Dashes and Dots

Donald had followed the boat for about twenty miles. He flicked his tail back and forth to put on a burst of speed. He extended his sail to give himself better aqua dynamics. He would have to break off for a bit soon to get something to eat, anytime now. It would be no trouble to relocate and catch up with the drug smugglers' boat. He activated the electronic transmitter in his skull to give the message that he was breaking off temporarily. It was basically Morse code based communications. Donald found that tremendously funny considering the other technology surrounding Project Anthropomorph. They could take the consciousness of a terminally ill agent and drop it in a sailfish, but resorted to dots and dashes to communicate. He would never speak to anyone any other way ever again most likely. It was a far cry better than allowing the natural progression of Fatal Familial Insomnia to occur. If he was going to be aware and trapped in a body, the freedom of the ocean was preferable by a wide margin.

He found a school of sardines and ate his fill. He went off in the direction he knew the boat was headed. The boat had a top speed which was around the same as his new body. They would not be leaning on the throttle though as a boat gunning it for the Florida shore attracts attention. Unless they were being chased they would keep it under thirty five knots. He could catch up and start following again in no time. It was also assured that no one would chase them as that would compromise his operation. He found the boat just outside United States waters. They were idling in international waters doing one last sweep for any Coast Guard or local police ships before making the last run. He swam deep underneath them circling.

Then he got an unexpected message.

".... ..- -. --. .-. -.—"

The translation device must be malfunctioning. He did not expect contact at this point. He had learned Morse code of course but it never seemed relevant to keep up with it. The transmit ion system encoded and decoded all the messages. It was supposed to be foolproof. It stood to reason that any scientist who could transfer human consciousness into another life form could devise a system which could reliably translate dots and dashes. Something started coming through again.

".... ..- -. --. .-. -.—"

It was distracting to know there was a message being sent that he could not translate. What if it was mission specific information that was essential? He sent a message to his handlers through the link.

"Your message is not translating. Something is wrong with the system. I am on the target. Proceed with surveillance; abort or take other action." {translate}

{receive}{Translate} "We have sent no message recently. We are monitoring you remotely. Please re-send conflicted message to us."

"Roger that. It is as follows: '.... ..- -. --. .-. -.—'; please translate and send back." {translate}

The boat was still idling without crossing out of international water. They were probably getting psyched up for the final run to the beach. He would keep pace with the boat and allow his team to instantly respond to the exact location of the drop. The sting would catch both sides of the transaction red-handed. The tracking beacon in his skull would allow them to find him within an inch.

{receive}{translate}"Translation complete on that message. It does not make sense. It must have come from another source nearby. Message reads only 'HUNGRY'. We do not know what that could mean."

".... ..- -. --. .-. -.—"

".... ..- -. --. .-. -.—"

".... ..- -. --. .-. -.—"

".... ..- -. --. .-. -.—"

".... ..- -. --. .-. -.—"

It felt like he was hit by a truck. He actually flew out of the water about three feet. Everything was a blur. He hit the water and tried to swim but couldn't move. The water was clouded and he couldn't see. He floated for a moment and gradually got out of the red fog as the current trailed behind him. He saw in the distance as something came through the gloom. The beast was huge. Its eyes rolled back and its teeth pushed forward. The giant maw engulfed his head and all went black.

Up on the boat the smugglers scanned the water with search lights trying to pinpoint the action. They saw the blood and the churning water but barely got any good sighting of predator or prey. The smaller man turned to the larger and shoved him.

"See, Paco, I told you paying off that scientist was good money spent. Now our little brother isn't trapped in that crippled body no more and we have a guardian angel on these runs."

"Yeah, but, Juan, I worry about him even now. You think he gets enough to eat? He was always so hungry!"

THE END

Bio: Ed Sullivan is an enthusiastic newcomer to getting published. He has been writing fiction for twenty five years. He has taken the leap just recently and begun submitting. He raises his daughter, works, writes, and spends time in his own strange thoughts most days.

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