John Ringo - Emerald Sea

“Quit this!” Herzer shouted. He put his knife by the eye of the beast and it quieted.

“Leb go ob my ho!” the orca said as distinctly as it could. Its surface method of communication was its blowhole, which Herzer still gripped, although less firmly.

“The hell I will,” Herzer said. “I’ve got a cutting edge on this thing. I can cut right through the muscle. You won’t be able to submerge for weeks until it heals. You’ll starve to death first.”

“Baberd,” the orca said. “Pleab?”

“No,” Herzer replied. He suddenly realized that the orca, by its dorsal fin, size and, hell, demeanor, was no more than a teen, probably a young one. “Where are the rest of the orcas?”

“Nob gonna te’,” the orca said. “Leb go.”

“Fisk you,” Herzer said, engaging his pinky muscles and bearing down with the internal gear.

There was another shriek from the orca and it sobbed in pain.

“Where are the rest of them?”

“A’ da fron,” the orca sobbed. “Wai’ing.”

“For you to bring them little mer-snacks?” Herzer said, nastily. “I don’t think so. Turn around and put your tail up on the ledge. And no tricks; I can press harder than I have. Not to mention putting this knife right into your brain-case.”

He maneuvered the orca’s tail onto the ledge and had one of the mer-women secure it with his leather belt to a projecting rock. Then he let go of the creature’s blowhole and swam around to where it could see him with eye and sonar. Herzer ducked below the water for the conversation.

“I know what it is to fall in with the wrong companions,” Herzer said. “Which is the only reason you’re still alive. I’m going to ask the mer-ladies not to kill you. On the other hand, did you catch any of the children?”

“No,” the orca said. “I didn’t want to do this, but Shanol…”

“I know,” Herzer said. “And I also know that having power over the defenseless can be a rush. I know that you enjoyed yourself, even while you hated feeling that way. Am I right?”

“Yes,” the orca whispered.

“I don’t have time for this, but you need to think about something while you’re tied up here. Which side do you really want to be on? Who are you, inside? A good guy or a bad guy? Think of this as a chance to correct a mistake. And use it.”

He popped up to the surface of the water and looked at the mer-women, still huddled on the ledge.

“Ladies, this young man is very sorry for causing you all this distress,” he said. “For that reason, and because he’s a source of information, I’d appreciate the hell out of it if you could see your way clear to not beating him to death with rocks.”

There were a few half hysterical giggles at this speech but one of the mer-women crawled forward in a furious slither.

“He nearly ate my Gram!” she shouted. “I want him dead!”

“Yes, well, as I said he’s sorry,” Herzer replied, heartily. “And we all have our character flaws. I, for example, get angry when a reasonable request isn’t granted. Am I making myself clear, ma’am?”

“Yes,” she said, gulping.

“Glad we’ve got that sorted out,” Herzer replied. “Now, I think I need to go see what’s waiting at the entrance.”

“You’re crazy,” the mer-woman said. “The rest of the orcas are going to be out there!”

“Well, better out there than in here,” Herzer pointed out. “And if this youngster doesn’t bring them out little mer-snacks they might try to wriggle their way in. I think I need to go make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“Why?” the mer-woman asked. “Why are you doing this?”

“As I said,” Herzer replied, sadly. “We all have our character flaws.” Then he ducked under the water and headed for the blackness of the tunnel.

The tunnel was pitchy black, a solid darkness that seemed to creep into his soul. It also was so tight in places, he had no idea how the orca had wormed its way in. Possibly there were better ways through, ways that would be visible to a creature with sonar. But Herzer could only grope his way along, hoping against hope that there were no side turns that would take him off into some tunnel from which he might never find his way. Again and again he hit projections of rock, once solidly on his forehead, and he brushed against things that he really was sure he didn’t want to see. Once his hands settled into a mass of corruption that burned his skin so that he flailed back wildly, shaking his good hand as it tingled and burned.

Finally, when he was sure that he had lost his way and would be wandering around in this watery tomb forever, or until his air ran out, there was a faint gleam of blue light. His eyes, adjusted to the darkness, started to let him distinguish the walls around him and he sped up, headed for the light, headed for hope. Until the light was extinguished as an orca head popped into the opening and blasted him with sonar.

“Well, what do we have here?” Shanol said. “If it isn’t the little lieutenant. What happened to Tomas?”

“He saw the error of his straying ways,” Herzer said, suddenly tired. He could see the other orcas cruising back and forth; it looked as if most of the pod was out there. He could hold the entrance against them, he was sure, but his every bit of training resisted simply standing on the defensive.

“You’d better hope he’s still alive,” Shanol said.

“What do you care?” Herzer said. “You were the one that sent him into a tunnel that could have killed him.”

“I knew he could get through,” Shanol said. “There’s a lot I know. Like what happened with you and Daneh. Do you dream of her at night, Herzer?”

“Oh, man, you have been reading too much pop psychology,” Herzer laughed. “There’s a degree of anger there. But anger is such a useful emotion when you learn to properly channel it.” With that he darted forward and slammed his knife into the orca’s eye.

Shanol had opened his mouth to dart forward and catch the human but the narrow entrance of the tunnel prevented him from moving and Herzer’s sudden attack caught him off guard. He screamed in sonar, bubbles pouring out of his blowhole and backed up, his tail flailing wildly.

Herzer lost his grip on the dagger as he was slammed into the roof of the tunnel and he backed up into the entrance as the orca swam backwards, blood streaming from his eye, the hilt of the knife standing out like some bizarre ornament.

“Kill you!” the orca screamed, heading to the surface and getting a breath of air. But the sound he made was as much sob as scream.

“Come on and do it, then,” Herzer shouted back. “Come into the tunnel! I can stay under as long as I like. You have to breathe . Come into my parlor, little fly!”

“I’ll kill you,” the orca sobbed. “Kill you and eat you! Eat you alive, from the legs up! Nittaatsuq!” he continued, leaning the knife towards one of the other orcas.

Like the delphinoids the Changed orcas had stubby fingers and the indicated orca drew the knife out of the eye socket with a quick jerk and a scream from his leader. Then Nittaatsuq got what he thought was a brilliant idea and swam forward, thrusting his pectoral fin with the knife gripped clumsily in its fingers into the narrow crevice.

Herzer simply laughed and grasped the blade with his prosthetic, wrenching it out of the grip of the orca with an expert twist.

“Thanks for my knife back,” Herzer laughed. “I was sure I’d lost it for good.”

“ BASTARD! ” Shanol bellowed, charging at the entrance, then turned aside, trailing blood.

“Hey,” Herzer said, in a thoughtful tone. “Don’t sharks home in on the smell of blood?”