The Dolphin Ambassador

CHAPTER 3

Whales were many things to many people, and to Heather Souza, this week they were a paycheck. It was turning out to be a frustrating and irritating paycheck, but Newsweek paid well for special projects, and Heather had nothing better going, anyway.

Newsweek Within a span of ten short days, both the International Whaling Commission and the Marine Mammal Conference were holding high profile meetings in San Diego. Wanting to jump on the oceanic bandwagon, the magazine had asked Heather to check out, “the dolphin and tuna net situation, as well as anything else whale-related interesting. There might even be something about global warming as well.” The editor had told her they were willing to do several stories if there were enough issues to support them.

Heather shook her head and scribbled more notes. The problem was, there were too many issues. There were so many sides, so many players, and so many squabbles, she could barely keep track, and the Commission was only in its second day. The MMC didn’t even begin until the end of the week. Too many complicated issues was Heather’s specialty. She was a master at sorting through both fact and fiction, then presenting the most reasonable resemblance of the truth. The magazine had called her for this very reason. She was well known among free-lancers as the least likely to get emotionally involved in a story. This one would be easy. She didn’t know the first thing about whales.

Heather sat in the shade of several tropical trees, just outside a meeting room of a large hotel in Mission Bay, impatiently waiting for the delegate from Iceland to respond to a note she had sent in. His name was Vashon, which didn’t particularly sound Icelandic to Heather, although she silently admitted she wasn’t familiar with anything from Iceland. It had been over an hour, and no one had entered or left the closed-door meeting. She looked at her watch, then decided to stretch her legs and pick up a coffee.

The large door opened just as Heather stood up, and the Icelandic delegate stepped out. He was short with long gray hair on the sides of a head, which supported none on top. His mustache was dark gray, and he looked at Heather through round wire glasses. His suit was nearly the color of his hair, and Heather almost wanted to call him Mr. Gray.

“Thank you for coming out, Mr. Vashon,” she said.

“You are lucky to be here,” said Vashon with an accent Heather had never before heard. “You’ll be first to hear the announcement of Iceland.”

“Which is?” asked Heather. She began writing in her notebook.

“Beginning immediately, Iceland had decided to quit the International Whaling Commission,” said Vashon. “Iceland rejects the Commission’s moratorium on commercial whaling outright. We will resume commercial whaling at once.”

Taken completely off guard, Heather took a short breath and looked up from her pad. She had prepared her line of questions to grill the man on why Iceland had finally bowed to public pressure to abandon its whaling fleet. Yet another strange angle to such a complex story.

“Okay,” said Heather. “That’s quite an announcement.”

“Yes,” said Vashon. “Reluctantly, we had gone along with world pressure. It was a mistake. The oceans are far too important for us to ignore as a food source.”

“You obviously agree with this,” said Heather.

“We were responding to the boycott of Icelandic fish by uninformed Americans,” said Vashon. “My country can’t survive unless we export fish, and the American market is too important. But the first concern is feeding our people, as well as the growing markets in Japan. We will also take some for scientific purposes.”

“So, it comes down to money,” said Heather.

“Of course,” said Vashon. “Doesn’t everything in today’s new world order come down to money? But it also comes down to food. Whale meat is an important food source.”

Years of interviews on every imaginable subject had conditioned Heather for situations like this. Her expression remained rock solid, despite her immediate desire to gag at the concept of eating whale meat.

The image of a dead whale washed up on Mission Beach flashed through her mind. She suddenly remembered covering the story about four years earlier. An old gray whale had somehow died and wound up floating in the surf. A lifeguard boat ultimately ended up towing the carcass out to sea.

What struck Heather most about the incident was how badly the whale had reeked. To this day, she had never smelled anything even close, and she had experienced many a nostril burner during her years working in news. It had taken weeks to get the stench out of her nose. How anyone could eat something so foul was beyond her.

“Is whale meat popular in Iceland?” Heather asked.

“To some extent, yes,” said Vashon. “But most of our product goes to Japan.”

“Money, again,” said Heather.

Vashon nodded and shrugged his shoulders. Heather couldn’t fault the man. At least he was being honest.

“You mentioned scientific purposes?” Heather asked.

“Yes,” said Vashon. “Probably about thirty a year. We wish to learn more about whales so we can help them replenish their stocks. It’s true that we may have hunted them too much in the past, but our current research says many species have made remarkable strides in replenishing their stocks. We want to find a way to increase their numbers, we can continue to hunt them in the future.”

“So, you don’t think the moratorium will be permanent,” said Heather.

“No,” said Vashon. “The world’s human population continues to grow at a frightening pace. We need to start looking in other directions for food, or we will shortly run out. I, for one, have no intention of starving while the oceans hold vast abundances of food.”

* * *

The golden light of the Creator sparkled through the early morning blue, hinting of another calm day. The trend had lifted the water to a slightly warmer level, and for this, Pheyus was glad. Spirits tended to lighten with warmth, and Pheyus hoped his heart would finally begin to thaw.

Nearly six months had passed since the dreadful attack on the company. Six months since Afalla had vanished, and until the previous night, Pheyus had still been unable to push his last images of her from his mind. Finally, he was able to remember her face as it had been in the happy times. Finally, Pheyus was thawing out.

Forty-seven others had perished that day, too. Very few had actually died in the nets. The true disaster didn’t occur until the brutal attack by the Crassidens, who for some reason only favored the taste of Delphine when they were trapped in nets. What was it about this ocean? How could such a friendly species as Stenella have so many enemies?

Thirty of the company who managed to escape were too injured to survive even a month. Pheyus had watched helplessly as another of his friends fell to the jaws of a brainless bull shark, who would easily would have been evaded under normal circumstances. Pheyus had tried to distract the shark, but it honed in on the injured Hatho, who’d lost his ability to echolocate after an explosion.

Pheyus shuddered, despite the warmth, and tried to think about something else. He slowly broke the surface to breathe, then lazily drifted along the calm Border.

He absently listened to the chatter of the company. There were close to eight hundred of them, and they all sounded cheerful this morning. He decided to whistle his name to see if anyone needed him. Not hearing it whistled in response, he took another breath and then rolled over on his back to do some thinking.

Pheyus was the Secretary of Tursiops affairs. He acted as ambassador, more or less, when the company encountered their bottlenose cousins. It was a prestigious position, and one he had worked hard not only to achieve, but to maintain as well. Tursiops, in addition to being nearly twice the size of the Stenella, were famous for their volatile and territorial nature. Shunning the security and food scouting services, Pheyus had always worked ambitiously toward diplomacy. He had fallen into favor early on with the ruling Stellars, and achieved the secretary of Stenella affairs while most of his friends were still counting their spots. Now, after fifteen cycles of the seasons, he was on the high-water edge of the political wave.

Dealing with the other lines of Stenella was a pleasure. They were smaller than the Spotteds, and were usually more interested in playing and having jumping contests than anything else. In the afternoons, the Spinning Stenella would usually huddle close together and rest, using their Spotted Stenella cousins for security, only to take off at night in search of food, and not return the favor.

Pheyus heard his name whistled, followed by the whistles of two Tursiops. He immediately turned back upright and raced off in their direction, toward the rear of the company. There were seventeen of them, and they had come to play. They were diving and circling wildly with several of the company, who had joined in the romp. Three of the younger Stenella left the water simultaneously, then splashed hard beside a young Tursiops who squealed with delight.

Pheyus loved encounters like this. No diplomacy required. He knew he would have to remain close by, because Tursiops were notorious for changing moods without warning, but he didn’t anticipate any problems this time. In fact, the entire ordeal was turning into a big party, and Pheyus was tempted to join in.

He suddenly felt an echo shock and heard his name whistled with the accent of Tursiops. He whistled back, then saw one of the larger visitors break away and speed toward him. It was Thoddy, one of his oldest friends in Tursiops. Without speaking, Pheyus turned so the two were side-by-side, and used his right pectoral fin to rub Thoddy’s left one. They each smiled warmly with the greeting, commonly referred to as a peck-rub, and looked each other over carefully before speaking. The peck-rub helped assess frame of mind by the spiritual energy passed between the two. It also felt good.

Although both of them were full grown, Thoddy was nearly twice the size of Pheyus. He was smooth, silver-gray, and if not for the whites around the sides of his eyeballs, he looked almost identical to a young Stenella.

“Well, Pheyus, you remember how to smile,” said Thoddy.

“Yes,” said Pheyus. “I know it’s been a long time, but I think things are finally getting better.”

“It’s good to hear,” said Thoddy.

Turning away from the rest of the company, the two of them went to the Border for air. They each took three breaths, and then dropped about ten fins. Tursiops preferred to stay under without breathing for about five minutes, which was nearly double the time favored by Stenella, although the latter would usually stay down longer when in mixed company, simply to appease their fickle guests.

“I see your mooching friends are back,” said Thoddy, referring to the swarms of yellowfin tuna swimming beneath the company.

“Yes,” said Pheyus. “Almost all of them disappeared on that day of the evil boats.”

“I know,” said Thoddy. “You know, of course, the boats were after the tuna, and not the Stenella.”

“We all know,” said Pheyus.

“Then why do you permit them to swim with you?” asked Thoddy, his voice almost accusing.

Pheyus looked at his large friend and smiled gently. “It’s not for us to determine how others live and eat,” said Pheyus.

“Pheyus, Pheyus. Always the philosopher,” chided Thoddy. “So much like your kind. You’re the perfect ambassador.”

“Yes, Thoddy, I know,” said Pheyus. “But I am also a realist. Have you considered my request from when we last met?” Thoddy’s expression turned slightly more serious. With a quick motion of his flukes, he was instantly at the Border for some air. Pheyus followed, and they remained at the edge, with their dorsals protruding out of the water. Thoddy turned his head and looked at Pheyus from the side, a Tursiops trick completely impossible to Stenella.

“Pheyus, you know we can’t help,” said Thoddy. Pheyus began to send an argument, but stopped. He hadn’t really expected much from the Tursiops.

“No, it’s not like that,” said Thoddy, apparently reading his aura. “Believe me, I’ve thought about it long and hard. There aren’t enough of us, and it’s simply too dangerous.”

Pheyus nodded, then took a breath. When he had asked Thoddy to think of ways to safely escape nets, he never expected the Tursiops to come to the rescue. He had only wanted ideas, and apparently, Thoddy misunderstood.

“Get rid of the tuna,” said Thoddy. “It’s the safest way. Take my word for it. We don’t let tuna get anywhere near us, and we’ve never had problems with the killer boats.”

“The safest way?” asked Pheyus. “Does that mean there are others?”

“You could always ask the men to stop,” Thoddy said facetiously.

“Come on,” said Pheyus. “I’m serious. Is that what you were thinking about?”

“No,” Thoddy said simply. “Dealing with humans is out of the question.”

“Then what?” asked Pheyus. “You have ideas.”

“None worth sharing,” said Thoddy. He took a quick breath and bolted back toward the other Tursiops.

Pheyus was beside him immediately. Despite the superior size and strength of Tursiops, they were still no match for the speed of Stenella.

“What?” demanded Pheyus, as they sped toward the company. Thoddy shifted his weight, sending them both in a sharp turn in the opposite direction.

“You see me,” said Thoddy. “You think I’m big because I’m bigger than you. Well, I’m only big enough to be bigger than you, but not enough to get you out of a net.”

“So?” asked Pheyus.

“So, you need much larger help than I can give,” said Thoddy. “But I think it’s out there. It’s dangerous, but it’s out there.”

“The nets are more dangerous,” said Pheyus, becoming irritated with the roundabout ways of the Tursiops.

“Yes, well, maybe so,” said Thoddy. “But you need big help. The only option I could think of big enough to help is one I’ll give you only because I think you’re smart enough to not use it.” Pheyus stopped abruptly, signaling the Tursiops to do the same.

“What is it, Thoddy?” asked Pheyus.

Thoddy mimicked an echo shock which gave Pheyus a shudder. The Tursiops stared at him sideways for several moments, and then floated to the air-line. He slapped the surface twice with his tail, summoning the others of his group. They turned their flukes to the Stenella in unison, and with quick, sudden flips, they were gone.