The Collector

Mickey glided through dark frigid waters. In the state of the art atmospheric diving suit he could move more like Iron Man and less like the Michelin Man. The people funding these collections had some deep pockets.

Despite the suit’s ability to withstand the pressure for quite some time, he knew the fuel for his thrusters was starting to get low. Even so he didn’t panic. He was getting close.

Surely Captain Baker was tapping his foot with impatience and the crew grumbling about how much time he was taking.

Let one of them come out here and do the collection.

But they couldn’t. That’s why they needed him. There were only so many deep sea divers qualified for these collections and few were willing to stick their necks out to collect for the Revolution.

He started navigating his way through a rocky crevice and as he did a glow began to grow brighter. He emerged from the tight space and laid eyes on his quarry. Glass sponges — or more formally, Hexactinellid sponges. From first glance he could tell there were about a dozen of them. Twice as many as he’d promised he would find.

For a moment he gazed at them in wonder. Their cylindrical latticed forms looked like something from another planet. They looked so delicate, as though he could shatter them with little force. But their skeletons were strong and flexible with sharp spicules all over. Not as fragile as they appeared.

With precision he started to cut the closest one away from its tight hold on the rocks. This wasn’t an easy process. The fibers with which the sponge clung to the sea bed were strong and resistant to separation. Once he pried it free he gently placed it within the net attached to his utility belt. He repeated the process with five more of the luminescent sponges. No need to kill them all. Captain Baker would never know.

Mickey didn’t like killing any of them. They were so beautiful, glowing pale in the murky blackness. How long had they swayed in the cold undercurrents? Hundreds of years? Thousands? Who was he to snuff out their lights? Supposedly they were creatures, not plants. That had made it worse when he learned it. Even after nearly fifteen collections it would eat at him for days afterwards. Sure, they weren’t dead yet and they wouldn’t be while they were in his possession, but their fate was sealed.

He glanced down at them floating in the net as he swam back into the rocky maw. He wondered who the people were, the ones who were about to get a few hundred more years to live? Would they be the ones to make things better or would they end up like all the others, greedy for power as much as time? He didn’t have high hopes. Even though they were supposedly members of the Revolution he’d never met a single Hexactin that he considered trustworthy.

Most rebels had bought into the theory that the only way to combat the current Regime controlled by Hexactins was to create Hexactins leaders of their own. Mickey wasn’t convinced, but they paid him well for his collection services. The few reefs of glass sponges that once existed had been picked clean years ago. Now only experienced divers with the right equipment could obtain them from their dark pockets in North Pacific and Arctic waters.

He had escaped the rocks and was steadily rising toward the surface while swimming toward the place where the ship was anchored. It was just off the coast of a rocky island north of Newfoundland. With the advanced suit’s ability to keep consistent pressure, there was no need for a slow ascent and no threat of decompression sickness. Soon he’d hand off the sponges and another six figure deposit would arrive in his bank account. Then he could go home and await the revolution or another summons.

His contemplations were suddenly interrupted as something streaked past his eyes, an inch away from his helmet. He recoiled and whipped his head around. Then he looked up. A diver swam above him, holding an underwater rifle that was pointed directly at him. He activated his thrusters and shot forward. He’d risen high enough that the other diver had no need for an atmospheric suit so he had no chance in out maneuvering the assailant. His only chance was to employ speed. But then another diver surged in front of him wielding an underwater pistol.

Mickey fumbled at his belt for his knife, very aware that he had literally brought a knife to a gun fight. He glanced behind him to see the rifle shooter had caught up to him. Trapped.

The pistol holder pointed at the glass sponges floating in the net beside Mickey’s hip.

Mickey nodded and slowly untethered the net from his belt and held it out away from his body. Captain Baker would be angry, but he’d rather live to suffer the Captain’s wrath than die fighting over a few sponges. The diver with the rifle snatched the net out of Mickey’s hand.

Mickey hoped they’d be on their merry way and leave him to his own devices now that he’d given them what they were after. But the pistol holder pointed at Mickey and then straight up.

Again, Mickey nodded. If they wanted to kill him they’d just do it here. But perhaps they just wanted information first before they offed him. What choice did he have? Unless he wanted to test the integrity of his suit against their weapons, he was totally at their mercy.

The pistol holder led the way to a rocky outcropping and surfaced first. Mickey looked back debating if there was any hope of escape, but with his thruster fuel almost gone and the rifle shooter still behind him, there were no good prospects.

So he continued upward and burst into the graying twilight. He moved clumsily toward a rocky ledge, struggling under the weight of his suit. After lowering himself awkwardly to sit he began fumbling with the fasteners and clamps securing his helmet in place. Once he managed to remove it, he looked around at his odd surroundings. To his left a large stone circular structure rose above the waves with strange runes carved on it. And to his right a large pedestal skewered into the air.

The pistol holder had removed his mask and stood before him. Mickey had thought his surroundings were bizarre, but the face of the man before him was even stranger. He had the silvery irises of a Hexactin, but his hair was white and his face was wrinkled. He was something impossible: an old Hexactin.

The rifle shooter took up position alongside the oxymoron of a man, still holding the net of glass sponges. They looked like a heap of bones now that they were all nestled together. A curtain of long copper hair fell free as the rifle shooter removed her mask and wetsuit hood. Her eyes were vibrant green. Not a Hexactin.

“What do you want?” Mickey asked gruffly. “You have the sponges. Give them to whoever you collect for and get your money. I don’t have anything else, so let me go.”

The old man tilted his head toward the woman and nodded. She climbed up a ladder on the pedestal. Suddenly flames leapt from the top of the column. The woman let them grow larger and brighter. Then she held out the net of sponges and dropped them into the fire.

Mickey felt his jaw drop. This was crazy.

The old man was staring at him expectantly.

“Who are you people?” Mickey asked.

“I’m Maxwell and this is my daughter, Sylvia.”

“Who do you work for?”

“We’ll get to that. But first, who are you? And not your name. We know the basics. Mickey Sullivan. Born and raised in Jeffersonville, Indiana. Made it through the Olympic trials for swimming, but never got to compete because the Regime took over. Got hired on to a dive crew for a shipwreck salvage company until the Regime shut that down too in their efforts to restrict access to the sponges. Now you do collections for the Revolution and get paid pretty well for your services.”

“H-how do you know all that?” Mickey stuttered. “You’re part of the Regime aren’t you?”

Sylvia, who had rejoined them, laughed. “You think someone from the Regime would burn glass sponges?”

No, he didn’t.

“Back to my question,” Maxwell declared. “Who are you, Mickey Sullivan?”

“You clearly know my life story!” Mickey exclaimed. “I mean what else is there?”

“What else is there? Everything that matters!” replied Maxwell. “What drives you? Are you a collector for the money? Are you seeking revenge on the Regime? Are you a believer in the Revolution?”

Mickey stared for a moment into Maxwell’s eyes. Never trust a Hexactin. And yet he wanted to.

“I don’t care for the Regime. Never have. Their greed knows no bounds. I help the Revolution because it feels like the only option, but I don’t believe in it, not the way others do. They want to fight fire with fire, creating Hexactins of their own. And I think the only way this ends is with us all burning. The money is good but I have more than enough.”

Maxwell and Sylvia shared a glance before Maxwell turned back to Mickey.

“What if there was another option? One that aims to eliminate all Hexactins.”

“I’d say it sounds like a fairytale.”

Maxwell chuckled. “Isn’t that what everyone thought when Dr. Oliver first presented his theory about the infusion of glass sponge DNA with human? There was no way someone could transfer the longevity of earth‘s longest living creature to humans. Impossible, wasn’t it? And not just extend life but enhance strength and restore youth. But he did it. And now we live in a world governed by people who have the resources to secure themselves both long life and political power to control all those who don’t.”

Mickey appraised the old man’s features again. “Aren’t you one of them?”

Maxwell sighed, “I thought I wanted to be. In the early days, the side effects weren’t fully understood. It was back when the procedure was a two step process. They couldn’t do the full infusion all at once. I had the first part done, but never the second.”

“Why?” Mickey asked.

“Every day for twenty five years I’d come home from a day at the office and greet my wife. Same old routine: a hug and kiss on the cheek. Nothing remarkable but it always brought a smile to my face and a comfort of feeling at home. But the day of the infusion I walked into our house, hugged my wife, and felt absolutely nothing.”

“So you discontinued the process and now you’re only part Hexactin?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Maxwell said. “I’ll live longer than most, but as you can see my youth was never restored.”

“Why does it happen? The change inside the person?” Mickey asked.

“It’s not a simple answer, but what it comes down to is too much of a Hexactin’s DNA has been replaced with that of a creature with no cardiovascular system.”

Mickey stared at the old man with a quizzical expression.

“Means they don’t have hearts. We’ve managed to steal another creature‘s long lifespan, but we’ve sacrificed a key part of our humanity to do so.”

“And you want to eliminate all Hexactins? How?”

Maxwell looked at Sylvia again and then Sylvia stepped forward.

“We — not just my father and I, but our group — well, we’re working on a virus that will target Hexactins,” Sylvia explained. “Until it’s ready we need help stopping the creation of more Hexactins. We want you to join us.”

“Me?” Mickey asked incredulously. “Why me?”

Sylvia stared into his eyes for several seconds then tilted her head. “Why haven’t you chosen to become one?”

“A Hexactin?”

“Yes. Both the Regime and Revolution offer their collectors the choice. Most take advantage of the opportunity. You haven’t. Why?”

Mickey shrugged. “I’m not afraid of death. Maybe a little of dying, but not what comes after. I believe this is just the first chapter. No need to prolong it. Especially not with the way the world is now.”

Sylvia smiled. She gestured to the stone ring with its runes and the pedestal. “The native people that once lived in this harsh land believed so too. This ring symbolized infinity and eternal life after death. They understood the proper pattern of things and like you they knew death in this life was necessary. Modern people think we’re so advanced and unequaled in our intellect. But most people today know much less than ancient peoples in many ways. They think this life is it and they’ll stop at nothing to hold onto it. They have no gods and so they seek to become one.”

“Won’t you be playing god with unleashing this virus?”

Sylvia raised an eyebrow. “An interesting question. I’ll respond with another. Are we passing the judgment or are we an agent of justice? Maybe you think you know the answer, but maybe the generations after us will be the ones to decide. That’s usually how history works. Unlike the Regime and the Revolution, we aim to leave a legacy rather than uphold a dynasty.”

Mickey repeated his earlier question, “So who are you?”

“We are the antithesis to the fire. We are a cleansing tide that will wash across this earth and restore balance to humanity. We are the Flood.”

Mickey let her words wash over him, feeling he was on the edge of a precipice. He looked at Maxwell. “Won’t the virus kill you?”

The old man grinned. “I’m counting on it.”

Maxwell had clearly stood on a precipice of his own and chosen the path he was on. Could Mickey join him?

Maxwell pointed beyond the stone ring. “If you want to rejoin your crew they’re anchored just beyond that next inlet. Or if you want to help us tip the scales, we’ll be headed that way.” He swung his pointed hand toward the fiery pedestal. Without much hesitation he and Sylvia started their trek along the rocks. They passed by the column and were disappearing into the darkening night.

Mickey stood and picked up his helmet. He walked past the massive torch, forsaking the fire for the unknown course that lay before him. For better or worse he had chosen the Flood. He hoped he had made the right choice, but as Sylvia had said, history would decide.