Tales of the Federation Reborn 1

by Chris Hechtl

  “I know, so don't travel on the surface, stay close to the bottom,” Sydney said in an exasperated and annoyed tone of voice.

  Mara nodded wisely. “But sonar will help protect you. It is what it is for, to see where the eyes cannot.”

  “What sonar is for, yes, but sonar doesn't work in space. Space is a vacuum; sound doesn't travel,” Sydney warned as Mara put the VR goggles into the locker. Mara made certain to plug them into the charging port before she closed the door. The lockers on the docks were a new feature introduced a year ago. They allowed the sea folk to have personal possessions that could remain on the land without getting handed to others to mind or be left unattended and eventually stolen.

  Emory eyed his daughter and then turned accusing eyes on Mara. “I am guessing she got that from you?”

  “What can I say, kids these days,” Mara said in amusement, stroking the girl's head fins. Sydney looked up to her with a bit of adoration in her face. She knew Mara at least was proud of her ventures in modern education. She was the bright spot on her spectrum. Her mother was neutral, and her father disapproved of anything that wasn't practical knowledge. “They are learning a lot.”

  “Too much,” Emory muttered.

  “No, they are learning what we forgot. What our ancestors wanted us to learn,” Mara retorted, eying him to warn him not to continue the argument in front of the kids.

  “Is he misbehaving?” Anita teased, coming up behind Emory.

  “The usual,” Mara said, annoyance abating for the moment.

  Anita tisked tisked, eying her mate. “Behave,” she said coyly.

  He took her into his arms and nuzzled her forehead with his own. “But what if I like to misbehave?” he asked with his fins rising.

  “You are impossible, you know that?” Anita laughed. Mara snorted. She could feel the click pulses from Anita, sizing her up for a moment. It set her human style teeth and bones on edge from time to time, but she was too polite to say so.

  Most of those genies with sonar saw her lack of the sense as a debilitation. She could hear it in her mastoid bone, but before they had renewed their contact with Admiral Irons she couldn't respond to sonar speech. Her hand drifted to her suit where her sonar transceiver was. The collar of the uniform held a speaker and a microphone. The actual device was a distributed array built into the fibers of the suit—just like the thermavoltaic system that converted heat energy to electrical power for the simple computers and system.

  The blue Neocat Hank McCoy had repaired the damaged suit when he'd come by with Doctor Richards. She now doubly treasured her suit, even if it had the garish red Cobra symbol on the chest.

  “Behave both of you,” Mara scolded, waggling her index finger at the pair, “or get a room.”

  “My sentiments exactly,” Sydney said, shaking her head. She picked up her tablet, waved it, and then nodded to Mara. “I'll bring it back, and this time I won't get it wet, Aunt Mara. Promise,” she said as Mara opened her mouth with her well-worn warning. Mara's mouth clicked shut with a snap.

  Anita giggled at her expression but made a shooing motion to her daughter. “To think she grew up that way.”

  “She takes after her mother,” Emory said, wrapping his long arm around her waist.

  “Posh. Your genetics are in there somewhere. And they'll definitely be in the next brood,” Anita stated.

  “They'd better be,” Emory growled, only half in jest.

  “Well, you better be first on my nest then,” she teased.

  “Oh, so I need to keep you close until then?” he asked as she pulled away. He pulled her closer. She chuckled softly.

  Mara wanted to roll her eyes in exasperation, but she wished them the best. It just stung sometimes seeing them together and happy. She hadn't found anyone yet to fill that void in her life. She wasn't sure if she would.

  “If the doc says … Mara!” Anita said. Mara snapped back to the here and now. “Drifting?”

  “Just … yeah,” Mara admitted. Losing one's sense of their surroundings was highly dangerous in the seas. It was an invitation to get eaten.

  “Dangerous that,” Emory warned. He looked longingly to the water but kept his mate close.

  “On land or sea …,” Anita frowned. “I'd think it would be okay on land. And in the sun it's tempting to do so. Many bask and think like that. The older ones …,” she eyed Mara.

  “Posh, don't get cute and bring age into this,” Mara scolded, only half mockingly. “What did I miss?”

  “I was thinking what sort of brood we'd lay. And asking when Doctor Richards will send someone out and if they'll help with the turnout? I'd like more than one egg to be viable this go around,” Anita stated.

  What she was referring to was her subspecies ability to store up eggs for several years, then discharge them all in one mating spree. Before the admiral had come around, a Picean was usually guaranteed one or two matings in their short life span so tried to do it often. Recent modern medicine had changed that however.

  Sydney like her friends dated back to a year before the admiral's arrival. She was still quite young, but like any child of the sea, she grew up quicker than landies did. It was the only way to survive. The sea and her denizens were sometimes harsh and cruel.

  Mara frowned thoughtfully. Slowly she nodded. “I can ask. I'm not sure how knowledgeable they are about us. The last medic wasn't.”

  “He hadn't had a clue, had he?” Emory growled.

  “I talked to Doctor Richards. She sent him deliberately to learn. Threw him in the deep end was her words. Mean of her to send him without an experienced guiding hand though,” Anita said.

  “That's because Doctor Zane got tied up with a flu outbreak,” Mara stated. “The kid shouldn't have come at all, but he insisted.” She shrugged. “It worked out, even though he freely admitted he was in over his head.”

  “It figures, a land lubber bug takes precedence,” Emory growled.

  “You are in a sour mood,” Anita said, eying him as her tone cooled.

  Emory's mohawk fins dropped in contrition. “Sorry.”

  “You should go soak your head,” his mate scolded, looking up at him.

  “You first,” he teased, looking again to the water. He always felt uncomfortable out of the water. The further away the more anxious he became.

  “Quit squeezing me, and I'll go pee while you go soak,” Anita said. “Seriously Emory!” she gasped as he squeezed her tighter. “Now I really gotta pee!” she gasped out, making him chuckle.

  Slowly he relented. Finally, she ducked under his arm and skipped off. He made a grab for her but she waggled a finger at him and then made a shooing motion to him and then blew him a kiss.

  He snorted, waggling his antenna at her until she was almost out of sight. Then he sent a powerful sonic blast her way. She jumped, the long distant goose had been aimed at her rear.

  “You …,” Anita glared at him, but he was already turning away laughing.

  “You're impossible, you know that?” Mara observed, arms crossed. “Come on, I could use a dip,” she said.

  “Sharks are out. The fishing fleet is in. They are gutting the catch,” Emory warned.

  “Good eats,” Mara said, eying the docks where the sailors and dock workers were offloading the catch and sorting it. Sluice chutes leading to the sea were awash with entrails and bits too unsatisfying for the lubber's sensitive diets. The occasional shark fin could be seen in the churning waters below. Those ships that were day ships or weren't set up for the storms were in port early. There were more ships and a larger port than ever before. It was growing daily as were the compliments of tourist boats. “Storm's coming in.”

  “Isn't it just. I can feel it too,” Emory said as the wind picked up. He looked around until he got sight of Sydney playing with a friend.

  “She's fine, go soak. Your gills are dry, and you've been rasping a little,” Mara said, giving him a push to the water. “We don't need you getting sick over something so simple,” she a
dmonished.

  “Aren't you coming?”

  “With sharks? Tempting, but I'm not up to go there,” she said. “You go be fish food if you wish. I'll go check on Sydney and then take a dip from the beach,” she said, nodding to where the kids, selkie, and older generation were at. “I need to make sure they are ready to batten down the hatches,” she said.

  “More nautical terms,” Emory said in severe disapproval. “Your interest in them will come to haunt you someday, Mara.”

  “But not today. Go,” she urged as she walked over to Sydney.

  “You just want to play that message from that Irons fellow and play that game he sent you,” Emory accused.

  She made a shooing motion much like his mate then turned to Sydney. The girl saw her coming and scattered with the group. Keep away with Mara's tablet was becoming a fun game for the kids. Mara sighed in dismay but gave chase.

  She saw Atlantia and Jamaica laughing from the sidelines. Atlantia was fending off Jamaica's advances quite well she noted with a small amused corner of her mind. She shouldn't; she was a selkie mermaid but of mixed heritage. She had a bit of Genie Naga in her past. Not Naga the species, but naga the genotype.

  Jamaica, a selkie merman like her, was one of a dozen young and upcoming bulls on the beach, but the only one interested in her and her flukeless long snake-like tail. He was also rather surprisingly monogamous, which was unusual for his breed. The cow apparently knew it, so she played his coveted interest and the feigned interest of some of the other bulls against him to keep him on the hook and her solely in his crosshairs. He didn't know it, but he was well and truly hooked, and she was taking her time reeling him in while keeping an eye out for a better catch. His male competition was only going after her to keep him jealous and out of their own playing fields. Typical she thought, shaking her head as she focused on her own chase.

  >=,=@

  “Still considering the tropical mission?” Atlantia asked as Mara came back with her tablet sometime later. Mara was out of breath and a bit put out over being left to catch the brat pack on her own but still took the time to flop down next to the girl.

  “Yeah. It might be good for some of the older folk. We tried migrations ages ago. Gave it up because the colder seas here have more food than the warmer ones,” Mara said.

  “Funny that. Someone should look it up,” Atlantia mused, eying Jamaica.

  “It's not just food calories; its food we can eat. Tropical animals tend to have poisons and stuff we can't easily digest,” Jamaica said.

  Atlantia eyed him and then turned back to Mara. Mara nodded. Atlantia flicked her tail in annoyance but didn't say anything further on the subject. After a few moments of awkward silence, she cleared her throat in a raspberry sound. “Well! I am going to go see what the fishing is like,” she said authoritatively. She took herself off, humping down the beach before she lifted her chest to catch the first wave. It crashed into her then she ducked her head, shook it, and then went further in. A few of her friends off shore waved to her that it was safe so she moved deeper in.

  “She isn't the only one playing hard to get these days. The kids wore you out,” Jamaica observed, eying Mara.

  “I used to be fitter. Swimming the great current, out swimming a White … I guess I really am getting old,” Mara joked.

  “Or on the land too much and getting soft,” Jamaica said.

  “Can you blame me?” Mara asked. She dusted sand off the precious electronic device before taking a seat Indian style. “No, I think the brat pack is just getting bigger and smarter,” she said.

  Jamaica gurgled a laugh. “Well, there is that too,” he said. “Youth and vigor,” he said.

  “Age and wisdom. If I can't have the first two, I'll settle for the last and put up with the third while I cultivate one other,” she said, making certain the tablet was okay.

  “What's that?” Jamaica asked.

  “Guile.”

  He chuckled. “So, any work on the docks for us?”

  “You know I've been trying,” she sighed, looking at him. “The dock workers and sailors are a bit put out over us stealing some of the jobs,” she said. “I know the drydock people put up a fuss. Your people did a good job on that trawler, but they lost a contract.”

  “Which they didn't have the room for. And hey, scraping barnacles and repairing the bilges isn't my idea of a fun occupation you know,” Jamaica said. He turned his massive head to nibble on his shoulder where a parasite or patch of itchy skin was bothering him. “We got it done just in time.”

  “You cut your contracts too close, Jamaica. One time they'll bite you, you know that,” she said, shaking her head.

  “I know. But the drydocks are undercutting us.”

  “Competition sucks, but it is necessary I suppose,” Mara mused. She frowned thoughtfully. “We've got the fall coming. I'll look into cleaning out the storm drains and flood canals.”

  “Great. Messy work with a hint of danger since sharks love to hang around them,” Jamaica said sarcastically. “I'm not in the mood to play tag with a bull shark Mara.”

  “Can't be helped. If you need the work …,” she said suggestively.

  “I'm not sure I need being lunch that badly,” he replied. “Anything else?”

  “Other than going to space?” she waved the tablet. “I'm not sure yet. I've been monitoring the news. The lubbers want to expand the port again. I know you and the others liked that.”

  “While the work lasted, yeah. Just getting paid to play lifeguard was nice. I knew I shouldn't have gone out on my own,” the selkie merman grumbled. He rubbed the top of his bald head with a long flippered hand.

  “Yeah, I don't think Cornelius is blackballing you, but it isn't in your best interest to keep pissing him off. You might want to consider making nice for the long run,” Mara observed, “or court his competition and make a clean break.”

  “I'll consider it,” the merman said, humping towards the water. “If you could find out when they plan on building another bridge or expanding another port up and down the coast …”

  “Gotham is adding to their docks. The biggest one expanding though is Mega city,” Mara said right off. “Metropolis is refocusing on mass transit and large buildings near the center of their city. And you know that you don't want to do bridge work. That means in fresh water and you know what it does to you.”

  “And the thought of bull sharks comes back into play as well,” the merman grumbled, this time flipping sand as he touched the healed bite scars on his left flank.

  “Sucks to be a selkie,” Mara said, shaking her head. “I'm glad I'm all bone,” she said. “All that blubber on you is great for insulation, but you are a meal waiting to be eaten by them,” she teased.

  “Everything is edible in the sea by someone, including you, lady,” the selkie replied snapping his jaws at her in reply. That clack got the attention of others on the beach. She waved a hand sign to get them back to whatever they were doing. Slowly heads rotated away or lowered back to the sand and eyes drifted shut.

  “Sorry,” Jamaica muttered.

  “I'd chalk it up to testosterone beginning to surge into your blood stream, but I know better,” Mara said with a shrug. “You know this is neutral ground. No beachmasters allowed. They go find their own private beaches or coves during mating season. But,” she waved a hand as he opened his mouth to protest, “I know you weren't challenging me, just funning. No matter. Go play tag with Atlantia and keep her happy.”

  “I'm getting tired of her playing hard to get,” the merman grumbled, turning to hump to the sea once more. “I might go find tastier morsels if she keeps it up,” he grumbled. “Then see who is chasing who,” he said as the first wave hit his chest.

  “Sure thing,” Mara snorted softly, watching him leave before her eyes were unerringly drawn to the tablet in her lap once more.

  “I'd better check the news for him and the others or I'll never hear the end of it,” she sighed, turning the thing on, and the
n angling her body to expose the small solar panel built into the frame of the device. It wouldn't be enough to keep it charged; only the solar panels over the lockers and over the vehicle parking lot could do that. But it would help her keep it charged a few minutes longer before she had to reluctantly shut it off and put it on the charger in her locker.

  >=,=@

  There were over a dozen different breeds of genie water dwellers. People of the sea they preferred to call themselves. There were some common groups however.

  Piceans were true fish people; they varied in size, coloration, and design but all of them were egg layers.

  Then there were the true mammals, the selkie and selkie merpeople. They either had a human bioform or the top of a human but the tail of a seal instead of human legs or a mermaid's fish tail. Unlike Piceans or mermaids, they lacked gills and were surface dwellers. They had a lot of fat to keep them warm in the cold waters.

  Mermaids were another common species. They could interbreed with Piceans, but their genetics were dominant in most breedings. They had the upper body of a human with some minor modifications but the tail of a fish, dolphin, or seal. They gave live birth like selkie.

  There were the octopi people, mermaids with the lower extremities of an octopus. They could also interbreed with the Piceans and lay eggs. There were fewer of them every year despite the advances modern medicine provided. They hated coming onto land to be treated so were therefore not availing themselves of the full benefits the medics provided.

  Traditional selkie breeds existed but only in the polar climates. They tended to keep to themselves and didn't interact with those below … or at least they did until they'd heard of the cure for the worms. Now they migrated south in annual pilgrimages to get treatment. Many of the locals complained that they ate a lot of the fish stock and caused a lot of havoc on the beach. She knew the lubbers weren't happy that they had to go fish further off shore during those times.

  Fins were the most sought after she knew. Well, they and the selkies she thought. There were no true dolphins on her world, but there were some humans who had been changed into the bioform and then had interbred with selkie or each other. They were few, tending to again keep to themselves. She heard stories of them but had only met them once. They were rude and a surly bunch.