Authors: MaryJanice Davidson
Thirty-nine
“Uh,” Jonas said. “What just happened?”
Thomas had dropped the folder on the table and started to sit. If Fred hadn’t shoved the chair over, he would have landed splat on the floor. They were all staring at it.
Bulging with papers.
EYES ONLY.
CLASSIFIED.
“I can’t believe he did that,” Thomas murmured.
“I know!” Fred said, wide-eyed. “If it gets out that he gave us this, it’ll be his ass!”
“I meant hugging me.”
“Also extremely shocking. And just when I’d made up my mind that your dad was a dick.”
“Fredrika,” Artur reproved. “Do not speak so of such a warrior.”
“Have you actually
met
me, Artur? For God’s sake. So. Thomas, your dad made this happen.” She pushed the folder over to him. “Why don’t you do the honors?”
After a few seconds, he flipped open the folder. Passed chunks of paperwork around (the thing was two inches thick; it would have taken one person a week and a half to get through it).
They began to read.
Forty
King Mekkam came through the door. He didn’t knock and get invited in. He didn’t open it and walk through. He
burst
through the door and chunks of wood went flying everywhere.
Fred groaned, mentally kissing her security deposit good-bye.
“I came at once, my son.”
“We noticed,” Jonas said, big-eyed.
“What is so urgent? Are you all right?”
King Mekkam looked like a slightly older, grayer version of Artur. They were even the same height. And, though the man was over a century old, he had the broad chest and shoulders of a lumberjack. His ruby-colored eyes glittered and he carried himself with an aloof dignity that proclaimed his royal blood far more efficiently than something so silly as a crown.
“We have had a fascinating visit from Thomas’s sire,” Artur replied.
“Fascinating isn’t the word,” Thomas muttered, rubbing his temples as if he were getting a headache. “Surreal.
Twilight Zone
-esque. In fact, it’s possible that was an alien robot and not my father at all.”
“You’d better have a seat, Mekkam,” Fred said. “We’ve got lots of stuff to tell you.”
The frown lines on his forehead disappeared and he smiled. “Fredrika!”
“You, uh, sound surprised to see me.”
Mekkam shook his head, clasped her hands, then raised them to his mouth and kissed them. “I have not had an opportunity to tell you how very pleased I am that you are joining my family. I look forward to your mating ceremony and to many pups.”
“Pups?” Jonas repeated. “Oh, God. This is too good. Pups?”
“They call being pregnant ‘in pup,’ ” Fred explained, resisting the urge to strangle her friend. “So I’m guessing mer-babies are pups.”
Jonas laughed harder.
“I hate you,” Fred commented. “So much.”
“But now, back to the matter at hand. What have you learned?”
They had reassembled the file and showed it to the king.
“What is Project Jammer?”
“It seems you have a few traitors in your midst, Mekkam,” Thomas said heavily. “Some Undersea Folk apparently sought out a clandestine branch of the navy, a base called Sanibel Station that hardly anyone
in
the navy knows about. I imagine it’s their version of Black Ops.”
“Black Ops?” King Mekkam asked.
“It’s usually a secret branch of the military, secret because there’s often a question of ethics or legality involved,” Thomas explained. “Our governments aren’t supposed to send assassins or perform non-FDA-REGULATED experiments or think up new bioweapons or stuff like that, but of course they do. Everyone’s government does. Black Ops exist so the government of whatever country is running the team has total deniability.”
“Lots of sneaky stuff gets done that way,” Fred added. “Among other things, research into unconventional warfare.”
“Like telepathy,” Jonas said.
Mekkam was silent. Then, “My . . . my people? Have done this? Gone to your military and . . . what, precisely?”
“Shown them what they can do, telepathically. Given them tissue samples. Submitted to experiments.”
“But . . .” Mekkam looked so devastated, so horrified, Fred could hardly look at him. “Why?”
“So the navy could help them increase their telepathy,” Thomas said, very quietly.
“You mean the people who disappeared . . . they did so . . . willingly? They allowed themselves to—” The king paused. Then a large fist slammed onto the table, which obligingly cracked. Everyone pushed their chairs back, but it only cracked down the middle; for the moment, it held together. “Then they are planning something. They are—” Shocked, he looked at Fred. “We were wrong. It isn’t your father.”
“No,” Fred admitted, making no effort to hide her relief. “But it’s probably some or all of the youngsters who sided with him during the coup. The ones who weren’t banished, who apologized and made nice with everyone and pretended Farrem led them astray.”
“And like a fool, I believed them!”
This time, the table broke under the blow. Fortunately, Jonas had cleared all the dishes while they were waiting for Mekkam to arrive.
“They probably meant it at the time,” Jonas suggested, nervously eyeing the eight-foot table, now two four-foot tables. “So why wouldn’t you have believed them? But after a while, they probably got to thinking . . . wondering if things could be different . . . and I’m betting you’re not the kind of guy who spies on his people’s thoughts just for funzies. So how could you have known?”
“No, no, I would never—” Mekkam sounded furious and bewildered, a frightening combination to watch. “I merely—I mean I don’t
spy
on them like a filthy—”
“Mekkam, there’s no way you could have seen this coming,” Fred said gently. “You got rid of the problem. The youngsters apologized. Nobody talked about Farrem anymore. That was that . . . for years and years.”
“But why now? Why would they start disappearing from my mind in the last six months?”
“That’s what we haven’t been able to figure out,” Thomas admitted. “Some of this report is pretty dense, and there are charts that Fred and I have to figure out. Some of it even appears to be in code. What we know so far is that some of your people have been working with the naval equivalent of a Black Ops team—probably a tit for tat.”
“Pardon?”
“In return for giving the navy brain tissue samples, for letting doctors run tests on them, for basically being guinea pigs so the navy—that one, small, secret branch of the navy—can help them increase their telepathy, they’ve probably been running missions for the government.”
“There’s no way
any
government would have turned them down,” Jonas added. “Fred warned you from the beginning that we, as a species, are incredibly nasty to anyone even slightly different. If the someone slightly different
volunteers
for, say, vivisection . . .”
“Now here come men and women who can breathe under water,” Thomas said. “They’re incredibly strong. They’re incredibly long-lived and they age unbelievably well. You could send a man out with seventy years of combat experience, and he’d get carded if he tried to buy booze. Good stamina. Incredible swimmers—they’re mermaids and mermen, for God’s sake. The stuff of legend. And best of all, most wonderful of all, they’re
telepaths
. And here comes a bunch of them willing to be experimented on if the navy will help them augment their innate abilities.” Thomas paused to let this sink in. “Jonas is right. There’s not a government on the planet who wouldn’t have jumped at the chance.”
“But why? Why do this?”
Fred paused. Surely the king
knew.
He was many things, none of them a fool. She put it down to shock. And she was sad for him. This was very likely a direct result of the Undersea Folk letting the world know they existed.
“Why try to make themselves stronger? Why disappear off your radar?” Thomas paused, then went on as gently as he could. “You’ve got another coup on your hands, Mekkam.”
Forty-one
“How can we find out who they are?” Mekkam demanded.
Fred and Thomas exchanged glances. “Um,” he began. “That’s a little tricky. Other than storming a secret naval base on Sanibel Island, I don’t have a clue. And with all respect, Mekkam, I don’t think you want to go to war with the United States Navy. Which means the United States.” He paused. “We fight dirty. We fight to win.”
“Fat Man and Little Boy,” Fred muttered. She didn’t dare mention Hiroshima . . . Mekkam was having a bad enough day.
“I cannot sit back and wait to be attacked. If it were only my life, I would not mind. But I must think of my son—of our future queen—and my people.”
“Ack!” Fred choked. “Please,
please
don’t factor me into any of this. Artur and the Undersea Folk, absolutely. But I can take care of myself. Please don’t worry about me. You’ve got enough problems.”
“Do not underestimate your father’s people, Fredrika. News of your betrothal has spread from mind to mind at the speed of thought. You would make an excellent target.”
“Big deal, she’s been hearing that since the third grade,” Jonas scoffed. “Usually from me.”
“Don’t forget, Mekkam, I have zero trouble hanging out on land indefinitely. Any UF who comes after me is risking major dehydration. I’ll be safe as long as I stay out of the water.”
“I recommend moving to the Sahara,” Thomas said. “Today.”
“I’ll help you pack,” Jonas offered.
“I’ll help you help her pack,” Thomas added.
“Everyone calm down. And nobody’s touching my things. Listen, we’ve agreed storming the naval base is baaaaad. Right?”
Nods all around. Except for Mekkam. Mekkam’s gaze was fixed on her. She wondered when he was planning to blink.
“Well. These guys, whoever they are, they’ve disappeared off Mekkam’s radar, right? Maybe
specifically
his radar. Maybe they’ve been augmented, or whatever, strictly for the purpose of hiding from Mekkam’s telepathy, maybe the whole royal family’s telepathy.”
“Yes, yes, my Rika. We know this.”
“We’ve surmised it,” Thomas corrected. “We don’t
know
shit.”
“Well. Who’s the most powerful telepath after the royal family?”
Dead silence.
“Who would these guys never
dream
of being a threat because he’s been banished for decades?”
Finally, from Artur, “He will never help us. We made his name unspeakable. We banished him to a friendless life, to die alone. We—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know all about it. But I’ve been talking with him—you remember, he’s sleeping here at night—and he’s fine with it. Well. Not
fine
. But he’s older now, you know, and he’s sorry. He’s had years and years to think about his mistakes. And in the interim he’s made an entirely new life for himself. Believe me, Artur, my father would
leap
at the chance to help you guys.”
“Leap?” Mekkam said doubtfully.
“Like a frog on cocaine,” Fred confirmed. “But if you want his help, we need to ask him
now
. He’s leaving any day. He’s afraid that if he sticks around it’ll cause trouble for me.”
“That is . . . thoughtful,” Artur admitted. “I will say, the Farrem I knew was not remotely thoughtful.”
“You want to talk to him?”
“Yes, Fredrika. I do.”
“Then you can do it in about an hour.” Fred glanced around at the group. “He told me last night he was seeing to some business this morning; he was headed for a FedEx drop-off. Payroll or some such crap; I wasn’t paying much attention. But we’re supposed to have lunch today.” She glanced at the clock on the far wall. “In sixty minutes.”
Thomas stood. “I think we’ve got some hamburger left in the fridge. I can fire up the grill.”
“I shall catch some fish,” Artur said, also standing. “I detest sitting around waiting. Join me, Rika?”
“Ah, no, thanks, Artur.” On the off chance her father showed up early, she wanted to make sure she was here. Who knew how the meeting would go without her? It could end up a cluster fuck. Or worse: more of the furniture could get broken.
Forty-two
Fifty-five minutes later, her father walked through the large hole that was once her front door. “Fredrika, are you well? What in the king’s name happened here? Did you—”
He saw the group waiting for him and stopped short.
The king cleared his throat. “Greetings, Farrem.”
Farrem couldn’t have looked more amazed if the king had kissed him on the mouth. “G-greetings, my king. Prince Artur. Thomas. Jonas. Fredrika.” He paused and took another step into the house. “May I ask what is going on? Has someone been hurt? Fredrika? Is your lady mother all right?”
“My lady mother and Sam are at SeaWorld for the day, thank God. We need your help, Farrem. Do you have some time? Can you talk to us for a little bit?”
“Certainly.” He eyed the broken table and sat down in an empty dining-room chair without comment.
As they explained the situation and showed him bits from the classified file, Farrem’s eyes got wider and wider.
“But this is my fault!” he cried, shoving the file away from him as if it were hot. “They
must
be some of my old followers. And they never would have—would have let surface dwellers
do
things to them if I hadn’t—if I—” He looked up at Mekkam, stricken. “My king, I am so very sorry. Count on me. I will do whatever you require to make amends.”
Mekkam, who had been sitting stiffly (as stiffly as Artur . . . both of them looked as flexible as mannequins), relaxed slightly. “I thank you, Farrem. Our people will be most grateful for your help. But . . .” He seemed to struggle with the words, then coughed them up. “But you are not responsible for what youngsters decided to do once they attained a few years. Our society has ever been about free will.”
“Hey, so is ours,” Jonas whined.
“You are kind, my king. But my debt is great. I am grateful for the chance to pay it off.” Her father smiled grimly. “Including the interest.”
Forty-three
“What in the name of the king happened to your door?”
“Funny how people keep using
that
phrase,” Jonas sighed.
Tennian and Wennd were standing in the hole where the door used to be, and Fred figured it was about time to find a gallon of Off! and pour it over her head.
Tennian shook her head as if trying to come back to herself. “Forgive me, my king, the door is irrelevant.”
“Says the woman who didn’t have to cough up a four-figure security deposit,” Fred grumped.
“You called and I have come.”
“Thank you, Tennian.”
“Four figures,” Fred reminded them. “Down the drain.”
“Oh, shut up and dig into your trust fund,” Jonas hissed. “Priorities, dammit!”
“Besides the prince and me, you are the only member of the royal family within three thousand miles. We need your courage today of all days. And I needed to make sure you were safe.” The king turned to the beautiful violet-haired mermaid. “Wennd, this is none of yours, young one,” Mekkam said gently. “I wish for you to return to the Indian Ocean as quickly as you can.”
“I—I was with her when you called, my king.”
Fred couldn’t help looking at the beautiful woman, but it wasn’t the hair or the eyes that had her attention. There was something about Wennd that was bugging her, and damned if she could put her finger on it.
“I want to help,” Wennd whispered. “Please let me help. Don’t send me away if my people are in danger.”
Artur smiled at her. “Very well, Wennd. I should hate to reward such loyalty with dismissal.”
What was it about her? Fred wondered if it was something so simple as concern. Wennd was so timid and gentle, Fred wasn’t crazy about the thought of her getting hurt. She really had no business here. Things could get nasty.
She wished the king had made her leave.
Tennian, meanwhile, had marched up to Farrem. “It appears you are redeeming yourself,” she managed through clenched teeth, hands on hips, staring up into his face. “I am grateful, on behalf of my family, for your assistance. I . . . regret my rudeness earlier.”
Farrem laughed, but it wasn’t mean. It was a cheery laugh and Fred grinned, despite the seriousness of the situation. “No, Tennian, you do not. But it is kind of you to swallow your ire for the sake of your king.”
“Mmph.” As a comeback, Fred thought, it wasn’t much, but at least Tennian wasn’t tackling her father or throwing him through the kitchen window. Progress! “What are we doing?”
“Farrem has kindly agreed to try to locate those who have hidden themselves from me,” Mekkam explained. “If he does, and if he can pinpoint their locations, we will form teams and go after them.”
“How many of us are in these waters?” Farrem asked.
“Seven hundred sixty-four, not counting the ones I can no longer ‘see.’ ”
Jonas whistled, but Artur shook his head. “A mere fraction. If what we fear is true, and we face war against artificially augmented traitors . . .”
The king nodded grimly. “I will mobilize all the Folk in the area and we will hunt them down.”
Fred wondered what that meant. She knew that in general, Undersea Folk abhorred killing one another. It was almost unthinkable.
“One coup in a lifetime is quite enough,” Mekkam continued grimly. “I would this one were thwarted before it truly began.”
Fred leaned over and whispered in Farrem’s ear, “Told you they’d give you another chance if you gave them one. Thirty years was long enough.”
“You did tell me,” he admitted,
not
whispering, “but I put it down to the naïveté of extreme youth.”
“Well, thanks a heap,
Dad.
”
“Farrem, if you please,” Mekkam asked, except everyone in the room knew it was a royal command. “Please try to locate the lost ones.”
Lost ones, Fred thought. That was an awfully generous way to put it.
Farrem nodded and sat back down in the dining-room chair. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and closed his eyes.
The room felt . . . Fred didn’t know exactly how to describe it . . . it felt
thick.
Charged, even, the way it felt before a kick-ass thunderstorm. And if she could sense that, what must Tennian and Wennd and Artur and Mekkam be feeling?
Cripes, Farrem calling . . . searching . . . it must be like a megaphone in their heads!
Farrem’s shoulders started to tremble. His face was hidden in his hands as he concentrated. In seconds he was shaking all over.
Suddenly, shockingly, Wennd’s odd, goose-like laugh sounded through the room, making them all jump. And she was just—she was just standing there, holding her stomach and laughing.
And Farrem looked up.
He was laughing, too.