7G Page 3

  With a sigh, Simon returned his attention to the screen, the blinking cursor signaling its readiness to proceed. He double clicked on the Power Point icon to resume typing his notes when a bright red light suddenly flashed in the left side of Simon’s field of view. The mobile uplink inside his pocket vibrated, expressing a similar, irritated tone. An urgent call.

  Simon rolled his eyes. “What now?” he grunted, directing his gaze to the incessant, pulsating red light in his eye DOTS. A name appeared in the air, as if each letter floated somewhere in space between Simon’s pupils and the computer monitor: ROY JACKSON, BAHAMAS DEPARTMENT OF THE INTERIOR.

  What lousy timing. Simon rapidly flicked his eyes to focus on the keyboard application icon in the lower left area of his field of view. A virtual keyboard materialized in space, accessible through the blink of an eye. Glancing at the letter G, then O, he spelled his response.

  While waiting for Roy’s reply, Simon perused his catalog of images on the computer’s hard drive–folders of digital photos he’d taken over the years while researching whales in various parts of the United States–trying to decide which ones he wished to include in today’s lecture on his specialty: toothed whale communication.

  Bold scarlet letters appeared in front of Simon’s retinas, directly over a picture of a Pacific Northwest pod of orcas pack-hunting a significantly larger baleen whale. WE HAVE A SITUATION.

  Simon’s eyes darted over the DOTS’s spatial keyboard quickly as he typed his response with a mere glance in the direction of each desired key: NOT A GOOD TIME, ROY. Using the desktop’s mouse, he rapidly scanned through five more photos until he found the one of the orca pod he’d been looking for.

  Roy’s message returned, the red letters insistent: PICK UP.

  “I don’t have time for this,” Simon grumbled, peeking at the phone icon hovering in the lower right of his peripheral vision. Immediately his ear DOTS–the sticker electronics attached to his outer ear pinnae–hummed, transmitting the familiar intonations.

  It’d been a few months since they last spoke, but Roy’s melodious Bahamian accent was unmistakable, as if every word he uttered went to the tune of a Caribbean song. While roommates their freshman year at Dartmouth, Roy’s voice had made the girls in their co-ed dorm swoon…and prompted Simon to struggle phasing out his own nasally tone. Now, ten years later, Dr. Greene could easily pass for a resident of Upstate New York, instead of someone born and raised in the town of Little Neck on the North Shore of Long Island.

  “How soon can you get here?” Roy Jackson asked, his voice pleasantly lilting up and down, despite the gravity of the news he bore.

  “Listen, Roy. I’m right in the middle of something,” Simon replied gruffly, dragging his fingers down his prematurely graying goatee. “Can’t you get someone else?”

  “I’ve already contacted everyone else in the area. You’re our last resort.”

  Grabbing a fistful of his deep brown hair, Simon released a heavy sigh. Roy probably needed his guidance with another case of Red Tide or Portuguese Man-of-War infiltrating the beaches. Barely heeding Roy’s lengthy response, Simon surfed through his catalog of photographs, eager to complete his task now that the computer was cooperating again. Yet, Roy’s haggard voice described a series of unexplained mass strandings beginning early this morning on several different beaches of New Providence and Paradise Islands.

  Simon’s face turned white, his finger pausing on the mouse. Impossible. He must have misheard his old roommate. “How many did you say?”

  “Two beaked, eleven pilots, and a spinner.”

  Simon reclined in his chair, unable to believe his ears. Why would so many whales strand on the same day? And from different species, no less? Sure, entire pods of pilot whales often beached themselves, either refusing to abandon an ailing leader or becoming confused by unfamiliar shoreline contours caused by storms or rising tides. But beaked whales and a spinner dolphin stranding at the same time, too? Something wasn’t right.

  “Fine. I’ll catch the next plane out. Meet you in Nassau.” Simon grabbed his navy blue backpack, reliably stuffed with essentials. Regardless of the fact that there were other qualified marine biologists residing in South Florida or that Simon’s focus was in communication, not mammalian physiology, Roy Jackson always contacted him in an emergency. And recently, these emergencies had been occurring with unusual regularity. He’d have to wait until he saw the victims to determine the exact cause.

  But Simon had his suspicions as to who was to blame.

  And they’d pay for their damages. He would guarantee that.

  Chapter Six

  “Sweet!” Erik Weber grinned as he read the scrawled writing on the sign attached to the door of Lecture Hall 201 in the Coombs Science Center. “Class is cancelled today!”

  He knew he should take Dr. Greene’s Intro to Marine Bio course more seriously–with his sister, Kristen, the teaching assistant and all–but lately he’d been letting it slide. She shouldn’t take it personally. He’d been letting everything slide.

  That’s easy to do when you’ve got a distraction. And Rachael Gallagher proved the best distraction of all.

  Besides, he wasn’t like Kristen. She’d been obsessed with marine animals ever since their parents brought them to SeaWorld in Orlando that first time back in elementary school. For years, she dreamed of becoming a dolphin trainer, teaching her stuffed animals tricks and flips. But as she got older, her focus changed. She became fascinated with the innate intelligence of these animals rather than using them for entertainment. It was natural she’d want to come to the U of M for grad school to study under Dr. Greene.

  Though sometimes Erik wished she’d gone someplace else. With her here, it felt like she watched his every move. Especially when he was with Rachael.

  “Erik? Where’re you going?”

  The sound of his name broke his thoughts. Erik spun around, readily spotting the wavy red hair and freckled face of his roommate, Lucas Jenkins, walking down the hall.

  “Class’s cancelled,” he informed Lucas. Though they weren’t the best of friends, they tolerated living together in their small, double room well enough. And since this was the only class they shared, Erik usually sat by him in lecture. But Erik had stopped studying with him back at their dorm. Especially after Lucas aced their last exam while Erik scraped by with a C-minus.

  “Cancelled?” Lucas turned around and walked out the building with Erik. “Did Kristen say why?”

  What a nerd, Erik thought. He actually sounds disappointed. “Nope. Didn’t see her. Dr. Greene was probably busy getting ready for the upgrade. She said he’s got some new research proposal that’s linked to the 7G Network.”

  “Huh.” Erik imagined Lucas was trying to imagine what dolphins and 7G visual and audio recording capabilities could possibly have in common. Not that Erik could tell him. Kristen had kept the whole project pretty hushed.

  “So…where’re you headed now?”

  Erik shrugged, tossing his long, sandy blonde bangs out of his eyes. “Not sure, really. Now I’ve got nothing ‘til lunch. I’m supposed to meet Rachael and her cousin at the dining hall today.”

  “Her cousin? Who’s that?”

  “I dunno. Jamie or something. She’s a prefrosh checking out the campus, I guess.” Erik suddenly felt compelled to add, “It’ll probably be boring, though. Bet they’ll spend the whole time talking about clothes.”

  Lucas chuckled. “Hate to break this to you, man, but you’re whipped.”

  “Am not,” Erik retorted. Though the defensiveness in his own voice surprised him. Was he whipped? Erik brushed off the comment. His roommate didn’t have a girlfriend; he didn’t know what it was like. Changing the subject, he asked Lucas, “What’re you gonna do now?”

  “Think I’ll head over to the courts and shoot some hoops.”

  That shouldn’t have surprised Erik. Lucas always played pick-up basketball when he got the chance. How he managed to get such good grades was beyond Erik,
not to mention quite infuriating at times.

  “Cool. Maybe I’ll join y–” Erik stopped short. Partway across the quad, he spotted Rachael. With another guy.

  “D’you know him?” Erik asked Lucas as he nodded toward a tall, muscular guy with dark skin, a chiseled face, and short black hair hidden beneath his fitted baseball cap. The guy was huge compared to Erik. Probably a football player. Linebacker type. And he was hugging his girl.

  “Never seen him before. But sorry, man,” Lucas said, giving Erik a sympathetic smile, “he’s out of your league.”

  Real comforting, Erik thought, coming from his roommate who knew him better than most on campus. Except for Rachael. And Kristen, of course. But she didn’t really count.

  “I think I’ll meet you down there,” Erik said, quickly changing direction to avoid passing Rachael. He ducked behind the corner of the nearest building to get a second peek. Her intensely blue eyes twinkling, Rachael flashed the guy a wide grin. Then she slipped her arm through his and led him down the sidewalk. Her straight blonde hair swayed mockingly across the middle of her back with each lighthearted step.

  Erik blinked, watching her leave. Why was Rachael cheating on him? And how long had this been going on?

  Chapter Seven

  Southern Florida State University off-campus housing

  “Not again!” Kristen Weber groaned as she ran from the kitchen table, leaving her breakfast half-eaten. Clamping one hand over her mouth, she flew down the hall to the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She managed to lift the toilet seat lid seconds before her gag reflex struck. Kristen winced as undigested oatmeal splashed inside the porcelain basin. Pulling her curly blonde hair back against the nape of her neck, she bent over the bowl a second time. Her stomach heaved until gastric acid burned the lining of her esophagus and the back of her throat. Who knew something as bland as oatmeal could prove so unsettling? She flushed the toilet, ridding the room of the pungent odor.

  Yet the acrid taste of bile lingered in her mouth. Kristen wiped her lips with the back of her hand, and waited, ensuring her queasiness had passed. This was the third day in a row. What could possibly be wrong with her?

  She checked her forehead to test for fever, but didn’t feel flushed. Besides, she’d already gotten the flu shot this year. After waves of student deaths swept college campuses across the nation from the swine and bovine influenza outbreaks in the past, Southern Florida State University mandated that every student visit the school’s medical center to receive an annual flu shot before enrolling in courses. Besides, the last two days Kristen felt normal by lunchtime. Surely if she were ill, the symptoms would persist through the remainder of the day, wouldn’t they?

  On wobbly legs, Kristen righted herself by the sink, studying her face in the mirror. Her normal tanned complexion seemed oddly pale today, almost a sickly color of puce. Even the dark circles under her eyes had become more pronounced. Of course, she’d had little time for relaxation these days. The summer seemed ages ago, when she’d spend long days at the beach hanging out with her boyfriend, Dane Whistler, then working odd jobs at night to pay the rent.

  Now that the semester had started up, Kristen couldn’t afford such pleasures. Simon Greene was on the breakthrough of a major discovery and mandated all grad students pull long hours in the lab. In reality, the extra time she devoted to research helped distract her from thoughts of Dane. As difficult as it was to admit, things between them just weren’t the same anymore.

  Kristen knew their long distance relationship was bound to be rocky. Despite the ability to readily text each other throughout the day using their DOTS, it was inevitable they’d eventually lose touch. With the National Conversion to 7G happening this fall, Dane predicted this was his best opportunity to be on the cutting edge of the telecommunications market. So he accepted an internship with a start-up company called Dreamscape based in Washington, D.C. The money wasn’t great, but he hoped the experience would land him a high-paying job, perhaps within the company itself. The CEO of Dreamscape expected their new patent on optical dream recording to generate trillions in advertising revenues alone as the nation uploaded their dreams free of charge. Dane’s computer science degree and ingenuity made him a perfect fit. Dreamscape chose him from a pool of hundreds of other qualified applicants.

  When Dane came back to visit Kristen at the U two weeks ago, they tried to pick their relationship up right where they’d left off. Yet things were different this time. Everything seemed forced: their conversations, their kisses…everything. Had they really drifted apart that much? Perhaps it was all the time he’d spent with his colleagues in D.C. that had changed him, diverting his love toward money and power instead of her. With tears in her eyes, Kristen kissed him goodbye at the airport, confident he wasn’t going to miss her as much as she would him.

  Since then, she’d barely heard from Dane. His replies to her texts were brief and rushed. Kristen wasn’t sure if he was truly too busy to talk or if he’d simply lost interest. Whenever she texted him, she deliberated over every word she wrote, her eyes lingering on each key…only to delete them all and start anew. She spent sleepless nights wondering if she’d become dependent on him, clinging to memories of their glorious summer together. Now he acted more like a stranger than a boyfriend.

  On the outside, she wore a strong face, hiding from her roommates the nightly tears that soaked her pillowcase. And as close as she and her brother, Erik, had been growing up, somehow she didn’t feel comfortable confiding in him now. He’d probably tell her she was only overanalyzing everything. (He’d psychoanalyzed everything she said since completing Psych 101 last fall.) Besides, these days he seemed more preoccupied with his budding relationship with Rachael. In a way, it was cute to see him so lovesick for the first time in his life. On the other hand, seeing them joined at the hip proved quite nauseating at times.

  Especially when Kristen felt so alone without Dane.

  Bending over the sink, Kristen splashed cool, soapy water across her face. The soothing water cleansed her pores and washed away her conflicted emotions. Sliding her hand towel off the rack, she dabbed her cheeks and forehead dry. She grabbed her toothpaste from the medicine cabinet, liberally applying it to her brush and meticulously scrubbing the vile taste from her mouth. Refreshed, Kristen returned her toothpaste to the medicine cabinet, placing it carefully on top of her round case of pills.

  Then Kristen gasped, pressing her hand to her mouth. In a horrifying way, everything suddenly made sense.

  Her pills.

  Popping open the circular case, she blinked in disbelief. Kristen wrapped her arm around her belly, fending off another bout of nausea…though not food-induced this time.

  Only one yellow placebo remained and she still hadn’t gotten her cycle.

  She’d never been this late before.

  Chapter Eight

  Crystal Court, Atlantis Hotel, Paradise Island, Bahamas

  “Unbelievable,” Steve Summers muttered under his breath. You’d think Ellen had enough swimsuits packed to survive the last afternoon of their trip. Yet instead of testing his luck in the casinos again, Steve found himself waiting outside another dressing room to give Ellen feedback on her latest bikini selection. “I just have to have that one!” she declared as they passed by the Gucci window display of the Atlantis’ Crystal Court. His heels dug into the floor as she dragged him inside.

  Alyssa never would’ve subjected me to this kind of torment, Steve thought as he glanced at his watch, shifting it on his wrist to expose the white band of skin hidden underneath. If nothing else, at least he got a good tan on this trip. Meanwhile, his money, time, and relationship had all gone to pot. Not to mention he’ll have loads of work to catch up on from skipping out of classes for a week. Why did he ever let Ellen talk him into coming to the Bahamas?

  The handle on the dressing room door turned slowly.

  “Finally,” Steve groaned, rolling his eyes. It doesn’t matter how good it looks, just give her a q
uick ‘no,’ he reminded himself. Sure, she’d be pissed for a while, but she’d get over it. He’d already seen this price tag and knew his wallet couldn’t bear much more abuse.

  “What do you think?” Ellen asked. Pushing the door open wide, she spun a slow circle in front of Steve.

  The black string bikini caught the fluorescent lighting, shimmering as she turned. It rode low across her hips and tight across her chest, leaving little to the imagination. Steve swallowed hard. His eyes widened as his brain went blank, immediately forgetting his resolve to reject it no matter what. With eyebrows peaked high on his forehead, he released a low whistle, a dazed expression forming across his face. And here he thought she’d looked hot before.

  “Well?” Ellen placed her hands on her hips, her mouth turning into a pout. “What do you think?” she repeated.

  Steve quickly glanced over each of his shoulders. The store appeared nearly empty, its retailer preoccupied with helping the few shoppers purchase their selections. Without a word, Steve stepped inside the dressing room, locking the door behind him.

  Ellen’s face registered surprise. “What are you doin–”

  But Steve silenced her question by placing his mouth firmly against hers, shaping it to his will. His hands sought her skin, eager to hold her close to his body. His fingers traveled up her bare spine until she shivered with pleasure. He loved it when she did that.

  Then a small voice rang out inside his head, What about Alyssa? I thought you were ready to dump Ellen as soon as you got back.