Kris Schnee - Everyone's Island

Henweigh smiled, back on her own turf. “Ah, but why are you unhappy here?” She glanced at her computer, wired to the school surveillance network. “According to your record, you always eat alone, and barely speak in class.”

Again Tess thought, Shut up. Leave me alone . She had friends online and learned stuff on her own. This school was just where her parents made her waste time. She’d be free of it in another year anyway, so why not skip the pointless classes when there was something worthwhile to do instead?

Henweigh seemed to pick up on something in Tess’ expression. “Have you considered taking up a sport, or art? A young lady should have a nice hobby.”

“I’m fine.”

“You could make more friends here. I happen to know there are several shy, quiet boys—”

“I don’t like them.”

“Oh, well,” said Henweigh. “It’s perfectly natural to experiment and discover your true orientation.”

“Geez! That’s not what I meant! I don’t need a hobby, I don’t need a boyfriend. I just want your signature for my trip.”

“And since I’m in the position of looking after your needs, I have to make sure you’re well cared for.”

Like a cow , thought Tess.

“I’ve been thinking,” said the administrator, “that you might benefit from Proeubene. Oh, don’t scowl like that. My daughter takes it, just a half-dose per day, and it really helps her sparkle.” By the potted bonsai sat a photo of a girl with tiny, drugged pupils. Hell eyes.

“No. It makes you stupid.”

“My daughter would disagree. But I suppose we’ll table that option for now.” Henweigh sat smiling as though waiting for Tess to give up.

Tess tried again. “I want to go work with Garrett. That’s all I’m asking.”

“This isn’t about giving you what you think you want. Children don’t know their own needs.”

Tess had a brief vision of Henweigh in green spandex, presiding over Never-Never Land. Tess suppressed the glare she wanted to give, and tried to think. If it’s my feelings she wants to hear about, then fine! She leaned forward and clasped her hands like Henweigh was doing. “I’m just kind of overwhelmed by this, this sense of mystery and power about the ocean, you know?”

At this the counselor perked up. “Something about the raw force and natural majesty of it all?”

Tess nodded vigorously. “I admit it’s probably kind of Freudian.” She barely knew or cared who the dead pervert was, but it sounded useful to invoke him.

“Well! That’s a different way of looking at things. I suppose we all have our own personal journeys.” She leafed through the papers Tess had brought, giving the plans and facts a cursory glance. Unknowable urges interested her more. After an agonizing minute Henweigh poised a glitter pen above the release form. “But really, it’d be best to wait and see how you feel about this later.”

Tess made herself look stricken. “But Garrett was so hoping to hear your answer today! He really needs your help to make this happen. And my parents are worried about me.”

Henweigh considered, then dashed off her signature. “Good luck to you then.”

“Thanks!” said Tess in a moment of sincere gratitude.

“Would you…” Henweigh peered at Tess as though unsure what she was. “Will you send pictures?”

Tess nodded, puzzled, and got out of there.

Outside the office, Tess sighed with relief. She felt dirty from winning like that. Typical weasel Tess, sinking to her level. She’d been lucky. And next time, luck might fail her.

“So you’re leaving,” Alexis said.

Garrett stared, with his hand still on the doorknob of his father’s apartment. “What are you doing here?” He’d been cleaning the place, letting in fresh air from the Inner Harbor.

Alexis wore the browns and greens of a botanist. Since the day they’d met at the nerdy Pandemonium Book Shop in Harvard Square, she and Garrett had been in an awkward social dance. “You mentioned that you’d be in Baltimore.” She looked into the room and saw the boxes of his father’s books and dusty frigate models. “Are you bringing anything with you? The books, the rugs? Me?”

Garrett said, “I’ve already gotten one surprise volunteer this week. Are you serious?”

“I need to get away from my family.” She’d abandoned pre-med training at Boston College and devoted herself to a less demanding field. “They say they’re disappointed. You need an actual plant specialist for your farming, right?”

Unspoken was the idea that without her along, they might never see each other again. With him out of MIT and her still working on her undergrad degree, they’d drift apart. Garrett wasn’t sure what to make of that. The thought left him feeling blank, wanting to turn to more practical matters. He needed to focus on his work, and relationships were just too far outside that. “I do need a botanist. But have you thought this through? I’m still planning the project, and—”

“And you worry too much,” she said with a smile. “Come on, it’ll be fun out there.”

Garrett was in an office building, frowning at a too-complicated directory console, when Martin Hanse discovered him. “Are you the one?” said Martin.

When Garrett turned he saw a businessman with a monk’s corona of silver hair. Behind him, lotus flowers floated in an indoor pond with a burbling fountain.

“Let’s talk.” Martin waved him onward through carpeted halls. Many of the offices had blank name-plates. In the distance, phones echoed.

Martin’s office startled Garrett as less grand than an investor should have: just a nook with a walnut desk and a photo from Salt Lake City. Garrett eased into a chair. What had this friend-of-a-friend money contact gotten him into? “Hello, sir. Have you got time for my presentation?”

“Go ahead.”

Only then did Garrett notice the frosted glass sculptures on a shelf. Each was etched with a large dollar amount — mementos from past deals. Before he could start worrying, he loaded up charts and blueprints on his computer. He told Martin of his plans.

The biggest problem with seasteading wasn’t the harsh ocean environment; humans had been dealing with that for ages. The trouble was economics. There’d been multiple proposals for building artificial islands and living on them, where the business plan amounted to I dunno; get a rich guy to give us cash? Or sell drugs I guess? Instead, the Castor design was centered around aquaculture and biofuel, technologies for farming the sea and cranking out products to sell. It wasn’t the pretty utopian structure seen in too much concept art, but making it real could lead to better things.

The proposed location was offshore of Cuba, just outside its territorial waters. It’d been about a year since the overthrow of the Cuban communists, and the new rulers were hungry for foreign investment. Most American businessmen were looking at the land and beaches, not at the sea nearby.

Martin listened patiently, leaning back with his hands behind his head. Letting Garrett go on about the potential profit numbers. “It could work. Now, why do you care about this project?”

Garrett felt sweat trickle down his armpits. “It’s a viable investment that’ll produce products everyone needs.”

“I’ll be the judge of investments, thanks. It seems to me you could be doing other things with your time. Why this?”

Garrett had no desire to spill his guts to this man. What was important here was the engineering, his ability to focus on getting something useful done. Something unique. Something that would make people gape and say, I’ve got to get a picture of this. Gotta visit. Gotta have it in my life. He had his own skills with machines and structures. With others’ help he could turn a patch of watery wilderness into a human place, a home, a new port of call. He might have as many as fifty workers as they scaled up. Who knew what ideas they’d have, what new discoveries they’d make, once someone lit the flame?