilot work the wheel. If the wind stayed steady, they could hope for an average of six knots, which would have them at Nantucket in a little over a week.
The conversation was muted onboard. Other than taking care of the small adjustments in boat handling and taking turns making meals, each spent their first day quietly contemplating the shift in their circumstances. As they moved farther north, and the precious Sun fell away to the West, the twins began to feel a stronger hum from the Chosen collective mind. Nassau lay at ninety degrees to their port beam. Hansel pointed in the direction of the falling Sun and said, “That direction there is an island that is like Nicaragua. There are five there who rule and there are many many humans. They are killing… eating all of their humans.”
There was nothing to be said in response. Gloom clouded the hearts of the sailors. Like the Sun that was slowly being swallowed by distant clouds, the muted excitement of their initial departure was slowly being frozen out by the reality that lay ahead.
The watch was set so that two of them stood vigil on deck while the remainder slept or did what he or she wished. Each shift was eight hours with Dean acting like a floater, checking in as needed and making sure that they stayed on course.
Despite how much the twins had matured over the past eight months, Hansel and Gretel were placed in separate shifts — when left to their own devices, the pucks still found themselves nearly incapable of staying out of mischief.
As midnight approached, Dean sat with Eliza near the helm while Gretel sat at the very tip of the bow, letting her legs dangle above the bow wake, her arms hanging over the pulpit. They were sailing over a deep trench and she could sense the many sentient beings that swam through the blackness — a constant flow of life and death: creatures born, some growing old, all consumed. Despite the puck’s ability to invade human thoughts, Gretel respectfully gave Dean and Eliza their mental space.
The sea captain held the scientist’s hand. They leaned into each other observing the night sky, stars obscured by haze and increasing cloud cover. The eleven-plus year nuclear winter’s power over the climate was fading, yet continued to leave both the Northern and Southern hemispheres regularly overcast. If not for the reprieve that the equatorial regions had received, the bulk of life on the planet would have likely withered and died. The mass extinctions worldwide was beyond any ability to record or catalogue — not that humans retained the notion for such things any longer.
Eliza, noting the cloud layer, said, “How quickly I’ve forgotten. I don’t want to fight the cold again.”
Dean nodded in agreement. “When we get there, we tell whoever needs telling and we get the heck home.”
“You don’t have to say that anymore. I appreciate it, but you don’t. You made it more than clear that once on Nantucket, always on Nantucket. The US Navy and all.”
“We’ll convince them that the vaccine works. We’re living proof.”
She smiled and gave him a peck on the cheek full of appreciation but mixed with condescension. She had been the first infected person to be vaccinated and though she still harbored a small walled off portion of the disease in her brain, it wasn’t active and she had been shown to be incapable of passing it on. Nevertheless, she had never been allowed to set foot off of Plum Island and the lab where she had researched Hansel and Gretel.
The first watch over, Sanders and Hansel came on deck to start the next. Hansel immediately walked forward to sit with his sister. Dolphins had escorted them for a while during the day and he very much wished to see the big mammals again. The pucks had been able to get a sense of the animal’s desires. Curiosity was part of it, but mostly it was a game, keeping speed with the sailboat while feeling the turbulence as the hull sliced through the water. The pucks had reached out to the dolphins, and the gist of what they got back was remarkable. Until now, they could command any sentient creature to come to them, to offer itself up as food, but that wasn’t true with dolphins. The delphinadea spoke back in their way. It was something like, We know you. Back off. An attempt by Hansel to force the issue by commanding one to leap onto the deck had resulted in the six animals peeling away instead.
At the stern, Sanders took a long look at the sky. “Gonna get chilly in a day or so.”
Dean smiled at his first mate. “Yup.”
Sanders scowled in return. “Go get some rest. I’m hoping those puck children stay up there. Looking forward to some alone time with the sea beneath my arse.”
Eliza stood, stretched, and gave Sanders a quick hug. “Good night, George.” In her mind she reached out to the pucks, Good night Hansel and Gretel. Just a few minutes Gretel, then to bed with you.
Good night, said their minds as one.
I mean it, Gretel.
Understood, Eliza.
Dean checked the binnacle one more time to confirm their course and followed Eliza below.
CHAPTER THREE
Jon & Nikki
Jon sat outside his and Nikki’s usual cafe and ordered a coffee from the waiter. The Virtu-sim hadn’t changed in the nine years since he’d last visited. Even the waiter was the same. He found it a bit disappointing, and in his mind, scolded the programmers for not building the sim to move with time. It was, as usual, a glorious day; everything was picture perfect. The well maintained Victorian era buildings were painted in garish colors, puffy cumulous clouds dotted the sky, and the park across the street was a veritable explosion of green. A good drink could still be had in the real world, but a pretty afternoon remained mostly an unobtainable commodity. The all too brief and weak summer month that was late August/early September, provided the only other hint of real sunshine, so the virtual world was where people went to see that pretty day.
Jon looked around at the various avatars and decided the bulk of them where computer generated. He cut the programmers some slack; a fanciful American main street was boring, the tropics and off-worlds were where the action was… along with simulated war; always war.
Nikki was late and he was beginning to think she wouldn’t show. She had called the meeting, but he wouldn’t blame her for cold feet. He had nearly bailed; had to truly psych himself up for this. To distract his jangled nerves, he focused on a man playing Frisbee with his dog. The Frisbee man’s avatar seemed to be real and he was clearly in love with the computer generated golden retriever. Strange times, thought Jon. He let himself drift into a daydream, remembering years before. He’d been awakened by the sound of crashing pots and pans, Nikki yelling out, “Oh, ow! God damnit! Shit! Sorry. Jon, I wake you?”
Jon had opened one eye and noted the night-fur on his teeth. “No… Yes.”
It was barely dawn. Dull light filtered past the edges of the blackout shade that they had finally installed in their bedroom. Nikki was an early riser and always up before daybreak, blackout shade or not. Jon wondered why they had bothered.
She called from the kitchen, “I was going to surprise you with breakfast. I didn’t tell you last night, but I found an egg vendor yesterday. He had a half-dozen still in stock. It cost a fortune, but…”
Jon forced himself to sit up. He felt achy from the heavy workout he’d put himself through the day before.
“Jon, you hear me? I said I got eggs.”
“Yeah. You break any?”
“Only into a frying pan.”
He stood and stretched his arms over his head and then twisted from side to side. He really could have used another hour, but what the hell. He hadn’t had a real egg in maybe two months. “You cooking them all or are you getting cheap on me?”
“Cheap.”
He threw on a robe and stepped from the bedroom into the living room/dining/kitchen of their one bedroom apartment. Nikki was cooking naked and she jumped back as she cracked an egg into the hot skillet, splashing oil on her tummy. “Ow, motherfu... I’m a clumsy oaf this morning.”
“An apron maybe, Pot
ty Mouth?” He pointed at a jar stuffed with Monopoly money. It was labeled Nikki’s Potty Mouth.
“I’m risking burns because I thought you liked the naked chef.”
He appraised her gorgeous, strong figure. “The naked chef rocks.”
He stepped behind her, put his arms around her and moved to cup her breasts. She shrugged him off. “The naked chef is meant for viewing, not groping.” He shrugged and went to the fridge, pouring them each a glass of Orange Juicey, a flavored drink that was supposedly fortified with vitamin C.
During this early Post-Omega period, the remainder of North America was dealing with near mass starvation. Before skyscrapers were converted into hydroponic farms, cabbage and potatoes were the staple diet in the Northeast. In addition to supplying general nutrition, the dense leafy plant and the tuber happened to also fend off scurvy.
Jon observed the contents of the glass: pressed cabbage and potatoes flavored with orangish-who-the-hell-knew-what. He held it up for a toast. “To us and this apartment. You wanted a real roof over your head.” He waved at the window that offered a partial view of Frontenac Castle. “Beats a tent in the woods waiting to be eaten by crazed church folk.”
She raised her glass, “And that shitty trailer at the CDC.”
Jon smiled appreciatively. “Good of the Corps to let you stay on standby. With Quebec maxed out, I doubt I’d’ve gotten this place on my own.”
It was an uncomfortable thing to say. They were at the mercy of the whims of the armed forces and it was something they didn’t speak of often.
Nikki set her drink down without taking a sip, serving the eggs instead.
Jon said, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”
She shrugged and pulled a sweatshirt over her head. “They’ve gotten what they could from us. No cure, but it’s something. Makes sense that the party might be over.”
With Jon and Nikki’s blood, a drug cocktail had been devised that if given before the FNDz bacterium broke the blood-brain barrier, the victim could hold the mind-altering aspects of the disease at bay. A person would remain highly contagious, but wouldn’t succumb to madness. From a chemistry point of view, the solution was quite elegant: The drugs altered the casing of the bacterium so that it no longer fit past the brain’s meninges. In other words, it was like adding spikes to what once was a piece of sand. The sand could no longer fall through the sifter. However, since the bacterium continued to reproduce itself with fresh, un-spiked cells, the drug needed to be taken daily and for life.
Jon pushed his eggs aside and stood, embracing her. She resisted, anger over the reality souring her mood, then softened — his fear of separation was equal to hers.
They made love on their unmade bed and then showered.
As he dried off, Jon said, “I’m interviewing the cast of that new play down the street. First show in that theater since I don’t know how long. You want to come with? I seem to remember someone wanting to see a play someday.”
Before she could answer, the hardline phone rang. Nikki glared at it then looked at him. Her expression saying, I don’t want to pick it up.
“You jinxed us.” She picked it up, identified herself by rank and listened to the other end for quite awhile, her only contribution being the occasional hmms and uhuhs. Jon watched, as her face slowly grew dark. “But what about my… partner, Jon?” Then, “Yes, ma’am. First thing, o-six-hundred tomorrow. Aye aye, ma’am.” She hung up, her lips pouting. “You may as well have said Beetlejuice. I’ve been reactivated and reassigned.”
Jon had felt the tightness that had been growing in his chest now constrict his heart. “What does that mean?”
“I didn’t really understand it. She was a major based on Cape Cod. Something about the island of Nantucket and what they’re calling Halflies. She mentioned something about my being a liaison between us and them. Oh and I’ve been promoted to sergeant first class.”
“Who’s them?”
“The Halflies I suppose. Infected people who have received the drug cocktail they made from us. Nantucket is where they’re sticking them.”
Jon scowled. “How long is the assignment?”
“Didn’t say. Sounded indefinite.”
Jon had found himself glancing down at nothing, his fingers twitching as thoughts raced through his head. He looked up and forced a smile. “Then I guess we’re moving to Cape Cod.” Nikki offered no response, other than a frown and gathering eyebrows.
“What?”
She shivered and started to pull on some clothes. “I’m to go alone. They want you to keep working with CDC.”
Jon heaved his towel at the mirror, scattering the toiletries on the edge of the sink. “Well that’s bullshit! I’m a private citizen. If I want to go to Cape Cod, I go to Cape Cod.”
“I’m to meet a transport plane at 6 AM. The major made it clear that there would be only one seat.”
“So I find other transportation.”
“Jon. Base housing is only for single soldiers or their families.”
“So we get married.”
Nikki stopped getting dressed and looked up. Her lips parted, but nothing came.
He crossed to her, trying to force the anger in his voice down. “The CDC has been done with us for months. Susan said as much two weeks ago. They’ve got their cocktail. They haven’t done an experiment on either one of us for I don’t know how long. They don’t need me. It’s just the Marines being the Marines. If we’re married, we cut through a ton of red tape. Besides, this Halflies thing — the reporter in me has got to know.”
“So this is you proposing?”
Jon looked sheepish. “I’m sorry. I’m just taken aback. One moment we’re having a lovely morning, the next I’m told that we’re to be split up.”
He had paused, picked up the towel and wrapped it around his waist. “I love you, Nick. I love every minute I’m with you.”
He got down on one knee.
“Are you serious? You’re really doing this? In our bathroom? Like this?”
He took her hands. “Apparently I’m left with little choice.” He squeezed her hand gently and looked deeply into her eyes. “Yes, it’s sudden, but I’ve known for a long time now that you are my mate. I love you and love being with you. Nikki Rosen, will you marry me?”
She stared back at him with her cheeks flushed. The edges of her eyelids grew red, followed by the welling of gentle tears. She cried softly like this for a while. Jon’s knee began to ache, but he held her hands and continued to look earnestly into her eyes.
Finally she said, “Yes, Jon, I’ll marry you.”
He smiled and stood, and then carried her back to their bed.
Later that day, they went to city hall and got a marriage license. The usual necessity of providing a birth certificate was waived. Such trivialities were bypassed in this very changed world. A half-hour later, the same municipal clerk married them off. They had dinner at a newly opened bistro, which still had a wine cellar and only served fresh fish… and cabbage. They savored the meal in old Quebec city’s comforting surroundings, not knowing when they might enjoy such luxury again. Then, after a long stroll along the waterfront, they returned to their little apartment, drank sparkling wine, and packed their few belongings. After a last glance around to make sure that nothing of importance might be left behind, they fell into bed with joyous exhaustion, the intensity of the day’s emotions leaving them too tired to do more than cuddle.
That was then.
Eleven hard years had passed. For Jon, mostly an endless gray blur.
Now, in the virtual cafe, he focused on the virtual coffee cup in his hand and he briefly marveled at the technology that allowed him to feel it if not taste it. He saw her approaching the table and his heart skipped a beat while an unpleasant tightening of his throat set in. He was immediately annoyed with this unconscious reaction. It had been nine years since they had last met at this place — this virtual nothing that had sufficed for a time as placeholder for a ma
rriage that only really belonged on paper. Nine years since they had agreed in this same Version 6.5 place, that it wouldn’t work.
He arched an eyebrow over the condition of her avatar. She’d aged, and unlike most people, she’d disabled the default mode and allowed her digital stand-in to reveal time gone by. His own avatar only had the single setting, which “smoothed” age lines and kept hair perpetually gray free. She was eating an ice cream cone and his stomach quietly gurgled with the thought of a treat that wasn’t available in the real world. It was pointless for him to order more than the coffee that had been merely a prop, a thing to do with his hands. The food couldn’t be tasted — at least not with the gear that he had invested in. Watching her lick a drip off the side of her cone was mildly frustrating. Clearly, Nikki was able to take advantage of her military ties and enjoy the full immersion gear. She finally spotted him watching her and offered a look that showed genuine delight in seeing him. He cursed himself again as his heart raced with the thrill of seeing her smile. He stood and stepped forward to exchange an embrace that he was grateful his cheap Virtusuit could convey.
“Hello, young man,” she said with a wink.
“Hi. You look good, Nik. Beautiful.”
Nikki offered her crooked grin and broke the eye contact, glancing instead at the others enjoying the cafe. Turning her gaze to a lone bench in the park across the street she said, “Let’s sit over there.” She dropped the ice cream cone over a waste can and it disappeared before hitting the bottom.
A House Divided: Book 3 of The Of Sudden Origin Saga Page 3
