The Byssus Killer by Charles Tucker (read a book .TXT) 📗

skeleton crew. Commanding a live ship, the skeleton crew were ready to dump the uncontrolled mess on the fish processing deck, including the one hundred crew members in suspended animation. They simply had to open the stern trawl entry door and the sea would wash clean the processing deck. The Russian captain refused to concur until he had Reykjavik Coastguard permission. Iceland enforced strict laws on discharge at sea. Reykjavik noted the last port of call was Falmouth. Reykjavik called Falmouth and politely enquired why they had given permission for two factory ships to enter Icelandic waters. An astonished Falmouth Coastguard stated the permitted course given to the two ships, one under tow, was in transit to Bourgas on the Black Sea through the Mediterranean. Any other course was illegal.

An Icelandic Fishery Protection gunboat appeared over the horizon to escort the illegal vessels south out of Icelandic waters. Reykjavik requested a British Fishery Protection vessel pick up the escort duties and suggested arresting the errant captains in Falmouth for hazarding vessels at sea by sailing an illegal course.

Falmouth Coastguard informed Plymouth Marine Labs of the return, under arrest, of the two factory ships. Would Plymouth accept the pleasure of examining the processing decks for the presence of a fifty-year old atom bomb! A joke between two organisations who knew each other well. Falmouth had long decreed the atom bomb story was untrue despite the old codger’s insistence. They knew Plymouth Labs were keen to examine the hundred crew encased in Pinna nobilis byssus hard coatings.

The scientists and biologists had a huge problem. Faced with the addition of another one hundred encased bodies to add to the five already in the morgue, how could they release the victims at one and the same time to avoid a ‘collective consciousness’ riot. On the gloomy side their release actions might provoke the demise of one hundred souls.

Echoing around the lab, the words: do not upset ‘the Soul of the Sea’.

 

 

 Clearing the Deck

Heads were huddled to meet the challenge. The factory ships were tied up in Falmouth’s Flushing Harbour.

How could they enter the fish processing deck without being swallowed by three-metre long transparent byssus shells? Zapping them with lasers was proposed. Gassing them was dismissed, they did not breathe. Drying them out might take weeks. The shells had the advantage. They were invisible. The solution was blindingly obvious to the straightforward thinking technicians. Make the shells visible.

The marine biologist remembered his visit to the Sardinian island Sant Antioco. In his early search for the incredibly fine byssus cloth, he had met Senora Chaira Vigo the last known weaver of the cloth. She was curator of the little museum on the island, Museo del Biss, dedicated to the Pinna nobilis shell or king mussel. Senora Vigo kept watch over the protected last known colony of Pinna nobilis. Every spring she dived down to the colony and garnered about four hundred grams of byssus threads for her non-profit making spinning and weaving enterprise. She had an empathy with the shells, knowing how they had a reputation for attacking invaders if the colony was threatened.

Senora Vigo had a shared conscious faith with the Pinna nobilis, her ‘Soul of the Sea’. They would never attack her. Had she known what danger her faithful Pinna nobilis were about to meet in the cool Atlantic waters, she would have wept.

But the marine biologist had his own life and that of others to protect from the aggressive shells. The technician’s statement, ‘make them visible’ fired his memory. The ancient Egyptians had found normally clear transparent byssus cloth, when steeped in lemon juice, produced the finest cloth, more golden than gold. The pharaohs demanded it, Jason and the Argonauts returned dressed in it and now Senora Vigo was the last person on Earth weaving the golden miracle.

In the Museo del Bisso, Senora Vigo would demonstrate the fineness of her golden cloth, but her final blockbuster was holding aloft a gloriously golden one metre long Pinna nobilis shell. Years ago, she had brought up a dead top shell, but had no idea the inside of the shell was coated with a byssus deposit. By chance she had steeped the shell in lemon juice and was rewarded with a golden ornament fit for a pharaoh.

The marine biologist had the technical answer, lemon juice. Spray the whole of the fish processing deck with lemon juice. Keep the atmosphere rich in an aerosol of lemon juice. If Senora Vigo was right, the rogue byssus shells would glow more golden than a sunset in paradise. Their hinges held the shells’ life support, central nerves and reflex reaction muscles, stomach, digestive and putrifying enzymes. The hinges too would become visible. It would be the technicians’ task to destroy the hinges but preserve the golden shells. Hinge destruction by sharply focussed laser or taser had to be the technicians’ choice.

Speedy action was now the essence. One hundred and five encased bodies were exhibiting a ‘collective consciousness’ to be rid of their suspended animation. Neutralising the attacking byssus shells was in hand. Releasing one hundred and five bodies from diamond hard casings at the same time seemed impossible. It had to be done.

 

 

 Come the Hour, Come the Starfish

The marine scientists were grappling with the amazing ability of the starfish to break into rock hard oyster, clam and limpet shells with no apparent mechanism to do so. A creature using its five arms to crawl at a mere five inches per hour could only attack prey that did not move at all. When the starfish crawled on to its prey, it had to have some powerful weapons to immobilise its victim. What were those weapons and why didn’t the prey recognise and defend itself?

The lab had one example of the half dead byssus shell rendered feeble by evidence of a starfish drilling a hole into its hinge. They also