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possible cures for Minimata. One day some unlucky monkey-backed would be the one from which a cure was developed. On that day his sister would be cured, and until then, Kavika knew that there was nothing he could do about it.
    He reached the far end of the main deck. The last few rows of containers nearest the bow housed some of the most important Pali Boys. Kaja, several old leaders, and some of the legacy Pali Boys like Donnie Wu called these home. It was to Donnie’s place that they were going. His third floor door was open and it didn’t take but a moment for them to climb a knotted line and swing onto the landing.
    Half-Chinese and half-Hawaiian, Donnie had never quite fit in. When Kavika’s father had been the Pali Boy leader shortly after the plague struck, it was Donnie who’d been his best friend and had protected him. They’d been like brothers, and had helped consolidate the Hawaiian position aboard the tanker and the community that formed upon it. They had created the Pali Boys to help keep the warrior spirit alive, preserve many of the old ways, and stand ready to protect the Hawaiian people aboard the floating city. Since the death of Kavika’s father, Donnie was even more of an uncle than he had been before. The only thing he couldn’t do to help them was move them back to the main deck. Too much politics. His father had made too many enemies.
    “Kavika, Leilani—how are you two?”
    Donnie stood in the shadows at the back of the container. His legs were bowed with age. His left arm was twisted at a weird angle, the result of a long fall from a smokestack. He kept his head shaved and wore a Fu Manchu mustache. His arms, chest and thighs were covered with before-time tattoos of scenes of Hilo back before the plague. They were becoming blurred with age, but some could still be made out. Prominent amongst the indigo blur were women in grass skirts, warriors with fishing spears, palm trees, waves, and the Kilauea volcano, with lava rolling down its crusted slopes.
    “How are your mother and sister?”
    “They’re fine, uncle.”
    “Do they have food?”
    “Yes, uncle.”
    “You know if you need anything you can come to me, right?”
    “Yes, uncle. I know. My mother thanks you.”
    Donnie laughed sadly. “No need to lie to me, boy. We all know your mother hates me. After all, she needs someone to blame. Might as well be me.” He looked around for a place for his guests to sit. He found two chairs covered in clothes and junk. With a sweep of his arms he scooted the mess onto the floor “Here, sit.”
    They did as they were told. After a moment of respect, Kavika murmured, “Uncle, Akamu was blood raped.”
    Donnie stared at the floor and shook his head. “I heard. They say he didn’t survive it. Bad business.” He let a moment of silence lengthen, then asked, “So what brings you to Old Wu?”
    “This,” Kavika said, holding out the media stick. “Spike’s brother found it on the body. Kaja missed it.”
    Donnie held out his hand. Kavika passed the media stick. The old man stared at it and picked a little dried blood away with a fingernail.
    “I have something that I think will do the trick.” He fumbled through the trash he’d put on the floor, worked a slim square of metal free with some trouble, found a wire, and then hooked it up to the square and the media stick. It took a few moments, but he eventually had a static-laced picture flipping across the square. He banged it twice on the edge of a table and the picture cleared.
    “Okay. Here we go. Akamu probably kept this for stunting. I had one. So did your father, Kavika. They’ve fallen out of popularity, though. Coming up with the equipment to view them is hard.”
    This was the first Kavika had ever heard of it. “My father had one? What happened to his?”
    “It was lost when he dived the line.” Donnie shook his head. “Was never seen again. Anyway, my viewer hasn’t been used in some time, but it’s not like there’s