“Not exactly,” Darryl said, at the same time delicately extracting the fish’s heart and plopping it with tweezers into one of the jars. Michael got a whiff of formaldehyde. “Unlike the ethylene glycol you put in your radiator, the molecules of fish antifreeze behave differently; yes, they do protect the fish from freezing, even in supercool water, but just so long as the fish is careful not to—”
There was a loud banging on the door, and when Michael turned he could see the improvised rope handle stretch.
“Now what?” Darryl complained.
“It’s probably Calloway—they’re doing a complete search of the base.”
Darryl grudgingly got off his stool. “But why come here? To search the scene of the crime?”
“They’re not looking for the bodies,” Michael warned him. “Murphy’s keeping all that as quiet as he can.”
Darryl stopped and looked at Michael. “They think I’ve got the dog team in here?” Shaking his head, he unlooped the rope.
“Hey, mate, what you afraid of?” Calloway said as he barged in, with the grunt in the long-brimmed cap close behind.
They stood just inside the lab, pounding the snow off their coats and boots.
“I just prefer it when people call ahead.”
“I’ll do that,” Calloway said, clapping him on the shoulder, “next time.” He caught sight of the lab bench and its eviscerated subject.
“Icefish?” Calloway said. “You know, the bigger ones make some pretty fine filets.” He moseyed over, and scanning the specimen jars said, “But I think I’ll take a pass on what’s left of this mess.”
The grunt in the cap—Michael recognized him now, his name was Osmond and he worked with Uncle Barney in the kitchen—trailed along after, poking his nose into some cabinets and under some counters. What on earth, Michael wondered, could he possibly think he would find there?
“But this fish here, this fella’s still fresh,” Calloway said, sticking with his customary outback impression, and gazing down into the cooling tank. “Judging from those bony lips, I’d say this one is a Charcot’s icefish.”
“You would be correct,” Darryl said, sounding mollified; he was always appreciative when anyone displayed some knowledge of marine life. “We just caught it in the last batch of traps.”
Michael came around to the other side of the table to get a better look, and he saw a long fish with an armor-plated head and a flat nose, like a duck’s bill. Its skin was so thin that he could see the complex pattern of plates and bones just inside. Darryl, too, came around, perhaps to point out some of its unusual features, but bumped into Osmond, who’d completed his rudimentary inspection of the premises and had decided to join the party.
“You can see right through it,” Osmond said, slowly; Michael didn’t think he had a lot going on upstairs. “It’s like he’s Casper the friendly fish.”
There were smiles all around as Osmond bent his head over the tank to get a closer look, but then Darryl suddenly glanced at the brim of his hat, and shouted, “No! Get back!”
Darryl swiped at the cap, but it was already too late—a great blob of snow and ice, shimmering like a cascade of diamonds, slid down off the brim and splashed into the tank. The fish moved, surprised by the movement, and, possibly thinking that some food source had wandered by, raised its head toward the surface. The rain of ice crystals pattered on the surface, some bobbing a few inches down, and touching the fish on its nose and gills.
“Goddammit!” Darryl cried, and a second later Michael could see why—the quivering fish stopped moving, its body straightened out, and as Michael looked on with amazement, a fine latticework of ice swiftly rippled across its entire length in a chain reaction, turning it as stiff as a board and as dead as a doornail. Slowly it floated, staring and transparent, back to the surface of the tank.
Michael was confused. “But I thought you said these fish had antifreeze in their blood.”
“They do,” Darryl said mournfully, “and that’s what keeps them alive in supercool water, at the lower depths. But ice floats, remember, and so it doesn’t penetrate the benthic regions. If these fish actually come into contact with ice, the ice crystals act as a nucleus, a propagating agent, and overwhelm their defenses.”
“Geez,” Osmond said, holding his wet cap in his hands now. “I’m really sorry. I never knew something like that could happen.” He looked around at the others to see if he was in serious trouble.
“It’s all right, mate,” Calloway said. “If it’s no good to the beakers, it’s still fine for the bouillabaisse.”
“Not this one,” Darryl said. “I can still thaw it out and drain the blood.”
“The blood,” Calloway said, dubiously. “That’s what you want?”
“That blood, my friend, contains secrets the world will be very glad to have one day.”
Calloway tapped Osmond on the sleeve, as if to say ‘Let’s leave the loonies to their crazy experiments,’ and they skulked off toward the door. “I’m sure you’re right about that, Doc,” he said, then they ducked out into a blast of howling wind and whirling snow.