They kept the Phoke staff busy asking for paper and pencil, computers to work on, and passwords to log onto the Phoke Internet system.
Every phone call they made started with an explanation of their strangely high-pitched Tri-Mix voices.
One Phoke delivered a tray of steaming coffee and shortbread cookies. As the man was leaving, Jake asked, “Could I get a guide to show me around the city?”
“Of course,” said the man.
“Do you mind if I tour the city?” Jake asked Mom.
She nodded her approval, barely looking up.
Jake followed the man, who looked exactly like the butler on that old British television show about the early 20th century, “Downton Abbey.” Some of the girls at Bainbridge High School had rediscovered the program and had binge-watched the whole six seasons. For a while, that’s all they could talk about, so Jake had watched one or two episodes.
As he followed the man he now thought of as Mr. Carson, Jake tried to figure out how to find Em. He didn’t trust Dr. Mangot to find Em for him, and even if she did, Jake didn’t trust her to give him any information.
He thought back over the whole trip to Scotland: the aquarium and the octopus, diving with his friends to get his first glimpse of Aberforth Hills, and diving to the Nazi sub with mom, fighting General Puentes and being kidnapped by Captain Bulmer. Things had changed so fast. He’d come to Scotland with two goals. First, to support Mom and her ambassadorial duties. He was still learning how to be a Face of Rison. He’d gone to meetings with Mom and fought for his race’s survival by arguing for transplanting their culture to Earth’s oceans. He’d listened and grown. The Phoke may have put a nail in their coffin, as the American saying went, but he still had another goal: find Em. Fulfilling that goal might be possible.
She was here in Aberforth Hills. He had to find Em.
Mom and Dad would go to the cocktail party that evening to schmooze with the press from around the world. It was a tailor-made event for Mom to spread the word about the Risonian cause. So, he’d have hours before they worried about him again.
Mr. Carson took him to see the Gunby School and the City Hall. They were old and musty, another strike against the Phoke city and in favor of Risonian underwater cities. On Rison, they had old buildings, but they didn’t stink from trying to keep out the ocean. Finally, Jake asked, “Where do the teenagers hang out?”
The man frowned disapprovingly. “Well, there are some clubs where bands play. My daughter’s favorite band will be there this evening.”
Jake took down an address, let Mr. Carson show him how to use an h-car, and at 8 pm, he walked into the Bog Myrtle. Sporting a low ceiling and stone floors, the congested cafe and bar throbbed with music and flickering lights. He recognized the band, The Phoke.
A girl dressed in a long flowing dress twirled by and was quickly swallowed up by the crowd. The light glinted from the granny-silver hair of a girl who danced alone. A bald guy swayed with a girl whose hair was so short that she was almost bald, too. Noise, people, crowds, constant movement—Jake hesitated, repelled by the crowd, as usual.
A hand slapped his shoulder. “Ah, it’s the alien from Rison. What are you doing here?”
Looking up, Jake saw Enid Ways, the woman from the aquarium. Wryly, he thought, I should’ve known she was Phoke.
“Looking for my friend, Emmeline Tullis,” he said loudly over the crowd noise. “But this city is overwhelming, so big.” He used large gestures in case she couldn’t hear him.
Enid leaned closer to his ear and quipped, “Well, failing means you’re playing,”
Jake put his ear close to her ear. “Do you have any idea where I could look for Em?”
Enid put her arm through his elbow and mouthed, “Let’s sit and talk.”
Possessive, Jake thought. She was too old for him. Looking around the throng, though, she was the only friendly face. He nodded vigorously
They settled into a tiny booth away from the band, where they could talk at an almost-normal level. Enid leaned forward and said, “Your friend is here in Aberforth Hills? Have you checked the Phoke.net?”
“What’s that?” Jake said.
“It’s an Intranet that’s only connected to servers in Aberforth Hills. It’s got the most advanced security, of course,” Enid said. “Couldn’t let outsiders know we were here until we were ready.”
She tapped on her phone and then looked up. “Emmeline Tullis was a patient at the Mangot Hospital. But she’s been released.”
“That’s right,” Jake agreed. “She’s been very sick.”
“Who’s her doctor?”
“I think it was Dr. Mangot.”
Enid voice went up an octave in excitement. “Oh! She’s really good, the best! Such an inspiration! When I need to figure out how to get along up top, I call her. A great mentor!”
Jake thought of the cold, calculating doctor he’d met earlier. Maybe she only showed her good side to other Phoke.
A waitress stopped at their table. “Fish and chips for me,” Enid said and raised her eyebrows at Jake.
“I’ll have the same,” he said, realizing that he was hungry.
For a moment, they listened to the band as a song crescendoed. In the cramped room, it sounded off-kilter, forced and harsh. “Why do you like this band?”
Enid’s face shown with new enthusiasm. “Phoke in concert has a kind of off-the-cuff shagginess. Watch how the lead singer, Grady Tor, kind of goes into a trance with his lyrics.”
Tor leaned over his guitar, eyes closed, head thrown back so that his Adam’s apple bobbed as he crooned.
“I’ve heard this song a dozen times,” Enid said, “and he never does it the same way twice. They add different instruments, too. Sometimes a mandolin or a violin. Sometimes a harmonica or a kazoo. Brilliant fun!”
“Brilliant,” echoed Jake, but without enthusiasm. It was obvious he was out of place—or a fish out of water, as another American expression went. It was getting to be a bad habit, he realized, to constantly think in American slang. He brought the conversation back to Em. “So, can I get my own account on the Phoke.net? I’m good at research.”
Enid shook her head. “Only Phoke have accounts and log in passwords.”
“Could I use yours?”
“You’re Risonian. My enemy.” She tilted her head and studied him.
“Do you believe that?” Jake waved off the objection. “I know the octopus didn’t like me, but do you dislike me, too?”
“You’re an alien.” She shrugged, like it was obvious.
Now Jake found his own passion rising, but even as he said them, he knew his words sounded mournful. “We don’t want your cities. We just want to live. Our whole planet is about to be destroyed. You should understand our dilemma because it’s so similar to your own. You’ll be overrun with humans within a week. Will your Phoke culture survive that? You’ve barely survived when you’ve been hidden.”
“We’ll survive. For years, we’ve looked forward to this day. It was all planned.”
He gulped. They were a well-oiled machine, everyone doing a pre-assigned task. “Humans and Phoke will have to figure out how to live in harmony. How easy will that be?”
The waitress delivered their food and for a minute they ate and thought. The Phoke band started a new song, and Enid sang along in between bites.
When the song ended, Enid said, “Tell me about Emmeline again.”
“I met her in Seattle at a coffee shop. She swims amazingly fast, almost a state champion.”
At Enid’s blank stare, Jake expanded. “That just means she’s the fastest in the state of Washington. Trust me, that’s a big deal. She’ll likely get college scholarships to be on someone’s swim team. But she got sick, and they took her somewhere to be treated. And I’ve tracked her to Aberforth Hills and Dr. Mangot.”
“What’s your connection with Emmeline. Do you have a duty or something you have to fulfill?”
“Em is—well, my girlfriend.”
“She doesn’t know who I am. The fact that the Risonian Ambassador is my mother was only announced nine days ago, the day after Em disappeared.” Jake sat back and stared up at the string of lights over the dance floor. The band was taking a break now, so the room was full of noisy chatter, like a room full of crows, he thought. “I’d like to be the one to tell her that I’m an alien. I’d rather she not hear it from someone else.”
Enid said, “I can see that.”
“She thinks I can’t even swim.”
Enid raised an eyebrow again. “Ironic.”
“I’m just a teenage boy looking for his girl,” he said plaintively. It was a simple argument, but the only true one he had.
“A special teenage boy,” Enid said.
“And a special teenage girl,” Jake replied.
Enid stared at him as if trying to evaluate his intentions.
“Please,” he said simply. “Help me.”
Jake thought back to that argument with Em the first day they met. She had been so enthusiastic about the Bainbridge High swim team, trying to recruit him. Her eyes had been bright with excitement, and he told her that he was scared of the water. He couldn’t believe he’d convinced her. It had almost ruined any chance he had with her, except that he was persistent.
The band struck up a new song, even shaggier than before, but with an almost familiar twang that made him turn to watch. It was a slow ballad, a story about a mermaid who pines away for a prince. Jake was sure that it had deep folk song roots, but the Phoke turned it upside down with an intricate melody line and melancholy harmony.
He turned to Enid and said with a quiet dignity, “Will you help me find Emmeline Tullis?”
Enid had been watching the Phoke play, too, but turned now and considered Jake. After a minute, she took a pen from her purse, and wrote on a napkin and shoved it across the table to him.
Jake read: EWays2015, Vulgaris
Of course. The password was the Latin name of common Atlantic octopus. Priscilla was Enid’s darling.
He looked up to say, “Thank you.” But Enid was on the dance floor with a tall guy.
Jake paid their bill and left excited. He hadn’t found Em yet, but he’d found a way to try to track her across Aberforth Hills. She’d show up somewhere.
23
The Day After
December 26
The day after Christmas was eerie. It was almost like the world held its breath for a day, trying to absorb the news that mermen and mermaids were real. And that they wanted to be called the Phoke. The media went crazy, but in spite of the Phoke’s Contingency Plan, there was a huge vacuum of information. As predicted, though, the Phoke B&B was overwhelmed with traffic. The site went down twice overnight, but was quickly restored.
Mom worked almost endlessly. Ambassador Quad-de gave interviews—insisted upon the opportunity—to every news network who had crews in Aberforth Hills. After a while, Jake wondered if her smile was going to be permanently etched into her face. He sat in a few interviews with her to answer questions, but mostly they wanted the Risonian Ambassador’s reaction to the presence of the Phoke.
She obliged them by providing video and photos of Rison. The Phoke media had put out lots of photos, so the news media compared Mom’s photos of a Rison hospital with a Phoke hospital. They compared everything possible: hospitals, schools, sports centers, old houses, new houses, and city halls.
“Aberforth Hills is lovely,” Mom said at the beginning of each interview. Sooner or later, though, she said, “Now that the Phoke have come out, and we know about them, I want to visit each of their cities and discover new vistas. I can’t imagine losing your home town. Someday soon, I’ll lose my whole planet. I only hope there will be some survivors to rebuild here on Earth.”
Dad was interviewed endlessly, too. Commander Blake Rose was the Navy’s only representative—actually, the only military from any country—so he had to give his appraisal of the city. He carefully avoided any discussion of the military readiness of Aberforth Hills because honestly, he hadn’t had time to evaluate that.
When he wasn’t being interviewed, he tried to communicate with ELLIS Headquarters. All anyone would say was that General Puentes was at the hospital where his daughter, Captain Meryl Puentes, was recovering from a diving accident. Navy Headquarters, though, told him that ships were en route to the North Sea in anticipation of action from the ELLIS Forces.
Jake spent the day searching the Phoke.net for any signs of Em. He found nothing, so he walked through the tunnels till he found an h-car. With this simple transportation, he zipped around Aberforth Hills in hopes that he’d run into Em. Not likely. She was probably still recuperating somewhere and not going out. But he couldn’t be still, a restless fear driving him. The only good thing was that after five times around the city, he was starting to understand its layout and remember how to get to different landmarks.
Still—no Em. No trace of Em after her hospital discharge.
Jake finally returned to the Mangot Hospital, exhausted and in despair.
Dinner for all the news crews and other guests was served in a large room set up as a dining hall. Buffet lines were along one wall, and staff circulated bringing drinks to the tables and later clearing away dishes.
Mom and Dad had already eaten, so Jake went to the dining room alone. His stomach was coiled into a knot, and he didn’t know if he could eat anything. He’d left Rison to escape certain death. All he wanted was a chance to grow up, to fall in love, to work hard at a job he enjoyed, to enjoy an occasional vacation at the beach. He just wanted a life. Something most of his people would never have. He wanted to be given a chance to grow up. To become a man.
He wanted the future.
Dr. Mangot appeared at his table and motioned to a chair. “May I?”
He shrugged, and she sat.
Dr. Mangot asked, “Are you worried? Upset? You look tired.”
Jake was very aware that every conversation he had while in the Phoke city was an important conversation. David would have known how to use all of this to gain a diplomatic edge, to help the Ambassador in her quest for their people. All Jake knew was to be honest.
“If I had a time machine,” he said, “I’d go forward five months.
“Only five months? Not backward 100 years or forward 100 years?”
“No, why would I want to skip all of my life? I just want to know if I’m alone on this world, or if my fellow Risonians make it here. Will Swann, my Risonian father make it? I can face almost anything as long as the future includes my species. It won’t be easy, we know that. But this one thing—will I be alone in the universe?—is crucial for me.”
Dr. Mangot’s jaw clenched. “I don’t see a future for Risonians here. Earth’s seas belong to the Phoke.”
Jake’s heart sank and despair washed over him, even as he admitted that Dr. Mangot was right. He pushed back his plate, sure now that he couldn’t eat. He suddenly wished that he knew more of Risonian history. He wished he had memorized more Risonian poetry, had read more Risonian stories, had learned to play the traditional Risonian instruments. The swifft was a stringed instrument, the bujo was a wind instrument. Earth had its Bach and Beethoven; Rison had its Signs and Sup. He knew Risonian operas, he tried to encourage himself. But he had to admit that he only knew a dozen operas. And thousands had been written over the centuries. A whole culture lost. No, a world of cultures.
But even in his despair, he found another purpose, a deeper one. He might be losing a culture, but Earth had the chance to gain a culture, the Phoke. Em was gaining a culture and an ancestral home.
Dr. Mangot didn’t know, and wouldn’t believe even if he told her, but Jake was on the Phoke’s side.
24
A Tolerable Planet
December 26
Late on December 26, General Leroy Austin Puentes III sat on his bun
k with his back against the wall. He was barefoot, and his knees were pulled up to support his tablet computer with its detachable keyboard. Yawning, he opened the messages app and texted his daughter, hoping that she’d be able to answer. When he’d heard about her diving accident, he took an emergency helicopter flight and spent 48 hours at her hospital bed. But last night—or was it early this morning?—he’d returned to work because—well, he was no good in a hospital room.
Besides, the Phoke’s press conference on Christmas Day had shifted the balance of power in the Risonian negotiations, making everything more intense. Once he knew Meryl would survive, the General had to get back to his troops. He raised his shoulders up and let them fall, stiff and uncomfortable.
He texted:
Leroy: How R U feeling?
Meryl: Am pure done in. Finally have urinary control. Must try crutches today.
For a moment, Leroy’s tears threatened to overflow, but he pushed them back and thought of Meryl’s favorite quote from Walden, a book by the American environmentalist, Henry David Thoreau: “Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads.”
When she was recovered more, he’d take her—carry her if he had to—to their favorite bit of heaven on Earth, a forgotten stream in the tumbling hills of northern Scotland. And they would wade. They’d sit on the bank and dangle their feet in the clear, running water until they were so numb it almost hurt.
Leroy: How long on crutches?
Maria: Month? Maybe always. IDK.
Leroy: UR hearing? Will it come back?
Maria: IDK yet. Hearing aid tomorrow. Hope it’s temp.
Leroy: SHARKS! I’ll pay them back for this.
Maria didn’t write back, and he understood. She’d always hated the Sharks, but now she was conflicted. She remembered enough of the DCS episode to know that she would’ve died without the Risonians. They went up top and got new tanks, and they kept her under to decompress as best they could. She wasn’t sure, even, if the Ambassador’s son had enticed her to stay under by chasing after an octopus.
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