FicWad

Plague


Prologue: The Loss of the Clinton

Max Groden looked extremely business like today; he was actually wearing shoes on his feet and that told Tigershark that he had someone very important coming in later today. The rest of his appearance was exactly what he was used to seeing on Max, a mop top of curly reddish hair that hid most of his narrow face. He peered over his hipster glasses through warm and welcoming green eyes.
They had met - when was it?
Tigershark had to really think about it. Recalling events was often hard for him, even now. It had been almost a year since his mind had been released from the suppression placed on it. Discerning the real from Tigershark's fabricated memories periodically gave him trouble.
In another life, one where people had called him David and envied him for being so well off, he had known Max quite well. Max had moved here from some town back east and must have been the biggest geek ever seen. David, on the other hand, had been the coolest boy in school, typical Mr. Popularity. That older part of his melded personalities remembered standing up for Max against several of his "friends" when they had singled him out that week to be the subject of their jokes. David hadn't made a habit of getting involved in their sad little games, choosing to remain a neutral party in those events. When they had chosen Max for their dogpile, he found that he could no longer walk the line. David connected with him for some reason, stopping the harassment before it was well started. That had been the beginning of a long and mutually rewarding friendship. They had formed a bond that could not be shaken by the strengthening pull of the cliques which divided most students into easily identifiable groups.
After the experimentation that had turned David into a genetically mutated human, or gemue, Max had reestablished that friendship. That had come as a surprise. When all others had forsaken him, Max, the biggest gemuphobe he had ever known, had offered his support.
That friendship had been a boon over the past nine months, especially when the person responsible for returning David to Tigershark, had shunned him along with the rest of his old friends, and even his family. That was the epitome of living alone, and the bright spot in his life currently was that Max called on, visited, and regularly communicated with him.
Tigershark focused on the here and now as Max peered up at him and greeted him.
"Hey, David, how are you?"
"Oh not bad, life gets better all the time." The gemue smiled and sat down on the footstool Max always kept available for his visits. "So what's up? You said that you had an assignment for me."
"Well," Max said with a sigh, "I intercepted a rather disturbing message on the military channel that I thought you might like to hear," and with that he handed him a paper.
As Tigershark started to read the message, Max summarized what it had to say: "A team of SEALs left this morning aboard the USNS Clinton. They're steaming for open water and their orders are to track and capture a gemue."
"For what?" Tigershark asked, glancing up before returning to his reading, having yet to get to that part of the message.
"Well, from what I gather, this particular gemue can spread its mutation by merely being touched. The Navy has been ordered to investigate, capture, and kill it before it can create a plague."
"How do they know if it is actually contagious?"
"Don't know, but this has got them scared, so there must be some halfway decent evidence for them to try and retrieve it. There was also mention that the target had been sighted and tagged but not captured."
"So it is a pretty sure bet that they are going to succeed at getting this creature." Tigershark's mouth thinned. "What if they are right?"
"That is why I figured you would want to investigate it."
"Do you have any kind of picture or description of the creature they are after?"
"No, I'm afraid I don't. The message was audio only."
"Well then, I guess I am going on a road trip," Tigershark said, drawing a deep breath and leaning back. "What would I do without you?"
"Be a mushroom," Max said with a smile.
Before the end of the meeting, Max gave him the last known coordinates of the Clinton and Tigershark left to check out the situation. By this time, Tigershark had decided that the half of the money Angelina's suit had won from Cortez would be of use. He had compiled a list of equipment that would make his new life a little to live. Now he had what any diver would dream of needing - a powered diver, several different varieties of spear gun, and many other things that would come in handy in the existence he had been forced to lead, "Post Cortez."

Finding the location of the ship was not hard for Tigershark; there was enough of a slick on the water that a blind man could have followed it, just by its feel. One would think after all these decades that the Navy would utilize a different source of propulsion than oil and boilers for its smaller surface ships.
As Tigershark left the body of water he was familiar with, he realized that he had never before been in Open Ocean. The Pacific Ocean was still the largest ocean on earth, and even lager since the Meltdown, and that sent Tigershark's heart to racing with excitement.
After a week of shadowing the ship, however, the novelty began to wear off. The visit had been a great time no doubt; the water was cleaner, and the fish were in an abundance and variety that Tigershark had never dreamed of. Their taste was crisp and cleaner than any fish he had eaten before or since taking this form. But he had to face it, tailing a mark, even if it was a ship, was at times boring work.
Lying on his back at the surface, and soaking in the sun at the end of the week, Tigershark was close to sleep. The motion of the waves and the warm sun spilling down from the heavens lulled him until strange fragments of images washed across the backs of his eyes. A wet slapping sound caused Tigershark to jump, and he arched his back, sliding silently under the surface, and leaving only his eyes above the water line. Hidden, he watched as six wetsuit-clad SEALs jumped into the water. They swam to and pulled themselves aboard a Zodiac. The small craft was still pitching wildly from the ripples of the men's landing. Once in, the team sped off in a northeasterly direction.
Tigershark retrieved his diver and followed them at a distance. They did not go very far and he slowed so as not to overtake them and attract their attention. Still keeping a close eye on them, the gemue watched as they threw a net into the water, and he caught a glimpse of a creature within the ring of nylon. Three of the SEALs jumped in to help secure their captive. He knew it wasn't a good time to try and get involved in this, even if he was sure that the creature was going to come to harm. Tigershark was forced to continue following at a distance.
As they prepared to raise the boat up to the deck of the ship he stowed his gear near the large idle props, to avoid easy detected. Then he moved back to the Zodiac, clinging to the underside as they hoisted it up, remaining as still as possible. Taking what seemed like forever, the boat slowly rose off the surface of the water; Tigershark's arms burned by the time the boat came even with the deck. The boat shifted and rocked as the team offloaded their prize. Once the immediate area fell silent, Tigershark gently lowered himself to the deck.
He was still cautious as he made his way around, searching for where they might have taken their captive. He hoped that they had not taken it into the maze of levels and corridors that existed below, for Tigershark could not begin to hope that he would be able to track down there. The scents would be too thick and not nearly distinctive enough for him to trail.
Tigershark approached the corner of the superstructure and peered around it. The smell of the SEALS was thicker here, and he was fairly certain he had caught up with them again. A special team had taken over, unwrapping the creature from the net. When they were finished, the gemue found himself disappointed.
At first glance, it looked like an ordinary shark. Narrowing his eyes in an attempt to get better focus, Tigershark took another look at it. Six fins rose from the long sinuous back, becoming gradually smaller as they got closer to the tail. Even the old sharks glutted on too much hormone laden beef didn't grow anomalies like that. The sight was most definitely not normal. Compassionate and emotional blue eyes silently implored with the men to leave it alone. Those were human eyes, not the cold doll like appearance of sharks. Max had been right, that was a gemue.
One man reached for a piece of net close to the head of the poor creature and it cringed, its head whipping to one side as if to avoid a blow. The men around it misconstrued the move and reacted violently. They beat it with one of the several clubs that was handy, and it writhed, trying to move itself free of the pain that was being inflicted on it.
It was all Tigershark could do not to burst from his hiding and try to defend the hapless creature in their midst. He was out numbered and outgunned, exposing himself would only get him a choice spot right there next to the gemue they were beating bloody.
In one last desperate attempt to defend itself, the creature bit the man closest it and sent the man to the deck. A shot from one of the guards stilled it, splattering blood onto the man that had been bitten. Several others gathered up the injured man and took him below decks and the rest of the team continued their work, dissecting the creature and putting each piece into a bag before sending the bags down another ladder well. Tigershark was still unsure of what exactly they were doing all of this for.
Movement to the right of the group caught the Tigershark's eye and he turned his attention that direction. He had to consciously close his mouth, processing what his eyes saw. Coming over the rail was a young female gemue. She was a slip of a thing, shorter than even Angelina. She was from the same lot in gemue biology as he. Her features were almost a mirror image of Tigershark's own, with elfish ears and elongated face and nose, but her features were more delicate and feminine. Cascading over her shoulders and breasts in thick waves was black hair, and her eyes were silver orbs with pupils as round as black moons. Her bare skin was awash with light blue that faded to tan on her stomach, arms, and inner legs. Tigershark was unable to help but notice that she was well proportioned as glimpses of her breasts peeked from between the sodden tresses.
On her back, the tip of one dorsal fin divided the sea of long hair dangling down its arch. At each of her elbows were fins such as Tigershark's own and her hands were long, thin and clawed, the webbing between each of her relaxed fingers obvious. Her feet were thickly webbed, such that her clawed toes were almost completely concealed by the flaps of skin.
As Tigershark stared, he noticed oddities in the texture of her skin as she moved. Scarring was heavy along one arm and at the base of her largest dorsal fin. Two digits and most of the webbing between them on one of her hands, was missing. Tigershark wondered in silent horror what torture she endured to give her such deep scarring. He noted a disparity between her physical maturity and the childlike way she watched the process going on before her. There was no sign of fear or apprehension, and he was forced to reassess her age, thinking perhaps, at most she was a prepubescent youth. But that did not tell him who she was or where she had possibly come from. Tigershark was so intrigued by this gemue girl that he lost track of his surroundings.
"Hey!" One of the crew yelled, Tigershark whirled; surprised that he had been taken unaware.
The shout drew the attention of other members of the crew, as well as the gemue girl. Tigershark assessed his steadily deteriorating situation when he locked eyes with the young woman. Although nothing was said, an understanding seemed to pass between them. They broke the gaze and each headed for the nearest access to water. Tigershark looked back long enough to ensure that young gemue had made it back into the water and then attempted to escape himself.
Tigershark leapt for the rail, just as several of the ship's contingent of SEALs laid hands on him, pulled him back, and threw him to the deck. The gemue sprawled on his face, and when he attempted to get back up, was laid out with the butt of one of their weapons. Tigershark glanced through his peripheral vision to see the barrels of at least a half a dozen automatic rifles that were trained on his prone body.
He froze.
Tigershark heard someone a good distance from him and his plight, order the girl found. His hands were roughly drawn up and secured behind his back. They raised the gemue from the deck by the manacles, making his shoulders scream with pain. As quickly as Tigershark could, he gathered his feet up under him to relieve the ache. Once on his feet the whole contingent escorted Tigershark to the ship's brig. None too gently, the SEALs threw him into a cell, bruising one of his legs on the spare bench that was to be his bed, before his momentum stopped.
Whipping around, Tigershark glared at the gorillas. Two guards were posted on either side of the cell door as he began pacing angrily. After a few circuits he reminded himself self that the action was not wise, not considering his rebreather was not readily available. Tigershark sat down then, making himself relax; this was going to be a long wait.
You're usually more careful than this! His brain prattled at him, Damn that was stupid, getting wrapped up in a gemue girl.
Tigershark knew that letting his guard down was always trouble.
Now here he was stuck in a cell, his captors thinking who knows what about his presence among them. Military types were touchy about security breaches and he was unsure if they would let him plead his case to whoever was in charge. He consulted the chronograph on his wrist, calculating how long he could be in here without any kind of supplemental source of oxygen.
He cursed again the procedure that had removed most of his lungs. The curse extended to that bastard who had paid for one spying human to be turned into a freak with a shark template. He had to talk to someone; he had to convince them to bring him the equipment he was going to need in five hours. Desperation and uncertainty made his heart race, and he forced his mind to let go of that train of thought and calm down. Exertion was only going to make his time dryworld that much shorter.
All Tigershark could do now was wait and hope the opportunity presented itself.

An hour passed before Tigershark received any visitors at all, and he was surprised when they did finally arrive. Slowly he stood, as three men entered the room and came to a stop on the opposite side of the bars from him. The oldest of them could only be the commanding officer of the vessel. He was tall and hawkish, a thin regal nose prominent on his face. His hair was mostly white and only a few strands showed its once brown shade, and there was an air about him that told Tigershark that the man had been in command a very long time, and that he was good at his job.
The man next to him was just shorter, slightly heavier in frame with a small balding spot apparent on the top of his head. Tigershark guessed him to be the second in command, and the other man also wore khaki's but the gemue was unfamiliar with his insignia. Tigershark had never been too current on what ranking was determined by what, never having been in the military himself.
They all scrutinized him, before the elder man looked away and addressed the balding man. Tigershark's stomach sank to his feet, recognizing the look the commanding officer's face; he despised gemues, considered them beneath animals . . . abominations.
"You found it where?" he asked the question as if he had asked it before; disgust evident in his voice.
"On deck, sir. Witnesses stated that there was another on the deck, but she escaped our dragnet."
"So why were it and the other one on my ship?"
"Defending the one we captured originally?"
"No, these things don't know loyalty for one another." He shook his head. "Not that I have ever seen."
"Food then? It would be in abundance on the ship."
"Look at it, Johnson. It looks well fed." He paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Why is it here?"
Tigershark listened to this exchange, feeling his temper rise at the generalization that gemues were dumb animals. Hearing how "it" fared pushed Tiger past his tolerance for the silence.
"Why don't you ask it?"
He approached the bars as if he was going to come through them, making the three men jump back and the guards train their weapons on him yet again.
"Y...You speak!" the Executive Officer said, astonished.
"When it's worth talking to someone."
"But gemues can't . . ."
Tigershark hit the bars. "They can!"
The guard nearest him shoved his rifle barrel hard into his gut to force him back. He blinked and took a small rear step. The man looked surprised that he had not doubled over. Tigershark looked over him with disdain and then back at the executive officer. "My mother and the California Education System did a pretty damn good job of teaching me. Being a gemue doesn't change that! Don't insult my intelligence . . . I'll put my degree against yours any day of the week. I can guarantee that I have more college than you do. If you want to know something - just ask me."
Crossing his arms, he turned away, moving back toward the bunk. He was sure they were stunned.
It was the Commanding Officer who resumed, "So who are you and what are you doing here?"
Tigershark glanced over his shoulder at the man, and then slowly turned to face him and his entourage. "My given name or my alias?" he evaded.
"Both," The Skipper said in irritation.
He drew himself up, reciting his name as if he was attending one of the many business parties that his father used to throw when he was younger. "My given name is David Theodore Scott, the Second. I am the son of Maria and David Scott Junior, who reside in New Fresno. Tigershark is the name that my creator gave me and what everyone calls me.
"As to what I am doing here . . . I am a member of a group called the Gemue Allegiance. I was given a tip that you were hunting down a gemue on the presumption that it presented a threat to the human race - some garbage about it carrying a virus that would spread mutation like a cold."
From their reaction Tigershark knew that he had hit the nail on the head.
"So it is true, or you think it is . . . I see. You're findings are going to give someone license to vigilantism against gemues if word of this gets out. I can't condone that. Our lives are already hard enough to bear without having our existence forfeit for bounty."
As if he could do a whole lot from behind these bars.
"There will be no vigilantism if we can help it," the CO stated brusquely.
The comment left Tigershark with raised eyebrows, and forced his opinion of the man up a notch. He might not like gemues, but he was a professional and that extended to both sides of the fight. He wasn't one to condone acts unlawful against gemue kind no matter his personal feelings. That brought to mind an interesting question.
"Let me ask you a question - did you enjoy watching him die?"
"Him?" the hawkish man said.
"The gemue. Did it make you feel proud to know that your men just committed murder?"
"It was just a gemue."
"And so am I!" Tigershark growled. "Does that mean I am next? Or because I can speak does that mean I am spared?"
Neither of them answered Tigershark's question. The Executive Officer rubbed his chin, looking very unhappy. The Commanding Officer continued to measure Tigershark. "The matter is done, Mr. Scott, and we will know soon enough if we are right."
With that he turned to leave.
"One more thing!" Tigershark recalled their attention to him.
The Skipper sighed as he turned back to face the gemue. "What now?"
"Attached to the ship is some equipment of mine. If you intend to keep me alive there is something in that bundle I am going to need before," Tigershark consulted his watch again, "eight p.m."
"What makes you think that we want to keep you alive?"
"I figure if you wanted me dead, the SEALs would have taken care of me on the deck and we would not be having this conversation."
He sighed, obviously not in the mood games. "What is it that you think you need so badly?"
"Not think - know. I will need it. There is a special piece of equipment there."
"Why do you need it?"
Tigershark looked away, his jaw working, and he heard the Skipper sigh heavily. "Mr. Scott, you cannot afford to be choosy about what you tell me at this point. I can just walk away and whatever this is that you 'need' so badly will just stay where it is."
The gemue looked down, uncomfortable with being forced to reveal his weakness to a stranger. Tigershark worked the nerve up to say, "My creator - in order to keep me in the water - had 75% of my lung tissue removed. I am unable to breathe atmosphere for more than six hours before my system poisons itself."
The Commanding Officer looked disgusted at what Tigershark was talking about. "I am supposed to believe this?"
"No, I didn't figure you would, but a quick check by one of your doctors will confirm it." The man looked highly doubtful, so he added, "Barring that, you'll have to trust me on this."
Again the CO went silent and looked the him over, testing his sincerity with his eyes. "Chief, get the SEALs down there and retrieve what he has attached to my ship. Check the rebreather over for any weapons and then give it to the gemue."
After an hour and a half, the Chief and another enlisted man returned. The junior man had to practically drag the rebreather behind him. Tigershark tried to suppress the mirth he felt at the sight; he had forgotten just how heavy the damn thing was. He was so used to it that it didn't bother him any longer. They brought it to the cell and the guard's guns came up as the Chief was handed the key to open the door. They lugged the device in, dropped it, and sidled warily out, as if Tigershark was going to lunge at them despite the guns trained on his chest. He sat there for a moment waiting for the two to leave, but when they showed no inclination of doing so, he slowly rose and moved to the unit. Checking it and booting the system, Tigershark lifted it and settled it onto his back, watching as the two continued to appraise his actions. They looked surprised at the ease with which he muscled it on.
Slowly, Tigershark secured the collar around his neck, looking at the monitor and estimating the time it would give him, before the air supplement would be depleted. Tigershark looked over at the Chief. "This tank is only going to last 15 hours. If your CO wants me here longer than that, he is going to have to provide me with another." With that he strapped on the mask.
"We'll see what can be done," the chief said in monotone before stepping out of the brig.

It was a little over a week before there were any more visits to Tigershark's cell, with exception of those seamen assigned to bring bottles of compressed air to keep him alive while they decided what exactly to do with him. Leaning against the wall, Tigershark was in process of eating what they loosely referred to as a meal there. The rebreather sat in one corner as he slowly worked through the tasteless food and tried to ignore the protest from that part of his body that craved fresh raw fish. That was completely out of the question at this point and there was no use dwelling on it. Tigershark had tried several times to broach the subject to the men assigned to bring him tanks. None would even look at him; much less listen to what he was asking them.
Tigershark was surprised when the Commanding Officer returned with a young man and several SEALs in tow. The older man looked gaunt, slightly sick, and highly agitated, as he nodded shortly at the guards to open Tigershark's cell. One young man set a key into the lock and opened the brig door. Three guns were trained on Tigershark as he slowly resumed a sitting position, and set the tray of food on the bench next to him. The CO looked meaningfully at the young seaman standing nervously behind him. The young man skittered past the older one and reluctantly approached Tigershark. He had a small bag with him with a red cross painted onto the side of it. He set it down as far from Tigershark as the bench would allow and pulled out a needle Tigershark recognized as being one used to draw blood samples, some antiseptic, and a square of gauze.
"What's going on?" Tigershark asked of his audience, but was met with no response as the young corpsman began prepping his arm. The intention was clear: they were going to get a blood sample from him and use it for something. What exactly that something was Tigershark was unsure of, but it did occur to him that it did not bode well for an early release. After wiping down the inside of Tigershark's elbow, with an obviously disconcerted expression on his face for the feel of the skin under his fingers, the corpsman attempted to insert the needle into the arm. The surgically sharp tip of the needle refused to penetrate the skin no matter how hard it was pressed.
"If I might make a suggestion?" Tigershark whispered to the corpsman, which looked at him startled. "If you need a sample, I suggest you go up under the gill for it. You will be there all day trying to get that needle in."
The young man looked to his skipper for guidance on what to try next. The older man's eyes looked from Tigershark to the needle to the young man as if considering. Finally he nodded, and the seaman, looking even more apprehensive, lifted up one soft flap of skin that barely concealed the gills on Tigershark's neck.
Once the sample was taken the whole of the entourage left and the gemue heard the Commanding Officer order the sample processed as quickly as possible. Still Tigershark wondered what exactly they were trying to find out.
Stomach dropping, a thought occurred to him. They had come out here to catch a gemue with the ability to pass its mutation like the plague; did they suspect him of being that gemue? That would mean a death sentence if they thought it was true. Trying to settle his fluttering heart, Tigershark refused to think about it.

There was a period of another week where visitors were limited to the guards. At shift change, they were in charge of providing a tank to kept Tigershark going. No one else was authorized near him and those who handled the removal of his tanks wore contamination suits. They were serious about keeping him isolated.
Dozing propped into one corner and lying on the rebreather, Tigershark heard someone enter the area. Blinking several times, he tried to focus on his visitor.
It was the Executive Officer. He was by himself, and he looked worn - as if he had not been sleeping well the past several days. Awkwardly, the gemue sat up and looked at him without saying a word.
After staring for long unnerving moments, the XO looked to one of the guards and said, "Open it." Tigershark goggled at him, slowly standing and not believing what had just been said, especially considering their lynch mob earlier. The guard obviously was as surprised as Tigershark was about the idea, but, "I said open it!" the officer growled. The guard jumped as if he had been struck. Once the gate was open Tigershark could only stand there, unsure of what was going on or what to do next. The sick though flit through that they were trying to induce him to run for it, to give them a reason to kill him.
When Tigershark did not immediately come out the Executive Officer stepped into the cell and motioned him toward the door. "You're free to go."
"Excuse me?" Tigershark said through the mask transmitter, just a bit dazed.
"There is no reason to hold you."
The gemue moved forward, unlatching the mask and clearing his sinuses as the shorter officer escorted him out.
"Excuse me? What's with the change of heart?"
"You'll see." He held the door to the brig open while Tiger negotiated his way out. "The captain sends his apologies for detaining you so long but we had to be sure that you were not a carrier as well."
"As well?" He repeated, feeling those butterflies rise into his stomach. "You mean it was true?"
The short balding man refused to answer as they walked into another section of the ship. As the hatch opened, Tigershark caught the smell of sterile rooms and antiseptic. He realized that this must be their ward. Stopping short, Tigershark blanched at the sight that greeted his eyes. There were at least fifteen patients, each with a set of physical symptoms similar to the next. Some had blistering on their skin accompanied by loss of hair. Others had whole sections of skin sloughing off their muscles and in some cases flesh off bones.
The Executive Officer looked at Tigershark then. "It was true," he replied to the earlier question, "but not quite in the way we were led to believe. None of the men who handled the creature before it was killed were infected. The man who was bitten, on the other hand . . ." He stepped up to a large refrigerator door and pulled out the tray. Upon it was a man who had undergone a partial transformation into a shark creature. Sickly twisted features were brought into sharp relief by the harsh lights overhead, and it looked as if one portion of his body had grown faster than the rest. Tigershark looked around the ward again, seeing similarities all around him.
"He spread it to at least ten people. Somehow the contagion mutated itself and became what we had feared, able to be spread through casual contact. It's transmitted to the victim through the oils of an infected person. That person in turn can spread it. We are pretty sure that 50% of the people on this ship are infected. Everyone is in quarantine. We have five casualties already to this contagion. It kills by changing the body too fast, inside and out, and sometimes it results in internal hemorrhaging and others by stress incurred during the changes. Our doctors' figure there is about a 20% chance of survival for those infected with it."
"The CO has it too?" Tigershark asked, realizing that could be the reason that he looked so ill the last time that he had seen him.
The XO nodded. "He was the first to shake hands with the man who was bitten. He may survive it, but he will be a gemue. As to that, what good is life if you cannot have any physical contact with another person? A few of us have been inexplicably unaffected by this mutation. We have run batteries of tests on ourselves and found nothing to say that we even carry the virus.
"We have informed the chain of command of what has happened, and they have a team on the way. Your visit here has been stricken from all official records. You were never here, and you are free to go."
"Just like that?"
"You have tested safe. However, if you stay here when the team arrives they will no doubt kill you, they're going to shoot first and ask questions never, trust me. They have no love in general for your kind."
"No doubt."
"You need to take your stuff and leave before they arrive. We are a death ship now. Good luck to you."
Tigershark had not realized it, so caught up in the details the man was giving him, but they had made it back up onto the weather deck. Before he could thank the XO, he had turned and left. He looked around, seeing how empty the deck and how forlorn the scene. Suddenly Tigershark wished that there was something that he could do, but he realized that there was nothing to be done. The events were already in motion and he wondered grimly how the headlines were to read tomorrow about this vessel and its contaminated crew. Silently Tigershark leapt from the rail into the water and retrieved the rest of his gear, before heading back home to the Sea of San Joaquin.
The thought that plagued him was who had made the shark gemue that the SEALs had captured in the first place? Who would be sick enough to create a creature that would threaten to turn humanity into a bunch of gemues or kill everyone in the process? And worst of all, were there more where he came from? Cortez was out of the picture at the moment, still serving time for his part in his and Angelina's unlawful incarceration and transformation. So who would be able to pull it off? There was certainly still Marcus, who as far as Tigershark knew never came under scrutiny for their disfigurement. He was the one who had put Cortez's ideas into practice.
And who was the girl? If she was Cortez's experiment, which by her look would be an accurate guess, why had he not seen her before? She was beautiful. Then his thoughts turned to the scars that marred the beauty that he had seen. What had happened to her? Her look was familiar, like he had seen her face before, only on someone else.
Why was it, when there was something important that he needed from his memory, it was invariably when his memory would fail him?

The next day Tigershark returned to Max's office, and stepping in he found himself trapped in the tight hold of Max's wiry arms. It was a gesture that caught him by surprise and made him more than a little uncomfortable. Max stepped back after a moment, relief clear to read on his featurs. "Damn it, man, don't scare me like that!"
"What are you talking about?"
Silently, Max handed Tigershark a paper with a shaking hand. The New Fresno Bee had run a first page story about the USNS Clinton, about an accident that claimed all but ten lives and scuttled the ship. The Navy claimed that the reactor had melted down and either killed the crew immediately or exposed them to enough radiation that they had died of poisoning. Tigershark knew it was a load of crap after tasting diesel in the water the entire week he had tracked it. He wondered just how many others would catch that slip of the details. Of those rescued the article gave them little chance of survival.
Tigershark looked up at Max, saying dumbly, "Oh."
"What happened?"
"I was clumsy, and I got caught." He flopped down onto the footstool. "They released me just before the team arrived to scuttle the ship."
"Was it true? Was there a contagious gemue out there?"
Tigershark looked down, thinking about the lives lost.
"Yes. Somebody created that creature to infect the entire human race. There is one sick bastard out there."
Tigershark paused a moment as the vision of the girl filled his head again.
"And there was this girl."
He had meant for that to remain an internal observation.
"You out for the Navy girls now?"
"Huh?" Tigershark said, broken out of his thoughts. "Nav...No! God, your sense of humor sometimes! No, she was gemue, the same genus as me . . . she reminded me of someone."
"Another sharkmue?" Max sounded incredulously. "I thought you were the only one. Even Angelina isn't."
"I thought I was too. But there was no mistaking the work . . ." he slumped a bit, realizing that he was very tired from his return trip. "She was perfect . . ." Tigershark trailed off, losing himself in his thoughts again. "Except . . . she was scarred."
"Scarred how?"
"Heavy scars. Her back, her arms, she was missing several of her fingers. I want to say that she was in a fight, but they looked . . . I dunno . . . Surgical - like it was done on purpose."
Max and Tigershark discussed the details of his foray for a long time. Only when the all too familiar pressure started in his chest, did he realized just how late it had gotten.
Wearily, Tigershark pushed to his feet, wishing yet again he could just lie out on the couch and catch a nap like a normal human being. But his past had set the future in stone, and though it had not been his choice to be a gemue, he was stuck with its consequences. Tigershark said his good-byes and donned his rebreather for the return trip home.