Earth Thirst (The Arcadian Conflict) - By Mark Teppo Page 0,3
biopharmaceutical and agrichemical industries.
There's an entire speculative industry in the medical and pharmaceutical literature, and more than one startup has bet its entire existence upon a bit of specious speculation in the literature. In this case, there was an article that caught fire in the community last year about the wide-ranging physiological properties of cetacean cartilage. Suddenly, the whaling market—which had been suffering recently due to a downturn in whale meat prices—is hot again.
Prime Earth is one of those militant environmental groups with more money than sense, and armed with a boat and a plan, they think they're going to be able to make some sort of difference for a few whale pods. It's all very reductionist and symbolic—save the whales, save the planet—and it is the sort of Neo New Age argument that gets a lot of play with the easily manipulated nouveau wealthy housewife that wants to do something to offset her carbon footprint. It's the sort of part-time environmentalist ethos that puts a boat overflowing with zealous volunteers out in the middle of the Southern Ocean, intent on getting between a pair of harpoon boats and their target, and will ultimately be about as effective a deterrent as chaining yourself to a tree has been on the logging industry. It's an ugly setup that has all sorts of opportunities for someone to do something stupid and, out here in the middle of the Southern Ocean, the repercussions of stupidity could be lethal.
We're several hundred miles from solid ground. I wasn't worried about drowning, but salt water is corrosive to Arcadian flesh. Too long in sea water and the flesh becomes tainted and doesn't absorb nutrients well. The four of us are much more resilient than the rest of the crew, but we aren't indestructible.
Remember who is family.
Sometimes it is hard to know who to trust. It is hard to know a person's true motivation. You trust your family with your life because that is the way it has always been. That is what keeps us strong. But those bonds can only take so much stress for so long before they start to fray. Before they weaken.
Keep her close.
I wanted to know why Meredith Vanderhaven was on this boat. Regardless of the story I had sold Talus, the coincidence bothered me. Given her contentious history with the food industry and Big Ag, it was possible that our paths would cross again, but I didn't like the way she had beat the odds. Was there something else going on? Had she known we were going to be here?
Behind all these questions lay others. Whispers I want to ignore, questions I want to dismiss as nothing more than distorted echoes. What did she remember from that night? What have I forgotten?
The disease of neglected memory is an eventual consequence of leaving Mother's embrace, but seeing Mere again has triggered that nagging uneasiness much sooner than I would like. It contributes to my own paranoia and confounds my ability to think clearly. I get easier to spook. We all do.
There is something rotten about this mission.
* * *
“Do you know what Prime Earth is going to do when we find the whalers?” I ask Mere. We are standing on the starboard side of the upper deck, sheltered from the wind that is pushing us toward the heavy storm in the south. It's mid-afternoon, and even if the sun wasn't obscured by the clouds, it wouldn't be very high in the sky.
She is wearing a heavy coat, a thick stocking cap, and her throat is hidden by the voluminous folds of a wool scarf. The tip of her nose and her cheeks are red. She stamps her feet and I know she's thinking about going inside, but she won't go in. Not while I'm in a sharing mood. The air is clean enough that I could go without my coat and hat, but that would only draw attention to me. It's the second week of July—mid-winter in the Southern Ocean. The air is always cleaner in winter climates.
“I've seen the videos from last year,” she says. “A lot of playing chicken and throwing—what is it?—that acid on deck.”
“Butyric. Stink gas, essentially. When they take a whale on and carve it up, the acid gets into the flesh and ruins it. They can't sell it.”
“So they just have to throw it away?”
“Yes, unless they can find another use for it. Some other buyer.”