Kris Schnee - Everyone's Island

• Garrett Fox: Would-be founder of a seastead.

• Alexis: A botanist who abandoned a career path she disliked.

• Maria “Tess” De Castille: A young handyman engineer fleeing a dismal school.

• Zephyr: An experimental AI who didn’t want to be sold.

• Martin: An investor looking for a project to work on personally.

• Eaton: A blunt diplomat/soldier with a keen interest in the seastead.

• Noah: A handyman raised amid hate, crime and stereotypes, who learned better.

• Leda: Sanest member of a “Pilgrim” cult.

Living on the ocean had made him feel alive, but now it might kill him. Garrett crouched in his inflated raft against hurricane winds. Somewhere nearby, his people needed help — if they weren’t dead already. Behind him floated Castor, the concrete island he’d worked so hard to build. Home. Twin lanterns hanging from the topdeck burned in the fog. He might not make it back. There was nothing he could do.

Shut up and make it work , Garrett thought in his father’s voice. His cold hand felt guided on the tiller. He scanned the writhing seascape for any sign of the crew who might be out here. Suddenly a trail of fire lanced up from Castor’s platform. Distress flare! Then another flare, and another. Someone was shooting at the storm.

He forced the raft toward the light, crashing through the waves and getting soaked again and again. Ahead, in the darkness, his friends were waiting. Maybe he’d ruined them all. Still, it was hard to regret what he’d done to get here.

The venture had begun in February. Back then he’d been drifting on land.

Mist hung over the shore of Maryland’s Chesapeake Bay. Everyone wore black. Garrett could hardly see the ancient walls of Fort McHenry across the grey water, and had no desire to look at the urn of ashes nearby. He scuffed his shoes against the wet grass.

“Sorry for your loss, Mister Fox,” said a man with a bow tie, snatching Garrett’s hand.

“And you are?” Garrett said.

The suit looked him over, noticed the glint of the prosthetic legs above Garrett’s socks, then looked politely away. “I represent White Star Grocers in the matter concerning your father. Without prejudice, I can say it was a tragic accident. No one’s fault.”

“A lawyer.” Garrett felt dark clouds condensing in his mind. His father had just happened to go shopping for kiwi yogurt one night, when a venomous banana spider had infiltrated the store and crept into the dairy aisle. It was stupid and random, a one-in-a-million thing.

“Yes, sir. I’m sure we can bring this matter to a satisfactory conclusion.” He flicked a business card from his pocket.

Garrett grabbed it in his fist without looking at it. “You mean, you want to convince me not to sue seven hells out of you.”

“I understand you’re upset, sir, so I’ll leave you alone. Good day.” The lawyer turned and was soon lost to the fog.

Garrett watched the waves, thinking, Focus on something else. Science, maybe. He’d just earned his Master’s degree from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Days ago, in Boston, he’d been drinking Sam Adams beer with Alexis and wondering what to do with his life. He’d planned to attend the official graduation in June, though it was pointless ceremony. He’d known Dad would have taken a hundred photos and made him smoke a cigar. Now, though…

“I’m so very sorry,” said a woman behind him. “This whole event was ill-planned.”

Garrett turned, eyes narrowed. “Priscilla.”

Aunt Priscilla Henweigh peered up at him, wearing an impeccable black dress. “I’ve been thinking that you ought to leave a legacy in your father’s name. You do want him to have a legacy.”

“He didn’t leave you a penny, did he?”

“It’s not about me, it’s about leaving a mark on the future. The school could use funds for our new remedial facility.”

“I won’t pay to put his name on a brick that people will walk on.”

Priscilla shook her head as though Garrett were a slow student. “After getting so much from society, your father had an obligation to give back. To improve the community.”

“He did honest work, he hired people, and he even sponsored a lacrosse team. He improved the community every day. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“What about you?” she said, just as he was escaping. “Will you contribute to society, or stick your nose in a textbook and pretend that’s your only duty?”

Garrett made himself unclench his fists and hold them out towards her. “Do you see these hands? They’re mine, not yours. My father’s were his, for building what he wanted, and he never liked your idea of ‘duty’.”

“Far be it from me to speak ill of him, but he always did have that selfish streak. You, though” — she patted his shoulder — “you have the chance to give more of yourself. What will you do to serve humanity?”

He wanted to make things, to build, but his aunt was like a leech ready to claim whatever he did as her own. Law and money-grubbing at his father’s funeral — at a time like this! Garrett faced Priscilla and said, “Nothing. Whatever I do will be for me.” He stomped away, squeezing his eyes tight.

Eventually the priest called everyone together, and said meaningless things. Garrett’s mind wandered. It had felt good to tell off his aunt, but there was nothing he could do now that felt worthwhile. Life had been simpler when he was a kid, back in his wheelchair days. Exercise, do homework, and voice-act for a cartoon character. He’d escaped from reality back then by being an actor in an online show, partly improv, as a little fox bouncing around fighting bad guys. But that was just a fantasy life. The surgery and therapy that had made him whole again, had hammered the lesson home: stick to the real world.

“Garrett?” The priest was saying. “Would you like to say a few words?”

Feeling useless, Garrett took the podium and looked out at the sea of faces, the people who’d given his father their respect and friendship. Nothing he could say would undo the idiotic accident. “He was a good man,” Garrett said. That was all he could come up with for a while. “It doesn’t make sense. There’s no point in talking about it. Just… I can’t do this. Someone else talk.” He walked away and sank into a hard plastic chair. In his absence, Priscilla rose to speak, to help define what his father had been.

Later, Garrett saw Uncle Haskell through a dispersing crowd. Forgetting for a moment why the man had flown out from India, Garrett went over to hug him.

Haskell had lost most of his coppery hair to radiation, but had kept his smile. “He’d be proud of you.”

“How’ve you been? I heard you guys fixed the satellite.”

“It’s always harder than it looks.” The wandering Haskell had dragged himself out of a gutter and after years of adventure, earned his way into a foreign space program. He’d chosen excitement over ease.

“Let’s hear the story. I need the distraction.”

“I’d rather talk about you.” Haskell locked eyes with him. “My dream was to fly up to the heavens. What’s yours?”

Garrett sighed and stared at the grass. “I could still get a job in marine construction, or join the Navy, or even take over Fox & Company.” Land surveying was his father’s trade.

“None of which your heart is in, am I right?”

“I don’t know.” Their family’s ancestors had been engineers, men who tried taming the sea.

“’I don’t know’ is for the walking dead. Tell me what you want to do, and maybe I can help.”