After the Collapse

The hasty construction of their ship had precluded any infrastructure, such as lights. Storm would provide some.

From his UPD he produced a dozen hollow, transparent spheres of biopolymer, each with a screw-on cap. He made a length of netting. Then he dipped each uncapped netted globe into the plankton flock, filling it to the brim. By the time he had dunked them all, darkness had thickened. But Storm’s bioluminescent globes made spectral yet somehow comforting blue hollows in the night.

All his comrades thronged around Storm and his creations. “Brilliant!” “Just what we need!” “Let’s get them hung up!”

More netting secured the globes beneath the canopy, and an exotic yet homey ambiance resulted. Arp got busy with his own UPD and produced the parts of a ukulele, which he quickly snapped together. He strummed a sprightly tune, and Catmaul commenced a sensuous dance, to much clapping and hooting. Bunter concocted some kind of cocktail, which added considerably to the levity.

Storm watched with a blooming jubilation that received its greatest boost in the next moment. From the shadows, Jizogirl appeared to deliver unto Storm a quick hug and a kiss, before rejoining Pankey.

* * * *

The second day of their voyage, the wardens were less sanguine. Hangovers reigned, and the prospect of entertaining themselves for another day seemed less like fun than a duty. Also, the further they drew from home, the larger loomed the grim struggle that awaited them.

Storm affected the most optimism and panache. His triumph last night—the invention of the light globes, the kiss—continued to sustain him. Standing at the bow, he tried to urge the Slippery Squid forward faster. He felt the urgent need to meet his destiny, to prove himself, to discover whether the action he had always imagined he craved truly suited him.

Studying the kite that pulled them onward, Storm had a sudden inspiration.

Pankey was scrolling through the headache-tablet templates on his UPD when Storm interrupted him.

“How are we going to fight?”

Pankey looked at Storm as if the youngster had spoken in an extinct human tongue. “Fight? You mean the animal agents Mauna Loa will throw at us? We can’t possibly fight them. I counted on stealth. A midnight landing —”

“And if the enemy doesn’t cooperate with your plans?”

Pankey waved Storm off. “I’ve considered everything. Go away now.”

Storm retrieved his own UPD and called up the plans for his machete. He tinkered with them, then hit PRINT.

The scimitar-like sword necessarily emerged from the spatially restricted output port in three pre-epoxied pieces that locked inextricably together. The nanocellulose composite was stronger than steel and carried an exceedingly sharp edge.

Out on the open deck, Storm began energetically to practice thrusts, feints and parries alone. Soon he had attracted an audience. He added enthusiastic grunts and shouts to his routine.

Rotifero said, “I actually believe that such vigorous exercise might very well drive these demons out of one’s head. Do you have another one of those weapons, Storm?”

Without stopping, Storm said, through huffs and puffs, “Just…hit…’print’…on…my…UPD.…”

Soon all eleven wardens, even a grudging Pankey, were sparring vigorously. “Beware my unstoppable blade!” “Take that, foul fruit bat!” “I’ll run you through!”

That night was spent mostly attending to various minor cuts and bruises.

Sword practice continued the next day, somewhat less faddishly, until just before noon came a cry of “Land ho!” from Catmaul.

Storm saw a small, heavily treed island at some distance off the port. “Is that Hawaii already?”

Pankey cupped the back of his own neck with one paw and massaged, as if to evoke insight. “Impossible….”

Bunter said, “Look how lush the vegetation is! We might find a species of nice fruit not templated in our UPD’s, if we land.”

The normally reticent Gumball now laughed and said, “I don’t think we want to land on that ‘island.’”

“Why?” said Pankey.

“I’m surprised none of you have heard of the Terrapin Islands before. Down in Baja, we see them pass by all the time. Just watch.”

As the Squid came abreast of the island at some remove, a patch of the ocean between island and ship began to bulge, water pouring off a rising humped form several times bigger than the Squid.

The gimlet-eyed scaled head of the gargantuan Chelonioidea regarded the vessel with cool reptilian disinterest. Sea grass draped from its jaws. Opening wide its horny mouth, working its tongue, the terrapin inhaled the masses of vegetation like a noodle.

Storm was secretly pleased to find his own nerves holding steady at the sight of the monster. The others reacted variously. Faizai shrieked, Arp clucked his tongue, Bunter gulped. Shamrock urged impossibly, “Get some more speed on here!” Gumball laughed.

“They’re harmless! Don’t worry!”

True to Gumball’s reassurance, the Squid slipped past the mammoth grazing landscaped sea turtle without interference, and soon Terrapin Island lay below the horizon.

“And some claim the Upflowered had no sense of humor,” Rotifero observed.

That night, long after his companions had passed satedly into deep sleep, Storm could be found awake at the rail, contemplating their luminescent wake.

He liked these people, bucks and does equally. Even Pankey’s stern bossiness was fueled by pure and admirable motives. He enjoyed working with them, feeling part of a team. But did that mean he was ready completely to step into Old Tropo’s harness? And what of their vengeful mission? Justified, or reprehensible?

The slick shadowy head of some marine creature broke the water then, and Storm jumped back. A dolphin! But capping its skull was a crust of magma! Here was one of Mauna Loa’s captives.

The dolphin’s precisely modulated squeaks were completely intelligible. “Stop! Don’t run away! I just want to talk!”

“Mauna Loa…?”

“Yes. I know who you are, and why you’re coming. But you need not fear me. I only want to own a few islands, where I can practice my art. I want to mold life, just as the Upflowered did. Introduce novelty to the world. My tools are crude, though. Radiation mainly. You could help me gain access to better ones. Join me! Frustrate this mission! Turn it aside somehow.”

“I—I don’t know. I can’t betray my friends. I have to think.”

“Take your time then. I won’t interfere. I’m harmless, really.”

And with that promise, the dolphin was gone, leaving Storm to a troubled sleep.

Days four and five inched by tediously, as the wardens found all attractions equally stale, the monotony of the marine landscape infusing them with a sense of eternal stasis. Unspoken thoughts of the challenge awaiting them weighed them down. Storm tried to conceive of ways to convince his friends of the wrongness of their assault, but failed to come up with any dominant argument.

After their evening meal of the fifth day, Pankey gathered them together and said, “We should sight our destination some time tomorrow. It occurs to me that we should arm ourselves in advance with our logic bombs. Everyone make three apiece, and some sort of bandolier that can also hold your UPD.”

Having complied, the wardens tested the fit of their bandoliers that cradled, across their furry muscled chests, the biopolymer eggs stuffed with antisense silicrobes, deadly only to the smart magma mind of Mauna Loa. Storm thought the UPD strapped to his back was a bulky and awkward feature, but refrained from questioning Pankey’s orders.

Pankey went around testing and tightening buckles before registering approval.

“Fine. Well done. Now, as to our chosen delivery method. We’ll halt offshore by day and study our terrain maps one final time. We’ll land under cover of darkness and split up, heading to Kilauea on pawfoot by a variety of