Pacific Storm

by Linda Nagata

  Get in the house! Get inside!

  For once, her daughters didn’t argue. They retreated in terror, into the false security of a doomed home.

  Then came the rain, a deluge worthy of the Biblical flood. In minutes, every street became a running stream, and the streams that normally drained the city ran wild. They crested their concrete banks and swept through the old wood-frame houses that crowded close on either side—and they swept little children away.

  Why didn’t we go to a shelter?

  The dream shifted. Ava sat hunched, trembling as she watched the feed from an extant video camera running on battery power and communicating by wifi, every lightning strike a burst of static.

  The police chief had ordered all officers into shelter when the windspeed topped a hundred miles an hour. He should have ordered all the cameras off. Warm tears coursed down her cheeks as three little heads disappeared under the flood. She prayed, Oh please, oh please, but those lost children did not surface again.

  Across the room, Miguel slammed his palms against his desk and shoved his chair back, shouting, “I’m not going to sit here and watch this. I’m going out! Who’s with me?”

  Kayla wanted to know, “What have you got?”

  Ava and Tyree raced each other to his desk to see.

  As Miguel stepped away from his screen, the three of them leaned in.

  It was a live feed from yet another submerged street. Muddy water swirled past the windows of parked cars, carrying with it plastic traffic cones, broken tree limbs, sections of metal roofs and sidings, and filthy islands of brown foam that the wind picked up and shredded.

  It took Ava a few seconds to spot the little girls. The oldest maybe seven, the youngest five, both with long blonde sodden hair. Half submerged in the rushing water, they clung with desperate fingers to the smooth bark of a wind-stripped rainbow shower tree, while the unrelenting rain continued to pour down on them.

  Ava recognized the location. Kayla did too: “That’s just two blocks from here!”

  Both little girls turned their heads as if they’d heard Kayla’s frantic shout—and Ava found herself looking into the accusing eyes of her own daughters. “No,” she whispered. “No, no, no, oh God, please no.”

  Then Kaden was there, gently shaking her shoulder. “Come on, Ava. Come out of it.” His voice soft but stern. “Let it go.”

  She scrambled to sit up amid a tangle of sheets, eyes wide, heart pounding, breathing hard, her cheeks wet with tears.

  “Jesus,” she whispered. And, “Thank you, thank you.” Because the dream was a lie. Her children had not been swept away. They’d survived Nolo. They lived in Spokane now, safe with their dad and his current wife.

  But in the dream, those two doomed children always wore her daughters’ faces.

  Ava had gone out into the storm. She and Miguel and Kayla and Tyree. Brave heroes, defying orders, resolved to save another woman’s children—only they hadn’t. Ava had looked into a little girl’s wide brown eyes, terror stricken as the violent current swept her past just out of Ava’s reach. And in the end, only she had made it back to the police station.

  Kaden knew the story, but he wasn’t one to coddle. He opened her apartment’s blackout curtains, revealing blue sky and the golden light of afternoon beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. Then he disappeared behind the shoji that screened her bed from the rest of her little studio apartment, giving her time alone to compose herself.

  Ava lay back, eyes squeezed shut, chiding herself: be grateful for the dream. It served as a recurring reminder of the cost of relying too heavily on her own flawed judgment. These days, she operated in tandem with HADAFA, relying on the data and analyses it provided to affirm her decisions and her actions.

  She drew a slow breath in, then let it go in a long exhale, ejecting tension and remorse in an imagined black cloud of toxic smoke.

  Again.

  Again.

  Again.

  Oh, to hell with it. She grabbed her tablet. Checked Huko’s status. As predicted, the daylight hours had pumped the storm with heat energy, bringing it to Category 5 status—sustained winds exceeding 160 miles per hour. Its path was still expected to turn north. Once that happened, all bets would be settled.

  Next, she checked her messages, confirming no urgent demand for her to come immediately into work. Only then did she roll out of bed, slipping into the bathroom for a quick shower.

  She had the apartment as a fringe benefit of her job. Despite the building’s proximity to the shoreline—it stood almost across the street from Honolulu Harbor—it had taken less damage than most, allowing it to be fully refurbished only two years after Nolo. The units had been designated for law enforcement, first responders, and staff at the nearby Queen’s Medical Center. Ava had still been living in a tent city at that point, newly divorced and on her own. She’d been ecstatic to get an assignment in the building. Ever since, the little three hundred-square-foot cubby had been home.

  She dressed in a light, tropical-print tank-top, and a loose little skirt, comfortable to wear, then used an eyebrow pencil to quickly fill in brows that insisted on thinning more with each passing year. It was the only makeup she usually bothered with. Shocking, really, how much a carefully shaded browline contributed to the impression of self-assurance in a woman. That done, she joined Kaden in the kitchen.

  “Hey,” she said softly. “Didn’t think I’d see you this early.” It still surprised her that he’d come into her life at all.

  From his post by the microwave, he greeted her with his characteristic crooked smile—only the right side of his pale lips turning up.

  Enjoy it while it lasts.

  She went to him. He stood just two inches taller than her, his buzzcut blond hair fading to gray over a face still smooth and pale despite years at sea. Kaden Robicheaux, US Navy, commander of the nuclear-armed fast-attack submarine Denali. Dressed in civilian-casual at the moment: a collared shirt and khaki slacks.

  Two months ago, they’d been strangers seated next to each other at a large wedding reception, allies out of necessity, since neither had known anyone there except the bride and the groom. They’d snuck out early and gone for drinks—and he’d invited her to attend a demonstration event, already scheduled for the next day. “It’ll be just a few hours at sea. You’ll be riding along with two Congressional reps from the defense appropriations subcommittee. We’ll deploy the midget sub for them, use it to send a few commandos to shore. Convince them we’re spending our funds wisely. Then we’ll head back to port.”

  It had been an exciting day, and Kaden had been irresistible—her first serious crush since her divorce.

  Since then, Denali had been out on only a few brief training runs, and in between, they’d kept each other company.

  Now they shared a hug, a deep kiss, her body warming against his.

  “Missed you,” he murmured.

  For the past two days, he’d been filling out a dress uniform along with other ranking military officers, their attendance—though not their opinions—required at the ongoing ratification conference. The officers had been instructed on which speeches to attend and which to avoid. They’d been assigned to sit together. Cameras captured them politely applauding the administration’s policy positions. It was an exercise in visual propaganda, implying support for the handover treaty from the nation’s decorated military leaders—when most of them would rather be cheering the fiery opposition speeches, or the ongoing mass protests in Washington, DC.

  Local protests had peaked a year before, when the state voted overwhelmingly to reject the treaty. But the president and his Venturist party doled out favors and pushed the deal through Congress anyway. So why protest the inevitable? It would only get you a negative social rating—and once that happened, it got hard to make a living.

  Kaden told her, “Navy brass finally persuaded the president that Huko really does constitute a threat to what’s left of our fleet. We got released from conference attendance so we can p
repare for departure. Surface ships start leaving Pearl in the next few hours. Submarine fleet goes tomorrow morning. I wanted to see you again, before.”

  Ah, so this was goodbye.

  A hollow melancholy had been building in Ava these past few days, though she strove not to acknowledge it. She had known from the start it would end like this. He would not be here past the handover, and once gone, the fleet would not be coming back. Any of the remaining docks and decaying facilities that survived Huko would be demolished during the transition period.

  She forced a little smile, and spoke the truth, “I don’t regret anything.” Their time together had been fun, and exciting. A secret affair, kept separate from the rest of her life because she didn’t want to deal with other people’s expectations or share the time she had with him. She had hoped for a few more weeks, had imagined spending New Year’s Eve together, but Huko had decided otherwise.

  Kaden hugged her tighter, kissed her again. “I want you to leave too.”

  Ava pulled back, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “Military families are being evacuated—”

  “I’m not family.”

  “I don’t care. I mean, I do care. I care about you. And you’re former military. I can call in favors and get you a seat on a military transport. Tonight. Get you out of here. Ava, at least think about it.”

  She shrugged. A non-answer. “My roots are here, Kaden. I belong here. My parents are buried here. You know that.”

  How could she leave? How could she abandon the homeland where her family had lived for generations? Sure, a lot of people had made the decision to go. Some had moved to the outer islands, but many more had left the state . . . Ava’s now-ex-husband among them.

  “I’m needed here,” she added, despising the hint of doubt she heard in her voice. “Please, let’s not argue.”

  He retreated physically, turning away as the microwave finished its run. “I brought food,” he said. “I knew your fridge would be empty.”

  “Thank you.”

  Silence followed until dinner was on the table. Baked salmon and a fancy rice pilaf with a generous serving of lightly cooked vegetables. “Good,” she said, tasting the fish. Then, as a peace offering, she added softly, “I’m going to miss you.”

  His lips parted to speak. She saw it coming. He meant to ask her again to evacuate. But he caught himself, pressing his lips together as his blue eyes held hers in a frosty gaze.

  She decided to talk around the tension. “I chatted with Shao Hua early this morning.”

  His brows drew together.

  “We had an incident in the park. Our presumptive future-governor stopped by to express his concern.” She smiled, showing her teeth. “I asked him if he planned to stay on for Huko.”

  A glint of humor in Kaden’s cold eyes. “You didn’t.”

  “I did.” Her smile faded. “He said he was trying to get the signing ceremony moved to the Big Island, out of Huko’s predicted path.” She quirked her lips. “Which is ironic, given the coastal park was designed by Chinese engineers specifically to protect the strip from another hurricane. So maybe he doesn’t trust Chinese engineering? Either that, or Conrad’s goons have been too intense for him.”

  “Six bodyguards,” Kaden said. “That’s all Dan Conrad’s had with him. He’s given a few spontaneous press conferences in the lobby, but otherwise, he’s saved the rhetoric for his scheduled speaking times.”

  Ava responded to this news with a dismissive hiss. “Trust me, he’s just waiting for the right moment to put on a headline performance that’ll erode the president’s support—and augment his own.”

  Kaden went quiet, pensive.

  “What?” Ava asked.

  He shook his head. Forced a flinty smile. “You don’t like it that you agree with him.”

  She put down her fork. Leaned back. Crossed her arms. “On this one point our views happen to coincide.”

  The treaty was a shameful concession—an act of infamy, in Conrad’s words. She wasn’t going to argue with that.

  “The enemy of my enemy,” Kaden suggested, quoting the old proverb.

  “Nope.” Ava shook her head. “Conrad is not now, and never will be, a friend of mine. And with all his talk of American sovereignty, he doesn’t give a damn about this island beyond its propaganda value.”

  Unfortunately for the future of the nation, the Venturist party was equally contemptible, with their policy of spinning off the surviving assets of the American people. To his credit, Dan Conrad recognized that and he opposed it.

  But as the leader of the opposition Cornerstone party, Conrad endlessly prophesied a day when America must rise up and reclaim its status as the world’s leader—a phoenix rising from the ashes!

  Ava could not abide that kind of militaristic shit.

  Neither did she harbor fond feelings for Chinese colonial rule . . . but at least they weren’t willfully stupid. Not so far, anyway.

  “We need to do better,” she said quietly. “We need more people like you in office. People who know what it means to serve their country, their world, instead of serving themselves.”

  For several seconds, Kaden just looked at her, and as he did, his gaze softened. “You done eating?” he asked, glancing at her empty plate.

  “I am.”

  “Good. Let’s go to bed.”

  A flush of warmth rushed through her, followed by a clutch of fear. Or was it regret, knowing this might be the last time? Deal with it. They’d both come into this, knowing it couldn’t last.

  She set her napkin on the table, burying her angst behind a coy smile. “That is a fine idea.”

  ◇

  The curtains stayed open, the fierce late-afternoon sun contending against the heavily tinted glass to gloss their pale skin in a golden aura. Youth’s raw beauty lay behind them, but in their forties both remained strong, with athletes’ bodies, leanly muscled, and endowed with the knowledge of long experience. Lips teasing against cheek and neck and breast. Fingers stroking the smooth warmth of an inner thigh. The lightest pressure across a throat accompanying a slow hard thrust that only gradually quickened into something fierce and irretrievable until Ava arched back against the pillows in a maelstrom of pleasure, eyes only half open, basking in the possessive intensity of Kaden’s gaze as he followed her over the cliff with a harsh gasp that sounded like pain.

  Silence then. Slow, deep breathing. And after a few seconds, soft reassuring kisses. So warm in her little studio apartment, the air conditioning unable to counter the relentless sun.

  “Time to move to a cooler climate,” Kaden murmured. “You’ll like it in Bremerton.”

  “Hmmm,” she sighed. A non-answer.

  “You’ll be closer to your daughters.”

  “I see my daughters every Sunday.”

  “On a video screen.”

  She closed her eyes, allowing the conversation time to expire. It had been the topic of distant daughters that first drew them together. They each had two, left to the care of a former spouse. That first night at the wedding reception Kaden had shown her pictures of his girls, the oldest in college studying engineering, the younger an officer in her high school ROTC. His pride in both had been plain to see. Ava liked to think he was a good father, that it was possible to be a good parent even if duty demanded your absence for months at a time.

  Somewhere in the apartment an alarm began to gently pulse. Kaden groaned. “Is that you or me?”

  “Me,” Ava guessed. “My alarm to wake up.”

  She rolled out of bed and walked naked into the bathroom, where she’d left her smart glasses. Silencing the alarm, she got in the shower for the second time. Kaden joined her a few seconds later. Maybe that was not the best idea. The sun was at the horizon, melting into a tumultuous sea by the time they finally dressed.

  ◇

  “I had to go into the ghost blocks this morning,” Ava said as she hustled to put away the dishes before leaving. She knew Kaden had seen a documenta
ry exploring the abandoned neighborhood, both its hazards and the thriving ecosystem that existed there. “We had a security breach. An open gate—a deliberate escape route for our latest EP4.”

  “He planned ahead?”

  “Someone did.”

  Trusting Kaden to be discreet, she told him about the laundry room in the semi-basement and the way Robert Bell had pounded in desperate frustration on the locker door. “He thought there’d be a way out.”

  “Not too bright, then.”

  “Maybe not.” She wiped the kitchen counter clean. “I think it’s a game. A sick kind of game controlled by someone out of sight, a puppet master manipulating both predators and prey for the jollies.”

  “No idea who?”

  “None,” she said, hanging up a dish towel. “But I’m hoping cyber-forensics will yield a lead. Whoever hacked that gate open might have left an electronic trail.” Ava hesitated. Mostly, she tried not to ask Kaden sensitive questions, but this time, she resolved to plunge ahead. He was a navy commander, after all, and would know if he was free to answer or not. “One of my officers said something odd about Angel Dust. Left me wondering if there’s a weaponized version.”

  Kaden grunted. “I think the separatists are right, and Angel Dust is the weaponized version, knocked loose by Nolo. I never bought the popular story, that its origin was an accident.”

  chapter

  7

  Brilliant pink and gold post-sunset colors had briefly gilded a fleet of low clouds hanging over the city, but by the time Ava’s eastbound streetcar approached the Ala Wai Bridge, dusk had repainted them a charcoal gray.

  Out of habit, she rode standing up on the streetcar’s running board, even though the car was empty except for an exhausted transit officer who sat nodding off on the front bench.

  No one wanted to get into Waikīkī. Everyone wanted out. Evidence of that was visible across the street. In the two hundred-foot span of sidewalk between the Atkinson Drive taxi station and the bridge, at least a hundred fifty people had gathered, all seeking the fastest way to the airport, prodded to action by the news that Huko looked to be making its long-predicted northern turn.