(Obviously need a pic here, or the Saturday Scenes graphic. But another first was retrieving the pic below from dropbox. Me oh my)
First scene from Monster-Moored for #SaturdayScenes
(Google+ doesn't let formatting through, will have to dust off my HTML for bolding and paragraphing)
1. Tardi Possessed
Tardi stopped paddling. He sat up on his surfboard. He imagined his legs hanging in the sea, shark bait, and hurriedly compared the distances from himself, a dot in the bay, to Cape Byron in the southeast, the Quarry Lane ridge, and Mt Chincogan in the north.
He slid into the water and checked the undersea to the blue limits of his goggle-augmented sight. No, there weren’t any large grey marauders anywhere taking an interest in him. If there were, Polk loved to say, nature would have its way. No use agonizing over your death by shark before the fact. For a top surfer, Tardi remained stupidly frightened of white pointers. The local sharks, grey nurses, were micro-chipped with human aversion technology.
Up for a breath.
He duck-dived to get an accurate fix on his position. The Twin Camel Humps, the stony hillocks that once were signposted as The Pass were below him. Dragging his board along by the leg-rope he swam to the ocean-side of the Humps where a sunken prawn trawler lay.
He’d paddled out to check the weird new coral. Just the thing for an under-wave shot for the video he was putting together for his application for the Virtual Surfing job. Which he needed for rent money. Which he needed to move out of the depot. It’d been eight years since Steve’s accident and his father would probably never forgive Tardi for his part in it.
His stroke became erratic as he remembered the disaster.
Concentrate! Get out from under the old man’s rule and you won’t need to remember it all the time. He glimpsed the silvery clumps out of the corner of his eye. The silver coral grew in a squared pattern – ten rows of the clumps – over the wreck’s upper flank. In a pattern at all, they had to have been seeded there.
Up again for a breath of air.
He checked the sea surface for triangular fins. The east was too bright to see much with the sun still only a couple of hand-widths above the horizon. He turned in the water by sculling with his hands and kicking with his feet. The coast was dark blue and rumpled with hills. The surface of the sea was like a bronze mirror. No wind. No swell either. His surfboard only moved because he came near it, troubling the water.
He squeezed his eyebrows together to adjust his new live-mind goggles for magnification, took a deep breath and dived to the limit of his leg rope. The early sunlight trembled through the glassy green-blue water and reflected off the barbs, is what he called the silver coral’s trembling hair-like structures. He decided that the sun’s rays glancing over the hairs caused the shimmering-net effect people told him about.
Another long look in every direction over the water surface.
His surfboard lifted a centimeter or so.
He counted seconds, hanging in the water. Twenty.
The board lifted again.
Cooler water from the depths raised goose bumps on his legs. It’s the swell starting. Get on with it.
grung grung grung grung grung grung
A vibration. He sank to hear it underwater.
Rung grung, rung grung, rung grung.
Sounded like an engine. Nothing to see yet. He trod water against the increasing strength of the swell. Could it be the Virtual Diving Boat? He grinned without letting water in. He wouldn’t mind a ride after he got his sequence. He kicked upward to contact the driver.
RUU-UU-UNG. GRUU-UU-UNG. RUU-UU-UNG. GRUU-UU-UNG!
The water trembled, he with it, the boat was that near!
The white keel cut through the blue underwater morning, straight at him.
The stupid diver! He sculled frantically down and backward.
The boat lifted over a final little swell. Crashed onto his surfboard.
A force clad in a million bubbles punched him backward, toward the wreck.