Four
In the projection on my helmet I watched mock Vikings slice through the water, oar-strokes synchronized as well as any rowing team could manage. They veered towards an obvious destination: the narrow channel into the bay, where the waves eased from vicious to merely mean. The rolling gravity added its own erratic syncopation to the water surging and splashing around them, the waves growing fiercer as the water grew shallower. It looked so real that my gut expected to hear splashing and shouting, but the only sound was the constant hiss of wind-blown sand.
One wave hit just right, soaking the longboat and the alien in the prow.
My heart pounded in my throat.
If the aliens steered perfectly, they could ease their boat through the channel. A few meters to either side, and they’d come
