Triton (3 page)

The passengers cheered. The rocket climbed slowly, as bright as the sun, burning an arc through the heavens and flooding the Atlantic with blinding white light. It could have been daytime.

The sound wave rippled the water’s surface with lightning speed and slapped his chest. The blast of air tore at his skin, throbbed his eardrums, echoed in his lungs. Behind him, glasses clinked on tables. He opened his mouth to breath, but all that entered was the roar of two million pounds of solid fuel burning underneath the Triton IV rocket.

And for a moment, he forgot everything—Brynn, the gulf between him and his parents, the fire. In that moment, watching,
feeling
, the rocket streak into the sky, he only felt pride.

On the open
air portion of deck fourteen at the back of the ship—the stern—Cedar let out his breath slowly, mesmerized by the blinding flare of the Triton IV thrusting skyward. The rocket burned like a torch atop a growing column of smoke, its reflection splintering on the water.

Next to him, Brynn stood just as mesmerized, her hands firmly clamped over her ears.

At midnight tomorrow, the Crew Exploration Vehicle would reach the interference zone, and Cedar knew what they would find. Some kind of radar jammer the Soviets had put up back in the sixties.

Nothing mysterious at all.

Though fainter now, the rhythmic thumping of burning propellant still made his ears ache. A projection screen in the Aquatheater below them still showed the rocket hurtling through the hazy upper reaches of the atmosphere.

The sight of the launch brought tears to his eyes, and for a second, washed away his demons. Everything. His anger toward his dad, his guilt over his mom’s death . . . and now his terrible remorse for pushing away Brynn, the only person in the world who still mattered to him. For a second, that was all gone.

The Vanishing Girl

After the launch
, the first sea day passed without incident, just the unbroken Atlantic stretching horizon to horizon. The following evening, Brynn, Cedar, and their dad emerged from the elevators on deck four and entered the theater for the ten o’clock Headliner Show, which would feature singers, musicians, and a Broadway magician famous for his vanishing girl act—the renowned Zé Carlos.

The Opal Theater sat 1,380 guests and rose a full three decks. Purple and blue lights lit up row upon row of suede seats, already packed.

They descended the aisle and slid into their seats in the second row, which Brynn had had the foresight to book with their dad’s credit card months earlier.

Now she leaned forward eagerly, as the show began. She was most excited about the magician.

Cedar suffered through
the singing and dancing acts without comment, but when the fraud magician came onstage and began his chicken-like posturing, he could barely take it anymore.

“The magic is a gift,” Zé Carlos boomed in a stilted Brazilian accent. “They kidnap me and take me into jungle for a year. They take everything—my family, my possessions, my memories. For a whole year, evil lives in my body, it feeds off me. When I begin to remember again, when I begin to wake up, I have this gift . . . this
magic
.”

“Look at that loon,” Cedar sneered aside to Brynn. “What an idiot.”

“Shut up,” she hissed.

“I require a volunteer.” Zé Carlos swept his cloak over his shoulder, and the spotlight cast ominous shadows under his sharp cheek bones. “A young lady, if you please.”

Next to Cedar, Brynn’s hand flew up. Of course.

“Brynn, put your hand down,” he said.

Instead, she raised it higher.

Zé Carlos paced the stage, peering intently out into the audience. His eyes settled on Brynn. “
Perfeita
,” he said. “The lovely blonde in the second row, if you please.”

Brynn giggled and climbed to her feet.

Cedar went rigid. “
Don’t
,” he warned, grabbing her arm.

“Cedar, stop it,” she whispered.

“Sit down.
Now
.”

She glared daggers at him, tugged her arm free, and pranced onto the stage, where she smiled shyly at the crowd. The little narcissist.

Cedar planted his palms on the armrests, ready to jump to his feet and drag her back to her seat if need be, but his dad’s hand landed on his arm, halting him.

“Let her enjoy it.” His alcohol-soaked breath washed over Cedar, potent enough to fumigate the theater. “It’s a
show
.”

“Her whole life is a show,” Cedar spat, but he sank back, defeated. He glared at her instead, teeth gritted.

She always got picked.
Always.
Her blonde mane stood out in a dark crowded theater like a homing beacon. Oh, and how she loved the spotlight.

Zé Carlos admired Brynn with a raised eyebrow and a satisfied smirk. At the hungry look in his eyes, Cedar’s fists tightened.

The magician raised a gloved hand and waved her over to a plain table, which he had spread with a red tablecloth.

He circled her. “This is terrible,” he said, taking a strand of her glossy hair between his fingers. “They will be too focused on you; they will miss the trick entirely.” He turned his head back to the crowd and gave a wink, which earned him a chorus of laughter.

Touch her like that again, and you die in your sleep
. Cedar’s forearms strained against the armrest.

Brynn flashed a camera smile and tucked her hair behind her ear, as if her ego wasn’t large enough already.

“But enough preening—” Zé Carlos clapped his hands. He gave her a boost onto the table and instructed her to stand perfectly still.

For the first time in her life, she did as she was told. Chin held high and hands rigid at her side, she didn’t budge an inch . . . from the looks of it, she had even stopped breathing.

Cedar edged forward. What the hell was this voodoo?

With one hand tucked behind his back and flamboyant theatric flair, Zé Carlos circled the table, lifting the tablecloth at each corner so the audience could see there was nothing underneath.

The rest of the stage was well lit . . . drenched in light, in fact. Cedar tilted his head, trying to catch a shimmer of wire or a pane of glass, but he couldn’t spot the mechanism.

“The illusion,” Zé Carlos shouted suddenly, stepping in front of Brynn and interrupting Cedar’s thoughts, “is not the vanishing girl . . . the illusion is reality
itself
. The girl was never here.” He snapped his fingers and stepped to the side.

The audience gasped.

Cedar saw it
happen, and his eyebrows tightened. Atop the table, Brynn’s body become translucent. Through her torso, he saw the ruffled curtains at the back of the stage. She was fading right before their eyes.

She raised her arm and peered at it, as if aware that she was vanishing. At the sight of her own ghostly arm, her mouth fell open. Fear crossed her face. Wide-eyed, she gaped at her audience, threw one last terrified glance at Cedar, and faded completely.

Then the tabletop was empty. Brynn was gone. Vanished. Just like that.

The crowd erupted into applause, a few even stood. Zé Carlos bowed.

But Cedar felt none of their delight. He scanned the stage, the back of his neck bristling. He had never seen a magician do a vanishing act on such a well-lit stage, with no props, no places to hide. Right in plain sight.

And where was Brynn? With a final bow, Zé Carlos swept his cloak over one shoulder and strode off the stage through the side curtain.

Oh hell no . . . this was
not
happening.

The lights dimmed, and a pair of figures dressed in black ran onto the stage.

Cedar squinted into the darkness . . . No, just stage hands, carrying away the table. He swiveled in his seat and scanned the aisles, heart thumping. Where was she?

Something was wrong.

The lights dimmed further, leaving him blind. Onstage, a spotlight illuminated a woman in a glittery dress—the next act. She started singing.

No. No, no, no. When you made someone’s little sister disappear, you brought them back. That was part of the contract.

You didn’t just leave them like that, hanging in limbo.

“Where’d she go?” Cedar said.

“Jesus Christ,” his dad barked. “Just sit tight. It’s all part of the show.”

“She’s supposed to
un
vanish.”

“She’s backstage.”

“I never should have let her go.” Before his dad could stop him, Cedar elbowed into the aisle

“Cedar,
sit down!
”

He ignored the command. At the corner of the stage he swung a leg up—drawing a wary glance from the singer—and clambered onto the three foot high platform. The singer’s voice wavered. No one else seemed to notice, though; the spotlight was on her. Cedar barged through the curtain, shoved past a few technicians in the wings, and burst through a double door into a maze of corridors. He found Zé Carlos smoking in a backstage lounge.

“Where’s my sister?” he spat.

“
Perdão, senhor
, you are not allowed backstage.” Zé Carlos rose to his feet and waved him out, his English more stilted than it had been on the stage

Cedar didn’t budge. “Where’s my sister?” he repeated. “The blonde girl you made disappear, where is she?”

“
Senhor
, you must go.” He took another drag from his cigarette.

Cedar plucked the cigarette from his mouth, and flung it aside. “Not until you bring her back, asshole—”

Eyebrows arched, the magician reached sideways, flicked his wrist with a dash of panache, and closed his fist around empty air. When he opened his hand again, he held the burning cigarette between his fingers . . . as if by magic. Eyes locked on Cedar’s, he brought it back to his lips for another hit.

“See, you made
that
reappear,” said Cedar, pointing at the glowing butt. “You did it right that time. Now make
her
reappear.”

“I not do illusion,” he said. “I tell you already, your sister never there.”

“You expect me to swallow that crap?”

He shrugged. “I sorry. Cannot help you.”

Cedar gritted his teeth and jabbed his finger at the magician’s chest. “You’re an asshole.”

“I’m not so sure you point at right person.”

“His vanishing girl
act,” said Cedar. “He made her disappear and never made her reappear.”

In his office across from the dressing rooms, the Assistant Stage Manager regarded him calmly across a wide oak desk, fingertips pressed together. “I assure you Zé Carlos didn’t actually make your sister vanish.”

“No shit, Sherlock. He kidnapped her and stowed her away somewhere on this boat.”

“Ship,” the manager corrected.

Cedar steadied his breathing...
she’ll be okay
. She’ll be okay. It will not end up like it did for Mom. “Stop the show,” he ordered. “We need to find her.”

The manager raised his palms. “No need to be hasty. I’m just trying to understand what’s going on here.”

“Ask any one of those people back there,” said Cedar, his voice rising. “Not one of them saw her reappear.”

“Zé Carlos claims he sent her back to the audience after his act.”

Cedar made fists then splayed his fingers in exasperation. “He’s a magician, for God’s sake. His whole career is based on lying and deception, and you
believe
him?”

“Perhaps she returned to her seat after you left to look for her.”

Cedar chuckled. “Now that would make me just plain stupid, wouldn’t it—?”

“Cedar!” said a girl’s voice from the doorway. He spun as Brynn stuck her head into the office. “Dad said you were making a fuss. I got back to my seat right after you left to look for me, dumbass.”

“The two astronauts
aboard the Triton Four Crew Module are reporting minor radio-frequency interference as they near the rendezvous. So far, though, all onboard systems appear to be functioning,” said the NBC newscaster. The image blurred, melting into static, then came into focus again.

Naomi rolled onto her side and turned up the volume. Everyone aboard
Cypress
got satellite TV streamed directly to their cabins, but the dish was at the top of the ship, sixteen decks and more than two hundred feet above her. Considering the maze of wires the broadcast had to navigate to get to her mom’s cabin below the water line, Naomi was impressed there wasn’t even more static.

The newscaster continued. “. . . the Triton crew module is expected to pass into the interference zone sometime within the next thirty minutes, at which point Earth will lose all radio contact with the spacecraft. NASA will continue to update us on the astronauts’ status, but as to what they find up there . . . that will remain a mystery until their return on Thursday.”

The newscaster changed to a more jovial tone. “The hot spot of electromagnetic interference has been nicknamed the Bermuda Triangle of outer space—”

Naomi clicked off the news. Just a big tease, that’s all it was. The astronauts were less than thirty minutes away from making contact with whatever was up there, and no one else even got to see it.

She could hear the crew bustling outside along the I-95, the main passageway through the upper crew deck, still busy even now.

Her mom had been up before six for the early breakfast service, long before Naomi awoke. They hadn’t seen each other since. Now it was nearing midnight. With a yawn, Naomi rose from the bottom bunk and stretched out in the tiny cabin.

Well, if she didn’t get to see her mom, then she may as well make the most of the evening. She recalled a cool teen hangout on deck fifteen that was worth a shot.

She combed her golden brown hair, put on some makeup, and headed to the upper decks.

Cedar’s relief that
his kid sister had not, in fact, been abducted by a Brazilian magician named Zé Carlos was short-lived. The rest of the show had sucked, and now he sat at the bar in The Living Room—a teen hangout on deck fifteen—one eye fixed on his sister’s game of foosball and one eye intent on the diagrams he had nabbed from the jerkoff illusionist.