Earth Thirst Read Free

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.”
    She glances at me shrewdly. “Is there?”
    “A buyer? I wouldn't know.”
    Mere steps a little closer, letting my body act as a wind break. “Why are you here?” she asks.
    “Why do you think we're here?” I throw the question back on her. “You're the one who took an extended vacation to come down and join the cruise. How many weeks have you been playing at sailor?”
    “Two. And a half.”
    “And what have you seen during that time?”
    She shakes her head. “Lots of open water. Some birds; I think they were terns. I've been propositioned nearly a dozen times—only two of them have been poor sports about being turned down—and I've won around a hundred dollars in that endless poker game they run in the mess after dinner.” She lifts her shoulders and stares out at the sea. “Everyone is waiting for something to happen. Some of them are better at it than others. A few are… wound a little tight…” She trails off, and her words would have been lost in the bruising roar of the ocean against the hull of the boat if my hearing hadn't been so good.
    “What are they waiting for?”
    “Do you know what the whale market is like?” she asks, and when I don't immediately reply, she tells me. “Prime made an impact last year, but there's no sign any of their leadership actually bothered to notice. Japanese consumption of whale meat is down thirty percent from this time last year, and it's not from a lack of supply. Public perception has started to swing in an eco-friendly direction, and yet Kyodo Kujira sends out four boats for an extended whaling trip. In winter. They've been out for three weeks already, and I hear they're in no rush to return to port. Do you know how much it costs to keep these boats at sea for that long?”
    “More than I make in a year,” I reply, a tiny smile touching the corners of my mouth.
    “Really? How much does a private consultant like you make?”
    “Less than you think. My tax rate is insane.”
    “You should diversify your portfolio better.”
    “I would if I knew what those words meant.”
    She stands close to me, rising on her toes slightly to look closely at my eyes. I don't step back, though the smell of her breath and her blood is almost too much. “It's a matter of making good investments,” she breathes. “The wholesale price of whale meat is down forty percent. Over half the whalers never put out to sea this year, and yet Kyodo