by Mira Grant
“We’re all mammals,” said Luis.
“That’s right. We’re all mammals.” She knocked on the glass again. The mermaid hissed at her. She looked at it impassively. “Mammals. Hot-blooded, hotheaded, never as well suited to the ocean as the fish or the crustaceans … We left and then we came back. The water never forgave us. Why should it? We were the prodigal children, us and our kin, and even if we wanted to come home, home didn’t want us anymore. So it made better predators. Things that specialized in the consumption of mammals. Things that could call us across wide distances. I bet this lovely lady of the sea has a whole arsenal of whale songs and dolphin calls and other things she can bust out when she’s hunting. Don’t you?”
“Don’t you?” echoed the mermaid. “Don’t you?” Its throat pulsed when it spoke, gills closing for a moment, like it was unable to both breathe and talk.
“They eat fish, because nothing this complex can evolve without becoming an opportunist—there’s a reason humans are omnivores. Chimps, coyotes, and ravens, too. We don’t have a patent on intelligence. The smarter you are, the more likely you are to want to eat the world. Can you eat seaweed, I wonder, with those teeth of yours?” Jillian leaned closer to the glass. She and the mermaid were face to face, almost nose to nose; they were reflected in one another’s eyes.
The mermaid hung motionless, seemingly as enthralled by this look at the face of the enemy as Jillian was. Its mouth was closed, concealing its fishhook forest of teeth; with those fleshy, humanoid lips pursed, it was easier to understand how a lonely sailor could have overlooked the wrongness of the picture, and focused only on what they wanted to be right.
“Seaweed, and fish, and maybe even each other, when the pickings are lean,” said Jillian. “But whales, dolphins, lonely sailors … Those are gifts. Take down an orca and your family feeds for a week. They learned to call for us because we wouldn’t follow a shiny light or a wiggling worm. They baited the sea with lures, and then they waited.”
“Waited,” said the mermaid. “Waited, waited.”
“If they’re so smart and so dangerous, why the hell did they give up the shallows?” asked Hallie. Her voice had dropped, becoming low and tight with anger. “Why did we have to come all the way out here to find them?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure we’re going to find out soon enough.” Jillian turned her back on her mermaid. She didn’t flinch when it started flinging itself at the glass, over and over again, claws scrabbling for purchase as it bit at the water in frustration.
“Um,” said Tory. “How strong is … I mean, should we be concerned right now?”
“Not in the least.” Theo took a step forward, his leg shaking so hard that it seemed likely to dump him on his face. He didn’t appear to notice, or if he did, he didn’t appear to care: his eyes were fixed on the wall behind his wife, on the mermaid that thrashed and raged in the water. “This tank wasn’t intended to hold a mermaid, but the ‘glass’ is transparent titanium. The lab that made it assures me that it could take a direct hit from a surface-to-air missile without so much as cracking. The creature stands absolutely no chance of breaking through.”
“So we’re going to kill it, right?” The voice was Olivia’s. Everyone turned to her. She had lowered both her hands. She didn’t look angry, exactly; she didn’t look anything. She was a perfectly blank slate, something that was as odd as it was unnerving.
“Of course not,” said Jillian, before anyone else could recover from their surprise. “This was the plan all along, wasn’t it?” She turned to face Theo, who said nothing. Her eyes narrowed. “Wasn’t it?”
“I wasn’t intending to keep it here—there’s another tank below the prow, where we could have transferred a creature after netting it—and I wasn’t expecting them to catch the dolphins,” he said. “I’ll admit that their speed has come as something of a surprise. I thought … Well. It’s irrelevant what I thought. When you consider their natural weapons, their clear adaptations to ambush predation, it’s reasonable that we expected them to be more passive hunters.”
“But you were always planning to catch one for your little menagerie.” Jillian shook her head. “I wondered why you would go to all the trouble of isolating the dolphins from the crew. With the number of marine biologists we have here—”
“I didn’t expect them to die,” he said sharply. “The idea was for them to lure one or more of the mermaids back to the ship. That’s all. None of the dolphins were supposed to be sacrificed.”
“Just like Heather Wilson wasn’t supposed to be sacrificed?”
Theo narrowed his eyes. “I don’t appreciate your implication.”
“Oh, don’t you? I hadn’t noticed. Either you’re a fool or a monster, and either way, you’re not my responsibility anymore. It’s time to lock this ship down and get the hell out of here. They’re coming. No one is concerned enough about what that means.” Jillian narrowed her eyes, gaze locked on Theo. “We have a mermaid. You win, I win, Imagine wins, and now we get the hell out of here.”
“You have to understand that isn’t possible.”
“You’re calling the shots, Theo. Anything you want to be possible is possible.”
Off to the side, ignored as everyone gaped at either the argument or the mermaid, Hallie moved toward the tank. Her hands were empty. If she was planning some sort of an attack, it was going to be futile. Maybe that was why she was allowed to proceed, why no one stepped in to stop her. What could she possibly do?
‘Hello,’ she signed to the mermaid. ‘Hello.’
The mermaid stopped beating its hands against the glass and turned to look at her.
‘Hello,’ she signed again.
Slowly, eyes narrowing as it focused on her, the mermaid signed back, ‘Hello.’ The gesture was imperfect.
‘Hello,’ signed Hallie. She inclined her head, trying to make the mermaid understand that it had achieved communication. She pressed a hand to her chest, flat, before signing her name.
‘Hello,’ signed the mermaid.
“Look,” breathed Daniel. “I think it understands.”
Everyone in the room turned to watch as the grieving sister and the captive mermaid signed back and forth, slowly, seeking connection, seeking understanding across a gulf of space and species and environment, and no one said a word.
CHAPTER 21
Western Pacific Ocean, above the Mariana Trench: September 2, 2022
They had all been forbidden to disclose the fact that a mermaid had been captured. “Think of the unnecessary panic,” had been Theodore Blackwell’s comment.
“Think of the impending loss of life,” had been Jillian Toth’s retort.
“We will make an announcement to the crew and passengers regarding the situation as a whole, and what they can do to improve their safety. We’ll remind them that they should be staying in their cabins until the captain decides to deploy the shutters, and stress that they should not go out alone.” Theo had looked at his ex-wife with something akin to pity. “Dr. Wilson is opening communication channels. Perhaps they will prove open to diplomacy.”
“You’re a fool,” Jillian had snarled.
Luis had said nothing, only looked at the mermaid with hungry eyes. Olivia’s hunger had been more vengeful; she had stared at the mermaid like it was a betrayal of everything she stood for, and in the end, only Tory’s arm around her shoulders had caused her to look away.
Taking prisoners of war doesn’t fix the problem, had been Tory’s thought; like Luis, she had said nothing, allowing herself to be escorted from the room, directed to return to her quarters. Silence held until they reached the deck.
Luis kicked the rail. Olivia jumped. Tory didn’t.
“Those assholes are going to cut us out. You get that, don’t you? Greatest scientific discovery of the century, and they’re going to cut. Us. Out.” He punctuated his last three words with increasingly vicious kicks to the rail.
Tory rolled her eyes. “Are you done?”
“Yes.” Luis scowled at her. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because they’re not going to cut us out. They can’t cut us out. Even if they wanted to, they wouldn’t be able to. We’re on the ship. People are dying, just like they did on the Atargatis. There’s no way we can be cut out of this. We’re going to be lucky to survive it.”
Luis’s scowl thawed into something like hope. “Do you really think so?”
“Sometimes I feel like you only listen to me when it’s convenient,” said Tory. “Yes, I think so. We’re trapped on a floating tin can in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by predators smart enough to communicate and plan, and no one’s doing anything to get us the hell away from here. We’re not going to get cut out. We’re going to die.”
“I’m going to the lab. I want to see if their communications shifted after Mr. Blackwell took that one captive.”
“You do that,” said Tory. She stood where she was as Luis turned on his heel and trotted down the deck. Only then did she look at Olivia and ask, “Are you okay?”
“Ray’s dead,” said Olivia. “I don’t know what I am anymore.”
Tory laughed, strained and brittle. “You’ll figure it out. Do you want me to walk you to your cabin? You shouldn’t be alone.”
Olivia hesitated before shaking her head. “I don’t want to … I’m not sure I can be alone right now. I don’t know what to do with my hands.”
“Oh.” Tory took a breath before offering her hand to Olivia. “Hold on to me.”
Olivia bit her lip and slipped her hand into Tory’s. Her fingers were cold. Tory clutched them a little harder than was strictly needful, in part to warm them, in part because Olivia wasn’t the only one looking for something to hold on to. The world was changing. Some of the changes were things she’d been dreaming of for years, while others … others she could have gone a lifetime without. Mermaids were real. Mermaids had killed her sister. These things were facts, grains of traumatic sand she had long since embedded in her psyche. Every aspect of her life was built on the scar tissue of those two statements.
But the mermaids were intelligent. The mermaids were hunting because they were hungry. They had been bothering no one out here in the middle of the Pacific—and if that wasn’t quite true, at least they were staying in their own territory, and only bothering the people foolish enough to trespass on the lovely ladies of the sea. The mermaids were minding their own business. Based on what she’d seen belowdecks, Imagine had commissioned this second voyage knowing that, and not caring. They were here to disturb something deep and ancient and cold, something that was better left alone.
Belatedly Tory realized they were walking toward her cabin. She glanced at Olivia, whose pale hair glowed in the moonlight. The mermaids glowed too, bright and cold and implacable. Their light seemed unnatural to her, as a daughter of the land, who had grown up surrounded by things that did not bioluminesce. Even her knowledge of marine biology couldn’t change her revulsion at the sight of them. But Olivia …
Olivia’s hair was lovely, softly silver, like all her color had been stolen away. She was a black and white shadow of a woman, eyes downcast, trusting Tory to lead her to whatever came next. Tory realized she wanted to protect her, and that she had no idea how to do it.
“Where’s your cabin?” she asked, in a soft voice, trying to sound gentle, trying to sound like she wasn’t a threat. “I’ll walk you there.”
“I’d rather not be alone.” Olivia slanted a glance in her direction, sizing her up through the silvery fall of her hair. “Is it all right if I spend the night with you?”
There were layers upon layers to that question, giving every word a double or even triple meaning. Tory swallowed hard. “I don’t mind if you sleep over,” she said.
“Oh,” said Olivia, looking faintly disappointed.
“I wouldn’t mind sleeping with you either,” said Tory. “I just don’t want it to be because you’re upset and need someone to comfort you. I’m not that kind of girl.”
Olivia’s feet stopped moving, like they were suddenly rooted to the deck. Tory continued for a few more steps, before the rigid line of Olivia’s arm jerked her to a stop, giving her the choice between letting go and staying where she was. She chose to stay, turning to look at Olivia, still lovely in the moonlight, now staring at her with wide eyes.
“What did you say?” she asked.
Tory flushed. “I’m sorry. I may have been misreading the signals. I thought … I sort of thought you’d been flirting with me. I didn’t say anything because I wanted to be sure, and because I wanted—I wanted to prove the mermaids were down there. I wanted to do it for Anne. I felt like I had to do that much for her, after all the promises I made her, before I did something for me.”
“No, I meant … What did you say?” Olivia shook her head. “I don’t always understand … I mean, signals are hard. Especially about something like this. People don’t say what they mean. They say things that live in the same neighborhood as what they mean, and then they look at me like I’m stupid because I don’t pick it up instantly. I’m not stupid. I’m just not that specific kind of smart.”
“Oh.” Tory didn’t let go of Olivia’s hand; instead she adjusted her grip, turning her fingers so she could step closer to the other woman without bending her arm at an uncomfortable angle. She stopped when they were almost nose to nose, her chin tilted slightly down, Olivia’s tilted slightly up. “Normally I’d ask you out before inviting you to spend the night. Coffee, maybe, or a movie, or a trip to the aquarium to watch them feed the otters.” Although the only real difference between the otters, adorable as they were, and the mermaids was scale, wasn’t it? If the otters had been big enough, they would have eaten their trainers without hesitation. The sea had little room for sentiment.
“Oh,” said Olivia, her tone turning the word into a revelation instead of just an echo. “So when you said sleeping with, you meant sleeping with. You like me?”
“I like you,” said Tory, with a hint of amusement—not mocking, quite, but definitely laughing somewhere deep under the words. “I didn’t at first, because of what you represented, but the more I’ve gotten to know you, the more I’ve liked you. And under the circumstances, I don’t think we need to stand on ceremony.”
“What about your work?”
“My work?” Tory laughed openly this time—openly and bitterly, like she couldn’t believe any of this was really happening. “My work is happening without me, in a room I’m not welcome in. Luis will keep watch on the sonar, but there’s nothing for me to do. Not until they let me back into the conversation about mermaid language.”
“Do you think they’re going to?”
“Honestly, I don’t know, and I don’t know whether I want them to. I don’t know much of anything right now. This is what I’ve been trying to prove for my whole life, that these things exist, and now they do, and I … I just don’t know.” Tory ran her thumb along the side of Olivia’s hand. “But I know we’re here. And I know I liked you even when I didn’t want to like you. And I know I don’t want to be alone either.”
Olivia didn’t say anything. Olivia just stepped closer and kissed her. After a moment’s surprised hesitation, Tory kissed her back, and for a while the world made sense again.
Luis wished he could leave the lab door open, partially so anyone walking by would know he was in there—and might be willing to talk; would probably be willing to talk, especially if they had coffee—and partially so he’d be able to hear what was going on outside. It was impossible to spend as much time as he had with Tory and not develop a healthy respect for the way the world sounded. It could tell him so much more than anyone thought it could. Even silence told a story.
(Before Heather had died, he and Holly had gotten into several good-natured debates about the nature of sound and silence, and whether what he learned from the first was greater than what she learned from the second. Hallie, who had inevitably been recruited to translate thes
e fights, had started throwing up her hands and ordering them to get a room after the third round. He wondered where Holly was. He wondered whether she was holding herself together. But there was the ultimate betrayal of their natures: without Hallie to act as go-between, they couldn’t understand each other. He knew half a dozen signs; she could read his lips with limited accuracy, if he spoke slowly and they were both patient. He wasn’t patient right now. He suspected she wasn’t either.)
Luis cracked his knuckles, sat, and began typing.
Tory focused on audio recordings; she wanted to know what was being said fathoms below. She wasn’t a linguist. She was a code breaker, treating the elements of language as pieces of a puzzle. It was a necessary part of the task of translating something as alien to human ears as the voices of the sea: she could filter the things that weren’t language, setting them to the side, and present the people who could actually do the translation with coherent data. Back at the aquarium she’d worked with cetologists and marine biologists to try to figure out what she was listening to. At least at the beginning, she’d been doing that here as well, turning to the other scientists recruited by Imagine and letting them bolster her work as they progressed with their own.
She knew she was a publicity stunt—the grieving sister of a member of the Atargatis crew, setting sail for answers—and she’d come anyway, because anything else would have been letting Anne down. Luis had known it was not only a publicity stunt, but a publicity stunt aimed at someone else, and he’d still signed up without hesitation. Where else was he going to get this sort of opportunity? Because while he was on the self-awareness train, he also knew his work was a joke at best and a waste of time at worst. He was a cryptid chaser lucky enough to have been blessed with access to essentially unlimited funds, and he was frittering away the family fortune chasing things that might or might not exist.