Page 44 of Under Story

“I need to talk to you,” she says.

“Can this wait?” asks Eli.

The scientists look at Laurel, who feels acutely aware of her uniform. “No.”

She leads Eli to the empty grab-and-go area.

“I think I’ve figured something out,” she continues, “but I can’t tell you here. Can you meet me tonight? Nine o’clock, in the library?”

Laurel has never been to the library; she’s still working her way through the Le Guin collection from Skua. Still, it seems like neutral territory.

“Okay,” says Eli. Several of the physicists are watching, and he seems eager to leave as soon as possible.

Laurel spends the day in the dish pit, wondering how she can convince him of what she learned in her dream. An idea forms while she scrubs vats of crusted oatmeal. At eight, she brings two bowls of soup to Nita’s room.

“Is one of those for me?” says Nita. “You’re an angel. I haven’t left my room since breakfast.”

A virus has been making its way through the station. Laurel fell victim last week.

“Feel up to company?” she asks.

“Sure. But I blow my nose like a foghorn. You’ve been warned.”

Laurel takes off her baseball cap and settles against the wall. Stevie Nicks plays from Nita’s iPhone while they talk about Sam, who has started work at an organic farm in Humboldt County.

“I should let you rest,” says Laurel, when Nita’s voice becomes hoarse. “Quickly, though: funny question. Have you ever dived in the water off Cape Evans, near the Arc?”

Nita nods. “A few times.”

“What was it like?”

“Unusual. Typically, when it’s dark, you need a clip-on flashlight; the downside is that it scares away the animals. The Arc was so fluorescent that we could see just fine without one. What was even weirder,” Nita adds, “is that animals seemed to be drawn to it, even though the Arc was brighter than a dive light by several orders of magnitude. Octopuses usually live alone. I’d never seen so many in close proximity.”

Laurel tries to restrain her excitement. “The seabed, under the Arc. Does it sort of—curve downward? Like a semicircle?”

Nita’s gaze sharpens. “How do you know that?”

—

Louis is sitting cross-legged outside Laurel’s door with one of Charlie’s adult coloring books. He hops up when he sees her and says, “Let’s go bowling.”

Laurel squeezes his hand. “I have to go to the library.”

Louis balks. “Whatever for?”

“I want to get a book.”

“I wouldn’t, if I were you. The library is where people go to hook up.”

“I thought they use the sauna for that.” Laurel glances longingly at the nondescript blue door every time she passes it.

“They go to the library if the sauna is occupied,” Louis says.

After she opens the door, Laurel coughs to announce herself. There is shuffling, then shushing. Laurel pretends to inspect a tome on urology. A sweaty couple emerges from the rocks aisle and sulks toward the door.

The library is surprisingly cozy. Tall shelves are filled with donated books, and maroon chairs tuck into study desks. Between armchairs is a side table with a chess set, as well a vase of fake flowers that look passably real from a distance. At a larger table, a cup of popcorn has tipped over. Laurel cleans it instinctively, sitting just as Eli arrives.

“Hey,” he says.