Free Dive

by Emma Shelford

  Krista let the fish finish its snack, then she carefully removed the swab from the water. Corrie waited with a sampling bag, and she sealed the swab inside.

  Jules’ voice crackled over the intercom.

  “Will somebody please give me an update? I’m dying with curiosity up here.”

  CORRIE

  Zeb went to the wheelhouse to tell Jules what had happened. Corrie left Krista to watch over the fish while she entered the lab. Although she wanted to do nothing else except stay next to the unicorn fish, she had water to filter. It had already waited too long.

  After she had set up the filter equipment, and the water was dripping into her flask, Corrie opened her computer to check email. There was a message waiting for her from her supervisor, and her heart sank. What did he want this time? Two emails in as many days had to be a record for him.

  Hello Corrie, please update more frequently while you are on the boat. Daily would be best. Have you analyzed any more data? Jonathan

  Corrie groaned. Daily reports? Her sampling schedule was grueling, and that wasn’t including their search for the unicorn fish. She barely had time to sleep as it was, and he wanted data?

  Corrie poured more water into her filter apparatus, and, grumbling, pulled up the raw data from her most recent analysis. It meant very little without other data which she wouldn’t be able to analyze until she was back in the lab, but it would do. Her supervisor would have to be satisfied with that, because she didn’t have anything else.

  Her fingers paused on the keyboard. She did have news, huge news. They had a unicorn fish in a tank, and she was sampling it. That would satisfy all of Jonathan’s inquiries and doubts. A part of her balked at telling him. That part was much larger than the part that wanted to look competent in her supervisor’s eyes. The unicorn fish was her discovery, hers and the crew’s. It was her interest in legendary creatures that had fueled the search, not her other project. It still felt too close to the contents of her blog. Even with hard evidence swimming in a tank on the deck, she was still nervous about her secret obsession being exposed. Also, she wanted to find a few answers before Jonathan swooped in on her discovery. Maybe it was a petty reason—she should care more about furthering scientific knowledge than about her own stake in it—but she couldn’t shake the feeling. What Jonathan didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

  She cobbled together a figure and sent it off with promises of daily reports. Her eyes fell on the swabs. Answers were lying on the counter, waiting to be found. Corrie poured more water into her filter, snapped on a new pair of gloves with gusto, and started to prepare samples from the swabs. If she was quick, she might be done by late afternoon.

  During a break in her analysis, she emailed a friend in the sequencing lab at the university, who routinely analyzed samples for their genetic makeup.

  Hi Robert, I have a really big ask. Could you amplify a few samples for me using generic primers for fish, then run them on your next sequencing run? I can have the samples arrive by tomorrow. I know this is so big, but I will pay you in cash, fine dining, work-in-lieu, the moon, or whatever you consider fair payment. Please? Corrie

  Zeb popped his head into the lab as she pressed send.

  “Lunch soon.”

  “Change of plans,” Corrie said. “Where’s the nearest town with a post office?”

  ZEBALLOS

  Bringing Corrie along on this trip had been a huge gamble, but it was paying massive dividends. Zeb hadn’t expected to meet anyone as interested in the secrets of the sea as him, but he was constantly surprised by Corrie. She had a stubborn determination and an insane work ethic in pursuit of the answers of the strolia. She had still been in the lab last night when he had gone to bed, and now she had worked through lunch today to have her samples ready to mail.

  Zeb glanced at her face as she gazed out over the rolling sea and felt a wave of admiration for Corrie. She, Zeb, and Krista were on their way to Lund to mail Corrie’s samples and buy more bait. Corrie said that they might have a response for the genetic work in a few days, if they were very lucky. Zeb hoped so. He didn’t know what the samples would tell them, but any information was good information.

  Corrie caught his eye.

  “What about a catch-and-release program?” she said, excitement coloring her voice. “Then we could find out population numbers, migration patterns—now that we know what bait they are attracted to, it would be straightforward.”

  “Could we follow them?” Zeb asked. Krista glanced at him searchingly. Corrie shrugged in uncertainty.

  “I think so, but radio tags are pretty expensive, and I don’t know how small they make them. They’re usually used for whales. But maybe.” Corrie jiggled her leg while she thought. “Regular tags, though, I could probably rustle up at the university. Then later in the summer I could come back and tag them, or I could teach you how to do it. It’s easy enough, especially if you have experience catching fish.”

  “I have that.” Zeb glanced at Krista, whose face was stormy. When would she get it through her brain that he was doing this, whether she liked it or not? He looked pointedly away and focused instead on Corrie’s declaration that she would come back on the boat later in the summer. He found himself looking forward to it. This trip so far was intense, thrilling, and the four of them made a good team. When Krista wasn’t glowering at everyone, that is.

  At the dock, Zeb pointed in the direction of the post office and Corrie raced away. Zeb and Krista followed her more sedately, their target a grocery store three blocks away.

  “What do you like about dried jellyfish?” Krista asked, out of the blue. Zeb thought for a moment.

  “I don’t know. Why does anyone like anything? It’s salty, chewy, and I crave it sometimes. Why do you like chocolate-covered raisins so much?”

  Krista didn’t answer him directly.

  “I wonder why Larry the fisherman was eating it. He doesn’t seem like the type to experiment with flavors.”

  “I bet his brother’s wife got him into it. Jules said she’s Chinese. I don’t know how he knew that—he gets people talking, I guess.”

  “Maybe your mum was part Chinese. She introduced you to dried jellyfish, right?”

  “I don’t know what she was,” Zeb said with finality. That was the whole reason for this escapade, to find out more about her and, by extension, about Zeb. He didn’t have much to go on, except that his mother’s life before he was born was foggy with mystery, she was different like him, and she told fantastical stories. That was the sum of his knowledge. Chinese? Maybe, but Zeb was pretty sure there was more to the story than an Asian heritage.

  Krista brought up a good point, though. When he wanted jellyfish, he really craved it. Jellyfish never seemed to quench the craving, but the desire faded on its own eventually. Did the strolias feel the same? If so, why?

  JULES

  The Clicker was anchored in Lund’s harbor, and Jules was in the galley, preparing dinner. Chicken cordon bleu tonight, and he sliced a side of carrots into slender sticks for quicker cooking. His phone played music loudly, and he belted out the lyrics right along with it. It was strange being on his own on the boat—the solitude reminded him uncomfortably of hours on his own after school as a child—but it was strangely pleasant, for the same reason. Days on the Clicker, constantly in each other’s faces, grated after a while. He’d be glad to see the others come back, but, for now, he was enjoying blasting his music without Krista stomping in and turning it off.

  Something large and heavy clanked against the metal hull of the Clicker. Jules frowned and turned off his music. Were the others back already? It felt like they’d only just left. He’d hardly done any kitchen prep yet. Jules wiped his hands on a tea towel and wandered outside.

  He stopped abruptly. The man outside wasn’t Zeb, not even close. His ash blond hair was the only similarity between them. This man was at least a head taller than Jules, and muscly where he was wiry. His severe face completed
the don’t-mess-with-me look. Jules would have liked to comply, but this was the Clicker. Only friends of Zeb were allowed on, and Jules knew that this man was no friend.

  “Matt Nielsen,” he said clearly, keeping the waver out of his voice that threatened to emerge. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

  “Getting a message across,” Matt said in a deep, rough voice. “You tampered with my boat yesterday. Don’t know how, but I’m sure it was your lot. Had to call the coast guard to tow me home.” He took a step closer to Jules, who stood his ground even though every cell in his body screamed at him to retreat. “I don’t like threats, and I don’t like anyone messing with my boat. Or fucking around in my business.”

  “Got it,” said Jules. “No fucking. Now, get off the boat.”

  “When I’m ready.” Matt looked around. “You’re too interested in my business. It got me thinking, why? Do you have a stake in it? I’m not interested in competition.”

  He took a step toward the aft deck, and Jules thought in horror of the unicorn fish in its tank. It was covered by some shade cloth, but that wouldn’t stop someone truly searching.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jules said, his voice raised. “But get off the Clicker, right now. You don’t like competition? I don’t like trespassers.” Jules glanced around for a weapon, anything he could use to hold his ground against the larger man. A gaff hook rested on a rack against the hull, and he grabbed it and held it up. Matt looked at him and laughed. It was a chilling sound.

  “You think you can gaff me like a fish?” He took a fire ax off the wall of the cabin and planted his feet squarely. “I’d like to see you try. Go on, give me a laugh.”

  The roar of an approaching engine entered Jules’ ears, but didn’t penetrate his brain. His eyes scanned Matt’s body, looking for ideas of where to strike with his hook. He knew this was a fool’s errand, that Matt would likely grab the hook out of his hands and toss it away, but he had to try.

  Matt took a step closer, and Jules’ knees wobbled like water. He gritted his teeth. Maybe he shouldn’t bother. Let the big man take the fish and run. But the thought of Zeb’s devastated face emboldened Jules.

  “Get off the boat,” he yelled. “I won’t ask again.”

  The engine roared louder, and Matt turned to look. Quicker than his doubtful thoughts, Jules darted the pole toward him and hooked the end around the other man’s thigh. It stuck, and Matt let out a yell of anguish. He turned to Jules with murder in his eyes.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Matt?” Krista’s voice screamed from the dinghy. She had lungs on her, that one. “Get the hell away from Jules!”

  Matt ripped the hook out of his thigh with a grunt of pain. He smashed the hook to the ground and held the ax over his head. Jules backed away.

  With a clang, the dinghy bumped into the Clicker. Moments later, Zeb climbed on board with Krista right behind him. Matt turned at the sound.

  “Get off my boat,” Zeb said with eerie calm. In contrast, Krista quivered with fiery rage.

  “You heard him,” she shouted. “Off.”

  Matt must have realized that he was outnumbered, for he limped to the ladder. Zeb stepped aside to let him pass, but Krista stood for a moment in his path to glare before she moved. Matt climbed awkwardly down the ladder but paused to sneer at them.

  “Stay out of my business. This is your last warning.”

  Nobody spoke until Matt had raced away. Jules leaned over the railing, the adrenaline rushing out of his body making his legs limp and his heart pound. Corrie was still in the dinghy, holding it steady against the Clicker.

  “Are you okay?” she asked with a worried expression. Jules tried to smile, but it felt fake.

  “Not a scratch. But I drew blood on the other guy. I win?”

  “Let’s get the dinghy up,” Zeb said in a measured tone. Before he walked to the winch, his hand rested on Jules’ shoulder. “I’m glad that idiot didn’t hurt you.”

  “I’m glad you came back when you did,” Jules answered.

  After the dinghy was on board, Krista kicked the ax across the deck in frustration.

  “That bastard. No one steps on the Clicker without permission. No one threatens our friends. No one!”

  “I didn’t know you cared,” Jules said. Krista glared at him, but with less rancor than usual.

  “This is getting serious,” said Corrie in a small voice. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt because I’m studying the unicorn fish.”

  “It wasn’t only your decision,” said Zeb.

  “Do we stop now?” said Corrie. “It looks like we’re in the middle of a drug cartel.”

  “Cartel?” Krista snorted. “It’s only that rat bastard catching unicorn fish and trying to make a profit. There is no ‘cartel.’ And, I don’t know about you, but I want to bring him down. We have to stop him. Not only is he exploiting an unregulated species and producing illicit drugs, he’s resorting to brute force and threats to get his way. I won’t stand for it.”

  “I understand if you want to stop,” Zeb said to Corrie, although Jules could tell that he didn’t mean it. Zeb wanted to hunt unicorn fish, and Corrie was his best tool to do that. “We can finish your week on the boat, drop you off in Vancouver, and I can bring Matt to justice.”

  “No, I—” Corrie gulped. “I want to know more about it. I’m willing to take the risk. I just don’t want you all to feel obligated to put yourselves in danger for my projects.”

  “I’m for it, and Krista has made her view clear,” said Zeb. He turned to Jules with a pleading look in his eyes. “Jules, what do you want to do?”

  Jules hesitated. Matt’s severe face floated in his mind’s eye, and the fear it evoked flushed through his system once again. He truly hadn’t known the outcome of that scenario, if the others hadn’t arrived when they did. His trailer in Campbell River wasn’t far. He could be back on dry land in a matter of hours.

  But this was Zeb’s dream. Zeb was a friend who didn’t ask for much, and he was always there for Jules. Jules asked Zeb for plenty. Cash, jobs, someone to entertain him, a wingman. Could he desert his best friend?

  Man up, he told himself sternly. Do it for Zeb.

  “I’m in,” he said in a hearty tone. “Someone needs to feed you bunch. You’d probably resort to beans on toast every night if I weren’t here to save you.”

  Zeb’s shoulders loosened in relief, and Jules knew he’d made the right choice. Now, if only his heart would stop palpitating and get with the program.

  “How do we get the slimy bastard?” Krista said. “Fishing without a permit?”

  “That’s so hard to patrol,” Zeb said. “They likely wouldn’t investigate unless they actually saw him pull in a fish.”

  “More boat sabotage?” Jules suggested. At Zeb’s wide eyes and Corrie’s questioning glance, he backtracked. “You know, his motor broke the other day, somehow—could we make that happen again? Hard to fish without a boat.”

  “Don’t know how we’d do that without him noticing,” Krista said with a quelling look at Jules. “What about getting him for assault?”

  “His word against ours, and he’s the one with the hole in his leg,” Zeb said. “It doesn’t look good. Let’s hope he doesn’t take his side of the story to the authorities.”

  “What if we go to his home and release the unicorn fish he already has?” said Corrie. “That would be a start.”

  “I could probably find out where he lives,” said Krista. “It’s not a bad idea. But, just a warning, his family is into hunting. He might be licensed for firearms. Plus, he’s massive. Any attack on his home would have to be done with loads of stealth.”

  Corrie and Zeb looked downcast, and Krista grim.

  “Let’s think about it over dinner,” Jules said. He didn’t have any answers, but at least he had food to offer. “It’ll be ready in half an hour.”

  CORRIE

&n
bsp; Corrie didn’t sleep well that night. Visions of Jules facing off against Matt Nielsen kept visiting her mind, growing more horrible every time. By the end, a flock of flying unicorn fish were swooping down on the two above a boat made of carrots that was sinking into filtered seawater.

  No one spoke much at breakfast, except to confirm the location of their next station. There must have been no brainwaves in the night. Corrie thought that rescuing unicorn fish from Matt’s house was the simplest idea. Krista must have felt the same, because she disappeared into their cabin to phone old acquaintances for Matt’s home address.

  Corrie and Zeb dived for samples, and she and Jules collected water, but her heart wasn’t in it. She filtered water in the lab with only half an eye on it. The rest of her time was spent analyzing samples and staring at the unicorn fish in its tank. It stared balefully back at her and tapped the glass with its horn as it swam in circles.

  Now that she had a legendary creature in her keeping, she wasn’t sure what to do with it. She’d already photographed it, taken plenty of notes about it, sent samples for sequencing—what else did one do with a new species? Maybe she could do some behavioral studies, see how it reacted to different stimuli. Corrie gathered a few supplies and went to the aft deck.

  Krista was already there, kneeling beside the tank and staring into it with a soft expression that Corrie hadn’t known she was capable of. It hardened into its usual sternness when Krista noticed Corrie.

  “I’m going to run some tests,” Corrie said by way of explanation, although she didn’t know why she needed to explain herself. Krista’s eyes narrowed.

  “Is that necessary?”

  “Absolutely,” Corrie said, irritated by Krista. Why was she here, questioning Corrie’s expertise? Corrie may not know how to drive a boat, but science was her thing. Then she caught Krista’s worried glance at the tank and understood. “It’s not going to hurt the fish, I promise. Spiky might even find it fun.”