How touching. He reached for a pepper mill. "Can't help ya, darlin'. Don't know the guy. Sorry. I'm just a hungry scientist." He gave her a cheerfully roguish wink that put her momentarily off-balance, so that she had to consult the readout again.
"Marine geology," she read, not bothering to conceal the increasingly dubious edge in her voice. "Advanced degree. Decorated seven times..."
"Eight," he said absently, then glanced at his watch. "O'clock. Boy, where does the day go?" He shrugged his shoulders and paid no attention at all to the satisfied smile crossing Commander Webber's face. That little slip had been enough for her, but there were more important matters to hand. Breakfast, for one. He put the pan over the little gas burner, swirling it to be sure the oil heated evenly. Scorched bluefish was dreadful: not even the aioli sauce would save it. The oil popped and spat, and he frowned. Too hot. He reached for the control knob on the burner and lowered the flame, totally engrossed in cooking and very obviously not in the least interested by anyone or anything else.
Webber cleared her throat and Nathan raised one eyebrow. This was obviously the Important Part. "Sir," she said, "we've come here at the request of UEO Command..."
"Who?" Nathan looked at another of the bluefish, this one intact, and then at Webber. He dropped the fish onto the chopping block and studied it thoughtfully, then stared at Webber some more. She glanced at the fish, colored slightly, then cleared her throat again.
"The United Earth/Oceans Organization," she explained, and by now there was a little more long-suffering patience in her voice than was really necessary.
"Doesn't ring a bell," said Nathan. He picked up a machete that was definitely not a kitchen knife. "But then, I'm a little out of touch."
Still staring at Webber, he brought the machete down with a quick, hard thump that lopped the bluefish's head clean off. It went tumbling from his kitchen counter almost on top of the commander's immaculately shiny shoes, and she stared down at it for several awkward seconds. The fish stared back, and if Bridger thought there was any other similarity between it and Commander Webber, he was too much of a gentleman to say so out loud.
"Captain, we've gone to great lengths to find you," she started again.
Nathan looked her in the eye, and his forced good humor began to evaporate. Maybe that message hadn't been obvious enough for a thick-skinned career swabbo after all. "Well, I hate to burst your bubble," he said coldly, "but you've wasted your time." He turned his back on her and stalked toward the door.
"Captain..."
Doesn't she ever take no for an answer? Enough is enough! Nathan felt the suppressed anger flare up inside him as he swung around on her. "Hey, I don't know what you people are selling—but I'm not interested!" He took a step forward until he and Commander Webber were almost nose to nose. "Now do me a favor—and get the hell off my island… !"
It was the sound of the old Nathan Bridger, eight times decorated, full captain, as much in command on the floor of this shack as on the bridge of a warship. Webber's brows drew together and her mouth opened; then wisely she shut it again and took a step backward. It gave him enough room to slip past her and head out of there, fast, right out to the ramp—
And to stop at the sight of yet another man standing at the ramp's bottom, looking up at him. Another one in uniform. But the face—
"Hello, Nathan," he said.
Bill. William Noyce. Admiral William Noyce. He was grinning. Not Webber's smile, which had so set his teeth on edge, but the grin of a man genuinely pleased to see an old friend again. Oh, what the hell are you doing here? As if he really needed to wonder.
"I should have known you were behind this."
"Nice to see you again too. It's been some time, buddy. Six years!" Bill stepped forward, the grin getting bigger, oblivious to everything but the happy reunion...
No way, Nathan thought. He headed down the ramp, letting his face harden over. "Go home, Bill," he said. "Uh-uh. I'm not doing this. I told you, I never wanted to talk to you, to anyone, from those days, ever again. So just—" Several possibilities suggested themselves, but this was Bill Noyce and a friend, not that hardnose Webber. He was already being quite rude enough. "Just go home."
He pushed past Noyce, heading toward the path through the jungle. "Nathan, listen!" Bill shouted after him. "Things have changed! Will you just listen? The world has changed! Dammit, let me explain!"
He tried to shut the voice out, to lose it as he plunged back into the sheltering greenness. It didn't work. "Nathan, she's finished!" Bill shouted. "She's been operational for three years!"
For just that moment Nathan stopped. Swallowed. Then he went on into the jungle again, desperate to leave the past behind him...
...and afraid that it might already be too late: afraid that, after all this while, he was once again snared and struggling in the present...
* * *
He had set up a work space by the blue hole where he and the dolphin had been working: not much more than a rough-hewn table with a tin canopy over it, enough to protect the generator and the various old weathered bench-pull equipment from the sudden squalls that often came up here. The most valuable piece of equipment, though, was one that he wasn't worried about getting wet. Now Nathan knelt by the edge of the blue hole, strapping it to the dolphin. It was a handmade harness, the strap on one side pocketed to take the electronic sensor pack that relayed depth and temperature information to the racked equipment waiting above.
Nathan was making sure of the last few fastenings when he heard the footsteps coming into the clearing behind him. He ignored their source, for the moment, though he saw the interested look the dolphin threw them.
Nathan stood up. "Okay, Darwin. You know the routine." He made the hand motions that were the only part of the communication he was sure the dolphin understood. "Tag the machine. Three levels down. Understand? Three."
Darwin just floated there, turned sideways a little, one of those dark eyes looking up at him. One flipper slapped at the water, splashing him.
Nathan breathed out. "Darwin—dammit. Don't get cute. I'm not in the mood." He bent down with the beacon and put its strap into the toothy mouth with its fixed smile, then repeated the hand signals. "Three levels down."
Darwin floated a moment more, that eye regarding Nathan, then flipped his tail, rolled upside down and dove down into the blue water. Not for the first time, Nathan stood there wondering, What goes on inside that head? How much does he understand of what's going on? There was, of course, no hope of answers. But the companionship of even so different a creature was reward enough; answers weren't everything.
Just almost everything...
He moved to the table and had a look at the instruments, checking the bathymeter. Thirty meters down already: Darwin was going about his business with dispatch.
"Hand-motion communication?" Noyce's voice said from behind him. "Including numericals. With a specimen born in the wild. Pretty impressive."
Nathan opened his mouth to let out one of several possible retorts, then scrapped it, and instead said, "It's not perfect, but we understand each other. Which is more than I can say for you and me."
Noyce didn't respond to the jab. Instead he came to stand beside Nathan, peering at the equipment, nodding a little. "As I remember, it was Carol who got you interested in dolphins," Noyce said into the silence, for there was something a little odd about it. "I heard about what happened. I'm sorry. She was a wonderful woman."
The bathymeter was ticking away to itself, set on Record as always: it hardly needed his attention. Nathan glanced sideways at Noyce, suddenly suspicious. "How'd you know?"
"C'mon, Nathan. You don't think the Navy is about to let one of its most valuable human resources run off to some island like this and not keep tabs on him?" Nathan grimaced; Noyce ignored it. "You're not entirely isolated here. You trade the data you collect with passing research ships in return for supplies and equipment."
"And when they leave, you shake them down for in
formation about me. Great. Whatever happened to an individual's right to privacy? The United States may be part of the North Pacific Confederation now, but last I heard the Bill of Rights was still alive and well..."
The anger in his voice should have warned Noyce off. But he didn't move; and to Nathan's surprise, his voice held more compassion in it than anything else. "I also know that with Carol gone, your one passion is your research. And in the last year your work has reached an impasse. You've learned all you can from this rock. And you're frustrated as hell."
Nathan turned his attention back to the machinery, which didn't need it: he moved a gain control, made a couple of other unnecessary adjustments. "Everything's changed, Nathan," Noyce said. His voice was almost pleading. "There's been a truce. We're trying. I've come halfway around the world to tell you about it."
Nathan turned away, not wanting to deal with the hope and fear in Bill's voice, not wanting to deal with any of it: old memories, old imperatives, suddenly reasserting themselves. Beside him, Noyce signaled to one of Webber's team. It was the young fashion-plate officer again; he hurried forward, saluted, handed Noyce something, then retreated.
"You remember in the academy, we'd pull those all-nighters?" Noyce said, sounding reflective. "A couple of times a week, at least..."
There was certainly no forgetting that. "Trying to absorb all the ideas and theories Old Man Danielson would throw at us," Nathan said. It had been dreadful, wringing work, all of them constantly ridden by the fear of failure, of looking bad to Danielson, or worse, to each other—proud young pups that they had been.
"What was the one thing that got us through those nights?" Bill said.
Involuntarily, Nathan's mouth began to water. "That red licorice ice cream from the cadet lounge ..."
Something cold nudged him in the arm. Surprised, Nathan turned, looked down—at a metallic gallon carton, the contents cream striped with red—and two spoons.
"Nathan," Bill said. "All I want to do is talk . . ."
* * *
They left Webber's team behind and walked off down the beach together, each man passing the carton to the other as his hands got too cold to keep holding it. Nathan devoted himself to enjoying the ice cream, and otherwise tried desperately not to show how all this intrigued him, how the news from his old world made him bizarrely eager for more . . .
"Once the UN collapsed in 2011, the whole thing started to unravel," Bill was saying. "Well, you know. Undersea borders went up, nations split into confederations to protect their territorial claims. The world lived under the constant threat of war... That's the world you turned your back on. And that was our world .. . Then thirteen months ago, everything changed."
"Livingston Trench."
Noyce's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and Nathan could see the quick tumble of questions go through his mind. Questions like How? When? What else does this bearded beachcomber know that he's not telling? "You know about it?"
Bridger shrugged elaborately and stared out at the lagoon. "Bits and pieces," he said dismissively. He didn't offer any other answers about where he'd acquired the information, and Noyce was good enough not to pressure him. The Admiral had already guessed he wasn't as isolated—or as disinterested—as he was pretending. So what. That didn't change anything.
"Shooter subs from different confederations faced each other down," said Noyce quietly. He looked at Nathan, then held up his right hand, finger and thumb almost touching. "We came this close to blowing up the whole damn planet. It really looked like it was going to happen. But—it didn't. Thank God. But we came so close..." There was an expression in Bill Noyce's dark eyes that told Nathan all he needed to know; all, and much more.
"So close that the confederation governments started to talk. They hammered out a peace agreement. The United Earth/Oceans Organization was formed to administer it."
Nathan smiled slightly: he knew a sales pitch when he heard one. "Administer... Sounds desperate. And it's been working for a whole year now. Wow."
"It's been working... and I'm a part of it. Part of the UEO."
Nathan stared at him, astonished. A career-navy type like Bill? "You left Nor-Pac Command?"
Noyce nodded. "Because I think this could be the real thing this time, Nathan." He looked out at the ocean. "It's quite a bit different out there from when you last saw it. Not just scientific installations and mining facilities. There are farms, and colonies. Families. But it's very much a frontier, and there are still a lot of... problems. People from the old days got used to taking what they wanted. Sometimes they still do. So UEO needed a way to maintain the situation." He walked on a little, then stopped and looked back at Nathan. "That's why Nor-Pac gave us the seaQuest..."
Nathan blinked. He thought he had been surprised before, but it was nothing compared to this. How many billions of research and development dollars, how much for the actual building—and they gave her away? It was unthinkable; not just because of the money involved, but because of the power. All that, in independent hands... He remembered what seaQuest's weapons systems had looked like on the drawing board, and despite the heat baking off the sand, Nathan shivered.
"Not as a warship," said Noyce. "As a peacekeeper."
"There's a difference?"
"What vessel is better suited? And"—he looked significantly at Nathan—"she's being refitted to include a large science contingent on board."
"What do you mean, 'large science contingent'? And what for?"
"Research, Nathan. Deep ocean research. The largest deep-submergence research vessel ever. Think about it."
Nathan thought. After a moment he said, "Why are you here, Bill?"
Noyce just looked at him. His silence confirmed everything.
"Oh, no," Nathan said. "No way! That—that part of my life is over. It doesn't... it doesn't exist anymore." He turned away from the sea and began to walk back up the beach.
Noyce stared at his receding back, and his patience ran out. "Don't you understand what I'm offering you?" he shouted in frustration. "Nathan, you can't pass this up!" Bridger kept on walking. It was very obvious that he could, and would, and for all intents and purposes already had. "For God's sake, Carol's dead! Let it go."
Nathan stopped. "No," he said at last. "I can't."
"Why not?"
Nathan turned. For a long, silent time he stared at his old friend, knowing full well that it was only their friendship that had stopped him from retracing his steps and planting his fist in Bill Noyce's face for what he had just said. His mouth worked under the scruffy beard, shaping and discarding all the things he needed to say so that what he wanted to do would make some sort of sense. None of them worked. "Because," he began at last, and then his voice and his temper flared together. "Because I gave her my word!"
He stood there, breathing hard, his fists clenched. Captains did not give a bawling out to admirals, and even the closest friendship could be put in jeopardy by the spleen and bitterness he had just dumped on Bill Noyce's head. Nathan watched and waited for the reaction; but Bill just shook his head. This was nothing. What was done was done, and an outburst of simple pain was far from the worst.
"I know how much losing Eric hurt you," Bill said softly. "How you blame yourself for him joining the service. I have kids too, remember...?" He made a small gesture that took in the lagoon, the beach, the trees; all of them empty, a beautiful desolation without a trace of humanity except for i the small uniformed figures in the distance, and the two of them. "But, Nathan, look around you. You're totally alone here. Don't you see how your research—your passion—could be served aboard a boat you poured your life and heart and soul into." He looked at Nathan, and there was nothing sly or conniving in his expression. "Just come see her. Step aboard. Let me show you what I'm talking about. Carol wouldn't mind that, would she?"
Even before he opened his mouth to utter his reply, someone had guessed what it might be. Nathan could already hear the growing thunder of the hovercraft's engines. He looked at Bill
, then looked at the sea, and he thought. The thoughts went round and round, and led nowhere…
* * *
Some hours later, changed into worn chinos and a different shirt, Nathan knelt by the edge of the blue hole; the dolphin, out of his harness now, floated there and watched him.
"Darwin," Nathan said quietly, "it won't be long. I'll be back real soon." He made the hand signs for return, soon and one he had never been sure how wholly the dolphin had grasped: not worry. Nathan was vaguely aware of Noyce, behind him, fiddling with his portable communicator: he ignored it. Noyce understood what was happening. How much Darwin understood was hard to say, so reassurance was more important than hurrying anywhere else.
And reassurance was definitely what was needed. The symbology of island and womb, of retreat, avoidance, denial, were not lost on Nathan. He had rejected them for a long time. Now, though... having to leave, even when it was his own curiosity that drove him... it was a wrench.
The dolphin chittered softly: a sound that had often been a reply to the don't worry sign. Nathan stroked that incredibly soft skin one more time and very gently tapped the bulging forehead, the "melon" or sonar-sensing organ, twice quickly: see you soon.
Darwin looked at him obliquely out of that bright eye, then turned and dove away, showing him, sideways, the eternal smile.
Nathan's heart clenched with fear: for whom, it was uncertain. He got up, picked up his small bag of belongings and followed Bill Noyce to the waiting hovercraft. The business of shutting doors, the engine revving, almost passed him by: as soon as he sat down, Nathan's whole attention went to the view outside the window, always open before, now encapsulated in glass and steel, unreal, remote. The craft lifted away from the beach in a storm of sand, and the view outside that window contracted from a blaze of green and white to a spot of green in a wider glare of blue; a green eye, a blue pupil, looking back at him, dropping away behind him, lost.