The Pieces of My Self

53 - Scoot Boat

LILLIAN

Île Sauvage, 21 June 2174, Tuesday, 10 pm

Flashlights, used sparingly, snapshotted the spritz of rain as people moved around the camp with a purpose. We knew the Border Patrol could return at any moment. It was now 10 pm, and the barometer was dropping. We had to get to the Dome tonight for safety. Zeke told me the storm would hit in the early morning.

I saw him wave to Martin from the deck of the Melatha as his second-in-command untied the lines. "See if you can get the Redemption and supplies to New Houma before midnight," he yelled. "We'll meet up later."

I boarded the Melatha, sent the kids below, then returned to the main deck as Zeke switched on the engines.

"She looks like a pleasure craft," I said. "Is she up for this?"

He powered forward, inching away from the dock. "Looks can be deceiving. Blackbird Skunk Works designed her, but we never sold the boat to the government. She's fast, with a low detection profile, and can fly above the water at top speed."

He steered slowly out of the power bay, then throttled up a notch as we slid down the bayou. He gave a sharp salute as we passed the wreckage of Paco's boat, a dim, broken outline in the darkness. His only comment was, "I owe him a lot."

When we hit open water beyond the perimeter, Zeke asked me to make sure the children were protected in case of rapid maneuvering. I went below to check.

The kids wore inflatable vests and seemed physically okay, but were worried about the danger of attack, and the uncertainty of what would happen to them. Amara clutched a flashlight and kept flicking it on and off. I sat next to her, gave her a hug, and took the flashlight away. "It'll be okay, pumpkin. We have to keep the lights off—even the flashlights—so bad people don't see us. I want you to be safe."

Grady, on the bunk across from us, spoke with a fury in his voice. "Those people you talk about need to pay."

My child had discovered vengeance. I knew he was right. I knew he was wrong. He was too young to be burdened with terrible memories that burned in his soul like unquenchable fire.

I touched my hand to his cheek, trying to smooth the anger, then kissed Amara's forehead. "Mommy's got to go topside for a bit, but Grady's here. If there are any monsters hiding out, he'll chase them away. He's very brave."

Grady nodded, then held Amara's hand. "I'll protect you, don't worry."

I climbed back to the top deck and sat in the nav chair next to Zeke, fastening my seatbelt. "Everything's fine down below. They've got their life jackets on, and lights are out."

"Good."

He punched a button, jolting the craft forward.

"That's the supercavitation kicking in," he said. "It makes the boat really slippery." He gave me a wink. "Now, watch me fly."

With the press of a second button, origami wings unfolded from the sides, formed a hydrofoil, and lifted the hull out of the water. As he pushed up the speed, the wing tips lifted upward, hunched and bat-like.

I felt a thrill of acceleration as a transparent canopy enclosed us in a comfortable bubble, streamlining the craft.

"She can do a hundred, easy," he said, "but we'll settle for a 70-knot cruise. Deceleration is more of a problem. We need to go fast enough to glide above the Dome's security barrier, then slow down before we crash into the structure. Landing will be tricky. Let the kids know what we're in for."

I unfastened my belt and visited the children again. We had to turn the flashlight back on to pile up blankets and life vests around the forward bulkhead. I explained how they should cushion themselves when they felt the boat slowing down.

"Things will happen fast," I said. "Don't count on me telling you what to do. Huddle flat against the cushions.

I returned to the deck and found the robot with arms and legs braced against vertical supports, like the Vitruvian Man.

"I guess the seatbelts don't fit, huh?"

Usher didn't respond.

I had never looked closely at its eyes before. They were like inverse prisms absorbing the darkness of the outside world.

"What are our odds?" I said, wiping at the wet spray hitting my face from the back of the canopy bubble. What I really wanted to know was whether we would make it inside the Dome before the storm hit, and whether we had any hope of stopping Mangalotte's insane, racist pogrom. And, of course, whether we would live or die.

"The odds are good," Usher said.

I thought the robot was lying or exaggerating, but the words bucked me up, even if the implied subject of the sentence was ambiguous.

"Did Zeke show you the picture nailed to the deck of our cabin?"

"Yes. He said the robees had your number."

"Were you—was Henri Knightly—the man in the picture?"

Usher's face was devoid of expression. "You know, he loved you. It was the only time he ever paid a visit after he gave you up for adoption. It was a mistake. They now have a photo linking you and Henri. He should have been more careful."

"You say it was the last time my father—" I choked at the words, paused a moment, then said, "He cut me out of his life after that, right?"

"He couldn't risk getting close. But you were still part of him. He kept a secret diary of your successes, then cut out the pages and destroyed them the week before he was killed. He was most proud of the paper you wrote on cryptography in grad school. It's what inspired him to develop the cryptid technology."

"Why did he build the cryptid?"

"He regretted helping Mangalotte. The president went on a crazy racist rampage. You and the bayou families were in jeopardy. He knew Mangalotte would kill disloyal people. He saw a way to destroy the man and took a chance."

"And the cryptid hid his hand?"

"Yes, but that's not the only reason. Henri wanted to make his mark by inventing something fantastic. Something that would change humanity."

My attempt at a laugh came out as a sob. "It seems I don't have all his genes. I'm not concerned with wealth or fame or building The Next Big Thing—I've lived my life without them, thank you. My children are my top priority. By the way, if you harm them or allow them to be harmed—"

"You will—what? Destroy me if they are harmed? You are like my blood."

"Henri's blood."

"Yes, sometimes I forget. Henri—in the end—saw love as a part of his personality that must be nurtured and valued. This was a radical idea for someone who valued intellect over passion. But a year ago, it was too late to salvage his relationship with you, his only daughter. The child he abandoned."

"Would you avenge us if Mangalotte's people killed us?"

"Vengeance is a human concept. At the moment, it is not part of my behavior."

At the moment?

An errant thought entered my head. "Let's say someone wanted to kill you. Not me. Maybe Mangalotte. Maybe William Nkumbra. How would they do it?"

"Your best shot would be right now, while a version of me with the most recent knowledge is confined to this robot. Even then, I would survive and reorganize."

"How?"

"I am many."