“And you only met with Sage because you wanted fish.”
“A steak of whatever they caught. Tuna, swordfish. Happened to be a sand tiger.”
“But you never got it.”
“Never. Did you know that they’re cannibals? The infants will eat their siblings while still inside the mother. Very odd behavior. That Sage is full of fun information.”
“When did you speak to her?”
“During Naamah’s services. I told her that the rations were rescheduled for midday. I think she planned on waiting in line. I don’t know how she got out of the corridors, if she got out.”
“So why didn’t you get your steak?”
“I was supposed to pick it up at the docks, but then the fighting broke out in the corridors. I would say that I was sidetracked.”
“What were you doing before you found the body?”
“Fleeing.”
“From who?”
“Everyone. People with swords.” Walter shuddered as he recalled the Guard chasing him with the kilij sword in hand.
“And after you found the body?”
“I went straight to my pod. I told Naamah what happened.”
There it was again. That break in tempo. The Braided Woman paused, as though there was something unusual about his pod, or that he spoke to his wife.
“And what about Hani? Did you see Hani after he returned?”
“No. I was waiting for the rations. But I never got those, either.”
The knowledge was there, but he couldn't quite piece it together it. It wasn't a fully formed idea. But he could see the direction where all of this was going. All of these disparate events were connected. Somehow. Beatrice had enough intuition to reach out for the idea, but couldn't connect the events herself. She must not have enough information to put it together, so she couldn't articulate why everything was connected, or identify the gaps that needed to be filled. And unfortunately, he wasn't going to be much help.
“I don't know how I can help you,” Walter said.
“Start with answering my questions.”
She was thinking, obviously thinking. It seemed like she wanted to ask more questions, at least one more, but couldn't figure out the right one. Then she lost it. He could see it. It was in the woman’s eyes. She almost had it, but the pieces fell apart, and once again, his involvement was pure happenstance. It was amazing that someone as aloof and single-minded as Walter was so consistently in the wrong place at the right time. But that seemed to be the only explanation. Whatever base impulse Walter had, he followed it with a determination that allowed him to cover more ground and push onward when nearly anyone else in this place would resign themselves to starve. Walter liked his food.
“Look, I don't know who is pulling the strings here, but I'm pretty sure that it isn't Sycamore Johnston. Not anymore. And if anyone can figure out who is...”
Walter had to agree. He may have set out to get something to eat, but the Good Samaritan in him always won out. But it was probably too much to say that he acted strictly out of the kindness of his heart. His impulse to get involved arose just as much out of a morbid curiosity than any inclination to help out. It was like when he used to linger outside the medical bay. People thought it was out of concern for the sick and injured, but it was really just to get a close look at a burn victim or a mangled body.
Neither Walter nor the Braided Woman had enough to take the next step.
“How much have you told him?” Walter cut the silence.
“Told him? Sycamore Johnston thinks Hani Katharda is the answer to all of this. He thinks Hani killed Crane. That he killed the twins. And if I tell him what happened, he will respond with some nonsense about how Hani tried to poison Makrigga. But I think Hani is an idiot. And Makrigga is too strong to fall for a cover up set in motion by the Chum Maker. There is absolutely no way he could organize an upheaval like this, not without the help of someone like Sycamore. He is about as capable of putting this together as you are. He also isn't clever enough to take advantage of the opportunities that this disarray presents.”
Could that be the answer? Hani Katharda? Walter almost believed it himself. If there was a leap of faith that answered all of the problems, it could be him. He wasn't sure how he was involved, or if he was connected to all of this by anything other than attendance. But the important thing to Walter was that Hani sounded plausible.
“Speak to him. Speak to Sycamore.”
“What?”
“He won't listen to anything I have to say. At least not until I get some answers. He’s had enough of people that can’t solve their own problems.”
“What are you talking about? Sycamore will listen to you.” Why did everyone want him to speak to Sycamore? Couldn’t anyone confront him themselves?
“No. He will take suggestions and advice from me, but he has no interest in hearing anything that contradicts what he wants, whatever that is. Or that I can’t figure this out without him. He doesn't tolerate it. Contradict him, and next thing you know you're assigned to Buckminster's drilling operations ten thousand feet underwater and breathing out of a plastic tube. But you. You used to run this place. He used to listen to you. He might listen to you now. He has to listen to you now.”
So this was how Beatrice felt. Did she plan on asking a favor of him when she pressed her foot into his collar bone?
“I'm not even sure what to explain to him.”
“I don't know. If I knew the answer, then maybe I would take the chance. But at least show him that there is more here than just the Chum Maker. The only thing left for me is to see if he kept any records on the missing kids’ parents, though I doubt they will be much help. I don’t know what else I can do.”
“If I agree to speak to him, you should try to find Hani. Keep him safe. Use your security teams. Sycamore is too focused to forget all of this. Even if he had nothing to do with the twins and Makrigga and the spoiled rations, it does seem like he put everyone in danger when he abandoned his post on the derrick. And Crane died for it.” Walter begrudgingly pointed out. Sycamore won’t forget it. Buckminster won’t let him. “I’m going to get something to drink before I deal with Sycamore. Maybe you should see if he knows whether Buckminster already got Hani.”
“Fine. I’ll see what I can find out first. Try to get to Hani.”
Walter was relieved to see the Braided Woman walk away.
Walter drank a large glass of green plant water. He refused to call this stuff tea. He knew more than one person on the platform that would take offense at the mere possibility.
For some reason, Hani Katharda was the focal point of everything that happened on the platform in the past forty-eight hours—the accident during the storm, the spoiled food rations, the madness of Makrigga, the dead boy and, strangely enough, the missing twin. At least that’s what Sycamore thought. For the moment, it didn’t matter that Beatrice’s attention was on him. How someone as innocuous as Hani Katharda could have mixed himself up into every single fiasco on the platform was a mystery worth solving itself, never mind whether he was actually the cause of any of the nonsense. Where was Sage? And Feret? Did they get stuck in the riots? What was happening to the Whalers? How come all of them were either missing or near death?
The plant water was shit. Hopefully my conversation with Hani won’t be as painful of an experience, Walter thought. But first things first—he had to find the guy, and if Hani had any sense in him, he would be hiding in the darkest corner of the platform.
A disturbing thought crossed Walter's mind. What if that dark corner is where Hani is keeping the missing child?
No. Hani Katharda was innocent of everything, regardless of how he got involved. Even the accident on the surface. Hani may have been there when the accident happened, but Walter refused to believe that he intentionally caused the explosion, much less one that would cause Crane to fall to his death.
Hani shouldn’t have been on the derrick in the first place. Just like how Beatrice shouldn’t
be in charge of this investigation. Wrong people for the wrong job, but what choice was there in a place like this?
It was obvious. Walter had to find Hani, speak to him, and find a safe place for him to hide if he hadn't already found one himself. Hani probably doesn't even know there is a manhunt out for him, Walter realized. Otherwise, he wouldn't appear all over the platform, helping Sage during the food riots, helping Melia with Makrigga. For all he knew, he could be having tea in some pod only to be lynched the moment he reappeared. If he couldn’t find Hani, then he should turn to Sycamore, like the Braided Woman suggested.
CHAPTER TWENTY
SAGE
The Discovery Sea-mount abruptly rose from the ocean floor. The whaling boat was on the outer edge of the algae fields with the promise of a rich array of flora and fauna. Sage and Feret lowered the sail and rowed, skimming over the waters.
Makrigga wasn’t there. He should have been, but he wasn’t. He was still hurt from the last hunt.
Hani sat astern with a thick blue bucket at his feet. There was something odd about his demeanor, as though he didn’t belong. He wore a bright red raincoat to protect himself from the ocean spray. Sage thought that was especially odd. Where did he get a red raincoat?
Shoals of sardines shifted in unison around the boat’s path, all bounty for the Alpine’s fishing vessels. The place was a vaudevillian circus of aquatic acts, bowler hats, tin cans and piano jams. Sage wondered how rare this place must be. She didn’t like how the few that still existed were inaccessible to her, and how so many beautiful places unknown to her were blocked. She thought how odd it was that, with each excursion she made to the algae fields, she saw some new species of fish, or a plant that did not originally grow in the fields’ waters.
The ocean water splashed against her face. Sage tasted the salt on her tongue. She felt like they had sailed for weeks on end, but the journey was about to end. The clouds were clear and the sun was shining.
Past the sea-mount, she saw the slightest break on the horizon. Land.
In her whole life, she had never seen the coast. She had seen the tall grasses of sunken islands, to be sure, but never real land. She had never seen the continents. And there it was, massive and imposing. Its grey and brown precipice held back the ocean and pushed its waters up into roiling waves.
It’s so large, she thought. How could the whole thing be poison? There must be some piece that is safe, some place for us to go.
Their boat crept closer, and she paused. Why did she have to go? Couldn’t they send someone else? Maybe the Captain would send the First Mate, or an Officer, or at least a crew of full grown men. But he would never send just her. She was young. And she had never seen land before. Usually, there was no Captain. Usually, it was just the four of them, the four Whalers. But this was different. This was about land.
I suppose that no one here has seen land before, she thought.
They lowered a small vessel. Hani Katharda was there to man the oars.
“Where is Feret?” she asked him. “Feret usually does this.”
Feret Ferrero was usually found complaining about how much he had to row. “Row this boat and row your boat,” he would complain.
The Captain gave her a rough hewn sack of burlap. “Here. Bring back what you can. And get out of there. Do not linger.”
She nodded, waiting for the right moment between crests release their small boat.
“Go,” the Captain ordered.
Sage didn’t like rushing. She didn’t like taking these orders from someone she didn’t know. She had to time this so she could ride the waves to the beach. If she didn’t, she would waste her energy fighting to keep the boat upright.
Sage saw her opportunity. Hani saw it too. They pushed off.
“Do not linger!” the Captain shouted as Sage and Hani departed.
The final approach took longer than she expected. It seemed so large and so close to the ship. Hani rowed. The oars thrust into the water and circled outwards. A salt spray flung from the blades back into the ocean. The waves kicked them up into the air. Sage felt a sudden jump in her belly, like her stomach went straight into her lungs. It was the same feeling she had when she would leap from the top of the derrick’s large crane.
Swells continued to batter the Alpine. The waves seemed to turn choppier the closer they were to the continent. The boat smacked the underside of its hull against the ocean after each leap into the air. The waves tilted the boat from side to side, spinning them around. The boat was helpless. Hani was straining to keep the little vessel on course and upright. Sage braced herself against the side of the boat, her grip sliding with the wet wood.
Slowly they made progress. The continent loomed ever larger. The ship disappeared between waves, and dwindled into a pale silhouette.
“I thought you would be making chum for the Captain,” Sage said.
“You don’t want me to attract any more predators than are already here,” Hani replied.
“I don’t know what to do if you’re not making chum.”
The water was shallow. The coast seemed to encircle them as a lagoon. The bottom seemed so close through the clear water. The current steadied and pushed the boat towards the beach. Hani tested the depth with the length of his oar.
“Your boats usually smell awful,” Sage said.
“You can touch the bottom. Walk from here,” Hani said.
Sage did not respond. She sat on the boat and stared at the land. It was so close. She wished that she was back at the Alpine, hunting sharks, playing Dungeons and Dragons, though she didn’t quite understand how to play Dungeons and Dragons, and even listening to the stupid drone in her pod. It seemed safer. It did not seem so close to death.
“Walk from here,” Hani said again.
Sage turned to look at him. She did not move.
“Are you afraid?”
She was petrified.
“Are you afraid?” he asked again, but more forcefully this time.
She pulled herself out of her stupor. “Do I have to go?” Her hands clenched the burlap. They trembled. The wind tossed her hair. She had difficulty keeping her eyes open.
“I cannot go with you. I cannot go with you,” he repeated.
Sitting on the side of the boat, Sage fell into the water and waded to the beach. The waves pushed drops of salt water into her mouth, and she gagged. This must be what it feels like to drown, she thought. There was a dip in the sand and suddenly she was submerged, the water well above her head. She paddled with her arms to push herself to the surface, gasping for air when her head broke the surface.
Already exhausted, she struggled to stay afloat. The ocean kept dragging her under. The current tugged at her legs. “Don’t panic,” she told herself. “Don’t panic.” Just get to the beach. You will be safe on the beach. She accepted the lie as she fought back the tears. She knew she wouldn’t be safe at all once she set foot on the beachfront. No one is safe on the land. She might prefer to drown in this lagoon. She had no idea what horrors she would suffer once she reached dry land, but even so, that was where she was headed.
She held her breath and crawled her way through to the beach. One hand after another, she gripped the wet sand, dug her elbows into the mud and moved forward, closer to the beach.
A giant spiny lobster crawled on top of her back and stopped moving, apparently hitching a ride to the beach. She knew the species. Panulirus interruptus. She had seen it many times on the sea-mount, but never this big. Its claws dug into her skin. The punctures stung, and she clenched in pain, nearly exhaled and lost her air. She turned her head over her shoulder and saw the lobster. She felt an incredible urge to grab it by its exo-skeleton and throw it back into the ocean, but that didn’t feel right. It felt like the lobster was right where it needed to be. On her back. Ripping at her skin. Hitching a ride to a place it didn’t belong.
“You came all the way from the Pacific Ocean. Why can’t you get to the beach on your own?”
The lobster
’s antennules twitched, prodding at Sage’s wet hair. Another species that didn’t respond to her questioning. Wonderful.
She continued to crawl forward, one hand at a time.
The sun beat on the back of her neck. The dry sand was hot against her face. She never felt sand before. The coarse grains stuck to her skin. The edge of ocean washed over her feet. Her clothes were wet. Her hand was still clenched around the burlap sack. The lobster crawled off her back, its claws plying at Sage’s soft skin. Its antenna cocked back and forth. She stayed on the ground and let her body dry while she recovered from the crawl to the beach. The warmth on her neck and her arms was comforting. Soothing.
Sage was on the continent.
Nothing in that place should have been soothing.
Once she was dry, Sage pushed herself to her feet and walked beyond the first sand dune. Heat radiated from the sand into her bare toes. The blades of blond grass reached beyond her knees, tickling her skin. She stripped off her soaked clothing, leaving only her swimming gear. Her wet hair stuck to her shoulders. The burlap sack dragged limply from her right hand.
Before her was a fast flatland of gold and amber colors. It was a plain full of high grasses that stretched to the horizon, broken only by the occasional burst from a green tree, or, at least, what she thought was a tree. Sage had seen marine plants before, but never a tree. The landscape was unbroken. Behind was the endless ocean. As she felt the grass at her feet, she forgot that she was supposed to be afraid. This place, its sunlight and grasses and soft winds, was peaceful.
As she approached the nearest tree, she realized that it wasn’t quite a tree. It was cracked. It stood more like the charred fragments of a distorted skeleton. Its edges splintered out like long fingers.
The ground transitioned from sand and dirt to something sleek. The grasses were gone, but Sage was certain that she didn’t walk that far, and certainly not as far as the horizon. It felt like cold glass. She bent down and touched it. It was smooth and hard, black as obsidian. She did not know what to do from there.
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