The Beast of Cretacea

by Todd Strasser

  “What about Queek?” Gwen asks.

  A hum comes from the chamber where the pod shimmers and then fades into nothingness. Ishmael explains what happened with the pirates, and how he had no choice but to leave Queequeg behind. “I’m going back for him.”

  Charity looks up from the screen. “How?”

  “In a chase boat.”

  Gwen shakes her head. “You’ll never get permission.”

  “I don’t plan to ask for it.”

  The control room goes silent. Both women give him dubious looks.

  “Even if you’re somehow able to steal a chase boat”— Gwen’s tone implies how unlikely she thinks that is —“do you realize what you’ll be giving up? If they get the Great Terrafin and you’re AWOL, you won’t get to share the bounty. You’ll be left with nothing.”

  Charity gazes up at him with a strange expression that reminds him of the day he arrived on this ship and she scanned his registry. And suddenly it hits him that all along she’s known something about him that until recently he never suspected . . . that he’s of the Gilded. Is she wondering why he cares so much — and is willing to risk so much — for someone who doesn’t even have a registry?

  “No, Gwen, he’ll get something, all right,” Charity says. “He’ll get to spend the rest of the voyage in the brig. That is, if the pirates don’t kill him first.”

  Ishmael turns to Gwen. “Look, I know I owe you a lot of money, and once I go back for Queequeg, the chances of me paying you back will be . . . well, not exactly promising. But think about it, Gwen. With the money you gave me . . . er, lent me . . . you may have saved two lives. Thanks to you, my foster parents could be going somewhere safe.”

  “You really think I care about your foster parents?” Gwen snaps. “I don’t even know them.”

  The control room goes so quiet, they could hear the tiniest terrafin skiver drop.

  Gwen’s face softens. “It’s you I care about, stupid. If I need more money, I’ll figure out how to make it. But right now my biggest problem is understanding how you think you can steal a chase boat and save Queequeg. Frankly, I don’t think there’s enough brains in that skull to do it alone.”

  When Ishmael realizes what she’s implying, he shakes his head. “You’re not coming with me. It may already be too late. Who knows what they did to Queek when they found out I escaped? You’re right, this could be a suicide mission.”

  “Gee, you’ve made it sound so appealing, I guess I’ll have to go, too, honey.” Charity shuts down the screen.

  “Seriously, both of you. I’m not looking for a crew.”

  Charity’s countenance becomes grave. “Okay, you want to be serious? I’ve got a score to settle with those barbarians myself. Even if you don’t take me with you, I’d probably find another way to get them.”

  “Didn’t you say a minute ago that the pirates will kill me if I go back?” Ishmael argues. “What makes you think they won’t kill you, too?”

  “Not sure my chances are much better staying on this ship and going after that monster,” Charity says. “But getting my hands on those pirates would be a lot more satisfying.”

  “She’s got a point,” Gwen agrees.

  Ishmael studies them both, knowing that while the chances of saving Queequeg are slim, they’re certainly better with Charity and Gwen coming along than if he goes alone.

  He leans close and tells them his plan.

  Charity’s persuaded Starbuck to assign her temporarily as a lineman on Chase Boat Four, replacing Pip. Their new stickman is Flask, who did some harpooning in his earlier years. Ishmael has no doubt that the man with the viper tattoos on his face has been quietly ordered to keep an eye on him. The third mate’s presence is an inconvenience, but it won’t stop Ishmael from going ahead with his plan.

  Within a few hours of being launched, Chase Boat Four is far enough from the Pequod to be out of two-way range. The drones are even farther off, scanning the ocean for the Great Terrafin.

  Ishmael cuts the RTG, and the chase boat drifts silently. Flask, behind the harpoon gun in the bow, gives Ishmael a puzzled look.

  “We’re going to get Queequeg.” From under the console, Ishmael pulls out a duffel he’d hidden earlier.

  Flask blinks with surprise. “Are ya mad, boy? The captain’ll keelhaul ya — assuming ya make it back in one piece.” He shifts his sights to Charity. “And you, who barely survived yer first run-in with the pirates. Ya really think you’ll be so lucky a second time?”

  “I was on my own last time,” Charity replies defiantly. “This time I’ve got backup.”

  Ishmael passes the duffel to Flask. Inside it is a survival suit that’s been treated with big-tooth repellent. “The Pequod will pass by here in a couple of hours. They’ll send a tender to get you.”

  Flask starts to pull the suit on. “I guess there’s no convincing the three of ya that yer mad. But probably no madder than anyone else on that Earth-forsaken ship.”

  “Can I ask you a favor?” Ishmael says.

  The third mate raises his eyebrows. “Funny time to ask fer a favor, but ya did save me considerable coin on the repairs fer this boat, so go on, tell me what ya want.”

  “When they pick you up and Starbuck asks what happened, tell him I forced Gwen and Charity to stay onboard. If we ever make it back to the Pequod, I don’t want them punished.”

  Flask chuckles. “Sure. That’ll be easy, since it’s guaranteed none a’ you’ll be comin’ back.” He sits on the gunwale and activates the survival suit’s rescue beacon. “Anyway, I appreciate the suit. Someone else might’ve just thrown me overboard in my undies. Been nice knowing ya.”

  He goes over the side with a splash.

  A day and a half later, when Ishmael noses the chase boat through the gap in the island reef, he sees children playing on the beach and outriggers searching for scurry. A weight lifts from his chest: The pirates haven’t yet attacked.

  “So this is the island.” Charity sounds awestruck.

  An outrigger leaves shore and starts toward them, Gabriel in the bow. When the two boats meet, he reaches out and gives Ishmael’s hand a welcoming grasp.

  “Tis good t’see ye again,” he says warmly but with a hint of caution. “Come.” He signals the outrigger to turn around and head for shore. The chase boat follows.

  On the beach, Fayaway, Thistle, and Billy wait. Billy’s skin is the dark copper of the islanders’, his body lean and wiry. His sun-bleached curly blond hair hangs in ringlets over his ears.

  Charity’s mouth falls open with disbelief. “Billy?”

  He grins broadly. “Art ye surprised?”

  “Shocked,” Charity replies. “You’re alive! And you look completely different.”

  Billy beams. Ishmael wonders if he even realizes he speaks like an islander now.

  Gwen gives him an uncharacteristic hug. “It’s good to see you again. And you, too,” she adds to Fayaway.

  Thistle joyfully wraps her arms around Gwen’s waist. Fayaway steps close to Ishmael and touches his cheek. “Never thought we’d see ye again,” she whispers.

  “Neither did I.”

  With her finger, she traces his mustache and the patch beneath his lip. “Ye art handsome.”

  Ishmael feels blood rush to his face. He turns to Gabriel, expecting him to ask why they’ve come, but instead Fayaway’s father says, “’Tis almost dinner. Will ye stay?”

  When they start up the beach, Billy asks, “Where’s Queek?”

  Ishmael looks down at the sand. “The pirates have him.”

  “How?” Billy’s face is chiseled with concern.

  “There’s a lot I need to tell you. All of you.”

  They leave the beach and walk along the path through the trees. Ishmael notices platforms high in the branches. “Are those new?”

  Billy’s expression grows pinched, and he explains that they’re for the islanders to fire arrows and darts at an approaching enemy. “Diana’s convinced we must prepare for the worst
. She can’t believe that ye shall never tell another soul about our terrafins.”

  Ishmael cringes. In a little while, Diana will discover that she was right not to trust him. Not that it’s his fault the pirates know about the terrafins, but had the islanders followed Diana’s wishes that he and his crew not leave the island, they would be much safer right now. He hates to think that they were smart to build those platforms and prepare to defend themselves.

  Still, he’s not prepared for what awaits them just outside the village: A tall barricade made of sharp wooden spikes pointing outward. It is a formidable barrier, and a horrible eyesore in such a beautiful and harmonious setting.

  While they wait outside the closed gate for someone to let them in, Ishmael notices something else: “There’s no music.”

  Billy nods somberly. “Diana says there’s no place for music when we must constantly be listening for the enemy.”

  There are fewer islanders at dinner than Ishmael recalls. Fayaway says it’s because some are always posted now as lookouts in case of attack. The atmosphere at the evening meal is no longer festive. The islanders eat quietly and speak in whispers.

  Still, to Charity it must seem blissful. She takes in the trees and night-blooming flowers and puts her arm around Billy’s shoulder. “No wonder you decided to stay here. I feel like I’m in paradise.”

  “’Tis nothing compared with the way ’twas,” Billy whispers glumly. “Fear of attack ’tis like an invisible shroud always over us.”

  After dinner Gabriel invites Ishmael to join him and Diana beside a fire.

  “T’what we owe this visit?” Gabriel asks, a cautious edge to his voice.

  Ishmael takes a steadying breath and tells them everything: how he, Queequeg, and their crewmate Pip were captured by pirates, how the pirates were going to kill Queequeg and him, but Pip saved their lives . . . by telling them about the islanders farming terrafins.

  Diana bangs a fist against the ground. “I knew it!” She glares at Gabriel. “And ye were so certain he’d never tell!”

  Ishmael hangs his head and accepts the blame. Ultimately it will make no difference that it’s not actually his fault: that Pip found out about the islanders’ terrafins by eavesdropping on a private conversation he was having with Gwen. All that matters now is that the islanders are in danger.

  With sadness in his eyes, Gabriel speaks to Diana. “’Tis true t’we have been betrayed. Yet he has returned t’warn us. ’Twas not compelled to do this. ’Tis a mark of character.”

  Diana’s response is a contemptuous guffaw. “We must redouble our efforts t’protect ourselves. ’Tis time t’train the older children in the arts of combat.”

  Ishmael steels himself for what he has to say next: “Wait. There’s more. I have to ask you for a favor.”

  Diana stares at him in disbelief. “Art ye mad? After what ye’ve done t’us? Ye should be cast off forever!”

  With a pained look, Gabriel watches the red sparks of the fire vanish into the night air. “What ’tis this favor?” he asks quietly.

  “Ye can’t be serious!” Diana sputters, but Gabriel holds up a hand to silence her.

  “The pirates still have Queequeg,” Ishmael says. “We may be too late to save him, but we must try. Except my friends and I can’t do it alone. If we’re going to have any chance of succeeding, we’ll need your —”

  “’Tis out of the question!” Diana spits. “Even if ye deserved our help, we need everyone here t’ defend against those demons. ’Tis only a matter of time till they come.”

  Gabriel reflects for a moment, then speaks to Ishmael. “We must think of more than one life. There art the lives of all our people t’ consider.”

  Ishmael anticipated this reply — indeed, he knows he would react the same way were he in their position. “I understand. But what if I had a way to save Queequeg and stop the pirates from ever attacking you?”

  “’Tis utter nonsense!” Diana contends. “A handful of ye against a whole host of demons? Impossible!”

  But Gabriel asks, “How?”

  Ishmael lays out his plan. When he’s finished, Gabriel picks up a stick and stirs the coals in the fire while he thinks.

  “Ye can’t seriously be considering this,” Diana warns him. “’Tis madness. A false promise t’ get us t’help him save his friend. How many times must he mislead us before ye understand?”

  Gabriel entwines his fingers and stares at the fire without answering.

  With a hard look, Diana tells Ishmael, “We’ve heard ye and will discuss it among ourselves. But ye shan’t hold t’hope.”

  While Fayaway remains behind to listen to the discussion, Ishmael, Gwen, Charity, and Billy go down to the beach. The great orb hangs in the night sky, casting a rippling, luminescent stripe across the black water.

  Sitting on the shore, Charity lets the gentle tide lap at her feet. “I can’t get over how beautiful it is here.”

  Once again, Ishmael must gulp back the guilt he feels, knowing he could be responsible for the violence and mayhem that may soon visit this place.

  “How did ye come to be captured by the pirates?” Billy asks.

  In the glow of the orblight, Ishmael catches Billy up on all that’s happened since they left him. Though Charity and Gwen have heard the stories before, this time around Gwen seems confused by one detail: “You’re saying that the pirates let Pip go once they found out he was of the Gilded? How could the Gilded be so powerful, not only on Earth but throughout the galaxy, without the rest of us even knowing they existed?”

  Once again, Charity casts a curious look at Ishmael. Then she says, “What if I told you there’s a whole industry devoted to making sure you don’t know about the Gilded — or about much of anything, really.”

  They listen while she goes on to explain that between her job as the ship’s stasis tech, things Starbuck said to her while under the influence of the serum, and what she’s picked up from a bit of judicious snooping, she has a reasonably good understanding of what’s really been going on back on Earth:

  “Everything is controlled by the Trust. What was once ‘the government’ was sold off and privatized during the Resource Wars — when the east and west fought over Africa and Antarctica for their natural resources. Only it wasn’t countries fighting those wars, as you were led to believe. It was corporations.”

  Ishmael thinks back to Pip saying that Queek had no comprehension of how powerful the Gilded were. “So, the Trust and the Gilded are the same thing?”

  “When the war finally ended and the truce was signed, the few hundred families who owned the corporations got together and formed a trust that controlled everything,” Charity continues. “Obviously it was in their interest not to let the rest of the citizenry know that the result of centuries of sacrifice, death, and destruction was the Gilded’s enormous increase in personal wealth and power, so steps were taken to make sure no one found out.”

  Like a holographic image coming together over a holodeck, Ishmael sees a picture forming. “Queek said they banned the manufacture of electronic memory in tablets so that they could control the flow of information. And they outlawed Lectors, who were the only ones who could record and preserve the truth.”

  Billy, who’s been listening quietly so far, speaks up: “Right. But the Gilded themselves still learn how t’decipher the symbols. Ye can’t control information if ye can’t make sense of it.”

  Ishmael is silent for a moment, thinking. “While we were being held by the pirates, we found out that Pip had learned how to swim on Earth. And he once slipped and said he’d never had Natrient in his entire life.”

  “What the Gilded eat ’tisn’t much different from the scurry, meats, and vegetables the islanders eat,” Billy says. “Except the Gilded’s food starts as stem cells and ’tis grown in agar, micronutrients, and amino acids.”

  Gwen snorts. “Next you’ll tell us that they live on a part of the Earth where there’s no Shroud.”

  “No, they art unde
r the Shroud like everyone else, but they live inside enormous domes built over the rare aquifiers not contaminated by fracking wastewater. They have artificial sunlight, filtered air, and almost unlimited amounts of fresh water.”

  “That can’t be true,” Gwen protests. “It’s not possible. We would’ve known —”

  “It’s true,” Ishmael breaks in. “My foster brother and I once climbed a smokestack and saw one. It was so far away that it was just a bluish-green convex shape. We didn’t know what it was at the time, but now I think it must have been one of their domes.”

  Billy scoops up a handful of sand and lets it slip through his fingers. “Ye once asked what my family’s company did. We disposed of the dead. ’Tis the one business the Gilded want nothing t’ do with. We were the only non-Gilded allowed in the domes.”

  “Why don’t they want anything to do with the dead?” Ishmael asks.

  “T’ cease terrifies them. ’Tis their greatest dread.”

  “But everyone has to die,” Gwen says. “Even the Gilded.”

  Billy doesn’t respond, and when Ishmael glances at Charity, she looks away. He senses there’s still something they’re not revealing. But before he can press either of them to explain, Fayaway comes down to the beach. She kneels beside Ishmael and their shoulders touch. “’Twill not help you. ’Tis not in our nature t’ be warlike. Even this”— she gestures at the defenses that have been built in the past few weeks —“’twas unnatural for us. So what ye ask . . . ’Tis too much.”

  The lagoon’s tiny waves lap at the sand. Ishmael and Fayaway sit together. Billy has insisted that he join them against the pirates, saying Queequeg is his friend, too. Now he, Gwen, and Charity have gone back to the village.

  Fayaway bites her lower lip. “When will ye leave?”

  Ishmael looks at her, wondering if after tomorrow they will ever see each other again. “First thing in the morning.”

  Her fingers weave into his and squeeze. In this moment, in the gentle glow of the orblight, with the infinite sparkling night above and the vast ocean beyond, Ishmael wishes he could stay on this island for the rest of his years, in this place unscathed by everything the people of Earth once thought of as progress and now know to be annihilation.