Biologist Jones held his counsel until invited to give an opinion.
“It is my belief we can never release the Stone Man. He frightens me. Although solidly encased, his eyes focus on me, demon driven. On release, he will create havoc, smash and kill. He will need psychiatric drugs and treatment inside his casing to normalise him.
“The one hundred crew on the factory ship suffered a huge traumatic attack from the dredged up mutated Pinna nobilis shells. The crews’ eyes are wild too. They never went beneath the waves. Wrapped and trapped in daylight they cannot move, but they are not in suspended animation. It will not be long before their struggle to escape will exhaust them to death. That cannot be allowed to happen. We should release them in a secure establishment, preferably military, returning them to their home nation when deemed fit.
“The four trot boat crew who drowned on the Seven Stones reef amaze me. They were not attacked. They had no contact with the mutated Pinna nobilis shells. But they were coated in normal Pinna nobilis saliva. Unlike the wild Stone Man and wild factory ship crew, the trot boat crew are at peace. We all believe them to be alive as if some ‘Soul of the Sea’ took care of them. We should release them. They would be ideal for your research programmes.
“From a biologist viewpoint, I have the enzymes to dissolve their saliva casings and would be honoured to oversee the release effort.”
Jones’ logic was accepted. A team of medics led by Jones set about organising the conditions of bringing back to earthly life four men who had been ‘hibernating’ under the sea for two decades. To reduce the shock of coming around in a clinical laboratory, Jones was adamant the team should move to the Sardinian island, Sant Antioco. The crew’s recovery would be on their home soil in their fishing village surroundings. Jones was certain a collective consciousness existed between Senora Vigo, the Pinna nobilis shells and the fishermen, united in a belief in ‘the Soul of the Sea’. Little would have changed on Sant Antioco except for the loss of the trot boat. The biblical homecoming of the trot boat’s four long lost men would be a joyous miracle.
Jones was welling up at the thought of witnessing the miracle of the century.
It took five days for the chartered vessel to sail to Sant Antioco. The island was a bastion of excitement. This was a homecoming for islanders and only islanders. The priest had wanted to lead the Holy Miracle. Jones absolutely refused. He did not want the trot boat crew to wake amongst religious regalia, chanting and incense. The shock might kill them. Jones won the day threatening to take the crew back to Plymouth.
And so, a family reception in working surroundings of nets and lobster pots was set up on the quayside where the trot boat usually tied up. Medical gear, resuscitation equipment, oxygen, adrenalin and beds were hidden in the fish market room at the rear of the mooring.
Jones had inward shakes. This public resurrection could go tragically wrong. Heart, lungs and organs may have atrophied. Skeletons may have gone rigid. Brains may have turned to water or shrunk. Perhaps he should have enlivened one crew member in the Plymouth lab first, out of the public gaze.
Too late! Jones realised he had been driven by an unshakeable faith in ‘the Soul of the Sea’. Where that strong faith had come from, he had no idea. This was no time to doubt and lose that faith. He instructed the technicians to prepare the case softening enzymes, lysozyme and chitinase. He asked the medics to make the crew comfortable on the hospital stretcher beds. Finally, the medical equipment had to be tested and in readiness.
The moment of trust in faith. The technicians applied the enzymes brushing them liberally into the hardened saliva coating. It softened. After a couple of hours, the coating recovered its beard and thread consistency. Jones took the initiative to start prising the coating away from a crew member. He was surprised that the clothing had not deteriorated. The ‘body’ remained asleep. The medics had been told to wait until there was an indication of life before moving in with the resuscitation gear.
Hours passed. Jones had hardly breathed in that time. Faith deserted him. He dropped to his knees in despair. But he did not despair. He prayed to ‘the Soul of the Sea’.
It seemed an eternity before he heard a technician say very quietly, “Jones, an eyelid has just flickered!”
Jones passed out.
The leading medic ignored Jones and got a saline drip into the crewman. He ignored pleas to get him into hospital. “Fishermen are tough. His family want to see him walk out of here and greet them.” The medic knew it would be a slow process but getting fluids and nutrients into the patient was essential.
Jones sat up, revived, ebullient that his faith had been rewarded.
The crewman began to talk. His limbs began to change position, twitching in the smallest of movements. Jones called for a translator. He was intrigued to know what had gone through the man’s mind during two decades under the sea.
The answer was, “Nothing.” The crewman remembered taking a deep breath and seeing a vision of Saint Bisso as he reached
