by Mira Grant
“We’re deep in the uncharted Pacific now, floating above an isolated branch of the Mariana Trench. This location has been known to sailors and seafarers for centuries as a dangerous place, which perhaps explains why so few cruises or military journeys are willing to pass through these waters.” Or perhaps it had something to do with the fact that they were quite literally in the middle of nowhere. There were no strategic gains to be made by holding this patch of empty sea: all it would do was burn resources and waste time.
Anne didn’t care one way or another. It was her job to read the lines Imagine’s scriptwriters had provided, and to improvise as necessary, while keeping her reactions and words in line with the scenario Imagine had provided. She was going to walk the audience through the necessary steps, and leave them believing in mermaids. That was how she’d know she had done her job.
“But what are those dangers? Sailors have described encounters in these very waters, at this very spot—encounters with beautiful women who rose out of the sea and called to them in the sweetest voices they had ever heard. Even Christopher Columbus wasn’t immune to their charms, and left several accounts of having seen these elusive sirens. According to the people who saw them, they had the top halves of beautiful women and the bottom halves of strange, unidentifiable fish, with flowing hair and faces that seemed to glow with innocence and purity. I don’t know about you, but that sounds like mermaids to me.”
The folks back in production would probably use her little speech as an excuse to show some of the woodcuts and vintage illustrations of merfolk from around the world, as well as the vintage-looking pieces they’d commissioned to more accurately reflect the women of the Blue Seas mermaids. Anne just hoped they’d use at least some of her original footage. She knew that she had to make a striking figure, with her red hair against the deep blue water. She’d never seen an ocean this blue.
Kevin signaled with his left hand, and she kept looking thoughtful but curious until he lowered the camera and announced, “We’re clear.”
“Good—I thought my face was about to crack. Did you get everything you need?”
“I did, and a little background footage of the interns going by on the deck behind you. I think our science team is getting themselves set up.”
“Yay, science,” deadpanned Anne, looking faintly amused. She’d done her best to meet and talk with all of the scientists, from the camera-shy Jill to the overly gregarious Sonja. All of them were pleasant enough, especially when engaged in their areas of study, and all of them had made it perfectly clear that they knew what they were doing on this voyage. Imagine had provided them with an opportunity they had no other way of getting. While they were happy to play along, they were all cagey and unwilling to commit to believing in mermaids. Anne thought that was a real pity. Imagine could be very good to the people who helped the network achieve its goals, and a scientist who was willing to go on the record as believing in mermaids could probably write their own ticket on future documentary trips—as long as they were relatively photogenic, that was.
The location was breathtaking, at least, even if the scientists were being pills. There was nothing but water in any direction, for as far as the eye could see. The horizon seemed to go on forever, limitless and terrifying. Kevin had already shot almost an hour of footage of nothing but ocean, filling his lens with that sweeping vista in an attempt to capture its enormity and reduce it to something that he could comprehend. He didn’t see doing both at once as any sort of a contradiction. Turning the limitless beauty of nature into the visual equivalent of a sound bite was his job, and he was good at what he did.
“Excuse me?” They turned to see one of the Blue Seas ladies standing behind them. Her hair—a lovely shade of purple that was not normally found in nature—was tied back in a loose ponytail, and her face had a faintly shimmering quality that Kevin associated with good visual filters and Anne associated with stage makeup. Neither of them knew her name. The mermaids had kept mostly to themselves since coming aboard, partially due to contract restrictions, but mostly because they just seemed content with one another’s company. “I asked the captain whether we were allowed in the water now that we’ve stopped, and she said I should ask you.”
“Me?” asked Anne.
“No, him.” The woman indicated Kevin. “I know you’re not supposed to know when we’re going to be in the water, but we don’t want to risk being caught on camera until we’ve gotten used to swimming near the ship. You have the filming schedule for today?”
“Yeah,” said Kevin, catching on. There were crews all over the Atargatis filming setup and getting footage that could be used to spice up later parts of the documentary, just in case the weather turned bad. “We don’t have any crews filming the back left.”
“You mean rear port,” said the woman, sounding faintly amused. “Does that mean we can go in there?”
“It should, yes, and if anyone has a problem with it, just tell them that you got my approval.”
“Believe me, handsome, we won’t hesitate to throw you under the bus,” said the woman, and turned to go.
“Wait!” called Anne. The woman stopped, looking over her shoulder at the diminutive redhead. Anne smiled hopefully. “Can we come along? I’d love to get some behind the scenes footage.”
The woman raised an eyebrow. “Are you planning to blackmail the network? Because we’re not violating our contract. The penalties are obscene.”
“No, but there’s no point in pretending we don’t know you’re here,” said Anne. “This way, when someone decides to debunk us, we have the footage to prove that it was never a hoax, just a dramatic production that some people took too seriously. Like Orson Wells and War of the Worlds.”
“Didn’t people die because of that radio show?” asked Kevin.
The woman laughed. “All right, fair enough. This way, you two, step right up and enjoy the show. It’s time to meet the mermaids.”
She led them down a flight of stairs and around a corner, to the deck outside the cabins that were being used for the women of the Blue Seas professional mermaid troupe. Seven of the eleven were in evidence, including Teal and Jessica, who were in their tails, as they had been near-constantly since arriving on board. The two wheelchair-using mermaids were lounging on the deck itself, sunning themselves. All seven of the women looked around at the sound of footsteps, and several of them scowled at the sight of the camera.
“We’re not violating our contract by being outside with our tails on,” said Jessica. “We checked.”
“If you were, you would’ve been violating it since way before we got to this point,” said Anne. “We just wanted to come and see you go into the water.”
Her words had an electrifying effect on the women. Those who were standing stood up just a little bit straighter; Teal pushed herself onto her elbows, raking a fall of blonde hair out of her eyes and looking at them with wary hopefulness, like a child being told that no, really, all that candy was theirs if they wanted it. “We’re going into the water?” she asked.
“Rear port sector of the boat isn’t being filmed, and we have clearance,” said the woman with the purple hair. “These two wanted to get some private footage of us hitting the water, and I figured it was worth it if it got us out to sea.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” said Teal. She pulled herself along the deck with her elbows, looking for all the world like the mermaid she pretended to be. She grabbed the arm of her wheelchair and hoisted herself up, somehow twisting in midair so that she landed with her butt in the seat and her painted flukes resting on the footrest. It was an elegant motion, and Kevin cursed himself for not having his camera in position even as he fought the urge to stare.
Jessica was taller and curvier; she didn’t mimic Teal’s lift-and-twist, but held her arms up for another of the women to boost her into her own chair. Catching Anne’s gaze, she said, “My tail is rated for deeper dives than Teal’s is, which means it’s more heavily weighted. I try to avoid showing off unne
cessarily.”
Teal stuck her tongue out at the other woman, amiably. Jessica responded by laughing and flipping her off.
Anne, meanwhile, had questions. “So your tails are made for you? I couldn’t just decide to be a mermaid and ask to borrow one?”
Laughter answered her from the gathered women, but it was Jessica who spoke, saying, “Never ask a mermaid if you can borrow her tail. Never ask a merman, either. They’re all custom jobs, designed specifically for the people that they’re made for, and we’d be happier loaning you our used underwear. Also, the longer we wear them, the more they conform to the shapes of our bodies. Everybody’s different.”
“That’s Jess’s sweet way of saying you don’t have the ass to wear my tail,” said the purple-haired woman, slapping herself on the right flank. “Jess, you and Teal are already water-ready. Want to take our guests down to the launch point while the rest of us get our things?”
“Happy to,” said Jessica. “You want to push me, TV lady? Learn how the aquatic half lives.”
“Happy to,” said Anne, moving into position behind Jessica’s chair and taking the grips. Teal was already rolling herself down the deck, moving with a speed and precision that spoke of years of practice. “Do you mind if we film?”
“No skin off my nose,” said Jessica.
They set off, Jessica and Anne chatting about the meaningless little things that filled their hours at sea—the food in the mess, the difficulty of learning to sleep on a ship that never really stopped moving completely, and the sheer frustration of trying to learn the names of the crew members and scientific interns who seemed to cover the decks whenever there was something going on.
“I hate saying ‘hey, you, get out of my way,’” confessed Jessica.
“So do I,” Anne agreed.
“I just shout ‘make a hole’ a lot,” said Kevin.
All three laughed, and kept on moving toward the open deck.
The Atargatis rode high in the water, as befit her ocean liner roots, but had lower decks with openings that allowed for access to the sea below. Most of them were designed for fishing, or for the sampling activities that the scientists seemed to enjoy so unnaturally much. A few, however, had been intended for the launching of small craft or diving expeditions. It was at one of those openings that the trio stopped. Teal was already there, and already out of her chair, sitting at the very edge of the opening that looked out on the water. She had shed her shirt, and was clad in nothing but a flesh-colored bikini top—and her tail, of course. Sea spray had coated the plastic scales, turning them into tiny, captive rainbows.
“You look mythological,” said Jessica, engaging her wheelchair’s brake before hoisting herself out and slapping down onto the dock next to her friend.
“So do you,” said Teal. Both giggled.
“While we’re waiting for the rest of the troupe, do you mind telling me—and the camera—what made you decide to become professional mermaids?” The laughter stopped when Anne spoke. She felt briefly bad about that, but she had a job to do, and if it didn’t make her anyone’s favorite person, well. She could deal with it. “It’s an interesting career choice, you know?”
“I always loved mermaids,” said Teal. “They’re beautiful, elegant, and unreal. I figured if I could make them a little more real, I would have done something good with my life.”
“I had a friend who wanted me to go to a comic book convention with them,” said Jessica. “I kept pointing out that a woman in a wheelchair would stick out a little, and that I didn’t like being treated like an obstacle. I’d always loved mermaids. My friend suggested I dress as one. That way, if anyone stared, they’d be staring at my fins. I bought a second-hand tail from a burlesque performer I knew. I never looked back.”
“We all have our reasons,” said a voice. Anne turned to see the purple-haired woman standing behind them, a red-scaled tail slung over her shoulder. The rest of the Blue Seas mermaids were arrayed on the deck around their leader, carrying or cradling their own tails. Most were in the same flesh-colored bikini tops as Teal. Some wore bike shorts; others wore bikini bottoms. All were barefoot.
“Being a mermaid is a special calling,” continued the purple-haired woman, walking over and sitting down on the dock, where she began working her way into her tail. “We make the world more magical. Have you ever seen a kid at Disneyland meeting Mickey Mouse for the first time? That little asshole turns their world on its ear. Suddenly, anything is possible. Magnify that moment by ten, and you have a kid meeting their first mermaid. We do pool parties and aquarium fundraisers and the occasional water park event, and every time we put on our tails and put ourselves on display for a bunch of people who want us to be real, we’re dragging the human race a little closer to remembering what it’s like to believe in happy endings.”
“That sounds rehearsed,” said Anne.
“It sort of is,” said the purple-haired woman. “We’ve all had to tell our families what we do for a living, remember?”
Anne, who had been cornered by a drunken cousin at the last family Christmas and grilled for the better part of an hour on what it meant to be a “professional personality,” grimaced. “I think I understand.”
“Good,” said the purple-haired woman. “Now, you may want to stand back for this one.” She lifted her butt off the deck, pulling the back of her tail into position. The sides were snug enough that they left no room between themselves and her skin, but not so snug that they dug into her body; with just a few small adjustments and the addition of a piece of polystyrene, she had gone from a punkish, ordinary woman to something out of a story.
“’scuse me,” said another of the women, shouldering past Kevin to drape a rope ladder off the side of the boat. She, like all the others, moved with calm efficiency. Seeing Anne’s curious look, she said, “Mermaids can’t fly, honey. We have to get ourselves out of the water somehow.”
“Are you taking any diving equipment? Will anyone be staying up here to make sure you don’t drown?” They seemed like silly questions, but as Anne asked them, she realized that she really wanted to know. She hadn’t been involved in any of the discussions about bringing professional mermaids aboard, and they were so good at taking care of themselves that she knew very little about how they actually operated.
“We’re not going deep enough to need equipment,” said Teal. “All of us can hold our breath for at least two minutes, and this is more just about…getting into the water and starting to learn about the currents here than anything else.”
“We have SCUBA equipment and oxygen tanks for when we need to go deeper,” added the purple-haired woman. “We’re very safety-oriented when we need to be. But right now, we don’t need to be. Right now, we just want to get in the water. Putting a bunch of mermaids on a boat and then keeping us dry for a week is a form of torture.”
“And on that note, later!” Jessica pushed herself off the lip of the deck. She didn’t kick off, but still somehow turned herself around in midair, falling toward the deep blue sea with her arms pressed out in front of herself like an arrow. She sliced the surface, and she was gone.
The other mermaids followed her, some of them pushing themselves from a sitting position, as she had, others finding ways to leap, even though their tails weren’t really designed for standing upright. Teal went over the edge backward, her arms spread like a falling angel, twisting at the very last moment to slice into the water like her companions. Anne watched, mouth agape, and it wasn’t until the last mermaid had vanished beneath the surface that she thought to whirl on Kevin and say, “Tell me you got that.”
“The whole thing,” he said, patting his camera. His eyes were still fixed on the water below. “I tell you what, Anne. If they’re that believable when they’re actually in the water, we’re going home and convincing the whole damn world that mermaids are real.”
Below them, one of the mermaids broke the surface in a quick flurry of Technicolor fins, and was gone.
The f
irst thing most people wanted to know when Alexandra told them that she was a marine chemist was “What the hell does that mean?” As she tried to explain the delicate interplay of chemical traces in the water—how they could be analyzed to understand the pollution level, the health of the sea, and even the condition of the local fish, plant, and sea mammal populations—she would see them start to glaze over, and know that she had lost them. Never mind that marine chemistry was a swiftly growing field, as people the world over began to understand just how many riches were hidden at the bottom of the sea, and how close humanity was to losing those wonders forever. Never mind that there was money to be made in those depths. The pharmaceutical industry was falling over itself for access to the world’s oceans, and since most of those oceans were international waters, that meant they needed scientists who could plumb the depths for treasure, bring it home, and tweak it just enough to make it patentable.
Alexandra could have been making millions if she’d been willing to sign a contract with Big Pharma, and only the fact that she still wanted to control her own research was keeping that pen out of her hand. As she set her sampling probes on the rail of the Atargatis and checked her portable spectrometer one last time, she was all too aware that she couldn’t avoid having to make that choice forever—not unless she got good results on this voyage, and on others like it. Good results would lead to publication would lead to tenure would lead to a life lived doing science for the sake of science, not following the glimmering trail of profit through the gloom.
“Too bad no one can guarantee results,” she muttered, and pressed the button that would send the first probe down into the dark.
Alexandra’s water sampling probes were wonders of engineering in their own right, built for her by a friend of a friend who was always happy to rise to a challenge. While she hadn’t been able to explain exactly where the Atargatis was going or what it would be doing there, thanks to the NDAs she had signed, she had been able to provide rough figures on how deep she needed her probes to go, what kind of pressures they needed to endure, and what they would need to do while they were down there. Superficially, they resembled stainless steel disco balls, big spheres covered in tiny geometric planes. They had no propulsion systems, no way of steering themselves through the dark below. That wasn’t their purpose.