Matt walked the cooler over to the row of tanks then hesitated. It had been a long trip and he wanted nothing more than to crack open a beer on the lawn chair in front, but he should extract some product from his new fish. He didn’t want to waste a batch, and since this fish was freshly caught, it would be dripping with the stuff. Once it sloughed off the slime onto the tank bottom, the stuff was a bitch to extract from feces and who knew what else was down there. Matt harvested slime from the fish three times a day when he could manage it, which was enough time for them to produce a thick coating of the stuff, but not long enough for it to drip off.
He slung the cooler onto a chair and found a pair of gloves that looked reasonably clean. He was careful not to touch the outside of the gloves, in case there was any leftover slime on them. He’d tested the product on himself, of course—it was a show-stopper—but he had things to do and didn’t want to waste time on crazy visions.
He found a clean metal baking sheet—bought from a thrift store near his house—and opened the cooler. With sure movements, he jabbed his fingers into the fish’s gills and yanked it up. The fish squirmed and writhed, but it couldn’t escape. Matt pressed it against the baking sheet where it flopped with clanking and booming against the metal. The other fish tapped against their glass tanks in an agitated way, but Matt ignored them. They always got jumpy at harvesting time.
Smoothly, but without unnecessary gentleness, Matt scraped a butter knife from the gills to the tail. Viscous globs of slime pooled on the baking sheet. The fish squirmed harder. Matt flipped it over and repeated the motion on the other side, then carried the flopping fish over to the tanks and dropped it into an empty one.
“You’re next,” he said to the other fish. “But I need a beer first, so you’ll have to wait.”
Matt’s back pocket vibrated. He stripped off his gloves, dropped them on the table, and slid his phone out.
“Hey, baby,” he said.
“Hi, big boy,” his girlfriend Bianca purred. “I miss you. What are you doing?”
Matt had told her he was on a job for a few weeks. It kept her from asking too many questions and gave him time to work on his plan. He wasn’t sure what he would do after that, but he would think of something.
“Just work. I’d rather be home with you.”
He looked at the baking sheet of slime. It could wait. He opened the fridge and balanced the sheet on top of a stack of containers. While he was there, he grabbed a beer. Bianca sighed on the other end of the line.
“It’s such a waste. I bought a cute new bra, and I have no one to show.”
“Hold on, baby. I’ll be home soon.” He would have loved to continue this conversation, but since he was pretending to be at work, it would reveal his lies. He changed the topic to distract himself from the memory of Bianca’s curves, legendary among the men of Sayward. He still wasn’t sure how he had managed to keep Bianca as his girlfriend, but he wasn’t about to let her go anytime soon. “Any news from home?”
“Oh, yes. Stacy texted me. Her boyfriend took her to Vegas, a surprise trip. She had no idea it was coming. Isn’t that romantic? What a sweet guy.”
“A surprise trip to Vegas?” Matt said slowly. He’d never considered such a thing. How much did flights and hotel cost? Not to mention food and shopping. Bianca loved shopping, when she could get it. “Do you like that kind of thing?”
“Oh, Matty,” Bianca said in an indulgent tone. “What girl doesn’t?”
Matt nodded to himself. Once sales of Sea Salt took off, he wouldn’t be asking how much a trip to Vegas would cost. He would simply go and book it. Maybe he could propose to Bianca in Vegas. Yes, that would be perfect.
“Don’t worry, baby,” he said. “I have a good feeling about the future. There are lots of surprises coming our way.”
ZEBALLOS
Corrie had retreated to the lab, and Krista had the boat underway for the next station. Jules followed Zeb into the galley.
“So?” Jules said. “What happened?”
“I messed up his propeller pretty bad.” Zeb dug into a cupboard, searching for his dried jellyfish.
“Get out of my galley,” Jules said indignantly. “You’re screwing with my system.”
“There’s a good reason.” Zeb’s fingers closed on the package, and he pulled it out in triumph and held it up to Jules. “Want to go fishing?”
It took Jules a moment before understanding crossed his face, and then excitement.
“You saw the bait?” He realized what Zeb was holding up. “You’re kidding, right? No one but you likes that stuff.”
“Apparently, both strolias and Larry would disagree.” Zeb tossed the package to Jules, who caught it with an incredulous look. “Set up the line while we’re diving. See if anything bites.”
“Aye, aye, captain.” Jules examined the package with a shake of his head. “I hope you’re right about this. I don’t want to touch the stuff more than I have to. It gives me the heebie jeebies, remembering that rubber feeling in my mouth.”
When Krista announced through the intercom that they were at the next station, Zeb went to the aft deck to get ready for diving. Jules already had his rod in the rod holder, his line in the water, and was whistling tunelessly. Zeb grabbed a bucket, filled it with water from the seawater hose on deck, and quietly placed it beside Jules.
“You’re hopeful,” Jules said.
“Better to be prepared than not.”
Corrie came out with her fleece gear on, ready to put on her dry suit. When she spotted Jules, she looked confused.
“Fishing? Is that safe while we’re diving?”
“We’ll follow the shelf that way,” Zeb said quickly, pointing to the far side of the boat. “We won’t meet the hook underwater, I promise.”
“And think how happy you’ll be at dinner, when you bite into succulent, fresh fish.” Jules smacked his lips. “Ever had it this fresh? There’s nothing quite like it.”
“Okay,” said Corrie with a doubtful expression. “If you’re sure.”
Their dive was successful, although Zeb’s itching skin screamed to be released from the confines of the wetsuit. When they surfaced, he could hardly wait another moment.
“You go on up,” he told Corrie. “I want to check something on the bow. Bit of a mark there, make sure it’s okay.”
“Oh, right.” She looked worried. “Do you want me to come and help?”
“I won’t be long.” Having her accompany him to the phantom mark would definitely not help. “I won’t be diving, just swimming. Maybe I could pass my tank and weights up to you.”
“Sure thing.”
Once Corrie was out of sight and the sounds of the winch for water collection had started, Zeb wriggled out of his wetsuit with a gasp of relief. He tied the arms around the lowest rung of the ladder so that the suit wouldn’t float away, then he flipped his body headfirst. His legs waved in the air until they reached the resistance of water, then he was diving. Sweet, glorious water flowed over him.
He stayed submerged for only a few minutes. Every ten seconds, he felt the almost indiscernible pulse from the strange device near the bow. He should search the wheelhouse when he was back on board. It was disconcerting to have unknown devices on his boat. On the surface, he untied his wetsuit and climbed quietly up the ladder. Corrie leaned over the railing to watch her bottles ascend, so he tiptoed to find his towel. A shout from Jules made him whirl around.
“Something’s on the line!”
Zeb leaped to the rod, which was bent in a semicircle toward the water. He wrestled the rod from its holder and let the reel spin. It had worked for Matt, after all, and Zeb had plenty of experience winding in salmon. When the line grew slack, he reeled it in.
“Keep it taut,” Jules said. “Nice steady pressure.”
“This is not my first rodeo,” Zeb said with gritted teeth. Corrie leaned over the railing beside him.
“What do you think you
caught?” she said with interest. “Is it a salmon? Ling cod? Rockfish? Some rockfish are endangered, you know.”
“We’ll throw it back if we need to,” Jules assured her. Zeb concentrated on his rod. The line tugged violently, and he let the reel spin once more.
“How many times do you do that?” Corrie asked.
“Until the fish is too tired to run,” Jules said. “It’s a game of endurance, for sure. We’ll get it, though. Zeb’s patience and my superb coaching will bag this fish.”
Zeb grunted and reeled in the now-slack line.
“You’re indispensable, you are.”
“I know.” Jules picked up a net from a hook nearby. “Hurry up, will you? We need to finish collecting water.”
“Why don’t I take the net, and you can pull the bottles up, Jules?” Corrie said. “I’d like my water on board as quickly as possible after our dive.”
Jules handed her the net and moved to the winch. Zeb let the fish run one more time, but it was tiring, for it had hardly started running when it stopped again. Zeb wound in the slack, ready to pull this mystery fish out of the water. Was it a strolia? Could they be that lucky?
“Aren’t you cold?” Corrie said. “You’re only wearing a speedo, and the wind is freezing.”
“I’m fine,” Zeb said in distraction. There wasn’t much resistance on the line anymore. “I don’t mind the cold.”
A silvery shape emerged from the gloom. Corrie squinted beside him.
“Wait,” Corrie said. “What kind of fish is that?”
Zeb’s heart gave a jolt of excitement. Please, please, please, he thought. Let it be a strolia. Let me get it on board.
“Ready with that net?” he said to Corrie. “I’m bringing it up now.”
She held the net out in readiness, her brow furrowed with uncertainty. Zeb reeled the fish to the surface, then with a sudden motion, yanked it out of the water.
The strolia wriggled furiously in the open air, its scales glinting colorfully in the sun. Corrie gasped.
“The net!” Zeb shouted. “Hold it under!”
Corrie thrust the net out and Zeb lowered the squirming fish into it. Immediately, a growing hole formed in the rope where the horn sliced it open. Zeb swore and dropped the rod to grab the net from Corrie. He brought it to the deck and gingerly upended the fish into the bucket of saltwater. With a careful twist of his fingers, Zeb pulled out the hook from the fish’s lip.
The fish stopped flailing but swam in endless circles in its circular prison. Zeb wiped sweat off his forehead. It might be cold out, but exertion and exhilaration had heated him.
“Is that—” Corrie said quietly. “Is that a unicorn fish?” She raised shining eyes to Zeb’s. His face cracked open in a wide smile.
“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”
KRISTA
Jules swung into the cabin, his breath coming in gasps. Krista looked at him askance.
“Maybe you should exercise more, Jules, if using the winch winded you that much.”
“Krista!” he ignored her jibe. “We caught one. A unicorn fish!”
Krista stared at Jules, her brain trying to decipher his announcement. Somehow, after days of failure, they had managed to bring one of Zeb’s infamous strolias on board. A part of her was distressed that Zeb’s obsession was being fed, although maybe finding out that it was just a fish would help dispel any illusions about hidden worlds that he had. Another part of her was intensely curious to see the fish up close.
“Go on, go check it out,” Jules said. “I’ll take the wheel.”
Krista shrugged, more for Jules’ benefit than because she was indifferent, and headed to the aft deck. Zeb and Corrie kneeled beside a bucket that was usually used for cleaning the boat. Krista forced herself to walk slowly over.
“What did you find?” she asked. Zeb couldn’t tear his eyes away from the bucket, but Corrie looked up with wide eyes.
“We got a unicorn fish.” She shuffled over to make room. “Come see. It’s amazing.”
Even Krista had to admit that the unicorn fish, Zeb’s strolia, was beautiful. For a fish. Its scales glistened with an iridescence she had never seen before, and the horn that sprouted above its eyes was composed of delicate, translucent bones. It swam around and around its tiny enclosure, and Krista’s heart squeezed unexpectedly.
“Zeb, come on,” she said sharply. “Get the poor thing a tank. It can hardly move in there.”
Zeb leaped to his feet and lifted the cover of the hold. He returned shortly with the aquarium tank, shoving it up and sliding it along the deck to a shaded spot behind the winch. Corrie jumped to fetch the saltwater hose and fill the tank. Krista heaved the bucket into the air and shuffled over. The fish swam in its endless circle even faster with the sloshing of the water.
“Sorry, buddy,” she said quietly. Then she dumped the contents of the bucket into the tank.
After a moment of panicked thrashing, the fish settled down and swam in slow circles, exploring its new home. Corrie, Zeb, and Krista kneeled to stare at it again.
The fish was mesmerizing, and there wasn’t much in this world that Krista felt qualified for such a descriptor. She could watch it for hours. It seemed happier now, or at least as comfortable as it could be in a small tank instead of in the ocean. Its eye watched the three of them as intently as they watched it.
Eventually, Zeb shifted.
“So, Corrie,” he said hoarsely. Krista wondered what he was thinking right now. “Do you want to do any tests to it? Or document it somehow?”
“Yes.” Corrie sat up with a start then scrambled to her feet. She looked around in distraction. “Yes, right. Document. Let me grab my stuff.” She disappeared into the lab. Shuffling, banging noises drifted out the open door.
“Now what?” Krista said quietly to Zeb. “Now that you’ve caught one, where do you go from here?”
Zeb shook his head wordlessly, his eyes fixed on the unicorn fish.
“Let’s see what Corrie finds out,” he said finally. “Any information is more than what I have right now.”
“What are you really looking for?” Krista said. It hadn’t occurred to her until now, until they had a living creature in a tank on the deck, to ask what Zeb truly wanted to get out of finding the basis of his mother’s stories. Some convoluted path to figure out why he could hold his breath for so long? Some minor way to feel closer to his dead mother? Krista suspected Zeb didn’t have a good answer.
He was spared from making something up by the return of Corrie. Her hands were full of sampling apparatus.
“Okay,” Corrie said breathlessly. “I brought a camera, obviously, as well as swabs. I don’t want to do anything more invasive at this point. Let’s do preliminary testing first.”
Krista’s mouth twisted. She didn’t want to see the unicorn fish—she refused to call it a strolia, even in her mind—hurt. It couldn’t help being so strange.
“What will the swabs do?” she asked. Corrie prepared a plastic sampling bag.
“We can get a chemical composition of any exudates on its skin. See how it looks a bit slimy? I want to know what compounds are in it, especially if the slime is what causes hallucinations. I’ll swab the skin, and then the blood on its mouth, if I can manage it. Blood would be far more likely to give me a clear genetic signal, and we can get information on exactly what sort of fish we are looking at.”
Krista nodded, impressed despite herself. Maybe having Corrie along would prove useful, after all. If anything, they could find out that this fish was just a mutant salmon, and Zeb could get back to his regular life.
The skin swab was easy enough to get. Corrie sealed a bag around the swab then approached the fish for a second time. It flung itself around the tank in a skittish fashion. Krista gritted her teeth.
“You’re scaring it,” she snapped. “Wait a minute.”
Corrie pulled the swab out with a surprised look on her face, but Krista ignored her and wri
ggled onto her stomach so that her head was level with the tank. She stared at the fish, trying to think. It swam around in an agitated circle, but when she traced her finger gently along the side of the tank, it followed her finger with its nose.
“Zeb, can you calm it down—somehow?” Krista referred to his ability to charm any fish he met underwater. He’d even encountered some six-gill sharks from the depths, but they had done little more than nuzzle him and retreat. Zeb shook his head.
“Don’t know what I could do from here.”
Krista nodded. He wasn’t in the water. Sounds probably traveled differently through the air, and the fish wouldn’t even hear Zeb properly. She snapped her fingers as an idea occurred to her.
“What did you use for bait? Put a bit of that on the swab, then get your sample while it’s eating.”
“Yes,” Corrie breathed. “What did you use, after all?”
Zeb retrieved the package of dried jellyfish and fished out a piece. Corrie frowned.
“Jellyfish? Really? Okay, give it to me and I’ll thread it onto the swab. I don’t want you to touch the end of the swab without gloves.”
The jellyfish threaded, Corrie plunged the swab into the tank. The fish skittered away at the sudden movement.
“Here,” Krista said. “Let me try.”
Corrie wavered, then she shrugged and handed Krista a pair of gloves. Once Krista had pulled on the thin latex over her hands, Corrie handed her the swab.
“One quick swipe will do. I can work with very little DNA, if necessary.”
Krista nodded and slid the swab and jellyfish into the water. She waved it slowly. The fish looked at it intently. Then, slowly, so slowly, it swam toward the treat. Krista held her breath. Would this work?
The fish reached out and nibbled cautiously at the jellyfish. She pushed the swab closer to the wound on its lip. Closer, and closer, until…
“Yes,” Corrie whispered. “You can bring it out anytime, now.”
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