CLUES MAY BE FOUND ABOARD OCEANUS.

*   *   *

Ninety-seven minutes. That’s how long it took me, through ABE, to paint a mental picture of Oceanus to Oscar. And still the cephaloped hesitated.

ABE, yes or no—can Oscar get us down to the beach without me having to rappel down a twelve-hundred-foot rock face?

YES.

Then let’s go. Tell him to lead the way.

THE ROUTE TO THE SEA IS KNOWN ONLY TO OSCAR’S KIND. THE ROUTE CUTS THROUGH THE CEPHALOPED GATHERING. OSCAR TRUSTS EISENBRAUN, BUT DOES NOT TRUST EISENBRAUN’S FEELINGS TOWARD THE ENTITY RECOGNIZED AS ANDRIA SAXON.

Can’t say I trust them myself. Does Oscar know where Andria Saxon lives?

YES.

Will Oscar take me there?

NO.

I gritted my teeth, exasperated. ABE, tell Oscar that Eisenbraun wants to stop Andria Saxon and her kind from capturing any more of Oscar’s kind. In order to do that—

Without warning, Oscar flipped out. Raising two of its thick arms into the air, the terrestrial squid proceeded to pound the patch of moss like a silverback gorilla, throwing the equivalent of a cephaloped tantrum. Waving its tentacles wildly, the creature then spun around and uprooted fistfuls of ferns before it darted up the trunk of a redwood like a spider monkey, thrashing about in the upper canopy.

“Got a bit of a temper, doesn’t he?” I pondered my potential courses of action as debris rained upon my head and shoulders from above. My first instinct, arguably an emotional one, was to find Andria, resolve the mysteries surrounding our shared reality, then turn this nightmare into a pleasant dream.

The scientist in me vetoed that idea. Before tracking down my former fiancée or the rest of the crew, I needed to inspect the cryogenic chamber aboard Oceanus before the habitat washed back out to sea with the next tidal event.

ABE, calculate the next full-moon perigee.

THE MOON WILL PERIGEE IN SIXTEEN DAYS.

I surveyed the surrounding forest. The dense foliage of the redwood canopy was strewn with vines, some rigid, dried out growths, others moist, flexible coils resembling giant Hawaiian leis—the latter perfect for mountain climbs and descents.

The upper branches rustled, yielding a cluster of ripe mangoes that splattered nearby, soaking my feet. “All right, you big hairy octopus, you got your way. Now get your ass down here, we have work to do. And bring me some food!”

*   *   *

It was midafternoon, the sun high in a cloudless blue sky when Oscar followed me out of the forest and into the clearing, hauling what I hoped would be the last bundle of vines we would need to rappel down to the beach. As the cephaloped watched, I secured the first length of leis-rope around the trunk of a Douglas fir located sixty paces from the summit’s ledge, then began adding sections, lengthening the vine another seventy to one hundred feet at a time.