Well, my friends, here I am again. I’m still alive, still kicking, and still
questing. If you thought this story
strange before, it now ventures into the realm of the truly weird. You may question its veracity. You may question my sanity. I ask only that you read the entire thing
with an open mind. I continue where I
left off, on the second of my three quests.
There were a number of things on my mind at the time of my hasty departure
from
Firstly, there was the matter of determining exactly what
sort of creature the term “Squalamastoid”
describes. I had undertaken the basic
research while still in
12 December, in the year of our Lord 1826
Today was a good day, having harvested five sperm whales and 168 barrels of oil. The last catch brought a surprise, in the form of a strange octopoid creature with a cylindrical body measuring 7 yards in length, with perhaps an equal length for the multitude of tentacles depending from it. This creature bore a remarkable resemblance to the common cuttlefish observed in tropical waters, except for its extreme size. The creature’s tentacles were wrapped around the whale’s circumference, as if the two were locked in a great battle in the depths. Dr. Canfield theorizes that this is a heretofore unknown species of fish, and suggests the new genus Squalamastoid. The good Dr. will make the necessary inquiries at the Zoological Society when we return.
Signed…Captain Joseph R. McKenzie,
Captain, The Reginald Oswald of
The Giant Squid is one of the least understood creatures in the world. There is a multitude of references to the Giant Squid, including Jules Verne’s memorable reference in his novel 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. While there have been quite a few sightings, very few specimens have been acquired for scientific observation. It is known that squids in general have eight swimming arms, usually two feeding arms, and that they have a hard, horny beak. They swim by water propulsion. They can adapt their coloration to their surroundings. One fact, key to my investigations, is that they usually have an ink sac, and that they evade predators by squirting ink into the sea. They are invertebrates. Interestingly enough, they generally have 3 hearts. But Giant Squid themselves are phantoms to the scientific world. It is not known what they eat, where they live, how large they grow, how long they live, nor how many there are.
I was at a loss as to where to go to find Squalamastoid. I was
forced to apply reasoning, albeit in the face of uncertain facts. Since the majority of sightings were by
fishermen, it seemed to me that the best approach would be to continue my
new-found avocation. However, the
Since then, Japanese whaling has consisted entirely of scientific excursions, designed to gauge the populations of various stocks of cetaceans. Owing to certain loopholes in international law, the products of these scientific excursions may be exploited commercially. In other words, they go out and kill whales and then sell the meat legally, all in the name of scientific inquiry. In the view of the critics of whaling, this constituted violations of the spirit, if not the letter, of international laws of the sea. They also asserted that it was an unconscionable breach of morality, to go against world opinion and continue their murderous hunts. The Japanese argue, perhaps rightly so, that taking samples is the only way to assess populations, and one must therefore do the right thing and ensure that the carcass is put to proper use. They argued, again quite sensibly, that there was nothing wrong with whaling as long as the species hunted was in no danger of extinction. For example, they have determined that the population of Minke whales is, contrary to popular misconceptions, quite robust and nowhere near extinction. There was nothing wrong with Western dependence on beef, and so why should there be something wrong with the Japanese predilection for whale meat?
I didn’t particularly care about the political issues. All I cared about was that here was a way to
get closer to the Squalamastoid. As I’ve told you, upon my departure from
I finally found that by adopting a cover identity as a marine biologist specializing in Architeuthis and making inquiries at key Japanese universities, I was able to make inroads. This was not easy, to say the least. I knew absolutely nothing about marine biology and had to take a crash course. I learned just enough to get myself in trouble, but it helped that there were so few experts in Architeuthis. It also helped that I have always had a gift for BS’ing my way along. I called in another CIA favor, acquired a genuine fake university diploma, greased a few greedy palms, and voila, I found myself booked on the next scientific whaling expedition aboard the Tsiali-wa, due for departure in a few days.
I arrived at the berth of the Tsiali-wa early one bright clear morning. She had seen better days. Once a bright shiny whaler in the days before the moratorium, she had seen too many years being operated on a shoe-string budget. She was dirty, and rusty, and smudged from her many years in the salt and sun. She was privately owned, but was heavily subsidized by the Tokyo Institute of Marine Research. She was now officially classified as a scientific research vessel, but no amount of radar antennas, electronics shacks, and other high tech gear could disguise her true purpose. The rendering equipment on her decks stood out like a sore thumb. Here was a vessel with one purpose; to capture, skin, and process whales.
Shigeko Nagasaki was the captain
of the Tsiali-wa.
He was a hard-nosed, no-nonsense sailor who had spent most of his sixty
years at sea. He was a slight, grey
haired man with boundless energy far outstripping his age. He was a whaler in all senses of the word,
even if his profession was now outlawed.
Once we started talking and comparing notes on whale lore, I could tell
he didn’t buy my cover story for a second.
But he allowed me to accompany the expedition. He had only two conditions. One, I must work as hard as his crew, a
provision I felt I could easily accommodate after my experiences in
You see, Greenpeace was Shigeko’s greatest enemy. He absolutely loathed Greenpeace. They had plagued him for decades. He went to great lengths to evade them. There were three identical ships named Tsiali-wa, and they were berthed in different port cities. The crew had no idea which would carry the expedition, and indeed, we were left behind at first. When it came time to depart, all three ships went out unannounced, with skeleton crews, at night, with no running lights, heading in different directions. It was only after several hours that the actual expedition plan was revealed to us, and we were helicoptered out to the correct ship. All of these precautions were in place simply to avoid pursuit by a Greenpeace vessel. Fortunately, Shigeko spoke passable English, since my Japanese was so rusty. He put it to me in the simplest of terms:
“James, the way things are going, it won’t be long before Greenpeace will be able to afford enough ships to shadow each of mine. The day that happens, I will retire to my cabin and quietly commit seppuku.”
I responded that surely there was something else besides whaling he could do. Maybe take sight-seers out to watch the whales. He snorted in disgust at this suggestion.
“There is no reason to live on if I am prevented from whaling. It is my life. It is all I know. I am slowly being deprived of my livelihood by these outlaws. How would you feel if the international community suddenly decided that marine biology was bad for the environment, and outlawed your profession?”
He had a point. I couldn’t argue. Even though my profession had nothing to do with marine biology, I got the point. It was a cruel world out there, and the cruelest part of it all was that a bunch of mud-sucking idiots could form a committee and vote somebody out of existence. And get away with it.
So we set out on our expedition. With all of Shigeko’s precautions, we managed to get away without a Greenpeace shadow. We sailed out into the wide Pacific in search of the Minke whale. Once we were out of port, we thought we were safe. The ocean was limitless, and we thought nobody could find us if we didn’t want to be found. I settled down into the shipboard routine. The crew kept busy, cleaning, painting, and taking turns cooking. We had a television and VCR in the crew lounge, and spent our evenings watching old movies, taped network shows, and endless recordings of Japanese pornography. I had an official title for my duties aboard ship, and although I didn’t understand the Japanese term, I believed the English equivalent was assistant apprentice cabin boy. It was not a glorious position, and my duties included those that none of the other crew would dare touch. I missed my life on the Caspian when I was captain of my own small patch of life. Here, I was a slave. But I performed my duties flawlessly. Nevertheless, the crew seemed suspicious of me, as if I had Greenpeace written in multi-colored stripes on my forehead. But I worked hard, and kept to myself.
I struck up a friendship with Shigeko, despite the lowliness of my position. Perhaps he felt a connection to me, since I was closer to his age than the other crewmen aboard. He seemed to enjoy my company, and we had many an interesting conversation on the bridge of the Tsiali-wa. I would spend the day swabbing decks, cleaning heads, mending clothes, cooking meals, and a thousand other menial tasks. But then my shift would end and I would ascend to the bridge, and there I would quiz Shigeko on every aspect of the business. He was a willing tutor. He was divorced and childless, and I think he was somewhat lonely and maybe longed for someone to carry the torch after he was gone. I hate to admit this, my friends, but I let him believe I might be interested. I had no intention, of course, of getting into a profession which was outlawed by the rest of the world. I merely used him to bring me closer to the Squalamastoid. It was not one of my prouder moments. But I was a driven man.
He told me about his lifetime spent as a whaler. It was whaling that had cost him his marriage. Too much time spent on the sea, and too little at home with his wife. She had finally left him and ran away with his half-brother, who could at least give her the time and attention she deserved. He remained married to the sea. The sea was his true mate. It was out here where he felt most alive, spending his days on the bridge, riding the swell and gazing out at the horizon. He hated his time in port. He hated the crowded cities, full of uncaring people climbing over each other in their struggles to reach the top. He hated the city vistas, the man-made sameness, the suburban wastelands. Yes, the sea was his home, and the only thing that marred that perfect existence was Greenpeace.
It had not always been that way, he told me. Life had been beautiful before the
International Whaling Commission; before the moratorium on whaling which had
changed his life forever. Before Greenpeace started harassing him and making life miserable. Back then, whaling was an honorable
profession. He was proud of his life’s
work. He had brought much needed whale
meat to his people.
I asked him about Giant Squids. He had heard of them, but had never seen one
in all his decades as a whaler. He had
seen many other ocean dwelling species, including the mighty blue whale, and
the sperm whale, and he had seen plenty of normal squid in his lifetime. But he had never once caught sight of Architeuthis. This
was quite discouraging, to say the least.
I thought if anybody had seen a giant squid, it would have been a man
like Shigeko.
The Squalamastoid seemed out of reach. But there was nothing I could do about it
except hope that this voyage might be the lucky one. I figured that I could last until we reached
landfall in the
Without Greenpeace on our tail, we were free to pursue our aims, to hunt and slaughter. At least, that was what we thought. We were eight days out when we spotted another ship on the horizon. Shigeko grimly looked through his binoculars.
“Bah, it is as I thought”, he muttered. “They are changing their tactics. Instead of following us out of port, they lie in wait in known fishing routes, hoping to spot us. They are getting smarter.”
He passed me the binoculars. I trained them on the lone ship at the horizon. I could clearly see the colorful Greenpeace insignia on the ship’s hull.
“It’s the Star of New Wales”, he said. “Their fastest ship. She’s small, light; easily able to outrun us. Not many crew on board, though.” He had a thoughtful look on his face, but I thought I could detect a hint of malice behind it.
“What are you going to do now?” I asked. I didn’t like that look.
“I do my job” he said, still with that strange, grim look. “I do my duty like the good sailor I am.”
He ordered a course which took him past the Greenpeace ship. There was no sense in trying to run and hide. Since we had seen them, it was a cinch that they had seen us. As we passed them about a mile to the north, they matched speed with us and started slowly getting closer. Shigeko altered course and they matched it. He sped up, and slowed down, all to no avail. They got closer and closer, and I could now clearly see the crew on deck when Shigeko handed me the binoculars. He didn’t seem to notice that it was the middle of my work shift, and that I should be down below-decks cleaning out the spare boiler. He seemed quite pre-occupied, nothing like the stern captain he had been at the beginning of the voyage. I was becoming more nervous with each passing moment.
I looked through the binoculars again. The crew was a bunch of weekend sailors, tourists who had taken their vacation and signed on to Greenpeace for the sheer fun and anarchy of it all. There were long-haired young hippies, and balding old men. They were shaking their fists at us. One of them had a video camera trained steadily on us. There was even one woman with beautiful blond hair and a “Save the Whales” poster which she held defiantly above her head. I heard faint strains of music from their ship, drifting across the gulf separating us. I thought it might be Wagner’s Flight of the Valkyries, but it was difficult to make out above the sound of the engines.
The Star of New Wales gunned her engines and shot ahead of us, and suddenly cut across our path. Obviously, they meant to stop us in our tracks. I grabbed the railing, bracing myself for the rebound when Shigeko cut his engines to avoid a collision. I waited to hear his order. He was silent. I turned to him. He still had that look of grim determination on his face, and his hands were tightly gripping the wheel, so tightly that his fingers were turning white. He held course, heading straight toward the Star of New Wales.
“Shigeko!” I cried out. “What are you doing?”
“They take my life; I will take theirs!” He stared resolutely ahead, and kept his death grip on the wheel.
I was horrified. I ran to him, intending to wrestle the wheel from his grasp and cut the throttle. He knocked me out of the way, and I went sprawling on the deck. I was much bigger than he was, and yet he manhandled me like a bear mauling kittens. I got up and he knocked me down again, and kept his hand on the wheel. He started singing to himself softly in Japanese. Several other crewmen were racing toward the bridge, calling out to Shigeko as they did so. But they were too late.
The Star of New Wales was directly in front of us. The captain was sounding the horn, trying to get our attention. I could see the crew on deck clearly now, no longer needing the binoculars. They were scurrying about, frightened by this mad Japanese whaler bearing down on them. This was not what they had bargained for when they signed on as volunteers for Greenpeace. Things were not happening the way the recruiters had described. They were idealists. They had wanted to make a better world. They had a just cause. They had thought they were saving the whales. They had not realized how high the stakes were.
The Star of New Wales could not maneuver fast enough to avoid the collision. We rammed her broadside. I had braced myself for the impact, but even so I was flung from one end of the bridge to the other. The Tsiali-wa was twice as long as the Star of New Wales, and outweighed her four to one. We sliced through her like an orca hunting seal. Wagner was still playing, clearly audible now over the nerve wrenching sound of metal grinding against metal. I watched in horrified fascination as the Star of New Wales broke in half, spilling Greenpeace volunteers into the cold water. The Tsiali-wa’s bow rose high in the water, as if pouncing on her hapless prey. She stood high on her keel for one endless moment, and then slowly, agonizingly slowly, she turned over on her side and capsized. It was now our turn to spill into the sea.
I was clinging to the capsized whaler. The water was cold, damned cold. I could no longer feel my feet. I looked around me. Others were doing the same. There were Japanese crewmen alongside Greenpeace volunteers, all struggling to stay alive. It was eerily quiet. There was no crying, no screaming. Just quiet voices here and there. I heard someone utter a quick prayer. I heard another curse softly, asking why would they ram us, why would they do such a thing. It was mid-day. The sky was cloudless. The sun shone brightly on us. It was like no disaster scene I had ever imagined.
The remnants of the Star of New Wales had gone down into the deeps. For the moment, the Tsiali-wa was not sinking. The water around us was full of junk; and there was a spreading oil slick all around. There was nothing which appeared useful as flotation. Our only hope lay with the Tsiali-wa. Perhaps the air trapped in her hull would keep her afloat long enough for the rescuers to arrive. If anyone had had time to send out an SOS. If they could reach us before we died from exposure. If. A thousand ifs.
Right next to me, clinging to the same piece of hull, was the blond haired woman I had spotted on the Star of New Wales. She was having a hard time holding on. I motioned her over next to me, where she could grab the edges of the same small hole in the hull I was grasping. She nodded her thanks. I started to shiver uncontrollably. She wrapped one arm around me, trying to warm me as best she could while still hanging on. I nodded my thanks to her.
At that moment, the hull of Tsiali-wa
gave a great shudder. It stopped for a second,
and I wondered if our precious perch was beginning its fatal plunge to the
bottom. As I thought this, the hull
started erupting out of the water. At
the same time, it started cracking. We
were all thrown away as it rose. I lost
sight of the blond woman. I treaded
water as best I could, a difficult feat considering the numbness in my feet and
legs. I watched the hull break in two,
just as the Star of New Wales had done such a short while ago. I wondered, in a strange, detached sort of
way, just what the hell was going on.
And then, between the two sinking pieces of the Tsiali-wa,
came the answer. A
huge stubby black cylinder with a rounded nose geysered
out of the water. It took me a
moment to recognize it. I had seen this
shape before. Then it came to me. This was a
I knew it because I had spent some time in one back in the eighties. I had worked for a contractor assessing powerful new sonar systems. We spent several months below the surface, while surface ships tried to find us with their sonars. I don’t know if they found us, or how often. That was classified information. I was just a techie assigned to maintenance of the complex electronic equipment and computers aboard. I had no need to know, even though I had helped design some of the gear. The equipment worked without glitches, and so I was bored as hell. I remember when that trip ended, I swore I would never go out to sea again. Yet here I was, treading water in the north Pacific while a nuclear submarine performed an emergency surface maneuver which tore away my last lifeline.
I thought I knew what had happened. The submarine was not aware of our presence on the surface. Some strange conjunction of temperature layers and salinity had created a sonic barrier which made her unaware of our presence; and unaware of the disaster happening above them. They took great precautions before they performed the maneuver, but I guess all precautions are fallible. They had dutifully prepared for their training drill, a simulated emergency which necessitated an emergency ascent. When it went well, it was a thrill. I know, I had participated in one of those drills. You buckled in as the emergency klaxons sounded. The deck crept up to an impossible angle. You heard the sounds of water flooding from the ballast tanks. You felt the acceleration, as if you were in a rocket ship climbing out of the atmosphere. You erupted out of water into air, and for one second you were airborne and weightless. And then, in a stomach churning reversal, you came plunging back down to the surface, to bob in the water for a while until all was at peace. It was a fantastic thrill. When it all went well.
This was not one of those times. I imagined the shock they must have felt, expecting to erupt out of the sea and instead crashing into the Tsiali-wa. The drill procedures required all crew to be belted in, but I knew there were plenty who did not bother. They were too gung-ho to be bothered with seat belts. Imagine a 60 MPH collision, with people standing around in one of the colliding vehicles. They would have been torn away from their handholds and thrown against the bulkheads. Those buckled in might survive the collision, suffering only neck and back strains, or maybe abrasions from flying coffee cups, clipboards, and assorted junk. But those who had not belted in would be crushed, battered, and broken. I was sure of it.
All of this flashed through my mind in the space of a few seconds, as I treaded water and looked in awe as the submarine settled back down in the water. Her bow was heavily damaged, and she sat in the water at an odd angle. I looked around for my blond haired companion. I felt an affinity for her. I felt the need for the presence of another human being in the midst of this catastrophe. I didn’t want to die alone, here in the cold north Pacific. I saw her a few feet away. Her eyes were closed as she floated face up. I dog paddled over to her. I grabbed her and dragged her with me, paddling over to a floating chunk of debris from the Tsiali-wa. I clung to it, and clung to her. She opened her eyes and stared without comprehension into my face. I tried to reassure her as best I could, but my teeth were chattering uncontrollably.
There were now sailors emerging onto the deck of the submarine. They were tossing life preservers out to the survivors. They were inflating a raft. A thin column of smoke rose from an open hatch in the submarine’s conning tower. I turned my makeshift raft toward the sub, and started trying to paddle us toward it. But my legs were no longer working. I yelled out weakly. The sailors looked my way and pointed. They now had their rescue raft in the water. I told the blond haired woman that they were coming for us. She smiled weakly. She was unable, or perhaps unwilling, to look around. She just stared up at the sky. I had a sudden thought that maybe she was injured, and I had a moment of panic at the thought of losing my new-found friend. I just held on to her tightly, looked into her face, and made small, reassuring sounds as we waited for rescue.
The raft finally reached us, and I maneuvered so that they could pull her out of the water first as I clung to my life-saving last piece of the Tsiali-wa. They pulled her up, and then reached for me. I finally abandoned my perch, and grabbed handfuls of rubber raft. I strained to pull myself up out of the water, but I had no strength left. Strong hands grabbed my arms and started pulling me up. I felt like I weighed a ton, but they pulled me up and deposited me onto the floor of the dinghy, next to my companion. We stared at each other, and trembled in uncontrollable shivers. She wrapped her arms around me, as if to once again share her last remaining shreds of warmth with me. I returned the hug. And then I remembered no more.
I awoke lying in a bunk in a crowded cabin, to the sounds of other survivors, coughing and groaning. My legs were burning as they recovered from their extreme exposure to the elements. My head was spinning as I attempted to sit up, and I bumped my head against the bunk above me. A sailor walked by, tending to the wounded as best he could. He told me that I should lie back down. I ignored him, and glanced around me. I stood up, and looked at the bunk above mine. There, in peaceful sleep, lay my blond haired companion. I breathed a sigh of relief. For the first time, I really looked at her. She was beautiful. She was my age, perhaps a few years younger than me. I could tell that she had been a heart-breaking beauty in her youth. She still retained that beauty, but it was now slightly tempered by her life’s experience. Her body had filled out with the years, but that only accentuated her exquisite face. Her hair was so long, and so blond. It lay spread out around her, and descended to her waist. My breath caught in my throat as I gazed down at her.
I felt that we had a connection. I didn’t even know her name, but we had shared an intimacy which few experienced in a lifetime of companionship. I had a sudden thought, and glanced at the chart hanging from her bunk. Her name was Cindy. Cindy Somerset. A beautiful name, to match that beautiful face. I fell in love with her that instant, as I looked down at her sleeping face and imagined what she was like. She had not abandoned her youthful idealism. She had decided to dedicate herself to a cause, and had acted on her conscience. Her ideals were misguided, perhaps, but then again, maybe it was me. Maybe I was being too cynical. I decided I would like to get to know her. Maybe we could teach each other. Maybe I could pass on some of my cynicism to her, maybe help her to adopt less hopeless causes. Maybe she could teach me how to regain my youthful enthusiasm and verve, which I had somehow lost along life’s pathways.
I tore my gaze away from her beauty, and looked around me. There were too few survivors. There were twelve bunks in this cabin, but only ten were occupied. There were perhaps equal numbers of whaler crewmen and Greenpeace volunteers. Ten survivors, out of how many? I was still too light-headed to calculate it all out. I could only think that too many people had died this day. I recognized one of the Tsiali-wa crewmen. I asked him about Shigeko. Between my pigeon Japanese and his pigeon English, I managed to comprehend his answer. Shigeko had not been found. He had gone down with his ship. He had evaded earthly punishment, but had paid nonetheless for his crime. I tried to summon up a feeling of satisfaction at his fate, a feeling that justice had been served. But all I felt was sadness. How sad that this man’s life had come to this. This man had wanted nothing more than to harvest the sea’s bounty, much like my lost friend Omar. And yet an uncaring world had deprived him of his dream. How meaningless it all seemed. How could a lifetime spent perfecting your craft become so meaningless in the end?
A sailor came up to me. “The captain would like to talk to you, sir. If you’ll follow me.” And he turned and walked through the hatch of the cabin.
I followed. We walked the length of the submarine. It was just as I remembered it. Passing through hatches. Climbing ladder-like stairways through two, then three levels. We passed the control room, dark except for the gentle green glow of the monitors. The equipment was more advanced than I remembered. As we walked, I heard the sounds I had become accustomed to so long ago. The rush of water through overhead pipes. The hum of air compressors. But something was missing, and it took me a minute or two to realize what it was. The ever-present sound of the engines; that was what was missing. The deck was gently rolling and swaying, and so I realized we were still at the surface. This sub was dead in the water. It would be going nowhere, and was merely waiting for the rescuers to arrive.
We arrived at the Captain’s cabin, and the crewman knocked and left. I heard him quietly murmur “come”, and I opened the hatch.
“Good day, Mr. Miner”, he said in a quiet, gentle voice as I entered. “I am Captain Aaron Berenson. Please have a seat”.
He was sitting at his desk. He was a tall, thin, grey-haired man. He sat straight-backed in his chair. I was immediately reminded of Shigeko, despite the differences in bodily proportion. Perhaps the same mold had spawned these two men. He had the same air of command, a man used to giving orders and having them obeyed. As I studied him more closely, I noticed a look of care-worn tiredness, as if the weight of years of command and caring for the young men under him had settled into the bags under his eyes. He had lost his ship. This would not be good for his career. I thought maybe he was staring into the future, and he didn’t like what he saw.
“Would you mind telling me just what the hell has happened here?” he asked, immediately casting off his despair and re-assuming his air of command.
I didn’t quite know where to begin. I thought about starting at the beginning, at
the moment I gazed into the King Fish’s bulbous eyes at the bottom of
“Well, there was Greenpeace, and Shigeko, and the International Whaling Commission.” I babbled half a sentence more before I stopped, realizing I was making no sense whatsoever.
He sighed heavily, and his tired look returned. “Okay, just tell me what an American was doing aboard a Japanese whaling vessel.”
I half-heartedly repeated my cover story. If things proceeded as I thought they would, and there was an inquiry, I would be exposed as a fraud. I would then have to tell the true story, and I would then be exposed as a madman. But that was the future, and I could no longer think rationally about the future. I was still in shock. I would deal with the consequences later, somehow. So I told him my cover story. It was the only thing that could come out of my mouth and my aching brain.
“A marine biologist, you say? Hmm. Giant Squid? Are you sure you wish to stick with that story, sir? You are in a serious amount of trouble.”
“Not half as much trouble as you are in, sir”. I let it slip before I could stop myself. But it was out and I couldn’t take it back. “What is your story going to be?”
“I realize that I have a lot to answer for, Mr. Miner. Let me worry about my own problems. I just want to find out what happened today. There will a lot of questions when we get back.”
So I told him about Shigeko, and the whaling moratorium, and Greenpeace, and all the rest. I thought I did pretty well. I stuck to the facts. The whole story came out. I told him about Shigeko’s life spent as a whaler, and how Greenpeace had dogged him, and what he had said in those final few moments before the collision. “They take my life; I will take theirs”. His final epitaph. I thought if I had the chance, I might have those final words engraved on a sliver of metal and cast them into the sea.
It took a while. He had many questions, and I answered them truthfully. For the most part. I stuck with my cover story. Finally, he seemed satisfied, and he summoned a crewman to escort me back to the makeshift medical ward. On the way, we passed a Tsiali-wa crewman, escorted by a Japanese-American sailor on their way to the Captain’s quarters.
We arrived at the crew’s bunk, and I was overjoyed to notice that Cindy was awake. She looked tired, and confused, but she was apparently unharmed. I grabbed a couple of cups of coffee from the machine against the wall, and gave her one. We drank our coffee in silence, letting its warmth invade our chilled bodies. That was the best cup of coffee I ever had, even if it was stale. We formally introduced ourselves. We chatted about our adventures, and thanked each other.
“Just what the hell were you doing aboard a Japanese whaler?” she asked suspiciously.
Here we go again. So I went through the whole story again, for her. I again stuck with my cover story. I noticed what I thought was a hint of relief in her eyes, when she realized I was not exactly in the camp of the whale killers. I tried to impart to her a sense of Shigeko’s story. I don’t know if she got my point or not. She said she thought that he got what he deserved. She had a lot of friends onboard the Star of New Wales, friends who had not survived. She almost started crying as she said that.
“Well, I don’t know who deserves what”, I replied. “Shigeko’s final actions cannot be excused, but he struck me as an honorable man who was just trying to make a living. He was desperate at the end. I’m not trying to excuse him. I am truly sorry for your loss. I’m just telling you that things were a lot more complicated than they appeared.” I babbled a little more. I was walking a thin line. I didn’t want this woman to think I was a monstrous whale killer, but I felt honor bound to defend my late friend.
She seemed to understand. She at least seemed to be lost deep in thought, and we spent a few minutes in silence. My estimation of her leaped another step higher. This was a deep woman. I had at first thought maybe she might be one of those brain-less do-gooders. You know the kind of person I’m talking about. One of those people who stood on ideals, regardless of the practical concerns which inevitably surrounded the great issues. The kind of person who helped kill nuclear power in the seventies. The kind of person who believed the military should be abolished, despite the presence of evil in the world which the military guarded against. The kind of person who believed in pyramid power, and magnet power, and all sorts of other new-age concepts. Let me tell you, I am no ruthless, church-going, evolution bashing, abortion hating, militarist neo-con, by any means. You, my friends, know what I stand for. I have my own ideals. But I recognize the fact that the world is not perfect, and never will be. Any issue large enough to invite world-wide debate carried with it complications, and compromises, and consequences no matter which way you turned. Otherwise, there would be no debate.
We continued chatting. She told me about Greenpeace, and how their idealism attracted her. She admitted that there were some things she disliked about such extremism. But she sincerely believed that the world could be improved. It was only necessary to take action, to go beyond sitting around moaning about how screwed up things were. If everybody took a stand, the world would be a much better place. In turn, I told her about my researches into whaling, about how a way of life had been stolen from the Japanese and others, without the faintest trace of evidence that it was the right thing to do. I asked her to go look up both sides of the story when we got back, and she assured me that she would do so.
We moved on to our life stories. She had been a hell-raiser when she was
young, before she grew up enough to start caring for others besides herself. She had
married three times. She lived now in
We talked for hours. The more we talked, the more I fell in love with her. I felt for her, I experienced her joys and disappointments in life. Yes, I admit it. I am such a sap for a sad story. But I had had a tough life also. I felt like I deserved something more out of life than I was getting. I deserved something beyond laboring for the benefit of that cold fish lingering in the lake. But I also realized that until I accomplished my goals, until I could be completely honest with this beautiful, wonderfully complex woman, there could be no lasting relationship. It was a bittersweet realization. I searched my mind for a way out of this dilemma, but no solution came to mind.
We finally talked ourselves out. I wanted her to keep talking, just so I could continue gazing into her face. But we finally just ran out of things to say. We were both exhausted. She asked me to come up to her bunk, to erase the chill we both still felt and to make contact with another human, however brief and temporary. I obliged, and I finally fell asleep with her body resting against mine.
We awoke to the sound of klaxons. I leapt out of the bunk, only to be pushed into my bunk to avoid the rush of crewmen passing down the corridor. Cindy came down to join me. We tried to ask a crewman what was happening, but he ignored us as he rushed on to his post. Finally, the corridor was empty. I made a decision.
“Come on”, I said, and grabbed her hand. We got up and made our way down the corridors, up the steps, finally reaching the control room along the path I had taken the day before. We entered and stood in a corner, observing the busy crew, efficiently assessing the situation as it played out on their monitors. They were too busy to deal with us right now, which suited me just fine. Captain Berenson was standing behind one of the crewmen, staring intensely at a screen which displayed incomprehensible gibberish. I picked up a little from the conversation among the men. Something about a radar contact. The radar man was calling out range and bearing to the contact. I couldn’t make sense of the numbers. I could only tell that whatever it was out there had them spooked.
“Okay, secure the conn”, barked Berenson. “I’m going to have a look.” He went to a hatch overhead and spun it open. He started climbing the ladder up to the conning tower, following by a couple of crewmen. I waited until the ladder was clear and saw my chance. I dragged Cindy with me as I came to the ladder. I started climbing, and she followed. One crewman called out as we went, but apparently could not leave his station. I came up in the crowded conning tower compartment. It was dark, and the seas were rough. Berenson and his crewmen were scanning the horizon with binoculars, and they ignored me. Cindy came up behind me. I looked around, but could see nothing.
Cindy was the first to see it. “James, what is that?” she asked, pointing straight overhead. I looked up and saw nothing at first, only a slightly darker discoloration in the black of the sky. It grew perceptibly as I stared.
Berenson turned to us. “What the devil are you doing here?” he asked menacingly.
I pointed up, and he turned his binoculars in the indicated direction. He cursed softly. I looked up again. The discoloration had turned to a dark black void, blotting out the few stars visible through the clouds. It was still growing, now occupying a good one third of the hemisphere of the sky. I heard a noise, a high pitched whine almost at the upper limits of hearing. It was accompanied by a deep bass murmur which was more felt than heard. We all stood staring at the apparition. Berenson abandoned his binoculars.
“Okay, Miner, you’re the scientist”, Berenson snapped. “What is it?”
“I’m not sure”, I said, still unwilling to admit I was not a scientist. I tried to think of something scholarly to say, but my mind came up blank.
Cindy spoke up. “It almost looks like a…a flying saucer. You remember that movie, Independence Day?”
Berenson shook his head in anger. He seemed about ready to toss us overboard. “Fucking civilians” was all he said as he continued staring overhead. He glanced at Cindy. “Fucking Greenpeace”, he muttered.
At that instance, a brilliant light shone out from the middle of the black object. We shaded our eyes, but continued staring. It started growing in size, and resolved into a rectangular beacon of brilliance against the black. The wind picked up. The rectangle of light was growing. “It’s a door!” I shouted, over the wind. An even brighter beam emerged from the rectangle, illuminating us with a harsh green light.
“Alright” shouted Berenson. “Everybody back downstairs! Now!” His crewmen rushed to obey his order and headed into the hatch and down the ladder.
But before Cindy and I could follow suit, the submarine gave a lurch which knocked us all off our feet. The hull started vibrating. The high pitched noise became a scream, and the bass notes rumbled in my stomach, making me nauseous. I felt the distinct feeling of acceleration, like one feels when an elevator starts going up. I looked up and saw the bright rectangle growing even faster. The black shape around it was growing as well, and now stretched almost horizon to horizon. I pulled myself to my feet and glanced over the railing. The wind was now a hurricane, and I struggled to maintain my grip as I gazed at the sea. It was receding from us. Water flowed down the sides of the hull, and fell down to the sea far below. I finally got it. “They’re lifting us!” I shouted. “They’re pulling us in!”
Another lurch knocked me off my feet once again. Cindy grabbed me and held me down. Berenson was struggling to regain his footing, but the vibration was too intense to stand up now. The bright rectangle of light now filled the horizon. It was too intense to look at, and I finally had to avert my gaze and shield my eyes. I sat up on my haunches and looked out at the sea. The dark line of the horizon was swallowed by the even darker black of the shape. That was overtaken by the light of the rectangle slowly engulfing us. The light burned my eyes, and I fell back to the deck and buried my face in Cindy’s bosom.
There was a loud clap, and the noise suddenly stopped. The vibrations stopped, and there was no more wind. The light went out, and we were plunged into total darkness and silence, broken only by our labored and panicky breathing. We lay where we were, wondering what would happen next. We lay there for eternal seconds. I heard sounds coming from where Berenson had fallen. There was an eruption of voices from the control room below us. A voice came out from the conning tower intercom, calling for the Captain. I heard Berenson answer, assuring them that we were okay. The voice said that they were coming up, and Berenson told them negative, to stay at their stations.
A spotlight came on from above us, casting harsh light on the conning tower compartment. I looked into Cindy’s face. She seemed okay, if a bit panicked. I looked over at Berenson, sitting on his legs with the intercom mike in his hand, with a shocked look on his face. I turned back to Cindy and we hugged each other desperately. At that moment, the spotlight flashed brilliantly, blinding me. I could see tiny blue dots in my field of vision, but nothing else. All went silent again.
The three of us sat there for a moment, each trying to recover our vision. Slowly, I started making out our surroundings. I came to the slow realization that we were no longer in the conning tower. We were in a room. A white, featureless room. There was a white floor, a white ceiling, and white walls about twenty feet away. There was light, but no way to tell where it was coming from. I got to my feet and pulled Cindy up. We stared in amazement around us. Berenson was up as well, turning a complete circle as he stared. He turned back to us.
“Alright, scientist” he said, with a derisive tone in his voice at the second word. “What’s your assessment?”
“We’ve obviously been abducted”, I said. I started ad-libbing, anxious to keep my cover intact. “By aliens. They captured your sub with some kind of ray. They have transported us into this room, probably using anti-neutron technology. They are no doubt studying us at this moment. Measuring our pulse, our breathing, our alpha waves. Gauging our response to stress. That would be my guess.”
“No shit, Sherlock”, said Cindy in a frightened voice. “It doesn’t take a scientist to figure that out. It’s what aliens do. Any second now, they’re going to send their machines in and start with their probes. Do you have any more brilliant observations?”
I was a little shocked at her response. And a little hurt. “There’s no cause to be rude”, I said, in a tone perhaps a little more brusque than I should have used. “There’s no reason to think that they will hurt us. They are obviously very intelligent beings. Let’s not jump to conclusions.” My calm tone belied my true state. My heart was racing a mile a minute as I sat there waiting to see what was next. I knew that someone had to be a calming influence in these circumstances.
“Please don’t patronize me, you pompous son of a bitch…”
“Alright!” snapped Berenson. “Enough of that. Listen! Something’s happening.”
Sure enough, there was a soft humming. Parts of the floor started rising. Indentations formed into shapes in the floor just in front of us. A trio of white sofas materialized. I could not believe my eyes. They were very comfortable looking sofas. I went over to one.
“Don’t sit on it, James!” Cindy shouted, her voice on the edge of panic.
“What? It’s just a sofa.” I sat down. It was indeed very comfortable. I relaxed as the exhaustion hit me. I had not sat in anything so relaxing for a long time. I patted the cushion next to me. “Come on, sweetheart. It’s okay.”
She came over and tentatively touched the cushion. She sat down, very gingerly, on the edge of the seat. Nothing happened.
“See? It’s perfectly fine. No probes.” I said that last with a slight emphasis, and a very faint mocking tone. I was still smarting over what she had said. I don’t think she noticed.
She slid over to me and gave me a bear hug. “James, I’m so sorry I called you a pompous son of a bitch.” I gave her arm a slight squeeze and made reassuring noises. I looked over at Berenson, who remained standing, looking at us with disgust on his face.
“You may as well relax, Captain” I told him. “It’s what they want. They want us to be reassured. They’re not going to hurt us.” Cindy seemed to be relaxing. Berenson was still very tense.
He relented and sat down on the sofa next to us. There was another soft humming noise. Coffee tables rose up before us, each with a steaming white coffee pot and white mugs. I picked up a mug, and made as if to read a legend on the side. “Property of Betelgeuse Cafes, Incorporated”, I joked. I poured a cup for Cindy and myself. I took a sip. “Ummm, quite exquisite”, I told her. “Irish Cream, if I’m not mistaken.” She picked up her cup and took a sip. She smiled at me as she savored the hot coffee. She wrapped her hands around the mug, warming them. She sat back and relaxed, and I put my arm around her.
Berenson didn’t touch his coffee. I guess he was a tea man. He sat there with a sour, discontented look on his face.
“Alright!” he spoke out, talking to the walls. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Please make yourselves at home”, said a disembodied voice from nowhere in particular. “Are you comfortable?”
I felt Cindy tense beside me. Hell, I admit it; I jumped more than she did at the sound of that soft, urbane voice. I think even Berenson had been taken by surprise. We looked around us, and we saw nothing but white walls. Cindy was the first to regain her composure.
“Yes, we are quite comfortable now, thank you very much.” Her look of fear had been replaced by a look of wonder.
“Excellent”, said the voice. “Well, I suppose we should get started.” The humming noise began again. A bump showed in the wall in front us. It grew into a large white box, and moved slowly toward us. As it approached, the front started becoming transparent. It stopped when it was maybe six feet in front of us. We sat there and stared into the face of…it.
It was sitting in a large white box, with a transparent screen facing us. It sat on a stool with its rear pair of legs tucked behind it. Most of its abdomen was hidden behind the stool. Its middle pair of legs rested in front and supported its long, sleek, fur coated thorax. Its front pair of legs were modified into manipulating arms. The thorax tapered to a thin neck, supporting its large head. The head had a pair of mandibles, a complicated set of tentacles or feelers above, and three pairs of eyes. It was a deep green, with various shades along the length of its body. The head towered above us, extending maybe eight feet above the floor.
“My god!” said Berenson. “It’s a fucking eight-foot grasshopper!”
But that was not quite it. I thought that, judging from the way the arms folded down in front of it, a better description would be a praying mantis. But that was only an approximation. There was no creature in the entire earthly catalogue of life that completely fit this being. It was truly unearthly.
As we sat there staring in incredulity, it reached out its arms into the screen in front. The screen wrapped tightly around its arms and stretched into a pair of gloves, forming an airtight seal between us and whatever poisonous atmosphere it breathed. I sat back in fear, thinking it was reaching for us. But no, it gingerly picked up the coffee pot in front of us and poured itself a cup, and then picked up the mug and lifted it to its complex mouthparts. The screen stretched into the shape of its mandible as it leaned forward to drink. I wondered how it was going to drink through the presumably impermeable membrane. But it had no difficulty as a proboscis descended from its mouth, pierced the screen, and it took a dainty draft. It then set the cup down, sat back, and uttered a gentle “ahhhhh”.
“You may call me Boolux”, it said. “That is only an approximation of my true name, but I have found over the years that it is much easier on the human vocal apparatus.”
“Pleased to meet you, Boolux”, said Cindy. “I am Cindy, this is James, and that is Captain Berenson.” I was amazed at her. One second, she had been panicked to the point of irrationality, and the next she was courteously exchanging formalities with an alien insect. What a girl.
“I assume by what you said”, she continued, “that you have been here for some time.”
“Oh yes, quite some time” it replied, equally courteous.
“I knew it!” she exclaimed. She was up out of her seat in her excitement. “And you have had contact with humans before?” Berenson and I exchanged surprised glances, marveling at how she had taken over this encounter.
“Yes, I have”, it replied. It reached out and took another delicate sip of coffee.
She turned to us. “Don’t you realize what this means?” she asked us both as we stared at her with blank faces. “All the tales of contact are true! We are not alone! Think of the things Boolux can teach us. Think about it! Boolux can guide us through these bleak times. No more war! No more disease! It is mankind’s greatest boon!”
“Well, I think there are some things I should share with you right at the beginning” it said.
“By all means!” she exclaimed in jubilation as she sat back down and placed her hand in mine. I was so proud of her. I wanted nothing more than to kiss her, and I nuzzled my face against her neck. “James, we are ambassadors for the human race. Pay attention.”
“Hear my story, then” it began. “I am from a different galaxy, many thousands
of light years away. I am of the race of Telaxium. Eons ago my people sent out emissaries, to
scour the galaxies for life forms like ourselves. I arrived on earth long before the human race
arose from its simian ancestors. I
watched and waited, eager to see what new form of
intelligence was to spring from the primordial nursery. I saw the Australopithecines arise in
“I watched and waited. My prime directive was that I must not interfere. I longed to help. I yearned to assist this new species, Homo Sapiens, as it struggled for survival in the strange, dangerous world it found itself in. I resisted. The Telaxium philosophy was that each race should reach its potential at its own pace. None may interfere. We are a proud race, but we are not so arrogant that we believe that we are the apex of creation. No, all races must develop of their own accord, and maybe someday we will see a race surpass our own. That is our prime directive.”
“I
watched and waited as the first human civilizations sprang up in
“I started taking council with individuals, guiding them, instructing them, teaching them. They in turn passed these things on to their peoples. I taught them metal working, and agriculture, and the fermentation of the grape. I gave them laws. I gave them writing, and numbers. I taught them how to domesticate the beasts. I hid my form from them, for I knew my visage was unlovely to their viewing. I spoke to them through devices I planted.”
“You became our silent benefactor”, said Cindy in awe. “You must have been God-like to those people.”
“I was indeed. I was
known by many names: El, Allah, Yahweh,
Baal,
I was feeling distinctly uneasy about all of this. All of those things it taught us. It should have left us alone to learn those things for ourselves. It had violated its own dictates, and had made us in its own image.
“And there is so much more you can teach us”, said Cindy. “We are a race in crisis. We are on the brink of destroying ourselves. Guide us. Protect us. Let us enter the community of the cosmos.”
It continued. “I was so pleased with your progress, which seemed to advance in geometric progression. In my pride, I believed that it would not be long before you were ready indeed to meet my race. But something went wrong.”
There was a silence. Cindy was speechless in anticipation. I thought I could see what it was getting at. I sat silently listening to see if it confirmed my suspicions.
“Your pace in technological invention exceeded your ethical development. It all happened so much more slowly for my race. We had plenty of time to firmly develop ethical guidelines before we were capable of destroying ourselves. How could I have known that it could proceed otherwise? But it did. And I came to realize that it was my fault. I had been the cause. In my pride and passion, I did not see the logical consequences of my actions. The prime directive was there for a reason. But I ignored it. And I realized that I had spoiled your race.”
“It was then that word came back from my people. No, I was not to interfere. The prime directive must remain in effect. After millennia of interference, I received word that I was not to do what I had already done. I was distraught beyond all reason, but I saw the truth in what my people told me. It was there before my eyes. This was what happened if we interfered. I resolved to reverse the damage I had done. I created anti-technological sects. I created churches opposing other churches which I created. I spread lies and dissemination, all in an attempt to stop you from developing the weapons to destroy yourselves before you had the ethical tools to deal with them.”
“Now your race entered the 20th century, and it clung to its existence by a thread. I did all I could. I created communism. I created Nazism. I preached creationism. I preached racism. All in an effort to stop you from going forward. I tried to stop Einstein, and Fermi, and Dirac, and Oppenheimer, but I failed. Your race was now speeding headlong without my help. You were a runaway train, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.”
Cindy had been silent for a while, but now she spoke up. “But surely, if you just started talking to our leaders again, and continued your teaching, you would turn the tide. The human race can be reasonable. We can be taught. You’ve shown that yourself. Don’t give up on us, Boolux.”
“I cannot do that. I will not interfere anymore. The human race must teach itself to survive. It must teach itself the ethics of survival and it must apply them to itself, and to other races it encounters. You see, there is another aspect to the Prime Directive. The ethics of survival are paramount, and they must be learned in all their detail. If you do not learn them, we cannot allow you to loose yourselves on the universe. The human race must sink or swim of its own accord. There is no more I can do.”
“Then why did you capture us?” she asked, beginning to show anger.
“I did not capture you”, it said. “It was an accident. I was distracted. I had received orders to return to my home. I was taking one final survey of Earth, and then I was to depart. You were accidentally sucked into my anti-gravity drive.”
She was silent for the moment. I was speechless, as I’m sure Berenson was. She was our spokesperson; I fervently hoped she could think of something to say. But she was silent. Her face betrayed her misery, her anger, and her devastation. But she stayed silent. Boolux finished its coffee, and poured another cup for us and itself. I cleared my throat, just to break the silence, but had nothing to say. Berenson fidgeted nervously, tugging at his belt.
Finally, Cindy broke the silence. “Then I guess there is nothing more to say. We will survive, I assure you. We will become citizens of the universe and will prove you wrong.”
“That may be”, it said. “I hope and pray that is the case.”
“Then would you please return my friends and me to our world”, she said. “There is much we have to think about, and I’m sure you have a long journey ahead of you.”
“I’m afraid that is impossible”, it said after an infinitesimal pause. “I have revealed myself to you. That in itself is a form of interference. I cannot allow you to bring your story back to the human world. That would create more damage. I am afraid you must accompany me to my world. Don’t worry, though. I will put you into suspended animation for much of the four thousand year journey.”
“Like hell you will”, interrupted Berenson. He held something up, a small device that fit into the palm of his hand. “Do you know what this is?”
“That’s a pager, Captain”, I replied, since the alien did not look like it was not going to respond. “What are you going to do?”
“I have just transmitted a code to my crew”, he said. “They have just loaded and armed a Poseidon missile with a ten megaton warhead. It is presently on terminal countdown. If I am not back in 45 seconds, that missile will launch and blast you, your ship, and us to kingdom come. I’m willing to bet that even you cannot withstand a ten megaton detonation.” He glanced at his watch.
The alien seemed confused. “You wouldn’t dare”, it said uncertainly.
“I assure you, I am perfectly serious. Forty seconds.”
“This is unethical”, it said. “It is beyond my understanding”. It turned to address Cindy. “Is this how you think you will become citizens of the universal brotherhood? By threatening me?”
“Hey, don’t blame us, buster”, Cindy said. “You’re the one who made us what we are today.” I silently cheered to myself. Way to go, Cindy! You go, girl!
“Thirty seconds”, said Berenson.
“I don’t think my people will look kindly upon this”, it said.
“Well, come back in about eight thousand years and tell us all about it”, said Cindy. “In the meantime, please get your incompetent stinking bug ass off our planet.”
“Twenty seconds”, said Berenson.
The alien’s box retreated quickly into the wall. The sofas sunk into the floor, there was a bright flash of light, and we were back in the conning tower of the submarine. We grabbed handholds as the sub started its long fall to the sea. We hit the water just as the missile spewed out of its tube in a burst of flame and launched toward the flying saucer high above it. The saucer was rapidly receding, and it was now a race between alien and human technology. Not surprisingly, the missile lost the race. But not by much. We watched its flame as it arced high above us. Its engine finally petered out, and it was lost to sight. I eagerly scanned the sky for traces of it.
“Don’t worry about it”, said Berenson. “It’s a dud. We’re not authorized for nuclear arms on this mission. But that bastard didn’t know that.”
We were not out of trouble yet. The sub started taking on water, and we started sinking. There was a leak in the forward torpedo room. The flood of water destroyed our buoyancy, and we swiftly sank. The crew worked hard to seal it off, and finally we stabilized at a depth of about 600 feet. They snaked in an air line, but it would take a long time to evacuate that much water. They tried firing up the engines, but something had fouled the props.
Cindy and I spent much of that time lying together in her bunk, still getting to know each other. We hung up a blanket to give ourselves a little privacy. We did not have sex. We did not have that much privacy. I also sensed that Cindy was holding herself back. But we knew we had plenty of time for that later. Right now, it was sufficient just to hold on to each other and talk. We discussed what we would reveal of our adventures. We finally decided that we would reveal nothing, because nobody would believe us. The crew could say what they would, but our story would be that we had blacked out and had not come to until the missile had come roaring out of its launch tube.
After eighteen hours under, we finally came back to the surface. Berenson hailed me and asked me to come to the conning tower. Cindy came with me.
“You’re the marine biologist”, Berenson said to me as we arrived. “Take a look at this. Isn’t this your specialty?” He pointed toward the stern. I looked, and saw pink tentacles wrapped around the rearmost end of the sub, near the props. I couldn’t believe my eyes, but I raced along the deck to the stern. I examined the tentacles. The smaller swimming tentacles. The larger feeding tentacles, with their enlarged ends studded in suckers. I looked at the creature’s body, half in and half out of the water. The giant dead eyes staring at me, as big as basketballs. It was indeed my specialty. Architeuthis. Squalamastoid. I asked for a pint bottle. I jumped into the frigid water, and swam to the nozzle near the tail end of the creature. I reached in and massaged the ink sac. I was immediately covered in black. I didn’t care. They brought me my bottle and I filled it. I was overjoyed as they hauled me out, clinging to my small bottle of Squalamastoid ink. I was shivering, and Cindy immediately brought me back to our bunk. She covered me in blankets, and jumped in beside me and warmed me.
As luck would have it, the first rescuer was a Japanese
vessel. The remnants of the Tsiali-wa’s crew transferred to the vessel. I knew I had to be on that vessel. I had to get back to
But when I told Cindy and asked her to come with me, she just eyed me with a sad look. She asked why I didn’t want to go back to the States. I told her I couldn’t tell her; that I had something I needed to do. She told me she had something she needed to do as well. She had to get back to her children and grandchildren, and let them know she was safe. She had some unfinished business with her husband. She asked me to come with her. I told I couldn’t do that, and she nodded her head in understanding. She told me to come to Sedona when I was done doing what I had to do; that she would wait for me. I said I would do that. I told her I would travel from one end of the earth to the other if I had to, just to return to her sweet embrace.
It was as I had feared. Until I shook the curse of the King Fish, I would know no happiness. I boarded the Japanese freighter and we departed. I waved until she was lost from view. I still stood on the stern, long after she was gone from my sight, and the sun had sunk below the horizon. I thought about my own children, and how I missed them. Then I went below and slept. I slept, and I wept in my sleep.