The Twice Lost

Even without binoculars they could all see the tiny figure leaping high above the waves now, her long tail breaching as she spun in midair. She was probably brown-skinned, and her copper scales gave off flashes of ruby shine even in the morning dusk. After she splashed down, a second figure leaped, smaller and paler, her tail a light smoky blue. They appeared to be taking turns seeing how high they could go, completely oblivious of the danger creeping toward them. They looked so carefree, so joyful and innocent.

The only antidote to feelings of tenderness for these creatures was, the major reminded himself, a carefully cultivated loathing.

The boat slithered closer, its darkness blending with the slick black shoreline. It almost seemed like all the stealth wasn’t necessary, though. Whenever the mermaids surfaced they were always facing the other way. If it was indeed the case that some of the mermaids who’d escaped had been warning the rest of them, the news obviously hadn’t reached these two.

There was the flash of a third tail, a purple one, a little way to one side. Probably there was a whole tribe of them lounging right around that bend in the shore. The major started calculating. If they shot a bunch of mermaids out in the water they’d have to be extremely careful not to be seen by anyone at any stage of the procedure. The operation was still dead secret. And there would be the hassle of hiding the bodies, though one of those empty caves they’d found ought to do the job.

The copper-tailed one flung herself skyward again and pirouetted in space, coming down with an enormous splash. The boat was only fifty yards away now and still the mermaids seemed utterly thoughtless, as naive as the children they decidedly weren’t. In a few more seconds he’d give the order to gun the silent engines, rush the mermaids, and attack. Blue-tail somersaulted then dipped below the water. It would be best to charge at a moment when all three heads were above the surface, shoot them all simultaneously before they had a chance to realize what was happening.

As if on cue, all three heads appeared close together, their shoulders gleaming in the dull blue light. They appeared to be talking, maybe laughing at something, though of course the major’s helmet kept him from hearing anything outside the network of microphones and speakers that linked him to his men. He shook his head and smiled grimly.

It was almost ludicrous how reckless these mermaids were being. If he didn’t know better, the major might have thought they wanted to get caught. Maybe they did. Maybe their guilt drove them to it. The men had their spear guns up, ready to fire. Geffen looked back at him from the cabin, waiting for the signal. He nodded brusquely at the pilot, and the boat accelerated in perfect silence, hurtling almost to the spot where the mermaids laughed.

When he looked back at the low, dim waves there was nothing. No, that was one of them . . . or no, it was only a seal . . .

The boat was still ebbing forward a bit from the momentum. On all sides there was only the stone-colored roll of the water, dancing trails of shadow, blackish scrolls that seemed to be hair until he focused his gaze on them and they turned back into weeds. All he could hear was the electrical hum of his helmet and the layered rhythms of his men’s exhalations against their built-in microphones. He usually tuned out the noise of their breathing, but somehow it was more intrusive now, as if it might be louder and quicker than he was used to . . . as if . . .

The world started spinning, slowly at first, like a merry-go-round just getting underway.

All the major could think for a moment was that he must be hallucinating. The dim blue world swept ragged trees across his vision as if it wanted to brush his eyes out of his head . . . then tarnished water . . . trees again, a diving cormorant, a sense of infinite distance.

“Major?”

He snapped back to the sight of his men stumbling or pressed up against the boat’s sides. The helmets hid everything but their worried, disoriented eyes. They were rotating at shocking speed now, each view of trees no more than a whiplash of passing darkness. Even worse, a mysterious circular blue wall seemed to be rising around them.

It was either that or . . .”Get us out of here!”

“I can’t, major! We’re in a funnel; we’re—”

“Gun the goddamn engines and get us out!”

He found himself staggering back and crashing down on top of one of his fallen men. His stomach lurched and speed hammered at his head. The centrifugal force was now so great that it was a struggle to shift his leg a few inches to one side. Through the cabin’s open door he saw Geffen’s body swinging in midair as he tried to keep his grip on the wheel; then the pilot lost his hold and smashed screaming into the wall. His wasn’t the only voice: the screams were all amplified by the helmets, throbbing into an intolerable, collective yowl.

It had to be Luce. She was the only one of those damn tails who could do something like this. She’d used the others as bait and lured the boat there.

Beyond the boat there was nothing but a blue blur of void, a towering emptiness. Blots of foam flew overhead. How far were they from the surface? Their suits would provide oxygen, of course. They wouldn’t drown, unless . . .

A few of the men looked like they’d lost consciousness.

The spinning slowed and the tall blue walls caved in.

* * *

“We should rip their helmets off while they’re still dizzy. Dispose of them.” The mermaids had darted some distance away then stopped to gaze back at the scene they’d created after drawing that boat to a spot where the water was especially deep. Through the rippling gray they could just make out the floundering shapes of the divers as they pulled free of their fast-descending boat, most of them dragging comrades who apparently couldn’t swim on their own.

“No.” The smallest of the three mermaids flicked her blue tail. “We stopped them for now, and we showed them enough that they’ll be scared about what they’re doing. We’re not going to kill them!”

“They’re murderers,” the brown-skinned mermaid hissed. “They don’t deserve to live.”

“Dana . . . you’re a murderer too. So am I. Someone has to stop first. We should just hurry up and get away from here.”

“Dang,” the purple-tailed mermaid sniped, but she was laughing in exhilaration at what she’d just witnessed. It was incredible what these two could do when they deliberately joined their voices that way, and now they were starting to teach her, too. “You really do talk like that, that crazy—”

“Are you surprised, J’aime?” Violet retorted. “I told you who my queen is.”

14 Pharaoh’s Army

It was evening again; in a few hours they’d all head out to sea for another round of training. It was going better than she’d dared to hope and Luce knew she should be happy; even Catarina had stopped objecting. But as Luce gazed across the light-streaked bay, anxiety kept twisting through her like cold wires binding her insides. More refugees were turning up every day, and while some of them were too rattled to do much but lie in the hammocks and stare at the nightmares spinning through their heads, others were all too eager to join Luce’s growing army.

The bay was getting crowded. It sometimes seemed like half the surviving mermaids on the West Coast must be living there now, under warehouses and rotting piers or in half-sunk boats. There were even larvae, and of course it was hard to make them understand how important it was not to let themselves be seen. Sooner or later the humans would realize mermaids were out there, and it was just plain dumb strategically to have everyone concentrated in a relatively small area with only one exit. More than once Luce had gone to scout out the Golden Gate, just in case, trying to determine if it would be feasible for the humans to block their escape route.

She couldn’t tell, though. Luce had to admit to herself that she just didn’t know enough to guess; she might be worrying for nothing, or she might be setting everyone up for death by letting them stay here.