Ryan Lockwood - Below

After years of research, Karl could not only locate soft-bodied animals like squid on the Fathometer, animals that had previously been thought more or less invisible to sonar, but from what Val knew he could even differentiate a shoal of market squid from a shoal of much larger Humboldt squid—which is why she had suggested him for the operation. It was also why she tagged along on the operation—not so much to help out as to learn.

“Karl, it still amazes me that you can really identify Humboldts on this thing. I’ve never had much luck with sonar.”

“ Ja, it is no problem.” Karl’s attempts at hip Americanized English didn’t always work. He pointed at the device below them. “This baby is calibrated to have a higher sensitivity than typical sonar, so that helps. But it actually happens that squid are great sonar targets.”

“I ain’t seen a squid yet that’ll show himself on sonar, son.” The captain of the seiner sent another brown gob of spit into his plastic cup.

“Probably not. But you never use this Fathometer, Captain.” Karl didn’t look up at the captain as he continued fiddling with his toy. The captain scowled, then looked out the windshield. Sheets of seawater rained against the cabin as the Centaur crashed into another large wave.

Val was quite familiar with how Fathometers worked. They sent out rapid pulses of sound, and depended on the different densities of animals or other underwater features in the water column to bounce echoes back to the device emitting the signals. The problem with squid had always been that their bodies were so similar in density to seawater that they didn’t reliably show up on sonar.

She said, “Squid don’t generally reflect sonic pulses, but a few smaller parts in their bodies do. Right, Karl? I’ve been trying to catch up on your research.”

Karl nodded. “Right. Most of their soft bodies are invisible, ja ? But as you must know, some parts of these squids are not soft. This makes detection possible. You hear me?”

Val felt as though she were being quizzed by a professor in a first-year marine science course. “The beak, the pen, the braincase, parts of the suckers… they’re all dense enough to reflect sonar. I know, Karl.”

“Excellent. So all I must do was spend some time observing captive squid. I figure out how to fine-tune the Fathometer in a controlled setting, and how to recognize the resulting acoustic signatures of the different animals. You hear me?”

“We both hear you, Karl.”

“Then I validate my research in the field, first off Monterey, then down in the Gulf of California, as you know. Holy shit, Valerie, you have a lot of squid down there!”

The captain spit into his cup. “I myself have thought of relocating to Baja, but I don’t trust them Mexicans. They’d probably steal my boat. Now my deckhand here, he’s a pretty decent fellow, though.”

“I don’t know about thieves, but Mexico does have a lot of squid.” Val was glad Joe had left before the comment from the uncouth captain. “Karl, I was sure that the best luck you’d ever have would be down there with me. But now it looks like the crowded conditions and high rent in Baja have driven our squid to seek accommodations up here.”

“Rent? I do not understand what you are saying.”

The captain laughed. “Figures. Damn Norwegians.”

“I am Swedish, Captain. I have told you before, ja ?”

The captain had already made one derogatory comment about Scandinavians. The last thing Val needed was these two arguing. “Never mind the rent comment, Karl. I was just making a joke. So what have you learned in your research?”

“Yes. My research. So it turns out Dosidicus can move in very dense groups. Sometimes ten or more individuals packed into each cubic meter of water. And they sometimes hunt in very shallow water, though the belief is that they are only deepwater animals.”

“Right. We saw that firsthand down in Baja.” Val had met up with Karl for a few days when he had come down to Mexico the previous year. Knowing the area well, she had led him to several shoals of Humboldt squid, but hadn’t spent much time staring at the Fathometer with him. She preferred to be in the water, doing her own research.

“ Ja. Also, some of these guys get very large, if my interpretations are correct. I think I have seen many over two meters in length.”

“Jesus and Mary, did you say two meters?” The captain slammed his cup down. “Ain’t that six or seven feet?”

“Precisely, Captain. You know, Valerie, this species, it worries me. They prey on everything they encounter, it seems, and there is nothing to stop their progress northward. They are now establishing themselves up in British Columbia. Did you know this? I fear they will kill off other marine life in the North Pacific.”

Val frowned. She knew exactly what Karl was talking about, and knew his facts were straight. But she didn’t see eye to eye with him on the outcomes. “You make them sound villainous. I wouldn’t expect that sort of persecution from a scientist.”

“Ah, Valerie.” He assumed a wounded look. “This is not my emotions talking. I know that human beings probably cause this change, but I am thinking it is really a serious problem. Just like observable increases in jellyfish blooms, coral dying off around the world, the drop in marine arthropods due to increasing carbon levels dissolved in the water. I believe this is going to be a serious issue we will need to deal with someday.”

“You have a point. Maybe there will always be plenty of sea life, but the ocean makeup is certainly changing into one most people would find less favorable.”

“Bullshit,” the captain growled. “God’ll sort out what needs sorting. He always has.”

Val stared at him, a disheveled mess with a strand of brown spittle clinging to his whiskers. “Brilliant. That sort of thinking allows you to relinquish responsibility for the earth’s problems. It’s all in God’s hands, so we don’t need to make any changes to our way of life, right?”

“Exactly!”

She shook her head. Like Karl, she knew all too well the impacts of overfishing, warming seas, and higher carbon dioxide levels in the atmosphere that eventually were absorbed by the ocean and converted to carbonic acid. The captain clearly was an old-school fisherman who didn’t care much about squid populations, as long as he kept a steady income. He had already made it clear he was fine with killing the entire shoal. It was, to him, simple compensation. A paycheck.

In the confines of the forecastle, the roiling sea was far more potent than up on deck. Joe leaned his hand against the angular metal frame of a bunk, taking a deep breath and steadying himself, focusing on the feel of the cold steel. Maybe he should have let Val get the pills for him after all.

On the messy bunks he saw an assortment of personal items that belonged to the crew. Joe preferred the tidiness found on a naval vessel, but he smiled at the photos of nude women taped to the walls. That was also something the Navy wouldn’t have allowed. He made a mental note not to touch the sheets the crew slept in.

In addition to soiled clothing, toiletry cases, magazines, and other litter on the unmade beds, he saw several bags, but no red duffel. He groaned as he lowered himself to his knees and peered under the bunk to his left. Thank God. He reached for the straps of Val’s heavy bag and slid it out from the cramped space, resting on its bulk for a moment as he mustered the will to stand. He doubted if taking another seasickness pill at this point would even have any effect, but it was worth a shot.

Just as he was about to stand, his eyes caught a small wooden box crammed far back in the dark recess under the bunk, where it had been concealed by Val’s duffel. It wasn’t the box itself that caught his attention, but a single word, printed in large capital letters, which stood out over the other text on the crate. He paused. The box was probably being reused for some other purpose—it couldn’t still contain its original contents. Could it?