Chapter 13 #3
Akia was three steps ahead before Joy even left the wall.
She set the pace brisk, her stride quick enough that the skirt flared behind her, showing the white of her ass every fourth step.
Her tail whipped side to side, a visual metronome.
Joy walked close, her arm grazing mine every time we hit a patch of narrow sidewalk or sidestepped a crater.
I kept my eyes on Akia’s back, but my brain was running down the events of the day, turning over the details until I found one that didn’t fit.
We made the south approach first, the edge of the lot where the slope dropped to the shore.
In daylight, this was where the girls from the Casino came to talk, or where the Ci Dyn ran drills before breakfast. Tonight it was empty, the only sound the splash of water against the rocks and the faint metallic tinking as the tide shifted the beached boats.
The robot cat was still sprawled on the tarmac, one foreleg stretched long, as if it had died running.
A black halo of oil ringed the torso, and the smell of it pushed all the way to the sidewalk.
Akia stopped beside it, circled once, then crouched to inspect the surface.
“Gorek said he was going to try a bite,” she said, deadpan. “He told me Kern stomachs can handle things that would kill the rest of us.”
I looked at the scorched metal and the blue oil. “He’s joking.”
“Mostly.” Akia’s ears flicked. “He took a piece already. I saw him carrying it toward the docks. He said he wanted to see if it was any good with salt.”
Joy shifted her weight, eyes on the panther’s head. “Please tell me he is not serious.”
“He is not that stupid,” I said. “But he is that stubborn. If he actually eats any of it, he can explain himself to Taylor when the metal shavings show up in his teeth.”
Akia stood and brushed her hands off. “We move.”
She took us around the east side, past the Casino loading dock and down to the lip of the north harbor approach.
The wind picked up here, more salt and less engine smell.
The path was still littered with broken shells and the rags of seaweed from the last storm.
Akia scanned the waterline, her ears rotating left and right in a way that almost looked random, but I knew every tick was a calculation.
Joy tucked herself in close, shoulder to shoulder. I felt her breath in my hair, then at my ear. “She’s thinking about the next rotation,” she whispered.
“Rotation?”
Joy’s lips touched my jaw, a smile this time, honest. “Who’s next. For the bed. You can ask her if you want, or wait until she climbs in. She’s not good at hiding it.”
We walked the north edge, then cut back toward the inland side.
There was a path here, maybe once a golf cart track, now nothing more than two bare lines in the weeds.
The inland wind was softer, but it carried a damp, moldy edge from the old houses and the overgrown lawns.
Up ahead, the elven camp burned with steady, even light.
Nothing moved in the open, but I felt the eyes on us.
The elves didn’t patrol, not with force, but they had their own ways of keeping the perimeter tight.
Akia led us along the edge, never entering the camp, skirting it enough to show respect for their boundary. When she got to the far side, she stopped and waited for us to catch up.
“I saw Lyubor,” she said. “Earlier.”
“Me too,” I said. “She’s worried.”
“She should be,” Akia replied. “I heard them talking. The elves do not like the robot. It does not smell alive. They think it might come back, or that more will come.”
“More will come,” I said. “Different ones, maybe. But always more.”
Akia’s ears flattened for a second, then perked up. “We are ready,” she said. “If it is like today, we will win again.”
Joy brushed her hand over my back, slowly. “You believe that?”
“I believe we’ll make it harder every time,” I said.
Akia looked at me, her eyes sharp in the moonlight. She didn’t blink. “Casey says you are always right. That is why you are Alpha.”
Joy laughed, and the sound was light, honest. “Casey is the Alpha when James isn’t around.”
Akia’s ears twitched. “She is Beta. But sometimes Beta is more Alpha than Alpha.”
“That’s how it works,” I said.
We walked back along the seaward edge, keeping the water to our right.
The lights from the Casino spilled out across the lot, making sharp pools in the dark.
The Horizon was a white shape behind the strings of yellow bulbs, her hull dull with salt but solid and strong.
Every window was lit, and I saw two shadows moving inside, maybe Taylor and a Ci Dyn from her work team.
I wondered if Taylor ever slept or if she plugged in when nobody was looking.
We made the last stop at the terrace railing above the main dock. The wind here was raw and sharp. It brought a chill that bit through the shirt and made my teeth ache for a second. I didn’t mind it. Joy pressed close, and Akia settled against the railing, both hands flat, her eyes on the water.
We weren’t alone. Gascha was there, at the end of the railing, her body outlined in yellow string lights.
Her floppy ears hung relaxed, a change from the way they’d been pinned tight during the afternoon.
Taylor stood three feet behind her, tablet in hand, cross-checking numbers on her display and looking up every few seconds.
I saw the flicker of blue light on Taylor’s face, a fast, busy rhythm, but she didn’t seem rushed or anxious.
Autumn was there too, full height, dressed in a new shade of green. She leaned against the far post and stared out to sea, her hair snapping in the gusts.
Nobody said anything for a while.
The group stood, elbows on the iron, watching the channel. The horizon line was gone, lost to the dark, but the stars had started up, silver and sharp against the moonless patch of sky. The only sound was the wind and, every so often, the ping of saltwater hitting metal down on the docks.
I looked down the line. Six bodies, three human, two Ci Dyn, one fairy. Everyone was exactly where they were supposed to be, but none of them were talking. Instead, we were letting the world go as quiet as it wanted.
Taylor broke the silence first. She didn’t look up from her data pad. “Captain, status update on the Casino.”
I didn’t move. “Go ahead.”
“William and Nolan finished the structural scan using Horizon’s equipment. Broken glass, scorched paint, and a few cracked exterior panels. They found no compromised support beams or load-bearing wall failures. Everything is superficial. They can begin cosmetic and weather repairs in the morning.”
“Good,” I said.
Gascha looked at me. “The kitchen’s still running. I can put something together if people want more than the usual.”
“Whatever’s easy,” I said. “Fish is fine.”
She nodded. “We have crab left from this morning. I can make it stretch.”
Akia’s tail gave a short flick at the word crab. She said nothing.
Taylor went back to her data pad. She called up a new screen, then added, “The signal from Emma is steady. She is moving with the wind, north, keeping parallel to the coast. The transmission is faint, but I can relay a message if you wish.”
I looked at Autumn. “Do you want to send one?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Tell her the fairy is good. Joy and the humanz are good. Casino is safe, for now.” She paused, then added, “Tell Emma I miss her.”
Taylor typed without looking at the keys. “Confirmed.”
Joy rested her head on my shoulder. “You should rest,” she said.
“Later,” I replied.
Gascha pushed away from the rail and stretched, her arms high over her head. She looked down the line, nodded at me, then walked inside. The steps echoed on the tile. One by one, the others followed. Akia lingered for a second, then left, her tail the last thing to disappear through the door.
Taylor moved to the doorway, then stopped. “Alpha,” she said.
“Yeah?”
She kept her back to me, looking at the sky for a moment longer.
“Good night, Captain.”
“Good night, Taylor,” I said.
Taylor nodded once, then left.
Autumn and I were alone. The wind off the channel picked up, gusting hard enough that her hair flew horizontally, a silver banner in the night. She tucked herself against my arm, and I felt her body shake, not from cold, but from the after-echo of what she’d burned through today.
She didn’t speak. She pressed herself closer and let her head rest against my shoulder.
I watched the water. The black, the oil rainbow from the robot, the cold gleam of anchor lights, and far off, the blinking white of a buoy nobody had ever bothered to mark on the charts.
Somewhere out there, Emma was nearing Newport, her hull slicing the chop, her sails full and her crew alive.
Behind me, the Casino was full of noise, heat, and the smell of fresh broth. The others would eat and talk and maybe laugh. The night watch would circle the lot, Gorek would sleep off his injury, and Akia would update her notepad and tell me who’s next in line.
Tomorrow will come. It always did.
For now, I let the cool breeze move across my skin and watched the channel with Autumn close beside me.
We stayed that way until my eyes burned and my feet went numb. Then I walked her inside, and I left the darkness to do its worst.