I was on my feet and beside him in an instant, straining my eyes to see what was worrying him. Nothing. No fire-flowers blooming from Sand Island ... or anywhere else, for that matter. If I pressed my forehead right up against the transpex, I could look down to the right onto Kalakaua Avenue and watch the cars—mainly corp limos, probably—cruising along it, forming streams of lights. White on one side, red on the other. I blinked. Way down Kalakaua, to the west, there seemed to be a major knot of red taillights.