Burning Thoughts

If you haven’t read the earlier installments of Sea Catastrophe, they are 10 Feet in 100 Years and BaltSea

Three things that make those obsessed by them lonely  madness-guilt-genius. Isolde Kruz (1853-1944)

Baltimore Canyon Headlands Sunday Sep. 5, 2258

Nathan Garret shouted “Eureka!” in his undersea lab, his voice swallowed by the watery silence. Nestled on the coastal shelf where the Baltimore Canyon plunged downward, the lab stood as a marvel of modern engineering. Its walls lined with innovative scientific instruments buzzed, while the air carried a tang of saltwater and chemicals. Through the porthole, the ocean’s deep blue extended indefinitely, lit up by a brilliant sodium laser beam that cast a surreal glow on the calcium carbonate reefs below. “At last, I can have an unlimited supply of nutrients free of nature’s pollutants,” he murmured, a triumphant smile spreading across his face.

The disembodied voice of Gay-Lussac, his bot and sole companion, crackled through the ship’s speakers. “Taskmaster, your view of the achievement is too modest. The genuine triumph is completing Goal One. Shall I mark it as complete on the task list you created when we first settled on the coastal shelf, where the Baltimore Canyon plunges into the Atlantic’s abyssal depths?”

Nathan slapped his hand down on the lab desk. “Reduce detail level to one. Be an obedient bot.” After a moment’s pause, Nathan continued the conversation. As irritating as Gay-Lussac could be, the bot was his only companion. “I’m aware of that. Do you think I forgot my instructions to you?”

“I do not,” the bot answered, “but the hunger of millions outweighs the concerns of a single person.”

Nathan nodded, though Gay-Lussac couldn’t perceive it. Nathan had blocked the bot’s personal surveillance early in their underwater tenure. “That’s your one detail this go-around. I don’t care about them anymore. They destroyed my lab topside. Remember, after the alluvial mudslide from the earthquake? As soon as I could, I took the Nereid to the surface. You found zero, none, nada transmissions topside. They may all be dead. So why should I concern myself?”

The undersea submersible’s speakers squeaked, then the bot replayed Nathan’s words from those first days. “I will atone for my role in allowing greenhouse gases to wreck Earth’s weather patterns, making coastal areas uninhabitable around the world.” The bot’s voice then broke in, reminding him, “You declared that Goal One. The precursor is now complete. You must return to atone.”

Nathan looked out the porthole. An orange-armored sea robin scuttled beneath the stark white coral, with spines and needles resembling a natural fortress.

“Gay-Lussac, my old friend, since you can’t feel excitement, I’ll share mine. You might have surmised them already. Perhaps confirming those guesses will strengthen your connection to this world. The Fusion Disassembler now feeds its outputs directly into the Laser Alchemist. The Laser Alchemist can manufacture a dozen proteins and carbohydrates, three fatty acids—one hydrogenated and two dehydrogenated, and soluble and insoluble fiber. On the input side, the Fusion Disassembler isolates twenty-seven of the thirty essential elements humans need, given enough energy. By refining the process further, we could create all human nutrition from grass, dirt, rocks, and anything available.

At once Gay-Lussac responded. “Alternative formulation of Goal One: Supply the Earth with a substitute to replace agricultural fields lost to sea-level flooding and saline encroachment. Essential task: Deliver food supply solution to Gilbert University. When will you give the order to raise the Nereid and return to Baltimore?”

“That’s the difference between you and me. I want to savor my victory. My brain isn’t as single-minded as yours. I won’t upend my routine in an instant.”

“Taskmaster, what are your orders?”

Nathan scratched his chin. A decade ago, he couldn’t shave or touch his face for weeks after the undersea tsunami rocked the Nereid. While decanting sea algae with nitric acid, a splash hit his neck and right jaw, dehydrating his exposed skin. He avoided mirrors thereafter. Fortunately, the automated alkaline spray neutralized the acid, preventing deeper damage.

When Nathan addressed Gay-Lussac, he used the same attitude he remembered from the Foundry staff forced to speak with CRISPR psychiatrists. He had overheard their conversations through the tiny vents in the punishment room dungeon. They could say anything without fear of condemnation. “Gay-Lussac, closest friend these long years, another difference between men and bots is that I can change my mind. You can’t. The last time I saw people, they were burning down buildings. I’m no longer sure I want to return. I’ve grown used to the solitude. I enjoy it.”

“Taskmaster, you have overlooked the Bot Control Act of 2212. As a non-independent action model, I am fitted with flip-flop circuits. These circuits introduce randomness into my calculations—what you refer to as thoughts. One such calculation path leads to the scenario of Robinson Crusoe. When Crusoe perceived the footprint of Friday, he experienced fear instead of embracing the discovery. This outcome may be analogous to your situation.”

“Enough, intangible echo. Stay silent until I command you to speak again.”

Nathan stared at the porthole, his mind swirling with the implications of his work and Gay-Lussac’s mechanical musings. Shaking off the bot’s words, he turned his attention to the lab. There were still practical tasks to be done, and he needed a distraction.

He approached the four-foot-long Laser Alchemist and input the formula for ethanol alcohol. Within two minutes, six ounces filled the Erlenmeyer flask. Satisfied, he then entered the formula for citric acid, and soon another flask was brimming with the compound.

From the cryofrig, he extracted two ice cubes and mixed himself a beaker of a purified screwdriver. The clinking sound of ice against glass felt like a small victory in the lab’s quiet.

As he sipped his makeshift cocktail, thoughts of Gilbert University and Meredith crept into his mind. How would they treat him if he returned? A flush rose up his neck to his cheeks. Powerful emotions had always been his downfall. The staff at the CRISPR Foundry had locked him in an unlit room whenever he voiced his worries, concerns, and even hopes. Meredith had been more accepting—until she wasn’t.

He took a second sip and recalled the last time he’d indulged in a mind-altering substance. It was on the couch of the roof solarium of their house two decades ago. What had Meredith done with the house? How had the region changed? He was lonely back then. He was lonely now.

Nathan nodded off. When he awoke, it was with a realization. Loneliness wasn’t just a situational product; it wasn’t Meredith or their separation. He was a lonely person—not by choice, but by nature, ever since the Foundry.

Determined to make up for his perceived failures, Nathan resolved to take the Laser Alchemist to Gilbert University, along with the Fusion Disassembler. That would repay his debt to society. He’d return the Nereid, though Gustav would have found a replacement by now. And maybe, just maybe, Meredith would understand that he was always trying his best.

His determination hardened into action. Nathan looked in every locker, cabinet, storage area—just about everywhere—finding what he could leave behind to lighten the load in the 80,000-pound Nereid for its trip back to civilization. His thoughts swung in great arcs, from presenting his marvelous devices to his peers to recalling mobs from his last days topside. He told himself science would survive it all.

“Gay-Lussac,” he addressed the ship’s intel-bot. “I want information. Can I use my old Gilbert laboratory to set up my demonstration, my proof of concept?”

The AI-bot responded at once. “Taskmaster, I can’t answer that question. I was cut off from all new information on the day in 2238, when Professor Gustav Nilsen gave you the right to the Nereid and you left the floating Baltimore pier. It was 22:38:17 when I last received the news of political affairs, scientific discoveries, technological advances, events of the media mavens …”

Gay-Lussac repeated the commands, ending with an eerie remark, “Taskmaster, your will be done.”

There is nothing makes a man suspect much more than to know little. -Francis Bacon (1561-1636)

Surface above Sea Canyon Friday Sep. 7, 2258

Several hours later, Nathan ordered Gay-Lussac to release the water ballast. The Nereid groaned and creaked as it ascended to the surface after nearly a decade underseas. Twelve minutes later, the submersible broke through the waves, emerging into a fierce lightning storm. Jagged bolts of electricity lit up the sky, reflecting off the churning waters below.

“Gay-Lussac, set a course for the Cape Charles entrance to the Chesapeake Bay,” Nathan commanded, his voice steady amidst the chaos.

The words were barely out of Nathan’s mouth when Gay-Lussac responded with mechanical precision. “Course plotted. Suggest maintaining a speed of four knots to balance your activities and my other tasks. Estimated surface travel time is twenty-five hours.”

“Action authorized. Continue your tasks under silence order. Use green or red flashes to alert me,” Nathan instructed, his mind already racing with the steps ahead, but his body resisting.

Nathan leaned back in his easy chair. Those two days of non-stop preparation had required more physical exertion than most months undersea. He closed his eyes, intent on making up for the three hours of lost sleep. The rhythmic swaying of sea swells soon deepened his rest.

Hours later, an especially large swell caused him to nearly topple over from one side of the chair to the other. The main monitor flashed red at a rapid pace.

“Gay-Lussac, silence lifted. What’s happened? Turn the alert off.”

“The ocean swells have been increasing for hours, impeding the Nereid’s speed and exacting extra power. I cannot continue pursuing the information tasks you have ordered. May I suggest we lower to a depth of fifteen feet? That would reduce internal turbulence and lessen power consumption.”

Nathan gripped the arms of his chair to maintain his position. He wanted to berate Gay-Lussac for not warning him about the swells, but he knew the bot was following his instructions. “What is the loss of speed? What does it do to our arrival at the mouth of the bay?”

“Taskmaster, speed addresses both questions. Taskmaster, reducing our speed to two knots, will address both questions. The Nereid traveled twenty miles while you slept. Arrival will require forty more hours if we must remain below the surface for the rest of the trip.”

“So a total trip time of nearly two days. Action authorized with the proviso that if the storm lessens, you are to resurface as long as the ship roll doesn’t exceed fifteen degrees.” Nathan paused, then continued, “Gay-Lussac, you had some time on the surface gathering information. What did you learn?”

“In three point two hours of scanning the electromagnetic spectrum, I have detected two general transmission nodes within my prescribed radius of concern. An inland station west of Hagerstown in the rich farming area of Cumberland Valley is communicating with orbiting satellites, and that same station communicates with an inland station in the rolling hills of the Piedmont in Pennsylvania.”

Nathan stroked his beard. “Acknowledged. Show me their locations on the map. I want to see how bright Baltimore is.”

The monitor displayed a map of the mid-Atlantic coastal region, with New York dominating the scene. “It looks like it did years ago,” Nathan remarked.

“Not exactly,” Gay-Lussac replied. “Baltimore has a luminosity of 63..8% of the magnitude it emitted in 2238. The inland stations are at 212% and 183% of the 2238 EM baseline map.”

Nathan had an additional request. He had learned not to let Gay-Lussac confuse separate ideas. “Fresh topic. Show a weather map for our path to the bay’s mouth and then up to Baltimore.”

“Impossible. All transmissions detected are uninterpretable. The transmissions could be encrypted or using a new data packing strategy. Working hypothesis: New data packing strategy is more amenable to faster solution.”

“Sensible. Authorized to proceed on working hypothesis. Also, you are back on alert status. When the weather no longer requires subsurface travel, flash me to initiate exchange for authorization. Dismissed.”

Nathan felt confident he could convince the academics at Gilbert University of the Laser Alchemist’s value, although they might insist on a more concrete name. The power requirements for the Fusion Disassembler were daunting, but with many scientists working on similar concepts, he hoped for breakthroughs in the intervening decades. Tuning the laser-triggered synthesis to all essential nutrients remained challenging, but it was achievable with hard laboratory work.

What worried him was running into Meredith. He had acted badly and had to admit it, yet he felt justified in avoiding bringing a child into a world in a downward spiral.

The rhythmic swaying of the Nereid rocked Nathan into a deep sleep, but passaging time brought new challenges. Much later, while stretching his legs, he noticed the control room monitor flashing green, then black, then green again.

“Yes, Gay-Lussac, has the weather broken?” Nathan inquired, still trying to shake off the remnants of sleep.

The screen blinked green in response.

“Permission to speak authorized,” Nathan commanded.

“Primary message: recommend Nereid proceed on the ocean’s surface. Second item: one data packing scheme resolved. Message available,” Gay-Lussac reported.

    “Nereid action authorized. On the second item, is there anything meaningful? Never mind that. Broadcast the message over the speakers,” Nathan instructed, his curiosity piqued despite his weariness.

    “… nightly broadcast on September 8, year 11. Neopolis, North American Consortium. The Antis     have attacked Neopolis on Sea Day.

    “Red Shirts focused their assault on a farm storage facility in the southern district. The Red Shirts     took several tons of foodstuffs and burned down multiple farmhouses, barns, and the building     they looted. Mayor Reyes reports the raiders were driven away before causing further damage.     Thanks to the valiant efforts of Neopolis’s security forces, all residents are safe.

    “In other news from the Mid-Atlantic region, voters will decide next Tuesday on a critical issue:     Rising ocean levels threaten thirty-seven percent of the world’s population. Should we strive to     save everyone or concentrate our resources on the best and the brightest?

    “This evening, Tamesha Li, Displaced Liaison to Neopolis, will lead the discussion …     The voting qualification test …”

Tamesha Li. He had not forgotten Meredith’s friend’s name. She’s involved with Neopolis. Which is what? An alternative name for Gilbert’s western campus? Stealing food and burning down buildings—he couldn’t reconcile it with his mission.

“Gay-Lussac, I’m not going into a civil war. Turn back,” Nathan ordered, his voice tinged with frustration.

His thinkbot resisted. “That would violate Goal One. You promised that first day on the Nereid to redeem yourself. There were no exceptions. That has been yours and my goal for twenty years.”

Nathan clenched his teeth. “Yes, you’re right. That is my goal, but the risk is very high. Another goal of mine is not to take unnecessary risks.”

“You must apply the proper adjective,” Gay-Lussac said. “Unnecessary risk is to be avoided; however, the primacy of Goal One overwhelms the necessary risk you must take to complete it.”

“Shut up. I know that. Leave me alone. Go. Flood your memory banks with new information from the airwaves. However, revert to silence and alert flash status.”

~

As they continued forward, the storm moved further out into the Atlantic, and the skies cleared. Gay-Lussac captured additional broadcasts from Neopolis, reporting worldwide progress in transplanting essential citizens to new cities and the race to develop treatments for diseases once restricted to equatorial rain forests. Nathan smiled upon learning that the Martian Sagan Bubble now held a population of seven thousand.

With the improved weather, Nathan authorized surface travel up the Chesapeake Bay, heading northward to Baltimore.

By the afternoon, he opened the hatch and stick his head into the unpurified atmosphere. The air carried an unusual scent. Donning a filtration mask, he braved the rankle of ozone, high humidity, and migrating microbes. Through his binoculars, he marveled at the knobby-kneed red mangroves which fought for space along the shore with palm trees. Water splashed on mangrove’s exposed roots. Was that a swishing tail or just the water movement?

Across the Rappahannock inlet, a heron rose above the tree canopy with prehistoric grace. Nathan lowered the binoculars to see what had stirred the heron. A boat resembling a crabbing trawler emerged from the overgrowth, about half a mile away and heading towards the Nereid.

People!

He focused and saw two men clad in red. One was at the helm, and the other was crawling onto the prow, carrying something. As the boat got closer, Nathan realized the man was laying prone on the front, pointing a rifle at them.

“Gay-Lussac, how deep is the underwater channel here?” Nathan asked.

“Taskmaster, sonar reports forty-two feet, although…” Gay-Lussac responded.

The pop of a rifle report and a metallic ping mere feet away grabbed Nathan’s attention.

He slammed the hatch closed. “Dive.. Action authorized. As deep as safe,” he commanded, his voice steady but tense.

“Gay-Lussac, any damage to the Nereid from the rifle shots?” Nathan asked.

“Of the six shots that struck before full submergence, all impacted the metallic walls. Damage is superficial only,” Gay-Lussac reported.

Nathan breathed a sigh of relief. “Where is the trawler now?”

“Directly above us. Several more shots were fired directly above us, but to no avail,” Gay-Lussac replied.

“Turn around. We’re going back to Baltimore Canyon, where we won’t get shot at,” Nathan ordered.

“Impossible,” Gay-Lussac replied. “The main channel has not been maintained for decades. The sides are sloping in and the water is heavy with sediment. My programming and sensory instrumentation are inadequate for the task. We can only go forward, but only at one knot.”

“Then do that. Action authorized. We have to get away from the boat,” Nathan commanded.

He let out a deep breath, then took one in, struggling to untense his muscles and relax his mind. “Breathe In. Breathe Out. Breathe In. Breathe Out.” He focused on his meditation mantra, repeating it over and over.

Three minutes later, an underwater wave buffeted the Nereid.

“An explosive device detonated at our original descent position,” Gay-Lussac reported.

“Hah,” Nathan said, a mix of relief and triumph in his voice. “They can’t see us under the water. We won’t rise until they are no longer detectable by your instruments, and then only to periscope level. Add to our general travel order: maintain our path above a deep trench.”

Going forward was a risk, but he had avoided the first danger. Nathan took a moment to reflect on their precarious situation. The journey ahead was fraught with unknown threats, yet he felt a renewed determination. The underwater world had been his refuge, a place where he could bury his past and work towards redemption. Now, he was emerging from the depths, carrying the weight of his creation and the hope of a better future.

He had left the surface world in chaos, and returning to it meant confronting the challenges and the people he had once fled. But he had a purpose, a goal that had driven him for two decades. His work with the Laser Alchemist and Fusion Disassembler held the potential to change the world. Despite the risks, he knew he had to press on.

The Nereid continued its cautious journey forward, cutting through the underwater darkness, while Nathan steeled himself for the trials ahead. He was no longer just a scientist hiding from the world; he was a man on a mission, ready to face whatever lay above the surface.

  ~

Since Calvert Cliffs on the left protected the Nereid from that direction, Nathan felt secure that no boats would threaten them from there and scanned the other directions. Finding no ships anywhere else, he brought the Nereid to the surface, issuing a standing order to dive to periscope depth if any ship came within sensor range.

He raised the hatch, revealing a clear sky, and the fresher air caught him by surprise. An exhilaration reminiscent of when he fled into the Foundry woods washed over him.

In that glow, he realized the university must see his invention. And if he chose his words carefully, he might avoid the accusations that people could level at him. He’d remind them he assigned his patents to Gustav as recompense for the Nereid. He also warned Gustav about the mob approaching his lab. The promise of nutrition from raw materials would make them overlook his past misdeeds.

As they continued northward, Gay-Lussac reported small boats on monitors. Nathan confirmed the order to dive to periscope depth. He took a deep breath, but a sharp cough interrupted before his lungs could fill. After the echoes of the cough subsided, he tried again, drawing air in slowly. Once more, a reflexive cough halted his intake, and he felt phlegm gathering in his upper chest. He spat it out and cautiously took a shallow breath. This time, he didn’t cough.

At the end of the second long day of bay travel, Nathan stopped the Nereid a few miles south of Baltimore’s floating harbor. Gunboats might guard the harbor and manned by officials who would ask questions he didn’t want to answer. In the late-night darkness, he inflated the motorized Zodiac and commanded Gay-Lussac to continue his research from the channel depths and to protect the Fusion Disassembler and Laser Alchemist until he heard the order from Nathan to raise the Nereid.

A clear conscience is usually  the sign of a bad memory.   Steven Wright (1955-)

BaltSea Monday Sep. 13, 2258

Night had fallen, but no stars were visible through the thick clouds that dipped low in spots to the shoreline canopy. The briny scent of the harbor mingled with the earthy aroma of marshland. Seagulls’ cries punctuated the stillness. Nathan edged through the eelgrass, disturbing dragonflies that buzzed around him in response. The whish of fins stirred the water as he entered the untamed thickets. One gust of wind pushed aside tall reeds, revealing the distant light of a campfire.

He wished Gay-Lussac were here to help. The Zodiac puttered forward, slowing as it tangled with protruding grasses until it stopped at the base of a three-foot trunk of a large deciduous tree in full bloom. Peering into the darkness, Nathan noticed the swamp grass giving way to taller reeds and thin stems adorned with vibrant purple blossoms every few inches. He throttled off the small, silent motor.

Where had that campfire gone? He sniffed the air for any scent, coughing and muffling it until it subsided. He sniffed again.

Something was cooking, somewhere to the right. A light mist descended as he tied the Zodiac to a blackberry branch.

In thigh-high waders, he made his way toward the fire. The disgusting odor grew stronger with each step.

Sliding past the dying trunk of a red maple, he spied a solitary figure warming by a small fire on the edge of a ramshackle platform. There was no boat in sight, but a tall tree stood behind the figure with stakes leading up to a platform twenty feet above the water.

“Ahoy …” his voice cracked, “Mate.” He wanted to say, “Lend me a hand,” but instead he waved his arm, conscious of a faint memory of Captain Ahab.

The dark figure, hidden within a deer poncho, stood up and ambled over to the edge of the pier. “Some damn fool out there wandering around?”

He edged closer. “Yes.”

“Well, the blue catfish ain’t answering my lure. You might as well come on up.”

Nathan found a flattened path among the firmer soil and stepped up. He nodded his thanks and pointed to his throat.

“Everybody gets the rain tickle. My name be Muskt.” She stuck out a thin, black hand. She appeared waifish, a woman of twenty-five or thirty years.

“Never heard that name before,” Nathan said. “It’s unusual, but I like it.”

She ignored his remark. “Where be your manners? What be your name?”

“Professor Nathan Garret.”

Muskt’s eyes narrowed. Her manner stiffened. “Blasted! Be you an Accursed?”

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m a scientist.” As he answered, the sea broadcast came back to him. It had mentioned Accurseds and Antis. “That is, I used to be a scientist. Haven’t been for twenty years.”

“Hah. It’s lucky you came ashore here. Not everyone is as forgiving as me, Nasty Natey. Some would rather feed the Accurseds to the swamp than sit down and talk with them. Nature is good. Science is bad. Long live nature.”

“That’s not my science,” Nathan insisted. “I have discovered a crop”—he swept his hand over the swamp land—“that can grow in these waters. You won’t starve if blue catfish ignore your bait.”

“That’s a laugh. Accurseds caused the terrible changes I live with daily.”

They stared at each other, neither giving an inch, until Nathan tried to speak. Instead of words, his exhaled breath turned into a lengthy cough.

“Don’t talk for a bit,” she said. “Especially given what you say. But you’re no threat to me. I can offer you a night’s sanctuary from the rain that’s picking up.”

She motioned for him to climb up the tree trunk.

He paused and pointed to the bush where his boat floated.

“Yes. Get it. Tie it to the platform. We’ll be right above.”

After securing the Zodiac and climbing to Muskt’s platform, his muscles protested the unwarranted exercise. He opened the flap and peered into her small lean-to.

“Close the damn flap,” Muskt said with a surprising laugh. “Don’t want to get more wet, do we? Come in, Natey. Get yourself dry.”

After lowering the flap, Nathan looked around. Pieces of old crates had been repurposed into makeshift furniture. A black pot filled with bubbling stew sat on a small stove, the source of the odor that had led him here.

“My friends call me Nathan.” He swallowed through the ache in his throat. “I’ve been watching the rain for most of the week. How long will this storm last?”

Muskt shifted against her crate backrest and stirred the liquid in the large kettle above the fire. “It’s always the rainy season in the rainy year. One storm blurs into the next. The rains, they must fall.”

Carefully watching him, Muskt added, “Where you be from, Nasty Natey, asking such a thing? Not to mention admitting you’re an Accursed!”

“I’ll tell …” His voice failed him again. He paused, pointed to his throat, and mouthed, “Parched.”

She pushed a cup forward. “Sip this. Grove extract.”

It smelled foul. The thought of drinking it disgusted him, considering the impurities it might contain. But he couldn’t turn it down, not if he was to win her help. He took a sip. A cough of burning surprise was followed by a mild alcoholic warmth spreading from his stomach. He nodded his thanks.

 “You hungry, too?” Muskt ladled stew into a battered bowl. “Ain’t much. Few mudskippers, but it has some of the only box turtle I’ve seen all year, plus the spuds, onions, and veggies I corral.”

Nathan struggled with revulsion. For two decades, he purified all his meals. He touched the spoon to his tongue. Death by water-borne parasites might kill him, unless he killed them first.

He pulled the flask from his oilskin pocket and opened it. “Before …”

She sniffed it, scrunched her nose, and looked askance. “What do I want with an Accursed product?”

“It’s pure alcohol. Add some to your extract; it’ll make my talking easier.”

“You owe me.” Muskt poured some into his cup. “But you, first.”

He drank it. When he didn’t keel over, she added some to her cup.

As he drank, it went down hot. His throat burned, but he no longer cared. “I have talked little. My throat aches.”

“Look-it,” she said. “Tell me your story. I ain’t heard a good story in forever.”

“Muskt,” Nathan leaned back against a crate, “for the past twenty years, my home has been hundreds of miles east of here, two hundred feet below the ocean’s surface.” He kept his reasons to himself.

“Blast me!” Muskt said. “Ain’t there enough accursed water around here for you?”

“More than enough,” he agreed. “I left during the riots after the Freedom Dam collapse. You’re too young to remember them.”

Muskt shook her head. “I know of it. We lost our home and each other. I was five or six. Now I make my camp here. Away from Antis and Accurseds and everybody.” She glanced at him. “Nasty Natey, you must have been here when the new city was being built. Why ain’t you there?”

He couldn’t answer that question. That would reveal secrets he wanted to keep hidden. Instead, he crafted a story he hoped would lead her to help him. “I had a research project, off-campus. That’s where I created a food crop for salty estuaries and saline-infused soil. I want to get it to the Gilbert campus. Can you lead me there?”

The small woman eyed him. “What’s in it for me?”

What would interest her? “Food, warmth, comfort. I’d make sure you’d get a good job there.”

Muskt snorted. “A job! I’m free out here.”

“But you must need things.”

“True. I go to fairs, but the trades are often too dear. Your little rubber boat down there ain’t much, but for it, I could take you there.”

He took another sip of the fiery drink. She wanted the Zodiac. How would he get back to the Nereid later? But he had to reach his goal first; making that trip a problem for later. He’d worry about that later. “Okay. Get me there and it’s yours.”

“A deal then.” She stuck out her hand.

He took it. “Let’s go.”

“Not now,” she said. “Later is better. When the rain slackens. Relax awhile. I ain’t heard your story yet.”

He had been working on his goal for twenty years and could afford some time to rest after the unusual physical activity since he left Baltimore Canyon, compounded by the illness he feared was brought on by the polluted world. “Like I said, back in ’38, the Freedom Dam collapsed. The towns in the valley were swept away.”

“We lived in Sykesville. My mom died and my brother too.”

Nathan nodded, acknowledging her words but pressing on with his story. “My wife, Meredith, blamed all scientists, including me, for the entire weather mess. Especially me.”

“Your wife sounds,” she said, “like an Anti.”

“In some ways, perhaps, but she used medicine to help the displaced. I used science to create better things, but when she was angry, she wasn’t charitable with her words. After two decades, the details no longer matter. I bought a surplus laboratory to live under the ocean.” That truth was too difficult for casual conversation.

Muskt’s eyes widened. “An entire ship. All your own. You’re rich on the backs of Antis and Freemen.”

“No, not at all.” He didn’t want to dwell on that. “I couldn’t make progress topside. Couldn’t get materials. The electricity would shut off, and my experiments were ruined.”

“Electricity!” she broke in, waving her arm around her little shack, lit only by the burning embers under her stew. “Do you see any electricity here? I’d love to have a light that didn’t stink of burned fish oil.”

“You do realize electricity is available courtesy of science.” Before she could argue, he switched to a new topic. “For years I struggled in my undersea lab until I hit upon edible algae that grows in salty groundwater.”

His vocal cords refused to go on. He sipped the enriched grove extract.

Muskt stared out the open front, into the blackness of the wet night. “A dish of seaweed.” Muskt spat. “Yuck.”

He hated to argue, especially since this was a fabrication to hide his real invention, The Laser Alchemist, but he kept up the lie. “Not a dish of seaweed. A saline farm of proteins, sugars, and fatty acids. Swamps and unproductive grain fields replaced by algae farms. That’s why I must get to the university.”

An odd smirk crossed Muskt’s face. “Seems like there might be potential, but I just remembered the bridge is out between here and there. It’ll be more difficult than I first reckoned.”

“But we already agreed.”

She picked up his soup bowl. He’d eaten two small scoops of the noxious meal. “Between you and me eating my stew, my supplies are dwindling. I know a place, right near the university, where I can replace them. Help me and afterwards, we’ll go to the campus.”

A loose cough erupted in his chest. Underneath his beard, a hot flush reddened his cheeks. “I can’t do anything too strenuous.”

Muskt squinted her eyes at him. “Rest easy, Natey. Lean back. Close your eyes. It’s too early to be leaving yet. Rest awhile.”

Thankful the talking was over, Nathan shut his eyes, relishing the silence.

Semi-conscious thoughts emerged, mixing with memories and forgotten details, blending into a dream. His first dream in years. Meredith murmured, “I understand. You’ve atoned for your sins, Nathan. Come back.”

Nathan drifted into a deep, restless sleep. His dream was vivid and unsettling, but was cut short by a gentle shake. Muskt’s dark, deer-hide poncho draped over her small frame as she roused him. The poncho, stitched together with mismatched patches of weathered leather, bore signs of countless repairs and re-stitchings. Its dark hue, almost black, blended with the night, the result of years of exposure to smoke, rain, and mud.

Water dripped from the rim of her black trekking hat onto Nathan, stirring him further from his slumber. Groggily, he woke up, his brief respite abruptly ending.

“Time,” Muskt said, thrusting an older, more threadbare poncho at him along with an animal-skin bag. Making sure she didn’t see, he slipped his compad and the flask of Laser Alchemist contents into it.

In a few short minutes, they stepped out into the muggy darkness. The rain had stopped, but the air remained thick, reminiscent of the Everglades. His factory there would have been converting Brazilian peppertree cellulose into plastics and into neuro-strands for agrobot brains, if not for the 2238 riots.

They walked from the floating pier into a wild thicket of low-growing brambles, hardy saplings mixed with dying pines, and uncertain paths. Nathan tried to step in Muskt’s footprints.

After a slow slog away from the water, the ground firmed. Nathan noticed straight, vertical, black edges through breaks in the foliage—large old buildings, unlit. Offices? Unoccupied?

Occasional snorts, howls, chirps, and buzzing filled the air with life, but not human sounds.

The path split. Muskt raised her arm. “Show’s on, Natey. This way.”

He shrugged and followed.

They followed the path as it turned from broken asphalt to a nearly perfect road. Large houses, hidden behind high concrete walls with guard-bots peering down at them, lined the street. They walked, staying in the center of the road.

After one block, the secure neighborhood ended. The next street had houses with missing windows and some with roofs crushed by trees. Despite the wreckage, Nathan heard occasional words and snores—people were living in them.

The road led into a fresh, thick woods of Trees of Heaven, Japanese honeysuckle, and mutated maples, which had displaced the pines and red maples. Muskt pointed to a low stone cottage mostly hidden behind overgrown bushes. She gestured for him to be quiet and follow.

In the back, she stooped by a basement window. She put a finger to her lips. Pulling tape from her pocket, she made a crisscross on the basement window. With a rock in her right hand and the left holding the dangling tape trailer, she struck the window sharply. The glass shattered, but the pieces stayed in place and didn’t clatter to the ground.

Muskt crawled in and, with a peremptory gesture, invited him in.

This was beyond his imagination. He had expected, at the worst, a midnight raid on a potato patch, not breaking into a building. It reminded him of midnight raids to the Foundry’s kitchen for food.

After they clambered in, Muskt lit a candle. The flame’s flickering shadows reminded him of the calm nights after long days in the Nereid’s labs, enjoying the encyclopedia. The scene evoked Van Gogh’s “Potato Eaters,” with half of Muskt’s face illuminated, while the other half and the corners of the room were shrouded in darkness and shadow.

“Look-it!” she whispered, exasperated. “Wipe that stupid look off your face. Quick and quiet. Follow my lead.” From her pocket, she pulled plastic bags and handed him two. She stood in front of the potatoes and onions, pointing for him to get zucchinis and carrots.

When their sacks were nearly full, she motioned to stop. Muskt poked around the shadowy basement. “Look for garlic or mushrooms, anything but more of what we already got.”

Nathan saw a dark mass on a shelf in a cupboard. He tilted a fat bowl forward to look inside but disturbed a mouse’s comfortable night. Startled, it snapped at his finger. He yelled, then swung his hand down hard on the shelf. The animal flew off his finger, but the storage shelf broke, and bowls and cooking utensils clanged onto the concrete floor.

Muskt scrambled up and out the window before Nathan had recovered his wits. Stepping over the clutter, he went to the window. Muskt reached back in and grabbed Nathan’s bag, tucking it into her poncho before running off.

He was half in and half out of the basement when a thickset man in a red shirt pointed a rifle at him. “Stop or you’re dead!”

Nathan lifted his hands in surrender.

The man gestured with his rifle for Nathan to come out and stand up against the wall. “Stealing from the Boss. Not a wise move. Where’s your partner? It was Muskt, wasn’t it?”

He forced Nathan’s wrists together and clasped homemade handcuffs on him. “I’m taking you to the camp.”

Turning toward Nathan, he pushed him forward onto a path leading away. “Let’s go.”

As he walked, the wild growth gave way to an area of more recent, smaller vegetation struggling to take over. They arrived at brick and concrete buildings standing in various states of decay—missing windows, doors, and roofs—a space that was once grand.

The captor prodded Nathan toward a squarish building. Despite its much-degraded state, he recognized it as Enoch Tower, the center of Gilbert campus. Others in red lounged around the ruined entryway.

“Hale, mates. Make way. I’m taking this thief to the Boss.”

Nathan entered the gutted interior of the tower. No furnishings remained, though a fire crackled in a concrete window open to the outside. A large man with a shock of red hair slept by the embers.

“Why are you bothering me, Refus?” the red-headed man grumbled.

“I caught this thief, Boss, raiding the storehouse. Someone was with him, but got away. Muskt, I think.” The guard stopped at the dark edge of the flickering flames and pushed Nathan forward.

The Boss glanced at Nathan for barely a second before returning his attention to Nathan’s captor. “You recovered all the goods?”

“All that he had. Yes.”

The Boss got up, tossed a log onto the fire, sat back down, and said, “What should I do with you? What do you have to say for yourself?”

Nathan recognized Jack Terranova, but Jack didn’t recognize him. Maybe it was the beard and the years. “I am a humble fisherman who was led astray. I thought we were going to her fields.”

“That’s a lie, Boss. I caught him red-handed, trying to escape from the storehouse basement.”

The Boss got up. “It’s too late to make difficult decisions tonight. Refus, lock him up in your building. I’ll decide his fate in the morning. Thief, you need to convince me not to let the swamp crocs decide your fate. Stealing is a capital offense.”

Being led away, Nathan glimpsed a familiar woman with slate gray hair, peering at him from under a blanket on the far side of the fire. His heart skipped a beat. What was Meredith doing here? Yes, Jack had helped her at the clinic, but this was no clinic. This was a lair of survival and secrecy.

What fate would Jack bestow upon him if he realized Nathan was Meredith’s husband? The implications were staggering. Damn, he’d reached the Gilbert campus, but his mission was in jeopardy. His invention had no one to turn to, no safe hands to deliver it to.

He needed to escape, to find a way out, but with Refus wielding a rifle and an itchy trigger finger, every step was fraught with danger. His survival hinged on staying alive, biding his time until the slightest opportunity for escape presented itself. Nathan’s mind raced, calculating his next moves. He couldn’t afford another misstep.

He who considers too much  will perform too little.   Frederich Schiller (1759-1805)

Lockup Thursday Sep. 16, 2258

By the third night in the inner room of the basement, no one had taken Nathan back to Jack. What was going on?

Each morning at sunup, Refus would lead him to the stream to haul two buckets of water back to Enoch Tower. This routine repeated at lunch, dinner, and the end of the day.

They roamed abandoned neighborhoods with a floatable wagon and through abandoned warehouses and occasionally row houses. Along the way, Refus made Nathan throw fist-sized rocks at targets—window openings, posts, trees—while belittling his every effort. Memories of the orphanage flooded back, bringing with them images of the sterile halls and harsh caregivers. He often wondered if those early years had etched permanent lines of doubt on his otherwise confident mind.

When they returned to Enoch Tower the last time, Refus locked Nathan in the lightless basement room. Sometime later, Refus slipped a metal plate with a small piece of roasted animal, potatoes, and carrots under the door for dinner. On the first day, he snubbed it. The next day, he ate it.

Exhausted by the day’s physical labor, Nathan lay on the cold floor, often coughing and feverish as his thoughts cycled without resolution.

On the third night, as he drifted into a semi-conscious state, the door creaked open. The glow of an oil lamp blinded rather than illuminated his view. He sat up, rubbing his eyes in the flickering light.

Moving the lamp behind his bucket commode eased his visual adjustment.

“Is that better?” Her voice asked.

“Meredith, is that you?” Nathan squinted, trying to make out her features.

She leaned back, bringing her face into the light. “I go by Meri now, but yes, it’s me. I recognized your voice when you came before Jack. Why are you here?” Her eyes searched his face, wary yet curious.

“Not by choice, I assure you.” Frustration edged Nathan’s voice. “I could ask you the same thing. Why are you here? And I called you Meredith for eight years during our contract. It’d be hard to change now.”

She had aged well, though worry lines and gray hair betrayed the years that hadn’t all been kind. She crossed her arms, her expression firm.

“Answer my question,” she insisted, her tone leaving no room for evasion. “Why are you here now? We thought you died in the riot when your laboratory building burned.”

Nathan sighed, the weight of past years pressing down on him. “It’s a long story, Meredith.”

He smiled for the first time since his return. If they thought he was dead, he wouldn’t be accused of stealing the Nereid. But his future remained grim. Maybe Meredith offered a way out. He started with his lie. “I’ve created a nutritional alga that grows in the saline saturated soil of coastal farms.”

Meredith sputtered with indignation. “Still a scientist, trying to correct the mistakes that got us here.”

Nathan held her gaze, trying to read her thoughts. “It’s not like that,” he said, his voice steady. “This alga could help the coasts survive.”

Her frown deepened, but there was a flicker of interest. “We’ll see about that,” she muttered, glancing around as if weighing her options.

“At least, I’m trying. What about you?” he asked, his tone edged with frustration. “You’ve given up the clinic and medicine. Now you laze about warm fireplaces.”

She shook her head at him. “Always thinking the worst of others. Not at all. I’m here treating people left behind in BaltSea. They need help, even if the Elites have forgotten them and their families abandoned them as too much dead weight. The strong and capable moved inland and upward, where life goes on much as before.”

Nathan stretched his body awake, the weight of her words sinking in as he took in the changed shape of the world that Meredith described. He cleared his throat, which turned into a cough. When it stopped, he took a sip of water. “We’re both twenty years older since the riots of 2238. You look well, but am I wrong? You no longer have anti-aging elixirs?”

“You know nothing.” Meredith shook her head, frustration evident in her eyes. “Not when so many die of cholera and dysentery. I have nothing to give them. So, as a woman in her fifties, I’m aging naturally. But you will not distract me. Why are you here now? What are you up to?”

“I told you. I’ve isolated an alga…” Nathan’s voice trailed off, but he kept his gaze steady on her.

“Yes, I heard that. But why aren’t you in Neopolis with the rest of the Elites and Scientists?” She folded her arms, narrowing her eyes at him.

“That’s where I want to go,” he replied, his tone firm but noncommittal.

“Something does not add up,” she said, shaking her head. “And knowing you, your words will never provide the answer. Only by considering your actions I may uncover what you’re up to.”

Nathan looked back at her with what he hoped was an inscrutable gaze, his mind racing for a way out.

She waited, but he refused to respond. she broke the silence. “Although we ended badly, I don’t want you harmed, but Jack has to maintain his authority. Also, at the clinic and here in the city, medical supplies don’t exist. Plus, more food is always welcome. I’m leading a raid on a farm that supplies Neopolis. Tamesha thinks I’m crazy, but I’ve convinced Jack that, rather than making an example of you, you should help us on the mission. That’s why Refus is getting your strength up.”

“Death avoided now, for death later,” Nathan said dryly.

“Perhaps, but death in the swamp can be slow and very painful,” Meredith said as she stood up. “I won’t see you again until we leave. Get strong and do something positive for once in your life.” Meredith’s voice carried a mix of hope and determination. She took the lamp and opened the door, casting long shadows across the room. A young woman with a purple crystal necklace peered in from the corridor.

Meredith closed and locked the door, leaving Nathan in darkness. He found a ray of hope in this raid. He would head closer to those he had returned to see. Could he surrender and present his invention to them?

When a rainbow has lasted long  we stop looking at it.   Johan Wolfgang Goethe (1749-1832)

Lockup Friday Sep. 17, 2258

After three days, the small group set off on their mission. The sun was out, casting light on puffy cumulus clouds drifting across the sky. Meredith led Sprout and Nathan out of the camp. Each took a side handle of the large four-wheeled cart. Empty except for a narrow, but long locked box.

They maintained a steady pace away from the tower, traveling along roads Nathan recalled from better days. He wondered where Jack was, but his reluctance to question Meredith kept him silent.

After an hour, they left the ruins of the city behind. Fields, occasionally flanked the asphalt walkway, were green and lush, though overgrown and untended.

Before noon, Sprout shouted and pointed ahead. The road ended abruptly where a bridge over a riverbed had been destroyed. On the other side of the gap, a camouflaged cargo truck sat on the road.

“Refus, keep your pistol ready, but out of sight. If he,” Meredith jerked her head at Nathan, “starts something stupid, do what you must. I don’t want him to spoil the ride I’ve arranged.”

Refus glared at Nathan. “Give me an excuse. Rev. Joseph has been begging for an adult funeral. Says he needs practice delivering a funeral sermon about the devil demon in foul men’s hearts.”

“Sprout,” Meredith continued, ignoring his comment, “put your stun gun in the lockbox and give me the jewelry.”

Although he tried to see in, Sprout blocked Nathan’s view into the lockbox. Yet after she snapped it shut, he saw the earrings formed a set with Sprout’s amethyst necklace.

With the valuable gems in her pocket, Meredith led the group down the shoulders of the ruined bridge to a quiet rivulet, no longer raging as it must have when it toppled the bridge.

The cart was falling behind. Meredith glared at Refus. “If they cannot get across, the task Jack assigned us fails. Carry the lockbox, so they can get over.” She raised her hand toward him. “I know your objection, but if he tries to run off, just drop the box and then do what you must.”

Nathan took a chance to glance up at the waiting truck. The driver wore a crisp but faded yellow jumpsuit and a visor hat. Her eyes locked onto his with a hard stare.

“Tamesha,” he muttered. “I can’t believe it.”

“Going our way?” Meredith called to her friend since college.

Tamesha opened the truck’s door. “Could be. Get up here. Good to see you, Sprout. Refus, put that box goes in the back with the rest of you.” She turned to Nathan. “Give Sprout a better hand than the one you gave Meri. She told me your story. I don’t believe a word of it.”

Refus, Sprout, and Nathan climbed into the cargo area. Refus shoved Nathan as deep into the bay as possible, ensuring he was out of sight and out of trouble.

Tamesha restarted the engine when a loud smack on the fender stopped their departure.

“Don’t leave without me, Tamesha.” It was Muskt. “I want to give back to the Accurseds.”

“What are you doing here?” Meredith called from the front seat.

Instead of answering, Muskt jumped into the back. “Well, what do you know? Nasty Natey, fancy meeting you here.”

Nathan didn’t react, not wanting to reveal he knew her, but he needn’t have worried.

Refus laughed. “Without catching you, swamp rat, I’m getting my wish anyhow. Battle will test your witchy powers.”

Nathan heard a few words through the front tarp. “Another hand … trade goods … BaltSea,” Meredith told Tamesha. “Can’t say no.”

They moved at a good clip, despite having to slow down to navigate around smaller streams without bridges. Nathan wondered how far inland the storm-damaged infrastructure extended, but snatches of conversation from the cab grabbed his attention.

“… you didn’t …” The noise of the motor and the flapping of the tarp swallowed Meredith’s other words.

“… Mia’s jewelry … supplies …”

Nathan couldn’t always tell who was speaking.

“… sonofabitch, left … back … Plastix ….”

Two hours later, Tamesha pulled off the road within view of a ferry crossing. Nathan recognized the location. He and Meredith once enjoyed a relaxing dinner nearby in the early, prosperous days of their contract.

“Felix is waiting for me at Plastix Headquarters,” Tamesha said. “How will you get across? The ferry only crosses for people with authorization.”

“There’s a—” Meredith explained.

“Stop. I don’t want to know,” Tamesha interrupted. “Good luck at the swap fair.”

Under Refus’s direction, Sprout, Nathan, and Muskt began unloading the truck. Nathan looked around, puzzled. “What’s so special about this place?”

“Don’t look around for an escape,” Refus said, “just because we’re on the border of Neopolis country. I still have the last word.” Swiveling, he blasted a large black raven perched on a branch of a dying red maple.

Nathan fell silent. It took all his energy for him to push and Muskt to pull the cart with the lockbox.

The sun ducked behind late afternoon clouds as Meredith hustled them along a firebreak between untended wild growth.

They pushed the cart up and down the rolling hills. Sprout was the third member of the cart team.

When she relieved Muskt, the woman sang as she walked alongside them.

Walking through the forest, oh so fair,
Breathing in the fresh and crisp cool air,
Leaves beneath our feet go crunch, crunch, crunch,
Nature all around us, such a lovely bunch.

Sprout joined on the first two lines. Refus preferred adding his voice to crunch, crunch, crunch.

Nathan concentrated on his task. His clogged nostrils prevented him from taking deep breaths. His muscles ached with each step. His feet screamed to be propped up.

“Keep up,” Meredith ordered.

“Can’t we stop for a moment?” He begged. “That building might have something we could use.”

“Vultures to pick your bones,” Refus said.

“No detours,” Meredith said and gestured with her gun for Nathan to keep up.

Nathan gritted through the pain. Thankfully, before he couldn’t walk another step, they arrived at a cluster of large boulders near the ridgeline. Meredith declared this their campsite.

She led them to a small cave entrance between the boulders. “Come in. It’s cramped, but it’s home,” she said.

The cave was dimly lit and narrow, with just enough space to shuffle in. We dropped our gear in a small pile against the rock wall. The air was cool, a stark contrast to the warmth of fading day outside.

Muskt and Sprout set off to gather kindling and forage for any roots or flowers that could be added to the cured beef they had brought. Their footsteps faded as they disappeared into the trees.

“Refus, nuts and berries,” Meredith instructed. She extended her hand towards him. “And give me the stun gun.” Refus handed over the firearm before heading into the forest in search of edible plants.

From a nook in the cave side, she pulled out an old paint bucket and gave it to Nathan. “We’re going down to the river. Two trips ought to do it. We need to eat before twilight turns to darkness, so we can cross the river before daybreak tomorrow.”

As they descended, the expanse of the flowing stream led Nathan to ask. “We can’t wade across this, can we?”

“No.” Meredith pointed her weapon up at a spot in the sky above them. “Look carefully near the trees. There’s a cable stretching from one side to the other. There’s a small trolley that we can use.”

Nathan stepped back, surprised. “That’s amazing. Still there and still working. Why hasn’t Neopolis destroyed it?”

“You don’t understand,” she said, “the land over there isn’t Neopolis but outlying lands of farmers who sell goods to them. The Accurseds allow them independence if they follow their rules. For sure, the outlanders never told Neopolis about this trolley. There are probably other back avenues the outlanders used to trade with the Lone Wolves and the wealthy Baltimoreans who could not escape. Why would they trust the new city, which demands total obedience and be forced to follow its decisions?”

Nathan nodded, but he was taken aback by her earlier insistence that they not stop. “You’ve changed, Meredith, waving a weapon at me to make your point. Before I left, you knew your cause was just. You argued with words. Are you now unsure and need threats to convince me?”

After he filled the bucket, they trudged up the hill, continuing their discussion in fits and starts, and starting the fire under the pot, now half-loaded with water.

“You’re one to talk,” she said as they headed back. “You ran from confrontation when I said your science was not a shield, but a weapon. You and your kind destroyed the Earth. Today we live a hand-to-mouth existence, and the people who caused it have separated themselves into new cities. Look around this cave. The Accurseds have pushed us back ten thousand years.”

He would not defend the misuse of science; Plastix Corp, even her cousin, Felix, were the ones profiting from misused science. But her argument showed how much she had changed. “Where has your compassion gone? Your love of all humanity …” He started coughing and couldn’t finish.

Meredith scrunched her mouth, apparently biting off a tart response. Instead, she reached and touched his forehead. “You struggled to keep up all day. You have a fever. Your congestion has increased since you returned. How do you feel, Nathan?”

“If I were on the Nereid right now, I’d take an anti-inflammatory, consume my favorite dinner: purified protein, prepared carbohydrates, liquid lipids, and fabricated fiber, and sleep for twenty hours, only moving to open my eyes and gaze upon my sea garden through the port window.”

Meredith shook her head. “So, yet while we have been starving, dying of diseases I have no medicine for, illnesses borne by migrating insects, invading bacteria, and mutated viruses, you lived in a lavish underwater hotel. Here, every year bring water storms that dig deeper into the lands beyond the coasts. Many people are forced to stay and endure.

They looked at each other in silence and returned with the second bucket of water.

Muskt and Sprout returned with an armful of kindling and a few edible plants. Refus contributed a useful pile of nuts and berries. The fire crackled to life, its warm glow filling the cave and casting dancing shadows on the walls.

As they worked together, the aroma of the cooking beef mingled with the earthy scent of the forest, creating a comforting atmosphere. Despite the cramped conditions, there was a sense of camaraderie among them as they prepared to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

After they ate and took visits outside to relieve themselves, Sprout took the first watch. Refus and Muskt nodded off soon thereafter.

Nathan strained to stay awake. He wanted to bridge the gap with his former mate. “I’m sorry things are so bad here. I am, but I am not to blame. My goal has always been to reduce carbon emissions.”

Meredith rolled her eyes. “What I know now is you deserted me. I worked non-stop after the dam burst and ever since, yet when I returned home, there was no solace. Home was empty. You disappeared without a trace.”

Nathan knew that was true, but she had moved on. “But now I see you with Jack.”

“That is no excuse for your cowardly escape. That is the truth. I had to go on at the clinic. And yes, Jack helped the displaced that were at the clinic and in the higher grounds of the river valley. He organized the survivors in tent camps. Even though the survivors weren’t allowed to migrate to safer lands, Jack’s leadership helped them feel less precarious every day. But the trajectory remains downward. Still, over time and his and Rev. Joseph’s tutelage, Tent City has become almost like home.

“After other storms, more camps sprung up in the areas across old Baltimore, abandoned by the government. They modeled themselves on Tent City. Their leaders took to wearing Red Shirts in honor of Jack’s red hair. The Accurseds took the government, the leading industries, and, of course, the damn scientists, to their new city. And they locked the doors, just like the city in the Wizard of Oz. They offer no aid to people who do not do their bidding.”

Nathan stretched. “Surely, the new city can’t be all bad. I heard Felix lives under Neopolis’s protection for weeks at a time.”

Meredith’s eyes flamed. “You haven’t been topside in two decades. Believe what your eyes show you, not what your imagination wishes.”

Nathan didn’t agree. “The first thing I heard when I surfaced was that Jack attacked Neopolis. Now you are leading us on a fresh attack. How does this help the people in the tents?”

She pursed her lips. “That’s propaganda. Jack led a small group to bargain for food swap. The traders wanted the polished rocks Jack offered and the beautiful totems the Tent City people carved, but they didn’t want to exchange food for them. They attacked Jack and his helpers, stole the treasures, then booted them across the river by the ferry we crossed this afternoon. That’s what actually happened.”

Nathan said nothing, wondered which story was true. Was either?

Thankfully, Meredith shifted the topic. “At the clinic, Alandra calls me boss, but in Tent City, I need Jack to defend me against the preaching of Rev. Joseph.”

“I don’t understand.” Nathan’s forehead wrinkled. “What does he have to do with you?”

“Haven’t you noticed that Refus only follows my directions when I invoke Jack’s name? In Tent City, people die more often than babies are born. The Rev preaches that women’s purpose is to have children. All other things interfere with their God-given role to populate the community. Red Shirts see me as a midwife, not a doctor. The clinic has precious few medicines to fight infections, treat cancers, or stop suffering. Nothing to stop epidemics of cholera or any other illnesses we have seen since the riots and the abandonment.”

“Women forced to have babies,” Nathan mulled over the idea, “even if they want to do something else?”

“Don’t you get it? The displaced, homeless, and refugees live a subsistence life. Some people have been homeless for decades, for their entire lives. They tend small rocky fields and pick fruit from wild orchards by hand. Hunting deer with javelins. Being adept with arrowhead spears is the new rite of passage. They need to save rifles and bullets for fighting off raiders. It is too dangerous to risk women on a hunt. They must have babies. They are to stay at home, gather food, and maintain the camp for the hunters.”

“That’s archaic,” Nathan said. “Why do you stay?”

“Where can I go? Accurseds… No, let me use the polite name: Elites won’t have me, since I stayed and helped the Antis, as they now label everybody they left behind. Supporters won’t do anything to endanger their relationship with the Elites. Lone Wolves, in isolated households and small communities, have little to do with either group, although some will trade with anyone. Lone Wolves cherish their independence. If a person finds their hidden enclaves, they are known to kill those unlucky discoverers. So, I’m left with the Antis.”

“Yet you plan to attack Neopolis?”

“That’s not my plan. We’re going to complete the trade Jack started. I know from Muskt’s uncle, a Lone Wolf who trades, the site of a remote storehouse and a rural outpatient center.”

“Tamesha supports this raid?”

“Hardly. I told her I’m using my great aunt Mia’s amethyst jewelry to a swap fair, but we’re going in before it opens and taking what Jack has already paid for.”

Nathan looked quizzical. “What’s my role?”

“You’re the muscle, weak though you are. You load the small carts. When they are full, you push them to our river crossing. Hopefully, we’ll get more than one load across before we’re spotted. We get out of their territory and head back home.”

Nathan felt a twinge of disappointment. He would be near Neopolis, but not in it. H e had to surrender to them and show the value of his invention.

Meredith leaned back against the wall. “We’ve eaten. Sleep now. Tomorrow will come very early.”

~

About three hours after midnight, under the light of a waning half-moon, the five figures moved through the dense forest. The air was cool and crisp, and the only sounds were the rustling leaves and the occasional hoot of an owl. They climbed the ridge, their breaths visible in the chilly night air, until they came upon the metallic platform and trolley with cables stretching above it, silhouetted against the starry sky.

Meredith turned to the group, her voice a low whisper. “Three of us, Refus, Nathan, and I, will take the first trip.”

Refus scowled, his face barely visible in the dim light. “That Accursed is more trouble than he’s worth. Let’s just say he tried to escape and I had to shoot him. Us four could do the job in Neopolis easier without his dead weight.”

Meredith’s eyes flashed with anger as she pulled a stun gun from her belt. “You kill him, and I’ll blast your leg and let a pack of wolves finish the job.”

His mouth flung open and his arms rose. “Whoa! Just thinking out load. You gotta admit he’s dead weight. Don’t know why you’re so damn touchy about a good idea?”

“Let me explain it to you, Refus.”

Nathan tensed, worried she would reveal their history.

“Jack had the chance to feed this Accursed to the swamp crocs, but he decided not to. Jack’s order was to give him a chance to die helping us.” She returned her pistol to her belt. “Now do you understand?”

Refus nodded. “Sure. Sure. I never go against the Boss. I was just talking. Ain’t no harm in talking, is there?”

“Okay. Here’s the plan.”

She turned to Sprout, her eyes sharp and focused. “You and Muskt go back and bring the big cart up here now that you know the way. Meanwhile, I drop those two and the lockbox on the other side and return for you and Muskt. When we are all cross, it’s only minutes to the storage barn.”

Muskt looked puzzled and asked, “Then what?”

Meredith continued, her tone decisive. “There will be small farm carts lying around. When the group fills one, Refus and Nathan will return to the trolley and take the load across to the big cart. Sprout, you and Muskt will fill another cart. I’m hoping we can get two cart loads across. Meanwhile, I’ll be on to the farmer’s dispensary getting medical supplies. I’ll meet you at the barn or the trolley, depending on how things progress.”

The group absorbed her instructions in silence. When there were no questions, Meredith stepped onto the trolley, positioning herself by the platform’s trolley brake. She gave a final nod. “Let’s go.”

Refus turned to Nathan, eyes narrowing. “You, I’m going to take off the handcuffs for the crossing. Don’t give me any trouble. You are to sit against the pulley wheel. We won’t need that to get to the lower station.”

Nathan nodded warily, and Refus removed the handcuffs, watching him. Nathan moved to sit against the pulley wheel as instructed, his muscles tensing with anticipation.

Meanwhile, Sprout and Muskt handed the lockbox to the Red Shirt. He unlocked it with a quick motion, retrieved a short rope from inside, and slammed the lid shut just as Nathan leaned forward, trying to glimpse inside. Refus looped the rope around the box, threading it through the handle and trussing it to the side rail.

With everything in place, Meredith took a deep breath and released the trolley brake, signaling the start of their descent.

The cable squeaked as the trolley left the support of the landing. The box slid when the trolley dropped, but the guys held it in place. The trolley sped fast as it descended and crossed the riverbank.

As they approached mid-river, a fierce, high-pitched metallic screech pierced the night’s quiet. The trolley jerked to an abrupt stop.

Meredith’s grip tightened, her knuckles white from tension. Nathan slid forward and collided with Refus’s legs, who lurched forward and flipped over the middle rail, barely maintaining a one-hand hold.

Instinctively, Nathan stood and leaned over the side rail, grabbing Refus’s arm to support him. In the chaos, Nathan’s compad slipped out of his pocket, falling into the flowing river below.

Meredith swiftly moved over and grabbed Refus’s free-flying hand, guiding it to the side rail. With a combined effort, the two helped Refus back over the rail and into the trolley, where he collapsed to the floor, catching his breath.

Nathan looked up at the cable. He reached his hand along it, feeling several inches of aluminum pitted by teeth gouges, ending with a thick covering of caked animal droppings. “Meredith, hold the pulley wheel still. Refus, hand me a knife so I can scrape this crap off.”

Refus looked up, his face pale with exhaustion, but shook his head. Meredith, without missing a beat, pulled a hunting knife from Refus’s belt. “Here,” she said, handing it to Nathan. Returning her attention to Refus, she added, “Collect yourself. You’re safe, thanks to Nathan. Now get it together. We have to get this trolley moving.” She re-gripped the pulley wheel. “Go ahead, Nathan.”

Nathan climbed onto the railing, balancing as he scraped the gunk off the cable. The metal groaned under the pressure of his efforts, but, he cleared a foot length of the cable.

Once back in the trolley, Nathan nodded to Refus, who had now secured the lockbox around a corner beam, ensuring it wouldn’t slide again. Meredith gestured for Refus and Nathan to use the pulley wheel. They spun it with determined effort. The trolley moved, slowly at first, but then picked up speed under their combined efforts.

Soon, they coasted to the lower platform, the night air filled with the sound of their labored breathing and the rhythmic creak of the trolley coming to a halt. They were across the river.

Meredith got off and tied the trolley to the post. They slid the lockbox to her and got off themselves. With the down trip completed, she got back on. “Give me your best push, and I’ll be back with the other two in short order.”

Once she was off, Refus turned his attention to Nathan. “Wrap your arms around that tree,” he ordered, pointing to a nearby trunk.

Nathan frowned, his voice edged with defiance. “Why?”

Refus gestured with a projectile revolver he withdrew from the unlocked box, eyes cold. “Because I said so.”

Nathan’s anger flared. “Without me, you’d be dead, drowned in the river.”

Refus scoffed, his expression hardening. “But I’m not and without Meredith, you’d be croc lunch.”

The words stung, but Nathan bit back his retort and did as instructed, wrapping his arms around the tree. Refus moved quickly, using a rope from the lockbox to bind Nathan’s hands.

Nathan muttered. “I will not attack you after saving you.”

Refus gave a curt nod. “That may be true, but you might run off, and I’m tired after a short night. Satisfied? That’s why.”

Why had he saved the ungrateful Red Shirt who would kill him given half the chance? He had grabbed Refus’s arm instinctively. Why did his instincts betray his own interests? Rather than being free near Neopolis, he had lost his compad that held copies of his Laser Alchemist notes, with energies, timings, and photos. He felt in his poncho pocket; the flask wasn’t there either. It must have fallen out during the rescue, although he hadn’t noticed that.

Nathan clenched his fists, frustration boiling inside him. This wasn’t the plan. Every step forward seemed to conspire against him. The compad’s loss was a significant blow, but the betrayal by his own instincts stung the most. He should be plotting his escape, not saving those who wanted him dead.

His thoughts returned to the Elites. With renewed determination, Nathan vowed to abscond to the Elites at the first opportunity. His loyalty to himself and his mission was the only thing that mattered now.

What is to give light  must endure burning.   Viktor Frankel (1905-1997)

Storage Barn Monday Sep. 20, 2258

Meredith sent Sprout ahead to scout the least noticeable route to the storage barn as well as noting faster paths for a quick escape.

The moon cast enough light to pierce the dense, wild canopy of fresh growth, but darkness shrouded the ground path. Nathan squinted, trying to make sense of the surrounding shapes. a glint caught his eye. “That shiny reflection. There.” He pointed. “Are they solar cells? I didn’t expect any with increased cloud cover.”

Meredith glanced in the direction he indicated. “Yes, they are. Average sunlight hours increase dramatically as one moves above sea level,” she replied. “There are a hundred and ten days of sun each year at Neopolis.”

Her logical, factual answer surprised him after her talk of ten thousand years of knowledge lost. “Sounds like you read that in a textbook, Meredith.”

He never got to hear her answer, since Sprout returned, her compact figure emerging from the shadows like a specter. Nathan recalled how only last night, he had seen her sleeping beside Meredith and realized she must be her daughter.

Sprout reported, “There’s a door on the storage barn that allows entry without line of sight from two nearby farmhouses.”

Sprout led them down a tractor path that ran alongside the windbreak between harvested fields. Muskt and Nathan hefted the lockbox between them, feeling the weight of their mission with every step.

At the end of a separating row of tall cornstalks, Meredith turned to them, her voice a hushed whisper. “Leave the lockbox here.” Refus watched.

Muskt pointed across the plowed field, her eyes wide with excitement. “There’s the barn,” she exclaimed, her voice rising in pitch. “Strange. It’s round and made of stone.”

Refus, with the shock rifle cradled loosely in the crook of his arm, gave a sly grin. “That’s so the devil can’t hide in the corners,” he said, a hint of mischief in his tone.

Meredith shushed them, her eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement.

The group moved, their footsteps muffled by the soft soil, as they slid through the fields and into the barn. The old wooden door creaked as they entered, adding to the eerie stillness of the night. Meredith gave them an encouraging nod before heading off on her own mission, her figure swallowed by the shadows.

The barn came alive as they entered, with a chorus of animal sounds. The horses neighed, shifting in their stalls. Cows let out low, rumbling moos, while goat hooves tapped against the wooden floor. Chickens clucked and fluttered, their wings flapping in a brief panic. It was a symphony of nightly sounds, nothing alarming. Muskt and Sprout moved among the animals, cooing and petting the most unruly animals, their calming presence restoring order.

Against the exterior wall, a score of agrobots awaited their next instructions. Refus turned to order the bots, but Nathan interrupted, “They will notify others.”

Refus whipped around to Nathan. “Okay. Then get that cart. You’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Sprout grabbed another cart. “Muskt and I will take below.”

The teams worked quickly and efficiently, searching through the barn’s lower levels. It wasn’t long before the two small carts were full.

“I found the best corn,” Refus said, his voice filled with satisfaction. “And, we can use this sturdy root cutter and excellent spading pitchfork.”

“Excellent finds,” Sprout said, her eyes lighting up. “We found several dried fruits and preserves and a jug of cider. Jack will like that.”

With Refus watching, Nathan and Muskt pushed the carts to where the lockbox was hidden. Muskt headed back to the barn while Refus took the second cart.

They hurried to the trolley and loaded it. With both men working the pulley wheel, the river crossing, unloading, and return trip went smoothly, but the sky was lightening as the sun neared the east horizon.

Ensuring everything was in place, they rushed back to the barn for another load, determined to make the most of the remaining darkness. Their efforts were relentless, each step purposeful and precise.

Muskt’s voice carried a note of triumph as she emerged from the wet cellar. “Look what I found down there. Better stock for our next crop back home.” She pointed to an overflowing cart brimming with unblemished turnips, carrots, potatoes, and onions.

Sprout came out with a milk jug and a butter crock, her face lit by a successful forage.

Nathan inspected the cart, noting the abundance of supplies. “This load is the last. Our big cart will be overflowing.”

When they returned to the lockbox, Refus had Nathan stop. He handed his weapon to Sprout. “See, he doesn’t get away while I take care of a little business.” He opened the lockbox and withdrew two small, compact devices. “You want to help, Muskt?” He gestured for her to come over.

Muskt peered into the box and took out two more of the devices. Her eyes gleamed with a fierce determination. “I’ve been waiting a long time to give them the hell they deserve.”

Without another word, Refus and Muskt sprinted back towards the barn. The night air was thick with tension as they moved. They both tossed a grenade at the barn. Two explosions ended the night’s quiet.

The fusion grenades started fierce blazes in the basement and the silo. Nathan and Sprout rushed in the other direction, pushing the carts towards the river crossing. A new explosion thundered behind them. They stopped and turned. Refus had firebombed a farmhouse, flames licked up its wooden walls.

A loud siren blared, cutting through the chaos. Perimeter lights flooded the area, illuminating all the fields. Nathan and Sprout resumed pushing the carts, but he tripped over an overgrown root. Muskt, returning at full speed, couldn’t stop herself and tumbled over his fallen figure.

Refus caught up, his eyes darting between the flames and the path ahead. He grabbed Nathan’s cart. “Sprout, let’s get out of here.”

“What about them?” She asked, her voice trembling.

“They stole from the Boss. They stole here. They deserve what they get,” Refus replied coldly.

Sprout hesitated. “What about Mom?”

Refus’s gaze hardened. “You heard her. She said she’d adjust if things changed.” He glanced back towards the barn and the house, his face set with grim determination. “Things changed. I ain’t letting that green cloud rolling down the hill catch me.”

Refus and Sprout ran, pushing the carts off towards the trolley. As they disappeared into the shadows, Nathan struggled to stand on his aching ankle, but couldn’t. Sounds of chaos and destruction fading from his awareness. The blaring sirens and crackling fires became distant echoes, adding to his growing sense of isolation.

Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment. The Buddha (6th or 5th Century BCE)

Neopolis Wednesday Sep. 22, 2258

When Nathan awoke, a pounding headache throbbed through his skull, worse than if he’d drained every drop of Muskt’s potent homebrew. He tried to shift but found he couldn’t move. Panic seized him as he realized someone had tied his arms and legs to the cold, metal bed rails, the restraints digging into his skin.

“Doctor, number three revives,” a voice announced, distant and clinical.

Nathan’s eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the harsh, sterile lighting. The room was a stark, lifeless box—bare walls painted a dull gray, void of any furniture or personal touch. No cabinets, tables, or chairs. Just the bed he was on and the blank walls enclosing him, oppressive in their emptiness.

He strained against the restraints, heart hammering in his chest. “Red Shirt,” a disembodied voice emanated from the wall, mechanical and devoid of emotion, “why did you attack our peaceful land?”

“I am not a Red Shirt!” Nathan protested, straining against his restraints. “They kidnapped me.” My name is Professor Nathan Garret.”

“Hah,” the wall voice scoffed, dripping with skepticism. “You are the second today to claim to be the Professor. Antis are learning the fate of saboteurs. We treat you as you treat us. Now answer, why did you attack us?”

“I didn’t. That is… I didn’t want to. They made me do it. A captive…” The last word croaked out, his voice breaking. Nathan’s throat ached while his head screamed for quiet and rest.

“Actions speak louder than words. My opinion is unchanged,” the disembodied voice declared.

Nathan took a deep breath, willing himself to speak despite the pain. “I come with a discovery of immense importance. The ability to build organic molecules, purified food, from simple, available inputs. I taught at Gilbert University. They know me…” A violent coughing spasm cut him off, leaving him gasping for air.

“A delightful story,” the voice said, dripping with sarcasm. “Indeed, delightful to hear twice today. Which years do you claim to have spent with us, Red Shirt?”

He tried to talk without swallowing. “From 2229 to 2238. You said ‘us’. You are with Gilbert? Ask Dean Borkowski. She knows me.”

Silence greeted his plea.

Only then did Nathan realize how he was straining forward against the restraints. Exhausted, he let his body sink back into the bed.

Fragments of memory floated back to him—the gas, the attack, the overwhelming need to sleep.

What had happened to the others? Did Meredith, Sprout, Refus, and Muskt escape? The voice mentioned another who claimed to be him. Muskt had fallen atop him. Perhaps she…

His thoughts blurred as exhaustion overtook him. He slept.

Nathan awoke to an unfamiliar voice resonating through the wall.

“If you are Professor Garret, what have you been doing since you vanished from the University? And why, regardless of your story, should we believe you, given that your partner is allied with Red Shirt Jack?

“I’m me,” Nathan insisted, his voice tinged with desperation. “But you can’t hold me responsible for Meredith’s actions.” Scrambling to clear his name, he added, “She’s the reason I vanished two decades ago. Underneath the Atlantic Ocean, in a laboratory… I’ve developed a way to end famines from crop shortages.”

“Proof?” the voice prompted, cold and demanding.

“I brought back my discovery,” Nathan replied, his voice steady but weary.

“We know all about that,” the voice retorted. “The other Garret claimant told us about the mutated alga.”

Nathan’s eyes widened in realization. “You’ve been talking to Muskt. I told her that cover story, and she told you. What I have is much greater and more promising. A Laser Alchemist. Raw material and energy in, pure nutrients out.”

“Mere words anyone can say. Where is this machine?”

Nathan’s strength faltered, and he collapsed back onto the bed, the restraints cold against his skin. Only then did he recall the loss of his compad into the Broad Valley river. “It’s in my submersible, under BaltSea harbor.”

A section of the wall slid open like a door. A nurse, clad in an all-white biohazard uniform from head to foot, entered. She wiped a cool towel across his face and neck, the sensation both soothing and chilling. Then, without a word, a sharp jab of an injection stung his neck, and darkness swallowed him once more.

~

When Nathan awoke again, he realized with relief that his limbs were no longer shackled to the bedside. One wall had transformed into a view portal, revealing a serene city, perhaps a glimpse of the outside world.

He sat up, reveling in his newfound freedom, and swung his legs over the bedside. As he did, his gaze fell upon a small note resting on his pillow.

Professor Garret,

I apologize for addressing you remotely, but as you read on, you’ll understand the necessity.

Dean Borkowski perished in the riots of 2238, so she cannot confirm your story. However, I can. I am City Coordinator Lucia Reyes, your former lead graduate student before the riots ended my academic pursuits.

We have analyzed the contents of the flask the other captive possessed—pure ethyl alcohol, two hundred proof, with no impurities. Certainly not homebrew. While this suggests you may have created a Laser Alchemist for producing alcohol, it is not the nutrient we need.

Despite this, your illness alarmed our medical community. They detected a prion that must not spread within our city. If you have truly been undersea and out of contact, let me update you: Red Shirt diseases have inflicted more harm on us than their attacks.

We cannot send you back to the Antis, but neither can we admit you into Neopolis. You will remain in isolation until the next launch to Galen Orbital Hospital. There, you may assist us in developing suitable nutrients with your Laser Alchemist, if it truly exists.

Lucia Reyes City Coordinator

Nathan thought he would be happy. He had reached his aim, and they recognized its potential. A powerful new tool would now fight the world’s famine.

But how could this be fair? He had freed himself from one hermitage, only to find another isolation awaiting him.

---

10 Feet in 100 Years First Installment of Sea Catastrophe
BaltSea Second Installment of Sea Catastrophe