Ecopunk!

by Liz Grzyb

  “How many?” she said.

  “Two tickets,” I said. “And an alpacamel.”

  * * *

  The Saraniya wasn’t one of the grander helioships, but it still had a ballroom, arboretum and library. It sounded like a murder mystery waiting to happen. As the days crawled past, I concentrated on tweaking my itinerary—I’d have to cut short my visit to the Isle of Sunken Stars, but at least I’d catch my boat.

  The gusty grey ocean finally gave way to warm, green waters, and I made my way to the Animal Companion deck to ready Paku for disembarkation. I found Sava there inspecting the residents, notebook in hand.

  “Did you know they have three bush vipers, two elephant shrews and a quetzal down here?” he said. “They’re probably clones, but I think the Giant Pacific Octopus might be an original.”

  “You have a good eye for animals.”

  “My mother and I used to read the natural history almanacs together. Sometimes, we’d take the snow-skimmers out past the mountain and watch the white foxes. Once, we saw a frost-lizard that was almost as big as me, and it chased us halfway home—”

  He gripped the notebook tighter to his chest.

  “Is that how you learned to ride like that?” I said.

  “My father and I used to race around the spurs . . . ”

  Sava turned away, and Paku nibbled the boy’s hair helpfully. Perhaps emboldened by Paku’s gesture, I touched Sava’s shoulder.

  “I’m sorry. It must hurt to talk about them.”

  “It hurts either way.” After a moment, he took Paku’s harness from the rack. “We’d better hurry. You’ll miss your boat.”

  * * *

  The Isle of Sunken Stars had been a glamorous city once, all glass spires and towering apartments, a playground for starlets and moguls. But decades ago, the levies had failed and the sea had claimed its due, twenty metres deep. Now, the roads were open ocean, and the towers were islets of steel and marble, repurposed by the resourceful.

  Walkways and flying foxes criss-crossed between buildings, and every roof was crowned with humid forests. I breathed in the fragrance of spices and fresh papaya, and our coracle taxi paddled past a glass skyscraper that had been converted into a conservatory, dense with bananas and sweet potatoes.

  We pulled up to the pier at Heartstone Isle, a former office tower that had been amongst the first to be settled by desperate families and eccentric artists. We rode the winch elevator up, the wrought iron cage swaying gently as we ascended. Glimpses of hushed classrooms, bustling noodle markets, and balconies draped with laundry rolled past. Every islet was a village, and Heartstone was always my first stop.

  I stepped out into a sunwashed loft, the panoramic windows edged with silver thread—the only hint at their dual nature as transparent solar converters. Curving consoles panelled the room, monitored by a lively woman in her forties. A lacework of gold circuitry glimmered across the right side of her face, like a cybernetic Venetian mask, and she moved with a kind of musicality, as though in time to some unheard song.

  “Lani!” She drew me into a warm embrace. “We thought perhaps you weren’t coming.”

  “And miss out on Arjana’s atomic risotto?”

  The woman’s laugh was like the ripple of temple bells. “And who’s your young man?”

  “Marietta, this is Sava. He’s looking to settle here, and we were hoping you could get things rolling with the application process.”

  Marietta glanced uncertainly at Sava’s grim expression. “Of course. But there’s—”

  “Thanks, you’re a goddess. We’ll discuss the details when I get back. Could you let the marina know I’m picking up the boat now? I know I was supposed to collect it last week, but I can still return it by the deadline—”

  “Lani . . . ” Marietta hesitated, and I could already feel the bad news rolling in. “We had to reallocate your boat. I’m so sorry—”

  “I booked it over a year ago—”

  “I know, but we had some anomalous readings from the perimeter buoys, and Arjana’s gone to scout the straits. We think the madragonflies might be returning early.”

  An icy sludge churned in my stomach. “How early?”

  “We don’t know. We still don’t fully understand their migration cycle or the imperatives they were bioengineered with. Maybe it’s nothing, but if they’re back early, Arjana will need to clear the straits. It’s mostly buccaneers out there, convinced there’s treasure to be found on those abandoned islands, but there are some supply ships too.”

  I forced the disappointment from my voice. “I understand.” I gave Marietta’s hand a squeeze. “I’m sure Arjana will be fine.”

  She returned the squeeze with a smile, apology aching in her eyes.

  “Wait,” she said. “Let me put out a call. There might be someone in the area willing to rent you their boat.” Her fingers danced over holographic icons, the circuitry on her face pulsing with soft light. “You only needed a one-person, long-range speeder. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  In my experience, luck was the patron saint of the poorly prepared.

  “Let me know if you hear anything. I guess I’ll have time to stop by the school after all.”

  * * *

  Seashell wind chimes clinked in the balmy breeze, and the children leaned forward as I turned the last page of the hand-bound book.

  “ . . . I am a daughter of the desert, the endless rock my keep and castle. The snakes bask at my feet and the bloodwoods shawl me with their shade. This is no wasteland, bare and unforgiving. Brushed by mist and seared by sun, it is a place of grace and mercy and kindness. Where water shared is friendship forged, on this common journey to an unseen shore.”

  I closed the book slowly, letting the words hang in the sultry air.

  “There’s no water there?” gaped a lanky girl.

  “There’s very little precipitation. So water is scarce and precious.”

  I could hear two-dozen minds turning inside-out in an attempt to absorb this idea. I patted the pod-cart beside me.

  “Okay, five books each, and back in three days.”

  I went through the usual motions, but my mind was skating across glassy green waters, wishing for a miracle.

  “Ms Bashir?”

  I turned to see a stocky teenager clutching a stapled booklet.

  “Hi, Otto. Is that a new story for me?”

  “Maisy and I went diving at Revenant Reef. The coral’s coming back, but the starfish are still a problem.”

  I accepted the booklet, returning his smile. “I can’t wait to read it.”

  As the afternoon light trickled away and the children hurried home, I wandered out to the wharves to clear my head. Or, perhaps, to inspect the unattended boats. But there were only coracles and pangas rocking gently on their moorings. Most of the locals only needed to paddle from isle to isle, carrying groceries and the occasional couch, and most supply drops came by helioship.

  When the madragonflies had first descended on the adjacent straits, countless submarines were sent to salvage the abandoned assets, but submerged buildings and reefs had claimed one too many expeditions. Now, the only inhabitants of those islands were the rats and roaches. With the exception of one island . . .

  I gazed up into the whirl of constellations, trying to blink away my falling hopes. If I missed this chance, it’d be another five years before I could see my sensei again, and ten years between “hellos” was too much.

  Ten years.

  Ten years ago, I was a frustrated product-testing reporter, putting the boot into every smug tech company that dared describe their latest release as “indestructible”.

  Ten years ago, Gus was still a deconstruction programmer, already brilliant, but almost too shy to say “yes” when I’d asked him out.

  And ten years ago, an ambitious field piece and a perfect storm had washed me onto the shores of a new beginning.

  “Ms Bashir . . . ” Sava paused a few paces away, the coruscating light from the water
making him appear otherworldly.

  “How are you finding the isle?” I said. “Have you finished going through the forms with Marietta?”

  He stared at his feet and made a noise that sounded partly like assent, and partly like a goose being strangled. I wondered if settling him here was a mistake, and I couldn’t shake the image of a small boy in a coracle, paddling stubbornly across the open ocean.

  “I . . . I’m sorry,” he said. “You missed your boat because of me. I’ve been selfish, and because you were kind to me, you won’t get to see your friend. I can’t change that, but I want you to know that I’m sorry, and I’ll stay here. I’ll be polite to my guardians, I’ll go to school here, and I won’t run away. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

  “Do you think you’ll be happy here?”

  Each passing breath betrayed his answer.

  “I’ll stay,” was all he said.

  I sighed, sitting down at the edge of the pier. After a moment, Sava settled beside me.

  “I’ve seen cinder storms sweeping the savannahs,” I said, “and avenues of sakura in the spring. I’ve seen shantytowns drenched in monsoon afternoons, and cities illuminated by the heart of the sea. Happiness isn’t a place—it’s a life’s work. It’s something you cultivate with time and effort. And sometimes, it falls apart and you have to start over. But sometimes, it flourishes in the most unexpected of places.”

  Veins of blue light raced up the building beside us, and Sava gasped as aquamarine fire traced over the stonework. Seawater rich with bioluminescent bacteria flowed through a fretwork of clear pipes, and one by one, the isles lit up like ethereal coral spires—a glowing reef in the darkness.

  The moon rolled slowly across the sky, and a breeze carried the scent of kelp and hot chips.

  Sava took a quiet breath. “I’d like to tell you a story.”

  The rise and fall of his chest slowed, as though he were weighing every word.

  “Once, there lived a boy, in a land of velvet snow and tender hearths. But there came a day when the hungry sea devoured the snow and snuffed the hearths, leaving only mud and bones. The boy wandered the world alone until one day, in the red heart of the desert, he found a fallen star who promised to lead him home again.” His voice rattled to silence. “That’s all I have so far.”

  We sat side by side in the dreamlike carnival of lights, the warmth of the wooden pier seeping through us. Brightly coloured fairy lights twinkled along the bridges, casting rainbow fireflies on the dancing waters below.

  “What do you hope happens next?” I said.

  Sava looked out into the star-flecked distance, his shadow fluttering in the shifting lights.

  “I think, maybe—”

  His brow furrowed, and I followed his gaze to a set of lights gliding across the water. As they neared, I could discern a yacht, perhaps twenty metres long and sleek as a pampered cat. It boasted a noiseless motor, shimmering solar sails, and a hull that had probably been carved from a single piece of pomposity.

  A man in his late thirties stood jauntily on the prow, the wind ruffling his black hair. As the yacht automatically moored itself, Sava raced down the pier, barely waiting for the man to disembark before barrelling into a hug. The man rocked backwards, laughing.

  “Sava, what a surprise!” He swivelled his lighthouse smile my way. “My dear Ms Bashir, I came as soon as I heard your distress call.”

  My heart tried to sink and leap at the same time, eventually executing an awkward bellyflop.

  “Doctor Seong. It wasn’t a distress call. And I’m afraid I can’t afford to hire your yacht.”

  “Nonsense,” replied Seong. “I’d be happy to chauffeur an old friend at no charge.”

  I suspected he used the word “friend” as a blanket term that included acquaintances, strangers and nemeses.

  “I don’t require a chauffeur—”

  “But you do require transportation. As it so happens, I have some business to attend to in the straits. If you’d care to join me, I’d be delighted to take you wherever you wish to go, once my business is concluded.”

  “What kind of business?”

  “Dental business.” He dipped a glance towards his wrist comms. “The madragonflies are due to return in six days. My obligations will take two. How much time do you have, Ms Bashir?”

  I discarded a succession of responses. “Fine. I mean, thank you. Give me a minute to fetch my things.”

  I raced up to my guest room, grabbed my bag, and on my way down, Sava scampered into step beside me, his pack on his shoulders.

  “Sava, you’re staying here.”

  “I’ll stay here after—”

  I grasped his arm, turning him to face me in the narrow stairwell. “You promised you’d stay.”

  “I’ll live here, if you want. But you and Doctor Seong are the only two people left in this world who matter to me. And if anything—” He swallowed. “Once I know you’re safe, once we’re back here, I’ll stay. Please.”

  His voice cracked on the last word, his fingers gripping my arm as though afraid I might melt away.

  Any responsible adult would have stood firm.

  “All right. You’d better help me get Paku.”

  * * *

  It took us a full day to weave through the treacherous reefs and into Valgard Straits, the sun melting into red and silver ripples. It was eerily silent: no squalling gulls, no shoals of leaping fish. And, thankfully, no sign of the madragonflies.

  Seong wiped a hand across his brow as he steered The Crown towards a sprawling, overgrown island, dropping anchor in a sandy cove.

  “I should be back tomorrow afternoon,” he said.

  “My wikimap says this island is uninhabited. Toxic contamination.”

  Seong waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t believe everything you read.”

  I planted myself between him and the gangplank. “Cillian.”

  “There’s no contamination, but my destination is a few hours hike through the jungle.”

  I eyed the island, the greenery purring with ominous invitation.

  “I’ll come with you. I honestly don’t know how you survive outside of a supermall.”

  I turned at the sound of a wet snort, and saw Paku standing on deck, Sava holding his lead.

  “It’s safer if we stay together, right?” said Sava.

  * * *

  The undergrowth clamoured with the evening chorus, rich with warbles and croaks—a strange contrast to the silent straits. Seong and I took point, with Sava and Paku bringing up the rear.

  “You’re really not going to tell me why you’re here?” I said.

  “Doctor-patient confidentiality. You know how it is. But I can’t stop you from walking alongside me as I go about my business. Especially if it means you’re not tempted to ‘borrow’ The Crown while I’m gone.”

  “You think I’d steal your yacht?”

  “No. But you do have a habit of floating away.”

  “Of what?”

  “How is dear Argus, by the way? He’s quite the catch, you know.”

  “There was no catching involved. Our relationship is built on mutual love and respect.”

  “Things are that bad, huh?”

  I slapped Seong hard across the shoulder.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Mosquito. A big one.”

  “Honestly, Lani, I’m only—”

  I stopped in my tracks, and Sava stumbled against me. Paku’s breath turned into a nervous clicking, and I knew he’d spotted the same thing I had. Two moons shone in the gloom ahead, and my eyes pulled a shape from the darkness. Veiled in dense foliage, an enormous bullfrog sat in wait, unblinking. It was the size of a bison, and I found myself transfixed by that wide, wide mouth. Three metres separated us, which meant we were just out of reach. Or just within.

  I had a terrible feeling that the frog was performing the same calculations.

  Almost in slow motion, I scooped up a fallen branch just as the frog lunged forward, it
s jaws parting—

  There was a hiss and a crackle, and faint threads of light raced over the frog. It convulsed before slumping to the ground, twitching slightly. Another soft hiss, and something retracted into the hand of a lean, weathered woman in her seventies. She wore a black T-shirt and khakis, and a dark beanie covered most of her short, white hair.

  “Sorry I’m late,” said the woman curtly. “This way.”

  We struggled to keep up as she strode through the chittering jungle. Our flashlights lanced through the vines, and after I’d walked into my third palm, I was convinced the island was playing a game of musical trees. Eventually, the mud gave way to cracked roads, and concrete walls loomed ahead, topped with barbed wire. The woman pushed open a heavy gate, and as we hurried through, I saw the corroded lettering above the entrance.

  cambrea university.

  “Oh, my God,” I said. “You’re one of the Cambrea Twelve.”

  The woman turned sharply, green eyes undimmed by age, and I recognised that look. Scorn and defiance and unhealthy cleverness.

  I gaped. “You’re Mirabella Mason.”

  “I served my time,” said Mason coolly.

  “Excuse me.” Sava edged forward shyly. “Is that baton based on a frog’s tongue?”

  Mason seemed to perform a quick visual dissection of the boy. Satisfied that his curiosity was sincere, she replied.

  “The carbon-silica fibres behave like muscles, and the electrified pad at the end is modelled on the electrogenic organs of Electrophorus electricus.” She led us through a derelict courtyard and into an imposing brick building. “The largest frog on this island has a tongue of three-point-eight metres. My baton has a reach of five.”

  Lights hummed on, illuminating a laboratory filled with labelled jars, piles of books, and possibly several prototype doomsday machines.

  Seong snapped open his trolley case. “I know you didn’t want me to come, but these dental check-ups are a condition of your parole.”

  “Parole,” sneered Mason. “They didn’t want to release me, but they couldn’t keep me locked away.”