Sirens

by Darcy Pattison

  Pah! Leroy was sure. That boy had deliberately compromised an experienced diver. And then made it look good by helping her survive. Leroy wanted to write back: What kind of life will it be? He’d rather be dead than deaf and crippled. He was glad that Gabby wasn’t here to see their daughter in such bad shape.

  But he only typed back:

  Leroy: U can’t trust someone who breathes H2O.

  Meryl didn’t text back.

  Eventually, Leroy stretched, moaning at his aching muscles, and opened his tracking program. He wasn’t sleeping well lately, waking too often through the night. Add to that the hospital vigil and he desperately wanted a nap. But not yet. It took a minute for the computer to fetch the GPS information from the nano trackers and when it finally displayed, Leroy was surprised. It placed Jake Rose in the middle of the North Sea.

  Hunched over his computer, Leroy stifled another yawn. This situation needed his full attention, though, so he stood, stretched again, and found an energy drink in his small refrigerator. He popped the top and drank deeply. He was relying on them too much lately, but what else could he do?

  He tried to remember details during the Sharks’ brief visit to his yacht. Jake had only taken a sip of his tea, so he didn’t have a full complement of nano-trackers. Maybe some of them had been expelled. But Edinburgh waste didn’t wind up that far out to sea, did it?

  To distract himself, Leroy turned on his satellite television. Of course, it was more of the Phoke nonsense. After that dramatic press conference on Christmas day, it would dominate coverage for a long time.

  He glanced back at his tablet computer and made the connection. Jake Rose was in the Phoke city.

  It finally made sense. This nonsense about mermaids and mermen was just a Risonian ruse. Their negotiations had fallen apart, and they weren’t gaining the approval they needed to move a colony here. This Phoke stuff looked to Leroy like the Risonians have had secret installations for years. Now, they were trying to say that they were an indigenous species. Aye, right! What a load of crap. The Phoke were nothing more than Risonians pretending to be merpeople.

  Every station was showing a news anchor reporting live from Aberforth Hills. Leroy saw through the publicity stunt. Surely, others would also. Earth would send the Risonians packing.

  There was a knock on Leroy’s door, and he opened it.

  Captain Martinez handed him a sheet of paper. “Sir, here’s that updated weather report you wanted.” Martinez had been with Puentes for over ten years, a valuable aide.

  Puentes read the report, while the Captain waited. The winter storm had quickened its pace and would hit their location about tomorrow, mid-morning. He had to make a decision soon.

  “Your orders, sir? Do we go back to port?”

  “Martinez, if you had a time machine, what would you do?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “Well, I’ve thought about it a lot and I know exactly what I’d do.” Puentes stood and rummaged about in a drawer while he talked. “I’d back up the world to November 16, 1974 and make sure the Aricebo message never got sent out into space. I’d blow up that rocket if I had to. If we didn’t know anything about Rison, we wouldn’t have soft-hearted idiots who want to rescue the Sharks, even though it will ruin Earth. It’s crazy. If we save them, they’ll be our death.”

  From the drawer, Puentes pulled out a pair of black socks. He sat on his bunk and started pulling them on. “That’s why we can’t back off right now, in spite of the weather. I don’t want to look back on this as a day we could have won, except we were cowards because of a little wind and snow.”

  The officer blinked at this outburst. “Yes, sir.”

  Puentes cleared his throat. “I still have to talk with the ELLIS Oversight Committee. I’ll be on the bridge shortly with orders.”

  The officer saluted and turned to leave.

  Leroy’s computer messaging system pinged. He leapt to his tablet to see if it was Meryl. Instead, he saw a message from Karp. He was the Japanese Ambassador to the UN and head of the ELLIS Oversight Committee, Ambassador Karp Aylott:

  Karp: How’s Meryl?

  Leroy: She’ll make it. Thanks for asking.

  Karp: You see the Aberforth Hills stuff?

  Leroy: Is anyone on Earth not seeing it? It’s brilliant PR.

  Karp: It changes everything. If we already have an indigenous species that lives in the ocean, they’ll have to be in on the negotiations.

  Leroy: We need to destroy Aberforth Hills now, before the hoax goes any farther.

  Karp: Hoax?

  Leroy: Isn’t it obvious? Risonians aren’t getting the support they need, so now they are pretending to be Phoke. As an indigenous people, they would want a voice in what happens to the oceans. That hoax would put the Risonians into position to cast the deciding vote.

  Karp: I hadn’t thought of that. If it’s a hoax, it’s brilliant. That city looks really old. From the photos, I’d believe it’s a 100-year-old city.

  Leroy: Easy to fake.

  Karp: True.

  Leroy: So, what do we do, sir?

  Karp: What do you suggest?

  Leroy: Attack NOW. Expose the hoax. Capture leaders of the mythical Phoke and interrogate them. Force them to confess that they are really Risonians.

  Karp: Hmmm. Let me talk with Kyle.

  Kyle Burgeon was a career politician and the current US Ambassador to the United Nations. He was the other influential member of the ELLIS Oversight Committee. Most decisions were made by Kyle and Karp and rubber-stamped by the rest of the committee.

  Leroy: Need to know soon. Within the hour. Winter storm in the North Sea will hit tomorrow morning. I can send in the submarine fleet, storm or no storm. But other boats need to go to safe harbor.

  Leroy lay on his bunk and closed his eyes. He wouldn’t sleep, just rest, he told himself. Indeed, he slept so lightly that when his computer’s messaging system dinged again, he sat bolt upright. He dragged the computer to his lap and rubbed his eyes. Trying to focus, he read:

  Karp: Submarine attack NOT approved. Must investigate Phoke to see if they are really indigenous or not. Move all vessels to safety. We’ll talk more after the storm.

  That was it. ELLIS understood nothing. Karp and Kyle were fools.

  Leroy paced his tiny room, five steps one way, five steps back. Everything about the decision was wrong. The Risonians had fooled everyone with the Phoke ruse. They were taking Earth’s own folk tales and using them to their advantage.

  So. Karp and Kyle had made their decision, and now Leroy had to make his.

  ELLIS is mine, he thought fiercely. These are my men, and they would follow me no matter what the officials said.

  He upended his energy drink and drank the rest. He tossed the can into his trash can, where it clanged against other empty drink cans. It was an easy decision: attack.

  Leroy would throw off the officials, though.

  Leroy: Yes, sir. Right away, sir.

  They wouldn’t learn of his decision until the submarines didn’t make it back to shore before the storm. And he made another decision: he’d take charge of one of the subs and lead the attack himself. From his bookshelf, he picked up Thoreau’s Familiar Letters, a gift from Gabby when they married. It fell open to a well-worn passage: “What's the use of a fine house if you haven't got a tolerable planet to put it on?”

  25

  Ironic Statistics

  December 26

  Face of Rison YouTube Channel

  Most Popular Video: “Phoke, Risonians and Earthmen: The Possibility of Blue Planet Friendships”

  Stats for December 26: 807 views

  December 26

  Jillian Lusk’s YouTube Channel

  Most Popular Video: “Blue Ball Flash Mob”

  Stats for December 26: 192,492 views.

  26

  Gone Rogue

  December 27, 8:37 a.m.

  “That’s it,” Commander Blake Rose said, clicking off his phone. “He’s
gone rogue.”

  The room stilled with the import of the statement. The Phoke military, along with the city officials and representatives of world news networks sat around a large table, drinking coffee and eating pastries. The conversation had been celebratory with everyone still excited by their announcement from two days ago on Christmas day, and all the coverage yesterday.

  From the midst of the crowd, Dayexi’s eyes were dark with worry. Blake wanted to reassure her, but too much was unknown. The last two days, she’d worked tirelessly to make sure the Rison position was heard: We want the Phoke people to come to the negotiation table, but they must do it quickly. Rison will implode soon.

  Blake had helped when he could by getting her introductions to the few people she didn’t already know, or by talking through how to approach this or that diplomat. They’d spent almost every waking moment together for the past two days. He’d had his own calls, investigations, and reports, of course, but he and Dayexi had shared an office and information. It was a rare gift for Blake. The Pentagon had ordered him to remain a neutral observer. So far, that had been easy.

  Blake smiled at Dayexi’s worried face, trying to wordlessly reassure her: “We’re together in this. It will work out.”

  Captain Bulmer set down his coffee cup with a thump. BBC’s female news anchor wore a purple sweater today. She was deep in conversation with Fox Suit, but stopped in mid-sentence. She snapped her fingers at the cameraman, who hoisted his camera to his shoulders.

  Blake shook his head, and the cameraman reluctantly turned off his camera.

  Blake explained that, to the best of their knowledge, General Puentes was now waging his own private war, and Aberforth Hills was his target. The U.S. Navy had enough intelligence in Scotland by now that they could monitor the ELLIS Forces fleet. The battleships had gone to harbor to avoid the winter storm. But the submarine fleet had gone dark, not responding to any communications.

  The U.N. ELLIS Oversight Committee assured everyone that they had not approved any military maneuvers in the North Sea. But, they said reluctantly, they couldn’t contact Puentes, either.

  “We must assume that General Puentes means to attack. Today,” concluded Blake.

  Dr. Mangot was the first to respond, taking charge and issuing orders.

  “We’ll be moving now to our recording studio,” she announced. “It was established so we could do remote medical consultations, so it’s small. But as part of our Contingency Plan, we built in capability to accommodate two of the capable news anchors here.” She held up a hand at the instant babble. “Wait. We’ll try to work up a schedule so all of you get time. We can also accommodate remote feeds from multiple sources, so you can still broadcast even if you’re not in the studio. If we’re going to be under attack, I suggest you send cameramen out to strategic points.”

  She waved at two Phoke wearing Aberforth Hills t-shirts. “Van can help you pinpoint places for your cameras and get you set up. Mara will be in charge of the studio schedule. Please give her fifteen minutes to get it set up, and she’ll take your requests in an orderly manner.” Dr. Mangot barked the last few words as if she were a drill sergeant.

  The hubbub subsided some.

  She pointed to Purple Sweater and Fox Suit. “For now, you two come with me.”

  Purple Sweater smiled, but said, “Of course. The most important news scoop I’ve ever had, and I sound like a monkey. Any chance of normal air in the studio instead of Tri-Mix?”

  Dr. Mangot rolled her eyes. To another Phoke, she ordered, “Find Dr. Bari and send him to the recording studio. Call his house. He’s likely at home with his sister.”

  Corralling Captain Bulmer and her own security officers, Dr. Mangot moved to a side door and exited.

  Blake hesitated, wanting to stop and discuss this new development with Dayexi. But she nodded at him to follow Dr. Mangot. “Later,” she mouthed.

  Blake detoured to pass by Dayexi, holding out a hand as he passed her. Briefly, she let her fingers trail against his. Blake felt that familiar tingle, and his heartbeat throbbed in his throat just as it had the first time they touched back on the Cadee Moon Base. It had been a lasting touch that had forged a friendship across the stars. It was a promise now: they weren’t finished yet.

  Without looking back, Blake followed Dr. Mangot. It appeared that the Phoke were organized and ready for almost anything. They’d had hundreds of years to imagine all the different scenarios, he supposed.

  He didn’t have much sympathy for General Puentes going rogue, but Puentes was walking into a hornet’s nest. This invasion was going to be covered by worldwide media in a comprehensive way like never seen before. Puentes was going to be hit from every side in the media. Every side, except his own. There was no one to cover his point-of-view.

  Thank goodness.

  Blake caught up to Dr. Mangot and asked, “Do you have backup troops coming?”

  “You want to know if we have a military,” Dr. Mangot said flatly.

  “Of course.” Blake thought he might as well give it straight. “The Pentagon wants an evaluation.”

  “We’ve nothing to hide. Yes. Every Phoke town has a militia, sort of like the U.S.’s National Guard.” She shook her head. “But no. They are capable of arriving anywhere on Earth within 48 hours, but we didn’t account for Mother Nature. The winter storm will delay them. We can’t count on help for at least three days, maybe four. What about the U.S. Navy?”

  Blake scratched his head, worry making him shake his head. “Mother Nature. Three or four days.”

  They were on their own.

  And the Pentagon expected him to remain neutral. He was forbidden to aid the Phoke in any way.

  Blake had never disobeyed a direct order. But his family was here, Dayexi and Jake. He’d stay neutral as long as he could, but if they were threatened, he’d act. He wouldn’t lose either of them just because Puentes decided to wage a private war.

  27

  The Natatorium

  December 27, 9:05 a.m.

  Em stared up at the Michael Phelps Natatorium in amazement. One of the newest structures in Aberforth Hills, it was all metal and glass and lay at the northern edge of the city. Shelby had explained that glass strong enough to withstand the water pressure at this depth was relatively new.

  Mid-morning was an odd time for people to exercise, so the lanes were empty. Shelby showed Em how to turn on the lights along the walls of the pool and turn off the overhead lights. The result was astounding. On the north side, the side of the pool was also the wall of the building, creating an observation area so that a swimmer could look out into the cold waters of the North Sea. Because the pool lay at the city’s edge, light pollution wasn’t bad. By reducing the light in the pool, Em could almost imagine that she was swimming in the deep sea.

  “You’ll be okay for a while?” Shelby asked. The natatorium was on the tourist’s list of buildings, so his voice was squeaky from the Tri-Mix air. “I’m scheduled to visit cousins in South Africa in two weeks and have to get my vaccinations. And then I have to get my hair cut or my mom will scream.” Today, instead of hospital scrubs, he wore a knit shirt that was tight on his arms and showed off his biceps.

  “Why vaccinations?” she asked. Em didn’t think she’d ever get used to the Tri-Mix cartoonish voices.

  “I’ve never been out of England before. Just a precaution.”

  “Why are you going to South Africa now?”

  “To visit cousins.” Shelby hesitated, but shrugged and said, “Well, I’m also supposed to look for a Phoke girlfriend. They want us to marry other Phoke, but you know you can’t just marry within one community or the gene pool goes bad.” He waved a hand. “Parents are crazy. I’ll marry whomever I want. But I won’t turn down a trip out of the country. South Africa is in the height of summer right now.”

  Em wanted to laugh at how normal he sounded, like any of her classmates back in Bainbridge. “Take your time. Come back in an hour or two,” Em said. “I won’t overdo
it or anything. I just want to try a couple laps.”

  “Sure, see you later. There are spare swimsuits in the dressing rooms. I left you some snacks and water in the bag if you need it. If I get delayed, just take a nap,” he waved at the lounge chairs. “I’ll be back later to take you home.”

  “Good idea. I am still getting tired—” she held up a hand to stop his protest “—and I’ll take it easy. A nap would be good. So, take your time.”

  In the women’s dressing room, Em grabbed a one-piece navy swimming suit from a stack and changed. She walked back out to the swimming pool and did a shallow racing dive into the pool. Lazily, she swam a lap, but then paused to gaze out the observation wall. She let herself sink underwater and hang there gazing into the North Sea. Someone had done landscaping—or seascaping—so that lovely corals clumped artistically on the sea floor. A variety of fish darted in and out of the area. She recognized a few such as haddock, lemon sole, and once a dogfish.

  Em kicked lazily to the surface to catch a breath. Wait. She’d been underwater for over five minutes and hadn’t been stressed for air at all. A quiet awe struck her, a sudden appreciation for the mermaid anatomy she had inherited. Imagine being 100% mermaid! Em was starting to relax into her Phoke body and let it do what came naturally. Her thinking had to change to keep up. She’d been trained to think as a human, that she could only stay underwater a minute or two, so she’d never tried for longer. She had to unlearn human limitations to learn how this one-quarter-Phoke body really operated.

  She went under again, but when she came up, Em realized she was too tired to try again. She paddled slowly to the pool’s side. She barely managed to pull herself out, awkward and stiff. She tottered to a lounge chair and collapsed. Wearily, she closed her eyes.