Maybe it is.
I want to join them at the table. I should help them figure out this challenge. But my body is shutting down. Hearing Dev’s voice was too much. The medicine and the heat and the cramps are fighting for dominance, turning my nervous system into a choppy sea. I cling to the sound of my friends’ voices like a life raft.
I close my eyes and drift into the painless depths.
In my dream, it’s the Fourth of July. I’m ten years old. I’m sprawled on a blanket in the San Alejandro Botanical Gardens, waiting for the fireworks to start.
Dev dances around our family’s picnic spot, waving a sparkler. My mother sits next to me, her face swallowed by the shadow of her broad-brimmed straw hat. Her black pearl gleams at the base of her throat. She wriggles her bare toes （she always hated shoes） in time with the John Philip Sousa music being piped over the loudspeakers.
She reclines against my father’s chest. His arm circles her waist. Their show of affection makes me vaguely embarrassed. Are parents allowed to cuddle in public?
My father’s white shirt, white linen slacks and glass of white wine all seem to glow in the dusk. His slick black hair is perfectly combed. His Mona Lisa-like smile makes him look like he’s just woken from a beautiful reverie.
My mother gazes out over the field of poppies, sunflowers and baby-blue eyes that lead down to the lake. She sighs contentedly. ‘When I die, sprinkle my ashes in the water here. I like the view.’
‘Mom!’ I say.
She laughs gently. ‘My dear, dying is nothing to be embarrassed about. It happens to everyone.’
‘Okay, but can we not talk about it now?’
She gives me a playful pinch on the arm. ‘Ana, it’s good to be honest about such things. Besides, I’m just saying … this would be a nice place to rest in peace.’
‘But you’re not dying!’
‘What?’ Dev stops his sparkler dance and marches over, on high alert for scandal. ‘Who’s dying?’
The sparkler sheds a cascade of golden starbursts across his bare arm. He doesn’t seem to notice.
‘No one is dying,’ my father assures us. ‘At least, not until after I’ve finished my chardonnay.’ His eyes gleam with humour. They’re deep brown like the centres of the sunflowers. ‘I’m with your mother, though. When the time comes, sprinkle my ashes here, too, will you?’
I’m about to protest that they are being impossibly morbid, when the fireworks explode overhead …
I wake in my bunk. Judging from the angle of the sunlight through the windows, I’ve slept through the whole evening and night.
My whole body aches, and my skull is throbbing. Ester and Nelinha are nowhere to be seen. They must have wanted to give me the chance to sleep in.
Dying is nothing to be embarrassed about. It happens to everyone.
Oh, Mom …
I couldn’t even honour her wish. We had no ashes to sprinkle in any lake. Now I have nothing but my mother’s pearl. Even getting that back was a miracle. It was delivered to us by the school, with deepest condolences – the only thing they could retrieve after the ‘accident’。
I’m tempted to lie in my bed and wallow in misery, but I know that would only make things worse. I’ve found out the hard way that with grief, like with menstrual cramps, I just need to keep moving. And today’s the day we’re supposed to reach the secret base. If there is such a thing …
I get myself cleaned up and dressed. No shower. We’re rationing water. Breakfast is a seaweed protein bar. We’re rationing food, too.
Finally, I arrive on the bridge.
Nobody gives me a hard time for showing up late. Still, I feel guilty. With our supplies dwindling, the tension on board is as charged as a Leyden gun. For the sake of the crew, I need to be operating at a hundred percent. Or at least to pretend that I am.
Our challenge arrives at 10:00 a.m., sharp.
The LOCUS display lights up with a swarm of purple splotches.
‘Aircraft!’ yells Jack Wu. ‘Wait. No … What are those?’
The purple blobs flicker in and out, changing shape and intensity. On the LOCUS, they appear to be aerial objects, hovering directly in front of the Varuna, but when I look out of the forward windows, there’s nothing but open water all the way to the horizon.
Jack senses the answer before I do. He’s the best in House Dolphin at this kind of thing.
‘Those aren’t physical objects,’ he realizes. ‘See how the blobs are flattening into waves?’
I nod. ‘Clever.’