The Coral Bones, page 22
They found no easy answers, only more questions.
#
Igor brought the boat around the southern curve of the island. They passed through a channel created by two smaller islands to the south, which Telma had not seen before and did not recognise from the maps. She frowned, mistrusting her memory. She could see from the colour of the water that the three islands marked the edges of a lagoon. There was a haziness over the water, a kind of mist suspended within its boundaries. Netting had been rigged from island to island, and Igor drove along its length until they reached an opening just large enough for the boat to slip through, and they entered the lagoon.
The temperature in the lagoon was lower; she noticed the drop almost at once. There was more moisture in the air too, but when she looked up, expecting to see gathering clouds, the sky remained fiercely, intensely blue. She ran her tongue over her lower lip and tasted salt. There was barely any wind, not enough movement in the waves for sea spray. Weather manipulation, said a corner of her mind, and her suspicions deepened.
She had the answer a moment later. Bobbing on the surface of the lagoon was a century-old piece of tech: a cloud seeder. It was a long, low object, which from a distance might have been mistaken for a floating log, except that every minute or so it emitted jets of spray. The spray was moistening and hazing the air, creating an artificial barrier between sun and water surface, reducing refraction. The technology had been developed along with a suite of other geoengineering projects, but in the end the seeders were deemed too inefficient for global upscaling, and had long since been abandoned as a viable tool to lower temperatures.
Telma spotted a second seeder not far from the first, then another. She ran her gaze systematically across the lagoon. Now that she knew they were here, she could spot the fountains of spray that revealed the seeders’ presence. There was an entire flotilla of them, all moored in this one lagoon.
Those were obsolete last century, she said aloud. What are they doing here?
She spoke largely for her own benefit, and didn’t bother repeating herself when Igor ignored her. They moved further into the lagoon. Telma drew a sample of the water and ran optics; it gave her a reading of five degrees lower than the water on the west coast. She checked the pH. Acidity was lower here, too.
Igor crossed two thirds of the lagoon, weaving between the seeders with a lack of attention that suggested he had done this many times before, before he slowed the boat and shut down the engine. The anchor descended with a soft whine. The boat shifted gently against its constraints. She felt spray settle, cool on her face.
Are you ready to dive? asked Igor.
His tone was neutral, almost careless. Telma looked at him, hoping for a smile, a nod of reassurance, but his deep-seamed face was as implacable as ever. Her mind screamed with the implications of that thermometer reading. She had no doubt that this was the site, the reason Igor had brought them to the island. He was protecting a secret, either his own or someone else’s, and after no fewer than fourteen days of misdirection he had decided to reveal that secret to Telma.
I’m ready, she said.
Igor helped her into the suit. She was used to Rafi aiding her, and Igor’s movements were more abrupt than those of her colleague. When she was sealed in, he tapped the faceplate of her helmet.
The reef is that way, he said, pointing.
She stared at him, the word he had spoken taking time to register, to discharge its full meaning. Then she nodded, turned, and climbed over the side of the boat, descending the ladder rung by rung. Once in the water, she could tell she would not need the cooling function of the suit today. Her heart was beating very fast, and after submerging she hung a metre below the surface for several minutes, drawing in the long deep breaths that would prolong her air supply, until her pulse began to slow, adjusting to the rhythms of the water.
Of course, she had seen the images. Evidence was everywhere, no one tried to hide it, to deny what had been. Images were there for anyone who cared to seek, though not many did. It was like Michelle had said. The oceans had taken too much, and humanity had come so close, so very close, to losing everything.
In some cultures, to take a photograph was to steal a piece of the subject’s soul, and if that were true then the losses should have come as no real surprise. How many souls had been stolen in the race to document every moment while noticing none of it, the present washing by in a flurry of surveyed matter. The images lived on after the souls had been extinguished. They were there for the nostalgics, for the Holocene junkies, for the mildly curious, the deluded and the paranoid, for the conspiracy theorists, for the eternally hopeful and the scientifically optimistic, for the resurrectionists and the restorationists. They were there in the simulations of the Global Commons Federation, which beatified the souls who had once been and might one day be again. They were there for people like Telma, whose job was to search for those souls who had survived despite the phenomenal odds against them.
What Telma saw in the lagoon did not look like those images. It did not have the clarity of an artificial lens a thousand times more powerful than her basic ape eyes, or the post-production filters to draw out every nuance of the colour spectrum. What she saw was softer in focus, blunted by the weight of water and the glass plate of her helmet. What she saw was a living ecosystem that should not exist outside of aquaria and the confinement of tanks. What she saw was a reef.
#
She wanted to tear off the helmet and remain at the surface, floating face down, observing for hours. Igor was calling her. A note of annoyance entering his voice. She wanted to ignore him, to pretend he did not exist. Igor was shouting now. She swam to the ladder, dragged herself limb by limb up the rungs. Igor did not extend a hand; she had to help herself. Her body was an intolerable weight. She struggled out of the suit and it lay on the deck like a discarded skin.
Was it you? she asked Igor. Did you do this?
He shook his head, wound up the anchor. She noticed he had not put up a jellyshade. The heat of the sun remained intense, but the haze of spray produced by the seeders was enough of a screen, for Igor at least. He drove them towards the shore. They passed over what she had seen below, the sun gilding the tops of the waves. You would not know what was there. She thought how no one could ever know what had been there, not in its entirety. That the finding had barely begun before the destruction followed. Igor brought the boat in to a floating jetty and tied up. She followed him onto the terrible immobility of land, moving clumsily for the first few steps until she recovered her balance. Igor headed into the forest.
She did not want to go inland, not after what she had seen, but she had asked a question and Igor had the answer. She followed. The sweltering heat of the forest descended, crushing her lungs, shallowing her breathing once more. She had difficulty keeping up. Her foot knocked against something metallic and she realised they were following the path of a pipe. Through the trees she caught glimpses of derelict huts, collapsing walls, the relics of long ago habitation. The suspicion that had gripped her earlier intensified. They were not where they had been told they were. There was a tightness in her throat, not nervousness now so much as the anticipation that lies at the boundaries of a secret, its embrace unfamiliar, still outside the complications that initiation will bring. To come here was to cross a line: this she understood through Igor’s demeanour, by how long it had taken him to bring her here.
She saw something that did not belong in the forest, but was being appropriated by it. Mass and time had done their work, and the hull of the boat had partially sunk into the forest floor. Its decks, enswathed with lichens and climbing plants, rose six metres into the air. The boat looked like something from the previous century, a now redundant design of solar panel protruding like the stumps of wings, their panes encrusted with dirt. Remnants of red paint clung to the upper parts of the fibreglass hull, and she could make out a few letters of the vessel’s name: I-S-H, a gap, and then a W.
Igor made his way around the boat. At its stern end she saw the remains of support structures for a hydraulics system: the boat had once carried a submersible. A research vessel, then, or a mogul’s private pleasure craft. A mountain of salt, presumably the detritus from a desalinator, had collated beneath the struts and encrusted the chains, forming a strange sculpture that glinted wetly. Igor was climbing a ladder to the deck. Telma regarded it with distrust, but the rungs were holding his weight, so she followed. The deck brought them on a level with the tallest trees. She watched a bird soar across the canopy, heard a scatter of soft cries in response to their flight. There were operational solar panels rigged on the deck, and a generator, both of which looked like much newer models. Telma looked out over the forest, and felt a stab of guilt as she wondered what Rafi was doing right now. They should be here. They needed answers as much as she did. Igor beckoned; he was heading below deck. She climbed down behind him and he told her to close the hatch. A blissful, unexpected waft of air-con greeted her.
Igor made his way down a narrow corridor. At its end was the door to a cabin. Igor opened it and stepped through. He did not glance back, but the command to follow was clear. She thought of Rafi again. What was waiting behind that door did not feel like a choice, only an inevitability, as though all the forks of her life had conspired to reach this moment. She entered the cabin.
The room on the other side was an incongruous hybrid of living space and laboratory. She became aware of tanks, the bubbling of pumps, the background hum of electricity, rows of tinned produce stacked on shelves – but all this was on the periphery, things she would examine properly only later. Directly before her, propped upright in a spartan camp bed, was a sleeping woman. She appeared very old. Her body was emaciated to the point of becoming skeletal. Her hair was a fine white gauze, her skin creased and mottled. Her bare feet emerged like two stuffed paws from the hems of her trousers. At some point before their arrival she had been reading; an artefact rested in her lap. The artefact looked old, like the woman. It looked leather-bound, and the sight of the leather made Telma feel momentarily nauseous.
She looked to Igor, waiting for him to wake the woman, to explain, but the spotter made no such gesture. It was only when she looked back that she realised there was no movement in the woman’s chest, that she was not sleeping at all.
Igor? She managed, with effort, to suppress a tremor in her voice. What’s going on?
She died last night, said Igor.
The dead woman’s eyelids were not completely closed. Telma could see a glimpse of the eyes shining beneath. Her nausea rose again. She turned and ran from the cabin, hauled herself back through the hatch to the brightness of the deck. She heaved, but nothing came up. She buried her head between her knees, waiting for the sensation to pass. Igor came out a few minutes later. He stood on the other side of the deck, watching her.
Who was she? Telma asked at last, and behind that question a dozen others jostled for attention: what was she doing here, and how did she build a reef so far north, and where did all that life come from, and why did you bring me here, and how does no one know about this, and how, and how, and how?
The warden, said Igor.
The warden? What does that mean, the warden?
No name.
This isn’t Goolboddi, is it?
The realisation had grown slowly, and she knew then that she had suspected for some days now. She had let herself be blind to the truth, not wishing to question Igor’s motivations, but the islands to the south were irrefutable proof.
Igor shook his head.
Jiigurru.
Telma pictured old maps.
Jiigurru, she said. Lizard Island.
Yes.
There was a research station here, she said slowly. But it was closed down, over a century ago. The corals had virtually gone by then. There was a year of typhoons…
Not the first warden, said Igor. Fourth.
The lagoon is a laboratory, isn’t it. The seeders… it’s a modified weather system.
Seeders are running down. Couple of years, maybe, then they fail. It all collapses. That’s what she said.
And what else did she say?
Ishikawa principles, said Igor.
What does that mean?
Dead woman. Before the wardens, a long time ago.
Ishikawa, is that the name of the boat? Was this dead woman a scientist?
He shrugged. His gaze slid away. Long dead, he said quietly.
Telma struggled to contain her frustration.
Are there seadragons here, Igor? Is this where you saw them, was that even true?
The warden had DNA. She released babies.
You mean illegal resurrections, said Telma. Unsanctioned experiments. How many animals suffered to make that reef?
Her mind reeled with the shock of mounting revelations. Even as the words spilled out, she knew she was parroting Committee lines. She could not think what else to say.
Igor shrugged again.
This isn’t ethical, Igor. We fucked things up once. We can’t afford to fuck things up again. We don’t have the right. We owe it – this warden owed it – to the island.
So how does the island tell you what it wants? said Igor.
She stared at him. His face bore a mutinous expression, but he did not avert his gaze, and she thought that this was the first time he had looked her directly in the eye. She was reminded anew of how little she knew of the spotter, his nomadic life, his hopes and fears. What had the warden been to him? He might have known about the lagoon for years.
You’re right, she said. I can’t speak for the island. But why did you bring me here, and why only now? Did you know she was dying?
Igor’s face grew wary.
Am I meant to be some kind of successor, is that what this is about?
You lost someone, he said.
Not everyone, said Telma. Not everyone.
The rage rushed up, hot and messy, the spark that had never quite been suppressed rekindling inside her. What right did Igor have to decide the meaning of her loss? She got to her feet, unable to remain still any longer, fearing that her body might betray her.
She’s not to be buried, said Igor.
What?
She goes in the lagoon, for the fish. Where the others are. It’s what she wanted.
#
It was late afternoon when Telma and Igor returned to the camp. Rafi was not at the pavilion, nor were they in their hut. The thought of them trekking over the island alone was a worry, but Telma tried not to show her concern in front of Igor, whose opinion of her colleague had not improved. She had the impression they barely exchanged a word during her dives. Fortunately she did not have to mask her fears for long, as Igor disappeared after seeing her back to the hut, to do whatever it was that Igor did with the rest of his day. He never ate with them, and she supposed he had his own supplies, might even fish in the lagoon.
The afternoon deepened, collapsed into early evening. Rafi did not return. Her anxiety deepened. She had broken the first rule of a Committee mission: she had left her partner behind. If Rafi had had an accident, she would never forgive herself. When she finally heard the rustle of someone large forging through the trees, her body sagged with relief.
Rafi! she called. I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you. I thought something might have happened to you!
Did you?
Rafi’s voice was flat. Beneath the layer of grime and sweat, their face had a grey tinge. They didn’t look well, she thought.
Are you all right? she asked.
I’m fine, said Rafi, with that same flatness of tone. Their calmness surprised her before she realised. The calm disguised something else. Rafi was angry. Furious, in fact. They held something up: it was her note.
Are you going to explain this? the ichthyologist demanded.
Igor wanted to show me something, you know how he can be. I thought it was best to go along with him.
And did he? Show you something?
Telma hesitated. She fully intended to tell Rafi everything, but how to broach the subject was another matter. Rafi shook their head, reading her hesitation as refusal.
It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s been lying to you all along. We’re not even on Goolboddi, we’re much further north. This is Jiigurru, Telma. Jiigurru! We won’t find seadragons here. We’d be lucky to find anyone here.
They saw her face, and a look of disgust passed over their own.
Oh. You knew that too.
Rafi—
I suppose you weren’t going to tell me that, either.
I only found out myself today. Of course I was going to tell you.
You must have thought I’d be easy to dupe. Just another lab-bound citizen from the hives, not a clue about country. I get it. I just don’t know why you bothered bringing me, unless you’re planning to dupe the Committee too. I won’t let you, Telma. You hear me? I won’t let you.
For fuck’s sake, that is not what’s going on—
Do you even know what day it is?
What do you mean?
It’s the fifth. Remembrance Day. Or don’t you give a fuck about that either?
That is a shitty thing to say, Rafi.
And it found its mark. She had forgotten. Or rather, she’d lost track of the days. Regret passed briefly over Rafi’s face – they knew it was a low blow – but the regret wasn’t enough to displace their rage, or Telma’s indignation. Rafi’s shoulders shook with the effort of containing it. Telma watched as they strode away to their hut and ducked inside. Now she was furious, too. With Rafi, and with herself, for fucking up, for forgetting to mark a Remembrance Day. She should go after Rafi, probably, force them to listen, but what good would it do? She would make things worse, the way she always did. Igor was right. She should have come alone. Rafi’s presence complicated everything. She could not hide the truth from them, whether Igor wished her to or not.
She grabbed a pair of water tanks and marched down to the infinity pool. She needed to be away from Rafi, to be anywhere but here. Her hands were shaking as she hooked up the desalinator and purified water began to drip into the tanks.
