The Swarm

by Frank Schätzing

  11 April

  Vancouver Island and Clayoquot Sound, Canada

  The sight of it made Anawak angry. From head to fluke it measured over ten metres, an enormous male orca, one of the biggest transients he had ever seen. Its half-open jaws revealed tightly packed rows of glistening conical teeth. The whale was past its prime, but still immensely powerful. It wasn't until Anawak examined it more closely that he noticed the dull, worn patches that flecked its shiny black skin. One of its eyes was closed and the other was hidden from view.

  Anawak had recognised it straight away. On the database it was listed as J-19, but its distinctive dorsal fin, curved in the shape of a scimitar, had earned it its nickname: Genghis. He walked to the other side of the body and spotted John Ford, director of Vancouver Aquarium's marine-mammal research programme, talking to Sue Oliviera, head of the lab in Nanaimo, and another man. They were gathered under the line of trees that fringed the beach. Ford beckoned Anawak over. 'Dr Ray Fenwick from the Canadian Institute of Ocean Sciences and Fisheries,' he said.

  Fenwick was there for the autopsy. As soon as they'd heard that Genghis was dead, Ford had suggested that the dissection should be conducted on the beach, where the carcass had been found, rather than behind closed doors. He wanted to drum up a large group of students and journalists and give them an insight into the orca's anatomy. 'Besides,' he'd said, 'the autopsy will look different in the open – less clinical and distant. We'll be staring at the corpse of an orca close to the sea – in its own world. People will be more involved, more compassionate. It's a gimmick, of course, but it'll work.'

  They'd thrashed it out between them: Ford, Fenwick, Anawak and Rod Palm, a naturalist from the marine research station on Strawberry Isle, off the coast of Tofino. Palm and the Strawberry Isle team monitored the ecosystem in Clayoquot Sound, and Palm had made a name for himself by studying the orcas there.

  'The external evidence suggests that it succumbed to a bacteriological infection,' said Fenwick, when Anawak pressed him, 'but I don't want to rush to any hasty conclusions.'

  'You don't have to,' said Anawak grimly. 'Remember 1999? Seven dead orcas, and all of them infected.'

  "The Torture Never Stops",' murmured Oliviera, recalling an old Frank Zappa song. She nodded conspiratorially at Anawak. 'Come with me a second.'

  Anawak followed her over to the carcass. Two large metallic cases and a container had been placed beside it, full of tools for the autopsy. Dissecting an orca was a different matter from dissecting a human. It meant hard work, vast quantities of blood and one hell of a stench.

  'The press will be here in a moment, with the students,' she said, glancing at her watch, 'but since we're together, we should have a word about those samples.'

  'Made any headway?'

  'Some.'

  'And you're keeping Inglewood in the picture?'

  'I thought you and I should talk first.'

  'Sounds like you haven't reached any firm conclusions.'

  'Put it this way, we're amazed on one count and stumped on the other,' said Oliviera. 'For one thing, the mussels aren't described in any of the existing research.'

  'I could have sworn they were zebras.'

  'On the one hand, yes, but on the other, no.'

  'Fill me in.'

  'There are two ways of looking at it. We're either dealing with a species related to the zebra mussel or with a mutation. They look like zebra mussels and they form colonies like zebra mussels, but there's something odd about the byssus. The fibres extending from the foot are unusually thick and long. We've nicknamed them "jet mussels".' She pulled a face. 'We couldn't come up with anything better. We've observed a number of living specimens, and they're able to. . . Well, they don't just drift like normal zebra mussels. They set their course by sucking in water and expelling it. The force drives them forwards, and they use their fibres to steer. Does that remind you of something?'

  'Squid use jet propulsion.'

  'Well, some species do, but there's something else. I was thinking of dinoflagellates, unicellular organisms. In certain species, the cells have a pair of flagella extending outwards from the cell wall. They use one flagellum to steer, while the other rotates, moving them forward.'

  'But apart from that they've got nothing in common.'

  I'm treating it as convergent evolution in a very broad sense. At this stage, I need every lead I can get. As far as I know, no other species of mussel moves around like that. These swim like shoaling fish, and they can keep up their momentum, in spite of the weight of their shells.'

  'Well, that would explain how they settled on the Barrier Querns hull in the middle of the ocean,' mused Anawak. 'Is that the amazing part?'

  'Right.'

  'What's stumped you?'

  Oliviera stepped closer to the dead whale and stroked its skin. 'The fragments of tissue you found down there. We don't know what to do with them – and there's not much we can do. For the most part it had already decomposed. The small amount that we were able to analyse seemed to indicate that the substance on the propeller and the substance on your knife were identical. Apart from that, it bore no resemblance to anything we've ever come across before. The tissue is unusually well developed in terms of its contractibility. It's incredibly strong, but also extremely elastic. We don't know what it is.'

  'Could that be an indication of bioluminescence?'

  'Possibly. Why?'

  'Because it flashed at me.'

  'You're talking about the thing that knocked you over?'

  'Yeah. It shot out while I was poking around in the mussel bed.'

  'Maybe because you'd cut a lump out of it. Although I can't believe this tissue contains nerve fibres or anything else that might make it feel pain. It's really just… cell mass.'

  They heard voices approaching. Across the sand, a group of people were heading towards them, some with cameras, others with notepads.

  'We're on,' said Anawak.

  'OK.' Oliviera looked at him helplessly. 'But what do you want me to do? Should I forward the results to Inglewood? I can't imagine they'll be of any use. I'd rather look at a few more samples – especially of that tissue.'

  'I'll get in touch with Roberts.' Anawak stared at the orca, depressed.

  First the whales had disappeared for weeks, and now there was another corpse. 'Why did this have to happen? It's such a mess.'

  Oliviera shrugged. 'Save your lamentations for the press,' she said.

  THE AUTOPSY TOOK MORE than an hour, during which Fenwick, assisted by Ford, cut open the whale and explained its anatomical structure, exposing its intestines, heart, liver and lungs. Its stomach revealed a half-digested seal. Unlike the resident orcas, transient and offshore orcas ate sea-lions, porpoises and dolphins – even baleen whales could fall prey to a pod of orcas.

  Specialist science journalists were in the minority among the spectators, but reporters from the broadsheets, magazines and TV networks were out in force – exactly the sort of people the team had hoped to attract.

  Fenwick started by explaining the distinguishing features of an orca's anatomy. 'As you can see, its shape resembles that of a fish, but that's because nature adopted this body form for sea creatures that have evolved from land animals. It happens a lot. We call it convergent evolution: in order to cope with similar environmental pressures, two totally different species develop convergent structures – that is, structures designed to solve the same problem.'

  He removed sections of the thick outer skin to expose the layer of fat. Fish, amphibians and reptiles are ectotherms, which means they're cold-blooded, so their body temperature corresponds to that of their surroundings. Mackerel, for example, are present in the Arctic Ocean and in the Mediterranean. In the Arctic their body temperature is four degrees Celsius, but in the Med it's twenty-four. The same doesn't apply to whales: they're warm-blooded, like us.'

  Fenwick had uttered two little words that never failed to hit their mark. As soon as the spectators heard them, they sat up
and paid attention.

  Fenwick continued, 'They could be swimming in the Arctic or in the Baja California, it makes no difference. Wherever they are, whales have a constant body temperature of thirty-seven degrees, and to maintain it they accumulate the layer of fat we call blubber. See this white, fatty mass? Water normally draws heat away from the body, but this layer of fat prevents it happening.'

  His gloves were red and slimy with the orca's blood and fat.

  'But blubber can also be fatal to a whale. The reason they die when they get stranded is because of their weight, due in part to their magnificent fat layers. A blue whale measuring thirty-three metres and weighing a hundred and thirty tonnes is four times heavier then the biggest dinosaur that ever walked the Earth. Even an orca can weigh up to nine tonnes. Creatures of that size can only survive in water. It all comes down to Archimedes' principle, which states that the weight of a body immersed in fluid will decrease by an amount equal to the weight of the fluid it displaces. On land, whales are crushed to death by the pressure of their own weight- if they haven't already been killed by the insulating effect of their blubber, which absorbs the heat of the environment. Beached whales often die of overheating.'

  'Is that what happened to this one?' asked a journalist.

  'No. Over the past few years we've come across an increasing number of whales whose immune systems have collapsed. They all died of bacterial infections. J-19 was twenty-two, not exactly a youngster but most healthy orcas live to thirty. So, he died early and there are no external signs of a struggle. My guess is that an infection killed him.'

  Anawak took a step forward. 'We can tell you why that happens, if you're interested,' he said, in as neutral a tone as he could muster. 'There's been extensive toxicological research into the problem, and the results show that the orcas off the coast of British Columbia are badly contaminated with PCBs and other environmental pollutants. This year we've found orcas with PCB levels of a hundred and fifty parts per million: A human immune system wouldn't stand a chance against that level of toxin.'

  He saw a mixture of compassion and excitement in the listeners' upturned faces. The journalists had their story.

  'The worst thing about toxins,' he continued, 'is that they're fat-soluble, which means they're passed to the calves in the mothers' milk. When human babies come into the world with AIDS, it's all over the media and everyone is appalled. Write about what you've seen here and make people angry about this. Hardly any other species on the planet is as packed with toxins as the orcas.'

  'Dr Anawak.' The journalist cleared his throat. 'What happens when humans eat the flesh of these whales?'

  'They absorb some of the toxin.'

  'Does it kill them?'

  'It might in the long-term.'

  'In that case, aren't businesses that dump their chemicals in the water – like the timber industry – indirectly responsible for death and disease among humans?'

  Anawak hesitated. The reporter was right, of course, but Vancouver Aquarium was keen to avoid direct confrontations with local businesses, preferring to try for a diplomatic solution. Painting British Columbia's economic and political elite as a bunch of near-murderers would increase the existing tensions. 'There's no doubt that eating contaminated meat would pose a risk to human health,' he said evasively.

  'Meat that our businesses have knowingly contaminated.'

  'That's something we're working on with those responsible.'

  'I get it.' The reporter made a note of something. 'I was thinking in particular of the people where you come from, Dr…'

  'I come from round here,' said Anawak curtly.

  The journalist stared at him in surprise.

  No wonder, thought Anawak. The poor guy had been snapped at for doing his homework.

  'That's not what I meant,' the man responded. 'I meant where you came from originally-'

  'Very little whale or seal flesh is consumed in British Columbia,' Anawak interrupted. 'By contrast, relatively high levels of toxins have been recorded among inhabitants of the Arctic Circle, in Greenland, Iceland, Alaska and further north in Nunavut, but also in Siberia, the Kamchatka peninsula and the Aleutian Islands. In other words, everywhere that marine mammals are part of the staple diet. It doesn't matter where the mammals pick up the toxins because they migrate.'

  'Do you think the whales know they're being poisoned?' asked a student.

  'No.'

  'But in your books you say that they're intelligent. If only they realised there was a problem with their food…'

  'Humans carry on smoking until they need an amputation or die of lung cancer. They're aware of the problem but it doesn't stop them. And humans are a good deal smarter than whales.'

  'How can you be sure? It might be the other way round.'

  Anawak made an effort to answer politely. 'You have to see whales as whales. They're highly specialised, but specialisation brings with it certain limitations. An orca is a streamlined living torpedo, but that comes at the expense of legs, hands, facial expressions and stereoscopic vision. They're not like humans. Orcas are probably cleverer than dogs. Belugas are intelligent enough to know who they are, and dolphins certainly have a unique brain. But take a moment to think about what they achieve with all that. Whales and dolphins share a habitat with fish and have a similar way of life, but fish get by with only a few neurons.'

  Anawak was almost relieved to hear his mobile buzz. He signalled to Fenwick to carry on with the autopsy and took a few paces away from the group.

  'Leon,' said Shoemaker, 'Can you prise yourself away?'

  'Maybe. What's wrong?'

  'He's back.'

  THIS TIME ANAWAK was so angry he could barely contain himself A few days ago, when he'd been called back to Vancouver Island in a hurry, Jack Greywolf and his Seaguards had disappeared, leaving two boatfuls of disgruntled tourists in their wake. Shoemaker had been besieged by people complaining at being filmed and stared at like animals, and had only just succeeded in calming them down, in some cases by handing out free tickets. After that, things had seemed to return to normal. But Jack Greywolf had caused an upset, exactly as he'd hoped.

  Back at the station they'd gone over all the options. Was it better to ignore the protesters or take action against them? If they made an official complaint they would give Greywolf a forum. People like him were as much of an irritation to serious environmental organisations as they were to the whale-watching business, but in the media uproar, an unsuspecting public would receive distorted information. Many would sympathise with Greywolf, without knowing the facts.

  They'd decided to ignore him.

  Perhaps, thought Anawak, as he steered the motorboat along the coast through Clayoquot Sound, that was a mistake. Maybe a simple letter of complaint would have satisfied Greywolf's need for acknowledgement. Anything to show he'd made an impact.

  He scanned the surface of the ocean. The Zodiac was racing through the water and he didn't want to risk scaring or hurting a whale. Several times he spotted flukes in the distance, and once he saw glistening black fins cutting through the water not far from the boat. He kept in radio-contact with Susan Stringer on the Blue Shark. 'What are they doing?' he asked. 'They're not getting physical, are they?'

  The walkie-talkie crackled. 'No,' came Stringer's voice. 'They're taking photos like last time, and yelling at us.'

  'How many?'

  'Two boatfuls – Greywolf and another guy in one boat, and three in the second. Oh, God, they've started to sing.'

  Anawak heard a faint rhythmic sound above the radio interference.

  'They're drumming,' Stringer bellowed. 'Greywolf's beating a rhythm and the others are chanting Indian songs.'

  'Keep calm. Don't let yourself be provoked. I'll be with you in a moment.'

  'Leon? What kind of Indian is this asshole?'

  'He's a con artist,' said Anawak, 'not an Indian.'

  'But I thought-'

  'His mother's half Indian, but that's as far as it goes. His r
eal name is Jack O'Bannon.'

  Anawak sped on towards the boats. The noise of the drum floated over the water.

  'Jack O'Bannon,' said Stringer slowly. I've got a good mind to-'

  'You'll do no such thing. Can you see me now?'

  'Yes.'

  'Sit tight.'

  Anawak stowed his radio and turned the boat towards the open water. At last he could see what was happening. The Blue Shark and the Lady Wexham were in the middle of a group of humpbacks that had spread out across the sea. From time to time flukes disappeared under the waves or a cloud of droplets rose into the air. The Lady Wexham's white hull shimmered in the sunlight. Two small, dilapidated sport-fishing boats with red-painted hulls were circling the Blue Shark tightly.

  If Greywolf had noticed Anawak approaching, he didn't let on. He was standing in the boat, banging a drum and chanting. The people on the other boat, two men and a woman, were shouting insults and curses. Every now and then they took pictures of the Blue Shark's passengers and pelted them with something that sparkled. Fish scraps, Anawak realised. The people on the Blue Shark ducked. Anawak felt like ramming Greywolf's boat and watching as the man toppled overboard, but he restrained himself.

  He pulled up close to the boats and shouted, 'Quit drumming, Jack. Let's talk.'

  Greywolf ignored him.

  A male voice came over the radio: 'Hello, Leon. Good to see you.'

  It was the Lady Wexham's skipper. The boat was about a hundred metres away. The people on the top deck were leaning over the rails, staring at the beleaguered Zodiac. Some were taking photos.

  'Everything OK at your end?' asked Anawak.

  'Fine. What are we going to do about the bastards?'

  'I'll try the peaceful approach.'

  'If you want me to run them down for you, just say the word.'

  The Blue Shark was being jostled by the Seaguards' motorboats. Greywolf swayed as his boat hit the inflatable, but he carried on drumming. The feathers on his hat quivered in the wind. Behind the boats a fluke rose into the air and disappeared again, but no one had eyes for the whales.