Dragon Gold: Order of the Dolphin, #2

ONE

Friday, December 17, 9:26 A.M. CST

Bailey’s Key

Roatán Institute for Marine Science

Roatán, Honduras

It was a bright sunny day with a gentle breeze, and the turquoise water around the small palm-tree-lined island sparkled. The ferry boat Protección approached, loaded with a boisterous group of schoolchildren, and the dolphins squeaked and whistled in anticipation of the entertainment the children brought.

As Eva watched all this from the dock at Bailey’s Key, a young dolphin popped her head out of the water, whistled her signature whistle for Eva, submerged, and sent out an echolocation click train at the boat, then bobbed her head up and down in excitement. The dolphin darted around the water in large circles as if building up speed to leap the walkway around her enclosure.

Eva gave the eager dolphin the hand signal for wait. "Cleo, stay! They’re coming to you, girl."

The dolphin swam back over to her and nodded her head with a grin. Cleo always grinned. She had been born with a malformed bite such that her teeth were always visible, even when she closed her mouth. And the smile suited her—the dolphin was as sweet as she was quirky. She was also the star in Eva’s research, now that Eva’s lead dolphin, Taffy, had given birth to her calf, Chico. The calf’s father, Finn, a rare wholphin hybrid, sometimes participated in the research as well, but seemed to prefer playing—with Chico, or with Finn’s best friend, Rascal, a mangy-looking cattle dog.

Eva’s research assistant, Jose, already had all the equipment set up, and her intern, Axel, ran a sound test. Eva stepped over to her computer stand, opened her laptop, and pulled up her Delphi Imago software. Thanks to her research—and thanks to dolphins like Taffy—she and her team had developed a rudimentary method for bidirectional communication with dolphins. Now they were expanding their communication abilities by continually uploading new signature whistles and Cymaglyph images into the program—essentially improving their vocabulary.

Of course, they wouldn’t be doing any of that right now. With the arrival of the ferry, the children’s laughter and shrieks, combined with the dolphin squeaks and whistles, made the dock pure chaos. Jose covered his ears, and Axel put on his headphones. But Eva smiled. She relished these visits.

We protect what we love.

Gilberto, the head dolphin trainer and Eva’s mentor ever since she first interned at RIMS almost fourteen years ago, herded the children onto the dock and gave an introduction. May I introduce the most famous marine biologist in the world. The scientist who learned how to speak with dolphins: Dr. Eva Paz.

The children jumped up and down on the dock, clapping.

Eva cringed at the notoriety. Thank you, Gilberto. I’m so glad, kids, that you’re here. Yes, I learned to speak with dolphins. But only because long before that, dolphins had already learned to speak with us. They comprehended our words, signs, and hand gestures decades ago. They’ve just been waiting for us to catch up.

To show this, Eva commanded Cleo to jump in three different ways, using a hand-painted sign with the symbol for jump, the hand signal jump, and the verbal command jump. Although this was no dolphin show for human entertainment, jump was Cleo’s favorite command, and it helped to get rid of the young dolphin’s hyper energy so she could focus.

Eva threw Cleo a mackerel. "Cleo has just shown you how well she understands our communication. It’s particularly amazing what she can do because dolphins can neither see nor hear well."

This always led to questions. Most people believed the myth that cetaceans could hear better than canines. That simply wasn’t true. They could smell better than canines, but their hearing wasn’t strong. After fielding the expected questions, Eva continued.

"The most exciting part of my research is that we now understand how dolphins communicate. Their whistles are like human words, but that’s just the start. As I’m sure you know, dolphins use a form of echolocation that is superior to humans’ sonar technology—essentially, dolphins see with sound. And since sounds form images in dolphins’ brains, they communicate back and forth to each other with clicks that mimic these sonar images. My research captures these images, and I’m working on a way to translate them back to sounds so that I can play them back to the dolphins. Let me show you. But I’m going to need a volunteer."

Every hand went up. Eva pointed to a girl in the back and invited her to step forward. Meanwhile Axel set up a blind so that Cleo couldn’t see the humans, in case someone gave something away.

Jose had placed three objects into Cleo’s open view-box: a pink watering can, a white PVC cross, and a yellow rubber ducky. On Eva’s computer touchscreen were image buttons for the same three objects: a watering can, a cross, and a duck. Eva turned to the girl.

Choose one, but don’t tell us which one. Remember, Cleo understands our spoken words.

The girl smiled and touched the image of a white cross.

The group waited in silence for two seconds.

Then Cleo popped her head around the other side of the screen with a chuff. The young dolphin held the cross between her teeth.

The children gasped, and the girl grinned from ear to ear.

After a few more questions, Gilberto escorted the children to the pavilion, where he would lead an educational talk about dolphin biology, behavior, and habitat. There had been a time when the schoolchildren would enter the water with the dolphins, but that was long ago. Although Eva trusted her dolphins, and they enjoyed the interactions, her boss, Señor Pineda, had liability concerns. Concerns that Eva understood. She’d seen what her dolphins were capable of.

But she also hoped that the students would understand that this was more than a game. Dolphins were wonderful, brilliant creatures—and loyal friends. But this interface between intelligent species was far more than just a way to chat. If Eva was right, it could one day soon have far-reaching implications for keeping not only their reef healthy, but perhaps even the whole planet.

TWO

Friday, December 17, 8:53 A.M. CDT

Sternberg Center for Cancer Cures

Kansas City, KS

Thomas sat by the floor-to-ceiling windows in his corner office, looking over his clinic schedule for the day. The office still felt new to him, unfamiliar, but it was part of an amazing facility—lab, cancer treatment center, and clinic—for which he himself had been both visionary and founder. He enjoyed being his own boss, and under his leadership, Kansas City was fast becoming the Silicon Valley of innovative gene therapy research.

Most of the children he would see today were routine follow-ups, kids cured of their cancers with his original GTAC gene therapy. A few were new consults, children for whom contemporary chemotherapy and radiation had failed. He would discuss his new CRISPR gene therapy with their parents. His newest treatment, CUTR, was still under development in his lab.

Thomas shook his head, still marveling at the enzyme his lab tech Ivan had found in the toxic red tide sample Thomas had taken from Roatán earlier in the year. That was an amazing trip—for reasons that had nothing to do with enzymes.

Thomas turned his attention to the newly framed picture on his desk. A photo of him and Eva on Bailey’s Key, grinning with elation at the birth of Taffy’s baby, Eva’s emerald eyes sparkling. She looked stunning. He’d hoped to stay in contact with her this time around, but it seemed that between her breakthrough in dolphin communication and his new cancer treatment trials, there just wasn’t enough time in the day.

Taking a deep breath, he stood and walked down the hall to an exam room. After knocking, he entered. Sitting on the exam table was a nine-year-old girl holding a dolphin plushie and a book.

Dr. Sternberg!

Good morning, Nevaeh. What are you reading today?

"I Survived the Shark Attacks of 1916."

Nevaeh’s mother, Laveda, who was sitting in a chair to one side, laughed. I let her read whatever she wants after she makes her reading goal for school.

Laveda was the president of the Freedom from Cancer Foundation, and thanks in part to Thomas’s successful therapy for Nevaeh’s rare toenail melanoma, she was now one of Thomas’s greatest fans.

Thomas smiled. Take what you read with a grain of salt, Nevaeh. I’ve been diving with sharks, and they aren’t the most terrifying creatures in the ocean. We’re more a threat to them than they are to us. As he turned to wash his hands—the water, soap, and paper towels all dispensing automatically with electricity generated by solar panels on the roof—he added, Do you still want to be a marine biologist when you grow up?

Nevaeh shook her head, her tiny braids swinging from side to side. "I’m going to be a pediatrician and a marine biologist, just like you."

Thomas sat down on a stool and rolled over to her. Okay, let’s see that toe.

Nevaeh placed a dark brown foot on Thomas’s knee. He peered at the toe then squeezed it. She giggled. Her toe looked perfectly normal, the melanoma long vanished.

It looks great, he said. Let’s plan for another follow-up in three months. At that point you’ll be in complete remission and visits can be yearly.

Nevaeh squeezed the dolphin plushie he’d given her. Thanks, Dr. Sternberg. I’ll miss seeing you though. If you take another sabbatical, you better bring something back for me.

Thomas laughed. Don’t worry. I’m not planning to leave anytime soon.

As much as Thomas loved his work, he wondered if he would ever get another vacation. That was the downside of being the leader of a place like this—too many people depended on him. That was a blessing in many ways, but also a burden—and as he headed down the hall to his next patient, he couldn’t help but think about the picture on his desk, and what he’d left behind.

THREE

Saturday, December 18, 7:03 A.M. CST

Bailey’s Key

Eva enjoyed the feel of the air rushing past her as she kayaked across to Bailey’s Key. She no longer took the boat taxi across the channel from the main island, but kayaked three days a week and swam the other two. It was great exercise, and an even better way to clear her mind and get ready for the work of the day.

Over the past several months, she’d been cross-matching the signature whistles of Taffy and Cleo with those of the other dolphins. And although variations abounded, similar to the variations in different human languages and dialects, her focus was on finding the universals in dolphin communication patterns. Universals that humans could use to speak the dolphins’ own language.

The basic building block of cetacean communication was the whistle. In most cases, whistles were nouns, but they could also stand for adjectives, adverbs, and verbs. Eva still remembered her breakthrough eight months ago when she identified the whistle for different. Because dolphins were easily stimulated and vocalized quite a bit, it was hard to pick out specific meanings when it came to adjectives and adverbs. Nouns were easy; you showed the dolphin an object, and they named the object. Adjectives required understanding more subtle differences, and seeing things in the way dolphins did. Every adjective she identified was gold.

Of course, dolphins also communicated with echolocation. Dolphins could see things by sending out echolocation click trains that returned to the dolphin, changed. Dolphins could then mimic these returning sound patterns and send them to each other—essentially broadcasting a perfect image of what they had seen. These weren’t so much words, but pictures. Perfect pictures. And with Eva’s software, she was gradually learning to speak this language too.

As she pulled up alongside the dock at Bailey’s Key, a teenage boy called out to her. Eva, I’m back!

Eva looked up to see Leo running over. The boy looked like he had grown at least six inches since she’d seen him last. He’d been back in Milan with his family for the school year. She pulled herself up onto the dock and gave him a great big hug.

Leo, it’s good to see you. I didn’t think you’d be back until summer.

Leo grinned. I talked my mom into bringing us for Christmas break. I’ve upgraded all my equipment, too—so if there’s anything you need me to track, or film…

Leo and his drones had proven immensely useful to Eva earlier in the year, during their search for the elusive sea creature known as the Lusca.

Actually, if you’re free, Cleo and I are going to practice hunting for lionfish together. It would be great if you could get some footage.

You got it, Dr. Eva. Though lionfish seem kind of tame after hunting the Lusca.

Eva laughed. I think I’ve had enough of sea dragons, Leo. At this point I’m ready for ‘tame.’

Eva checked in with Jose and Axel, who had already set up her equipment. Ranger Oliver Sterling, the man who’d established the lionfish spear hunt certification program, was there as well. At his feet was a bubbling cooler with a battery-powered aerator.

Eva nodded to the cooler. What do we have today, Ranger?

A giant cat, said Oliver. It’s survived many derbies, so it should be a crafty one. Go ahead, take a look.

Eva opened the cooler to reveal a large lionfish with red and white zebra stripes.

Lionfish were invasive to the Caribbean, and damaging to the local ecosystem; they ate the fish that kept the reef healthy, such as the parrotfish, which fed on the algae that would otherwise overgrow on the coral and kill it. They also lacked natural predators, which meant human divers were responsible for keeping the lionfish population under control. Thanks to people like Ranger Sterling, locals and tourists alike were recruited to cull their numbers.

Eva donned thick dive gloves to protect herself from the lionfish’s venomous spiky fins, then carefully placed it in Cleo’s view-box. Cleo swam around excitedly and wiggled her body back and forth.

Does Cleo see this as work or play? Eva wondered. Or does she even make the distinction?

Eva made the hand signal for vocalize while saying, Vocalize. She repeated the command once more, and Axel recorded Cleo’s whistle.

Eva had presented lionfish to the dolphins many times, and had a full library of the resulting whistles, from both Taffy and Cleo, and even Finn. But it was necessary to be sure this lionfish would be referred to in the same way as the others.

Axel removed his headphones. It sounds like a match. What do you think, Jose?

Jose stood at the monitor, rocking back and forth, analyzing the spectrogram. Cleo whistle. Match. Taffy whistle.

Axel and Jose were both gifted when it came to sounds. Axel had won an international Name That Tune competition, and Jose had a savant-like ability to recognize the patterns of sound waves.

Axel then fitted Eva with a waterproof earpiece, so he could communicate with her in the water, and Eva gave her team last-minute instructions.

Wait until I’m in the water to let the lionfish go. Jose, release the fish by the rocks so it has plenty of places to hide. Axel, don’t play any whistle files until I’m in the water. She remembered Leo. Oh, and Leo, go ahead and launch that drone.

Eva then grabbed her snorkel gear, dive lantern, and her Roatán Marine Park engraved Hawaiian sling from her storage closet in her new office, then stripped down to her suit, leaving her shorts and T-shirt on a rock in the sun to stay warm, before entering the water.

Cleo, excited to get to work, splashed Eva while she donned her mask and fins. Oliver was already geared up and in the water. When Eva signaled that she was ready, Jose let the lionfish loose by the reef rocks, and Axel played two dolphin signature whistles over the hydrophone in the water—the equivalent of the words where and lionfish, which was meant to sound to Cleo something like: Where’s the lionfish?

Cleo immediately swam over to the reef rocks, with Eva close behind her. The lionfish was nowhere to be seen; it had likely hidden in one of the many small caves in the rock. Cleo sent out an echolocation click train, then paused for a fraction of a second before emitting a signature whistle.

Seconds later, Axel translated Cleo’s communication to Eva through her earpiece: It’s to your right.

Eva spotted a small cave at the base of the rock to her right. She readied her sling, which was just a large slingshot, and let out a breath so that she would sink to the sandy bottom of the enclosure. Then she flicked on her dive lantern.

Sure enough, the large crafty lionfish was right where Cleo had said it would be. Eva moved in closer, preparing for the kill. She let the sling fly. It hit her target.

First try.

She pulled the sling back and gently pushed herself off the reef rock with two fingers. She floated to the surface, where Cleo and Oliver joined her. The young dolphin sent out multiple squeaks and whistles, bobbing her head up and down as if she was praising Eva for following directions well.

Eva smiled. We did it, girl. We did it!

Oliver spit out his snorkel. Well done, Dr. Paz. Quite a proof of concept. Cleo thinks you passed. I must agree.

Eva had spent years giving dolphins commands, asking them to follow instructions. But this was new: humans being able to follow dolphin commands. Working together, Eva knew that humans and dolphins could accomplish great things.

As Eva got out of the water and towel-dried her hair, Rascal ran over to her and barked. Eva motioned with her hand to the small sandy shore on Bailey’s Key. Rascal, go play with Finn. Go on now! Get around to the beach.

Rascal wagged his tail and ran down the dock to meet Finn in the shallow waters off the beach. The dog had learned that he needed to ask permission, and that he could only play with the dolphins when Eva’s team wasn’t busy with research. So every time she got out of the water, he barked his request.

Eva picked up a pair of scissors and cut the venomous spines off the lionfish, then tossed the prize to Cleo, who swallowed it in one gulp.

Eva sighed. Cleo getting to direct me is going to be great fun until she realizes I can’t see with sound too—that I have to have a translator for her echo mimicry clicks.

Given the three-dimensional world dolphins inhabited and their echolocation abilities, Eva’s big breakthrough earlier in the year had been discovering that their language was image-based. Dolphins could see with sound and share these images with each other. The linguistics community had already coined the idea of environment determining language as the Paz Theory, and optimists had latched on to it in a rather out-of-context sort of way. Eva didn’t think understanding language on this level could lead to world peace, but it was certainly a beginning.

"Ja, but we got to start somewhere, boss," Axel said, echoing her thoughts as he started sorting the day’s recordings into the Delphi Imago library.

Leo came over to her. I got some awesome footage. I even captured the whistles.

Eva smiled. Leo’s drone footage would be fun to watch. She took a seat on a rock and gestured for him to sit down next to her.

All right then, she said. Let’s see what you’ve got.

FOUR

Saturday, December 18, 1:12 P.M. CST

West End, Roatán

Standing on the dock at West End, roll of metallic duct tape in hand, Eva admired her work. The Denise 2 no longer looked as sleek and modern as she did before, but this should do.

Owens frowned. It’s a shame to mark her up like that, he said.

"But the dolphins won’t run into her anymore. And she now has her name on there."

At Owens’s request, Eva hadn’t merely marked the sub with the tape, she’d spelled out the words Denise 2. She’d also learned that the sub was named after Owens himself; his first name was Denis, though few knew that. When he told her, Eva felt like he was inviting her into some inner circle.

The Denise 2 was a small submersible on permanent loan to Owens from DARPA. Captain Williams of the USS Bougainville had taken a shine to the original Denise, which was engineered and built by Owens himself, and had taken her back to show DARPA. They too were impressed, and the result was the birth of the Denise 2. It was only a prototype, made of a classified composite with both tensile and compressive strength, resistant to the harsh marine environment including the ominous red tides. In return for the loan, Owens was tasked with testing the vessel’s capabilities. And for this, he had enlisted the help of Eva and her dolphins. Well, it wasn’t entirely voluntary as the Navy had reactivated her dolphins for this purpose. Eva hoped it wasn’t a harbinger of things to come.

But unfortunately, on the first test run, Taffy nearly ran into the Denise 2. The water was turbid, a leftover vestige from the red tide, so the dolphin couldn’t depend on her sight to see the submarine; and as it was transparent to sonar, she couldn’t echolocate on it either. In short, it was practically invisible. If it hadn’t been for Owens’s quick maneuvering, Taffy might have been injured.

Eva wrote up an expert opinion for DARPA, explaining that these transparent submarines could be dangerous to marine mammals who depend on sonar. But she knew her comments would go unheeded. If the composite on these submarines could defeat a dolphin’s sonar, then surely it would defeat an enemy’s sonar. Which was precisely what the Navy wanted.

There was little Eva could do about the Navy’s future plans, but when it came to the Denise 2… well, sometimes the low-tech solution was the best one. A simple application of metallic duct tape made the submersible visible to sonar—and kept Eva’s dolphins safe.

As Owens grumbled, Eva admired her work and mused.

Never underestimate the power of duct tape.

Eva and Owens took the Denise 2 to the sandy bottom of Old Port Royal Bay to test the submersible’s ability to drop things and pick them up. It was no secret that DARPA hoped to be able to use these vessels to find and deactivate sea mines. Fortunately, they wouldn’t be dealing with anything so dangerous here in Roatán.

Instead, they’d be hunting for treasure.

Sort of.

Old Port Royal Bay was said to have been an eighteenth-century pirate lair, and legends abounded of gold in its depths. Some rumors claimed a Spanish galleon had wrecked there, creating yet another attraction for treasure hunters. Of course, if a ship had sunk there, its wooden frame would have long ago decomposed, leaving no more than perhaps an anchor—much like Christopher Columbus’s Santa Maria, whose anchor, and only her anchor, was found off of old Fort Navidad in present-day Haiti.

Eva climbed after Owens into the Denise 2. "I miss the original Denise, Owens. This prototype doesn’t even have as much as a viewport." And indeed, it didn’t. Designed as a prototype for an unmanned underwater vehicle, their view came from a tablet screen with input from an external camera.

The ride over to Old Port Royal Bay was long and pleasant. They passed