Distant Shores - Marco Palmieri [170]
She remembered hitting the water, feeling the fingers of seawater seep into her wet suit. She equalized the pressure in her ears, adjusted her buoyancy. They had helmets and could’ve chatted, but the dive leader said they should go silent. Just… swim. Observe. Follow the leader. So they went in a staggered line, their dive lights picking out orange and purple cuttlefish streaking over sand; the bulbous head and writhing arms of a blue-ringed octopus. The tiny red tank lights winking like fireflies. Not too bad.
Then, at twenty-five meters, their dive leader signaled for them to turn off their torches. Darkness closed like a fist. The water wasn’t just dark; it was blacker than pitch. Her eyes bugged from their sockets, and she began to hyperventilate, her head going light as a helium balloon.
Then, suddenly, something came out of the darkness and brushed her elbow. She couldn’t help it; she screamed, tried pulling away, almost broke for the surface (a near-disastrous move)- but then a hand wrapped itself around her elbow, pulled her down. Karl’s voice, then, like something from a dream: “It’s all right, Marla, it’s all right. I’m here. Just hold on tight, and don’t let go.”
This is what she remembered best: Karl’s hand, that good steady pressure. So simple. Floating in the dark, Karl as her anchor, she was safe….
“This is stupid,” she said, with a viciousness that made her throat convulse with fury. She wrenched away from the memory with a force that was nearly physical. “Don’t be so stupid. You are sure as hell not safe. You’ll never be safe again.” Now memories-even her memories of Karl-were traitors, like sharp barbs pricking her brain.
“God, what’s left?” she asked of no one in particular because she didn’t believe in any sort of god either. “First, my parents, then the Equinox, then Karl, and now this,” and then her voice cracked, rose in a shriek, “What do you want from me?!”
If she was talking to a god, he didn’t answer. Paris didn’t move. She couldn’t even dredge up one thing her gran might’ve said. But the lights were still there. She and Paris were still stuck, and time was running out-if not for her or Paris at the moment, then for Captain Janeway. And for Chakotay, who had been kind in a way that brought pain because it reminded her of what she’d lost.
“God, I’ve got to do something,” she whispered. Her fists bunched, but her fury was gone. She was wet with sudden sweat, her hair clinging to her cheeks, her chest pulling in and pushing out air like a bellows. Think, think! She closed her eyes, forced her breathing to slow. All the counselors, they always said that the mind was like a dark attic, filled with clutter, but that one thought led to another and then another, like cobblestones on an infinitely long road.
Karl. When had she thought of him? Aidan’s message? No. Her breath caught. That wasn’t right. She’d thought of Karl from the moment she’d seen the planet. She’d been thinking of Karl for hours. Chakotay said fireflies, and she’d talked diving; she’d thought of hawks on updrafts, but her thoughts orbited around Karl and not just Karl but this memory.
“Because,” she said haltingly, not rushing because she knew that this was important, maybe the most important thing she had left to do, “because it was dark. And we were in the water. It was dark and we were in the water and…”
And they’re in the water, and she’s scared. But she’s got Karl by the hand, and she’s safe. The current tugs at her body, but he won’t let go. She’s safe. And she sees things now, pulling themselves together like threads woven into patterns: saw-toothed stands of coral; the silent sleek forms of fish; the sinuous, undulating thread of a sea snake; and, far off, the humped dome of a sea turtle’s shell.
Then, something strange. The dive leader waves his arms, churns water, and then, all of a sudden, there were…
“Lights,” she whispered-and then she knew