a.k.a Good Vibrations II
just when you thought it was safe, an unoriginal storyline…
GARY MITCHELL LIFEGUARD BOOK FIVE
“Pet Sounds”
“But I'm telling you, and I'm telling everybody at this table that that's a shark! And I know what a shark looks like, because I've seen one up close. And you'd better do something about this one, because I don't intend to go through that hell again!”
Martin Brody (Roy Scheider) Jaws 2 (1978)
Researchers from […] the University of California-Davis […] put satellite and acoustic tags on 179 white sharks in Northern California waters from 2000 to 2008. They found that most of the sharks migrated thousands of miles every year, from California to as far away as Hawaii, and five swam underneath the Golden Gate Bridge in 2007 and 2008 and into bay waters. It isn't known exactly where the sharks went once in the bay, only that their acoustic tags were detected by receivers anchored to the bay floor between the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz Island.
…Barbara Block, a professor of biology at Stanford's Hopkins Marine Station in Pacific Grove who helped lead the tagging study- "I doubt they are coming in very far because they are salt water animals."
[…] Since 1952, there have been 99 white shark attacks in all of California, according to […] records, and 10 fatalities. Most were surfers or divers in places where elephant seals and sea lions ” some of the white sharks' primary prey ” are frequent.
"We tend to think of white sharks as animals that wander oceans aimlessly," said Block. "What we're learning is how selective a predator they are. The go up to 4,000 miles in a trip and come back to within half a mile of where they left."
The five sharks that came into San Francisco Bay represent less than one percent of the nearly 64,000 detections researchers picked up along the California coast from acoustic tags. Some details are known about the bay visits, however.
, March 11, 2009 (Paul Rogers, http://www.mercurynews.com/top-stories/ci_13705470)
PET SOUNDS
CHAPTER ONE
Cetacean Institute, Tiburon Island, San Francisco Bay
April 2259
The school children from St. Anna’s Elementary School in the Mission District of San Francisco were led into the small hall at the rear of the Institute. This traditionally was the last room trips were taken through on their way out, for it led onto the water tank that enabled them to look down on it. It was also a way of attracting interest in the wildlife of San Francisco and surrounding waters.
Doctor Mindy Rogers stopped by a sixteen foot long glass box that was ten foot high. “This is a recent exhibit, have a closer look kids.”
Inside the box was a collection of bones laid lengthwise in some vague pattern. At the end where Rogers stood was a massive set of teeth, each tooth as sharp as a razor.
“What is it?” asked one kid, wide-eyed as he stared at the jaws.
“This was a Great White Shark that swam into the Bay two years ago. The first one recorded in the Bay for some time.”
The kids were all fascinated. The notes on the box labelled the shark as twenty-five foot long. It did not point out that the shark had been blown to bits to stop it from wreaking further havoc. By the time of its own death it had claimed at least three swimmers in the Bay. They were the first deaths by shark after 1959.
“What happened to it?” one kid asked.
“It was stopped by a man trying to save the lives of people stuck in the Bay.” That seemed the best way of explaining it. Mindy knew if Carol were here she’d do a better job of explaining but Carol rarely did the shark when she did tours. She was there after all on the Ballard. The Great Shark Hunt of 2257.
“Looks nasty,” another observed.
Mindy smiled, pointing to the jaw bone. “This was the biggest piece to survive. Not bad considering it survived a massive explosion.”
“Are there other sharks?” the second kid asked.
“No. Not regularly anyway. We have an area known as the Red Triangle that sharks still make use of out west but few Great Whites come into the Bay. Not anymore.”
“So, no more sharks?”
“No more.”
Mindy marshalled the kids away from the shark though some lingered. As they left she took a glance at it. The motion-sensitive lights in the room dimmed and for a brief moment it looked as if the shark moved.
“I need some coffee,” she told herself.
**
The Golden Gate
Fighting the strong currents the beast moved towards San Francisco Bay. The seals were coming in here and so it had to follow. Others had come into this stretch of water but for this particular creature it was her first attempt. Her great length pushed and surged against the currents. Her fin sliced through the waters before submerging. She would circle here and wait.
**
Two little hydrofoils cut their way under the Golden Gate Bridge, driven on by the high winds that cut through the Gate. One-man craft, they were no bigger than an old 22nd Century shuttlepod though they looked much more streamlined. They jostled in the dark blue water before starting to turn out near Point Bonita Lighthouse. Away before them the great Pacific Ocean beckoned. As the two ‘foils turned the leftmost one tilted over, sending its pilot into the water. He splashed around as he both tried to stay above water but also to get back on his boat. The other ‘foil continued on back towards the Bay. These things always happened.
The downed pilot didn’t see the large fin slicing through the water as fast as the ‘foil he had been piloting. In fact he didn’t see much of anything as the shark took him from below in one bite, dragging him under. Nothing marked this gravesite but the hydrofoil bobbing with its leaning sail on the swell.
**
Baker Beach, San Francisco
“Baker do you copy, Baker do you copy?”
Gary Mitchell jogged into the lifeguard hut at Battery Chamberlain, slapping the wall intercom panel. “Go ahead centre.”
The voice of the on-duty controller at the Lifeguard Centre on Treasure Island replied curtly. “Got a drifting boat in the Gate. Might be connected to the mayday call we got by a hydrofoil racer saying his buddy hasn’t come in yet. Could you check it out?”
“Yeah.”
Mitchell went to get his jacket before going down to the beach where the Rigid Inflatable Boat was moored at a makeshift jetty. Away to his right the Golden Gate Bridge dominated proceedings, even seeming to out-do the adjacent Starfleet buildings. As he untied the moorings Mitchell searched for any signs of the drifting boat and caught a glimpse of crumpled sail in the water close to the Headlands on the other side. Moorings ditched, he was soon motoring out into the Gate at a careful speed; the swell was strong and going any faster might tip him. Nonetheless he took a couple of minutes to reach the sail which lay a few hundred meters from the base of the steep Headlands front. There was little other debris except for bits of boat that could have been from anything. San Francisco and its Bay was still a destination/departure point for oceangoing freighters even in 2259. This could’ve been something washed out from Alameda or Oakland.
“Centre, I’ve found a sail from a hydrofoil. No sign of anything else.”
He circled the area even going so far as to pass into the Bay itself up close to Horseshoe Bay. There he caught some curious glances from cadets taking a break on the pier from Starfleet Academy. Heading back to Baker he heard his communicator chirp. “Mitchell.”
“Cara here. Could you come down to the Marina, down by Crissy Field?”
That was it. Nothing more, nothing less. Gary aimed the nose of his RIB and sped towards Crissy Field. The field had once been home to an old airport from the 1920s onwards until the larger San Francisco International opened in San Mateo and then the metropolis of the new era encroached upon the city. Somehow the field remained as did the nearby Palace of Arts and much of Golden Gate Park that extended to here from the coast to the west. It did not take Mitchell long to beach himself near where the tall blonde Cara was standing. She wore her lifeguard shorts and t-shirt and stood over a dark shape.
“I thought you were at Treasure Island today.”
“No, no.” She was ashen. “Check this, Gary.”
He slowed as he saw a man dressed in sailing gear. A diver-like wetsuit with short-sleeves and SF SAILING CLUB stitched on one side. The man had blond hair with watery blue eyes.
He also had no legs and half of his torso was gone. The mess of his insides had spilled out into the sand in a slight groove. Mitchell felt his legs go rubbery and sagged to one knee, putting a hand to his head and feeling it go cold as he did so.
“Oh, not again!”
Cara looked upon him. “Gary, is it…I mean we had an attack last year…”
Two years, it was two years, he thought angrily. He opened his eyes and managed to stand. “You called in the emergency services?”
“On their way, I didn’t say why.”
“Shit,” Mitchell swore loudly. There was no one else about. Crissy Field was eerily quiet this April morning. He looked down at the sailor. “The missing pilot of that hydrofoil. If it was a…well, we’re in trouble.”
San Francisco had gone almost three centuries without an attack, a fatal attack, and then two in two years. He wiped his lips and looked at Cara. “How long ago did you find him?”
“Fifteen minutes. I was sweeping the beach for debris. Did you find the drifter?”
“No, it sunk.” Gary saw a skimmer approach coming in off the road. Its blue lights flashed silently as it came to a stop. Two Andorians leapt out, their blue skin clashing with the red uniforms they wore. “We’re here to…oh, lords of…”
Mitchell took one by the shoulder who was now an ashen icy blue. “Look, get this body back to Mission but don’t let many know. I want a full autopsy done. Ed Wilshaw, okay?”
The EMT Andorians nodded quickly and loaded the body onto a stretcher. As they raced off Mitchell swallowed heavily, tasting bile.
“What do we do, Gary? We’ve got to tell someone.”
“We wait until we know for sure it was a shark. There’s always the possibility he drowned, and was chopped in half by the propeller of another boat that didn’t see the body floating in the water.”
“That’s true,” Cara conceded, “but what if someone else gets killed because it is a shark and we didn’t report it?”
“Details,” he mumbled, heading back to his boat. “Just keep your eyes peeled.”