“We have this kinda luau now,” he told her, and flipped a couple of buttons on the little guitar, which was actually the remote for the holo suite. It changed into a pokey little room with no color, no sea, no sand, and a bunch of ragged, discouraged-looking people tending some anemic plants.
He switched it off and they sat in the blue-gridded room she remembered.
“I’m sorry, Ke-ola. But that’s all past, isn’t it?”
“Is it? That’s no place for us. Only place good for us is too good for us, the company says. Madame brought me here, but so what? Where my family lives now, they’re gonna die. They live in little boxes and little fake ecobubbles. We are people of the sea bubbles, not ecobubbles. I miss my family, Murel. I love them. But I got no place with them. One more mouth, one more breather, one more kid to hear the ghost stories about what all of us used to be.”
He never sobbed, but the tears kept rolling until they didn’t. Murel patted him on the shoulder, feeling helpless. His questions didn’t have any good answers that she could think of. The funny thing was, he was mourning a place he’d never been as much as he he mourned the family that was too big to hold him now. She felt that way about being away from Petaybee sometimes, except she knew she and Ro would be going back sometime soon. Wouldn’t they?
WORKING WITH DR. Mabo was frustrating. Ronan thought that once she got used to him, she’d be ready to teach him the things she hinted that only she knew. But usually, even after several weeks of working together, when he tried to ask her a question, she’d grunt impatiently and wave him aside.
Boredom was what finally forced him to confront her. He couldn’t take much more beaker washing, computer dusting, or floor sweeping. “Professor Mabo?”
“Um?”
“I have a really important question to ask you. It’s the reason I wanted to work with you, so I’d appreciate it if you’d be kind enough to give me your attention for a few moments.”
“I’m very busy, Ronan. Can this not wait?”
“It cannot, Professor. Well, I mean, I suppose it could, but you are always very busy, Professor, and if I’m to give up my free time to help you, the answer to this question is what I would like in return.”
She sighed and pushed back from the worktable. “Go on,” she said, with a grimace that he thought was supposed to pass for a smile.
“It’s about your research, Professor. I—well, Murel and I both—are really interested in shape-shifters. We have some species on Petaybee that shift shapes, and we were wondering—do they ever get to control when they turn from one thing to another or is it strictly environmental or what?”
“Gracious, boy, I don’t know how to answer that. For one thing, it surely varies from species to species. But as far as I know now, the change is always triggered by something environmental. A full moon is a classic example, although how susceptible species who live on planets that have more than one moon respond to that is not something we’ve had much chance to study. Tidal or seasonal differences are another influence. But I have not been able to document much of this material—a lot of what has been written about shape-shifters is more folklore or myth than science. Probably, back on Old Terra, the stories were exaggerated or untrue. Sometimes they were about an illness that afflicted certain people. The only creatures it’s ever been said that totally control their own shape-shifting are vampires. Which is, of course, a to-tally silly and romantic notion that is a combination of a misunderstanding of the nature of certain flying mammals and a high incidence of live burials during epidemics way back in the ancient history of European Terra. None of these things have conscious control, Ronan. None of them are capable of such complex thought.”
“But how about the ones that change from human to something else—some animal maybe?”
“Human to animal? Like a werewolf? Oh, child, these things don’t occur with humans. We are far too complex in our physiology and too complicated in our mental and emotional makeup to translate easily into some other beast of lesser intelligence. Why, if a human were to transform into a beast, most likely the person would stay the beast because it would not know what to do to change back again, unless by accident. I thought your question was a serious one, Ronan.” She waved him away with an air of dismissal. “Now, finish your sweeping while I finish this entry, and I will call the flitter so I can take you home.”
Ronan was only too happy to oblige, and that night he confided in Murel that at least they didn’t have to worry about the professor suspecting their own shape-shifting abilities since she didn’t believe it ever happened to humans.
“She was really scornful about it,” he said.
“It could be just an act,” Murel said.
“Well, if it is, she did a good one,” he answered. “She thinks it only happens to what she calls lesser beasts. She’s not so bad, really. I know she doesn’t seem to like you anymore, but she was decent to me. It was boring, but when I came right out and asked her, she gave me a straight answer right away.”
“Don’t trust her,” Murel said. “You’re not as good at figuring people out as you think.”
“Well, neither are you. You always think you’re cleverer than I am, and you’re just jealous because I got picked instead of you.”
“I’m not either. I certainly don’t want to spend all of my free time slaving away for a teacher I don’t even like. And you do realize, don’t you, that she had promised before she came that Rory could be her assistant, then gave the job to you?”
“Not my fault. Rory isn’t that keen on the subject anyway, and I am.”
“Yeah, now that she’s chosen you as her favorite.”
“Look, let’s not fight about this, okay? I’m finding out stuff we need to find out, and that’s the only reason I’m doing it. It’s for both of us, and Da too. I wish we’d hear from him soon.”
“Me too. Marmie said Johnny had been delayed on Petaybee but he’s due back in a couple of days. He ought to be bringing us an answer then.”
PROFESSOR MABO WAS unusually nice to everyone in class the next day, and when she met Ronan in the lab, she wore a rueful smile. “My boy, I realize I was unfair to you yesterday. You had every right to ask the very intelligent questions you asked, and I—what is the expression?—blew you off. One of the reasons I chose you as my assistant is that I noticed you displayed an interest in these mutant shape-shifting or bimorphic life forms. I had a headache yesterday and was in pain, and therefore in an unreceptive mood.”
Ronan wondered if she had a headache every day then, since she hadn’t seemed any more grumpy yesterday than every time he’d seen her since she arrived. Even if she was nice to him, she was always cutting to someone—usually Rory, although lately she’d been picking on Murel too.
“As a matter of fact, your questions anticipated our experiments for today. I was vague on the subject of the shape-shifters, or bimorphs as we call them. Today we will be working with one.”
“Live?” he asked.
“Certainly. I could not very well expect it to alter its shape if it is already dead.”
Ronan perked up. “What is it, then?”
“A Honokuan sea turtle is its common name. Or one of them.”
“What other names does it have?” Ronan asked. Did she mean scientific names or something like Seymour the Sea Turtle? He was afraid to ask. Although Dr. Mabo seemed to be in what, for her, passed for a talkative and friendly mood, she definitely believed there was such a thing as a stupid question.
However, she continued explaining. “That is what we shall discover today,” she said. “I have it on good authority that this creature is able to alter its shape into quite another species altogether. Once we properly stimulate it to perform its metamorphosis, then we will know what other names would best describe it.”
“Like what?”
“For instance, if we discover that the turtle turns itself into one species of—oh, bear, for instance, we would naturally name it ‘chelonia mydas trans ursidae
Mabo,’ to indicate me as the first to identify it.”
Ronan thought about that for a moment. That would make him and Murel what? Pinnipedia; Phocidae Sheperdus trans homo sapiens Shongili? Since Da was a scientist too and the first selkie on Petaybee, so the first to “discover” their species. Whatever. Just so they never had to be named after Dr. Mabo. “What if it just stays a turtle?” he asked before he could stop himself.
She snorted a snort that clearly accused him of lacking the proper attitude.
“Well, where is it?” he asked.
She pointed to a long metal tank he had mistaken for a covered sink before. He wondered why the tank wasn’t glass if she wanted to observe the creature. “Please fetch the turtle for me. You will have to open the front of the tank by sliding the panel upward and encouraging the creature to emerge. Careful, it is rather large and heavy, although it is relatively young. A fully mature adult may weigh as much as 115 kilograms, or 253 pounds, but this one only weighs roughly eleven kilograms, or about twenty-five pounds. A sturdy lad like you should have no problem managing that much. Still, it has a nasty beak. If it bites you, nothing will make it let go short of death.”
Ronan wanted to ask if she meant the death of the turtle or his own death but figured he shouldn’t push his luck. Instead he said, “I thought they just pulled back into their shells when they’re scared. I never heard of attack turtles before.”
“These turtles do not have the ability to retreat into their shells,” she told him.
“So they turn into something else?” he asked.
“Apparently so. I have witnessed the phenomenon briefly, but it was all rather a blur and unfortunately my photographic equipment was not yet unpacked at the time.”
“Before I open the tank, I’d like to know what it changes into,” Ronan said, hanging back. “If it’s really a bear or maybe a crocodile or something, I don’t think I want to see it very much.”
“Of course it’s not a crocodile, you silly boy. I would not have a crocodile on a space station. And I postulated an ursine transformation only as an example. If it were to change into anything aggressive, it probably would have done so previously. It is a vegetarian and not dangerous, except, as I said, for the beak. Mostly it is like others of its kind, torpid and lazy. The tank is kept at fifty-five degrees Fahrenheit, so the cold-blooded creature is quite lethargic now.”
“Okay then,” he said, and lifted the panel by the handle at its top. From inside he heard a slight scrabbling, then, inside his head, a plea. Help me.
It’s okay, he told the creature. I’m a friend.
You understand! Oh, joy! I thought I would never again know communication. Are you a Honu also?
No, I’m a human. Mostly.
Mostly?
I change shapes. The professor says you do too.
So you are also a captive?
No, I’m her assistant. She doesn’t know about me and my sister. At least, I don’t think she does. Anyway, she told me she wants you alive. She just wants to see you change.
Oh, yes, I’m aware of that. Please don’t let her torture me. I may have a hard shell but I’m not very good at withstanding pain.
I don’t think she wants to hurt you.
“Is it coming out, Ronan?” the professor asked.
Are you coming out?
You will protect me?
Yes. I will. And my sister will too. And Marmie. You’ll be safe. All you have to do is change and she’ll probably want you to go right back into the tank.
You speak as if it were a small matter for me to transform before her, and yet you say she does not know that you also transform. So, if I understand you correctly, you are wishing me to do something you yourself are afraid to do?
I’m not afraid. It’s just that our changing is a secret, not just ours. It belongs to the place where we live.
You do not live here?
Well, yeah, we do right now, but—Never mind. Are you coming? You won’t bite me, will you?
Only if you provoke me.
The turtle crawled very slowly from the sand-strewn floor of the tank, struggling out onto the metal table on which the container rested. Uh-oh! Owww, oooh, my aching flippers! Oh, my shell and scales, I think I’ve broken something. Oh, mercy! I’m sorry, boy, but I can go no farther. Far more quickly than it had emerged, the turtle backpedaled into the sandy-bottomed tank.
Ronan felt sympathy pangs in his own arms and legs. He did not weigh as much in proportion to the size of his flippers, when in seal form, as the turtle did, but dry surfaces that didn’t slide or give were more difficult for seals to navigate too. Of course, for him and Murel, it posed no problem since they could quickly morph to their human form so flippers were no longer an issue.
“What is the matter with the wretched creature?” the professor asked.
“Looks like maybe he’s too heavy to take all his weight on his flippers where there’s no give to the surface,” Ronan told her, thinking that if she was such a hotshot biologist she ought to know stuff like that. “I’ll go find some more sand or dirt or something in the ‘ponics garden.”
“You will do no such thing,” his teacher said. “We’ll flip the thing over onto its shell and examine its underside. If its flippers are a problem for it, then perhaps on encountering a situation where the flippers are of no use, it will take its alternate form, which is presumably one that does not have flippers.”
Oh, cruel! Oh, pain and agony! Oh, anguish! The turtle groaned, and big tears rolled down its face. Please don’t let her put me on my shell. It’s humiliating and I’m so helpless.
She doesn’t listen to me real well, but maybe when she grabs you, you should bite her. Not me, mind you, her.
I abhor violence.
Why? Ronan asked. He didn’t underestimate creatures who were not human, but he didn’t ascribe codes of morality to them either.
I’m not fast enough to get away when it starts, usually, the turtle replied.
Yeah, I can see where that makes sense. But if you could lower your standards long enough to just bite her and hang on, then you won’t have to be fast enough to get away from violence because you’ll be the one being violent. And besides, she sort of expects you to.
No, no. If I bite her, she will retaliate when I finally have to let go. But if I don’t come out at all, she’ll have no choice but to go away and pick on someone else. I hope. Saying this, the turtle retreated all the way back into the box.
“Never send a boy to do a scientist’s job,” Professor Mabo said. She shoved Ronan aside, shoved the metal tank to the end of the metal table, kept shoving it until half of it was suspended over the floor, then upended it.
Uh-uh-uh-oh! the turtle cried as it slid out and tumbled, flippers and feet over shell, onto the floor. Now I’m done for. Don’t let her torture me too long, boy.
Ronan stooped down, picked up the shell in both hands and gently righted the turtle. I’d tell you to run for it but I don’t imagine that’s a practical suggestion, he said.
“Now that it’s out in the open, we’ll immerse it and see if that causes it to change,” Dr. Mabo said. “Pick it up, Ronan. Come on now, what’s the matter with you? Afraid of a little turtle bite?”
He wasn’t, actually. He was just trying to pick the poor creature up without harming its flippers or any of its tender bits. The professor slid a wall panel aside to reveal two tanks, each about eight feet deep and just as wide, side by side.
One was clearly freshwater, since it was, well, clear. “In here first,” the professor said. Ronan climbed a metal ladder up to the top of the tank, not an easy thing to do with his hands full of turtle. “Release it!” she snapped. Ronan did, and the turtle first sank like a stone then struggled to right itself. To the professor’s disgust, however, it remained a turtle. It was a very angry and frightened turtle but that was all. It did not change into anything else. It did demand of Ronan, What is this stuff? It feels like water but there’s no buoyancy.
Ronan said, “Professor, if this is a saltwater turtle and people where it comes from claim that it changes, don’t you think that it probably does its changing in salt water, since that’s where it lives?”
“I suppose so, but we must be thorough in exploring which stimulus is the one that activates the change. Scientific method, my boy, scientific method.” She handed him a sturdy net to fish the turtle out of the freshwater tank, which he did, and directed him to release the creature into the saltwater tank instead.
The turtle, so clumsy on land, was graceful as an otter or a seal in the salt water. Its flippers flowed beside it like wings as they propelled it around the tank. It was in raptures. Oh, oh, my dear boy, you are a wonder! This is fantastic! Look! Backward roll! Forward roll! Sideways flip!
By then it was quite late, and the professor said, “We can leave it there for now. Tomorrow afternoon we’ll try electrical stimuli and a few other methods to see if we cannot persuade the specimen to display its alternate form.”
Not if I can help it, Ronan thought, and Murel answered.
Huh?
Professor Mabo locked up the lab with the old-fashioned key, grumbling because she didn’t have access to the high-tech facilities of the station guarded with “proper” retinal scan locks. The flitter waited for them in the corridor outside.
Climbing into the vehicle beside the professor, Ronan sent his sister images of the turtle, telling her, We have to help it escape.
Where does a turtle escape to on a space station? she asked.
Eventually back to its home world, if we can manage.
Where’s that?
I dunno, but he said something about a place called Honuania.
That’s on Ke-ola’s world! Murel said. Remember his holo? I think he even mentioned the turtles, come to think of it. Called them “the sacred Honu.”
Great, I wonder if he’d have some idea how we can get the turtle back where it belongs.
Marmie could make Professor Mabo return it, couldn’t she?
Maybe, but I’m not sure it would be good to try to make her do anything. She thinks the turtle is her personal property and refers to it as “the specimen.” She might just kill it if Marmie told her she couldn’t have it here. She plans to “stimulate” it with electric shock tomorrow, Murel. She’s trying to make it change into another shape, but the turtle doesn’t understand what she’s talking about. I have to help it get away.
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