Travel via Leviathan is slow, boring, and isolating. Unfortunately for Summer, it has to be done. She has to get the wreck of the Chariot back. If she can haul Haven’s remains up from the depths, maybe she can apologize to the governments of the world that sponsored it - America, India, Japan, and other high-tech powers with a space presence.
She’s brought along a laptop, and plugged it into the Leviathan interior’s power hub. She brought a selection of print material as well, just in case she gets tired of looking at screens. By the time the spooky mechanical kraken arrives at its destination, it’s been hours and hours and hours. She has exhausted all of these options and is laying on her back, rhythmically kicking the walls to try and cope with her cabin fever.
The actual scan for Haven’s remnants shouldn’t take long. It’s a big honkin’ space station broken in two, made of metal, with a silhouette that would stick out against any natural geography. And sure enough, there it is.
Summer runs lights across the exterior. There’s scorch marks from re-entry, plus plenty of damage and overgrowth from its time underwater. The interior is probably totally gone, the way the Chariot’s cockpit was damaged by her oversight.
She wonders if the visitors to the station were allowed to bring anything personal with them. If so, it would still be in there, waterlogged and potentially destroyed. She could go rummaging - or she could mind her business, and respect any privacy the station’s inhabitants once had. She opts for the latter.
The Chariot’s grapples have long since disengaged with the loss of system power. The Leviathan has no trouble extracting the aerospace craft from the grave of the Haven station. After a few attempts, she realizes extracting Haven itself would be another matter.
She launches a buoy. When it reaches the surface, it’ll start broadcasting.
This got handled. Finally, I can relax, she tells herself.
Unfortunately, the return trip will take even longer.
The Leviathan docks with Safe Harbor, and Summer operates the cargo winches to haul the wrecked Chariot onto a dry and level surface. Once she’s out and everything’s unhooked, the Leviathan swims away, and she waves goodbye to it.
The next hour is spent inspecting the Chariot for anything salvageable. The hull itself, being basically a very large tapestry of woven buckytubes, can be cleaned off and repurposed. But everything inside that is damaged badly enough to be useless.
Summer sighs, and wipes her brow. She was so excited to have her own cool jet. Now, the prospect of building a second one from scratch just feels like a chore.
She doesn’t find Otto in the control room. Minato isn’t here, but one of the other Blood has taken over for her. “Where’s the big guy?” she asks, and she’s directed to the conference room.
Otto is there, along with a new face. They’re sitting, but Otto rises, as does the stranger, when Summer enters.
“This is Dr. Somsak Panya,” Otto says by way of introduction. The stranger is short, a little stocky, with a perpetual smile on his face and graying hairs at his temples. He thrusts out his hand like a knight ready to joust, and Summer shakes with an equally bright smile.
“Dr. Panya’s going to be staying with us for uh, two years. He’ll be teaching us nuclear fusion, and we’ll be building a plant on site. I’ve already promised him our cooperation, and uh, of course, our discretion about his current whereabouts.”
Summer beams. “Of course. Dr. Panya, pleasure to meet you. Summer Newman.”
“I’ve heard!” the doctor says enthusiastically, and Summer turns to Otto in surprise.
“We were just talking about you, in connection with this,” explains Otto. He holds up a tablet.
Summer can read the news headlines. “Rescue Robot Charms Station Survivors”.
She scans the article, then looks up in confusion. “This is… an article about me? I just talked to those people, like…”
“Two days ago,” Otto says. “Lose time in the Leviathan, huh?”
Summer glances back at the tablet. “They have my high school yearbook photo. They say… what is this? ‘The robot girl demonstrated her capabilities, but more importantly, her compassion, in comforting a room full of frightened dignitaries and celebrities, including…’”
Otto smiles warmly. “Looks like Safe Harbor has a new face for PR, at least while Aria is on vacation.”
Summer holds up a finger. “That is not what I signed on for, Otto. I cannot handle this kind of pressure right now. I just signed up to help you guys out on rescues, not-- not-- be famous, all of a sudden.”
Otto tilts his head. “I hear ya, sunshine. Listen. I’m not trying to lay anything on you, okay? Just saying that when people come calling on us, they’ll probably want to talk to you. So be prepared, yeah?”
Summer frowns, and backs down. “Yeah. Yeah. I get you. Sorry.”
“S’all good.” Otto waves the issue away with a dismissive swipe of one hand. “You sound like you need a break. I’m gonna run Dr. Panya around, let him meet the Mysterious High Council of Seven, show him Mancini’s plasma gear, talk about carbon refactory temperatures, all that fun sexy stuff.”
Summer’s head snaps up. “Peter Mancini. Hey. Otto, should we be worried about that? He licensed the plasma tech to us, and Aria gave him Leo’s carbon construction in return. If the feds are on our neck - if Tyran is after us - shouldn’t we–”
Otto cuts her off with another wave of the hand. “Aria handled that, Summer. Nobody except Peter Mancini knows it’s us. And he’s got a gentleman’s agreement to let us keep using the stuff as long as we let him keep using our stuff.”
His tone grows more serious. “Take a breath. Take a step back. Let go. Go do whatever you gotta do to relax and re-center. Okay?”
“Okay,” Summer murmurs. “Thanks, Otto.”
She smiles at Dr. Panya, who smiles back, and gives Otto a brief hug. Then, she heads out, uncertain of where she should go, but certain she needs to go somewhere.
She needs to get out of Safe Harbor.
She briefly thinks about going back to Ibiza, finding another party boat, maybe a nice looking boy with not too much in his head–
No, she tells herself. That’s snack food for the soul. I do not need empty calories right now.
She settles for London.
The portal opens over the strait of Dover. She flies northwest until she sights land, then keeps flying, eyes peeled for signs. If she follows something called the M2 and/or the A2, she should eventually reach London.
If people are surprised to see a flying girl, they don’t show it. She receives some waves from pedestrians, and a few car horns she assumes are meant in support. She waves back when she can. The rest of the time, she’s busy thinking.
I’m flighty. That’s my problem. That’s always been my problem. I had Leo to keep me grounded, a long long time ago. Then I left him, to be myself. Only I came back to him, because friend or lover or whatever, who I was is someone who needed something like him.
Now I’m just floating aimlessly. I lived up to my goal - I told people I was a robot. They even wrote an article about me. And now I’m running away from it.
She sets down - it wouldn’t be a good idea to test the air defenses or superheroes of a new city, she reasons, especially without a visa - and starts walking. It’s cold and drizzling, so she projects a sky-facing screen as an umbrella.
Hands in pockets, she stalks into the city.
Alycia kept me anchored. She was so serious. There was nothing romantic there - but I didn’t need there to be. Being her friend was intense enough to keep me focused. But now she’s off doing missions for the former Director, I guess. Or - on the run, because of some kind of data leak? Either way, she isn’t answering her phone any more.
There’s a store labeled “ALDI” nearby, and she wanders into it.
As she wanders the aisles, looking at vegetables and produce and canned goods and such from another country, she realizes she’s run out of excuses to tell herself.
I signed up with Otto’s crew to have fun. I was going to do the rescue stuff seriously, and I did. I put Radiance away just a bit and switched gears, but… it was just kind of a hobby, wasn’t it. Not a commitment, not the way it is for Otto. I wanted to look cool, and feel independent.
In the frozen foods section, Summer hangs her head. She doesn’t cry, but she wants to.
She feels a hand on her arm, and looks up. An older man, dressed like an employee, is looking at her. “Miss, may I be of assistance?”
She makes a show of patting her pockets, and smiles weakly. “You know what, I forgot my wallet. I’m sorry. I’ll come back later.”
The man watches as she walks out, back into the rain of London.