This was even worse than Jake had imagined.
Panic Attack
Early Friday morning, Jake locked his bike to the bicycle stand outside the Aquatics Center. The sun was barely over the horizon, and the parking lot held only scattered cars.
Pulling open the door, a damp chlorine smell hit Jake’s senses. On the Obama Moon Base, he’d often used the Navy’s pool, which was a one-man affair that gave him enough privacy to keep his identify hidden. The chlorine smell of Earthling pools was the same, whether on the Moon Base or on Bainbridge Island.
The large room resonated with a noisy roar of churning water.
It was foolish to be there, Jake knew, but he just wanted to watch Em swim, to see how she moved in the water. When Em explained about early morning practices, she’d said that Coach Blevins usually had another meeting on Friday morning, so parents ran the practice, a sort of Casual Friday in the pool. That sounded like a good time to sneak in and watch Em.
The pool was large, but still not Olympic-size, Em had complained.
Looking around, Jake’s heart sank. There, pacing beside the pool was Coach Blevins.
A swimmer touched the far end of the pool, and Blevins reached down to tap the swimmer before he could turn and start back down the pool’s length. Blevins demonstrated a stroke with his arms while yelling something over the roar.
A longing welled up in Jake so intense that he thought his chest might explode. I want to be part of this!
He wanted to swim with others who loved swimming, to be part of a team, to work hard—together—to swim faster than anyone else in the state. The hustle and bustle of the practice fascinated him: as much as he knew he should, he couldn’t leave now.
The huge room was brilliantly lit, but Jake spied a relatively dark corner. Quickly, he hid in plain sight by leaning against the wall and becoming as still as a shadow.
Slowly the constant movement took on form. The girls practiced butterfly strokes in the right-hand lanes while the boys backstroked in the left. Each swimmer—he had finally located Em in a lime green swim cap and could follow her—did six laps, then sat out for a couple laps to rest or to talk with Coach.
When it was Em’s turn to rest, she stretched out in a patch of sun just starting to spill into the room. Jake knew he should stay hidden, but he wanted her to know he was here. He strode over and tapped her swim cap.
When she turned, her eyes widened, and she smiled and patted the floor beside her.
Jake squatted on his haunches and shook his head. “Too wet.”
She shrugged her understanding. Nodding to the noisy pool, she asked, “What do you think?”
Jake stared at Em. She propped herself up by leaning back on her elbows, which made the muscles on her shoulders and arms more prominent. Jake had already thought she was beautiful, but in a swimsuit, she was stunning. He could barely concentrate on answering her question, but managed to say, “Interesting.” He nodded toward the girls swimming butterfly and asked, “What’s a polar bear’s favorite stroke?”
She rolled her eyes and shrugged.
“Blubber-fly.”
Em rewarded him with a wry smile.
Oddly, from the men’s locker room, strolled a man in khaki pants.
Jake shuddered. It was Captain Hill. He probably wanted to talk to Coach Blevins about the break-in before he caught the Seattle ferry to go to the ELLIS offices, something that Jake knew he did most days. Now Jake regretted leaving his out-of-the-way shadows.
Quickly, Jake said, “I’ll let you get back to practice.”
Em nodded but looked disappointed. She shoved up to sit cross-legged and watched him retreat. While Captain Hill was turned away, Jake quickly returned to his shadow to hide again.
Coach Blevins blew a whistle, and slowly swimmers dragged themselves up and out of the pool to gather at the side opposite from Jake. Em stood and walked around the pool to join the group. Everyone except one girl was out, sitting by the pool and ready to listen, when Coach started yelling.
“That’s good for this morning,” Coach said. “After school, we’ll do sprints. Build up your stamina.”
The girl still in the pool had stopped swimming and was holding onto the side of the pool near Jake, breathing deeply. No, she was gasping.
Coach Blevins moved closer to the seated group and stumbled slightly on a towel. He kicked it away, face suddenly red, and stood stiffly. “Our first meet is just a week away.” The acoustics in the poolroom forced Coach to shout.
The girl rasped louder now, and a couple swimmers turned to her. But no one seemed to realize that she was really having problems. In slow motion, her hand drooped off the pool’s side, and she sank underwater. Her hands splashed, frantic to grasp the pool’s side again. For a moment, Jake thought she’d be okay, but when her face broke the surface a moment later, she was gasping, and before she could draw a good breath, she went down again. She was in trouble.
A few more heads turned her way, but still no one moved to help her.
Reluctant, but determined to help, Jake darted from his dark shadow and dove into the water, fully clothed.
A few quick strokes, and he reached her side. She swatted at him before managing to pull him under. It was no problem breathing for him, but she struggled wildly. With one arm, he wrapped her arms at her side where she couldn’t slap at him. The pool wasn’t very deep, so he shoved off the bottom and used his momentum to thrust upward enough to shove her out onto the pool’s side.
Em was there, tugging at the girl, and then Captain Hill was there, pushing Em aside. Captain Hill felt for a pulse and checked the girl’s breathing. She gasped, deep, racking breaths, and her eyes were wide with terror.
Captain Hill sat in front of her and pulled her face toward his. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s just a panic attack. Slow down your breathing. Look at me.”
His voice was calm but insistent. The girl ripped off her swim cap, and dark hair tumbled around her face. Her wide eyes focused on the Captain.
Coach Blevins ordered someone, “Call 9-1-1. Get an ambulance here.”
Captain Hill breathed deep and blew out slowly, giving the girl a pattern to follow.
Still, she wheezed, “I. Can’t. Stop.”
“Yes, you can. Breathe with me. Deep breathe, that’s it. Blow out, and count to three. 1, 2, 3. That’s it.”
Hill’s voice almost hypnotized Jake into inaction. Swimmers knelt nearby—not too close, but nearby—and they breathed in unison.
Coach jerked Jake’s arm and pulled him out of the water. “Where’d you come from?” He stared at Jake, and his expression turned puzzled, his forehead wrinkling. “I know you from the coffee shop, and—what class?”
Water poured from Jake’s jeans, and his tennis shoes squelched. The Moon Base pools were chlorinated, but this one had chlorine so strong it reeked. Either they had recently put in chemicals, or else they used more than the Moon Base pool. Already, his skin chafed from the irritants, and he wanted to rip off his t-shirt.
Em stepped to his side. “Coach, this is Jake Rose from civics.”
Jake nodded and shrugged to make the Coach turn loose of his arm. “I thought I’d watch a practice or two.” He waved a hand at the back wall. “I could see that she was in trouble.”
The Coach’s eyes narrowed. “You’re in my civics class—and Biology class, too. Right?”
Coach glanced at the girl, whose breathing had finally slowed, and then his eyes settled back on Jake, studying him as if trying to evaluate the breadth of his shoulders, the reach of his arms to decide if he could turn Jake into a competent swimmer or not.
Jake felt like a racehorse being evaluated by a big-dollar gambler who wanted to know where to put his money. He pulled off his shoes and upended them, water dribbling out.
In the distance, a siren wailed.
Jake said, “She’s okay now. I’ll just run home and change so I can get back before school starts.”
“Bring back some swim trunks.” Coach Ble
vins grabbed a white towel from a bench and handed it to Jake, with trembling hands. “Afternoon practice starts at 4 pm.”
A student almost drowned—no wonder Coach’s hands trembled. Jake’s stomach was still fluttery, too. “Thanks.” Jake took the towel and turned to go. “But it’s not for me.”
Coach caught his arm and spun him back. He was slightly bow-legged or he would’ve been taller than Jake. Still, they stared eye-to-eye.
“Why not?” Coach said.
Jake realized that he was in trouble. His parents had been firm: Don’t get noticed. Stay in the background. Be invisible. Now, Coach Blevins, the most anti-Shark person on Bainbridge Island—the scientist who’d been disgraced by Swann Quad-de—was staring him in the face. Again. Where Coach was concerned, it seemed like Jake couldn’t stay invisible. Sooner or later, Coach would connect him with the Quad-de family, and then what? Jake struggled to control his face, to keep it neutral; he struggled to move normally, instead of dashing away. With a forced casualness, he said, “Just not interested.”
“Coach, come talk to the mother.” Captain Hill held out a cell phone.
Coach had one last word for Jake, though. “Well, if you get interested, show up any time.”
As Coach walked away, Jake wanted to collapse under the weight of his charade.
Fortunately, everyone was watching the paramedics carry in a stretcher.
Everyone except Em. She grabbed another swimmer and pointed to Jake’s wet jeans. “You got a spare pair of sweats for him?”
Jake nodded, grateful that someone was looking out for him, and especially grateful that it was Em.
The boy shrugged, pulled sweats from a gym bag, handed them to Jake and went back to staring at the EMTs.
Quickly, Jake went to the boy’s locker room and found an empty changing stall. Afraid that someone would look under the door and see his Velcro-legs, he climbed onto a bench, awkwardly stripped off the wet jeans and stood squeezing out water until the jeans were just damp. He dried off with the white towel and started to pull on the sweats.
Jake heard someone come into the changing room, so he froze.
“Anyone in here?” called a voice that Jake recognized as Captain Hill.
He looked down to see if he’d dropped anything on the floor. His tennis shoes lay on the bench, and its shoestrings dangled. Quickly, he bent and jerked them up.
Silence.
“I looked under the doors; no one is here,” said Coach Blevins.
Jake’s core had gone cold; he hugged himself to keep from making any sound.
“You have an appointment next week. You’ll get a second opinion.”
Silence.
“Okay?”
“It’s Parkinson’s. You know it is.”
Silence, again. Jake wondered what they were doing. If they were hugging or just staring at each other or trying not to stare at each other. He didn’t know what Parkinson’s was, but it sounded like the Coach might be sick or something.
Captain Hill cleared his throat and said briskly, “Look.”
“It’s the Quad-de boy?” Coach said. “The picture you took from my house last week?”
Jake trembled, afraid to move. Water from his jeans and shoes dripped onto the floor. To him, each drop was a drumbeat calling to the two men, saying, “Look in here.”
“See what our techs did?” Captain Hill said.
“That’s him, aged up?” Coach sounded confused. “What he’d look like today?”
Jake wanted desperately to see the aged-up photo. Then he could figure out a disguise, something simple like Coach Blevins had done to disguise himself.
Captain Hill said, “It’s the way one program would picture him today. I’ll have printouts from two more before the end of the day. The problem is that we know how to age up a human, not a Risonian. Our people have adjusted the programs, but we’re not sure that any will work well. We still need the paparazzi to get a photo of him.”
Jake reached up and grasped the top of the stall. If he silently pulled himself up, he could peer over the stall. It was unlikely they’d look up. But with a silent headshake, he let his hands fall. Too foolish, he decided.
Coach said. “Looks a lot like Swann Quad-de.”
Holding his breath, Jake wondered. Are they seeing what they expect to see, a Risonian? Of course! They didn’t know he was half-human, so when they aged up his photo, they’d used algorithms developed for Risonians. Captain Hill hadn’t recognized him from the photo—and he’d just gotten a good look at Jake—so probably his half-human side had complicated things enough to make their program ineffective.
Other voices entered the locker room, talking about the ambulance and the EMTs and homework.
“You’ll be okay?” the Captain said. And Jake wondered about the half-worried and half-lonely note in his voice. Obviously, he was worried about his older friend. How bad was the—what was it?—Perkins or Parkins?
Their voices disappeared.
Peering out, Jake saw swimmers coming in to change for school. He fled, dashing out of the Aquatics Center to climb onto his bicycle and pedal home in the chilly air, his damp shirt making him shiver in the cool autumn air. Each push on the pedals screamed at him, “Danger!”
He’d gone to watch Em. That part had been as amazing as he’d expected, her speed and grace put her far above anyone else. And he longed to be part of a swim team. He should’ve known, though, to stay away from the pool and away from Blevins.
It’s Em, he sighed. She’s my siren.
Maybe, like the mermaids of Earth legends, she would do nothing but lure him into danger.
The Harbor Seals
When Jake walked in from school on Friday afternoon, Dad was sitting at the kitchen table with Easter eating a chocolate cupcake, a smear of chocolate on his upper lip. He wore jeans and a t-shirt and looked weird without his Navy uniform. Dad and Easter stopped talking when he entered.
Dad rose to give Jake a hug. “I’ve got a couple days off,” he said.
Jake grinned. After the incident at swim team that morning, he’d decided to talk to Sir and tell him everything. He didn’t know how much Sir and Easter already knew about his mom, and he’d been dreading the explanations. Of course, they knew she was the Risonian Ambassador. But did they understand what she was negotiating for? The decision to ask Sir’s advice had been rock solid, a necessity, a cold hard place inside him. Now, those tensions softened and bent like dune grasses blown in the wind; relief flooded through him. Dad was here. He could talk to Dad.
“But only a couple days,” Dad grimaced, then shrugged. “I’ll have to leave in 48 hours.”
Jake’s grin faded, and he filled in the unspoken words. The Navy had only given Dad a 48-hour pass, and there’s nothing Dad could do about it. Desperately, Jake wanted to ask where Dad was stationed and about his assignment. At least on the Moon Base, they’d been together in the tiny quarters every night. Dad had taught him to play checkers, and he had taught Dad to appreciate the finer points of Risonian opera. They both loved watching NBA basketball games, only bemoaning that Seattle didn’t have a pro basketball team. Jake even played around with fantasy basketball for a while, getting help and advice from Dad. He’d gotten used to having Dad around. It’d filled the empty hole left by Swann. And now, he felt hollow again. Sir and Easter were nice enough, but they’d never be able to take the place of his stepfather or father.
Easter put a glass of milk and a cupcake in front of Jake.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, and then pulled the cupcake paper off to one side. His mouth full of chocolate, Jake tried to think; he was doing lots more thinking these days. If he told Dad too much, his parents might put even more restrictions on what he did. Already there were too many rules. The rock-hard decision froze inside him again, but this time, it was a decision to stand-alone. Mom and Dad were too busy, and Sir and Easter just wouldn’t understand.
“Let’s go fishing tomorrow,” Dad suggested. “I’ve been telling yo
u that I’d take you fishing for three years now.”
Jake swallowed hard. Last year, nothing would’ve kept him from a fishing trip with Dad. Once a year, on New Year’s Day, they ate salmon and crab—Dad spending lots of credits to have the seafood shipped up to the Moon Base—and dreamed of the day they’d eat it fresh. If they were alone together, though, Jake knew he’d spill everything. He felt pulled into two jagged pieces. He didn’t want Dad to worry; yet, he longed to be asked the right questions so he could tell him all.
No.
It was time for him to start making his own decisions. He could take care of Coach Blevins without Mom or Dad stepping in. “I need to go to the library tomorrow,” he said. “Research paper in civics is due on Monday.”
Dad frowned slightly. “Oh.” Then his face cleared. “Ah, a girl?”
“No!” But Jake had protested too quickly, too loudly.
“We’ll go fishing early. Set your alarm for 5:30, and we’ll be out and back before the library opens.” He stood and slapped Jake’s back. “What do you say? Pizza for supper? Our usual?”
Jake nodded absently and said, “Sure.”
“Say, are you going to play on the high school basketball team?”
Jake shrugged. “Probably. If they let me wear tights.” But he was remembering the first time he’d met Dad and the first time they played sports together.
The Obama Moon Base sprawled across the Peary Crater, close to the moon’s north pole, featuring a spaceport with bays for a hundred or more spacecraft and a small naval station. After the Risonian spaceship docked, the Risonian Captain himself escorted Jake to a small room, where his biological father waited.
Jake recognized the man from his mother’s photos. The Risonian Captain briefly introduced them, shook Jake’s hand in farewell, and left the room. Both stoic, Jake and Captain Rose merely nodded at each other, and Jake had followed the tall man whose easy stride looked just too much like his own. They wound through corridors until Jake was thoroughly lost, until Captain Rose stopped before a small white door, bowed slightly and said, “Be it ever so humble. . .”
Sleepers Page 8
