Coriolis: Intergalactic Dating Agency: Big Sky Alien Mail Order Brides (Mermaids of Montana Book 2)

by Elsa Jade

  Coriolis didn’t answer that.

  Which of course made the old male chuckle. “That the way it is, ah?”

  “Buried and forgotten,” Coriolis growled.

  “But water finds its way through the hardest stone.”

  “Burned to naught, then.”

  “Ash on the waves, Commander.” Flaude clicked his tongue rapidly, his amused pulse pattering on Coriolis’s forehead like raindrops. “Didn’t I teach you better?”

  The pinging was a familiarity he’d allow for the same reason he’d assigned the service of the Tritonesse citadel to the old Tritonyri—because the old male was steadfast and deserved the honor.

  Even if the teasing—and the pinging—stung a little.

  Coriolis leaned back in his chair then sat forward again. Unlike the Bathyal which had been commandeered from the Cretarni, the Ammil was a Tritonan vehicle, sized for Tritonyri, and still the seat seemed too confining. “She’s only here to impress the council rep. Then she’ll float away.”

  The old Tritonyri grumbled at the reminder of their new nemesis. “Everyone’s talking about that grak-cret—the council rep, I mean. We’ll get rid of them too, soon enough, just like the other shriveling soilers.”

  “Only took us a few millennia.” Coriolis started down at the comm sensors, watching their descent.

  The war had almost destroyed them, and though Tritona survived—for the moment, pending the rep’s assessment—it could not thrive under the conditions it had thus far endured.

  If the Abyssa had no omens for them…

  The unfinished thought hung suspended in his mind, like a full engine stop.

  Maybe bringing in new blood via the IDA had been only the start, though it hadn’t worked out quite as they planned. Maybe all the old ways would be tossed on the tides.

  Flaude eyed him in the continuing minutes in silence. “I’ll summon you when we are within range of the citadel,” the captain said. “Go look after the Earthlings.”

  Coriolis nodded but didn’t rise immediately. “You fought longer than me. To your mind, have we won?”

  Flaude tilted his head, and though they’d already descended past the range where the submersible’s lights were useful, a glow bounced back in his remaining eye. “The fight started long before either of us. But it seems to me the fight is never truly over. All that changes is what you are fighting for.”

  Marisol’s elegant features seemed to coalesce out in the darkness. With his echolocation, Coriolis knew her inside and out, and could build a mental picture as clear as if she were truly standing in front of him right now. This was her fight only because she’d die without it. But wasn’t that true of all of them?

  Even in the mire of disaster and despair—which he also imagined as intimately as his time with Marisol—there had to be hope, just as the highest, driest peaks of Tritona grew the lava-leaf and the deepest darkest abyss on Tritona was still home to creatures that flickered with light, because even they hungered for that tiny spark.

  Could he be that spark for Marisol?

  He pushed to his feet and tugged the mantle back into place. Between the battle skin of war and the ceremonial mantle to solicit advice from an ancient source he was no longer sure existed, perhaps it was time to update his style. Maybe he’d consult Lana about her soft, flowing skirts since those looked supremely comfortable. Change was coming to Tritona, no matter what. And as tired as he’d been when the Bathyal rocketed toward Earth with its fraudulent Intergalactic Dating Agency documents, he would keep fighting, as long as his breath remained.

  With renewed determination, he strode toward the bridge exit.

  Marisol and Lana stood at the small viewport—the Ammil had been designed as a battleship not a pleasure cruiser—along with Estar, who was saying, “We’ve crossed into the dusk reaches so you won’t see much with your eyes. It’ll be dark until we reach our citadel where you’ll meet the other Tritonesse before we continue to the grotto to speak to the Abyssa.”

  “Will they come onboard the ship?” Lana asked. “I mean, Marisol and I can’t breathe water.”

  “Parts of our halls are kept dry since some of our electronics and other equipment are easier to operate and maintain that way.”

  Kadyn, lurking nearby, added, “Mostly the technology we took from the Cretarni.”

  Estar gave him a little frown. “We are pledged to be good stewards to our shore holdings as well as our submerged ones, so of course we have dry places in our halls. That’s even more important now that the Cretarni are gone.”

  He ducked his head, chastened. “I’ve never been to the citadel.”

  With a regal nod that was the same as Damiara’s minus the impatience, Estar said, “Not many Tritonyri have.” Her smile was gentle. “We needed you more for the fighting.”

  “I rise to serve,” he whispered.

  Coriolis caught a skewed ping from the younger male. Either embarrassment at the correction or a bit of pining for the Tritonesse-na?

  He set it aside as he met Marisol’s glance. “You will need to be skinned for the Grotto of Omens. The abyss is too deep to preserve a bubble for any length of time.”

  Lana spun around to face him, her eyes wide with shock. “Skinned?”

  “Like your battle skin,” Marisol guessed. When he nodded, she pursed her lips. “You’ve been to this grotto?”

  He hesitated. “A long time ago.”

  “When he claimed the omen that gave him command of Tritona’s fleet. And apparently it’s future.” Damiara appeared from Kadyn’s other side, making the younger male flinch in surprise, and she stalked a restive half circle around them, like a hai-aku not yet hungry but not not-hungry. “Even from the deeps, the Abyssa tasted his dreams.”

  He felt himself flushing like Kadyn. “As I said, long ago. Although I assume it’s much the same down there.”

  Damiara flicked her fingers, as if spraying water. “No change for a thousand years. Why now?”

  He’d just been thinking of change. Was the Tritonesse-ra sensing his still muddy thoughts on the matter? She’d always been strong, and if the other Tritonesse had yielded to giving her a cadre of her own, she’d obviously become only more powerful during her years in the citadel.

  As harried as he’d been since the Bathyal’s return from Earth (minus that one night…) he hadn’t had a chance to question her more about circumstances in the halls of the Tritonesse. “What was the last omen you received?”

  After an almost imperceptible hesitation, she admitted, “The one that sent you to Dirt.”

  He stiffened. “That was almost a year ago.”

  She glared back at him. “I told you I was troubled by the silence.”

  “For a year?” He raked one hand over his head. “We should have—”

  “It was a Tritonesse matter,” she interrupted heatedly. “We followed the omen as it was given to us, and we awaited the next.”

  “But it hasn’t come.” Marisol’s low voice was like a cool flow through the steam.

  Coriolis stiffened as Damiara craned her neck toward the Earthers. Considering the way she’d thrown herself at him on the balcony in front of Marisol and recklessly revealed her fears about the Abyssa’s demise in front of other Tritonyri, it was probably unfair to compare her to the hai-aku. Those creatures hunted only for their hunger, but from the angry gleam in Dami’s green eyes as she glared at Marisol, she was looking for blood sport.

  “Since the Abyssa’s last omen brought you to us,” she said with the same smooth cadence as the undulations of a predator through shadowed seas, “perhaps you will bring us back our Abyssa.”

  “Like, bait?” Lana squeaked.

  The Tritonesse-ra tilted her head. “Yes, exactly like that.” When Lana sputtered, Damiara huffed with exasperation. “Live bait,” she granted with another grudging sniff. “We’re not monsters.”

  Lana shook her head until her multitude of brown braids flailed. Dami growled. Estar wrung her hands and tried to explai
n both sides to each other. Kadyn pinged anxiously. And into the disarray, Marisol said only, “This is why we’re here.”

  When everyone else focused on her, she turned to face the empty viewport. “We’ll go to the grotto and summon these omens of yours. If no one answers… That is an answer, of sorts, and we’ll go on from there.” Her words rebounded off the bulkhead, edged as if from absorbing the metal. “Until then, everything else is…water under the bridge, and there’s nothing we can do about it now. Let’s stay focused on what’s next.”

  Her reflection in the viewport was a soft as the silvered silhouette of an iriwyl against the storm clouds…except for her dark eyes which were portals into the endless night beyond.

  Coriolis caught his breath at her graceful handling of their dismal situation.

  To his surprise, Damiara nodded. “You’re right. Stupid to dangle your eel over a bed of bonecrackers until there’s no other option.”

  From the Earthers’ sidelong glances at each other, he suspected the idiom wasn’t translating properly, so he deferred his anger at the secretive Tritonesse to clarify. “Don’t look for trouble.”

  “It’s too dark out there anyway,” Lana muttered.

  Through the ship’s comm, the captain cleared his throat—disapprovingly enough that Coriolis knew the old male had been listening in. “We’ll be passing the first citadel boundary soon. Tritonesse-ra, I’ll need your access code.”

  With one last fulminating glare at them all, Damiara pivoted on her heel and stomped away. Coriolis restrained a snort of his own. For a being who had likely spent most of her life suspended in a weightless environment, she had mastered stomping.

  As Estar drew Lana aside—likely to explain the eel idiom, judging by the Tritonesse-na’s dancing eyes—he gave Kadyn a less amused look, and the younger male faded back, leaving Marisol alone at the viewport.

  In the reflection, her dark gaze locked on him.

  “This feels less like consulting a long-reigning monarch for historical records and more like shaking a Magic 8-Ball.”

  He had no idea what that meant, but he’d take it as an invitation to join her at the portal to the black. “Omens aren’t magic,” he said, having understood that reference at least. “The Abyssa is just too deep for any of us to reach, so she has to send her messages alone.”

  With a sigh, Marisol turned to face him. “Why doesn’t she just…come up?”

  He reached out to touch the transparent plasteel. Beyond the barrier, he sensed the weight and cold and emptiness of the water. “Long ago, Abyssas would rise during storm spells to join the feasts and revels in the shallows. But as the toxic runoff worsened, they retreated to the deepest deeps. Around the time of the exodus ships, we think there were only a few left. Which must’ve been why they made the drastic choice to burn so many of our reserves on ships like the Atlantyri.”

  “And now there is only one.”

  “So the Tritonesse believe.” He grimaced. “Or maybe none, if Dami’s fears prove true.” He let his chilled hand drop, though he longed to touch her instead. “What will you do if there are no omens?”

  “Keep your eel in your robe,” she warned. “It’s not over yet.”

  “But whatever happens, you know you can stay here, even without the IDA contract.” Though he clenched his fist, the tips of his fingers were still cold against his palm. “Not here on the Ammil, of course. On land, in the open air. I realize Finimarwy isn’t what you’re used to, but…” When her expression didn’t change, he finished haltingly, “You’d have all the water you can drink.”

  Finally, the taut angle of her jaw eased into a faint smile. “As proposals I’ve received go, that is certainly the most…basic.”

  He bit back a scowl at the word. Did basic mean essential, vital, the key to her heart? Or just… crude?

  He straightened with as much dignity as he could muster. “If I didn’t please you enough the other night—”

  She tucked her chin. “This has nothing to do with…that.” When he stare at her mutely, she reached out to take his hand, wrapping his chilled fingers in hers. “Coriolis, listen to me. You want to save your planet, and I want to save my life. That is what’s between us. Plus a war, a lie, and a few million lightyears of other differences. Not to mention that little issue about ‘what do you like to breathe?’ as a line item on your dating profile.”

  Her touch—though intended only to hold his attention, he knew—scalded through his veins, rousing la’ah-wy in the back of his throat. He swallowed hard against the spicy musk, but the taste unraveled his control, spurring him to confess that the pheromone had permanently altered his body chemistry to match her, to need her—something the IDA could never have predicted even if their profiles had been real, even if there’d been no threat to Tritona or her life.

  He was made for her, perfect for her, had been waiting—unknowing—his whole life for her.

  And he wasn’t what she wanted.

  And why would she, when she’d had everything else on her world?

  A war-weary Tritonyri with a precarious future was no prize. The urge to tell her withered on his tongue, corrupting la’ah-wy into noxious runoff. When he swallowed again, his stomach churned, but he managed to keep his expression rueful.

  “I just want you to know you have a home here,” he said instead. “No matter what.”

  The serious gravity in her gaze sharpened, as if she sensed words left unsaid. But he tenderly disentangled their fingers—his instantly chilling without her touch, like the Ammil stripped of its armored skin—and strode away.

  Not that there was anywhere to go on the small submersible that was far enough from her and a future with him that she didn’t want.

  So he fled to the underbelly postern. He sealed himself into the small chamber and flooded it. The Sea sweeping around him flushed away the bitter remains of la’ah-wy and at least gave him an excuse for the numbing of his extremities. As the water filled his lungs and swilled through his gills, he wished the deadening cold could seep through the cracks in his heart.

  Until his need for Marisol Wavercrest gutted him and left him drifting to the deeps for the last time.

  Chapter 13

  Marisol lingered at the viewport, staring at nothing, after Coriolis left.

  She’d handled that badly. But she wasn’t going to lead him on. She’d had that accusation leveled at her before, not just from romantic partners but from business ones too, and it wasn’t fair. She never promised the moon and stars…

  The fake Intergalactic Dating Agency had done that! And it had been a scam, which Coriolis knew well enough. So why did he keep circling back to her? She’d told him she would meet with the council rep, and he’d seen she was capable of working with difficult people, so he must believe she’d do a good job with the rep. And she’d had sex with him, so it wasn’t like he was just trying to fuck her. Why didn’t he just accept what she’d given him?

  Even as she thought it, she heard the arrogance in her own head. But really, her organizational skills were world-class, and she was definitely worth fucking. What other reason could he have for offering her his watery home?

  The blackness outside the ship’s window held nothing, not even fish, definitely no answers.

  She caught the reflected flicker of someone approaching, so she didn’t flinch when the old captain said, “Like what you see?”

  “Very enlightening.” She gave herself another moment before turning to smile at him. “Not that I should be worried about holes anymore, apparently, but may I ask, who is piloting the ship?”

  “The Tritonesse-ra. And you needn’t worry. That one would’ve made a good fighter.”

  Marisol quirked her lips. “Oh, I think she still is.”

  He chuckled. “Light on the ballast, that one, ah, but heavy with her words. But she has the access codes to pass the boundaries. Need those even if you don’t mind more holes.” He tugged at the end of his braided beard as he laughed again.

 
To her surprise, the tension in her back loosened a bit, despite the talk of holes. “How long have you been ferrying for the Tritonesse?”

  “Years now, since your Cori decided I wasn’t fit for fighting anymore.”

  She blinked. “He’s not my—”

  “Ah, he wasn’t wrong, what with my eye,” the captain continued, misunderstanding her objection—although from the glint in the remaining blue eye made her suspect he did so deliberately. “At least I’m still useful. And it lets me see things…” He peered at her expectantly with that one eye.

  She restrained herself from rolling hers. As if voyaging to the center of this world to consult an oracle wasn’t ridiculous enough, now she was going to get old man advice. “What have you seen?” she asked politely.

  “Sometimes a flow of micaceous minerals comes up from the bottom to reach the surface, and the sunlight refracts down in rainbows. Once, I saw a swarm of crystal rays spiral to avoid a hai-aku as big as the Ammil, and the shape they made was a galaxy, and when the hai-aku swarm through the black heart, it disappeared from my sight—and, I think, from the universe. And then there was the time that a lone Tritonyri dived the deeps, dived so deep that even his battle skin could not hold his shape as the pressure and the cold tried to form him into something dark and heartless and strange.”

  Despite her skepticism, she found herself intrigued. “What was this Tritonyri looking for?”

  The captain arched one eyebrow. “That part of his story I do not know. But so deep he went, all the while fighting the emptiness outside him trying to seep in.” His voice dropped an octave, and the echo off the bulkhead behind her made the words seem to surround her. “Long ago, the omen said there was a light in the darkness that would save Tritona, and I think he saw that. Some say seeks it still. But I don’t know. Maybe that part is just a legend, just lies. Maybe nothing will save my world— Look!”

  He pointed past her out the viewport, and even though she knew she was being had—it was just a story, after all—she glanced over her shoulder.