by M. N. Arzu
“And we need to get it going before noon,” the man said on the phone, “before the Navy comes up with another brilliant idea on how to mistreat merfolk.”
“So, what do you say, Patrick?” McKenzie asked with the widest of grins.
“Tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.”
* * *
The true sign of how much damage Drake had caused was in his punishment: isolation.
The observation room was empty. The monitors had been taken down, all computer equipment dismantled. Higgs hadn’t come to see him since the broadcast had gone live yesterday. Even the clock had disappeared. By this point, Drake would even settle for one of those creepy cat clocks to have a sense of time. The only thing left was his whiteboard and marker, since he’d taken those with him to the pool.
He was hungry, too, but he didn’t dwell on that. He was certain the Navy was not going to starve him to death. Breakfast had shown up before he’d woken up, but that had been the only meal of the day. He wondered if they hadn’t realized how much time had passed since they had their hands full with his previous antics.
Maybe Coleman had arranged it this way.
He slowly swam around the pool like a caged lion—if a lion could breathe underwater—and kept his thoughts calm and focused on the here and now. Occasional helicopters still flew around, and it was only reasonable to think that more guards had been called. He had no idea how big this place was, and walking out of the pool to see was not worth it. The cameras hadn’t been shut down, for one, and he’d rather keep his newfound ability to breathe air a secret.
If they were going to move him—and it was also reasonable to believe they would—it was better if they had to stop and think about how to transfer him. He’d come willingly when he’d been caught in open sea, but they had to think he would put up a fight this time around. After all, Coleman knew that the Council was aware of where Drake was, so his priority to move him somewhere else had to be high on his list of things to do.
They couldn’t drug him—they had already tried that with Scott last year and knew how dangerous it could be—and they wouldn’t risk an electric shock again, either. They had no way of paralyzing him, corralling him, or otherwise coaxing him out of the pool without some serious thinking.
They could drain the pool and tackle me by force… he absently thought as he considered the problem. In the water, he had no match, but on land, they had the numbers. And they knew he could be out of the water for up to fifteen minutes; that was plenty of time to encase him in a fish tank and ship him to Area 51.
Something tugged at his mind, a brief spark that died down as soon as it had flared. Julian wouldn’t come for him—hell, I’ll kill you if you come yourself—because he had to remain in New York and play by White’s rules. He had to choose his family over Drake.
I must be imagining things… He reached his starting point and began again. In his mind, he went over the code, the transmission, the cameras. He’d been planning those little messages for days, and he’d worked so hard to cover his fingerprints on the system. What if his transmission hadn’t connected? What if it had been intercepted? What if the Navy had found a creative way to deny the authenticity of it all?
…ake…
The quietest of whispers reached him, echoing in his mind. He stopped abruptly. That was not Julian, they knew each other’s mental voices too well to miss it.
…ake?
He closed his eyes and reached out. There was no trail to follow, no mental current to see. Even with his tracer’s skills, he found no link, no color.
You’re doing this wrong, he thought to himself. Someone was reaching out to him—he had to believe that—so he had to help them. If Julian was out of the question, that also meant Christopher was out of the game. The eldest Brooks was the only one capable of contacting him from a safe distance. Once upon a time, Scott would have been a good candidate as well. But Alex and Matt were too young and inexperienced.
Mireya would have no trouble, but the Council was not going to risk a second member falling prey to the Navy. But if not Mireya, then maybe—
Diana?
He rammed into his niece’s mind with such force that she must have lost her balance on the other side. Diana! he shouted, with far less intensity now that he had a clear path to her. Vivid purples and aqua shades formed in his mind as he pinpointed where she was. Some five miles away. He sensed she wasn’t alone, though no other merfolk were with her. What are you doing here?
It took her a few minutes of agonizing silence to settle back into their connection.
I’m with—I’m with the… She struggled with keeping her thoughts straight. Long-range telepathy was hard on anyone, but more so to young beginners like her.
Take a deep breath, he coached her. Had Mireya authorized this? Did the Council even know she was here? Honestly, he didn’t care. He was so relieved to connect with anyone by this point, that he didn’t need any detailed explanations regarding the whys and hows.
I’m with the United Nations, she finally managed. We’re coming to supervise your possible release.
Drake’s heart accelerated, the silliest grin forming on his face. Tell me everything!
* * *
“Turn off the TV,” Adrian said as he stretched on his bed. Matt looked up, confused. “We’ve been watching the news nonstop for twenty four hours. I want to sleep.”
Matt turned it off. Adrian had been in one hell of a mood swing all day long. They hadn’t slept much since they had been watching the news, but his brother’s angst kept escalating as the day wore on. Most of all, Adrian had been berating the Council for being so irresponsible with their secret, and how anyone else outside of the Council would have been punished by death for the same offense.
“He just decided that getting out of prison was more important than preserving the secret of how smart we are,” Adrian said as Matt also turned off the lights. The room became pitch black for a moment, until his eyes adjusted enough to see the shape of his bed.
“Drake wouldn’t have done it without a good reason.”
“A reason he won’t share with the rest of the community. It’s the same thing with Christopher: He was suddenly on every channel, and then he died, and no one said anything about what really happened. These UN talks you told me about yesterday? They’re the stupidest thing ever. Humans don’t want to talk. They want to either control us or exterminate us.”
Matt sighed inwardly, feeling his whole body tense after a day of watching the world transfixed by the fact that Ray could communicate. A bunch of idiots expected the Navy to follow Ray to his underwater world so they could finally solve the mystery of where they lived. Like Drake’s going to allow that…
“I just—I just don’t understand why you can’t see how worthless and misguided the Council is,” Adrian said after a moment. “How their existence is self-serving and unilateral.”
“I wouldn’t be here if there was no Council,” Matt tiredly said, staring at the ceiling he could barely see. “I would have died the same way our parents died…overdosed and sinking into the ocean. You would have never known about me, I would have never known about you. I wouldn’t have been able to find Scott and save him. Alex would have ended the same way as me, with no one to turn to when his parents died. I’d never know what a real family is, never would have met Julian or Christopher. I don’t know if you can understand this, but I am who I am because of them. And it’s not even that you’re wrong, Adrian, because in a lot of ways I know you’re right… But for all the evils you think the Council brings to the world, I can’t really wish they never existed.”
The silence that followed was profound. All the angry vibes Matt had been fighting all day long changed into confusion and sadness and maybe even pity. He was too tired of trying to understand Adrian by this point. When was Adrian going to try to understand him? Matt had spent all day yesterday talking about his life and the things he loved and growing up as a Brooks, and Adrian still wan
ted him to hate the Council.
It was like Scott had said: They both had needed perspective, but Adrian was so blinded by his righteousness, there was no other side. There were no grays or impossible situations. Simply put, no good had come out of the Council. Not even Matt.
Sleep took him out before Adrian said another word.
* * *
It was a waiting game now, and Drake was good at it.
Although Diana had done her best to explain what they were trying to do, she didn’t have the mental strength to keep a long-range telepathic link going for more than a few minutes. They had been in contact in brief talks, so Drake had a good idea of what was going on, but no one knew when the Navy would release him.
Or rather, when Coleman would stop throwing a tantrum and concede defeat.
He’s going to be a harpoon pointing at us for the foreseeable future, he thought as he passed once more in front of the empty observation room. He could almost feel the admiral’s eyes on him through the lenses, planning his retaliation.
If the UN talks had been a necessity before, establishing a better alliance with the governments of the world had become a priority. He could only guess how the White House was going to spin this, but whatever they did, the rest of the world would want a piece of this cake.
Drake might be in this pool because of his injuries, but Coleman had taken advantage of the situation, planning on keeping him hostage for reasons unknown. And it wasn’t only the fact that he would have Drake at his disposal; he could also use Drake to coax Julian into working for him.
Do we disappear or do we go public? And if public, how fast do we tell our side of the story?
He heard a door opening on the surface, and mentally thanked whoever had finally figured out he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Except it wasn’t his catering service who waited for him when Drake surfaced. Impeccably dressed as he always was, Admiral Coleman looked at him with calculating green eyes.
“Good evening, Mr. Drake. I shall be brief.”
Drake moved backwards to get a better view of the man. He’d come alone. Behind him, the cameras’ red lights were off.
“This is the only non-negotiable deal we’ll propose: You will fully cooperate with a special investigation of what happened with the Honos mission, and you will release to us any merman suspected of acting against us as a show of goodwill. You and your Council will take no actions against the Navy, the US government, or any US-related organization. After all, this was an incident caused by one of yours. The Navy will take full responsibility for Ray’s care and treatment for the past seven months. And you’ll put on a goddamned show for the cameras when we release you in the upcoming hours. Do you understand?”
Drake barely nodded once, and the admiral turned around and left. A moment later, the cameras were back on. Drake doubted very much this was going to be the last time he saw the man himself.
40
What Dreams Are Made Of
Matt was running in a dark alley. In this ever-shifting dream, he couldn’t see much, but he could hear plenty.
…the Council’s existence is self-serving…
…These people want to control our lives...
…Where do you complain about them, exactly?...
He was running away from Adrian, but there was no escape. His brother’s presence surrounded him, his words overlapped each other and echoed in Matt’s mind, accusing him of being complicit in every Council decision.
He ran in the dark, afraid of slipping in dirty puddles of water as he reached for a way out. He blindly touched the walls, looking for a door or a window. He didn’t want to keep listening to Adrian’s comments, and much less to agree with those views. But what if Adrian was right?
The air in the alley suffocated him. Adrian was suffocating him with his dark ideas and his misplaced intentions.
But I owe him, I owe him, I owe him… The thought reverberated in Matt’s mind as he stopped fighting for a way out. Adrian had come for him. Adrian had been kidnapped. Adrian had chosen to save him.
The darkness gave way to a sudden white light, as if he’d somehow fallen into a giant flashlight. He covered his eyes, the dream changing from the alley to a small room: a prison cell. Adrian had been a captive here, and no one had known it. Why hadn’t Matt known it? Why hadn’t he felt his brother’s fear?
Pictures of Matt were everywhere, on the walls, on the floor, on the ceiling. Matt at school, Matt at the pool, Matt at the mall. Sometimes with friends, sometimes with his brothers, sometimes with Julian. But never with Adrian.
In the small cell, there was another man, dressed all in white, speaking of all the things he could do to Matt. They had designed a tank, a special fish tank to keep him there. Small enough that they could fit four of them inside this room and still be able to walk around.
…imagine what we could do with him…
…everyone’s hungry to know what makes you tick…
…how about it? How much is your brother’s life worth?...
The room filled with water while Matt couldn’t move, hundreds of pictures getting soaked and pressing him down. Invisible walls surrounded him, and he felt his skin shift into scales. Dozens of faceless doctors with gloved hands pressed against the glass of the tank, wanting to tear him apart.
He screamed, but no sound came out of the water. He moved everywhere, but his legs wouldn’t respond. He hit the walls in a desperate attempt to break them, but nothing happened. Where was Adrian? Where was his family?
Get me out of here! Please! Matt shouted in his mind, while the weight of the photographs pressed him down, down, down, until darkness surrounded him again.
He didn’t dare to move.
He barely dared to breathe.
The glass was gone, along with the cell and the men. He was at the bottom of the ocean. No one was screaming. No one was chasing him. The only sound was his racing heartbeat. Taking a deep breath, Matt tentatively reached into the darkness with one shaky hand. After an eternity of doubts, he let go of the tension in his body and drifted away, allowing the current to take him wherever it might.
Curiously, a red-and-orange path opened in front of him. Just like my colors, he absently thought, following Adrian’s thoughts as he’d been doing all night long, even if he couldn’t remember it.
He wanted to go home. He wanted to follow this lead and find the Squid and Scott and Christopher on the other side. He wanted familiar faces around. He broke the surface to find a placidly chilly morning, all blue skies and no clouds. In the distance, a large boat lazily floated, and Matt recognized it as The Deep C.
The current propelled him to it, but Matt resisted. He knew exactly who was there and what was going to happen, and he didn’t need to see it again. He didn’t need to see Christopher. He didn’t need to see the shadow. He didn’t want to be there, didn’t want to be in the ocean, didn’t want to keep following this current anymore.
He braced himself for impact as Christopher’s yacht came dangerously close, but instead of colliding with it, he opened his eyes to utter darkness. He swallowed a scream, and stilled himself until he could get his bearings. His legs were uncomfortably crammed, as he’d twisted himself with the sheets of this unfamiliar bed, and outside, he could hear rain falling.
Adrian was sleeping on the bed next to his, and as reality took hold of his senses, he understood he’d been seeing Adrian’s dreams—or maybe memories and stray thoughts—about Coleman and his threats. About Matt’s own fears and wishes to leave.
About boarding The Deep C.
“No…” he whispered, convincing himself it was only a dream. He’d been dreaming about Christopher’s attack for weeks now. Adrian wouldn’t dare to come to him if he’d done that.
Desperation and doubt overtook him, and without thinking, he got up and shook Adrian awake. It only took a second before his brother grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him to the other side of the bed, clearly thinking he was being attacked.
“No, i
t’s me!” Matt said from the floor, too preoccupied with the racing thoughts in his mind to care about the bruises that were sure to come.
“What the hell, Matt?” Adrian asked, turning the lights on.
“Were you on The Deep C?” Matt asked.
Adrian’s hand, rising to help him, froze in midair. “What?”
“Were you on Christopher’s boat?”
“Christopher again—”
“No. This is too important. For the past couple of months, I’ve been dreaming about being trapped in a tank, about being back on some prison, about these claustrophobic situations that I thought were Christopher’s subconscious fears. But they weren’t his, were they?” Matt stood up, with the bed between them. “You’ve been in New York for the past months. You’ve been trying to get to know me, to gain intel on us. What did you do? Triangulate with Christopher to get to my mind while I was sleeping? Is that how I ended up seeing your thoughts? Or maybe this is because we’re brothers?”
“Matthew, you’re making no sense—”
“I saw your fears tonight, okay? I saw Coleman and his million photographs of me. And I saw the boat.”
The Deep C flashed in Adrian’s mind, and Matt picked up the image without a problem. It was barely an instant, but it was all Matt needed to confirm his answer.
“Matt—”
“How could you?” Matt said barely above a whisper, almost growling.
“You don’t understand,” Adrian said in a soothing tone, afraid of what Matt might do. “Wallace hired us to wreak havoc on the Council. He picked Christopher and pointed me in the right direction. He was the easiest target. I didn’t know you existed. I didn’t know who Christopher even was. It was a job, Matt. It wasn’t personal.”