I’d known that I was going to have to descend a long way. I’d thought it would be hard work, wriggling and squeezing. Maybe this was better! I tried to think sensibly, about slowing myself down and being prepared for new dangers, like pumping machinery or projecting rocks and other obstacles. It was impossible. In the end I just flew:
whoosh, splash,
careering around bends and down chutes, shrieking silently but not even really afraid because it was all happening so fast. At last I fell, or I was poured with the water, over a lip of stone as sleek as polished metal. Then I was in a broader, dark channel, on the flat. There was air above the surface. I could hear machinery chugging somewhere nearby, but I managed to stay away from it.
I didn’t have to worry about deciding which way to go. The force of the water pulled me onward. I would have known the right direction anyway. The smell of the sea, which was much more than “smell” to my fish-senses, was overwhelming. I floated, barely swimming, still dazed and excited by my wild ride through the mountain, toward a patch of lighter darkness; it grew bigger, and I could see the blurred shapes of trees and rocks outlined against it. I could see my old friends the stars in the sky.
I drifted out onto the surface of the ocean, and lay there gazing.
I was free.
But there was something wrong.
I turned myself around and looked back. What I saw didn’t make sense, until I remembered to switch some switches and get the view in human format. Then I could see, by starlight, the trees and the swampy mangroves reaching into the water, on either side of the inlet where the pumping machinery was hidden.
Oh no. This was not the east coast.
So then I had to orient myself. There was no moon. I had to do it by the blurred stars, and by my fish-senses. I had never studied a map of the island. I vaguely remembered seeing one on the wall in Dr. Franklin’s office the day we were given our lecture about genetic engineering, but I couldn’t remember much about it: a blurred teardrop shape, longer on the east and west than north and south, that was all. I decided I was in the south. The sea was calm, the night was clear. All I had to do was face out to sea, turn left and swim, keeping close to the beach. Then I couldn’t miss the jetty. It couldn’t be more than about ten kilometers or so, nothing to Semi-the-fish.
I’d been swimming for a few minutes before I thought about sharks.
By then, I didn’t care. I was having the most magical experience of my life.
I think sharks are daylight animals, anyway.
(There’s one good thing about going through horrors, you end up with a fairly casual attitude to what would once have seemed deadly danger. I had been
so terrified
the one time I saw a big shark in our lagoon, though I was standing on dry land on the coral causeway. Now I was swimming along without a care, thinking:
So, a shark may come along and bite my leg off,
well, accidents will
happen. . . .
)
But I wasn’t thinking about sharks with more than a very small part of my mind. Even my fear for Miranda took second place. There was nothing I could do for her at the moment except swim—and swimming through the deep blue sea, with the stars above me, was completely, totally bliss. It was wonderful, as wonderful as waking up as Semi-the-fish, the first time; only better. Everything was alive. The water was full of movement, sound and light. I try to think of how it felt in human terms, and the nearest I can come is . . . it was like swimming through music. Not loud, wild, music, not that night, but sparkling, dancing music, with a deep steady underbeat, and distant voices weaving in and out; and I was part of this music.
I was so happy.
Miranda had never talked much about what it meant to her to fly free. I could guess why. It would have been cruel to tell me, when I was trapped in that concrete box. Now I could understand why she had spent so much time up high, and taken such risks with that stun ring. She wasn’t only gathering information, she was feeling this same joy.
Joy,
that’s the only word for it.
If only there was a place in the world where we could fly together—
I had no adventures, nothing attacked me. I followed the dark border of the mangroves, heading for the tip of the island—firmly resisting the tug of the great, wide ocean that called to me from beyond the barrier reef. I had been swimming for maybe half an hour, when something strange happened: but it felt natural as breathing.
I fell asleep.
I don’t know for how long I slept. Several hours, anyway.
I woke up near the surface, feeling very rested and comfortable, and naturally started swimming again. I could see the stars overhead had changed around, and it must have been nearly morning. That was okay, I wasn’t supposed to get to the jetty until dawn. When I’d been swimming for a few minutes, my arms came loose. Those phantom arms inside my fish-body were no longer locked in front of my phantom human face. I could move them, they were free. I was so knocked-out by the experience of swimming in the ocean, I took this easing of the locked-in feeling for granted. And then, to my total amazement,
I
saw my own hands, rising beside my face. I saw my arms,
smoothly pushing through the water.
The change wasn’t in my mind. It was real!
My arms were free, then my legs began to kick—
Some dark stuff and some whitish stuff streamed away from me into the water, like a shed skin. There was no blood, which was lucky. The sharks in the lagoon would probably have woken up fast if they smelled the blood of fresh human. Yum!
I thought I must have been dreaming. How could it be this easy?
Have you ever seen a seedling, a baby weed, shoving up from under a concrete slab? Or pushing through to the sunlight, through four or five centimeters of tarmac? That’s what changing was like for me, the second time. That’s the power that Dr. Franklin had put into his DNA infusions. That’s what the chemistry of life can do.
At the time I thought maybe I’d gone crazy and I was still Semi-the-fish, having delusions caused by the antidote starting to work. Maybe it was a sign that I’d soon be helplessly twisted up in agony. Either that, or I was asleep and dreaming. But all I could do was swim on. I came up to the surface (I was swimming a few meters down) every few minutes, to check on the creamy line of the waves that rimmed the beach. I saw the sky beginning to pale with the dawn. At last I saw the jetty.
There was a small motor launch beside it. Skinner had already reached the rendezvous.
So far so good.
I dived deep, several meters deep, so I could get close to it unseen.
The water grew shallow. I was swimming along barely above the smooth sandy bottom by the time the hull of the boat loomed above me. I was still fish enough to have control over my buoyancy. I let myself rise very silently, and checked things out as well as I could, keeping my head underwater. There were lights in the cabin below the deck, and in the little engine house above, but I couldn’t see anybody on board.
I slipped around to the stern and scrambled up over the side.
I was breathing dry air for several breaths before I realized what I was doing. Then I panicked and had to frantically smother a lot of gulping and choking. But there was no need to panic. I could breathe perfectly normally. I sat on the deck, gasping in silent astonishment, and felt myself all over.
What am I?
I was a soaking wet teenager, with no clothes . . . no hair, okay, and less ears than I used to have; but with toes, fingernails, teeth, everything.
Plus four pairs of raised flaps of skin, either side of my throat, that were now sealed tight, because I was breathing dry air.
I sat there happily amazed, wishing I had some clothes, wondering what I looked like with no hair, wondering what to do next.
My plan (as far as you can have a plan when you have
no
idea what’s going to happen to you) had been to reach here, and try to make sure I wasn’t walking (or swimming) into a trap. If I saw any sign of those uniformed goons, or if anything else looked wrong, I’d planned to head for the open sea. Go on trying to reach Miranda by radio telepathy. Swim to the mainland, try to convince someone I was human, and come back here with a rescue party. . . . Of course I hadn’t meant to climb aboard Skinner’s motorboat like this. I’d thought I would be Semi-the-fish. But this was much better! There didn’t seem to be any goons in uniform. If Skinner was on his own, Arnie and I would easily be able to overpower him if he had any plans to double-cross us. Then we’d use his tracking equipment to trace Miranda, we’d get her off the island and—
The truth was, the unbelievable speed and ease of the change had completely addled my brains, although I didn’t realize it. I thought I was still a big strong manta ray with superpowers. I thought I could do anything! Crush that fishing boat!
I stood up, thinking,
Whatever it takes, I’ll save you
Miranda—
I mean, I tried to stand up. Instinct had carried me when I first climbed on board. Now my legs buckled, as if I was a newborn foal. I staggered. In front of me, below the deck, the door to the cabin opened. Bright lights came on all around me.
“Excellent!” said Dr. Franklin. “Well done, Semi!”
I tried to jump for the side. I fell over. He leaped up the steps, grabbed me by the arm, and half carried me, half hustled me into the cabin.
Skinner was there. He was sitting on a swivel chair, facing us. Behind him was a computer keyboard. The computer’s monitor showed blue sea, with a map of what must have been Dr. Franklin’s island. I could still see as clearly as Semi-the-fish. I could see all the details, the contour lines on the land and the charted waters of the ocean. I stared at Skinner. I was disgusted with myself for trusting him . . . but then I realized that while Dr. Franklin was holding my arm with one hand (I wasn’t trying to struggle), in his other hand he was holding a gun. He was pointing it at Skinner.
“You’re a madman, Charlie,” he said. “You may have had a romantic idea of rescue, but you should at least have been waiting for her by the pump outlet. What if she’d taken off for the open sea? She could have been very expensive shark meat by now.”
Dr. Skinner was staring at me in amazement. “I thought you’d be suspicious,” he whispered. “I was supposed to be on patrol. I had to take the risk. I thought—”
“You took a good many risks,” said Dr. Franklin. “It’s lucky I found out what you were doing. Oh Charlie, Charlie, did you think you could get away with it?” Then he laughed. “But never mind. I was in control. I am always prepared.” He beamed at me, his eyes glittering with delight. “This is, my, my, a most unexpected pleasure, Semirah. Wonderful, superb! Not quite what I had planned, but never mind! I can’t wait to get you back to the lab. Charlie, you are forgiven.”
But where’s Arnie?
I thought.
What happened to Arnie?
Is he dead then? Was he dead all along?
Delayed shock was hitting me. My legs were made of jelly, my head was full of cotton wool. I started to choke. Something hard was caught in my throat. I couldn’t think what it was. Manta rays don’t swallow objects, it must have been in there since I was last a girl. I doubled over, retching, and the thing shot out of my mouth, with a rush of seawater.
Dr. Skinner groaned and dropped his head into his hands.
It was clear that he wasn’t going to put up any kind of a fight. Dr. Franklin tucked his gun away. He said smugly, “I’ll take that. There’s a great deal of valuable information stored on that.” He stooped and swept up the tag I’d been carrying around with me, inside my body. As soon as he let go of my arm, I collapsed. I stared up into those cold, bright, self-satisfied eyes. I was human again, but I knew that what Dr. Franklin saw was still an animal, a thing to be used. That was the way he saw everyone but himself. Something icy and piercing struck my arm. In seconds I was unconscious.
When I woke up, the sun was hot on my face. I tried to get my arms free, but I couldn’t. I opened my eyes. I was back in the enclosure. I was in a wheelchair, on the gravel path beside the pool. They’d put me into pajamas and strapped me into a straitjacket again.
Dr. Franklin had warned us it would happen, if we didn’t behave.
He was there. So were Skinner and some orderlies. The tracking equipment I’d seen on the boat was there too, on a metal trolley. I stared at the beautifully clear and detailed monitor, thinking numbly:
Arnie’s dead
and Miranda’s gone.
Were they going to lock me up again and leave me? I imagined myself living in there among the bushes. The orderly would bring food and dump it on the ground, and I’d eat it with my hands.
“Ah, you’re awake,” said Dr. Franklin. He had a big grin on his face. “You’ve done very, very well, Semi. Many congratulations! I’m delighted with your performance in Dr. Skinner’s little ‘escape attempt’ exercise, hahaha! I only wish I’d thought of it myself.”
He looked like a middle-aged little boy with a new Lego set.
“Soon I’m going to get you into the lab, young woman. Your response to the second-stage infusion is beyond my hopes. I’m absolutely thrilled. There is major investigation to be done: I want to biopsy the internal organs and the brain, take samples of your spinal fluid, oh, there are years of work!”
I wouldn’t let myself scream. I knew he wouldn’t care one way or the other, but it was for my own pride. I couldn’t bear to look at Skinner. I could see him out of the corner of my eye, polishing his glasses with trembling hands.
What happened to you?
I wanted to yell at him. But I could guess. Dr. Franklin had found out something about Skinner’s plans, and forced the miserable coward to tell him the rest.
Poor Charlie!
Maybe I shouldn’t have pitied him, but I did.
I was going to be tortured to death. But I still felt as if I’d rather be me than him.
I looked at Dr. Franklin. I knew it didn’t matter what I said. I was nothing more than a rat in his maze. I said it anyway. “I’m glad Miranda got away. You can’t hurt her now.”