by Mark Wandrey
The water temperature was in the high 70s, and they were getting cold. Terry spotted Yui shivering. Doc must have seen it, too, as he pointed toward the surface and made a thumbs-up motion. As per the rules, neither of them disagreed, and they repeated the gesture. He led them back to the dive rope, and they ascended into the light.
It was only as they were ascending that Terry noticed he’d felt different at the bottom. He guessed it was the mixture of gasses extracted by the breather now in his blood. Doc had taught him about nitrogen narcosis and the dangers of it. Breathing helium kept the nitrogen from building up and forming bubbles in their blood. Also known as the bends, it could be horrible. Doc had shown them pictures, and he kept seeing them in his mind all the way up.
The display on his wrist said the breather was down to 77%. All the time they’d spent on the ocean floor, and the alien battery had gone down less than a quarter. Terry was amazed. They broke the surface, and sunlight hit their faces. He felt like he’d come up from a dream.
“That was amazing!” Yui crowed after removing the breather.
“It sure was!” Terry agreed.
“You kids feel okay?” Doc asked, checking his own display.
“Yeah, great,” Terry said. Yui nodded. Terry looked up and saw the sun was approaching the horizon. He needed to get home before too long. Besides, he was shivering now, too, despite the surface water being much warmer. He pulled himself up onto the diving platform and was soon followed by the others.
Doc went into the trawler’s cabin and came back with a couple of huge, fluffy towels. Getting all the water dried off quickly warmed them up. While they did that, Doc got the boat back underway.
As they motored toward their starting point, Doc brought them hot chocolate, while Yui and Terry talked excitedly about the experience. Doc listened to them, smiling a little smile and enjoying their enthusiasm.
“Doc,” Terry asked eventually, “how do you dive deep? I mean, really deep?”
“Well,” Doc said, checking his phone for progress, “when you go below about 300 meters, you use hard suits.”
“You mean like the combat armor the mercs are making to fight aliens?”
“Kinda like that, yeah,” Doc said. He tapped at his phone and held up an image for Terry to see. The suit looked more like the cartoon monster at the end of Ghostbusters than a diving suit. The diver only had a tiny window to look out of.
“How deep can it go?” Yui asked as she looked at the picture.
“Record is 410 meters,” Doc said. “Now if you wanted to go really deep, you could go down further if you just stayed.”
“You mean forever?” Terry asked.
“You could come back up,” Doc said, “but it would take you weeks to decompress.”
“Even with helium?”
“Yup.” Doc finished cleaning the breathers and put them back in the case. He glanced at them for a moment and nodded. “The guys are going to like my report,” he said as he locked it closed.
The boat motored onward as Terry thought. He tried to imagine what it would be like to live deep down, deeper than even the cetaceans dived. No light at all reached past 200 meters. Perpetual night. What would it be like to spend your life down there? The sun fell behind Molokai as they continued on. The excitement remained, even when his bike’s battery died halfway home.
* * * * *
Chapter 4
PCRI, Molokai, Hawaii, Earth
August 29th, 2035
Terry watched the TV news in the kitchen with half his attention as he ate breakfast. His tablet sat unused, his unfinished homework languishing as he ate. There’d been a brief bit about the Hawaiian junior baseball league championship on the Big Island. He was still stinging from the beating his team had taken in O‘ahu two weeks ago. Yui said they’d been beaten so bad, charges should have been filed.
“In further news, it has been reported from China that the infamous Golden Horde mercenary company, one of the so-called Four Horsemen, has experienced a change in ownership.”
Terry focused on the news report. Anything about Human mercs was interesting stuff. All the kids in his class were completely fascinated by the stories of the Horsemen, or any of the other myriad companies which had sprouted up in the last few years.
“When we contacted the Golden Horde’s press liaison for a more in-depth interview, however, they declined to offer information beyond their basic press release. In further news, the world government has approved the Global Development Incentive Act which, among other things, establishes a 5% tax on all mercenary income...”
Terry tuned it out as his interest in the story waned. His mother came in and offered him some more toast.
“No, thanks,” Terry said, so she headed back for the kitchen. “Oh, Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Is Kray going to be back in the tank today?”
“Yes, the doctor said he’s clear to return.”
“Do I get to find out what kind of surgery he had?”
His mother grinned slyly before she answered, “I’m sure you will. Kray says he’s been missing you.”
“Really? Cool!”
“Hurry back from practice after school. We need you to help with the dolphins, too, before you can see Kray.”
Terry nodded, glad they hadn’t had plans to dive. Doc had been too busy since the dive on the Dixie Maru to take them out again. Yui and he had been forced to subsist on snorkeling at the beach just down from the institute.
The day’s lessons went slowly, partly because they’d just started back to school the previous week and were spending a lot of time going back over stuff, and partly because he was eager to see Kray again. They hadn’t been using the translators much since Kray had had his mysterious surgery. The other orcas didn’t want to talk about anything. They’d all seemed nervous about something.
Yui wanted to go snorkeling after class, but Terry told her he needed to get back and do chores. She was suspicious; he could tell. He took off the first chance he got and rode his bike back to the institute as fast as it would carry him. He forgot to plug it in, and had to go back down to attach the bike to its charger before he could do his chores.
After an hour of mopping the fish room and helping feed the bottlenoses, he went into the residence for dinner. He fairly jammed the food in his mouth, and his mother clucked with disapproval. She didn’t stop him, though, because she knew why he was so excited.
“Can I be excused?” he asked, though his plate was still half full. She looked skeptically at what was left. “Please?”
“Go,” she said, and he bolted.
When he got to the Resident tank, all four orcas were there. The other male and the two females floated next to Kray. As he entered, they immediately noticed him, and Kray gently floated over.
“Terry, I greet!”
Terry took a step back in surprise.
“You can talk without a translator?”
“I get talk box,” Kray said. He turned sideways slightly, and there, just behind his huge eye, something was embedded in the orca’s flesh.
“The surgery implanted a translator,” Terry said in amazement.
“Talk box, yes! You like, Terry?”
“Yes, it’s excellent.” Terry considered for a second. “You know my name now, too?” Kray and the others had always called him “Warden Calf” before, a name he liked even less than Terrence.
“Talk box help me know stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“New stuff.”
That’s informative, Terry thought.
“Enjoying Kray’s new side?” his father asked as he entered.
“Yeah, it’s cool! Alien stuff?”
“An implant we bought to showcase their abilities. If we can get enough interest, we’ll be able to get them for all the cetaceans.”
“Even the bottlenoses?”
“Yup.”
“Wow, Dad, that would be incredible. Who did the surgery?”
&
nbsp; “Dr. Jaehnig. You remember, he did the surgery on Ulybka’s fluke?” Terry nodded. “James has done more surgery on orcas than just about any other marine biologist.”
“So it’s a translator and something else?”
“Just a translator,” his father replied.
“Then what does Kray mean by ‘new stuff?’”
“We’re not sure,” he admitted. “We’re still running tests.”
Terry looked back at Kray, and the orca looked back. “Can I help?”
“It’s better if you just do your chores and help with feeding.” Terry looked down in disappointment. “I’ll tell you what, maybe after we’ve finished our evaluation?”
“Excellent,” Terry said, and went to get the fish cart.
Despite his complaints, he really enjoyed feeding the cetaceans. He’d been around a couple of times as the scientists had tried to get the hang of talking to the bottlenoses, which seemed to be going nowhere fast. He’d also talked with all the orcas. He wasn’t surprised they’d chosen Kray to give a translator to. The Resident orcas were far more talkative and willing to learn. The Transients were another matter entirely.
Terry rolled the cart into communal tank #2 and saw a group of scientists working with the Transients. He looked at the orca talking. The long, thin dorsal fin meant it was Uila, the dominant female. She was also the most communicative of the mostly quiet Transients. The head of the group talking to the orcas was Dr. Orsage.
Dr. Penna Orsage had been researching cetacean language long before the aliens had brought translators to Earth and revolutionized the process. Scientists had known cetaceans communicated for many years, though they were uncertain how and to what order. Did they merely express desires and information like where food might be? Or could they convey complex meanings and theories?
Orsage had already been learning how orca society interacted and was correlating sounds and actions against those interactions. When the alien translators provided the words, Orsage put her previous knowledge toward making more sense of what the orcas were trying to say.
Terry put fish on poles and held them out for the orcas to take one at a time. These animals weren’t the passive, trained ones you found in places like SeaWorld. Their actions weren’t as predictable, and even SeaWorld had experienced loss of life in spite of the training. Only a few of the most skilled marine biologists could enter the water with the orcas. Terry was certainly not qualified.
While he fed the other five, he listened in on the conversation with Uila.
“...was a decision based on many things,” Dr. Orsage was saying.
“Not ask us,” Uila said. “Not ask Uila, not ask Ki’i.” Ki’i was the dominant male, and her mate. The Transients took their lead from a female, unlike the Residents, who followed a male. It was some of the sociological details Dr. Orsage was studying.
“No, we didn’t.”
“Wardens do without ask.”
“There are complex factors you would not understand.”
“Wardens think we calves.”
“We don’t think you’re children,” Orsage said in a steady voice.
Uila snapped her jaws twice, rolled over with her pectoral fins, and showed her belly. She pushed away from the tank wall with her flukes and moved toward Terry, evidently to get a fish.
Dr. Orsage sighed and turned off the translator before speaking. “I guess the interview is over,” she said.
“They’re mad because you gave a translator to Kray?” Terry asked from across the pool. He held a big mackerel out on his pole. Uila snapped it away so viciously, she almost pulled Terry in after it. She shook the fish, tearing it apart. The other orcas moved away from her anger.
“Not that we gave it to Kray, but that we didn’t give it to her,” Orsage said.
“You could argue she’s jealous,” another scientist said.
“That’s a reasonable assertion,” Orsage said, picking up her tablet computer and making some notes. “The Transient and Resident pods have never been seen to interact directly.”
“But orca specimens with Resident traits have been spotted with Transient pods,” another marine biologist pointed out, holding up his computer stylus. “Five separate discreet occasions.”
Orsage nodded. “And in each occasion the Residents were eventually gone from the Transient pods.”
“Dr. Gene Meander suggested it was kidnapping for breeding purposes,” still another marine biologist said.
“That’s been pretty roundly criticized as apocryphal,” Orsage said with a wave of her own stylus.
Terry kept feeding the orcas, keeping a careful grip on the pole after the earlier incident. He liked listening to the scientists arguing. His mother and father did the same thing sometimes. It wasn’t like other grownups argued; this was science arguing. His father called it searching for consensus. He wasn’t sure if he completely understood.
After a while, all the other scientists left, and only Dr. Orsage remained. She watched the five Transients eat and talk to each other. Her brows knitted together in concentration. He didn’t know why they didn’t just listen in; he would have. When the fish was all gone, he rolled the cart toward the door. He stopped before leaving.
“Dr. Orsage?”
“Hmm?” she replied, not looking up from the orcas.
“Do the Transients hate the Residents?”
She turned her head and focused on him, seemingly realizing who was talking. “That’s a strong word,” she said, “maybe too strong for the orcas. We don’t know if any other species have hate in their repertoire.” Terry’s brows knitted, and she smiled. “I don’t know if they can hate the way we do.”
Terry looked at the way Uila was swimming, then back at Dr. Orsage. “Ma’am, she looks pretty pissed off to me.”
* * * * *
Chapter 5
PCRI, Molokai, Hawaii, Earth
September 7th, 2035
Dr. Matthew Clark watched the bankers’ reactions and smiled. The entire group, all ten of them, were staring wide-eyed as Kray spoke.
”Shool moved in deep water. Deepest water. Shool was alone. Shool made first pod. Boy, girl, so have calves. Pod grew. Alone long time. Pod lonely. Shool fill water with life. Shool fill sky with life. Life good. Pod good. All good.”
Alice Kemp, president of Hawaiian Bank Corporation, turned to Matthew with her eyes wide and shining. “That is beautiful,” she said. “Did you teach it that?”
“Not at all,” Matthew said, shaking his head.
“Then where did it learn that?”
“Him,” Madison said.
“I’m sorry?” President Kemp asked.
“You said ‘it.’ Kray is a male, ‘him.’”
“Surely it doesn’t matter,” another banker said. “Him, her, it? They’re just animals.”
“Tell me, please, how many animals have a God?” All ten of the bankers gasped.
“That really doesn’t matter,” Matthew interjected, stepping forward to stop the fight he sensed was coming. “They, the orcas, told us this story after the translator was installed, after a week or so for Kray to become used to it. He talked to the others in his pod, and they put this story into words we could understand. Don’t you see? They created this!”
The bankers all nodded and looked at each other. Matthew could see an overlay of skepticism, so he pushed forward. “Think about people coming here, to Molokai, to interact with these noble...” he looked at his wife, “beings. What other stories might they have within themselves? Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve met aliens from the stars. They came here and told us we were not alone. Now we fly off across the galaxy and do what? Kill them? Get paid? Is that our sole destiny?”
He gestured to Kray, who was floating on his side, lazily pumping his massive fluke to slowly move around the tank. “Other intelligence was right here, among us, all along. The cetaceans are intelligent. They have language, a sort of oral history, perhaps even a mythology. People will come to hear about this.�
��
“And pay to hear it?” Kemp asked.
“Oh, without a doubt,” Matthew said.
“You have your talking fish,” she said, gesturing to Kray. Madison scowled as she continued. “Why do you need millions of dollars then? We appreciate the opportunity to invest in this project, but couldn’t you do it yourself with this one talking whale?”
“Sure,” Matthew said, then shrugged. “Probably. But with money, we can give all the rest of our wards these translators. More of their stories will come out, and they can grow as their own people—realize their potential!”
Kemp laughed, but the humor didn’t reach her eyes. “You talk as if they’re people.”
“Maybe they are,” Matthew said. “Maybe they are valuable people who can make you and I a lot of money.”
* * *
“I feel like I need a shower,” Madison snarled as she waved. Matthew grunted as he waved as well. All the scientists of the institute stood at the steps by the main drive as the investment bankers climbed into their limos. In a few minutes they’d be on private helicopters flying back to Honolulu.
“Yeah, but we have this,” he said and showed her the check for $10 million.
“Sure,” she said. “That’s part of why I feel dirty. Twenty-five percent of the institute’s profits from public outreach programming and any advertising revenue,” she spat, “all for filthy lucre. Sickening.”
“Without this filthy lucre, as you so eloquently put it, we’d be dead in the water, and Kray would the only cetacean to ever have a translator. Or worse, someone else would do it, and we’d sit here and watch. Think of the papers we’ll publish!”
“Is that what you’re most concerned with, Matthew?” she asked, turning a baleful glance his way. “Getting famous?”
“I want to help cetaceans,” he insisted. “If it takes some bankers’ money and a couple of jet ski commercials? So be it.”
“Still feels like exploitation to me,” she insisted.