Dave Freedman - Natural Selection

She returned to her writing, but Craig didn’t budge. Wasn’t beer too pedestrian for Lisa Barton? “You feeling OK?”

She continued writing. “Sure, fine!”

Craig didn’t move. He knew Lisa well. She was pissed off about something, and if the reason was what he thought, she had real gall. “Are you OK about going up to California? I mean, you can do all of the personal research you want up there too, right?”

She shot him an angry look. “Yeah, I guess so. And what’s wrong with personal research anyway, Craig? I mean, give me a break. All day long, you and Darryl drink and shoot skeet, Monique reads books, Jason lives in his fantasyland, Phil shoots pictures, and I work. So I’m shirking my responsibilities?”

Craig glanced at the crushed Budweiser can in his hand. “Barton, you make a salient point. I’ll get you that beer….”

“No thanks, Craig. I don’t want one.”

“Oh.” Craig turned in mock surprise to Phil Martino. “Phil, I didn’t see you there. You don’t want one? OK.” He shook his head at Lisa—who cared about Phil Martino? Then he glanced down at Lisa’s notebook and couldn’t help but notice the word GDV-4 in big underlined letters. “You’ve been reading up on my favorite virus, Lisa?”

“Actually, I’ve been wondering if it might be causing the reduced plankton levels.”

Summers eyed her dubiously. GDV-4 was an infectious oceanic disease, the fourth strain of the gray distemper virus. “No chance. GDV-4 only infects large, fully grown fish and mammals, the highest levels of the food chain. It would never infect plankton.”

“You sure? ‘Cause we were wondering the same thing.”

Craig turned. This had come from Darryl, who was standing with Monique.

Then, from another direction, someone else said, “So was I. You sure it’s not possible?”

Summers turned once more, to Jason, now at the foot of the stairs in red dive shorts and sandals. “What is this? A frickin’ ambush? Absolutely not. GDV-4 has not infected the plankton supply.”

“Are you sure?” Lisa persisted.

“Who are you talking to here, Lisa? Of course I’m sure. That virus has never been found anywhere outside the Atlantic Ocean. It’s nowhere near here, and even if by some fantastic event it was, it would never go as low down on the food chain as your beloved plankton.”

“Have there been any updates on it? Anything about it spreading?”

“It hasn’t spread at all. In fact, it’s disappeared again. They can’t find it anywhere, not even in the Atlantic.”

“Are you still testing for it here?”

“Three times a week. I do more than just drink and shoot skeet, you know.”

“You do?”

Summers didn’t smile. He looked her dead in the eyes. “Look, I have no scientific basis for thinking GDV-4 is even within a thousand miles of here.”

Lisa nodded. Despite his stained undershirt and beer belly, Craig could be convincing when he wanted to.

Jason walked up the stairs. “GDV-4’s strictly a surface virus, correct?”

“Every known case of it has been.”

“And it infects only fully grown fish and mammals?”

“Correct.”

“But that doesn’t mean it couldn’t be in deeper waters, does it? Or further down the food chain?”

“Jason, please don’t second-guess me on this.”

“I’m not second-guessing you, Craig. I’m just saying, viruses can mutate, can’t they?”

“Of course viruses can mutate. And sure, one day, this virus could go lower down the food chain, turn up in the Pacific, find its way into deeper waters, whatever. Look, it’s a tricky virus.”

Jason nodded. A tricky virus indeed.

It wasn’t known to the public at large, but the fourth strain of the gray distemper virus was a distant relative of the canine distemper virus found in dogs and infamous within the oceanic community. Originally dubbed gray due to its initial discovery in beached gray whales in northern France seven years prior, GDV-4 had recently become a much more serious problem, earning the nickname “AIDS of the sea” because of the devastation it wrought on its victims. Degrees of concern varied greatly among scientists, from the doomsayers who claimed it was within twenty years of destroying all ocean-based marine life to the vast majority who were only moderately concerned. The reality was that GDV-4 had only a microscopic presence in just one of the world’s major oceans, the Atlantic, and even there, the vast bulk of marine life was totally unaffected. It wasn’t even a blip on the commercial fishing industry’s radar screen. Craig Summers, with a PhD in oceanic viruses from UC Santa Cruz, shared the majority opinion. He thought GDV-4 might very well peter out, and possibly soon.

But others worried about what would happen if it didn’t peter out. What if it spread and made further inroads into the Atlantic? Or the Indian? Or if it found its way into the massive Pacific? What other species would it affect then?

Craig shot them all dirty looks. “I’ll let you know what else I hear.”

Monique nodded. Lisa was right. It was more strangeness in the oceans. Maybe all of it—the virus, low plankton levels, strange migrations—were somehow related. “Who knows; maybe there really is a new species near Clarita.”

They all considered the possibilities when Phil Martino, who’d simply been listening, cleared his throat. “Excuse me, guys. I’m gonna go download my pictures now.”

No one said anything. The triumvirate and Lisa didn’t care what Phil Martino did: download his pictures or jump off the boat.

Jason nodded agreeably. “OK, Phil. Sounds good.”

As Phil bounded below deck, Darryl turned. “We worked out the route, Jason. Ready when you are.”

Jason eyed the sky, the night almost upon them. They were actually leaving. He hoped they’d determine quickly that the sighted animal was not a new species. Then he could get on with his life. “Let’s do it.”

THE TRIP to Clarita Island took two days. While Jason licked his wounds and tried to get his head screwed back on, the others did what they always had—a minimum amount of work and a lot of relaxing. Lisa lay in the sun, Monique read a bad book, and Darryl and Craig drank and shot skeet. Phil and Jason talked about the old times at UCSD and also about Phil’s problematic love life. Phil’s girlfriend had recently broken up with him, and he needed to figure out why. Jason helped him realize it was for two reasons: Phil’s unrelenting travel schedule and also his general flakiness.

Jason didn’t have girlfriend problems because there hadn’t been any girlfriends, not for years. For Jason, the cliché was true: if you don’t believe in yourself, you can’t get someone else to believe in you either. As great a fighter as he was, the reality was that the constant failures related to Manta World had affected him. In fact, they’d quietly crushed his soul. He hadn’t believed in himself for some time. Like everyone, Jason wanted a wife and family one day, but not tomorrow. For the moment at least, he was better off alone.

They made great time, moving past Baja into the waters off San Diego, then Orange County, then Clarita Island. No one except Darryl was paying particular attention when they passed Clarita’s main docks. His eyes narrowed when the Expedition motored toward a familiar rock outcropping on the island’s isolated western shore. He didn’t know why, but he sensed something was there.

“We’re here.”

LISA BARTON watched as Jason stared down at the dark, rolling waters. No, they weren’t in tropical Mexico anymore. It was an hour before sunset, and they’d anchored off Clarita. All of them except Darryl Hollis were suited up in full-length black neoprene wet suits. In yellow mesh shorts and a black tank top, Darryl would stand watch on the boat while everyone else scanned below. They quickly went over the predive checklist, confirming that regulators, dive lights, and all of the other equipment were working. They were about to jump in when Monique noticed a seagull plunging into the sea. “I wonder how the fishing is today.” Then the bird popped up, devouring a struggling silver snack. “Looks like it’s pretty good.”