Dave Freedman - Natural Selection

“Jason, you sound excited.” At a massive cherrywood desk in his twenty-five-thousand-square-foot La Jolla mansion, Harry Ackerman laid down a quarterly financial statement that had put him in a sour mood.

“I am excited, Harry. I don’t want to overstate this, but we may— may —be onto a new species here.”

“Is that right?” A faint smile appeared. “When might you be able to say definitively?”

“Well, that’s tough to say. If it is a new species, they don’t just sit in the ocean waiting for you. A month, a year, who knows.”

“Very interesting. I think we should check it out and see. Now, your current contracts finish in what, five months?”

“About that.”

“I tell you what. I’ll write new ones for an extra year, so if it does turn out to be something new, you’ll have more than enough time to locate it.”

“That would be great, Harry.”

Ackerman pushed away the financials and began dreaming: Harry Ackerman, business pioneer and naturalist. “And just so everyone has the proper incentive… I’ll give twenty percent raises effective immediately.” He grabbed a black Montblanc pen and made a note on a sticky. “Tell the others that will start with their next direct deposits.”

Jason paused. There was a rare hunger in Ackerman’s voice. “I’ll pass it on, Harry.”

“Good. By the way, are you still taking your daily notes?”

“Absolutely.”

“Would you mind if I take a look at them as you go along on this?”

“Take a look at them?”

“If you don’t mind, just to keep me abreast. I’m just very interested, and I thought it might be… an efficient way to keep me up on the status.”

Jason paused. He didn’t think he was comfortable with that. “Is there another way we can do it, Harry? Maybe just updates on the phone? It’s just that those are my personal notes; they’re very informal, and I don’t know if I’m comfortable with—”

“Of course. Oral updates will be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Now that I think about it, that will be easier than trying to read all the scientific jargon anyway…. One other thing. I think I left my day planner with Phil Martino. Did he mention that?”

“Sorry. Yes, he did. We’re FedExing it to you tomorrow.”

“Don’t bother. You need your new contracts anyway so I’ll just come to Clarita myself. Can we meet, say, first thing in the A.M. at the docks?”

“I’ll look forward to it.” Jason grabbed the door. “OK, Harry, so I’ll talk to you—”

“Jason, I actually need a few of my numbers now. Can you get Phil for me?”

Seconds later, as Phil walked off with the cell phone, Jason stood over the booth and told the others about the new arrangement. Quietly excited, Darryl’s eyes began to dance. “You said an extra year and a twenty percent raise?”

“The raise is effective immediately. Then, if it does turn out to be a new species, the extra year kicks in, so we’ll have plenty of time to find it.”

Darryl glanced at his wife. Her eyes were a little wet. Raises and an extra year! The Hollises’ unborn children’s savings accounts had just grown a little larger.

They ditched the boat for the evening. The Clarita Lodge went for forty-nine dollars per room per night and had free cable and a grungy swimming pool. The next morning they had breakfast and met Ackerman on Clarita’s empty docks at seven. Aboard the Expedition, Ackerman presented them with six twenty-page contracts on nice linen paper that were promptly signed, dated, and initialed. Then Ackerman retrieved his day planner and got off the boat. As the Expedition pulled out, she scanned the massive ocean. The sea was so vast, so mysterious. What were they going to find out there?

SEARCHING FOR kelp, the Hollises led a series of methodical forays off of Clarita’s perimeter waters. Scanning with binoculars from the boat was always an option, but more often than not they had to put on their wet suits, dive in, and search for strands with their naked eyes. It was painstaking work, but Darryl and Craig’s wisecracks, combined with a minimal amount of second-guessing from Jason, made it go quickly.

For the first week, they searched due west, the second week due south, and the third week due east. They found nothing. But when they searched due north, their luck changed. Darryl turned up several strands less than two miles from the island. It was hard to believe, but this discovery had taken a month. It was the nature of tracking, and Jason told the restless Ackerman to be patient. As July began, they continued pushing north and, less than half a mile later, found another strand. Then they found hundreds, an unambiguous trail. With no forests in the vicinity, no one needed an ichthyology degree to see what was happening: something was moving north just twenty miles off the Southern California coastline and leaving kelp strands in its wake.

Jason’s mind was constantly working. Whether they were tracking mantas or something else, after one month’s time, the little animals wouldn’t be so little anymore. They probably weighed ninety pounds or more and had to be gorging themselves on plankton. But then, to Jason’s surprise, Lisa Barton said plankton supplies here were also very low. So what were the rays eating? Jason documented everything on Phil’s laptop.

On a gorgeous sunny day in August, Craig was stretched out on a cheapo plastic lawn chair nibbling at a turkey, lettuce, and mayo when Darryl walked up. “Long day, Craig?”

“Oh yeah, I’m exhausted.”

Darryl stared at his portly friend, noticing that his back and forearms were a painful-looking medium-rare shade of pink. “What the hell are you exhausted from?”

Craig wiped some mayo on his trunks. “Thinking about the big-picture issues.”

Darryl chuckled. “Big-picture issues.”

“Seriously.” The others came around, and Craig looked at all of them. “Here’s a big-picture issue for all of us. Why kelp?”

Darryl shook his head, annoyed. “What are you talking about, Burn Victim?”

“It’s a simple question. Why kelp? Whatever we’re trailing, why the hell are they leaving kelp behind?”

Darryl shrugged. So did Monique and Lisa.

Craig turned. “Jason, you suggested tracking the stuff in the first place. Did you have a reason?”

“I still do. I think they’re teething on it.”

“ Teething on it?”

“Newborn mantas, especially in the Bahamas and Caribbean, teethe on baby starfish. As we all know, there aren’t many starfish in the northern hemisphere of the Pacific Ocean, but there’s kelp everywhere. I think these rays are teething on it.”

“Hmm.” Impressed, Craig sat up fully on the lawn chair.

“Interesting idea, Jason.” Lisa was impressed too. Like Craig, she’d been dubious about the whole new-species idea from the get-go, but the trail they’d been following was no mirage, and this was a very logical explanation.

Craig shrugged. “It still doesn’t mean it’s a new species.”

Jason turned on a dime. “Want to bet?”

Everyone paused. Were they hearing things? Jason Aldridge never bet on anything.

Summers hesitated nervously. “Ah, I don’t want to take your money, Jason.”

Jason removed three bills, smacked them onto Craig’s chair, and extended his hand. “Fifty bucks says that kelp trail goes north for at least another week.”

Craig just eyed the hand. He clearly didn’t want to, but… “Done.”

They shook, and one week later, Summers handed over two stained twenties and a ten he had to borrow from Darryl. Jason wouldn’t accept a check. They’d found a sporadic trail of kelp strands floating at or near the surface and followed it for seven solid days. As they did, the markings on the strands began to change, unmistakably so. The kelp was becoming shredded, torn, and, increasingly, filled with visible indentations. There was no doubt that something was chewing on it.