There had to be a reason that Jesse's head hurt like the mother of all headaches.

And there had to be a reason that he was rocking back and forth enough to make the most hardened of sailors sea-sick, and that the sun was beating down on him, and there was the smell of salt in the air—

It came back to him: going to his quarters in the guest house. A quick shower, hot and soothing, followed by a solid rap to the back of his skull and collapsing into strong arms behind him as knees turned to jelly. Jesse thought he remembered teeth—lots and lots of teeth!—and then nothing more until now.

Which didn't explain the smell of salt, and feeling of nausea. To figure that out, Jesse realized, he was going to have to open his eyes. That in itself was a distinctly unpleasant thought, one that retained a high probability of being followed by the removal of his last meal in a manner that he didn't want to contemplate. He swallowed hard.

"You're awake. Don't try to pretend that you're not."

Jesse ought to know that voice. He'd heard it before, and recently. The rocking increased, and someone hoisted themselves up onto the raft that he was floating on.

Jesse's eyes flew open before he realized that he didn't want to do that. Light flashed in and seared a path of burned neurons into his brain. Reality intruded.

It took thinking several long moments to re-establish itself as the dominant function of his brain, and Jesse realized that he was on a makeshift raft of lashed together logs, floating in the middle of the ocean, with several shark mutants surrounding him. They were in the water, very comfortable. He was on the raft, wet and cold and thoroughly miserable.

All except for one shark mutant, who had perched on one side of the raft in order to drip cold salt water onto him. Jesse groaned, with a leave-me-alone demand implicit in the sound.

"Wake up," the shark mutant insisted. "The sooner you cooperate, the sooner you'll get to dry land, lubber."

If I groan again, will they leave me alone to die in peace? Jesse tried it.

No good. More water splashed onto him, this time accompanied by a little shake. Jesse gave up trying to ignore them. "What do you want?"

"Wake up and listen."

"I am awake. That's what you said," Jesse replied peevishly, wishing his head didn't hurt. "Believe me, it's not my idea."

He looked around, squinting at the sunlight bouncing off the waves around him. That was what was causing the sea-sickness: the raft was coasting up and down on the ocean. Normally this sort of thing didn't bother Jesse. Amazing what a little rap on the noggin can do. Jesse swallowed hard and commanded his stomach to behave.

"You ready to listen?"

"Don't really have a choice. What do you want from me?" Jesse jerked his thumb at the miles of water around. "If it was shark chum that you were looking for, you'd have dumped me overboard by now. I suppose you have a reason for stranding me in the middle of the Pacific. Am I a hostage for Adam's good behavior?"

"Nope." The Great White crossed his arms, looking squarely at the molecular. Jesse vaguely recalled being introduced to this particular specimen, being impressed by the man's size and girth even for a shark mutant. Warren, that was his name. "You're here because we've got ourselves a use for you."

"Ah. You're assuming I'm going to cooperate. Big assumption." A wave washed over the edge of the raft, re-watering Jesse's pants. He ignored it.

"We've been waitin' for about six months or so for someone like you to come along. Another day or two won't matter." Warren leaned back, striving for nonchalance, going for the got-the-situation-under-control look. It was working. "By the way, lookin' for this?" Warren held up a small gold colored object: Jesse's comm. ring. Jesse's heart sank, and he lifted his chin to compensate.

"What's to stop me from swimming back in?"

"Couple of things. First off, the tide's on its way out. Now, you look like a pretty strong feller, but give you a few miles against the tide, you'll tucker out quick."

"And second?"

Warren jerked his thumb at the shark mutants swimming lazily around the raft, basking in the waves and looking as menacing as the real thing. The only thing missing, Jesse thought, was the dorsal fin that would stick up out of the water. The theme song from "Jaws" sidled through his mind. Warren smirked. "Them." He leaned over. "Now, it's just a guess on my part, but I'm thinking that they—and me—can out swim you any day of the week and have time for a cup of coffee as well. What do you think?"

What did Jesse think? Jesse was thinking that while the human part of these New Mutants were likely to have grown up with the Commandment that talked about not killing thy neighbor, the shark part would have as difficult a time staying under control as Shalimar did. And having seen what could happen when Shalimar lost control—well, Mrs. Kilmartin didn't raise a fool for a son. Actually, she pawned off the raising of her son on various boarding schools, but that was beside the point. The pertinent part of the discussion had to do with making his way back to shore alive. "Suppose I stay right here on this raft? You going to dump me into the drink?"

"Nope." Warren cocked his head. "I figure you got 'nother couple of hours before you're beyond our reach."

"And that means—?"

Warren looked off into the distance. "You can't see it, but we can. Bayliss set up an electric fence around this damn island. None of us can go any further than five miles out from the beach. Beyond that, the electrical fence kicks in, we fry, and unless someone hauls us up to the surface quick like, we drown. Not a real pleasant way to go."

"And I take it I'm drifting out toward that five mile mark."

"You got it."

Jesse considered. "I'm sure all this has a point. Care to share?"

"Wouldn't have it any other way." Warren regarded him with grim triumph. "You got two hours to agree to do what we say, or you go drifting out to sea to play with our dumb, stupid, and very hungry cousins."

"And what is it that you want me to do?"

"Take down the electric fence."

"Why do I think there's more to this than a simple flipping the switch to 'off'?"

"Bright boy." Warren leaned back. If he had had a piece of straw, he'd have been chewing it like a cow-herder. "The off switch is located 'bout thirty feet below us."

"Below us?" Jesse had a sinking feeling, no pun intended.

"That's right. Bayliss stuck it in a nice little shack under thirty feet of ocean water with some heavy duty padlocks encased in concrete to keep us shark types out. Nobody can get to it. Not us, and not any of his men. We're trapped like tuna in a net."

"That doesn't make sense, even for Colonel Bayliss," Jesse protested. "He has to be able to get you out for missions. How did he sent the four originals out to rescue that ship from the terrorists?"

"Chopper." Warren nodded. "Lifted 'em right out over the fence, mile or so up in the air. Could probably do it with a big battleship, too; quarter us in some of the top levels. See any of 'em around?"

No, Jesse couldn't. He wasn't seeing much of anything except a lot of waves that seemed to be looming higher and higher, the edges breaking over the rim of the raft. And was that a real shark fin cutting through the water over there beyond the 'fence'? Jesse suppressed a shudder. "What's my part in this?"

"You're a mutant that can slide through anything," Warren said. "Your part is the simple stuff. You get inside that water-tight shack, make it so that the net can never be turned back on, and we'll take you back in to land. You'll be a little wet, but you won't be shark bait."

"I'll be a little more than wet. Swimming thirty feet straight down will take a while, and I don't see any oxygen tanks on this raft. I don't have your gills, guy."

"There's air inside the shack. You get there, you get a breather. You don't get in, you drown. Simple enough?"

Jesse plopped himself down on the raft, signaling his refusal to play.

"What?"

"I've got two choices," Jesse explained. "I can die trying to swim down thirty feet, only to run out of air because I don't have enough to exhale when I phase, or I can stay here, wait the two hours for your friends to take a bite, and hope that my friends figure out what's going on before that happens." He levered his arms in the air, pretending to weigh the options on a balance. "Certain death now against potential death in two hours or later. Gee, what's the best solution, Mr. Wizard?"

"Smart ass," Warren muttered. "How about I take a bite out of you right now? Little bitty one, out of your arm, just to show you we mean business?"

"Be my guest. You're not helping your—"

Warren's teeth flashed, striking. Jesse phased solid, felt something crunch on his arm.

Warren yelped. "Hey!" He spit out of couple of teeth; no big deal, he had plenty more waiting to grow in shark style.

"Oh, did I forget to tell you? This phasing thing goes both ways." Jesse breathed a sigh of relief: he hadn't been certain that even his diamond hard form would stand up to the power of a shark bite. What were the numbers Morrison had quoted? Two thousand or so pounds of pressure? "Stand off, dude. You can't force me, and I can't force you. You can kill me, but that won't get you anything but a murder charge." He leaned back on the raft, ignoring the water that danced through the air to land on him. He was already soaked; another gallon wouldn't make any difference. Jesse settled down to wait for the tide to wash him out to sea.

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The first feeling that Shalimar felt upon waking was peace. Blissful contentment; none of the ravening hunger that she'd had before. No urge to wrestle some man—any man—to the floor and rip his clothes off. No unconquerable desire to squall at the moon until some tomcat came to relieve her. No, right now what Shalimar enjoyed was the security of being at home in her skin, resting and relaxed.

The second feeling was humiliation. She sat bolt up straight—and cringed. "Adam?"

"Shalimar!" Adam hastened over to the stretcher where she lay. "How do you feel?"

"Adam, what happened?" Shalimar avoided the question. "Did I—?"

"No, you didn't," he quickly reassured her. "Close call, but no, you didn't. Fortunately it was Jesse who found you first, and he brought you in. We sedated you until you could sleep off the effects."

"Effects?" Shalimar was confused. "Effects of what? Wasn't I in--" and she cringed again--"heat?"

"Shark potion." Adam grimaced. "Another thing that Martha 'forgot' to share with me. Some of the mutant's bodily fluids act as an aphrodisiac. That's what has the mutants so upset. They're being attacked for samples and black marketers are selling the results. Lt. Vanderworthy told me about it."

Shalimar frowned. "But I didn't take any potion."

"I found traces on your hand. Lt. Vanderworthy also told me that one of the mutants—Angel, I think he called him, after the angel shark that his DNA was mutated from—makesa habit of selling himself to the black marketers. The others don't think much of him. You must have stumbled onto the spot where the exchange takes place and gotten some on your hand."

"That would explain it." And was a much more palatable explanation than going into heat. Shalimar never wanted to feel that out of control ever again.

Well…maybe never was too strong a word. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if it happened with the right person, someone that she wanted to be with. And the time was right. And the mood. Shalimar looked around. "Where's Brennan?"

"Bayliss has him," Adam replied, taking his pencil flash to look into her eyes.

"Colonel Bayliss? Why? What did Brennan do?"

"The excuse is safety. The sniper tried again." Adam filled her in. "And I can't get hold of Jesse. The shark mutants have him, want him to take down the electric fence around the island."

Shalimar looked around her. The clinic appeared distressingly empty. "Adam, what's been going on? Where is everyone?"

"That's what I'd like to know." Adam turned away, satisfied with the feral's recovery. "There are a few too many things that we haven't been told, and I think we deserve some answers. You up to it?"

Shalimar set her chin. "And in the mood for tearing a few limbs off."