Cerulean (One Thousand Blues)

by Anna Kyss

  But Whale-song is another story; the complex sounds of the baleen weave into complicated narratives, with histories soaring back into the A.W.s. I have spent many evenings listening to the poetic lyrics of Humpback-song. I am also one of the only pod members who can understand the rarest of the languages, the Song of the Giants.

  After more review, Professor S. dismisses the class with one last reminder to study for the test. He stops me before I leave the room. “Chey, you have so much potential, so much promise…”

  “Sorry I was late. I… I just lost track of time. Do… you really need to report my tardiness?” I plead with my eyes too.

  “Oh, Chey, I suppose I can let this infraction slide.”

  Relief fills me. Taut shoulders and clenched muscles release. I mouth my thanks to the professor, who has always been my favorite teacher.

  “And Chey,” he says before I walk away. “The Giants will be coming in six sleeps. They will be singing a full concerto in the Deep.”

  The Giants are coming? The Giants are coming! I soar again.

  While I have studied their complex language and practiced translating their harmonies, I have never heard the Song of the Giants sung by the Giants themselves. A dream is coming true.

  ~Turquoise~

  3

  As I leave the dining pod, the light is quickly disappearing, the turquoise of day darkening into the indigo of night. I lingered over my seaweed salad, not ready to face the loneliness of my—home. Maluhia’s paths are deserted; this close to curfew, nearly everyone must be in their residence pods for the night.

  I have heard that humans once had entire buildings of their own, with a separate room for each person. It is hard to imagine the luxury. Here, everybody lives in community residences, with only small sleeping capsules as their personal space. Families are the luckiest; they may be granted a larger sleeping area.

  I remember living like that at one point, bedding in our family capsule made comfortable by my mother. After my parents were taken, I was sent to the children’s residence. There are so many whose parents are gone.

  When I reach the children’s residence, I quickly enter and sign in. The residence mother on duty does not even greet me. I silently swim up flight after flight. The floors are segregated by age, and my capsule is on the top floor.

  A few floormates sit around the worn common room, our sleeping capsules along the far wall. Rose lies upon the scratched plastic sofa, her long blond hair flowing all around her, while ‘Fall circles the room. They ignore me. The others must already be asleep.

  “How is your med pod training going?” I ask Rose. She spends long hours learning how to treat the illnesses of the water, with her medical specialty.

  “Same as always.” Rose closes her eyes and waves me away with her delicate aqua-hued hand.

  I float next to ‘Fall. “Catch any fish?”

  “Some mahi.” He swims over to his capsule, and his navy-Skinned body disappears into the small chamber.

  Typical. Even though we live in such close proximity, we are still all alone. Is the isolation worse in the children’s residence, or has it spread its cold, lonely tentacles throughout the pod complex?

  I open my elliptical capsule and drift into the warm waters. It is so small that I cannot extend my arms, sit up, or move. As I close my eyes and relax, my mind reels with the strange meeting at the reef. A person who lives above the Surface… How can this be? Does the Committee know? What would they do if they learned of Jesse?

  I must see Jesse again.

  I cannot reveal I left the safe waters of the pod complex. Even Haku cannot be trusted with this. While she is loyal to me, she has also sworn to honor sector rules.

  If only ’Bow were still here. Never before have I felt so alone. I grit my teeth as the joy of new discovery fades and the isolation returns.

  As my eyes shut and my thoughts become foggy, a sharp rap on my capsule jolts me awake. The hatch flings open, and one of the Watchers fills the narrow oval of the entrance.

  “Miss,” the Watcher clicks. “You need to accompany me to the Authority.”

  Dread washes away my loneliness. Somehow, they must have learned of my encounter. This knowledge I carry—of humans existing above the Surface—could be dangerous. The warm waters do nothing to dispel the goose bumps running underneath my Skin; my scales prickle and rise in response.

  “Immediately, Miss!” The Watcher’s sharp whistle makes me jump, and I bang my head against the capsule ceiling. He impatiently stomps his flipper-fin.

  I follow. I yearn to call to Haku so that I do not have to face this alone, but it would not be right to involve her. She is probably far off, in the open waters. The dolphins leave the pod complex waters every night, eager to swim and socialize in the inky seas.

  Will I ever see her again? Dismay burns through my body, coming to rest near my heart.

  My arms and legs shake too much to imitate the Watcher’s strong strokes through the water. I paddle behind him, much like a little one learning the motions for the first time. We head straight for the Committee Chambers, passing the curved buildings of Maluhia. Their faded plastics and silicates have been scarred by the churning water and the salty corrosion. I study them, unsure if I will ever be allowed to look upon these places again.

  This sector is the only home that I have ever known. The thought of being taken away from all of this, from Haku, makes my heart plummet.

  The Watcher holds a portable podlight to illuminate our path. The water has reached its darkest shade of indigo, and the soft glow shines on his night-hued Skin. All of the officials try to stand out from the seas. The Watchers wear Skins of black; the Committee members and others in select positions choose dignified grays. Purple is reserved for the Authority. In one of my private tutoring sessions, Professor S. noted that purple was the color of rulers, in a long ago time, before the wars, even before the old government.

  Finally, we arrive at the Committee Chambers. The grandest of all the pods, the chambers contains both office space on the bottom and living space on the upper floors. We swim past the largest entrance, which leads to the Committee’s meeting rooms, and continue on, to the Authority’s private rooms.

  The door to the Authority’s office opens, and the Watcher indicates that I should enter. I swim through the small hatch, then up, into the oxygen-fed room. I have been here several times: first to receive condolences for the loss of my parents, and later to be officially reprimanded for rule infractions. This is not the first time that I have been late for my classes.

  They have never caught me leaving Maluhia, however.

  I sit dutifully on the hard plastic of the chair and wait. A long wait is always part of an official reprimand; having a period of time to think about the infraction, to contemplate what punishment the Authority will think up, and to worry about the long-term consequences. The waiting is terrible to experience. Infractions are few within our sector.

  To calm myself, I focus on taking long, deep breaths of stale air. I dislike lung breathing. Breathing through one’s gills is so automatic, and oxygen is abundant within the always-fresh ocean waters. In the oxygen-fed pods, the air is saturated with the scents of others—sweat, body odor, stinky breath—and taking in this recycled oxygen requires more effort.

  How could they have discovered about Jesse? I was so careful when leaving. If another person watched Jesse swim to the Surface, how could he or she not have approached me to discuss that strange impossibility?

  When my eyes blink with exhaustion and my head feels too heavy to keep upright, the door opens. The Authority enters. I quickly straighten. He sits down at the yellowing plastic desk, leans forward, and stares into my eyes. “Chey, I am sorry to see that we must meet again.”

  What do they know? I need to be careful.

  I bite my lip and nod, thinking for a second. “I have been focusing on my studies.”

  “Yes, the professor has mentioned you are one of the most promising students he has wor
ked with. He reports you have a natural affinity for the languages.”

  “I am becoming proficient in Humpback-song and the Song of the Giants. I also know a smidge of Fin and Orca. I really am trying.” I look at him with my most sincere gaze. I am trying—trying to ward off the blues, fighting to not succumb to the sadness, and putting all of my energy into the languages.

  “As the Authority for our sector and the head of the Committee, I hereby administer an official reprimand.”

  My body tightens. How bad will it be?

  What is my punishment?

  “You were spotted leaving the boundary waters this morning and not returning until late afternoon. Your prosthetic was discovered hidden near one of the hatches, so it may not be the first time that you have left the pod complex without permission. Your partner was not informed of your departure, placing you in grave danger in the open seas.” He flicks his purple-Skinned finger with each infraction he reads.

  They interviewed Haku? Oh, she must be so angry with me. Guilt fills me.

  The Authority stands. “To be honest, I was not sure what punishment to administer. You have so much promise. A part of me holds out hope that you will be able to overcome your obstacles, but for now, you continue to put Maluhia in jeopardy.”

  “I will try—”

  “No!” His sharp headshake causes his snowy-white hair to quiver. “I have heard your promises before. The Committee will not allow such intentional non-compliance.”

  “But—” I lean forward, show my most contrite expression. Please, notice my remorse.

  “After much contemplation, I have decided upon the following: Your tail has been confiscated, to reduce the temptation to swim into the open seas; daily appointments with Dr. Cloud have been scheduled, indefinitely; and you are on pod arrest.”

  I sink back into my seat, shocked. It is not the worst punishment; they are not taking me away… yet. But to lose my tail and my freedom? To have to endure the misery of Dr. Cloud, day after day? And to be mandated to remain within the dismal children’s residence? How can I possibly fight the despair now?

  For the first time, I fear that I will not survive, that I will fall just as the others have fallen.

  I squeeze my eyes shut to trap the tears that threaten. The reality of all that I will miss sets in—Jesse, Haku, the Giants. I fight to contain the sobs, swallowing down large gulps of the stinky air.

  “But the Giants are coming,” I whisper. “I need to hear them for my studies. There is no other way to truly master their Song.”

  The Authority had already begun to shake his head, but at my final words, he pauses, looks down at his desk, and closes his eyes for several minutes. Finally, he says, “As this is related to your specialty, I will suggest the Committee permits it. But you must be escorted there and back by your professor.”

  I mouth my thanks.

  “And Chey, we will attend. The Committee will be watching.”

  As I wait to be excused, a man climbs out of the pool entrance, politely shaking drops of water off his gray Skin before stepping onto the dry floor. Without a glance at me, he marches over to the Authority’s desk and shakes a small amber bottle. “Empty. Again. I need this cycle’s—”

  “Doctor, watch yourself!” the Authority snaps.

  The man turns my way, and my stomach rolls. Dr. Cloud.

  The Authority stands. “Chey will have the pleasure of joining you for daily sessions. She has been placed on pod arrest.”

  Dr. Cloud stares at me as I shrink back in my seat. “Excellent. I will make the very most of our… time together.”

  “Return to the children’s residence.” The Authority summons one of the Watchers. “Doctor, if you would please wait. We have a matter to discuss.”

  I follow the Watcher into the entrance pool, down through the doorway, and back into Maluhia’s waters. As he escorts me to my capsule, I fend off waves of despondency. I focus solely on the Giants, who will be here in six sleeps’ time. Surely I can make it until then.

  ~Tuna~

  4

  After only one sleep, the monotony of pod arrest erodes my strength, rubbing away the exhilaration of meeting Jesse and grinding down the excitement of the Giants’ visit. I lie on the couch, alone, while life in Maluhia continues without me.

  Professor S. swims into the common room. Why is he here? He has never visited the children’s residence before. He pulls me up and guides me to a small table. “There has been plenty of time to relax. We must get to work,” he clicks.

  “Work?”

  “I have just returned from meeting with the Committee. I argued that your specialty is too valuable to neglect during your pod arrest.”

  “And?” A small bubble of hope builds.

  “They have agreed that private tutoring sessions would benefit our sector. I shall come for an hour each afternoon, after my other classes conclude.”

  “You would do that…” I cannot bring myself to say the last two words that linger in my mind: for me?

  “A small sacrifice, given your talent.” The professor looks around the room. “There are some limitations in this space.”

  The water-filled rooms make practicing languages more challenging, for we must communicate in the clicks and whistles of Dolphin-speak.

  “To solve that problem, I thought we might focus on history for the next few weeks.” He glances around the room again. “Does your floor typically remain empty at this time?”

  “Always. My floormates do not return until after dinner, and the residence mother will be tending to the pre-flippers.”

  “Excellent. I wouldn’t want… your concentration interrupted during our lesson.” Professor S. leans back. “We have covered life in above-water times, but should explore more about early history during the B.W.”

  All in Maluhia learn of the transition to the seas, the wisdom of our forefathers. “I have been instructed about the transition and the Disaster.”

  “I want to address a slightly different topic.” The professor moves closer to me. “Early government.”

  I listen carefully. It is more challenging to decipher the nuances within Dolphin-speak.

  “Our forefathers wanted to replicate the popular government model of their time: an elected body to represent the people, with an overall leader, also selected by the people,” Professor S. clicks softly.

  “But we do not have elected positions—”

  “Any longer. They existed in the early years, but two factions formed: those whose goals centered on returning to the Surface and those focused on maintaining life in the waters.”

  “The Surface?” Others dreamed of seeing Land, just as I do?

  “They were merely misguided dreams.” The professor glances around the room once more. “Chey, your specialty carries great weight. I must teach you of our history, so you hold the knowledge, but this particular information cannot be repeated.”

  Professor S. has never asked me to hide information before. Does the Authority have any idea of what our tutoring sessions consist of?

  He does not, I decide. And I will not be the one to tell him. “I understand.”

  “When the Oceaners gained the majority in the Committee, they passed a resolution which discontinued the elections. They nominated the leader themselves.”

  “Why did the people allow it?” But the answer comes to me: when the apathy sets in, people stop caring. They lose their fight.

  We sit in silence for a moment, until another question occurs to me. “But the Authority chooses his Committee. He hand selects who will serve with him.”

  “As with many positions of power, influence and control grew over time.” Professor S. leans back again. “Over the course of history, many governments started with good intentions; not all ended that way, though.”

  “What are you saying, Professor?”

  He pauses, remains silent for a long time. “This is merely a history lesson—another part of your training. A history lesson for your ears only.” />
  Professor S. takes a risk in sharing this information with me. Maybe I should take a small risk with him. “There is one area of the languages that I was hoping to work on. I do not feel… competent in this area.”

  “Why, you are the most capable student I have worked with. The Song of the Giants is complex, even for me—”

  “No, not that,” I click before I lose my courage. “Could we practice the lost art of… writing?”

  The professor’s eyes widen. “I have shared the basics. You know the twenty-six sounds.”

  How can I convey my need for this knowledge without making Professor S. suspicious? “You know how I collect languages.” I quickly name the languages I have shown proficiency for, then the ones I continue to practice. “Writing seems as challenging as the Song of the Giants.”

  “I suppose keeping your mind focused is beneficial,” he clicks. “That has been shown to help to…” He trails off, but I know what he was about to say: help to keep the sadness away.

  Professor S. peers around the room. “Allow me some time to think of how to proceed. And remember, these lessons should be considered… private.”

  His visit has broken the drudgery of my pod arrest. My inner voice whispers, I will learn the art of writing.

  *

  Professor S. returns the next afternoon. “Come along, Chey.”

  “We are going somewhere?” How has the professor gotten permission for me to leave the children’s residence?

  “Only to dinner.” He leads me down the steps, then nods to the residence mother, who must have already been informed of his directives. She watches as the professor slides open the hatch to Maluhia’s waterways.

  Meals must be eaten in the dining pod. The community gathers, three times daily, to eat.

  This is not one of the delegated times, however. “Why are we going so early? Dinner is not served yet.”

  “I have arranged for us to eat early.” Professor S. ignores my other questions, and the short swim to the dining pod proceeds in silence.