Sarrah’s parents lead them away from the small crowd of others presumably waiting for their children, and take them to a hover skiff about half the length of the troop transport that carried them to the gym. It’s the same off white seashell colour as the military transport, with much of the general smooth curved shape, though a wedged bottomed boat hull, but with landing gear keeping it upright. It has six seats, all facing forward, three in the back, three in the front, the middle one with controls. Behind the seats rests the glowing blue propulsion orb, sitting at rest instead of rapidly spinning.

  Sarrah stops to stare at the skiff with mild shock. “You brought the skiff.” She states, wide eyed. Then she looks at her parents, and her eyes go wider still as she registers what they’re wearing. Her father, in his orange robes, the colour found in a sunset, tailored tightly with subtle patterns running throughout, with a light blue ascot and enchanted glasses, while her mother wears a cerulean dress that gives the impression of crashing waves, with matching hair, cut short to a hand’s length. Both are much fancier than anything Allia has ever seen them wearing.

  The father, Gerrald, shrugs. “Why wouldn’t we?”

  “But you only use that for work. The discreteness…”

  “We can afford it,” Gerrald says, continuing to the car without looking back. “It’s really not as much as you’re thinking; it’s an efficient model.”

  “But…” Sarrah starts, but is interrupted by her mother, Rachael, sternly, but warmly, saying her name.

  “Sarrah. You sent us a sprite saying you were about to be taken into military custody. We decided it would be a good idea to appear more affluent than the middleclass, middling mage family that we are. So, we took a few minutes to change, use a few items on our hair and took the skiff so that we would look like people who could afford to casually take the skiff.” The tone is a mixture of ‘of course this is the obvious thing to do’ and ‘because we love you’.

  “Oh, sorry. I just wanted to let you know I was safe. I didn’t mean to alarm you,” Sarrah says, drooping her head a little.

  “Hey, don’t worry about it.” Gerrald pulls her in for a side hug as they continue to the skiff. “You didn’t alarm us. Just with everything going on, we wanted to prepare what little we could. You know, take a little control back. Besides, if more fighting broke out, it would be better to have the skiff with us. Most importantly though, it saves us the walk back home.” He cracks a smile at the last part and playfully ruffles her hair.

  “It’s not that far of a walk.” Sarrah wipes her tears, but manages to smile back.

  “But it’s not a short one either.” Rachel counters and climbs into the skiff’s pilot seat. “Come on, dinner will dry out if we don’t get it out of the warmers.”

  Gerrald climbs into the seat next to her, and the two girls climb into the back. There’s a metal and glass canopy that can slide into place, but Rachel decides to leave the cabin open as they aren’t going very far or fast.

  Rachel takes them straight up, the propulsion orb silently lifting them. Rather than turning on her lights, which would disturb those potentially sleeping below, she relies on a pair of screens. The first one shows an outline of the approaching topography, and the second is a two-dimensional plane that detects the beacons of other hover vehicles. The latter shows a dot for hover craft and an arrow above or below it for relative elevation. A beeping noise emits when other hovercraft get too close at the same elevation, or are changing elevation towards them at a greater distance.

  “Looks like the army has turned on the ceiling beacons,” Rachael says irritably as she touches a sequence of glyphs to calibrate the various equipment. “No civilian craft above 50 feet.”

  “Well, it’s not like we need more than that to get home,” Gerrald says.

  “Yeah, but it’ll be a pain if they don’t lift it by tomorrow. Probably quadruple our travel time staying that close to the ground,” Rachel half-mutters as she finalizes the settings and sends the skip lurching forward with a faint hum.

  “Well, who knows. Maybe the client will cancel the meeting with everything going on.”

  “Let’s hope not. We need this client to…” She’s interrupted by a sharp look from Gerrald that turns into a glance at Sarrah in the back seat. “…I’m sure they’ll reschedule, though, and it’d be nice to spend time with Sarrah, since the school will probably be closed for a few days anyways.”

  Sarrah doesn’t seem to hear her parents and instead just stares quietly at the houses – brightly coloured by law to be visible from sea or sky even in a storm – pass by under them, her arm dangling over the side of the skiff.

  Allia, seeing her friend’s listless stare, silently leans her head on Sarrah’s shoulder. Sarrah smiles from the act of comfort, gently grabs Allia's hand and nudges her head with her own as they watch and listen to a much quieter city than normal after the attack. They fly along, over roofs and people walking under street lamps, hooded to force the light downward and not cause glare for those above and keep a few stars visible. Their muscles slowly relax, their breathing calms – falling towards a synchronized rhythm, but never quite reaching it – and the two begin to nod off together.

  Before they can fall completely asleep though, Rachel stops the skiff, deploys the landing gear and sets down in their moderately sized back yard. As the girls groggily climb out of the skiff, Gerrald nimbly goes to the house and unspools a thick cable, which he attaches to the skiff – rapidly absolving the skiff’s discreteness built up on their flight and transferring it to the house, which itself is connected to the city’s network.

  Rachel opens the back door and turns on the lights to reveal a cozy home. They go in through the reading room, where four wingback chairs and one chaise longue are positioned to take advantage of the ample natural light that comes in from the wide windows during the day. There are several bookcases and a coffee table strewn with notated maps and open reference manuals. A globe sits in one corner, and an ancient bust of some curly-haired figure sits in the opposite one, the head turned up and to the side.

  There’s an earthy, fishy smell coming in from the kitchen, where they find an oven set with multiple discrete warmers, one turned on, and a pot of simmering soup. Rachel flicks on the lights, and Sarrah makes a meaningful look at the food, then through the threshold to the dining room where the table is set formally with finely etched plates featuring complex silver and cerulean patterns.

  “We were going to celebrate your blossoming,” Sarrah’s mother says before she can even comment. “We thought we should make your favourite food and take out the good plates. Don’t worry, we’ll understand if you don’t have an appetite or just want to take some up to your room after all that happened.”

  “No, I…Um… I want to eat together. Especially after everything.”

  Rachel smiles at her daughter and gives her a shoulder squeeze, followed by a quick hug before taking the soup off the stove and carrying it to the table, motioning for the girls to sit and eat.

  It’s a tomato based clam soup with mixed vegetables. Sarrah takes a few bites, smiling at the flavour, but doesn’t eat very much. Allia, though, seems famished and quickly consumes her bowl. As the three eat, Gerrald is in the kitchen quickly sautéing a batch of prepared scallops in garlic butter and a bundle of asparagus in olive oil. After a few minutes, he brings them out in the pans, then goes back and retrieves the main dish from the warmer.

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  It's a seafood rice pilaf bake in a casserole pan. The rice is mixed with clams, crab chunks, red and orange bell peppers, mushrooms, sliced black olives and some tomato seasoned with a rich combination of spices. It’s topped with several whole fish and sprinkled with a hard, salty cheese.

  Sarrah smiles through the fatigue when she sees it, giving credence to the claim that it’s her favourite. Her appetite seems a bit restored from the soup and so takes a large spoonful of the bake, including most of a fish. Her smile intensifies upon taking her first bite of the bake, which she alternates eating between and the scallops. Though she quickly slows down again with each subsequent bite.

  Her parents look at each other, silently communicating some debate which Rachel eventually wins. “So,” she says tentatively, “how did your appointment with Professor Jai go?” She attempts to pronounce the first syllable of her name rather than just using the initial, but still manages to mangle it.

  “Oh, um," Sarrah perks back up, but with a faint bitterness in her eyes, “she confirmed the tests we did and said there probably aren’t any medical changes, though she’s sending stuff to be tested. I guess I still love Dad’s cooking, so probably nothing dietary either. We ruled out the common passives and most of the uncommon ones too. Beyond that, we couldn’t figure anything out. We had another appointment for next week, but who knows if that’s still on.”

  “Well, the important thing is that you’re healthy. Figuring out the manifestation can wait,” Gerrald says, smiling reassuringly.

  “Yes, and it’s not like whatever it is will really impact you if you go into research like you plan,” Rachel says, reinforcing his tone of support.

  Sarrah nods slowly. “Yeah… I know. Well, I guess I thought maybe if I got something powerful, I could tag along on one of your surveys over the summer.”

  “Oh?” her mother says in surprise. “Are you thinking of changing career plans?”

  Sarrah shakes her head emphatically. “I just thought it’d be nice going on a trip together. Camping and whatnot. Besides, it’s not like what you do is totally different from what I plan to.”

  “We’d love to have you,” her father says, “In fact, we’re touched that you’d rather spend time with your boring old parents instead of spending summer on the beach flirting with everyone who gives you a look like we did at your age.”

  “Dad…” Sarrah blushes. “I really can’t imagine you doing that while looking like that.”

  “What? You don’t like my robes?” he points to the bright orange outfit that does somehow go well with his short, spiky green hair.

  It’s Rachel who answers. “You look lovely, dear. Very sharp.” She briefly undresses him with her eyes, causing him to grin and Sarrah to blush more. “But um, you do look like you should be officiating a solstice ceremony.”

  “Hey…” he protests with an exaggerated ‘heart wound’ gesture.

  “Anyways,” Rachel says, turning the focus back on Sarrah, “you don’t need to worry about your manifestation. We have a location already scheduled where a bullet wand should suffice for safety. With that monster class you took last year, you should be able to get a temporary license for a carbine. If not, some of our old pistols should do. In fact, why don’t you come with us, Allia?”

  “Oh, um… I’d love to. If you’re sure, Mrs Bancroft,” Allia says, pausing mid-bite as she eagerly shovels pilaf into her mouth.

  “Allia, please, use our first names, and of course we’re sure. Right, Gerrald?”

  “Of course! You always brighten up the house when you’re around.”

  “Oh… then I’ll gladly come. This is very good, by the way, Mr… Gerrald. I think I taste some cardamom?”

  “Ah, yeah, that’s one of the spices. I’m surprised you can taste it since I went light with it.”

  “Oh, I’ve just been experimenting with it recently, so I’m extra sensitive to it lately. You’ll have to share the recipe.”

  “I’m glad you liked it.”

  “Is your business doing well then?” Allia asks, rapidly changing the subject back to the survey. “Since you’re scheduled all the way to summer?”

  “It’s been all right.” Rachel waves her spoon back and forth in a wishy washy way. “The summer survey is part of an annual expedition to the mainland organized by the league.”

  “The mainland?” Allia perks up. “Do you think you’ll come across any ruins?”

  Rachel shrugs. “There’s a good chance, given the area we’ve been assigned.”

  “Do you ever go in?” Allia asks, her eyes locked onto Rachel’s, begging for gossip.

  Rachel laughs. “No, no, never. Nothing so dangerous. We just mark them for the clear teams.”

  “Well, there was that one time,” Gerrald grins mischievously. “We were in the jungle and got chased by a pack of these lizard things with a particularly annoying batch of resistances. We ran inside and closed the door, but it turned out that it autolocked. We ended up …”

  “I don’t think Allia wants to hear about that time, dear,” Rachel says pointedly, glaring at her husband.

  “What did you do?” Allia says, enthralled and oblivious to her tone.

  “Oh, um,” Rachel softens her look as she turns to her, slightly blushing as she thinks. “Well, we had our supplies on us and had sent a sprite reporting our location that morning. So, we just waited a few days in the antechamber until the search team found us.”

  “Oh…” Allia says, clearly disappointed and gives Gerrald a questioning sideglance.

  “But to answer your question, Allia,” Rachel says rapidly in an obvious attempt to move the subject along, “business has been doing all right. New islands tend to form around this time of year, and our specialty is related to that. So, we’re often getting short notice requests to determine stability or potential shipping hazards. Not many can reliably do that, so the pay is good.”

  “I didn’t know you handled that. How often do new islands collapse?”

  Gerrald answers in a dry tone of someone who has given the answer a thousand times. “About 30% are stable, so 1 or 2 permanent additions to our lovely chain each year. Of those that collapse, 10% do so explosively. Our accuracy for stability prediction is over 90%, and we have never misidentified an explosive hazard, false or positive.” His chest swells with pride, then perks up more, having thought of something. “There have actually been a few ‘new’ islands with ruins on them.”

  “Really?” Allia says, excitedly looking between the two adults, assessing the truth of the statement. “I’ve never heard that!”

  Rachel sighs, giving Gerrald a look that is both chastising and immediately forgiving. “That’s because it’s restricted information. The islands are never stable, though never explosively so. They just slowly sink back down to the ocean floor. We still get called for them, though, just to see if they’ll last long enough to safely send a clear team.”

  “Do you think the ancients did something to cause the islands then?” Allia asks.

  Rachel shakes no. “It’s conceivable, but none of the teams that went in have found anything remotely powerful enough for something like that. We think either that the ancients got caught up in something natural, or possibly that they deliberately took advantage of the process. Still, there was at least one ruin with advanced items that seemed specialized for such situations, so who knows. At most, I would guess that they were causing their own islands to pop up and down, and the rest are natural.”

  “Do you have an interest in the ancients, Allia?” Gerrald asks. “Are you planning on studying them when you graduate?”

  “Oh, well, maybe? Isn’t everyone interested in them?”

  Gerrald shrugs. “I guess most people go through that phase, though I think they usually get used to the idea after a while. Though we do know a few experts in the field from clear and study teams. We could introduce you if you do decide to go that route.”

  “Oh! Well, thanks, Gerrald.”

  Sarrah, who has been watching the conversation with a smile that finds the exchange endearing but not able to overcome a greater weariness, sets her spoon on her barely empty plate with a clank.

  “I think I’m just going to go to bed. Thanks for the food, it was great as usual… but I’m just tired.”

  Rachel smiles softly at her daughter. “Of course, Sarrah. Rest well. There’s tiramisu in the cold box, have some whenever.”

  Sarrah smiles at the mention of the glorious treat. “Thanks. I’ll take some to my room.”

  She goes to the kitchen and retrieves the dessert, and Allia thanks her host and makes to leave.

  “Won’t you stay the night, Allia?” Rachel asks. “It is late, and we have the guest room made up. Besides, with everything that happened, we’d rather have you with us.”

  Allia considers briefly, then nods with a smile. “I’d be glad to. Thank you, Rachel. I guess I’d better have some of that Tiramisu too.”

  She takes her plates to the sink and takes a small plain white plate from Sarrah, which she, feeling an engraving on the bottom, turns over and sees that, like the fancier plates on the table, it’s enchanted to maintain the heat of food placed on it. Intrigued by the efficiency of the design, Sarrah has to make a ‘ahem’ sound as she tries to serve her friend a piece, causing them both to briefly giggle.

  Rachel calls out to them as they pass the table on the way to the staircase. “And girls, we figured you’d be too tired tonight, but we will be around in the morning if you want to talk about what happened tonight. Our job doesn’t usually take us into such situations, but we do have some experience with it and can maybe help you process. Both of you, whenever you want. Tonight, or later. Wake us up if you need. Okay?”

  The two girls nod. “Thanks, mom… I’ll do that.” Sarrah has a single tear down her face, but is mostly too exhausted for more emotion.

  “Good night,” they say to each other, and the girls walk up the stairs.