Night of the Dragonfly: SoCal past, present, and future, #3

By Brian McKinney

Night of the Dragonfly is a full length novel set in the year 2083

If seventeen-year-old Shizuka Toyola, world's richest teenyshopper, hadn't needed to rid herself of an unwanted and dangerous Cyber-weapon by surgically inserting it in unsuspecting slum dweller Ford McLuhan's left arm, the oppressive world of Mobilities might have gone unchanged for centuries beyond 2084.

What started as a very brief encounter with a handsome but poor teenage boy in a slum owned by her family seems to develop a life of its own, beginning with an eye-popping display of martial arts followed by a thrilling escape from a robotic shark in an artificial ocean to a race through freeways, a detour on the waters of a large canal, an offer for Ford to play professional basketball and a fun-filled night at the Solstice Ball, all in the first day they meet. With doubts sprouting at every turn, OnRamper Shizuka and her amazing Offramp boyfriend begin to wonder whether their improbable meeting in a bacteria-laden work camp and their sudden, magical romance set in her hyper-modern city is true love, a set of wonderful coincidences, or evidence that they are in the middle of a giant conspiracy with murderous intent. What they uncover together is far worse than anything they could have imagined

.Night of the Dragonfly is a full length novel set in the year 2083

• Language: English
• Publisher: BPM
• Release date: Jun 22, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393242260

Book preview

NIGHT OF THE DRAGONFLY

by Brian McKinney

PART ONE

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SHIZUKA

1

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The tray I carry holds normal lunch for vacationers: two egg rolls, two chow mein chulupas, two bags of French-fried Swiss cheese-covered Kale and two  supplement-filled juice drinks. Everything else about us screams ‘we are not normal, especially giant bag laying on floor beside Ford, too big to hide under table for two. I hope there is time to eat. I need to tell him many things.  

Hello, Ford, I didn’t forget about you. I say, holding tray with right hand, putting hybrid paper-wrapped finger food on small round tabletop with my nervous left; it is accident I brush his long, straight nose. I put tray on only empty table nearby, check for curious eyes, see none, and then sit down across from him.

It’s about time, sis. says Ford, grinning inside cave formed by hood. He is mocking again.

Hope this sticks to your ribs, slim. I joke back, like we are in Hollywood detective movie from last century and not on the run like I am hardboiled gumshoe in 1947 black and white noire thriller and not in full-color real-time 3-D drama in 2083 in artificial ocean resort located in middle of world’s tallest moving building in a land called SoCalAsia that will never be called Los Angeles again.

I open clever flavor-lock ‘sack’ made of scheduled decomp paper printed with new green and red Dragon logo of family company, Kyojin-Tech. I never say old name of Toyola Technologies to any boy: they are not interested in details. This tall handsome white boy from slum will not know I am richest teenyshopper in Loopworld. He will not be amused by soap opera; that new company name is announced in Spring of ’83 without telling me, or that I have bargain with twin that is past due.

I give Ford his Jadanese chulupa. I can tell by quick way he takes opened food pac that he needs nutrition. For his muscles. I am happy to see him eat but I have duty.

I will ask questions. You answer. I say. He nods, looking up, drinking supplemented soda from frosted glass. I wish he has Citizen. Talking is unusual, texting is normal. I am sure ‘tourists’ on vacation from other parts of Kyojiinville Mobility are all busy watching movies on GooglePhase glasses or texting each other.

Why do you think you are pick for Master For A Day by celebrity interviewer Barry Chong?

I don’t even know what it is.

Master For A Day is television program pick low person, give them power to live like Master, then snatch power away. Second time I explain. So, why you?

How do I know? You saw what happened. My father was taken last night.

Who is father?

My father was head Jumper of Garden 17, the stinky ‘Garden’ you Probots picked to find your sucker for the TV show. My father is a real American, except he doesn’t like hot revenge; he believes in Justia, goddess of cool revenge. Every- body loves him.

You say father is taken? By who. Where?

Stairway to ‘Heaven’? he says, his face screwed up like I am idiot. Night of the Dragonflies? he says with same attitude. He cannot understand why I lack knowledge of Jumper rituals?

Explain, I say, trying to look sincere, like Occidentals.

Look, miss butch Probot, don’t pretend you don’t know what happens when the moon hides. Don’t sit there like some toygirl pretending thousands of boys don’t breathe their last breath at the end of a scarlet ray.  

Okay, okay, calm down. I like you. Maybe I am on your side. I help you, you help me, we get along. We already partners in crime.

I’m born Ramp. My father told me. Before I turned sixteen. But I lived all my life down there, Offramp, toughing it out like a real American and you Probots up here, well. . .Now I see we are living like animals compared to you. Is that why I’m here, running away, so I can see what I’m missing before they catch me? What’s so. . .what’s going on? he asks, already half way finished with kale and Swiss.

Change. Change happen slowly, and sometime fast, snap of finger. You know history? Of world? I say, like a challenge. I glance around. No Sumos. Everybody else cyber-gliding; no worry.

"History. Hmmm. Well, I just started looking at the encyclopedia in my, my library. I have  A. And some others. What is your history?"

"My history? Easy now, Flash. I mean ‘big picture’ history. Is collective. . . no, forget that. It is simple, eh? History is story we all know. We need history to help us remember important things that happen. To guide us."

Oh, like instructions to repair something?

"Right. Look, Ford, something is wrong. There is no more instructions; no more history. Unless you are with them." I say, going too far again, hoping he is not like the other Jumpers.

Them? he asks, following thread. 

The powerful. Owners of Major Loops. Seventeen. All around globe. They have history locked up. I say, wondering if I can be more confusing or taking more risk sharing revolutionary ideas. I see his eyes wide open. Amaya would be cringing in corner, shaking her head at her twin for being seen in public with Jumper, much less taking chance on Offie Jumper. My opinion? He is more interested in eating Swiss and Kale.

Forget about it, for now. I brought you here so you could see something nice, and also because we can hide. In that. I say, pointing with chin at artificial ocean three stories below us.

I hear you, says Ford, eyes glancing down from our position at top of three story food court. I watch eyes as he gobbles up chow mein Chalupa and tries to pretend he is not freaked out looking at artificial waves designed in English ‘tank’ splashing  on fine white and pink sand beach, every grain imported from Phillipines. He is nodding head very slightly.

I will teach you to surf. Then we can, uh, explore underwater cave.

Hunh? Explore? Under water? utters Ford, taking eyes away from Chalupa I know he wants to finish.

Underwater the sensors will have trouble. I say, turning my shoulders  

back to him; logic telling me not to mention robot sharks right away.

"What’s going on? asks Ford again.

We are assignment. I think they think we are some kind of revolution, I say. Ford makes circular motion with one hand, imitating rolling of wheel.

No, blondie, not that kind. The kind that revolt.. . . I pause. He stares back at me. I try again. You know, like in Russia, two hundred years ago, when they exile king, the Czar, and try to share wealth with poor people?

Is this too much for Jumper? Observe, says Amaya in my silent brain, repeating father’s advice. Ford nods, staring off toward giant circular window with all the colors.

So the sun comes through it and changes into all the colors? he asks.

"Circle of Color, design for sun to make rainbow on Toyolaville beach.

Inspired by stain glass windows of late Medieval churches. Also it is like Round Table. King Arthur cannot sit in special place, even if he wants; each place at circular table is same, and so circle of colors, rainbow also has no main color, no single position better than others." I say, taking breath.

So what? All nicey-nicey gonna help us escape; or help me figure you out?

Typical male. Is world of illusion! We are losing 8 billion people to this deranged need; they have hunger for big picture full of myth and alternate facts fit to make-believe world of fantasy. Illusions! I say, emotion leaking out.

I ain’t disagreeing with yer knuckles; I’ve seen boys sit around and discuss what Heaven ‘really is’ when they ought to be thinking ‘why is this happening to me?’ We got mob rule down there, except Garden 17, well, without my father, even Garden 17, snap of finger, well, you saw ‘em, rocking your giant trucks, ready to charge the blue laser gun. I guess in the best light you represent the opposite; is that what you’re trying to spit out? Am I sittin’ here with a Leaper?

You are advanced for Jumper. If you know what word means.

A Leaper is like the guy who talked when America landed on the moon; not taking a small step but a giant leap for mankind.

Better definition? Leaper is citizen who utilize logic and data collection; develop theory, then try to disprove.

Okay, so you can puke up bullshit official definition. A Leaper uses evidence. A Jumper uses feelings. So what else can you tell me about the OnRamp that will get me closer to finding my father?

"Understanding how OnRamp begin. Good intentions, eh? Like the Mobilities, these giant buildings on wheels, there is no special place, no ‘special view’; this outer Ramp is largest. Has largest circumference, almost thirty miles around. Now, if we are still in Penthouse, higher than one kilometer from earth, looking south we can see Catalina and San Clemente islands, then turn little to east  and see Newport Beach,  coastal mountains, more mountains, then Palm

Springs, then we turn to north, to high desert,  turn more, see Sierra Nevada mountains’s, Central Valley, then more coastal mountains, then turn more, see city of Santa Barbara and Channel Islands, then south to more cities, uh,Ventura, Ojai, Camarillo, Oxnard,  then, ,more south, along coast, Malibu, Santa Monica, Venice, Marina Del Rey,  and then view start all over again. About six hours for Mobilities to go all way around. On Kyojiinville Ramp Mobilities all keep moving in thirty mile circum, cir—. . ."

. . .Circumference? . . .

Yes, thank you Offie.  Mobilities travel around Ramps all day long.

No kidding? From 8 in the morning to eight at night? Why not keep these shucking ‘mobilities’ moving all the time, if it’s so Zipper? he says, his natural Jumpanger coming to surface.

Good question. I think they stop to re-supply water. And empty toilets. Disgusting. So sorry. You haven’t touched Chalupa yet, He looks up from forking the last of cheese covered kale into mouth, smiling, shaking his head.

You live one floor under Penthouse, right? he asks.

You change into clothes I give you in my apartment, remember?

"Yeah, and you into your white pants and blue shirt. So, the de-masking, bringing me here, letting me see all this, eat the food, wear the clothes.  Does that make you a revolter?" he asks, munching the last of the chewy kale.

A revolutionary? I correct him, smiling.

Okay, a revo-lu-tio-na-ry. Well, are you? asks Ford.

I’m just reading about it. A long time ago. Life was bad for many people. The knights of the round table, they tried to be honest, and protect the honor of fair maidens. I explain, avoiding question. Amaya is smiling. Or maybe frowning. It is her turn, but she is not ready. She never shows courage.

"What if we end up; if I end up staying here. You make things better, he says,  looking up to see my doubting expression before adding,  You know, just pretend. So, if you’re the knight of the round table, asks Ford, his free hand indicating the round table we sit at, What am I?" I laugh at him; his brow crunched as if in deep thought. I guess he just ignore shocks in floor, nosy Sumo eyes poking into everything, everywhere, and AI alerted, all looking for us; he is acting like our lives are not in danger, like it is time for jokes. When do I tell him about Bonker?

I laugh again at his silly question; just to be polite, then I lower voice when someone at another table look up from cyberjourney. Well, I say, trying not to stare at Ford’s slightly pink sunburnt sections of face where his mask block sun, moving to his sparkly blue-green eyes, straight nose, wide cheekbones,  You are ugly enough, but a little oversize for fair maiden. I reply, still smiling.

So I’m the ugly oversized fair maiden? he asks. A few more vacationers look up. I’m beginning to like him. Maybe jealous Amaya is wrong, maybe I can trust him.

FORD

2

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Shizuka takes a deep breath.  She reaches into her bag and pulls out an extra pair of Windows, thick rimmed glasses, and hands them over to me, pulling her own out of her purse afterward. I take them, worried that from moment to moment I forget my mission because I like the game, if that’s what this is. I tell myself to relax, it’s only the afternoon of my first day in the OnRamp.

Put these on. she whispers, leaning close to me over the table and her half- eaten food.

What the hel. . .!I mini-shout before she reaches further over the small table and covers my mouth with her delicate hand.

You can watch any movie ever made in these glasses. Just touch button in middle, above your nose, say name, or say kind of movie, and list will appear, then say name from list, she says, leaning back down in her seat, smiling.

"We’re gonna watch movies while we escape?"

Relax, giant fair maiden. For moment. We are only one couple in middle of resort complex that has three separate floors of deluxe fast food with . . . she stops, hawkeyeing me through her black rimmed glasses, making sure my ears are hers. We must pretend to be talking to air, eh, like so-called Leapers, uh, I mean, vacationers, she says, swiveling her Zipper head around. And we have to follow plan, she adds, like she’s pissed she has to remind a dumb Offie like me.

Follow plan? I look at her through, or past the image of the list of movies in my glasses. I can tell she doesn’t get it.  We don’t follow any plan; life in the Offramp is the opposite of a plan. Except maybe for what happened to me. 

Your plan? I repeat, realizing I’d taken a mental ‘timeout’, the word ‘plan’  stinging my gut.

"My plan? Yes, Oh, FYI, I forget to tell you, I think I know what happen to your. . ."

A loudspeaker crackles, a robotic voice speaks:  Remain calm, Citizens, someone amongst you is lost and in the wrong place, and we are here to guarantee your safety. I look at Shizuka. Are they talking about me?! She looks around in all directions. She shrugs.

Ten o’clock. I hear from the stairwell leading to the floor below.

Stay with him. Shouts another voice from the level under us. For a nanosec I see blue light bouncing around out of the stairwell. A blood curdling scream slithers up from down underneath. Silence.  Shizuka has not even turned to look. Then a sound like cards shuffling comes from underneath. All the people on our level begin applauding.  We look at each other. She’s just looking at me like nothing’s going on, and I’m pretty sure my naked face is revealing something I don’t want them to know; something that will get me lasered into parts. A mechanical voice announces:

Kyojiinville notification number three. Ownership has the right to terminate any trespasser in any way as long as there is no collateral damage.

Hey bro, later on we go surfing. She says, smiling, like she’s happy because the dumb Offie, that’s me, doesn’t understand!

Sooooo?  I ask, trying out my calm face as pictures of bodies sliced in half by blue lasers attacks my brain. I see my best friend Lelo’s hands landing on top of his fallen body, and I remember the Jumpers I defeated down below in the Offramp, chasing me up onto the Ramp and then under a Mobility, looking for revenge; ‘bravely’ ignoring the laser archers inside the hanging glass cocoons. The ugly memories won’t go away; the cauterized stumps of their legs and arms keeping them from the final leap, the red badge of courage; bravely watching the crimson flow until the end.  

I look up. Something’s way wrong; Shizuka’s whole body is stuck in possum, only her eyes moving, like she sees something a long way from us! Maybe somebody at the other end of the food-eating platform? Raj, on his second visit?

Bonker.she says, answering my silent question. That’s who I’ve been watching! She gestures with a tilt of her amazing head and a rolling of her Zipper eyes in the same direction, like ‘Bonker’ is something behind her.

Watching? I ask.

Don’t look over there. He is detective who work on big case last year.

So? I say, lost as a lizard.

Sooo? she shoots back. "So, he is hunting us!" she scolds, whispering until the last word.

I look down the line of tables, towards the food lines. I see the same color jacket and pants. From the invasion of MFAD into Garden 17 where I was picked, refused to go along, was stunned half to death by MFAD police and then just gave up, my vertigo low in my stomach and weirdly no problem when I was forced to ride up to the tallest, scariest Mobility three hours ago.

I’m relieved, for a second I thought she was losing it again, like upstairs before we escaped the electric shocks in the floor of her office. Now, checking around at the crowd of hundreds of couples and families sitting at endless tables, I don’t see his partner, the guy with the one eyebrow.  Yellow jacket is still a long way away. His head is bobbing up and down, only slow, maybe he’s glancing down at something and then up at the crowd. I watch him for a while. He is coming in our direction; we’re going to stand out like white teeth!

Shizuka grabs her Citizen and opens a tiny door on the back, pulling something out. I reach in my pocket for the plastic device the Indian must have dropped when he left so suddenly. I stop, wondering if this Bonker dude is honing in on Raj’s ‘danger meter’ and then I decide not to show it to her.

Is the man in the yellow suit two hundred yards away the same man who watched me get stun-gunned over and over when I tried to escape MFAD? I watched him watching me, the yellow-suit not lifting a finger, staying in the background, letting the spacesuit-wearing girl and her taller partner slice up or stun all my enemies, fix my sliced-up wrist and then interview me like I was just another dumb shuck for their fantasy show. If it’s the same guy I’m not sure he’s much of a policeman, more like another bodyguard for the celebrity Probots as they put their plan in motion, if that’s what this really is. 

The battery. she says, without looking at me, storing the little slab in a pouch on her waistbelt. I look back at the crowd, like I get what she said. He’s gone. So it wasn’t Raj’s thing he was tracing; something in her slab operates with a battery. Good decision.

That worked fast. I guess this is part of the magic of the OnRamp. I say, noting her serious face. I check again, squinting to see in the distance. The bit of yellow appears as magically as it vanished. He’s closer! A hundred yards away. He’s stopped walking, standing with his head down. Shizuka has turned halfway back, her face frozen, like she just saw the ghost of John Lennon. Or remembered something that changed everything. She straightens up like she’s coming out of a dream, taking a deep breath.

I’m still not sure I should keep the truth to myself. Maybe it’s time to tell her about Raj and the beeping piece of plastic I found on the floor after he dashed off down the stairs; I check for it again, the thing he said that helps him find dangerous weapons. It’s still there in my pocket. She may know if Raj’s showing up here and asking me questions is important. Her eyes are full of danger; I’ll tell her later.

Time to go surfing, bro. She says, adding as we stand, He is tracing my Citizen with some program.  She ushers me away from the table but not before I grab the juicy thing wrapped up in the pancake with my left and then hoist the large bag’s straps onto my right shoulder. Shizuka’s got fear in her zipper eyes again. Yellow Jacket’s getting closer, and worse, I see three giant Buddha-heads coming in our direction, walking briskly, shoving people aside. I take a big bite of the rolled-up pancake thing.

We walk like we’re on fire, me chewing faster and faster. I follow her into the hole with stairs, down to another level of thousands of vacationers eating Chalupas, then another of the same and then we are flying down a long set of stairways using the handrails like monkeys in a tree, my pancake thing thrown in a  trash barrel, the bag almost flying off my shoulder twice.

We hide in a room I calculate is under the level of the sand beach, both of us gasping for air and then listening, waiting for yellow jacket’s army of three Sumos to pass us by, or give up. I pick up the bag as Shizuka takes a deep breath and opens the door cautiously. As we begin to step over the threshold I hear laughter from close outside. Shizuka tries to close the door but she is thrown past me by the force of the door slammed inward. I pick her up quickly. I look around again. The room is larger than I thought. And smaller with the three guards filing in and standing in a line; I guess to block the doorway. They are all big, like Sumo wrestlers, fat but powerful. They are all smiling ‘easy-money’ smiles.

Stand over there, I say, pointing to a corner with a few chairs. Shizuka begins to shout, like she did down in the Offramp when her old, white spacesuit- comrade ‘Barry’ was about to tell me who she really was. The guard on the right nimbly steps out, slaps her face, and then gently shoves her into one of the chairs before turning to me with a nasty grin. I’m going to make him eat that grin.

Going somewhere? asks the goon in the middle, smiling. ‘Girl-slapper’ is staring menacingly at my face and head; he’s on to me, seeing that the tan ovals around my mouth and eyes and ears are not quite matched by the still slightly pinker parts of the rest of my face, treated by the fixer Probots who also cut my hair and cleaned my teeth and then cleaned me up before hitting me with the tanning lights.  

He’s smiling now, motioning with his hand to his gang to let him do the ‘talking’. His associates line up with him again, forming a wall of muscle and bone with the leader. I laugh, thinking about my father’s last master lesson about fighting more than one opponent; it’s all about footwork, moving so the closest opponent blocks the others.

You think is funny? asks Girl Slapper, the dude closest to me, moving to hit me. I circle to my right, forcing him to miss, his feet out of position as he recovers from a lunging miss. Now he wants to settle the score, get his revenge, so he advances towards me, blocking the other two. I leap up and forward and execute a body-thumping flying front kick to his solar plexis, my heel sending 300 pounds per-square-inch through his diaphram to his heart and lungs. ‘Slapper’ drops to his knees with a gurgled shout of surprise, struggling to breathe. I circle to the right some more, clearing the way for ‘Going Somewhere’ and his friend to rush me, side by side. I jump to the right, 90 degrees, lining them up again, using one opponent to block the other. I push off of the wall and land an elbow to the collarbone and neck of ‘Going Somewhere,’ hearing the collar bone snap, watching his face turn white as the main artery to his brain collapses.

I continue circling to my right. The third giant reaches for his stunner but I deliver a side kick to the holster followed by a hard block of his right hook. I step inside the range of his arms in the same motion and deliver a whipping backhand to his face followed by the rebound motion to his nuts, and then, seeing his eyes falter, decide not to knife-edge the bridge of his nose into his brain. He falls near the other two, curled up like a baby, blood flowing from his eyes and mouth and nose.

Oh my god. He was right, says Shizuka, stepping over the bleeding badboys. Follow me. When on beach, change into stretchy suit.

Up the stairs past a door and up some more and we are on the sand. She rips the large bag from my shoulder and gives me the bigger of the two rubbery jumpsuits.

Suit will keep us dry, keep clothes dry, she says.

I watch her as she pulls each leg up and then wiggles into the arms of the underwater suit. I do the same with mine. We zip up the back of each other’s suit and pull on the frog’s feet. While she is opening a package I quickly check for the black plastic ‘danger meter’ lost by Raj and found by me. The thin rubbery suit forms around the bump in my pants pocket. She gives me a cylinder of metal the size of a cigar.

Concentrate oxygen, she says, putting it to her mouth, pushing a button on the other end before inserting the cylinder in the ‘pocket’ where a knife would fit. We pull on the rubber hoodies and tuck the ends under the suit.

Make sure of fit; we do not want salt water leak in, eh? she asks.

Next I see what made that bag so heavy; large plastic belts holding heavy grey metal slabs. Her eyes tell me not to complain about adding stupid weights around waist.

The little man in the yellow suit is on the beach coming in our direction. Shizuka pulls at me and I stand and she pulls me into the lake with waves. They slap at me and then one gets me, throwing me under. It is salty! She comes up beside me. The water is not so deep here, but I follow her underwater, eventually finding a way to move quickly by loosely scissoring my legs, feeling the flimsy frog feet strain my legs as we begin to descend.

She leads the way down into deeper and deeper water; I’m totally freaking, wearing the one-eye glass over my eyes and nose. Above me feels safe, crystal light blue; the bottom darker and darker. I sense something following us down, making it easier to ignore the pain in my ears and to keep moving my legs. This is a lot deeper than the canal. My ears ache even more. I don’t want to stop to turn around and look. I think I know what it is. I reach the white sand bottom, pulling out the air cylinder, hoping fresh air in my lungs will help me fight the shark, if that’s what is behind me. I find the release valve with my pointer finger, exhaling bubbles and then taking the new air in, trying not to feel buried in this scary liquid coffin full of sharks, their curving, menacing shadows on the sandy bottom speeding up my already agitated heart.

I watch Shizuka’s floppy rubber feet move more slowly as she glides along the sandy bottom. She looks back at me but doesn’t freak when she sees the creature following us. She lowers herself with small swim kicks and stops, digging with her hand, circling a little, stopping again, looking up at me and then down, clearing sand away, revealing a square grill. This Shizuka Bazooka is some Buddha-bitch.

I help her, not sure what I’m doing besides ignoring the shadows’ razor-sharp teeth hunting for a snack. She looks at me and smiles. What the fuck is going on?  ‘Oh my god, he was right!’ keeps repeating in my brain. Who is he, and what was he right about?

I get out of her way. She pushes a button and a slab of thick metal slides open. She wiggles her fins and disappears downwards through the dark opening. I put my arms together and wiggle in after her, expecting the attack on my legs.

When we’re both inside she pushes another button set in the wall and a moment later the thick slab moves slowly back over our heads, the two metal plates making a high-pitched moan as they close over our heads. I still have both legs. I copy her, biting down on my air device’s rubbery mouth handle with my teeth, taking in more oxygen. The sound of giant sucking makes me jump until I realize what it is. A light in the side comes on as the blue light from the fake ocean is cut off, just in time for me to see Shizuka struggling. She can’t pull her foot away from a hole on the side wall that is sucking the water out of the compartment.  I reach down and put my hand in the way of the suction and pull her foot and flipper free.

The water quickly drains away. We both pull the air cylinders out of our mouths and gulp air, then laugh. I feel good making it back to safety. To ‘normal’ air. We both pull our diving masks off.

I can’t believe what I’ve gotten us into, but I guess it’s alright! she says, bubbling over as she removes the heavy belt.

Hmmm. I answer, doing the same, checking out her angular face, electric eyes, flawless bronze-colored skin and toned body; her sleek, muscular form made clear by the rubber suit’s dark outlines. I want to say something about the close call with the shark but my stomach is cramping.

What is problem, Offie?

Hunh?

Why are you. . .? she starts, distracted by something on the floor. My cramp lets up a little.

She pulls a lever when the last bit of water has drained out and a door slides open, revealing a set of stairs leading down into darkness. She offers me a chance to be the first to go down and I take it, grinning in spite of the pain in my stomach, my brain searching itself for something I could say that she likes, something that would erase that doubting smile, her go-to expression whenever I talk. But maybe I can’t figure out faces yet; I’ve only been de-masked for a few hours. I let out another deep breath—-her suspicious hand activity was just her looking for the switch that opened the little door.

I want to ask her what she calls that look she almost always gives me but instead I walk carefully down the steps, feeling stupid having to lift each foot so the ends of my frog feet don’t catch and trip me. The only other sound is the last bit of water dripping down from the chamber, and the squish-squoshing of my floppy rubber feet.

I find the little square-shaped knob and flip it up with my pinkie, like she did upstairs, and it works. The suddenly white room is filled with grey metal contraptions. I check them out while taking off my frog feet. Shizuka has pulled off her flippers and is sitting on the stairs leading down to the room.

I wonder will Bonker give up. Or. . .she says.

Or? I say, turning toward her.

Or he understand, uh, understand what happen and. . . she stops more abruptly this time.

And? I say, feeling the pain in my side pass.

I did not tell you, something happen while I was waiting, for food? In line? I  uh. . .I have  connection. she holds up the shiny slab she talks into, "And I discover Master give detective Bonker  assignment to investigate us; to see if we are, uh, like, revolutionaries."

What? I blurt out. It’s suddenly sinking in that this whole thing isn’t just a rough game of hide and seek; like maybe just being up here in this metal monster with a little fake ocean in the middle is going to cost me large. But my father’s way wins over my worry; I make a joke. Sure, we’re tearists. I’ve got a bomb down here, I say, patting my stomach. She grins at my joke while shaking her head.

Exactly, oversize fair maiden. If Master share codes with Bonker, detective can access plans and diagrams stored on Main. She says all this in a rush, like she’s talking to herself.

"Yeah, but if he’s underwater, can he use his. . .? I point to the slab in her hands.

Citizen? No. I am not sure. But hey, Offie, that gives me idea. I think Toyville ocean is signal safe, and that means. . . She quickly finds the battery inside her rubber suit, and puts it back in, touches her device, sliding and poking her fingers on the slick surface, her face crinkling in frustration. She looks at me,  moves a few feet farther away from me, and then shouts, Oh, no!  She watches the screen for a moment, then holds it up towards me: the screen is dark and blue. A moment later we hear the moans of metal on metal.  I look around. No doors out of here and Yellow Jacket will frog out and down the steps as soon as the suction clears the water out of the little room.

SHIZUKA

3

I decide to ditch truck I use to transport Offie Ford from MFAD intake location, disgusting Garden 17, to K-ville parking structure. Whole thing is crazy, helping my friend Midea by taking her place, being producer of Master For a Day program. ‘Then ‘normal crazy’ end after that, taking Offie with computer-killing  Protocols inserted by me in muscle mass of his upper arm to my apartment, playing hide and seek with Kyojiinville head detective and beating up Sumos, and now, speeding along Ramp like I am old-time hero helping germboy escape! I can hear  frowning twin Amaya calling me ‘bat poop stupid’. She is probably right, association with any Offie is big mistake. Why don’t I stop, just leave sorry Gyulin and get back to being #1 rich teenyshopper? Because he’s tall? Cute? Oh, what is happening to me? Deep breath!

We drive up tilted metal ‘dustpan’ entrance to Apartment Depot Mobility. 3rd highest ‘Mo’ at 275 stories, wait for elevator to take us up past First Thirty, and park and swipe at U-rent kiosk. Offie’s head is spinning, judging by confused look on handsome face. I open door of Dolphin