Free Dive

by Emma Shelford

  Jules grinned, and even Krista’s stern face hinted at amusement.

  “Come on,” Zeb said. “Let’s get packed away. The dive shop delivered the tanks already. I want to be on the water by nine.”

  He passed Jules a box and Krista jumped aboard again. Corrie and Zeb passed all the equipment to the others until the cart was empty. Before Corrie could climb aboard, Zeb stopped her.

  “I want you to know,” he said, his mouth stumbling over the right words. “We’ll take good care of you and do our best to do what you need for your science.”

  “Thanks, Zeb.” His words helped to reduce the knot in her stomach. She waved at the boat. “Shall we?”

  The others banged around and shouted instructions at each other while Corrie set up her makeshift lab. Her pump, her microscope, even her beakers all had to be secured with an elaborate array of bungee cords and duct tape. She handed scuba tanks and the jugs filled with purified water to Jules in the hold, where the smell of fish was faint but unmistakable. She noted with pleasure a large fish tank strapped down in a corner.

  Corrie was sticking a few final pieces of duct tape over an electrical cord when Krista came into the lab. She said nothing but merely looked over Corrie’s set-up.

  “That should be secured better,” she said finally. She pointed at a filter apparatus. “You never know what the ocean will bring us. The seas can get rough, especially if we leave the inside passage.”

  She spoke in a calm, detached tone, but Corrie detected an unexpected undercurrent of hostility. Had she offended Krista already, somehow? Corrie shrugged inwardly. Hopefully Krista got over it, otherwise it would be a long week. Corrie couldn’t change it, so she decided to ignore it.

  “Thanks. I’ll fix it,” she said shortly but politely.

  “You’re kind of—” Krista coughed and obviously rephrased what she was about to say. “Super organized, hey?”

  Corrie looked at her color-coded lab tape and carefully hung tubing in order of size. Yes, she was particular, but it only helped in the lab. She weighed giving a sharp answer back but decided against it. Krista said nothing further and moved out to the aft deck.

  Zeb came into the lab while she admired her secure filter apparatus.

  “How are you doing? Just about ready to go?” he said, a vein of excitement in his voice.

  “Ready when you are.” Her voice was steady, but inside her mind whirled with everything she needed for her first station.

  “Come up to the wheelhouse, if you like,” Zeb said. “It’s the best view forward. And the warmest spot, you’ll find.”

  “But it’s such a nice day,” Corrie said as she followed Zeb forward.

  “I hope you brought a sweater, because it’s always colder on the water.”

  They entered the wheelhouse, which was a cozy narrow space with windows on the front and bookshelves and a counter on the back. A door on the starboard side was clipped in an open position, and one high chair swiveled in front of a large wooden wheel. The wheel reached to Corrie’s shoulders, and its turned wooden handles were polished with age and use to a fine golden sheen. Another seat folded out from the wall.

  “Look at that wheel,” said Corrie. She stepped up to touch it. “It looks like it should be on a pirate frigate. Argh, matey!”

  Zeb smiled.

  “My dad wasn’t very whimsical, but that wheel is the exception. It was salvaged from some wreck—he never told me where—and it’s been on this fishboat as long as he’s owned it.”

  “What was your dad doing with an old fishing boat?” Corrie asked. It didn’t jive with what she thought she knew of the “rich kid.” Zeb shrugged.

  “Eccentric hobby.” He waved at the folding chair. “Have a seat. I’ll start us up.”

  Zeb leaned out of the door and yelled the news of their departure. Jules called back, and Zeb started the engine with a grating roar. Krista appeared at the bow to unhitch the headline from the dock. She waved her completion at Zeb then hopped on board and secured the headline to a cleat.

  Zeb eased the boat away from the dock with a casual effortlessness that told Corrie he’d done this many times before. The boat slid out the channel between other vessels lined up at moorage until they were out, past the breakwater, out at sea. Corrie felt a tingle of excitement and glanced at Zeb. His eyes crinkled with amusement at her eagerness.

  “We’re off. You might as well get comfortable, it’s a few hours until our first station. Why don’t you tell me more about your project? I read your application, but I’d rather hear it from you.”

  “Oh! Sure.” Corrie deliberated for a moment. She still wasn’t sure what Zeb’s deal was. She hadn’t known what to expect, but a down-to-earth, fishboat-driving young man wasn’t it. What did he want to know? What would he understand? “I’m looking for plumose anemones, you know, the big white fluffy ones.”

  “I’ve done lots of diving,” Zeb said. “I know them.”

  “Oh, right.” Corrie paused, a little embarrassed. It was always difficult to judge in how much detail she should discuss her scientific work. “A certain strain of bacteria is commonly found in the fronds of those anemones, and they produce an anti-cancer compound. People are very interested in harvesting that, obviously, or even better, growing the bacteria in the lab and reproducing the compound widely.”

  “And you’re trying to figure out where and how the bacteria grow on the anemones? Different water temperatures, for example?” Zeb said, his eyes raking the sea for other boats. Corrie blinked in surprise at his insight.

  “Exactly. If we want to replicate production of the metabolite—sorry, the compound—in the lab, we need to know more about the compound and how the bacteria grow and produce it. That’s where my study will contribute needed information. And it’s fascinating that these bacteria are producing it in the first place. What drove their evolution to produce it? What do they use it for? What’s their relationship with the anemones?” Corrie stopped and flushed. “Sorry, I’m rabbiting on. That was a long-winded answer to what I’m sure was a polite question.”

  Zeb shook his head.

  “No, it’s interesting. I wouldn’t have invited you on board if I didn’t think so.”

  “That reminds me, what’s your story?” Corrie watched Zeb’s face, which stilled at the question. He took a moment to answer. When he spoke, it sounded well-rehearsed.

  “It doesn’t reflect well on me, but okay. I’ve never taken much seriously, skated along life, relying on handouts from my father.” He paused, either struggling with emotion or remembering the right words. “Then, when he died, it was a wakeup call, you know? I wanted to do something more, something with meaning. But I don’t have a lot to offer, except money from the inheritance. So, we came up with this idea.”

  “We?”

  “Jules and I go way back.”

  Corrie turned over this information in her mind.

  “I think that’s great. Most people wouldn’t do that, no matter how much inheritance they got. And I’m sorry about your father.”

  He cast her a swift, tight smile.

  “Thanks. We never really saw eye-to-eye, but it’s still strange having him gone. I think Krista’s more cut up about it than I am.”

  “Krista?”

  “She’s my half-sister.”

  Corrie looked closer at Zeb’s face and nodded slowly.

  “I see it now. The hair and eyes threw me off. Can I ask—never mind.”

  “Go on.” Zeb’s mouth twitched. “Spit it out.”

  “Is that your real hair color?”

  “Yup. Mum was really pale. And I don’t wear colored contacts, either, in case you were wondering. I’ve had that question before, too.”

  “It’s unusual,” Corrie admitted. “But nice. I mean, you look good.” At Zeb’s questioning glance, she reddened. “Oh, hell. I’m going to check my equipment before I put my other foot in my mouth.” She moved to the door.

&
nbsp; “Feel free to come back and compliment me anytime,” he called after her. Corrie smiled to herself.

  JULES

  When they arrived at the first station, off the tip of Valdes Island in the Strait of Georgia, Jules had already mastered the swaying walk that enabled him to move around the deck with ease. His dad might run a bookstore, unlike Zeb’s fisherman father, but that didn’t mean he knew nothing about being at sea. He’d worked on this boat often enough.

  In the galley, Jules put the finishing touches on his pantry organization. Space was tight on the boat, but he had storage down to a fine art. He kneeled to reach deep into the lowest cupboard, and his fumbling fingers hit a switch. He peered inside.

  Mounted on the back panel of the cupboard was a small light switch. Jules tilted his head in thought. He didn’t remember ever seeing that switch, but had he ever sat on the floor and looked? He wondered what it did and flicked it a few times. Nothing happened. Was up or down the off position? He supposed it didn’t matter, not if it didn’t do anything. He closed the cupboard and headed outside.

  Wind pushed Jules’ shaggy hair off his forehead, and he took a deep breath of salty, clean air. The crisp coolness reminded him of fresh lemon, and the saline undertones of a just-caught lingcod. He’d have to tell Zeb to schedule in some fishing time if they were to eat anything half-decent this week. Zeb might be fine with throwing some fish sticks in the oven and calling it dinner, but Jules had higher standards.

  When Zeb yelled out that they had arrived, and the motors dwindled from a throaty roar to a rumble, Corrie burst through the aft door with her gear. There was a wild gleam in her eye, and her fingers twitched around her clipboard.

  “Ready to do some science?” Jules said. Corrie’s leg jiggled in anxious anticipation.

  “I hope so,” she said and opened a container that she had dragged out earlier. Inside was a black bottle with a cap on either end and cords poking out at random intervals.

  “If you don’t get it right the first time,” Jules said. “You have all week to perfect your technique.” Corrie looked like she could use some calming down. To his relief, her shoulders relaxed.

  “That’s true.”

  Jules lifted the black bottle gingerly.

  “What do you want done with this?” he asked, holding it aloft.

  “It’s called a Niskin bottle, to collect seawater at depth,” she explained. “You drop it overboard on a line, and when it’s at the depth you want, you send the messenger.” She pointed at meter markings on the line then held up a small weight with a clip. “And it triggers the lids of the bottle to close.”

  “If I’d known, I could have rigged up the winch for you,” said Jules. He walked to the edge of the boat. “Next station, we’ll have a proper setup. You can always ask. I’m not just a pretty face.”

  Corrie grinned.

  “I’ll keep it in mind. For now, let’s just throw it over.”

  They collected water from a few depths. Jules was particularly enamored of a jellyfish that clung to the top of their bottle. When Corrie dropped it in a bucket of seawater, it pulsed in a flowing pattern to the beat of its own music. Jules wondered if he had remembered to pack gelatin in their supplies. He had a sudden hankering for panna cottas.

  CORRIE

  “Zeb? Get up here!” Krista shouted from the wheelhouse. “There’s something weird jumping out of the water.”

  Corrie and Jules exchanged a look. What had Krista seen? Jules turned to scan the waves.

  “There,” he pointed. “I saw it too.”

  “What is it?” Corrie scanned the waves. There was some chop today, and the sea could conceivably hide all manner of secrets in the troughs of its waves.

  “A fish, maybe this long.” Jules held his hands apart to the length of his forearm. “It was rainbow-colored, like an El Dorado, jumped like a flying fish, and had a growth on its head like a horn. Totally bizarre.” He snorted. “The little-known unicorn fish of the Pacific.”

  Corrie held her breath and scanned the water with more intensity. She needed to see this creature. The ocean was notoriously deceptive, and while part of her wanted to believe Jules at face value, her scientific brain needed evidence. Perhaps it was a flying fish with a deformity, although they weren’t usually found in cold waters. And the fish was too small and the waters too cold for an El Dorado, the shimmery dolphin-fish of the tropics. Corrie ran through her knowledge of local fish for a match to Jules’ description, but came up with nothing.

  “There!” Jules pointed. “There are three of them!”

  Corrie’s eyes followed Jules’ outstretched finger. Three slender fish leaped out of the waves and flapped their tails behind stiff bodies. They were stabilized by short pectoral fins that spread horizontally, their ribbed webbing held rigid. Their bodies glistened in the sun in a hundred glittering colors that changed with every movement. Above each pointed nose was a protrusion, no longer than Corrie’s finger, that jutted out at an angle. The composition of the horn was difficult to tell from a distance, but Corrie could make out swirling ridges that spiraled to a translucent tip, as if long fish bones were twisted together.

  Corrie’s mouth gaped open. This was insane. The three creatures leaping in the distance were like nothing she had ever heard of before. One might be an aberration, a mutant, but three? Had they discovered a new species?

  “So?” Jules said. “What does our resident biologist think they are?”

  “I don’t know,” said Corrie faintly. “They look like young salmon, with specialized pectoral fins. And the horn…” What was she supposed to say? They weren’t like anything she knew. What did this mean? She had to find out what the fish were. “I’m going to the wheelhouse.”

  Corrie squeezed past Jules and poked her head into the wheelhouse. Krista continued to helm the boat, with occasional glances at the leaping fish. Zeb looked through a pair of binoculars but fastened his pale gray eyes on Corrie when she entered.

  “Well?” Zeb said, his voice strained with his effort to appear unconcerned. “What are they?”

  “I don’t know.” Corrie glanced at Krista, who stared resolutely forward. Was that why Krista was unfriendly to her? Because she guessed Corrie’s secret obsession? She looked back to Zeb’s guarded eyes. “What if we made a detour to follow the fish?”

  Zeb’s eyes flashed with excitement, but he glanced down at a chart to hide it. Krista shot him a sharp look. Corrie frowned. What was going on?

  “Is that why you needed an aquarium tank on board?” Zeb asked.

  Corrie colored, then stuck her chin out.

  “In science as in Scouts, one should always be prepared.”

  “We take directions for sampling from you.” Zeb waved at the charts. “We’ll follow as long as it’s safe. Tell Jules to prepare the dinghy and the nets.” He dropped his formal air. “Today, we’re hunting rainbow unicorn fish.”

  ZEBALLOS

  Corrie rushed out of the wheelhouse as the boat angled with their change in direction. Zeb heard her shouting for Jules as he followed.

  “Jules! We’re going to try to catch one. Zeb said to get the dinghy and nets ready.”

  Jules clapped his hands.

  “Right. Fishing is something I can do. Here, help me with the dinghy cover.”

  Zeb stepped forward to help Jules. Krista kept their course to follow the fish around a small forested island, then the fish dived and didn’t resurface.

  “Damn it!” Corrie said loudly. “Now what?”

  Zeb raced to the wheelhouse and Corrie followed. When she entered, he was pouring over a chart.

  “There’s a strong current here,” he told Krista.

  “I see it,” she replied. Zeb looked up at the band of darker rippled water ahead of them.

  “Take the current north,” he said. “They’ll likely follow it to the open stretch. Hopefully they’ll surface there.”

  “On it,” said Krista. She turned t
he wheel and the boat tilted. Zeb looked at Corrie. His stomach was clenched in anticipation. Had it really been that easy? Their first day out on the water, and they had found something. Was Corrie a good-luck charm? Had the secrets he’d been wondering about been swimming in the Strait all this time?

  Could they catch a fish to find out?

  “Let’s find you a life jacket. We’ll take the dinghy soon, I have a feeling.”

  Corrie raced away. Krista gave Zeb a dark look.

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” she said. “We’re a long way from catching it. And it might just be a deformed rockfish.”

  Exasperation at Krista’s naysaying filled Zeb’s chest, but he said only, “We won’t know until we try.”

  He followed Corrie to the aft deck, where Jules was loading nets and poles into the dinghy.

  “What else do you need?” Jules asked.

  “I don’t know!” Corrie danced on the spot. “Nets? I don’t know how to catch a fish. I normally deal with anemones!”

  “Chill, Corrie.” Jules patted her shoulder. “I only meant if you needed a special piece of equipment. We’ll do our best to catch one, okay?”

  “Here’s a life jacket,” Zeb said from behind her. She turned and clutched the orange vest. Zeb pointed past the bow. “There’s a kelp bed ahead, a big one. My best guess is they’ll make for that. So, let’s get the dinghy ready to float.”

  “There they are!” Jules yelled. Zeb whipped his head around to look. The fish leaped into the air toward the kelp bed, just as he had predicted.

  Zeb pulled a walkie-talkie off his belt and spoke into it. His fingers dug into the button.

  “Stop the boat, Krista. We’re going to launch the dinghy.”

  “Roger,” Krista’s voice crackled, and the engine rumbled down to a quiet roar. Zeb waved Jules to the winch control and slid into a life jacket.

  “Corrie and I will follow the fish. Winch the dinghy overboard. I’ll radio when we’re ready for pickup.”

  “Aye aye, captain.” Jules winked at Corrie and pulled a lever. Gears ground and chains clanked as the winch drew up slack. Corrie jiggled with impatience beside Zeb, and although he maintained a stoic calm, inside he was as jittery as Corrie looked. He recalled Corrie’s blog, and wondered fleetingly what was going through her mind right now. She must be almost as hopeful as he was.