Maybe Angie was right. Maybe it was important to the integrity of the time stream that he make a visit to Scotland Beach. He hadn’t done this before, but in another time stream, he and Angie had already flown through the Farpool accidentally, with Kloosee and Pakma and wound up on Seome in the middle of the Uman-Coethi conflict.
And what of the Coethi? Somehow, they had come through the Farpool into this time stream themselves. What effect would that have on how events unfolded?
It was all very confusing and it gave Chase a headache.
“Okay, Ang, you win. Maybe we should make a visit. I can try to explain to Mom and Dad what’s happened. Of course, I can’t even explain it to myself. But it’ll be like the Croc Boys when we’re jamming in the studio…we just make stuff up as we go along.”
Angie stood there at the foot of the bed, hands on her hips. “So how are we going to do this, Chase? Neither of us has any money for airline tickets.”
“Oh, that’s the easy part. We go the same way we got here…by kip’t. Hopefully, it’s still there in that lagoon by the Institute.”
They packed their meager things and hailed another robocab to Woods Hole. Dashing quietly from building to building, hiding in the shrubbery and among parked cars, they made it to Eel Pond and found the little kip’t still there, still beached on a sandbar, just as Chase had left it. Checking inside, Chase determined that no one had been there, no one had messed with the controls. There was nothing anchoring the sled to the beach, no chains, no cables, nothing.
They climbed in. Chase powered up and with a little rocking back and forth, managed to slide the ship off the sandbar. They submerged and turned about, heading along the sandy bottom of Eel Pond to the narrow inlet on the opposite side. They eased through, passing Dyer’s Dock and Redfield Lab and the breakwater that extended out into Vineyard Sound.
Soon enough, they were in deep water and heading south, fighting tricky cross-currents, Chase hunting for the telltale scents and sounds of the Gulf Stream.
He figured Scotland Beach and the Florida Gulf Coast would be easily a three-day trip for them. And as they settled in for a long cruise, Chase couldn’t help the feeling that in going through conicthyosis, he had somehow lost something important, lost some connection with the Seomish people he had been so much a part of. Now, he was a true hybrid, neither human nor Seomish, but probably more human than not. He wasn’t yet sure how well he would be able to live and work and play among them in the deep sea, with its dark, cold, high-pressure waters and currents.
Some said that growing up was like this…you lost your childhood and had to learn how to make your way as an adult. You lost your em’took capabilities and somehow had to make it as almost but not quite human, a hybrid amphibian. But for Chase Meyer, the loss was deeply felt. Even Angie could see the growing lines of depression forming as wrinkles around a tight-set mouth.
Maybe just being home at the Beach will help. Maybe it’ll help both of us.
Kilometers behind them, on the second floor of Redfield Lab, Dr. Josey Holland sat at her desk, facing a loss that she simply could not voice. A loss that had no words to express or explain. Tears welled up in her eyes. She stared down at the message that had just come through on her wristpad, silently willing the words to vanish into thin air, but they stayed stubbornly real and glared back at her in defiance.
It was a final order from the Barnstable County Family Court judge, Judge Raines. The wording was burned into her mind as if by a blowtorch:
…will hereafter and from now on be awarded custody of the Holland siblings, Timmy and Hannah…plaintiff will function as sole parent until such time as he re-marries or Timmy and Hannah attain the age of majority, the age of eighteen years…defendant will receive no rights of visitation and is hereby absolved of all requirements for any child support, alimony or any other form of assistance…
So there it was, in pixelated black and white on her wristpad screen. Josey Holland…defendant!...had lost the custody battle with Stephen, thanks to his blood-sucking leech lawyers and an uncaring judge. The court ruled that Timmy and Hannah…at this, Holland wiped rivulets of tears from her cheeks—Hannah, she tried pronouncing the name of her poor special needs youngest child…Hannah would live with Stephen. Stephen, who really didn’t know the first thing about caring for the girl, who loved her almost as much as he loved his forty-foot cabin cruiser Speckled Bird, who spent almost no time with the kids and hadn’t for a decade, maybe more.
She silently mouthed the words to herself, as if by the very incantation, she could somehow rob them of any power they might have…
Divorced and childless…divorced and childless…divorced and childless….
Heart and brain surgery would have been easier.
She shut off the message on her wristpad and absent-mindedly called up another image of Chase in 3-D, rotating like a pig on a spit atop her desk, a man-child amphibian hybrid thing that bubbled with more life and energy and vitality that a thousand Stephens.
Chase, I really do envy you. Maybe I should do this procedure on myself someday. What have I got left now?
Scotland Beach, Florida
October 3, 2115
1530 hours
Chase came in through the garage door, with Angie clinging tightly to his side and ran right into his Mom in the kitchen. Startled, Cynthia Meyer dropped a pan of bread mix right on the floor. It clattered around a bit and the sound was soon replaced by the dulcet voice of a DJ on the radio…a DJ voice Chase knew all too well. His older sister Jamie had come back from Dallas, from KPTX “Party 101 FM”, and was apparently now employed locally, reprising the same hybrid techjam sound she had been so successful with in the Big D.
Chase didn’t have long to wonder about it though for Mrs. Meyer quickly recovered her composure and flew into his arms with a crushing hug.
“Chase…Chase Meyer!” She had tears in her eyes. “When did—how did--?”
They hugged for what seemed like days.
“Mom…hey, Mom…I can’t breathe…like, let up…okay?”
She didn’t stop hugging for a very long time. “I didn’t expect you, that’s all. What are you doing here? Don’t you have a gig…or something tonight?”
“A gig…I’m not sure—” Chase looked at her, wondering what she meant. Then he reminded himself: this isn’t the same time stream. “Sure, yeah…me and the Boys.”
Cynthia Meyer looked her son over with motherly concern. “Where is it, tonight? You’ve been all over Florida these last few weeks…some place nice, I hope. Really, all those schools…the clubs…what am I going to do with you? You know Jamie’s talked about putting one of your songs on the air. She needs a disk from you.”
Chase tried to put together everything she was saying: clubs…schools…gigs…radio play…. Apparently, in this time stream, the Croc Boys were developing quite a following around the state, playing to local audiences.
Way better than my old time stream, he figured.
“And what’s with your skin, son? Are you eating right…must be those motel showers, huh?” She felt the slightly rough scaly patches that still existed on his skin, residual effects of Dr. Holland’s procedure.
No way am I showing her my gills.
“No, Mom, really, I’m okay. Angie here—”
Mrs. Meyer said, “Oh, my goodness, girl…I almost forgot about you. How are you, child?” She hugged Angie lightly.
“Just fine, ma’am. Just fine.”
“You two looked starved. There’s meatloaf in the fridge. Just made it last night. You always loved meatloaf. Angie, don’t you like meatloaf too?”
Before Angie could respond, Chase said, “Mom, where’s Dad? How’s he doing? How’s he feeling?”
Now Cynthia Meyer began busying herself with pulling dishes out of the dishwasher, inspecting them with a critical eye, drying them off further. “Oh, your Dad---you know how he is.”
“Isn’t he supposed to be resting at home, Mrs. Meyer?” asked Angie
. “The doctors said—”
“Yes, yes, of course. But you know how he is. Can’t sit still. Always under my feet, like Scamp.” Scamp was their ten-year old Dachsund. He had a bum rear leg and waddled in a zigzag pattern across the floor. “He went down to the shop this morning. I expect he’s down there now doing things he’s not supposed to…like moving shelves, sweeping floors.”
Down at the shop. Chase knew he needed to see his Dad. They had often had words since Chase had graduated from Apalachee High—working for your Dad wasn’t for the faint-hearted or thin-skinned—but he wanted his Dad to know he really had made something of himself.
“Can’t stay long, Mom. Thanks for the offer. You know—the gig tonight.” He was already dragging Angie out the door when his mother called after him.
“No laundry today…you always have laundry. I have room for another load—what about the car? Are you taking the car?”
“No, Mom,” Chase called from the street. “No laundry…we’ll just walk down to the shop…do us good. See you later, Mom.”
Mrs. Meyer was still wiping down already-done dishes when they disappeared around the bend of Rainbow Court. From there, it was a fifteen-minute jaunt down Fountain Street to Citrus, then on to Shelley Beach and Turtle Key.
The Turtle Key Surf and Board Shop looked like a dilapidated shack barely standing above the high-tide line of the beach, and the rundown look was by design. “Makes us look homey and inviting, like we’ve been here a thousand years,” Mack Meyer liked to say. To Chase, it seemed mostly corny and he figured a good blow would wash the whole place into the Gulf in minutes if one ever came along.
So far, it hadn’t.
As advertised, Mack Meyer had opened the shop and was re-arranging merchandise around the checkout stand when Chase and Angie showed up. One other clerk was there too…it was Rudy Boland, the freckle-faced kid from Fanning Springs that the Meyers knew from church. Rudy was manning the broom and gave Chase a wave and a wink when they came in.
Mr. Meyer then saw his son and straightened up. He hobbled over on crutches—the leg wound surgery had gone fine but he’d be on crutches for several more weeks. He looked Chase up and down like some kind of drill sergeant—which he had once been in the Marines—and just shook his head.
“Your Mom just called…said you were coming down. How the hell are you, son?”
They shook hands. His grip was still strong as a gator’s jaw.
“Fine, Dad. Really…things are going well.”
“Angie…you too?”
Angie nodded. “Yes, sir. We came down to see how you were doing. I didn’t get a chance to say good-bye when you checked out of the hospital.”
Meyer shrugged. “I was anxious to get out…don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate all you and those nurses did, taking care of me and such. It’s just, you know…hospitals—”
“Believe me, Mr. Meyer, I understand. You don’t want to stay a second longer than necessary. Any pains, any stiffness in the leg? You taking all your meds?”
Meyer shook his head. “None that I didn’t have before. And yeah, I take my pills. You were a good nurse, Angie.”
“Actually, I was just a Red Cross volunteer, but thanks anyway.”
Meyer turned back to Chase. “Your Mom told me you’ve been playing dives all over the state…you making any money at this stuff?”
Chase shrugged. There was so much he wanted to say. Instead, he said, “Sure, Dad…a little. Eating money. We live cheap, me and the Boys. Tig has a trailer…we just park at campsites, that sort of thing.”
Meyer shook his head. “Some kind of vagabonds, if you ask me. Bums living a rootless existence…well, guys are like that. We gotta do what we gotta do, huh? Me, I cut lawns and did windows…I guess that’s what sent me into the Corps. That’s what you need, Chase, something like the Corps. Help you see things, get your head on straight.”
“Sir, I…” how the hell could he say this? Sir, I’ve been traveling through a wormhole in space. Sir, I’m a sort of an official with a race of talking fish. I’m actually one of the Sea People now and, oh yes, I can breathe underwater too.
He said none of that. “Yes, sir. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”
“And beg to come back to stocking shelves and pitching T-shirts and suntan lotion, is that it? Chase, I do need you here at the shop. You’ve got a lot to learn but you’ve got a good head…hell, I know that…I helped put it there, along with your mother. Someday, I’d like to turn all this over to you. You’d be in business. Respectable, even. Not like some—” he could barely say it, “-like some rock and roll bum. Tell me the truth, son: you’re not doing drugs, are you?”
Chase sighed. This was way harder than he ever imagined. “No, Dad, no drugs. A few beers, that’s all. I have to be clear-headed to do techjam, to play my go-tone.” He wiggled his fingers, then immediately hid them to conceal the slight webbing between his fingers.
Meyer rolled his eyes, went to wiping down the counter with an old rag that looked like it had once been someone’s handkerchief. “Beers, I can live with. I just don’t want you falling in with the wrong crowd.”
Oh, you mean like talking fish, Dad? He didn’t say that either. He wanted to tell his dad all about Seome and the Omtorish and the Ponkti and seamothers and the Umans and the Coethi and the Farpool but….
“I kind of like what I’m doing now…I mean, I appreciate you letting me work at the shop and all, but I need to make my own way, you know? Serving as Kel’metah to the Seomish immigrants was way better than taking T-shirt inventory on Sunday afternoons and evenings. “I can kind of…be somebody. Be myself. Not Mack Meyer’s son but Chase Meyer…I’m still trying to find out who that is. Like Mom says…I’m a work in progress.”
Maybe it was the leg wound. Gun shots did that. Or maybe it was the afternoon sunlight shining on Meyer’s craggy face. Or maybe it was just time. Mack Meyer had always seemed a hard-edged, even cold person. He’d worked hard his whole life, nobody had given him a dime. He’d done well in the Corps, honorably discharged, even had a few combat commendations from the Africa conflicts. He’d started Turtle Key Surf and Board from nothing, taken out a second mortgage to get it going and he’d made the shop work from sheer willpower and guts. He wanted the same kind of life for Chase but it wasn’t a life Chase wanted. Chase had no desire to just be Mack Meyer’s son. With the Seomish, with Mokleeoh and Likteek and Tulcheah, he’d been somebody, somebody important. People looked up to him, asked his opinion of things, looked to him for guidance.
Nobody did that in a T-shirt shack.
“Dad, Angie and me…we’re going on the road again. More gigs. I gotta go now.”
Meyer seemed disappointed. Or was it resignation? Maybe a little acceptance…was that even possible? Chase had let Dr. Holland put him through conicthyosis. He’d given up all the modifications em’took had done to him…now what would his Seomish friends think? Chase felt like he was walking on a tightrope suspended over a deep canyon. If he fell on one side…back to Turtle Key Surf and Board. If he fell on the other side, what? Trying to be some kind of leader and role model for the Seomish, talking fish who argued and fought just as much as humans ever did. And the Coethi and their time manipulator…what of that? Images of time streams and farpools and wormholes and T-shirts and boogie boards raced through his mind.
Chase felt Angie squeezing his hand lightly. Didn’t tightrope walkers carry a balance pole to stay on the rope? That’s what Angie was now…the balance pole that kept him walking the narrow rope ahead, that kept him from falling off. He squeezed back.
Meyer’s eyes narrowed as he studied his son and Angie. He seemed fatalistic, maybe even tinged with just a trace of forgiving…you could tell when his eyebrows sank back down.
“Look, I don’t know what you two are into…you gonna marry her, Chase?”
He hadn’t expected that. “Dad—”
Angie stifled a giggle.
“Hey, just asking, just asking. Like
I said, I don’t know about this Croc Boys stuff…doesn’t seem like real work to me. I don’t know what you’re into…for all I know, it may this Sea People crap—”
If you only knew.
“—but whatever it is, just stay out of trouble, okay? Promise me that. This gunshot, this robbery, maybe it’s taught me a few things. I see better what’s really important…family’s important to me. You and Jamie and Kenny, you’ve all got good heads on your shoulders. Me and your mom tried to do that much…maybe that’s all we can do. Just remember this: whatever happens, I need you here. You’ve always got a spot here at the shop. I’d rather have a grown son sweeping floors for me than lying in the gutter somewhere or begging for handouts—”
Or flying through wormholes halfway across the Galaxy…
“Okay, Dad…Angie and me got to get going. Tig’s bringing the trailer by in an hour, right by the clocktower. We’re on stage tonight…got to practice, get some food, some rest—”
Meyer held up a hand. “Okay, go…and go with my love.” He reached out to shake hands and when Chase extended his, Meyer pulled him closer and they hugged. “And stay out of trouble, will you. For your mother and me, at least.”
“It’s a promise.”
Chase and Angie slipped out of the shop and walked absent-mindedly along the beach, heading north. Soon, they reached Half Moon Cove. Angie looked up at him.
“You didn’t bring your canoe, buster. We can’t make hay without a canoe. Where are we going anyway?”
Chase hadn’t even realized where they were. “I guess I was on autopilot…no, no canoe. Just a kip’t, if I can remember where I put it. We’re going back to Keenomsh’pont.”
“Chase, you may not be able to survive at that depth, without the right gear, I mean. You’ve been changed.”
“Yeah, I know. We’ll park the kip’t in the Notwater pod and borrow some mobilitors. It’ll be strange having to wear those again. I feel like I’ve lost a leg or something, going through this procedure. I worry about what the Seomish will think of me now…will they accept me? Will they think of me as alien now…Tailless…or half and half?”
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