Swimming Without a Net (6 page)

After dinner, Artur and Jonas disappeared
somewhere—it was still light, and Jonas wanted to get in some snorkeling while he could. So he took off in the direction of the equipment shed, while Artur went to check on his dad. Which left Thomas and Fred walking on the beach.

“I’ve got to give this place credit,” Fred said, peering at the horizon. “Being here is like being trapped in the Discovery Channel.”

“I assume you meant that in a nice way.”

“Of course. What other way would I mean it?”

“Hard to tell with you.”

They walked in silence for a few seconds, until Fred couldn’t bear the quiet another moment and blurted, “I was really surprised to see you today.”

His teeth were a white flash in the near dark. “Excellent.”

“Well, I was.”

“Yeah, well. Think I was going to miss this? The Pelagic?
And
the chance to see you again?”

She stopped walking and, after a moment, he noticed and came back to stand beside her. “You had a year to see me again,” she pointed out. “And you didn’t.”

He shifted his feet in the sand, but didn’t break her gaze. “I had projects. Work to finish. I couldn’t just show up on your doorstep playing a guitar and serenading you until you agreed to go out with me.”

Why not?
She shook the odd and unworthy thought aside. “Yeah, but an e-mail? A postcard?”

“We’re here now, Fred. Together.”

She barked laughter. “Oh, sure. You, me, Jonas, Artur, and ten thousand mermaids. Not that any of them have bothered to come ashore. And don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“It’s…complicated, Fred. It’s—”

“Never mind. I just—”

“What?”

Missed you. Thought about you all the time. Wished you would have come sooner.
But she could say none of those things to Thomas without also saying them to Artur. And that was the worst kind of unfair. “I just think it’s weird, how we’re all together again for this meeting,” she improvised.

“Tell me about it. But I’ve been prepping for the meeting, and I’ve got something to show you. See that?” Thomas pointed to what appeared to be a float anchored several yards out. “You up for swimming out there?”

“Up for it? I haven’t been wet in two days.” The double entendre made the color rush to her face and she ignored Thomas’s grin. “Not to mention, I’ll get out there five times faster than you will.”

“Great.” Thomas was pulling his shirt over his head and kicking off his shoes. “Then I’ll see you out there.”

“And we’re swimming out there
why
?” she called after him as he scampered into the surf.

“Like I said, I’ve got something to show you!” he shouted over his shoulder, and then dived in.

“Yeah, well. I’m a scientist. Chances are I’ve seen it already,” she muttered, but waded in after him, stripping off her clothes as she went and tossing them back toward the beach.

She floundered clumsily in the surf for a few seconds
until it was deep enough for her to shift to her tail-form. Then she was able to go from fighting the water to being part of it.

At first she just stretched her muscles and gloried in being able to get some decent exercise for the first time in too long. Then, as the sand floor dropped away from her, she was able to take a good look around and really appreciate her surroundings.

In just the short distance to the float, she saw at least forty different species of fish. It was astonishing. She was very much afraid she was swimming around like a tourist, with her eyes bulging and her mouth hanging open.

And the water was delightful—warm and clear. She almost didn’t mind swimming in the ocean if it was like this. (Almost.) As opposed to back home, where the Atlantic was chilly and murky, and hid unpleasant surprises.

Here she could see everything coming—sea turtles, manta rays, sharks, angelfish. She could hear their fish-chatter whispering in the back of her brain, a far cry from the hectoring nagging of the fish at the New England Aquarium, who often went on strike to get what they wanted.

And the sand! It looked like sugar, pure and perfect and gorgeous. It was almost possible to believe they hadn’t wrecked the planet if there were still places like this left.

She had passed Thomas almost at once and now circled the float, waiting for him. She stroked a sea turtle as it paddled past her. It snootily ignored her and paddled away.

She laughed, causing a stream of bubbles, and nearly crashed into the underwater ladder when she saw the surprise.

It was a small submarine, but unlike any sub she had ever seen. It was sleek and shiny, and had more windows per square foot than metal, or so it seemed at first glance.

It was obviously brand-new; no barnacles, no clinging seaweed. So the bobbing rectangle above wasn’t a float; it was a marker for this little sub, and a way for people to climb down and—

Thomas had finally reached her, gone up for a big breath, then swam back down. He motioned to her (she assumed…who else would he be gesturing to?), opened the air lock, and swam in. She was right behind him, consumed with curiosity and delight.

He shut the air lock door, drained the water, and grinned at her. “Ready for the nickel tour?” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the pumps.

“You’ve been busy the last few months,” she commented, trying to hide how impressed she was.

“Well, duh. I don’t spend all my money on bookmarks and renting resorts, y’know. Come on.”

She followed him in.

It wasn’t so much a submarine, Thomas explained,
as an underwater RV, complete with tiny kitchen, shower, and bedroom. And it was far more comfortable than any submarine she’d ever seen. And…

She took a deep, appreciative whiff. “Ah, that new car smell!” She covered her nudity with a towel and rubbed her hair with another one. “Just like you drove it off the lot!”

“Yup.” It hadn’t taken him long to show her around the underwater RV, or URV (pronounced “Irv”), as he called it. Everything was miniaturized (even the bed…bigger than a twin, not quite as big as a double) and brand-spanking-new. And everything was state of the art. “I brought along a bunch of DVDs, the galley’s stocked, and as long as you don’t mind saltwater showers, the bathroom’s all yours.”

“Thanks.”

He shuffled his feet awkwardly, looking more like a sixteen-year-old than the formidable (and full-grown) Dr. Thomas Pearson. “I mean, I know you’ve got your hut on the beach, and you’ve got the run of the ocean, but if you ever want to, you know, get some space or retreat from a couple hundred Undersea Folk, you’re always welcome in the URV.”

“Well. Thanks.” Fred wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. It was a generous offer…unless it was all part of his plan to get into her pants, in which case it was vile and underhanded. So she should either give him a sisterly hug, or punch him in the face. What to do, what to do…

She coughed. “How long did this take to make?”

“Well, I had the plans for a few months—I designed them after I went to Scotland last year.”

She remembered; it had been the last stop on his fellowship. They’d defeated the bad guy, both he and Artur had declared their love, and then both of them had
left
—Artur to go back to the Black Sea and do whatever it was princes did; Thomas to finish his fellowship.

“When Artur got in touch, I had the URV built.” He lowered his voice, although the two of them were the only ones in the URV. “I was just waiting for an excuse, you know? I’ve been fantasizing about the URV since I was a kid.”

Uh-huh. Not
too
disturbing. “He’s a marine biologist, he’s an M.D., he writes books, he’s rich, and he designs underwater love nests. Is there anything he can’t do?”

“Well, I can’t talk about myself in the third person without creeping myself out, so knock it off.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute.” Fred frowned, thinking about it. “So this Pelagic…The Folk have known about it for at least a few months?”

“Yeah, I guess. Well. The royal family did, anyway. Who knows when Artur and his dad told everybody else.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m just jazzed they even invited me, y’know?”

“Yes. Can’t blame you for that one at all. I’m kind of jazzed myself.”

“Like you wouldn’t be invited.”

“Some half-breed loser who was raised by vicious, bloodthirsty bipeds?” She smiled grimly at his stricken expression. “Right, you and I know that’s not the case, but they don’t, and like I said, I’m glad to be invited. I s’pose.” She sought to change the subject, and so looked the URV up and down and all around. “I’ll bet you’ve got cameras set up all over the—”

“Well, sure. Among other things, the URV is a portable television studio. Lights, sound, picture—it’s got—”

“But you know Artur and his dad—not to mention the other eighty thousand Undersea Folk—aren’t going to let you put this footage on CNN.”

“No,” Thomas admitted, “but I couldn’t pass up the chance to film, even if it just stays in my own library. Besides, it’s going to be helpful for my next book.”

“
The Mermaid and the Milkman
?”

“
The Anatomy and Physiology of Homo Nautilus
,” he retorted stiffly. “You gotta admit, with my background, I’m in a pretty good position to write that book.” It was true; Thomas was not only a Ph.D., he was an M.D. “And if they ‘come out’ to the world, so to speak, we’re going to have to know how to take care of them. My book could be in every hospital, every med school, every medical library in the world.”

She didn’t even try to hold back her laughter. “
Homo Nautilus
?”

“Also known as the Undersea Folk, and stop laughing, you rotten bitch.”

With a mighty effort, she got herself under control. “Yeah, but what if they decide to stay put?”

Thomas shrugged. “Then the manuscript stays on the shelf and my tapes stay in the URV and nobody has to know. I’ll respect their decision.”

“You will unless you want Artur kicking your balls up into your throat.”

“Like I’m scared of
him
,” he sneered. Fred had to admit he was entitled to his fearlessness; there had been a throw-down between the two of them last fall, and Thomas had held his own. A good trick, given that Artur was bigger, heavier, and probably three times as strong.

Then he shrugged. “I’m looking on the bright side. If they do decide to come forward, I’m perfectly positioned. If they don’t, it was still a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Well worth the time.” He leered at her. “On several levels.”

“Pig. And Artur and his dad know all about this. The taping you’re doing for the Discovery Channel, I mean.”

Thomas coughed. “No. They don’t. And I’d appreciate it if you kept it to yourself for now, Fred. If it comes to it, of course I’ll let them in on my project, but for now there’s no point in saying anything.”

“Knock yourself out, Mermaid Geek. Just keep me out of it.”

Thomas slowly shook his head. “Not this time, Fred. This time, like it or not, you’re
in
it. In fact, you’re practically the guest of honor.”

“Sure,” she snapped. “That explains why none of the purebloods want to be around me except Artur, and he’s got brain damage.”

Thomas flushed, but didn’t look away.

“So what’s going on?” she demanded. “Why are they keeping their distance?”

“Well.” Thomas cleared his throat. “I’m not sure it’s for me to say.”

“You’d
better
say.”

“It’s kind of private Undersea Folk business.”

“But
you
know it? Forget it, Thomas. Cough up, or cough up blood.”

“Okay, okay, I’m not up to taking a punch, so just relax. Here, have a seat.”

She let him steer her to one of the narrow bar stools in the galley. “Okay. So what’s going on?”

“Well, I can’t just blurt it out.”

“You’d better!”

“I’m just saying, there’s background, there’s stuff to cover. Okay. So, it’s like this. See, your fath—”

There was a click, and the intercom system came to life. “Ho inside, Thomas!” Artur’s booming voice. “My father and I require entrance!”

“Hit the red button and come on in,” Thomas called. He shrugged apologetically at Fred. “I guess we’ll talk about that later. But now you get to meet the king.”

“Oh, goody.”

Artur and an older, craggier version of Artur stepped
out of the air lock and into the URV. “Ah, Thomas,” Older, Craggier Artur boomed, not noticing (or not caring) that he and Artur were dripping water all over the galley. “Do you have more movie-shows of the great warrior Al Swearengen for me to view?”

“Sure, King Mekkam. Season two is all set to go.”

Al Swearengen? Now why did that sound so—

“And this must be Fredrika, the spirited beauty who has my good son twisted so far around he can see the back of his own tail.” The king pulled Fred into a rib-shattering hug and she groaned. He pushed her back, beaming. Clearly his father had no more clue about personal space than Artur did. Very grabby, the Undersea Folk. “It is a great delight to meet you at last, Fredrika. And how is your lady mother?”

“Mom’s fine,” she gasped. Awfully worried about blood relatives, these guys. Artur
always
asked about her mom, though he’d only met her the one time. And the king, she was certain, had never met Moon. “I’m fine.” This was a rather large lie. “We’re all fine. Nice to meet you, too. Thanks for inviting me to your Pelagic.”

“Oh, no. Indeed, no.” King Mekkam frowned, and Fred realized that Thomas had described him perfectly. He really did look like an older, grayer version of Artur. They were even the same height.

They were also naked, but Fred was trying not to let that bother her. After all, they couldn’t teleport to the URV, now could they? No. They had to swim, and the best way for a merman to swim was
not
layered down with Lands’ End apparel.

And she had to face facts. Despite the efforts of her hippie mother, Fred was uncomfortable because of the repressed sexual mores of a society that had been heavily influenced by the Victorian Age. Her father’s people, of course, had no idea who Queen Victoria even was, much less why they should be embarrassed to walk around with their dicks swinging—

“No, it is I who must thank you,” the king was saying. “It was kind of you to join us on such short notice. I am not unaware that you had to disrupt your life and your plans to come to our meeting. And for your friend to come as well! You do my people such an honor as they have never been done before. And that is excellent,” he added, almost muttered.

“Yeah, King Mekkam, that’s great, listen—maybe you can explain how—”

“
Deadwood
, season two,” Thomas announced, waving the box at the king, who nearly swooned like a girl with a crush.

“Excellent! Oh, that is excellent, Thomas, thank you! Do you know of this movie-show?” the king demanded, snatching the season two DVD set out of Thomas’s hand.

“Uh…yeah, I heard about it. Mostly the uproar when HBO decided to cancel—”

Mekkam steamrolled right over her. “The hero is a treacherous, aging warrior named Al Swearengen. He is as perfidious a biped as I have ever seen, and he is the king of Deadwood. He has many enemies and triumphs with a combination of violence and deception.” The king said this with total admiration.

“You’ve got him watching
Deadwood
?” Fred hissed, twisting Thomas’s ear until he yelped. “
That’s
the part of human culture you decided to expose him to?”

“It wasn’t my fault! I had it on when I was giving these guys the tour.”

“Now, unless you motherfuckers are going to join me,” King Mekkam continued, “I insist you sons of bastards all be quiet so I may view more of King Al.”

Fred groaned.

“Uh, King Mekkam, about the swearing,” Thomas said, clearing his throat and rubbing his ear. “I’m not quite sure you’ve got the hang of it just yet, and—”

“In our culture, it is polite to speak to others in their dialect,” the king said firmly. “So all you motherfuckers shut the fuck up. Now, Thomas. Where is your son of a bitching DVD machine?”

“Oh man, oh man, oh man.”

“You’re going to hell for this one,” Fred told him. “If nothing else.”

“And do you have any motherfucking potato chips?”