The alliance with New Destiny had meant no more hunting, having servants on land to prepare food and take care of the occasional parasite, a comfortable and guarded harbor to rest in. But he knew, even at the time, that the markers were going to be called in eventually.
The pod of Changed orcas were tired and hungry. They had gotten a bluntly worded order to move from their usual grounds near the Asur Islands and make their way to the deep water near Bamude. The problem was that the open ocean between the two areas was nearly devoid of life. They had happened upon one pod of natural dolphins but the damned beasts were hard to catch. Other than that they hadn’t eaten since leaving their home waters. And the swim had been brutal.
But the ships they were meeting were supposed to be bringing supplies, as well as orders. Not to mention the fact that the tersely worded orders had still contained enough to make clear they were not a request. So they would wait.
“Do you hear that?” Sikursuit pulsed. “Sounds like a boat.”
“Yeah,” Shedol said. The second in command was nearly as large as Shanol, and both were outsized for normal orcas. They had both Changed at the same time as various forms of underwater hunting had gotten boring and they decided to try it “au naturale.” It had been their combined energies that had gathered the pod together. They had separated out the female orcas and the females now languished in pens in the harbor, reserved for mating to Shedol or Shanol unless one of the other males in the pod was especially graced. “Waves slapping on the hull.”
Sikursuit lifted himself up to the surface and looked in the direction of the sound but when he came down he shook his head from side to side.
“Still below the horizon,” he said with raised pectoral fins. Like all the Changed he had stubby fingers on the end that were barely capable of holding implements.
“I’m tired of waiting,” Shanol announced. “We’ll go to them.”
“You’re late,” Shanol squealed from his blowhole, rolling an eye up at the figure leaning over the side of the ship.
“The winds were terrible and this tub isn’t exactly graceful,” Martin replied. He slipped a membrane over his head and dove in the water.
“There, that’s better,” Martin replied. The membrane separated out oxygen from the water column around his head and transferred it as he breathed in a manner that made it seem like breathing air. And as he spoke the membranes converted his words into sonar pulses that were comprehensible to the orcas. “Unless I’m much mistaken, you’re away from the rendezvous.”
“We heard you coming and we were hungry,” Shanol replied as the pod circled the unChanged human.
If Martin noticed the emphasis on “hungry” or the circling orcas he gave no sign.
“The point is that it was a general rendezvous,” Martin pointed out. “Old friends and new as they say. I’m Martin St. John. You’re Shanol Etool.”
“I know who I am,” Shanol pulsed, tightly. “Where’s the food?”
“In time, in time,” Martin replied. “Let’s get things straight, I’m your control from here on out. We’ve got a complicated little problem to work out and you’re going to do it my way.”
“Or?” Shedol asked, clashing his teeth. “You’re in the water with us little landsman; as far as we’re concerned, you’re just slower lunch.”
“I understand your position,” Martin said. “There are many in the sea that take it.” He waved his arms, and up out of the depths rose a kraken, a human who had taken the extreme change into a giant squidlike creature. The kraken whipped out one thirty-meter tentacle and wrapped it around Sikursuit drawing him down into the depths as he squealed in pain and fear.
“I think we should be clear,” Martin continued as the shrieks from the orca rose to a crescendo. “I’m in charge. Now, there are all sorts of theories about leadership and management. But, really, they all boil down to ‘I tell you what to do and you do it.’ You’re not honorable, so I can’t appeal to your honor. You’re not patriotic, so I can’t appeal to your patriotism. You’re not moral, so I can’t appeal to your morality. But fear and intimidation are universally acceptable methods of leadership. As you, Shanol, and you, Shedol, have proven,” he added as the shrieks were cut off in abrupt finality.
He looked around at the orcas who were pulsing into the deeps. The kraken had faded from eyesight but it was apparently still in range of sonar.
“Oh, that’s just Brother Rob,” Martin said. “He was… a compatriot in some… businesses with me before the Fall. He made a couple of minor little errors in, shall we say ‘sexual gamesmanship,’ and decided that taking a very long vacation somewhere extremely unlikely was called for. And while Mother could find him in a deep-sea trench, the busybodies from the Council weren’t able to. But he, too, has decided to aid us in our endeavors. Of his own free will, of course.”
“Of course,” Shanol pulsed. “But I’m now short an orca.”
“Well, we can’t have you short on personnel,” Martin said, waving his hand again. From out of the gloom of the depths rose a school of what appeared at first to be manta rays. But as they approached, the vertically slit teeth made it clear what they were.
“What hell are those things?” Shedol said. “Jesus.”
“No, far from it,” Martin chuckled. “They are ixchitl, a recent little development of the Lady Celine. They will be supporting your endeavors. They, of course, don’t have sonar or vocal apparatuses. But they do hear you quite clearly. You might not want to say anything that would get them angry.”
“Not me,” Shedol replied.
“What’s the job?” Shanol ground out.
“The mer and the UFS are meeting. The UFS wants an alliance. The main group of mer is located in the Isles. We’re going to make sure that the alliance doesn’t come about. You’re going to be our… ambassadors in this endeavor.”
“And the ixchitl?” Shanol asked.
“They’re for if diplomacy doesn’t work.”
“Chief,” Herzer said.
After getting lost twice he had found the chief supervising some sailors working with a huge mound of rope in a forward compartment. They were coiling it, carefully, and Herzer could appreciate why. The rope was at least two decimeters in diameter and the Bull God only knew how long; it was taking ten of them just to move it and another five to get it coiled properly.
“Lieutenant Herrick,” Chief Brooks replied. He was medium in every way. Medium height, brown hair, brown eyes and the medium-brown skin that was normal after millennia of genetic crossing. If he’d ever had a body mod of any form it was to make him more medium. But he still had a commanding presence that was unmistakable.
“Was wondering if you had a minute?” Herzer asked.
“Sure, Lieutenant, this is under control,” the chief answered, walking away from the working party. “What’s up?”
“Well, when I was but a young lad, my Gunny told me that if I had something I couldn’t handle I should talk to the Gunny,” Herzer said with a grin.
“There’s not a gunny on board,” Brooks replied.
“Yep, but you’re the equivalent. I need some materials and some of them are going to be rare and some of them are going to be hazardous. And I’d bet you’d know where and how to get them before we weigh anchor.”
“And they’re not coming on this ship without the CO’s permission,” the chief answered. “Not if they’re hazardous.”
“I’ll get the permission, if you can get the materials,” Herzer said, handing the chief a list.