Chapter 9

chapter 9

CEPHARIUS

What had she thrown into the water?

I'd been following the new human ever since a submersible had decanted her into the laboratory earlier in the day.

I'd been surprised at the sophistication of the structure I'd found on the sea floor two days prior—and even more so that I could see into it. I'd seen humans swimming before and seen them float by in their boats and submarines, but I'd never had the opportunity to watch them live their lives. I knew humans had "aquariums" where they sometimes kept oceanic creatures, but this was the first time I'd encountered the reverse, where they were trapped for me.

They were fascinating, but also pathetic. So small and so uncoordinated. They could only move in two dimensions and were only able to grasp with their hands. I would've felt sorry for them if I didn't know how horrible they could be as a species.

But I hoped that she'd be different. I couldn't tell just from looking at her—she was possibly more serious than the other woman also trapped inside, but their interactions with one another all seemed normal.

I waited until she was alone, looking at one of their screens —without the 'qa, humans were forever finding ways to transmit information from one to another—and let my thoughts reach out to hers.

I wasn't intrusive; I couldn't be without a bonding, but I could get a feel for her just as I had the manatyls.

And when my mind touched hers, I found her mind busy.

Her thoughts were like glints of sunlight on mica in black sand—or viewing the stars above the sea.

I couldn't tell what she was working on, but she was thinking hard, trying to figure it out.

I watched her pace, I watched her draw, I watched her stare off into space—even sometimes outside, and I wondered if she thought at all of tomorrow, or meeting me—and then she came to some kind of quick decision, and I followed her through the building, until she took off something from her hand and threw it into the water to land beside me.

A token for good luck?

Or another piece of the trash the humans seemed so fond of throwing in the ocean?

I waited until she'd left the room to pick it up and inspect it.

It was a ring, and while it must have come from her fingers, it was far too small to ever fit on mine.

I rolled it in my palm and then placed it into one of the pockets on my belt.

When I'd arrived at the station two days ago, I'd found the structure that must've attracted their attention, after swimming out in a spiraling circle with my chromophores lit just enough for me to see.

It was behind a rippling ridge of rocks, and it appeared to be like some of the very large dwellings I'd seen before in human minds. It had a floor and a ceiling, although I couldn't find a door, and on the whole everything was at slightly curved angles. Portions of it were covered in eons of silt, but the part that was exposed was made of metal and tasted weird when my suckers touched it. I surveyed all of it and found it twenty-lengths high, and thirty-lengths long and wide—and noted a strange graveyard of remotely operated vehicles irregularly scattered around its base.

I couldn't figure out a way in, but I also didn't try very hard—I didn't want the humans to come across it later and see tentacle marks where I'd accidentally smeared biofilm off the sides. Clearly they had a plan for what was going on, and as long as I was included in it, and thus my people, I could bide my time.

Her ring now in my belt-pocket, I swam back to her room, feeling her mind begin to get tired. Once she was there she walked to the window, and I could clearly see concern on her oval face as her full lips pulled into a frown.

What was bothering her?

I found myself curious—and then angry about my curiosity. I shouldn't care. I shouldn't even have to be here! I would bond with her tomorrow and then put in the bare minimum of effort so as to seem helpful, and when this mission was through, I'd be free.

Then she leaned forward, placing her hand against the window. Her skin gave off a low-level light, and I swam back on instinct before realizing the irony of the situation—we would touch in the morning for the bonding.

I just hoped she would be the last person I would ever have to touch.