Текст книги "Return Once More"
Автор книги: Trisha Leigh
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
Chapter Five
His eyes narrowed to slits, and my mouth went dry. He closed his eyes briefly, and I knew he was asking the brain stem tat to give him my schedule. “You’re supposed to be in … Research, are you not?”
Instinct said to lie, but he could bust me with a few punches into the table comp. “I got my Companion card and was curious. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t. Run along.”
I escaped out the hatch behind him, my fast steps betraying my nerves. His black gaze followed me, pricking sweat between my shoulder blades until I turned a corner and dropped from his line of sight. I stopped, pressing a palm to the wall of the cold, stainless steel corridor until my heart slowed to a normal pace.
Ezekiel was the unofficial leader of the Elders and the head of our Academy. After studying the past for clues, collective humanity decided no one person should hold power, and that went for the Elders as well. But everyone listened to Zeke. Everyone. Even though he never treated us poorly or sanctioned us more harshly than required, he scared the pants off me, a chemical and physical reaction I’m sure my bio stats reflected and catalogued. He had the same effect on Analeigh and Sarah. And before Jess, Levi, and Peyton split off into their own clique when we were twelve, they had felt the same, too. Oz never mentioned it. He never mentioned much of anything, though, so it was hard to tell whether that meant anything.
I felt sorry for Sarah for getting stuck with him even if she did get to be the one in ten million who experienced true love. If Oz’s name had showed up on my card … Well, it wouldn’t have been a happy day no matter how intense his gray eyes were behind those glasses. I didn’t know if he liked me, or anyone, for that matter. He was probably the best student in our class, giving Analeigh a run for her money both in that department and the seriousness one.
The empty hallways whispered back the sound of my slippered footsteps. I followed twists and turns by memory, nothing on the bare walls to guide me down a correct path, and when the doors to the Research Lab whooshed open, Analeigh’s shoulders slumped with relief.
“Oh, thank the System you’re back. I was worried.”
I smiled, hoping to hide the remnants of nerves slicking my forehead with sweat. “Worried you’d have to lie if someone came looking for me, you mean?”
“Maybe.” She gave me a sheepish grin. “You know I can’t lie.”
It was true. Her face and neck got these impressive, bright red blotches when she tried. It was why I hadn’t told her about finding Jonah’s cuff, at least not yet. If I did decide to use it—if—she couldn’t be involved. It had to be my secret.
“Did you find anything?”
Discussing Caesarion held little appeal, and there wasn’t much to tell, anyway. I shrugged and joined her in one of the circular booths. A screen sat atop a waist-high pedestal, and three of the surrounding walls were mirrors. The fourth projected clothing on our bodies based on the coordinates we typed into the system. The comps and tats could provide us any and all required information on the spot, but evaluations showed a higher likelihood of retaining facts when we ingested information the old-fashioned way—manual research. Not having to manually learn languages was the only cheat the Elders allowed, so the days leading up to a new trip were filled to the brim with reading about clothing, mannerisms, customs, and anything else we needed in order to blend into a certain time period.
“Do you need any help with our wardrobe for the Triangle?”
“Nah. Check it out.” Analeigh punched a few buttons and spun me around.
Ankle-length skirts and fitted tops lined with buttons down the back covered us both. The blouses tucked in at our waists, and boots—with more buttons—covered our feet and ankles.
“Hmm. Don’t we get hats? I feel like Edwardian fashion means hats.”
“No hats in New York City!” Sarah called over the wall from the next cubicle.
“Hats for the wealthy, but we’re going to be fitting in with immigrants. So no hats, but we will get to pin our hair up,” Analeigh clarified.
“But I like hats,” I replied, being difficult on purpose.
She rolled her eyes and punched another button. Wide-brimmed hats appeared on our heads in the mirror with fat, sheer ribbons secured under our chins. I nodded. “Much better.”
“You can’t wear hats on the trip!” Sarah yelled.
“Sarah, I know you can’t see us, but we’re still only like four feet away. You don’t have to yell.” I gave Analeigh a look, and we shared a quiet giggle.
“Whatever,” Sarah said, poking her head into our cubicle. “We need to finish downloading facts before supper.”
Analeigh switched off the hologram. She and I stepped into the empty space in the room, a circle at the center surrounded by fitting booths, and then the three of us headed for the hatch, matching again in all black, supple Kevlar. We stepped into the labyrinth of sterile, steel-and-white hallways, our words bouncing back at us like pellets from an old firearm.
“You guys want to split up the research?” I asked as we headed back the way I’d come, toward the Archives.
“We’re not supposed to—”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “Stars, Analeigh. As long as we complete the names, order of event, and setting, who cares? We can store all of the research in one file and download it three times under each of our names. No one will be the wiser.”
We’d taken advantage of Sarah’s prowess with comps and tech more than once. It still surprised me she’d been sorted into the Historian Academy instead of Technologies because I’d never met anyone who could manipulate machines the way she could.
“I guess.” Analeigh sighed. She’d probably do her own, anyway.
Once surrounded by the thick, cloudy glass and dancing images in the Archives, the three of us split the research and got to work. I’d grabbed the easiest third—the manifest. The historians on Earth Before had listed the victims of the Triangle Fire, those who had lived and those who had died, so all I had to do was load it into a file, along with their physical characteristics.
Since every class of apprentices had recorded the Triangle Fire, all of the girls in the building had an extensive file, even though few of them were individually significant. Their historical contribution lay in their collective demise, not any individual survival. Morbid, but true.
Even the summary of the event hurt my heart. “It’s terrible, isn’t it?”
“Which part?” Sarah frowned. “The part where the poor immigrant girls were underpaid and worked literally to death in those factories for years, or the fact that it took over a hundred of them dying in the gutters of a New York City street on a Saturday afternoon for anyone to give a shit?”
“I vote for the fact that even though that day changed labor laws in the United States, they kept supporting factories that employed the same practices in other parts of the planet for years,” Analeigh added, her eyes glued to the comp in front of her.
“All of it.” I swallowed hard, wishing I could be more professional like my friends. “It’s all terrible.”
I scanned the list of victims again, and the name Rosie Shapiro jumped out at me. I pressed a finger against the name of Jonah’s True and the comp pulled up her file. It would definitely be interesting to see her next week.
The idea that Jonah had perhaps done this exact same thing spread a comforting warmth through my blood, even if it must have been terrible for him to stand there and watch her die. I didn’t think I could do it, be in the room while Octavian put my True to death, but Jonah had always been stronger than me.
Rosie’s file pulled up, displaying a picture and a short list of facts from both the original history and the multiple accounts based on Historian observations. She was pretty, my brother’s True Companion, with peachy cheeks, dark curls, and delicate features. The related photographs rolled a shudder up my spine. The sight of a bunch of soaking wet girls my age splattered on the New York City sidewalk squelched my desire for dinner.
I downloaded a picture of Rosie and stored it to the protected file Sarah had set up in my brain stem tat. She’d created password files for the three of us when we were twelve and thought secret diaries seemed like the coolest thing in the world.
The tat could conjure her photo from the file while we were at the Triangle and use facial recognition software to locate her in the room. It should be easy enough to find her before the fire started. I would probably get into trouble again for focusing too much on one, insignificant life but this time, at least, I knew the reason. It was partly to feel closer to my brother that I wanted to see Rosie Shapiro for myself, but partly because maybe meeting his True face-to-face would convince me there was no real reason to break a million and one rules in order to meet my own.
*
Analeigh sat me down when Sarah hopped in the shower after dinner, pinning me with a hard gaze. “I don’t know what’s up with you, but it’s something. You’re all jumpy, and you were staring at that table comp like it held the secret to the universe. Downloading a manifest isn’t that interesting.”
The sound of running water filled our suite while I struggled with my reply. I might be good at keeping secrets, but it burned to hold them in my mouth. I wanted to tell Analeigh about Jonah’s cuff and everything else, but it wasn’t fair to her and maybe not to my brother, either.
Plus, I didn’t want her to talk me out of what I wanted—to go see Caesarion.
“I don’t know. Still thinking about Caesarion, I guess.” Not technically untrue.
“Really?” The dry tone of her voice spiked my worry, but Oz stuck his head in the door at the same moment, saving me from having to outright lie to my best friend.
He blinked at the sight of us, as though we’re somehow unexpected fixtures in our own room, and his storm-cloud eyes filled with irritation as they swept the room, searching for Sarah. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, but words seemed to escape him. Sarah was his reason for being here, and Oz seemed lost at finding her unavailable. His quiet, watchful nature turned anxious sometimes, like now, although it didn’t make sense in this situation. We’d known him as long as he’d known Sarah, so nerves didn’t make much sense.
Most of the science fiction stories from Earth Before assumed that if we ever advanced to a point like ours—scientifically, medically—that everyone would lead healthier, longer, not anxious, perfect lives. The truth was, our geneticists and medics could ensure all of us were put together in a way that made us live longer, and that no one was born with any kind of disorder at all. That wasn’t practical, though. So, we got to deal with Oz and all of his awkward.
“She’s in the toilet,” Analeigh supplied, taking pity on him.
Oz fidgeted in the doorway, gazing down at his hands. After his third longing glance at the empty hallway behind him, I couldn’t take it anymore. “You don’t have to lurk in the doorway, Oz, for goodness’ sake. Sit down and talk to us.”
Analeigh and I stared as he shuffled toward Sarah’s desk and perched gingerly on the edge of the chair. Oz wasn’t that tall but he was strong. His broad chest filled out the tight clothing, showing off his muscular arms, and his fingers tapped an impatient rhythm on the back of the steel chair in the silence.
“What’s wrong with him? He’s even jumpier than usual.” Analeigh’s whispered voice popped into my head, surprising me. Oz sat close enough to hear the sound of us whispering, but probably not to catch the words.
Scientists on Earth Before had discovered that our throat muscles make the involuntary movements to form words even when we only think them. Not everyone on Genesis had this enhancement, but for Historians, it was necessary. We might need to communicate in a scenario where talking was prohibited or our language program might glitch. We had the most bio-enhancements of anyone in the System—unlike the universal wrist tats, the ones connected to our throats and brain stems were unique to our Academy.
The throat tattoo worked exactly like talking—limited range, a few feet, usually line of sight—which meant anyone close by sporting the same tech could overhear. Oz was a little close for comfort, but I decided I didn’t care that much if he did overhear.
“I don’t know.” But maybe I did, I thought, my mind flicking back over where his dot placed him earlier today. “So, Oz, how was Pearl Harbor?”
The question sounded innocent enough to my ears, but his sharp gaze snapped to mine. It felt as though he could see right through my skull, knew that I’d seen his dot hovering elsewhere. I tried a smile, which only seemed to irritate him further, pulling his full lips into a frown.
“Loud and bloody. As expected.”
He was lying. The cut of his eyes toward the bathroom, the way he licked his lips. His anxiety rose even higher and diffused into the air, urging my own into a climb. The bio stats didn’t lie, even if Oz did, and now I was sure what I’d seen in the Archives hadn’t been a glitch. Oz had been in Asia today, watching the Mongol invasions when he wasn’t supposed to be.
The question of why intrigued me more than a little. And if the stats hadn’t been wrong about where he’d been, they also weren’t wrong about him being alone.
Which meant I wasn’t the only apprentice with an unauthorized cuff.
The sound of running water abated a moment before the uncomfortable silence actually killed me. I wondered if he and Sarah talked when they were alone. Maybe they were too busy making out, although I had a hard time picturing Oz relaxing his lips enough to kiss anyone.
Sarah’s lilting singing voice crawled underneath the closed door and helped eased the tension in the room before she banged loose from the bathroom, tugging the towel tighter around her chest when she spotted Oz. “Oh. I didn’t realize how late I was.”
A wrinkle appeared between Oz’s eyebrows. “It’s okay.”
Sarah tossed a knowing look toward us girls, grabbing her suit off the bed and retreating back into the bathroom. “I’ll be five minutes,” she told Oz, then shut the door.
“Where are you two headed?” Analeigh asked, a little too perky, even for her.
Oz pulled off his glasses, rubbing imaginary spots from the lenses with the hem of his shirt. Without them, his gray eyes were huge and framed with impossibly thick, black lashes. “Studying.”
“For what?” He obviously wanted to sit in silence, but knowing that only made me push harder. I’d grown up with an older brother. Surly boy did nothing but bring out the annoying little sister in me. “Are you helping Sarah with something?”
“No. She’s helping me with a reflection analytic. For my specialty application next year.”
His application next year. Good gravy boats. I hadn’t even thought about it. If anyone else used that excuse it would have sounded like they were just trying to get their girlfriend alone for a couple of hours, especially since Sarah didn’t excel at reflection. But Oz probably was working on next year’s applications, which would be reviewed before we were certified as full Historians and used to determine our permanent field of observation.
Maybe Sarah wanted the excuse to spend time alone with him.
“You’re that sure you don’t want to travel anymore after we’re certified?” Analeigh asked, unable to contain her curiosity even though being nosy went against her upbringing. Her parents were both from Persepolis; she’d been raised a traditional Muslim, and even though she didn’t practice she couldn’t shake the ingrained reticence and respect. Like the rest of Genesis, the Academies allowed no subscription to nationality or faith or even planetary loyalty. Clinging to those kinds of identities fractured cultures, drew lines in the sand, caused dissension and hate. We were humans first, our callings second. Nothing more.
After seven years of observing altercations, murder, and persecutions, stripping humanity of their useless and arbitrary labels seemed to be one of the smarter decisions the Originals had made upon our departure from Earth Before.
“I’m sure. But you know they don’t approve many of us for permanent reflection, so I want to make sure all of my essays are outstanding. My goal is to get something added to the Hope Chest before certifications.”
That made more sense, even if the goal was so lofty it never would have entered my mind. Apprentices never initiated the process to finalize a body of reflections. It would be a coup, and he would probably get approved for whatever he wanted.
Light swirled in his stormy eyes, lit by excitement and passion—two things I didn’t often associate with Oz Truman. I’d never heard him say so many words at once before, ever.
Sarah swept in from the toilet, bringing the fresh scent of perfume and shampoo along with her. The standard black suit clung to her lithe frame, hugging her hips and generous chest. Her chin-length hair shone, appearing brighter in the glow from the bathroom.
Oz gave her an appreciative smile before cocking his head toward the door. “Ready?”
She smiled up at him and the affection in her gaze was impossible to miss. A similar emotion flickered in his smoky eyes and he smiled for real, bending slightly to press a quick kiss to her lips, disproving my previous assumption.
“See you gals at lights out!” Sarah tossed over her shoulder as she hauled Oz from the room.
The sight of their clasped hands dragged a sigh from my chest. I might not have wanted Oz, but that electricity between them, the excitement and ease born from the simple fact that they knew they were perfect together … that I couldn’t help but want.
I’d never have what Sarah and Oz did. Never be able to touch or talk with my True.
But I did have Jonah’s abandoned cuff. The more I thought about it, the more it didn’t seem like it would be so bad, my using it just this once. It was a good reason. A once-in-a-lifetime reason. And once I saw him, my curiosity would be sated. Life could go back to normal.
And besides, you’re only in trouble if you get caught.
Chapter Six
Once the idea of using Jonah’s cuff to observe Caesarion dug its claws into me, shaking them loose was a lost cause. The logistics of making it happen—without getting caught and without shaming my family—had kept me up half the night, and no amount of rationalizing settled my nerves. Perhaps it was the Historians’ ability to move unquestioned through time and space, but our Elders had always seemed omnipotent. They weren’t, though.
Most likely.
There were seven Elders at each of the twelve Academies, but they weren’t figureheads. They taught us in addition to doing their own research, and had better things to do than spy on teenagers. No one ruled or presided over anyone else once we’d been certified in our callings. Trust, individual responsibility, expectations, and freedom were cornerstones of our society’s success. The Elders were nothing more than the eldest seven at each of the Academies; they weren’t elected or lauded for anything except still being alive. A combined board made up of Elders from all of the Academies handed down the sanctions, based on the Guide, but no one traced even the movements of apprentices without reason.
But if I was really going to use my brother’s old cuff to travel alone to ancient Alexandria, I had to hope that was the truth. The Historians had no idea that I had the cuff, and no reason to suspect I would travel alone. Unless I had supremely terrible luck and someone decided to idly touch my dot the way I had Oz’s yesterday, no one would miss me. As long as my absence went unnoticed there would be no harm and no foul. Just a peek and then back to the Academy, easy peasy.
I rose before Analeigh and Sarah, my stomach a snarl of worry and excitement. Our suite was big, and we each had a room that held a bed and two dressers. The common room had the sitting area where we’d held the study session the other night, a picture tube for news reports and movies, a couch, and three desks. Knickknacks and the occasional physical book, salvaged for sentimentality’s sake, cluttered the rooms’ shelves.
The Originals had allowed people to bring up to five paper volumes apiece for the journey to Genesis. I had a copy of my grandfather’s favorite book—On the Road—and my mother’s tattered, coverless copy of Pride and Prejudice. My father owned two books about physics, and Jonah had taken our family’s copy of Romeo and Juliet with him when he left.
I slipped out of my standard sleep shorts and long-sleeved top and into the black uniform that molded to and warmed my morning-cold skin. Running water would wake Analeigh—the lightest sleeper in the System, probably—so I didn’t brush my teeth or wash my face, just stuffed my long dark hair into a ponytail, slapped on my glasses, and left the room barefoot.
The hallway floors transferred a chill to the soles of my feet but I ignored it, wanting my privacy. There were two necessary stops before Egypt, and only a few hours before my friends woke and started wondering about my disappearing act. First, I needed to review Caesarion’s timeline and store the info in the password file in my tat. Second, the Research holos would help me figure out a proper wardrobe—I couldn’t go to ancient Egypt in this getup.
It took me less than five minutes in the Archives to download the sliver of information related to Caesarion. I wanted to meet him when we were about the same age. But getting to Egypt at the right time—before he died, but not long before—would be tricky. The facts were vague, but it helped that he’d died the same year as his mother. Her death I could find, and if the historical outline in the Archives held true, Caesarion left Alexandria around then. The date of her murder seemed like the best place to find him.
If he hadn’t left the city yet, he would be at the palace, and missing that would be hard.
With plan in place to get in and out as quickly as possible, I headed down the cold halls in my bare feet, slipping into the Research Lab. I had to swipe my wrist tattoo to open each door, but as with everything else, the information was stored but not monitored. As long as I didn’t give anyone a reason to be suspicious, all of my actions would disappear among the hundreds of other wrist swipes today.
The fashion holo pulled sizes and color preferences from my stored bio stats, styling me in a cream-colored linen dress that reached my feet. Black and teal scarves fell off my shoulders and ringed my waist, and heavy turquoise and gold jewelry adorned my neck and wrists. It wanted my hair darker, almost black, but there wasn’t time to dye it. I hated itchy wigs; my dark brown would have to do. Way to go, Israeli heritage. The leather sandals it chose were softer, more comfortable than the shoes I’d worn in Rome. Black makeup smudged my eyelids and trailed underneath, making me look like a sort of attractive raccoon.
The jewelry, scarves, and makeup were added because I’d entered “elite” into the social strata column. Cleopatra and her family had wealth beyond imagining, and no one without status would be able to get near them, except the servants. I could have easily slipped into the palace as a slave, and perhaps it would have been the smarter call and simpler to blend in, but at the last moment, I knew I didn’t want to go unseen.
If Caesarion looked up, if our eyes met, I wanted him to notice me. Just for a moment, to glimpse the look in his eyes when he felt our connection. A boy like him would never notice a servant girl.
Nerves quickened my heartbeat. If I waited until tomorrow, or even another five minutes, I would change my mind.
A quick rummage through the closet produced all of the recommended pieces. The memory of old movies with teenage girls digging through piles of clothes looking for a missing shoe or that one skirt they wanted to wear made me smile. I simply punched in identification numbers attached to each piece of clothing, and drawers slid out, hangers popped away from the racks. The makeup and jewelry followed suit. The girl in the mirror looked exactly as the holo had styled her. It was now or never.
Excitement struggled to take over my nerves, the desire to see Caesarion still warring with the deep-seated worry that something could go wrong. If it did, I would be alone and the only way to get help would be to turn myself in. It might be dumb to take the risk—I knew Analeigh would think so—but I didn’t want to wait. Nothing would go wrong. In and out.
I wanted my moment.
To be extra sure that Analeigh, who loved mornings like some kind of psychopath, wouldn’t freak the hell out and sound some kind of alarm, I sent her a quick wrist comm, scheduled to be delivered at the same time her alarm went off:
Don’t worry.
Dressed in the light linen that swished pleasantly in the deserted halls, I hurried to the portal chambers, swiped my wrist tat, and another record of my movements swirled into the void. I really should have paid more attention to Sarah as she babbled on about comps and how to trick them, but it was one trip. One hour. Two at the most.
The doors air locked behind me with a suction sound, and my ears popped.
An attack of anxiety and second thoughts weakened my knees, and I sank down onto one of the cold metal benches. I wouldn’t get caught. People were asleep. No one knew I had Jonah’s cuff, and the overseers and Elders had no reason to check my movements.
Out of nowhere, hot anger flared, burning my stomach. Jonah had run off; if my absence did trigger some unknown alarm, people might assume I’d done the same. As much as I loved him, I hadn’t been able to forgive him for leaving me. I would never put my parents and friends through the same thing.
Tears stung my eyes, my fingers curled into fists. I should stay. Follow the rules, be a good daughter and a proper apprentice.
But I didn’t want to. This could be one of my moments, a morning that would change the way I saw the world, and I didn’t want to miss it because of Jonah.
Or because it scared me.
It wasn’t worth the worst of the sanctions, like exile to Cryon, where rumor had it people fried under the too-close sun and beat the shit out of each other all day until they went crazy. But the chance of getting caught was so small, the infraction so unprecedented, it didn’t seem possible to me.
When the panic cleared, those cloudy what-ifs seemed less scary than never knowing what it might be like to stand in Caesarion’s presence and feel, just for a heartbeat, a perfect connection with another human being. Resolve poured strength back into my limbs and I stood, releasing my bottom lip from between my teeth.
I would be quick.
The four little lights on the cuff glowed red under the fluorescent lights. Twelve rotating dials of numbers and three letters were on the inside, and I spun them until it they read 0812 0030 BCE 0600. August 12, 30 BCE 6:00 a.m. When the date and time were steady, three of the red lights turned to green and I sucked in a deep breath, then blew my bangs away from my face.
I twisted the cuff around and raised the tiny speaker on the opposite side, to my face. “Alexandria, Egypt, the lighthouse.”
The last red light extinguished, then glowed green.
*
Alexandria , Egypt , Earth Before–30 BCE (Before Common Era)
Egypt was freaking hot. Hotter than hell, or Hades or Tuat, or any other burning plane of existence people had ever believed they would traverse after death. Sweat immediately soaked through the light linen dress, but the salty breeze from the ocean worked to keep me cool.
An overseer would have known a private spot, but the lighthouse was the most inconspicuous place that had come to mind. It ended up being a lucky choice because the immediate area was deserted. The structure was one of the seven wonders of the ancient world, and until the advent of time travel no one had laid eyes on it for thousands of years. There were no photos or renderings that could have done it justice, anyway. It rose out of the tip of the Island of Pharos, spewing light into the breaking dawn and giving the illusion of comfort and protection, even though it was nothing but a building.
Sadly, it didn’t do much for a girl drowning in nerves and excitement and the tiniest bit of guilt, so I’m sure much of its appeal slid right over my head.
The waves in the bay lapped gently at the shore. In the distance, across a narrow expanse of water, the royal palace glowed in the early morning sunshine. Caesarion was in there. His mother had just died and his life was falling apart, but he was there. My True.
The clean breeze buffered my overheated cheeks and I gulped air, pulling the freshness into my lungs. Oxygen was one of the best things about traveling to Earth Before. Real air. And nothing beat breathing it near the water.
All of the planets on Genesis had been terraformed with a manufactured oxygen mixture that was recycled, cleaned, and spewed back into the false atmosphere. The air tasted vaguely discarded, tinged with overuse and the sour flavor of other people’s lungs. My grandfather likened it to breathing on an airplane.
I’d never noticed it until my first observation. Zeke took everyone their first time, and he’d herded Oz, Jess, Analeigh, Sarah, Levi, Peyton, and me atop a Mayan pyramid in 600 CE. They’d been in the midst of constructing a burial mound for their fresh dead, and we’d toiled alongside the workers for the better part of a morning.
We’d broken stone and rock, hauled it up and down barely formed steps, and sweated under the Central American sun. The heat was stifling, not unlike Egypt today, but the way the air tasted—untouched and virginal, like the purest form of anything—had mesmerized me. The morning had flown by and we’d landed back in the air lock too soon, suddenly disgusted by the metallic tinge of the oxygen that kept us alive.
I loved the taste of the ocean.
My glasses went invisible with a light tap. I could have left them at home since there was no way I was recording anything that happened today—no evidence—but their displays and information were invaluable if trouble did pop up.
