by Anna Burke
The tremors shaking her body intensified, and she gasped.
“I’m here,” I said.
“I didn’t. Want you. To see me like this.”
“Tell me what to do to help you.”
“Nothing.” She groaned and stifled another scream.
“Maybe they can fix you like they did me and Harper. A detox—”
She shook her head against mine. “Better this way.”
“How is this better?”
Her chest heaved. Sweat trickled between her breasts, illuminated by the glowing floor. She didn’t answer.
“How is this better, Miranda?”
Her hand seized mine. Moss was embedded beneath her nails, and her knuckles whitened as she clenched my fingers. I braced myself against the pain of the bones in my hand grinding against each other, grateful to share some of it. My palm itched where she’d carved her mark.
“Because I’m trying to deserve you.”
“Oh, Mere.” I took her braid from Kraken and adjusted my position so that she could lean into me instead. Kraken nodded and stood. I wiped her streaming eyes with my shirt. I’d thought of the two of us, I was the masochist—but maybe I’d been wrong about that, too. I also suspected the real reason she refused Symbiont help was her fear of showing weakness. She’d rather suffer like this than let them know she had a vulnerability they could exploit. The part of me that hated seeing her hurting railed against this, but the larger part, the part that was now captain, agreed. We couldn’t afford to give them any more leverage against us than they already had, and there was only so much rum currently distilled on the trawler. Without access to our beets and the still, we had no way of making more.
“Though drowning would be preferable,” she said in a lull between tremors. Her ribs dug into my thigh, where she’d collapsed, and her words were spoken to the moss.
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“If wishes were fishes . . .” She trailed off with a groan.
“Shh.” I cupped her skull, careful to apply steady pressure and not to brush her hypersensitive skin as I would normally. “Just try to breathe.”
The fact that she complied told me a great deal. We sat, Miranda curled half in my lap, half on the ground, in the waning sunlight of the south, while the rest of the crew cast us anxious glances and periodically brought water for me to raise to her chapped lips. My mind wandered as she shuddered and retched, traveling down familiar corridors with new eyes. You pulled her out of the water, but the pain never stopped.
It had taken me less than a month to turn to drugs in order to function after my head injury. How long had Miranda held out after her ordeal before turning to liquid solace? And how could I have ever let myself judge her for it? I chewed the inside of my lip to keep from clutching her to me and weeping. I could be strong for her, even as it ripped me open to see her crumble.
Chapter Seventeen
A splutter and a gasp announced Harper’s return to consciousness. She sat up, aided by Vi, and coughed. Water streamed from her hair and down her body. It didn’t stop me from throwing my arms around her.
“It’s not like I died,” she said into my armpit.
“You almost did.”
She wriggled free and examined her hand. A new flap of skin stretched over the stump of her forefinger, and while the area looked tender, it was no longer inflamed, and her arm lacked all signs of blood poisoning.
“I’m going to kill her,” Harper said, and the venom in her voice told me she meant Ching Shih.
“That would require getting close to her, and I don’t ever want that to happen again.” I meant every word. Twice now I’d escaped Ching Shih by the skin of my teeth. I doubted I’d be so lucky a third time.
Harper wrenched her eyes away from the wound and stared at her surroundings. “Where the hell are we?”
I wasn’t surprised she had no memory of our arrival, given the state she’d been in. “You’ve been out for two days. I’ll explain everything later.”
Harper was able to walk with my support. Days of fever had weakened her considerably, and she struggled to catch her breath as we hobbled together down the hall after Lia.
“She glows,” Harper said in a whisper. Ahead, Lia stiffened, though she couldn’t possibly have heard.
“She’s the most normal one here.”
“Just think.” Harper paused and panted for a few seconds before resuming. “Right now we could be back on North Star, plotting how to beat up Maddox.”
“Less talking, more walking.”
I relinquished my hold on Harper only when Lia opened the door, and Orca swept her into an embrace which hurt to look at. I shared too much of Orca’s relief, and I did not want to think ever again about how close we’d come to losing Harper. The long days of her illness would haunt me as surely as Jeanine had haunted me following her death.
“Altan has denied your request to return to your ship,” said Lia. I snapped my attention back to her.
“What? Why?”
“You may send someone to see to the ship under guard, but we’ve inspected it. We know you carry weapons.”
“Then I will send someone with you now.”
“Good. And we arrive at Symbiont tonight. You will join me so you can see it for yourself.”
“And my crew?”
“Will remain contained.”
I nodded. This was not the time to make demands. I motioned for Kraken to come closer and whispered my orders. “Get the cat and do what you can to put the ship in stasis. And . . . get rid of the rum.”
He held my gaze for a full count of cardinal points. I didn’t know if he approved or disapproved, but he didn’t argue. The decision churned my stomach. I ignored the cramping. I’d let my digestive tract make too many choices in the past. I no longer trusted my fickle gut.
••••
As the crew filled Harper in on events, I sank onto the bunk I shared with Miranda. She slept fitfully, her skin still damp with sweat. The withdrawal had passed over the course of the night, but she still shivered with pain.
“Mere?”
She cracked open her eyelids.
“Lia said we’ll be at Symbiont later today.”
“Lia is a barnacle’s cunt.”
“Kraken’s getting your monster for you,” I told her. “He’s going to freak out over all these fish.”
She managed a smile at the mention of her cat, but it faded as she tried to sit up, winced, and then lay back down. Her eyes closed once more. “Is he bringing anything else?”
I’d been dreading this question. She hadn’t quite been able to hide the hint of pleading in her voice as her resolve wavered.
“No,” I said.
Her face contorted, and for a moment I thought she might scream at me. Her chest rose and fell in a rapid succession of deep breaths. I waited. She steadied herself, and the lines eased around her mouth.
“Good call.” She didn’t sound like she believed it.
“I need you to work through this before we get to Symbiont. I have no idea what to do. This is your plan, Mere.”
“Not sure it was a good one.”
“It’s a bit late for second guessing. Can you keep it together?” I asked, forcing myself to speak with authority.
The door opened and her attention focused on a spot over my shoulder.
“Monster,” she said as Seamus wriggled free from Kraken’s grip, drawing blood in the process, and bolted toward us. He landed on Miranda’s chest with a disgruntled hiss and stared around the room with wide green eyes. She stroked his head. I, meanwhile, did my best not to attract his rancor. His bushy tail lashed Miranda’s hips.
“Ship’s in good shape,” Kraken said.
Lia had entered behind him, and her eyes remained fixed on Seamus in frank fascination.
“Never seen a pussy before?” said Finn.
“A what?”
I prayed the translation overlooked the double entendre.
“A cat,�
� said Nasrin. “Furry mammal, eats rodents . . .”
Lia shook her head.
“I wouldn’t recommend touching it,” said Kraken. He examined the claw marks raking his arm. Blood trickled down his inked skin.
“We do not have such things.”
“No, you have those things.” He gestured at the octopus eyeing us.
“Did you check the engine?” I asked him.
“She’s fine. Everything’s fine, though it could use some sunlight.”
“This can be arranged,” Lia said, still watching Seamus. The cat had his claws sunk into Miranda’s chest. One had punctured the skin, and blood beaded on her shirt. She didn’t seem to notice. Her blue eyes softened as she ran her nails along his head. Gradually, his low growl subsided, and while he didn’t purr, his wary crouch relaxed into a huddle and his claws retracted. I still didn’t dare touch him.
“Do you have more of these?” asked Lia.
“Not with us, but yes.”
“Fascinating.”
So fascinating, she forgot to sneer as she peppered my crew with questions. Miranda ignored all but the most direct. Her head rested on my thigh, which was still the most contact her skin could bear. Seamus, however, seemed to be an exception.
“It is yours?” Lia asked Miranda.
“As much as he is anyone’s,” she said. Her voice was still hoarse. Periodically, she twitched as her muscles spasmed.
“Fascinating,” Lia said again. Her fingers flexed as if she was restraining herself from asking to touch him.
“Dunno how you can live in a world without cats.” Orca looked horrified at the prospect. She sat on the floor with Harper curled up next to her.
“Can it sign?” asked Lia.
“As in sign language?” asked Orca.
“Yes.”
“In their own way,” said Kraken. “You learn to read their body language.”
Lia chewed on her lip. Curiosity was clearly vying with her inherent disdain for my crew. “We bond with an octopus in the birthing tanks. It teaches those of us with mutable pigmentation how to use color to communicate, and those of us without learn—”
“That’s why that kid had one?” interrupted Harper. “I was afraid it was like those fish.”
“Octopuses are clever. Highly intelligent, but not like us. It is important to recognize other ways of thinking. Ingenuity leads to adaptation.”
It had the rote sound of something taught. I considered pointing out that Lia didn’t seem to recognize my crew as intelligent, but thought better of it. Pissing her off right before we arrived at a foreign city with Miranda incapacitated seemed like a bad idea.
“What happens to those who can’t adapt?” I asked Lia.
“Same thing that always does,” said Miranda. She forced herself into a sitting position to glare at Lia, who shrugged.
“The fossil record is full of species who failed to change in time. There is no malice in it.”
“The dead might disagree,” said Miranda. I considered reminding her later that finding the sea wolves had been her idea, and that alienating them over semantics wasn’t the best way to achieve her goals.
“The dead aren’t here.” Lia looked Miranda up and down. “Be grateful you are not one of them.”
Miranda stumbled to her feet with a snarl. The rest of the crew snapped to wary attention, hands on missing weapons.
“Is that a threat?”
“A threat?” Lia tilted her head. “Why would I want to kill you? You’re doing such a good job of it yourselves.”
“Lia—” I positioned myself between the two of them. The hand I placed on Miranda’s shoulder wasn’t just to stop her. I’d seen her sway, still weak from her sickness.
“It’s true. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” There was such genuine confusion in Lia’s voice that I paused in the act of replying. Lia took advantage of the silence to continue. “We’ll be at Symbiont soon. Come.”
With a pained look at Miranda, I followed.
“Why do you treat them like that?” I asked when we were out in the hall. “Like you hate them.”
“I do not hate your crew.”
“You don’t like them.”
“It is not that.” Lia chewed on her lip.
“Then what is it?”
She examined her hands before answering. “We have more in common than you think, Compass Rose.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I know what your people are capable of, and I don’t trust them.”
“You don’t even know them.”
“I do not need to.”
“Your people are the ones who raid.” We raided, too, but I didn’t feel like being fair.
“We raid to protect our cities. What we’re doing— you can’t understand until you see it.”
“Your ships outgun ours in every way,” I said.
“A defense mechanism, along with our reputation. Your people want to exploit that. That woman, Miranda. She—”
“She doesn’t want to exploit you. She wants to find a way to bring balance to our side of the ocean. We’re dying out there.”
“And we’re trying to save you.”
“What—”
“I am not authorized to answer these questions. Will you just come with me?” Her voice rose in frustration, and abruptly I realized she was young: perhaps even younger than I.
“Am I the first person you’ve met who’s claimed inheritance?” I asked.
She glanced at me sidelong. “You’re the first we’ve picked up while I was on board, but I’ve met some back home.”
That explained a few things, including her lack of diplomacy. She made me look like a Sagittarian ambassador.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty,” she said.
“You’re lying.” I said it gently, and she gave me another irritated glance through her eyelashes.
“I’m seventeen.”
I’d been seventeen only five years ago, but it felt like a decade.
“Is that young? For your job, I mean.”
“Yes.”
“Is this what you want to do? Translate?” I gave myself a mental pat on the back. If I could keep her talking and draw her out, she might tell me something useful.
“Yes.”
“How many languages do you speak?”
“Seven. But I sign in two.”
I spoke only one language, and not even very well half the time. “Are all Symbionts multilingual?”
“Of course not. They don’t need to be.”
“Right. Because you make sure no one gets to them.”
“Exactly.”
“I thought maybe it was part of . . .” I gestured at her skin, which emitted purple pulses.
“No. I worked hard.”
“I believe you,” I said, raising a hand to forestall the indignation in her eyes.
“Lia.” A harsh voice penetrated our argument. I looked up to see Vi, who had emerged from the infirmary with a stern expression. She spoke several curt sentences in their language. By the time she finished, Lia’s glare had smoothed into a pretension of neutrality.
“Apparently, we are disturbing the infirmary,” she said when Vi stormed away.
“Tell me something,” I said more quietly. “What will happen to my crew if your commission decides they can’t stay?”
“Worst-case scenario, they’ll probably be sent to the colony.”
“The what?”
“Shh. They’ll like it there.”
“What the fuck is the colony?”
“It’s fine. And they probably won’t get sent anywhere. I’m only telling you so you stop shouting at me. What matters is they’re not going to be killed or marooned or whatever you’re afraid of. Besides, one of them is a hostage, right?”
“Yes, but—” A low throb vibrated through my feet and up into my chest. “What was that?”
“It means we’re there. Come on.”
Nonplussed,
I walked beside her down the curving, living hallway, trying not to visualize it as a monster’s gullet, until we came to a room I hadn’t seen before. Clear plex covered the space, and I realized it must be the bridge, though I saw few instruments and fewer sailors. The strangest thing was the floor, which was bare of moss. This puzzled me until I remembered what light did to eyes straining for the stars.
My observations were cut short by the sight looming in the distance.
Archipelago stations were large. Circular, with deep keels, they held all we needed to survive and were unflappable in even the worst storms. Symbiont was nothing like a station. It spread as far as I could see, a vast network of organic shapes, some of which were easily as large as several stations combined. Ships darted around them, moving with the same languid motions as the Moray. The turbulent Southern Ocean should have tossed them together like flotsam. Instead, each ship kept its distance. Strands of some thin, flickering substance glimmered around them. The strands reminded me of jellyfish tentacles, or cilia. And beyond, far out of sight, I sensed something solid.
“We’re near land.”
“The continental shelf. Look.” She pointed, and I reached out and grabbed her arm as a pod of creatures I’d only ever seen in illustrations swam past.
“Are those dolphins?”
“Yes.”
Further speech evaded me. The pod clicked and whistled at each other as they torpedoed through the water, their bodies made for swimming. I dropped my hold on Lia and walked to the plex, standing so close my breath fogged the surface. Fish swam in shoals around the city. The word city fit after all. Stations were city-states. This was a city in the old sense of the word, more like the drowned things I’d sailed over in the Gulf than my home. I couldn’t see the end of it.
Whatever force guided the ship—Altan, I suspected—took us into the mass of floating structures. They rose above and below us, some the spherical or oblong shapes ships were supposed to be, others looking like they’d been grown in a petri dish with their odd protrusions and twists. Up close, the strands of cilia were delicate, and whenever we brushed against them, they recoiled. The ships attached to them edged away, too. Sensors.
