The Mammoth Book of Best New SF 25 (Mammoth Books) (135 page)

No one spoke. In the tank, the octopus wound and unwound its arms, glowing softly, like an emblem of death from a medieval painting.

They all spent a restless night. The following morning, Trip was in the salon when he felt a soothing vibration well up through the floor. The engine had started. He was smiling at Meg and Dawn, who seemed equally relieved that they were on their way, when an alarm sounded from the cockpit. A second later, the wailing ceased, and the engine died as well.

Trip went up to the deck, where he found Stavros crouching over the hatch of the engine room, biting his lower lip. A sharp tang of scorched metal wafted up from the engine. “Overheated,” Stavros said tersely, in response to Trip’s question. “We’re taking care of it.”

Kiran, who was examining the engine, stuck his head and shoulders out of the darkened rectangle, a smudge of grease on his face. “It’s the alternator and pump. The belt’s torn to shreds. I’ll need to replace it.”

“How long will that take?” Trip asked, unsettled by the prospect of an engine failure. Although the sloop was perfectly capable of proceeding under sail, the last few days had been windless, and they were weeks away from shore.

Kiran wiped away the grease. “A couple of hours. We’ll need to hold station here.”

Word of their situation spread quickly. After learning what had happened, Ellis announced that he would spend the morning trying to capture a few more octopuses. While examining the octopus that had been caught the day before, he had noticed that one of its arms was missing, apparently severed. “We need a perfect specimen,” Ellis said, as if challenging the others to contradict him. “If we’re stuck here anyway, we may as well make the most of it.”

When no one objected, Ellis and Gary set to work. During the night, the yacht had drifted away from the octopus school, so they took the boat tender. Trip accepted an invitation to come along, glad for an excuse to get away from the yacht, and Meg agreed to join them as well.

They roared off in the tender, the water rising around them in a needlelike spray. The motor was too loud for conversation, but Trip kept a close watch on Meg, who had dark circles under her eyes.

When the tender neared the octopus school, which was visible in faint red patches through the water, Ellis cut the engine. “Gary and I will dive together. You two can wait here.”

Donning their equipment, the two scientists climbed onto the inflatable keel and slid overboard. Trip watched them descend, the sun beating down on the back of his neck, then turned to Meg. “How are you doing?”

“I’ll be all right,” Meg said. The brim of her hat left her face in shadow, but her voice, he noticed, was steady.

As they waited for the others to return, Meg began to take measurements of the water’s temperature and salinity, with Trip helping as best he could. As the minutes ticked by, he tried to steer the conversation toward the other members of the crew. “Ray didn’t seem like a guy who was easy to work with.”

Meg looked back at the yacht, which was holding station seven hundred yards away. “He was used to being right all the time. Ellis couldn’t deal with it. He also thought that he was going to have the chance to conduct his own research, but Ray worked him pretty hard.”

“Ellis seems to think that the octopus school is his last chance for a major discovery.”

“Yes, I know.” Meg hesitated, as if there were something else that she wanted to say. “There was a lot that Ellis didn’t understand. Ray drank too much, and sometimes, when we were alone, he would tell me things—”

Trip sensed that she was on the verge of revealing something important. “What is it?”

“Ray was withholding some of the team’s discoveries. You know how he insisted that Gary process the samples on board the yacht? It was so he could screen the results for genes with commercial potential. If you can find a microbe that makes it easier to produce ethanol, for example, or a luminous microbe like the one he was hoping to find the other night, it would be worth millions.”

“But the whole point of this project was to make the data freely available,” Trip said. “Every gene was going to be made public, right?”

“That’s what Ray claimed. It’s what allowed him to recruit people like Gary. If you ask Gary why he joined the project, he’ll say it was because he believed that genetic research should be as open as possible. But Ray was always driven by profit. He wasn’t about to change his ways.”

Trip could feel the elements of a story assembling themselves in his head. “You seem to know a lot about the science.”

“I spent a year in medical school before I dropped out. I couldn’t stand the dissections.” Meg glanced back at the sloop, which looked like a scale model in the sunlight. “I decided a long time ago that I was going to devote my life to pleasure, not death. For a while, I thought that marrying a rich man was the answer. That’s why I was involved with Ray. Don’t pretend you didn’t know.”

Trip went for the diplomatic response. “I had some idea of what was going on.”

“You and everyone else. I don’t mind. I knew he wasn’t going to marry me.” Meg turned back to Trip. “Maybe it’s better this way. If he’d held back results for commercial reasons, it would have come out sooner or later. Now, instead, he gets to be a martyr. In a way, I’m glad he’s dead.”

Trip tried to cut the tension. “You probably don’t want me writing about this, then.”

Meg didn’t respond. Something in her unsmiling face, which was still in shadow, sent a prickle of nervousness down his spine. Before either of them could speak again, Gary’s gloved hand emerged from the sea, clutching an octopus, which had wound itself around his upper arm. Ellis surfaced a second later, wetsuit glistening, holding an octopus of his own.

“Looks like they’ve got their prizes,” Meg said. She glanced at Trip’s hands. “You’ve been biting your nails. Are you nervous?”

When she looked back up at him, Trip held her gaze. “Not any more than you are.”

They helped Gary and Ellis onto the tender. As they headed back, the octopuses, each in its own bucket, writhed at their feet, curling into defensive balls whenever they were touched. Meg did not speak to Trip again.

When they returned to the sloop, it was already late in the afternoon. Trip was climbing into the dive cockpit when he heard shouts. At the entrance to the engine room, Stavros and Kiran were yelling at each other, and the captain had bitten his own lip out of agitation. “You stupid
malaka
” Stavros said. “If we wind up stranded here, it’s all your fault—”

Kiran was equally furious.
“Bhenchod,
I’m not the one who sabotaged the engine.”

“Sabotage?” Trip looked between the two men. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s the fan belt,” Kiran said. “I tried to replace it, but it snapped whenever the engine engaged. When I looked closer, I found out why. The ball bearings in the pulley are damaged. And the package of extra bearings is missing from my spare parts kit. I took an inventory just last week, and it was definitely there. Which means that somebody stole it.”

“What about the engine?” Trip asked. “You really think that it was sabotaged?”

Stavros nodded, the blood shining on his lip. “Whoever did it will answer to me.”

“In any case, we’ll find a workaround,” Kiran said, speaking more calmly than before. “I can cannibalize parts from another pulley. But it means we won’t be leaving until tomorrow at the earliest.”

This announcement cast a pall over the rest of the day. As Stavros and Kiran worked on the engine, Gary prepared a tank for the octopus he had caught, installing it next to the first one, while Ellis took his own specimen into the lab for closer examination. The two octopuses in the salon took no visible interest in each other, glowing gently in their separate containers as evening fell.

When it was time for dinner, Gary proposed that they eat on deck, which would put some distance between themselves and the body in the galley. Outside, the lights in the water were brighter than ever. As they ate around a folding table, bundled up in parkas and gloves, Gary raised the question that they had all been avoiding. “When this is over, how many of you are coming back?”

When no one answered, Gary took a sip from his water glass. “I know it’s hard to talk about this, but back on shore, we aren’t going to have another quiet moment. We need to discuss this now.”

“We all know that you want to respect Ray’s wishes,” Stavros finally said, a red scab on his lower lip. “As for me, I go with the
Lancet.
Her destination makes no difference to me.”

“Or me,” Kiran said. “Not everyone here feels the same loyalty to Ray that you do.”

“This isn’t about loyalty,” Gary said. “It’s about seeing that important work isn’t lost. We’ve made significant discoveries here, and we need to make sure that they’re released to the public.”

Trip glanced at Meg, who did not look back. “I’ve only been here for a few days, but I know something about situations like this,” Trip said, not sure if his opinion counted. “Your first obligation is to the living.”

Ellis grunted. “Personally, if Ray were able to speak his mind, I don’t think he’d care either way. Now that he’s dead, he can’t profit from any of it. They don’t award the Nobel Prize posthumously.”

After a prolonged silence, Dawn, who had tucked her hair up into a baseball cap, tried to change the subject. “I’ve been watching these octopus lights for days now, and I have no idea what they mean. What are they?”

Ellis shifted easily into professorial mode. “It could be a way of coordinating group activities, like mating. Or some kind of hunting strategy. Most people don’t appreciate how intelligent octopuses are. They have big brains with folded lobes, the largest of any invertebrate, and show signs of memory and learning.” He looked thoughtfully at the lights. “Of course, they only live for three or four years. If they had a longer lifespan, who knows what they might be capable of doing?”

The crew fell into silence. As they looked out at the water, Kiran played with his cigarette lighter, its nervous flame mirroring the lights in the sea, which seemed unfathomably ancient. Trip, thinking of corpse lights in a graveyard, was reminded of a passage from Coleridge:
They moved in tracks of shining white, and when they reared, the elfish light fell off in hoary flakes—

After a moment, Meg cleared the table and took the dishes below. The others were talking and drinking, the mood finally beginning to lighten, when they heard a scream and a crash from the salon.

In an instant, they were out of their chairs. They found Meg standing in the salon, a pile of broken dishes at her feet. She was staring at the two tanks that had been set up in one corner. Her face had lost most of its color.

“Look,”
Meg said, pointing toward the tanks with a trembling finger.
“Look at this.”

Trip followed her gesture with his eyes. The last time he had bothered to look, each of the tanks had held a single octopus. Now the nearest tank was empty, and in the other, the water was clouded by a blue fog.

When the haze cleared, he felt a wave of nausea. One of the octopuses had killed the other. The survivor’s color had deepened to crimson, while the remains of its neighbor were shriveled and gray. Billows of octopus blood had polluted the water, and a foamy scum had gathered on the surface.

A second later, Trip realized what else was happening, and felt a cold hand take hold of his insides.

The surviving octopus was eating its companion. As he watched, the octopus used its beak to amputate one of its victim’s arms at the base. Wrapping its mouth around the severed arm, it devoured it, the arm disappearing inch by inch into its chitinous maw. The octopus twitched, its arms jerking in brief convulsions as it swallowed its fierce meal, its eyes hooded and glazed.

Ellis looked accusingly at the others. “Who put the octopuses into the same tank?”

“I don’t think anyone did this,” Stavros said. “It must have escaped on its own.”

“That’s impossible,” Kiran said. He went over to the empty tank. Both tanks had been made from plastic buckets, the lids secured so that a narrow gap remained above the rim, allowing air to circulate. The gap, which was less than an inch wide, seemed much too small for an octopus to pass through.

As the surviving octopus finished eating one arm and began to snip off another, it occurred to Trip that there was an easy way to resolve the question. “The security cameras. We switched them on last night.”

“Let’s take a look,” Ellis said. Going into the library, he returned a minute later with a videotape. A television was mounted to one wall of the salon. Ellis inserted the tape into the video player and pressed the rewind button. As he did, Trip noticed that his knuckles were badly bruised.

Before he could ask about this, an image of the salon appeared on the television set. The videotape opened with footage that had been taken only a few moments ago, of the entire crew standing around the tanks. As the tape rewound, the crew went up the steps, walking backwards, except for Meg, who stayed behind. The broken dishes on the floor flew back into her arms and reassembled themselves, and then she, too, was gone. The tanks alone remained onscreen.

As the video rolled back, the predatory octopus appeared to regurgitate its victim’s arms and refasten them. An instant later, both octopuses were alive, struggling in the tank, and then—