The sea hit the rocks in choppy waves of gray, its roiling action mirroring the lowering sky. Two figures moved in the darkness, one fitfully on two legs, lurching across the beach toward his companion, one swimming fluidly in the angry water.
Piccolo clutched a black cylinder tightly to his chest, darting glances over his shoulder, expecting pursuit from the dark fortress block. No alarm was raised over the crash of the surf. He knelt at its edge and pulled a handset from the utility belt on his wetsuit. This was important enough to break radio silence. Wincing, he thumbed it to life.
"Friend hurt," chirped the digitized voice of his dolphin companion from the handset. Darwin swam closer, smelling the human's blood.
"I'll live." Piccolo breathed heavily, hugging his side. "Come in SeaQuest. I've got the goop. And it's hot."
Captain Bridger himself responded, concern in his voice. "It's too dangerous to bring aboard SeaQuest. We can't risk the virus getting loose. You'll have to destroy it."
"Right," Piccolo said, looking around in frustration. "With what, my bare hands?"
"Chimneys," Darwin answered, cryptically.
"Yes, you're right, Darwin!" Bridger sounded excited. "Seaman Piccolo, did you pass any black smokers on your way to the island?"
"Those things that look like anthills belching hot, noxious fumes? Yeah, I saw some."
"They're anaerobic hydrothermal vents. No virus can live in that environment."
"I don't think I can get close enough, sir," Piccolo had to admit. "I may have genetically altered gills, but I can't breathe what they're spewing out and I'm moving kind of slow."
"Darwin can," chirped the dolphin. "Darwin quick." So saying, he swam in quick, tight circles.
"It might work," the Captain said. "If you drop it straight down the chimney, Darwin."
"Friend hurt," Darwin said. "Need help."
"I think I can make it back to SeaQuest," Piccolo said, gritting his teeth. "Don't worry about me," he said, breaking the connection. He waded out into the surf, nearly buffeted off his feet.
"Need help," Darwin said.
"I'll be fine," Piccolo said, handing him the canister with a wan smile. "It's important, Darwin."
Darwin took it in his beak, tossed his head and dove into the sea with a flip of his powerful tail. The harness of his breathing apparatus fit snuggly against his skin, cutting through the water without a ripple. Darwin barely knew it was there anymore. It was a wonder not having to surface for air while he wore it.
Darwin chose his course carefully. He didn't dive straight for the bottom but bounced high-pitched sonar off rocky outcroppings and schools of fish, finding his way through the treacherous deep. Everything in his world was either food or feeding.
But he was a dolphin with a mission. Giving a giant squid a wide berth, Darwin worked his way toward the chimneys. He could taste their acrid tang long before they stung his eyes.
A small ridge rose out of the sea floor, pocked with raised mounds venting dark gasses like mini volcanoes. The water got hotter the closer he swam. His skin tingled and every instinct told him to veer away. But he had to get closer.
He zeroed in on the largest chimney and nosedived, closing his blowhole. It was dizzying. The black smoker loomed large, its thick vapors boiling up in a great cloud. He couldn't see through it but with his sonar he could feel the shape of it. Darwin dove right through the cloud, his skin screaming, and dropped the canister right down the gullet.
He wheeled and shot away, nearly in shock. Cool water soothed his burning skin as he gasped for air, never so glad for his protective harness. He hurried away, not for SeaQuest, where he could get some healing salve, but to find his friend Piccolo, who needed his help.
He sent a sonar blast before him, listening for the telltale shape of his friend. Very faintly, he heard—
"Flipper!"
Bud's cheery voice cut through the daydream that washed away with the splash from Sandy's cupped hands. The boys laughed, bobbing along side the dolphin.
"You zoned out there, fella," Sandy said, hanging on to his fin as they swam through the sun-warmed bay. "We've got to get this raft back to the dock before dark."
Flipper chittered his agreement and lowered his head, nosing the floating platform toward the dock. Sandy and Bud kicked feebly, no match for his powerful tail.
"He's probably dreaming about the nice big fish he's going to get for dinner," Bud said to his brother.
Blowing spray from his blowhole, Flipper sighed, redoubling his effort. He had work to do. His boys depended on him.
He was a dolphin with a mission.