The Reef

by Mark Charan Newton

  ‘Suicide, why? You mean they do it with the intention they pop up to visit Arrahd afterwards?’ Gabryl asked.

  ‘No.’ She smiled again. ‘Hell, no. Not Arrahd. I don’t think the Qe Palta believe in a god, no matter what name, particularly that one. They don’t believe in creation at all. They go back to the life force, or whatever they believe in. Back to nature, as it were.’

  ‘A strange psychology.’ Gabryl nodded to himself; his words seemed to linger in the room. ‘Not if you believe in a greater good,’ Jella said. ‘Not if you want justice for your people. It makes perfect sense. To them.’

  ‘And this Quidlo thing ...’ Gabryl said.

  ‘Will go on and on. Firstly, it will create a large scale movement of water-a tidal wave. Started so far out at see, that initial impact will be severe, possibly wiping out half that coast. Over a period of time, with Quidlo in the waters, the damage will go on. It’ll stop all shipping for a good few years. The damage goes on. That’s the great thing.’

  Gabryl nodded, raising a fist to his mouth to stifle a belch. Jella couldn’t tell what the man was thinking. She turned to the rumel. ‘You’re quiet, guys.’ ‘Yes,’ Menz said. ‘A bit tired, I think. Repetition of the sea and whatnot.’

  Yayle nodded. ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘You boys need to learn the ways of the sea,’ Gabryl said. He slid his plate forwards. ‘I’ll make sailors out of you yet.’ ‘You mean you’ll take us below deck and bugger us, pretending we’re women?’ Yayle said. Gabryl guffawed loudly. ‘Ah, lad. You’ve got spunk in you, I’ll say.’

  ‘I hope that’s not a promise?’ Yayle said with an eyebrow raised.

  ‘Are you sure you’re not having any doubts?’ Jella asked. She rested a palm on the table. ‘Anyone?’ Menz raised his eyes and held her gaze for a while. ‘Don’t be silly.’

  After the others had gone to sleep, Jella and Lula were standing in loose night wear on deck feeling the cool night breeze from the trade winds. They were both holding cups of water, leaning, side by side, on the rails. Lula sighed. She looked at the reflection of the stars on the surface of the sea.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Jella asked above the noise of the waves hitting the boat.

  ‘Nothing,’ Lula said.

  ‘I can tell something’s up.’

  ‘Nothing’s up, okay.’ Lula glanced into her cup, took a swig.

  Jella stood closer. ‘Look, just tell me. I don’t like seeing you like this .’ Lula slid fractionally away. ‘Surprised you even noticed.’ ‘Sorry?’ Jella said. ‘You heard.’ ‘I’m not sure I understand.’ ‘No, no you don’t, do you.’ Lula smiled vaguely. ‘You have no idea what I’m feeling. You haven’t cared for ages.’

  ‘That’s rubbish. Course I have.’

  ‘Tell me then,’ Lula said. ‘Tell me what I’m feeling.’

  Jella was silent. Her tail was motionless. She looked down into her cup.

  ‘You’re too caught up in this,’ Lula said. ‘You’re not even thinking about me. And it’s not as though you’re busy, is it? I mean, there’s not a great deal to do on this thing.’

  ‘I think about you more than you realise.’

  ‘Maybe it’s not enough,’ Lula said.

  ‘Why’re you so insecure? You never used to be like this,’ Jella said.

  ‘You say it as if it’s a crime. It’s not bad to be insecure, you know. Everyone is, a little bit.’ ‘I’m not,’ Jella said. ‘No,’ Lula said. Then, ‘No, you’re not, are you. You’re immune to worry.’

  ‘I’m just rational.’

  ‘People aren’t rational. Human’s aren’t,’ Lula said. Then, ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that-’ ‘Why apologise?’ Jella said. ‘Nothing offended me.’ ‘Okay,’ Lula said. ‘Surely you must be worried about something. Not even the plan?’

  ‘No, it’s perfect.’

  ‘Do you worry about whether or not the plan will make you feel as though you achieved what you wanted? Or, will you go on after this looking for the next thing to get involved in?’

  ‘I can’t see where you’re going with this,’ Jella said.

  ‘The more time I spend with you-out here, out away from other distractions-the more I worry about you.’

  ‘There’s really no need for you to worry.’

  ‘What d’you really hope to get from all this?’ Lula said.

  ‘The destruction of a city.’

  ‘I mean personally,’ Lula said.

  ‘The destruction of a city.’ Jella turned around and leant back on the rail.

  Lula sighed and glanced across the dark panorama. It was easy to be distracted by the rhythm of the tide. ‘If Lucher was still standing, if you had no need for this, then what d’you reckon you’d be doing?’

  ‘Doing?’ Jella looked across at her lover. ‘You, ideally.’ She smiled, stepped behind Lula, put her arms around the human. Lula smiled politely. ‘I mean what would you be doing as a life, career?’

  Jella rested her chin on Lula’s shoulder. ‘Don’t know. I think I’d probably be studying something. Science. It was what my dad wanted.’ Then, ‘Yes, probably as a researcher or something. Coastal ecology. That’s the same thing my dad studied. When I was little he used to talk to me about those sorts of things.’

  Lula sighed happily. ‘You don’t talk about him much. I like it when you talk about your past.’

  Jella said, ‘I don’t really have a past to talk about.’

  ‘I think that’s why I don’t understand you as much as I’d like to,’ Lula said. She ran her cheek along Jella’s. ‘I don’t know what makes you tick.’

  ‘You make me tick,’ Jella said. She kissed along Lula’s jaw.

  ‘You don’t have to always fuck me,’ Lula said. ‘Talk to me. Let me inside your head more.’ ‘You don’t want to be there.’ ‘What would I see?’ Lula said. ‘You. Being pleasured.’ ‘You’re sex-obsessed. Why?’ ‘You say that as if it’s a crime ...’ Jella smiled. ‘I think you’re using it as an excuse not to talk to me. You’d rather make me horny than open up.’

  ‘Any complaints, genius?’ She threw her cup overboard.

  ‘No,’ Lula said. ‘No and yes. I get worried about you.’

  ‘Well, don’t be. I’m fine, really.’ Jella ran her tail up between Lula’s legs, and the human opened them, leaned forward on the rails, stared out to the horizon.

  Lula closed her eyes, accepting the act, believing it to be a strange charity or sorts. She began to think whilst Jella slipped her tail inside. She’d have to fake it again tonight. But at least it would make Jella feel better about herself. She wasn’t the only person in the world to do it. It wasn’t as though she didn’t enjoy it, because she did. To feel those strong, tough-skinned hands on her body was a delight. Sometimes though it needs more than the physical connection. As she felt Jella’s tail moving around inside of her, circling with precision, she clutched the rail tightly.

  ‘Are you enjoying this?’ Jella asked.

  ‘Oh, yes ...’ Lula said, and dropped her cup into the sea.

  Twenty-One

  ‘So,this is it then,’ Forb said, rubbing his hand over the metal of the submersible. It was brown, shaped like a cigar. Its curves seemed to hint at mathematical precision.

  ‘Indeed it is. My own precious secret. A delight. A mystery of technology. I give you, the Pilar.’ Santiago was standing on the deck with his hands in his pocket. The wind ruffled his vision settled on the doctor, waiting for a reaction.

  ‘It’s fantastic,’ Forb said. ‘Seats six?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘A relic you say?’

  ‘Yes. When you’re connected as well as I am, you can find some delights on the black market.’ ‘I thought you were a Collectivist? Didn’t think you guys did things on the black market?’

  Santiago said, ‘It’s the economy’s fault, not mine.’

  ‘So, where does the gas mixture go?’

  ‘There’s room for ten cylinders, which fit around the inside. That can last for
twenty-four hours at least. We won’t need that much, though. It’s a mixture.’

  ‘And you got that from ... let me remember, the industrial areas?’

  ‘Absolutely. You remember the mainland well, sir.’

  ‘Yeah, can’t forget a heap like that in a hurry.’ Forb inspected the six large, glass portholes. He was amazed to see something like this. During the rebellion to science, so much must have been lost. It was awe-inspiring to see such a mechanism had survived, and it suggested only greater things an age ago. Although he had fled the city and his own past, Forb was entranced by the sense of history that the submersible presented. To see something so old, yet far more powerful than current civilisation could create, was humbling. ‘How thick is the glass?’

  ‘It isn’t glass,’ Santiago said. ‘We don’t know what it is, but it isn’t glass.’

  ‘So how deep can we go in it?’

  ‘A few miles, I suspect. But we won’t need to go that far. Notice the spotlights on the front.’

  ‘Yes, very effective?’

  ‘Reasonably. Probably a ten foot beam underwater with generators of some description. If I’m honest, it’s technology is beyond anything I’ve known or seen. But the whole thing’s perfectly safe. I’ve used it on a couple of private expeditions before. I’ve never had any trouble with it.’

  ‘What metal is this made from?’

  ‘Again, we don’t know. It looks like brass, but it isn’t. It can stand ridiculously strong pressures though. The last age had so much better resources, didn’t it. We’ve things floating around the city that we’ve no idea what they’re used for. What really annoys me is that government have stashed Arrahd-knows how much of it. All growing mould. If only we knew. Of course the public, mostly, have no idea.’

  ‘Yes. It’s surprising,’ Forb said, and wondered again how Santiago managed to extend his influence so far to acquire such a device. ‘What time shall we dive then? When can you get it ready by?’

  ‘Give me an hour,’ Santiago said. ‘Just need to make sure the rotors are in good condition then lower the thing. I can get it ready for before lunch, then we should still have good light. Not that there is any down the other side of the reef.’

  ‘Great. I’ll row back and get the others ready.’

  The rest of DeBrelt’s crew were sitting on the beach, near where Santiago’s ship was anchored, a little way off where the waters were deeper. Everyone struggled to meet each other’s vision. Calyban and Soul were watching them all from the shade of a tree. Palms crowded the beach, and the shallow waters were still bright blue despite the shade.

  Yana stood up, hunched instantly. She was clutching her stomach and she gasped a little. Everyone turned. ‘It’s all right. I’m just feeling sick.’ Waving a hand, she staggered from side to side.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Becq asked.

  ‘Yes, please don’t get up. Stay there, okay. Promise you’ll stay.’

  Becq nodded, her face revealing concern.

  Yana groaned as she stumbled, bent double, towards the forest. Her white skirt was long and almost tripped her as she stepped out of sight. Jefry stood up, looked for a moment towards where she went then followed her. Manolin wondered what it was all about.

  Yana clutched the side of a palm tree. The rough bark scratched her hand. She held it up, looked at it, couldn’t feel a thing. Her other hand was pressed hard below her stomach. The forest was humid. She looked up and saw a trail, followed it, not knowing where it went. It hurt to walk. The forest was a blur of varying shades of greens. She did not notice any of the birds or the insects or the plants, sweat stung her eyes and she gritted her teeth as she stumbled along the trail, into the darkness.

  Jefry watched her stepping along the path. White flashed suddenly: her skirt disappearing behind foliage. The rumel wiped his brow, kept a distance so that she would not be worried by his presence. If anyone was worried, it was him. He had never seen her in so much pain. His throat felt dry and he wondered what was wrong with his wife. He brushed back the ferns, and he dipped his head to avoid insects.

  Yana had found a cool, deeply-shaded region in the forest. Its remoteness suggested that she thought she could be alone. The forest floor was dry and she slipped on the fine dirt, back against a tree and she gasped as she landed. Tears trickled down her face like sweat. She looked short of breath, as if she had never known such agony. Her skirt was no longer white. Aside from the stains of plants and dirt, there was a thick red streak down the front. Her eyes widened as she struggled to take breaths and looked up to as Jefry stepped around the corner. They held each other’s gaze, and it was as if all other sounds in the forest had disappeared.

  Jefry stepped down to her. ‘Can I help? What’s wrong? Tell me.’ She shook her head as she forced out the words, ‘I... It hurts. Cramps ...’ His heart was racing. He looked in more detail at the red stains. ‘Hold on, hold on.’ He took her hand.

  She bent over, wheezed.

  ‘Is it the baby?’

  Her head jerked up and she shook it. Fear was the only emotion in her wide, round eyes. ‘It’s not for months,’ she said. ‘It can’t be’ ‘Shall I fetch Santiago? What about the doctor? He might know of some remedy.’

  She shook her head again. Her hair, clammy with sweat, spiralled down her shoulders. ‘No ... I’ll be fine, honestly. I-’ She gave a cry, hunched over again, then rolled onto her side.

  Jefry knelt by her head, feeling completely useless. Yana clawed the forest floor. The rear of her white skirt was coated with blood.

  Calmly, he said, ‘Yana, I’m going to move your skirt.’

  She nodded, rubbing her head in the dirt.

  Jefry lifted her skirt up over her legs. The material was sticking to her thighs. His face creased as he saw her legs smeared with blood in places.

  ‘You’re bleeding all over, Yana-oh, no.’ He moved over, lifted her hair from her face then he kissed her on the forehead. ‘You’re going to be all right, okay?’

  She was crying again, and she nodded, baring her teeth. Jefry felt sick. A few moments later she screamed.

  Manolin looked up as he saw a flock of birds shooting out of the forest and out to sea. He heard the scream, glanced at Becq.

  ‘I’ll see what it was,’ he said.

  Running, he entered the forest. He looked at where there was recently trodden dirt, followed the tracks. A fleck of white material was caught on the side of a tree and he headed down that trail. He could hear crying, but he couldn’t see where it was coming from. Following the sound, minutes later he saw two shadows up ahead in the dark, where the canopy was so dense that it blocked sunlight. He jogged, taking wide steps over the low plants, towards the figures.

  Jefry was hunched over Yana. The rumel’s hands were covered in blood and Yana was sitting against the tree, in the dark, crying in heaving sobs.

  Manolin looked again at Jefry’s bloodied hands, shocked. ‘Jefry, what’s going on? What’ve you done?’ Jefry was facing down, but drew his head up, slowly, to look at Manolin. ‘What have I done? Me?’ Jefry looked down again, at his hands. He glanced back at Manolin, who was standing with his hands on his hips.

  ‘What have I done?’ Jefry looked at what was in his hands then threw the contents at Manolin’s face. ‘Just fuck right off, okay. Now. Go on, fuck off!’

  Manolin stumbled back, reaching for his face. He walked through the forest, looking back at Jefry. He did not understand what was going on. He looked at his hands. They were red with blood and he noticed something on his neck. He reached to his collarbone, beneath his shirt and drew out what looked and felt like a tiny tentacle from an octopus, like one that he saw in the food markets back in Escha. It was only a couple of inches long, and as he rubbed it though his fingers he could feel the fleshy cartilage. He frowned as he jogged out of the forest and, with his face still showing confusion and disgust, as if a bird had fouled him, he stepped out onto the small beach and to the water. He immediately washed his face and hands in the warm
water.

  The scene he had witnessed confused him utterly. What was Jefry doing with blood on his hands? Why did he throw blood at Manolin? Was he angry because of his incident with Yana? Manolin didn’t like the idea that he’d upset anyone. Obviously his relations with Yana came at a difficult time, and it was inexcusable. But what had just happened was simply bizarre.

  Becq approached him. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ she said. ‘What was the scream?’

  ‘A bird, that’s all.’

  ‘A bird?’

  ‘A bird.’

  Becq said, ‘Why’s your shirt collar red?’

  ‘I caught it on a branch. It’s dark. I wasn’t looking where I was going.’ Across the way, Forb stepped off a raft on to the beach. Manolin turned to Becq. ‘Excuse me for a moment.’ He walked along the sand over to the doctor. ‘Ah, Manolin,’ Forb said, shading the sun with his hands. ‘You looking forward to the dive? What’s with the stains?’

  ‘Oh, nothing. Snagged on a branch. When’re we off?’

  ‘Couple of hours. Everything all right?’

  ‘Yes, sure,’ Manolin said. ‘What’re we going to do with the siren’s body incidentally? Santiago mentioned dissecting her?’

  ‘Hmm. Well possibly,’ Forb said. ‘I don’t want it done on the island. I’d like them to be kept as far away from the ichthyocentaurs as possible, just in case. On board the ship, maybe. I don’t think it’ll do much good, though. The only way we’re going to get on top of things is to get down there and see for ourselves.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Manolin said. ‘I’ll round Mr Calyban and Soul up then so we can. I think Santiago would probably like to take the body back to the mainland though. For proof.’

  The doctor’s face darkened. ‘Is he going to announce that he got it from here?’

  ‘Would that be a problem?’ Manolin said.

  The doctor suddenly seemed anxious, desperate even. ‘You cannot bring any of the authorities here, Manolin. The navy will come and tear the place up. I’ll lose the plants, and the cure.’

  ‘Cure?’