Chapter 5 - Stingerfish

“…Anything else above and beyond the basic requirements for life is only an evolved state of or an achievement for but not a purpose for life.”

- A quote from LeeRan Sing, Scientist & Scholar

Alone and together the two men swam in and around the vibrant colors of the coral reef, teeming with life. Land flowers and plants could never match the vigor and brilliance of the living and breathing undersea garden of the Fishers. Reeg, the dominant Fisher, tried not to stare but the look on his son’s face, those eyes glowing with amazement and wonder, were irresistible. Rory was nine sun cycles old and old enough to venture into, around and even past the reef with him. Rory’s mom, Quessa, a lovely raven hair Human, thought twelve was a better age. Moms never let their boys grow up. That comment earned him a stern look but reluctantly she agreed with her love and mate, Fisher Reeg. He had, after all, described the same resentment he had felt toward his mom at the age of nine.

So, together they dove as father and son just before Rory took his dive tests to become a Sport Fisher. Sport Fishers defended the village, warded off predators, and off course could have their pick of a mate. Human or otherwise… Reeg had never been so proud of his son. He was so young. So brave. So ready.

Harvest dive, the first dive of the day, was at dawn. Cold water and six new Fishers joined the several hundred others for the harvesting of shellfish, swimfish, caviar and sea-crops to trade and sell. Merchants from surrounding villages and distant lands would travel for the rare, exotic and delicious delicacies of the Fisher coral reef. Gathering eggwebs and plants was fairly easy. Rory had eaten these harvest foods his entire life and knew what was good and ripe. He had also done well netting. A pink eel, two fairly large reef snappers and a huge yellow tri-claw crab were quite a catch. It had been three dives before his father Reeg had captured his first and significantly smaller tri-claw.

Reeg’s pride in his son’s abilities was impossible to hide, so he didn’t even try. That display quelled the nervous “minnowy gut” feeling of Rory’s initial dive. Rory was confident and knew his father, the best Fisher in the village, would protect him from the swirling currents, jagged rocks and sea monsters. Closely Reeg watched Rory because the water was dangerous and unforgiving. No one was perfect though Reeg was the closest to perfection and he tried his absolute best that day. Two new fishers dropped out after the first dive. They would be Harvest Fishers and that was okay for all.

After mid-day meal came the second dive. Rory entered the shallow waters now warmed by the sun. He liked it warm. The yellow sun painted the many colors of life that glistened and sparkled around him. Mmmmm, safe and happy. He followed his father into the reef. An orange and turquoise striped Skimmer skittered past him. He reached out with a hook-net to snag it. Reeg stopped him. Skimmers tasted like rancid milk plus this was work dive. Work dive was not as much fun as the Harvest dive Rory soon discovered. Fisher Reeg, a master and dominant, never did the manual labor of the minor or even the major Fishers, except for today. He needed to teach his son the farming skills that kept the magnificent reef alive and viable. Over fishing of the edible animals was never a problem. Fish always came to the bountiful reef. It was the coral, plants and non-edible creatures that needed constant attention if the reef was to remain at the peak of its existence.

Rory was perplexed, as were all the new Fishers by the work dive. The multi-netted dive suit with its many mesh bags and tools was hard enough to handle. But differences between two identical crabs, pruning seaplants, removing tiny pests and so on, were skills he would have to learn. And he never would. One work dive was not only monotonous but not nearly enough experience. No one wanted to be a Thrive Fisher. Thrives spent their days learning the delicate balance of the coral reef, understanding its food web and keeping it all in balance.

When the hectic paced second dive ended Rory was exhausted. He lay on the sandy beach panting through his mouth and now useless gills. Double panting made him feel better.

Fisher Reeg waded from the water and approached his son. “Are you okay?” he inquired.

“Yes... Dad... I’m...”

“Being a Fisher is hard work. No time for rest now... Maybe you’re too young?” he prodded. “Maybe you should stop now. Thrive Fishers are a valuable--” He never finished.

“No dad!” he spoke up for himself and his cause.

“The hardest dive is yet to come,” Fisher Reeg said through a very slight grin that he tried to hide. “Failure on the sport dive means you are assigned to the Thrive Fishers.”

“I won’t fail. You didn’t.”

“Eat these; they’ll help your breathing.”

Reeg tossed down several white and blue oysters. Rory had never seen these before.

“I’ll be right back,” Reeg said as he walked away.

“I need a knife,” Rory stated.

Fisher Reeg glanced back at his son and the three other new Fishers who each sat on the beach sucking air.

“None of you have earned a blade. Eat your oysters,” Reeg said coldly.

The four proud Fisher fathers schooled together and watched as their children followed the dominant’s instructions. Rory was the first to get spurted by an excretion of putrid black liquid as he struggled to open the clamped mollusk. Each new child Fisher got his or her blast within seconds. The four Fathers laughed quietly together as the new Fishers wiped the stinging fluid from their faces and webbed hands.

Glen, the oldest and largest of the new Fishers grabbed a rock and held it over his head. The helpless and legless oyster was dropped onto the beach. Slamming the rock down he crushed its shell. The oyster was smashed to bits. Bits so small he couldn’t distinguish them from the sand. The nearby snickers and laughs told him one thing. These shellfish were fast diggers. Blackened faced on the outside and red faced underneath, Glen stood and stared at the adult Fishers defiantly. They all knew their first lesson was over. Some secret of the Sport Fishers for certain… But none them knew what it was…

The other new Fishers tossed away their shelled adversaries thus avoiding ridicule. Rory tucked his away knowing someday it would open.

The Fishers, including the new ones’ fathers, slowly entered the water.

“Rory!” a woman called out.

Rory ignored his mother mostly out of embarrassment. Glen glanced at him and nodded. Rory returned his nod. All four new Fishers could sense the entire village approaching the beach. Their sonar skills were weak compared to the adult Fishers. But this was the entire village. It was rare enough to baptize a new Sport Fisher and today four took the dive.

As the sun began to float down the sky, the four children watched the silhouetted adults enter the encroaching sea. All the experienced Fishers readied themselves for the third and final dive known as the Sporting dive.

Glen was the oldest, a male and already standing, so he headed toward and entered the water first. Rory followed. Tea-assia, a friendly female and then Lehm Ki a small shy male followed him. The three younger ones lined up and entered the now rough water as a team. They had all watched from the beach long enough through air-eyes. As their feet touched the briny water their clear lids instinctively dropped. Water-eyes. Into the pulling sea they waded.

Now, the tide was coming in and so were the reef predators.

The lower sun meant darker waters. Rory absorbed the sonar calls from the adult Fishers and followed them. Deep reds, thick rich blues and lush greens of the reef seemed to swirl around him. Yellow. Orange. Where were these colors before? Was it the sun? The mood?

“Rrooorrry to the roooocks,” Reeg’s sonar pulsed out.

Rory now heard words from sonar not only feelings and impressions. It felt invigorating. Rory fought the tide and caught up to Glen. Glen waved a webbed hand at him and smiled. Glen was scared. Had he heard something Rory didn’t? He glanced under the waves… The swimfish swam past with no greater urgency?

Glen turned out, kicked hard and once again took the lead. He knew his place. Rory slowed slightly. Tea-assia and Lehm Ki caught up to him. The water had deepened and Glen had stopped. The section between the coral and the rocks was off limits to all except experienced Sport Fishers. Rory, Tea-assia and Lehm Ki swam to Glen and the four formed a shoulder-to-shoulder line. The water was rougher here. It swirled and twisted. Under and over-tow pulled at their small and not fully developed bodies. The bottom was sandy and still. Each child breathed safely through their gills and held position at the edge of coral reef. The temperature had dropped. Rory looked through his clear eye-lid for his father. He was nowhere to be seen. That meant he was on the rocks.

Reeg and about fifty of the most experienced Sport Fishers stood on the jagged teeth that surrounded and protected the coral reef. Rocks, slick with salt and spray, would hungrily crush any ship trying to approach the village. Sharp as the finest glass blades the filleting of large ocean predators was their specialty. Spaces between the teeth were cleaned daily because these separations allowed the life of the ocean to replenish, clean and feed the reef. Thus, this simple jagged rock wall sustained the Fisher way of life.

A wave hit the rocks. Reeg’s clear lid closed and re-opened. He looked into the between-water for his son and the other new Fishers.

“There at the edge of the sport water. Let’s begin,” Reeg said.

The Fishers released stinger-fish from the confines of watertight bags and into the sport water between the rocks and the coral. Reeg looked toward the beach and the crowd that had gathered. Even though he couldn’t identify individuals from this distance he knew his wife. Knee deep in the water he knew her lovely Human shape, her long black hair and the way she stood. Especially when she was angry. One leg in front. Leaning heavier to the right. Head tilted. She was angry. Making her angry was a great feat because she never got angry. Then, today he had won and his son took the three dives and that made her angry. Reeg knew when their eldest son became a Sport Fisher and she agreed that he was right that very anger would channel into incredible lovemaking. He hoped. Reeg touched a web footed toe to the water. He forced a sonar pulse toward the beach and to his wife.

“I’ll protect him.”

Humans can’t pick up sonar though she insisted she could. Either way it made him feel better. He felt lucky. Reeg loved her and Quessa loved him and both loved their family even more than the reef that gave them shelter, food and life. Reeg felt their love ache through him. It was a good ache.

Rory saw the barbed spines of the stinger-fish long before he saw its white eyes. Stinger-fish were not really fish at all. They were more like large water breathing spiders. Eighteen stingers that doubled as swimming paddles moved effortlessly through the water in a rhythmic almost beautiful crawling dance. Directly at their prey the deadly Stinger-fish scrambled, mindless and hungry.

I’ll protect him. Rory intercepted the sonar message to his mother. It angered him as the Stingerfish closed in for the kill and a meal.

Killing Stinger-fish was easy if you had a knife, spear or even a stick. Rory had killed many of them - from the shore. Open water was different. The swim-fish were gone for deep water and the Sport Fishers would not help them with this test. Alone the four children watched as the gilled arachnids descended on them. They all knew the choices; up, down, back to the beach or out to the rocks. Fighting was not an option. Their sharp little legs let them escape easily from nets and even though they had no teeth they had those stingers. One sting did little damage but multiple stings caused gill failure. This made swim-fish drown or forced a Fisher to surface. Then in warm water they stung more frequently. Lung failure and suffocation were next and finally the seamstress like removal of your soft innards, eyes and genitals. Your bones, skin, hair and scales were then generously left for the other scavengers.

Eyes wide, the instincts of the new Fishers told them which direction to take, down. Up was suicide. The spidery stingers were between them and the rocks. The beach meant only disgrace and failure. And becoming a Thrive Fisher… Simultaneously the four dove. In unison the Stingerfish did likewise.

Fisher Reeg could see the Stingerfish as they descended. He let out a breath.

“I feared the children wouldn’t dive,” Glen’s father commented.

“I knew my daughter was smart,” another boldly stated.

“The Stingerfish should be on them about now,” Reeg said to silence the parental competition.

Reeg looked to the beach and saw who he was sure was his “hands on her hips” wife as an obnoxious wave hit his rock and legs. It moved him, slightly.

Quessa stood knee deep in the water. She could see her husband, the guilt oozed from his body language like a worm under a sandal. Glancing back to the beach she checked her other children, her Human daughter, QuipSaa, 7 cycles old and her Fisher boy, RestQuai, 3 cycles old. All boys of interracial marriages were the race of the father and the same applied for mothers and daughters. That meant she would have to go through this ritual one more time. Unless they had more children. She wanted to try for one more later that night… She smiled at her young daughter who didn’t notice her. QuipSaa was completely involved with the care of her little brother. For a child so young, this was remarkable. Even though she was Human she took much personality, leadership and emotion from her father. Her amazing father…

A distance splash and the murmur from the crowd made her return her gaze to the rocks. The silhouetted Fishers dumped what looked like Stingerfish into the water near the children! Then, she felt it. I’ll protect him. Quessa felt better but best not to let him know that. She placed he hands on her hips and stared at him. She sent a mental message back to him that was just a thought but as close to his sonar as she could accomplish. She saw a wave stagger him and knew someone, somewhere, somehow he had heard her or at least felt her.

Rory touched the sandy bottom. His gills flapped hard as webbed fingers searched the fine particles of crushed rocks and shells for a weapon. Glen had been the first to reach the cold still water bed and he had given up the search. He turned to face the spider-fish. Tea-assia and Lehm Ki didn’t even bother to look. Everyone knew the Adult Fishers had picked the bottom clean.

Refusing to give in, Rory dug deep into the sand as the first of the Stingerfish reached them. Rory felt the pinprick of death as it stung the bottom of his webbed foot. No teeth, or sharp scale just another prick. He kicked furiously at the small predators and continued to dig. Another and another, one after the other, small little jabs.

The gulp of someone drowning was heard. He turned to face his attackers. Two large brown Stingerfish were crawling up each red blotchy leg. Tea-assia obviously unable to breathe dived up for the surface and lung air, two Stingerfish in tow. Rory swiped at a spider and just managed to get his hand stung about six times. Both legs were going numb as they worked their way up to his torso. Sting, sting, sting, the attacks were relentless. Glen grabbed a spider from Rory’s groin and squeezed it in his 12 cycle old webbed hands. Glen’s underwater muffled scream could be heard followed by a small pop. He had crushed its exoskeleton. The lovely sight of black fluid filtered into the surrounding water. It was dead and Glen’s hands were swollen and red with blood. A mist of new Fisher blood clouded around him. Again he was stung and stung and stung. No air entered from his gills. Rory was drowning. He made that gulp noise. Glen grabbed an unconscious Lehm Ki with his good hand. After a look of apology to Rory, a severely wounded and drowning Glen kicked off the bottom and shot up toward the surface.

Sparks and flashes crackled in Rory’s mind and before his eyes. Instinctually he spun around. A dead spider in a red and black cloud drifted by. His mind played tricks on him…

“Rory!” his mother called out.

“Ow!” he said in the muffled water. “Stop poking me.” Something tickled his neck. The sandy ocean bed was soft.

“Earn your knife yet?” Father asked.

He tumbled again. Bright sun. Darkness. Fire in his blood. Underwater? “Dad why I can’t breathe?” Rory asked. A sharp pin entered his neck, his ear, his scalp. More glistening sparkles.

“Eat your oyster,” Fisher Reeg commanded.

Air! Rory realized he needed air. He removed his oyster from its pouch and tried to pry it open. Rory was again clouded by a soupy excretion of putrid black liquid. The inky seawater mixture had twice the intensity of the first land-based blast. Air! Rory saw his Stingerfish retreat as it sprang away with a synchronous eighteen-leg thrust from the black cloud. Rory thought it made that gulp noise. The oyster had saved his life. A lesson learned well. He kicked for the surface but everything encompassing him was getting blacker…

Reeg and the other Fishers could pick up the muffled sonar screams from their children deep below. One Fisher flinched but was stopped by a single look from the dominant. Reeg’s oldest son was down there too.

Tea-assia broke the surface. She opened her mouth and sucked in the air. Two vicious Stingerfish clung to her neck. She looked to the Fishers for help. None came. Her eyes showed their betrayal. In a desperate attack she grabbed a spider from her neck and ripped it from her flesh. It stung her neck, face and hands several times. Bits of her flesh clung to its barbed hooks. Did it actually eat a piece? Her anger gave her the strength to throw it at her betrayers. Fisher Tolop caught it in a metal mesh net, twisted it and chopped it into small bits.

“Help me!” Tea-assia called out as she passed out.

Glen broke the surface and drank in the air. He lifted Lehm Ki’s blue face above the surface. Lehm Ki’s eyes were white and lifeless though the white eyes of the spidery fish clinging to him were alive and victorious. With the last of his strength Glen raised his fist above the water, screamed and crushed a Stingerfish to carrion while accidentally dislocating Lehm Ki’s shoulder. Poisoned beyond rationality and satisfied in the seawater that surrounded his face, Glen closed his eyes and slept in the cool wet darkness of death.

There was silence on the rocks and the beach. Only three children had surfaced. A Stingerfish proudly rode Tea-assia like a raft. Six of its legs cleaned and pruned its body and mouth in preparation for a hearty meal. Reeg signaled the Fishers. It was time. The three children would not live long without air. The three fathers dove into the water and swam toward their children. Reeg stood on his rocky perch giving his son another few seconds. He looked to the beach. Quessa was sitting in water. Someone comforted her.

“I know he can do it,” he sonar waved.

Reeg looked back to the dive. Tea-assia’s father caught the Stingerfish riding on his daughter’s back and placed it into a thick mesh bag.

Reeg’s leg muscles tightened. One more second. Rory please… Do this!

The other fathers placed large green seaplant pods over their child’s mouths. A squeeze, a second squeeze, and the three unconscious children breathed on their own. Stingerfish were old and easily beaten foes for experienced Sport Fishers.

Reeg’s friend, Gohg-pour cradled his son Glen and called out. “You have to go. Now!”

Ashamed, Reeg dipped his head and dove into the sport water to save his son’s life.

Next Chapter: Chapter 6 - Eyeshines