Transcender Trilogy Complete Box Set

by Vicky Savage

  “I was camping with friends,” she sobs. “We scattered when we saw the wave coming. I’ve been searching for three days, but I can’t find anyone. I’m afraid they’re all dead, except I don’t know how to find out.”

  “Do you live around here?”

  “No … I live in Colorado. I’m on break from school.”

  “Have you called your parents to let them know you’re okay?”

  “Nooo,” she wails. “I lost my phone. No one will help me.”

  “I’ll help you.” I wrap my arm around her. “Come over here. We have some phones available.”

  “You can’t abandon the intake table,” Linda barks at me as she rushes across the tent.

  “This girl needs help. She’s been wandering around for days searching for her friends. She hasn’t let her family know she’s alive, and she probably hasn’t eaten anything.”

  Linda’s scowl softens. “I’ll take her. You get back to the table.”

  The next people in line are a mother, father, and son. Their house trailer was washed away. They’ve been living in their car, but they need food and a place to stay.

  “Lunch is being served at the back of the tent,” I tell them after taking their information. “You can stay here for the time being. Check in at the housing table. They’ll assign you to a tent temporarily. Representatives of FEMA and the Red Cross check with us daily for people who need supplies and more permanent housing.”

  They thank me, and I move on to the next sad story, and the next, and the next. The line of misery seems endless.

  When it’s time for our meeting with the seismologist, I don’t feel like I can leave the intake table, the line is still a mile long. I decide to let Ash handle it himself. When I finally make it back to our tent, Dr. Meyers has already come and gone.

  “Sorry I missed the meeting, Ash,” I say, sinking into a folding chair.

  “No worries. Dr. Meyers brought us a ton of useful information on the quake in Alaska as well as the formation of the tsunami. She even brought art.” He holds up a colorful red, orange and yellow picture that looks like an abstract painting.

  “What is that?” I ask.

  “It’s an infrared picture of the wave amplitudes.”

  “Oh. That’s good, I guess.” Even though I only worked a few hours, I’m emotionally and physically drained.

  “You all right?” he asks.

  I rest my head in my hands. “Oh god, Ash, it’s completely overwhelming. So many people are suffering. Their needs are so great. What we’re doing seems totally inadequate. Can’t we do more?”

  He runs a comforting hand over my hair. “This is the hardest part of any exploration, Jade. But you have to remember that’s not why we’re here. We’re only observers. In the first place, we don’t have the resources to run to the rescue whenever a disaster occurs in the galaxy. And, in the second place, we’d be doing exactly what we’re accusing IUGA of doing— interfering with the natural order of things.”

  “I know, but it’s just so hard not to care.”

  He sits across from me and pats my knee. “You don’t have to be uncaring, but you do have to find a way to detach. This city and this nation will find a way to deal with the disaster, and maybe bounce back even more resilient. We take away what we can learn from it, in the hope that our knowledge will prevent something similar from happening on our earth or somewhere else.”

  “I know, I know. I’m just so tired. When’s our next meeting?”

  “In thirty minutes, why?”

  “I need to rest for a bit.”

  I stretch out on a cot and face the wall of the tent. Closing my eyes, I attempt to disengage my emotions from the chaos around me. Asher sits at the card table and quietly sifts through the files of information Dr. Meyers left.

  Just before four o’clock, he wakes me for our meeting with the American Red Cross representative. Glen Burke is a wiry, studious looking young man. Dusty brown hair falls across his forehead as he reads from his notes, carefully reciting disaster statistics collected by his organization to date. He cautions us that the information changes on an hourly basis.

  “The numbers of casualties and the amount of property damage is staggering,” Burke says. “It’ll take San Francisco at least a decade to recover from the devastation.”

  “We appreciate everything you brought us today,” Asher tells him. “We’ll be in touch.”

  “You have all my contact information,” he says. “If you call me in a week or so, I’ll have more accurate numbers for you.”

  Once Burke leaves, our schedule is free for the rest of the evening. “What do we do now?” I ask.

  “How about a break?” Ash says. “I’m starving. Let’s get away from ground zero for a bit and have something good to eat. Have you ever tasted authentic San Francisco sourdough bread?”

  “I hear it’s pretty amazing. But are you sure it’s okay for us to leave?” I ask.

  “It’s more than okay. We’ve accomplished a lot today. I know a nice Italian place near the Civic Center. Far enough inland that I’m sure it’ll be open.”

  We begin walking in the direction of the Civic Center, hoping to find a cab or some type of public transportation, but it appears nothing’s operational yet. At Ash’s suggestion, we step into a deserted alley and shift to a spot near our destination.

  FORTY-FIVE

  Dinner is a nice respite from the sullen spectacle of the tent city. The dimly-lit restaurant is charming with its checkered table cloths and candles in Chianti bottles. We sit on opposite sides of a comfortable booth, and Asher puts me at ease by chattering about normal things while we eat. He updates me on his mother and sister, both of whom I met a while back in Asher’s hometown.

  “I’m hoping to go home for Christmas,” I say. “Do you think that’ll be okay with Narowyn?”

  “Sure. Lots of people travel over the holidays. We usually don’t schedule explorations during that time.”

  “You’d be welcome to come home with me.”

  He smiles enigmatically. “Thanks, but I think I’ll see what Nila’s doing before making any plans. Don’t know if she’s ready to spend the holidays with me yet, but I’m going to ask her.”

  I haven’t had a chance to tell Ash about my encounters with Ryder Blackthorn yet, and this seems as good a time as any to bring it up.

  “Guess who came to see me yesterday,” I say.

  “Who?”

  “Ryder Blackthorn.”

  He stops buttering his bread and gapes at me. “What? You’re not serious. He just showed up out of the blue?”

  “Not exactly. Narowyn convinced me to have tea with Eleanor Beckett last week, and I first ran into him there.”

  “That’s nuts. Why would she do that?”

  I fill him in on Eleanor’s intention to file a brief on my behalf with the IGC court, and I explain how Ryder just popped in unexpectedly and then rushed out without a word.

  “Anyway, he stopped by the Chateau yesterday to apologize. He invited me out for coffee and said he wants us to be friends.”

  “I hope you told him to go to hell,” Ash says.

  “I didn’t put it like that. But I told him I’m not ready for any kind of friendship with him.”

  Asher leans across the table, his lucent, green eyes intense. “Jade, you need to nip this thing before it gets started. You shouldn’t have coffee with that dude—ever. You’re just asking for trouble if you try to start some kind of relationship with him.”

  His arrogance irritates me, and I slant away from him in the booth. “Listen, Ash. First, there’s nothing to nip. Second, I have no intention of starting a relationship with him. And third, I don’t tell you who you should or should not be involved with. I expect the same courtesy from you.”

  His body relaxes. “Sorry. I just don’t want to see you hurt again, that’s all.”

  Our server brings us complimentary chocolate soufflés for dessert as a thank you for our business during this turbulent ti
me.

  The wonderful smell of fresh-baked chocolate takes the edge off my momentary anger. “I know you mean well, Ash. But we all have to make our own mistakes. I’m happy you found Nila. She may turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to you or the worst—or possibly both. You need to trust your own heart, and I need to trust mine.”

  I scoop up a spoonful of the hot gooey soufflé and let the warm chocolate melt on my tongue. It takes me less than five minutes to gobble up my entire dessert, and, since Asher doesn’t like chocolate, I help myself to his as well.

  “So how much longer do we need to be here?” I ask, changing the subject.

  “We’ve already made some serious headway,” he says. “If we hit it hard all day tomorrow, we should be able to finish up and go home tomorrow evening.”

  A surge of relief buoys my spirits. “Really? That’d be great. I know it’s weird to say, but I feel like such an outsider here—sort of like an alien.”

  “That’s completely normal. If these people knew what we were, they’d treat us like aliens.” He signals our server for the check.

  “What about Jack? Obviously he knows we’re Transcenders.”

  “Jack’s the younger brother of Narowyn’s first husband. She’s kept in touch with him for many years. He’s the only one on this earth she’s ever confided in about her real reason for leaving. He agreed with her that his brother wouldn’t be capable of accepting the truth.”

  “Oh man, that’s so sad.”

  “Something we all have to deal with.”

  Stepping outside into the cool night air, I’m floored by the surreal sight of two dazzling moons lighting up the evening sky. I laugh out loud. “Are you freakin’ kidding me? This is awesome.”

  “Keep your voice down,” Asher whispers. “It’s nothing out of the ordinary for these people.”

  “Sorry,” I say grinning like an idiot. The brilliance of the radiant orbs causes the stars to pale to near invisibility, but the moons’ silvery luminescence more than makes up for the loss. Internally, I add to my gratitude list: the sight of twin full moons suspended over San Francisco bay.

  On our return to camp, we stop in at the main tent to help pass out food and water. But even with the light of two moons, it soon becomes difficult to function using only lanterns, and the main tent is forced to close for the night.

  Back in our tent, I climb into one of the cots and draw the covers up to my chin. Asher turns on the space heater and puts out the lantern before he stretches out on the other cot.

  “Goodnight, honey,” he says.

  I laugh. “Sleep tight, dear.”

  * * *

  We get an early start in the morning, quietly vacating our tent while most of the others are still asleep.

  “The helicopter’s due at noon,” Asher says. “Let’s get as many photos as we can before then.”

  “Works for me. You want to split up?”

  “No need for that, really. I want to visit what used to be the Fisherman’s Wharf area first.”

  “Okay, lead the way.” We munch on protein bars for breakfast while we walk.

  It’s impossible to make it all the way to the wharf. Much of it is still covered in murky water. Many businesses have been gutted or completely torn from their foundations. The area is littered with destroyed boats, jagged pieces of concrete and wood, and decaying sea life, including the sad remains of numerous seals. I’m glad we remembered to bring our surgical masks.

  Asher takes out his polycom and snaps shots of the area. I find the proper icons on my polycom and follow his lead. “What are we looking for?” I ask.

  “Whatever you think might be of interest to the scientists back home.”

  We wander northwest from the wharf to what used to be the marina. Then we cut back through a residential area where we photograph recovery crews using heavy equipment to sift through the rubble.

  “Time to get back to the tent city,” Asher says. “We should eat before we go up in the chopper. We may not have time afterward.”

  We stop at the main tent where volunteers are serving ham sandwiches and warm tomato soup. Parker Moses finds us as we’re finishing lunch and informs us our helicopter is waiting in the lot where Jack parked the Range Rover yesterday.

  “We’ll say our goodbyes now,” Asher tells him. “We’re heading back this evening. Jack’s picking us up at six.”

  Moses raises his eyebrows. “So soon?”

  “I think we have everything we need,” Asher says. “We appreciate your help.”

  “I hope you’ll tell the people at the relief fund their money would be put to good use here.”

  “I’m quite sure you’ll receive a check from the fund soon,” Asher says. We shake hands with Moses, shoulder our backpacks, and start for the parking area.

  “Will they really get some money or were you just shining him on?” I ask.

  “Narowyn will make a donation to the WAO through the relief fund. We wouldn’t take advantage of anyone.”

  Our rented helicopter is a shiny black and red four-seater. The gum-chewing pilot introduces himself as Jim. He wears the stereotypical baseball cap and aviator sunglasses, and his bomber jacket looks to be authentic World War II issue.

  Asher sits in front in the co-pilot’s seat, and I strap myself into the seat behind him. Jim gives us a tutorial on operating our headphones, after which I slide on my Sgt. Pepper sunglasses and brace for my first chopper ride.

  “I understand you want to see the areas with the heaviest damage,” Jim says to Asher.

  “That’s right.”

  “I’d say the hardest hit area is Long Beach, but that’s a little over two hours to the south. That okay?”

  “It’s fine. We just need to be back here by six.”

  Jim presses some buttons and the rotors begin to whir loudly. He double-checks to make sure we’re securely buckled in, then he taxis a short distance before we lift off and away. My stomach flutters up into my chest and stays there.

  Our route takes us over the Golden Gate Bridge and south along the shoreline. From this altitude, the sheer magnitude of the devastation below is indescribable.

  Asher fishes a small video camera from his backpack. “I’ll take care of the video, Jade,” he says into the headset microphone. “Maybe you can make a few notes.”

  “Sure,” I say, taking a paper notebook out of my pack. “So Jim, why was Long Beach the hardest hit?”

  “It’s the lowest lying part of the California coast,” he says. “The waves weren’t as high, but they came further inland ‘cause there was nothin’ to stop ‘em. See these cliffs over here?” He points to some tall cliffs on our left. “They protect a lot of the northern shore. Don’t have those in the south.”

  Asher intently records everything with the camera while I scribble a few notes.

  As we fly along, Jim provides bits of information to help put everything in context. “This area we’re flying over now used to be multimillion dollar mansions with miles of sandy beach. Turned to wasteland now. Luckily, most of those people can afford to rebuild. Don’t know if I’d chance it again, though, no matter how much dough I had.”

  “Isn’t this supposed to be a once in a millennium occurrence?” I ask.

  “That’s what some say, but why tempt fate?”

  By the time we reach Long Beach, I think I’ve seen enough rack and ruin to last me for more than one millennium. Ash stows the video camera in his pack.

  “This was just what we wanted to see. We got a lot of great footage,” Ash says. “Let’s take the quickest route back, Jim. Jade and I don’t want to keep our six o’clock ride waiting.”

  “Sure thing,” he says.

  Jim twists his head to look over his shoulder as he begins an arching turn. That’s when I see it—behind Jim’s right earlobe—a tiny gray tattoo like a bar code. I yank off my sunglasses to get a better look. It’s identical to Ralston’s. No question, he’s IUGA.

  My heart gongs inside my chest
. I don’t know what to do, but I’m pretty sure if I don’t do something fast, Asher and I will never make it back to San Francisco alive.

  Jim’s head is still turned, exposing the back of his neck to me. I angle myself on the seat and grip the sides tightly before ramming my boot into the base of his skull. He immediately shuts down and falls forward. The chopper wobbles from side to side, and the nose dips precariously.

  “What the—! What did you do?” Asher yelps.