Summerhill (14 page)

The smell of the hot stew made Summerhill’s stomach growl, but he wasn’t afraid of anyone actually hearing that. Mainly, it was just a painful reminder that he hadn’t gotten to finish it during the escape attempt after the sprinklers had—

The note! Summerhill had left himself a note telling himself to run, and he’d hidden it under the bowl of stew. This had to have been when he’d done it, right here and now. But how was he supposed to do that with Katherine barely keeping the chef distracted? She was only buying him enough time to make it from one end of the galley to the other, not to rummage around the kitchen trying to find writing utensils.

But this had to have been the time that he’d done it, and clearly, somehow, he’d succeeded, since he’d gotten the note to himself successfully the first time. How? He didn’t have anything to write with. But surely the galley staff had need to write things down. There had to be a pen and some paper in the kitchen somewhere, regardless of whatever advanced technology was prevalent.

Summerhill looked around from his low vantage. There were plenty of drawers and storage cabinets all around the small galley, but looking through any of them would make noise, and he couldn’t afford to do that—not without a better distraction, at any rate. Even finding the right drawer was a shot in the dark, but he reminded himself that, hey, apparently he’d succeeded at this once before. Maybe if he just went with his gut, it’d all turn out fine.

That still left the need for a convenient, untraceable distraction. What could he do from down on the floor behind the prep station? Something that wasn’t obvious, something that wouldn’t make the chef look right at him, something that—

Aha! In one of the bowls atop the prep bench was a heavy pile of some kind of alien root vegetable, something that had been used in the stew. These hadn’t been cooked, and were still fresh and alive. Summerhill reached out with his mind, found and isolated one of the vegetables, and willed it to grow.

He felt the root take on a longer shape, growing quickly but silently. It rode up the edge of the bowl, higher and higher until it became top-heavy enough to make the bowl spill onto the floor on the opposite side of the prep bench. Summerhill heard the chef call out in a squawk of alarm. Hopping up onto his knees, the dog pulled one of the drawers open, his head briefly popping up above the prep bench so that he could look inside.

The reptilian chef had hopped back and was scurrying about trying to pick over the spilled vegetables. Katherine, however, was looking right at Summerhill, shooting him a sharp look that told him that she knew exactly what he’d just done.

We can argue about it later
, Summerhill thought to himself in Katherine’s own words, and he quickly sifted through the contents of the drawer. Sure enough, tucked neatly to one side were a small pad of paper and a few pens. He grabbed one of the pens, tore a sheet of paper from the top of the pad, and jotted down the words:
“Get ready to make a run for it.”

He’d gotten the note written, but there was no way he was going to be able to get around the other side of the prep station and slip the note underneath the bowl of stew. Trying to magically knock another bowl over would make the chef suspicious, too, and might get Katherine in trouble at the same time.

Well, that just meant that Katherine had a vested interest in not getting caught, either. Summerhill slapped the piece of paper onto the counter, looked at Katherine, and did his best to mime putting the note underneath the bowl with his hand-like paws before he ducked out of view of both her and the chef.

He wasted no time in scurrying for the exit on all fours. Hopefully, Katherine would take the hint. “Here, let me help you with that,” he heard her say to the chef, her voice helping to cover the sound of the back door opening .

Summerhill was still getting back to his feet when Katherine came through the door a few seconds later. “What the hell was
that
about, mate?” she asked, motioning with her hand for him to keep walking down the short hall, toward the next door.

“What did you do with the note?” Summerhill asked, taking point. The next door opened directly into the stairway.

“I slipped it underneath the bowl like I think you told me to. Now would you mind telling me why you just risked both our asses by causing a scene like that?”

The stairwell was quiet, but Summerhill still kept his voice down. “When you brought me that stew earlier—well, earlier for us—I found a note from myself, to myself.”

Katherine stopped and leaned against the guardrail. “Why is nothing ever simple with you?”

“Hey, you’re one to talk. Besides, things are very simple with me; you just keep telling me that they can’t possibly be true.” Summerhill kept climbing upwards, trusting that Katherine would say when they’d reached the right deck. “But anyway, this brings up three very important things.”

“Oh? And what might those be?”

Summerhill held up his fingers as he counted. “First, if you haven’t brought me my dinner yet, that means the Consortium hasn’t gotten here yet. Second, if the Consortium isn’t here yet, then that means Security isn’t looking for you yet, either.” He smiled as he got to his last point. “Third, if Security isn’t on to you yet, then that means maybe you can make your case to the Chief and explain yourself before the Consortium gets here.”

It took Katherine a few moments to take that all in, but Summerhill could see her going over the ramifications in her head. She tapped her fingers together and she muttered under her breath, her voice too quiet for Summerhill to hear. “That doesn’t leave us a lot of time,” she said, having apparently done the mental math. “And there’s no guarantee the Consortium wasn’t here ahead of time. Still, I suppose it’s worth a shot.”

“I’ll go with you,” Summerhill said, stepping out of the way to let Katherine go on ahead and lead the way. “You know, in case you need a character witness or something.”

Katherine chuckled. “I’m sure the word of an eccentric stowaway will carry a lot of weight,” she said, but Summerhill could tell that she was merely teasing him, her voice lacking the faint nasal edge it had when she was really being snide.

“Fine. Maybe you can be the one vouching for me, instead,” Summerhill offered. “I’m not exactly supposed to be out of my cell, myself.”

As soon as he said that, Summerhill came to a stop in the middle of the stairwell. Katherine made it up to the next landing before she noticed, whereupon she turned to look back at him. “What’s wrong?”

Summerhill looked back at her, his brain spinning in a dizzy panic. “It’s about how I got out of my cell in the first place,” he said. “Right before the Consortium agents came chasing after you, the power to the brig shorted out—that’s how I was able to escape and come after you.”

“I remember the lights going out,” Katherine said. “I guess I just assumed that was some side-effect of the Consortium reality-jumping onto the ship.”

“So you didn’t see them do anything to override the power systems or anything?”

Katherine shook her head. “I just saw them round the corner before they started to come after me.”

Summerhill paced back and forth on the narrow step. He reached up and tugged at one of his ears while his other hand clenched and relaxed repeatedly. “Okay, how soon from ‘now’ do you come and bring me my dinner?”

“I’m not exactly sure. In around ten to fifteen minutes, I think? That’s just me going by memory.”

“All right. That still gives me some time.” The dog stopped his pacing. “How does the ship’s power system work?”

Katherine raised an eyebrow. “I’m not an engineer; I’m just a hostess.”

“Right, but you seem to know a lot about how the technology aboard the ship works,” Summerhill pointed out. “Where would someone go if they wanted to shut down power to the brig?”

“I don’t know. There are probably power distribution nodes all over the ship, but I haven’t the faintest idea where they’d be.” The hostess looked at him with confused impatience. “Mr. Summerhill, what does this even have to do with anything?”

Summerhill went back to fidgeting, his feet padding in a tight, constant circle. “All right, so,” he said, thinking aloud, “if the power is being redistributed, where does it all come from?”

“Well, the main power generators are located aft, with the reality jump drive, but—”

“How would I get there?”

“Please, we have to get to the Chief and figure out whether he’s already been in touch with the Consortium or not,” Katherine insisted, brushing off the interruption. “We can figure out the specifics of how they shut down the power later.”

Summerhill shook his head. “I don’t think it was them. I think it was us.” Planting one hand on the guardrail, he hopped down onto the stairway landing below. “And if I’m right, we might only have ten minutes.”

Katherine leaned over the railing and shouted down at him. “Mr. Summerhill, we don’t have time for this!”

For a brief instant, Summerhill felt like he could see the exact way that time had looped back on itself, bringing him and Katherine back to this point before their own escape. “You’re right,” he called back to her. “You head on to the Chief’s office. We’ll make this work.”

As Summerhill opened the door to the hallway one deck below, he heard Katherine’s voice booming through the stairwell. “Wait! I’m not sure this is such—”

The door slammed shut behind him, and Summerhill broke into a run. This was going to work, he told himself, because it had already worked once before. It was just like with the note and the bowl of stew—the fact that he was here now was evidence that he’d already succeeded.

It didn’t matter if he didn’t know how just yet. Somehow, he’d find the right power conduit or circuit breaker or whatever. He was filled with elation for having figured this out, and he found himself grinning like an idiot as he ran through the ship as fast as he could, arms swinging, tail lashing back and forth. His heart raced for reasons beyond mere physical exertion.

He skidded and turned and changed direction at L-shaped intersections, always opting to take the first turn that would point him back in the right direction. Katherine had told him ‘aft,’ and so that’s where he did his best to head. Doors and branching corridors whipped by as he ran along, but if time really was of the essence, then he had to just barrel on ahead in a straight line wherever he could. He’d reach the aft section eventually. Then it was just the simple matter of finding his way to the power generators and figuring out how to cut power to one very specific area of the ship, all while avoiding security robots, ship staff, and possibly the Consortium.

None of that was anywhere near as impossible as walking between realities or traveling back in time. Hell, considering the things he and Katherine had done together already, this would barely be a footnote in their—

Summerhill didn’t have time to react as someone came walking around the corner, right into his path. The dog collided at full speed, yelping as he lost balance. He heard the other’s cry of alarm, along with the thump of a body hitting the floor just before his own feet slipped out from underneath him and he pitched over as well.

“Sorry,” Summerhill babbled quickly. “Really, really sorry. I’m just kind of in a hurry because of some life-or-death plan to...”

His words trailed off as he picked himself up and saw the other form sprawled out on the floor next to him. There, flat on his back on the soft carpeting, looking dazed but otherwise unhurt, was the tuxedoed otter from the ballroom.

The otter from inside the pocket watch.

The otter who was so achingly and agonizingly familiar.

“Well,” the short little otter said with a chuckle as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. “That makes twice in one day. I hope this isn’t some weird new trend we’re setting.”

Summerhill swallowed a few times, working up enough saliva inside of his mouth to be able to speak. “You,” he said, pointing with a single shaky finger at the otter. “I know you.”

“Yes. We bumped into each other earlier, too. Though not quite this spectacularly.” The otter grunted softly as he braced a webbed paw on the wall and got to his feet. “I promise you, though, if you want me to notice you, you don’t need to hit any harder than that.” He let out a partial giggle through his lopsided smile as he rubbed his backside.

Something about that smile made Summerhill’s heart melt. He struggled to suppress a momentary flash of giddiness as he took a step closer to the otter. “No, I remember that. I just...” He tried to think of better words, more eloquent words, but none came to him. “Look, this might sound weird, but did we used to know each other, you and I?”

“You mean other than my nearly spilling your drink on you earlier?”

“Yeah. Before that.” Summerhill wrung his hands together. “And I apologize if that’s a stupid question, but I... I’m not sure I fully remember who I am.” He stared into the otter’s eyes. “But you—I feel like I know you.”

The otter smoothed out his tux, then smiled again. “It’s nice to think I could leave that sort of lasting impression on someone. But no, I don’t think we know each other.” A glimmer appeared in one of his eyes. “Well, not yet, at any rate. My name’s Tekutan.” He held out one of his webbed paws for the shaking.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Tekutan.” Summerhill took the offered paw and shook it, and his already racing pulse started to pound even harder and faster. “My name’s Summerhill.”

“My friends call me Tek.” The otter took his paw away, and for a moment, Summerhill was reluctant to let go. “Anyhow, I was going to head back to the ballroom, but it sounds like you had someplace else to be.” He intoned his words almost like a question and nodded down the hallway leading aft.

But now that he was here with this otter, Summerhill could scarcely remember what he’d been in such a rush to do. “Oh, it wasn’t that important,” he said, scooting closer still to Tek.

Tek smiled and let out an awkward laugh. “I believe you said something about it being life-or-death?”

“An exaggeration.” Now Summerhill was practically standing on the otter’s toes, and he reached down to take both of those little webbed paws in his own hands. “I can definitely make the time for someone like you.”
Time.
What
had
he been on his way to do?

There was some visible embarrassment on Tek’s face, and the otter shifted and squirmed a little, but he didn’t pull away. “I don’t want to keep you,” he said.

“And what if I want you to keep me?” Summerhill dipped his muzzle closer to the otter’s face and took a deep breath in through his nose. The insides of his nostrils tingled at the pleasant scent.

Now Tek’s pulse was running almost as fast as Summerhill’s, the dog could tell. “Well, if you want to come to the ballroom with me...”

“I was thinking someplace less public.” Summerhill closed his eyes and bent down to give Tek a kiss on the cheek.