Hulopoe Bay
Dr. Rebecca Thomas stared down at the book in her hooves, skimming the same heading she’d read a dozen times.
The generation and utilization of electrical energy is far easier than many of in the modern world realize. Nearly 95% of the electricity generated before the Event ended the word was produced using motion and the laws of electromagnetism. The basic principle of these laws is this: An electric field produces a magnetic field exactly perpendicular to itself, and vice-versa. Motion of permanent magnets perpendicular to coils of copper wire, then, can be used either to generate power as the rotor to which the magnets are attached is spun. Or, by rapidly alternating the direction of electrical flow in coils of wire, generate a magnetic field that causes the permanent magnets to spin (and thus the rotor and load to which it is attached).
Storing the power you generate is another matter, however. I anticipate your rebooting society will need to (at least initially) use the power as it is generated. Harnessing falling water per the wheel designs proposed earlier in this text will be most effective, simply attach the rotor mechanism with its magnets instead of a mechanical load. Sample diagrams follow. Remember, permanent magnets can themselves be created using ferrous metals and electromagnets, as previously instructed.
Rebecca examined the diagrams carefully, moving her hoof slowly down the page and comparing them with her own construction. She was enormously proud of what she’d built, strapped together largely with coconuts, bamboo, and lashings of thin grasses.
It looked like most things did in her camp, jury-rigged from whatever she could find on the island. A sturdy lean-two made from palm fronds and a floor of flat, square mud tiles. A burrow to store fruit she’d gathered, sheltered from the heat of the sun and the thieving paws of small animals. A spiked bamboo fence to protect her from predators, and to discourage the island’s natives from bothering her. It even did one of those things. Her clothing too—a woven skirt of grasses, a wide straw hat, all of which she’d made herself.
There were some exceptions. Most of them were still stored away on the research catamaran, dragged far up onto the beach, and lashed to large trees with sturdy nylon cord. Several flags still hung from the mast. The UN’s bright blue was at the very top, along with an American flag and that of the state of Hawaii. Various government identification markings were plastered to the catamaran’s expensive composite, only slightly bleached from their months in the sun.
Arrayed in Rebecca’s camp were several sturdy black waterproof crates, which she’d removed from the catamaran using what she had learned to call magic. She wasn’t sure if she liked the name—for all this “Archive” apparently knew about science and history, she made some dreadful choices in naming things. Magic, ponies, unicorns… couldn’t the author have found someone to ask for advice who wasn’t a small child?
The book in front of her might very well be the only reason Rebecca had lasted as long as she had. It was perhaps two inches thick, with a sturdy cover that shut out water when the straps were fastened.
“I hope this is what you had in mind, Archive.” Rebecca said to the book, as though it could listen to her. Aside from this clearly inhuman body, the book was the only new thing that had appeared when she had ‘returned’ from the event. Who was Dr. Thomas to talk to, if not its author?
“Well, here goes nothing…” Rebecca traced over the generator one last time. She had diverted a nearby stream, one that ran directly into the ocean, so that its water traveled down a chute and struck the open coconut shells of her generator sideways. All she had to do was pull the wooden stopper out of the way, and water would spill down. She had stolen copper from anything she could, though most of it had come from the catamaran’s outboard motor. It wasn’t like the boat was still seaworthy anymore anyway.
Rebecca pulled the woven rope, and watched as water gushed down the chute. It leaked in places, because of course it would, but most of it continued straight on towards the generator. It struck, and the rotor began to spin.
The DC input on her battery bank lit up with a faint green LED, the first sign of life she’d seen in months. Another second later, and the charging light came on.
Rebecca jumped gleefully into the air, squeaking with pleasure. It was working!
She caught her reflection in the polished steel surface of the battery bank, and froze practically mid-jump. A pink and yellow pony jumping up and down and making sounds that could’ve easily come out of a small child were not becoming of a respected international researcher in her sixties.
Dr. Thomas no longer felt like she was in her sixties. Her joints didn’t ache, it wasn’t difficult to wake up in the morning, and she didn’t feel strange pains in inexplicable places. Archive’s misnamed “Human Survival Guide” had an answer for that too, of course.
Rebecca looked back to the book, clearing her throat loudly, as though she had done something embarrassing in front of a colleague. “Yes, well. Great work. The shortwave should be working again by nightfall. If I ever get rescued, I’ll thank you in person.”
Of course the book had not responded. A book that was simultaneously a dozen different spells, a book that seemed to be a different length no matter what she needed to find, a book that had resisted water damage and followed her ashore when she’d been shipwrecked.
Still just a book.
Rebecca caught a flicker of motion out of the corner of her eye, and she wheeled around.
Like all the natives, the one standing there had no horn like she did, and no clothes. Her dark coat had been covered with stripes made from white mineral dye, a pattern that traced down her body in an obviously ritualistic way.
“Stay out,” she said, though she found it difficult to muster any real anger for the proclamation.
As usual the pony did not appear to understand her. If any of the natives could speak any language, they had never shown any sign of it. Mostly they looked at each other, made simple sounds that corresponded to a dozen different patterns, and pointed at things.
The filly ignored her command, lifting the spiked bamboo gate with her nose and squirming under in into the camp.
Rebecca hurried over, giving the pony her sternest, most disappointed scowl. “Don’t you dare touch anything, Pip.” She said, very slowly and clearly. “I don’t need your freak strength breaking my generator. Someone’s going to answer me, and I’m going to be off this damn island. You can do whatever you want to my camp when that happens.”
The pony only squeaked at her, before proceeding to bounce around her gear. She usually didn’t break things, not after as upset as Rebecca had been at her the first time. But the pony didn’t know her own strength. She was what Archive’s book called an “Earth Pony” which meant besides having a stupid name she also had the strength to break bones and bend steel.
Once she was certain the pony wasn’t going to decimate her camp, Rebecca made her way towards the catamaran beached on the sand, hopping up onto the deck. She passed several sets of dive gear, rusting slowly in their shaded cubby. Sealed crates containing her cameras, measuring equipment, and sample cases were still tied down above the pontoons, exactly where they’d been when she set off.
One case was bright orange, covered with reflective strips. Rebecca lifted it in her magic, turning and trudging back towards the shore with it. This was the emergency gear, designed for a situation just like this (well, maybe the transformation and end of the world stuff wasn’t usually part of it). She didn’t want to take the risk of some native deciding they wanted her flint or her tools.
Her “pet” native now sat on the side of the generator, watching it spin with awe on her face. Occasionally she would reach out with one hoof, poking it into the flow of water. Water would splash around her, land on the sand, and she retreated again.
Rebecca ignored her, setting up beside the battery backup. Already another status light had come on, indicating a 10% charge. Enough to try one call?
She couldn’t resist the temptation. Rebecca drew out the large shortwave set, lifting the antenna in her magic and hanging it from a low-hanging branch of a nearby tree. It was the best she would get, under the circumstances. She plugged in the “cigarettes-lighter” style DC plug into her battery backup, then switch the unit on.
The display came to life, and she was greeted with a pleasing crackle of static. Rebecca began scanning the available frequencies, searching for any sign of activity.
She refused to believe that she might not hear anyone. Refused to believe that, as the book claimed, “human society had collapsed many times and the continued progression of growth and technology is not inevitable.” Not because she didn’t believe it, but because she couldn’t believe it.
Her faith was rewarded. The static broke as she scrubbed up the band, and she heard a voice. What was even better, it was speaking English.
Well, speaking wasn’t quite right. The voice sung every word, as though singing along with a tune that Rebecca couldn’t hear. “And now projections for tonight. Spring tide is predicted at approximately 11:45PM for research outposts along Maui’s eastern—”
Rebecca’s heart began to pound in her chest. She took several deep breaths, then pressed the transmit button. “Mayday, mayday! This is Dr. Rebecca Thomas, captain and last surviving crew of the SS Interloper. I’m stranded near Manele-Hulope on Lanai island. Request immediate assistance, over.”
Rebecca released the transmitter button, still breathing heavily. The filly had stopped staring at the generator and was not wandering over to watch her, looking concerned. She tilted her head to one side, touching one of Rebecca’s forelegs with a comforting hoof.
“It’s… fine…” she said. “I just… this might actually happen.”
The weather update transmission had gone completely silent. Rebecca heard something moving around in the studio, and a sound like someone splashing around in the water. A few seconds later, a different voice. They were singing too, though to a different tune. An annoyed tune.
“Dr. Thomas, please remove your landsleeve. I can barely understand you.”
“I don’t know…” Rebecca took another long breath, then pressed the button again. “Whoever you are, I’m stranded on an island of barbarians. I was only supposed to be researching the reef… my colleagues are dead. God… please help me… I don’t know what to do…”
More static. “Dr. Thomas, this frequency is reserved for official communication. Please switch to…”
She obeyed, and soon enough they were continuing their conversation on another frequency. “You should know, I don’t have much time for this conversation. My battery is draining… and it’s going to be dark soon. Please help.”
“You’re only twenty miles from the Coda shallow-water research outpost… could you swim that far?”
“No!” she shouted. Are they seriously suggesting I swim across twenty miles of open ocean? “I thought about trying to repair my catamaran and sailing to Maui, but it was never meant to be sailed by just one person. With my crew dead…”
“Not Maui!” the speaker responded. “Out of the frying pan and into the fire… Okay! I’ve been on the horn with a rescue team. Just stick to that bay, they can make it to you within 48 hours. Do you think you can last that long?”
She relaxed. “Christ, it took me six months to get my radio working again. Between the barbarians, the monsters…”
“Arinna, really?” The speaker no longer sounded angry with her, or even a little annoyed. “Six months on land? You’ll be getting a performance deal for sure. Just tread water for a little while longer, help is—”
The radio shut off. The “Low Current” LED continued to flash, an electrical middle finger to her increasing frustration.
“It’s okay,” she sat back on her haunches, lifting Archive’s survival guide into her magic. “It worked, you magnificent bastard. It worked. There are still people out there, and they’ll be here in two days.
The native pony did not react to having her tiny island civilization called “barbarians.” Indeed, she seemed relieved that Rebecca was happy. She made a few happy-sounding noises, pointing at the radio.
“Yeah, that’s…” Rebecca trailed off. “You can’t understand me anyway. No point.” She turned away, surveying her camp. Just two more days, and she’d be free.
Rebecca packed the next morning, removing everything she valued from the catamaran and from her camp and choosing the two most intact plastic crates to carry it all. She stopped collecting fruit in her regular way, content to rely on her supply of dried and salted food for the remaining few days. She charged her battery, charged everything she had that could be charged, including all the HD cameras that were the biggest part of the reason she had come in the first place.
She even made a trip through the rainforest to the furthermost extreme of the island, where her colleagues were buried. There was no monument—Rebecca wasn’t religious, she didn’t have any illusions about that. But she remembered the spot thanks to an unusual boulder marking the spot where Carlos had jumped to his death.
What she didn’t manage to do was catch the radio transmission again. She heard a few weather reports, but they seemed to be coming in much worse than before, drowning in static that made it almost impossible to understand. Rebecca kept the radio out, at the top of that box, listening almost all the time.
She even dug out her fancy clothes, the ones she’d sewn from all her human stuff, which she’d modeled on a tight pair of trousers and a long-sleeved thin shirt, specifically for her rescue. She wouldn’t be returning to civilization wearing a woven reed dress and nothing else.
It was late in the evening, near the extreme limit of what would’ve been two days, that the radio began to crackle. This time it was loud and clear, the voice on the other end distinct. As distinct as its singing voice, though there was a gurgling quality to it. One she couldn’t quite place.
“This is Octet for equatorial shallow-water rescue. I’ve reached Hulopoe Bay, but I cannot see you. Dr. Thomas, can you hear me?” The speaker was obviously male, with the same singsong quality as the ponies she had previously heard.
Rebecca turned, looking over the bay. An orange sun cast warm reflections over the ocean, and she could see fantastically far. Far enough to see Kaho’olawe in the distance. She could see another island, but no trace of a boat.
She hurried back to the radio, scattering sand in her eagerness to get there. “Octet, this is Dr. Thomas! I’m waiting on the shore! My catamaran has a twenty foot mast, can’t you see it? Its reflection must be visible for miles!”
There was a brief silence. “Ah, I see you. I should’ve assumed from the voice. That’s an impressive landside camp for a shipwrecked scientist. It still doesn’t explain why you didn’t just swim out… did Coda not send you?”
“Where are you?” Rebecca asked, confused. “I don’t see a boat.”
“Boats are needlessly vulnerable to shipwreck,” came Octet’s immediate response. “I have a Cyclops parked just off the bay. Instructions to ‘Get you back to Coda if I have to drown every barbarian on that island wasteland to do it.”
“I still don’t see you…” Rebecca frowned out at the bay, squinting for some sign of this ‘Cyclops.’ She couldn’t find any. “I’m not sure I’d call it a wasteland. I miss Lanai city, though. There was this restaurant with the best Kimchi fries you ever tasted.”
“Ma’am, I have no idea what you just said,” a trace of annoyance found its way into the song. “But I really have been ordered to get you back home safe. I see you have storage cases for your land-side equipment. Do you need my help carrying any of it? Some of those look heavy.”
“Yes!” Rebecca couldn’t keep a little exasperation from her voice. “Please do. Maybe then you can show me where this Cyclops is.”
“One moment, on my way. Octet out.”
Rebecca unplugged the cables from her battery backup, then tossed it, the radio, and Archive’s survival guide into the open crate. She snapped the sturdy seals closed with magic, wrapped them about with salvaged nylon rope to make them easier to carry, and sat down to wait.
She continued watching the water, eyes alert for a rowboat or kayak that might suggest the position of her rescuer. She saw nothing, only the spectacular reflection of the sunset They couldn’t be lying, could they? Saw that I didn’t have anything to offer, then turned around? But why lie about it? It isn’t like I could do anything to them. Rebecca had little time to learn magic beyond the simple levitation the book had taught her. All the rest of her time had been spent surviving, fending off probes from the natives, and dealing with crippling depression.
Then the water began to move. Something wet emerged from the surf, and it was so bewildering that she nearly screamed and ran away. She didn’t, as much because of fascination as her desire to be rescued.
It appeared a sea-creature had climbed right up onto the land, and decided to take some of the ocean with him. Its body was covered in shimmering blue scales instead of fur, and he had only two legs. His body tapered into a fleshy tail rimmed with finny ridges that emerged from his… suit? Rebecca wasn’t sure what else to call it.
Water clung to the creature as it emerged, surrounding its whole body and following along as though it were solid. The one exception were hind-legs, which formed from water in the same shape as the forelegs though there were no limbs to mimic. The ‘pony’ seemed incapable of moving these limbs separately—it walked with one half of its body, then the other, a perfect imitation.
The creature walked right up to her, its big green eyes seeming almost bored. It wore a soaking-wet satchel on its back, which dripped water from a drainage hole at the bottom.
“Come with me, Dr. Tucker.” He sang to her, as though he were the main character of a musical stepping onto stage. “Your survival is impressive, but the time for land is over. Many are eager to hear how you made it this long. We should not keep them waiting. Leave the sleeve behind and swim with me.”
Rachel retreated a step. “Uh…”
“It isn’t even that long of a swim.” The pony reached out, hooking one of its forelegs around hers and tugging her towards the beach. His flesh felt soft, wet, and hand an unusual amount of give to it, like all the sea- creatures she’d dissected. “The cyclops isn’t even five hundred meters out. And if you’re worried about Charybdis…”
Rachel tore her hoof away, eyes wide. A number of details abruptly clicked into place for her. This creature was a seapony, they were named in Archive’s book. Little was said about them and nothing about their society, but… now it began to make sense. Why they’d been so amazed she had survived on land. Why they’d always sounded like they were somewhere wet on the radio. Why they thought she could swim twenty miles into the open ocean.
“I think you… maybe have a bit of a misunderstanding…” she said, pawing at the ground. “I don’t think I’m who you think I am.”
He stopped, frowning. His song now sounded quizzical. “Are you not Dr. Tucker? Sent to study this land and its barbarians?” He pointed to the carefully organized camp, the generator still spinning though its current had nowhere to go. “No songless mud-dragging primitive made this place.” He pointed at the boat. “Aluminum and carbon fiber don’t get made by ponies who can barely smelt iron.” Yet even as he said it, he seemed almost trying to convince himself. All the confident assurity of her rescuer was gone. “You’re singing our language! Tunelessly, but landsleeves always do that.” He tugged on the necklace around his neck. “Environment suits are better, no restrictions. But they don’t last that long. What kept you on the shore for that long, anyway?”
“I don’t… quite understand the context of all that,” she answered. “But I stayed on the shore because I can’t breathe water. I’m not a seapony, I’m a unicorn. I’m a refugee, from before the event. Dr. Rebecca Tucker. I was on the ocean with my colleagues studying the effects of acidification on reef biodiversity for the climate commission when…” she trailed off. “Well, guess that isn’t a problem anymore. No more fossil fuels, reef looks brilliant. Better than any photographs I can remember. Anyway…”
It was the other pony who had started backing away now, back towards the water. “You’re a barbarian,” he sang. “Or, almost… a refugee…” he shook his head. “Bring her back to Coda no matter what! Bring her safe!” He reached to his side, fishing around in the satchel with a hoof. He emerged a second later, holding a necklace in one hoof. Almost identical to the one he was wearing, though some of the colored bits of shell were in different positions. Her magical senses identified it as enchanted with a single glance.
Octet held out the charm as though offering a precious treasure. “Put this on, and follow me. Before I change my mind.”
“Uh…” Rebecca glanced between the seapony and the offered spell. It didn’t take her doctorate to guess what it would do to her.
“You want me to come with you…” she muttered. “Under the ocean? Why?”
“No, you should want to come with me,” he sang. “You’re an ancient one, you don’t understand. The surface isn’t the world it used to be, cousin. It’s songless, soundless, ruled over by primitive despots. Our brothers and sisters have all gone, their songs are quiet. If you stay up here, you’ll drag out your life in the dirt and die.”
Rebecca had seen no despots. She was, however, sick of this island. Her colleagues had killed themselves on it, the natives didn’t even have a language, and the restaurant she’d liked was gone. Maybe if she could get to the mainland… Archive’s guide seemed so optimistic about what the future would be like.
“Fine,” Rebecca took one last look at the island, than reached out to take the necklace. “I’m sick of Lanai anyway. But if you want to take me, you still have to help me with this stuff.” She gestured at her waterproof crates.”
“Fine!” the pony exclaimed, bending down towards the nearest one and tossing it towards the beach. “Get in the water before you put that on. The only thing worse than sand in your gills is… well, living on an island of barbarians for six months. That’s probably up there.”
Rebecca turned away from her camp, waving a silent goodbye to the natives with their village, the filly who always visited her who didn’t even have a name. Their lives were pretty good here, all things considered. They probably wouldn’t miss her.
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My lord, the Seapony society is hiding beautifully against Charybdis and the Surface Empires!? Cool!
Huh, we hadn't seen those before. Nice!
Wow! Seaponies! I didn't even realize that there were any left! I am VERY curious about this now o.o
Still a little confused as to how all this relates to the first chapter, but I'm still loving everything <3
Unda da sea. Unda da sea.
There's something amusing about hearing that from a seapony...
I wonder when we're going to find out who Arinna was. Even the non-primitive ponies seem to swear by Arinna now.
And the Archive book project was finally completed! Was that by Alex or her dream-fragment pony? It looks like it was an exceptional success in this case anyway.
Looks like the books are finally working!
Hope things turn out well for this pony. While I agree that following the Seapony toward civilization is probably the best idea, at the same time these Seaponies seem very...
vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/fallout/images/c/cb/Icon_nvdlc02perk_sneering_imperialist.png/revision/latest?cb=20110518144330
This Fallout Perk sums up my thoughts better than I can with words.
Hey, I'd forgotten about that Guide!
Somehow, being marooned on an island still manages to add some more edge to the whole post-apocalypse thing- I think I was reminded of the "end" of Cloud Atlas.
Shoo be Doo, shoo shoo be doo!
(Embed isn't working for me, so here: https://youtu.be/BUw_ij8-xNU )
Fitting that the earliest returning refugees to Hawaii would be Sea Ponies. Nice to see they've maintained (or rebuilt) a civilization despite Charybdis!
Pip is so cute.
I'd love to read a story about Pip meeting more of the 'civilized' world.
I find myself wanting more of rebecca's story...
It looks like part way through you switched her name from Dr. Thomas to Dr. Tucker. At first I wondered if it was a case of mistaken identity that the Seaponies knew and expected someone named Tucker and misheard Thomas, but even Rebecca uses both names.