Starfish

"I never said those things. I don't even have kids."

"No you don't. But the point is, pedophiles often claim to be acting in the best interests of the children. They turn sexual abuse into an act of altruism, if you will."

"It's not abuse. It's what you do if you really love someone."

Scanlon leaned back in his chair and studied Fischer for a few moments.

"That's what's so interesting about you, Gerry."

"What?"

"Everyone uses that line. You're the only person I've met who might actually believe it."

* * *

In the end, they said they could take care of the charges. He knew there had to be more to it than that, of course; they'd make him volunteer for some sort of experiment, or donate some of his organs, or submit to voluntary castration first. But the catch, when it came, wasn't any of those things. He almost couldn't believe it.

They wanted to give him a job.

"Think of it as community service," Scanlon said. "Restitution to all of society. You'd be underwater most of the time, but you'd be well-equipped."

"Underwater where?"

"Channer Vent. About forty kilometers north of the Axial Volcano, on the Juan de Fuca Rift. Do you know where that is, Gerry?"

"How long?"

"One year minimum. You could extend that if you wanted to."

Fischer couldn't think of any reason why he would, but it didn't matter. If he didn't take this deal they'd stick a governor in his head for the rest of his life. Which might not be that long, when you thought about it.

"One year," he said. "Underwater."

Scanlon patted his arm. "Take your time, Gerry. Think about it. You don't have to decide until this afternoon."

Do it, Shadow urged. Do it or they'll cut into you and you'll change…

But Fischer wasn't going to be rushed. "So what do I do for one year, underwater?"

Scanlon showed him a vid.

"Geez," Fischer said. "I can't do any of that."

"No problem." Scanlon smiled. "You'll learn."

* * *

He did, too.

A lot of it happened while he was sleeping. Every night they'd give him an injection, to help him learn, Scanlon said. Afterwards a machine beside his bed would feed him dreams. He could never exactly remember them but something must have stuck, because every morning he'd sit at the console with his tutor — a real person, though, not a program — and all the text and diagrams she showed him would be strangely familiar. Like he'd known it all years ago, and had just forgotten. Now he remembered everything: plate tectonics and subduction zones, Archimedes Principle, the thermal conductivity of two percent hydrox. Aldosterone.

Alloplasty.

He remembered his left lung after they cut it out, and the technical specs on the machines they put in its place.

Afternoons, they'd attach leads to his body and saturate his striated muscles with low-amp current. He was starting to understand what was going on, now; the term was induced isometrics, and its meaning had come to him in a dream.

A week after the operation he woke up with a fever.

"Nothing to worry about," Scanlon told him. "That's just the last stage of your infection."

"Infection?"

"We shot you up with a retrovirus the day you came here. Didn't you know?"

Fischer grabbed Scanlon's arm. "Like a disease? You —»

"It's perfectly safe, Gerry." Scanlon smiled patiently, disentangling himself. "In fact, you wouldn't last very long down there without it; human enzymes don't work well at high pressure. So we loaded some extra genes into a tame virus and sent it in. It's been rewriting you from the inside out. Judging by your fever I'd say it's nearly finished. You should be feeling better in a day or so."

"Rewriting?"

"Half your enzymes come in two flavors now. They got the genes from one of those deep-water fish. Rattails, I think they're called." Scanlon patted Fischer on the shoulder. "So how does it feel to be part fish, Gerry?"

"Coryphaenoides armatus," Fischer said slowly.

Scanlon frowned. "What was that?"

"Rattails." Fischer concentrated. "Mostly dehydrogenases, right?"

Scanlon glanced at the machine by the bed. "I'm, um, not sure."

"That's it. Dehydrogenases. But they tweaked them to reduce the activation energy." He tapped his temple. "It's all here. Only I haven't done the tutorial yet."

"That's great," Scanlon said; but he didn't sound like he meant it.

* * *

One day they put him in a tank built like a piston, five stories tall: its roof could press down like a giant hand, squeezing whatever was inside. They sealed the hatch and flooded the tank with seawater.

Scanlon had warned him about the change. "We flood your trachea and your head cavities, but your lung and intestines aren't rigid so they just squeeze down. We're immunizing you against pressure, you see? They say it's a bit like drowning, but you get used to it."

It wasn't that bad, actually. Fischer's guts twisted in on themselves, and his sinuses burned like hell, but he'd take that over another bout with Kevin any day.