War Surf by M. M. Buckner Page A

gear.”
    Winston patted a spot on his sofa. “Lie here, Sheeba girl. This is nice and comfy”
    “No.” I steered her to my personal futon. “Sheeba stays with me.”

4
WE HAVE RULES
    “The rapid progress of the sciences makes me, at time, sorry that I was born so soon…All diseases will be cured, even old age.”
    -BENJAMIN FRANKLIN
    Sheeba fell among us like a raindrop among hard crystals of salt. However each of the Agonists may have felt about her, we all coveted her youth. I see it clearly now. Waiting in this anteroom with its murky fluorescent light, I see how we envied and desired her, how we competed for and against her. We longed for her unblemished surfaces. We craved her oblivious good cheer. In our separate ways, we yearned to steal inside her and dissolve.
    “Your hands look rough, dear. You mustn’t be careless with your skin.” Verinne squeezed a drop of pearlescent lotion into Shee’s palm. “I’ll lend you my cream. It’s made from human milk.”
    “Wanna watch me bench-press?” Grunze flexed to show her his muscles. “Fifty says you can’t lift a tenth the weight I can. Come on, Shee. I dare ya.”
    “Poor Sheeba, no wonder you’re clumsy. Your feet are huge.” Kat made a sucking sound with her teeth. “Didn’t your mother tell you about hormone control?”
    Winston took her in his arms. “Hiya, Shee. Let’s do a movie tonight.”
    Leave Sheeba alone, I wanted to roar at them. Shee’s my guest. I found her, I’m paying her way. But of course I didn’t say that. Instead, I complained about aches and coaxed Sheeba into giving me extra massages. And I bought her things.
    Right after the party when I finally sobered up, my first urge had been to kick myself in the head for inviting Shee to a war surf. The risk, ye gods! But my darling girl talked nonstop about surfing. She attached some kooky spiritual meaning to the zone, and her enthusiasm for my sport secretly thrilled me. She kept gazing at me with moony eyes, chattering about the dark canal, and asking when we could go. Her attitude caromed from breezy playfulness to grave fascination. I couldn’t let her down. So I decided it would be okay to take her through an easy Class One zone. And I vowed fervently to watch over her and keep her safe.
    Kat’s space shuttle needed maintenance, so she had to go offworld for a while. And Grunze had to get his ailing quadriceps replaced with electroactive polymer, a grueling operation but worm every wrenching spasm, according to his doctors.
    Consequently, I organized an easy Class One expedition with just Sheeba, Winston, Verinne and myself. We planned to cruise a little brouhaha raging between Gromic.Com and one of its seafarms. A place called MR407 in Bengal Bay.
    “Don’t forget to take off your signet,” I warned Verinne on the morning of our trip.
    She gave me her classic scowl—acerbic tight lips and one arched eyebrow. Then she removed her signet stud from her tongue.
    I said, “You, too, Win. The cops watch this seafarm twenty-four/seven. If they read our IDs, we’re scorched.”
    “Right, right.” Winston gamely tugged off Ms signet ring.
    My signet was permanently implanted in my earlobe, so I would have to cover it later with magnetic tape to block its beam. Cops patrolled the mutinous seafarm every hour, and if they picked up our signet readings, they would be able to identify us remotely and bring us up on charges of criminal trespass. The surfer’s second universal law was to remain anonymous. (The first was to remain alive.)
    My observatory windows looked out on 3:00 a.m. darkness as we sorted and packed our gear. Chad catered a trailer load of yummy snacks for breakfast. We intended to leave Nordvik before dawn, and for convenience, everyone had slept over at my place. Everyone except Sheeba. Sheeba had not yet arrived. She was late.
    Winston halfheartedly picked through his first-aid kit. “Who’s she screwing these days? I saw her with some new guy at the