Chapter 1 - When The Stars Go Out

Several years later . . .

"When the skies get dark,

And the stars come out,

It's your love that will keep me warm . . ."

Thamish Stoneberg, Junior (or just 'Junior', as he preferred) artfully played the piano while he sang the words of the chorus. Now a young man in his mid twenties, his fingers danced lightly across the keys. The notes blended together to create a dulcet melody which encouraged the vocals to new heights, like the petals of a flower caught on a gentle breeze.

Behind Junior's back was a medium-sized room with a few dozen people seated in rows on folding chairs. The front rows had children of various ages, with the very first row reserved for a few children dressed in formal-looking clothes. The adults were at the back and were attentive enough to the musical performance, but it was the children who were completely enthralled, especially those dressed formally. They watched Junior's fingering attentively and hung off every note raptly.

Junior brought the song to an end with a flourish. While the final chords echoed through the room, the audience broke into cheers. He pushed the piano's bench back enough to stand and turn around, then bowed.

"Thank you everyone!" he said. The strong, clear voice of a trained vocalist easily cut through the lingering noise as the crowd quieted down. He made for a striking figure: wearing a dark, formal suit complete with a cummerbund and bow tie, the lenses of his stylish, opaque sunglasses reflected the room's artificial lights with the hint of a crimson red sparkle. "The piece I just shared is still a work in progress. I don't even have a name yet and you're the first group to hear it. I hope you enjoyed listening as much as I had fun playing it for you!"

The audience let loose with another round of cheers. The children especially were even louder than last time. 

"Call it 'Dark Skies'!" an older, preteen boy said boldly. 

"That's a pretty cool name," Junior smiled. "I'll keep it in mind."

Other children immediately started throwing out their own suggestions. Some were genuine and inspired from the song's lyrics, while others were more silly. Junior gave gracious thanks or laughed along good-naturedly, as appropriate. Some adults began to join in, until finally a woman moved to stand beside Junior and addressed the crowd.

"Thank you so much everyone," she started. Unlike most of the adults present who were dressed in casual, everyday clothes, Esther Mallory was dressed more formally like Junior and the children. Wearing a green blazer and matching trousers, her hair had greyed completely over the years. Combined with the confident, authoritative demeanour she projected, quieted the crowd down even faster than Junior had. "I'm certain Mr. Stoneberg will take all your wonderful ideas to heart."

Esther took a moment to give the formally dressed children in the first row a pointed look. The students stood and turned to face the crowd, some more nervously than others.

"Please give a final round of appreciation for our piano students!" she said as she clapped loudly.

The room reverberated with the enthusiastic cheers of the gathered audience, while Junior himself raised his thumb and forefinger to his lips. He produced a whistle so loud and piercing that it caused the students, whose backs were towards him, to startle with fright.

Esther winced and shook her head ruefully.

"Please show your appreciation for our keynote guest performer, generous supporter of all Saint Genevieve's music programs and proud alumni of our fine school: Mr. Thamish Stoneberg, Junior!"

After the resounding applause which followed, Esther Mallory wrapped things up like the consummate public speaker she was.

"Refreshments are available in the room across the hall. Please help yourselves as we bring our evening to a close."

With that, parents rounded up and herded their children out the door. As the mid-sized room emptied out, only Junior, who still stood at the piano and Esther, who watched the last guest leave the room, remained behind.

Esther, who knew Junior better than nearly anyone else alive, waited patiently for him to gather his thoughts. Finally he drew a deep breath and lifted his shoulders with a small shrug.

"It didn't feel right," he sighed. "I'm going back to: 'When the stars go out'.

"That is better," Esther agreed. "But a little dark for tonight's tone."

Satisfied, Junior raised his voice. "Achilles!" he called out firmly.

Tucked into the space beside the piano until then, a large dog with lustrous golden fur and red service harness had been quietly but alertly observing everything. With a twitch of the ears at the sound of his name, the guide dog stood up and padded towards his Junior, who greeted his partner with a quick head rub and a quick treat pulled from a belt pouch, which Achilles gulped down enthusiastically. Esther smiled at this but resisted the temptation to pet the adorable service animal as he got ready to work.

"Shall we go?" Junior asked after he got a firm grip on Achilles' harness.

"After you," Esther responded politely.

With a gentle prompt from his partner, Achilles guided Junior past the rows of folding chairs towards the exit. Esther followed and pulled the door closed behind them.

\ - / - \ - /

Later that evening, the recital's guests were preparing to leave. They spilled out of the main doors of the Saint Genevieve Frechette Private School and down the front stairs of the ivy-covered building into a scene that was almost surreal. Drifting wisps of fog and overcast skies glowed with the fiery hues of the setting sun. Many looked around the scene of unexpected, fleeting beauty with wonder, but at least one person reacted quite differently.

"Damn it! I'm sick and tired of this cursed fog," a woman grumbled sourly where she stood at the base of the stairs.

"I haven't seen the sun in a week," her companion agreed.

"I wanted to hit the beach this weekend," the first woman continued to complain. "Work's been driving me crazy lately."

Her friend made sympathetic noises then grimaced.

"Word is part of the spill's drifting closer to shore. By next week we might have to close the beaches on the east of the island."

"DAMMIT!" the woman exclaimed far too loudly. Several heads turned, including curious children and baleful parents. "Sorry, sorry," she groused unrepentantly, then continued in a lower tone. "When are you guys going to get that damned fire under control?"

Her friend raised his arms defensively.

"Don't look at me! The FDOP's so far out of my jurisdiction it might as well be on a different planet. This is a multinational effort in international waters! Our little Coast Guard is only allowed to help protect our shores and provide extra muscle when called. And even that involves so much red tape I'm tempted to hit the beach myself, even if it's raining cats and dogs!"

The first woman sighed and shook her head.

"Something's not right with all of this. It's like they're trying to slow down the cleanup on purpose . . ."

"Oh, here we go," her friend groaned with a roll of his eyes. He exaggeratedly patted his clothes and pockets, as if searching for something. "Hold up: let me find my tinfoil cap."

"If there's one thing this fog's good for, it's blocking the satellite surveillance," the woman quipped back sarcastically, eliciting an even bigger groan from her companion. "Shut up and listen; I'm being serious now. It's been one disaster after another with that damned rig going years. Years! Outbreaks of disease, ruptured pipelines contaminating the damned ecosystem and now fires? Speaking of which: I still don't understand why we can't see the smoke from this supposed 'fire' if it's supposed to be so huge."

"Because it's an experimental marine platform floating hundreds of kilometers away from here." The man spoke with a voice muffled by the hands he'd used to cover his face.

"Why would they even build something like that so far away? How would they even do it?" She shook her head. "The ocean floor gets deeper the further out you go. Even I know that. How can they even reach the bottom?"

"That's exactly the point every conspiracy theory relies on and the Platform's biggest selling point," her friend sighed. "No one knows how the aptly named Fathomless Deeps Oceanic Platform does its thing. It was designed as an all-you-can-eat marine exploration and exploitation buffet. Even calling it just an 'oil rig' is a huge disservice; like calling a massive shopping complex with entertainment, restaurants and apartments a convenience store!"

It was the woman's turn to roll her eyes now. "Yes, yes - keep it in your pants you hopeless fanboy. Kids are watching." The pair continued to argue good-naturedly, each trying to convince the other of their point of view.

Not too far away, Thamish Stoneberg, Junior, had been contentedly standing by while Achilles, free of his harness, basked in the affection of several children. While his body was angled towards the playful kids, a keen observer might have noticed that his head was titled in such a way to orient an ear towards the man and woman talking about the Fathomless Deeps Oceanic Platform.

When the pair's topic of conversation drifted to other matters, Junior casually reached into his pocket with one hand. Not long after that, a dark red luxury vehicle cruised through the school's front gate and circled the roundabout. It coasted to a silent stop at a spot as close to where Junior stood as possible.

Telling the children to say goodbye to their four-legged playmate while he bid the adults farewell, Junior eventually called Achilles to his side and reattached the guide dog's harness. The Golden Retriever led his partner to the car and both entered through the rear doors.

The dark red vehicle cruised away, leaving the private school and its visiting parents (many of whom were influential in sectors across the island) behind.