They were all escorted, none too gently, into Fuzhou’s wardroom, where Dr. Li Jiang and Admiral Hu Zhejiang were waiting.
Dr. Li spoke first, addressing the three Ponkti. “I’ve seen no evidence that our Ponkti allies have survived their little foray into the whirlpool…the Farpool, as you call it.” Kekot and the Ponkti said nothing, but stood whirring softly as their mobilitors struggled to keep them upright and balanced. “Very well, Mr. Chase Meyer, have you any signals or news from the mission? Is this test also a failure?”
Chase shook his head. “This Farpool wasn’t created the same way as the original. As far as I can tell, the original Farpool was a side effect of the time twister weapon the Umans had set up on Seome. The Umans didn’t really care about it. They were more interested in fighting off the Coethi. But the Seomish learned what the Farpool was—a gateway to other times and places—and they learned how to use it. Later, they used it to escape when Seome was destroyed…” he looked somberly at Kekot and his friends, “at least some of them escaped. I guess Loptoheen and Lektereenah didn’t know how to maneuver properly in this new farpool…we don’t fully understand even now how it works…even with the old one, you had to be careful or you’d wind up someplace you didn’t want to be.”
Dr. Li stroked his chin, considering Chase’s words. “I can see the wisdom of your words, Mr. Meyer. We have no way of really knowing what happened to our team…or yours. In view of our lack of knowledge, I believe this new phenomenon must be studied further. More tests need to be conducted. And as this phenomenon is in Chinese waters, the Academy will of course be in charge of all tests and experiments.”
Chase felt sorry for Kekot, for all the hundreds of Ponkti still roaming aimlessly below them. They had built a crude camp they called Ponkel’te, really just an embarkation port for what they had hoped would be a migration to other places, other times. Now, with no idea what had happened to the Chinese or Ponkti teams, using the new Farpool was suicide.
Even in translation through the echopods, Chase could tell how despondent the Ponkti were. Kekot tried to convey their thoughts.
“Skrreeaahhh…zzzhhh…now there is no Metah…no…zzzhhh…place for us…no home…kkkqqqzzhh…Ponkti roam without…gggqq…purpose….”
Chase said, “I don’t know if I’m still considered Kel’metah…but if I have any say, I promise that all the kels, the Ponkti, the Omtorish, the Sk’ort, all of them, will be involved in these tests and studies. Omt’or won’t operate this Farpool by themselves any longer.”
Kekot seemed sympathetic, though it was hard to tell encased as he was in an awkward mobilitor that clanked and hissed like a steam radiator.
“KKKllllqqqggg…Urku not same as Ponkel sea…new waters…new ways…ak’loosh makes all new again.”
Chase understood. “They live in new waters,” he explained to their Chinese hosts. “New ways of thinking are called for. It’s not easy, for any of them. They’ve lost their Metah, their traditional leader and they’ve lost a key citizen too.”
Dr. Li nodded. “We’ll work with all the Sea Peoples to explore this phenomenon, as long as Chinese sovereignty is recognized. We must bring these ideas before the Sea Council. I’m sure some kind of agreement can be worked out.”
Kekot seemed lost. “Zzhh....Ponkti no place go…no homewaters…all here….”
Chase said, “Kekot, the Ponkti should return to Keenomsh’pont. There’s room there. All the kels are there. Start over…from there. I can go back with you.”
After some clicking and squeaking, the Ponkti agreed that Chase’s course of action would be acceptable. The meeting went on for awhile, while basic details of a cooperative agreement were proposed, debated and agreed to. A plan was formulated to set up a defensive screen around the new Farpool with extensive surveillance in case more Coethi came through, threatening everyone, land and sea. Two new laboratories would be built. One would be on land, a new lab at Mischief Reef. The second facility would be underwater, to be known as the Reed Bank Laboratory. The Ponkti would work closely with the Chinese in both places, and Chase managed to extract a promise from Kekot that other kels would be welcome.
To Chase, the flow of debate and agreement was heartening. To Angie, he muttered: “They’re all beginning to see the wisdom of working together. It just took awhile.”
“And some unfortunate losses. See, you are a diplomat after all.”
With all this agreed to, it was time for Chase, Angie and the Ponkti to leave. The Ponkti slipped over the side rails of the ship and soon disappeared into the water. They would shed their mobilitors quickly enough and return to their fellow kelke, even now gathering several hundred meters below the Chinese task force. The Ponkti would soon return to their crude settlement south of Reed Banks and sort out what had happened and what to do next.
Chase told Dr. Li, “I want to go with them, or as many as will come, back to Keenomsh’pont. The other kels will give them a hard time when they return…maybe I can help keep that to a minimum. They seem to listen to me…most of the time.” He glanced over at Angie with a faint smile on his lips. “In fact, I get more respect from talking fish than from humans.”
“We must petition the Sea Council immediately, Mr. Meyer. A conference to sort all this out. Much has changed the last few weeks. The Farpool presents us with remarkable possibilities, if we use it right.”
“And if we don’t kill ourselves in the process,” Chase agreed. “I guess this Farpool, like the old one, is teaching us all new lessons.”
Li appeared to understand. “Greed and fear…two ancient scourges for humans, of any nation.”
“And any world,” Chase added.
They said good-bye and climbed into their mobilitors, helped by several of Fuzhou’s crewmen. When the suits were buttoned up, Chase and Angie climbed awkwardly down the side ladders and dropped off into the water. Chase found their kip’t quickly enough and they climbed in. The canopy was sealed and Chase jetted off in the direction of the Ponkti camp.
After they had been underway only a few minutes, Chase pulled off his mobilitor helmet and indicated Angie should do the same.
“We won’t need these for awhile.”
“We’re going back to that underwater city? I guess I need to use my coupler and report back to the spy guys. So we both don’t get in trouble.”
“Go ahead. And yeah, we’re traveling back with the Ponkti, at least with those who want to return to Keenomsh’pont. I’d like to make sure a war doesn’t break out between the kels. Jeez, these guys fight like hockey players.”
“What then?”
Chase turned partly around and took hold of Angie’s hand.
“After that, I know a little place in Florida I’d like to take you. You up for that?”
Angie closed her eyes, dreaming of orange slammies at Citrus Grove…or maybe blueberry pancakes at the Magnolia Diner.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Chapter 17
Scotland Beach, Florida
October 26, 2115
1030 hours
Chase didn’t know that much about time streams and temporal anomalies and wormholes and things like that. He just hoped that he and Angie could get back to the Beach and somehow begin their relationship again, just like it was before.
There was good news on the ride to Scotland Beach. Angie learned, through cryptic messages on her coupler, that the CIA had finally decided to ‘release’ her from Operation Pearlstone. There were still some debriefings yet to come; her handlers indicated that men in dark suits would be coming to the Beach in the next few days to do just that. She would be contacted when they were ready.
Meanwhile, the most important matter to decide was what Angie would be wearing to the Big Dance coming up. The theme was harvest time, autumn, hayrides and pumpkins. Her head spun with all the possibilities.
The hoedown was scheduled for seven p.m. Friday night and Chase was on the card with the Croc Boys to play go-tone. He hadn’t played in weeks,
so he had a lot of practicing to do and spent hours in the garage of Lenny Walsh with the Boys jamming and arranging the sets. Lenny was lead vocalist. Chase was careful to wear long-sleeve shirts to hide the bulges of his gills and as much of the scaly skin as he could. He wore dark glasses, as was his custom, so nobody could see the extra eyelids the conicthyosis procedure had left him with, but as it turned out, the Boys were their usual boisterous, joshing selves and no one noticed.
The jam went well and by Friday afternoon, they had piled all their equipment into their drummer Van Genly’s truck and hauled if off to the school. With help from Willie Davis, school custodian and a few handler bots, they got their amps and speakers and instruments set up and tuned in and when the vice-principal Mr. Willis announced over a screeching microphone the start of Apalachee High’s Fifth Annual Harvest Ball, the Croc Boys were in full uniform—complete with Gatorhead caps—and were ready to slam.
Angie was there, decked out in tight jeans and a cutoff flannel shirt that drew more than a few eyes. In between sets, Chase had promised her he’d come down from the stage and he knew Angie normally loved to show off how well she knew members of the band. But they had had an argument the day before and as usual it seemed to be over something hardly worth the effort.
“Stop calling Dr. Holland!” Angie had stormed when they met in the school parking lot. It was customary for Chase to pick her up—she didn’t have a car and hated the RoboRides the city offered—but as they climbed onto Chase’s turbo-scooter, he could tell that she was mightily bothered by the fact that every few days, he had to text or call Holland for something about his amphib body, some side effect of the procedure that nobody had foreseen. “It’s me or that fish doctor! You decide!”
After that, she had stalked off, leaving her bag still on the turbo, and called up a RoboRide with best friend Gwen. Jesus H. Christ, she never does that, Chase told himself.
So the Harvest Ball began with some tension between the two of them.
After the first set was done and the Boys were taking a break, Lenny and Van and the rest went outside for a smoke and some sips of something Van called a ‘Crocodile Cocktail’--it smelled like jet fuel to Chase—Chase came down off the stage and confronted his girlfriend.
He didn’t much like how well she enjoyed bogeying with Teeter Gaines and some of the other boys.
“You and Teeter going well tonight?” he sniffed, with an air of nonchalance he didn’t really feel.
Angie tossed back a few errant locks of her dark russet hair and smirked. “Teeter’s a real gentleman. Treats us girls like ladies.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet. The way you two are stuck together, you’d think you’d been slathered with glue or something.”
“Don’t be an ass. And BTW, the Boys sound great tonight. You must have practiced like hell, since you haven’t done a gig in weeks.”
“Thanks…and, yes we did. Wanted to make sure everybody has a great time tonight.”
Angie suddenly smiled off a few curious boys who had come trolling around and took Chase by the arm, steering him off to a poorly lit corner beside the stage. She picked up some fake straw from the floor and twirled it idly around her fingers. She tossed her head in the direction of a knot of people along one wall. “Who’s that?”
By her motion, Chase figured Angie meant the female below the big fake hay pile. She was a younger adult with long blond tresses, and some lighter highlights. Her face was tall, somewhat long with a prominent chin and nose. She had sharp cheek lines, but a pronounced dimple in her chin, which she seemed self-conscious about.
Chase frowned. The woman seemed vaguely familiar, but—“Probably one of the new teachers. Isn’t there a new class in History just started…Miss Josey or something, I heard.”
Angie’s face darkened when the teacher peered off in their direction for an uncomfortably long gaze. “She’s been eyeing you all night long, Chase. I thought she might be a chaperone…or somebody’s mom or sister.”
“Could be,” Chase mused. She did seem familiar in ways he couldn’t quite put into words. The body, the face—
“Well, I don’t like it. How many more sets do the Boys have?”
Chase snapped out of his gaze—she really was a riveting presence—and looked blankly at Angie. “Huh?”
“How many more sets do the Boys have tonight?”
“Uh…yeah, three more I think. We’re ending up with Lovin’ in the Dark…everybody likes that one.”
“Come see me when you finish,” she said firmly. “Gwen and a few others are taking their guys to Magnolia Diner for eggs and bacon…you’re coming with me.”
“Really…I thought you wanted to, you know…kinda shop around. With Teeter and guys like that.”
Angie just shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. I just don’t like the way that new teacher or chaperone or whatever the hell she is looking at you.” Her fingers pressed into his arm, with meaning. “You and me…and Gwen and the others…at the Magnolia Diner. It’ll be fun.”
“Okay…but I got a better idea…and we don’t need Gwen and the others.”
“What’s that?”
Now it was Chase’s turn to squeeze arms. “A little appetizer…before the eggs and bacon, if you know what I mean.”
Angie rolled her eyes. “The canoe? Half Moon Cove? Is that all you ever think about, Chase?”
“Pretty much. Us boys are simple creatures, you know.”
“Yeah, and so are slugs. Get back up there…the Boys are coming back in.”
She wandered off, practically glaring right at the new teacher and Chase was left to wonder about the mysteries of time and space…and high-school girls.
He sucked at his tongue as he climbed back on stage and took his position at the go-tone. This has all happened before…he was sure of it. The Farpool scrambled time streams like a blender. All you had to do was turn one way or another, kick here, shift there and blam! you’d be in a new time stream.
He remembered a big dance from before. He remembered going to the Magnolia Diner. He remembered he and Angie at Half Moon Cove. He even remembered….
But there were differences, sometimes subtle differences. In the previous time stream, the Big Dance was a spring fling. And there was no new teacher…no Miss Josey leering at him like some kind of weird specimen.
He was still staring at the woman with scarcely concealed interest—the intense interest Angie had already noticed—trying to figure it all out when Van banged his drummer’s opening notes and before you could say shazam, Lenny was already into the next tune and Chase was about ten chords behind.
He counted a few beats and timed his entrance and when the moment came, he slid into harmony with the smooth practiced timing of a true Croc Boy.
After all, the show had to go on.
It was after midnight, but neither of them really cared about the time. Angie squirmed a bit more but it was no use. Something sharp was pinching her butt. The weight of Chase on top of her made it hurt like crazy.
“Ouch…that hurts like hell…what the hell are you doing?”
“Sorry…just trying to…it’s the Cove. Water’s choppy tonight—“
Angie twisted and contorted herself to ease the pressure. That was better.
“Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea, huh?”
They had packed a few bites from the Dance and grabbed a boat from Turtle Key Surf and Board. They had puttered along the coast off Shelley Beach until they came to Half Moon Cove—they always did it in Half Moon Cove—and found a secluded spot a few dozen meters off shore…right under some cypress trees. Always smelled great there.
Then Chase and Angie wolfed down their sandwiches, dialed up the right music on Chase’s wristpad so they could slam some jam properly and settled down to business.
That’s when the wind fetched up and the Cove got way choppier than it usually did. Most of the time, you could lay a place setting on top of the water and have dinner like home, it was so placid. But not tonigh
t.
“Ouch…look…let’s give it a rest, okay…something’s not quite right…”
Chase groaned and pulled out of her, cinching up his shorts as he did so. He lay back against the side of the boat, and turned the volume down on his pad…whoever it was screeching on that go-tone needed a few more lessons. He checked the growing waves beyond the Cove and that’s when he spied the waterspout.
“Jeez…look at that!”
Angie pulled up her jeans, ran fingers through her page-boy hair and sucked in a breath.
“Wow---that’s so wicked--“
There was a strange, wave-like agitation on the horizon just beyond the Cove, barely visible in the moonlight, maybe a few kilometers out to sea, past Shell Key, easily. For a few moments, a slender multi-hued waterspout danced just above the waves, like a gray-green rope writhing and hissing on the horizon. It only lasted a few moments, then it collapsed. There was a calm period, then the ocean began seething again and became more agitated than before. Waves piled into the Cove, nearly upending the little boat. Before long, another spout had formed, all in an odd sort of rhythm.
Angie shuddered, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. The air had become noticeably colder and a breeze had picked up, blowing onshore. “Maybe we should get out of here…you know, like head back—“
Chase shook his head. “This is weird…I never saw anything like that. Could be a storm or something. Let’s go check it out.”
“Don’t be an ass—just let’s go back to the pier, before that thing starts up again.”
But Chase was already firing up the outboard. He untied the boat from the cypress knee they always used as an anchorage and steered her out of the Cove, heading for open water.
“Chase—what the hell are you doing…you can’t get near that thing…it’s a tornado, for Chrissakes! Go back to the pier.”
“I just want to see what’s causing all those waves…that’s not normal…just a little further out…I’m not going to do anything stupid.”
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