by M. N. Arzu
Not a test subject, Drake. Keep your mind in the game. There was a real chance he might not survive the week—maybe not even tomorrow, he knew—but there was no going back. Ready or not, the Navy was going to get their first taste of what a merman underwater could really do.
* * *
Major White was having an equally sleepless night on the other side of New York City. He’d been in an eight-hour-long meeting with both his superiors and Admiral Coleman, who was overseeing tomorrow’s testing from the Navy’s side. As White had told Drake, every test conducted on the deep dive suit so far had passed with stellar grades. The merfolk design had been so sleek and easy to follow that half the scientists had banged their heads against their PHDs on their walls for not thinking of it first.
And this is but a drop of what they know.
Brooks Inc. was not patenting technologies out of the blue, but they did have an edge over their competitors. An edge of knowing what was possible, even if they were moving at a snail’s pace.
From all their previous surveillance, White had gathered that there was little communication between The City and the surface merfolk, and that those who lived up here rarely went back down there. Which meant this was knowledge that they had brought from The City, even if they weren’t actively using it nowadays.
Not that a merman needs a suit to dive into the depths of the ocean to begin with.
The Navy wanted to cut him out of the equation and negotiate directly with the merfolk, which made sense. The branches of the military seldom played well together, much less liked to share, especially when White’s military intelligence background had little to do with the scientific breakthroughs they were hoping for. But Drake had made it clear two months ago that he was negotiating with White, and White alone. That day, when Scott Brooks had been shot and had unwillingly ended up at Higgs’s apartment, both men had understood each other well. Drake might deceive him or mislead him, true, but the merman operated with some code of honor that White could relate to. After all, at the end of the day, all they had from each other was their word, so it had to mean something.
In fact, these past two days had been all about ensuring that no one was deceiving or misleading this monumental—albeit clandestine—encounter. Too many people wanted a piece of a living, healthy merman or mermaid, so security and confidentiality had been paramount for giving the okay to this mission.
Now, as the clock slowly ticked the hours away, White kept reviewing his mental list of things that could go wrong. It was long, and not all of it could be prevented, nor could the entire test be risk free. A merman was going to be swimming with marines, and the Navy was practically salivating at how many things they could discover by watching with rapt attention.
If something goes wrong, it’s not the Navy who’s going to take the blame, White knew, closing his eyes in hopes for sleep to claim him already. If something goes wrong, the whole human-merfolk relationship will sink along with any advances we’ve made.
* * *
At exactly 5:00 a.m., Julian walked Drake down the elevator and out to the building’s entrance. It was one of the longest walks of his life—and the shortest.
“If anything happens,” Drake said one last time, “follow the contingency plans. Don’t let the Council fall apart with useless finger pointing.”
“And don’t let Lavine’s fear spread to the rest of us, I know.”
“When I’m back by the end of the week, you and I are going to take a deep breath and look into a brighter future. This is the right move.”
“Drake? If you’re not sure about this—”
“I am. As much as we want to fireproof the entire world, we can’t. This is the only way we’re going to start building trust and respect. Now, if I am, indeed, walking into a trap, just disappear. Don’t look back, don’t negotiate, just go. I’m not worth your life and much less your children’s, okay?”
“I will.”
In front of the glass doors, a black minivan parked, and Major White stepped down, nodding once in their direction. It was the closest Julian had ever been to the man, and his emotions regarding him were a kaleidoscope of mostly dark colors with a few rays of sunshine here and there. White had made it so hard to get Chris out of ORCAS, had spied on his family for six months, and had actively looked for ways to crack the merfolk down. He’d also agreed to keep Chris safe while Jason was still a suspect, had not taken advantage of a wounded Scott, and had shot Drake in order to save him.
White was the constant shadow of an all-seeing, power-hungry government, but at the end of the day, he was just doing his job, protecting his nation. He was just so darn good at it that sometimes it felt personal.
Mixed feelings were an understatement.
He’s the one guaranteeing my safety right now, Drake said as they embraced.
It doesn’t mean I have to like him, Julian answered as Drake left the building and got in the car. They kept contact as the van took his best friend away, the distance stretching their telepathic link to the limit. Finally, watching from the glass wall in the penthouse, he couldn’t sense Drake anymore.
“Come back safely, Drake,” Julian whispered as the upcoming sunrise started to illuminate the horizon. “Come back.”
11
Guest
Major White was a remarkably organized man. Drake already knew that, but seeing it firsthand was a welcome distraction to an otherwise preoccupied mind. For the next six hours, they went through four different military check-ups to ensure their identity, changed cars three times, and when they arrived at the Navy base, they were redirected to the chopper that was to take them to the U.S.S. Honos, a flight that lasted some three hours.
All his belongings—his clothing, his phone, his watch—were stored at the base, and he went two times through special detectors to ensure he was not carrying any electrical or tracking devices. White had been subjected to the same. They didn’t know the location of where they were going, and the Navy personnel barely talked to them.
Meanwhile, White was not losing time in idle conversation. At all. Throughout the trip, he’d been talking about safety measures, the Pentagon’s expectations, the Navy’s thorough preparations, and at some point, had mentioned tentative future plans.
“There’s something I’d like to ask you,” White said while Drake looked at the ocean as they flew over the Atlantic. “Is there anything we can do for you?”
Drake looked at him, frowning. The headphones kept most of the noise away, and White’s voice had been clear enough, but he must have heard that wrong. “I’m sorry, what?”
“The US government is more than willing to grant you a fair number of incentives, but as much as I’ve tried, I’m lost as to what your needs in the long term are. Brooks Inc. is a mega-corporation that needs no help, and you’ve been hiding in plain sight for decades, if not longer. So, if you’ll forgive my forwardness, is there anything we can offer you that would ensure our future cooperation?”
“You mean besides our basic freedom?” Drake said, smirking.
“When you asked for protection, we gave it, no questions asked. But I was hoping for something more tangible. We’re not interested in making enemies of you, Mr. Drake. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t believe that.”
“Gentlemen,” the pilot interrupted their talk, “we have an ETA of six minutes.”
“Just think about it,” White said, as the ship that would be their home for the next seven days came into view. “You might find that the reach of the government is vast and deep.”
* * *
Captain Robert Armstrong despised two things in life: being called Bob, and not knowing who was arriving on his vessel.
He was a third-generation marine, and had the crew’s respect not because he was the captain, but because he respected the service every man and woman gave to their nation. He had zero tolerance for stupidity, and a methodical mind that saw far more than the average sailor. He knew trouble was coming the same way he knew a s
torm was brewing, and as the chopper landed on his ship, he narrowed his eyes at the last two newcomers to their mission. One Major Jonathan White, and one consultant by the name of Joe Drake.
The sheer level of security surrounding every technician and participant in the deep dive suit testing was not a surprise—hardly anything surprised Captain Armstrong by this point—but some of the equipment brought to monitor the mission seemed rather out of place. As captain, he had to ensure the tests ran smoothly, but from what he’d seen so far, some things were being kept from him.
Something’s rotten in Denmark, he thought, as both men walked to him, the major saluting, the consultant nodding.
“Welcome to the U.S.S. Honos, gentlemen. I hope your trip was uneventful.”
“Thank you, Captain,” the major said, “We couldn’t have asked for better weather or a better vessel. She’s a beauty.”
“You’ve spent a lot of time on ships, Major White?” Armstrong asked as they went inside.
“No, sir. I was sixteen years old the first time I saw the ocean, and I have a healthy respect for all things water.”
“As you should,” Armstrong said with approval. “How about you, Mr. Drake?”
“Oh, I have the exact opposite problem from the major, Captain. Sometimes, I think I don’t spend enough time in the water. I work with boats and was born on an island. The sea is part of my veins.”
“You would have made a great marine, then. Once the ocean has its hooks in you, you never leave,” Armstrong said, wondering if this Joe Drake had any military background. He moved with the air of someone who was used to trouble, and the shape of his back certainly gave credit to the claim that he spent a lot of time swimming. And although the captain’s first impression was favorable, something about him was off.
This man was not at ease on his boat. He’d expect that from people who got seasick or claustrophobic, but not from someone used to the ocean. So what is it about my ship that has you on edge, Mr. Drake? What are you hiding?
* * *
“The U.S.S. Honos has been in service for the last twelve years, and was converted into a research vessel three years ago,” Captain Armstrong said as they walked down a long hall. “From marine wildlife conservation efforts to following migratory lines, we’re well equipped for a variety of projects. We’ve housed teams from thirty-eight countries, and aided in more than twenty-five animal rescue efforts. This year alone, we’ve managed to place trackers in two different shark species, which will help us in saving them from the endangered species list.”
A large room opened at the end of the hall, leading to twin tanks in the middle, long enough to transport a white shark—if the shark didn’t want to move at all.
Cages—with glass walls or iron bars—had always made Drake nervous. He avoided visiting zoos and aquariums because he couldn’t stand watching wildlife behind bars. No matter how well he understood conservation efforts, looking into the eyes of a caged tiger broke a piece of his soul.
The tanks were empty, both of animals and water, and yellow stickers still detailed that coral and fish had been the last occupants. Nothing sinister to see, though Drake had no doubt the U.S.S. Honos had seen its share of not-so-ethical or well-meaning missions.
“You have an impressive record,” Drake said, turning his thoughts away from the pitfalls of captivity and the Navy.
“The Honos takes her commitments seriously, Mr. Drake.”
“It’s an interesting name, Honos. Roman god of military justice, if I remember correctly?” Drake added as they walked past the tanks and into another hall.
“The god of honor and virtue as well,” Armstrong said with a nod. “I’ve come to realize with time that you cannot run a military operation without a pragmatic sense guided by both honor and virtue. If your compass is not pointing in the right direction, you’re going to shipwreck.”
They reached a door in the hall, and the captain opened it. “Your equipment has been set up in rooms D and E according to your specifications,” the captain said to White. “Your project seems very promising, Major, if I may say so.”
“We believe the same, Captain.”
“I do wonder why a diving suit prototype project has come from the Army and not from the Navy, actually. It seems rather…misplaced.”
“That might be my fault,” Drake said before White could answer. It was easier to remember his own explanation than White’s in the long run. “We’ve been collaborating on other projects, and we were working on a side project involving deep dives. Major White took an interest, and two months later, here we are.”
“You keep interesting company, Major,” Armstrong said as the three of them piled into room D. Monitors and computers were bolted to the walls, except for the wall on the right, which was made of glass. It overlooked the tanks.
“I hope you feel at home while you stay with us, gentlemen. The crew will accommodate any needs you and your team may have. We’ll start at eight hundred tomorrow.”
The captain left, leaving White and Drake alone for the first time in this entire trip.
“It is a state of the art ship,” White said as he took a closer look at the monitors. “The Navy made sure to give us their best.”
It is a state of the art cage, Drake thought, before letting it go. “Let’s see what we have here,” he said out loud, and started turning everything on. The sooner his mind could be occupied, the sooner he would stop feeling like he was walking into the lion’s den.
* * *
At exactly 4:32 p.m., Julian got Drake’s first message. He felt the weight of the world roll down his shoulders, and the rocks in his stomachs dissolve.
Arrived alive. All looks right.
They were the best five words he’d read in ages, even if they only meant Drake had started the mission, not finished it. To keep the confidentiality of the U.S.S. Honos location, Julian couldn’t write back. He was not going to get another message for the next five hours, either. And after that, they had agreed on two daily messages.
But he’s alive. That’s all that matters right now.
Before leaving, Drake and Julian had agreed on the daily messages Drake would send, so Julian would know he wasn’t being tricked by the Navy. And if Drake was being coerced into writing them, there were keywords in the message that Julian would recognize as subtle warnings.
One message down, nine more to go.
As he prepared to relay the good news to Mireya, Aurel, and Lavine, something else caught his attention: a mental nudge. A merman was at the edge of his awareness, tentatively calling his attention. A young mind, but not as young as his children’s.
Hello? he sent out.
Hi? I’m looking for the Council? the voice came back, that of a young man.
I’m Julian Brooks. What can I do for you? The more time passed, the better the connection formed, and before long, Julian was looking at a red and orange signature. Just like Matt’s.
I’m looking…I’m looking for someone. I think you can help me.
12
Instincts
The Council had been formed a century ago to help the fourth migration wave to come out and integrate smoothly. And then Drake had found the first orphan a decade later, and after that, it had become the Council’s second mission to look out for those children, and anyone in trouble.
Because the Council reminded too many merfolk of The City’s own governance, many evaded them at all costs. This shadow group was the most at risk, not only because the Council didn’t know they existed, but because it took them longer to integrate to human society.
As the years had passed and the group had grown, Drake had met with several of them to form a contact point of sorts. These semi-leaders had access to the Brooks Foundation, a front to move money through their community, and had an open invitation to join the more organized merfolk under the Council’s protection. Drake estimated that around a hundred merfolk lived off the radar, but the exact number—let alone their lives at large—wa
s a real mystery.
It was rare for any of these merfolk to reach out directly to the Council. Sometimes, they were interested in specific jobs or places; other times, they were looking for information. Some, like the young ones Wallace had murdered in South Africa, had been born on the surface and were seeking entrance to The City.
So it was with a cautious mind that Julian drove to the meeting point with this stranger who wore Matt’s colors. Unrelated color matches did occur, of course, but they were unusual. It was far more common for shades to look similar, like Drake’s dark grays and blues to Julian’s black. Since the contact yesterday, Julian had been wondering if this man and his son were related.
“It’s going to be okay, Dad,” Chris said as Julian maneuvered through the New York streets.
“He couldn’t have picked a worse time,” Julian answered.
“Scott couldn’t have, either. He showed up while I was a prisoner and you had no idea how you were going to get me out. Suddenly you had two prisoners to break out and one of them was thirteen years old. Though I have to confess here: sometimes I think Scott could have broken himself out of there by just glaring and occasionally swearing at the guards.”
Julian smiled. “He’s gotten better with the language.”
“He has. It helps that he’s not as talkative as he used to be,” Chris said, frowning. Julian didn’t like the sound of that.
“It’s taking all of us more time to adjust than I was expecting.”
“I think it has more to do with the whole Wallace thing, actually. Like suddenly Scott has no purpose, you know?” Chris said, shrugging. “Not that I think tracking down a killer and wanting to murder him is the best purpose out there, mind you, but it was all Scott had.”
