Tales from the Aqua City

by Reffster

There are a million stories in the Aqua City. Obviously, not exactly. Although I suppose, if you think about it, it's possible that there might be a million. But not very likely. I mean, what are the odds? Pretty low, I'm guessing. Like, one in a million. So, when I say a million, I mean a lot. A shedload. A bunch. A heap. Like, you might think there's a whole lot of M&Ms in one of those big party-size bags, even after you throw away the blue ones, but that's nothing compared to how many stories there are in the Aqua City. Even if you took a hammer and whacked the crap out of that bag, until all the M&Ms were smunched up into little tiny pieces, there would still be more stories in the Aqua City, than there are pieces of smunched-up M&Ms. Even if you left in the blue ones. Actually, if you're going to smunch up M&Ms with a hammer, I recommend just smunching up the blue ones, because you were probably going to throw them away anyway, and they may as well serve some purpose. Then you can eat the rest, which if you'd left in the bag to get smunched, still wouldn't have made enough pieces to come even close to how many stories there are in the Aqua City, and therefore would have been sadly wasted. Although, now that I think about it some more, if you really, really, really smunched up those M&Ms, like right down to their component molecules, or if you could somehow get a large-hadron-collider hammer, and smunch them down to quarks, then you probably would have more pieces than there are stories in the Aqua City, even though, as I hope you're beginning to grasp by now, there are a lot of stories in the Aqua City. These are a few of them.

****

High above the Aqua City, a helicopter slowly circles.

"Behold, my friend. Behold the Aqua City. Behold what I have wrought, with nothing but my vision, my determination and my spirit."

"Well, that and a bucketload of shareholders' cash, sir."

"You know, Jenkins, you really need to stop thinking like an accountant. Take a look at the bigger picture. This is a bold step into the future, an unprecedented technological marvel, and a quantum leap in the evolution of humanity."

"It's also an excellent tax dodge, sir."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. There is that side of things. But this is hardly the time to be focusing on the undignified and and unseemly pecuniary aspects of the venture. This is a time to celebrate our achievement."

"And to celebrate clause 2.31 of the tax code, sir? The one that exempts ocean-borne dwellings from most state-based taxes? Along with clause 7.45, sub-section 3? The one that-"

"Jenkins, you're a real mood-killer, did you know that? Yes, I may be a few hundred million bucks better off than I would have been, if not for those clauses of yours. But really, what are a few hundred million dollars? What difference do they make, in the grand scheme of things?"

"Well, sir, they stopped you from going bankrupt."

"Yeah, I suppose. But on top of that one little side-bonus, there's so much more that the Aqua City can offer the human race. More living space, environmentally-sustainable habitation, new fields of research, all that kind of crap. The sky's the limit."

"Actually, sir, the overdraft is the limit. And we need to talk about an extension. But on the topic of research, we're copping some grief from the ethics committee."

"Those clowns? I dunno, Jenkins, how's a man supposed to be a visionary, when narrow-minded idiots are forever getting in his way? What's up their butts?"

"Well, sir, they're claiming that approval for some of the research projects has been rushed through, in order to secure government funding. They say there's been a lack of ethical oversight, and that not all the projects are of genuine benefit to humanity."

"Ethical oversight? Genuine benefit? What a steaming load. Which projects are they bitching about?"

"Quite a few, sir. For example, there's the Lamnidae Vocalisation group."

"What's the problem with that one? A fine group of brilliant scientists, researching matters of vital importance to humanity. Just remind me, what exactly is it that they're working on?"

"Talking sharks, sir."

"Talking what?"

"Sharks, sir."

"Sharks?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hmm. And they're teaching these sharks to do what, now?

"Talk, sir."

"Talking sharks, right. Love it, love it, love it. Obviously beneficial. Tell those ethics clowns to pull their heads out of their arseholes, and pay this Laminated Volcano group a visit. Then they can see for themselves how well we're spending the government's money."

"Sir, don't you mean how well they're spending the government's money?"

"Exactly, Jenkins. Exactly."

****

In a spacious research-lab, on the edge of the Aqua City, open to the blue sky and lapped by the azure waters of the Pacific, a bespectacled, besuited bureaucrat is being given a tour of the facilities.

"And in this tank, Mr Numglup, we have our most advanced specimen."

"Really, Professor? It looks just like the last dozen sharks we've seen."

"Oh, Sharky is very different, I can assure you. Those other specimens are monosyllabic, stuttering seafood, compared to him."

"Sharky?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so. Being such an advanced case, we gave him access to the internet, and well, one thing led to another, and now he insists that his name is Sharky McSharkface. We keep telling him that it's actually K149-P, but he just won't have it. Answers to Sharky, and nothing else."

"I see. Tell me, Professor, is this sort of behaviour normal?"

"Oh, there's nothing normal about Sharky, Mr Numglup. He's unique. At least, so far. Would you like to speak with him?"

"Right now? Certainly. How does he communicate?"

"Well, we altered his genome to give him a larynx and vocal cords, but he's still getting the hang of vocalising. For now, he has a touchpad in his tank, which he activates with his nose, and his responses are played through this speaker. He actually sounds quite like Stephen Hawking."

"But, Professor, how do I communicate with him?"

"Simply speak, Mr Numglup. Sharks have excellent hearing, so he'll pick up whatever you say.

"I see. Well, let's give it a try. Ahem. Hello, Sharky."

"Hello, food."

"Food! Food, Professor?"

"Oh, don't mind Sharky, Mr Numglup. He's just having a little joke with you."

"Sharks have a sense of humour?"

"It seems so. Or at least Sharky does, anyway. Now, you be nice, Sharky."

"OK, Professor. You want come for swim?"

"Not right now, Sharky. I'm talking to Mr Numglup."

"Numglup want come for swim?"

"Er, no thank you, Sharky."

"Sharky totally not eat you. You Sharky friends. Sharky not eat friends. Not even bits. You no need worry. Me not even think about bitings and thrashings and bloods and tearings and rippings and organs and all that stuff. No, not."

"Oh, what a kidder. See what I mean about that sense of humour, Mr Numglup?"

"Professor, are you quite sure that he's joking?"

"Of course I am. The whole reason for developing sharks with language skills is to safeguard swimmers. Once all the sharks in the ocean can understand humans, then a swimmer who is about to be attacked will just have to politely ask the shark not to eat them."

"I see. Um, Professor...I'm not quite sure you've thought this whole thing through."

"Nonsense, Mr Numglup. Sharky wouldn't dream of eating somebody who asked him not to, would you, Sharky?"

"No, no. Course not, Professor. How about demonstration?"

"Excellent thinking, Sharky. I'll just pop into the tank, and show you just how safe it is, Mr Numglup. Now, Sharky, you're not going to eat me are you, ha-ha?"

"Me not dream of it, Professor. Well, actually, me do. Every night. But me not do it."

"Are you quite sure this is wise, Professor?"

"Oh yes, no need to fuss, Mr Numglup. OK, I'll just pop up the ladder here, and now I'll just lower myself in, and look, here's Sharky coming to greet me, hello Sharky, my what big teeth you have, aaaarrgghh, aaaarrhhh, Sharky stop that, you've bitten my leg off, ooooh that really hurts, ow-ow-ow, now you've taken the other one, aaarrrrggghhh, bad shark, aaaarrrggh, AAAAAHHHHHOOOOUUUCCCHHH! Gurgle."

"Sharky! You've eaten the Professor!"

"Whoops. Me not mean to. Make mistake. Think him was a porpoise."

"A porpoise!"

"Yes. Numglup want come for swim?"

****

In the back-room office of a high-class restaurant, situated in the upper levels of the Aqua City, a restaurateur is dealing with one of her suppliers.

"Listen, Grunske. For the hundredth time, no more bloody seafood. If I want seafood I'll just chuck a bloody net out the bloody window."

"You're sure? I just got a bunch of shark, real cheap. Some research project, where they had to ice the fishies. For a special client like you, Missus, I can do an extra-good deal."

"Shark? Oh, please. What do you think we are, a bloody fish and chip shop? This is a seriously freaking classy establishment, you stupid tosser. The finest French cuisine and all that crap. And call me Madame, you horrid little bum-belch of a man. You can stick your bloody missus right up your-"

"Righto, righto. Madame, it is. If you don't want seafood, what do you want?"

"Steak, of course. The punters can't get enough of it. And lamb, pork, venison, all that kind of stuff. Any bits of big, dead animals are good. Just not ones that swim."

"Ooh, I dunno, Madame. Land-based stuff is pricey, these days. Steak will cost you a pretty penny."

"Oh, spare me, you annoying git. Get me the meat and I'll pay you a fair price. And don't try to swindle me, either, otherwise you might just find yourself in tomorrow night's main course."

"Me? Swindle you? Madame, I can assure you, I wouldn't dream-"

"Shut it, Grunske. You and I both know that last lot of rib-eye you sold me was 100% pure dugong. And those racks-of-lamb? They looked a hell of a lot like racks-of-sea-lion, to me."

"Madame, it cuts me to the quick to even think that you might insinuate that I would-"

"Oh, shut your cake-hole, dickhead, while I answer the phone. Bonjour, you 'ave reached Madame Plourde's Bistro, the 'ome of ze finest French cuisine. 'Ow may I 'elp you?"

****

On one of the Aqua City's docks, standing alongside his freshly-moored freighter, a merchant captain is speaking with a customs official.

"Nope, nothing restricted to declare. Just a bunch of boring, old, unrestricted stuff. Say, you haven't seen a guy called Grunske hanging about, have you? I'm supposed to be meeting him."

"Captain, I am not your personal secretary, so I wouldn't have a clue about this Grunske of yours. Hmm, Grunske, Grunske. That name rings a bell. I believe we're after a Grunske, for dealing in contraband goods."

"Did I say Grunske? Sorry, I've got a bit of a cold, must be all that cough syrup. What I meant to say was, er...Schmunske. Yeah, that's it, Schmunske. Seen him around?"

"Hector Schmunske?"

"Who? I mean, yeah, that could be him. Definitely. Could definitely be him. Is him, in fact. Yep, definitely."

"Captain, I hardly think you'd find the mayor of the Aqua City hanging about on some grimy dock. If you want to see him, City Hall is your best bet."

"The mayor's name is Hector Schmunske? I mean, of course Hector Schmunske is the mayor, obviously I know that. Why would I be meeting somebody, if I didn't know what they did?"

"I don't know, captain, nor do I care. Now, let's see about inspecting this cargo of yours, shall we?"

"No."

"No?"

"Well, when you said, 'shall we?' you made it sound kind of optional. So, you know, given I'm quite a busy man, I thought I'd just opt out. Is it optional?"

"No."

"No?"

"No, captain. Once a customs official has decided to inspect your ship, it most decidedly is not optional. Particularly when there have been reports of mooing, coming from some of your shipping containers."

"Sorry, what? Mooing?"

"Yes, captain. Mooing. As in, the act of producing a moo."

"Why would my shipping containers be mooing?"

"Well, captain, it could be this or it could be that, but one has to entertain at least the possibility that it might be because they contain cattle."

"Cattle? Listen, I'm fully aware that livestock can only be imported on an official license. So why the hell would you think I'm carrying cattle?"

"Well, captain, there is the mooing."

"Reports of mooing."

"Sorry, captain, I stand corrected. Let's go and see if these reports can be substantiated, shall we?"

"Um, no?"

****

In the very centre of the Aqua City, in a spacious office on the top floor of City Hall, the mayor is dealing with his daily agenda.

"OK, so that's settled. We need to hire another half-dozen food inspectors, to conduct random audits on restaurants. And if I find another walrus hair in a steak sandwich, heads will roll. Now, Plink, what's next?"

"Item four, Mr Mayor. The Lamnidae Vocalisation group specimens."

"The what?"

"The talking sharks, Mr Mayor."

"Oh yeah, them. What about 'em?"

"Well, sir, it seems that some of the specimens scheduled for destruction have escaped."

"Escaped? Escaped where?"

"Into the ocean."

"So, Plink, let me get this straight. You're telling me that the Pacific Ocean, which presumably contains millions of sharks, just picked up a handful more?"

"Yes, sir."

"OK. Well, my official mayoral position on that is, WHO THE HELL CARES? One less thing for us to worry about, and if they want to try their luck chatting up some manatees, then good luck to 'em. What's next?

"Item five, Mr Mayor. There are some concerns about the education system."

****

In a sunlit classroom, lined by picture windows displaying the vast, sparkling expanse of the sunlit Pacific, a teacher is telling her class about an upcoming excursion.

"Now, boys and girls, who can guess where we'll be going for tomorrow's field trip?"

"To a reef?"

"Yes, Jimmy, that's right. How clever of you to guess."

"But we always go to a reef, Miss."

"Now, that's not true, Rebecca. We once went to an atoll."

"Which is a ring-shaped reef."

"Are you sure, Bianca? That doesn't sound right."

"Miss, my mum is an oceanographer. When it comes to reefs, I'll take her opinion over yours, any day."

"Now, that's not very nice, Bianca. Besides which, I think you'll find that the correct word is reeves."

"Nope, it's definitely reefs, Miss. My dad is a linguist, and just the other day he said, "How many bloody reefs is that stupid excuse for a school going to make you ignorant little grommets visit?"

"Now, now, language Tommy. Alright, if you children are tired of reefs, what sort of places would you like to go to?"

"Disneyland!"

"A crack-house!"

"Las Vegas!"

"The morgue!"

"A UFC fight!

"To see the talking sharks!"

"A real school!"

"Jelly-wrestling!"

"A guyot!"

"A bar!"

"Well, those are certainly some interesting suggestions, children. But for now, let's just stick to reefs, shall we? Maybe we can do the morgue, next time."

****

In a habitation module, on the very edge of the Aqua City, a mother greets her child, who has just arrived home.

"Hello, Tommy. How was school today?"

"Ah, you know how it is, Ma. Same jetsam, different day. What's to eat?"

"There are some M&Ms in the kitchen, dear."

"Did you throw away the blue ones?"

"Of course I did. Now, don't get too full, because I've got a shark-roast in the oven. You run along and I'll just see who's at the sea-door. Oh, hello there. How may I help you?"

"Is Tommy home?"

"Yes, he is."

"Can Tommy come play?"

"No, I'm afraid not, my dear."

"Why not?"

"Well, partly because he has homework to do. But mostly because you are a shark."

"No I not."

"Er, I'm pretty sure you are. You look awfully sharky to me."

"No, no, I just lose limbs in freak accident. With toothbrush."

"Along with you ears and hair and everything else that might indicate that you're a person?"

"You bet, sister. Bad accident. Big toothbrush."

"OK, so how do you explain the multiple rows of teeth? Not to mention the fins and the gills and the tail?"

"Really big toothbrush."

"No, I'm afraid I'm not falling for that, my dear. You are quite definitely a shark. Now, run along, and do try to watch where you're going. That's a nasty black eye you've got there."

"Oh, now me see how it is."

"How what is?"

"You a sharkist."

"Me? A sharkist? No, I'm not. In fact, I don't even know what a sharkist is."

"Person prejudiced against sharks. Think we just mindless killing machines, just want to eat peoples. Don't recognise our sensitive side. Our emotional vulnerability. Also, what that I smell cooking?"

"Um, that's just some calamari. And I most certainly am not prejudiced."

"OK, you prove it. Let Tommy come play."

"Well, I suppose...hang on, are you the shark that ate George from next door, just yesterday?"

"No, course not."

"Are you quite sure?"

"Oh, yeah. Totally sure. Me only half-eat him. He one fat dude."

****

Deep in the bowels of the Aqua City, well below the waterline, a freshly-employed morgue worker is being inducted into her role.

"Righto, Aimi. Here's where we keep the stiffs."

"The stiffs, Mr Coolwell?"

"Yeah, you know. The floaters, the bloaters, the fell-off-the-boaters. The formerly living, the deceased, the departed, the-"

"OK, OK, I understand. It's not very nice in here, is it? It's so cold."

"Trust me, Aimi, it'd be a whole lot less nice, if it wasn't cold."

"I suppose. It's just a little sad to think that at the end of their lives people end up in such a chilly, clinical place, so lacking in warmth and humanity. It really makes you think about the fragile nature of existence, doesn't it? To realise the ease with which it can slip away, and the importance of grasping every opportunity to squeeze the essence out of being alive, while we have the chance. Not to mention the importance of treating the recently departed with great dignity. Don't you agree?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. Definitely. You wanna check 'em out?"

"Check who out?"

"The stiffs, of course."

"Mr Coolwell, why on Earth would I want to do that?"

"Aimi, this is a morgue. What else is there to do?"

"Didn't I see a table-tennis table out the back?"

"Yep. Do you play?"

"No."

"OK, so checking out the stiffs, it is. Pick a drawer, young lady, any drawer. Every one's a winner."

"Um, how about this one?"

"Er, actually, any drawer but that one. That's the shark-attack guy. You probably don't wanna start with that one."

"Oh, the poor man. Did he fall off his deck, or something like that?

"Nah, apparently the shark told him he looked like a blobfish, so the dude actually dived in and attacked the shark, first. Bit sensitive about his weight, apparently. Although I've gotta say, he weighs quite a bit less, now."

"Oh dear. OK, Mr Coolwell, let's try this drawer."

"Ooh, nah, that one's kind of a bit of a mess as well. Customs officer, crushed in a cattle stampede."

"A cattle stampede? How on Earth-"

"Long story, Aimi, and you don't wanna go there, trust me. Just pick another one. Third time's the charm."

"I certainly hope so. How about this one?"

"Erk, not a chance. Even I don't wanna look at that one. The one in that drawer died of an overdose."

"An overdose? How bad could they possibly look?"

"Well, when you OD on puffer-fish venom, pretty bad."

"Puffer-fish venom?"

"Yeah, it's the new craze, apparently. All the kids are doing it. Puffer-fish, irukandji, blue-ringed octopus, sea-wasps, you name it. They've all got these crazy venoms; a little will blow your mind; a little too much will melt your mind, not too mention your face."

"I see. Mr Coolwell?"

"Yes, Aimi?"

"Do you think maybe you could teach me how to play table-tennis?"

"You know what? I think that might be a very good idea. Let's go."

****

In one of the seedier districts of the Aqua City, a seasoned cop and his new partner are investigating a tip-off.

"Stay on your toes, Biggs. Plenty of bottom-feeders around here."

"It doesn't look so bad, sarge - just like any other apartment block. Something smells a bit fishy, though."

"What? Huh? Are we talking about a crime in progress? Signs of evidence? Where?"

"Er, not that kind of fishy, sarge. I mean, actually fishy. As in, smells like fish."

"Oh, that. Don't worry, you get used to it. Kind of goes with the territory, in this part of town."

"If you say so, sarge."

"I do, Biggs, I do. Now, keep an extra special eye out for stoners."

"Stoners? You mean pot-heads, sarge?"

"If only. Stonefish-venom addicts, Biggs. Compared to them, pot-heads are practically girl scouts. When stoners get the munchies, they'll eat anything."

"Anything?"

"Anything. Food, pets, furniture, low-hanging light fittings, appliances, blue M&Ms, each other, McDonalds, anything. How do you think I lost my last partner?"

"Er, right. Do you think we brought enough guns, sarge?"

"Don't sweat it, Biggs. If there were stoners about, you'd know it from the incessant giggling and the tooth-marks in the walls. Right, this is the apartment."

"How can you be sure, sarge?"

"Sand on the floor. Fish scales on the wall. My rod's bigger than yours sticker on the door. Faint whiff of tartare sauce. You get to know the signs. Ready?"

"I guess so, sarge."

"OK, here we go. OPEN UP, THIS IS THE POLICE!"

"Hmm, they don't seem to be opening up, sarge.

"You don't say, Biggs? Good to see you were present the day they taught observational skills, at the academy. Right, break the door down."

"Me?"

"Well, I'm not doing it. Not with my bursitis. And hurry up about it, would you? The old lady and I have a reservation at Madame Plourde's, tonight."

"Madame Plourde's? Isn't that the place that the fraud squad are hitting, tomorrow? Something about penguin in the duck l'orange?

"Seriously? Oh well, looks like we're going to the game, instead.

****

In the Aqua City's water-filled arena, open to the star-strewn night sky, thousands of citizens have gathered for their weekly sporting fix.

"Good evening viewers, and welcome back to tonight's showdown between the Eastside Anemones and the Southside Sea Cucumbers. I'm Bonk Strifeman, and joining me in the commentary box is Greeley Narls. What a great night of aqua-ball it's been, Greeley."

"Sure has, Bonk. There's certainly no love lost between the Cukes and the Mones, and boy, has there been some troubled waters, tonight. We've got a capacity crowd in, and they've been loving every second."

"And who could blame them, Greeley? Play's just getting underway in the final quarter, with the Cukes all set to launch the ball. And there it goes. Ooh, a bit of a tactical move there, with a short-range, surface launch."

"Yep, interesting strategy, Bonk, and it looks like the Cukes have also subbed in a new player."

"So they have. Can't say I recognise his name, Greeley. A new signing?"

"Must be, Bonk. Whoever he is, he's certainly got some moves. Wow, look at that aqua-baller go! He's racing up the sideline, like a shark on the attack."

"Er, I think that aqua-baller is a shark, Greeley."

"Wearing a Cuke's jersey, Bonk?"

"Apparently, Greeley. An unconventional signing, to say the least."

"Possibly, Bonk, but it seem to be paying dividends. McSharkface looks like one hungry player."

"He sure does, Greeley. It just goes to show, anybody can make it, in the Aqua City.