Mermaid: _Fin_

By: KeikoJade
I awoke slowly, and then regretted it. My face was a pillow of painful
bruises. My throat was swollen. I ached and hurt from scalp to fluke. It
even hurt to breathe. I was lying on my stomach on a stretcher, and I
didn't have to wiggle much to find I was securely fastened to it by what
felt like duct tape. It felt like I was draped with a wet blanket.
I was blindfolded. It felt like I had heavy headphones on my ears, and
my hearing was drowned in white noise. I could sense only the vibration
of the chopper's rotors, which I knew from my Marine Corps days.
Isolated from my senses, I couldn't probe the minds of my captors.
Without knowing my situation, I didn't dare to start another SEAL fight.
From the emotions I detected, it felt like the fight had mostly been
taken out of them, anyway. But as I paid attention, I felt rage, which
piqued my interest.
As I lay there panic welled up in my mind. But it was quelled by my
recent beating and the aftereffects of adrenalin. Emotion flooded me as
I realized the situation I was in and I suddenly felt like crying.
However, I was afraid that sobbing would reveal the fact that I was
conscious. I didn't know if it'd bring the sting of a hypo. Perhaps my
captors had already drugged me, and thought I was sedated. It was
imperative to remain conscious as my training in the Marines had
informed me that the best way to opportunity to evade capture was during
transition to a more secure area.
I calmed my mind using the meditative techniques I'd honed. I slowly
quelled emotion and gathered control and focus. I suddenly felt a warm
hand on my bare shoulder. It slid to my tenderized neck to take my
pulse. It was then I realized that the sensation of touch served as yet
another conduit for my powers. I pushed toward the hand's owner.
Sight and sound crashed into me. I was kneeling over my body in the
troop compartment of the CH-53. We were in flight. The SEALS sat slumped
in mesh jump seats along the sides of the chopper, and at least a dozen
were laid on the floor, unconscious or too broken to sit up. The ones
who could still walk, of which I counted eight, including the chopper's
crew chief, were occupied with the wounded.
The men looked like they'd survived a nuclear assault. To a man, they
were a mess of swollen cheeks, sealed eyes, broken, bleeding noses, and
swollen, sliced fists. Many were missing teeth. The majority seemed to
be barely lucid, their damaged faces slack in disbelief and confusion.
Some hung their head between their legs and vomited from concussion
nausea. They were pulp.
The man I possessed pulled his hand away from me. But my contact with
him was secure. I probed his mind. Who was he? He was a cetacean expert
for the Navy. He was a veterinarian for the US Navy Marine Mammal
Program. He'd flown in with the choppers for the pick-up. He was on this
mission to make sure I survived the trip back. I felt compassion in him,
and awe bordering on disbelief. But he was far from being in charge
here. I wanted to know how I had been found. He quickly identified the
man in charge, a SEAL captain sitting a few feet away. The man didn't
have a scratch on him. He was also the only one carrying a firearm.
I made the veterinarian look the captain in the eyes. I pushed, and
jumped into the officer's body.
How had he found me? The answers came in the space of a heartbeat. But
the shock they carried froze my mind.
I flashed to a briefing room. I was this man, seated with a small group
of naval officers. The man was speaking.
" these phone call intercepts were the first clue. We thought 'mermaid'
was probably a codename. But, once we had access to the film they were
working on, there were no doubts."
The man I possessed was a named Charles Donovan. He spoke:
"Interrogation of the film crew has turned up this area as the location
of the subject." He controlled a projector. It showed an overhead view
of the islands I considered home. He zoomed in to a two-meter
resolution. The photo of me lying on the beach was crystal clear.
"Wow," one of the officers said.
"Nice tits," said another.
I had felt a twinge of sadistic gratification from Donovan as he said
the word _interrogation_. I followed the memory chain. Knowledge poured
into me. I saw my friends, one by one, in pairs, cuffed, hands free,
interrogation rooms, briefing rooms.
I saw Audra, kneeling before this man with her hands bound cruelly
behind her back. She was in pain.
_"We have all your fucking footage. It's not a big fucking secret
anymore. What else can she do besides breathe ocean? What's this shit we
heard about mind control? How'd you get the shark to do that shit, was
that her mind control?"_
"I told you before, I don't know. I'm not saying another fucking thing."
"Yes, yes you will. You see, we're sick of your shit. We're sick of
playing nice. We're sick of kicking the shit out of you."
I fast forwarded. Now, the whole crew of _Deep Thinker_ was before this
man, hands bound, kneeling. Everyone except for Ashlen.
"Now," the man said, "We're gonna see if your little friend here can't
establish another record for holding her breath. What's she at now? Like
eight minutes? I guess that makes eight minutes the amount of time you
all have to tell us everything you know about your tailed friend, and
where the fuck she is."
He turned around. Ashlen was strapped to a device that looked like a
backboard. She was crying. The backboard was on an axis through the
middle. There was a large tub of water below her head.
"No!" she screamed. "I'll tell you whatever you want!"
"Too late, Sweety," the man said. He motioned, and the man and the woman
attending the board tilted her head down, right into the water. Her
cries of protest fell silent as her head was plunged into the tub of
water.
"Finally, some peace and quiet from that bitch."
"Hey, you fucking knock it off, now!" Hector screamed, fighting against
his bonds.
"You bloody fuck, I swear to Christ I'm gonna kill you!" Jim shouted.
"You won't get away with this!" Katerine shouted. "You can't!"
"Listen, grandma, you're a bunch of fucking eco-terrorists conspiring
against the United States Government and the United States Navy. We can
do whatever the fuck we want. And speaking of which," he checked his
watch. "You have, oh, maybe seconds now to start talking. And give us
some real data this time?"
The group remained silent. Donovan gave a nod, and the board was lifted.
Ashlen gasped for air.
"Gonna help your friend?" Donovan asked. "No?"
"Please!" Ashlen shouted. They dunked her back in.
"How long is this going to take, people?" he asked. He reviewed their
faces, and fixed on Audra. She was beyond tears. She just stared
silently. He had a feeling about her.
"Take them away," Donovan said to the guards. "Except her." He motioned
to Audra.
He forced her to observe Ashlen's torture. It lasted for hours. Finally,
Ashlen was too weak to time her breaths. She was truly drowning on the
board. Audra started speaking. When she said something Donovan liked,
Ashlen was spared. Soon, she was spilling her guts. She told them
everything she knew about me, including where I was.
_I don't care,_ I thought, as I realized Audra had been their unwilling
informant. She'd made the right choice. Donovan's mind revealed that he
was committed to killing Ashlen, if it kept him from getting what he
wanted.
I pulled back from the memories. I fought my disgust and rage, and
stayed in Donovan's mind.
In his right hand he held the grip of his MP-5 submachine gun. It was
locked and loading, ready to fire at the switch of the safety and a pull
on the trigger.
I made him look around. We were still over water. I looked to the front.
I looked at myself, taped to the backboard and blindfolded and covered
in a soaked green sheet that was drying in the tropical air. I could use
Donovan to undo my binds. He was the man in charge of this mission. He
had carte blanch to do what he wanted. Then, I'd machine-gun the crew
chief, the pilot and co-pilot, and then turn the gun on the remaining
SEALS, before they overran him. The CH-53 would hit the water. I'd
probably survive the impact, and would be free to swim away when the
bird sank.
Surely Donovan deserved to die for what he put my friends through. I
would gladly force him to blow his own brains out. I'd do it slowly, so
he knew that he was being killed by his own hands. But as for the
others, I couldn't judge their fate so easily. I could still free myself
and force the chopper down. All I had to do was empty a magazine into
the engine, which was sitting directly above the crew compartment. I
felt I could kill Donovan if necessary, but I couldn't kill the others.
The idea of taking their lives was too harsh. I'd been in the Marines. I
knew that servicemen weren't bad, though I wasn't too keen on sailors.
I'd had too many fights with them while on liberty. But I'd rather smash
a priceless work of art than slaughter these fine warriors. The SEALS
followed orders. It wasn't their role to question my capture, and I'd
noted sympathy in their minds even during my capture. It was Donovan
who'd tortured, who'd assaulted me.
I looked at the SEALS. I observed unusual expressions on their faces as
I watched them watching my body. Considering the damage I'd done to
them, it would be natural that they would have contempt and hostility
toward me. However, warriors are odd in that they sometimes build
respect for a deserving enemy. These fighting sailors spent a lot of
time in the sea. No one who spends so much time immersed in its
mysteries remains unaffected by it. SEALS had to develop a fondness for
the wet wilderness, its moods, and its creatures, which would include
me. Surprisingly, I read compassion in their hard faces, even guilt, as
they observed the pathetic state to which I'd been reduced. As I noted
the looks of hatred and disgust they gave Donovan, I realized that he
was the source of their rage. Perhaps I could use this to my advantage,
I though.
I plotted some more. I ruled out crashing the chopper. Helicopter
crashes were messy affairs. Perhaps I could take the pilot hostage and
make drop me off. Then, I remembered: I was in command here. I could
simply order my release back into the ocean, unless there was redundancy
in command. A check of Donavan's mind confirmed that he was the only one
in charge here.
I almost put this plan into motion. At the last second, I wondered: _But
what about my friends?_ If I escaped, they would still be held captive
as 'eco-terrorists.'
No, escaping wouldn't help them in the least. Audra had done the right
thing in saving Ashlen. Now, I had to do the right thing by saving her,
and the others. I couldn't do that unless I got close to them.
But I couldn't pull back from Donovan, either. I didn't know when I
would have another opportunity to mind control someone.
I stayed in him as we flew back. He remained oblivious to my presence.
He was proud of catching me. He saw this as a major stepping stone in
his career, something that was guaranteed to get him his first admiral's
star.
_Who do you work for?_ I asked. _Who in the military and government
knows about me?_
A lot of people knew fragments just enough to do their jobs. The SEALS
hadn't even known they were to capture a mermaid until they landed on my
island. They had just been told to capture 'an unusual female.' Only two
people were aware of the entire situation, from conception to capture:
Donovan, and the chief of naval operations, an Admiral Mertz.
I probed Donovan's mind further: _What do you have in store for me?_, I
asked. He answered with chilling efficiency:
The first order of business would be to determine how many of your kind
are in the world. I don't expect you to reveal this information freely.
But, I hope you can be coerced. It might even take a little more
torturing of your friends. After that, we'll see if you cooperate. We'll
test you, see what you can do, and see if we can put it to our
advantage. We'll see if you can reproduce. If you pop out a kid that's
like you, we might be able to put it to good use, because it'll be in
our hands from day one. If that fails, dissection might be in order. It
might be in order anyway, at the end. The least we can do is draw some
blood, figure out your DNA, and see if we can make a couple copies.
This answer took my breath away. I tried to remain calm and think of a
way out of this massive jam. At least it was now clear that Donovan had
no compassion or mercy for me. He was worse than a predator who'd take
my life, because taking my life wasn't necessary for his survival.
Taking his life, though, might be for mine.
_What do you know about me?_
I know you can control minds. We just got a good display of that power.
But you are limited. If you can't sense the target, you can't get into
its head. That's why we have you deafened and blinded. Your sixth sense,
your sonar, doesn't work outside the water. And if that veterinarian
who's touching you makes any funny moves, we'll take care of him. I've
got my eyes on him.
_What's in store for my confederates, the film crew?_
_That all depends on you. If you cooperate, they may live. If not, they
may die. At the least, they are going to be our guests for a good, long
time._
I'd heard enough. I wasn't going to cooperate with these bastards under
any terms, which would put my friends in jeopardy, and if I escaped now
they'd still be locked up. I had to keep going to get us all out of
this.
We were approaching the base. My friends were there. That, at least, was
good.
We landed. I stayed with Donovan. The vet covered my head with the wet
blanket, making a little hole for me to breathe through. I watched as
SEALS grabbed the stretcher and took me into the cargo bay of a white
government van. Donovan climbed into the front seat. He watched with
disbelief as SEALS on backboards and stretchers were carried into
ambulances. He opened a cell phone as the car started moving.
_Who are you dialing?_
_Chief of Staff of the Navy. He's here. He'll want to see the prize._
"Mertz," a voice said.
"Bringing her to the lab now," Donovan said.
"Excellent. Good work. See you there."
Donovan, triumphant, hung up.
We arrived. I was carried into a building, past an older man with white
hair, in uniform with four pairs of stars on his shoulders. It was the
chief of naval operations, also the chief of staff of the navy: Admiral
Mertz. He was standing with another man the base commander, a two-star
admiral. Mertz's charge-de-affair, a tall blonde in navy whites, stood
behind him.
Mertz held up his hand and the stretcher bearers stopped. He peeled back
the wet blanket, and took a look at my body. He dropped it and waved
them on.
Donovan saluted Mertz. "Sir." The admiral saluted back.
"Outstanding, Captain," Mertz said. He dropped the salute and grabbed
the SEAL officer's shoulder, smiling broadly.
Mertz and Donovan followed me into the building. The others stayed
outside. We wound through a dizzying path of corridors and took an
elevator down two levels. The bottom level was an open, lonely basement
the size of a high school gymnasium. Half the room was a massive
aquarium that rivaled the ones at _Sea Planet_. It was steel on three
sides. The fourth side was thick glass. The tank was big enough to hold
a pair of killer whales. It was backlit, and glowed light blue.
We climbed the catwalk stairwell on the side of the tank. It led to a
platform of smooth rubber that sloped into the water. It was identical
to the deck custom-made for me on _Deep Thinker_. Except the slope was a
lot longer and more steeper. It would be impossible to climb up and out
of it on my own, even if the opening of the pool didn't have a gate.
The air was filled with the electric hum of electric recycling pumps.
Even in Donovan, I could smell the salty water.
"This tank was constructed hastily, but it will do," Donovan said
apologetically to Mertz. "The only problem is that the AV system isn't
hooked up yet."
"AV?" Mertz asked.
"Her mind control is powerful. But we suspect she needs to get a visual
on the victim to induce it. This tank's glass is a one-way mirror. We're
going to try and use an audio-visual setup to communicate with her,
assuming that her psychic powers won't be able to jump through an
electric connection to a victim."
Donovan and the two stretcher bearers put me down on the patio. He
pulled the sheet off, and bound my hands with a white tape. He checked
my pulse and breathing, then cut me loose from the board and removed the
deafening headphones. The three of them slid me into the water
"That tape will lose cohesion in the salt water," Donovan said.
"Now you just have to see if she recovers," Mertz said dismissively.
"Christ, she's a goddamned mess."
My face was pitched up as my body descended, and it was a wretched
sight. It was still covered by a blindfold, but the bumps and bruises
were obvious, and I could see the bottom fringe of a massive purple
bruise forming under my left eye. My lips were swollen and split, and my
neck was swollen and discolored. If I didn't know better, I'd swear that
mermaid had been beaten to death. I didn't look forward to jumping back
into myself, either!
Donovan grew nervous at Mertz's disapproving tone. "Uh, she will, sir."
I felt him throw in some bullshit to calm his superior: "We have
information that says she has an unbelievable constitution."
"How are we going to make sure she lives?" Mertz asked. "Maybe we should
get some frogmen into the tank with her."
"I wouldn't advise it, sir," Donovan said. "She just kicked the living
shit out of SEAL Team 14. And yes, I mean the whole goddamned team.
Three of my guys are on backboards, six are on stretchers, and the rest
are walking wounded, down to the last man. The team captured her with
only bare hands and tranquilizer darts. If they'd been carrying arms, I
don't think anyone would be alive right now. Except maybe her."
"What?" Mertz said incredulously. He looked at me with a furrowed brow.
"How in the hell? How bad are they?"
"It's not that "
"Fucking tell me, straight. What the hell happened? That _girl_ beat up
the SEAL team?"
"Sir, all I know is that when we came in for the dustoff the entire team
was beating each other senseless in and around the lagoon. It was like
something from a thirty-six man steel cage match. Their CO wasn't
responding to orders all I could hear was screaming over the 'net. I
used rotor flair to disperse the fight, and then she and all the
remaining SEALs suddenly passed out. The fight ended just like that." He
snapped his fingers.
Mertz frowned. "I don't like that, Donovan. Don't like it at all. I want
a full after action report, immediately. And I'm not too impressed with
your plan for the prize, either. Do you intend to just let her float
around in there like a dime-store goldfish and croak on us? I've got an
entire SEAL team in the hospital, and she's going to be just fine?
Figure out a way to deliver some medical aide to her, pronto."
Once Mertz got on a roll, he didn't stop. While in the Marines, I'd seen
how some leadership decisions were political in nature. Even junior
Marines like me, so unimportant that we were called 'lance coolies' in
place of our rank, lance corporals, learned the precursor to this game:
CYA - or Cover Your Ass. But this admiral was elevating CYA to a level I
never knew existed. I didn't know officers had to care so much about
politics. But I quickly learned that in the competitive career
environment of the navy, an officer couldn't help but care about them at
all times.
Donovan's ass chewing continued: "Christ, an entire team put out of
action?" Mertz yelled, his voice more like that of an enraged drill
instructor than a gentlemanly admiral. "The SEALs have never had such a
high level of casualties. Word's going to spread on this one, fast, no
matter how much Opsec there is. Now, I'm in a fucking bind here,
Captain. I planned to give a rosy report to the SecDef, but I can't do
that until she's a bit more lively. In the meantime, the community's
going to fill with rumors, I'm going to be called on the carpet and
asked what the fuck happened, how _I_ put an entire, an ENTIRE fucking
SEAL team out of action, and I'm going to have to tell him that we
captured her, " he pointed abruptly to the tank, "but she might die
because we don't know how to patch her up? And in the process of
catching her we nearly lost a whole goddamned SEAL team? This, I don't
know, this has no precedent!"
"But sir, if I might have a word, sir," Donovan said. "Admittedly, the
SEALs' casualties are without precedent. But so far there's no KIA. And
the other thing that has no precedent in this situation is the
advantages she possesses. If we can learn her secrets, think about it"
As he talked about the ways the military could employ my skills and
abilities, I concentrated on figuring out what to do next. I could jump
into Donovan and use his authority to release me and my friends. But
when I left him, he could reverse the decisions I made and we'd be
captured again. I could posses him, and bring the media down here,
expose Donovan as a corrupt, rogue officer who'd acted on his own
authority to capture me and illegally hold my friends. If I captured the
public's attention, I could possibly 'hide in the open,' as Julia had
predicted.
However, this too had problems. The entire thing would be built on a
lie. It would also sound phony. When does the military voluntarily admit
to scandals? How could I get the media to cooperate or though the base?
Though I could place my fate in the hands of the public, the public is
fickle. Things come and go fast. Once I'm out of the spotlight and back
in the ocean, I would be in the scenario Audra had described: no one
would be able to report me missing, and the government could deny
holding me captive. They could even recapture my friends, and who in the
world would be able to truly find out if they were being secretly held
by the US Government?
As Donovan talked, Mertz's temper seemed to fade. I began to feel
desperate. I didn't know how long I could posses Donovan, and if I
snapped back to myself, his ploy to isolate me from my interrogators
might work.
Donovan looked the old admiral in the eye. I pushed, and my point of
reference did a 180 degree turn. I was now the tall, but slightly
stooped admiral, looking down on the shorter, ambitious officer.
"Sir," I said to the admiral, just loud enough that he would hear my
feminine voice from outside the realm of his own conscience, but not so
loud that it would make him freak out.
Donovan continued to talk. The admiral was nodding to the rhetoric.
"Is this you?" he asked. "Is this the mermaid?"
"Yes sir."
I felt panic fire across his neurons before he knew it was coming. I
pushed further into him, taking over his body. Donovan continued
talking. Careful not to arouse the attentive SEALs' suspicions, I
plumbed Mertz's mind to learn the expressions, looks, and mannerisms
characteristic to him alone. I quelled his panic, and simply allowed him
to bear witness as I spoke with his voice:
"Look," I, as Mertz, said. "This is just all blue sky bullshit you're
talking about. Now, I want you to do three things 'mos riki-tik and
don't give me any fucking excuses: get a medic, a vet, a doctor how
about all three into the tank with that animal, and patch her up. I
_will_ have your balls if she ends up dead or in anything less than full
health. Two, put a concise after action report into my hot little hand
by 18:00 hours. And three: not a word of this to anyone. In fact,
compile a list of everyone who even has a whiff of this operation. Got
it?"
Donovan was writing furiously on a stylus. He put it away and stood as
straight as he could and said "Aye aye, sir."
Possessing Mertz as he unleashed on Donovan gave me the same feeling of
shock I had felt when I'd possessed the shark as he dispatched the
seals. This man knew anger! However, the anger was caused by his
confusion and disbelief over the situation, his shock at learning the
condition of one of his beloved SEAL teams, and worry about how his
career was going to be affected, and how the capture of a mermaid could
affect the reputation of the Navy. Lastly, he felt compassion for my
situation. His character was stocked with an old-time machismo that
positioned women and females in general on a raised pedestal.
As we descended the stairs, I allowed Mertz the liberty to speak with
me. Our conversation flew at the speed of thought, transcending the
plodding efforts of physical speech. In the space of a heartbeat I felt
his shock, astonishment, and acceptance of this means of communication.
I suddenly realized that telepathy truly combined our minds. As long as
I opened my mind to him, it was impossible to tell a lie. There is no
falsity in this medium, because a falsely constructed thought is wrapped
with the knowledge of its deception. As long as I talked to Mertz via
telepathy, I couldn't exaggerate my powers, or hide my weaknesses. Just
as I realized that I'd made a mistake, I also found the benefit of the
situation: my thoughts and words had the weight of absolute truth,
without ambiguity. He would know that anything I told him was real.
"So, it's true," he said as he observed his body, controlled by me. "You
can perform mind control. And you did it without even looking at us. So,
Donovan is wrong."
"Donovan isn't wrong," I said. I showed him how I had infiltrated
Donovan's mind.
"What about the SEAL team?" he asked. This, too, I showed him. He
relived the event as I had. The admiral was spellbound.
In front of the tank, technicians were working on the AV system. I
ignored them, pulled a chair away from its desk, and sat down in front
of the one-way mirror. My body was resting gently on the bottom of the
tank, which was odd. Perhaps the salinity of the water was off, and I
didn't have my usual neutral buoyancy.
I slowly relaxed my grip on Mertz' body and mind as a gesture of faith.
At first he was annoyed at this gesture. It was beneath him to accept
mercy. But then he realized what I could do to him, effortlessly, if I
was so inclined. He had a Walther-P38 pistol strapped to his right
ankle; Possibilities were endless. In light of this, his hubris was
replaced by genuine gratitude.
Mertz sat calmly, observing my body, wrestling with disbelief. The
situation had a strong sense of dj vu. It was similar to my experience
with the whale. Except this time, I was the source of knowledge instead
of the recipient.
"So," Mertz said. "I think your position is pretty clear: you want to be
released."
"Of course, Admiral." My use of honorifics was genuine. My parents had
bred me to respect my elders, and the Marines had conditioned me to
respect officers. Despite my desperate situation, I was also a bit star
struck literally. I had never even seen a one-star general, never mind
talked to one. And now I was talking with a four-star admiral.
"Well," Mertz said, at a loss as to where to start. He wound up choosing
the question so familiar to me when confronted with such circumstances:
_"Who are you?"_
I deliberated for a moment before responding to decide how much I should
reveal. Then, I let the floodgates open.
_heartbeat_
I began with my entry into boot camp at Parris Island, South Carolina.
He remembered his own rocky induction into the service, and admired my
honest pride in earning the title of Marine and my efforts to do good.
Life in the service had built a deep cynicism within him, and the
sharing of my young life uncovered the same earnest ambitions to serve
his country he'd felt before the experience of combat and politics drove
his faith into rocky seas. But he could only watch, spellbound, as my
life veered away from territory with which he was familiar. He
commiserated with the shock of my transformation and the guilt and shame
it had caused me. He understood the process of acceptance, still
unresolved, I had been undergoing.
_heartbeat_
When it was over, I was in shock. Seeing my life's story through the
mind of another reminded me of stories of people seeing their lives
flash before their eyes in near-fatal moments.
Mertz now knew me as no one else in the world. The experience rocked his
mind. But the admiral was tough.
"I understand you," he said. "But you must understand me. The abilities
you possess are undeniably strong. It's impossible for us not to utilize
them. If an enemy was able to use you, or one like you, we would be
defenseless."
"I do understand you, Sir," I said. "However, you do not yet fully
understand me."
Again, I opened my mind to him. I had no idea what I was going to say, I
didn't know who I was anymore, but as I was forced to reveal my deepest
desires, I found them, forged by my time in the sea: I would never
cooperate with anyone against my will. I would die first. I treasured my
liberty above my life, for without it, I was not alive. I would be no
one's slave.
I didn't always feel this way. Until I tasted the sea, I hadn't known
what freedom was. When I was human, the limits to my freedoms were
necessary for functioning in a society. Now that I was a mermaid, I had
no need for limits. I couldn't identify why, but I knew that freedom was
as essential to my life as contact with the sea. These elements were
indivisible.
Due to my experiences, I could no longer identify America as my home
country. I couldn't honestly say I would fight or die for her anymore.
America had been the nation of my birth, but the domain of the sea and
its unwritten, unbreakable laws was now the entity to which I pledge
fealty. But, I would die for the stated ideals of the US, because its
promise to freedom and liberty was also the promise the only promise,
always delivered regardless of outcome of the wilderness, of nature
and God's dominion. The fact that every country was obliged to serve in
the name of such ideals didn't diminish the fact that the US was one of
the few who actually strived to achieve them, and I would help her to do
so.
Mertz felt this of me. And he recognized the nature of my loyalty. He's
suffered in his service of his country. He'd sacrificed himself and
witnessed comrades die for lies and politics. He'd endured scandals,
betrayals and shame. His faith in his country had been repeatedly and
ruthlessly smashed. But he persevered because he believed in America's
ideals. Just as life was the struggle against sin in pursuit of a higher
goal, so was service to the state. The crusade for freedom and truth is
fraught with darkness and ambiguity. But throughout the course of his
career, loyalty to the nation's ideals had been his guiding light. And
if he ever gave up the struggle, then the suffering to which he bore
witness and all that came before him had been in vain.
Now, Mertz deliberated about me. Bearing witness to the efficiency of
his calculating mind was chilling.
Releasing me out of mercy, or respect for my wishes wasn't, was a
consideration. But it was miniscule compared to the advantages I
represented. They were so distinct that it was imperative to gain
control of them. But, he knew that I would never unwillingly allow
anyone to study me. I would only provide them with a corpse, and even I
didn't know if that corpse would remain in the material world after
abandonment by my spirit. Understanding my abilities and duplicating
them, if it was possible at all, would be the task of future research,
probably performed on my cryogenically-preserved body. And the
investment in that possibility held no guarantees, and certainly no
rewards within Mertz's career and lifetime.
"This will be difficult for you," he said. "Your capture is a joint
effort of the CIA and the US Navy, conducted with special permission of
the President of the United States. While I personally understand the
benefit of releasing you, my peers and superiors will not. Even if I
release you and your friends, there may be others in the government who
will grab you again. I'm not in charge of the whole show. No one, not
even the president, truly is."
"I understand," I said. "To release me takes no effort on your part. You
will only be undoing a wrong that was committed. If I am released, I
offer no promises and expect none. But if you help me, I will help you
in return. I will aid you."
"How?" he asked.
"If you free my friends and offer me the protection of this country, I
will work for you. I will submit to some examination. You can have my
blood. I will answer your questions. I can rescue sailors when they are
trapped in submarines at crushing depths. I can elevate the image of the
navy and America. And I will gladly help the navy improve its
relationship with the environment. But these things will be done of my
own accord, an equal exchange, work for work."
Mertz weighed these options in his mind. Again, politics weighed heavily
on his deliberation. However, he began to see how my freedom would
benefit the navy, and him. If he kept me captive, he would have a corpse
and a lot of explaining to do. If I was released, he'd have a live
mermaid who would help the navy. The next time a foreign submarine hit
the bottom of the ocean, trapping a few hundred men, it'd be me, working
with the US Navy, that would come to the rescue. It'd almost be like
having Superman on their team. The propaganda value of this alone was
immense, and he could take all the credit.
Mertz stood up in the chair. He walked up to the tank and placed his
forehead on the glass as he looked at my body. I was glad to see my
ribcage still expanding and contracting. The tape binding my hands had
dissolved in the saltwater, and my arms floated freely.
"Sir," Donovan called out to him. The admiral turned to face him. The
captain presented the paperwork assigned to him. He was followed by the
three individuals Mertz' had requested. Mertz looked at the unthinking
captain, blind to everything but ambition.
_"See this guy?"_ he asked me. _"This is just a taste of what I'm up
against if I release you, and work on your behalf."_
"You have my word," I told him. "I'll pay you back in full."
For Mertz to provide my wishes, he would have to work against the
machine of government. It would take an extreme effort. But Mertz wasn't
afraid of challenge, and he had a positive hunger for work. He also knew
that the investment in my capture would be a loss, unless he worked with
me.
Mertz sighed. _"You've got yourself a deal,"_ he said.
"Thank you," I said.
"No, thank you," he said. As he said this, I understood why he was
thanking me. During his deliberations he had come to realize that things
were already too messy. The disappearance and interment of my
confederates, which had not gone unnoticed by their loved ones and was
even being investigated by the FBI, along with the near-destruction of
an entire SEAL team, was creating a situation that would escape his
control and embroil the Navy in a massive scandal unless I helped him
defuse it.
By now, I was starting to feel fatigued. Though I could perform mind
control for longer, it felt like the extended exchanges had consumed a
lot of my power.
"I'll leave you to your work," I said. "Goodbye."
I let go of Mertz, trusting him to carry out his promises.
I dropped back into my body, now a dominion of pain. I breathed deeply
and felt a sharp sting in my rib cage. But the coolness of the water
brought relief to my bruises. My two front teeth felt a little loose. I
could move them a fraction of an inch with my tongue. I pulled off my
blindfolded. My right eye was swollen shut. My fins and fluke were sore.
They hadn't permanently folded or broken, but they ached, like a punched
nose. Now that I was drained of adrenaline and shock, the pain of my
beating was a lot more intense.
I was in true seawater that was cycled through the massive tank.
However, when I charged, I drained the surrounding water of its
potential energy, and the charge stopped before I was full. This meant
this water was not connected to the ocean. I'd survive in here for about
the same time as a human can go on living without consuming water.
The one-way mirror gave the illusion that the tank was bigger than it
was. I felt the urge to take a look at myself. I'd never seen my own
body and face in a true mirror. However, I didn't want to look stupid in
front of my captors, and a quick glance told me that it was best if I
didn't know how bad my face was.
I swam up to the tank's patio. Mertz and the medics were waiting for me.
The medics had the look of awe and disbelief so present on the faces of
humans confronting me for their first time. I paused with my hand on the
slope.
A middle-aged commander, her eyes wide and her mouth drawn small,
started swiveling her head between me and Mertz, as if she was an owl.
"Uh, admiral sir, what do we do with her?" she asked.
"Patch her up. Do your voodoo. You're the surgeon."
I smiled at the woman. I reached my arms up the sharp slope and held my
hands out to them. The commander and the two enlisted men with her
simply blinked at my hands. I waved them. One of the men backed up
slowly, as if he was seeing a ghost.
"Christ, is it too hard to figure out?" Mertz asked. He squatted on the
edge of the patio and we grabbed each others' wrists. "Gimme a hand
here,"
"Aye, sir," the woman said. She grabbed my other wrist, and I thrashed
with my tail. As they hauled me up the slope, I transformed into
landform. A sunlight flash emanated from my body, momentarily filling
the room with light and obfuscating my form with blinding brilliance.
The sailors averted their eyes from the flash. When they could see
again, I was crouching low on the smooth plastic deck. I stood slowly
and deliberately.
They were all backed up against the railing, mouths and eyes open in
astonishment. I looked down on Mertz. He had to be over six feet tall,
but now the top of his head reached the bridge of my nose. I knew that
my land form was tall, but I hadn't expected to dwarf tall men.
"Thank you," I said, nodding. I was still in pain, and my face was
probably more frightening than the display of my abilities. The injuries
to the lower half of my body weren't eliminated by the shape shift. I
still felt pain, or perhaps it was phantom pain, from the places on my
legs that corresponded with the location of my waterform's fins.
Mertz composed himself. His eyes jumped up and down my body before he
caught himself. "Could have given us some warning," he said.
"Sorry, I forgot. I also can't speak your language in the air unless I
have legs." I was in pain from my beating, and I worried about my left
eye, which was too swollen to see out of. I turned to the stunned
commander and spoke to snap her back to reality. "Ma'am, you were going
to check my injuries?"
__
I was alone in an examining room. The commander had me lock the door
from the inside. I stood on a height and weight scale and measured
myself. With legs, I was 6'3, and weighed 180 pounds. On _Deep Thinker_
we had determined my length at 7'8 and weight at 340 pounds. I sat down
on the examining room table, wondering where all the weight and mass of
my tail went during my transformation, and how I gained it back. I
wondered if it had something to do with the brilliant light that
envelops me when I transformed.
Bored, I took in the in familiar mundanities: the jar of tongue
depressors, an eye exam chart. It smelled sterile and bleached. The x-
ray chart shined light through radiographs of my skull and wrist and
ribcage. They all looked perfectly human. The paper gurney I wore was
too small, and crinkled when I moved. I'd endured CAT scans, x-rays,
pokes and prods, and now just sat, holding a cold compress to my eye and
running my tongue across the fabric-like surface of the splint holding
my front teeth in place by securing them to their neighbors.
It felt strange to be in the midst of humans, and to be taken for
perfectly normal. Without a tail, I was absolutely mundane. When I had
sat in the dentists' chair, I kept waiting for someone to observe
something unusual about me. Looking normal and feeling normal were two
different things. But the dental team had such a long line of patients
that they didn't even look me in the eye. They didn't even look at
anything but my teeth.
I had been rushed into the hospital on a gurney. As I was squirreled
from room to room, I saw the halls filled with the members of SEAL Team
14. It seemed like the entire hospital was devoted to them.
It felt strange to be thrown back into the midst of humans. It was hard
to believe they took me for one of them. The surgeon from the pool was
apparently the only one who knew my true nature, and except for the
dentist who fixed my loose teeth, she was the only one working on me.
The surgeon who helped me out of the tank entered the room.
"You're lucky," she said. "The bad news is, you have a fractured eye
socket. The good news is, it doesn't look like it will require surgery
to fix. Your ribs are sprained, not fractured." She flipped through my
x-rays. "No internal bleeding in the body or the brain. But, your
concussion isn't too pretty. Still nauseated?
"Yeah," I said. "Dizziness is getting better, though. How are the SEALs
looking?"
The commander frowned. "Not good. We've exported some to emergency rooms
and dentists out in town. Not enough staff here right now."
I felt the blood drain from my face. "That bad? How?"
She shrugged, as if she'd seen it many times before. She removed her
gloves and started washing her hands in the sink. "Big boys hit hard.
Skull fractures, torn retinas, collapsed windpipes. You name it."
She was right. Despite earning my grey belt in the Marine Corps Martial
Arts Program, I hadn't ended up in any fights. I hadn't been in an
unmitigated fist fight since grade school. Somehow, perhaps from
watching too many action movies in which people get used as punching
bags with little damage, I had assumed that a fistfight between grown
men wasn't too injurious. But even without firearms or blades, the SEALs
had literally wasted one another.
"Well, you're good to go," the commander said. "Pay attention to the
eye. If it sinks in after the swelling goes in, or your vision is
altered, we're going to have to perform surgery to fix it. Now, I'm
going to fetch a few things and get you some clothes. I'll be back in
half an hour." She left and locked the door.
When she returned, she was carrying an overnight bag and a shopping bag
full of folded clothes.
"Hope the fit works," she said. "You're too big for me to loan you
anything, and the only thing open this late is the hospital gift shop."
I took the clothes and held up a deep blue size XXL sweatshirt. Written
proudly on the front in large, stylized stenciling was: "Property of the
US Navy." If it didn't hurt so much to laugh, I would have been rolling
on the floor.
I traded the paper gurney for the sweats and flip-flops. The commander
escorted me out the back of the hospital, and we joined Mertz in a
limousine. He was dressed in a suit and tie. The commander briefed him
on my prognosis as we departed the hospital.
I traced my finger along the rubber seal of a window's edge. I had to
touch the car to believe I was actually there. The car reeked with the
scents of polymers and air fresheners. We left the calm, neat military
base and entered the chaos of the city streets. Neon reflections slid
across the tinted windows as I stared out at the traffic - loud,
mechanical, and deadly. During the day, I had been in another world. Now
it was night, and I was back in the middle of human affairs. It felt
like a dream.
"Good," Mertz said, hanging up a phone. He looked at me: "We need you
around for a couple days. I presume you've met Commander Maddox?" he
asked, referring to the middle-aged woman.
"Kind of," I said. I reached out for a handshake and said "Make it
formal, ma'am? I'm Ytha."
"Call me Karen," she said.
"We need you around for at least a couple days," Mertz said, "while we
release your friends, and because I'll need you to pull this off. To
facilitate this, you'll be staying at the Marriot on Waikiki. Now,
you're not going to be on base, for good reason. Until I get a handle on
this whole situation anything could happen. The ocean is right there, of
course. The only people who will know your location are me and Commander
Maddox. I don't want you to feel like you're under guard, but I do need
someone with you at all times, simply for accountability. Do you
understand?"
"Yes, sir. Sir, what's the disposition of my friends?"
"They're going to be released," Mertz said. "Just gimme a couple hours
to figure out how to do it."
"Negotiating?" I asked.
"If they sign certain non-disclosure forms and indemnifications, in
return for compensation, then they'll be free to go. We can figure out
something. We can't just drop them off at the gates of the base, now,
can we? The media would go ballistic. Or, can we" His eyes grew distant
as he thought. I was tempted to jump into his mind and see what was
going on. But I restrained myself and stuck to my oath to never use it
when it wasn't an emergency or consensual.
"Sir?"
"Yes," he said with a sigh. He had a lot on his mind.
"What about Donovan?" I asked.
"Don't worry about him. He's under arrest at the moment, and so is
anyone else who can stir up shit in this matter." Mertz voice was
dismissive and he frowned. I took my cue and shut up.
We drove on and reached the Marriot. Mertz had arranged everything in
advance. We entered the hotel through the back and I only caught a
glimpse of the chrome-and-marble mezzanine. We were rushed to an
elevator. I thought only old elevators needed doormen, but this one had
one who wore a neat suit. He must have been decorative, since he only
had to push buttons. He recognized Mertz and smiled.
"Ah, sir, welcome back," he said. His smile only faded for a moment when
he saw my face, then it resumed his friendliness. "This must be your
wife and daughter," he said, referring to me and the commander.
"Not exactly," Mertz said, his frown unbreakable.
We entered a suite and Mertz talked with Karen as I looked around. The
windows reached from the floor to the ceiling and gave a perfect view of
the nighttime ocean. I could hear the raspy call of its waves breaking
on the beach. I drifted toward it, and took in the view.
Mertz made brief goodbyes and took off. We were left alone.
"So," Karen said. "Want to get a bite to eat? I'm starved."
"Yes, me too," I said. "But I need to go for a swim first."
We hit the beach. It wasn't quite empty, but it was unlit, which allowed
me to strip and enter the water. Transforming into seaform wasn't
necessary to benefit from my essential contact with the ocean, and I
could breathe the water in landform, just as I could breathe air with my
tail. I just didn't have the benefit my sonar or the mobility of my
seaform.
After an hour under the waves, I felt revived. I was still injured. My
face felt heavy, as if it was caked in mud, and I could feel every step
I took in its bruises. But my spirit had recovered, and I wasn't so
shaken up by the day's events. I felt that a positive outcome was more
secure now.
Karen handed me a towel and my clothes as I walked out of the surf. An
elderly tourist couple stared at us, but before they could say anything
I was dressed again.
"Sorry it took so long," I said.
"It's ok," Karen said. "You seem to have more spring to your step now."
"Yes," I agreed. "Didn't you mention eating, before?"
"Yeah," she said. "Hey, do you like sushi?"
Despite the pain in my face, I couldn't help but laugh. I turned to her:
"Do I?"
I slept only a few winks that night. The bed and its sheets, despite
being luxurious, were simply too new for me. I lay on my side, looking
out the window at the ocean. I watched the moon traverse the sky and
listened to Karen snoring quietly from her bed. I couldn't stop thinking
about Ashlen being tortured. I wished I hadn't shared Donovan's
memories. I was scared that her spirit, if not her body, was broken.
When I did close my eyes, the horror of the day, the nightmare of
capture, woke me right back up.
The next morning, I swam at first light. It was crowded enough that I
had to go in with my t-shirt and panties. I didn't want to get caught
for indecent exposure, or something trivial that would lead to bigger
problems. I returned to the hotel and Karen ordered room service and
encouraged me to pick from the list. When I objected, due to the price,
she just encouraged me, saying it was all paid for by "Uncle Sam," and
displaying a government debit card.
We sat on the beds. I ate fruit while Karen ate an omelet. Cooked food
still didn't taste good to me, even in my landform. The television
absorbed me like a moth to a flame. It'd been so long that I had seen
one that it felt like the first time. My transformation had been the
first time I was completely separated from the 'ol boob tube since
birth. The strong allure of instant access to such a variety of
entertainment was magnetic, and a little scary.
Karen checked my bruises and noted that the swelling and bruising was
receding at what she called an incredible rate. I could already see
again out of my left eye, but to my shock the white of my eye was as red
as blood. I was grateful to have good vision, and it hadn't sunk,
either.
Karen took me shopping. The first thing we purchased, right from the
hotel's store, was a large pair of sunglasses for me to cover my
bruises. We took a taxi to a massive tourist mall only a few blocks from
the hotel. It was strange there, because the massive interiors of the
building were all American-sized, but the majority of customers were
Japanese tourists. I even heard American clerks saying "Irashaimase," to
the Japanese customers, just as it was said in Japan!
Even though Karen was a naval officer, which I thought would make her a
bit macho, she still loved to shop. She was far more engaged in perusing
the racks at boutiques than I was. Besides, none of the clothing in
those places was meant for my size, which, especially compared to the
crowds of Japanese women who barely came up to my chest, was downright
Amazonian. But, she was bored, simply on standby and leashed to Mertz by
no less than three means of communication: a cell phone, a beeper, and a
wireless email device. So I let her indulge in the distraction.
We ended up going to Sears for my clothes, since everything else was too
small. I just bought functional stuff, like jeans, shorts, and a bathing
suit. As we were leaving the mall, I froze in front of a shore store,
entranced by its display. As I looked at the pretty, delicate high
heels, a strange feeling came over me, and I simply had to try some of
the shoes.
"What is it?" Karen asked. "You like these?"
I could only nod. Karen gave me a strange look then shrugged. I felt a
wave of guilt as I entered the store. I was suddenly enjoying myself,
while the fate of my friends was still uncertain. But, I pushed the
guilt away by rationalizing that I was merely waiting for things out of
my control to develop.
The shoes there were expensive, so they came with salesmen. I'd never
even known there was such a thing as shoe salesmen. There was one on a
TV show, but it was a comedy, so I thought it was just a fiction.
At first, the salesmen looked at my sweater and shorts and straight,
uncut hair with confusion. But once it was clear that I was with Karen,
who looked like she had money, they were all smiles. These salesmen,
however, just had you sit while they did everything from fetching the
shoes to putting little nylon socks on my feet and slipping them into
shoes. My salesman was dressed in a silk suit, had perfect dark hair and
mustache, and manicured fingernails. I hadn't expected this kind of
attention from anyone at a store. As he gently slid my foot into a
leather high-heeled shoe from Italy, I suddenly felt anxious at the fact
that I had no money.
He encouraged me to walk in the shoes. I felt shy, but he insisted. The
heels on the shoes were only two inches high, but the additional height
made me feel like a sky scraper. Wearing them and seeing the way they
wrapped around my feet gave me a rush. I couldn't understand why I felt
this way, since my only interest for shoes in my old life was purely
functional. It must have something to do with having a tail most of the
time.
Karen asked me how I liked them. I tried to act blas, but couldn't help
smiling.
"We'll take them," Karen said. I looked at her with uncertainty. "Don't
worry," she said. "It's on us." She emphasized 'us,' which I took to
mean Uncle Sam. While I was happy to get the shoes, I was chagrined to
learn that tax money could be used to by shoes for a creature that had
no real need for them!
We returned to the hotel. I couldn't wait for night to fall so I could
get a good swim. I was lying on the bed falling asleep for a nap. Karen
flicked though the channels. She shouted: "Look at this!"
The TV was broadcasting NNC, the National News Channel. I saw Ashlen,
Jim, Julia, and the other members of _Deep Thinker_ sitting at a long
table, confronting a mass of journalists. They were accompanied by men
in suits, who I took to be their lawyers. I had to twice read the
scrolling text at the bottom of the TV: "Film crew tortured by US
Government in pursuit of mermaid."
The camera focused on Ashlen as she answered questions about being
waterboarded. She was shaking with anger, and though I'd never heard her
curse, many of her adjectives were bleeped out. She did keep mentioning
the name "Don-Van," though, as if she had overheard it.
I was elated to see them safe and sound. It was then I realized that
they were merely across the street from us, and that the press
conference was being held in the Hilton Hotel.
"Can we go there, Karen?" I asked. She frowned and got on her cell
phone. "I doubt it," she said. "But I have to call Mertz about this.
He's probably been to busy to call me."
I continued watching the news. It broke away from the press conference
to a pair of reporters sitting in a studio. A graphic of a mermaid's
profile appeared in the upper left corner of the screen as the camera
focused on one reporter.
"Fascinating story originating out of Hawaii today, folks," the anchor
said. "Now, earlier this year, tourists on a Hawaiian fishing boat took
this dramatic footage of a mermaid assaulting the boat."
As he talked, the screen jumped to video of my nightmare encounter with
the tourist boat. In slow motion, it showed me, wild eyed and furious,
as I sent the boat's captain flipping end-over-end with my tail.
He continued his commentary over a slide show of images from the boat,
and images I at first couldn't recognize, until I realized they were the
ones I traded for my gear, back in Japan.
"Now, this video became one of those viral videos as well as staple for
networks around the world. However, many skeptics maintained it to be
false, even in light of the testimony of everyone on that ship, and many
other pictures they took, and public interest in the mermaid phenomena
waned. The existence of the mermaid was first revealed by this man,
Doctor Hitoshi Iha, a marine biologist with the University of the
Ryukyus (He mangled the pronunciation.) in Japan. Dr. Iha wrote about
his encounter with the mermaid off the southern coast of Japan, took
several photographs, and even provided a hair sample that he somehow
obtained. Dr. Iha was greatly ridiculed and accused of creating a hoax,
but now it seems like his peers are about to eat a huge slice of humble
pie, or maybe even humble sushi. Despite criticism without parallel in
the scientific community, Dr. Iha has always persisted, and even wrote a
book about his encounter, _Mythical Encounter._ Dr. Iha joins us from
our press bureau in Japan.
The TV cut back to the host. "Dr. Iha, hello." The scene shifted to one
of Dr. Iha. I recognized him, even without his diving mask, as the scuba
diver I had first encountered.
"Hello," he said in halting English. "Thank you."
"No, thank you, sir, for appearing here today. Dr. Iha, as you're aware,
the big story today is that you may have been right all along. A film
production crew and members of a Hawaiian university research vessel,
having gone missing for nine days, have now re-emerged, and claim that
they had been kidnapped and tortured to reveal information they had
about what appears to be the very real mermaid you first documented.
Now, so far, no one in authority has countered these claims, which lends
authenticity to their claims that the mermaid, does in fact exist, and
is being held captive by the US Navy. What are your comments on the
situation?"
"Yes, thank you, Jim," Iha said. "Firstly, I would like to state that
the mermaid exists, as surely as you and I. While I did not appreciate
almost losing my position at university over my claims, in fact, without
this latest news confirming my story, the hair sample given to me by the
mermaid has been independently analyzed by many scientists, all of whom
confirm in publication it is not of human origin, and would be able to
defend my story with this sample alone. But hair sample is not popular
like say image and video."
"Fascinating," the commentator, 'Jim,' said. "Now, when you say it's not
of human origin, what do you mean?"
"Well, exactly that," Iha said. His hands moved vigorously as he talked.
"Quite frankly, it is not even of earthly origin. But so far, that is
all we know. This simple hair sample with which she provided me
constitutes an entire new field of biological science."
"Eh, are you saying, well," Jim seemed to be confused. "She's not from
this planet?"
"No," Iha said. "What I am saying is that we cannot yet read the
information in her cells because it is new kind of life that we have
never studied before."
"Let's talk about your meeting with her, how did you get these samples,
and these photos, which required her to pose for you?"
"That is quite simply," Iha said. "She seemed to understand that I had
camera, knew its purpose, and knew value of photos of hers. She agreed
to photos, and me to examine hers in exchange for my gears, like watch,
knife, and such stuffs."
"So, Mr. Iha, what, in your opinion, would be the use of a mermaid to
the US Navy? Why would they capture her?"
"Well, frankly, Jim, uh, I don't think it take much imagination to see
what use of mermaids would be." Jim seemed to be at a loss. Iha almost
sighed before stopping himself and saying: "Underwater breathing, for
example, discover it secrets would be quite valuable."
"Ah, yes!" Jim said, nodding knowingly. "Professor, thank you very much
for your time today."
The news coverage continued. I watched, spellbound. But as the story
developed and I saw what must have been every image of me captured
before I met Julia, ad nauseam, I started to feel weird. It was as if I
was a normal person, watching news stories about someone else. Having
legs while watching myself with a tail on television aggravated this
sense of disembodiment.
"Mertz is aware of the situation," Karen said. "The only problem is we
have to keep you out of the public for now. This is the biggest news
story in an otherwise dry spell in a long time, and everyone in the
country has seen your face by now."
"Ok," I said. "But, does he still need me? My friends have been
released."
"He wants us to come on base tomorrow for another meeting," she said.
I turned back to the TV and considered splitting that night. I'd gain
seaform and just escape, leaving behind the crazy human world, Mertz,
Donovan, this confusion caused by being the nation's biggest news story,
and these nearly-hypnotic Italian shoes. But, I owed Mertz, and despite
the dangers, I still wanted to see my friends, and console Ashlen. I had
no idea she was capable of such rage! When she spoke of her
interrogator, who she referred to as 'Steve Don-Van,' she held murder in
her eyes. I wanted to see those eyes wondrous and sparkling with life
again.
The hotel management had been made aware of our need for privacy. It
became clear why Mertz hadn't called us for so long. He was out there,
somewhere, conducting everything. It almost felt as if I would look up,
and see him above me and Karen, a master of puppets. We hit the beach at
midnight.
"This may sound silly," Karen said as we neared the surf, "but why is it
that you have to swim so often?"
"Because," I answered, "if I don't, you'll just end up with 340 pounds
of not-so-fresh sushi on your hands."
The following morning, we were escorted back to the base. As we
approached the gates my stomach turned. The guards looked at Karen's ID,
took a look at me, looked at something on his clipboard, and waved us
on. I guess Mertz had arranged for the guard to allow me onto the base
without ID. He'd probably written something along the lines of "Allow
beat-up girl with the commander access."
We entered a guarded building and I made it through security
unchallenged, just as I had been admitted to the hospital and returned
to the base. Mertz definitely knew how to get things done.
We entered a small conference room. There were two junior officers in
uniform and Mertz, still dressed in the same suit, as if he hadn't slept
that night. The stood as soon as Maddox and I entered. There were two
other men there, as well. Both were dressed in golfing gear and
sneakers, as if they'd just been pulled from a country club. One was a
middle-aged man with brindle hair and dark skin, short and stout. The
other was slim and older, his hair nearly white. They stood with Mertz.
Mertz referred to the brindle-haired man with an upraised palm.
"Ytha," Mertz said, "I'd like you to meet the Governor of Hawaii, John
Lacar."
Surprised, it took me a moment to remember my manners and extend my hand
to the governor. "Uh, pleasure to meet you, Sir," I said.
"The pleasure's all mine, Miss," Lacar said, deep wrinkles extending
from his shining eyes as he smiled. "Are you ok? I'm sorry to ask, but
it's obvious that you're injured."
"I'm fine, Sir, thank you."
"And this is Hawaiian Senator Mike Suzuki," Mertz said, referring to the
older man. I shook his hand, as well.
"These gentlemen," Mertz gestured to the two younger officers, "are from
Fifth Fleet's Judge Advocate Generals office. They're military lawyers
working on this case." At Mertz' suggestion, we all took a seat.
"Now," Mertz said, "The governor and the senator have been briefed and
understand the situation. Governor?"
"Yes," Lacar said, nodding. "I'm here to grant you the protection and
privileges guaranteed to citizens of the State of Hawaii. I am going to
make you an Honorary Citizen of Hawaii."
"Thank you," I said. "But isn't it true that I have to be a citizen of
the US to be a citizen of a particular state?"
"Yes, that's true," the senator said. Despite his size and age, his
voice was deep and authoritarian. "Declaring you an Honorary Citizen of
Hawaii, while a mostly a decorative term, will act as a stop-gap
measure, a protection, if you will, until we make you a US Citizen. But,
I'm getting ahead of myself. He glanced at Suzuki, and the man said:
"First, I'd like to say sorry for everything that has happened. On
behalf of Hawaii, the Senate and the United States Congress, I extend my
most sincere apologies."
I sat, too stunned and ignorant of what to do. But, Suzuki didn't take
notice. His voice sounded odd when he gave the apology, as if it was
running on automatic, without emotion behind the words. His tone
suddenly changed, and I saw him shift his eyes over to Mertz for a split
second as he continued:
"There is no excuse for what has happened. We will have an investigation
in the Senate. I've already called for it. The detention of six American
citizens and three citizens of its allied countries, their torture, the
seizure of their private property, and the assault conducted on you are
all criminal acts. However, it's pretty clear that these crimes were
committed by this Donovan character, in his pursuit of you, without
authorization or consent of the Navy, the CIA, or the United States
government, as evidenced by Admiral Mertz putting a stop to the
situation as soon as he learned about it."
The men sat back in their chairs and looked at me. I was starting to
catch on.
"Eh, sir, if I may," one of the attorneys said. Mertz waved a hand at
him and nodded. The attorney picked up a document.
"Miss, I'm sorry for your suffering," he said. "And I don't want to
bring up anything painful, but these statements Donovan made last night
may explain some things:
'Yes, I was obsessed with finding her. I'll do anything to find her. The
law means nothing to me. The law is simply rational for the will of
those in power.'"
Mertz raised his eyebrows and looked at me. "As you can see, that
bastard is nuts."
I nodded. "Apparently so," I said. "And, uh, actually, I'm grateful to
Admiral Mertz, and the efforts of you gentlemen. I really don't hold
anything against you guys for what happened. Misunderstanding, right?
Donovan was just a, uh, a bad apple."
The nodded. "Bad apple, that's right," Suzuki said. "Every bushel of
good ones has 'em, even if it's just one in a hundred. Am I right,
Admiral?"
"Absolutely, Sir."
The room grew quiet. "Eh, Miss Ytha," the governor said, "what do you
think about my offer?"
"I accept," I said, nodding. He and the senator smiled broadly.
"Thank you," he said. "And, I'm not sure of whether you would consider
this, but"
He trailed off, looking abashed. It didn't feel sincere to me, since so
far my taste of politicians was that they weren't the bashful type and
were also master performers. But, I played along. "Yes?" I asked.
"Well, it's probably nothing you'd bother with, and please, feel no
obligation to accept. In fact, promise me that you won't feel obligated,
ok? But Hawaii would like to offer you a job," he said. "A very simple
one. Just, shooting perhaps a couple commercials, to promote tourism."
The senator spoke up. "Maybe to promote environmentalism, as well."
The men smiled broadly at me. Mertz was sitting to my left, between me
and the politicians. His look contrasted the smiles of the politicians.
He seemed to be telling me something with his stone-cold countenance.
Perhaps he was telepathic on his own, because my mind suddenly clicked
as I realized that there are no free lunches in life. I tried to
maintain a smile as my mind wrapped itself around the fact that these
guys weren't working out of mercy or obligation. Those motives might be
auxiliary ones, but now that I realized how much I could benefit
Hawaii's image, I realized that saviors don't come unless there's a
profit to be had. While I had known that with Mertz, I didn't know how
broadly the rule applied.
But, I suddenly saw that the flow of energy in this environment was
exactly like the dynamics of the wilderness. Living things don't invest
their energies without expecting a reward. While I understood this game,
I had always assumed that in the human world there were slightly
different rules, altered by the goodness of mankind. I never expected to
find the laws of survival and energy exchange to reign over human
affairs. It was possible that all human kindness was an illusion, and
that morality and compassion were merely highly developed instincts that
served the promulgation of the species. Was our mastery over the natural
world and our divinity among the animals a massive illusion?
"Uh," the governor said, "If you need more time "
"No, that's not it," I said. My eyes were watering with tears. I
suddenly realized that my initial thoughts of Donovan had been wrong. He
wasn't worse than a predator. He just made the critical error of not
understanding his target. I had turned the tides on Donovan, momentarily
injured him. Now he was weak, and these sharks that sat before me,
smiling with toothy grins and hungry eyes, were turning on him to get
his meal. And if I didn't want to end up prey, I'd better pay attention
to the dynamics of the human wilderness and learn fast.
"It's ok," Lacar said."
"I, uh, I'm just overwhelmed," I said to explain my tears and silence.
"And you are showing such kindness to me. I accept your offer. Thank
you."
My explanation fit their expectations and they accepted it whole-
heartedly. The governor actually got up and came over to me, and put an
arm around my shoulder.
"It's ok, it'll be alright," he said. "Is it true you like Hawaii?" I
nodded. "Well, you will be protected here, in the water and on the land.
No need to worry, none at all. You've been through a lot, but you're
safe now."
But as he spoke, I felt more endangered than I than ever. Compared to
life among humans, crossing the Pacific had been facile. I began to
regret the decision to return to the base with Donovan and the SEALs. My
friends were free. But now I understood that freedom was the price I had
to pay to become a part of the human world. And the humanity I had so
yearned to rejoin had disappeared in the process.
-
It was the night of the premier of _The Mermaid and Her World_. I sat
with Ashlen in her kitchen in Oahu as we had our hair done by
professionals.
"I really can't believe you're going in that jean skirt," Ashlen said.
"Well, with nice shoes," I said.
"Is this just you being stubborn?" she asked.
"Ash, I'm just going as me, and if people don't like it, they can stick
it."
"Argh, tiger," she quipped.
"Sorry," I said.
"No, I think, I don't know," she said. "Everything you do just seems to
make people crazy. I just thought that maybe if you conformed a bit, it
might make it easier. I'm just a bit scared nowadays."
"Me too," I said. Things are getting weird.
It had been three months since my capture and release. In that time, I
had performed countless interviews with the media, gone for a swim in
Kanahoe Bay in seaform, but wearing a bikini top - with the President
of the United States, his wife and two young sons. Afterwards, the
president delivered the citizen's oath to me, and granted me US
citizenship. After I thanked the president, America, and the US Navy and
Marine Corps, I gave a brief speech about the environment and endorsed
America's commit to preserving it. While the speech itself had been
boilerplate fare, written for me, it had the ring of truth. The thing
that surprised everyone, including me, was that studies and polls had
shown that Americans had actually grown much more concerned about
pollution and conservation since that speech.
Now that humans accepted the fact that mermaids were real, something
strange and scary, but perhaps not too unpredictable occurred: mermaid
cults were springing up across the world. The intensity of their worship
and their fanaticism had altered my life, and the lives of those close
to me, completely. We all now had constant, necessary, armed companions.
The house I shared with Ashlen was enclosed by a fence on three sides,
and open to the ocean on the fourth. Two dozen armed men and a
representatives from the Secret Service patrolled the grounds and staked
out a watch in a boat in the back of the house. The only time I truly
had privacy was when I entered the ocean through the boathouse. If the
Pacific didn't drop to abysmal depths right outside the boathouse, I
wouldn't be able to escape the picket fleet of paparatzzi and mermaid
worshippers that remained at the legal limits of the property in an ad-
hoc flotilla of commissioned cruise ships, boats, rafts, and whatever.
If I was ever feeling good about my life in the human world, all I had
to do was type the word "Ytha" in an internet search engine and browse
the results. I didn't mind so much the ones that said things like "Ytha
is Hell's Whore," or "Ytha: The US Navy's Freakish Creation." Actually,
they were pretty amusing. The webpage I liked best, though, was
definitely "Ytha the Demon Satan's Demonic Herald of the End Times."
Trapped by humanity, I found the idea of me preparing the world for
Satan's conquest appealing. Not only did that popular page explain how
Earth's next unusual visitor from the sea would be a massive beast with
ten horns, but it even showed how the Bible and Nostradamus predicted my
coming.
The ones that really turned my guts and left me shaking were typically
titled "Ytha God's Angel," or "Force of Gaia: Ytha." "Jesus sends Ytha
to help people believe in miracles." "Christ is coming in Ytha's wake."
The weblogs and forums dedicated to discussing me were the best, though.
Initially, I spent hours reading them. But I started to see the forums
take on a predictable pattern of debate, and they became far less
interesting to read as they became a spectacle of bias and ignorance,
sometimes going on forever. The post sparking a debate about why I came
from God, not Allah, had over 100,000 replies, about 98% of which were
pointless tirades and death threats against other forum users.
I also didn't have too much time to read. I didn't dare travel out of
Hawaii for fear of losing daily contact with the water. I was in so much
demand that the media came to me. I spent my nights in the embrace of
the ocean, in a grotto, 100 feet out from the boat house and 500 feet
down, beyond the practical reach of even commercial diving gear and
exotic air mixes. The first night I had only gone about 100 feet down,
and woke up to camera flashes.
Most of my waking day was spent in study. Through her university, Audra
had devised a way for me to attain a degree in marine biology. It
required a lot of independent work and the attention of a few
professors, Audra included.
Ashlen and I entered a bulletproof limousine flanked by two massive
black Cadillac trucks full of bodyguards. We left the estate and passed
through a ring of protestors, worshippers, and admirers. Another limo,
empty, had left before us to trick the people into believing that I had
already left. Some of the people had been fooled and left, but the crowd
that was left was enormous. The State Police were here to maintain
order, and they could barely hold the crowd back. As I watched the swath
of humanity pass outside the tinted, armored windows, I had to clamp my
hands to my knees to keep them from trembling. I rubbed them into my
jean skirt to dry off the sweat.
"Good Lord, Ashlen," I said. "What have we created?"
"I don't know," she said.
The limo finally broke free of the crowd. I looked through the back
window at the wave of people chasing us in disbelief. On TV, I had seen
crowds of people lining up at movie theaters in anticipation of the
film, and I had seen a crowd of 10,000 people worship a makeshift idol
of me, but personally seeing the situation shook me to the core. We had
strong hopes for the movie's popularity, but this was a situation no one
ever expected.
Suddenly, I wanted to back out. I didn't want this movie to play. Part
of me couldn't wait until the movie was released in hopes that the
public furor would die down. Part of me was terrified that the movie
would only escalate the madness.
I reached across the seat and took Ashlen's hand. It was just as cold
and clammy as my own.
"You know," Ashlen said. "No one's forcing you to do this."
I sighed heavily. "Too late now," I said. What if I didn't show up? This
would be the first time the public has seen me in almost a month. They
were anticipating this. How could things get worse?
And, I was still proud of the work we'd done, and anticipated a good
night with friends. This premier seemed like a reward for all our hard
work. Besides, Julia, Jim, and Katerine especially seemed to love the
attention. I didn't know if they were blind to what was going on, or if
they couldn't see past the dollar signs in their eyes. Or perhaps the
wilderness had ingrained paranoia hyperawareness so deeply into me that
I was seeing things. But whatever it was, on a gut instinct, it was
scary.
Ashlen, coached me on what to do when we pulled up to the red carpet.
"Just smile, wave, and walk fast," she said.
"Is that what you do at your movies?" I asked.
"Well, the movies I was in no one even paid attention to me, except for
a couple documentaries. I was just a stunt swimmer. I usually wore a wig
to look like the starlet."
We drove into another crazy crowd. The car stopped and the bodyguards
took their place. The red carpet lay in between a wall of blue as
uniformed officers held the crowd back. Two bodyguards, each taller than
me in my heels and three times as wide, opened the car door. The air
rumbled with shouts and voices. The bodyguards flanked Ashlen and me as
we walked up into the theater.
I saw Ashlen wave, and realized I wasn't even smiling.
"Are you a couple?" someone shouted. "Is Park your trainer? Or are you a
lesbian?"
"Are you God incarnate? Are you Jesus!?"
"Ytha, I worship you! I'd die for you!"
The doors closed behind us and I breathed, perhaps for the first time
since leaving the limo.
"Well, you survived," Ashlen said.
"Yep," I said, and laughed with relief.
"Hey," Julia said, appearing from the crowd. I bent over to hug her, and
remembered when she had to bend down to hug me. Her face was flush and
her eyes beamed with excitement. "Ytha, meet" she introduced me to
famous actor with a Italian name and huge muscles. I was shocked, not by
the fact that I was meeting him, but by the fact that he always looked
over six feet in the movies, and the top of his head, which from my view
I could see was losing hair despite a clever haircut, only came up to my
chest.
The hall was full of celebrities and beautiful people. Julia ushered me
through so many I quickly lost count. I merely smiled and shook hands
and tried to radiate false friendly sincerity with a large smile.
I ran into the governor of Hawaii again, and greeted him, his wife, and
bent down to shake hands with his cute daughter, who hid behind her
mother's dress, like a baby clownfish in an anemone.
"Ytha," the governor said, taking my arm protectively and pulling me
aside. "This is Vladim Serkov." I was confronted with an immaculate ogre
in Italian silk who made me feel small and unobtrusive, which was a
welcome feeling. I reached out to shake his hand, and he embraced me and
kissed me on both cheeks. And I thought only the French did that.
"A pleasure to meet you, sir," I said, too shy to wipe the moisture from
my cheeks. _Do I taste good?_ I wanted to ask.
"Pleasure is all mine," he said. I looked to the governor for a moment.
"Vlad is here on a trade mission," Laras said. "And he's a good friend
of mine. He very much wanted to meet you. For business."
"Well, Sir," I said, "I'm sure it can be done, but I would really have
to refer you to Julia for such things."
"She uses 'sir,' such polite little thing," Serkov said. "Very humble
for someone to whom millions now ask: Are you God?"
Serkov's voice was so deep and powerful that its vibration threatened to
separate bone from muscle. His words delivered a paralyzing chill
through my body, and I froze and even stopped breathing.
_That voice,_ I thought. _Where have I heard it before?_
( _Breathe._ )
No. _Impossible._
Since entering the theater, I hadn't really looked at anyone. Faces came
and went so quickly that I didn't have time to engage and disengage with
individuals. I had just acted as a handshaking machine, a good luck
charm that everyone wanted to touch. Serkov's question, as blunt and
swift as a hammer to the head, suddenly forced me to look at him. His
shaved head was so large as to resemble that of a bull's. His sharp jaw
looked as long and thick as a man's forearm. His eyes were of two
different colors, both ethereal. His left was like a tiny porthole that
cast the azure glow of the Pacific into a dark ship. The other possessed
the verdant green of cool Californian waters. There was danger in those
eyes, in merely the act of gazing into them. The contrast was
mesmerizing.
Laras took my entrancement for shock, and patted me on the shoulder.
"Vlad's quite a kidder," he said. Serkov had no such illusions. He had a
knowing grin on his face. Looking away from him had the same feeling as
pulling a pair of magnets apart. I was grateful for Laras' intrusion. As
I looked at the glad-handing governor, I realized that if it wasn't for
him, nothing would have broken me from gazing at Serkov.
But as I looked at Laras I observed a strange look on his face. He was
smiling, but offered no other emotion besides happiness. By now, the
governor for me was more than an acquaintance, and I had never seen him
looking like this before.
Serkov continued to stand there, his arms crossed on his chest, like
railroad ties on a barn door. There was something in the air in the
vicinity of Serkov that was unearthly. The air was crystalline, and one
moved through it with less resistance. But I could feel a faint
resistance, so light as to resemble a spider's line of silk stretched
across its width, between Serkov and Laras. I realized the governor was
under the stranger's psychic influence. I suddenly felt panic welling up
from within me.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I nodded to the governor politely,
but didn't dare look at Serkov again. As I shook hands with an admirer
Julia introduced me to, my mind was possessed with the Russian behind
me. I could feel his gaze on my back. It was warm, like a ray of
sunshine.
_He's not fucking human,_ I thought.
_You are correct,_ Serkov said as I gripped an actress' hand. I turned
so violently that she spilled the wine she carried in her free hand all
over her dress. It was then that I recognized the voice. It was the same
that commanded me to breathe when I had first discovered the medallion.
Serkov was on the other side of the room, glancing at me out of the
corner of his eye. He was too far away to have spoken to me in such a
soft tone.
"Yth, are you ok?" Julia asked. I turned to her and blinked. She dabbed
at the actresses' white silk blouse with a handkerchief and tried to
soak up the stains.
"I'm sorry," I stammered. "I, uh, I think I need to sit down."
"Well, seating has just started," Julia said. "Can you make it to the
theater?"
"Yes," I said, hardly hearing myself. She led me toward the theater, but
all I could see was Serkov, standing still as the crowd passed him. He
held out his arm to me.
"You don't look so steady," he said. His bass voice rumbled my bones.
"No, I'm not," I said, taking his arm.
_You are a telepath,_ I said to him.
_And you are correct again._ he replied.
It felt as if I wasn't surrounded by people, but ghosts, mere dark
shadows of people whose image and voices were muted and quiet.
Occasionally I would bump into one as we made our way down the aisle,
and it would murmur something. Serkov was the only thing that felt
physical and present in reality.
"I believe you are sitting here," he said, gently releasing my arm and
gesturing with a hand so broad I could sit in it. I looked to my left
and saw my whole crew, smiling faces drawn back into focus. Serkov
rejoined the governor, and I scooted down the aisle, taking a seat
between Jim and Ashlen.
The movie started. The soundtrack had been written and performed by a
famous Greek musician who did everything on computers. It subtly
incorporated the crystalline sounds of my sonar into the various themes.
I could see Serkov's head ahead and below me. The movie screen cast
silver-white halo of light around the shadow of shaved head that faced
me.
_Who are you?_ I asked.
_I hope this doesn't disappoint you, but I'm not really a Russian
businessman._ he said.
_Who are you, then?_
_Put those thoughts away,_ he said. _I tire of your questions. But as I
watch this, I do have to say, of all the heralds dispatched to this
pathetic backwater world, you have been the most effective. Now, I
haven't been able to enjoy worthwhile entertainment for some time, so
let me watch the movie you made for me._
_Made for you?_ I asked. But I felt no reception in his mind. He had
closed it off to me. But, my mind felt wide open. I had to learn how to
build a psychic defense, if I even had one.
I couldn't appreciate the movie or the score. I was so obsessed with
discovering who Serkov was that time slowed down. It felt as though I
was in a fever dream. Several times I gathered my legs beneath me, on
the verge of standing and confronting him, but I backed down. I was
surprised to find that I wasn't intimidated in the least of confronting
him in front of the audience of celebrities. I was scared of disrupting
his enjoyment of the movie that I "made for him."
Katerine had put the shot of me scaring the surfers back into the film,
and it worked. Under her influence, people had built up enough sympathy
for the shark that they gasped, then laughed and cheered him on.
Serkov's voice returned, laughing, _Nice one_. He left again, leaving
me panting for more contact and feeling refused.
His communiqu suddenly left me paralyzed with fright. I felt the extent
of the enjoyment he felt from that scene, derived purely from the wicked
act of inducing mortal fear in the unsuspecting. Something in his voice,
or a dark riptide of thoughts, caused my stomach to ache with anxiety,
and I began to tremble.
Ashlen leaned over to me. "What is it?" she asked.
I could hardly hold tears back. I shook my head slowly in disbelief.
_Herald,_ I thought, looking at the sadistic thing before us with a halo
silver light on his bald head.
_Not that,_ I pleaded. Serkov, or whatever he was, remained silent.
"Yth," Ashlen pleaded, shaking my arm.
"I'm death," I stammered to her. She looked at me, puzzled, and then
horrified.
I had to get out of there. I had to get away from this monster. But I
couldn't move. He effortlessly held me in place with his will, less than
an afterthought. The movie ended. The audience rose and clapped while I
remained seated. I jumped when Serkov's voice returned to my mind.
"Now, that was actually enjoyable," he said. "And powerful. Good Lord,
films are shit these days. I see you were picked wisely. You've been a
good Siren, and your whole world has heard your song."
By now everyone was spilling out of the rows. Serkov stood in the aisle,
head and shoulders above everyone, eyes dancing. A crowd flocked to him.
The average people and celebrities alike treated him like a superstar.
He signed autographs, and then he did something I couldn't believe. To a
great wall of laughter, but everyone's acceptance, as if they
understood, a popular blonde movie star exposed her breasts to him, and
took great pleasure as he fondled one of her breasts, then signed it,
pressing into her flesh with such force that his pen tore her skin. But
she only gasped in ecstasy. He patted her bleeding breast, and covered
it up, pushing her slinky body away.
"Serkov," the people shouted. "Serkov, Serkov."
"Yes, yes, yes," he shouted back, "I love you all, of course I do." His
laughter shook the air. "Now go on, shoo, shoo."
With broad smiles, as if no one went unsatisfied with the encounter, not
even the woman whose blouse was spotting with blood, faded away from the
giant. Everyone poured into the mezzanine, where beverages and food were
being served, and some self-aggrandized actor was going to speak on the
importance of preserving the environment through his charity.
I stood at the edge of the row. Serkov stood a few rows down the sloping
aisle from me, and still he was taller than I was. He and I were the
only ones in the theater. People suddenly left us alone, as if we were
nobodies. I could only look at him out of the corner of my eye. I was
shaking. It was unbearable. But just when I thought I might scream, I
gave in. I looked him in the eyes, and the feelings of shock, horror,
and remorse were vanquished by calm. I could think clearly once again,
with my mind relaxed in a sublime feeling of delight. Whatever came over
me was not from myself but I accepted it. Serkov was amazing, a rock
star, gorgeous and someone I'd love to talk to, love to be friends with.
He extended his hand. So large was he that his arm bridged the gap
between us without his walking forward. I took his hand, and as he took
my arm in his we began walking, down the aisle. Once again, the theater
grew dim. The world lost focus and reformed. Without a hint of surprise,
but a strong feeling of nostalgia, I found that we were walking on a
road of white stone. The sun was strong but not hot. Its gentle rays
were even kind on the eyes as they streamed through the black limbs of
cherry trees, bare of leaves and bearing burgeoning blossoms.
"This is a comfortable place to talk," Serkov said.
"Yes," I agreed. "So tell me now, what is your real name?"
"Serkov will do."
"You are the Devil," I said.
"A single word cannot describe me any better than this image I hold now,
which is merely a curiosity of your planet's environment, and a mere
avatar, one of many I simultaneously control. But, I digress. Once I
start talking about myself, I can hardly stop. 'Serkov' will do, and as
to what I am, let's just say I am a servant of God only because I cannot
escape our maker or his will, no matter how much I may despise him."
"God!?" I asked. I stopped. "Tell me who you truly are," I pleaded,
foolishly using a plaintive tone, and regretting it immediately. Cerkov,
however, found this uproarious.
"I'm sorry, my dear, but you weren't built to accommodate such
knowledge. While you could stand it more than most, and I am never one
to deny a wish or caution restraint, I cannot harm you thus. So, you
will have to be satisfied with that answer for now.
"Now, let's move onto business, shall we? As I stated earlier, you are
a herald, my dear, my herald. Oh no, don't get it into your pretty
little head that you're a herald. There are countless heralds in
infinity, so if you would take pride in something, take pride in being
something countable: a human being."
"I'm a herald, giving a message," I said. "Of what? What am I? You speak
of God you are my maker? Or God? Tell me, I want to know everything."
"God is the maker of us all and I am the maker of you. You are my herald
but appropriately, God's, as is everyone, everything."
"Fine what is my message?"
He stopped and looked at me. "Change."
"And, so I'm a herald of change?"
"Yes."
"Of what?"
"I don't know. I just know a little."
"Tell me, then, please."
"God's not too happy, that's what. She's has become sentimental about
the loss of his artwork. You see, she puts quite a bit of work into her
masterpieces. Just take this cherry tree, for example."
We paused. I stared at the tree. Pink petals sprang from the dark wood.
"Did you know, that if you added the exact diameter of every divergent
branch of its tree at the point after its bifurcation, that the sum of
that diameter would equal the diameter of the column of the trunk? Thus,
the sum diameters of the branches that originate from the trunk, along
with the sum diameters of all the outmost twigs, are equal to the trunk.
Same goes for the roots, which typically spread as far down below the
surface as the branches above. A living piece of art, infinite detail,
so chaotic yet so balanced, and like every piece of his, it is a guide
to the mystery and beauty of his universe, in plain sight, readable to
all."
"Readable to all?" I asked.
"Yes," Serkov said. He turned to me. I couldn't meet his gaze for fear
of losing my mind.
"You know this, of course. If you didn't, you wouldn't have been
qualified to be a Herald. You know that The Almighty has invested
herself fully in Creation. She pours herself into her work with
intensity unimaginable by all the minds on Earth combined. And as you
can imagine, she hasn't spent considerable time and effort in her
artwork, only to watch many of the most sublime masterpieces be trashed
by ignorance. Of course, she knew there was a potential for this. She
has rebuked mankind many times. Lately, the punishments have become a
bit more obvious. But still, man's pride my greatest joy has blinded
her to the obvious: Creation is a gift to be cherished; and just as its
conservation is a selfless act of submission and worship, its
desecration is a mortal sin. And the commitment of that sin, so obvious
to even the smallest child, is going to result in punishment. And, that
is what you herald. When the punishment comes your message will be
clear. That is, after all, the central theme of your movie? Isn't that
the message of your songs?"
"But" I said, "But that movie, it came from the minds of men and women,
not of God."
He laughed. "What you must learn is that all creation, the conception of
a child, the painting of a masterpiece, all art, is inspired by Her."
We were standing next to a marble bench on the edge of the road, sitting
beneath a budding cherry tree. Serkov sat on the bench. He pulled me to
him, but I escaped his grasp. He smiled and patted his thigh. "Have a
seat here, Little One. I don't bite." His voice was so alluring it made
me blush. It was as gentle as a melody drifting on a summer breeze. I
took a step forward, and then halted and stepped back.
I looked around at the landscape, both alien and familiar. "Standing in
this realm is so comfortable I don't find the need to sit down."
"Hmmm, no 'sir' that time?" he asked, his voice back to normal.
"I'm beginning to see you in a different light."
"Very well, Siren," he said, a wave of his hand dismissing the matter.
"Let's resume our pleasant chat. Do you know what I have been so
fascinated with, that I really found funny, in observing mankind's
reaction to you?"
"No, sir," I said.
"Well let me just say the hilarity culminated with that head of state
and his family cavorting playfully with you in the ocean. Little One,
you are expected to be ignorant of your true nature; Innocence is a
prerequisite of your office. But it's unbelievable, exceeding hyperbole,
that such a leader of men would be so ignorant as to treat you like a
plaything and a prop, when the confirmation of your existence should be
a thunderbolt that drops him to his knees to seek mercy and protection
from his Creator. For you are a portent, an omen, a warning. Siren: a
dual entity. You are a harbinger of death: a being from the element of
tears who seduces and silences. You symbolize life: Woman, the
progenitor of mankind, and the source of all life, the sea, over which
God floated as she contemplated her next step in Creation. It is truly a
mark of the ages that such a symbol as you, lodged deeply in the human
psyche, would serve not merely as a warning of change and
transformation, but a sought-after celebrity!"
Serkov's laugh was infectious. Despite the things I was hearing, my mood
was cheerful. I couldn't help but share his humor. I dreaded departing
from him for I feared what this new knowledge would do to me.
"So," I said. "I'm merely an instrument. But has my message been
received? I don't see the logic. If you were truly tasked by God, how
did you have license to transform me into the Siren? You have no
dominion over me. Or do you?"
"I have only the dominion granted me, and exactly that amount. I was
tasked with this, and the Siren is God's archetype for warning of
change. And though I cannot corrupt you, I can offer you choices."
"What choice did I "
He continued as if I hadn't interrupted. His voice was so powerful it
silenced my own.
"The necklace was merely an invitation deliverable only to one with the
talent and desire to accept its office. And, you have fulfilled the
purpose of that office beyond my greatest expectations. As to your
choice, it's being delivered as no other ever has, with your full
knowledge of the outcome. Witness."
>From his jacket he produced what looked like a cigarette case of the
purest silver, but scaled to him, it was the size of a cigar box. One
side of it was faced with a square of countless diamonds, set on the
bias to form a diamond itself. The other side, which he exposed to me,
was flat, and acted as a mirror so perfect that in the reflection I saw
my entire body, as if witnessed in the third person.
I was myself, from before the transformation. I still wore my uniform
and I was me, male and young. The Siren was gone. Only I remained, in
detail so perfect that I recognized and embraced it without question. I
turned, and watched the boy Marine turn.
Serkov put the mirrored case back, and I found myself looking at him. I
held up my hands and recognized the pink skin, the masculine fingers. I
was male again.
He rubbed his hands together slowly and spoke: "What I am about to show
you is a glimpse of infinity." He balled his hands into fists, held the
fists forward, and turned them up. He opened his hands. In his left was
an orb of glass, holding shifting images too small to see without closer
scrutiny. In his right hand, he held the necklace. "In effect, you never
discovered the necklace," he said. "At this moment, you are on the
seafloor, searching for a trophy with which you can impress your
friends. I am now offering you the choice you so presumptuously believed
you never had."
"How can that be?" I asked, stunned.
"Simply look on the last year as the outcome of a choice. Having lived
with that choice, I offer you another one."
He nodded to the azure globe in his left hand. I stared into it, and
fell into its year-long story, living it with all the detail, minute by
minute, hour by hour. It started with me returning to the surface,
breathless but no worse for wear. I return to base with my friends. I go
on maneuvers the following morning, and continue with my life in the
Marines. My love of the sea continues and its mysteries still call to
me. I spend most of my liberty there. I learn to SCUBA dive, but find
that it's more fun to skin dive and snorkel because I can move as if
flying. It's a life of inclusion, with many friends bonded to me out of
sincerity instead of sycophancy. And there's still a mermaid. I see her
as all humans do, first through rumors, and then through a film. I
follow the story as an outsider. It's a casual and romantic interest,
but life's duties demand attention away from the fantastic, and I don't
bear the Siren much mind. In the last days of this possible year, I fall
in love with a Russian girl who is in Japan for business. She's tall but
not as tall as me. She's from a town called Archangelsk and she has a
pale complexion, and eyes so blue and hair so blonde that his image
reminds me of the sun streaming through the sea. In this world, I never
face the pain of transformation, and loneliness is a stranger rather
than a companion. While I struggle with faith, my humanity and relation
to God is never truly questioned.
On the one-year anniversary of my first plunge into the ocean, the night
in which one possibility I'm at the premier of my movie, I am on a
remote beach on a warm night, with my new bride from Archangelsk in my
arms. The air is filled with the fragrance of a night orchid, cicadas
call from the jungle behind us. The surf laps at the beach before us.
The stars of heaven blaze above our heads. I'm a corporal now and life
in the Marines is going fast and I've been learning Russian. I'm taking
college courses and have decided to leave the Marines in a few years
because I want to be a family man, live in my dumpy old town and do
something with my life. Over everything, I'm happy.
To my shock, the image fades into an azure glow. I am unaware that the
existence is merely a possibility: I have lived it. The glow diminishes,
and I am left standing in the Realm of Truth, with Serkov sitting before
me. For a moment I don't understand what happened. I search frantically
for my bride as I stare at the beast sitting before me. But reality
snaps back, and despite the powers that dull senses and clear the head
in this realm, I am so shocked by the experience that tears well up
before I can control them.
I wipe my cheeks as my breath returns to me. As my head clears, I
realize that I am three beings at one time. The being I feel centered on
is the emotionless, level-headed one standing in the Realm of Truth. The
second and third beings I inhabit equally. One is the Marine who never
encountered the necklace. The other is the Siren. One promises inclusion
and confidence. The other promises only freedom. Neither guarantees
anything beyond the year I saw of each one. Both entities are survivors,
and if their chances of survival are equal, the first will remain
innocent and obscure, while the second will be reviled as abomination.
I stared at Serkov. Somehow, I matched his gaze without succumbing to
his will.
"You held true to that promise," I said. "Let me ask you, does the Siren
have a soul?"
It took Serkov a moment to respond, as if he'd sat so long he'd
petrified. But when he did, I had to look away from his eyes because
they suddenly regained their unavoidable power.
"Does she have a soul?" he asked. "That, I will not answer. You have
lived both lives."
"But "
"I am not here to impart infinite wisdom. I'm here to offer you a
choice: Will you be my herald?"
The dominance of his voice triggered my stubbornness. I reached
decisively for the blue orb. But my hand stopped on its own accord mere
inches from its surface, for here I could feel the warmth and safety of
its promise, intensifying the closer my fingers got to it. The sensation
resonated with my soul, nearly securing the decision.
At the last moment, I pulled back. The feelings subsided. I reached for
the necklace in Serkov's palm. As my hand drew close to it, I felt cold,
and a shiver was cast through my body. There was rapture, as well, for I
felt true freedom, which held infinite possibilities but promises only
two: danger and death.
Once I had decided, I looked Serkov in the eye: "I will be your herald."
I took the necklace from his palm and clasped it in my own. It's cold
spread through my body, and I felt myself paralyzed as if turning into
ice.
Once again, the powers of his eyes diminished. "You are the first, out
of many, to make this choice," he said. "We will never meet again.
Goodbye."
The cold within me intensified and grew into a fire. The Realm of Truth
faded, and I found myself sitting in the theater at the premier of _The
Mermaid and Her World._ The movie was almost at the point where I pulled
the scare stunt with the shark. I stood up and looked down the rows. I
could see Serkov nowhere. As I looked down to find my seat again, I saw
that I was once again the Siren.
The scent of popcorn and old fabric filled my nose. I heard the familiar
theater sounds; the white noise of chewing, coughing, and whispers under
the multi-directional sound. I looked around. Flickering silver-blue
light fell on the faces of the entranced.
Ashlen leaned in to me. "What is it?" she asked.
I looked at her as if she was a ghost. I had just departed from this
theater for a good year, and hadn't thought of her once. I couldn't
remember all the details of the life I had forgone. But I remembered the
basics, just as if it had been a particularly good dream, the details of
which are lost even as it leaves you with the feeling of loss. I had
chosen Ashlen, equal parts delight and guilt. For a moment as I looked
at her face, gentle and strong, I felt regret. She read something in my
eyes that saddened her. I took her hand in mine and suddenly found a
smile spreading on my face as I realized I loved her more than ever, for
I had truly chosen her. We returned our attention to the movie.
But the movie, I had seen before. I was distracted. I pretended to give
the film my attention while my mind wandered. Had I made the right
choice? Had the Siren's beauty and power seized my vanity and obscured
my judgment.
I forced myself to relax, to calm my mind. I closed my eyes, and
performed the ritual of meditation. It was then I felt an energy
building within me. It wasn't a charge, but more of an indicator a
countdown. My body's sympathy with nature was warning me of an impending
storm, the punishment due. I sensed I had time. Weeks, a month perhaps.
It would be time enough for the message of this movie to spread across
the world. At the rate the madness surrounding my presence was
escalating, mankind would be prepared when the time came. But should I
give further warning? Should I proclaim that, yes, I am Satan's Siren,
here to herald God's punishment for your hubris? Would my warning serve
humanity, or turn the remaining days into absolute chaos?
The answers I had received in the Realm of Truth had been no more than
information with which I could choose my destiny. I didn't know exactly
what was going to happen during the punishment. God's discipline as of
late has been subtle, more internal than external, affecting individuals
more than nations. But my growing instincts told me it was going to be
severe. I hoped my friends wouldn't be disappointed to learn that soon
all the money we've made as of late is going to be nothing compared to
the currency of survival, an economy in which money is most valuable as
tinder, insulation, or tissue paper.
If God wanted such a direct message, he would deliver it himself. My
mission was complete. My only goal was to return to the sea. For the
suffering about to come, I could feel no sympathy. It was inevitable,
whether I had been the herald or not.
Yes, I would warn my friends. This was my prerogative. I was anxious for
the movie to end. I had a lot of explaining to do and they had to make
preparations. They would ride out the storm like Noah, on _Deep Thinker_
instead of the ark. Even then survival was not guaranteed. I would not
be with them. But what of Ashlen?
It was then I felt an electric tingle in the palm of my clenched right
hand. This time, when I pushed my thoughts toward it, I received a
response. The necklace was charged, once again ready to transform one
who would accept its power.
I leaned over to Ashlen. The corners of our foreheads touched. I took
her hand, and placed the necklace in her palm. She shivered as she felt
its potential, waiting to be released. She stared at the necklace.
"Do you know what this is?" I asked. Entranced by the gift, she could
only nod. I felt sorry for her, for she now had a choice, but unlike me
she didn't have the benefit of perfectly understanding her choice.
Still, she had wished for this her whole life, and she didn't care
whether or not the wish would turn out the way she wanted it to. But I
still had to give her a feeble warning, even if just to make myself feel
better.
I turned her face to mine. I looked into her eyes, and reached out to
her mind. I dampened her excited brain and forced her to think clearly.
_Before you decide, know that I offer no promises whatsoever. This is
freedom, where everything is possible but nothing guaranteed._
She nodded slowly. I left her mind in a state of calm, without
predisposition. She pondered the necklace coiled like a metallic snake
in her palm fearfully, wondrously.
Suddenly, the light from the projector faded, leaving the room in
darkness. It returned, casting just enough light to spread a message
across the screen: The End.
In the Beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth
was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and
the spirit of God was hovering over the waters.
Genesis 1
KeikoJade: kaiheitai@gmail.com