The Search for Scott Read online

  At the mention of surfing, Scott pepped up. Rational thoughts took over, and things got clearer. He would hit the waves and sort this out. Deep breaths brought relief. “Yes, Charles, thanks, that sounds like a great idea.”

  The trident pendant around his neck drew his fingers like a magnet where they drifted in times of stress, and he sat up straight. With it, thoughts came of his ‘friends’ and the ship he commanded, albeit for a short time. Would it still be orbiting the Earth? The intruder said not to contact them. But he had been silent too long and needed their help. The fears must be faced head on to stop this life of limbo.

  Protecting Brooke and their unborn child was his main concern. Scott suppressed the anger and feelings of invasion, vowing to find out who trespassed and threatened him. He wouldn’t be bullied. He went surfing.

  3 Mum’s the word

  The wave curled and Scott paddled, found the sweet spot and jumped. He landed on his board and raced down the face. The carved water sprayed into the wind, and he dipped into the tube and floated through the silence. Time stalled, and every nerve and synapse exploded. Stupendous.

  He rode out the tail of the rolling wave that churned its bright white foam beneath his board. Scott turned out toward the open sea, cutting back against the breaker. He hopped on his belly to paddle out for more, duck-diving under the tumbling white water. They were tasty twenty-footers today—big, but not too big. The professor was right; the storm did leave nice after-effects.

  Out in the calm past the breakers, Scott sat on his board, a mighty centaur, surveying the coastline and sky. He marveled at the beauty surrounding him and the peacefulness that overcame his senses. “This was how it all started,” he mumbled to himself, caressing the trident. That day, when I met my destiny. He’d tried to escape it these last months, but he needed the strength of the Hürantåns now. The alien colonists lived deep below the sea in the cavernous city of Pacificas, and Scott wondered what they had done with their leader, the formidable Xero Nekton after his defeat. He held the metal device up and pressed one of the hidden buttons below the left tine. “Yantra, Xantos, come in. This is Dr. Scott Blake. Come in, please.”

  He smiled as he bobbed on the swell, waiting for a response, suddenly feeling somewhat juvenile, if not ridiculous. “Come in, good buddies, breaker-breaker.” He listened and held his breath but there was no reply. There was only the sonorous rush of the wind and surf, the waves crashing between him and the shore. Rolling thunder and white noise. “Hello, Hürantåns, this is Scott Blake. Remember me? The guy who took out Xero Nekton and saved Mowata?” Why don’t they just call it what it is, ‘Earth’, Scott pondered.

  He cocked his head, thinking he heard a click and a short blast of static, but then there was nothing. Just the sounds of the sea. Why don’t they answer? He had not tried to call them in seven months, but they had said they would always be there. More attempts brought only failure, during which another set had passed him, and a big one approached. He let the trident fall to his chest, and he dropped to his stomach and paddled to meet the crest of the wave. It was a peach, and he rode it all the way to the beach.

  Brooke would be back in a couple of hours, and he wanted to check a few things while she was gone. He’d have to try to reach Pacificas again later. Scott waded through the shallows and crossed the sand toward the lot. He threw his board on top of Brooke’s red and white V-dub and drove the short distance to Marine Tech. He got himself cleaned up, had a snack, and walked downstairs.

  “Feeling better, Dr. Blake?”

  Charles had a knack for reading situations and discerning Scott’s moods.

  “You bet, doc. You hit the nail on the head about surfing. Nothing like a few waves to soothe the soul.”

  “I’ve known you a long time, my boy,” Dr. Stevens peered over his spectacles perched on his cheeks. “I can tell when things aren’t right.”

  A pang of guilt washed over Scott. He straightened the papers on his desk, wanting to tell him about the break-in, about Hürantå, and what really happened to Pete. “It’s true, things are a little off today, Charles.”

  “Have you noticed anything different?” Scott cocked an eyebrow, throwing it out there just in case. Maybe Charles had seen something. “Is there anything funny about the lab in any way?”

  “Um, no. Like what?”

  “It’s probably nothing,” Scott scratched his head. “I guess I’m worried about the samples.”

  That the Peterplankton samples were important went without saying, and Scott didn’t have to spell it out for his mentor. Keeping quiet for a bit, he let his thoughts drift. He checked the e-drive where the surveillance video files were stored, scanning last night starting at eleven until sun-up. Fast-forwarding through all the views: the lab, the entrance, the marina—he found nothing. He paid particular attention to the storage room. Also nothing.

  Next, he walked to the room to count the sample jars. There was one hidden far away, in the back. Didn’t I put two of them here? The intrusion in the night distracted him, and he couldn’t remember what he had done with the second jar.

  Charles had stepped out by the time he returned to his desk, and Scott perused the plankton files, the Peterplankton logbook, and key folder. Just then, Brooke burst in the room, all ablaze.

  “You should have seen it!” she said, her face flushed, cheeks rosy. “Those corporate big-wigs didn’t know what to do! They didn’t know what hit them!”

  Forgetting about the missing file, he focused all his attention on Brooke’s commanding entrance. “We showed them. We have the power of the people, and they know they are losing.”

  She ran up to him and he stood and gave her a huge hug. “That’s great, Brookski. Tell me all about it.”

  Charles stepped back in the room, adjusted his bifocals and rendered his best wise owl imitation. “Who?”

  “Who were you protesting?”

  “The Chardakian family. Down at Waikiki beach. They own half the hotels and the cruise ships in the bay. You know those monster boats that tow the obese around with their all-you-can-eat-24-hour buffets then drop the shit out at sea? The ones that launder millions of towels and blankets, dumping their microfibers and waste into the coral reefs? The ones that rail on about illegal immigrants yet employ child labour from the Phillipines?”

  Scott sat back and glanced at his screen while Brooke let her feelings loose. The file wasn’t there. It had been there yesterday. It contained all the data of the PeterPlankton project—the morphology, the physiology, the genealogy. Numbers and amounts, records and plans. Everything. Gone.

  He looked at his reflection in the screen, the colour drained from his clean-shaven face. The sample jar was gone. The memory of putting two in the storage room coming back to him.

  “They will not get away with it any longer,” Brooke continued. “Not if the Mothers of Intention have anything to do with it.”

  Scott clicked through the folders in the drive. Did I save it in the cloud? He searched and the back-up was also gone.

  “And they don’t know who they’re messing with,” she said. “I have more intention than the rest of them.”

  A Messenger text popped up on Scott’s screen from DarkSeaHorse9.

  ‘We warned you, Blake. Keep out of it. Stay away from your friends.’

  A lump grew in Scott’s throat. ‘And tell that Intentioned mother to mind her own business. If she ever wants to be a mother, that is.’

  He looked around. They were here, listening.

  “Scott, are you ok? Can you hear me?”

  He noticed her concerned glare. Charles had also taken note, “You’re white as a sheet.”

  Scott stumbled on the words. He wanted to tell them what was happening, but couldn’t. It would mean admitting he’d held back the info about the intrusion, that her life had been in danger.

  “Out with it, Blake,” she pressed.

  He glanced back down at the screen. ‘Mouth shut, Blake. Be a good little biologist and back off. R
emember, we are watching you.’

  Scott reached behind the computer and found the off switch. ZZoooouuuuuwe, the machine powered down. “I think I just ate a bad fig,” Scott managed. With the iMac off, the annoying messages shut down, but he would have to be on his toes. He’d try the Hürantåns again later, but until then, mum’s the word.

  ***

  The peace of mind Scott found riding the waves washed away like a rip-tide’s powerful undertow, and the walls closed in again. He had to get out. “Can we go for a walk along the beach,” he said. “I need fresh air.”

  “Of course, we can,” Brooke said. “Let me change, and I’ll be right down.”

  Charles shrugged, and Scott could sense the wheels turning. His mentor had strong opinions: those who couldn’t control their emotions didn’t play too highly in his game. The mental tangle embroiling Scott wouldn’t leave him, and his tale bottled up inside.

  “There’s something bugging you, Scott,” he said. “I’ve known you long enough, I can tell. The sooner you tell me about it, the sooner you’ll feel better, but I respect your wishes if you want to work it out yourself first.”

  Scott bit his lip and forced down the bile. He didn’t want to speak, feeling like a dam would burst if he did, the words and story would flow out and drown them all.

  “I’m sorry, Charles,” he said, hearing his voice and hating it. “You’re right, I’m not myself. I guess I’m not over Pete as much as I’d hoped to be. But I’m working on it.”

  Brooke came back downstairs, and Scott breathed a sigh of relief to be spared from the awkward conversation. He stood up and made for the door. “It’ll be ok, Charles. Brooke will set me straight, right Brooke?”

  “It’s what I do,” she said, following him outside. She gave Charles a kiss as she walked by. “If we’re not back by dark, don’t wait up.”

  Charles chuckled and resumed his concentration. The man could work, that much was true. Scott knew that given a problem or an issue, the old man would pursue it with unparalleled attention and focus. He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t bring himself to tell him about everything. If he told him about the shadow people, he’d have to reveal the truth about Pete and Hürantå. That would not fly: to illuminate all the lies.

  “Are we going for a walk, or what?” Brooke passed Scott and he followed like a stray dog.

  They crossed the marina parking lot and into the jungle path that took them over the ridge and down. Scott felt the tension drain from his body. It was Saturday, and the beach was packed, and they strolled along the top of the sand for about a mile, holding hands. It was hot, but a cool breeze from the ocean refreshed them.

  “Do you want to stop?” Scott sat down, helping her sit beside him.

  “What’s going on?” she said. “I know that stuff this morning about Pete and Hürantå are bugging you, but can’t you let it go?”

  He couldn’t tell her about the break-in just yet. “It’s all good, I need to forget about things for a while and concentrate on our baby. I can’t believe we’re going to have a kid.”

  She rubbed her belly and smiled. “I know, right?”

  “I’m pretty psyched. Do you think it will be a boy or a girl?”

  “Either way, he or she will be lucky to have a dad like you.”

  Scott lay back in the sand. The late afternoon sun hung over the horizon, searching for its home beyond the waves. Another perfect Hawaiian sunset.

  “It’ll have an amazing mum, too,” he said, taking her hand. “To think, they foresaw that.”

  “Come again?”

  “The Hürantåns, they prophesized that our child will be great.”

  At the mention of their otherworldly acquaintances, Brooke frowned and sat straight, pulling her knees up. “I didn’t know you wanted to talk about them.”

  “I, well, it’s strange how they mentioned our offspring, and how it will save the Earth.”

  “Scott, the longer that all fades into the past, the better. It seems so far away. And it can stay that way,” she said, shaking her head. “They abducted us and treated us like zoo animals. The whole thing seems so… unreal, all that stuff about the prophecy.”

  She shuddered, and Scott sat up and put his arm around her. “I know, Brooke, but it happened.”

  He looked down at the sand, and then up into her eyes. “We can’t pretend it didn’t. Pete’s gone, the trident, our, ahem, honeymoon…; We can’t ignore it.”

  “I want to ignore it,” she said. “I have other things to consider now. The Mothers of Intention, the baby: these are real, on Earth. Here. Hürantå seems like a crazy dream. I’m happy that it’s not happening anymore. “

  “But what if it was? What if our story with them wasn’t over?” He tested the waters, but it was obvious she didn’t want to swim.

  “Scott, I need it to be over, ok? We will soon be parents. Dirty diapers, no sleep, saving for college. We can’t have Xero Nekton and space ships to worry about. We need to put all that behind us. I’m part of a group that’s working to change the world. Part of real live, human change, not aliens and laser beams. We need to put it behind us, Scott.”

  He bit his lip. He couldn’t tell her now, she would flip her lid. If I bury my head in the sand, maybe the problem will go away.

  He smoothed the warm white silicate over his toes. Who were these shadowy people, anyway? Why do they want me to stop my research?

  “Let’s say, hypothetically of course, that our actions–my work with the Peterplankton, and your activism–what if it’s ruffling a few feathers?”

  “That would be great, Scott,” said Brook, straightening out her legs and running the sand through her fingers. “We want to ruffle a few feathers, don’t we? That’s the whole point. The world is too complacent. We are dumping the equivalent of a truck-full of plastic in the ocean every second. Chew on that. Half of that originates from five companies: Coca-cola, PepsiCo, Nestle, Tim Hortons, MacDonalds. Don’t those CEOs even give a shit? And what about people? Why do they continue to buy these products–single use plastics, wrappers, containers–and just huck them in the garbage? It gets chucked in a landfill, or into the ocean. Or ‘recycled’? Only nine per cent of plastic ever made has been recycled. It’s a sham, Scott. It’s as if there was some conspiracy, some evil force…”

  Brooke rolled on her knees and stood herself up, lending a hand to Scott. “I don’t care if I ruffle a few feathers. In fact, I don’t care if I ruffle the entire flock. This is our home, there are billions of us, and if even one billion are treating the world as their personal trash can, then the layer of plastic will keep growing until the whole world is shrink-wrapped!”

  Scott grabbed her hand and let her pull him up. “Okay, Brooke, touché.”

  I guess they were going to ruffle. I better watch our backs, he thought as they made their way back home.

  4 A Hürantån can see

  Later that night, Scott stepped out back for a walk along the pier. It was well past midnight, and the stars shone in the heavens, a cacophony of light and colour. He spied a satellite as it travelled through the sky and wondered if it could be the Osiris, the lonely light inching across the expanse with speed and determination.

  The necklace felt foreign in his hand; the trident alloys not of this world. Pressing the button, he tried once more to reach the Hürantåns. “Hello, come in, this is Scott Blake,” he said in a loud clear voice into the pendant.

  This time a voice, though garbled, sounded as if coming through a bad connection. “Shhhhhhhh… yes, Scott… shhhhhh… Yantra… shhhhhh… Come in.”

  “Yantra!”

  “Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,"

  “Say that again. There’s too much static.”

  Scott looked around at the deserted pier feeling self-conscious. No one was there in the middle of the night, but he was shouting into a necklace.

  “Come in, Yantra. Are you there?”

  “Shhhhk.” The line clicked, and the static disappeared. “Scott, Yantra here, can you
hear me now?”

  “Yes!” Scott jumped on his feet and clenched his fist. “It’s good to hear your voice. What’s happening?”

  “There is a problem with our network. It’s hard to describe. Meet me on the break this morning at dawn, where the boat sank. I’ll explain. Shhhhhk.”

  The line went dead. Scott looked at the necklace, silent once more. Twirled alloys, shining, reflecting the starlight. Quicksilver. The voice of the Hürantån lieutenant a comfort to his ears. They’re here. I’m not alone. He could tell them about the shadow people—get backup. Alien firepower. Not to mention he’d be out surfing again. With a baby on the way, his days of free-time were numbered.

  Sleep did not return that night. Dawn approached, and his heart beat faster knowing he’d soon be surfing with Yantra. He tried to meditate, focus his breathing, but the thoughts raced. Was the Osiris still in orbit? What had the Hürantåns been doing? How would they be able to help? Where was Xero?

  He gave up trying to sleep and fixed himself breakfast. The sun would rise in an hour, enough time to eat and get himself there with his board at the crack of dawn. He hopped in the van, not waking anyone with the silent electric engine and drove to the beach. Despite the dark, he could make out the white of the breaking waves and the rumble of surf. From his vantage he surmised exactly where the Mackerel capsized. Pacificas, the wondrous city he’d first seen after the wipe-out, lay deep below the ocean. It had been there for thousands of years. The advanced civilization rooted in the stars. They didn’t make garbage or pollution and ran on one hundred per-cent renewable energy, enough to power teleportation and inter-galactic star travel. Their food and waste system consisted of old-school and new-school. Tubes and simplicity. Membranes. Organic in structure.

  More of the coastline took form as the sun rose and the light broke free behind the volcanic mountains. He got out of the van and waxed his board. Surfing two days in a row. Nice.