Martin, Abby and Vincent set out after breakfast, their chartered skimmer carrying them beyond sight of New Canberra within minutes, reducing the coastline to a dark thread until that too faded into blue horizon. Once out on the open water, the giant yellow sun turned merciless, singeing unprotected skin against upholstery and evaporating the sweat off their bodies so quickly they were constantly brushing salt from their faces. The only relief was the occasional bow spray as their pilot made minute course corrections. If necessary, the skimmer could close up like an aircraft and fly above the weather, but on a day such as this the rear deck and flying bridge were open to the sun, the skimmer itself a gleaming white trident cutting across the flat deep blue.

All around their craft, two-foot long pectoral fins flashed silver in the blazing sun as flying jacks made a game of leaping from the water across the open sport deck. During a course change, one of the flying fish fell short, flopping down inside the skimmer. Abby cut her hand on one of the jack's dorsal spines helping Martin scoop it overboard. The wound was quickly dressed, then forgotten, as a jet of water geysered into the sky several kilometers beyond the prow of their craft.

"Is that a water spout?" Martin yelled up to the pilot on the flying bridge.

The skimmer pilot squinted at the plume, adjusting the bill of his cap to shade his eyes. "Not likely mate. Exhale plume. That'd be a brodbinger. I'd guess a bull from the size of it."

The pilot smiled down at them with that impossibly flat grin only those with no teeth can pull off. The unruly beard flattened like a shrub going under the wheels of a truck and he cackled at his guests.

"Don't see many in this close to shore." Forgoing the last few rungs on the ladder, the pilot dropped to the deck with a squeaking of battered rubber soles. Knocking on Martin's chest with the back of his fist, he added, "You'll want to record this for your girl, mate."

Martin ignored the pilot's supposition and turned back to his father. "Dad, what'd you do with my bag?"

"I don't have your bag." Vincent shrugged.

Martin paused, studying his father to determine whether or not Vincent was baiting him. "When we left the hotel I asked you if you had my bag."

His father shook his head. "You said you had your bag."

"No, I said , 'got my bag?' as in, do you have it with you?"

Mouth open in disbelief, Vincent stood his ground. "You didn't bring a camera."

"For chrissake dad..." Martin shook his head.

"Oh, stop it, you two." Abby stepped between father and son, gently pushing them apart with her fingertips. "I swear, it's a wonder you Americans ever made it beyond the colonies. I have a camera in my tote."

The pilot laughed again and Abby fetched her holocam from the salon. Minutes later the skimmer sailed across the expanse of water that had sprouted the plume and the pilot cut the drive.

"Keep a watch, mates. He's probably gone deep, but if he - HOLY RIPPA!"

With a roar of sheeting water, the ocean floor heaved to the surface, cutting off the horizon. A horizontal rain blasted pellets of seawater across the deck. Martin grabbed the railing, wrapping his other arm around Abby's waist as an undulating, gray green mountain porpoised directly in their path.

He spit out a briny mouthful, yelling above the crashing water. "What is that?"

"Manta Whale!" Abby shouted back.

"Hang on..." the pilot warned. The rest was drowned out by the scream of lift impellers as he firewalled the skimmer's engines. Water cascading from the mountainous back had splashed up a green tidal wave that was bearing down on them.

Clinging to Martin's neck, Abby started laughing.

"Oh great, you're a psycho." Martin chuckled down at her. Before she could defend her sanity, a sudden G-load pushed the deck into their knees. In the next instant, they found themselves sprawled on their asses as the skimmer quickly climbed to a safe altitude. Water squished under Martin's back as he rolled to his feet. Still laughing, Abby held one arm skyward, holocam safely high and dry.

Martin reached down to pull her to her feet. "Are you okay?'

Her answer came back through stuttering laughter. "Nothing bruised but my backside."

At the rear of the sport deck, Vincent's pride appeared to have suffered more damage than anything else. The normally wild shock of white hair was plastered to his scalp. Disgustedly, he kicked out his leg to shake the water from his clinging trousers.

"Damn fish." He grumbled. "What the hell was that anyway?"

Hopping down from the flying bridge, the skimmer pilot pulled off his hat, wringing seawater from it. "Like I said mate, that's a brodbinger. Largest living thing in the known universe..." the pilot canted his balding head over the side before reseating the ballcap, "...'ave a look."

Cautiously, Martin and Abby joined them to peer over the stern.

"Oh my god." Abby whispered, while Martin simply gazed down.

Vincent let loose a low whistle. "Can't believe something that big is alive."

The giant skate's silhouette darkened the sea in every direction. Wingtips the size of hills broke the surface a hundred meters distant on each side of them and the massive body crested like an island rising from the depths. The polished back rolled from the water, blotting out the ocean. Martin stretched out his hand, watching the creature pass beneath his fingers and was struck with the intuition that the gray green skin would be as supple and warm as that of any child's. He flexed his fingers and spread them again to reconfirm his impression and Abby leaned closer, resting her cheek against his shoulder. The fleeting connection to the giant was gone. He closed his fist to withdraw his hand and Abby covered it with her own.

"What are you feeling right now?" She asked.

"Insignificance."

She drew back to see him better and a breeze stirred her hair into a golden halo about her face. "They say these creatures are the most intelligent life we'll ever find out hereÊthat we're truly alone in the universe."

Martin swept a stray lock from her face with his finger. "I can think of worse ways to be left alone."

She drew her tongue across her lips. "Good answer."

"Glad you approve." He smiled back.

Beneath them, the brodbinger's giant fluke carved a valley in the ocean and the leviathan sounded, quickly fading into the depths. They waited for several minutes to see if the native wonder would reappear on the horizon. Minutes later Vincent finally pushed away from the railing and clapped the pilot on the back. "Let's go fishin'...mate."

****

The closer they got to their goal, the looserÊand sharperÊVincent's tongue became. By the time they reached their fishing grounds, the elder Hoy was happily cursing in his element as he and Martin set about in their pursuit of a native shark called a blue cap by the locals.

Abby suggested lunch before they committed their lines to the water. Before she could return from the salon with a tray of cold cuts, Martin and Vincent had rods trailing over the stern and were hosing the bloody remains of their bait over the side. After taking a hearty snack up to the pilot on the flying bridge, she returned to the sport deck to find them arguing over the proper construction of a sandwich. Drying his hands on a scrap of towel, Martin was wearing a decidedly disgusted look.

"Dad, how can you even taste anything besides mayonnaise?"

"Hey, lay off boy. Bet your lady friend there appreciates the finer things in life." Vincent said and dropped into his fighting chair.

On cue, Abby grabbed the knife, slathering a heel of wheat bread with more of the offensive spread. "Don't mind if I join you, Vincent."

"Smart girl." He nodded at Martin who snorted at him.

"Dad, she's from England. They eat fried blood and rooster colons, and shit like that."

"Nothing but the finest rooster, mind you." Abby taunted while licking a white smear from the edge of her palm.

"I'm sure it's a little slice of heaven for the taste buds." Martin winked at her to show he meant no offense. "Come on Abby, look, there's more on his sandwich than there is in the jar."

"So? What're you afraid there won't be enough left for ya?" With an evil grin, Vincent pulled the top slice of bread from his sandwich, holding it out to his son.

"Get that shit away from me." Martin backpedaled away from the offer.

"I knew we shoulda told the doc you landed on your head." Vincent slapped the bread back on his sandwich, turning back to watch their lines.

Seating herself to follow the banter, Abby began munching a spear of dill pickle. Martin left his own lunch untouched, still staring at his dad's profile. Vincent took another bite from his thick sandwich. The creamy white blob at the corner of his mouth sagged down his chin. It was too much for Martin to bear.

"You want a napkin, dad?"

Vincent simply stared out over the water, refusing to look at him. "Nope," he answered flatly.

"How , 'bout a squeegee?"

Despite himself, Vincent's face cracked in a smile. "How , 'bout you shut up and let me eat."

"Sure. Would a spoon help?"

Abby had to clamp her fingers over her mouth to keep the pickle from shooting across the deck. Martin forgot about his dad as she grabbed up her plate, heading for the forward cabin.

"You two are going to make me choke on my lunch." She laughed, patting at her chest. "I think I'm just going to change."

Leaving them to resolve their condiment dispute, Abby stepped into the cabin, pulling the salon door shut behind her. Setting down the plate, she shed her shorts and top, revealing the gold two-piece bathing suit Tamela had helped her pick out the day she arrived on Tellus. A few more bites from her sandwich and she pulled her hair into a ponytail, donned her sunglasses and stepped back out onto the sport deck. Satisfied with the double take she got from Martin, she settled onto a chaise lounge near the railing. A small bottle from her tote issued a dime of tanning accelerator into her palm and she began working the milky gel into her skin, taking care to avoid noticing her audience.

Martin swallowed hard as she started rubbing down a perfect calf. Out of the corner of his eye he caught his dad watching him watch her. It suddenly occurred to him that his father had yet to retaliate for the squeegee crack.

"Do you mind?" Martin hissed at him.

Finished with her legs, Abby finally looked up at him, smiling sweetly. Oh, I can't be that lucky, Martin thought. Incredibly, she held out the bottle to him. "Would you mind doing my back?"

Abby tucked her lips between her teeth as both men abandoned their seats.

"She meant me dad." Martin growled, shooting his father a hot glare as he stepped across the deck.

Grinning, Vincent excused himself to go to the forward cockpit, shouting up at the pilot for a tour of the forward section of the sleek craft. He waited for the pilot to join him at the cabin door and together, they disappeared through salon, leaving Martin and Abby alone on the sport deck.

Martin stared at the empty space on the chaise behind her. She leaned forward, dragging the ponytail across her shoulder and his mouth dried up. The panic-inducing image of him smoothly swinging his leg across the chair to sit, and accidentally kicking her in the head in the process, tumbled through his mind. He made a mental note to get a grip and stepped closer to the chaise. Carefully swinging his leg over the chair to straddle the seat brought him mere inches from the curve of her back. His hands shook as he popped the cap off the bottle. The sweet aroma of cocoa butter and aloe coated the sticky air between them. The first drop of accelerator plopped onto the cushion next to his leg. Quickly, he brushed his palms across his shorts.

"Is everything okay back there?" She asked with a smile on her voice.

"Yeah, just let me, uh, get the cap..."

Fumbling for a firmer grip, Martin shook a blob into his palm and abandoned the bottle to the deck. A pleasant hum trilled from her lips as he spread his palms across her skin, gliding about the golden string holding her top on. Massaging down the small of her back, he gradually became aware of her subtly rocking in concert with his hands. His shorts creased uncomfortably. She leaned further back and he tried sucking in his already flattened stomach, praying it was enough. Then a finger brushed the curve of her breast and there was no room between them. His hands retreated to her shoulders and the straps of her top rolled all too willingly beneath them. The ponytail whispered across the back of his hand and she sighed, tipping her head forward. The scent of clean rain drifted up from her hair and it was all he could do to resist pulling her to him, to slide his hands around her belly and cup her breast....

"Martin. Hey boy, you gotta come see this stateroom setup." Vincent called out from within the cabin. Beneath the rhythmic slapping of waves against the skimmer's hull, Martin made out the low, rumbling conversation of his father and the pilot returning through the salon. Thankful his dad had the presence of mind to offer a subtle warning they were coming back outside, he trailed his fingers down Abby's back in a chill-inducing brush and quickly stood, turning to conceal himself. He stole a quick glance down at her as she lay back in the chaise. Eyes closed behind the dark glasses, she slowly drew a knee up.

"Thank you." She murmured.

He responded with a barely audible, "You're welcome," and crossed the deck in three quick steps, darting between his father and the pilot who were exiting the cabin. "Dad, I'm going for a beer - you want one?"

"Hell yeah," came back as Martin ducked through the door.

Safely out of sight, he leaned against the galley bar, blowing out his next few breaths. Lingering for several moments, he decided he was ready to venture back outside. He grabbed two beers from the chiller and returned to the sport deck. Momentarily blinded by the sun gleaming from the hull, he groped his way back to the stern, ignoring the amused stare of the pilot. He handed his dad one of the cold blue cans and dropped into the second fighting chair.

Vincent chuckled, prying at the top of his beer. The tab popped and the can hissed at him. He swallowed half in a long pull and let loose a seismic belch. Martin glanced at him sideways. Anticipating his son's unasked question, the elder Hoy leaned across the arm of his chair.

"Son, you are one of the sharpest men I've ever known, but sometimes that head of yours is your own worst enemy."

Martin dropped his busy gaze to stare at the traction-textured deck, accepting the assessment without remark.

Vincent's pole snapped without warning, threatening to jump from its cradle. Leaning dangerously far beyond the bridge railing, the pilot stabbed a finger at the water. "Fish on, mates!"

"Holy shit!" Out of habit, Vincent jerked his rod to set the hook and was nearly yanked from his chair. He groaned out another curse, face contorted with the strain of reseating his rod in the cradle as he was dragged to the edge of his seat.

Martin cleared his line from the water and jumped behind his dad's chair, flipping the harness across Vincent's chest. Two hundred feet out, an electric blue missile shot from the sea. Martin let go of the harness strap, straightening for a better view. Flashing a snow-white belly, the sleek body knifed beneath the water. A brief glimpse of a lunate tail, and Vincent's line went slack.

Behind them, the pilot was clambering down the ladder. "That's a , 'cap alright. Looks like she's a scrapper."

The line dangled over the side and Vincent cursed. "Did I lose it?"

"Not likely." The pilot mused, stroking his beard.

Abby reached beneath her chaise, digging the holocam from her tote. Sitting back up to record the catch, she spied a bright blue torpedo dashing for their craft.

"Look out!" She shouted.

Vincent knocked over his beer, bellowing in astonishment as a fanged rocket flung itself from the water at the skimmer's outrigger pylon. Endless rows of teeth scored jagged dimples in the foil, the alloy screaming in sharp protest as the shark fought to tear dinner plates from the titanium skin. An elegant sail swept down the shark's sinewy back to the scythe-like tail. Within moments, the vibrant blue fin was a deep purple, quickly fading to black as the enraged fish thrashed the sea into foam.

Martin looked over his shoulder to see Abby's mouth working silently while she recorded the monster convulsing against the outrigger. Behind him, Vincent managed to buckle his reel into the chair harness before the tug of war resumed.

"Damn! Now that's a fish!" He spit.

Martin glanced back out over the water and froze in place. "Oh, I don't believe this shit." Standing on its tail, the , 'cap hoisted a third of it's body clear of the water. The blunt pectoral fins drooped, and, for an instant, it appeared as if the fish were posturing. Martin suddenly expected it to try bumping chests with him. Instead, the shark rolled an awful, coal black eye at the spectators on the open deck.

"Uh, oh!" Vincent pitched the rod, scrambling out of the harness as the shark heeled over, sprinting through the water for the skimmer's stern. Martin grabbed his father and the world upended, both men dropping to the safety of the deck as the bluecap slammed into the central keel.

"Jesus!" Martin panted.

Rolling to his hands and knees, he recoiled, arms and legs pinwheeling him away from the sharp snout next to his face. The fish had bear trap jaws clamped on the gunnel, trying to chew its way through the side. Scores of jagged yellow teeth snapped from the mouth like broken tile, only to be quickly filled in by gleaming replacements from behind. Relinquishing its hold, the shark slipped below the surface and resumed its attack against the keel.

The skimmer pilot appeared at Martin's elbow and handed him a stainless marine rifle. "Well mate, ready to cash in? Or do you want to try hangin' with this rippa' for a bit longer?"

"Fuck that!" Vincent snorted, climbing to his feet.

Watching through the holocam's viewfinder, Abby smiled as Martin tried handing the rifle to his father. Shaking his head, Vincent pushed the weapon away.

"It's your fish!" Martin protested.

"Bullshit." Vincent refused to yield. "You think I want that thing comin' out of the water after me?"

Standing on its tail again, the shark tangled the leader under the outrigger and dove for the water inboard of the pylon. Pulled up short by the tough line, the bluecap crashed into the outrigger wing with a ship-shaking bang. The fish sagged from the leader. Gill slits gaping like mortal wounds, the shark rolled onto its back, trapped at the surface. A shudder rippled the pale belly.

Abby gasped, unaware she had been holding her breath. Panning the camera, she caught Martin pumping a shell into the weapon's chamber. The noisy click-clack earned an unexpected scream from overhead. She lifted the camera to see dozens of sea birds circling the skimmer. It seemed an impossible sight; they were over two hundred kilometers from shore. Heart hammering under her breast, she turned the camera back on the doomed shark.

Martin lifted the rifle. It was far too light for his comfort. Intended to float if dropped overboard, the weapon seemed to leap to his shoulder of its own volition, eager to do its work. The thought pricked a chill through his body. He pushed it aside and settled on his mark. Across the open sights, the shark glared at him. Finely variegated threads of turquoise painted a multitude of peacock eyes across the sleek head. Scarlet dribbling from the cruel curve of its mouth stained a pink ribbon down the snowy belly.

Martin's blood began pounding in his ears. Sweat itched down his forehead, stinging his eyes, and he screwed them shut. He opened them again. The barrel wandered off target. A low cursed leaked from the corner of his mouth as he realized he had held his shot too long. He relaxed his grip to compensate.

Abby jerked as the rifle boomed.

Wrenching itself free of the outrigger, the shark vanished beneath the waves. Wide-eyed, Vincent whirled on his son.

"You missed!" He roared. "You never miss. You haven't missed, ever..."

Martin set the weapon aside, stooping to pick up one of the teeth left behind by their would-be catch. Behind them, the skimmer pilot began retrieving the fishing line, eyeing the cleanly sheared end when it reached his hand. The beard squashed into another rubberband-lipped smile.

"No mate." The pilot dropped the severed line at his feet. "I don't believe he did."

Straightening up, Martin carefully pressed the razor sharp trophy into his father's hand. "I'm sure Abby will make you a copy of her vid to show off," he said, searching his father's face for approval. "Besides, there's no way mom'd ever let you hang something that big in her house."

Nodding, a smile spread across Vincent's face while he examined the tooth's serrated edges. Turning to Abby, he held the yellowed point up for her to record.

"Did you see that? Shot the line in half. In half! With a slug, no less."

The skimmer pilot joined in, celebrating their success with a hearty round of backslapping. Within minutes, the length of the shark grew from eight to ten feet, the duration of their battle with the marine killer increasing with its length.