Sea of a Thousand Words

by Christine C. Wallace

  By mid-afternoon, the fetchers had reached the outskirts of the Greenwood. Short chirps from trees above were repeated by other bird-like noises as look-outs announced the group’s arrival. Ooligan responded with several low whistles. As they neared the heart of the village, Adili waved a greeting to several of the elders sitting on the porch of their bungalow. Ruby Aw’aa called after him, “Adeeeleee—when you bringing me a deer? I’ll smoke you some k'áad ki'íi for sure.”

  “Yes, yes, Ruby Aw’aa, I will go hunting again tomorrow, I promise.”

  They walked down the causeway, nodding at their neighbors as they carried the gear to the council house. Villagers smiled and waved back, happy to see their fetchers return. A series of excited yelps broke out as a shaggy grey dog ran towards them. Pasha knelt to rub his ears. “Karl, you smelly boy! Where is your master, huh?”

  A young girl ran into Adili’s arms, squealing with delight. “You found them!” Taking the big man’s hand in hers, she said, “Skaukw and Kay are waiting for you, I saw them by the arches just a bit ago.”

  “We are heading to the council house right now, Lilu-ye,” Adili replied.

  Ooligan tugged at Lilu-ye’s pigtails and said, “Hiya’ kwa’tel, what’s for lunch? I could eat a whole caribou about now.”

  “Ooligan, stop calling me a mouse—I’m not a little girl anymore!”

  “Oh yeah, right. Sorry, kiddo.”

  When they reached the council house entryway, the teams parted. Adili and Ooligan handed their gear to Asa. “We’ll catch up with you for lunch after we report in,” Ooligan said before following Adili through the arched entrance.

  The entrance to Greenwood’s council chamber was through a long passage of intertwined vines that opened into a rounded structure—big enough for many people to gather comfortably. The chamber was empty, save for two individuals: A silver-haired man and a tall slender woman. Although the man supported his weight with a cane, there was a hidden strength to his stance. He spoke quietly with the chief standing beside him. Reba was strikingly handsome, her aquiline features leant an exotic quality to her appearance and her demeanor conveyed authority. Long black hair fell loosely around broad shoulders that were toned from years of paddling. The fetchers bowed their heads as they entered and Reba motioned for them to approach. Adili led the way. As he addressed her, he placed his hand upon his chest and lowered his head. “Skaukw, the teams have returned.” Ooligan smiled, repeating Adili’s gesture.

  Skaukw nodded at them both before turning her attention to Ooligan. “I’m glad to hear you and Asa are safely back. Tell me, what did you find—any sight of the drop-offs?”

  Ooligan cleared her throat. “No Skaukw, there were no boats or any sign of people. We stayed out an extra day—just in case they’d been delayed, but nobody turned up. My guess is the snakehead either got his information wrong or they were lost in last week’s big storm.”

  Reba frowned and her chiseled features took on a formidable expression. “The Russian snakeheads broadcast a message six days ago, saying that this cargo was one of some significance. We don’t understand what it meant—perhaps they had simply been paid more to deliver it—maybe they have a different meaning for that word. Either way, I’m not happy that it remains a mystery. I don’t like mysteries—not when it comes to coyotes.”

  “Have the speakers been able to contact the boat again?” Adili asked.

  “No, they haven’t. And it’s unwise to radio a specific boat too often—we risk catching the attention of HSA.” Reba sighed and looked over at the old man. “Kay, what do you think—should we send out another team?”

  The old man shifted his weight and replied, “You are the problem-solver Skaukw, and because you must be decisive and act quickly at times, you do not like to wait. But the great spirits move at a pace of their own choosing. I think that this time, it is you who must adapt.” Ooligan shot a sideways glance at Adili who continued to stare straight ahead.

  Reba sighed. “Very well.” She placed her hand on Kay’s shoulder. “The fetchers will remain here for now. We must wait and see what becomes of this significant delivery.”

  5 HighTower

  Tongzhou District. Beijing China. Jun 5. 2033

  39.9167°N, 116.3833° E

  The limousine pulled alongside HSA’s private jet precisely as the staircase unfolded. The automated chauffer opened the limo’s rear doors. Liu Feng stepped onto the tarmac followed by his nervous assistant. A flight attendant welcomed them aboard and ushered them through the cabin. The jet’s lavish interior consisted of several tables inlayed with the gold-leafed initials HT, encircled by seats upholstered in white leather. Two plush sofas bookended a glass table at the aft end of the cabin. An open bottle of Perrier-Jouet Champagne lay askew in a silver bucket adjacent to a platter of Iranian Beluga. Delicate, mother-of-pearl spoons encircled the dish. A tall man in his mid-50s, leaned back in one of the seats and puffed on a Cohiba-Behike. He was dressed in a grey pinstriped vicuna suit. As he drew in the smoke, creases appeared around his eyes and mouth, accentuating his permanent tan. Waving the gentlemen over with a flick of his cigar, he drawled, “Have a seat Mr. Feng, make yourselves comfortable. Hey sugar, set these folks up with drinks, would you please?”

  The flight attendant offered crystal flutes to both men and placed a tray of hors-d'oeuvres next to the caviar. “May I bring you anything else Mr. Banks?”

  “We’re fine. Make yourself scarce, hon.’” Nelson Banks waited until the attendant closed the cabin door behind her, before speaking. “Well? Let’s hear it Feng. What’s got all your boys’ nuts in a vice?”

  Mr. Feng set his glass on the table and said, “Yes, well. First ah, please accept my sincere apologies for the necessity of this…”

  “Skip to it, man. I’m not sitting here for my health.”

  “Yes Mr. Banks, of course. I’ll get right to the point. We, ah… We’ve had a rather severe breach of security at our Hong Kong facility, you see.”

  “Now that’s a crying shame, a real shame, Feng. But what in the Sam Hill does that have to do with my company?”

  “Rather sensitive information… communiques, you see, were apparently… Ah, hmmm, confiscated. Communication regarding the Revelations project.”

  Banks stubbed out his cigar and leaned forward. He glared across the table as he slowly exhaled the smoke. “You mean to tell me that actual documentation still exists—documents linking your lab’s research directly to HighTower? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  Mr. Feng managed to nod his head up and down. Swallowing hard, he muttered, “There were several emails that were marked as top secret, which should have been—actually we assumed they had been—ah, destroyed… deleted. Ah, but the researcher did not do so. These were, most regrettably, discovered by the lab’s lead scientist—his partner—name of Chen, Kim. We are of course, making every effort to locate this man.”

  “Wait a minute, hold on—y’all have lost this scientist—as in you are unable to find him?” Banks slammed his fist hard on the table. He leaned back and rubbed his chin, momentarily at a loss for words. He counted slowly to ten under his breath before continuing, “Gentlemen, do you realize what those emails might have contained? Can you begin to fathom the severity—the colossal shit-storm that will rain down upon our collective heads if this situation isn’t contained immediately?” His words increased in volume with each sentence.

  “Please, please—we are acutely aware of what damage this will cause. In fact, Mr. Huang himself is overseeing the, ah, the return of this individual…”

  “Return? I don’t want him back! I want him dead. Understood Feng? Tell your boss, ‘d-e-d,’ dead.”

  Feng reached up to loosen his collar, “Ah yes, that is not such a good idea, Mr. Banks. You see… well, this individual has gone missing with all the samples and data pertaining to this project. He might… Ah, well, he may attempt to sell it to another government or perhaps a terrorist organiza
tion.”

  Banks stood up and walked toward the cockpit, then spun on his heels and strode back to the sofa. He shook his head and then sat back down. “I am dis-pleased, Mr. Feng. I am very, very displeased.” Ignoring Feng’s attempt to explain, he reached for his mobile and pressed a contact number. “Richard. Nelson here… yeah, I’m still in Beijing right now. Look there’s an urgent matter that we need to talk about. Yeah, yeah, the Hong Kong thing. Look, I want you on a plane to Denver in an hour, got it?” He looked over at Feng and the assistant and asked, “Get me everything you’ve got on this scientist and the gene-drive—whatever you have left anyway. I need it pronto.”

  Feng’s assistant swallowed, returned his caviar to the plate and cleared his throat, nodding. “Yes sir, at once.”

  “OK Richard, once on the ground, I want one of our black ops teams activated by the time you’ve reached headquarters, clear? And Richard—get me the cleaner. Ashfield’s the best man for this job…. Of course. Let’s keep this discreet, need I say more? Yup, see you in twelve.”

  The assistant held his tablet for Feng to examine and pointed to the screen.

  “Well?” Banks hissed.

  “Yes, the information you have requested has been transferred.” Feng said.

  “Very good. Now, bear with me as I recap for a few seconds: We’ve got ourselves some sort of ‘rogue scientist’, on the loose—so to speak—who is in possession of a genetic enzyme with a delivery system so effective that it could wipe mankind off the face of this goddamned planet… Furthermore, he’s carrying evidence that incriminates us—your company and mine, pal—in developing this highly illegal project? …Please, feel free to correct me if I’m overstating the complexity of this clusterfuck we’re currently experiencing. How’m I doin here?”

  “Ah, yes, this is very grave indeed… but ah, the “CAS9 Revelations project would most likely not cause… a complete annihilation. I feel certain that with enough, ah…”

  “Feng. Shut. Up.”

  “Yes sir, Mr. Banks. I apologize. A most regrettable incident.”

  “Now, here’s what’s going to happen: You are going back to tell your boss, Mr. Huang… that HighTower will be taking point on this man-hunt, once I’m fully up to speed—got it? This is not up for negotiation. Your operation now answers directly to HSA.”

  Mr. Feng fidgeted with his tie. “Of course, I will convey your sentiments, but you see, our government… Ah, is also rather interested in apprehending this man. Your company was not the only project contracted to Huang Biotechnologies.”

  “Let me be blunt with you, Mr. Feng. Should the United States government get a whiff of what we’ve cooked up with your company… you can bet your yellow ass that the Chinese Ministry will be one of many standing in line for sloppy seconds.”

  “Sir, I appreciate your predicament, but I must insist…”

  “Enough, enough—we’re done here. Listen, this entire conversation—this entire meeting did not officially happen. I was never here. Am I crystal clear?” Both men gave almost imperceptible nods of agreement. Banks stood up and extended his arm toward the door. “You’ll have to excuse me gentlemen, I believe I’m going to have to get this bird back in the air a little sooner than expected.”

  “Yes, certainly Mr. Banks. May I say again that Huang Biotechnologies is doing everything…”

  “Get off my damn plane.”

  6 Táan

  Hecate Strait. Jul 9 2033

  54°00'19.6"N 131°41'06.5"W

  Dot pressed herself against the boulders, trying to stay out of the breeze. Her damp clothing had sucked the remaining warmth from her limbs and she hugged the grungy life-jacket to her chest with shaking hands. The slim crescent of moon offered little illumination, but the stars were bright and plentiful. She watched their reflections glimmer on the waves and squinted her eyes, allowing the flickers to blur into an undulant light-show. A small movement brought her attention back to the injured man lying nearby. Dot looked over to where he rested, and as her eyes refocused, she detected his silhouette in the darkness. The raincoat had slipped off his torso while he slept. Reaching over the top of his briefcase, she pulled the jacket over his shoulders, tucking the sleeves underneath him to fix it in place. The flimsy coat wasn’t much for warmth, but it did help keep off the chilly air that blew across the strait. Huddling amid the rocks, Dot thought about her friend Táan. What had he been doing yesterday when she left? She remembered watching him tote crab pots down to his family’s boat as she readied her sails. He’d waved goodbye to her from shore as she coasted into the bay. Dot guessed he would’ve spent most of his day prepping gear. She hoped that he’d stayed on the beach through the afternoon—after all, Táan was the only person, other than herself, who understood Saka’s behavior. If Táan wasn’t near the bay when Saka arrived, then her plan would have failed.

  She considered her situation; if no one showed up to rescue them, she would have to leave the injured man alone and go back for help—and she doubted that he would be alive when she returned. If she chose to remain with him until a passing boat came along then she would surely run out of water and food. What if we’re spotted by a Mossie before any help arrives? Dot shook off her fears, Saka would come through; she was certain of it. And Táan would show up… he was always there for her—ever since she’d arrived ten years ago as a scared, lonely girl. Why should this time be any different? She pulled the life-jacket tighter to her chest and burrowed her head into the foam. Get some rest and forget about what might come… after all, tomorrow always takes care of itself. She closed her eyes and fell into a fitful sleep.

  Startled awake by the sound of scraping rocks, Dot stumbled to her feet. A brilliant light flashed across her face and from somewhere in the darkness she heard a familiar voice. “Kijii—is that you?” Táan’s face appeared over the ridge of boulders. The glare from his torch cast wraith-like shadows across the angles of his cheekbones, his dark eyes sparkled beneath thick brows. Upon hearing the word “Kijii”—a nickname that only Táan would use—she ran toward him, throwing her arms around his neck. Táan’s hair hung in damp strands and his jacket was covered in dew. “Whoa—Careful there!” He steadied himself and grasped Dot’s upper arms. “What happened? Did you run aground—are you hurt?” Dot shook her head and pointed towards the man lying on the rocks. She stepped back, giving Táan enough room to see the wounded man. Táan shook his head and gave a low whistle, “Whoa, this guy doesn’t look so good.” He squatted beside the unconscious man and lifted the raincoat. “Who is he?” Looking up, he asked, “Has he moved at all?” Again, Dot shook her head no. She knelt to pick up the leather case, holding it under the torch light so that Táan could read the name.

  At that moment, Monk returned, landing on the boulder with a solid thud. Táan chuckled, “Well, well, you old trickster, I should’ve guessed you’d be involved in this mess somehow.” Monk turned to preen his feathers, clucking softly to himself. Táan rose and flashed the torch back toward the beach. Dot’s eyes followed the beam of light, to where his boat bobbed near the shore. She made several gestures with her hands—a flat motion, then fists cupped as if to carry something. Pointing to his boat, she gave Táan a questioning look. He bit his lower lip in thought and replied, “Yeah, we could probably use one of the hatch covers to carry him down there. It’ll be tricky with just the two of us though.” He paused for a moment and then said, “Look, I’m going to check out what I’ve got onboard… Straps, maybe some line. Can you try and wake him up, Kijii? I’d feel a lot better about moving this guy if he could let us know if we’re hurting him.” Dot nodded yes. She bent down and gently tapped the wounded man’s shoulder. The man muttered softly, but didn’t open his eyes. Dot shook his shoulder as strongly as she dared, the man groaned in pain.

  The sky gradually changed from black to indigo. As Dot scanned the strait, she listened for the sound of engines. No trackers—for now at least. She bundled her supplies into the rain jacket and
laid them next to the unconscious man. Táan returned, carrying a long plywood panel and several coils of webbing. “OK, here’s what I’ve got—it ought to work. We’ll find out soon enough, I guess.” Táan lifted the man’s torso as Dot slid the panel under his back. The man cried out several times but tolerated the movement. They secured the straps around his chest and knees and then lifted him over the rocks. Táan backed down the rocky embankment and Dot followed, carrying the head of the board. By the time they reached the shoreline, daybreak was upon them. Dot steadied the board as Táan climbed into the boat. They leveraged the foot-end onto the bulwarks and slid the entire panel inboard, then Táan balanced it as Dot climbed over the rails. “That’s good, Kij’. I can get some tie-down straps around him to keep the thing from sliding all over the place on our trip back.” Now that the hard part was over, Dot shivered as perspiration compounded her damp clothes. Táan noticed her shaking and said, “Hey—you’ve gotta be frozen solid. Go get my sweater from the wheelhouse before you pass out from hypothermia or something.”