White Death

"We would have liked to keep this specimen alive, but it was im- possible. He tore the net apart and would have devoured the rest of the ship if he lived long enough."

"Now that you've seen one of these things up close, what are your conclusions?" Gamay said.

Throckmorton took a deep breath and puffed out his plump cheeks. "It's as I feared. Judging from his unusual physical size, I'd say he's definitely a genetically modified salmon. A lab-produced mutant, in other words. It's the same species as the one I showed you in my lab."

"But your fish was smaller and more normal-looking."

Throckmorton nodded. "They were both programmed with growth genes, I'd venture, but where my experiment was kept under control, there seems to have been no effort to restrain size with this fellow. It's almost as if someone wanted to see what would happen. But size and ferociousness led to its downfall. Once these creatures destroyed and replaced the natural stocks, they turned on each other." "They were too hungry to breed, in other words?"

"That's possible. Or this design may simply have had a problem adapting to the wild, in the same way a big tree would be uprooted in a storm while a straggly little scrub pine survives. Nature tends to cull out mutants that don't fit into the scheme of things."

"There's another possibility," Gamay said. "I think Dr. Barker said something about producing neutered biofish so they couldn't breed."

"Yes, that's entirely possible, but it would involve some sophisti- cated bioengineering."

"What's next for your survey?" Paul said.

"We'll see what we can catch over the next few days, then I'll bring this specimen and anything else I catch back to Montreal, where we can map the genes. I may be able to match it up with some of the stuff

I have in the computers. Maybe we can figure out who designed it." "Is that possible?"

"Oh, sure. A genetic program is almost as good as a signature. I sent Dr. Barker a message telling him what I found. Frederick is a whiz at this sort of thing."

"You speak very highly of him," Paul said.

"He's brilliant, as I said before. I only wish that he weren't affili- ated with a commercial venture."

"Speaking of commercial ventures, we heard there's a fish- processing plant of some sort up the coast. Could they have had any- thing to do with this?"

"In what way?"

"I don't know. Pollution, maybe. Like those two-headed frogs they sometimes find in contaminated waters."

"Interesting premise, but unlikely. You might see some deformed fish or fish kills, but this monster is no accident. And we would have seen deformities in other species, which doesn't seem to have been the case. Tell you what, though. We'll motor out and anchor for the night near the fish plant and make a few sets with the net in the morning. How long can you stay on board?"

"As long as you can stand us," Paul said. "We don't want to im- pose."

"No imposition at all." He put the salmon back into the cooler. "You may decide to cut your stay short after you see your cabin."

The cabin was slightly bigger than the two up-and-down bunks it contained. After Throckmorton left them to get settled, Paul tried to ease his six-foot-eight length into the lower bunk, but his legs hung over the side.

"I've been thinking about what Dr. Throckmorton told us," Gamay said, trying the mattress on top. "Suppose you were Dr. Barker and you were working for Oceanus on this biofish thing. Would you want anyone testing genetic material that could be traced to your doorstep?"

"Nope. Judging from our own experience, Oceanus is ruthless when it comes to snoops."

"Any suggestions?"

"Sure. We could suggest that Throckmorton find another location to anchor for the night. Fake a toothache, or make some other ex- cuse.

"You don't really want to do that, do you?"

"As you recall, I whined the whole trip up here because I couldn't go play with Kurt and Joe."

"You don't have to remind me. You sounded as if you hadn't been picked for the Little League team."

"Dr. Throckmorton is a fine fellow, but I wasn't prepared to baby- sit him away from the action."

"And now you think the action may have moved to our doorstep."

Paul nodded and said, "Got a Loony?" Gamay dug out a Cana- dian dollar coin with the picture of a loon on one side.

Paul tossed it in the air and caught it on the back of his cast. Heads. I lose. You get to choose which watch you want."

"Okay, you can take the first two-hour shift, starting as soon as the fest of the crew turns in."

"Fine with me." He extracted himself from the bunk. "I wouldn't get much sleep in this torture rack." He lifted his injured arm in the air. "Maybe I can use this cast as a weapon."

"No need," Gamay said with a smile. She dug into her duffel bap- and pulled out a holster that held a.22 caliber target pistol. "I brought this along in case I wanted to brush up on my target shooting."

Paul smiled. As a girl, his wife had been taught by her father to shoot skeet, and she was an expert marksman. He took the pistol and found that he could aim it if he propped up the cast with his other hand.

Gamay looked at his shaky aim. "Maybe we should both stand watch."

The ship dropped anchor about a mile from shore. The silhouettes of rooflines and a communication tower marked the Oceanus facil- ity, which was located on a rocky hill overlooking the water. The Trouts had di

Paul and Gamay went to their cabin and waited until the ship was quiet. Then they crept up onto the deck and took a position on the side facing land. The night was cool. They stayed warm with the heavy sweaters under their windbreakers and blankets borrowed from their bunks. The water was flat calm, except for a lazy swell. Paul sat with his back to the cabin housing, and Gamay lay on the deck beside him.

The first two hours went quickly. Then Gamay took over and Paul stretched out on the deck. It seemed he was asleep only a few minutes before Gamay was shaking him by the shoulder. He came awake quickly and said, "What's up?"

"I need your eyes. I've been watching that dark smudge on the water. I thought it might be a patch of floating seaweed, but it's come closer."

Paul rubbed his eyes and followed the pointing finger. At first, he saw nothing but the blue-blackness of the sea. After a moment, he saw a darker mass, and it seemed to be moving in their direction. There was something else, the soft murmur of voices. "That's the first time I ever heard a patch of kelp talking. How about firing a shot across their bow."

They crawled forward, and Gamay assumed a prone firing position with her elbows resting on the deck, the pistol clasped in two hands. Paul fiddled with a flashlight, but finally got it into position. When Gamay gave him the go-ahead, he flicked the light on. The powerful beam fell upon the swarthy faces of four men. They were dressed in black and were sitting in two kayaks, their wooden paddles frozen in mid-stroke. Their almond eyes blinked with surprise in the light.

Crack!

The first shot shattered the paddle held by the lead man in one boat. There was a second shot, and a paddle in the second boat flew into pieces. The men in the rear of the kayaks back-paddled furiously, and the others dug their hands into the water to help. They got the boats turned around and headed back toward land, but Gamay wasn't about to let them off so easily. The boats were almost out of range of the light when she shot out the other two paddles.