Chapter Thirteen

“Yellow Fin Tuna?” yelled the red-faced tourist, his riotous-red Hawaiian shirt bursting over his belly. “We hired this boat to catch shark.”

Charles Cakobao, the Fijian skipper and owner of the Crazy Motion stood his ground, which was literally difficult in the South Pacific swell greeting them that dawn.

His frown related more to his recollection of the calm sea forecast than to the American’s tirade. He took a slow intake of air, as if it was a long cool drink. Looking past the rich man and into the fair-weather cumulus skidding over the smudged horizon shape of Fiji he watched dark dots pinpointing other game fishing boats. No doubt their skippers faced the same tirade. Ready or not, he gave his speech.

“Mr. Addison, there is a moratorium on Shark fishing this season as part of the Global wildlife inventory. But we can still go after Tuna. They take just as much skill.”

“Ah, I get it,” said Addison, tapping his nose. “You want more money.”

“No.”

“Cash. Stewart, pay him another thousand.” A sea-sickly youth, wearing a blue and white striped jerkin that brought a smile to Cakobao, unzipped his money belt.

“No, Mr. Addison, I’d lose my licence. These boats carry electronic tags, and so do many sharks.”

“Then I’ll buy the fucking boat. Stewart…”

“It’s not mine to sell,” Cakobao lied. “Do you want to go back ashore, or shall we go catch fish?”

A disgruntled shrug from Addison allowed Cakobao to head his boat southeast away from the island. He needed the cash from these damnable tourists, legally, or he’d go straight back.

An hour later, Cakobao scratched his head in consternation. They hadn’t yet reached the spot where he could always guarantee lively fishing, but the sonar revealed a worrying phenomenon. He gestured to his engineer-also-waiter to come into the wheelhouse, without alerting the passengers.

“Jack, look at the screen. I’ve never seen activity like this.” They peered at blips moving to the west. Thousands of sea-creatures swam beneath them away from where the Crazy Motion was headed.

“You’re registered with Fishwatch, aren’t you?” Jack said. “Call them to see what’s happening. Or are we gonna try catching them here?”

“No point. If they’re on the run, they’re scared, not hungry.”

Cakobao used his Web connection to send his sonar data to Fishwatch. In return they fed data from other boats and satellites back to him, and added a warning.

Cakobao looked at Jack with a here-we-go face and went to the aft deck, where the four large tourists inebriated themselves on the complimentary beer.

“I’m sorry, folks, we have to turn back after all. We’ve been informed that there might have been a seaquake up ahead, so there’s a strong possibility of a tsunami.”

Addison’s face turned a deeper shade of crimson. “Hang on there, buddy. I’ve paid good money to be on this bucket.”

“Mr. Addison, money can’t control a tsunami.”

“It’s all balls anyway, Cakobao,” he said, looking past the Fijian at the horizon as if a dark wet wall was speeding towards them. “There’s no sign of any tidal wave.

You’re pissed off with me, and your pride is getting in the way.”

Addison’s young assistant called him from where he’d been sick over the side.

“There’s millions of fish, Sir.”

“So there is. Cakobao, why can’t we stop here and catch some of these?”

“Come with me, Mr. Addison, and look at the data sent to us from Fishwatch.

Look, there are fish and whales leaving the area. We’re only a hundred kilometres off the centre of the area they appear to be evacuating. What does that tell you?”

“You’re right. Something’s spooked them. And you reckon it might be a quake.

But that ain’t right either is it?”

He had to concede. “No. We’d have seen and felt a tsunami by now—even a small one.”

“Even so, aren’t you the least curious, Cakobao, about what’s alarmed these critters? I’m the hell am. OK, let’s forget the fishing and go see. Ah, I see you find something to agree with me at last.”

* * *

Derek called Kallandra back as she left with Claude to return to the Johnson Space Centre.

“Fish. Radar—did you know the spheres are invisible to radar? Sonar has tracked aquatic life leaving the area. Extrapolating backwards has given them a point of origin. A remotely controlled sub is being airlifted there.”

“Maybe that wet sphere had further to go. How about the one in the Bermuda area?” She was impressed that Derek’s impromptu globe and sticks model produced the right result.

“Too much background noise.”

“Or it isn’t there. Destroyed? After all, two billion years is a hell of a warranty period.”