1 comments/ 10368 views/ 0 favorites Heartside By: GBRADICAL Muemen opened his eyes and lay enjoying the familiar and constant roll of the sea. The hazy gray light of early dawn seeped into his dark cabin through the cracks and edges of the door and thin brown curtains of the lone, paneless window. He rolled from his hammock and stretched his stiff muscles, scrounged through his bare pantry for a quick breakfast of blue tubers and a few sardines, and sat himself at his small table before the window. He peeked outside as he ate; the sun had not yet broken the horizon, and a thick fog blanketed the world beyond. He finished his food and donned a pair of close fitting swim-shorts. He looked around his cabin, patted a rhythm on his compact belly, and with no other excuse for delay and much work to be done in the day, he opened the door and stepped out onto the main deck. The Heartside Pyfin Farm had been built by Muemen's grandfather and then passed to his only son, Maxen. He, too, bore a single son, and was killed defending the shoal from a massive Jiggerdart that had breached the Womb. And so at fourteen, Muemen had become squire of Heartside, and for eight years he had tended the shoals well, as his father and his father's father had done. Heartside's womb covered some 150,000 cubic feet, ten fathoms at its deepest, and his shoal now numbered sixty-two adults, some hundred fry of potential, and produced approximately five hundred pounds of caviar annually. Muemen Heartside was by no means a wealthy man, but he owned much, and was content. He strolled across the main deck through the dark, warm fog to the hatchery and juvenile tanks: smaller wombs sunk right through the deck itself. Each morning, he checked the hatchery for newborns, which birthed in the pre-dawn hours and must be moved to the juvenile-tank, for they were born ravenous and would devour their egg-kin. With sharp eyes he leaned over the hatchery and with a small, delicate net, he carefully mixed the eggs to free any fry born near the bottom; he then netted the inch-long, pearl-white Pyfin fry and transferred them to a small bucket. He repeated the process with care, until he was certain no fry remained, then added a few drops of vitamin solution to the tank and moved on. He carefully drained the newborn fry into the juvenile tank, watched with a smile as they mingled peacefully with the ones already there. Pyfin were highly intelligent and social creatures, and the odd violent individual needed to be purged or he might spread his violent behaviours. From a waterproof sack next to the tank, he pulled a few handfuls of granular feed and tossed them in, left the fry to gorge happily on the sinking pellets. The sun had risen, fire and blood red, and the morning fog had begun to burn away. As he headed back to the cabin to retrieve his gill, a heavy thump sounded from beneath his feet. "Patience, old friend. I'm coming," he hollered. He walked out along the thin north dock, and there was Londorox, the oldest, largest bull of his shoal. He was massive, even for a Pyfin, close to fifteen-hundred pounds now and eight feet long. His body was a powerful knot of dark brown muscles that pumped his wide horizontal tail-fin. Delicate, feathery, transparent fins sprouted from bulbs behind the head and trailed along his sides. His luminous blue eyes, three in a row and each the size of a mans head, gazed up in placid expectation as Muemen sat on the dock's edge and put his gill in. Londorox, now almost seventy-years old, had originally been spawned and raised by Muemen's grandfather, and in his own way, was the true squire of Heartside. Muemen slipped into the water and was met by the gentle, probing fingers- the Pyfin "beak" was made of three stubby fingers that could be opened to filter near microscopic sea creatures and vegetation into callused, purple, grinding gums. It was also known that they used them to communicate, stroking each other or tapping rhythms on each other's thick sides. Through long association, Muemen had learned and was able to simulate many such gestures with his own hands, so that, in a simple manner, Londorox and he could communicate. After a warm greeting, Muemen pushed off Londorox's body, diving deep into the brisk blue water to make his rounds. The Womb itself was a marvel: a great sack of cellular lining which allowed fresh sea water and the tiny sea life that the Pyfin lived on in, and keeping most dangerous predators out. If not regularly treated with stimulants, the tough cell walls contracted, flow was stopped and the waters of the Womb became stagnant. Londorox and many others of the shoal followed casually as Muemen sought out the graying areas that indicated contraction and treated them with a small injection device. When this was done, he tapped a rhythm on Londorox side, and with a tremendous rush of water from his thrashing tail, the bull raced off to seek out any straying Pyfin and bring them under the dock for inspection. Most of the older, higher-ranking bulls and heifers spent their time near the egg and juvenile wombs where they hung beneath the main dock, and when they saw Muemen coming, moving like a fish himself from a life spent underwater, they queued readily for inspection. One by one, he swam round and round them, cleaning their rubbery brown skin, picking free stringy bloodsucking parasites, checking fin and beak and eyes for damage and disease, and each was rewarded after with a small salt-candy, which they savoured and tucked into the folds of their gums greedily. Each seemed to enjoy the attention, the gentle, efficient care they received. In their massive, bulging blue eyes, Muemen saw intelligence and kindness, and it warmed him to his tasks. A sudden rush in the water behind him spun Muemen round. Londorox had gushed past, so close that Muemen felt his filmy fins whip against his skin. He had come rushing up from the darkness directly below the dock, where the Womb was deepest, and he tugged at Muemens ankle now with a rough urgency that startled him. He sheathed his small cleaning knife at his side and let Londorox take his hand in beak. Muemen in tow, the bull arced sharply and dove fast and deep, straight to the bottom, and Muemen saw instantly why. Directly below them, a Jiggerdart had breached the Womb. He could see the long, sharp black horn and small, ugly head working at the tear, trying to open it wide enough for it's oily black, eel-like body to writhe through. Muemen tapped a signal on Londorox tough skin, and he disappeared. Muemen swam furiously towards the ever-widening whole. Just as he reached it, the Jiggerdart's horn ripped the womb wide and the thing slithered in. It was a big one, nearly twenty feet long. It swam a great, wiggling circle, wild with the smell of Pyfin eggs. Its darting black eyes spotted Muemen and it turned sharply and rushed him. He kicked it aside at the last second, and the five-foot impaling horn slid mere inches past his cheek. The Jigger circled and charged again. Londorox, who Muemen had sent to fetch the spear he kept attached to the underside of the dock, came straight down from above and rammed the Jigger to the bottom of the womb, furiously and futilely trying to crush it with the fingers of his beak. Pyfins had no natural weapons, and Londorox could do little but grip the wriggling creature's body while it stabbed at him viciously. Londorox had brought the spear, but had let it drop to the Womb floor while grappling the Jigger. Muemen saw it, cut through the water to where it lay. He grasped the thin, ten-foot, barbed spike and thrust it at the furious Jiggerdart. He punctured a hole below the eyes, then another under its tiny, tooth rimmed jaw. Suddenly fearing for its life, it fought even harder to be free, but powerful Londorox held it fast while Muemen speared the thing till it writhed no more. Together they grasped the long, lank corpse and hauled it to the surface, the younger of the shoal schooling about them curiously. Muemen tethered it to the dock, retrieved a repair kit, and dove down again to repair the tear in the womb, stapling it shut with sutures and applying a salve. He then tended to Londorox, who had sustained a small stab wound in his thick hide. Muemen cleaned the wound and stitched it closed. He gave the great beast a firm pat and snuck him a few more salt-candies as reward, then headed back onto the dock and winched the heavy, long Jigger on deck. Almost all it's parts could be used for one purpose or another, and the smell of their own blood was known to discourage them. But, the sun had already crossed the sky, and the day had been long and tiring. He rinsed in the deck shower, ate a small meal, and lay in his hammock. Within minutes, he drifted off to sleep. ********** Muemen awoke with a start. A ferocious mechanical roar, which steadily grew louder and more offensive, tore apart the silent night as he lay there frowning. He leapt up and grabbed his old, heavy StormSpitter from atop his wardrobe, burst out onto the deck and looked about; there, coming in from the west-shore, an off-world make skimmer. The Pyfin were sensitive to vibration and sound, and any local made boats had sound shielding around the engines or used quieter, simpler propulsions systems, like Muemens own PulseForce. He grabbed a spotlight and lit up the approaching vessel. The engines were cut and the boat drifted, the driver and his passenger shielding their eyes with their hands. "Ho there, turn off that light!" called the passenger. He was a squat man with no neck and a mean look about him, even dressed as he was in a finely tailored charcoal suit. The driver was thinner, taller, but dressed the same and no less unpleasant. Muemen flicked a switch on his spotlight and the beam shone even brighter. "Blast it, what's the matter with you?" cried the passenger. "The hour is late," Muemen answered, and though they could not see, he trained the StormSpitter on them. "You trespass on private waters with that noisome contraption and upset my shoal. Declare yourselves, or I'll open fire." "First shut that light off and let us..." began the now very angry man in the suit. Muemen cut him off with a shot from his weapon, sending a thin beam of cloudy, whirling blue light into the waters to create a hissing geyser of steam off their bow. The men bellowed and spun the skimmer around, sent it tearing away. Muemen kept the light on them for as long as was possible, watching the squat man glare back, bushy eyebrows low over cold black eyes. A dangerous face, thought Muemen, and one he would not forget soon. ********** In the morning, he loaded his skiff with the weeks yield, sacked in a temporary preserving fluid, and with the flaming sun barely skimming the ocean's horizon to the north-east, he set off for the nearest port-town, Dobbyton. Heartside lay near the center of Bottomless Bay, and between it and Dobbyton was Ratoi, a great mountainous isle, and Dobby Bay, where were located the farms of Jotan Muddywater and Tom Rundey. The two, while amicable, were boisterous to the extreme, and their decks swarmed with wives and children. Muemen, used to a solitary life of routine work, found their company irksome, though he and Solar, the second oldest of the Rundey sisters, had been somewhat intimate in the past. Still, this day he cruised at full speed along the south shore of Ratoi, turning at the Shallows and into tiny Jigger Bay, where the young Jiggerdarts came to breed in porous, volcanic caves; and finally to Dobbyton, and thus avoiding any chance encounters. Muemen docked his boat and hauled his yield-sacks ashore. He delivered them to the rotund and pleasant, if somewhat stingy, Bahdin, of Bahdin's Imports and Exports. "What's troubling you?" Bahdin asked, huffing to hang the heavy sacks on a hook-scale. Muemen, unaware his pre-occupation was noticeable, took a long moment to answer. "I was awoken late last night by some uninvited guests. I did not sleep well after." Bahdin said nothing at first, and counted out Muemen's payment with a slow, painful, thumb-licking pace, as if it hurt to let go of each bill. "Go to the Carbony Crab Inn," he said as he finished with a wince, "Jotan and Tom were just in complaining of something similar, though their encounters were not so late." Muemen did not truly wish to see them, but it would be worth a drink with the lads to satiate his curiosity. After retrieving and loading his usual supplies of stimulant, nutritional supplements and so forth, he sauntered up Carbony Way to the Carbony Crab and pushed through the saloon-style doors, which had been crafted to look like crab legs. As soon as he entered, he was met with a loud round of greeting and jeering. He replied in kind; the Crab was for farmers only, and though many of his community found Muemen presumptuous and distant, he was generally well liked, and somewhat pitied for the death of his father. He went to the bar and ordered a Salty Sour, which he slugged back with a shiver while surveying those present. Pyfin Farmers were a strange lot. Simple, independent, friendly with each other and untrusting of strangers. They were uniformly slim-hipped, hard bodied, barrel-chested, even the elderly, from lives spent at tough underwater tasks. The average Pyfin Farmer could hold his breath seven minutes before needing to surface for air. He spotted Jotan and Tom, with their sons Prator and Peter, both slightly older than Muemen, and also Tom's wife, Susceny. He was lured over by a beer mug in the air, and he dragged a chair over. He was forced to down a whole mug of the potent, local brew in order to "catch up" before he was allowed to speak. He let loose a particularly loud belch, which met congratulations from most of the Inn. "So, my boy? How fare things at Heartside," asked Tom scrunching his pinched, red little face happily. "Well, indeed, save for unpleasant, late-night visitors disturbing my rest," he answered, pouring himself another mug of beer from the three-gallon pitcher on the table. Toms gray eyes sharpened. "That so? What'd you do?" "It was dark, so I put a light on them, gave them a taste of my Spitter and sent them packing." Jotan, who had stopped drinking to listen, patted Muemen on his shoulder. "Good for you, lad. They came by our place -not so late though- and we gave 'em some of the same. And did you hear that clamorous contraption they came in on? M'shoals still edgy today, eh Prator," he said, and his son, who was like a replica of his plain looking father, nodded. "Tom talked to 'em!" blurted out poor, intoxicated Peter, who's father turned him a glare that quelled him. Muemen contained a smile and acted unaffected. "And what did the man in the natty charcoal suit have to say?" he asked casually. Tom, who Muemen knew secretly loved attention, took a moment to pack a little wooden pipe with tobacco and look around the table. "Mr. Gamble said he was from the BrightFuture Corporation, or some such thing. Said he wanted to buy Rundey: Pyfin, fry and all. He offered me one-hundred thousand for the farm and the fry, and four for each fertile adult." "How many in your shoal, now?" asked Jotan, poorly pretending not to know. "Seventy," answered Muemen flatly. "By the stars! That's a lot of money," roared Peter, and slammed his mug on the tabletop. Tom snorted. "Indeed it is, but it's not enough. I'd sooner sell him my right eye." Muemen ruminated a moment, then asked, "What did he want it for?" "Said they are 'a company interested in streamlining production for higher profits'." "They'd have them crammed in like sardines and flood the market with inferior eggs," interrupted Prator. "But," Tom continued, "the only tame, breeding stocks in known existence are our own. They can't figure out how to get wild-caught ones, even eggs hatched in captivity, to breed. It had never really occurred to me, gentlemen, but we have quite a monopoly going here. Better guard your shoals well." This last part he said with a meaningful glance at Muemen, who, realizing that with no family and no deckhands (he had tried once or twice, but found it difficult to work another, less able man into his schedule), his was the only unguarded Womb. He drained his mug and excused himself with a grateful nod to Tom, and headed back out to the docks. It was an a hour or two past high-noon, and he'd only been gone a few hours; still, he let the motor of his old PulseForce loose, barely touching the water. He passed between Muddywaters and the northwest edge of Ratoi, following its edge straight out to Heartside. As he approached, Muemen noticed a figure bent over the hatchery. Cursing himself for leaving his StormSpitter behind, he slid his skiff quietly up to the main dock. He leapt on deck and slipped quietly through the window of his deckhouse, stepping through the paneless frame onto his chair. As he pushed the curtain aside, Solar Rundey, who had been looking with a sad expression at his pantry, screamed. Muemen, startled, missed his footing and collapsed through the window noisily. The second youngest of the Rundey Sisters, Mary, who had been playing with the Heartside fry, rushed to the door. There were five Rundey girls; Sarceny, Toms wife, a fine woman still strong and fit after five children; Murkinum who was married and gone; Solar, Mary, and Barbony, still just a tiny, strawberry-haired lass. "What are you doing?" the girls asked in chiming unison. Muemen, looked at them each, shook his head and stood. "What are you girls doing here, and where is your boat?" Mary strolled in, a pretty, slim and sun-kissed girl, still a year too young to marry. "South dock," was all she said. Solar, like her sister but fuller, with blond hair to her ankles, slammed shut his pantry doors and scowled at him. "Father sent us," she said, "for a bachelor's cupboards are always bare, and he suspected your home might need a woman's touch. He was quite correct." She was obviously upset with him, for it had been long since they had snuck off to Ratoi or had a drink at the Carbony Crab together. She likely suspected him of an affair. Though, he thought, their relationship did not have any official status. Still, they had apparently cleaned much of his home and stocked his pantry. He sighed. "You girls are lucky; I thought you were thieves from the SpookyFuture company, or whatever, here to steal my shoal. I might have harmed you." They both laughed wildly. "Oh yes," cried Mary, with tears in her eyes, "you are most decevious...most dangerous, my dear Muemen." His cheeks burned a little, but he simply offered them some rum punch he had just brought in with him and suggested they move out on the deck while he fetch it from the his boat. He returned to find them examining the Jiggerdart he and Londorox had killed the day before, still hanging from the center crane by a rope around its middle, so that the tail and head sagged to the deck; this allowed Muemen to collect its blood in buckets at either end. A day or more in the sun had not helped its odour or appearance. Muemen passed round the clear plastic jug of peach coloured liquor. "It's a big one, more then twenty feet," said Mary, peering close in disgusted curiosity. "That horn has got to be at least five. How big was the one that killed your father?" she asked tactlessly. "Eighteen," Muemen answered. Solar shuddered and grabbed his arm, staring with pouting lips and scared eyes at its grotesque head. "When did you kill it?" she asked.'' "Just last evening. Londorox can sniff them out, I swear, and fetched me. He came closer to death then I," he said modestly. "Poor creature!" cried Mary and ran to the dock's edge, where, as always, Londorox was near at hand. He happily popped his lumpy wet head from the water, accepted a few loving pats from the sisters and let them inspect his already healing wound. "You did a good job stitching him. No one I know understands these creatures more than you, Muemen. You could make a living as Veterinarian." Heartside Solar, suddenly annoyed with her sister's flatteries, dragged Muemen away, back to the Dock-house. "Really, Muemen, you need a deck-hand. They say the biggest Jiggers live in the deep waters and they don't call this Bottomless Bay for nothing. One of these days..." and she let her voice trail off. Muemen looked into her eyes and the whirl of emotion there confused and frightened him. "Thanks," he answered, turning away, "for the kindness. Tell Tom I said so, too." And with that, he snatched out his knife and got to the gruesome work of carving up the Jigger. Solar stood watching angrily as, surprising to Muemen, Mary snatched out her small blade and hopped over to help him. "I'm leaving," Solar said coldly. Mary, who had already sliced a clean line from the anus to the first small fin and rammed her thin arms in up to the elbows, pulled some ten feet of lower intestine out with a gruesome plop and held up her bloody hands. "I'm staying," she said cheerfully. Solar cast an icy glare at Muemen, who pretended not to notice as he busily peeled back the tough black skin and muscle from bone, tendons popping. "I'll bring her home," he said. "You yourself said I need a deck-hand." Solar stamped her foot furiously and stormed away in a whirl of blond hair, stopping only to purge her belly before speeding off in the old canary-yellow inflatable with a small grav-pulse off-board motor that Tom kept running for the use of his children. Hours later, Muemen and Mary sat on the western dock with their feet in the water, finishing the last of the punch and watching as the setting sun filled the air and clouds above the blood red ocean with hazy streaks of crimson, vermilion, maroon. Londorox and others of the shoal tickled their feet playfully and performed lazy, slow rolls in the waters before them. Muemen could not be sure, but he thought they showed a particular fondness for Mary, and he said so. "Father says it's because they love salt, and I've got salt in my veins. Or perhaps because I spend so much time in the waters of the Dobby Bay, which are saltier then out here," she replied, stroking Londorox head with her small, pruned feet. "So what of it? Are you my new deckhand?" he asked her, finally. He knew she could out-swim himself, and Muemen was amazed by her knowledge of the innards of the Jiggerdarts, as she had corrected him on several parts and their functions. She was quick, eager, and Londorox appeared to be in love. Mary looked up at him slowly with big, soft, blue eyes, clear and glowing like the Pyfins. "I'd pay you, naturally," he added. Muemen watched her slowly mull the idea over and warm to it, until she was blushing obviously and nodding. "If father allows it, I'll be here early each day." Muemen blew out his cheeks and passed the last of the punch for her to throw back. "Old Tom is a good man. He'll allow it. In fact, it's getting late. We had best get you home, and I'll have a talk with him." So they cleaned up, boarded the PulseForce, and this time Muemen strapped his Spitter to his thigh, to which Mary made no comment, simply seating herself near the prow and gazing off towards the first stars of night. All the way back, try as he might, Muemen could not help but to admire her. She was young, but with each passing year she emanated a brightening aura of vitality. More then once she caught him looking, and she only smiled quizzically and looked away. They docked at Rundey Farm, and Tom came out with a bottle of green menthe in hand. He looked somewhat angrily from Mary to Muemen as she wobbled past him into the Rundey's three-story deckhouse, smiling dumbly and somewhat tipsy. Muemen, unsure how sober old Tom might be and forgetting about the gun on his thigh, stayed back near the main dock and his skiff. Tom came to him, slowly, his wily, wrinkled eyes boring into Muemens own, trying to sniff out any ill-intent; but Muemen had assured himself that his admiration for Mary was innocent, based on her abilities, and by the time Tom had reached him, the air between them was amicable again. Tom passed him the bottle and he bowed gratefully, took a long, painfully sweet and minty swig. Tom asked: "Twenty-feet? Or was Solar exaggerating?" Wincing to swallow the strong liquor, Muemen nodded. "Biggest I've ever seen was that one that took your poor father. And that old beast Londorox helped? I've never heard of a Pyfin attacking a Jiggerdart, or anything else." Muemen smiled. "He's a clever old lad. I couldn't run Heartside without him," he said, then remembered his agreement with Mary, and brought it up as a hypothetical. Tom snapped him another suspicious glance, but he knew his daughter was as able a deckhand as any around, maybe more so, and his first question was perfectly Rundey. "How much will you pay?" Muemen smiled and ruminated, looked away as if he would find the answer on the night air. "I am not a rich man," to which Tom rolled his eyes and began to turn away, "but, I could manage seventy..." "Eighty," Tom said flatly. "...eighty bills a week for her time. She must transport herself to and from work, bring her own gill, but this is all. Any other equipment she might need I can supply. Meals and minor expenses will be considered as part of her pay." Tom threw back his head and took a long, hard pull on the strong smelling bottle. He belched, chuckled, and spit in the dirty, callused palm of his thick hands. "You're practically stealing my best deckhand, but Peter can pick up the slack. It's a deal." After helping Tom finish the bottle of strong, biting mint liquor, he was set aboard his skiff and sent home with few jars of preserves from Sarceny and a reeling head. He'd drank more liquor today than any day he could remember, and luckily there was little between him and home in the way of obstacles. By the time he passed Ratoi, the quickly cooling night air had him half-sober, and he eased only somewhat clumsily into the main dock. As he secured the line of his skiff, he heard a quiet thump from the main deck. His nerves tingled- it was too late to be the Rundey girls. He snatched his StormSpitter, sleek-looking in design but heavy as can be and difficult to aim, free from its holster and snuck over to the window. This time he simply pushed the curtain aside and peeked in: it was empty. He snuck past and peered around the corner cautiously. There, by the Juvenile tank, was a man in a black wet-suit which covered his every feature. From his belt Muemen saw hung a gun, a knife, and a several small containers, which undoubtedly contained some number of the Heartside eggs and fry. For a fact, he thought, this may be the tall driver from the SnappyFuture Company, come back as a thief in the night. Muemen stepped out from behind the deckhouse. "Stay where you are." The thief froze, dropping the net which he'd been using to fish the fry into the small containers at his waist. Suddenly, he flopped to the deck, narrowly dodging the blazing blue beam of Muemen's gun, and rolled into the water with a loud splash. Muemen threw his weapon into a pile of curled cable as he dashed across the deck and dove into the dark waters after him. It was blackness below the surface. At first he could see nothing but radiant moon beams lancing a few feet into the water's surface, but nothing else. Then, below and to the right of him, he saw three angry, glowing blue eyes he recognized as Londorox. He swam with deadly, cutting speed, knife between his teeth, and as he neared he saw his prized Pyfin lose its grip on the thief's shoulder as he retreated through a new, even larger whole then the Jigger had cut just days before. His Pyfin, even Londorox, would not leave the confines of the Womb, but Muemen sped through, the hole's edges flapping in the sea currents. He came through hot on the thief's furiously kicking heels and managed to slash one of his ankles. The thief turned, bringing his own blade to bear and the two grappled desperately in the inky, bottomless black waters some thirty feet below the womb. As he struggled for his life, Muemen realized he had forgotten his gill, and his air was running out. He curled his legs up between their grasping forms and kicked the thief with both feet hard and deep in the belly, and the man's gill popped out of his mouth from the impact; a small thin membrane floating in the water. Muemen reached it first, kicked the clawing, slashing thief aside again as he put it in his mouth, expunged the excess water through his lips and swallowed hard. With the gill in place, he was suddenly able to breath again, and he attacked the now-frightened and fleeing pilferer with new vigor. They were by now some forty feet below the womb, and the pressure was noticeably unpleasant, but he would not be deterred. Suddenly, Muemen made out a shape in the darkness below them; something blacker then black, long and writhing. He knew instantly what it was. The other man had not seen it, but Muemen noticed it change course suddenly, veering up towards them. It was huge. He couldn't estimate the length, for its tail trailed off into the void, but just by the terrifying girth of its head and body and the great, chipped and bony spike sprouting from it's head, it might well be the biggest Jigger in the sea. Muemen practically swallowed his gill in terror, abandoned his small knife and thrashed for the surface. The thief stopped, looked at Muemen in surprise, and was gone before he knew what happened; he was impaled on the monster's horn and swept away like a leaf on a fast-moving breeze to the lightless depths of Bottomles Bay. Muemen, barely able to see and hoping he was headed up, hit the womb so hard and fast he was nearly knocked unconscious. Head smarting, he somehow found the hole and slid back into the womb. He did not pause when he surfaced, instead grabbing his suture gun and salve and diving straight back down. He stapled the hole shut and applied the disinfecting salve in a frenzy, any minute expecting a ten foot, still bloody horn to pierce through and destroy him. It never came, though, and once back on deck he collapsed for many long minutes, exhausted. As he lay there, he saw images of thousands of giant terrors like the Jigger he had just seen, waiting, watching, dormant beneath his very home, and it scared him near witless for he could think of no protection against beasts like that. He remembered the Jigger blood he had collected. Suddenly on his feet again, he raced all around the edges of the womb in his skiff, filling small, floating leech-sacks that would slowly drain their contents into the waters. The chill night air was already beginning to warm when he returned. Tired beyond reason, head splitting from so much alcohol, and with no more precautions he could think to take, he was asleep before he landed in his hammock. ********** Muemen awoke and found the midday sun blazing through his thin curtain. He covered his aching eyes with a hand and groaned. The mad events of the night before were a dream, about blackness and death. The details were clouded by liquor and fear. He lay swaying in his hammock, rubbing his eyes, trying to remember, but soft footsteps and a voice from the main deck brought him to his feet quickly. It was not impossible that, when their agent did not return, the HappyFuture Co. might decide to send one, or possibly several, more. Muemen cursed himself for again leaving his gun beyond his reach, but when he cracked open the door of his deckhouse and peeked outside, he immediately recognized the small wet prints criss-crossing his deck as Mary's. He sighed with relief and went out. He found her laid on her belly at the edge of the juvenile womb, peering in. "Good morning," she said cheerfully as he approached. He grunted in response and retrieved his gun, still shielding his eyes from the hot sun. "How long have you been here?" he asked, noting the yellow inflatable parked at his north dock, and wondered to himself if Solar was about. Mary watched him with a smile and quizzical look in her clear blue eyes, but made no remarks on his unseemly manner. "I rose near dawn," she answered," and arrived not long after. I've skimmed the eggs and fed the fry, made a round with the stimulant. I couldn't find your suture-gun, or I'd have fixed the sloppy job you made of that big tear, but I put on a new batch of salve. If you show me where you keep the gun, I can get to it right away." Muemen shook his head. The image of Mary at odds with a that great Jigger did not ease him. "I'll do it. You've done a good job already. I think I left the gun on the womb-floor somewhere. Londorox can find it for me." "Do you always leave your tools in the womb?" she asked him. "Also, you left your egg and fry wombs uncovered overnight. I was counting them just now, and I fear some may have been lost to gulls or tartans. Two or three particularly lively ones I noted yesterday are gone. You should really be more pragmatic." Muemen took the remark with a wry half-smile. "Indeed I should. Last night was somewhat unusual." Mary laughed and bounced to her feet. "Father seemed 'unusually'grim this morning, too. Did you know three of your best females have gryp?" Muemen shook his head. "If you give me the money, I'll run to Dobbyton for medicine, and food. It's far past lunch." (Gryp- an eye disease common to Pyfin) And so, after taking what little moneys Muemen had at hand with her, Mary was away towards Ratoi. She turned along the south shore, Muemen noted, just as he often did, and was headed for Jigger Bay when he lost sight of her. Three of his older females and, he found, one of his youngest, indeed had gryp, and he found himself thankful for a deck hand for the first time. Londorox found his suture-gun and he repaired the poorly sealed hole. Last nights events were now fresh and clear again. Never had he seen such a monster as the Jigger that, in retrospect, may have saved the Pyfin farmer's monopoly. He wondered how many of that size actually existed, and also for the first time truly considered relocating the Heartside Farm to shallower, safer waters. It was a costly and lengthy procedure and Muemen's father had always sworn that the deep waters were the best for farming. In the end he found he could not decide, and he surfaced as Mary returned. Together, they administered the gryp medication. Again, Muemen was impressed with Mary's apparent knowledge and skill with biology. In the wild, the Pyfin females lay eggs by the dozen on long reeds of sea-vegetations that grow in the warm, shallow waters; but on the farms, it had been found that lengths of green plastic chain, hung from beneath the dock, would work as well. At Heartside, the egg-chains hung from the north and south docks, long and narrow and extending far from the main deck. Pyfin bred year round, and if not cleaned regularly the chains became choked with eggs and the smell attracted Jiggers. Mary showed a skillful, delicate hand here, too, as they carefully scraped the eggs from the forest of swaying chains. A heavy thump echoed through the water that Muemen recognized as a boat making dock. Mary shot him a sharp glance. He signaled her to stay and keep working, and headed up. He pulled himself on deck, expecting Tom come to check on his daughter, but found instead the heavily-built, angry-faced man, Mr. Gamble, docking a tiny boat. Muemen noted that this time he was alone, and before he came striding across the deck with a hand outstretched in greeting, he scrunched his face up into something resembling a smile. Muemen hacked up his gill noisily into his palm and with his other hand he picked up his gun from the deep coil of soft-cable rope. The man, still some ten feet away, dropped his hand and his smile simultaneously and stood glaring. His eyes were like little pits of coal. His thin hair was greased across his sloping forehead above the heavy brow. The nose looked as if it had been broken and never fixed. And the thick lips seemed to sag into a grimace from sheer weight. Everything about him was unpleasant to Muemen, and something in the mans posture rang of menace. "Where's Smith." It was a demand, not a question. Muemen laughed. "So that's the thief's name. He was a fin, that one." (Fin- local slang for a fast swimmer) "Where is he? Man's got a family. Have a heart, kid." Muemens face went stony and cold, but his eyes sparkled as he spoke. "If your thief has not returned to you, I fail to see how it's any of my concern." Mary, who had been hiding in the water, listening at the docks edge, suddenly hauled herself on board and laughed, her voice clear and cold as Muemens expression. "Can't say we wouldn't be too happy about it, though," she added. The big man stood staring from one to the other, blinking stupidly. "I will report this to the Port Authority," he said. "Report what?" Muemen replied. Mr. Gamble had no answer, and Mary laughed again. He turned and boarded his newly rented grav-pulse dingy that skimmed slowly away. Mary advanced on Muemen. "I knew it! That's where the new hole in the womb came from, and the missing fry!" He turned away and headed for the deck house, and Mary was hot on his heels. "Did you kill him? Did he escape with any eggs or fry?" Muemen turned and stared at her. She gazed back somehow cool and hot at once. "No," he answered, "a Jigger sniffed him out." He turned and headed for the deckhouse again, calling over his shoulder: "Be here bright and early tomorrow. I don't normally sleep so late." And thus he left Mary to fume on the deck, till she boarded the inflatable and headed for home. ********** She arrived almost ludicrously early and was working before Muemen woke, yet again. He could only laugh when he found her skimming the eggs, and she flashed icy blue eyes at him. He noticed, though, that his egg-womb was already more then a quarter full. With Mary on hand and thinking to do all he could to avoid the Jiggerdarts, he decided to begin taking his yield in daily. Mary watched with a strange expression as, after she had finished, he moved the eggs to a single sack and hopped aboard his skiff. In Jigger Bay, he slid to a halt. The sun was still filtered by the rising morning mists above him; the waters were clear as glass. Some twenty-feet below, the bay floor was made of porous volcanic rock, part of the ever-moving front of an active underwater forest of volcanoes to the west. The young, small Jiggers dug their breeding tunnels with their horns here, and the charcoal floor of the bay was dotted with thousands of them. Only a few other creatures survived in the shallows here: a sort of rock crab that could not be pierced; perfectly flat fish that could not be distinguished from the black lava rock, and preyed on the Jigger eggs, and so forth. The waters here could be dangerous, for a hundred small Jiggers can be as deadly as one large one. More than one foolish off-world fishermen or tourist had fallen in these waters and been killed by hundreds of tiny punctures. Even now, Muemen could see them swerving in ravenous packs in and out of the tunnels, chasing each other in some baffling mating dance. Muemen wondered what the caves of the big ones must look like- if there were many of them there would be areas like this deep down, riddled with huge mazes of Jiggerdart tunnels, probably miles long. He shook his head in wonder and steered his skiff out of the bay and on to Dobbyton. He pulled into the dock of Bahdin's shore-side shop, went inside, and found no one on hand. With a shrug he left his sack hanging from the yield hook and walked to The Carbony Crab. It was nearly empty inside save a few old regulars, and to Muemen's surprise, Peter Rundey. He had never known Peter well. He was quiet where his father was loud, staring with large eyes while Tom squinted always; some said he heard voices, which he tried to drown with liquor. Muemen didn't know, but he seated himself next to Peter at the bar. He was not entirely surprised to find him somewhat intoxicated at such an early hour. Heartside "Hello, Peter," he said, attempting to sound amiable. Peter looked at him, the whites of his eyes showing, as if caught. "Oh, hullo. Can I buy you a drink?" "I'll take a beer, thanks. What brings you to town so early?" Peter glanced at Muemen and took a long pull of his mug before answering. "Oh, y'know. Errands, for father." Was Muemen imagining it, or was there light mocking tone in the word, father. "Indeed. Tom runs a tight ship." They sat in silence while the bartender served Muemen his beer. "Heard you hired Mary. She's a fin," Peter said looking at the bottom of his empty mug. Muemen laughed. "She is at that. Early riser, too." Now Peter laughed, perhaps a touch too loud. Silence reigned again. "Well, I best be going," Peter said, and rose to leave. The bartender stopped him, demanded payment for their tabs. Peter, stunned, turned slowly and fumbled in his pocket. A large clip of money- surprisingly large- fell out onto the wood planks of the floor. He snatched it up, tore a large bill free and slapped it on the counter, then stormed from the inn, red faced. Muemen and the bartender looked at each other and shook their heads in confusion. With nothing left to do after finishing his beer, Muemen returned to Bahdin's to find him just returning. "Apologies," wheezed Bahdin and took a moment to catch his breath and mop his sweating brow with a spotted kerchief. "My delivery boy is delinquent, as always. I was forced to make the delivery of an unusual order." He glanced at the scale. "This is all? Wait, what day is this?" "I've hired a deckhand, so my routine has changed, " answered Muemen with an affable smile. "I am in need of a special order of my own. A pressure suit, to be exact." Bahdin's brow fretted. "Again? I just finished delivering such articles to another interested in deep-sea diving." "Indeed? Who?" Bahdin smiled lamely and spread his hands. "He specified that discretion was of vast importance." Muemen laughed-one short, sharp, caw that was becoming a habit. "No matter. I think I might know the fellow. How long for the suit?" "It should be here in a day or two." Muemen collected his pay and said his good-byes. Outside, the sun was high and hot, and with nothing else he could think to do, he returned home. Work had calmed Mary, and Muemen, seeing she had done a good job, called her in for a break. He cracked the preserves her mother had given him, and they sat together on the dock edge, eating pickled eggs with salt and sliced cumbers. They talked casually of the farm for awhile. Muemen mentioned his encounter with Peter. She sighed and shook her head. "Ah, Peter. He is a good farmhand and a real fin, but," and here she paused, scrunched up her face in thought, "he is quite mad. Mother and Father know it, as do Solar and I, and even little Barbony, in her own way. He is harmless, though, I think. I wonder at times if most of his problem isn't his guilt over not being the perfect son. Still, what can be done?" Muemen had no answer for her. Her sincere sadness for her brother moved him, and he took her small, tan hand in his own. She looked at their hands together and frowned, looked off across the ocean towards home. "What of Solar?" she asked. "She does not affect me as you do," Muemen said simply. Suddenly, the dark shape of Londorox flashed out from beneath the dock and their feet, and sped out towards the south dock. Close on his heels came two wiggling black lines, ten feet apiece- Jiggers in hot pursuit. Muemen and Mary were on their feet simultaneously. "Stay here," growled Muemen before popping in his gill and diving in. As soon as he was gone, Mary ran for the soft-cable coil, hoisted it onto a shoulder and leapt in after, knees to her chest, creating a tremendous splash. Londorox had led them under the south dock, trying to lose his pursuers in the chains hung there. Muemen, spear already in hand, was hot behind them, and he cut round the chains to the far side where he waited. They opened and Londorox rushed from the maze of chains. Muemen's reflexes were sharp and fast; the moment the first Jigger's gross black head burst forth, coming straight for him, he stabbed it just below the horn in it's three tiny black eyes. The impact bent his spear, but he held fast, and the creature was killed almost instantly. He saw the second one come out almost where it had gone in, apparently having lost its way. Mary was in the water, and it charged her, small tooth-rimmed mouth snapping. Muemen's heart sank. She was too far away; his spear was bent. He could not reach her in time. He could only watch, horrified. Mary saw the Jigger coming, but she did not look frightened. She had created a small lasso out of one end of the coil of cable. She stared with hard, wide blue eyes as the Jigger slid towards her. At the last moment, it jammed its horn hard at her belly. Mary slipped it by mere inches and looped the lasso over the corrugated black horn. And then they were away. The Jigger, horrified at being ridden and its eyes covered by the small bit of rope looped around its horn, swam in a wild circle with Mary in tow. She dragged herself up till she was close behind it's head, and by tugging this way and that on the rope, was able to direct the wild, blinded Jigger. Muemen could not believe his eyes. Mary sped past him on her strange mount, and she beamed him a smile of sheer triumph. Londorox and Muemen followed her out to the wombs edge. She pulled up hard; the Jigger broke the waters surface, arced its oily body over the rim. She let the cable trail out till the Jigger was far away before cutting it with her knife. The Jiggers, both of them, were gone. "Great sea, what do you think you were doing?" fumed Muemen. Mary threw the remaining rope on the deck and stood with fists at her side. "I was protecting the shoal! As your deckhand it's my duty." Muemen stood with finger raised, but he saw sheer bristling defiance in those blue eyes, and could find no words that seemed sufficient. He snapped his mouth closed and wagged his finger at Mary, shaking his head as he backed away to the docks edge and tried to haul the dead Jigger out of the water. His shoal had gathered about its remains in curiosity, though they kept a safe distance; only the most daring young darted forward to prod the flaccid thing with their beaks and as quickly dart away. Seeing him struggle, Mary ran to help, and in efficient silence they hung the creature and slit it beneath the throat and tail fin to let the blood drain into stainless steel buckets. They then finished the final duties of the day and settled for dinner at Muemen's small table. He gave Mary the single chair, and flipped a plastic bucket over for himself. The work had eased his tension. "Where ever did you learn such a thing?" Muemen asked her. "On Sonus-15, there is a creature something like the Jiggerdart, though generally much smaller and less aggressive. They use the same technique to catch and race them, as part of the annual Sea Games." Muemen stared, somewhat dumbfounded. "I know nothing of such things." Mary laughed sweetly and placed a small, strong hand on Muemen's knee, looked deep into his baffled eyes. "Oh, Muemen. You are such a fool." She was suddenly in his lap, her tiny plump lips colliding with his own again and again. Her sudden ferocity lit a fire in him, and he responded in kind, wrapping his long, strong arms about her tiny frame and crushing it against his own. For a heart-stopping minute, they were entangled and grinding with passion. Mary suddenly leapt up, pushing Muemen back onto his seat as he tried to follow her, his teeth chattering. "Now, now, I'm not even old enough to be married," she said, and with a breathless laugh and an agonized look at Muemen, she left. Muemen sat in his chair, jaw sagging, hands still outstretched as he heard her start the motor on the inflatable and power away. Blood pounding in his ears, he stumbled into his hammock. Her scent clung to him, the taste of her lingered on his lips and tongue, and he dozed restlessly. A vibration rattled the deckhouse and set Muemen's hammock swinging violently. As he hit his feet, another. It was still dark; violent splashing could be heard outside. A sudden storm blowing in? There had been no signs. Muemen ran to the door, stumbled out on the dry deck in confusion. The juvenile and egg wombs were gone, leaving simply dark holes in his deck. He staggered slowly to the dock's edge. The water was alive with writhing, twisting, shining black Jiggerdarts of varying size, many as big as the one that had killed the thief from the BrightFuture Co. He rubbed his eyes. He must be dreaming. The writhing oily mass split, suddenly, leaving a wide circle of dark water some twenty feet from the deck. Muemen watched, horrified and fascinated. A sharp horn, chipped and twisted and terrible, split the waters surface, piercing the star-spangled night sky. Skewered on the thirty foot horn and almost half way down was Londorox. His tail fin still flailed uselessly; his terrified blue eyes, all three of them, locked with Muemen's unbelieving and lonely two. Another twenty feet of Jigger followed, like a satanic beanstalk sprouting high. It blocked out the moon, hung for a long moment in the air silhouetted and dripping water. Muemen screamed- a terrible wail that he would never hear himself make again. The enormous Jigger that had burst from the ocean with his prized Pyfin on its horn tottered and tipped towards the deck. Londorox was suddenly plummeting towards him. He turned and ran for the deckhouse. The long, tough horn hit his deck with a crack of wood, splitting it in two. The impact sent Muemen sailing through the air, and he hit the collapsing wall of his deckhouse hard in a shower of splinters. The creature disappeared, but the waters still teemed with Jiggers, and the farm was falling apart beneath Muemen's feet. He scrambled for his skiff and managed to leap aboard as the dock's remains tipped and began to sink. Muemen fired the motor and tore away. The waters were choked with Jiggers. Millions of them. It was not until he neared the edge of Bottomless Bay that he could no longer see them breaking the surface; but, he envisioned roving packs of all sizes just beneath. He headed straight north past Ratoi for Muddywater Farm. He hoped the big ones wouldn't come into the shallow waters of Dobby Bay, but he had no way to be sure. Never had heard of such a thing. Never had he suspected that so many Jiggers of such terrible size existed. When he reached Muddywater, Jotan, his wife Clandy, and his sons, Prator and Traz, were already loading what fry and eggs they had been able to save into their boat. Jotan could only shake his head in wonder and scowl as Muemen pulled alongside. "Have you ever seen anything like it?" Muemen gave stiff shake of his head. He was completely numb. He felt nothing, simply replayed the destruction of all he cared for over and over. Then he thought of Mary. "We'll meet at the Crab," he said as he aimed his skiff northwest towards the Rundey Farm. Jotan nodded once in reply. The deck was quiet, and no lights showed from the, by Pyfin farmer standards, huge three story deckhouse. He was on the dock before his boat had slid to a halt and pounding on the door. Tom, grimacing horribly and eyes barely even open, opened it. "By the sea, boy!" "Get everyone together. There isn't much time." Tom's face snapped awake and he inspected Muemen with suddenly clear, fresh eyes. Without a word he turned back into the house and began bellowing the names of his family. By the time they gathered on deck, Muemen had emptied their eggs into yield-sacks and loaded them on the inflatable, and was busy fishing out the fry. Tom asked nothing. He ordered Solar and Mary to help Muemen; he took Peter, his wife, and Barbony and began gathering all the food and valuables they could load. The Muddywater family sped past, waved and pointed behind them. A moment later, the first splashing roar of the advancing horde of Jiggers could be heard. Muemen and Tom looked at each other and began shuffling everyone aboard the heavily-loaded boats. Peter seemed nearly catatonic, and Mary had to lead him by hand. The Rundeys watched tearfully in the bright moonlight as their farm was overrun. There was no point in freeing the shoal- they would not leave the confines of the womb, even after it no longer existed. Mary looked at Muemen with sad pity in her eyes. He shook his head, choked back his own tears. It was no dream. His home, his shoal, his life was gone. ********** Early the next morning, Tom Rundey, Jotan Muddywater and Muemen Heartside gathered round a table in the Carbony Crab Inn, where they had taken up residence with their families. "Honestly? Thirty feet?" asked Jotan. Muemen nodded. "The proof is what little remains of my dock and womb. My fry...my whole shoal was devoured." "Who'd have guessed that so many existed!" "Blasted!" Tom said, slamming a palm on the table. "What drove them up from the deeps? Thousands have beached themselves; their carcasses are all along the shore. They hate the bright light and are visibly agitated by it, yet they remain near the surface. At first I thought they were just mad for Pyfin flesh, but it doesn't fit. It would have happened long ago." They sat in silence and reflected on Tom's words a moment. Muemen emptied his mug. "I have my suspicions, but with no hard evidence, I can make no accusations. How is Peter doing?" he asked. Tom shook his head. "Still nothing. I think he might be gone for good, this time. Only Mary seems to know how to bring him back, but she's had no luck so far." Muemen found Mary sat watching the Rundey fry in their small aquariums with a frown in the Rundey's small room above the Crab, which was between his own and the Muddywaters. Peter lay curled in ball on the floor next to her. His eyes flicked open and he stared at Muemen as he entered. Mary jumped up, rushed to Muemen and wrapped herself around him. "Oh, my poor Muemen! Whatever shall you do? You have nothing to keep you here, now...nothing! Oh please don't leave!" Muemen, genuinely surprised by her fervor, lifted her chin and smiled at her, wiped the tears from her cheeks and laughed. "My dear Mary, I have only one thing to keep me here, now, but it's enough." He leaned down, brushed her lips with his own gently. "I'm sorry." It was Peter. Mary and Muemen both turned. "I'm real sorry. I didn't know." "Didn't know what, Peter," Muemen demanded. Peter stared wide-eyed back and forth between them. "Oh, Peter, you must tell!" Mary cried. He bit his lip. "They said that if they couldn't sell eggs, they'd sell us supplies instead. Asked what we needed the most...so I told them...we need to keep the Jiggers away. Told them about the blood...they paid me for it..." His voice trailed off and Mary looked at him confused, but for Muemen, the pieces were beginning to fall into place. "Mary, I need a favour." Mary shrugged. "Anything." "Good. Teach me to ride a Jigger." Muemen and Mary gathered a few things and headed to his skiff, docked with many others of all kinds belonging to farmers and fishermen. There were tiny solar-sails, great floating house barges, fishing junks by the dozens, many others. The streets of Dobbyton were packed with the people of the sea who had been displaced from their homes by the Jiggerdart's strange migration. They blamed angry gods; some freak plague which killed the Jiggerdart's usual food stock of deep diving variety of Pyfin, Rogers Blade, and Blue Ficklefin shoals; some once-a-century migration to the surface- no one truly knew, though. Muemen remembered his pressure suit. "Just a moment. Let's stop in at Bahdin's," he said. Inside they found Bahdin, still unpacking his latest delivery. Boxes filled with strange and almost random assortment of items were everywhere. Bahdin, who was busily sorting fishing hooks into their appropriate shelving units, saw them coming from the corner of his eyes. "If you know anyone interested in filling a recently-opened delivery boy position, do send them my way," he groaned. "Good help is hard to find. I am most fortunate," said Muemen nudging Mary, who rolled her eyes. "What of my pressure suit?" Bahdin became irritable. "What of this, what of that? How is one to keep up?" Muemen waited. Bahdin began to sweat. "It did not come in, yet. The supply is not unlimited." Muemen and Mary turned to leave. Behind the small, low counter, he saw an unopened package, clearly labeled as his pressure suit and marked for return. Very odd, indeed, he thought. They headed out to his skiff in confusion. Ratoi was an island covered in rocky crags overgrown with wide leafed foliage of red and green. A thin beach of clean white sand surrounded the isle, and its shores helped define Dobby Bay, Jigger Bay, and Bottomless Bay. Now, they landed at a spot looking out over Dobby Bay. There were far less Jiggers beached here, and they found a clear spot. "The process is truly quite simple. I've even shown little Barbony how," Mary said, showing Muemen how to tie the appropriate knot. "Barbony? Never! You wouldn't let her," Muemen said truly aghast. Mary looked at him in fascination and smiled. "I couldn't stop her, once she'd seen me do it. She's a Rundey, through and through." Muemen sighed. His strange concern for the well-being of the Rundey girls would be his death. Mary gave him the rope, showed him how best to hold it. "The real and only trick is the horn. Do not be distracted by its squirming body and tail. Watch the horn, anticipate the attack which is usually for the head or torso. Make the lasso large so you have a better chance. Once you have one hooked, simply haul yourself up behind the head, grip with your knees. They become surprisingly docile after their initial attempt at escape." Mary used a long stick for a horn and did her best Jigger impression, charging Muemen from this way and that, until she felt he had the hang of it. "Now, into the water!" she said clapping her hands in excitement. "It is a strange feeling at first, riding those writhing creatures, but exhilarating." Muemen's heart raced as they headed out into Dobby Bay. Mary said that once mounted, the other Jiggers seemed to pay her no heed, and even claimed to have crossed the whole of Jigger Bay in such a manner. Muemen could only stare in wonder at her boldness, and had drained the blood from a few beached Jiggers into a sealed leech-sack hung at his shoulder, just in case. "I am not so brave," he told her. "You're braver than you think, my dear," she said, and slapped him on his bottom. "Now, into the water with you!" Muemen swallowed his gill and dove in. The waters of Dobby Bay were clear and cool. He had a handful of Pyfin eggs in a small net in one hand, and his lasso in the other. He could see Jiggerdarts whisking through the far blue haze, and it was not long until one sniffed out the eggs and turned towards him. Muemen swallowed hard. Watch the horn, he told himself as the gross little eyes locked on him. Its body writhed, wriggled, but the horn, he noted, moved straight almost always. Watch the horn. It was close, its horn coming at Muemens groin. He kicked his legs and swam up and over it, looping the lasso over it's horn with a thrill of triumph. The lasso closed, the line snapped tight with a power he had not expected. Muscles burning, he dragged himself up close behind the head and horn, held on tight until he noticed its furious strength decline. Mary was right. It was both exhilarating and strange. With little tugs, this way or that, up or down, the Jigger obeyed. It swam on and on, its wide, flat, long tail fin leaving a violent, bubbling wake behind them. Finally, he headed back for the skiff, let the line trail out till the Jigger was far gone, then cut the line and watched his mount leave with a silent goodbye. Heartside "You lived," Mary stated, helping Muemen from the water. "I did. Never did I think I would do such a thing. I must be a madman," he replied, shaking the water from his hair. They smiled at each other, and Muemen felt the heat of Mary's gaze. They headed back to Ratoi and lay together on the white sands, enjoying the view. The sun, behind their left shoulders, painted the ocean, scarlet, the clear sky rose, the shadows pink and bourbon. Mary was breathless. Muemen was, too; he had noticed that the soft light brought to life her small, plump lips, her golden skin, the platinum highlights in her golden hair. Each eyelash sparkled; her eye were full of the light cast by blood red rubies in the blue of the sea... By some funny trick of the mind, he lost a piece of time. He suddenly realized she was no longer gazing at the view, but returning his admiration- that they were sharing an intimate gaze. His heart swelled. Mary put a hand on his cheek. "Are you alright? You look most frightening," she said with a laugh. Muemen took her hand from his cheek, placed it on his broad chest; Mary could feel his pounding heart. "I do not want to frighten you," he said, his voice strained and husky. They locked eyes. "You don't," she said earnestly. ********** In the dark hours of morning, Mary and Muemen returned to the Carbony Crab Inn. Inside was dim and quiet; the keeper on hand had left a rough bell to be rung if he was needed and gone to sleep. They stood with hands on each others hips, trading kisses. "I have to go. Father will be furious," Mary said finally, pushing away Muemen let her get to arm's length before drawing her back, attacking her lips hungrily. Finally, breathless and blushing, Mary escaped, and darted up the stairs, tripping and looking back again and again. Muemen watched her go and sighed. She was right- her father would likely be furious. Muemen hoped Tom didn't know his StormSpitter lay at the bottom of the ocean- with all his belongings save his boat, he thought, with a grim shake of his head. His future was suddenly a mystery. Solar stepped from a dark corner of the inn. Her eyes were wild and full of tears, her lips compressed angrily. "Her? You abandon me for her?" she sobbed, advancing on him. Muemen backed away, looking about as if for escape. "Really, Solar, try to be calm. Until the other day, we hadn't spoken for months." "Because you wanted her! Who next? Barbony?" "Great sea, why must you be so dramatic? It is this sort of madness that frustrated me!" That was enough for Solar. She slapped Muemen violently and repeatedly; the first landed smartly on his lean cheek, but the following he was able to fend of with his arms. "Get hold of yourself, woman!" Solar stopped, spun, dashed up the stairs without another look back. Muemen fell into a chair, holding his stinging cheek. He had been in a tussle or two growing up, but never in his life had he been hit by a woman. It was not to his liking. He stumbled back out onto the Carbony Way and turned towards Bahdin's Imports and Exports. Bahdin kept a different residence, further up the Way, and the store was dark and quiet. Muemen moved across the dock that ran along the shore-side store's east face and peered in the thin pane of glass. The package he had seen earlier was still there. On a sudden, angry impulse, Muemen smashed the glass with his elbow. He cursed his recklessness as the shatter echoed through the night, but what was done was done and he climbed through carefully. He tore open the package behind the counter. Inside was a black pressure suit to fit his exact measurements. Why had Bahdin lied? Because he did not want Muemen exploring the depths of Bottomless Bay- but why? Muemen left the way he had come, but now with the suit in hand, and boarded his skiff with a plan forming in his mind. He came to a halt near the dark line in the water where floor of Dobby Bay dropped away, becoming Bottomless Bay. He could see the waters that his womb had once occupied, now vacant. He tested the built in gill, pressure meter, and light-enhancer before donning the spongy, skin-tight suit which covered his every feature. He attached the leech-sack, still filled with Jigger blood, to his shoulder, and looped a length of coiled soft-cable over his torso. Thus prepared, he dove into the water. The first light of dawn was beginning to show, and the waters were purple and murky. Muemen swam straight down towards the floor of Dobby Bay, only a fathom or two. The sands were white and smooth, broken only by the odd patch of stringy black seaweed or a rock. He waited patiently as the sun began to peak above the horizon. Not far away, cruising smoothly near the bottom and trailing off out of sight, came the unmistakable shadow of a Jigger. Muemen was startled by the size of it- not like the monstrosity that had destroyed his farm, but huge nonetheless. Its horn was at least double the length of his skiff. It was headed his way, and would surely sniff him out. He readied his lasso. The creature slithered closer and closer and just when Muemen thought it might pass without noticing, it turned up towards him and stabbed. Muemen felt the rush of water that followed its sweep, barely dodging in time and looping the lasso over the horn-tip. The length of the black horn slid close past his visor, and with a violent wrench the slack rope snapped tight. The huge creature swam so wildly that Muemen was unable to drag himself up to the head against the force of rushing water. Slowly, it calmed and, muscles bulging from effort, he hauled himself up. The creature was stubborn and infinitely stronger than Muemen, and attempted to scrape him off on the bay bottom a number of times before finally submitting. The fifty-foot, horned eel, once broken, was a tireless mount that kept a furious pace. Muemen aimed it for the brink of Bottomless Bay. The ocean bed suddenly dropped away beneath into blackness, and Muemen pushed down on the Jiggers horn hard. It cut an angle so sharp that Muemen was almost dislodged, but he held fast and together they veered down into the Bay. In a second, all was pitch black, above and below and all around. He couldn't even see his own hands on the cable, or the Jiggerdart he rode upon. He was simply hurtling through the void. He flicked a small switch on his visor and the light-amplifier screen blinked on. It was like flying. Straight down along the chasm wall they sped. On its rocky ledges in the gray, filmy light of the amplifier, Muemen saw a forest of swaying, luminous seaweed and feathery limbed sea-anemone. As he gazed on this, a pack of twenty smaller Jiggers rushed up from below. Muemen expected to be impaled on the oncoming wall of horns; but by some sense or instinct beyond him, his mount sensed their approach, as they sense its, and at the last second all swayed and shifted past each other, and they were left behind to resume their previous formation. Muemen shivered and held himself close to his Jigger, despite the strange feel of its flailing body against his legs. Down and down they went. They passed sections of small Jigger tunnels, through streams of the slithering black creatures. He saw shoals of Rogers Blade Fish, like flying ranks of a hundred buzzaws; and Tanzanel Martins by the thousands, slow moving, undulating sheets of deep red flesh, one bulbous eye on top, two on the bottom; and sparkling clouds of rainbow krill and orange schism fish. Finally, the floor of the bay came into view below. If Muemen could have gasped, he would have. It looked like the floor of Jigger Bay, but on a grander scale. It was riddled with huge gaping black holes, and in between these a thousand more of varying sizes. His Jigger- the only in view- suddenly swerved back up as if driven away, and only with great effort could Muemen veer it back down and into one of the lager tunnels. On and on went the tunnels, twisting and turning, this way and that, sometimes wider, sometimes narrower. Muemen knew that to find his way out might be a miracle, but he was already lost in marvel at the seemingly endless network of veins. He passed connecting chambers where the walls were covered in Jigger eggs; he saw flat fish by the dozens, bloated from gorging themselves on the abandoned unborn. He started to panic; he was beginning to tire and his mount still fought him vigorously. Finally, he could struggle no more, and it was all he could do to wrap his reins around his wrists and hold on. He closed his eyes, expecting to hit a wall, but no impact came. He opened one eye. His mount, blinded by his lasso, yet somehow knew where the tunnel entrances were. Over and over it would veer sharply down slim connections Muemen didn't even see until he was in them. Two times he was scraped roughly against the crumbling walls, and once a tunnel collapsed behind them, but Muemen and his pressure suit held fast. Then, ahead, he saw the open sea. He laughed inwardly and patted his mount, though it didn't even seem aware of him. It had known the way. Just as they cleared the entrance, headed straight up like a bullet, something caught Muemen's eye. He had rested, and with new strength he tugged his angry Jiggerdart back towards the opening. He whisked past along the ocean bed. Ahead near the tunnel entrance he had just come from, a metallic ball the size of a human head was wedged. As he came along side Muemen released his mount. It was a simple metal ball, with a small control panel behind a plastic cover, and air-jets dimpling its surface, blowing into the water. He looked about; fifty feet away he saw another, and bit further still, another. It was not heavy, and he hoisted it up and swam for the surface. It was a long, dull swim, rising slowly until his pressure gauge told him to stop, waiting till a small green light appeared, then rising slowly again, until finally he breached the surface and tore the head cover off. It was past midday. He'd been under a long time. He looked about for his skiff, found it bobbing where he'd anchored it a couple hundred feet away. Once aboard, he examined what he'd found in confusion. It was noisy, small air-jets all over it still blowing. Muemen flipped open the control panel cover and stared in wonder at the multitude of blinking buttons and lights. He pressed a few at random. The vents shut off suddenly, retracted inside; this was followed by a few strange and negative buzzing noises. Satisfied, he decided it would be best to seek the council of the other farmers, back in Dobbyton. Muemen found the angry man, still in his charcoal suit, at the Carbony Crab, speaking privately in the corner with Tom. The metal orb hit the bar with a wooden "thump" and Muemen, Jotan, and his youngest son Traz, gathered round. "What is it? asked Jotan. Traz cocked his head and scratched his chin. "Looks pretty fancy. What's it do?" "I don't know," Muemen answered to both. They watched the angry man stomp from the inn, and Muemen thought to catch the barest of glances towards the orb. Tom came over to join them. "Offered his condolences for my loss and then double for my remaining fry. I told him to take a hike. What's this here?" Muemen related where he'd found it. As he did, Traz flipped open the control panel cover and stared in wide-eyed wonder. He danced his small fingers across the buttons. "Back, boy, back!" bellowed Jotan, smacking his hand away. The orb responded, though, with a loud ding. They watched as from a small circular opening extended a thin metal arm, which held tiny flask of dark ichor. "Jigger blood!" they said in unison. Tom whistled. "Let's take it to Bahdin. He might know what it is." Muemen lagged behind as they crossed the Way. He stopped to watch the angry man, suitcase in hand, stalking quickly up the Way towards Dobbyton's tiny spaceport. When he entered Bahdin's, he found that Tom and Jotan already had him cornered near the broken window. "I know nothing! Leave me be," he complained. "Why so nervous, then?" demanded Jotan. "Come on, Bahdin. Fess up. We'd hate to beat it outta ya," added Tom. Even Traz had his fists up. Bahdin looked in horror at each, and finally threw up his hands. "Alright. It is an olfactory stimulator, used for synthesizing odours. The off-worlder, Mr. Gamble, had a number of them brought in as part of a special order. I swear I had no idea what he intended!" Tom spit on his floor and they left him, spouting excuses. Once back on the Way, Tom could no longer contain himself. "Seed our waters with these freakish contraptions, run us from our home, then try to buy up our fry!" "I saw him headed for the spaceport," Muemen reported. Jotan sent Traz to inform the others, and the three of them dashed up Carbony Way. They found Mr. Gamble sitting alone on sagging wooden bench, waiting the next connection to the orbiting transport station, staring at his thick hands. He looked up as they approached. "Sorry, kid," he said to Muemen. "Was just following orders." Mr. Gamble was taken before the Port Authority, who found him guilty and sentenced him to 50 years hard labour. Jotan Muddywater, Tom Rundey, and Muemen Heartside formed the Pyfin Farmers Union, and received significant settlements from the BrightFuture Co. Many months later, after the synthesizers were removed, they stood on Muemen's new farm in the heart of Dobby Bay, drinking rum-punch together to celebrate his marriage to the recently come-of-age Mary- who also happened to be a few months with child. Tom patted his stomach. "Well, son, it's all hard work from here. As I've said before- guard your shoals well, gentlemen." And they clinked glasses. "Still one thing I don't fully understand," said Jotan. "How did they find out about the Jiggers' hatred for the smell of their own blood? Tom glared at Muemen. "Haven't a clue," he said, drowning a strange look in his glass. "Me either," grumbled Tom. The End.