Frank Schatzing - The Swarm

Suddenly he understood the significance of the military jeeps. If Nanaimo, a civilian institute, had been squeezed out of the affair, there could only be one explanation: the army had taken control of the investigation. Now it was classified.

There was still time to pull out, he thought. Then he dismissed the idea. He pulled out his knife and cut through the outcrop. Careful not to damage the shells, he prised the mussels from the hull, gently inserting the blade beneath the muscular foot, then jerking up. He was focused and systematic. One after another the mussels went into the bag.

He could no longer ignore the need for oxygen. He put away the knife and swam up for a breath. The ship's side towered above him, a vertical wall. Next time he dived he'd look for a spot like the one the luminescent thing had emerged from. Maybe there were more of those creatures in the outcrop.

He was just about to swim down when he heard footsteps.

He turned and peered up at the side of the basin. Two figures were on the move, half-way between a pair of floodlights.

They were looking at the water.

Without a sound he slipped beneath the surface. They were probably sentries, he thought. Or people working late. He'd have to be careful when he climbed out.

Then he remembered they could see his torch in the water and switched it off Darkness surrounded him.

Which way had they been heading? Towards the stern. Maybe he could swim to the bow and carry on his investigation there. Kicking evenly, he set off. After a while he surfaced again and turned on to his back, eyes trained on the sides of the basin. No one.

As he drew level with the anchor, he dived. He felt his way tentatively along the hull. More mounds of mussels. He was looking for a chink or a dip but there was none. He needed to fill his bag with mussels and get out of there. In his haste he became careless about how he detached the mussels. His hands were trembling and his fingers were numb.

His fingers…

Then he realised he could see them. His arms and legs were glowing too. No, the water was glowing. A deep luminescent blue.

Oh, God…

A harsh light blinded him. Instinctively he raised his hands to shield his eyes. Flashes of light. The cloud. What was happening ?

He realised that he'd been found. He was in the beam of an underwater floodlight, and the keel was steeped in cold white light. He saw the grooved mounds of mussels and shivered.

For a moment he didn't know what to do. But there was no other way. He had to get back to the stern and towards the ladder where his bag was waiting. Heart beating wildly, he sped past the harsh shafts of light. He was running out of air, but he didn't want to come up until he reached the ladder.

There it was, zigzagging towards the bottom.

His hands clung to the rungs and he pulled himself up. Above him he heard shouts and running footsteps. He pulled off his fins and mask, clipped the torch to his belt and climbed up until he could see over the edge.

Three gun barrels were pointing towards him.

IN THE BARRACKS Anawak was given a blanket. He'd tried to explain to the soldiers that he was on the scientific arm of the committee, but they weren't prepared to listen. Their job was to make sure he didn't get away. When it was clear that he wasn't going to resist or make a break for freedom, they took him back to the barracks, where there were more soldiers and an officer who peppered him with questions. Anawak knew it was pointless to lie, since he wouldn't be allowed to leave anyway, so he told him who he was and what he was doing there.

The officer listened to him quizzically. 'Can you prove your identity?' he asked.

'My wallet's in my holdall. It's outside. I can get it if you like.'

'Just tell us where it is.'

He described where he'd left his bag. Five minutes later the officer had his driving licence. 'Assuming the document is genuine, you are Dr Leon Anawak, resident in Vancouver.'

'That's what I've been saying all along.'

'People say the damnedest things. Do you want some coffee? You look frozen.'

'I am frozen.'

The officer got up from the desk and went to the coffee machine. He pressed a button. A paper cup dropped down and filled with steaming liquid. He gave it to Anawak. 'Well, I don't know what to make of your story,' he said. 'If you're part of the committee, why didn't you request permission in advance?'

'Ask your superiors. I've been trying to contact Inglewood for weeks.'

The officer's brow furrowed. 'You're working in an advisory capacity?'

'Yes.' Anawak glanced around. He suspected that the room, with its plastic chairs and shabby tables, was usually occupied by dock workers on their breaks. It had evidently been converted into a temporary military base. 'What now?' he asked.

'Now?' The officer sat opposite him and clasped his hands on the table. 'I'm going to ask you to stay here for a while. I can't just let you go – this is a military exclusion zone.'

'With all due respect, I didn't see any signs.'

'Well, there's no sign saying you can break in either.'

Anawak was in no position to argue. It had been a crazy idea in the first place, although it hadn't been completely fruitless – at least now he knew that the military was involved and that the organisms on the hull were alive and under observation. But the mussels he'd collected would never get to Nanaimo, if the authorities kept stalling.

The officer pulled a radio out from his belt and made a brief call. 'You're in luck,' he said. 'Someone's on their way to take care of you.'

'Why don't you just take my details and let me go?'

'It's not as easy as that.'

'But I haven't done anything wrong,' said Anawak. He didn't sound convincing, even to himself.

The officer smiled. 'Committee or no committee, trespassing's a crime.'

He walked out, leaving Anawak with the other soldiers. They didn't talk to him, but they were watching him closely. He felt warmer now, with the coffee – and with irritation at himself for messing up. The only comfort was the prospect of finding out more from whoever was coming to 'take care' of him.

Half an hour passed. Then Anawak heard a helicopter approaching. He turned to look out of the window facing the dock. For a moment the noise of the rotors was deafening as the helicopter swept over the building and came in to land.

Steps rang out on the paving outside. Snatches of conversation drifted through the open door. Two soldiers came in, followed by an officer. 'A visitor for you, Dr Anawak.' He stepped aside as a fourth person appeared in the doorway. Anawak recognised her immediately. She walked up to him, and he found himself gazing into her clear blue eyes. Aquamarine in an Oriental face. 'Good evening,' she said, in a soft, cultivated voice.

It was General Commander Judith Li.

Thorvaldson, Norwegian Continental Slope

Clifford Stone had been born in the Scottish city of Aberdeen, the second of three children. By the time he reached his first birthday there was nothing cute about him. He was small, scrawny and unusually ugly. His family treated him as though he were an accident- an embarrassing glitch that might go unnoticed if they ignored it. Unlike his older brother, he wasn't deemed worthy of responsibility, and no one spoiled him as they did his younger sister. He wasn't treated badly – in fact, he didn't want for anything, except attention and warmth.

As a child he had no friends, and at eighteen, when his hair receded, he didn't have a girlfriend either. At school he passed all of his exams with flying colours, but even that met with little interest from his family.

Stone went on to study engineering. He had a talent for it and at last – practically overnight – he received the acknowledgement he'd always desired. But it was strictly professional. Stone the man was disappearing – not so much because no one was interested in him, but because he didn't allow himself a private life. The idea terrified him: it meant a return to being overlooked. While the gifted engineer Clifford Stone rose through the ranks at Statoil, he learned to despise the insecure bald man who went home alone.