“What?” They had been through this already.
“Dinner – Thursday. You can pick the place. Or I could do Saturday if that’s easier.”
“I don’t…” she paused, weighing her words.
“Eat?” he suggested with a nervous laugh. “Sure you do. I saw you buying fish down at the Harbor market once. Unless it was for your cat, but you don’t seem to have a cat thankfully.”
“…date,” she said, finally finishing her original thought. She needed to cut this off for once and for all.
He straightened up, took off his hat, and ran his fingers through his hair. “Right, I remember you said that before. But it’s not true, is it? I mean when I ran into you the other day, at DSA - that office you were coming out of was a dating program. I went in and picked up a brochure.”
She scowled. “That’s different.” This was unexpected. Who did he think he was to try to insinuate himself into her personal life?
“Why’s it different?” he asked. “Because I’m not a mutant? Come on, Seawolf, I didn’t think you were like that.”
The fur on the back of her neck stood up. She didn’t like him making accusations; she was the injured party here. “What were you doing checking up on me?” she demanded.
Paul shifted uncomfortably. “I guess I was curious. You seemed - well, different - when we met. You know - your clothing?”
She glared at him, all of her fur standing on end now. “And then what? You did some Internet research and thought that I must be pretty desperate to be going to the Mutant Dating Service, maybe even desperate enough to go out with you?”
“No! Nothing like that at all.” He looked hurt and upset. “Listen, if you don’t want to go out with me, that’s fine, but you don’t have to get nasty about it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re the one who keeps pushing the point. Why can’t you just drop it already?”
“Because I don’t think you know what you really want.”
“Oh, and you do?”
Paul starting rolling up maps. “I just think that you’re saying no for all the wrong reasons. On the one hand, you say you don’t date and on the other, you’re checking out Federal dating programs. So which is it?”
“It’s none of your damn business!” she yelled.
Paul angrily shoved the charts into the tubes he had brought. “You know what your problem is, Seawolf? You’re stuck in the past, in some time where everyone’s out to get you because you’re a mutant. That story you told me about West Pacific Memorial – to you it’s like that happened yesterday. The world has changed!”
“Not enough,” she muttered bitterly.
“Oh get over yourself!” he snapped. “I’m not asking you to marry me; I just wanted to go out for dinner!”
“It’s complicated.”
“No, it really isn’t! You just make it complicated.” Paul grabbed the charts and stormed out of the room. She heard the door open and slam shut, and then the sound of tires on the gravel drive. Solitude had returned, but she couldn’t get rid of the bitter taste in her mouth.
The next few days were very rough. Seawolf hadn’t felt this at loose ends since she dropped out of college after her second year. Then, she had traveled for nearly a year and a half, making ends meet through odd jobs, until a letter from Dr. Hodges found its way to where she was working marine salvage down in the Florida Keys. “Come home to West Pacific,” he’d told her and the knowledge that someone wanted her somewhere was irresistible. She’d quit her job the next day and flown back. On her return, he’d arranged for her to become a research assistant at West Pacific Laboratories for his brilliant young protégé, Sarah Minoli. Before a year was up, she learned that Sarah Minoli was the secret identity of Supersonic Cat and she was invited on the team. Her whole life had changed because of that letter.
She thought now of calling up Dr. Hodges and seeing what advice he had for her, but there was a distance between them now that hadn’t been there 15 years ago. She usually blamed Camille for coming between them, but really Dr. Hodges never was the same after Sarah died. Mr. Awesome had taken up the role of father-figure to the team, but now he was gone too. She felt so horribly alone. Of course, if either of them had been willing to give her advice now, they would both tell her the same thing, she thought wryly. When all else fails, get back to work.
Seawolf considered her situation. She wasn’t allowed to do heroics at the moment, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t work. The only lead they had was related to electric eels. She dug out her college marine biology textbooks and started doing research. She was interested to see that electric eels were not native to the area and in fact came from Amazonian fresh water floodplains. That seemed to belay any ideas that she might have had about people coming into contact with mutated eels out in California waters. More and more it looked like the creatures she had encountered must have been intentional genetic experimentation. She imagined that anyone doing such experiments would need live electric eels as a source of genetic material. According to her books, electric eels were difficult to capture and even more difficult to keep alive in captivity. Seawolf started tracking down where to acquire one in the local area.
West Pacific City had two major aquariums: the Undersea Treasure Palace Aquarium and Marine Show, and the City Aquarium. The former was an overpriced tourist trap with a mid-day dolphin show and a massive gift shop. The latter was an underfunded relic of a distant mayor who had been obsessed with civic projects, and was most notable for its “After the Invasion” exhibit, which featured indigenous sea life swimming through part of a wrecked Vanghel ship from the ‘73 invasion. Both had electric eels; neither would admit to selling one, however.
The acquisitions specialist at the Undersea Treasure Palace was tight-lipped about how the aquarium got its sealife, other than repeated assurances that it was all legal and they only used reputable dealers. He also kept attempting to pass her off to the public relations office, who apparently would be thrilled to give her front-row seats at the next Marine Life Extravaganza. She declined and suggested that they contact the team directly if they were looking to get a super at one of their events.
The curator of the City Aquarium was much more forthcoming and waxed poetic over the finer points of eel physiology. “What you encountered couldn’t have been an electric eel,” he told her. “Not only are the waters too cold around here, they’re also salt water, which has a protonic effect on the eel’s electric charge. An electric eel in salt water that attempted to discharge would just short-circuit. Now possibly you could have encountered a moray eel, though they like warmer waters as well. But they don’t have electric discharges. Morays are fascinating creatures though - they can get big too, twice the size of an electric eel: three to four meters long and over 35 kilos in the case of giant morays. They’ve got a whole second set of toothed jaws deep inside their throat - fascinating creatures. Did you know…”
“Indeed,” said Seawolf, trying to redirect him back to the point at hand. “And yet the eel I encountered very clearly had electrocution abilities.”
The curator look puzzled. “Well, you’re dealing with gymnotiformes then, but they’re pretty much all freshwater tropical fish, and not anywhere as big as what you’re describing. I mean, you’ve got your various knifefishes, popular in the aquarium trade, but they rarely get bigger than a meter and have very weak electric discharges - usually not more than a couple millivolts, which isn’t even enough to stun other fish. They use it more for navigational and communication purposes.”
Seawolf frowned. “So let us say that I wished to purchase an electric eel or a moray eel, or possibly both. Where would I get one?”
“Oh, there’s various dealers,” the curator said. “Most of them nowadays you just find online and they’ll arrange shipment to your location. As for tracking though, if that’s what you’re after, you’re in luck. They got a bill passed in the State assembly a couple sessions ago to require all nonnative species introduced into
California to be chipped, so in case they get released or go missing they can be traced back to the owner who didn’t take care of them. I testified in favor of the program,” he said proudly. “There were those who said it was too expensive or an invasion of privacy, but as I told them, the last thing we need is a Burmese python situation up here. Just look what happened to the Everglades,” he added darkly.
Seawolf nodded though she had no idea what he was talking about. “So who puts the chips in?” she asked.
“Most vets can do it,” he said. “The chips are registered with the State invasive and foreign species office. That way, if someone decides that it’s just too much work to feed their giant snake and lets it go on a golf course fairway, when wildlife officers catch it, they can figure out who let it loose in the first place. The office keeps all the records; I imagine if you’re doing an official investigation, they’ll help you out. Of course, only legitimate dealers and collectors get chips put in.”
Seawolf nodded and thanked him. She doubted that she was dealing with a legitimate dealer or collector, but it was better to be thorough upfront.
The earnest young woman who was the California Office of Invasive and Foreign Wildlife seemed excited to assist an actual superhero investigation. “Most people don’t understand the devastating impact on the ecosystem when nonnative species are released into the wild,” she explained, pushing her glasses up. “Unfortunately, it just doesn’t get a lot of attention unless something happens that affects humans, like when that northern snakehead walked across someone’s backyard last year. The phone rang off the hook for days!”
It was important to keep her in a helpful mood. Seawolf attempted a friendly smile, careful not to show too many teeth. “You do important work here,” she said, wincing at how forced the compliment sounded. Surprisingly the young woman didn’t seem to notice.
“Thank you! I can’t say how much that means to me. My dad was really skeptical about me taking this job and it can be kind of tedious a lot of time, but it’s critical that someone does it who takes it seriously. Like I tell him, microchipping is our first line of defense against the true alien invaders of our time.”
“Right,” said Seawolf, feeling uncomfortable with this personal revelation. “Anyway, I’m looking for someone who has gotten a lot of electric eels over the last couple of years.”
“Okay,” the young woman said, turning serious as she started typing on her computer. “First we have to check the list of wildlife of concern to see if we microchip the species. Yep, here are electric eels, so you’re in luck. Let’s do a search parameter of three years then, species: electric eel, organized by registered owner.” She pressed ‘enter’ and looked up as the computer processed the request. “Of course, I should warn you: people are supposed to notify us when the registered owner of a chipped animal changes, but that doesn’t always happen.”
“So if I buy an electric eel and get it chipped and then sell it to you, you’re supposed to notify the office of the change?” Seawolf asked.
“Exactly. Unfortunately, people aren’t always so good about doing that.” The young woman frowned. “There’s an annual license fee, see? So some unscrupulous dealers have set up middle men to get around it. Enforcement is one of our biggest problems.”
“What sort of enforcement mechanisms do you have?”
The young woman shrugged apologetically. “Basically, we don’t have any. The original idea was that each microchip would have a unique radio frequency so that we could track every single chipped creature, but that was just too expensive. So the chips just identify the registered owners. We used to have investigators to do enforcement, but then our budget got cut and now it’s just me. Maybe you could put in a good word for us! Okay, here’s the list!” She cheerfully printed off two pages of single-spaced type that showed every electric eel microchipped in the northern half of the State over the past three years.
Seawolf studied the list for a few moments. Each electric eel was listed with the name and license number of the dealer that had sold it, the name and address of the registered owner, and the microchip serial number. “This will be very helpful, thank you,” she said absentmindedly.
“Not at all!” said the young woman. “Ah, before you go… ?”
Seawolf looked up; the young woman was giving her a strange look. Had she forgotten something? “What?”
“I was just wondering - I mean… would you sign this for me?” She held out a piece of paper.
“Release form?” asked Seawolf, reaching for a pen.
The young woman blushed. “No, autograph.”
Seawolf laughed gruffly as she signed the paper. Perhaps she had a fan base after all - among underappreciated, overworked government scientists. She was still chuckling to herself as she took her list and headed back to her office.
Chapter 36
10:39 p.m., Thursday, July 25, 2013
Paragon Tower Marriott
New York City, NY
“Here’s to video games,” said Blue Star, holding up his beer bottle towards Gabrielle and Stacey Noble at their booth in the hotel bar. It was their third day in New York City and they had met with so many potential and current sponsors he had lost count.
“Here’s to West Pacific Supers - the best team in the nation and now back to #6 in the West Coast Conference!” said Stacey, giddily raising her glass and taking another drink. Blue Star hadn’t been paying attention to what Stacey was drinking but he was pretty sure she was only on her second drink and was already beyond tipsy.
“It’s not a done deal yet,” said Gabrielle who was typing away on her HoloBerry. “Until they sign on the dotted line and we have our licensing agreement all we have is a lot of empty promises and wishful thinking.”
“Is she always like this?” Blue Star asked Stacey though he knew the answer. He had been watching Gabrielle all day; she wasn’t a workaholic, she was a force of nature.
“Our department motto is that we will never rest until the contract is signed, the story retracted, or the good news promulgated,” said Stacey.
“You’re like the PR Mounties,” laughed Blue Star. “You always get your spin.”
“That’s the plan,” said Stacey. “We also don’t use the word ‘spin’; we prefer ‘enhanced truth’.”
“Legal has approved the contract modifications,” said Gabrielle with a slight smile. “Which means tomorrow morning they sign and we have a new, and very lucrative, revenue stream.”
“Damn straight,” said Stacey. “Listen to me Blue Star, you supers do cool stuff, but PR is the… best department in West Pacific Supers! In fact, we’re the super in supers!”
“Stacey, you’re babbling,” said Gabrielle crossly.
“Relax, Gabrielle, she’s celebrating - that’s not a sin.” Blue Star couldn’t help thinking that Gabrielle was a lot like Linda had been back on the Paragons - attractive, smart, and with a wicked sense of humor, but wound up far too tight.
“No, Ms. Fox is right,” said Stacey. “I’m babbling, the first rule of public relations is… actually, I don’t remember, but I think rule four or five is no babbling.”
“Stacey, we have more meetings tomorrow so you need to go to bed now to avoid a hangover,” said Gabrielle, turning back to her HoloBerry.
“Of course, Ms. Fox, I’ll head up to my room,” said Stacey standing and nearly falling.
“Why don’t I escort you to your room?” asked Blue Star getting up and catching Stacey by the arm.
“How very…chiva…chivol…chivalrous,” said Stacey.
“Blue Star, don’t take advantage of my drunk deputy,” said Gabrielle.
“Don’t worry, she’s not the member of the super PR team I’m after tonight,” said Blue Star who spoke before he thought.
Gabrielle looked up. “So you’re after Carl, are you? Well, have at it. He’s not engaged like Stacey.”
Blue Star laughed. “At least Carl isn’t cybernetically fused to his HoloBerry.”
“Carl is an ass,” said Stacey. “He’s probably overdosing on something up in his room.”
“So that’s what ‘enhanced truth’ sounds like,” said Blue Star.
“Stacey, be quiet and go to bed,” said Gabrielle shaking her head. Stacey nodded gravely and started unsteadily moving towards the exit.
“I’ll escort Ms. Noble up to her room and then I’m coming back so don’t leave,” said Blue Star as he grabbed ahold of Stacey’s arm.
“I’ll be right here,” said Gabrielle. He doubted she would be, but that might give him an opening.
Twenty minutes later, Blue Star returned to the bar and found that Gabrielle had already left. He sat at the bar, ordered a drink, and pulled out his HoloBerry. As team leader, he could access the exact locations of the members of West Pacific Supers, or more accurately the exact locations of their HoloBerrys. In the case of Gabrielle it was the same thing. She was in her hotel suite. He ordered a bottle of champagne and two glasses and then headed for her suite. Soon he was outside her door and knocked.
Gabrielle opened the door. She had taken off her jacket and shook her head incredulously. “Seriously, Blue Star, it’s late and we do have more meetings tomorrow.”
“Call me Jacob, and our earliest meeting is 10:30,” said Blue Star walking into the room.
“I actually didn’t invite you into my room,” said Gabrielle with annoyance.
“You would have eventually so I decided to save us both some time.” Blue Star headed to the couch with the champagne bottle and glasses. “You know, I think your suite has a better view than mine.”
“Blue Star, out of my room.”
“You lied,” said Blue Star changing the topic.
“About what?”
“You said you’d be waiting down in the bar for me, but I went down there and found that you had stood me up. I think you owe me an apology.”
“I didn’t know it was a date,” said Gabrielle dryly.
“Let’s see, I asked you to have drinks with me, we drank, we talked, and I paid the bill - that sounds like a date to me,” said Blue Star, opening the champagne bottle with a pop.
West Pacific Supers: Rising Tide Page 36
