The Gossamer Crown: Book One of The Gossamer Sphere (22 page)

Fairbanks, Alaska

There was always one kid in every party terrified of Clownee the Clown.  As soon as Lizbeth appeared, peeking out through the sheer fabric eyes of the bulky, smelly headpiece, one little girl let loose with a high-pitched, unending series of screams.  Her mother rushed over to sweep the girl into her arms, smiling an apology at the other moms before exiting the big, drafty party room.  The wailing of the child accompanied her like an ambulance siren fading into the distance.

The party hostess flipped a switch and music blared from hidden speakers.  Trying to stick with the beat, Lizbeth performed the Clownee Dance, shuffling her enormous cartoony shoes and waving her huge cartoony hands.  Some of the children danced and sang along, but a few clung to her, clutching at her costume and hampering her every move.  The song ended and she smiled, pleased that this time she hadn’t dislodged any of the clingers or knocked any of them down.  It was hard not to, with the severely limited vision afforded her by the head-piece.

At least it was Monday.  The weekends were the worst, with party upon party booked throughout the day.  Lizbeth only had to make four appearances today, and this was the final one.  She mimed her goodbyes to the children and beat as hasty a retreat as she could manage.

After removing the costume, she said goodbye to her coworkers and boarded the bus for home.

Home was no longer Granma’s cabin, which had been destroyed in one of the wildfires sparked by the eruption of the reactivated Buzzard Creek volcano to the south.  Now Lizbeth, her mother and Granma shared a cramped apartment with another displaced family in town.  In this chapter of the world’s history it was not a good time to be poor, but Lizbeth knew there were many millions of people in far worse shape than they were.  Her mother had been laid off from her job at the fish market since entire fishing fleets had been lost during the Cataclysm, and marine life in general along the volcanically active Aleutian Islands had suffered.  Between them, Lizbeth and Granma made enough to keep them fed and housed, if not comfortably.  They’d gotten help after Katrina, but this time government money for disaster victims just wasn’t available, given how widespread the devastation was.

Stupid Cataclysm.

To Lizbeth, it was a miracle that places like Clowntastic Pizza were still in business, but she supposed even in troubled times, people had to amuse themselves.  Even though Granma’s customers were just as needy of spiritual intervention as ever, she was making a fraction of what she’d brought in before the Cataclysm, mostly because she refused to take payment from those who were hardest hit.  Annabelle took babysitting and housecleaning jobs where she could find them.

The apartment was empty when Lizbeth arrived home, a rare occurrence.  There were no flowers or balloons or cards in her room, not that she expected her mother to waste precious money on such things, or to make the effort, for that matter, given that she was so opposed to Lizbeth gaining the age of majority.  With no one at home, there wasn’t anyone hogging the old computer Granma had gotten in barter from a client.  Lizbeth hated waiting for her allotted half hour every evening.

Stupid Cataclysm.

She sat at the communal work desk, pressed the start button on the PC and listened to the alarming grinding noises the hard drive made while booting up.  The dial-up Internet connection, all they could afford, slowly brought up her email provider.  She smiled when she saw an email from Zach.  The subject line read, “Zach Sings,” and the only thing in the body of the message was a link.  She clicked on it and waited an eternity for his YouTube page to load.  There he was, black hair sticking out in all directions and eyes disappearing with the force of his lopsided grin.  When the video started and he began to sing an off-key version of “Happy Birthday to You – You Live in the Zoo,” she clapped her hands and laughed.  She watched the whole spectacle, even though her connection was so slow the video had to pause and load every ten seconds or so.

At the end, Zach said, “You’re a big girl now.  When you’re ready to come visit, just say the word and I’ll raid my savings account to send tickets.  I miss you.”

Lizbeth sighed happily when the video ended and sent Zach a quick reply.  Legally, she was free of her mother as of today, but morally, she couldn’t leave.  Right now Annabelle needed her paycheck.  Yes, her mother had gone to great lengths to hide Lizbeth from Caitlin after her father died.  Lizbeth never even knew her real last name was O’Connor.  But Annabelle had done it to protect her, and once Lizbeth gave the matter some hard thought, she couldn’t blame her.  From almost the moment she met Caitlin, she’d been in danger.  Once Lizbeth had a chance to explain the truth behind the Cataclysm, her mother had softened slightly.  If Lizbeth knew where Caitlin was, Annabelle might even let them develop some kind of relationship, assuming Caitlin wanted one.

Lizbeth had been back in Alaska for weeks before news reached her that Caitlin had once again escaped jail.  How hard could it be to get away, really, when she could become anyone or any animal?  It tickled Lizbeth to imagine Caitlin ducking around the corner in the jail yard and shapeshifting into a cute puppy dog.  Then all she’d have to do is wag her tail and charm the inmates and guards alike.  They’d scratch their heads trying to figure out how she got in – and then open the gate and let her trot right
out
.  Or maybe they’d call the pound and Caitlin would have exchanged one kind of prison for another, but Lizbeth was sure however she did it, it had been a success.

The doorbell rang and she answered it, surprised to see a delivery guy behind a big bouquet of flowers.

“Oh, my gosh.  Who are these from?”  She snatched the card from its plastic holder and tore open the tiny envelope.  It read, “Dear Lizbeth, I hope you have a happy birthday.  Sincerely, Kevin.”

She laughed.  Kevin’s style was such a departure from Zach’s.  She took the bouquet from the delivery guy, who just stood there, looking like he was waiting for a tip.  She didn’t have any cash on hand, but she was still wearing her Clowntastic Pizza uniform, so she reached into her pocket and withdrew a handful of game tokens.

“This is all I got,” she said.

The delivery guy looked affronted, so she said, “Come on, everyone likes pizza.”

He held up a box with a popular ice cream cake label and responded in Caitlin’s voice, “I’d rather share a slice of birthday cake with my granddaughter.”

San Francisco, California

Holed up in his bedroom, Zach tried to ignore the grating scream of the band saw and the steady hammering at the back of the house.  It had taken four months for his parents to get to the top of the construction company’s waiting list.  They’d lived around the damage to their house since then; the gaps in joints at the roof that let in copious amounts of rain, the boarded up windows, the broken bricks and tiles.  It was lucky for his parents that they’d actually purchased earthquake insurance; so many hadn’t.  Lucky, too, that the insurance company hadn’t buckled under the weight of incoming claims; so many had.

San Francisco hadn’t fared well in the Cataclysm, but at least it was still on the map, unlike many villages, towns and even a few cities throughout the world.  As Bay Area city planners had feared for years, the earthquakes caused havoc on the network of underground gas lines.  Dozens had ignited, from the coast to the inland valleys, exploding through entire neighborhoods.  Water pipeline breakage had crippled firefighter efforts, and history repeated itself as if no lessons whatsoever had been learned since 1906.

Unreinforced houses, apartment buildings, schools and retail establishments built on sandy soil suffered the greatest damage as the movement of the crust shifted the unstable earth like water.  Zach’s relatively new neighborhood, with its higher building code standards and solid bedrock under the foundations, survived.

School had been cancelled and hadn’t yet resumed.  Zach spent the last four months splitting his time between volunteering for the local Red Cross and the police department.  The National Guard had been stretched to the limit, and in order to prevent the governor from declaring martial law in the region, local law enforcement had taken on volunteers and trained them to perform more than the usual administrative and community service duties.

The email tone on his laptop sounded just as he was getting ready for his shift.  Lizbeth must have been in a hurry, probably running out of time on the lousy computer she shared with her roommates, because she sent a bare minimum reply, “You’re such a sweetie.  Thanks!”

She didn’t even acknowledge his suggestion that she come visit, although he had to admit he’d couched it in vague terms in case she rejected him.  They’d been in contact for some time now.  He’d gone to great lengths to find her email address, and just in case it looked suspicious, he’d also found Kevin’s.  He almost hoped some other catastrophe would threaten the world so they’d have a reason to get the team back together.  Well, a mild catastrophe that didn’t kill anyone, anyway.

He shut down his laptop and got dressed in what passed for his uniform, black jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt.  Even if the department could afford it, outfitting its volunteers was problematic since the clothing industry had suffered such a big hit – losing so many of its third-world factories in the Cataclysm.

At the station, Sergeant Barkley briefed the squad on a situation brewing in what was left of the crime-ridden neighborhood of Hunter’s Point.

“Members of the Westmob gang are squatting in a church on Beech Street.  The congregation is supposedly gathering today to confront them.  Wong, go with Washington and Novak.  I want your opinion on how volatile this thing might get.”

Zach nodded.

Any assignment was a challenge just navigating the broken streets and piles of rubble in squad cars built for high speed chases on smooth highways.  Aside from shattered windows and a crooked steeple atop the wooden structure, the church seemed undamaged, which was probably why it was a target to the gang.  Homelessness had skyrocketed, and some poor neighborhoods had become war zones.

A crowd of about thirty people, primarily African-American, had gathered on the lawn of the church.  Most of the windows were boarded up, but one gaped open, revealing only darkness inside. Washington and Novak approached, with Zach in the rear.  Zach didn’t focus on the conversation Washington initiated with the church leaders; his mind was elsewhere. 

A raven sitting on a nearby telephone pole flew down and landed on the sill of the broken window.  After a moment, the barrel of a gun appeared, and Zach tensed up, but the thug who wielded it merely brushed Caw aside.  The bird flew off, calling out to Zach, “Caw!  Caw!  Caw!  Caw!”

“How many are inside?” Novak asked Pastor Williams, a tall man with a heavily lined face and distinguished grey streaks at his temples.

“We think fifteen or twenty.”

Washington looked at Zach, who shook his head and held up four fingers.

Novak continued to question the pastor.  “Are they armed?”

“They already stuck a rifle out that window there.”

Washington called in for back-up as Novak tried to convince Pastor Williams that the danger was real and that he’d best calm the milling congregation down.

Zach stood back and watched with a strangely satisfied feeling.  When and if his college ever reopened, he was definitely going to switch majors from Digital Art to Criminal Justice.

The North Sea

Repairs to the scientific drilling vessel, which had begun immediately following the lifting of the quarantine, were complete.  The Health Protection Agency had isolated what they claimed was a bizarre toxin responsible for killing the six scientists and was highly interested in finding out more about it.  They tried to put together the original scientific team, but found only a few who were willing to take the risk.  Dr Weinstein would have come, since school was out indefinitely after the Cataclysm and he was effectively out of a job, but his health prevented it.   Bill Masters had stayed on as director of the project.  His desire to become a shapeshifter was so all-consuming, he’d climbed into bed with the government.  Kevin didn’t know how much he’d told them, but hoped the prospect of sounding like a fool stopped him from divulging all he knew. 

Kevin stood on deck, alone with his thoughts and his nausea.  He found himself wishing the gossamer sphere had struck land instead of sea when it entered the earth’s atmosphere so long ago.  If it had, the hub of the grid would be underground instead of under water, and he’d be in a deep tunnel shaft somewhere, surrounded by comforting dirt and rock instead of suffering another day on the incessantly rolling ocean.

Bill and the government’s scientists might someday locate a sample of the biometal, but with luck they would never figure out what Kevin had—the secret to how a normal person could survive the initiation, and how it had all begun so long ago.  Caitlin had convinced Seamus to remove the lore from his website, without telling him why:  the story of queen Wyn, Tadg the Small and Aedn gave it all away.

“Without the crown, I was unable to conduct experiments to confirm it,” Caitlin said when Kevin asked her about it.  “But you are correct.  The original three knew, and the lore hints quite broadly that consumption of an animal tainted with the biometal imparts immunity prior to the biometal passing through the barrier of the skin.  I have only been able to speculate how that process works on a biological level, and am somewhat reluctant to find out.”

“You could give Bill what he wants.  You could be happy together.”

“Unlike the original druids, my grandmother included, I have never been tempted to play God,” she’d replied.  “Much as I long to—have a companion—Bill is unstable.  Blinded, as it were, by his love for me and his desire to become like us.  I fear I cannot trust him, which is why I have an assignment for you.”

The ship had nearly reached the coordinates to place it directly over the center of Silverpit Crater.  He still didn’t know how he was going to stop them from drilling, but that was the assignment Caitlin had given him.  He thought she had way too much confidence in him, but he had no choice but to try.

“We must leave no loose ends,” she’d said.

Once she’d escaped again from jail, she’d hunted Werka down in a small Polish village.  Her goal had been to determine what role Werka played within the Guild.  When Caitlin posed as Werka’s priest and questioned her about it, it turned out Werka had no knowledge of the crown.  Simon had thrown her out right after she told him she’d sent Kevin and the others out to look at the old church on the farm property.  Simon was furious, but Werka had no idea why.

“Hey, Mort.”

Kevin turned.  Bill Masters came up beside him, hair plastered back in the stiff breeze. 

“How’s it going, Bill?”

“Great.  How’s the lab look?”

Kevin figured this was as good a time as any.  There was no one else on deck to see, and this conversation sounded like it was going to get technical.  The real Mort, who was home in bed sleeping off the sedative his “mom” had slipped him when she visited unexpectedly, would have answered Bill casually.  Kevin had no idea what to say to sound authentic.  He relaxed and shapeshifted into his true form.

Bill looked surprised for a moment, then rolled his eyes.

“What are you doing here?”

“Caitlin sent me.”

“Maybe she should have come herself.”

“She had urgent business in Alaska,” Kevin said.

Bill snorted.  “Really?  For the last four months?”

“Jail will slow you up that way.”

“Not her.”

“It was a little harder for her to escape this time, since they had cameras on her twenty-four-seven, but you’re going to go ahead and think what you want anyway, aren’t you?”

“Look, punk-”

“No, you look.  Yeah, real deep into your soul.  As much as you’ve convinced yourself your reasons have merit, you know as well as I do that Caitlin is not the reason you want to do this.”

“I love her,” Bill said.  “And she loves me.  I want to spare her having to watch me grow old and die.”

“I know.”  Kevin nodded earnestly.  “But you need to listen to me.  The sphere may be quiet now, but I have it on good authority it won’t tolerate being drilled into a second time.  You’re risking the lives of everyone on this ship.”

“It’s out of my hands.  The HPA is running things now.  I couldn’t stop them if I wanted to.”

“You have to, or we’ll all die.”

Bill looked at him grimly.  “I don’t have you people’s knack of reading minds.  I don’t know if you’re telling the truth or if Caitlin told you to lie.  She’s good at lying, did you notice?”

“She’s had good reason.  Regardless, I’m here to offer you what you want.  If you stop the drill, I’ll give you this.”  Kevin held out his hand.  On his palm, the nugget glittered dully in the overcast day.  Bill stared at it, his face the picture of fascinated fear.

“Go ahead,” Kevin said.  “Take it.”

Bill took a half-step back.  “If the HPA get a sample, their doctors can study it, figure out how it works.  They can test people to make sure it won’t kill them, maybe fix it so everyone can touch it without getting sick.”

“Now you sound like Griffey.  You think that’s really how it will happen?  The government’s just going to
let
everyone become shapeshifters?”  Kevin laughed.  “I thought I was naïve.”

“Alright, good point, but we can’t stop them forever.  Disabling the ship now is only postponing the inevitable.”

Kevin shrugged.  “Give the sphere a few more months and they’ll never find it.”

Bill’s eyebrows lifted.  After a momentary hesitation, he held out his hand.  “Deal.”

Kevin’s heart began to beat faster.  Caitlin hadn’t given him any instruction other than to stop the drilling, but he was pretty sure she didn’t want him to kill her lover.  On the other hand, if he didn’t give Bill the nugget, the whole ship was doomed.  He started to hand it over, but stopped.

“I got sick hanging on to this thing, and I’m half shapeshifter.”

“So?”

“So, that’s why the initiates only touched the crown.  Prolonged exposure, until you’re immune, can hurt you.”

“Just give me the damned thing.”

Kevin put the nugget back into his pocket.  “Disable the drill first.  Permanently.”

Bill looked out over the choppy sea.  Kevin felt like a voyeur; he knew Bill was thinking of Caitlin – he was practically projecting his longing.

“Alright,” he said.  “Give me an hour.  It’ll be done before we reach the crater.”

Kevin waited by the rail, fighting to keep his lunch down.  The gunmetal grey water flowing past the ship reminded him of the sphere.  Sometimes his conscious mind strayed into memories of the contact and wouldn’t let go.  He’d relived it so many times, wallowing in the familiar strangeness.

It hadn’t taken much research for him to find the Arp 274 triple galaxy on the Internet, since the Hubble Telescope had recently photographed it.  As soon as he saw the three forms swirling 400 million light years away, he recognized them.  He didn’t know much else, like from where in those vast galaxies the sphere originated.  The only thing he was sure of was that the entity had been completely surprised that Kevin had the ability to enter its thoughts, if only for an instant.  Surprised and very, very threatened. 

Kevin didn’t know how Bill did it, but he, at least, kept his word.  Soon after they arrived at Silverpit Crater, the crew began to scramble like ants through the bowels of the ship, trying to determine why the drill was malfunctioning.  No one was on deck to see Kevin tuck the nugget under his tongue and change again.

His blubber protected him from the cold shock of the sea.  He surfaced, exhaled through his blowhole and rolled on his side, looking at the ship through the elastic lenses over his eyes.

When Bill realized he was gone, he would be angry, justifiably so, but Kevin the dolphin didn’t care.

The End