Ryan Lockwood - Below

The floating tag had a phone number listed on it because apparently it wasn’t actually a transmitter—just some sort of recording device. So the researchers who had deployed it had no way of finding it unless someone reported it to them. Probably a less-expensive option than a transmitting tag, especially if you were planning to tag a number of fish. The Spanish writing on it made sense, too, since they were so close to Mexico… and because so many in California spoke Spanish as their first language. His Spanish had gotten a little rusty since losing Maria.

Sturman fired up his aging laptop as he sipped the bitter black coffee and typed “PLARG” into the search box on his homepage. Topping the list of results was a website for the Point Lobos Aquarium Research Group. PLARG conducted marine research all over the world, focusing on deep-sea organisms and environments. He browsed through the site, but found no specific information about pop-up tags.

“Hey, Bud, should we call them?”

At the mention of his name, Sturman’s dog rose from his bed inside the cabin and climbed the stairs to place his head in Sturman’s lap. He scratched behind Bud’s short, floppy ears, and the dun-colored dog grunted with pleasure.

“We could use a reward, pal. If we don’t start making more money, I’ll have to eat you soon.”

There were two phone numbers on the orange tag. One had an 831 Monterey County area code, and Sturman could tell that the other was set up for dialing in Mexico. He picked up his cell and dialed the first number. The line rang. He took a deep breath.

“Come on, big money….”

Midnight. She was alone, a hundred feet below the surface, surrounded by intense water pressure and near-absolute blackness. Hovering in the dark waters of the Sea of Cortez, far underneath her boat and totally alone, Valerie Martell was a bit frightened, but completely in control. She had been here before. Many times, in fact.

In her right hand she held an underwater camera. A tiny green LED flashed on the camera, indicating that it was recording. On the other wrist, the pull cord on Val’s scuba light tugged gently at her wrist as the light swung freely. For now, the light was off.

With her left hand she reached for a nylon tether that ran up toward the surface. She gave a few strong tugs on the tether to test it again, then ran her hand down it and checked the knot at her waist to make sure it hadn’t worked itself loose. The rope tether was secured to a cleat on the stern of her boat.

She hoped it was secured, anyway.

In the cast of the six bright halogen lights mounted to her vessel far above, Val was able to see into the dark water around her. She could make out the outline of her own body, down to her dark scuba fins fluttering below her, now that her eyes were accustomed to the dim surroundings. She could see the white tether running toward the surface, and a fine snow of suspended marine particles drifting by. But mostly, all Val saw was endless blackness in front of her. Behind her. To both sides of her. Below her.

And occasionally, she saw something else.

With increasing frequency, she watched large, pale shapes glide by her where the cone of light couldn’t quite reach. They were the animals that she was hoping to see.

Val’s regulator hissed as she drew in another long, slow breath. Otherwise, the underwater world was silent. She looked down at her dive computer, connected to her tank by a long rubber hose: ten more minutes, then she would have to surface.

Come on, guys, don’t be scared . It’s just little old me.

At the edge of her vision, Val saw another pale shape dart past her. Her heart jumped in her chest and she exhaled a burst of air into her regulator. Val felt a little jealous of the crowd of bubbles that escaped past her face on their scramble to the surface. No, she reminded herself, you need to relax. Everything will be fine.

Several more forms appeared at the edge of her vision. Lighter than the dark water, the animals might be emitting some of their bioluminescence, or maybe they were simply reflecting the light from above. Their outlines were still formless at this distance.

Something brushed against Val’s scuba tank.

She had just enough time as she spun to watch the animal disappear into the blackness. Moments later, another shape began to emerge from the water, maybe thirty feet away. Years of experience had taught Val that it was hard to gauge distance underwater, especially at night.

This one was curious. It was moving much slower, approaching her. And it was a big one.

Val felt a combination of excitement and fear. She slowly raised the camera in her right arm, pointing it toward the approaching creature. Based on its huge size, almost certainly a female. Perfect. Smile for the camera.

Val suddenly remembered why she loved this job.

The thick shape gliding toward her was nearly six feet long. As the animal neared, Val began to make out its torpedo shape, complete with wide, triangular fins; large, black eyes; and many arms and tentacles, drawn neatly together and coming to a near perfect point where their tips merged at the end of the streamlined body.

What a beautiful animal , Val thought.

These organisms had fascinated Valerie Martell ever since she had first learned about them in an undergrad zoology course at the University of Florida. Her professor, who had once been a marine biologist and was still an avid fisherman, had conveyed his enthusiasm about the impressive animals when the class had been covering the phylum Mollusca . Not his usual dry self that day, he had told stories of the creatures’ power and aggression. How they had been reported to have devoured fishermen and sharks, how they could leap far out of the water, how they could change colors and fire jets of ink at their predators.

Val had been instantly hooked.

Thirteen years, three degrees, and two research assignments later, here she was. Over a hundred feet down in the Sea of Cortez, face-to-face with the animals she had sought to understand throughout her academic career. And certainly not for the first time—Val had dived with these creatures on countless occasions. Although she understood them better than perhaps anyone in the world, she knew that like all animals, they were unpredictable. And she was always extremely on guard in their environment, their world.

The large individual approaching Val began to spread its tentacles as it slowed to a stop several feet away. It appeared to be studying her. After a few moments, it began to glide again, moving silently past her, allowing itself a good look at Val with one of its oversized eyes as it swept within an arm’s length of her camera.

I must be more alien to her than she is to me, Val thought. At least I know what she is.

Seeing her this close, Val guessed this was a mature female. Probably almost a hundred pounds—nearly as big as Val herself. She swung the camera slowly by to record the large specimen, then let go of the tether with her left hand and reached for the modified light attached to her wrist. Time to get to work.

The big female reappeared again moments later, off to Val’s left. It was the same one, wasn’t it? Maybe not—Val figured there must be an entire shoal here. She’d be able to tell if it was the same individual when she reviewed the footage later. Val pointed the dive light in her left hand at her new subject, simultaneously lifting the camera in her right to record the animal, then turned on the light.

In an impossibly fast maneuver that made Val flinch, the big female spun and vanished into the blackness. Val turned the soft light off, then on again. In succession, Val rhythmically activated the beam. Through the thick green lens filter, very little illumination actually shone into the water. Rather than a bright beam, Val’s modified dive light emitted only a faint green glow. She completed another series of muted green flashes, directing the diffuse light toward where the female had vanished.