Dr. Baer ignores this and focuses on Sammy, as though he understands that if he can convince him, he can win the group. “I have a couple of questions for you. Do you know how much of the earth is covered with ocean?”
Sammy twitches his shoulders, looking uncomfortable. “Seventy percent. Give or take.”
“And how much of it is unexplored?” Dr. Baer asks.
Sammy hesitates. I’m getting the feeling that he hates it when his knowledge is used against him. “Most. Maybe ninety percent.”
“Ninety-five,” Dr. Baer crows. By now, the rest of us are beginning to fidget. I don’t know about everyone else, but I, for one, don’t like where this cross-examination is going. “And would it surprise you to know that some estimates project that there are around seven hundred and fifty thousand—that’s three quarters of a million, for the math challenged in the group—species out there that haven’t yet been identified?”
Sammy’s brows contract into a thoughtful frown. When he doesn’t answer, Gray comes to his rescue.
“Yeah, but what are the chances that—” he begins.
“Perhaps you should save your breath, Eli,” Captain Romero says. Amusement glints in his eyes. “They need to see it.”
“Maybe if I remind them that eight new species have been discovered in the past decade?” Dr. Baer wonders.
“Yeah, but nothing the size of a whale, right?” Mike asks.
“Our chimera friend isn’t as big as you think,” Dr. Baer says. “She’s about the size of a dolphin.”
A rumble of disagreement makes its way through us. I speak up first. “Hang on. That can’t be right. That thing knocked over our life raft with all of us inside it. Plus, I saw how you had to struggle to get it onto the ship. It’s got to be bigger than a dolphin.”
“Two things,” Dr. Baer says. “First, her strength is disproportionate to her body size. Sort of like an ant.”
“Or a chimp, right?” Maggie adds. “They have the strength of two or three men, don’t they?”
“Exactly,” says Dr. Baer. “The second thing is—and this is important to know about chimeras—they’re tricksters.”
My head cannot process this information any better than my stomach could process tree bark. You’d think there’d be some limit to how many times my mind can get blown in one day, but if there is, I haven’t reached it yet. Neither have the other kids, judging by the stunned looks on their faces.
The wall phone rings, and Captain Romero hurries to answer it. “Excuse me. This will be the latest weather report. Very important.”
Dr. Baer impatiently checks his watch. “I really need to get back, Captain.”
“One moment, then we will all go together,” Captain Romero says, turning his back and murmuring into the phone.
“Hold up, Doc.” Axel’s voice now has a definite edge of anger now. “Are you telling me these bastards like to . . . what? Put whoopee cushions on our seats? Leave rubber vomit on the floor? What are you talking about? Do they perform magic illusions in their spare time, or—”
“Yes,” says Dr. Baer. “Well, no on the magic. But yes on the illusions.” He hesitates, pushing his glasses up his nose as he chooses his words. “No one understands all of their capabilities yet. But we do know that they can create what we call glamours. They’re like illusions or mirages. They can tinker with your senses and make you see things that aren’t real, or make time speed up or slow down for you. Again, science doesn’t understand how they do this.”
“Is that what happened to Mami?” asks Espi, aghast.
I take a good look at her for the first time in a while and discover that she has a nasty green tint to her complexion now, possibly from seasickness. Right on cue, the ship pitches sharply to the right, and we all grab the nearest solid objects to steady ourselves. Murphy staggers to a metal stool and lowers himself onto it gingerly.
“Are you saying that the chimera . . . what?” Espi continues. “Made her see a ship that wasn’t there so she would try to swim to it and it could attack her?”
Dr. Baer bows his head. “I believe that’s what happened, yes.”
“Well, then,” Gray says slowly, “that must mean that the chimera made the pilot act crazy too, right? Made him, I don’t know, think the copilot was a danger to him, and then made him believe he needed to land the plane even though we were over the water?”
“Yes,” Dr. Baer says. “And I also suspect that she likes to turn the lights out on us. Make things go dark. Maybe the dark is advantageous to her in some way. Maybe she sees better when it’s dark. We really don’t know. We do believe that they breed in the Bermuda Triangle, although we’re also keeping an eye on the Puerto Rico Trench, which is in the neighborhood.”
Once again, my ignorance of all things geographical comes back to bite me in the butt. “Puerto Rico Trench?”
“Try to keep up,” Sammy says, giving me a look of weary disdain. “It’s the deepest area in the Atlantic. About as deep as Everest is tall.”
“Oh,” I say.
“So, clearly, anything that vast and unexplored would be a great hiding place,” Dr. Baer says. “But maybe they hide right here, under our noses. It could be that they derive nutrients from the sargassum, or maybe the plant just provides good hiding places for their young. We don’t know for sure.”
“And how can they breed if they’re all female?” Maggie asks.
Dr. Baer shrugs helplessly. “We don’t know. Maybe they’re capable of changing their sex. Maybe the females kill the males after mating. Maybe the males are better at hiding than the females. We just don’t know. We also don’t know if the characteristics of the three animals blend together, or remain entirely separate.”
“Come again?” Gray asks, a puzzled frown crinkling his forehead.
“Well, orcas and crabs breathe air, but octopi don’t, for example,” Dr. Baer explains, checking his watch again and shooting the captain an anxious glance. “What does the chimera do? Where can it survive? Air or water? Air and water? Does it have just lungs, or has it developed some specialized hybrid breathing apparatus? And is climate change making them more active or otherwise changing their habits the way it’s affecting, say, polar bears? These are things we’ll finally have the chance to study now that we have a live specimen.”
Gray shakes his head. “This is crazy. Abso-freaking-lutely crazy. I mean, what’s to keep the thing from making all of us have delusions and, I don’t know, sinking the ship or something?”
“We’re trained professionals,” Dr. Baer says condescendingly. “We’ve taken every precaution.”
“I feel so much better,” Gray mutters.
“One thing we’re pretty sure about,” Dr. Baer continues, raising his voice slightly, as though he wants to drown out any potential dissension, “is that they’ve been responsible for the mysterious disasters that have plagued this unfortunate area of the world.”
Cortés, who’s been listening quietly and pacing in the shadows, strides forward, into the light. “What’s with the we? Are you saying that there are more people out there that believe in these things?”
Dr. Baer looks wary. “Yes. I’m not at liberty to get into the details, but, yes.”
“My father is dead!” Axel erupts. “I don’t want to hear about what you’re at liberty to do and what you’re not at liberty to do. I want an explanation!”
“I can’t give you one,” Dr. Baer says solemnly. “I’m sorry.”
“Wait a minute,” says Carter, his eyes widening with sudden comprehension. “I’m betting this clown is part of some secret government task force or some such. Aren’t you, Dr. Baer?”
Gray and I roll our eyes at each other. This has all the hallmarks of one of Carter’s conspiracy theories.
To my surprise, though, Dr. Baer doesn’t deny it outright.
“Wait. Carter’s right, isn’t he?” I ask, gasping. “That would explain why these things are—according to you—running around causing chaos and havoc, but we�
�ve never heard of them! There’s a government conspiracy to keep it all hushed up, isn’t there?”
Dr. Baer makes a calm down gesture with his hands, reminding me of a teacher trying to get his students to settle because they’re getting too loud. “There’s no conspiracy. This is a new and developing area. That’s all.”
Carter isn’t convinced. “You expect us to believe—”
“I don’t expect you to believe anything,” Dr. Baer says, annoyed. “I took the time, as a courtesy, to share the scientific find of a generation and explain what I know, but now I have to get back. Do you want to see the chimera, or not?”
Captain Romero has finished his phone conversation and rejoins the group before anyone can answer. “Unfortunate news: we are in the edge of the hurricane’s path, and I fear we’re in for a rough night.”
Oh, God. A hurricane. Just in case we haven’t had our fill of disasters for the week.
I reach for my aquamarine and rub it between my fingers, trying to ward off any breathing problems before they get started. Espi, meanwhile, puts a hand on her stomach and groans. Murphy produces a handkerchief from somewhere and presses it to his mouth.
“Nothing the Venator can’t handle, I assure you.” Captain Romero’s dismissive wave stretches my taut nerves to the snapping point. He’s acting as though we simply need to detour around a crack in the sidewalk as we walk down the block for ice cream. “She’s seen worse than a little storm in the Atlantic.”
A little storm? I make a disbelieving sound.
The captain looks at me. I hold his gaze, which is difficult because it isn’t angry, reproachful or even cool. He doesn’t have any expression in particular, and that’s what’s so disturbing—the nothingness, as though something crucial, some basic element of humanity, is missing behind his eyes.
Cortés steps in front of me, breaking the connection between me and his father, and my belly unclenches with relief. It seems like he’s purposely protecting me from his father’s displeasure, and I’m grateful. I don’t want to bear the full brunt of Captain Romero’s temper any more than I want to face down Hurricane George.
“Well?” Cortés demands. “Are we going to see this monster or not?”
Dr. Baer’s cheeks turn pink, which highlights the sprinkling of freckles across his nose and makes him look even younger. “I don’t like that terminology.”
“Won’t you be thinking up a new name for her since you’re the one who discovered her?” I wonder. “What about Oceanus Monstrum? Or, better yet, just Monstrum?”
Dr. Baer’s entire head, including his ears, is now covered with the dull red flush of anger, and his lips have flatlined. “First of all, she’s not a monster, so there’ll be no Monstrum in her name. Second, we need to show her a healthy respect, like we show all of Mother Nature’s creations.”
Cortés snorts. “A healthy respect would be leaving her out there in the deep, where she belongs, and rerouting the shipping lanes so there’s no danger of running into her again, in case you’re wondering about my opinion.”
“We are not wondering about your opinion,” Captain Romero says.
Cortés ignores this and keeps his attention on Dr. Baer. “Are we going, or not?”
“In a minute,” Dr. Baer says. “We have some rules.”
“We’ve been to the zoo,” Maggie says, and then seems to regret her outburst. “I mean, sorry, but we know not to feed her or anything.”
“We have many more rules than that,” Dr. Baer says. “Don’t come within two feet of the tank. Don’t touch the tank. We don’t want her agitated while she gets acclimated to her new home.”
Gray gapes at him. “Are you for real right now? That thing dismembers and decapitates people, and we’re supposed to use our best church manners around it?”
“Anyone who cannot follow a few simple rules,” Captain Romero says sharply, “will stay behind. We are already risking liability by having children on the ship with the chimera, and I will not put my company in any additional harm’s way.”
“Your company?” bellows Murphy, outraged. “What about the safety of these children, man? I know the safety of your crew is only a secondary consideration to you, but these children are my sacred responsibility, and I’ll not risk their lives!”
“Then you should make sure they follow the rules.” Captain Romero gives him a tight smile.
“And finally,” Dr. Baer concludes quickly, before Murphy can explode again, “here’s the most important rule: don’t make eye contact with her.”
For some reason, this rule disturbs me more than anything else.
“Why?” I ask.
Dr. Baer stares at me for a long time. I wonder if it’s because he doesn’t know the answer or because he doesn’t want to tell us the answer. “Chimera . . . are very sensitive creatures, more so than other animals. They can . . . read us.”
“Like dogs, you mean?” Maggie asks, brightening. “My German Shepherd knows when I’m upset in some other room and comes to check on me. And my friend’s dog, a bloodhound, bayed all night when their grandmother died.”
There’s another long pause.
“Chimera understand a great deal more than dogs. They’re . . . very intuitive.” Dr. Baer says, looking grim. After a beat or two, he snaps himself out of it. “So. Are we ready?”
“Yeah.” Murphy heaves himself to his feet, squares his shoulders and hitches up the waistband of his pants. “Let’s go see the bugger. We’ve waited more’n long enough.”
Everyone streams to the door. I take a step, but then, for no apparent reason, my knees lock into place, refusing to take me any farther. Pressure builds in my chest, crowding my lungs, and my airway suddenly gets hotter and tighter, shrinking to the size of a strand of spaghetti. Not now, I think frantically. Trying to be discreet about it, I press a hand to my throat and will this fledgling panic attack to pass before it really gets started.
At the door, An notices me lingering and calls over her shoulder. “Bria? You coming?”
I manage what I hope is a convincing smile. “Yep.”
“Well, let’s go,” An says, tapping her watch.
Rolling his eyes, Sammy throws out an arm, hooks her around the middle and steers her out the door. “Here’s a plan. How about you give her a second and mind your own business for once?”
Gray and Carter have also paused. I’m not sure whether Gray and I are still mad at each other, but he gives me a concerned look. “You okay?” he mouths.
I nod, glad we’re back on speaking terms.
He looks doubtful, but when Carter shoves him in the back to get him going again, he goes, sparing me one last glance.
With everyone gone, it’s safe for me to slump against the wall and take a couple of deep breaths.
“Bria.”
Oh, no. It’s Cortés, and here I am acting like some fragile Southern belle, wilting in the July heat and waiting for one of her beaux to bring her a glass of lemonade.
God, I’m an idiot.
I straighten and try to renew my smile.
“Yeah, okay, that won’t work,” Cortés says, frowning as he emerges from a dim corner in the back, where he was probably pacing. “A toddler has a better poker face than you do.”
I scowl.
He comes over, hitting me with that penetrating gaze of his and leaving me nowhere to hide. Now I know how an escaped convict feels, trying to dart between shadows and escape into the cover of the woods, only to be nailed with a million-watt searchlight from the guard tower.
It’s terrible and infuriating, but also something of a relief.
“What gives?” he asks quietly, with no evidence of mockery or amusement. “Scared to be in the same room with that thing?”
“Yes,” I admit. I suck in a shallow breath. “Got any taunts handy to get me unstuck?”
“Nope. I was hoping you had one for me this time.”
There’s something infinitely reassuring about knowing I’m not the only one caught in the gri
p of this mindless terror. My paralysis eases up a bit, and my muscles loosen enough for me to whisper a confession.
“I don’t want to see that thing.”
He nods, giving me the encouragement I need to continue.
“It’s like . . . once we see it, how are we supposed to un-see it? It’ll be lodged in our memories forever. We can’t go back to normal life after that.”
A hint of a smile warms his brown eyes as he reaches for my nape, grips a hank of my hair and gives me a gentle shake. “Normal life is already gone for us. Now we’re putting a face to it. So we know what we’re up against. That’s all. Okay?”
I let that soak in for a minute.
I nod, and this time, my smile feels a lot more genuine. “Let’s go.”
He turns me loose, and we walk the few steps next door, to the tank area, where Captain Romero’s voice is the first thing I hear.
“I know everyone’s not thirsty just yet,” he says brightly, “but we’ll have a tiny sip to toast our new friend.”
No one answers. I watch in utter disbelief as he bustles around a cart loaded with a steaming pot of something that smells like chili, bowls and an ice bucket. He’s reaching for the chilling champagne when my disgust gets the best of me and I turn my back on him.
I join my open-mouthed and silent friends at the glowing blue tank, which is built into the wall and towers at least ten or fifteen feet above us, and look straight into it, heart thundering.
At first I can’t see anything other than the undulating seaweed, but then my eyes adjust and I see the pink trailing flutter of a tentacle, and there it is, floating placidly among the greenery in the back and watching us with clear interest. A chimera. Dolphin-sized, just like Dr. Baer said.
I stare at it, awestruck and uncomprehending, and try to reconcile its three parts into something that feels familiar.
Its head has the black and white markings of a killer whale, including the white oval eye patches, but the shape is all wrong, with a neck—orcas don’t have necks!—and a thinner snout. It looks like one of the velociraptors from Jurassic Park, dressed for a black-tie event.
Monstrum Page 13
