Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

RIVER

I stare at the blue-haired stranger grinning happily at me from the other side of my boat and wonder if he's real or a hallucination. Probably a hallucination. There's no way a real person could have been at that depth in the water with no oxygen and no dive suit. Plus, he seems a little… weird. It's extremely likely that I'm suffering from the effects of oxygen deprivation. Brain damage isn't a good thing for a scientist, so I guess that's my career down the tubes.

Damn it. All those years of study and grind were finally starting to pay off, and bam. It's over. Because of faulty dive equipment.

"Are we going?" my hallucination asks. "I can drive the boat if you want. Our place isn't far—just a bit north." He points in a northeasterly direction, toward the coast but farther north than the Krills pier I left from. I think. It's equally likely that I've completely lost my sense of direction and he's pointing farther out into the Pacific Ocean. I've never had brain damage before—or even disorientation from a dive. I'm always so careful to do things properly.

What the fuck went wrong this time?

"Sure," I agree. "You drive." If he's a hallucination, that means we won't actually go anywhere, and eventually my colleagues will notice I didn't bring the boat back or check in and come looking for me. All these boats have GPS locators on them—we joke it's so none of us poor underpaid researchers can try to hock one for rent money. In reality, it's so that if any of us go missing on a dive, S he's me. Kind of. The fun version. Even his name is a sort of variation of mine—we're both water. But I've got nothing better to do while I wait for either help or my hallucination to end, so why not talk to myself? I might have some interesting insights.

"That would be great. A colleague of mine did some similar research into epidemics among sea stars and the impact that had on kelp, but while some species of sea star are somewhat migratory?—"

"Nah, they travel a little bit but not that much," he interrupts. "They're not migratory in the same sense as other species… not on purpose, anyway."

"Exactly," I agree with… myself. "They might move to deeper or shallower water depending on the season, but they don't generally travel from one continent to another like sharks and whales and some species of fish do. She and I talked about it, and while she's still focused on sea stars and what we can do locally, we agreed that it would be interesting to see if similar patterns are evident in other species, and how much of it is caused or influenced by seasonal migration." I pull a face. "To be able to take the research to the next level, I'd need to travel along some of those migratory routes, but I can't get the budget for that until I establish the feasibility of the study. Which is what I'm working on now."

"I can definitely help with that. Like, I can find out the information you need and then they'll have to give you the money to go there! Or I can just take you there." He purses his lips. "It would take a while, though. This boat doesn't go fast, and I don't think you'd be able to cross the ocean without it."

Is this what an acid trip would have been like? There have been times I regretted not doing anything wild when I was younger, but honestly, if it would have been as confusing as this, I don't think I missed anything.

"Ah… no. I don't think I could cross the ocean without a boat. And I don't think this boat would be able to handle that kind of trip, anyway." It would be like paragliding in a tornado. Not that I've ever paraglided—who the fuck wants to be surrounded by nothing but air? The ocean is way more interesting. I smile out over it?—

What the fuck?

Is that… is that land? But we're not moving. Aqua literally hasn't started the engine. And I can't be driving it, because I'm not at the tiller. "Where are we?" I ask as we get even closer and I make out a marina. It's definitely not the Krills pier…. It's hard to tell, but it looks like it might be one of those expensive private marinas that service the wealthy beachfront towns north of San Diego.

"Nearly home," Aqua promises. "We can leave the boat with Jeff. He'll look after it. And then it's a super short walk to the house, where Zephyr can check you for a nitrogen bubble." His brow knits with sudden anxiety. "Can you walk to the house? If you can't, I'll ask Jeff to let me use his phone, and I can call the house and get someone to come and pick us up. I think Perry's home today."

There are so many things to unpack there. Jeff? Perry? Zephyr? And he mentioned someone called George before too.

"This boat belongs to Krills," I say warily. "I'm not really supposed to leave it places."

"Jeff will take good care of it," he assures me solemnly. "He's used to looking after important boats."

I'm still mentally debating whether I should try to wrest control of the tiller from a hallucination who never even started the engine, so the boat's not really moving, so we're not actually going to arrive at a marina for this mysterious Jeff to look after it, when we arrive at the fucking marina.

My brain tumor has major skills.

As we gently drift into an empty berth and a tall, sun-weathered, gray-haired man in cargo shorts and a navy polo shirt with a company logo on it comes toward us, I stand and reach out to touch Aqua. How far will my brain take this?

Warm, solid muscle meets my hand, and he turns to look at me with a sweet, inquisitive smile.

I snatch my hand back. "Uh… sorry." This is one hell of a hallucination. That felt like a real arm. Belonging to a real man. With a fucking banging body. It's been a while since I've been with a man, but the stereotype about bisexual marine biologists is absolutely true when it comes to me, and hey, fucking my own hallucination means no messy morning after or awkward sexual health conversations, right?

I can't believe that's something I actually thought. Whether this is a nitrogen bubble or a tumor, it's… wild.

The man's smiling at us as he gets close, and I wonder if he's a hallucination too. Am I really still sitting in my boat on the far side of the marine reserve? Or worse… am I floating in the ocean, oblivious to the dangers around me and the fact that my air will only last so long?

"Hey, Aqua," the man—Jeff, presumably—says. "I'd ask if you bought a new boat, but this one clearly belongs to Krills."

"Hi, Jeff! It's River's boat—this is River, by the way—but we just need to talk to Zeph before he takes it back. Could you watch it for us? It's really important."

"No problem," Jeff assures us, then smiles at me. "Hi, River. I'm Jeff Fennix, and I've been the manager here for fifteen years. I promise the boat and your equipment will be fine."

"River Peters," I introduce, more because I don't know what to say than anything else. I'm still not supposed to leave the boat, no matter how long he's been working here. But… the marina is secure. I can see the locked gate from here, plus all the cameras. And I kind of want to see where my brain is taking me.

"Dr. River Peters?" Jeff's face changes from polite to genuinely interested. "I have a friend at Krills, Elaine Cho, who says your current work has the potential to be groundbreaking for marine conservation."

Oh. Well… that's nice. If this is a tumor, it's doing its best to be friendly. "Thanks. Elaine's no slouch either. Her last paper was incredible." That's the complete truth.

"If you have time for a chat when you get back, that would be great. Otherwise, maybe Aqua can bring you around another time."

"Sure!" Aqua agrees, and I smile.

"Yeah, of course."