by Chris Hechtl
Naga mermaids like Atlantia were also a mixed breed. The mammal-like beings tended to live single or twin births, while the eel or snakes laid eggs like the Piceans. Both were air breathers, lacking gills. The eels and snake naga tended to frequent the warmer waters though.
From just under a thousand scattered across the world's oceans and water ways to tens of thousands in such a short time. And everyone looked to her to bridge the gap with the lubbers and get them the medical care they needed. Medical care and the means to pay for more.
Everyone wanted lubber tools. Stainless steel was all the rage as was the newly introduced carbon fiber implements since they were lighter. But they cost credits.
Mara shook her head as she scanned the ads. What she really needed to do was to contract someone to create a hiring agency for her people and run it. Websites, maybe some advertising? She tisked tisked as she tried to think the problem through. But it all came down to money in the end. Money and someone willing to take on the responsibility and more importantly, deliver.
Modern medicine meant their birthing was going up. Not a bad thing, but it was becoming more … challenging to feed hungry juvenile mouths. Those same juveniles needed to be educated and minded while the adults went off to find food. And many weren't happy with working hand to mouth in the dangerous seas anymore. Not after Cornelius Vanderbilt IVXL had introduced them to working on construction projects and the lucrative pay involved. Jamaica had been only one of the people of the sea hired to work for the construction guru. He'd made quite a lot of credits, and he'd sat on his butt for a while before Mara had gotten him motivated to keep working and not squander the money. He'd invested in tools and had stopped giving away some of his fortunes. That hadn't made him or her popular in some circles, but that was fine. He had agreed with her. He'd been taken advantage of. Atlantia had been doing it … was still doing it to him, but she was a special case. The others were parasites who needed to learn to get off their asses and work.
She checked the want ads and the construction ads but nothing leapt out at her again. She gave up and ran her fingers over the message John had sent her. Her errant mind went into exploring the benefits of living in space once more—the benefits … with a few of the detractions.
One of the benefits in her mind was to get away from being a leader. To being herself once more. To being answerable to the sea and to herself.
She knew her keen interest in space held false promises. John's letters had warned her that she would see new things and meet new people, but he also warned that those that took on the duty would be helming a ship. She would still have hundreds or possibly thousands of lives in her hands, and that thought terrified her and was one of the main reasons she still hesitated on making a decision. Helming a starship though, much as her ancestors did long, long ago was strangely still appealing.
He'd interested her in stories of some of the people on Agnosta and elsewhere. It was gratifying but a little humbling to know there were other peoples of the sea on other worlds. Foolish of her to think she was alone.
She hugged the tablet to her chest as the sun began to set. No news, but perhaps, just perhaps it might get some of her people more interested in space and its challenges. Maybe we need a new frontier, a new place to explore she thought to herself as she slowly rose and dusted the sand off.
“Come on, Mara! Tides going out! You don't want to miss night fishing do you?” Anita demanded from off shore.
Mara snorted and waved, but she had no intention of sporting in the sea at night. She didn't have the vision to see the things that lurked with sharp teeth in the night. She noted the older generation and the selkie forms humping up the beach as well. They too were getting away from the sharks after running the gauntlet.
“We lose anyone?” she asked, wandering the ranks.
“No, but close. They are getting better,” a walrus merman rasped, spraying water her way. He pointed a flippered hand to the east. She followed his hand. “I heard Paco got nipped.” He shook his massive head. “Always the young and dumb that go off on their own or get cute. He'll learn, if he survives,” he grunted, scratching an itch enthusiastically before he snorted.
“I'll grab the med kit and go check,” she answered. “Thanks, Malto,” she said, slapping his flank as she vaulted over his girth.
He snorted again then took the spear off his harness to scratch an itch. Then he used the tip to gut a fish he'd caught for his dinner. He tossed the guts to Isina, an elderly female who was getting over a bout of pneumonia. His version of charity, Mara noted, before he finished snipping the head off and then humping to where a beach fire had been set up.
>=,=@
Mara trotted out of the water and up the beach to where the altercation was taking place. She only hoped she got there in time. Both sides were getting out of hand; she could tell by the loud honks and bright colors on Pico. “Easy now,” she said, easing in-between the disputants. “Let's tone it down a notch, shall we? I know the tourists come for a show but we don't need to get … damn it.” She stiff armed Pico back to force the fishman away from Quin. “What's the problem?” she asked.
“He took my charter!” Pico snarled, waving his fin covered arms. The fin spines were poisonous, as were the ones on Quin's arms.
“Charter?” Mara asked, slowly turning to glance at Quin.
“Yes! The one you set up!” Pico added.
“Okay, hang on,” she held up her index finger in a wait gesture as she turned to Quin. Quin was in a half crouch with teeth, fins, and claws bared. “Before the law is called, let's see if we can resolve this peaceably,” she urged, hoping and praying to get through to them. No one wanted to be in a lubber jail cell. It was brutal for the water dwellers to be locked in a brick box with a small barred window too high to look at the sea. Just being in there for a couple days could endanger someone's life.
“You were busy. I was here. You weren't,” Quin said. “You should be thanking me.”
“I got delayed!”
“Okay, so hang on,” Mara said. “If I'm getting this right, Pico,” she turned to the red and blue fishman, “you had a charter but it ran longer than planned. Right?” She indicated his small sailing slop. It was old and needed new paint, but it was his, one of the first fishing boats her people had gotten. He nodded reluctantly. “So you had one on the hook.” She turned to the yellow and black striped fishman. “And you had one drop in your lap? They wriggled off his hook, and you stepped up?”
“Yes,” Quin said, standing slowly. His mohawk fins started to drop. “I didn't want to lose the charter totally. I need the credits too!”
“But they paid me a deposit! You said to them that you'd settle up with me later!” Pico said, gesticulating wildly. “I spent it on the food they wanted me to have on hand!”
“Hang on,” Mara frowned, rubbing her temples. Quin had done her community a service, but Pico didn't see it that way. He saw it as competition taking what should have rightfully been his. He didn't understand ill will from the tourists kept waiting might have made them resent him, their people, and they could have canceled the trip. Hell, they could have put out a bad word to their friends and the media, which they definitely didn't need.
Many of them were still living hand to mouth or relying on word of mouth for their business expansion. “Okay, Pico, you were late. He stepped up. If you had shown up and if they'd been sticky, they would have demanded their money back. You were in violation of your contract.”
“Um …”
“He got it. Did you get paid the overtime for the first charter?” Mara demanded, hands on her hips.
“That's none of your business,” he said, suddenly uncomfortable.
She turned a glower on him. He squirmed then relented. “Not a lot,” he admitted sullenly.
“Right,” she drawled severely. “So, you were having a good time, lost track of time, and left a client high and dry. Quin here stepped up and saved the day. So? What's the problem?” Her hands spr
ead in exasperation.
“He took …”
“I did what had to be done!”
“You …,” Pico started to move in again, furious once more.
Mara pushed them apart again. “Pico, you are in the wrong here. You know it. Quin, you should have tried to contact him before taking the charter.”
“I did try. He was out of sonar relay range, down the coast and around the peninsula.”
“Okay then.”
“I told them I might run late,” Pico grumbled.
“By three hours? They had other commitments. They were pissed and threatening to sue you! I stepped up dummy to help you. That way you won't lose more clients,” Quin said, clearly disgusted.
“You aren't doing this completely out of the generosity of your heart, Quin, I know that,” Mara said, eying him with narrowed eyes. He'd recently scraped together a loan from various sources to get his own sloop. It had patched-together sails but also had a tiny outboard motor. She had a flat bottom to allow her to be beached and outriggers. But she was smaller than Pico's Plenty, and could only carry about four to six people.
It must have been interesting with Quin on board.
“He's trying to horn into my racket,” Pico said, waving to his charter sign. Pico's guided tours was becoming something of a hit. He rented scuba and fishing gear to the tourists and had his own boat to bring them out to his fishing spots. They could fish or dive. Pico and his family helped them and stood guard against the predators. The water dweller's sonar ability and intimate knowledge of the seas in the area allowed them to make certain their clients didn't come back empty handed.
“Pico, we can fix this easily enough. Why don't you and Quin work out a deal.”
“What sort of deal?” Pico asked warily.
“You obviously have too much to handle on your own. So, Quin here,” she indicated the other fishman with a sweep of her hand, “wants to help. So, why don't you work out a partnership or a subcontractor license?”
“Partner? With him?” Pico demanded, eyes bugged out in indignation. He began to sputter incoherently.
Quin's rubber lips grimaced. “I'd rather kiss a shark or a …”
“Think about it,” Mara sighed, shaking her head in resignation as she realized her effort at moderation wasn't going to come to a neat conclusion as she'd hoped.
>=,=@
It was crap like that, and moderating other issues that made Mara just want to quit. To go swim off on her own or … she grimaced as she heard her name being called. That too, she thought. She was the “mom” of the group, frequently tapped to mind the ever growing population of younglings and hatchlings as the adults went off to swim or feed.
The adults rarely paid her too, thinking she was doing it as a free service or that others would pay her so they didn't need to do so. They also didn't understand how exhausting it was. They complained about it when they minded the brats but never understood others got tired too. And hunting for her own food sucked.
“Mara! Mara! Maaaaraaa!”
“I'm coming,” Mara grumbled. She suddenly regretted not getting on the ship and just going. And she had no idea when the next ship was due in.
>=,=@
“I feel for her,” Anita said softly, watching Mara trot down the beach. The woman didn't look too thrilled, but she was still responding to the call.
“Who?” Emory asked, looking at her and then to where she was looking. “Oh, Mara? Why? Because she's alone?”
“I wish she could find someone. I mean …” Anita turned to stroke her mate's side. “I've got you, and it just doesn't seem fair. She's mother to us all. She deserves some alone time and someone taking care of her for a change.”
“What about the guy who sent her the tablet and goggles?” Emory asked.
Anita sighed heavily. “He's a powerful man in another star system. The same guy who came here and got everything going with the deworming and the medics,” she said. “I'm not even sure Mara is holding out for him or not. I hope not. If he was worth it, he should have been here to pick her up.”
“She could go to him,” Emory said. “But leaving the sea …”
“I think she is torn about that,” Anita said turning again to look at Mara. “Do you think Sydney would?”
“Sydney might,” Emory admitted, looking to where their child was playing. The girl was a wonder, very smart and very focused. She patterned herself after her mother but also after Mara. “I'd miss her.”
“So you are saying you won't go?” Anita asked.
“No power or lure of space could draw me away from here or you, love,” he said.
“Wisely said,” she said, preening a bit. She turned teasing eyes on him. “But what if I went?” she demanded.
“Then no power could stop me from being at your side,” he said. “Even if I got all dried out,” he grumbled.
She patted his cheek again. “Good answer again. You're learning,” she teased wickedly.
“I have a good teacher,” he teased right back, drawing her into his arms. “But it is a scary thing, to think our child and others will go to the stars.”
“To see new worlds … to explore … there are predators out there, but I think Mara and Sydney are right. We can accomplish anything now.”
“We can, together,” Emory murmured, nuzzling the top of her head with his cheek.
>=,=@
Doctor Staten Milgram grimaced as the core of Fourth Fleet Task Force Two jumped into Epsilon Triangula. Here there might be a chance at finding what he sought, but he wasn't certain. The odds were in their favor; the spies had ferreted out information about the targets on the planet and elsewhere in the southwest of the Rho sector.
He personally wanted to follow up on the greater prize, the elusive Ssilli. He'd heard a few had been found over the centuries, but unfortunately the inept handling of the prisoners by their over eager handlers had caused many to suicide.
Not one Ssilli had made it to Horath alive to date, which was why there was such a high bounty on them—on them and other water dwellers.
He had to admit, the top prize was something everyone strived for, but he'd easily settle for a number of other lesser beings if he could get his hands on them. Better the fish in his net than the ones that got away, he thought, staring at the blue, green, and white ball.
“There is a lot of activity around the planet,” a sensor tech said.
“Ships?”
“CIC says none, sir. But there is an IFF signal coming from the local gas giant as well as satellites in orbit of the planet. A lot more than our previous data indicated,” the tech said.
The broad shouldered man in the sharp uniform frowned. Finally, he turned to the sensor tech as the doctor stood there, squirming slightly. He shouldn't have worn the knee high boots he thought. They looked good but were foolish. They were also not very well broken in. He could feel the beginnings of a blister forming on the side of his right heel. He fought the urge to check it.
“I thought this planet was going to be cleansed? Didn't we get an intel dump that Prinz Zir delivered the Xeno cargo here instead of Antigua?” a familiar female voice asked sharply.
“We did indeed,” the admiral rumbled. “According to their report they were trying to take out two birds with one stone, the growing expansion of the industrial base as well as this Admiral Irons.”
“Pity they missed on both accounts,” the woman said, coming over to stand near the admiral. She turned to give the doctor and the colonel a curious look before she turned back to the admiral. “Do we land?”
“I'm debating it. There are some juicy morsels down there,” the admiral admitted. “Not space material, but there are some industrial centers we might like to have or at least deprive them of having,” he said.
“Is it worth the lives of our people?”
“I don't know,” the admiral admitted. “We won't know until we get closer. The other ships are allowed to depart on mission. We'll remain here. And since we're he
re, we can dig in I suppose.”
“Yes, sir.”
She turned to the intelligence officer. The major stepped forward. “Call up the Fifth Column on the planet, such as it is. I want an intelligence update. Everything they have about resistance. Don't,” she held up a restraining hand, “give them our list of targets.”
“Definitely not,” Commander Rick Roshou said softly. “Captain Bordou …”
“I know, it's not my place,” the captain admitted, turning to the admiral.
“But you are my flag captain. Order approved. Get on it, Major,” the admiral said turning to the major. “Colonel, ready your forces.”
The colonel nodded, coming to attention once more.
“Doctor,” stern eyes fell to the doctor. He stood proud. “We may have need of your services indeed. I'll be sending down cleansing teams,” he grimaced in distaste, “along with intelligence teams to feel out targets of interest. Do be sure you are ready to act quickly if they find something.”
The doctor nodded. He had considered staging himself on the ground with Colonel Bericus, but he had decided it was safer and more prudent to remain in space and as far from the stoic marine as possible. He didn't mind soldiers, but they had no sense of humor. They also lacked a clinical detachment and took far too much enjoyment tormenting their prey instead of dispatching them with minimum fuss and moving on to the next batch to be euthanized.
Besides, Bericus might be brutal to his troops and to his people, but he was also not very enthusiastic about the doctor or his orders. Accidents did happen on occasion so avoiding temptation was a smart move.
Besides, sticking near Major Eichmann's computers might help him find his own prey faster. He knew where to look in general, but narrowing the field down in the time they had and then swooping in on the prey before they got away, the task was daunting.
“Yes, Admiral.”