Fire in the Ocean

by K. D. Keenan

“It’s too dangerous. I thought I’d lost you before, Sierra. I do not want to go through that again.”

  Sierra couldn’t help but be touched, but she was determined. “Auntie Keikilani says that I can handle it, and anyway Auntie is the one going in the water to call Kanaloa. I’m staying in the boat to help, so I think I’ll be okay.”

  Clancy rolled his eyes. “I hate this. I hate all of it. Why do you have to get involved, Sierra? This isn’t your fight.”

  “Are we doing this again? If it affects my world adversely, how is it not my fight?”

  “How do you know it will affect your world adversely? The whale might have died of some…some whale disease.”

  “Yeah, I suppose so. On the other hand, the whales are unhappy about WestWind for some reason. The Menehune are unhappy about it. The Moloka‘ians are unhappy. If I can help, I need to do something.”

  Clancy covered his eyes with his hands and groaned. “I see that I’m not going to talk you out of this. Okay. Let’s think out of the box for a sec. How about finding out who’s running this project and talking to them directly? That’s got to be less dangerous than swimming around with giant sharks and squid.”

  “Octopus.” Sierra looked at him, this new idea glimmering in her eyes. “That’s not a half-bad idea, Clancy. Thanks!” She pulled out her cell phone and began to type in “Ahi Moana + WestWind Project.” The search results included images. Clancy looked over her shoulder at the photographs, intrigued by the jack ships Ahi Moana used for offshore wind farm construction.

  Sierra muttered to herself, “Stop! No, go back one…there! That’s him!”

  “That’s who?”

  Sierra was pointing to the photograph of a slender, dark-haired man in a suit, standing at a podium, evidently speaking at some event. “That’s the CEO of Ahi Moana. We met him the day we went out snorkeling!”

  “We did?” Clancy peered at the photo doubtfully. “Really?”

  “Yeah. Remember the guy on the boat who had all his own equipment with him? We said maybe five words to each other? That’s Houghton Roberts, CEO of Ahi Moana.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes! He even told us his name was Houghton. I’m absolutely positive. Actually, he seemed like kind of a nice guy,” Sierra said. Somehow, “nice guy” wasn’t consistent with her mental image of a corporate CEO, but who could tell from the few words they had exchanged? “So he’s here on Moloka‘i! Maybe we can find a way to talk to him.”

  “The only way to do that is to ask around,” said Clancy, now back on solid ground. “Let’s start asking.”

  Sierra and Clancy asked Auntie if she knew whether Roberts was currently on Moloka‘i, but Auntie had no idea. They walked to Jack’s house and showed the photo on Sierra’s phone.

  “So you’re looking for Roberts, huh?” Jack asked.

  “Yes. We met him when we were snorkeling. Do you know if he’s still here on Moloka‘i?” asked Clancy.

  “He isn’t here a lot, but he is right now. We got up a little protest group and went out to the company condo to let him know we weren’t happy. He opened the door but didn’t say anything. Just went back inside.”

  “So what did you do?” Clancy inquired.

  Jack shrugged. “Nothing,” he said. “We made our point, so we went home. We aren’t interested in making a stink and getting the police involved. We just wanted to deliver the message.”

  “Can you tell me where he’s staying?” asked Sierra eagerly. She was energized by this new direction—a direction that didn’t involve chatting with Avatars in the ocean.

  “Sure,” said Jack.

  That evening found Sierra approaching the Ahi Moana company condo. Clancy had wanted to accompany her, but she asked him to stay behind. She felt she could deal better with Roberts one-on-one. She rang the doorbell and waited. Before long, the door opened cautiously and she saw the man she recognized as Houghton Roberts.

  Roberts held the door half closed, as though he were prepared to slam it shut. “Can I help you?” he asked, politely enough.

  “Mr. Roberts, my name is Sierra Carter. We were out snorkeling together the other day, remember? Can I talk to you for a couple of minutes?”

  Roberts hesitated for a moment, and the tension in his face loosened somewhat. But he did not open the door any wider. “Oh, right. I remember you. What did you want to talk about?”

  “It’s complicated, but it has to do with the WestWind Project. I promise not to be a nuisance.”

  He hesitated again, his blue eyes searching hers. Probably wondering just how much of a nutcase I am. Then he opened the door and stepped aside to let her in.

  Sierra had been expecting a luxurious dwelling, but the Ahi Moana company condo was fairly modest. The front of the condo was all lanai, providing a beautiful view of breakers rolling up the beach. Sea spray bejeweled the lanai’s screened-in sides. The furniture was the usual rattan-and-tropical-print stuff. One major difference from a tourist condo was the presence of a large desk in the living room, equipped with phone, computer, printer, fax, and several piles of papers. There was a half-full wine glass on the desk, and the desk lamp was lit. She had evidently interrupted Houghton as he was working.

  “Can I get you a glass of wine?” he offered, picking up the bottle. She saw it was a California zinfandel from Amador County—a particular favorite.

  “Yes, please.”

  He poured out a glass and handed it to her. “Let’s sit in the lanai,” he said, leading the way to the screened-in porch. Sierra followed him and sat down. He sat in a chair facing her and sipped his wine.

  “So what did you want to say about WestWind?” he asked, staring at her over his wine glass as he turned it around and around in his hands.

  She found she didn’t know what to say. Driving to the condo, she had rehearsed a number of different openers, all of which now seemed lame. On the other hand, obviously she couldn’t start babbling about Menehune, whales, and Avatars.

  “Mr. Roberts, it’s a mistake,” she said, finally. “It’s going to be terrible for the humpback whales, and it’s damaging to the environment. It’s not a good deal for the Moloka‘ians. As a matter of fact, it’s a terrible deal for them, because they aren’t getting any benefit from it at all.”

  Roberts was silent for several minutes. He set his glass down on a side table and gave her a penetrating blue stare that made her extremely uncomfortable.

  “May I ask,” he said finally, “what your interest is in this project? I don’t think you’re from Moloka‘i.”

  “No. I’m not from Moloka‘i. I’m from Northern California. I’m just visiting, but I’ve been talking to people who live here”—and some not-people, she thought—“and they’re pretty unhappy about WestWind. They think it will damage the whales’ breeding and nursery grounds and perhaps damage other organisms as well. But the Moloka‘ians also say that they won’t benefit from the electricity the project will generate. That it will all go to Honolulu. And I’ve been told there are no Moloka‘ians working on the project, so they won’t even get a boost in employment during the construction.”

  He heard her out, his blue eyes never leaving her face. He paused courteously to make certain she had finished. “You know, I’ve heard all this before. What they aren’t saying is that wind power is good for Hawai‘i. The state needs renewable, non-polluting sources of power, and WestWind will provide some of that. The cost of electricity throughout the Islands should begin to drop because of projects like WestWind.

  “As for the ecological impact, we did a full assessment, as the law demands, and we got a green light from the environmental agency and the state legislature. It’s all legal and aboveboard, and we jumped through every hoop to get this project approved. We are doing this work for the Public Utilities Commission of the State of Hawai‘i, and we were never asked to divert any of the electricity to Moloka‘i. In fact, the subject never came up.

  “Finally, we don’t employ any Moloka‘ians on the construc
tion because everyone out there is a trained professional. Working onboard a jack ship is highly technical and can be very dangerous. If there is anyone on Moloka‘i with those qualifications, they didn’t send us a résumé.”

  Sierra felt like a beach ball after an encounter with a broken bottle. She had been so full of purpose and intent, but this man had quietly deflated it all. She still had the knowledge of what the Menehune had told Kama Pua‘a and the image of the dead baby whale, but she could hardly offer these as a substitute for rational argument with this calm and self-possessed man. He’d dismiss her as a hysterical crazy lady. And maybe he’s right about that, she thought glumly.

  “I see,” she said aloud, in lieu of anything more intelligent.

  “So what are you doing here on Moloka‘i?” he asked to her surprise.

  “I’m here on vacation, Mr. Roberts. Sort of. With some friends.”

  “Please. Call me Huff,” he said with a quick, wide smile. Then he looked at her with sudden spark of interest. “You’re not one of the tourists who got swept off the sightseeing boat and got stranded, are you?”

  “Yes. But if you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about it.” Way too risky.

  “I understand. It must have been a terrible experience,” he said sympathetically. Brother, you have no idea, said her cynical mind, but her more vulnerable self warmed to his sympathy.

  “Yes. It was. This is a delicious zinfandel. Mind if I look at the label? I’d like to pick some up when I get home.”

  “Help yourself. So how long are you here?”

  Sierra pretended to study the wine label. “Um, maybe another week? I didn’t intend to come to Moloka‘i at all, of course. We had other plans.”

  “Oh? Who’s ‘we’?”

  “Chaco and I. Uh, Chaco’s an old friend. Originally, we were going to Midway Island…” Sierra launched into an explanation of her original plans. Huff listened, clearly focused on what she was saying. He did not appear anxious to get back to the stack of papers on the desk.

  “…and since we’re here, we decided to spend some time relaxing and having a little fun before we go home,” she concluded.

  “I didn’t know about the program on Midway. That’s interesting. I wonder if they would accept corporate sponsorship,” Huff asked to her astonishment.

  “I suppose they’d jump at it,” she replied. “I think the whole program is run on a shoestring—after all, I had to pay to go there and work, and they’re suspending the program due to lack of funds.”

  “How much do you know about plastic cleanup in the Pacific Gyre?” he asked, prompting Sierra—who knew quite a bit—into an explanation of the various experiments being conducted on cleaning up plastic particulates in the water.

  Two hours and the rest of the bottle of zinfandel later, Sierra roused herself from what had been an engrossing conversation about ocean conservancy to realize the afternoon had fled and evening was closing in. The sun neared the ocean’s horizon and the palms outside the condo cast long, purple shadows. She jumped up.

  “Wow! I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time,” she said. “I’m sorry…”

  “I’m not,” said Huff, rising from his chair. “I enjoyed it.” He smiled warmly at her. Sierra realized with a start that he really was a most attractive man. He had short, dark hair, silvering at the sides—just the way a good CEO’s hair should look. His face was lean—his nose perhaps a bit too sharp—but enlivened by warm, blue eyes and a charming smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. His teeth were white and even. He looks like a CEO from Central Casting, Sierra thought, then chastised herself mentally for stereotyping him. Huff had been genuinely interested in the ocean cleanup efforts, and had offered to get Ahi Moana’s non-profit donations manager to look into providing some funding to one or more of the programs that were trying to develop viable cleanup technologies.

  “So, you’re going ahead with the WestWind Project, I suppose,” she asked, looking up into his bright blue eyes. “I don’t think I’ve changed your mind, have I, Huff?”

  Roberts shook his head. “I couldn’t back out now if I tried. I’d be sued by everyone from our stockholders to the Hawai‘i State Legislature. It would take legislation, a Federal court order, and/or an act of god to stop it now. I’m sorry. I mean, I’m not sorry, but I’m sorry that you’re so upset about it.”

  He hesitated then. “Maybe if you came out with me to the jack ships one of these days you’d get a different perspective on it. It’s pretty interesting. What do you say?”

  “Oh, I, uh,” Sierra trailed off. That was articulate. “I’d like that. Sure. When?”

  “How about day after tomorrow? I’m flying out there in the morning. Meet me at the Kaunakakai helipad at nine a.m.” He showed her on Google Maps where the helipad was, then walked her to the door.

  “Goodbye, Sierra. See you soon.”

  Sierra waved and walked away. She didn’t notice that Roberts stood in the doorway until long after she had passed out of sight, staring after her.

  Chapter 19

  “So he told me it would take legislation, a court order, or an act of god to stop it,” Sierra told her friends over dinner that night. “So I guess it has to be an act of god. Gods.”

  “What’s that mean?” Chaco looked up from Auntie’s excellent lomi-lomi salmon.

  “I’m going to try to speak with Kauhuhu,” said Sierra firmly, taking a bite of fried plantain.

  Clancy groaned. “Please don’t do it, Sierra. You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

  Sierra cocked her head at him. “And you do?”

  There wasn’t much Clancy could say to that, so he replied, “Then I’m coming too.”

  Keikilani spoke for the first time since Sierra had begun relating her meeting with Roberts. “No, you can’t. That really would be dangerous. You have no powers like Sierra. Kauhuhu and Kanaloa won’t recognize you. Besides, it’s just a little putt-putt boat. No room.”

  “I’m small,” Fred put in. “Couldn’t I go?” The chorus of “Nos” silenced him. Fred resumed his attack on a dish of coconut pudding, which he liked almost—but not quite—as much as chocolate.

  “And then the next day,” Sierra continued, “I’m going out to the construction site on Huff’s helicopter.”

  There was a small uproar.

  “Oh, it’s ‘Huff’ now, is it?” This from Chaco, accompanied by a scowl.

  “Why are you doing that?” from Keikilani and Fred in chorus.

  “That does sound interesting,” Clancy said. Sierra cast an appreciative glance his way.

  “Maybe he’ll take you, too, Clancy. Come with me to the helipad. The worst he can do is say no.”

  After dinner, Auntie Keikilani insisted that she and Sierra spend some time to prepare. “There’s no guarantee that Kauhuhu will show up,” she explained. “But with the proper chants and gifts, perhaps he will manifest. I’d like you to help me with the chants.”

  “What sort of gifts?” Sierra asked uneasily. She had an image of a dead goat being tossed over the side to attract the huge shark. It struck her that supernatural sharks might not be the only ones attracted.

  “A lei. Some ‘awa.”

  Sierra breathed a silent sigh of relief.

  As Sierra had lost none of her knowledge of Hawai‘ian, learning the chants was easy. Then Keikilani helped her run through a series of mental exercises with those twining ribbons of mana. They seemed brighter and stronger than before, and Auntie was satisfied.

  “I hope—that is, I don’t think that you’ll need to call on your powers if you’re not being attacked. But you need to keep practicing, keep your mana strong to protect yourself,” she said. “From what you told us, the Avatars sense your powers and are drawn to them.”

  “Yeah,” Sierra said. She was reassured by the apparent strength of her mana, but she still felt insecure about her powers when confronted by these ancient gods. She dreaded the next day’s adventure, but said nothing to
the others about her fears. They could do nothing, and she knew that sharing her fears would make Clancy even more insistent on being there, despite the fact he could contribute nothing beyond his own worry and desire to protect her. Besides, Keikilani would be the one in the water, not Sierra, and she felt a bit ashamed of her anxiety.

  • • •

  They drove in Auntie’s battered Ford to one of the fishponds on the eastern shore of the island. This one was in good repair, unlike the ones Sierra had glimpsed from Polupolu as they chugged past. There was only one gap in the seawall, allowing water to flow in and out. The surface of the pond wall rising above the calm eastern waters was flat and frosted with white coral. It was broad enough to walk on.

  “Cousin of mine lives here,” said Keikilani, bending over a small, red boat that was hauled up and anchored on the sandy beach to one side of the pond. “He keeps up the pond, fishes in it. Grows taro. He likes living the simple life, I guess.”

  Sierra helped Auntie drag the little boat to the water’s edge, where both women stepped in. Auntie deposited her duffel bag with snorkeling equipment and other supplies on the floor of the boat and revved the little outboard motor. Soon they were putt-putting gently over the swells, heading away from the shore. Peering into the glassy water and shading her eyes against the morning sun, Sierra could see corals and fish below. They passed a turtle sunning himself at the surface and saw some small manta rays “flying” along through the clear depths.

  They were about a mile out from the shore when Auntie stopped the boat and moored to a floating buoy. Sierra peered over the side, seeing corals quite close to the surface.

  “It’s pretty shallow for being so far out from shore,” she remarked.

  “It’s a fringe reef,” returned Keikilani. “The most extensive reef in the Islands. It’s pretty shallow for about a mile out in some places. Now, you say Kauhuhu appeared to you in deep water?

  “Yes. I’d been swimming along over the corals and before I knew it, I found myself in deep water.”

  “There’s a deep hole just a few yards directly ahead. I’ll swim out there—but not just yet,” Auntie said. “We still have our chants and offerings to make.”