by Anna Burke
But the city couldn’t hold my eyes for long. Life pulsed around it. Corals grew on some of the structures, and fish schooled, hunted by dolphins and larger fish. Seaweed grew on the lower ships, forming beds of kelp that rose in columns. Octopus and other animals prowled their green shadows. I even saw the jagged edges of what might have been shellfish. A spotted animal slightly larger than a human paused in its swim to turn a whiskered face toward us. The word seal rose to my lips. Impossible things. Impossible creatures. They were extinct, and yet . . .
Something tickled my nose. I wiped my face and found it wet.
“How?” I managed to say.
“Science.”
A seadoor opened in the structure directly ahead of us, cutting off my questions. I wanted to stay out here, observing. The Symbiont’s ships might be incredible, but I’d seen ships before. I’d never seen dolphins.
“Just a minute longer,” I whispered, my breath fogging the plex.
We sailed into the seadoor despite my plea. Bioluminescence lined the docking bay as the larger ship forced water out. Blue light dripped from the walls. Unsurprisingly, they were covered with the same moss as the Moray. Except . . . I squinted. It wasn’t moss. It was seaweed. Which made sense—so much more sense, in a way, than our light tubes, though I wondered how the seaweed absorbed the sun’s rays. My speculation was cut short as Lia tugged me away from the plex.
“You may choose one member of your crew to accompany you,” she said, grudgingly.
“Miranda.”
Perhaps I should have chosen Orca. She was, after all, my first mate, but this was Miranda’s dream. I couldn’t deny her this opportunity—though I prayed to all the seas she could stay standing.
Chapter Eighteen
Miranda splashed water onto her face, which was sallow despite her light brown complexion, and pulled her shirt back on. The rest of the crew grumbled about staying behind, especially when I mentioned the dolphins, but protocol was protocol. I slipped my hand into Miranda’s as we walked. She tolerated the gesture of affection. That, more than her clenched jaw, told me how poorly she still felt.
“What now?” I asked her as we followed Lia.
“We wait and see.” More quietly, she added, “We need to tread carefully. Amaryllis didn’t tell me what they’d want with Harper.”
Other members of the Moray joined us in the halls. Their skins shifted as they spoke with one another—some laughing, others arguing—and the vestigial gills on their necks held my gaze. The red flesh within the slits looked like wounds.
We exited the ship in a queue. Lia beckoned us to stay close as we filed onto the dock, which, despite being covered in more of the glowing seaweed, was not slippery beneath my bare feet. More of the strange undulating ships occupied the other berths, held in place by the same fleshy arms that secured our trawler within the Moray. I craned my neck to investigate the apparatus more closely. Had they simply modeled plex on cephalopod anatomy, or was something stranger at work?
The hatch into the bay opened with a sucking sound. No door, here. The hatch was more like a sphincter. It widened to let us pass, and as I edged through it, it quivered. I watched it over my shoulder. At a touch, it shut with a biological squelch that made me deeply uncomfortable.
“Did that . . .” I said to Miranda, whose eyes were as wide with horror as my own.
“Remind me of something? Yes. Let’s never speak of it again.” Her lip twitched in a shadow of a smile. My face cracked open in response. Her smile was all the light I needed.
The hall beyond the hatch resembled the halls on the Moray: glowing moss, plex tubes. The difference lay in scope: this hallway was broader, and the plex water tubes were wide enough to allow for human traffic. People swam, signing at one another with deft motions. Water passed through their gills. I stared until my eyes felt dry and itchy, not caring if it was rude.
We passed through several more sphincter-hatches down winding corridors lined with doors and branching halls. I was again reminded of the sensation that the ship itself was alive, and Altan’s philosophizing on sentience, combined with the periodic shift beneath my feet, led me to conclusions I could no longer ignore. They’d figured out how to grow their own ships. In a way, it made more sense than mining and harvesting old plastic, and we were doing something similar with our bioplastic production, just on a much smaller scale. Here, though, biological material seemed to replenish itself, purifying the air and working symbiotically to stabilize living conditions while also providing a flexible structure. Our scientists would cut off both their legs for the opportunity to study this.
As for the gills, the explanation was stranger. The idea of returning to the sea in this literal sense through forced evolution made the skin on my neck prickle with fear. Was this their end game? To abandon air entirely? It would save us from the risks of surface toxicity and drowning, but our bodies were not equipped for life underwater. Surely our skin would slough off, oversaturated and pruney.
This tech was not going to help the Archipelago or the rest of the ocean. We needed air. So, it seemed, did at least half of the Symbionts. What status did the gilled sailors hold? Higher? Lower? The lack of cultural context made negotiations daunting in the extreme, and it took all my self-control to keep from hyperventilating.
The hall widened the farther we went. I sensed a great open space ahead, and sure enough, the walls flared to reveal a vast chamber. It encompassed the center of the ship almost entirely, from the plex dome atop to the water beneath the plex at our feet. In the middle, suspended, climbed pillars of vines. Flowers grew on twining tendrils, and the roots descended into the water, where fish and eels and children played. People lounged about on the plex, occasionally talking to the swimmers in strategically placed surfacing pools. It reminded me of Seraphina’s garden, as well as the gardens on Polaris, but there were a few key differences beyond the presence of what I could only term “mermaids.”
Birds—birds!—flew about the ceiling. Moss flourished on the walls, along with plants blooming in brilliant shades of colors. The air was warm and humid and smelled like life. We passed a group of young people working on lap looms with bundles of soft hemp fiber beside them. Curious octopus and fish gathered beneath, and a young woman changed colors to match the octopus hovering directly beneath her. Mimicry? Communication? I listened to the echoes of their voices across my sonar and saw the room in too many dimensions.
Lia walked with purpose. She did not pause to explain or point out details of our surroundings, and the stiffness in her spine suggested tension. Almost every pair of eyes I saw matched mine. I’d adjusted to this new status quo so thoroughly that the first pair of brown eyes took me by surprise. A child raced past, laughing, and her large dark irises arrested me. The child chasing her had eyes the yellow of sunset, and I wondered if the brown-eyed girl felt as I had—alone. Would it kill us as a species, I thought with a depth of bitterness that startled me, to find a way to live with difference?
Miranda squeezed my hand, and I felt the comfort she offered through her fingers. Her scars drew attention from the passersby. Several heads turned, and while I couldn’t understand their language, the low murmur of speculation was universal enough.
Lia led us through yet another sphincter. Hatch, I decided. I would call them hatches, despite their resemblance to anatomy, because it disturbed me to do otherwise.
A slim pier extended into a pool in the room beyond. The room, I quickly realized, was mostly water. Only the strip of mossy plex and a round platform at its center offered familiarity. Lia walked down the strip and waited in the center of the room, motioning for us to follow. Glowing fish and cephalopods pulsed in the dark water. The walls dripped with moss above and seaweed below, and a clever skylight let in light—though it didn’t penetrate the water very far. I wondered with a shudder how deep it went.
“What are we doing here?” I asked.
“Waiting for the commission.”
“Who, exactly, are the co
mmission?” asked Miranda.
“You would call them a trade commission, maybe, though that isn’t exactly right.”
“What kind of government do you have?” Miranda sounded clearer than she had in days. Perhaps moving around had helped, rather than hurt.
“The kind that works.”
Miranda and I both scoffed.
“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Miranda said.
“You’re about to.” Lia pointed to the water.
Heads surfaced. Five people in total, of varying ages over thirty. Some had mottled, mutable skin; others, tones more like my own people, but all had gills. These were not vestigial. They passed water through them, though they seemed to also be able to breathe air, at least in enough quantities to speak. The eldest among them had a feminine face and tightly braided hair. The thin braids formed patterns over her skull, and a few strands of black streaked the whites and grays. She swam close to the platform, her webbed hands cutting gracefully through the water. Looking down on her felt wrong. Lia, however, did not seat herself. Instead, she struck a respectful pose with her head slightly bowed and her posture unthreatening. I followed suit. Miranda widened her stance, taking up the space we’d relinquished.
“Greetings,” said the woman. She had a gravelly voice, and I felt it shiver over my skin.
“I bring you the sailors from the North Atlantic,” said Lia.
“One of them is a foundling, I see. Like you.” The woman smiled at Lia with affection. Her peers grouped behind her and fixed their golden eyes on me. Too much gold. Assembled like this, I noted slight variations in their eye colors. Some were the hot, burnished gold of metal, others deepened into amber, and some had hints of green. “You’ve come to claim inheritance?”
“I believe my father carried the genes,” I said at Lia’s encouraging nod. “He was lost at sea when I was young.”
“Know, first, that we embrace our own.”
“I thank you for your courtesy.” I clasped my hands behind my back and waited for the interrogation to begin.
“Why else did you seek us out?” asked the woman.
I wished Miranda could answer for me. She could rally a crowd or convince a commission. The last time I’d had to make a public case for something was before the Archipelago council, and the memory, while the least of my nightmares, remained unpleasant.
“I was born on an Archipelago station in the Atlantic called Cassiopeia, like the constellation. I became a navigator, and eventually left the Archipelago to sail with Miranda, who was my captain. We were working with a woman named Ching Shih after destabilizing events in—”
“Ching?” The woman’s gray brows furrowed.
“You know her as Amaryllis,” said Miranda.
A pause ensued. “She is still alive?”
“Yes,” I said.
The commission broke into a heated conversation in their language. Lia followed it with raised eyebrows, and I wished she would translate. She didn’t.
“Explain,” said the woman.
I explained as best I could the events that had led up to Ching’s supposed death, and her current circumstances, leaving out my part in her fleet’s destruction. I wanted to ask how Ching fit into this ever-expanding puzzle, but this wasn’t the time.
“But she is not with you now.”
“No,” I said, that particular memory still sharp. “We had . . . ideological differences.”
“Unsurprising,” said another member of the commission in a tone I could only call sotto voce.
“News of her survival is indeed worth something. And your crew: I understand you’ve brought a hostage as an offering of goodwill, but in exchange for what?”
This was the moment I needed to maneuver with utmost caution. I took a moment to gather my thoughts.
“Things are unstable. Oceanic conditions worsen, and everyone is struggling. We . . .” I took a deep breath. “We came here because we’d heard you had another way. Perhaps a better way. We are willing to come to an agreement on your terms if you will consider lending aid.”
“Aid.” The woman’s smile was less friendly, this time. “What kind of aid did you have in mind?”
“Your ships aren’t like anything I’ve seen. The technology alone—”
“Was earned. Your people chose their path, and we chose ours. The divergence was too long ago to mend.”
“But—”
“Look around you. Would your people thrive here? What could we give you that your bodies could handle?”
“With time—”
“The Archipelago was charged with carbon absorption; did you know that?” She moved her arms lazily as she tread water. Her skin wasn’t wrinkled. Perhaps a life submerged prevented the worst of gravity’s ravishes.
“The project failed,” said Miranda, quoting the textbook response. The stations had been built as tenement housing-turned-bioengineering project, but the latter hadn’t lived up to its potential.
“It did not need to. The people failed. Machinery could have been repaired, but no one was willing to experiment. You turned inward, for survival. Whereas here . . .” As if she’d commanded its presence, a seal surfaced. Its sleek head bobbed beside hers before it dove once more. “We’ve turned our focus toward adaptation. Not just of ourselves—but of the ocean’s children. The algae we seed into the sea will, over time, help stabilize the climate. It will not go back to the way it was. But we will thrive regardless. The projects we have underway are all designed with that aim in mind, though it may take many more generations. Your people have nothing to offer us. Perhaps I sound cold, but consider this: we have changed our very genetic code. Some among us argue we are no longer the same species. Your people would suffer here, and only their children’s children’s children, with careful selection on our part, would find themselves at home. We are the future. We cannot look back.”
Her words reverberated over the water and sent ripples through sonic space. I did not know what to say. What could I say?
“There is the reclamation project,” said a man with skin the blue-black of deep ocean.
The woman nodded, thoughtful now, as she considered me. “True. The southern continent is promising. Forests grow again along the coasts. The winters are mostly unsurvivable, and the volcanoes are imposing, but there is potential. We have an experimental colony close by.”
“On land?” My voice squeaked on the last word. This was the colony Lia had mentioned? “You say you’re seeding the sea. We could work to develop strains that counter blooms—”
“We have them.”
“Then if we could—”
“Why should we part with what we’ve developed over generations?”
“You say you wish to restore the ocean—”
“We do.” The subtext of her statement sharpened her eyes. But not for you.
I twisted my fingers together hard enough to crack the knuckles. Silence settled over the assembly.
“There’s always the mission Amaryllis failed to finish,” said the sotto voce man.
The woman’s eyes narrowed in thought, but I didn’t wait to hear her conclusions. Currents swirled. In them, I saw the shape of something monstrous.
“Amaryllis’s project?” Miranda asked in a voice so flat and calm I almost didn’t recognize it.
“She was tasked with bringing the Archipelago to the bargaining table, or, if that failed, to heel. But she managed to do neither.”
North. South. East. West.
Past the buzzing in my ears, the commission continued. “Who is the hostage?”
No, I wanted to scream. There was no way I could turn Harper over to these people, even if they had healed her. I turned to Miranda. Her face betrayed little, but her tell, the twitching muscle in her jaw, told me that she, too, was reeling.
The sea wolves, Miranda’s last hope for redemption, were behind everything.
••••
Time stretched in the liquid way of revelations. I was aware of the room in
all its dimensions, and the expectant eyes of the commission, and Miranda, who still had not taken a breath, beside me, and I was aware, too, of Harper back on the Moray. Ching had taken a finger. What would these people take?
I searched for any option besides the ones before me. Giving Harper up wasn’t one. Couldn’t be one. I’d panicked before, too terrified of losing her to think clearly, but there had to be a way out.
“We need assurances any hostage won’t be harmed,” said Miranda. I knew she was buying us time. North, south, eastwestnorthwestsouth—any course but this.
“What assurances could we give you that you would believe?” said the woman.
What would happen if I refused to give them anyone? Would we be allowed to leave? Could I claim it had been a trick to get medical assistance? I knew so little about how these people worked, and I could not afford to guess wrong about their reactions.
“None,” said Miranda. She stepped past me and squared her broad shoulders. “I submit myself as hostage.”
“Miranda—” I began, but silenced my outburst at her sharp hand gesture. This couldn’t be happening. I couldn’t let this happen.
“And why would we want you?”
“I can give you leverage over Josephine Comita, admiral of Polaris Station, who I know for a fact is planning a coup.”
The commissioner swam closer. “What kind of leverage?”
“She and I worked together. My past history with the Archipelago is complicated. I am a criminal. You can undermine her hold on power by exposing her relationship with me.”
“What was your crime?”
“Mutiny.”
“Mutiny?”
“I incited a station into rebellion.”
“And do you have proof of your relationship with the admiral?”
Miranda hesitated. I didn’t know what proof she might have had, but with another spike of dread, I suspected that proof remained on Man o’ War. My hands twitched as I longed to reach for her. Thank you, I wanted to tell her. Thank you, and damn you, because how was I supposed to choose between my best friend and my lover?
