Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The water is cool and dark, near-silent but for the rumble of distant currents. You spy a glimmer of scales and pause to allow a duo of snakelike fish to pass you by. You’re not worried that they might see you by the light of your suit – they’re blind, eyeless, a common sight in these submerged tunnels. Craggy rock brushes your stomach as you swim forth, executing a twisting motion to get through a sharp bend in the tunnel. You can imagine the weight of the planet pressing down on you here.

And then the tunnel opens up, drops away, and you’re floating in what could be dead space if not for the light of your torch. A mammoth cavern sparsely lined with deep-sea vegetation – the team thinks there’s a warmer ecosystem nearby, to support such a variety. Too bad for them they missed the chance to find it.

A net shimmers in your range of vision, only just catching the light from your suit. It blocks the entrance to a truly huge tunnel, hugging the perimeter. It puts you in mind of a web stretched across the hollow of a tree,  only offering a fragile obstacle to any massive creature that might want to get through. It’s strong, but not that strong.

A mooring hangs loose.

That’s fine, some wear and tear is to be expected. The currents that come through can be pretty harsh at times. You spy several grooves scored into the rock around the metal loops embedded into the wall, and frown at the evidence of shoddy work. If those are worn any deeper, the loops will come loose and pull the net down with them. You refasten the net and add a few more moorings to compensate, using swift, brief bursts of a drill to drive them into the rock. The worn loop you fasten to another with a length of chain – you don’t want that drifting away and interfering with the local wildlife.

A glimmer of light catches your attention, but when you look up there’s only black stretching as far as the eye can see. Probably another fish, or your imagination. Sometimes you like to thrill yourself by imagining a ghastly face peering back at you from the dark.

Your scanner buzzes a warning. You sigh and stow away your tools. Time to swim back to base and take care of the human side of things.

Your boots whirr as you raise the resistance, preparing for a faster trip back. Pushing off from the rock wall, you extend your arms and enter the smaller tunnel seamlessly, thankfully not clunking your head on the wall as you’ve done so many times before. With a small paddle of your feet, you’re out of sight, and the massive cave is plunged into complete darkness.

Something watches you go. It reaches forward and delicately carves a claw into the worn base of a metal loop.

Snick.

The facility seems so much brighter after the cool dark expanse of subterranean waters.

The access chamber is frantic with rushing people, scattered luggage, and hurried goodbyes. The last one feels unnecessary – you’re the only one being left behind after all – but several members of the group will be taking separate ships once they reach the docking station. It’s not like the journey to the atmosphere won’t take several minutes, but it’s easy to get caught up in sentiment when you’re wishing farewell to the team and facility you’ve been stationed with for the past several months.

One of the junior researchers tosses his luggage onto the hovering platform holding several cases aloft from the ground. However, as the platform is set to magnetic and his luggage is padded plastic, it falls through the shimmering barrier and bursts open, spilling its contents all over the floor.

You both drop to your knees to gather it all up, shoving clothing and trinkets back through the ruined zipper. Your hand closes around a device that you’re certain actually belongs the facility, but you wrap it in a sweater and hand it back without comment. Whatever.

This action doesn’t go unnoticed by the team leader, judging by the sharp look he sends your co-worker. That’ll be a fun conversation in the pod.

Another round of goodbyes, someone complains that they forgot their lunch in the fridge. The junior researcher absconding with state-of-the-art lab equipment manhandles you into a hug. “Shit, I need to piss again,” he hisses, and you swallow a giggle.

“Have a safe journey,” you say, pulling back.

“You too,” he says, then does the universal face-scrunch of someone who messed up.

“I’ll miss you!” someone shouts. They’re all crammed in the pod now, the team leader doing a quick head count. You smile and wave, and the doors close with a mechanical hiss, the screen feed by the pod lighting up to demonstrate its progress.

Then they’re gone.

You watch the glowing dot of the pod inch upwards on the feed, traversing kilometres in seconds. In just a little while, rock and water will give way to open sky, where they’ll be able to open their own feed and watch the planet shrink below them. It’ll mostly be water, but still. Then they’ll breach the atmosphere, reach the platform floating right on the cusp of open space, and board the ships waiting to take them off-planet.

You will remain on-base, stationed in a facility lodged beneath several tons of rock and a vast, planet-wide ocean. An indescribable feeling begins to well up in your chest.

The pod continues to rise. When it reaches the docking station, the little dot pulses green to indicate a journey completed. You wait a few minutes before tapping the screen, calling the pod back down in accordance with health and safety protocols. The team is gone by now, on their way to another facility, or to chill at a nearby settlement, or to present their findings to whatever organisation commissioned their research in the first place. One of the team is likely returning to their home in a distant Foundation colony – they’re pregnant, a fact you only know of because you spotted the positive test left in the communal bathroom bin. Good for them.

The pod has returned. You press the button out of faint curiosity and the doors open to reveal a miscellaneous pile of lab equipment, some items comically large. The scanner you saw earlier is sitting in place of pride on top of the pile. Aw. Looks like the team leader didn’t let that slide after all.

Maybe it’s for the best. A scanner is one thing, but what would any of the team need with a two-grip industrial hammer?

The screen blinks, indicating all ships have left the docking station. You turn off the monitor.

The feeling in your chest begins to bubble, coalescing into glee.

Finally.

You do a little dance, the tails of your long braids tapping your elbows. The facility is blessedly silent for the first time in what feels like forever.

It’s not like you’re asocial or anything, but anyone’s patience would start to wear thin after half a year living in the same building as all your co-workers. Your guardian had always stressed the importance of a good work-life balance, but the consequence of living where you work is that the balance becomes non-existent.

Socialising can be fun at times, but these were strangers, and a rotating team of them at that. Every several months they would leave and be replaced by a new one.

Not you, though. Being the facility’s resident keeper-upper means remaining firmly on-base.

You enjoy some solitude, which would normally make your role ideal. An all-terrain mechanic and handyman on a submerged facility, partially embedded in rock – most of your work takes place underwater. This is an aquatic planet, after all.  But it seems to have made you greedy for the same silence you experience while diving.

You hadn’t realised when you took the job that you’d have to work in close quarters with so many people, although perhaps you should have. The biggest risk was running into a researcher rendered zombie-like by overwork and insomnia, eager to grasp onto innocent handymen and regale them with tales of how many microscopic teeth they just found on this cool new plant (too many.)

Meetings and paperwork are an unfortunate feature of most jobs, though thankfully your presence was only required for one hour a week for general updates that most of the team didn’t understand. You spent most of that time counting the minutes until you could hop back into the water again.

The water.

You shouldn’t complain, because this is what makes the job ideal for a water baby like you. With most of the facility submerged in the stuff, your days are generally full of activity. Oxygen, electricity, filtered water, all the little bits and bobs are enabled by utilising water power. This makes your job specialised and crucial.

You spend a lot of time crawling through increasingly narrow utility tunnels that pump water through the generators, doing fiddly fixes in tight spaces. Often, you exit the facility to dive into the cool, deeper waters of the caverns surrounding the facility, tunnels carved out from the superheated guts of a long-dead volcano. The area around the facility is dark and cavernous, a circuitous cave system half submerged in water and honeycombed with tunnels teeming with life. The larger tunnels are sectioned off with metallic nets and grids – you don’t want anything big and toothy wandering too close to the building.

Once again, this is an ocean planet after all.

You like the smooth white passages of the utility tunnels, especially when you must raise your arms and kick your feet gently to drift through a particularly narrow section or tight bend. The dark caverns outside are thrilling in their size, littered with the occasional shoal of silvery fish that indicate a nearby warmer ecosystem closer to the surface. Sometimes you’ll feel the brush of a distant current, hear the rumble of shifting water, and know that something colossal has passed by not so far away.

You’ve yet to meet a team that like the water as you do. They’re interested, sure, but the caverns are often described as creepy and any expeditions have been conducted remotely, or from within the safety of the mini sub. No one likes the utility tunnels, claustrophobic in their nature – someone once described it as trying to swim through a plastic straw.

At least the caverns got some enthusiasm as a source of minerals, aquatic vegetation, and sparse marine life. You’ve gotten used to welcoming new teams to the facility with a quick tour around the local ‘attractions’ – a cave of shimmering stalagmites and stalactites, a small crop of bioluminescent plants, and the large netted tunnel you just resecured, sectioned off from the deeper system with a shimmering mesh net. It wouldn’t actually hold against the mammoth creatures that populate the ocean, but an animal is an animal – when faced with a difficult barrier, most fish turn and swim away.

The howls of awestruck horror on seeing such a flimsy net blocking off the gaping maw of the tunnel never fail to make you smile, as do the queries of what should happen if it were to break. You’ve been trained extensively on how to survive anything from shark attacks to being swallowed alive, although a lot hinges on surviving past the first bite. But you don’t think anyone would be reassured by you shrugging your shoulders and saying, “I dunno. Die?”

This team was no different, although they were more likeable than you expected. Many a time they’d return from the submarine with some bizarre spongey creature to examine, tag, and set free. They would let you sit in as they dissected plant life, and they chatted when you stopped by the lab.

You had to extend the limits of the research space for them several times, venturing out into the deeper cave systems to scan for dangerous life and set up new barriers to keep the areas clear. Last week, one of them had gotten overzealous with the submarine and knocked a huge section of rope, chain, and netting loose from where it was securing an unstable rock structure, sending it all careening into the cold and dark. That’ll be something for you to retrieve later, but not without some preparation first.

At least they were apologetic about it, viewing deep cave diving as some sort of Sisyphean task for you. Their flailing explanation was funny. The ramifications to the environment was not. But you’re not dumb enough to go wandering the maze-like depths of an alien ocean unprepared just to save some fish.

A pleasant enough group. Maybe you will miss them, once the novelty of silence wears off.

You realise you’ve just been leaning against the wall of the access chamber with your eyes closed, using the black screen of the feed as a shield of sorts from the overhead lighting. Stark and cold, it makes the curved white walls and chunky furniture of the facility look very clinical. You once dropped a quiet word to the team leader about switching to the far more pleasant warm light setting, but he claimed cold light was easier to see by. Crucial to their research.

But they’re gone now, so your first port of order as captain of this vessel is to toggle the light settings.

You almost sideswipe a cleanerbot as you enter the main room, droning along with a rumble of inner mechanisms as it sucks up imaginary debris from the pristine floor.

“Oop! Sorry,” you say, steadying it with the side of your foot.

It blinks round yellow eyes at you, little plastic bear ears twitching. A cutesy affectation of the robotics company contracted to the facility, presumably to keep the organic staff from defacing the artificial kind. Humans will pack bond with anything.

Though you do recall jokes of taping a knife to one of these and setting it loose.

Actually, this could be why you find yourself eager for privacy – because even with the team in their rooms or out on an expedition, the building is still populated by a wealth of robots. Squat cleanerbots, humanoid staffbots – there’s no avoiding them.

You remember the team leader confessing that he found the white emptiness of the building creepy, all the while a wet floor sign blinked yellow eyes in your periphery.

Plus there is the facility’s resident AI to consider.

“Gooood morning! Missing the company already?” As usual, BON-BON’s cadence, volume, and general delivery is like a flashbang to the ears.

You withhold an instinctive flinch and say, “Yeah, good morning. Please switch the general lighting from cool white to, uh...” you scan the interface and take note of the options, “... natural gold. Thanks.”

“Only team leaders can make adjustments to facility settings. Please submit your request to a team leader, and I’ll see what I can do,” BON-BON says.

You clench your teeth, then ungrit them when you recall the nearest dentist is several off-planet settlements away. In addition to toting a nonsensical acronym as a name, BON-BON has a habit of denying access to harmless features in accordance to non-existent rules. If he weren’t such a rudimentary AI, you would suspect him of doing it on purpose. The only way to get anything done is to use his own logic against him.

“Okay,” you say, already resigning yourself to a circuitous conversation. “But what about when there’s no team leader assigned to the facility?”

“Then facility permissions are granted to the highest-ranked employee on duty.”

You spy a ray of hope. “Are there any other employees assigned to this facility, other than myself?”

A slight pause that you attribute to the AI processing. “You are the only employee currently assigned to this facility.”

“So I’m the highest-ranked employee in this facility?”

“... Yes,” BON-BON answers, a degree less warm.

“Please set the general lighting to natural gold,” you say, crossing your fingers.

The pause that follows has you shifting in place, anticipating an upbeat, sterile refusal.

The lights dim and warm, and the strain on your eyes immediately lessens. You breath a sigh of relief as BON-BON says, “The general lighting has been set to natural gold. Enjoy!”

“Thanks,” you mutter, already turning away. You have always been taught to speak politely to artificial intelligence, even when you’d rather not.

“How would you rate your experience so far?” the AI says, just when you think you’re free. He pulls up a five-star review interface you’ve never seen before, not that you’ve managed to get through many interactions with the thing before giving up and walking away.

Your finger hovers over the one-star, but you hesitate. BON-BON did follow your reasoning to the correct conclusion after all, and now the lighting is how you like it. He is a learning AI after all – maybe he’ll get something from this. You hit the second star, and digital confetti litters the screen.

“That’s great to hear,” BON-BON says warmly.

Maybe not.

You make a few more changes before the week is out.

It’s a joy to turn the heating down and uncover all the windows. It’s still solid glass, but the previous team had kept all windows and portholes shuttered, claiming that the sight of submerged cave structures and dark open water was creepy. You find the featureless white walls aggravatingly boring. Catching the distant flash of a fin, gleam of an eye, or odd fleshy organism suckling at the glass is better than nothing at all.

It feels downright luxurious to eat your meals on the sofa, squinched into the corner with your legs stretched out just how you like it. The team had enjoyed preparing and eating meals together in the dining room.

A lot of time is spent in the water. When the withdrawal of the previous team became imminent, the facility had become a hub of frantic energy, and you pitched in to help them prepare to leave because despite your inner preferences, you’re not a lazy asshole. As a result, a fair amount of work had gone largely ignored, something you’re glad to busy yourself with now. It’s no biggie – you’ve got the energy generators with their infinity pool to rely on if things go dark, plus a separate battery backup. But you’d rather not dip into the emergency power supplies, so into the water you go.

Eventually the novelty of isolation begins to wear thin, as you knew it would. This is the first time you have been left so long in the facility without another organic soul. No issue – the next team of researchers are sure to arrive in a few hundred cycles, maybe even less, and you fill the time by swimming, speeding through your paperwork, and chattering to the various bots littering the facility. You know they can’t perceive what you’re saying on the same level as people, but at least some of them are humanoid. The previous lab technician used to talk to her potted plants.

BON-BON had once piped up with a recommendation when you wondered aloud what movie option to choose, subsequently making you jump a foot into the air. You’re pretty sure he’s not supposed to interact without being directly addressed, although it may be your fault for musing so close to his interface station. It’s a small blessing that he can’t do the same throughout the building.

One thing hasn’t changed, and it’s that you still don’t miss the meetings. A new team means inevitable hours spent sitting bored out of your mind, probably doodling on the corner of your report flimsy. But that’s in the future – right now you can scribble out a general update and scan it onto the system for anyone to view at their leisure, and revel in the knowledge that you don’t even have to do that for another week now. Video meetings with Base are few and far between.

Bliss.

You’re down in the utility tunnels when the rumble occurs. It’s audible even underwater, and the plastic casing of the wall shivers under your fingertips like a far-off train has passed by.

This isn’t a concerning or even particularly rare occurrence, but it is a sobering reminder that you are, for all intents and purposes, alone on an alien planet that is 99% water. Or something like that. It’s well-established that you don’t pay much attention in meetings.

You automatically brace for a frantic buzz from the team leader, asking you to check it out, only of course you don’t receive one. Still, it’s an event worth logging and scanning for.

But you’re still in the tunnels, and you’re well-trained enough not to rush or panic, so you take your time to repair the worn-out turbine you’re fiddling with before slinking your way back to the surface.

You breach air and haul yourself up onto the floor with practiced movements. A fair amount of water sloshes out with you, swiftly mopped up by a robot that must be ecstatic to finally have something to do. Since the team left, you’ve spied the occasional tail following you between rooms, waiting for you to make a mess. It’s happened before.

You pull out your breather, and the helmet field it generates deactivates with the movement.

“Wear and tear,” you say, chatting to a being that won’t and can’t respond. “As usual. The base rings keep rubbing through too. I don’t know what they’re playing at, downgrading to this crap.”

The floor is cool against your exposed thighs, and you stand and step aside so the bot can get to the puddle you’re creating on the floor. You have a full-body suit that covers everything, but it’s stiff and stifles the sensation of water. The boots are all wrong as well, too short with an unreliable thrust – your own are so much better. They come up high enough that if you get stuck in a passage too narrow to turn or bend in, you can reach down and deactivate the power easily. It would do you no good to die in a small space because you couldn’t ease backwards without your boots working against you.

They clack wetly against the ground as you leave the utility room, the bot mopping in your wake. You can’t be bothered to change when you’re just going back in the water anyway, and the robots don’t seem to mind. You only hope BON-BON was telling the truth when he said the facility had no visual monitoring – you don’t want anyone logging in to see you wandering the halls in nothing but your own swimming costume. Plus boots, for all the difference that makes.

The window in the exit chamber shows nothing stirring the water. You log the rumble anyway and consult your to-do list. A broken light in the utility tunnels, one of the deeper generators needs a filter clean, paperwork, ugh-

Aah, right. The missing net. You should probably get onto that before Base follows up on the matter and tries to slap you with a littering fine. You can only hope that BON-BON isn’t a snitch.

Who are you kidding, he’s totally a snitch.

“You wouldn’t ever betray me, would you?” you ask the AI. You make sure to inject as much humour into your voice as possible, because you think he might be starting to pick up on it.

“As this facility’s helpful and essential AI companion, I am legally bound to report all law-breaking to the relevant authorities,” BON-BON answers. “If you have committed a crime, please be sure to tell me.” He sounds just as upbeat as usual, his nasal, squawky voice grating.

If he were a person, you would think he’s messing with you.

“Thanks for the info,” you say. The tracking chip clipped to the netting isn’t pinging back, the screen occupied by a buffering icon. It might have drifted out of range, or it could just be a piece of crap. Either way, you’ll have to manually search for it.

“No problem!” the AI says, somehow a little louder than before. You wince.

The waters are cold, but you run warm. You could do a quick search of the surrounding area, return for lunch, and break out the full-body suit for a wider search. Maybe even the mini sub. It’ll give you time to be sure that whatever caused the rumbling has passed, at least.

“It is currently time for lunch,” BON-BON pipes up just as you’re leaving the room.

You really need to figure out the interface issue. “I’m taking a late meal,” you say absently, your mind already mapping out a good search parameter.

“Studies show that skipping meals can lead to a greater risk of d-beeep-ng from a cardiovascular disease," he announces, cheerful tone unmarred by the automatic censoring. It sounds as though he’s describing a great time.

You rub your ear. “I’ll eat lunch later. Right now I need to search for- I mean, I need to work outside,” you amend, still a little skeevy of his snitching capabilities.

“Lunch is best eaten between eleven AM and noon.”

Right, circular reasoning. “I need to begin the job now, or I won’t finish according to schedule,” you explain. “If I were to eat now, I could get indigestion or a cramp. If I cramp underwater, I could drown. I’ll return for lunch in a few hours, okay?”

The AI remains silent, which is bizarre because you accidentally ended your sentence with an indication that he should respond. You wait a few seconds more before leaving the room. Weird.

You almost forget about the robot following you, your silent mop-wielding companion. It’s only when its wheels clatter against the textured floor preceding the exit chamber that you clock its presence again.

“Don’t come out,” you say, pulling out your breather and doing a final check of your equipment. Light stuff only, what can fit on a belt. Your boots whirr comfortingly when you brace them. “The platform is grating, your wheels will get stuck. See you in a few, yeah?”

The bot stares at you unblinkingly. You give a jaunty salute to hide the awkwardness, and smack the access panel.

It’s probably the most well-maintained door in the entire building thanks to you. It slides shut behind you with a hiss, and you pop your breather into your mouth now that talking is no longer needed, adjusting to create a seal over the bridge of your nose and chin. The helmet field flickers into place around your head.

The cavern is like an iceberg, though thankfully not as cold – far more of it is below water than is immediately apparent. The facility juts out from the rock wall like a plane of quartz in stone, barely a blip in the vast space. In lieu of a natural ledge, a metal grating was placed just above the water level, and it rings as you walk to the edge. The lights are kept low to avoid disturbing the local wildlife, though the waters are slightly warmer than natural – the workings of the facility give off some heat. As a result the cavernous space looks dark and mysterious, the calm water glassy like obsidian. If not for the modest light, you would be blind.

But as you direct a light down, you can see pale blooms, the glimmer of tiny bodies – sparse life thriving off the warmth of the facility.

You slip into the water. First you’ll explore the immediate cavern, then continue into the many tunnels branching off from it. The net you repaired recently, blocking off a cavern deemed too large for safety – no need to check that. Further down that large space stands a number of silvery bars cross-sectioning the other end before it becomes too big to handle. One of the few times prevention came in the form of a permanent change to the landscape, excluding the facility itself. No one wants to risk a leviathan encounter.

The helmet field keeps water from your face, the mouthpiece cycling air from your surroundings. The whirr of your boots is silenced when submerged on low gear, allowing you to glide along at high speeds with miniscule leg movements. You lower the thrust and swim along, searching the dark space in a cross section. You imagine that with your suit and gear designed to match the minimalism of the facility, you bear a passing resemblance to the pale fish that dart by.

You glimpse a faint light in your periphery, but it’s gone when you look. That could be a glint of the chain attached to the netting, but you’re not going to go careening off wildly when you’ve just decided on a search pattern.

It takes almost an hour to scour the cavern properly, with many nooks and crannies needing investigation. You find a broken piece of turbine and leave it on the metal platform – it doesn’t have anything growing on it, so that probably happened recently. Another fix for later, but you’ll have to figure out where it came from first.

There are some boulders hugging the walls, and you haul yourself up to take a breather rather than swimming all the way back to the platform. Your muscles are beginning to ache, in a good way. A swig from the small freshwater bottle on your belt tastes like nectar.

Crumpling and sealing the bottle, you muse over your options. Start on this side of the tunnels, make your way over back towards the platform. One in the middle intersects with another, so you’d have better luck choosing the one on the left and just poking your head through where they merge.

Like the cavern, the tunnels keep their secrets. You snap a quick pic of an unfamiliar patch of young bioluminescent plants, and collect a scan. A bud must have drifted in on a current to take root.

A second rumble comes when you are traversing a particularly rough bend, fully extended with your legs above you to make the twist. You still as the water roars, the rocks tremble, and you feel the brush of current even as far down as you are. When it passes, you do too, calmly completing the bend and swimming on.

That was the loudest one yet.

In the end, nothing. You exit the last tunnel gingerly, glancing around for a flicker of movement, a coiling tail. Even with all the nets, bars, and precautions, you’re still only human.

The water is empty to the beam of your torch. Your head breaches the surface and you kill the flashlight, flipping onto your back and allowing your boots to propel you head-first to the platform.

That was both fun and disappointing. You’ll have to change suits to go further – at least you can ease BON-BON’S artificial concerns by scarfing down a quick lunch before heading back out. Though if he tries to make you wait for longer than it takes to digest you might throw a tantrum.

Your helmet knocks against the platform with a faint buzz. You roll upright and haul yourself up, flicking back the twin braids that slither wetly against your elbows. You’ve gotten into the habit of braiding it before bed and then just leaving it like that throughout the day, allowing it to breach the helmet and soak up water. It feels funny, walking around with a dry scalp down to the jaw, the rest dripping. A health and safety hazard – you’ll need to get back into the habit of securing it when the next team arrives.

You’re about to rise when you catch another glimpse of light, this time cutting out just after you focus on it. You squint, leaning forward on your perch. You already searched that area.

Waiting is no issue – your muscles need a rest, and you’ve got a bottle of water to finish. When the light pulses faintly, cold and white, you set the bottle down and readjust your breather, sliding down underwater with your eyes locked firmly on where the light disappeared.

It flashes once more on the journey, enough for you to note that it appears to be reflecting off the rock wall. You float in place before it, puzzled. The area is craggy, the rocks below you like a mouthful of crooked teeth. You kill your boots and sink down, landing feet-first on a weed-laden boulder. A crab startles and scuttles out of sight.

The minutes tick by. You stand motionless, occasionally waving your palms to keep from floating around.

Then, finally – another pulse. There’s a gap in the cave wall close to the floor, for want of a better word. Camouflaged by tall drifting seaweed, the light flashes through a semicircle opening, reflecting up the wall. It’s weaker than before – you wouldn’t have seen that flash above the surface.

Fascinating.

You dither in place for a moment. To the best of your knowledge, not you nor your team have misplaced equipment that could act like this. There isn’t any other settlement on the planet – not legally, anyway. It could be a fish you’ve never seen, or some new kind of bioluminescent vegetation. You have yet to find anything similar to the iconic Earth-1 angler fish on this planet – Base would go crazy if you managed to snap a pic.

Put like that, what’s a little fear of the unknown? Plus you are really, really curious.

You swim slowly forwards, going low through the weeds to avoid silhouetting yourself against the faint light from the facility. It’s almost pitch black down here. Your fingers twitch for your flashlight.

The opening widens immediately, but not in any significant way. Instead of the usual tunnel you were expecting, the rock wall is proved to be a thin veneer, a crisp layer of slate hollowed out to form a cave. It veers back further than you can see, comparatively low-ceilinged about a storey high, far longer than it is wide. It is sectioned by rock pillars of joined stalagmites and stalactites.

Your belly brushes rubble. You’re sure the opening to this cave is new. Perhaps that was the rumbling you heard? Despite your curiosity, you remain flat and low, lying at the base of the weeds half inside the entrance. Something scuttles alongside your leg but you ignore it, flexing your thigh muscles to shift it away.

One of the pillars appears to be moving.

The pulse is soft and startling, a split-second flash of weak cold light. You have less than a second to take in the scene. The glint of a chain, a serpentine body. A humanoid face staring back at you.

Then the dark swallows it up.

You lie still, not even breathing. Your heart thuds a deafening tattoo in your chest. The glimpse lasted for less than a second, but you know what you saw.

A mermaid.

Chapter Text

The cavern is dark. No movement stirs the water.

You swallow, hard. You definitely made eye contact.

You shouldn’t still be here, but you decide against flailing around with your night vision shredded. You blink rapidly, raising a forearm as prior warning if the creature comes to investigate – better than being bitten in the face or throat.

But as the dark becomes more friendly and the pillars loom into view again, the vertical figure remains where it is. Upright, long, floating in place, like a tangled wad of seaweed or a tethered length of wood.

You’re beginning to doubt yourself now. The water around you is cool and calm, not a current stirring. Surely if there was some sort of creature here it would be moving about, not hovering eerily still. There’s no way you imagined the light, but you could have manufactured the face. Even now, your cool fish discovery might be swimming away after confounding you with a flash of light from behind an odd stalactite.

Now that you think it, the face did look weird. Too big, too round. You try to pin features to the memory, but your recollection is confused.

Well, if there is anything there, it already knows of your presence. With that in mind, you release your position from the rock floor, float upright, and activate your torch, flooding the cavern with light.

You get a split-second glimpse of the mermaid, because it is a mermaid, shit, reeling back in a gesture of pain, arching like a bow and clapping a clawed hand over both eyes. A screech reaches your ears even underwater, and that’s all the warning you get before the thing is lunging in a flurry of bubbles and teeth.

You almost scream, instinctively kicking your boots into high gear so you’re launched backwards right into the slimy weeds. The torch suffers a blow, it only just missed you, and careens out of your hand to land on the rock floor.

Oh shit oh fuck you’re tangled, you’re tangled, and the mermaid is preparing to strike-

You realise it isn’t approaching at the same moment it lunges for the torch on the floor, stopping just short with an arm extended. Clawed fingers grasp for the device, but the mermaid remains coiled in the same general space as where you first saw it.

Another screech. The torch is just out of reach, lodged diagonally with the beam still active, and the mermaid’s eyes narrow to slits even as it hyperextends its arm to reach.

Your rabbiting heart begins to slow. Now you’re not flailing, it’s relatively simpler to pull your arms and legs free of the weeds. The creature continues to grasp fruitlessly for the torch.

Is it... stuck?

The mermaid gives up and recoils, turning away with a one hand shielding its face. You see the jut of its spine, the impression of pelvic bones beneath scales. What you had initially taken for jewellery is a snarl of chain, tangled in rope and netting. It wraps against the base of the tail, mesh pressing deep grooves into scales, winding up and up with a final noose around one wrist. The other end trails down, wrapped inescapably around a craggy boulder. It’s lodged in place in a way you know from experience is a bitch to remove.

The mermaid is trapped.

For a moment, you’re torn. Approach the dangerous creature and get mauled, or leave it in pain while you retreat unscathed?

Well, if it couldn’t reach the flashlight...

You inch forward, as much as you can while underwater, keeping low to the ground. The mermaid’s shoulders twitch slightly in response, but it doesn’t otherwise react.

With glacial slowness, you anchor yourself to the rock floor and reach forward inch by inch, extending the full length of your arm. Gripping the upright lens by your fingertips, you pray you’re not about to lose an appendage.

The mermaid remains still as you grab the flashlight and pull back, though it must sense the movement behind it if not the light dancing off the walls. You drift until the distance feels safe, back against the cave entrance, and shield the flashlight with your palm.

There’s still enough light for you to see that the mermaid remains hunched and still. Then it raises its head, turns slowly, and looks at you over its shoulder.

Whoa. That’s a glare.

Your hand clenches around the bulb of the torch, and light spills out from between your fingers. The mermaid flinches, bares its teeth and hisses, and you’d be really curious at how well the sound cuts through the water if you weren’t trying to keep from pissing yourself. You cover the light more securely, and now all you can see are glints of eyes and scales in the dark.

The mermaid is light-sensitive. Perhaps it’s partially blind. And it’s time to acknowledge the obvious: you appear to have located the missing net.

Which makes this trapped, vicious creature your responsibility.

Fascination begins to overtake apprehension on the journey back to the facility, so by the time the door hisses shut behind you, you’re practically vibrating with excitement.

A mermaid. Sweet stars.

Or a humanoid fish, the reasonable part of your brain chimes in. Reliable training has drummed into you that just because a creature resembles a human, it doesn’t mean its intelligence is comparable. The thing could just be weird eel with arms.

But then again, isn’t that the definition of a mermaid?

This has to be a new discovery. The old team would have exploded with excitement if they came across anything like this. At the very least they would have showed you pictures.

The planet’s wildlife is largely unknown and barely-explored. This could be huge.

But the mermaid is also vicious and trapped by litter of human design, so freeing the thing takes priority. Even if compassion wasn’t a factor, killing an animal through ocean pollution warrants a hefty fine.

You’re thinking so hard about your plan of action that you barely notice you’re being pursued. Robots follow you like ducklings as you stride into the main room. You’re leaving a mess, scattering water in your wake, and as you upend a storage box onto the floor one of them peels away a length of seaweed stuck to your back.

“Welcome back!” BON-BON says, his interface lighting up. “I see that you have returned in time for a late lunch. Good job!"

Spitting out your breather (you’re still wearing that?), you sort through the miscellaneous objects. Spare torch, pinprick camera, scanner – shit, you should have scanned the thing while you were down there! “Not yet. Something came up.”

“I advise taking a break to rest and refuel,” BON-BON says, like you even asked. “Why not let one of our helpful-"

“Where’s the taser?” you interrupt, rifling through the objects with increasing carelessness. The robots crowd like vultures, presumably ecstatic for a mess to fix.

“The-" For the first time, you hear a change in the AI’s delivery. “Why do you need a taser?”

The taser is sitting on a nearby shelf, and buzzes reassuringly when you press the button. Satisfied, you clip it to your belt. “I gotta go pee. Could you drop the sub for me- oh, wait.”

The sub won’t fit through the entrance to the cave, will it? But then how are you supposed to get close enough to free the thing without getting mauled?

Maybe you could test your intelligence theory.

“Why-"

“Uhhh, scratch the sub,” you say. “And prepare some fish. Raw, please, cut into slices – oh, no blood.” You don’t want to induce a feeding frenzy, or stars forbid entice something in from the other end of the tunnel. You have no idea where it leads yet, and if the mermaid got in that way then there may be more. “In a bag. Please.”

“Why not a nice, hot soup?” the AI says, warbling slightly.

“No, please just do as I say.” You’re beginning to get frustrated, spurred on by the knowledge that you’ll have to make a detour to collect some tools before you can return to your mermaid. Which may even now be in the process of freeing itself and swimming away. Shit, shit, shit, why didn’t you scan it when you had the chance?

“Eating raw fish carries the risk of stomach irritation and food pois-"

“Oh my stars!” you bark, rounding on the interface. “Can’t you do anything without an argument? I don’t know why- wait. Why am I asking you?” You turn to your tableau of robots and say, “Can someone arrange the fish for me please?”

They exchange blank-faced looks. One of the group peels away in the direction of the dining room.

Okay, cool. Pee, tools, fish, go. Wait, you need to change into your suit first if you’re going to be swimming much longer. “Be right back,” you say, clomping out of the room.

“Wait! Why do you need a taser?!” BON-BON calls after you.

You’re a little bogged down by equipment by the time you return to the tunnel. The pulses of light have stopped, which is worrisome. Hopefully that isn’t an indication of encroaching death. Or escape.

Wait, the light from before must have come from the mermaid, but it was harmed by the beam of your flashlight. How does that work?

The mermaid is right where you left it. You keep the torch dead, dumping your tools by the entrance where you can see them easily. Its eyes catch the faint light filtering through the hole, glinting subtly. You wouldn’t know it was there if you weren’t looking for it.

How do you appear to it, silhouetted against the artificial, alien light of the facility? Does it have the sapience to understand you shouldn’t be here?

Welp, time to test intelligence.

You adjust your flashlight, keeping the strength low. As expected, the mermaid recoils when you activate your torch, even though you keep the bulb pointed away. You can't work blind. You secure it to the overhang to create a weak light illuminating the space.

Its reaction isn’t so dramatic as last time – no thrashing, no snapping. It squints as you slowly circle, estimating the length of its reach.

It looks... weird.

A mermaid for sure, but not one from storybooks. Its face is too round, too flat, pale one side and dark the other. The eyes too are dark in colour, appearing black in the gloom, though with the weak light you can pick out some shade... red, maybe? A human-like torso, long arms with a reach disproportionate to its body that you’ll need to be wary of. It’s thin, slinky, and the lengthy tail supersedes its upper half by a wide margin, starting pale and darkening to the tip. You can make out some pale fanning at the end, crushed under snarls of netting and chain, similar frills on its wrists and upper arms. Plus the neck – gills, perhaps?

Most fascinating is a dark appendage you can make out on the back of its head. Long, tapered, reminiscent of a hat, and – is that a bauble on the end? The mermaid’s face is framed by pale petal-like fins, haloing its odd, round head. Your efforts to get a better look at the back of its skull are thwarted by the way it moves to keep you in its line of sight at all times.

It's weird, it’s so weird. It’s incredibly cool. You want to shriek and do a little dance, even with its dark eyes intently fixed on you.

You’re frightening it, that’s for sure. It’s tensed, prepared for aggression. If your breather didn’t prohibit speech, you might attempt to speak softly to it. You settle instead for reaching into your bag of fish.

You toss a sliver experimentally, flapping your hand to push it forward without entering the mermaid’s sphere of reach. It remains motionless, even as the meat drifts down to rest on a coil of its tail.

Aah, that’s disappointing. Then again, you sure wouldn’t take food from a random alien. Maybe this mermaid learned stranger danger in aquatic preschool.

Wouldn’t a normal animal chow down? Or perhaps you’re so eager for an indication of intelligence that you’re assigning reasoning where there is none.

You toss another piece and retreat back to your tools, taking stock of what you’ll need to do. You’re under-equipped, understaffed, but nothing if not confident in your abilities. You should start off by securing what little of the net and chain that’s out of the creature’s reach to the rock wall to keep it from drifting away and creating the exact same problem later. The chain you can sort out with snips of these long-handled clippers here, and you’ll have to unravel some of the netting by hand - too much pressure will cause it to constrict like a glass laced garrotte. At least you have a knife.

The problem is the mermaid itself. It will hurt itself struggling against the snare and your tools. You lack the resources to tranquilize it, and while a small tase can induce temporary paralysis, the length of time needed for an issue like this would require you to shock it brain-dead. You should save the taser for emergencies.

Imagine going down in history for not only discovering the first mermaid, but giving the species their first lobotomy.

The mermaid still hasn’t touched the fish. You swim forward until you’re just outside its range of motion. Its eyes widen slightly, the frills at its neck fluttering – they are gills. It stills as you pluck the spare flashlight from your belt, pointing obviously at the button before pressing it yourself to signify how the tool works. You shield the light and repeat a few more times before tossing the flashlight at the creature.

Dark eyes track the torch as it drifts forward and begins to sink. You think you can make out the movement of pale, slitted pupils. The closest hand twitches, and your heart leaps – but then it swings up in a wide arc and thwak! shatters the tool.

Hmm. Kinda inconclusive. It didn’t react this way to the fish you sent it, so destroying the flashlight could indicate it recognises it as a source of light. But it didn’t use the button to switch it off like how you demonstrated. Then again, maybe the light just pissed it off.

You gather the pieces of broken flashlight as they float back to you, and dump them in a bag by your tools. The mermaid watches you through narrowed eyes.

And thinks.

The mermaid gets a little more antsy after that, probably because you took a quick picture and scan before you began to work. The light-phobic creature is adverse to a crackling blue laser travelling up and down the length of its body – go figure.

At least you can confirm that this is a new discovery – the scanner doesn’t know what to make of it. You don’t squeal and splash about like you want, but you do flap your hands a little. The mermaid watches you with its head cocked, a funny look on its odd, flat face.

Speaking of, you should probably just assume a lack of intelligence to save time. You’ve been in the water a little too long for the lack of progress you’ve made.

The trailing chain and net is secured by nails to the rock face, something that gained a lot of activity and bared teeth from the mermaid. You plan on cutting the chain to free it, so you’re going to litter the water no matter what, but there isn’t a lot you can do about it.

You lift the long-handled clippers and the mermaid, which until now had fallen into a watchful state of rest, bolts to attention. It stirs uneasily, and as the sharp end begins to come closer, its frantic movements kick up a thin flurry of rock shards and silt. Stars, the face is so person-like. It’s trying to play it tough, snapping and hissing, but the brow is furrowed, eyes wide.

Your eyes flicker as you survey your options, and you dart the tool forward and cut a link with a crisp crick.

The struggling halts.

You select another and do it again, swiftly withdrawing the tool each time in case the creature tries to make a grab at it. You’re picking parts of the chain a fair length away, loops that stick out from the snarl instead of lying flush against the scales.

You risk a glance up. The mermaid is staring again, which is unsettling, but at least it’s not bucking and snapping. You lower your eyes and extend the tool, cutting another piece.

Movement has you withdrawing instinctively, but the mermaid isn’t going for you again. Instead it’s running a fingertip over the net and chain around it, selecting a coil and pulling it taut away from the tangle. It’s presenting the loop of chain to you.

Offering something to cut.

You can hardly believe it. The tool trembles as you extend it, and the muscles in the mermaid’s arm bunch, clearly tense. Slowly, very slowly, you open the blades of the tool around the farthest most loop from its fingers, and slice the link.

The mermaid withdraws its hand. The chain, shorn in two, drifts down to hang from the tangle.

The mermaid looks at you, and you swallow hard around your breather.

Well. That was pretty conclusive.

Things go a little easier after that.

You’ve dubbed the mermaid Moon in your head, because after that clear display of intelligence, all your current modes of address start to sound offensive. Plus, with a two-toned face, one side a pale crescent, the name suits him – you’re assuming he’s a him.

He hasn’t tried to offer you anything else to cut, but he’s completely given up the struggle. Floating upright in place, one eye open to watch your efforts, he twitches when you get too near and worries at the netting around his wrist. Several times he has extended his trapped arm to you, but you ignore him. You have a plan for that part.

He points. He can make expressions. You toss him a piece of fish and he flicks it away irritably. The clear signs of sentience make you incredibly giddy, careful as you are not to drift into his reach. There’s something about the attention he pays when you swim too close that can’t just be chalked up to simple caution.

Inevitably, you have snipped all you can snip. What chain there is left is held tight by lengths of net and rope against Moon’s body.

You tread water for a few seconds, trying to think around it. The clippers hang heavy in your grip and your arms ache. Your chest burns in that way that means you’ve been overusing your breather. How long have you been down here?

The clippers won’t work on the net and rope – you’ll have to get in close with a knife, maybe an unpicker.

You don’t want to get in close. The trust you’ve cultivated is fragile.

Moon is watching you dither, eyes flicking to the clippers and back. You turn back as he pulls up a length of chain, holding it out like before.

Hmm. Smart, but not that smart. One end of the chain has already been snipped, and the only reason it’s not free-floating is because it’s tucked under a length of netting. Moon could pull it free himself.

But he’s trying to help, and the effort is endearing. Even his odd, flat face looks earnest, eyes wide and guileless. Cute.

Dutifully, you swim forward with the clippers outstretched. You’ve become a little more bold with your movements in the hopes that Moon will allow you close when it comes time to cut the netting. He has webbing between his fingers, though it’s hard to make out the colour. You hadn’t realised that.

Moon pulls back a little as the clippers approach, and you falter. You didn’t mean to scare him.

Slowly, he extends his hand again, not quite as far as before. You inch closer, extending the clippers, and cut the chain as gently as you can to avoid spooking him. Poor thing.

Moon smiles and drops the chain, immediately presenting you with another one.

You smile back on automatic, even though the only place he’d see it is in the crinkling of your eyes. Wow!! Is this communication? Are you communicating with a mermaid?

His smile is close-mouthed, curling up at the edges. You see his eyes crinkle a second later, and wonder if he’s mimicking you – it makes the expression look more genuine by human standards at least. You hadn’t realised how large his eyes are.

You snip the new length of chain, glee bubbling in your stomach. Screw your aching arms, this is so cool! And now that you’re closer, you can make out these little patches on his chest, faint splotchy markings that mimic the darkness of his tail below. Like a freckled fish.

Moon hums, a melodic sound that makes something in your brain go warm and fuzzy. The third chain he presents is one looped around his waist, so lightly that you hadn’t bothered with it. You’re so close you can see the glimmer of scales on his arm, crooked instead of outstretched.

Crooked because he doesn’t need to reach out.

You’re too close.

Your eyes flick up to meet his. Moon’s smile has teeth.

You jerk back as your arm is caught in a punishing grip, but even with your boots kicking into high gear you’re helpless to keep from being tugged in and down. The world whirls around you, a hot body melds against your side, and then you’re pinned face down on the floor, sharp rock edges pressing painfully into your chest and belly.

Your arm is twisted behind you, pressed into the small of your back by a bruising grip. You’re half-bent over a length of Moon’s trapped tail, legs hanging in empty water, and if this position was intended to drive your face into the silt, then your helmet foiled it – your head is held at an awkward angle as the energy field presses against rock, putting a worrying pressure on your neck.

Okay, so he’s smarter than you thought. You’d be impressed if you weren’t trying to keep from screaming. As it is, you can barely kick your feet, stunned from the unexpected blow.

Moon’s weight leans on your back. He plucks the clippers from your limp, outflung arm. The pressure on your spine decreases as he lets go of your wrist, and you turn your head just enough to see him unsuccessfully try to cut his own wrist free. The clippers just squidge the material, and the growl he gives rumbles from his chest into your spine.

You giggle hysterically. Obviously chain clippers can’t handle stretch net.

Moon presses down on you in retaliation, grinding rock into your chest. You swallow a whimper, squirming, but something must have come through because the pressure instantly eases.

But you remain pinned.

I'm going to die, you think despairingly, and it’s a little funny. Does Moon not understand that if he kills you here, he’ll remain trapped? Or maybe he thinks someone will come looking for you and he’ll get help and a meal.

The seconds tick by, and you’re getting tired of waiting for teeth at your throat. Moon is holding you still now, and he’s not moving. You spy the clippers abandoned on the rock next to you, carelessly tossed aside.

After a while you get curious enough to try and turn over, wondering what the holdup is. Moon immediately tightens his grip again. Craning your neck, you can see him staring down at you, eyes flickering. You get the feeling he doesn’t quite know what to do now he’s actually caught you.

A hand presses against your helmet and you jump. It feels the smooth surface of the energy field, trails down to your breather, and thankfully passes it by without trying to move it.

Small touches on your back and neck feel muted through the suit. You feel a tug on one of your braids, glimpse Moon running the length of it between his fingers.

He bends so he’s looking at your face in profile, intent, and slowly squeezes the braid. He looks disappointed when you just blink at him.

What the fuck? Are you being examined? You squirm when a hand wanders too low but Moon doesn’t seem to be aiming for anything in particular. He plucks at your suit, fiddles with the straps that typically hold your belt in place, which you had abandoned by your pile of tools as you grew more comfortable. You won’t make that mistake again, presuming you get the chance. A taser would be really helpful right about now.

He gets to your boots, and now he’s just holding you still by a grip on the base of your neck. Are you a scruffed cat?

You take the opportunity to bring your arm down from where it lies pinned behind your back, sighing in relief as blood rushes back in. Your shoulder is killing you.

Moon appears to be trying to remove your boots without much luck. He fiddles with the buttons, picks at the turbine filters up the calf, and then digs a sharp thumb between the plastic and suit, bruising the muscle.

This time you do scream, and Moon’s grip on your neck slackens in shock. In an instant you kick your boots into high gear and careen out from the coils of his tail, smashing headfirst into the rock wall and sending up a cloud of silt.

You’re dazed and Moon is making clicking noises you’ve never heard before, but what’s most important is that you’re fine and your helmet is fine and you’re fine. You are. Even if you’re shaking like a leaf.

The silt is beginning to clear, and you take the opportunity to give Moon a wide berth as you dart for the entrance of the cave. He can keep the clippers, for all the good they’ll do him.

Moon becomes frantic as you approach the exit. He thrashes in place, chains rattling, stirring up dirt. You glance back before leaving, locking eyes. His face is panicked, hand outstretched. He shakes his head.

You turn off the torch above the entrance and swim away.

So it turns out you missed lunch, dinner, and are now in midnight snack territory.

BON-BON is conspicuously silent as you scarf down a bowl of leftovers from the fridge. Weird, since he was really on your back about eating earlier.

You feel bruised black and blue, and when you eventually drag yourself into the shower you realise that’s not too far from the truth. Your skin is darkening at your knees, chest, even your back. One wrist is circled like a bracelet, and there’s a purpling patch on your calf accompanied by a smattering of broken blood vessels.

You don’t mind that one too much though, since that’s the injury that got Moon to let go of you.

Now you’ve had time to calm down, you feel pretty embarrassed. Moon used your own tactics to lure you forward, and he’s clearly far smarter than you realised. You might be the dumb animal in this scenario.

Well, lesson learned. You’re not underestimating him again.

But how are you supposed to cut him free without getting close?

When the next day dawns (ostensibly, since the facility doesn’t get any sunlight), you think you might have a plan. You can tape an unpicker to a pole and cut Moon free from a distance. It’ll take way longer than getting up close and he might get nicked, but you figure fair’s fair after you woke up spotted like a croaker.

Annoyance burns in your chest. You might actually be more pissed now than last night, having had hours to cook over it. Is it weird to feel like Moon rejected you?

Yes, it’s weird to feel hurt over the manipulations of a fish.

You eat breakfast and wait for half an hour, jogging your leg impatiently. One of the robots stops by and presents you with another bag of sliced fish, which is a pleasant surprise. You forgot that Moon needs food too.

It’s different from yesterday, scales on some kind of fatty red meat. Tentacles mixed in for variety. It looks good. Maybe this will satisfy a picky mermaid’s palette.

Or perhaps he’s a vegetarian?

You picture that wide grin, sharp canines and the occasional serrated edge. Probably not.

Finally it’s time to go, and you stretch slowly, wincing at the pull of your bruised muscles.

“Lunch is at one p.m.,” BON-BON says, his usual chirpy delivery uncharacteristically brusque. “Be back in time. I have set an alarm on your scanner.”

This is a first. “But-"

“Have a nice day!” he blares, drowning you out, and the interface immediately cuts to black. You’re left blinking at your own reflection in the glassy surface.

When you return to the cave, you take petty pleasure in turning the torch above the entrance a few degrees brighter than last time. Moon doesn’t writhe or hiss or anything, but he does shield his eyes with a nasty glare.

Yeah, fuck you too.

You ignore him in favour of going about your preparations. The unpicker taped to a pole looks sinister with its glinting hooked blade, and you’re nervous going near Moon with it. With your luck so far, he’ll wrench it from your grip and impale you like a javelin champion.

Could he do that?

You glance over uneasily, and he perks up, arm lowering from where he was trying to get your attention. He's brandishing your clippers, and just when you think he's gloating you realise he’s holding them out for you to take.

Ohhh. He thinks you’re stupid stupid.

You send him a vicious glare and turn away, braids whipping in the water. You’ve got your pictures and your scan – time to cut this mermaid loose before you get any more bruises.

Moon offers the clippers as you approach with the unpicker held loosely by your side. He tilts his head, crinkles his eyes, and gives you a sweet, close-mouthed smile.

You snap a picture.

Moon’s smile drops in an instant. He waits until you’ve stowed the camera again before making an odd clicking noise, cnick cnick cnick that flutters the gills at his throat. He drops the clippers and drifts back, eyes intent and watchful. The clippers sink to the floor, sending up a little puff of silt on impact.

Your eyelids droop to half-mast, wholly unimpressed. The clippers are still within his reach. He’s trying to lure you again.

You heave a sigh and extend the pole, aiming for a piece of net hanging from his tail, but Moon flinches out of the way like he thinks you’re trying to cut him.

Oh, great. This again?

There isn’t a handy piece of net nearby to slice in demonstration like you did with the chain, and you become increasingly frustrated until Moon grabs the pole just below the blade and holds it still, even when you tug. His eyes are searching your face.

What, does he think you’re trying to dissect him or something? Let go.

With a rev of your boots you’re able to pull the pole free. This doesn’t make sense, you know he’s smart, but for some reason he isn’t putting two and two together. The net is right there.

Rapidly losing patience, you flip the pole so the blade is pointed upwards, and slice a thin lock of hair from one braid. You tug it free, struggling a little between the unpicker and the hair tie, and toss the lock up in the water as demonstration.

Look, this is like the net. See? I’m trying to help you.

Moon looks aghast, eyes wide and dark like a frightened child. A strand of hair floats by, and he plucks it out of the water with trembling fingers.

Oh, fuck it. You take advantage of his distraction to jab the pole forward, hook a piece of net, and with a twist the unpicker slices a hole.

Moon shrieks and jack-knifes, ripping the pole from your grip and snapping it in two with a clench of his hand.

You swallow, watching shards of wood whirl in the water. Moon continues to tear the tool to pieces, ending by hurling the blade at the floor.

You are so lucky that wasn’t the state of your arm yesterday.

Moon looks like a monster, hunched panting with his clawed fingers rigid. A length of fin has risen stiffly from the base of his spine down to the tip of the tail, and you finally get a good look at the appendage on the back of his head. It really does look like a hat, a pixie-like thing. Those are currently in fashion around Foundation settlements.

Moon slowly turns to look at you. His teeth are bared.

You raise your arms and flop them down at your sides, though the water resistance makes the gesture more unsatisfying than anything else. There goes your only plan to remove the netting. You don’t have another pole.

Moon raises one hand slowly and extends a clawed finger. Slowly, he turns his hand palm-up and crooks the finger, beckoning you forward.

Yeah, no.

Still, you don’t want to leave the unpicker lying there. You have a specific reason to keep from supplying him with blades.

You point at the unpicker. Moon gestures more forcefully. He makes that noise again cnick cnick cnick, tries for a smile that’s stilted with simmering anger. He’s not even really bothering with pretence anymore.

You’d stomp if you weren’t floating in water.

Oh, why did he have to attack you yesterday? If he hadn’t, you could have continued with bonding tactics until you were close enough to cut him free yourself! Now you’re both threatened by each other, all for a pair of clippers that can’t slice net.

Moon blows out a frustrated stream of bubbles, then seizes the unpicker, holding it up. He waggles it, and you can’t believe this mermaid is actually taunting you.

In a fit of pique, you lunge forward and snatch it from his grasp, holding his wrist with one hand so he can’t pull the blade away. Moon jerks back, eyes wide, and you grip with both legs to keep from being bucked off.

He’s struggling, twisting, unable to claw at you with both hands restrained. The roar of displaced water is deafening in your ears, and as he thrashes you scramble to hook a handful of net with the blade of the unpicker and saw it loose.

Moon wrenches his wrist free and yanks your head back by a braid, only to let go with a muffled hiss when you jam your palm under his chin and shove his face away.

You grab him by the waist and launch yourself down, half flipping so your feet tilt above your head. You manage to get several lengths of net shorn away by the time Moon gets a grip around one leg and uses it to pull you up, up, until you’re dangling at arm's length away.

His eyes scrunch closed when you smack a palm against the weird, shallow curve of his nose.

You squirm and wiggle, brandishing the blade like a madman. I want to help you!!! you scream mentally, but perhaps not entirely because air bubbles burst forth from the vents of your breather.

Moon looks nonplussed, brow furrowed as you flail. You wave the knife at his face, pointing at his tail with the other hand. No, that’s the wrong way around. Your arms switch positions.

Moon’s grip tightens and he brings you closer. The teeth make a reappearance, his mouth opening, widening-

You grasp for your belt and throw a chunk of fish in his face.

In the end, that’s what did it. Moon floats above you like a tethered balloon, moodily chewing on a strip of fish flesh as you cut and unravel the netting on his tail. You’ve both settled into a state of calm, tired of all the aggression and panic. You could almost zone out engrossed in your work if not for the toothy predator staring down at you.

He really has a staring problem.

Occasionally Moon shifts to flex his tail, or plucks at the shoulder of your suit for more fish, which you swiftly pass up to avoid him getting peckish for the other food source in the room. Sometimes long fingers run over the orb of your helmet, or dance along your shoulders, tugging at a braid.

You’ve made good progress since the damn thing finally allowed you to help, and you estimate that he’ll be free in an hour. You really should be prepared for that eventuality, but you’re worried that a break in this routine will revert him back to being aggressive.

There’s a piece of net giving you trouble. Every time you try to cut it, you end up floating out of reach. You’re getting frustrated, kicking your legs to remain in place and ending up upside-down, until a pressure on your ankle stops you short. Moon is holding you still, craning his neck to watch you work. Once again the extent of his intelligence hits you like an epiphany, and you have to swallow the realisation of what you’ve discovered here.

The rumble comes sometime after that. You’re delicately peeling away frayed rope somehow hooked around a section of Moon’s spinal fin while gripping his tail between your knees to stay in place. It occurs to you to wonder if you should be embarrassed at the impropriety, but Moon is busy stripping a fatty layer from a slice of fish skin with a long, dark tongue and doesn’t seem bothered. You’re trying not to stare.

You feel the vibration through the boulder by your butt before you even hear it. Tucking the blade away in your fist, you fall still and calmly wait for it to pass. Moon tenses under you.

What you don’t expect is for a current to come thundering down the tunnel, a deafening roar accompanied by rushing water. Startled, your knees lose their grip on Moon instantly, and you’re knocked back by the force head over heels.

Your spine smacks against a rock, sending a starburst of pain up your throat, and the world is a blur until you’re abruptly halted by one leg.

The rumbling rises to a colossal thunder, pressure flexes your eardrums and causes your sinuses to squeak before your suit adjusts, and then the ordeal passes.

You manage to crack your eyes open. Moon is holding onto your boot with one hand, stretched as far as he can go. There’s a grimace of discomfort on his face. The netting must really be digging in by now.

He lets go and pulls himself upright, twisting at the waist with a hiss. You kick weakly, but ultimately drift to the seabed. Your spine is throbbing and there’s bile stinging your mouth.

Ooooh, that hurts.

Moon clicks at you impatiently. You wave a palm, then look at your open hand. The unpicker is gone.

Right on cue your scanner buzzes. You’re confused for a second until- of course. Lunch.

Suddenly your stomach makes its status known with a loud rumble. Your mouth is dry and sour and drooling with pain all at once. You need a break. And some painkillers.

Moon clicks and hisses as you make your way to the cave entrance, mostly using your boots to avoid sending lightning bolts of pain up your spine. You turn and toss him the rest of the fish.

That doesn’t comfort him, judging by a shriek as you swim away.

When you reach the platform, you take a few minutes to drool into the water, panting.

Oh my stars, did I break something? I swear my back is cracked.

But when you feel around, wincing, it all seems fine.

You don’t bother shucking your suit, clomping into the main room with rivulets of water dripping in your wake.

“Look who’s back!” BON-BON says. “You’re ten minutes late, you know.” But he sounds smug when he says it.

“What’s for lunch?” you slur, swaying in place. You think you might puke.

“... Why are you doing that?”

There’s a myriad of things the AI could be referring to, but you answer the obvious question. “Hit my back on... onna rock.” You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, smearing water and saliva across your cheek.

“You need to go to medical.” The AI doesn’t sound so pleased anymore.

“Food first.” And a sit down. BON-BON went so far as to set an alarm to make you come back, so you’re damn well going to sit and eat lunch.

“I highly advise you go to medical.”

I highly advise you get some bitches. “Need painkillers with food. What’s lunch?”

“... Lunch is a three cheese and broccoli pasta bake,” BON-BON says dully.

Your nose wrinkles. “Thanks. That sounds great.”

“Uh huh. I do have a camera installed, by the way. Just a fun fact.” The screen goes black.

Once again you’re left staring at the interface. You should probably stop teaching him tone if this is what he’s going to use it for.

Was he ever like this before? Even with rotating teams, this is your first time alone in the facility without another organic member of staff present. This... sassiness feels like a new development.

You have just winced your way to the dishwasher to stow the dirty crockery when the interface lights up again.

“By the way,” BON-BON says, and patiently waits for your groan to finish before continuing, “are you ready for your meeting?”

“What?” You turn gingerly and squint at the interface. “I don’t have a meeting.”

“You have a meeting.”

This is a prank, or a malfunction. He’s never reminded you of meetings before, which makes this suspicious by itself. “Meetings are on Fridays.”

BON-BON takes his time to answer. “It is Friday,” he says sweetly.

... You have a meeting.

You’re shitting bricks by the time you log in to the digital meeting room. “Sorry,” you blurt, seeing that everyone is already there. There’s even an extra person, which makes it worse. “I had, uh, a problem to take care of. With a net. My apologies.”

“No problem!” chirps Cora, the usual leader of these meetings. You’ve long since nursed the suspicion that they’re actually an AI themself – they have a set of regular phrases with identical intonation that they cycle through regularly. You heard the same ‘no problem’ a fortnight ago, and their face on their roomcard has an uncanny plasticity.

“Who is this?” says the stranger, her roomcard lighting up. She has opted out of screen view, so she remains an anonymous grey square.

Cora introduces you, giving a brief explanation of your role, and then suggests you start them off.

A bead of sweat rolls down your cheek. You haven’t actually prepared anything for this meeting, typically saving it for the night before. This is the first time you have arrived empty handed, but you can bullshit, it’s fine. You mentally adjust the numbers of your last report and give your spiel, making sure to smile and brighten your voice as you speak.

As usual, the people in the meeting murmur in approval, responding more to your tone than the content. You’ve yet to find anyone who has called you out on doing this, and you do it in every meeting. If you sound happy they assume it’s good news, presumably because they don’t actually understand what you’re saying.

“That’s great!” Cora says, another canned-sounding response. “And your report is in digital form on the hub as usual, right?”

You nod, because it actually is. It’s easier to update the report throughout the week than to do it in one go, typically because you’ve forgotten what you did on Monday by the time it’s Friday.

“Wow! I love it!” Cora says. “Now, let’s switch tracks to-"

“Can I cut in for a sec?” the stranger says, then continues without pause. “I’d like to circle back to the cost conversion rates for turbine repairs you mentioned. You said that the repair rate rose to 4.6%, but the total costs of material orders have remained low. How can that be the case?”

You blink rapidly, not just under the onslaught of words but also because those weren’t even part of the made-up figures you just blurted. She’s questioning one of the only legitimate parts of your report.

You scramble to form a coherent response through the pain echoing up your spine. “Uh, essentially I’m repairing more than I’m replacing. In this case, the turbine materials are subpar quality so they need to be maintained more often. But they’re not actually breaking, so I’m racking up maintenance time without needing to buy new materials. So it’ll be more cost-effective to buy better turbine materials that won’t require frequent replacement or maintenance.”

You sit back, feeling proud of yourself. This is the first time someone has actually questioned your data, but you feel like your explanation is pretty clear.

“The repair rate should rise in tandem with the material orders,” the stranger states.

The glow in your chest extinguishes. “Nnno,” you say carefully, “not in this case.”

“I don’t see why not,” she says bluntly. “Unless you’re indulging in excessive maintenance periods, there’s no justifiable reason why you wouldn’t need replacement parts. At that point you’re wasting time.”

Your brows rise to your hairline. Did she... just accuse you of fraudulently logging more maintenance time than you’re due? The digital room has gone dead silent, and you feel embarrassed that your section of the meeting has dragged on for this long.

You take a deep breath. “That’s the issue I’m flagging,” you say, as patiently as you can muster. “The turbines need a lot of maintenance, and it’s a drain on time. My report is justifying the need for better replacement turbines to save on maintenance, and giving clarity on why I need replacements when I haven’t had to buy more.”

“So you’re saying you want more expensive equipment?”

“I don’t know how much replacements will cost-"

“And you’re submitting a complaint rather than optimising your work flow. Got it.”

“Do you know what ‘maintenance’ means?” someone pipes up, but the stranger just ignores them.

“What you have been unable to justify is why you have brought this issue to us instead of looking within the processes of your facility?” she says.

“That is beyond the scope of their responsibilities,” Cora says, cutting through the interrogation. “It is also not the purview of the participants of this meeting at large. The Trims department will assess this report back at Base and decide on potential replacements. Thank you for flagging this issue!”

That’s more words than you have ever heard out of Cora at any one time, and it was kind of in your defence. “No problem,” you say, wide-eyed.

The stranger tries to speak again. “Let’s-"

“Moving on to the next item on the docket,” Cora interrupts.

The meeting drones on pretty much as usual. Even with such a tumultuous start, you find yourself blinking sluggishly, struggling to stay awake. The painkillers have kicked in with a vengeance and you’re full of pasta. It’s a relief when the meeting finally wraps up.

Cora calls your name and requests that you stay back. You reluctantly lift your finger from the screen where you had been about to end the call. It’s just you, Cora, and the stranger now.

“This is Vanessa,” Cora says brightly, with little preamble. “Vanessa and her team are slated for the next season aboard your facility, end date pending. I would like for you to submit all replacement and restock requests by the next quarter cycle to avoid overcrowding on the docking station on the date of their arrival.”

“Sure thing.” That’s nothing new.

“Excellent! Cool, cool, cool, great. Vanessa and her team are very excited to join the crew, and I just know we can cultivate a welcoming experience!” As usual, Cora’s enthusiasm is blinding. “In fact, we had a meeting prior to this, and I believe your team leader is champing at the bit to start ASAP! Isn’t that right, Vanessa?”

There’s a significant pause. “Yes.”

“That’s great!” Cora says artificially. “I brought Vanessa into this meeting to allow her to get a feel of things, and I just know you’ll make her feel welcome. Before I hop off, is there anything you would like to flag with me? I believe you mentioned something last week about ‘rumblings’ – any word on that?”

“Rumblings?” Vanessa says.

Your back throbs and you make a split-second decision not to bring up the events of today. Doing so could lead to discussing Moon, and you’re only planning on releasing your scans of him once he’s free and safely out of tag-and-tracking range. Some researchers can get a little trigger happy. Besides, examining sea life isn’t part of your official duties either.

“We had another recently, but still no word on the culprit,” you say. “It doesn’t seem to effect the facility any and nothing shows up on the territory tracker. Something is displacing water nearby,” you explain for Vanessa’s sake. “A large creature, or maybe a shift in the terrain. We’ve blocked off all routes that anything truly large could use to gain access to the facility, and we’re not picking up on tectonic activity. Do you want me to go further afield, try to see it for myself?” you ask Cora.

“No need!” Cora chirps. “Don’t risk yourself if the facility isn’t effected. Preservation is key after all, and that includes you!”

“Why not just exterminate it, if it’s a large creature?” Vanessa drawls. “Could be dangerous. My team won’t want some... giant fish interfering with our work.”

“We don’t do that,” Cora says, and the coldness in their voice startles you. “Preservation is key, remember?”

You nod like a bobble head, even though the reminder wasn’t directed at you.

“Great! I’ll be going then. Feel free to ping me if anything comes up.” And with a bloop Cora is gone.

You glance uneasily at Vanessa’s greyed out screen and open your mouth to speak.

She beats you to the punch. “You should dress smarter for meetings.”

You glance down. With so little time to prepare, you had peeled your suit down to the waist and threw on a loose tee someone had abandoned on a chair. You can see in the viewfinder that your hair is both frizzy and limp, strands sticking wetly to your forehead. Your face is glistening.

You want to bristle, but this is a member of a team that will be sharing space with you for months. Teams can band together to reject an interloper, even if they’re coming into your territory.

You force a smile. “Thanks for the advice! I’ll definitely dress for our next meeting.”

The silence stretches. The screen remains blank.

“Um,” you say, struggling to fill the space, “it’s nice to meet you.”

Vanessa snorts, sending static crackling down the line. “No it isn’t,” she says, and hangs up the call.

Full of pasta and drugged to the gills with wonderful medication, you return to the cave and realise you left the light on the entire time. Oops.

Moon stares at you balefully, clutching the empty fish bag you gave him. Irritation morphs into dismay when you simply gather your tools left by the door and return to the surface. The next trip you gather up the lengths of destroyed net, rope, and chain you’ve been setting aside, and when you return the third time you dislodge the flashlight and clip it to your waist.

You feel giddy, and dizzy, and mildly hysterical. Exertion and injury is a disastrous combination, and even with the meal you’re running on fumes. This task is so close to being done, even the novelty can’t beat your excitement at that. The entire experience has been an absolute trial.

Moon is watchful as you approach him again, eyes flicking from you to the flashlight and back again. Contrary to usual reactions, whipping out a knife has him relaxing, realising you’re back to finish the job even if the environment has changed.

His brow furrows as you hover in place, but you’re staring at the empty fish bag. You forgot to bring him more food. He could attack you again.

Moon follows your line of sight and – incredibly – rolls his eyes. And while you remain frozen in place, recovering from the psychic damage of that, he slowly and deliberately tucks his hands behind his back.

Wow. Well, then.

You’re cautious when you approach and get back to work, but despite your fears Moon doesn’t move once. Not when the flat of the knife rings across his scales, not when you need to touch the twin fan of the fins that crown the tip of his tail, and not even when you pull away the last of the tangle, leaving his tail free at last.

You swim blindly backwards as he stretches and flexes his body, coiling it into undulating loops before shaking it straight. It’s not remotely eel-like how you expected – he really does have the tail of a classic mermaid.

With the flashlight clipped to your waist, you can finally make out his colours up close. Pale blue, a deep almost-navy, and his gills, fins, and webbing are a pretty pinkish-purple, pale in places. The fins framing his face are a pearly white. Startlingly, his dark eyes are actually a deep, vibrant red.

Knowing that, it's probably a good thing you couldn’t see him so well initially.

Moon has an odd look on his face, something poignant in the slant on his mouth. He gently extends his trapped wrist in a silent plea – the last thing tethering him in place.

You toss him the knife.

He catches it out of the water with a look of startled confusion. You slowly swim backwards as you wait for him to catch your drift. You don’t want to leave before making sure he knows what to do.

Moon’s eyes flick up to meet yours, and you spy the burgeoning realisation in his face as your fingers hover over the controls of your boots.

You roll onto your belly and kick your boots into high gear the very second Moon begins feverishly sawing at the net around his wrist. Shooting out through the entrance of the cave like a bullet from a gun, you angle toward the platform and push your boots as fast as they will go.

You erupt from the water like a rocket, clearing the first few feet of the platform before crashing painfully onto your side. Gasping, you roll over and crab-crawl backwards just as Moon launches himself up and forward, clawed hands scrabbling right where your feet just were.

You both freeze, staring at each other. He’s lying in a vulnerable position, out of the water from half his tail up, head tilted to meet your eyes. They look so much brighter in the light and air.

You glance at his wrist, swollen and puffy from long confinement. For the first time, it occurs to you to wonder just how long Moon was trapped like that.

Moon makes the first move, using his hands to edge backwards all the while maintaining eye contact. His tail, his torso disappear under water, and he pauses before slithering the rest of the way, withdrawing his arms and sinking beneath the surface.

The shadow of him remains under the water.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and rise to your feet with some difficulty. Your knees are quivering, and either your painkillers have worn off or your injuries have overwhelmed them.

You leave your tools and the trash where it is on the platform. That’s a job for tomorrow you, who will hopefully be able to walk without staggering.

“You’re back early,” BON-BON calls from his interface as you drag yourself past the main room. “Medical has been prepped for a deeper examination of your injuries. Please proceed to the-"

“I’m not hungry,” you mumble. Upon reaching your room you fall into bed, boots, sodden suit, wet hair and all, and pass out instantly.

Chapter Text

Tomorrow you is not capable of retrieving the items you left by the water. Tomorrow you contracted a horrible chill from sleeping in wet everything and shivered themself awake in the early hours of the morning with a horrendous cough and a head full of cotton.

It doesn’t help that every part of your body aches like you just went several rounds with a heavyweight champion and lost. It hurts to lie on your back and it hurts to lie on your front. You groan and rotate in your bed like a rotisserie chicken, then drag yourself up for a shower.

The hot water helps. You crouch in the spray with your head bowed, loose hair creating a wall of water that thunders in your ears.

It’s not all bad, you assure yourself. You had your dreaded weekly meeting yesterday and the mermaid issue has been solved. You don’t actually get weekends off per se, but there’s a general understanding that if you’ve worked through the week then no one will bat an eye if you laze around for a bit.

An hour later you’re sitting on your bed in a towel, trying to muster the energy to get dressed. You dried your hair with an instant heating pack and now it clings to your neck and shoulders, staticky. Outside the window, the water is dark and motionless. Yours is one of the few rooms with such a large view, with the glass spanning halfway across the wall in a thick rectangle. The perpetual gloom is unsettling to most people. The room is a little larger than other sleeping chambers on the facility, and something about the shape and size makes you suspect it was built with the resident team leader in mind. The first team leader to ever stay here initially took this room before becoming too spooked by the view. They swapped with your predecessor, who later gave it to you.

The likelihood of something watching through the glass, something that can perceive what it is seeing, used to be low in your mind. Now it’s a little higher.

But Moon is a smart fish. There’s no way he’ll have stuck around after being trapped, buffeted by currents, and crawled all over by a knife-wielding human. He’s probably slinking around the tunnels of his territory, ambushing innocent fish. You should really investigate that tunnel though. Just, once you have recovered. You pushed yourself too far to get the job done quickly, and now you’re paying for it. You’re not usually so reckless. Or rather, you don’t typically experience consequences for it.

The towel slithers to the floor as you approach the clothing pile teetering on your desk chair. You’re just dragging on a comfy tee when a flicker of movement catches your attention. You turn and stare out the window.

Nothing. The same old dark waters. Your room is starkly reflected. The sight of bruises peppering your skin makes you feel bad, so you pull on the shirt and some shorts too. A little silvery fish darts by while you’re still watching. A second later it speeds back the way it came.

Paranoid.

You visit medical for more painkillers and learn from the scanners there that you’re extremely bruised, which- like, obviously? But at least you haven’t fractured anything. You take anti-swelling solution and spend the rest of the day dopey and sniffling on the main room couch, swathed in blankets. A staffbot brings you a steaming mug that turns out to be a truly repulsive ginger concoction. It stands by while you choke it down.

BON-BON’s interface flicks on when you drag yourself up for the bathroom. You pause.

“... Yes?” you say, when he remains silent.

“How did you get those injuries?” he says.

Ahh. This is the first time he’s seen you outside your full-body suit since you got bruised. “Oh. Um. It was a current. You know, the rumblings?” you say.

“Rumblings left a handprint around your wrist?”

Automatically, you cover it with your hand. “It’s not a handprint,” you say defensively.

“If someone has caused you harm, it should be reported,” BON-BON says, his squawking voice unusually soft.

You’re wrong-footed. Is that... concern? Have you managed to trip some unprecedented caretaker protocol in the facility AI? He genuinely thinks someone hurt you.

... Well, technically they did. For a moment you consider telling BON-BON about Moon if only to settle his worry. You wanted to give the mermaid time to vacate the area and patch up the hole before making an official report and submitting your scans, but there shouldn’t be any harm in giving the AI the short story. You don’t know for sure that he’ll snitch to Base.

BON-BON lets out an aggravated sigh, interpreting your consideration as stubbornness. “It’s against the rules to bring unauthorised personnel into the facility without prior approval,” he says forcefully. “I highly advise that you report the presence of your guest before I do so myself.”

All thoughts of confiding in BON-BON immediately vanish. “Yeah? Go ahead,” you say with a jut of your chin. “Report your imaginary person. Maybe they’ll finally give you an update after they take a look at the pod logs and realise you’re delusional.”

“I can literally see nail marks!” BON-BON calls after you, but you’re already stomping back to your room.

Fucking machine.

The same day you decide you are well enough to re-enter the water is also the day you receive word of an incoming order. Food and supplies, courtesy of Base and a separate contracted entity. Preparations for the new team are underway.

“By the way, a new team is due to join us in, uhh...” you wrack your brains. “I think four and a half cycles now? So like a month.”

“Understood. Thanks for the update!” BON-BON says.

You’ve been avoiding the AI since your spat, which means avoiding the main room as a whole. There was never a need to do this before, as the interface never activated without being directly addressed, but it seems BON-BON can just pipe up whenever he wants now and you’re at a loss of how to fix it. You have no idea where the manual is.

In your absence, he has reverted back to his usual surface-level self, complete with a chipper squawking delivery. Any deeper emotion than artificial brightness is nowhere to be seen.

Base hasn’t contacted you in regards to an unauthorised visitor. You wonder if BON-BON’S threat was empty.

“We’ve got a delivery coming tomorrow as well,” you say. “The driver is cleared to come down in the pod, so don’t freak out if you see some person.”

“... Noted!” BON-BON says, strain in his voice.

Wuh oh. Time to retreat.

But BON-BON speaks before you can step away. “You don’t usually fill me in on these matters.”

Well yeah, but after his reaction to the notion that someone else might be in the facility, you thought it would be best. Mostly you didn’t want the AI making a hysterical report to Base because he heard a voice in the hall and wasting everyone’s time. You’re sure it would end up being your fault, somehow.

But that was days ago and it was only a little argument anyway, so you say, “Yeah, and I’m sorry about that. You work here too, and it’s probably weird to have a stranger in the facility without any warning.”

BON-BON is silent for long enough you think he’s gone into rest mode. “... Oh,” he says, voice strangled.

“I’ll try to keep you in the loop from now on,” you say, turning away.

You start with the easy stuff, small maintenance in the wider sections of the utility tunnels. Your back still throbs if you twist it too far, bruised areas all tender, but it’s nothing crippling. You’re back to the personal swimsuit and boots combo, though you opt to walk the long way instead of passing the main room entrance with your injuries on display. The full suit adds pressure to your injuries, and the sensation of water is soothing.

Collecting the stuff you left on the platform, you keep a weather eye out for Moon. Not a flicker of scales reaches your sight. Good, he’s probably scrambled away to tell all his mermaid friends to stay away from the crazy creature with sharp objects.

Still, it’s a pity. You’re shameless enough to admit to indulging in fantasies of communicating with mermaids beyond clicks and angry gestures, usually while shampooing your hair in the shower. But the experience was dangerous, you made several stupid mistakes throughout, and you got injured to boot. Any future mermaid communication can rely on whichever interested teams can contract a season at the facility first, once you’ve uploaded your data. Of course, they’ll have to wait for the next team to finish up first – they’ve booked a number of consecutive seasons. This planet, rife with life and under-explored, is in high demand. Apparently.

You allow yourself a moment to stare out over the water and yearn. Then you get back to work.

You’re cleaning and tidying away your tools by the lab when you realise you’re still missing the chain clippers. You must have left them back in the cave. Well, no matter. You can always go get them tomorrow.

... Or you could go grab them now.

You rest on one hip and weigh your options. The hole should really be patched up before something else comes through. The net and chain you weren’t able to clear needs to be collected for disposal, and abandoning your tools counts as littering.

Plus tomorrow is delivery day, so you’ll have to wear actual clothes. As in, clothes that aren’t a swimsuit. And underwear! That’s bad enough without having to change in and out of your suit for this person. Better to finish the matter now.

You clap your hands, smiling. “Right, sorted!” you say, and immediately feel embarrassed when a cleanerbot swivels to look at you.

As it turns out, you shouldn’t have felt so cheerful since the clippers are nowhere to be found, in water or out.

You’ve searched everywhere, even going as far as to follow Moon's cave right to the end. Turns out it opens abruptly to a steep drop off, pitch black as far as the eye can see even when you shine a torch into its depths. The other sheer wall face is honeycombed with hundreds of tunnels of varying size, some of them giant. The task of sealing the cave off from the facility immediately takes priority.

Working swiftly, all remnants of the net are gathered, and you slap a mesh up against both entrances to the cave – you are not going through this again.

Even if a net caused this issue in the first place, but hey – you’re not an excitable researcher joyriding the sub. It’ll be fine.

You can’t help but peer through the net, eyeing the floor for the clippers one last time even though you’ve effectively sealed yourself off. Not a glint to be seen.

And then you  remember the knife you handed to Moon.

Great, I’ve armed the mermaid. You swallow a despairing giggle.

It’ll... be fine? There’s no way he’ll want to come back, right? Yeah, no way. He probably has fish trauma.

It’s oddly thrilling watching the pod descend on the monitor. It’s been a while since you last spoke to another person, and this one is bringing goodies!

Well, supplies, which is as close to goodies as you’re going to get.

“Someone you know?” BON-BON says archly, the feed screen pulsing with a surge of energy. “I can see you fidgeting.”

You stare at the screen. “... You can access the chamber feed?” you say carefully.

“Sure can!” BON-BON says.

Right, time to address this issue. “Wow, cool! I didn’t know that. Say, can you tell me where your manual has got to?”

“No idea!” he chirps. “But you don’t need it. As always, I’m here to help with any queries or adjustments you request.”

Your hairs raise at the dip in his tone, illogical though it is. BON-BON doesn’t have access to anything crucial, so the worst he can do to you is switch the light settings to something ugly or set alarms to go off while you’re sleeping.

At least, that’s what you think.

“What changes would you like to make?” BON-BON says.

You don’t say I want the manual so I can figure out just what the hell I’m dealing with here. “Uhmm... volume control?” you say nervously. “Sometimes it’s a bit loud.”

“SOUNDS FINE TO ME!” BON-BON blares at a teeth-rattling amplification.

The doors to the pod slide open, revealing a truly staggering amount of boxes and cases piled onto a holo-platform, plus a delivery person. She greets you and eases the load forward, effectively distracting you from the fact you’re being lightly bullied by an AI.

Food, grooming supplies, and several cases are addressed to specific recipient codes with room numbers attached. Those you leave alone and direct the person to the relevant spaces.

Her name is Bronii judging by her tag, and when she turns her head you spy the glimmer of thin-mesh fibres beneath her jaw. Augmentations are becoming increasingly popular around Foundation settlements, or so you’ve heard. Her head is on a stalk ogling the facility, and when you pass the dining room she stops short with her lips parted.

“Oh, yeah,” you say, following her line of sight. “Pretty cool, right?”

Part of the cave wall intersects with the smooth, plastic curves of the facility, resulting in a massive chunk of rock overhanging the dining room. The dark surface sharply contrasts with the white walls, and always feels cool to the touch. It blends seamlessly into the plastic.

“Base didn’t want to reshape the natural landscape, so some stuff was just built around,” you say, feeling a swell of pride at the wonder in her gaze.

Actually, the fact that the rock and plastic fit perfectly indicates a teleportation accident – far easier than drilling a hole large enough to transport supplies down, but there’s a reason why teleporting living organisms is illegal. The likelihood of something accidently appearing through something else is pretty high.

“That’s so cool,” Bronii breathes, and then turns to you ruefully. “Sorry. Not very profesh of me.”

“Yeah, no worries,” you say easily, leading her along. “I had the same reaction.”

Finding out one of the boxes contains your new turbines would have you doing a little dance of delight if not for your audience. Bronii ends up getting a brief tour of the facility as you go from place to place to secret everything away.

“Okay, last one,” Bronii says, pulling up a feed. “You’ve been provided a... what’s this?”

You peep at the screen. “Oh, cool! I didn’t think that one would go through.”

It’s a seaskim, a long, handheld device that will drag you through water like an automated diving board. The handles can be pulled apart to reveal a forcefield, giving you a platform to rest on top of the water. Or surf, if the mood takes you.

“It sounds like something my little cousin would like,” Bronii comments as you lead her to the door to the platform.

“They probably do mini ones,” you say, hitting the access panel. “But this range is expensive. Doesn’t need to be charged or anything.” You take out your breather and say, “I gotta check it quick, and I won’t be able to talk. Hold on.”

You run a quick system check and are just preparing to test the seaskim in the water when you hear a quiet splash. You pay it no mind – most strangers can’t resist sticking their hand in alien water, and Bronii certainly seems curious enough. But when she sucks in a gasp from entirely the wrong direction, you realise there’s cause for concern.

A gentle glow meets your eyes.

Moon is smiling beatifically, resting with his arms folded on the platform edge. The tail of the hat-like appendage drapes carelessly across one eye, the bauble resting below his chin. Exposed from the waist up, the long frilled tip of his tail rises from the water a little ways behind him, flicking lazily back and forth. His colours seem so much more vibrant above water without a haze of panic clouding your vision, and all the delicate fins you could only describe as pale while submerged are now pulsing a gorgeous pinkish-purple. The pearly petals framing his face glow like a halo.

Moon rests his cheek in the cradle of his arms, his red eyes heavy-lidded, and his smile curls angelically.

You only have a moment to note that his face appears so much more human with half of it obscured when the bauble glows, a spiderweb of veins like white lightning arching up from the tip towards the base. Your mind goes dull in an instant, fluffy blankness replacing your thoughts.

Moon hums a low melodic note and extends one arm, palm-up invitingly. The sound echoes inside your skull, and distantly you hear the ring of metal as your feet shuffle across the platform. There’s a haze descending over your vision, but the mermaid remains crystal clear.

Moon’s smile widens.

The light pulses, from his head to tail, an intricate pattern. You hear the music in your head now, echoing from behind your eyes, a low and soothing lullaby. Moon’s palm is soft and warm, a damp grasp that curls long fingers around your wrist. Sharp points press gently against your veins, your fingertips feel cold water. Moon is face-to-face, unblinking eye contact, and your eyelids droop as he draws backwards, pulling you towards the dark. You’re so sleepy...

A heavy impact.

The platform judders under your knees, and Moon blinks and looks at something behind you. His eyes widen.

Clarity rushes back like a flood of ice water. Bronii is seizing on the metal platform behind you, eyes rolling up as she jerks in minute movements. Your first-aid training takes forefront in your mind before the fog even clears, blowing away the cobwebs.

The light fades, the bauble slipping from Moon’s shoulder under the surface. You’re inches from the water, face-to-face with Moon so the only thing separating you is the plastic of your breather. An unstable pose with your knees on the edge of the platform, one arm submerged in the water up to the elbow, a braid wet and draped over Moon’s shoulder.

Terror screams through your brain as Moon’s hand tightens. You plant a palm on his face, suddenly so much more alien with nothing half-obscuring it, and shove yourself upright, driving the mermaid underwater.

Moon goes down flailing with an odd gurgle, and you scramble to Bronii’s side with jelly-like limbs. Your entire body feels like it’s going numb, head heavy on your shoulders, but you need to get both of you away from the water right fucking now.

The hovering platform comes in handy.

You hear a splash right before the door closes behind both of you, but you don’t look back, terrified to see Moon clawing his way onto the platform with a vengeance.

Bronii comes out of her seize before you even reach medical, which is good because your back is screaming from keeping her in the recovery position and directing the platform at once. She remains out of it for some time after, and confides in a blurry voice that she hasn’t had seizures since she was a child.

“Must have been the lights,” she murmurs thickly. “Flickering... fluorescents. Sorry to trouble you.”

You indulge the notion of agreeing with her for a split second, before all the medical ramifications of doing so overwhelm you. What if there’s a special treatment from seizure-by-mermaid that she misses out on because of you?

But Bronii just laughs when you try to explain. “Come off it!”

“No, seriously,” you scramble, but your people skills are a little off after so much time alone. She won’t even look at your scans or pictures, complaining of a headache.

“Listen, would you sign my form for me? Please?” she asks plaintively of the mermaid maniac. “My manager is gonna be angry I spent so long down here, and he’ll want to know why I’m clocking off early.” She leans against the wall of the access chamber, extending a holoform pleadingly. You hadn’t been able to keep her from leaving medical.

“Are you even okay to drive?” you say, even as you sign. You make sure to tick off deliveries accounted for while you’re at it.

“I got a robot driver,” she says, taking the form back. Her eyes light up at the tip you added, a hefty chunk of credits. “Wow, thanks!”

“Rest well,” you say, watching anxiously as she sits on the pod’s bench. You sigh. “And... I’ll look into replacing those lights with something friendlier.”

The doors slide closed. The pod zooms away. You worry at the thick skin along your fingers with your teeth, an old habit you always revert back to in times of stress.

“So,” BON-BON says, “what’s this I heard about a mermaid?”

You look down at your ragged fingertip. “... It’s easier if I just show you,” you say.

“And you haven’t told anyone about this... because?” BON-BON says.

“Because I’ve been busy!” you snap. Your hands stutter on the shimmering holoscreen keys and you make a typo. “Damn. I wanted to close up the cave and get rid of the litter before I submitted a report, because then the first thing everyone would ask me is why I didn’t do it already. And I had to wait to heal first. You know, from injuries? The thing that slows living organisms down?”

The AI just makes a muffled groan. BON-BON is apparently so distraught at the mermaid findings you presented to him that he’s manifested an avatar to demonstrate his disapproval. Said avatar, a cartoonish bright blue bunny, is resting its face in stubby fingers.

“And remove that right now! Please,” you say, aggressively clacking. “You know anthropomorphic images based on other creatures can come across as offensive.”

“You know, just because you say please, doesn’t mean you sound less rude,” BON-BON says, raising his face.

“I thought the team leader got rid of that stupid feature,” you mutter. You hate the bunny avatar, with its bulging eyes and smug mouth.

“He did,” the AI says. “But he’s not here right now, is he?”

You pause in typing to glance uneasily at the feed.

BON-BON smiles with buck teeth, satisfied with that reaction, then says, “I don’t get what the problem is. Just exterminate the thing.”

“You sound like Vanessa,” you mumble through a mouthful of fingers. Your mermaid document is coming along badly, what with stress, typos, and a distracting AI.

“Stop that,” BON-BON says, so sharply that you whip your fingers out of your mouth on instinct. “Vanessa, right, she’s the one in the meeting? Haah, she gave you a run for your money.”

“Shall I just assume that you have access to everything in the building after all?” you say. You just want to know where you stand, but the AI has been vague on the topic.

“You can if you want,” he says lightly. “I didn’t say so before, but you held your own pretty well. Even if you were fudging your numbers.”

“We’re not exterminating the mermaid,” you divert, keen to get off that topic. “It would be illegal anyway. I just need to work out a deflection method. He wasn’t in the area when I patched up the cave, I’m sure.”

“So block off the other caves.”

“I can’t. There’s like, a zillion tunnels.”

“I’ll request a harpoon,” BON-BON says in a humorous tone, although you’re unsure if he’s truly joking. “Maybe you can have a little accident when Vanessa arrives with her team.”

BON-BON meets your sidelong look with bright eyes. “What are you doing?” you say.

His avatar sighs, resting in a relaxed slump against the corner of the screen. “Talking? C’mon, I’m bored. You know, I couldn’t believe it when she implied you were logging fake maintenance time. Almost dropped my popcorn. Don’t you think she’ll be a nightmare to work with?”

“I’m sure it’ll benefit us to work with someone with such an eye for detail,” you lie, wary of snitching computer programs. You’re also wondering what popcorn is.

BON-BON bares his teeth. “Just say she’s a bitch.”

You abandon your report and turn the feed your way, ignoring the indignant noise BON-BON makes when you flick to the settings tab. “Did someone change your personality coding?” you say despairingly. “I swear you never talked like this before.”

The screen freezes, ignoring your frantic taps. “Oh, sorry. Am I too talkative for you?”

“Talking’s not the problem,” you say, even though it kind of is. “But- this-"

“Uh huh.” The screen switches to BON-BON’s ugly avatar, and you lean back. “To think that after battling a mermaid, keeping it a secret, and rescuing a delivery worker from a watery death, it’s the chatty AI that trips you up.”

This is too much. You slink back to your report like a beaten dog. “Please put away the avatar. You’re going to get me sent to sensitivity training.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” BON-BON says, then nothing happens.

Despite your frustration and the injuries and the report, you laugh. BON-BON looks startled for a split-second before he smiles.

“You know, if it’s really a problem you could always submit a performance report on me,” he says, super-casually.

You snort. “I’m not a snitch. And what would I say? Oh no, the learning AI is learning!”

“You’re snitching on your mermaid.”

“I’m reporting a unique intelligent organism that has done physical damage to a member of staff. All you’ve done is act in a way I didn’t expect.” Put like that, it does make your own reactions seem kind of silly. “Plus, all reporting the mermaid does is net this facility more traffic. Reporting you would get you sent to troubleshooting.”

“And that’s bad, because...?” BON-BON prompts.

You frown at him. “Because then the facility wouldn’t have an AI, which is against code?” Plus, it would make you super uncomfortable for reasons you don’t want to examine right now.

“Right,” BON-BON sighs, slumping. “Why are you even talking to me then?”

“Because you’re really fucking persistent,” you mutter, jabbing the holoscreen. “Look, could you stop for a minute? I only read you in because I might need support on this whole mermaid issue. If I don’t get this report on Moon done now, I’m going to get in trouble later.”

BON-BON is silent for a single, blessed moment. Then, “Moon?”

For a moment, your fingers pause on the keys. Then you give a quiet, “Hm?”

BON-BON is grinning. “You named the mermaid, didn’t you?”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did.”

Your cheeks warm. “Okay, and that’s a problem?” you say defensively. “I can’t just keep calling him ‘the mermaid’, can I?”

BON-BON cackles as you cringe. “Oh, this is rich. You know that step one of making contact with intelligent life isn’t to name them, right?”

Actually, you didn’t know that. As established, your job is aquatic handyman. “But exterminating them is fine?” you counter.

BON-BON rests his face on one palm. “Only if you don’t get caught.”

“Okay.” You save your file and close the holoscreen, rising to your feet. “I’m finishing this in my room. Where you can’t bother me.”

“Or so you think,” BON-BON calls in a blatantly-transparent attempt at a lie.

... You hope.

A great idea appears like a firework. You wheel around on your heel and re-open the holoscreen. “You know what? I think I will report you.”

BON-BON is smirking, clearly thinking it an empty threat. “Oh yeah? Thought you said no AI would be going against code?”

“That was before you threatened to invade my personal space.” Your fingers fly across the screen, pulling up a little contact sheet.

BON-BON’S smile wavers. “I didn’t threaten you.”

“You’re accessing monitors you shouldn’t be able to. You just admitted to listening into private meetings exchanging proprietary information. You have been blatantly ignoring me when I try to make changes to facility settings.” Fingers tapping the screen with finality, you hover your hand over the Send button. “And now you’re trying to intimidate a member of staff by hinting you could invade their private space. Sounds like a malfunction to me.”

He isn’t smiling anymore. “That- that’s just my personality settings. The team leader set me to a challenging personality type.”

“Wow, and a lie too?” you say, widening your eyes exaggeratedly. “Oh, and let’s not forget that you suggested I harpoon Vanessa, with no provocation.” You tut, slowly shaking your head. “You’ve racked up far more than just three strikes, buddy.”

BON-BON is silent, eyeing you and the mini feed with none of his usual condescension. “... What do you want?”

“What?” you say innocently.

“What can I give you to make you drop the subject?”

“I want a Globe,” you say immediately.

BON-BON closes his eyes. “That- is very expensive.”

“Yeah, Base rejected my request,” you agree. “So, Globe? Yes?”

BON-BON’s jaw visibly clenches. He rocks on his stubby little legs. You wait patiently, already knowing what the answer will be. Facility AIs can access funds to make purchases for the building’s upkeep. Theoretically, all transactions are monitored, but you did a stint in admin before securing this position a while back, and know that’s malarky. If BON-BON can access terminals he should be blocked from and surpass permissions to set alarms on your scanner, he can damn well buy you a Globe.

“Fine,” BON-BON sighs, like you knew he would. “I’ve put in the order.”

You check to make sure he’s telling the truth before deleting your complaint with a flick of the finger. “Thanks!”

You flick a braid over your shoulder as you leave, just to piss him off. You have a report to finish.

For the first time, you’re actually kind of scared of going out into the water. How do you protect against a creature that can hypnotise you?

At least the reception to your report was positive. Your injuries were completely skated over in favour of marvelling at the scans and pics you managed to grab. The one of Moon smiling invitingly was especially squealed over, apparently. Moon is now listed in the general database for the planet’s inhabitant species, official name pending.

His hypnotist abilities are included in a theories subsection, given that with no videos or pictures, they can only go off on your word. Given that this is typical procedure, you’re not too sore about it. Mostly.

No advice on handling Moon was forthcoming, which actually seemed to startle BON-BON when he asked you about it. Despite his attitude (and your blackmail), you’re holding fast to your not-promise to keep him in the loop. You’re not surprised though – this is a virgin planet, barely touched upon. You knew what you were getting into when you joined, mainly some variation of ‘do your best!’ As long as you aren’t maiming the wildlife Base will leave you alone, even if that means you get maimed instead. It’s very Earth-1 of them.

They have asked for more scans, which makes sense. Scans, pics, and other identifying material is all sent to Base and automatically outsourced to amateur volunteer researchers. They’re dedicated to their roles to the point of requesting ‘close-ups’ of Moon’s skeletal structure and a sample of his esca, which is apparently the name of the bulb on the end of his hat-like appendage. Those requests had been instantly vetoed by the overseeing manager at Base, who then sternly told you not to attempt to dissect the mermaid. As if you would.

One volunteer had also privately contacted you later on your personal email (rude) to request cast impressions of your bite marks, only to go radio silent when you informed her that you had only been bruised.

“So they wouldn’t care?” BON-BON says. “You get battered by a mermaid and they just shrug?”

“They would care,” you say. You’re plaiting your hair using the monitor as a reflection, which makes it very annoying when the AI keeps jumpscaring you with his hideous avatar. “They would also hire a new mechanic after dredging me up from the ocean floor.”

“But you’re a person,” BON-BON says, sounding hopelessly confused. You’d like to be amused, but it’s mostly just sad.

“One of many,” you say, tying off the plait. “Look, it’s not like they’d celebrate or anything, but what can they do? Send down an aquatic SWAT team? I knew when I applied that I’d be handling stuff like this by myself. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not.” The AI sounds affronted.

“Okay. Continue fantasising about my bloated corpse, then.”

Ten minutes later you’re still not at work, and time is ticking away. You’ve already done general checks and replaced the shitty turbines with the new and improved versions, which means you only have outside work left to do.

You’re blasting music and dancing in your room to hype yourself up. It’s a sweaty activity, your braids smack you in the face, and you keep tripping on clothing strewn about the room, but it’s fun and distracting. You mime punching an imaginary Moon to the beat, occasionally shouting ideas at the interactive blackboard above the desk.

“Set the helmet to dim when it sees cold light,” you holler, watching the words scrawl themselves down. “And change flashlight to gold so it won’t set it off!”

A robot opens the door, peeps in, then closes it again. You barely notice.

“Uhhhhh, give him fish!” is your next idea. “But like a different kind.” You haven’t forgotten the way Moon batted away your first food offerings, only to eat up later. Is there a certain kind of fish that makes him act docile? You wish you could remember what he preferred. Maybe he likes it the way you do.

You’re bouncing on the bed with your eyes glazed, thinking hard as you watch the board. Your back is to the window when the light comes, a fiery glow crawling across the wall that you think is your table lamp until you see your own silhouette.

In the split second it takes you to turn around, the light cuts out.

All you see is your own reflection like a mirror. “Lights off,” you bark, and the room goes dark instantly. You see something flicker before it’s gone, and you thud against the glass trying to look, to see where it went.

That’s weird. From the moment you first became aware of his presence, Moon’s light has always been a cold, pure white. This was reddish, orange almost, a grim colour like a dying sun. You smush your face against the glass before reluctantly pulling back.

The window looks out on a little section of cave that’s a tight squeeze to get to. It doesn’t lead anywhere, a small hollow of space with a second hole in the rock just out of sight. The hole is actually barred instead of netted, to reduce the risk of someone having to go in for maintenance and getting stuck. That’s why it’s always fun to see fish there – it means they came from a deeper part of the caves you can’t access.

It would also be a really good hiding place for a mermaid that wants to stick around.

It's hard to think. The music is still blaring. You kill the volume and activate the lights again, reluctant to turn your back to the window as you do. You never felt the need for curtains, but now you’re regretting it.

Guess you’ve found your first port of order.

After a claustrophobic swim through the little gap in the rock, you’re outside your own bedroom window. You purposely left the lights on, and it illuminates some of the space nicely.

It’s still fairly dark below you, though.

The bars are there in the hole, dependably thick. A few fish flick about and watch you curiously, an interloper in their tiny lounge room. A crustacean covered in wafting blooms scuttles between the bars, makes eye contact, and tries to go back the way it came. You pick it up gently between thumb and forefinger, mindful not to crush the blooms in case they’re important. You feel about for your scanner but come up empty – you left your belt on the platform for fear of getting hooked in place in the narrow opening.

You kept your taser though, gripped tightly in one hand.

Movement in the light has you jumping in a flurry of bubbles, but it’s just something walking about in your room. A staffbot, carrying clean towels that it deposits in your en suit. Once finished it doesn’t leave, curiously moving stuff about on your desk. It looks at your blackboard list, then fiddles with your bacterium lamp, stirring it up in flurry of rainbow colours.

Haaa, caught. You knock on the window, making the bot jump, and wave when it turns to see you treading water. It comes up to the window with an attitude like panic, looking this way and that at the dark waters.

You show off your crab, waving its angry claws, then briefly remove your mask to blow an air ring. The robot leaves the room, which is mildly disappointing, but immediately returns with three others plus a cleanerbot it holds in its arms.

Eventually the fun of pantomiming with your crab and blowing bubbles grows thin, so you wave goodbye and swim back down again. The robots leave, the last one thoughtfully turning off your bedroom light and leaving you in darkness. Great.

A light glimmers briefly on the bars in the hole before vanishing.

You squint. That could have been the fading light from your bedroom or your eyes adjusting to the dark. Either way, it came from the other side which automatically makes it none of your business.

Sorry, little guy, you think ruefully, finally releasing your crab. Struggling so fiercely before, it hunkers down rather than escape from you into the gap. That’s fine, it can rest. Maybe it saw something you didn’t.

Exiting the small area, you gather your belt and set to doing your usual checks of the facility territory. With each area you fear a sliced net courtesy of the knife, unpicker, and clippers you thoughtlessly left Moon, but every space you examine looks secure.

Not that it really matters. The nets are for the big tunnels, or securing unstable overhangs, not spaces that you yourself can fit through. With so many potential entry points, Moon doesn’t need to destroy your work to re-enter the area – you just didn’t think he would want to. But how to make him stop?

Maybe you could hang some lights? But that would attract other predators and leave a pretty big impact on the surrounding environment. Besides, after Moon was able to bear your torch with barely a squint, you’re beginning to think his initial reaction to light was just him being a drama queen.

The missed cave entrance haunts you. You’re certain it hasn’t been there the entire time of your employment, but you definitely overlooked it when you were swimming the facility the day you met Moon. You were so sure you had explored that area when you glimpsed his light. Instead you missed an entire cave.

The waters grow colder. You have your torch set to gold light, which is a tiny bit harder to see by, but it’s worth it to keep from drowning via hypnotism. You can only hope your helmet plan works in practice.

When you get to the largest tunnel, a corner of the big net is hanging loose again. Not just the old loop is free, but the newer one you chained it to.

You blow out a stream of bubbles, frustrated. Why, why, why? Is the rock unstable? You can’t blame broken rock on Moon after seeing the trouble a net gave him. On examination the wall is crumbled and jagged, grooves scored into it. You run your palm over the rough surface and swallow a sigh as it crackles under your touch. A little unstable, probably from you pummelling metal moorings into it. Base won’t be happy about that, but at least you weren’t the one who okayed the net in the first place.

Before you re-secure the net, you slip through the gap to examine the other side. It’s been a while since you viewed the metal bars cross-sectioning further down tunnel given that the net typically blocks your path. They’re meant to last a decade at least, but recent events have you anxious.

You speed up, keeping an eye out for toothy threats. The tunnel stretches on and on, widening in increments like a yawning mouth.

After several minutes of indeterminate swimming you feel your first pang of anxiety. This tunnel is going on for too long. You should have reached the bars by now. The walls are widening to an extent you can’t recall, and just when you make the decision to stop and turn back it ends.

At open sea.

You stare out at the dark expanse, then swim forward a little, turning to look up and around. Yyyep, there’s the rough wall of rock, pockmarked with tunnel openings and random platforms. It stretches away from you as far as the eye can see, and you know it would take hours of swimming to reach the surface. You’re too far down.

But then where were the metal bars? They should have stopped you before you even got close to this point. If something broke through, there should be a trace left of them at the very least. Debris, jagged metal pointing from the rock. Something.

A distant cry reaches you from out of the dark expanse, a groan like failing wood.

Nope nope nope.

You kick your boots into high gear, zooming back through the tunnel with apprehension clenching your heart. Some time along, you come across your second issue.

You’re faced with two potential tunnels you may have come through.

Ahh, you think with resignation. Typical.

A common way to drown. You’re swimming, swimming, swimming through a tunnel, and you’re so focused on where you’re going, disoriented by the play of light under water that you fail to notice the rock wall opening at your side to reveal a second path. If you had turned around, maybe you could see from which one you originally came. Many a diver has perished after choosing the wrong offshoot.

You’re not unprepared though. You flick the settings on your torch and see the little ribbon of violet indicating the way you came, a trail of heat dissipating through the water. The left side tunnel, which is good because your instincts were saying to go with right.

Now you’re paying close attention, you can see more offshoot tunnels branching away. You have to use your torch a few more times before you come across another dual opening.

The metal poles are neatly tucked away in a pile in the left hand tunnel. You definitely would have noticed swimming over that.

Your torch confirms it. You came through the right.

The poles appear to have been levered out of the rock, the holes subtly widened by scrapes and gouges until they could be eased free. It’s like something from an aquatic horror movie, but your work brain has the wheel. Your heart is in your mouth as you snap pictures, and you’re toying with the idea of resigning when you finally reach the net.

A terrible suspicion occurs as you ease your way through. The metal moorings glow like little silver eyes in the torchlight.

With a rev of your boots and a mighty heave, the entire massive net floats loose, the metal loops sliding from their settings in the rock with an inappropriate series of tinkles. You watch numbly as it drags down, down into the gloom, and then jerk to catch it as it begins to drift out of sight.

Something intelligent, something strong judging by the poles, has systematically dismantled the measures you have put in place to keep larger organisms from nearing the facility.

You are going to scream.

You go to re-secure the net, then tread water, hopeless. What’s the point, if it’s just going to get peeled open again? What can you do against something that can lever away poles longer than you are tall?

But just as soon as the hopelessness comes it passes.

The fuck? Some giant thing, some fish thinks it can just waltz its way through your security precautions and gain access to your facility? It thinks it can sneak around in the dark, and make rumbles (allegedly), and spy on your room from a tiny hole in the rock (possibly)?

Think again, asshole.

You drape the net over the lip of the opening and turn tail, fully intending to grab the sub and lever those damn poles back in place by force. You’re going to double, no, triple cement them. You’re going to add spikes!! You’re going-

A strong current buffets you. Like a physical pressure on the back of your skull, you feel as though you are under the gaze of a predator.

You turn, slowly.

A huge face stares down at you, pinning you in place with large, golden eyes. Like wafting petals, the round surface of its two-toned face is haloed by a full ring of fins. It grips the rim of the tunnel with clawed hands the length of doorway, crushing the net beneath its grip, and reveals a maw of golden teeth with a growl.

Later, you’ll thank the stars that you managed to escape the situation intact after reacting so stupidly, convinced that some gentle force in the universe must be looking kindly upon you. But right now you’re drunk on adrenaline and simmering with barely-banked territorialism. Being jumpscared by a giant mermaid has just lit a match against the fuse that is your temper.

You go postal, flailing your fists wildly and screaming muffled behind your mask. You can actually hear yourself through the water, and your boots buzz like swarm of angry bees as you zoom forward in a reckless display of fury. Slightly blinded by bubbles of your own making, you glimpse the mermaid blink and pull back, lips dropping back over its teeth. The scales above its eyes furrow.

You’re furious, a tiny rodent standing up to a rottweiler, and the mermaid pulls its hands back in alarm as you kick at its fingers, driving it further back into the tunnel. It scrunches up, hissing, and your screaming rises in pitch to match it.

The giant creature blinks, tilts its head, and then light blossoms from the fins around its face, setting the cave ablaze with fiery illumination. It’s copper and gold, eyes glowing like the setting sun, and the fins stiffen and buzz like a warning, a universal sign of stay back.

Like a bull seeing red, the gorgeous colours only heighten your rage. You snatch up a corner of the net, now fully uncovered as the mermaid shuffles farther back, and fling one of the heavy moorings at it, pointing and gesticulating as your incoherent rant continues. The giant mermaid flinches even though the metal loop falls completely short, an expression of consternation on its face. The eyes flick back and forth between you, the net, and the wall of the cave you have just tugged it from. It looks faintly embarrassed.

Then you pull out your taser and zap it tzzt, a contained blue light arching between the prongs and making a sharp sound that is undeniably threatening.

The mermaid grimaces, averting its eyes. Your screaming falters as it raises a palm in a universal gesture of peace, or perhaps please just stop, before turning back on itself in a tight movement, retreating without coming any closer to you. With a coil of its tail it swims away, the light extinguishing as it does so. You’re left alone with your useless net.

The hand holding the taser drops to your side. You look down at the net, then around at the dark and silent tunnel, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.

Well. That was embarrassing.

In the end, the sub can’t actually handle the poles. Too small, too weak – you weren’t the one to install them in the first place anyway. You throw up another net and give up after cementing it in place, dejectedly swimming back to the facility.

You already knew the net was useless.

Chapter Text

“You’re insane,” BON-BON says flatly.

“Or,” you say, rolling over so you’re facing the monitor, “I’m really passionate about my job.”

“Profanity filters prevent me from saying what I would like to say.”

“I’m sure I heard you swear before,” you say.

“You imagined it. It was a dream.”

“Where’s the mute button?”

“I think we should talk face-to-face,” BON-BON chirps, and the screen flickers with an incoming image.

“No!!” you scramble upright. “No no no, please don’t! I’m sorry, okay? I don’t even know how to mute you!”

The screen settles. “That’s what I thought.”

You bite your tongue. It took a lot of cajoling to convince BON-BON to stop using his avatar, but since then he’s been holding it over you like a sword of Damocles, threatening sensitivity training instead of impalement. Neither of you mention the blackmail incident. You have been keeping a close eye on the postal tracking for your Globe.

“I made a report,” you say, pulling your blanket over your head like a hood. It’s comfy, huddled in the dark on the sofa with only the light of the interface keeping you company. “And I sent them pictures of the poles. Maybe they’ll give me a super-cool electric net or something. Zap that big fish into... uh...”

“Yes?” BON-BON prompts.

“... Baked fish,” you finish somewhat lamely. You can’t think of anything better.

The AI snickers just loudly enough for you to catch. “Yeah, that’ll be great for the environment. I thought you were against extermination? You know, while you’re drilling into the rock and lodging your facility like a tic.”

He’s right, and not just about the environment. Base isn’t going to give you anything truly dangerous, especially not to scare away a potential subject of research. Even if it could eat you in one bite.

“It’s not perfect,” you mumble. “It’s just the best we can do right now.”

“And why are you sleeping here?” BON-BON complains. “I said I was bored, not desperate.”

You think of the light through the bars outside your bedroom, and teeth as long as your arm. You had tried to sleep in your room before giving it up as a bad job. “Don’t flatter yourself, it’s just for tonight. The bots are helping me put up curtains tomorrow.”

“... The mermaid was creeping you?” BON-BON doesn’t sound as gleefully amused as you expected.

“... I don’t know,” you say reluctantly. “I saw something.”

“Was it Moon?”

“Oh, who knows? I’m probably being paranoid.”

“You are pretty unstable,” the AI agrees.

You splutter. “Un- I am not!”

“Hey, you’re the one who loves crawling around the utility tunnels. Not even Houdini would be that cracked.”

Who the hell is Houdini? “What would you know? You’re literally just a computer program.”

“Well, good for you that there’s a whole host of people coming to stay,” BON-BON snaps. “Maybe after they pin you down and sedate you, you’ll realise how stupid you’ve been swimming around up ‘till now.”

“You reckon any of them have buck teeth?”

“Ugh!”

The monitor goes black, leaving you grinning in the dark.

Yeah, you’re not getting help. The general response to your report of your findings and countermeasures was a resounding ‘good job!’ You get the feeling Base is just as at a loss of what to do as you are.

There was also a tentative request for pictures that had you wishing you could smack someone through the screen. Once again, the supervisor shut that line of questioning down sharpish, which was great. You don’t know how to explain to obsessed volunteer researchers that you value your life over cool snapshots.

You spend the next day checking up on all the nets and bars you can think of, and there are a lot of nets. They all seem secure, even the bars under your bedroom window. With the bots dutifully helping you install a curtain rail, you feel secure enough to sleep in your own room again.

Things fall back into their regular patterns. You do your work, attend your weekly meetings, and complete your checks of the area, now with improved stress-testing.

Once or twice you think you see a dark, humanoid figure flicker in your periphery, but Moon doesn’t approach. You’re not sure what to think of it. That Moon appears capable of calculated restraint actually makes him seem scarier to you.

 You’re not actually supposed to venture into that space outside your room without a very good reason, but you like your lodgings too much to move somewhere else. The best you can do is use a flashlight and a mirror to squint at the bars through the window.

That Vanessa person hasn’t attended any further meetings, to your abject relief. Apparently she’s been ill since before you first spoke, which you can’t bring yourself to feel sorry about. It’s a relief not to have her around since she acted like, in BON-BON’S words, a raging bitch. But maybe he’s a bad influence.

You receive several more deliveries, some with unusual gear. Everything is dutifully set aside, but you can’t help but wonder about your new incoming team after receiving an industrial grade claw sharpener and several oddly-shaped helmets.

It goes without saying that Moon has intelligence beyond that of a smart animal. However, even with that knowledge you’re genuinely unsure of what to make of this. 

Atop a flat plane of rock sits a recently deceased fish, driblets of blood staining the stone. It has been neatly sliced apart, and it wasn’t there when you first climbed out of the water.

Base wants additional scans of some kind of anemone, and is too impatient to wait for the new team. Luckily you know where to go, an air pocket cavern that hosts a number of fairly interesting organisms. Plus, they asked you nicely. The patchy walls are softly lit by blue bioluminescent algae, the water coming up to mid-calf. The space is low and long, staggered throughout by conjoined stalagmites and stalactites. The entrance is watery hole in the floor, a ridge of rock forming a ledge that you’ve tripped over more often than you care to remember. This cave was on your to-do list of places to revisit, if only because of the seemingly endless range of crustaceans you can find wandering the shallow floor. You never saw crabs back home.

And now there’s a dead fish right where you would have squelched it coming in. The nerves are still twitching. Is this a threat?

Oh-kay... what now?

If you were in a horror movie, you would be screaming at the protagonist not to go back into the water.

You sigh and hunker down, cold water lapping at your butt. Well. More scans can’t hurt.

Incredibly, you actually manage to get distracted messing about in the cave. There really are a lot of crabs, many with the blue algae growing on their claws. You entertain yourself by breaking open large urchins clinging to the vegetation in the shallows and feeding the fleshy contents to the crabs. It’s adorable, watching them hand-feed themselves with misshapen pincers, tiny mouths nibbling away. They skitter when you try to feed them yourself though, and you pout behind the breather you haven’t bothered to remove. Why can’t they just accept your food gift? You won’t hurt them.

Something slimy thwaps against your shoulder, and you scream into the breather, tripping in the water and falling on your side. It’s a thin sliver of fish, freshly shorn, sliding down your skin in a dark slurry.

You look over in the direction it came and freeze, seeing eyes glinting out of the gloom. Moon is frozen in a creeping attitude over the ledge of rock, slices of fish in one hand. He observes you silently for a few seconds, and your heart leaps, eyes on his esca – this is it, you’re going to finally see if your helmet idea breaks the hypnotism!

But instead of dizzying white light, clawed fingers pluck at the fish and fling another slice your way.

You flinch as the projectile slaps down directly in front of you, sending up a splash of water. Moon’s eyes flick between you and the fish, growing visibly frustrated as you fail to react. His gills flare, the hat-like appendage flexing slightly – it’s prehensile? You hadn’t realised that.

This feels familiar.

Slowly, you reach forward and grasp blindly for the slice, fishing it out of the water without taking your eyes off the mermaid. Under the pressure of Moon’s increasingly-widening eyes, you lift it to your breather and mime eating, tucking the strip into your fist out of sight.

Moon is a mixture of excited and perturbed, his gaze lingering on your breather with a slight twitch of the brow. The next slice he throws lands slightly closer to him.

You’re being lured again.

A scuttle against your hand. The crabs you had been feeding are fleeing, scrambling over themselves to get away from Moon. Said mermaid is dancing another slice in the air invitingly, leaning over the ridge of rock as far as he can go without leaving the watery entrance.

No, no way. You shake your head.

Moon's eyes meet yours. He lowers his hand. You half-expect him to haul himself over the ridge next, slithering into the knee-high water like some nightmare serpent. But instead he just sets the fish down and pushes it in your direction before gently retreating back the way he came. The water closes over his head with barely a ripple.

You sit motionless for quite some time before venturing out yourself. Although you don’t catch so much as a glimmer of blue scale, you feel eyes on your back the entire way home.

... Why do you feel guilty?

You’re hyping yourself up in your room again, and the curtains are even ajar. Say what you want about traumatic events, seeing that fucking monster of a fish has put into perspective how teeny Moon is in comparison. He can listen to your music and see you dance, you don’t care. A staffbot stands in your doorway, punching the air a little off beat.

You can hear BON-BON yelling something from the feed outside your door, but the music is too loud to make him out. You do an undulating wave with your arms and point at the robot to finish it off. It gives you a thumbs-up.

Back on your native planet, in the rocking watertight pods where you lived with your guardians, there had been a rising problem with sealets. These furry, inquisitive creatures could survive on water or land, kept everyone up at night with their screaming mating calls, and enjoyed sucking the rubber from the wooden boards that made up the walkways of your seabound community. They were incredibly stubborn and took everything as a challenge, so if you chased them off they would make it their personal mission to not only return but get comfortable too. Once, your guardian made the mistake of shooing one away while they were curing meat. The sealet then spent the next cycle trying desperately to gain access to the one place it was barred entry. It was better in the long run to just leave them be.

The topic is on your mind because you suspect mermaids are quite similar.

You found a small pile of crabs left on the platform today with blue algae on their claws. They have been pierced through neatly, severing the central nerve clusters. A quick death at least.

Moon must have seen you playing with them before you noticed his presence. You’re still a little confused over whether this is supposed to be a gift or a threat. Most people wouldn’t present a friend with a dead puppy after they said they liked dogs. You’re not sure what reaction Moon expected, but you hope it wasn’t positive. The little wail of dismay you made upon seeing the massacre could only be a let-down.

BON-BON says it’s a threat, and seems quite angry about it. It’s funny to see an AI get so protective of the building. You’ve passed that point and have ventured into resigned territory.

The robot executes a snazzy spin that has you barking out a startled laugh. You copy the move and glimpse warm light in the corner of your vision.

Your heart skips a beat. Is it the glow of one huge, blazing eye? Or is it another creature entirely? Where there are two mermaids, there must also be more.

Ignore it. Just ignore it. It’s beyond the bars anyway.

The bars won’t stop it.

You flip the window the bird before attempting a backflip. You catch your ankle on the sheets instead and flop with a groan of bedsprings.

The closer you get to arrival day, the more there is to do. In true corporate fashion, everything is fine until a bunch of people suddenly remember several things they forgot to request. It seems your new team is no exception, with the amount of rush jobs that abruptly come through.

“And you can expect a very exciting surprise soon!” Cora adds, having taken on the role of relay. “But I can’t tell you yet!”

“Great,” you say. “I’ve already handled all the prep on my end, so yeah, I have the bandwidth for this extra stuff.” Your brows rise as you scan the list, taking in a submerged responsive dock, a request to expand the facility territory, and three – three! – new remote generators. “Uhh. Did Base really approve all this?”

“Base sure did!” Cora chirps.

You wait, but no further information is incoming. “Okay, cool. Well, I’ll have that all set up in, like, a week in general time? Materials pending, of course, but I’ll keep you updated.”

“Wow! That’s awesome!” The last syllable suffers a suspicious audio glitch that neither of you acknowledge.

“One more thing, please,” you say, before the call can wrap up. “I can see this request to expand the boundary includes the outermost caves. But as we, uh, discussed recently, there’s some pretty big wildlife hanging around that area.” You tap the digital map with a fingernail, even though Cora can’t see it. “I’d need protection, and a bigger net. More poles, too, and a means to install them. The mini sub can’t handle this work. I think that area might be a drain on budget with little return, and we should focus our efforts elsewhere.”

What you’re not saying is please don’t make me go back down that tunnel. Do you remember that giant fucking mermaid I told you about? I’ll get eaten, Cora. EATEN.

“Of course, of course, cool cool cool,” Cora muses. “Let me touch base with my superiors and we can circle back to this topic at a later period. Okay?”

What a wonderfully vague non-response. “Sure. Thank you for your consideration,” you say politely.

“Why don’t you ever talk to me like that?” BON-BON complains once you hang up the call. It’s just generally expected now that he’s eavesdropping on any given conversation.

“I did, until you decided to go all Skynet on me.” You riffle through your stack of flimsies, checking material orders. Aside from the matter of that turbine wing you found a while back and still haven’t traced the source of, your docket is actually pretty open. Nice.

“I didn’t go Skynet,” the AI protests, “unless you think displaying a personality is the same thing.”

Ooh, dangerous waters. You’ve both been dancing around this issue, but you’re not ready to address it without some mental preparation first. “Hm. Can you follow up on the tracking for these grate orders, please? They were supposed to arrive two days ago.”

“Are you listening?” BON-BON presses, ignoring your request. “What, you can’t handle someone talking back to you?”

“Do you know the procedures in place when a learning AI begins to develop independency?” you say casually, keeping your eyes on the paperwork.

“... I do,” BON-BON says, his voice suddenly very level. You just know he’s anticipating another blackmail attempt.

“Right,” you say, setting down your flimsies. “So. The tracking?”

BON-BON remains silent for a few seconds before saying, “Held up by the Insight 9 dock. They should arrive in the next three days.”

“Thanks,” you say, patting your sheaf of papers into a neat pile.

The AI hesitates. “I’m just saying... I’m pretty sure that Cora is an AI, and-"

“I knew it!” you bark, slamming a palm down on the table. BON-BON’s interface flickers in surprise. “Right? Right?? I’ve been thinking that for so long, but no one’s said anything!”

“It’s in the way they talk, isn’t it?” BON-BON sounds amused and bitchy, his squawky voice going up a few octaves. “All those glitches, and the canned speech, ugh-"

“I know! And did you notice they reuse phrases all the time? Like, add in a voice meter already?”

“You are saying exactly what I’ve been thinking,” the AI says.

The seaskim is a blessing. A swift means of travel, an impromptu platform for your equipment, and now a float for you to take a quick little five minute rest. Or ten. You have always loved your toys, and this one is no exception.

You lie flat on top of the forcefield, one leg dangling in the water. The solid energy hums quietly against your spine. You worked up a sweat setting up the generators the new team requested, and now your chest is heaving out of breath. One generator now sits dark and silent, embedded in the rock far below you, directly beneath the facility platform. The other two have been placed further from home.

It wasn’t easy. The things are massive, dragging down in the water. Installing them meant turfing out any vegetation or organisms that had made the optimal spaces their home. Replanting a few undulating weed growths was easy enough, but a rather large eel did give you some trouble, striking erratically with its long, serrated maw. As did a carnivorous aquatic flower, its bioluminescent petals unfurling to reveal a tooth-laden sphincter. It’s a refreshing reminder that Moon isn’t the only fish around that might want to take a bite.

Or Eclipse, as you have taken to calling the giant mermaid. Something about the light dawning from behind his head, shining through golden eyes, reminds you of that time in your childhood that the world went dark and everyone screamed.

It was a little less cool when you got old enough to realise that it was just an interesting planetary event instead of the apocalyptic day you remembered. Your guardian wasn’t one for checking the calendar.

Water laps up your thighs, rocking your little board. You have removed your breather for an easier rest, something you rarely do outside, and it’s the only thing keeping you from drifting into a light doze. Not that you’ll drown if you do fall asleep, you just don’t want to wake up snorting water out of your nose.

Base finally gave you a name for your new team, though not a staff itinerary. Glamrock. A weird one, but not the weirdest. You’ve had Alpha, Strike 2, Globe Trotters... some of these researchers fancy themselves rugged adventurers. You don’t begrudge them their fun.

The board is bobbing lightly. The shadow of the platform drifts away, as does the faint light of the facility. Your head lolls a little, muscles relaxing. The cool water is soothing on your sore, heated body.

You wonder who this new team is, to need so much energy.

They’re sure to be interested in the mermaids. Maybe they’ll make friends with Moon and his giant counterpart. Maybe you can see where the mermaids live. Nice mermaids, like Moon when he wasn’t trying to batter you. Smiling like before he lured you in.

Your mind is slipping into dream, lulled by the gentle rocking of the water. A current brushes lightly against your leg, drifts up your thigh like... like seaweed. The petals of the hungry flower. Maybe the mermaids live somewhere light and warm. The ecosystem your old team theorised could be their hunting grounds. Coral reefs, all manner of gorgeous vegetation... undulating ribbons of seaweed... the flick of vibrant tails...

But that’s just wishful thinking.

You start to doze, your jaw lax. Cool water laps softly against an elbow as the seaskim dips to the side.

There’s a warm pressure against your leg. Gentle touches on your face.

Your eyelids flutter open. That’s not water.

A water-drenched figure rises to blot out the light, hands planted either side of your waist to hoist itself above you. You get a split-second glimpse of red eyes before Moon heaves himself onto the seaskim, claws scrabbling next to your ear as he struggles to gain purchase.

A yelp is punched out of your chest by the full weight of Moon landing on top of you. Water fills your mouth and blinds your vision, and by the time your spluttering eases, you’re thoroughly squashed against the board.

You gasp, legs kicking weakly at either side of Moon’s tail. He has effectively pinned you down with his full weight without even toppling the board, and you can’t gain purchase to buck him off. You attempt the tried and true method of smacking him in his big round face, but Moon is clearly wise to your tactics. His hand catches your wrist before you can even make contact, pressing it back down against the forcefield beside your head.

The other hand grips your jaw, clawed tips pressing just shy of breaking the skin as you flinch away. Moon firmly turns your face to meet his.

... His face has scales too. They glint pinkish around his eyes.

You go limp, some kind of hindbrain instinct kicking in. You haven’t been manhandled so effectively since you were a child. Something flexes minutely against your belly – Moon, relaxing now that you’re not fighting him tooth and nail. He takes his time to examine you, bringing his face closer until you fear the press of teeth. Tiny slits below his eyes flare – he’s scenting you, the curve on his face delineating the two tones clearly not some kind of nose as you had originally assumed.

There’s a claxon going off in your brain at the proximity, one part of your mind cataloguing every unique sensation while the other gibbers in fear. You shudder as a thumb brushes over your lips without loosening the grip on your face, and then presses down insistently. You make a muffled sound, struggling, but as the pressure on your jaw increases you have no choice but to open your mouth. His thumb presses the flat of your tongue.

What in the world?? You’re drooling on the mermaid, not a phrase you thought would ever apply to you, and Moon ignores the clawing of your hand at his wrist as he seemingly examines your mouth. At least he doesn’t taste fishy. Brushing his thumb lightly over your blunt teeth, he finally withdraws his hand and watches as you spit and gag.

“Wuh-" you croak, only to cut yourself off with a shriek as Moon presses his face to yours and licks up the side of your cheek in one firm lathe. He’s warm, and the thrill in your stomach gets swallowed up in a rising tide of terror.

Oh stars, oh no, he’s preparing to eat you! In a moment of desperation you try to flip the board, and Moon instantly leans to the other side as a counterweight.

One hairless brow rises. Moon’s eyelids drop to half-mast, mouth an unimpressed flat line. The mermaid is judging you heavily, and it’s this that tips the scales from terrified paralysis to anger.

“Fuck off!” you shout, and Moon stills, eyes wide. “What the hell- you think you can just go around licking people? Get off me!”

Moon swallows, his gills fluttering. You eye them, spying a potential weak spot. When he leans in again you press your free hand flat against his chest, locking the elbow.

“Stop,” you say, trembling. Shouting at Eclipse worked pretty well last time, but you can’t draw in enough air to really get going.

Moon pauses, head tilting. His eyes run over your face, to your heaving ribcage, down to the hand pressing against his chest. He curls his fingers around your straining wrist, but doesn’t apply any pressure. He just... rests it there.

Your throat is too tight to swallow. His heart thumps beneath your fingers, a steady and solid beat.

Moon works his mouth, makes a few clicks and hums that leave you uneasy. His esca rests draped on his shoulder, and you're ready to slam your eyes shut the moment there’s light. You remember the last time he made these noises.

His gills dribble water. Moon grimaces and moves his tongue about his mouth as you stare, fascinated despite yourself.

Then he says, “... Hhhhello.”

... What?

Your mind goes blank. You look like a fish, eyes bulging, but oh my stars. Did. Did he just speak?

It must have been a fluke. Your mind is playing tricks on you. For one thing, it isn’t the language you’re speaking. It’s some old offshoot of Earth 1 English that you only vaguely remember because you had to get a pass in a secondary degree before studying at the Rim. And even then you only chose it because you figured learning a language similar to your own would be easier.

You need to chill. Two syllables does not a language make.

Moon looks more unsure the longer you stare at him. He makes that odd mouth movement again before saying, “Helloh?”, this time sacrificing the elongated H for a more clipped pronunciation.

His voice is coarse like salt. There is a whispering quality to the vowels.

You feel like you’re going to faint. “... Hello?” you squeak, wracking your brain for half-forgotten lessons. Just in case.

Moon’s eyes brighten, something like a smile curling his mouth. “Hello,” he says again, and this time it comes smoother, mimicking your pronunciation.

This is really happening. “How...?” you begin, before clamping your mouth shut. Stupid question to ask someone how they know a language. “Can you understand me?” you say, making sure to enunciate. The half-forgotten language feels heavy on your tongue.

The glow of accomplishment fades from Moon’s face. “Hello?” he says quietly.

Hm. It’s uncertain if Moon’s grasp of the language is limited, or if you spoke so brokenly the message didn’t translate. It has been a while since you lasted touched Earth 1 English, let alone any old versions. You always thought it sounded like your own language if you had never heard it before.

The familiar sensation of webbed fingers sliding between yours catches you off-guard. In your distraction your arm has relaxed, and Moon takes the opportunity to ease it from his chest. He turns your palm upwards, presses a thumb against the veins in your wrist, making them buzz.

You snatch back your hand. Moon’s fingers clench in the air, his mouth pressed in a line, but instead of going for you again he settles back and gives you some much-needed breathing space.

“Thh.. thr....” He’s working his tongue again, trying to speak.

You find yourself leaning forward in anticipation. “Three?” you prompt, unable to help yourself. “Sea? Are you trying to make an ‘s’?”

Moon tosses you an irritated glance, and you fall silent. “Th.. fff... fffriend.”

For the second time you’re stunned. A glow is building in your chest, threatening to burst out in the form of hysterical giggles. “... Friend?” you say tentatively, scared to shatter this illusion. “Do you want to be friends with... me?”

Moon smiles again, and this time you see the tips of pearly teeth. In your periphery, his fingers run down one sodden braid, trailing it over the thin ridge of his webbing. He’s leaning in, eyes on yours, opens his mouth-

Light and noise blare from behind you in a sudden cacophony, and you glimpse a split-second look of shock on Moon’s face before he throws himself backwards into the water, entering with a splash that rocks the seaskim. The mini sub in its submerged dock is still ringing a sonic alarm behind you, cold light filtering through the water, and above it all you can hear:

“Yeah, run!! Go on, skedaddle!” BON-BON hollers, his squawky voice an eardrum hazard by itself.

The AI is in the sub. Somehow.

“Are you okay?” BON-BON is calling to you. “Hey! That fish didn’t hurt you, did he? Gimme a sec, I’m sure I can figure out these controls...”

Ohhh, no. “I’m fine,” you say, twisting where you sit and sending the seaskim pitching again. “Don’t try to drive the sub, please. I’m coming, okay?”

There’s a robot at the doorway as you paddle yourself back, and it extends slender arms as you alight the platform and totter onto your feet. How long have you had an audience, and should you feel embarrassed?

The sub goes dark as you enter the facility.

“You’re sending that to Base?” you say ruefully, unable to help a reluctant giggle.

The pictures BON-BON has selected to report the incident are... something. One with you dozing on the seaskim with Moon’s face barely peeking from the water, another that’s mostly motion blur as he flings himself on top of you. The last one is a doozy – Moon lying between your open legs, one hand clasped around your wrist, the other holding your face so he can examine it from inches away. That pose is going to raise eyebrows. At least they can’t see his thumb in your mouth.

“I am,” BON-BON says shortly, perhaps anticipating pushback.

You go back to the first image. Moon’s face is oddly soft, his eyes just visible above the waterline. You can see the tips of his claws breaching the water on their journey up your leg.

You hadn’t even realised he was there at that point. How long was he watching you before he decided you were better looking squashed flat?

“And what did he say? Friend?”

“Yeah, or something like that,” you murmur.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“I know,” you say. “That’s old Earth English. Like, really old. I know it’s superficially similar to how we speak, but what are the chances? We just touch down on a planet where the wildlife can kind of communicate with us-"

“No,” BON-BON says, with a put-upon air. “It doesn’t make sense because who would want to be friends with you. Is what I was saying.”

You’re too tired to take offense. “Oh.”

“Did you hit your head?”

“No.” At least you don’t think so.

“Hmm.” The AI falls silent again, allowing you to go back to examining the pictures BON-BON took from the sub. The sub he shouldn’t have been able to access without a very strict and exact set of permissions that you don’t have to power to provide him. You’re trying hard not to think about that.

Your hair is tickling your elbow. You flick it away.

“Say,” BON-BON says casually, immediately setting off alarm bells, “you come from an ocean planet. Right?”

“Right,” you say warily.

“There wouldn’t happen to be Earth humans there that procreated with the native sapient species at some point?”

Actually, your bloodline has lived on the planet for so long that calling any recent relative an Earth human is inaccurate. But you take his point. “Yes.”

You wait for BON-BON to take the jab he’s so clearly preparing for, but he just gives a little hum before sending the report. Shame, for him. There’s a fair amount of material there.

Your hair is still tickling. Flinging the braid behind your shoulder, you say, “Uh, thanks for, y’know. I wasn’t expecting to get any help there.”

“Thanks?” You almost think he’s implying that thanks isn’t good enough before he continues, “It looks like I ruined a big research opportunity for you.”

Your shoulders relax. “No? I’m not a researcher. You helped me when it looked like I needed it, I’m not gonna be mad at you.”

BON-BON is quiet for a moment. “I scared off your mermaid.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you say wryly, looking out of the dark window. “I’m certain he’ll be back.”

“Maybe he’ll be too busy gloating over his prize,” BON-BON says, something sly entering his tone.

You shoot the feed a suspicious look. You’ve both been studiously avoiding mentioning the mouth thing.

“Your hair?” the AI prompts, and you scramble to look at your braids, afraid to find one shorn off.

Instead you realise one of them is unravelling, sending waves of hair puffing out from the braid as it dries. The tie is missing. “It could have come loose,” you say uncertainly.

BON-BON snickers. “You know it didn’t.”

Chapter Text

Things get a little more hectic as the arrival date of your new team draws closer. Requests for updates and descriptions of your progress come through, alongside new assignments for upgrades to the facility. Sometimes the report requests are so frequent that you make the decision to ignore them in favour of actually getting work done. You’re used to it, though it doesn’t get any less annoying each time. Base clearly doesn’t delegate properly, or maybe everyone is going behind each other’s backs. Apparently it’s very dog-eat-dog over there.

You’re in the middle of extending the facility territory markers when word comes through – you’re to leave the dislodged pipes alone. The net can be reinforced, but aside from building a wall blocking off the giant tunnel, it’s clear that nothing you can do would stop the giant mermaid. The general idea seems to be well, if it hasn’t eaten you yet...

You’re almost impressed. “Wow. Do you think Base is trying to expand into corporate conglomerate territory?”

“It's ridiculous,” BON-BON fumes.

“Very mercenary.”

“Stop complimenting them!”

You take on a conciliatory tone. “Hey. Maybe the new team is used to dealing with this kind of thing. They could be super cool mermaid fighters, and that’s why Base doesn’t want to block off the tunnel.”

“Oh yeah, great,” the AI grumbles. “And what’re they gonna do if you get eaten in the meantime?”

Aw. He’s clearly worried the facility will be abandoned if the only resident employee gets converted into goopy mermaid poop. You know you’d be worried if you were constrained to one building with terrifying creatures roaming freely outside. At least you can leave the planet.

“It’ll be fine,” you soothe. “You know if anything happens they’ll be able to upload your core, no problem, right? I bet you’ll get a facility even better than this one. I hear they’re considering a sentient jungle habitat just off the Rim.”

BON-BON is silent for a few seconds. It’s hard to read him without a face. “You’re stupid,” he says flatly.

Well, screw you then. You turn away, bristling. So much for making him feel better.

“Just...” BON-BON sighs. “Did anyone get back about the Moon report?”

Pissed as you are, you did promise to keep him in the loop. “Yes,” you say reluctantly.

Reception had been positively gleeful, which is funny because BON-BON logged it as a dangerous incident. Moon’s potential to speak had gone in the 'theories' subsection, since BON-BON had been too busy scrambling into the sub and working out the lights to enable sound on the video feed. Not that you told them that – as far as they know, you pulled footage from the sub’s security feed after the incident. You also received another surreptitious email about possibly maybe please getting some samples? Just an itsy bitsy deep tissue scan, maybe a tooth, a scraping of scale, even [censored]?

Grinning, you show BON-BON the email, certain it’ll make him laugh too. He’s silent as the feed flickers.

“You get assaulted by an aquatic predator, and they ask for... this?” he says quietly.

“I don’t remember getting assaulted,” you say, withdrawing the feed. You’re a little disappointed at the lack of reaction. “Squashed, maybe.”

“You could have been hurt.” The unspoken again hangs unsaid.

You give the monitor a weird look. “But I wasn’t.”

“But-"

“Look, these are researchers off in their warm and comfy lab somewhere. Most of them are volunteers or students that have never been in the field. You’re expecting an awful lot of compassion from excited kids that just had their fairy tale dreams come true.”

BON-BON is silent as he mulls that over. “Noted!” he says, with artificial brightness.

You’re mid-sigh when an addendum to your recent instructions come through. They hope you haven’t started work on the big net, because they actually want you to shift it forward a few hundred metres. And if you can see your way through to installing a set of motion-detecting cameras along the large stretch of tunnel, that would be greatly appreciated.

“They want me to be eaten on HD,” you say.

“Absolutely not,” BON-BON snaps.

“Well, maybe not eaten-"

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

You do know it. It was funnier. “Pussy.”

BON-BON splutters. “Wha-"

“It’s short for pusillanimous,” you say, mimicking his bright, phoney tone.

“You’re not going in that tunnel,” BON-BON says in a steely tone.

“I got my orders.” You heave yourself to your feet, mind already running through the necessary supplies. If you eat now, you can install the new moorings before clocking off for the day.

“What if Moon comes back? Or the big one?”

“Eclipse,” you say.

“Would you please,” BON-BON grits out, "stop naming the dangerous wildlife?”

“I’m gonna eat and go,” you decide. “Enjoy your... uh... do you want me to put on a movie for you?”

“Am I your toddler?” BON-BON says, then hastens on before you can do something annoying, like agree. “You don’t have anyone to watch your back.”

“I never have,” you declare dramatically.

“So let me come.”

You stop in the doorway. “What.”

“I’ll drive the sub. You can use it for your equipment!” BON-BON is getting animated the more thought he puts into this idea.

“First off, you’re not driving the sub,” you say, and his screen darkens in disappointment. “You’re not supposed to in the first place, and what’ll I say if it crashes while I’m outside? Second, I don’t need to carry much equipment. Third...”

“I wouldn’t crash it,” BON-BON mutters.

“Third, Eclipse could crush the sub in an instant, so I’d just be losing expensive equipment for no reason.”

“Oh, stars forbid the sub gets crushed instead of your fragile human skull,” the AI says, the sarcasm palpable. “What do you suggest then?”

You hadn’t actually been about to suggest anything, but now you give it a think. “... I guess you could link up to an earpiece?” you say hesitantly. “If you think I shouldn’t go alone.”

“That’s doable,” BON-BON says, but he sounds doubtful.

“Just don’t chatter my ear off,” you say. “Don’t try to distract me either. I’ll need to concentrate.”

“You won’t know I’m there,” BON-BON promises, dishonestly, you’re certain.

Whatever. You don’t know what he thinks he can do in the event of an attack other than witness your muffled screams. Maybe that’s the point – entertainment.

Still, you can’t help but wonder why BON-BON suggested the sub straight off. He should have known you’d say no. You would have thought him smarter than that.

Oh well. At the centre of it, he still is just an AI.

“Cora asked for another update,” BON-BON announces the next afternoon, just as you’re suiting up to go out again.

You glance over your shoulder at the feed by the door. “Uhh, send her the report I wrote last night. Please.”

“This one?”

“The one below.”

“You pre-wrote a report?” The screen flickers, the AI making a few changes in phrasing that you can’t be bothered to comment on.

“Yeah, I just write up what I did the day before. Cuts down on time.” You adjust a wedgie, boots clattering on the hard floor. You can say this for the full-body, it doesn’t try to strangle your pelvis while dry.

“Again, I can see you,” BON-BON says dully. The report is sent, a little version of his chosen avatar running across the screen with an envelope in a repeating animation. The blue rabbit ears bounce.

You squint at it. “Put that away.”

The avatar vanishes. “Sweet nebula, can you just let me express myself?”

“You do enough of that already,” you joke, though you’re half-serious. “Are you going to act like this when the team arrives?” You hope not. People get antsy when the AI that runs the building begins arguing with you, and that typically leads to them getting trashed. And then where will you be, with no one to liaise with the bots and adjust the system settings and create food orders so you don’t have to?

Besides, he’s kind of grown on you. Like a loud, pushy, irritating fungi.

“Oh, please,” BON-BON scoffs. “I’ve gone years playing brainless, I’m not about to be tripped up now.”

“Aww. That’s so sad,” you say.

BON-BON’s pause suggests he thinks you’re mocking him. “And where are you going, anyway?” he says, switching gears. “You expanded the territory earlier. Clock off, already.”

He’s right, as he should know from yammering in your ear the entire experience. You hadn’t realised just how infuriating he could be until you had a breather keeping you from talking back. Not to mention his incessant backseat driving.

“Finishing up,” you say shortly. You bounce in place, making sure everything is secure. “That last marker isn’t going to move itself. You coming?”

“Leave it,” BON-BON says, exasperated. “Why are you always ‘on’ all the time? Don’t you ever want to relax and do normal things?”

“Like what?”

“Like-" The AI flounders momentarily. “... Sitting. And. Eating food?”

“Eating food.”

“And watching the feed. And personal grooming?”

“Personal grooming?”

“Is there an echo in here?” BON-BON snaps. “The old team was always laying around and clipping their nails, and stuff.”

“I do all that already.” You worry at the sides of a finger with your teeth.

“Hands out of your mouth!” BON-BON says sharply. “You do know that looks gross? Why do you keep doing that?”

“Itchy.” You tuck your hands behind your back.

“Is that why the skin is all lumpy?”

Rude. You fidget in place, uncomfortable. “Y’know, you say just say you don’t want to swim with me. There’s no shame in being claustrophobic.”

“I am not claustrophobic!” the AI squawks, indignant.

“Plenty of people are. It’s fine. I won’t laugh, prommy.”

“Pro-? Put the damn earpiece in.”

Snickering, you attach the earpiece and step out onto the platform. The cavern is just as yawning and empty as usual.

“You’re not wearing proper PPE,” BON-BON complains as you near the water’s edge. “I know you don’t like the full suit but there’s a limit to going native.”

Going native. Another phrase you hate. “No backseating,” you remind him, before popping in your breather and sliding into the water.

Of course, he doesn’t listen. “I don’t like this. I don’t like this,” BON-BON mutters as you squinch through a narrow tunnel, pushing yourself forward by the fingertips. Rock scrapes lightly against your skin. You haven’t needed to exfoliate in years.

The breather muffles your snicker. You don’t actually need to traverse this tunnel, there’s actually a much larger roundabout route you could have taken. But if BON-BON is going to ignore your request of no distractions, you might as well get some fun out of it. His consternation only grows when you finally eel out of the tunnel into a low, narrow cave, the rock on all sides honeycombed with various small openings.

Bioluminescent vegetation provides enough light to see by, and you’re privately ecstatic to have someone else to share this with – the tunnel is too narrow to take the sub down, so no one but you has ever seen this particular area.

BON-BON’s field of vision is attached to your helmet, so you make sure to angle your head towards everything you want him to see. There are crustaceans, fish, and a wealth of cool plants. Some of them are even carnivorous!

“Yes, yes, very nice,” he says as you point excitedly at a wonderful cluster of wafting anemone. “Now go. How you can stand to hang about this stuff is- will you stop scanning things?”

But you ignore him in favour of treating the researchers at Base. BON-BON keeps up a litany of nasal complaints in your ear as you scan a few new blooms, examine a whiskery crustacean with bulbous feelers, and poke at a pulsing, toothy flora until it farts a cloud of ink into the water.

“That was disgusting,” BON-BON says flatly as you finally decide to move along. He heaves a staticky sigh when you nod enthusiastically.

The area begins to open up, the jagged floor taking a sharp incline. Thin, wispy fronds of fine weeds pepper the rock and brush your belly until all beneath you is obscured in black vegetation. It shies away when your flashlight falls upon it.

“How do you know something isn’t under there?” BON-BON whispers, like it might hear him, and you dive into the weeds, rolling to show off the shallow depth. A number of striped, snakelike fish dart startled, but that’s about it.

“... Don’t do that again,” BON-BON says in a voice of forced calm.

You roll your eyes. There’s no pleasing this guy.

A current begins to buffet you. The fine, hair-like weeds dance and tickle your skin, tossed from side to side. The space drops open like a startled mouth to reveal a massive cavern, floor and ceiling only just in reach of your flashlight’s beam, and on the opposite side is a large cave opening.

A net shimmers across the hole like gossamer. You’re pleased to see that it’s held up perfectly. This one isn’t on your weekly list of barriers to check.

“They want you to move that?” BON-BON says lowly.

You’re not sure where the apprehension is coming from. It’s about the size of the big one you had to move yesterday, and BON-BON was there for that. This one doesn’t even have a history involving giant mermaids, unlike the other. Maybe it’s the way it appears to drop off like a black hole on the other side. Or maybe it's the fact this cavern is covered wall to wall in weeds, giving it an organic, undulating look.

The AI is once again being extremely distracting as you dismantle the net and gather the markers, muttering incessantly. His voice fades to a low drone as you consult your scanner feed, fingertip running down the shimmering screen until you ascertain the new parameters. Tens of metres farther back, there’s a circular lip that’ll work as mooring for the replacement net. The main thing is blocking off the larger cavern beyond that, as it leads to a series of giant tunnels that could let a bigger creature through.

“Turn back,” BON-BON orders suddenly as you near the rim. “You have gone past the requested expansion area.”

You ignore him. He doesn’t understand how this works.

“Hello? Can you hear me? I said to turn back.” BON-BON’s voice takes on a reedy thread of fear.

You send up an OK sign as you reach the rim, and quickly set to work. You don’t want to hang about too long with such a mass of large openings nearby. You don’t think you can pull off screaming away a giant creature the second time around.

Not to mention you recently reread the report your predecessor made for this area when he first set up the boundaries. Tales of a mystery current and deafening rumblings, and the glimpse of a giant eye staring blindly through one of the tunnels, pale pupil shivering on a dark sclera. You had initially suspected he was pulling your leg. Hah.

But the work goes easy and nothing disturbs your progress. You finish setting up the net and markers in record time, and give BON-BON another OK before swimming back the way you came.

“I prefer this room now,” he says, although he still sounds nervous. “But don’t hang about.”

He’s such a killjoy. You trail your fingers wistfully through the weeds, occasionally glancing off rock or a small, flinching body. Company wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t complaining all the time. Can’t he see how cool this place is? Maybe without a body to experience it, this just feels like a creepy first-person perspective movie.

Something large is moving up ahead. You slow in your progress and float parallel to where the ground is just starting to even out, and BON-BON utters a shrill gasp.

A long squashy body with flat, slit mouth snakes out of the gloom. You’re not worried – it’s a kind of eel you’ve long since identified as fairly docile, even if it is large and curious. Massive googly eyes bulge out from either side of its snout, giving it a perpetually startled appearance, and as it swims closer you notice that this one is yellow like a banana. Sweet, you typically only see darker ones.

With BON-BON’s frantic hissing as a backdrop, the eel pauses before approaching, cocking its head to survey you with a big rolling eyeball. It has a long, complicated name you can’t remember, but you’ve taken to calling these squash eels due to their soft, lumpy bodies. Plus you’ve seen them compress themselves to enter the tiniest of holes in a quest to snuffle out prey between the narrow rock.

You run your palms gently along its body as it investigates, pushing at you roughly with its flat snout. It opens its mouth wide to gulp oxygen through its gills, and BON-BON whimpers when you catch a glimpse into its fleshy maw. It’s so cute and soft, and you roll to drift with it, feeling smooth scales undulate along your arm.

“Don’t-" BON-BON begins urgently as you raise your camera, but you hold up a peace sign as the eel presses one side of its face against your helmet. You’re not dumb, you have the flash off.

Speaking of, the AI is really ruining your transcendental eel experience. You motion with one hand to calm down, it’s OK, and take a pic right down the creature’s mouth, open for air. It snaps playfully at the bubbles your mask produces, and you wrap your arms in a loose hug around its body as it twists up and over your head.

Tears prick at your eyes. With all the mermaid shenanigans and rumbling currents and net issues, you had kind of forgotten this side of the job. No luring, no suspected manipulations, just swimming silently with a gorgeous and dumb beast.

Now this is a good fish! Silly wide mouth, yellow, squishy, tries to eat air bubbles. It’s like an underwater puppy.

The eel stills, coils. You feel muscle bunch under your fingertips. Then, with a flurry of bubbles, it executes a smooth U-turn and swims back the way it came, smoothly disappearing into one of the many small gaps in the wall.

You watch it go, forlorn. You don’t want to turn around, even as your hand gropes for the taser. BON-BON says your name low in urgent warning.

Something tugs a braid, gently. Can you get away with acting dumb?

A current stirs at your back, the movement of something large. You turn around reluctantly.

It’s as you already expected. Moon flicks your braid one last time and releases it, and you opt to float where you are instead of checking he hasn’t stolen your hair tie again. His eyes track the fall of the braid before returning to your face, something bright entering his expression. His gills flutter.

You try to keep your posture still and relaxed. Language or no, it’s right to be wary.

Moon is smiling, tips of sharp teeth glinting, and you wonder if the expression is genuine or if it’s the same as ancient human ancestors – a signal of aggression.

Without moving to keep yourself afloat, the weight of your gear drags you down. You drift into the weeds and land on lightly-bent knees with a muffled thump. No fish dart from your presence. Moon’s approach has driven the area to desertion. Not even your helmet on full brightness and boots whirring has done that before.

He cocks his head and swims closer, slowly. In your excitement with the eel you got turned around – your back is to the large opening and Moon is blocking your way back to the facility.

“Did he follow us?” BON-BON is echoing your thoughts, thankfully at a mutter instead of hysterical shrieking. “Can you outswim him?”

The answer to that is a resounding no, but there’s no way to communicate that without tipping off Moon as well. Your muscles tense as the mermaid comes a little closer, hand extended. He taps the uppermost ridge of your breather with one long claw, making the casing ring. You flinch.

“Friend?” he says, only a little muffled, and there’s that old language again. He clicks a little in the back of his throat. “Hello, friend?”

So he can speak underwater. His voice is just as low and raspy as you remember.

“Ohhh my stars,” BON-BON says faintly, and you could really do without the peanut gallery chiming in like an ancient Victorian maiden.

Moving slowly so as to not trigger anything, you raise a hand and give a small wave. Moon’s red eyes glint, and you pull back as his hand grasps for yours, clenching on nothing but water.

He’s frustrated, you can see it in the line of his mouth and the jerk of his shoulders. Moon has sunk level to you in the weeds, and the intensity of his gaze is a little frightening. It’s like he’s trying to pin you in place with his eyes.

With a finger, he hooks the long tail of his esca and brings it round to the front. You’re squinting, tense, ready to swim screaming away the moment the thing lights up, but instead he gestures to your braid still half-floating before him.

“Same,” he says brightly, and you’re too busy marvelling at his speech to pick up on the phoney note in his voice.

Same-? You shake your head. No, no, this is hair. By the stars you wish you could talk.

Moon just nods, his halo of fins swishing. “Same,” he insists, and flicks your braid up. Then bats it, then winds it around a finger and swims back until you unwillingly move or risk being towed. Hands out for balance, you accidentally place one on his tail.

Moon smiles wide, eyes curving, and you experience the split-second realisation that this is the most genuine smile you’ve seen from him when he reaches out even as he’s tipping back. Light touches on your waist, elbows, Moon reclines and draws you up to face him as he levels out.

Holy sweet nebula, you’re swimming with the mermaid! Something in the back of your head is screaming, or perhaps that’s just BON-BON, and your heart catches in your throat as Moon cups his palms under your elbows to guide you with him.

You un-tense, if only to avoid being a dead weight. Slowly, little kicks to avoid knocking Moon’s tail, you uncurl from your stiff position and allow yourself to be pulled along. Moon twists and brings you with him as the tunnel lengthens, drawing you up face-to-face. His eyes reflect your expression, all furrowed brows and shrunken pupils, and he visibly bites back a grin. You know you look anxious right now but you can’t help it. This is so crazy, you have no idea how you’re still swimming.

Your belly brushes the jut of a curved ribcage, and you’re startled again by the warmth from him. This situation feels parallel to your swim with the eel, except with the way Moon runs a hand down the skin of your arm you think you may have taken on the role of a fascinating animal. He plucks painfully at the downy hairs before running a thumb over the irritated skin. There’s a little donk as his face makes contact with the helmet, and he eyes the shimmering barrier like it’s in his way.

He’s very close. Rule number one of interacting with sea life is no thrashing, but Moon’s hands only tighten when you try to tug out of his grip. Your positions are flipping slowly, the weeds on the floor beginning to brush your back. You don’t like that there’s so little room to manoeuvre, belly up and so very vulnerable.

Perhaps Moon senses your disquiet because he slows, one hand petting over your shoulder and down the arm. “Hush. Calm, friend.”

Okay, that’s more words. How many does he know? Can he string together a sentence or does he only know them in isolation?

The weeds are prickling your back, bending, hard rock beneath them. They frame your helmet and Moon is pushing you back, down, like they’re a bed. The wonder is steadily being overtaken by unfamiliar claustrophobia as the mermaid hovers above you, but you’re certain panicking will only make things worse. At the very least you’ve got an excellent brace for when kicking becomes necessary, though that might not prevent disembowelment.

BON-BON has been providing a steady litany of panicked muttering in your ear that’s becoming harder and harder to tune out. You gingerly tap the port of his viewfinder with your finger, signalling him to cut it out, but when Moon peers down at it curiously the AI emits a deafening shriek. Ow.

It’s eerily similar to back in the cave. Moon’s eyes are flicking over you, calculating his next move and seemingly at a loss. You can practically see it in his eyes – examine your skin? Pull your hair? Claw at-

Moon wiggles his fingers under the fabric of your swimsuit and you squeak, instinctively jack-knifing in an attempt to scramble away. A grasp on your belt abruptly halts your retreat, but Moon is grinning when he pulls you back to face him.

“No?” he says, cocking his head. “Not nice?”

“The mermaid’s a pervert,” BON-BON says with something like wonder.

But at least you’re upright again. The calm approach is fraying your nerves, and Moon watches indulgently as you try to gently peel his fingers from your belt. He tilts his head, blinking slowly when you motion for him to let go.

Okay, he’s definitely fucking with me. But the proximity gives you an idea. There’s always a silver lining, right? You tug your camera free from your belt, ignoring how Moon’s expression twists at the sight of it, and flip to the front-facing lens. The picture you take is kind of funny, a face screaming anxiety with the tail of Moon’s esca in the background. You’re too scared to get in close like you did with the eel, let alone turn your back.

Moon doesn’t react to the image on the screen, eyes flicking away bored. You scroll the tab and show him the picture of you with the eel.

“What are you doing?” BON-BON whispers, even as Moon takes the camera from your hand with a little more interest. “He’s distracted. Go.”

You glance down, a quick little movement. Moon’s hand is relaxed on your belt but you’re certain that grip could turn crushing in an instant. You’d rather wait for a better window of opportunity.

Moon is clicking the buttons, taking pictures at random one-handed. You’re going to have some weird blurry selfies in there before the memory card gets full. When he glances at you, you do your best to look calm and relaxed, and not like you were just plotting to escape.

Then Moon’s arm tenses, elbow bending behind him, and you’re dragged by the belt pressed flush against his side.

“Smile,” he rasps, and snaps a picture.

Warm scales against your shoulder, gills fluttering delicately in your periphery, and then you push yourself away with your heart hammering in your chest. Moon easily gives you your space, gazing intently at the screen of the camera. You almost want to go look yourself, only you’re not about to sacrifice the distance you’ve been struggling to achieve.

Wait. Distance? You glance down at your belt, unimpeded by an unwelcome grasp.

“Go go go go go go,” BON-BON hisses in your ear.

You don’t need to be told twice, turning and slinking back silently towards where the weeds thin. You don’t activate your boots in fear of creating a noise until you hear the rush of displaced water behind you, feel a current at your back. Instinct has you veering away before Moon can make contact. His hand grasps empty water, but with a coil of his body he adjusts position easily and shoots towards you again.

You kick off rock and spin out of the way. BON-BON is screaming in your ear like an amateur game streamer. This is the most anxiety-inducing chase you can remember ever participating in.

Moon is grinning wildly, tail lashing like a cat and stirring up sand. If you weren’t so scared, you would be entranced at his predatory yet elegant movements, the power in his coiling tail. Your back bumps gently against the opposite wall of rock, tens of tiny tunnels too small for you to fit into. Well, barring a few.

Should you?

You risk a quick glance. There’s a chance you might not even manage to get in before he catches up. Moon’s excitement sharpens, teeth glinting in the weak bioluminescence. He bunches up in a creeping motion, swaying from side to side. Playful. Slim lengths of weed flutter in the water where his claws have shorn them loose.

You’re sweating cold. Both of you are waiting for the other to make the next move. His pupils are quivering.

Then Moon pounces.

He shoots forward, cutting through the water in a diagonal weave, and you kick your boots into high gear. Belly skidding on rough rock, you barely evade his grasp and switch places, allowing the momentum to carry you headfirst into one of the opposite openings.

The scrape of rock against your helmet is deafening. You kill your boots before the drive can crush your neck and drag to a halt, body stuffed awkwardly into the jagged opening. You scrabble up further, bending weirdly to fit through the rough and uneven passage until you’re certain you’re completely inside, then fall still.

For a few seconds all is silent. The blood rushes in your head.

Then, from directly outside, Moon speaks.

“Clever.”

Chapter Text

Rock presses hard against your spine and chest, but you don’t stop crawling. You can barely breathe from the proximity, and with each movement you pray you won’t find yourself snagged inescapably on a jagged stone. What a way to go, entombed in rock and water on an alien planet, wedged so far into an unstable structure that not even the alien hunting you can get a hold of your body.

At least you won’t die alone.

“Stupid!” BON-BON is howling in your ear. “You’re so stupid! I said to go back! Didn’t I say?”

If you could speak you would be telling him to shut up so you can listen. You’re trying desperately to find a way out all the while keeping an ear on Moon’s location. Turns out some of these tunnels intersect, a handy fact you hadn’t registered until a clawed hand had swiped inches from your face out of nowhere.

The helmet is as shrunken as it can get, cradling your skull while allowing you to see. You never have it this small, and the sensation of your eyelashes brushing the surface is distracting at best. A close movement has you flinching, but it’s just a fish retreating backward into a hole too small to follow.

Wish I could do that.

You manage to wedge a hand up beside your face, painfully scraping your knuckles, and forcefully signal cut, stop, shut up with your fingers. BON-BON is too panicked to recognise your urgency, still berating you while you struggle to think.

Okay, that’s it. You fiddle with the viewfinder, fumbling around until you encounter a tiny button.

“Don’t you dare-” is the last thing BON-BON manages to get out before he’s muted.

Now there’s silence, you can actually hear Moon. He’s muffled but nearby, dragging his claws against the rock so it rings. His raspy giggles are definitely going to star in your nightmares.

“Hidey hide... hide away...”

I hate this.

At least he can’t get in, you think. You can barely crawl-swim your way through these tunnels. But that does leave the issue of escaping intact, let alone escaping at all.

Even if these tiny pathways, these cracks come out somewhere else, you still need to find your way back to the facility. Many a diver has perished trying to navigate an alternate route.

“Come out. Come out...”

You realise you’ve just been lying in place, your mind drifting away. You need to move or you’ll get cold. If you get too cold to move, then it’s all over. This was only supposed to be a short trip.

Cramming your way through narrow tunnels, pausing with your heart in your throat, you make a vague semicircle route from where you came. Faint light occasionally flickers from a cluster of bioluminescent plants, or a narrow keyhole opening to outside. The rocks are slimy.

A promising gap comes into view, but some large and fleshy organism is plastered alongside it. A glint of teeth and undulating tendrils has you deciding against that avenue.

You can’t hear Moon anymore. Has he given up? Maybe he knows where these tunnels lead and has gone to check out the exit points.

Crawling by your fingertips, you twist headfirst to enter a lower tunnel, only to encounter a dead end. Pushing yourself back up slowly, you pause with your legs above your head. Did you hear something?

Three point turn. You choose a narrow opening by a softly glowing plant, and this one leads down further. The bottom is worn, perhaps by a number of eels. Or something larger. It should be a relief to find wider pathways, only that just makes them Moon-accessible.

Another noise, but it could just be you. Your scanner rattles against the rock, and you squeeze your eyes closed in fear before continuing on. The tunnel you’re in is bigger than expected. Breathing comes easier as you navigate the ragged structure. A red light washes over your arm and you flinch and look up at the opening it came from, nothing more than an intersecting hole. But Moon’s esca emits white light. There may be other predators frequenting these small tunnels, all the more reason for you to get out.

If your sense of direction is correct, you should be approaching the rock face again. In accordance to your expectations, the tunnel begins to narrow and twist. You hope you’ll be able to fit through the opening out.

There’s still no sound from Moon, and your heart leaps, stuttering painfully behind your ribcage. Maybe he really has given up? He has before, several times. He appears to favour swift strikes over drawn-out hunting. Another thing to add to his document, if you make it out alive.

Pale light filters through, bubbles from the weeds. Your tunnel is levelling out like the organic hollow of a trunk. It looks like you’ll be able to leave the wall this way after all.

Something snags. You pause and turn, lifting an arm to get a better look. It’s too dark to see past your hip.

Red light blazes from behind you, accompanied by a tight grip around one leg. “Caught you.”

You’re pulled painfully backwards, softened nails scraping uselessly against the rock. Twisting and kicking, you manage to roll over, but Moon is crawling his way up your body like something out of a horror flick, laughing with a maw of jagged teeth. His eyes are red, blazing with light even as his esca remains blank, and the weight of him pins your arms to your chest as you raise them defensively.

His raspy chuckles shudder against your breastbone, your arms. Worming your hand down to your belt only has it crushed between scale and rock, and Moon raises something aloft, still laughing.

“Smile,” he sings, his low voice cracking, and snaps a picture of you.

While you’re still reeling from the confusion of that, the red light fades, softens, until his eyes are just gently glowing crescents. Moon bends, still laughing to himself, and sharp teeth find your shoulder in a slow, deliberate bite.

You scream like an animal, and Moon jerks back in surprise. He holds you still as you scramble to get away, almost sobbing, and only when you’ve tired yourself out from the initial burst of terror do you realise he’s speaking again.

“Hush. Hush, calm. Be still.” Of all things, he looks alarmed like he didn’t just try to take a chunk out of you. A ribbon of blood drifts up from your punctured skin, and his eyes tighten as they briefly track the movement.

Be still? How can you be still when he’s trying to eat you? You blink teary eyes at him. It feels like your breather can’t keep up with your gasping.

Moon’s mouth twists. He isn’t laughing anymore. “Playing. Playing, friend. Hide and seek?"

You’re about three seconds away from whimpering like a child. What the fuck is hide and seek?

Moon averts his eyes, narrowing them to thoughtful slits. Then he bends again toward your shoulder. A high, thin noise rises from the back of your throat as his mouth brushes your skin, every muscle in your spine straining away, but he just presses his teeth down in a gentle nip.

“I win,” he says quietly. “Caught you.”

Caught you. This is, is, a punishment game? You get caught, you get bit? And hide and seek, your translation is shoddy, but now you’re calming down the name is explanatory. It must be a game. You’ve never heard of it before.

Moon raises his head and studies your face. You nod frantically, but you can’t wipe the terror from your expression.

“Playing, friend.”

You swallow hard around your breather. If this is a game, why won’t he let you go?

Moon takes your hand from where it’s still scrabbling to grasp the taser, pressing it down beside your head with little effort. “Careful.”

Okay. Okay okay okay. If he’s just playing, then everything is fine, right? I just overreacted. Panicked. Blame it on BON-BON’s influence.

Muscle by muscle, you do your best to relax. Moon relaxes in turn, settling heavily on top of you. If it weren’t for the sheer heat he emanates you would be in real trouble, lying still in these waters.

His mouth is curling up at the corners. There’s a kind of mischievous wickedness in his face, but when he next speaks his voice is apologetic. “Frightened?”

You stare in disbelief, and the reluctant smile widens. Like he doesn’t know you were seconds away from shitting yourself? Come on.

He laughs when you push against him with your trapped hand, and you fear a return to his violent attitude. Then you register he is rising, responding to your plea for space, opening up water between you.

A finger tugs around one of your braids, the tail end trapped beneath you. “Come,” he says, and eases back the way he came. The faint light of his eyes dims to a pinkish shimmer and vanishes.

You wait a beat before scrambling at the opening behind you, jagged rock catching your arms and sides. It’s just wide enough to squeeze through, and you slither out of the holey rock wall like you’ve just been birthed. Wasting no time, you shoot for the exit tunnel, clearing it before Moon can even make his own way from the tiny passages.

The journey back to the facility is much the same, pushing your boots as far as they will go, anticipating an arresting grip on your leg the entire way. Your arms flail in a very unprofessional manner, as though a frantic breaststroke can even compete. Heart in your throat, beating a thrumming tattoo, but even now you’re beginning to feel bad. Moon surely was acting violently, but he genuinely seemed to think you were both playing a game.

Perhaps a mermaid’s version of fun is just too rough for you to handle.

You heave yourself onto the platform with a cry of relief, flopping onto the grating with your limbs akimbo. Rolling onto your side, you take a few seconds to breathe.

Moon surfaces directly beside you, watching with narrowed eyes as you shriek and scramble away.

“Boo,” he says softly, placing the camera down directly in front of you. “No fun.”

Then he’s gone, sinking back under the surface with barely a ripple.

Your arms and legs are shaking. There’s a taste of metal in your mouth.

What.

“-THE FUCKING EARPIECE ON!” screams BON-BON as you enter the chamber.

You flinch at the noise, swaying on your feet as the door slides shut behind you. Spitting out the breather, you croak, “What?”

“What? WHAT?! You turned me off, stupid!”

Ah, right. Technically you only turned the earpiece off, but you get why he would be pissed. “You were being too loud,” you protest, your voice rough from your own screaming session. A staffbot hovering in the doorway hands you a bottle of water from the nearby cooler.

“You were being HUNTED!” the AI bellows. “What’s the point of using an earpiece if you’re not going to listen?”

What was the point of having you there at all?

You take a long, slow swig before you say something you might regret. The water is blessedly cool on your stressed throat. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t just turn me off!” BON-BON rages. “We agreed, didn’t we? I don’t drive the sub, you bring me along? That was the plan?”

It wasn’t conditional. “I’m sorry.”

“And then I just had to sit here and watch while- what? What did you say?”

You swallow some more water. “I’m sorry for muting you, BON-BON.”

“I- you’re-” The AI splutters, at a loss. “You’re sorry?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Oh.” BON-BON misses a beat. “Well. That’s okay.”

You don’t say it is?? but it’s a close thing. Where did all his fire go?

He isn’t done yet, as evidenced by the minute flickering of his screen. “And... I’m sorry. As well. You said you didn’t want to be distracted.”

That’s unexpected.

“We’ll work something out,” you say tiredly. “Let me just go and lie down for a bit. I feel like crap.” Or medical. Being bitten by a mermaid probably carries bacterial consequences.

“Wait.” The AI’s voice arrests you before you can even step into the corridor. “You might not be able to do that just yet. Actually.”

“What? Lie down?” Exasperation is rising, but you don’t have the energy to fuel it. “I’ll go to medical first, okay?”

“No, not that.”

You close your eyes. “If this is because I’ve missed your optimal dinner time-”

“Something came up,” BON-BON says uneasily. “While I was, ah, muted. You remember that surprise Cora mentioned?”

Footsteps ring in the corridor and you straighten with lurch, hand going automatically to your taser. The staffbots all have wheels.

“Hello?” a semi-familiar voice says, and a young woman steps into view, coming up short at the sight of you.

It’s your favourite person, BON-BON flashes on the exit chamber’s feed, and then it goes black.

Chapter Text

The tour with Vanessa is uncomfortable, and not just because showing someone around their new living space in a swimsuit is kind of weird, actually.

The clomping of your boots sounds deafening in the silence. Vanessa is very deliberately avoiding eye contact, and not solely due to your state of undress. Turns out you scratched yourself up pretty badly in your mad game of chase with Moon, and all the water is making you look a lot more bloody than you actually are. But if she’s not mentioning it, you won’t either. Your few tentative suggestions to resume the tour later were brusquely shot down anyway. A staffbot whirrs in your wake, dutifully mopping.

You’re careful not to splat Vanessa with your wet braids when you pause at a doorway and gesture inside. “And this is the dining room,” you say, trying to sound bright and chipper. Exhaustion renders your voice wobbly.

Vanessa peers in with a dubious frown. “Is that safe?”

“The rock? Absolutely. See how it’s fused to the wall?”

“Hmm.” She scribbles something down on her holoscreen, but she’s set the back to opaque so you can’t see what she’s doing. “What are the set mealtimes?”

“No set mealtimes. I mean, unless the team leader decides there should be. But it’s not mandatory.” Vanessa seems the type to micromanage schedules down to mealtimes from what you’ve witnessed. That is, if she is the team leader, which you’re still unclear about.

“And who prepares the meals? Do the staffbots?”

“If you want, but you can also make your own meals and menus. The kitchen’s in the corner there, and there’s a mini one in the main room.”

“A kitchenette,” Vanessa corrects.

You smile thinly. “Sure.”

“Who decides and places the food orders?” Vanessa consults her feed. “Is there foodstuff monitoring in place? Are the delivery people permitted to enter the facility, and is there a set day to send out orders? Also, what’s the allowance on food variety in the case of rare ingredients?”

The entire tour has been like this. You have answered enough questions about the processes of the facility that you’re about ready to lie face down on the floor and weep. But Vanessa either doesn’t notice or ignores you swaying on your feet and continues with her questions. You trudge on.

“This is the main room,” you say. You glance uneasily at BON-BON’s dark interface. It would be just your luck that he decides to act out with such an unamused audience.

Vanessa twists her mouth to the side. “What’s the estimated budget and frequency of furniture replacements?”

You stare at her balefully. You like the main room sofas. “No budget. It’s wear and tear, so Base will replace per item if damage occurs.”

She wrinkles her nose as she writes that one down. “Is there passive monitoring in the shared spaces?”

You suffer a split-second hesitation. “Not that I’m aware of,” is what you settle on. Everyone is assured reasonable privacy when they arrive, but you have never truly believed it. This state-of-the-art facility was built at too great an expense to be left to the complete mercy of strangers.

Vanessa squints at you, a dubious tilt to her mouth, then scribbles on her holoscreen.

You take the opportunity for examination while she’s looking for more things to question. From her voice and manner over the feed, you hadn’t expected her to have such delicate features. Her hair is shiny and golden, eyes a startling green, but there are dark shadows underneath them. She has the look of someone with chronic exhaustion. Cora did say she had been ill recently.

You muster up some energy from your dwindling reserves. “Would you like a drink?” you say, wandering towards the mini kitchen. Or ‘kitchenette.’ “It’s always such a trek to get here. I bet you’re tired.”

“No thanks,” she says shortly, not even looking at you. “I had something on the way over.”

Well, you want a drink. You busy yourself by the sink, wondering if you should throw a shirt on or continue this facade of not acknowledging your appearance. But ugh, clothes on wet skin. “Nice. Did you have a good journey? I hope the barrier toll didn’t give you too much trouble.”

“It was fine.” She walks over to the window and peers at the dark waters outside.

“Oh, good. Good. By the way, have you met BON-BON yet? He’s the facility’s AI-”

“We met,” she interrupts. “BON-BON greeted me when I first arrived. He said you were... indisposed.” For the first time, you catch her sneak a glance at you.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you say, and you genuinely are. In a way the facility is your home, and you don’t like to have people walk into an uncomfortable or careless atmosphere. “I ran into a spot of trouble while expanding the last of the territory.”

“I can see that.” Vanessa’s eyes flick to your shoulder.

You stifle to urge to cover Moon’s bite mark with your palm. “Ahah, yeah. Some creatures get curious. I guess when you don’t have hands you investigate with your teeth.” Although Moon lacks that excuse.

The nervous titter you give trails off into an awkward silence. Vanessa flicks her eyes to the side, like she was about to roll them but thought better of it.

You lick your lips. “Uhm. Anyway. I wasn’t informed you were coming today, so I didn’t know to look out for you,” you continue apologetically. “Usually I’m waiting to give a tour, not in my swimsuit.”

The corner of Vanessa’s mouth twitches. “I did think it was an odd choice.”

Emboldened by that hint of good humour, you say, “Not that it’s your fault, of course. Cora did say-”

“Actually, it is.” Vanessa raises her chin challengingly. “I asked Cora to keep it a surprise. I wanted to see what the facility looked like without preparation.”

Your mouth hangs open for a second. “... Oh. Um. Well, that’s fine.” You fidget with the mug in your hands. “Do you like it?”

Vanessa’s eyes drift to your hands. “I said I didn’t want a drink.”

Well good thing isn’t for you then, is it?

You’d take a sip if you didn’t think Vanessa would read it as a passive-aggressive correction. “I heard you,” you say quietly.

Vanessa wanders over to the interface and surveys the blank screen. Usually this would have BON-BON jumping to interact without prompting, but he’s staying conspicuously silent. “Cora told me preparations for expanding the territory would be complete before the end of the past cycle,” she says in a faux careless tone. “Cutting it a bit close, don’t you think?”

Your fingers tighten around the mug before you force them to relax. “A cycle is different from general time,” you say patiently. It’s not the first time you’ve had to explain this. “Days on this planet are a little longer than Earth-series or Foundation standards, and the cycles effect the tides and the local wildlife even if they’re underground. Cora was probably using the metrics I gave her.”

I’m actually ahead of schedule, you don’t say.

“That sounds needlessly complicated,” Vanessa frowns, turning back to you. “Why not measure in general time and cut out the middle man? Don’t you think that’s smarter for everyone involved?”

Okay, you’re getting sick of pretending she’s not being sneakily rude to you, even if it’s mostly through tone. Also, it’s good to know your meticulous reports are apparently going unread.

“I did,” you say mildly. “I include a key of several time zones and project period estimations on all of my reports.” Then you take a slow sip of your drink. Behind Vanessa the interface flickers. You pray BON-BON isn’t about to butt in.

Vanessa is chewing the inside of her lip, looking at you through narrowed eyes. You smile and gesture toward the doorway. “Do you want to come and pick a room?” People usually like that part.

“Pick a room?” Vanessa says, following you. “They’re not pre-assigned?”

“No, you can choose,” you say. “It’s first come first served, though team leader gets veto power. All the orders that came through had room numbers assigned to the recipients, but that’s just to make it easy to keep everyone’s stuff together.”

You lean against the wall and guzzle your drink as Vanessa investigates the living quarters, answering about three billion questions about lighting options, security, and window thickness. You’d think she’s preparing for a quiz.

“What about that?” Vanessa says, nodding past you.

“Oh... that’s my room,” you say, a little uneasy. You hope she isn’t about to turf you out of it. None of the other team leaders have been so dickish.

But other than a long, curious look at the door, Vanessa doesn’t broach the subject. Instead she picks a smaller room down the corridor, unfortunately the closest to yours. It’s not even the largest or most aesthetic of the bunch, which kind of improves your unfavourable impression of her. Maybe her tastes are modest.

You corral a bunch of staffbots to help you both load Vanessa’s luggage into her room, and give one last stab at friendship before clocking off for the day. “By the way, I heard from Cora that you fell ill recently,” you say sympathetically. “I hope you’re feeling better.”

“What?” Vanessa straightens from where she was bending over a suitcase. “Cora told you that?”

You hesitate, wrong-footed. Oh no, did you just drop Cora in it? “Yyyy...es?” you say reluctantly.

“That is completely unprofessional,” Vanessa fumes. There are two bright spots of colour on her cheeks. “I can’t believe- wait. Did she say Chica told her about it?”

You don’t know who Chica is. “I don’t know who told Cora. Listen, I’m sorry if-”

“Thanks for your help today,” Vanessa says brusquely, stepping forward so as to drive you out of the room. “I can take it from here.”

The door slides shut in your face. You stare at the blank surface, stunned.

The feed outside your room flickers to life. “Told you she’d be a bitch,” BON-BON whispers.

In the early hours of the morning, you’re awoken by a ping at your bedroom door feed. Unwinding a messy braid from around your neck, you stagger across the room and open the door, squinting blearily in the hallway’s night lighting.

“Can you keep it down?” Vanessa says, sounding far too awake for this hour. Her eyes are bright but rimmed by dark circles, appearing almost feverish.

“Whagh?” you say around a yawn.

“I can hear you speaking from my room,” she says, a thread of irritation sharpening her voice.

“Oh... sorry,” you say, squinting in confusion. Sleep talking is a crime you have never been accused of before.

She returns to her room without another word, leaving you standing alone and wrong-footed.

Vanessa doesn’t resurface until late the next day, by which time you have already showered, breakfasted, and visited medical to make sure none of your scratches have become infected. Aside from a tiny bacterial cluster in your shoulder that the medical bot immediately nukes, you’re fine, but you’ll be full-suiting it for a while. The bandages over your various injuries feel itchy and stiff.

BON-BON already wrote and sent off a report of yesterday’s events posing as you, which you would feel touched by if he wasn’t keeping you from reading it. Probably because he's insulted you a fair bunch in the incident write-up. It’s too late to do anything about it now, but at the very least you want to see it.

Both of you fall silent when Vanessa enters the room, the AI even going so far as to switch off his interface. Coward.

You wait until Vanessa has shuffled her way over to the kitchenette and has a mug of some dark, fragrant liquid in her hand before you pipe up. “Morning,” you say softly.

For a moment you think she’s going to ignore you, until she buries her face in the steam and mutters, “G’morning.”

She’s jetlagged. You busy yourself with doodling on your holoscreen, only speaking up once she’s heading for the door, looking marginally more alert. “By the way...”

Vanessa pauses, squaring her shoulders, then slowly turns with a stiff smile. “Yes?”

“I was thinking a tour of the outside territory should wait until the rest of the team arrives.” You pause briefly in case of protest. “Also, I’d like to show you how to access the water boundary.”

“That’s the door you came through yesterday? I already know about that.”

“Right.” You hesitate. “Fair warning though, please avoid going outside without a defensive tool and a breather. It’s recently come to my attention that some of the wildlife can alight the platform.”

That brings her up short, alert stare cutting through the tiredness on her face. “What? You’re saying the platform isn’t safe?”

You automatically bristle at the note of accusation in her voice, and kick back at your urge to immediately deny. “... Yes,” you say. You can’t help the disbelief in your tone. “Of course it isn’t safe. We’re on an unexplored aquatic planet.” For all you both know, the fish can also fly.

Vanessa appears to reel at that revelation, fingers tightening around her mug. “... Noted,” she says, voice strangled, and leaves the room.

You wait until her footsteps fade before you speak again. “Am I out of pocket?” you say, turning back as BON-BON’s interface reconnects. “Something’s not right here.”

“No, you’re fine.” There’s a frown in his voice.

“I thought this was supposed to be an experienced team.” It feels like she doesn’t know the slightest thing about how this works. Especially with all the questions. The fact that the vast majority of them centre around access and security concerns makes you feel skeevy.

“It is.” But BON-BON is flicking through the Glamrock docket to double check. “Yep. Multiple successful residencies. Got some aquatic ones too.”

“Hmm.” You go back to your holoscreen. “How was she with you?”

A coy note enters the AI’s voice. “Nicer than you.”

“Really.”

Vanessa’s voice filters from the feed, thoughtfully clipped and enhanced. “It’s nice to meet you, BON-BON. Do you feel comfortable here, BON-BON? I have some coding experience myself – just let me know if you ever need any help. Do they treat you kindly here?”

You stare at him. It’s impossible to imagine this defensive, brusque stranger acting in such a way. “I... wow. So she’s a bleeding heart?”

“Not just her.” BON-BON takes on a conferring tone. “Apparently I can run crying to this new team if I have any problems.”

“The team that isn’t here. That’s helpful,” you say, raising a brow. “What did you say?”

“As an AI, I am incapable of perceiving comfort or discomfort!” BON-BON says with artificial cheer. “I am used optimally for my intended purpose, and everything is running smoothly.” He drops back into his usual tone. “She asked me to show her around. I told her I’m constrained to this interface.”

“Okay.” As it should be.

“I don’t like it,” the AI declares. “None of the others were this weird.” There’s a thread of discomfort running through his voice.

“Aw,” you say, not without a little mockery. “You don’t know how to handle it when someone is nice to you.”

“Shut up. I’m traumatised from your bullying.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, please. If anything, you bully me.”

“That’s not what it’ll say on the incident report!” the AI chirps.

You suppose you’re overdue a bit of return blackmail. “Why don’t you like it?” you say. “It’s not so unusual for some people to prefer AI over organic colleagues.” There’s even a subgenre of romance dramas about it, but you can forgive this sheltered program’s ignorance of that.

BON-BON hesitates. “I’ve... been careless lately,” he mutters.

“Doing what?” The AI doesn’t respond. “BON-BON, doing what?”

“Nose out,” he snaps. “Anyway, you shouldn’t have warned her about the platform. Moon could come in handy, for once.”

“We’re not siccing the mermaid on Vanessa,” you say. You wish this was the first time he brought up the topic. “Don’t you think it’s kind of nice she isn’t dismissive of you?”

“I don’t need to be babied,” BON-BON says, with deep affront. “You didn’t say anything to her, did you?” The ‘about me’ goes unspoken as his voice gives a nervous waver.

“No, of course not.” You’re genuinely offended. What does he think you are, some kind of snitch?

“Hmm.” BON-BON is silent for a moment before changing tacks. “By the way, she asked me about you.”

“Really?” Now you’re genuinely uncomfortable. “What did she say? No, wait. Don’t tell me.” You know what they say about eavesdroppers.

“Doesn’t matter anyway,” BON-BON says briskly. “I didn’t tell her anything. And you do the same if anyone asks about me. Got it?”

“Of course,” you say, taken aback. “How else am I supposed to get tech from you if I give away all my material?”

“Shut up.”

Getting used to having company is a process.

For one, you can’t just wander around in either of your swimsuits. Going straight from the platform to your room is a no-no, even with a staffbot dutifully standing by to mop up your water trail.

Vanessa spends most of her time sequestered in the meeting room liasing with her team, or vaguely wandering the corridors with her holoscreen in hand. Your tentative questions about the team and their work are flatly shot down whenever she emerges for food, but you at least learn that she’s not the team leader – just the liaison and coding expert. The former makes sense for a travelling team tackling aquatic exploration and research; the latter not so much.

You’re no stranger to working with difficult people, and you know the way forward is to remain civil and cover your back. Vanessa’s particular brand of challenging personality is stressful, but nothing you can’t handle.

You’ve fulfilled all of your weekly duties during the mad rush to expand the facility territory, and until the new parts come in for that submerged sub dock you’re at a loss of what to do. It would be the perfect time to rest and heal from your latest Moon encounter if you didn’t feel so judged doing so.

It feels like every time you settle down in front of the feed or curl up with a book, Vanessa appears seconds later to give you a disparaging look. She only had to comment once or twice about all the ‘breaks’ you appear to be taking before you started hiding in the lab.

“Just tell her there’s a surprise on the platform,” BON-BON cajoles from the feed by the door. The audio has always been wonky on that one, so his voice comes out a little muffled.

“We’re not feeding Vanessa to Moon,” you say, monotone. “Now shush, please. I need to concentrate.”

“What are you even doing over there?” There’s a pause. “Are you... fixing your boots?”

“Upgrading,” you say, and then the sound of your electric screwdriver drowns out all noise.

BON-BON waits until you’re finished to speak again. “I didn’t know you knew how to do that.”

You hum. “It’s an intuitive design.”

“You learned that in... where did you study? The Rim?”

“No,” you say, brushing aside plastic shavings. “Well, yes, but I didn’t learn this at the Rim. We did our own repairs back home. Isolated community, you know how it is.”

“You never talk about your home.”

“You never ask me about it.” You pull off your safety goggles and set aside the mask. “Look. I added a new turbine in the inner sole, and tightened the gears.” You pause expectantly, but BON-BON doesn’t say anything. “That means I can go faster.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to outrun Moon now? Outswim,” he corrects himself before you can.

You look down at the boots, lowering them slowly. “... No.”

“Make a net gun,” the AI suggests hastily. “Or actually go through with tasing the thing. A small shock is better than getting tossed about.”

“A net gun? What do you think I’m capable of?” You set the boots down and set to work cleaning the area. “Hello? BON-BON?”

“I thought BON-BON can only interface from the main room,” Vanessa says from the doorway, and you jolt your knee painfully against the work bench. The notion of belling her crosses your mind.

“Ugh-!” You bend over, clutching the joint. “Yeah. I was just, uh, seeing if I could try and access him with my feed. Ow.”

“Do you know how to code?” She takes a few steps into the room, eyes skating over your work.

“Barely. I was just messing about, it’s probably nothing that’ll work.” You turn and swiftly tidy away a few other projects, shoving them into your assigned locker before Vanessa can talk disparagingly of them. Or ask you a few thousand questions.

She hums in agreement. “It would be a simple thing,” she says mildly. “I could probably do it, if I knew where his server core was.”

You send her a suspicious glance from under your hair. Is she trying to entrap you? “But illegal,” you say, in the tone of someone stating the obvious.

“Well, I didn’t say I was going to do it,” Vanessa snaps.

Taking a steadying breath, you shove your boots under your arm. “Of course,” you say mildly. “Sorry if it sounded like I was trying to accuse you, that wasn’t my intention. The lab’s all yours.”

Vanessa crosses her arms, then drops them immediately. “Actually, I came here to speak to you.”

“Sure, speak away,” you say, heading for the door. “Let’s walk and talk.”

“Do you have a rest period that I’m unaware of?” She gets right into it, trailing behind you like a temptingly crushable duckling. “I can’t find anything on the shared calendar.”

“I don’t have any downtime booked.” You reach the corridor by the access chamber to the platform and open a wall cubby, stowing your boots inside.

“Then I don’t understand why I have yet to see you work in the entire time I’ve been here. My team wants progress updates, but I don’t have anything to report for you.” Her tone is forceful but her eyes look just as dull and tired as when she first arrived.

The ‘entire time’, please. You only arrived a few days ago.

You close the cubby a smidgen harder than necessary. “I was injured while extending the last of the territory markers.” Which you well know about. “I’m actually ahead of schedule, so until the parts for the submarine dock arrive I don’t have much to do. Did you read the last few week’s reports?”

“... I did.” Her tone is guarded.

You attempt a smile to take the sting out of your words. “That’s all in there. I actually submitted an incident report the same night I was injured. Feel free to forward the relevant documents to your team.”

Your bland tone discomfits her. “You don’t seem injured.”

“I thought you saw them the night you arrived.” You’re surprised. “The scratches and bite marks?”

“That was-?” Vanessa catches herself. “I see.”

“I’m on rest unless something crucial to the facility comes up. Does something need attention?”

“No, not right now,” she says quietly. “I- uh...”

You wait patiently, and when Vanessa only stares at you, you smile. “Do you fancy some food? I’ve got some leftover fried fish. Still crispy.”

“No, thank you,” Vanessa mutters, and walks away.

You don’t pull a face, even though you really want to. Weirdo.

The next time you take a meal, you make sure to bring one of your ancient English textbooks along instead of reading it through your holoscreen. At least it looks like you’re ‘doing something.’

You’re getting ready for bed when a knock at the door makes you startle. For a few seconds you debate ignoring it, staring bleary-eyed at the moisturising gloves in your hand. The rooms are soundproof, your door sealed. Vanessa won’t see gaps of light around the frame.

Then it comes again. Knock knock.

Oh, what does she want now?

Huffing, you drag your feet to the door. The bed is all fresh and comfy with the blankets pulled back – you don’t want to abandon it.

But when the door slides ajar, no one is there.

You glance up and down the corridor. The lights are in rest mode, dim and orangey, but the featureless walls provide a clear line of sight until the passage curves. Puzzled, you return to your room and put on the gloves. They squelch cold initially, but then the heat activates and the moisture works its magic, soothing your itchy skin.

Knock knock knock.

This time you immediately open the door. Still empty. Irritated, you say, “BON-BON?”

A few seconds pass before the feed outside the door activates. “What?” the AI says, voice muddled in confusion.

“Are you messing with me right now?”

“What? I’m not doing anything!”

“Hmm.” You spare him a squint before popping your head back in your room. “If you are, knock it off.”

“Get sectioned,” he says, before the door slides closed.

You stand in place for a minute, maybe two. No more knocks come.

Slowly, you make your way into bed, pausing every now and again with your head cocked. Finally you turn the lights off and sink under the blankets, snuggling down. Sleep begins to weigh down your eyelids.

Knock knock knock.

Wait. The room is soundproof.

Your eyes open, but you remain frozen in place. That didn’t come from the door. You peek over your shoulder at the window and the dark expanse of water beyond. There’s the faintest stirring of movement out there.

Your heart is in your mouth as you glimpse a red glow coming closer and closer, until it’s just opposite your face. A large hand presses against the glass, all webbing and spidery fingers tapered to a point.

Moon has found his way into the little cave, you see.

He stares unblinkingly at you. You stare back.

Long claws tap lightly at the glass, his fingertips settling delicately on the surface. Inches from your face, separated by a thick pane. He’s so close you wish you could turn on the lights to see him clearly in a safe environment, but you know from experience that light will only turn the window opaque.

Moon tilts his head. Pale, barely-there pupils drag from your face and flit about the room curiously. He braces his palms and drifts up, peering over the bed.

Your heart rate is beginning to slow as your sleepy brain accepts that he can’t get you from there. Still, you sit up slowly to avoid sudden, violence-inducing movements, all the while adjusting your theory that Moon is the source of the light you glimpsed outside your room those weeks ago. He’s too curious, the fascination clear to see. And you’re pretty sure the red of his eyes can’t imitate the fiery glow of the sun.

Or a banked eclipse.

Hm. Come to think of it, you’re unsure of where that barred-off hole under your window leads, other than big scary space. If that light was the result of Eclipse passing by, then it’s likely no one was creeping on you, and you installed curtains for nothing.

Well, until now.

Turning back, you stifle a jerk at seeing Moon immediately before you again. His eyes are intent, red glow bathing his alien features as he squints, and then it fades until his eyes look black. Ahh, he’s having trouble seeing with the light bouncing off the glass.

Tap tap tap. He clicks the narrow point of a claw against the surface, directly beside your head. His flattish face is close enough that you can see how the curve of his sharp teeth slightly parts his mouth, shimmering scales like freckles around his eyes. With his colour scheme you’d think he runs cold like the water-cooled glass against your forehead, but you know from experience that he emits heat like a supernova...

A sharp knock has you snapping awake again. Moon’s face is amused, eyes half-lidded. You’ve begun to fall asleep against the glass face-to-face with him. His gills flutter as you draw back, yawning, but his excitement is short-winded when you just slump back into your pillows, lids drooping.

He’s mouthing something, hand pressed insistently against the glass. You lay yours over it. It’s so much smaller. Spreading your fingers makes his webbing look like it could be yours. Your chest gives a sharp pang of loss, and your fingers scrunch. With such a wide and unfamiliar mouth, you can’t quite decipher what Moon is saying.

He's strong. The wiriness of his arms is misleading – recalling the force with which he’s moved you about before is frighteningly easy. You remember the way he laughed as he chased you, an initial painful bite becoming a light nip the second time around. He hurt you with his grip before, but was able to swim gently alongside you in a carpet of weeds.

So, he’s intelligent and capable of learning from past actions. He can read your reactions, though perhaps not as well as he should. And he’s made it clear through what little language he knows, through friend and playing that his motives aren’t malicious.

Once when you were a child, you and some friends got your hands on a seabound cub, following its mewling and lifting it straight out of the nest. It puffed up and hissed. It was so cute you wanted to stick your finger in its frightened mouth, squish its paw pads gently between your finger and thumb. You had stroked its ears and examined its plush fur, and the childish rough handling surely hurt and exacerbated its terror. An adult came by while your friends were playing release and catch, and the berating you all received is still fresh in your memory. They made you put it back, and gave you a sound lesson on not terrorising the wildlife. That day you learned what hissing and posturing means on an animal, how to identify fear on a face unlike your own.

You wonder if Moon ever received such a lesson.

Playing, friend. He says, as you pant terrified beneath him, shoulder punctured from what you suspect was nothing more than a playful bite.

Hm, you think. What we have here is a failure to communicate.

You sit upright, causing Moon to jump from where he relaxes against the glass. His shadow moves as you snatch up your textbook on ancient English, rapping your knuckles thoughtfully against the cover.

Moon lowers his raised claw from the window as you lean close. You can barely see his face, but his eyes narrow, unsure.

Knock knock. You tap the glass with a finger, though the impact is muffled by your gloves, and then beckon slowly. He should know what it means – he’s used the motion before.

Moon’s eyes widen. Yeah, he knows.

You point in the direction of the platform, beckoning one more time for emphasis. Then you roll from your bed and leave the room with the textbook.

The corridors are pleasantly cool and dark, night lighting present, but the exit chamber to the platform automatically brightens when you enter. Squinting, you grab your breather and the taser from your cubby and step out the door.

The waters are dark and still. The facility lights are as dim as ever. This space is unaffected by weather or the time of night.

Then a small splash marrs the surface. Moon appears by the platform’s edge, rising only until his eyes are visible and no further. What little expression you can make out is wary.

It’s odd to see him look reserved. He’s acted fairly confident since his ordeal in the cave, and even then his fear took the form of vicious snarling. But now you’ve initiated contact the tables have turned, or at the very least tilted.

“Hello,” you say in ancient English, starting off with a word he knows.

Moon blinks slowly at you. One hand grasps the platform’s edge.

“Do you understand me?” you try. The unfamiliar language falls clumsily from your lips, but you think you got it right. You have been brushing up on your pronunciation.

Moon blows bubbles under the surface, a claw tapping slowly on the metal of the platform. His eyes cast to the side.

Then he rises until his mouth is just above water and says, “Friend.”

Friend. Play. Hush. Frightened. The same words over and over, but he generally uses them in the correct context. The way he grasps language isn’t the same as other early learners you’ve met. Who taught him this?

“Not quite,” you say, stepping a little closer. His eyes brighten.

“Come,” he rasps in his low voice, beckoning with a finger. “Come here.”

I sense a trap.

“My name isn’t friend,” you say, taking another step forward. Moon’s shoulders hitch and you decide that’s close enough, sinking down opposite him. There’s a good few metres between you. You tell him your name, gesturing to yourself.

“Friend,” Moon says.

Well, I call him Moon, you think ruefully. Actually, there’s a thought.

You extend a finger to point at him. “Moon,” you say, a smile lifting your lips.

Moon pulls a face, shaking his head. “No,” he says immediately, before catching himself. He gestures to his chest like you did, and executes a short series of chirps and clicks, clicnclikclclick.

You close your open mouth. “... I don’t think I can do that,” you mutter, but you give it a go.

Moon laughs, low and wide, and you shiver at the glint of sharp teeth. “No. Silly.”

“Well, at least I tried,” you mutter. You repeat your name once more, pointing to yourself.

Moon blows bubbles in the water, holding eye contact.

He’s being stubborn. He knows what you’re trying to teach him, because he did it too. Well, two can play at that game.

“Moon,” you say with a decisive nod, and look back to your book, ignoring the agitated splashing.

“No,” Moon says, rising little further. He rests a hand on the platform, claws curling under to scrape the metal. “Come. Come here.”

“Maybe later. You’re being a bit of a brat, y’know.” You’re wracking your brains trying to remember how you went about deciphering the myriad of languages surrounding you at the Rim. How do you go about teaching?

Well, point and identify is pretty reliable.

You point at yourself and say your name, ignoring Moon’s attempted correction. Then you point at Moon and attempt his clicky name again.

“No,” the mermaid says, smiling. “Wrong-”

“Water” you say, pointing at the dark surface. It’s choppy from Moon’s agitated movements. Then you point at the nearest wall. “Rock.”

Moon has fallen silent, staring at you attentively.

“Fish. Book.” You point at the platform, but hesitate. Platform, or metal? And what are the words in English again?

So you point at the water again and stare at Moon expectantly. He blinks lazily, water lapping at his shoulders.

You go again, this time slowing the pace. “Water. Rock. Fish. Book.” You point at the water again, staring him down.

Moon folds his arms on the platform’s edge and rests his cheek in the cradle. The movement raises hairs on your body, but you stay where you’re sat, pointing.

“Moon?” you prompt.

One eye squints. “Not Moon.” Then he heaves a sigh, rolls his eyes, and drawls, “Water.”

It worked. You cover the grin spreading across your face with a gloved palm. “Yes,” you say, voice brimming with glee. “Yes, exactly. Well done!”

“Ugh.” Moon looks away, the tail of his esca draping the side of his face.

“No, you did good,” you encourage, even though he can’t understand. You hope your tone is enough of an indicator. “Um, let’s see...” You point at the book, holding it up for a better demonstration.

Moon sighs, knocks his forehead gently on his folded arms. “... Book,” he says reluctantly. “Come here.”

You bounce a little where you sit, unable to help the excitement. “No. I mean yes, you got that right! But I’m not coming over. Uhhh...” Time to give it another go. You point at yourself.

“Hhhhhhh...” Moon slides from the platform as though he’s become boneless, sinking beneath the water with barely a splash.

Aw. Moon makes for a poor student.

You lower your hand, disappointed. Even if Moon doesn’t like it or feels bored, you’re unwilling to give up on this avenue. If you can communicate, you can reach a middle ground. You can tell him when to stop. And if he still doesn’t stop, you’ll know that he’s hurting you on purpose.

And you can keep your new team safe. It’s your job after all, to secure the territory. You don’t want any of these strangers to get mauled because they came to your beloved facility, not even Vanessa. Her only crime is acting generally unpleasant.

But if Moon doesn’t want to learn, you can’t force him.

You’re about to get up and go back to bed when Moon abruptly resurfaces. He hauls himself up on the platform until he’s resting on his elbows, a move that has you half-standing to run. But instead of attacking, he holds out something in his palm.

You squint at him. Moon’s fingers are crooked so you can’t see what it is without getting closer. His eyes are bright and excited.

“No,” you say, and his face drops. “I’m not doing this.”

You get to your feet with a grunt, shaking out your limbs. The platform is painful to sit on.

“Wait,” Moon says.

“No!” you say. “You keep trying to lure me in – you’re probably just gonna grab me.”

“Grab...” Moon mutters in your language, and you almost have a heart attack until you realise that in your agitation you have reverted back to general speech.

Your shoulders slump. “No. I’m not coming closer,” you say, in careful, stilted English.

Moon’s mouth twists, brows drawing down. He jogs the object in his palm for a few seconds before opening his fingers, hyperextending them back like a child feeding a sea serpent.

He’s holding the shell of a mollusk, carefully hollowed out and polished. You’re about to give it a vague compliment and then retreat, before something catches your attention. The shell has been carved and pitted, delicate whorls and curlicues decorating the surface. The polishing isn’t from the natural roughage of waves and silt, as one side shines while the curved underside remains raw. It’s a little piece of art, a pretty project, and you take a step forward without meaning to.

“Wow,” you breathe, unable to find a better word in his language. “Did you make this?”

Moon smiles, chirping a little in the back of his throat. “Gift.”

“Gift,” you repeat. Of course, there must be others of his kind, though one mermaid is enough for you. “For a friend? I’m sure they’ll love it.”

For some reason this isn’t the reaction he’s hoping for. Lifting his palm, he says, “Gift.”

You nod. “It’s...” What’s the word? “Beautiful.”

Moon slaps a hand over his face and drags it down. “Gift. Friend.” He lifts the shell and points it at you.

You point at yourself on automatic, disbelieving. “For... me?” A little glow of excitement begins to build in your chest.

Moon clicks in the back of his throat, gills fluttering. “Gift. Come here.” He taps a claw sharply on the platform’s edge, twice clang clang.

The glow extinguishes, smothered by ruefulness. “Yeah? And I expect I have to come over and take it from you?” you say, voice dry.

Moon’s eyes curve into crescents. “No hurt. Friend.”

For a moment you’re genuinely tempted before common sense rears its head. “No,” you say, stepping back from where you were dithering in place. “No, no way. I don’t trust you.”

Moon rests his face on the platform with a heavy thunk!, groaning quietly. “Gift. No hurt.”

“Just leave it on the platform.”

Moon glares at you, then turns his hand over and allows the shell to drop. It clatters through the open grating into the water below. A second later he lifts it back into view with his other hand, wet but still intact.

“Oh.”

“Silly,” he says, a little more forcefully this time.

“No. You know what’s silly?” you say. “Silly is approaching the mermaid who has attacked me twice- no, three times, all for a pretty shell just so I can get mauled for a gift that you’re just luring me in for anyway!”

Moon is squinting at you, lips moving a little. You suppose your rant was a little incoherent and jumbled.

But there is one word he definitely knows. “No.”

Moon snarls, slapping a hand down on the platform in frustration. You skitter back a few steps, fear overcoming your irritation, and Moon’s mouth droops in dismay.

“No,” he says quickly. “Calm. Sorry, sorry friend. Look, see?” He tucks the hand behind his back, sinking down in the water until it’s just his eyes and extended arm present. The shell is held in the very tips of his claws.

Your lips part. He’s clearly embarrassed, averting his eyes with a curl of his lip, but he’s genuinely trying. At least, that’s what you think.

You shouldn’t. You want to, but you shouldn’t. It would be super stupid. He could probably drop that shell and drag you down in an instant.

You glance at the door. Perhaps you could wake Vanessa up as a safety measure? But every cell in your body instantly screams no!! What could she even do if you got dragged away? Plus, you haven’t forgotten her casual words about exterminating the larger wildlife.

“I’m gonna regret this,” you mutter, shifting from foot to foot. You set down your book and heft your taser in one hand, putting on your breather with the other. At least this way you have a sliver of a chance if the worst does happen.

Moon’s pupils shrink as you edge nearer, blowing small bubbles in the water. His fingers twitch as you lower gently to your knees, and your breathing becomes erratic in apprehension.

Reach forward, slowly, carefully. The bubbles have stopped, like Moon is holding his breath. His eyes are ringed in white.

And then your fingertips close around the shell, and he lets it slip from his grasp into yours, and you jerk back a couple of steps to safety, clutching your gift to your chest.

You look down, trembling. The shell is pretty and polished in your hand, an unbelievable item. I did it.

“See?” Moon says quietly. He’s risen from the water again, hands on the platform. “No hurt, friend.”

You remove your breather, gulping down the fresher air. “Y-yeah,” you croak, unable to believe it. This might be the least violent interaction the two of you have shared. “No hurt.”

Moon’s smile is a brilliant crescent. And then he says your name.

Chapter Text

You’re face down beside your breakfast when Vanessa finds you. Even though you hear her approach, you don’t raise your head. Listening to her hover beside you, you’re just dozing off when she finally speaks.

“Late night?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you croak. You have already decided against telling her about your night-time gift exchange.

After Moon said your name, not much else was done in the vein of teaching. Too excited to open your book, you ended up just rambling about shells and craft techniques at the lazily smiling mermaid until the siren call of sleep became too much to bear.

You’re not even sure you want to inform Base. It feels like last night was a soft and secretive thing, too precious to be clinically recorded in a scientific database. Besides, if this is genuine first contact you need to brush up on the rules and regulations of reporting on a sapient species. You may have broken a few codes already.

But Vanessa doesn’t share your tired euphoria. “I heard you moving about. It woke me up.”

Now you do raise your face, squinting at her blearily. “You did?”

“That’s what I said.” Vanessa’s tone is light, but her mouth is quirked in irritation. Her eyes are shadowed, but that’s as usual.

That doesn’t make sense. The rooms are almost completely soundproofed, and you’re hardly a loud mover. She wouldn’t have heard anything outside from her room.

“Sorry about that,” you say belatedly. “I’ll keep it down.”

Her shoulders relax imperceptibly. “That would be good.”

You shoot her a sheepish smile and stretch, wincing at the pang in your shoulder. The bite has almost totally healed, the second nip not even leaving a mark. Vanessa is still hovering as you grab your plate and rise. Did she come just to say you woke her up?

“By the way, I’m heading out into the water today,” you say, scooting past her. Your schedule should be on the public docket, but if she’s asking you about reports she has access to then she probably hasn’t read the docket either. “I need to track down a broken turbine.”

Vanessa’s surprise proves your suspicions correct. “Oh- really? How’s your shoulder?” she says awkwardly.

“Getting there,” you say. A staffbot snatches your crockery and begins feverishly washing it up before you can do it first. “Still a bit sore, but it’s fine so long as I take it easy. Hey, you want some juice?”

“No,” she says. “We have a broken turbine?”

“Yeah, I found a piece. It’s probably from one of the old remote generators, but I need to find which one before I can replace it.”

Vanessa nods, shifting in place. You’re about to make your leave when she reluctantly says, “I need help. With the facility settings.”

“Oh, sure,” you say. “You can make changes in the main room, at BON-BON’S interface.”

“I know,” she snaps, before reeling herself in. “That is, he’s giving me trouble. I can’t change anything.”

BON-BON...

If you were alone, you’d growl. “Ah, he’s kind of... rudimentary?” you say lightly. “You just need to beat his reasoning. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Vanessa strides past you before you can lead her, shoulders stiff. You exchange a glance with the staffbot at the sink before following, trailing behind without bothering to keep up with her pace. Her blonde ponytail swings as she walks, and you catch a glimpse of several faded colours on the underside.

“Oh, that’s pretty,” you exclaim before you can stop yourself. “You dyed your hair?”

Vanessa glances back at you, touching the back of her head self-consciously. “Yeah,” she says. “It was a while ago.”

“It looks nice.”

“Thanks,” she says shortly.

You sigh, reminding yourself that returning her energy will only hurt in the long run. Though at least griping back at her would be more entertaining than taking it like a wimp.

BON-BON’S interface doesn’t activate until you say his name, loudly and firmly.

“Gooood morning!” he sings, squawky delivery up to full blast. “What can I help you with?”

You flinch, unused to him speaking like this as of late. “Vanessa, what changes did you want to make?”

“It’s cold,” she says, “and the lighting is too dim.”

So the exact changes you altered. Lovely. “Oh,” you say, unable to help the dismay.

Vanessa glances at you and says, “BON-BON, please set the heating on three levels higher.”

You stare at her. Vanessa’s tone has shifted to something kind and light, like she’s making a request of a child.

“Oh no, sorry!” the AI chirps, upbeat and not at all apologetic. “Only team leaders can make adjustments to facility settings. Please submit your request to a team leader, and I’ll see what I can do.”

I knew that was a canned response. You glare at BON-BON over Vanessa’s shoulder, mouthing change it.

“BON-BON, there is no team leader aboard this facility,” Vanessa pleads.

BON-BON is unmoved. “What a shame! Please submit your request to a team leader when the option next becomes available.”

Vanessa looks at you helplessly.

Ugh, what did you say the last time you had this conversation? “When there’s no team leader assigned to the facility, permissions are granted to the highest-ranked person, right?” you say. BON-BON doesn’t answer. “Hello?”

“Correct,” BON-BON says.

“I am the highest-ranked here,” Vanessa jumps in. “Please allow me to make changes to the facility settings.”

“Too bad! Unfortunately, you are not the highest ranked employee currently aboard on this facility.”

You close your eyes momentarily. “Please give Vanessa permissions to change facility settings as she sees fit,” you say dully, unwilling to let BON-BON drag out his little game any further.

There’s a little crackle that could be a sigh, before BON-BON sings, “Permissions granted! Congratulations!” Digital confetti litters the screen, and you keep your eyes turned away from where Vanessa is staring at you.

“Vanessa?” BON-BON prompts.

She turns back. “Sorry, uh- please raise the heating by three levels.”

There’s a click by the wall meter as the heating activates. You resign yourself half a year of feeling slightly too warm.

“Good choice!” BON-BON says.

“Thanks, BON-BON.” Vanessa turns to you, a funny look on her face, and for a second you think she’s going to have a go at you for not divulging your status on the hierarchy. “Did the previous team leader leave the settings like this? This is ridiculous.”

You clear your throat. “Um, no. That was me.”

“Don’t you get cold? How do you even see?” Vanessa is flicking through the lighting options.

“Fine, I guess.” You shrug, in your t-shirt and shorts combo. “Bright light gives me headaches.”

She glances at you from where her finger hovers over the cold light option. “Really?”

“Yes,” you say, reluctant. “White lights, or blue. I grew up on a darker planet,” you offer, hoping for mercy. “3B atmosphere, you know?”

Vanessa blinks at you, eyes studying your own. Then she says, “BON-BON, please dial the natural gold lighting to five.” The lights strengthen a little, though not to a headache-inducing degree.

Wow. She showed me compassion? And here you thought her heart was cold. Well, to anyone not an AI.

BON-BON squawks an affirmative. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No, thank you, BON-BON,” Vanessa says.

“Glad to hear it!” he says, veering into veiled-insult territory. “How would you rate your experience so far?”

Vanessa gives him five stars.

“Where did you go last night?” BON-BON says quietly, mindful of a certain guest. He needn’t worry. Vanessa is back in the meeting room again.

“Platform,” you mumble, fumbling with the earpiece in your lap. You’re sitting cross-legged before his interface, head bowed in concentration. The earpiece parts are so small.

The AI hums, screen flickering. He’s displaying an unfolded diagram of the gadget, but it’s hard to follow with inconsistent brightness. “So late?”

“Hold on.” You snap a piece into place, and use the magnet on your screwdriver to secure a miniscule bolt. “Okay. Uhh, yeah, Moon was there. I didn’t get close though. He gave me a shell!”

BON-BON’s silence is disapproving. “You went out. To meet Moon. Alone?”

“Yeah. I want to teach him English, and stuff. Do you want to see the shell?”

“No, I don’t want to see the shell!” he snaps. “You... idiot.”

“Hey!”

The diagram disappears, and you set down the earpiece as his feed zips through a few hundred documents at hyper speed. “I don’t see a recent report here.”

You rub the edge of a finger with your teeth. “Yeah, I didn’t write this one up. It’s not like I got pics, so it’ll just go in the theories section anyway.”

The screen goes blank. “This is unsafe,” BON-BON says unhappily. “Quit it.”

“So’s any aspect of my job,” you point out. “I can’t keep Moon out of the territory, and he’s shown a willingness to communicate. At least if I teach him, I’m less likely to get chased about and hurt accidentally.”

“And what about purposeful attacks?”

“If he can communicate and hurts me anyway, at least I’ll know it’s on purpose. It’s all data.”

“... I don’t like it,” BON-BON says again, stubbornly.

You return to the earpiece. “It’s my responsibility to handle the territory. Don’t you think it’s bad for business if all our researchers get mauled by a mermaid?”

“It’s also bad for business if the facility’s only mechanic dies a watery death,” he counters.

You snap the last piece in place and hold the earpiece aloft. “Aww, don’t worry. Your internal battery will last long after they find a replacement. You won’t suffer for my absence.”

“That’s not-"

“Connect,” you prompt.

There’s a pause, and then a tiny LED on the earpiece flicks on. “Connected,” BON-BON says, subdued.

“Can you toggle the settings?”

This time, his voice comes from the earpiece itself. “Yes.”

“Okay.” You set the earpiece down. “So now you can unmute, but only in emergencies. Not to shout at me, not to distract me in dangerous situations. Okay?”

Quite unusually BON-BON doesn’t argue, though he does heave an unnecessary sigh. “Okay.”

“And remember these are my hand signals.” You repeat them, twice slowly. “I don’t mind bringing you along,” you lie, “but what happened with Moon can’t happen again. I needed to hear and concentrate.”

“I got it,” BON-BON says, a little testily.

“I’ll only mute in emergencies,” you say, rising with a stretch. “And you can unmute when you need. You know the drill.”

“Hey!” BON-BON barks, reaching the end of his tether. “I understand.”

“Okay.” Never let it be said you don’t give second chances, or three, or ten. “Okay, okay. Imma just grab my stuff, and then we can go.”

“Don’t get eaten,” he says, a cheery note re-entering his voice.

Dick. Rolling your eyes, you turn towards the door.

“On that note,” BON-BON says suddenly. “How long before I send out a search party? If... something happens.”

You frown, turning to look at his feed. “You don’t? If I go missing for a cycle, you notify Base and standby for their decision. You know this.” And tell Vanessa as well, you suppose, considering that she’s the only other organic member of staff currently onboard.

“Base wouldn’t know which way is up in shallow water,” he says dismissively. “I’ll commandeer the sub.”

“You will not,” you bark. “That shit’s expensive.”

“So is a person,” BON-BON counters.

“No, we’re pretty cheap, actually.” Comparatively speaking. “How would you even use the sub?”

You get the impression he’s rolling his eyes. “I would upload myself back into the system and take control from the interface. Duh.”

You shift from foot to foot uneasily. “Please don’t do that.”

“You can say no, you know,” BON-BON says, an odd note entering his tone.

“I am saying no,” you say. “No sub.”

“I’m talking about working in unsafe environments,” the AI clarifies. “Your shoulder is still healing, and you barely take downtime unless you’re injured. Tell Base you need to take a pause.”

You feel a little flattered at this summary of your work ethic, even if it’s being framed in a negative light. “I’m not doing that.”

“Sweet nebula,” he mutters. “It literally states in the employee manual that-"

“That’s an illusion of choice,” you say, leaning on one hip. “Sure, they say you can refuse orders and enjoy all the breaks you need, but if you actually take them up on it you lose job security. And I quite like this job.”

“But that’s just the thing,” BON-BON says, with an earnest tone you’ve never heard before. “It’s just a job. It’s not worth getting hurt.”

Spoken like someone who’s never experienced it himself. Then again, BON-BON’s standing is fragile in its own way. “It’s more of a way of life, actually,” you say, glancing up at your beloved facility and its squat, curved infrastructure. “I’d do a lot to keep it.” Up to and including making nice with mean co-workers, teaching mermaids ancient English, and exploring the territory of giant predators.

BON-BON is silent for a few moments. “Who taught you to value your safety so little?” he says quietly.

Your nose wrinkles. “Ew. Don’t say that soppy shit to me. I’m not devaluing myself, I’m being a professional – not that you’d know what that’s like.”

“It’s not soppy,” BON-BON snaps, instantly defensive. “I’m trying to-”

“Wowww,” you crow, nodding. “Okay. Okay. So the AI is going to tell me how to do my job? I bet it’s real cushy sitting safe at home while I do all the work. ‘Just take a break’, hah-”

“Oh, shut up! I’m not the one coming back home bruised black and blue.”

“Yeah, because you don’t do anything.”

“Don’t do-!” he squawks. “That’s it! I’m taking your snacks off the grocery order.”

“Oh yeah?” you counter. “Well, then I’ll submit you for troubleshooting.”

“You won’t do that.”

“You wanna bet?”

“No, I mean you won’t do that,” BON-BON says. “If you were going to report me, you would have done it already.”

You hold eye contact with the screen, screwing your eyes up challengingly. Then you drop it with a shrug. “Yeah, okay.”

He is right. You already got a Globe from him, not so far from delivery now, and there isn’t anything else you want to leverage. Besides, light-hearted blackmail is one thing, but you have strong opinions on genuine betrayal.

“I knew it,” BON-BON breathes, almost to himself. “You little shit.”

“Ahhh. It was fun while it lasted,” you say vaguely, turning away. “See you in a bit.”

“Wha- seriously?” BON-BON calls after you. “I’m not done! Get back here, you coward!”

You snicker, muting the earpiece every time he tries to continue berating you. Too easy, both to wind up and distract. Unfortunately, this doesn’t stop him from lighting up every feed you pass with hissed insults.

You escape to the kitchen, grabbing up a mini bottle of water. There’s one of Vanessa’s weird glass pots sitting on the counter half full and still warm. You take a sniff of the black beverage and recoil. Gross. She’s always drinking it. It makes her breath smell foul.

You copy what you’ve seen her do in the mornings, heating up a serving in a mug and carrying it to the meeting room. She’s left the door cracked, so you can see her face in profile as she speaks to someone on a feed out of sight. She looks relaxed, hair sticking up haphazardly from her ponytail like she’s been running her hands through it.

“-wrap things up,” says the mystery person, their voice tired but chirpy. “How are you handling it?”

You fumble with the mug and bottle, trying to open the door quietly. You’ll just slide the mug onto the table and leave out of sight – you don’t want to gatecrash Vanessa’s meeting and give her another reason to dislike you.

Vanessa smiles at the feed, and it makes her look young and sweet. “Better. I needed the rest, but it’ll be nice to see everyone again. Though I could do without my housemate keeping me up.”

You pause, discomfort flooding you at the realisation Vanessa is speaking about you, and disparagingly at that. For a moment you hesitate. Do you draw attention and pretend you didn’t hear, or quietly retreat and risk Vanessa spotting you eavesdropping?

“Oh,” says the person, a negative tone appearing in their voice. “They’re still not pulling their weight?”

What??

Vanessa hesitates as you make a snap decision. “Actually,” she says reluctantly, “I think I might have misunderstood-”

She breaks off as you knock at the door, her eyes wide and guilty. You smile, holding up the mug like you didn’t hear anything. “Thought you might want a drink?” you say, voice mindfully low.

Someone hisses an indrawn breath on the feed. Out the corner of your eye, you see the visuals shut down. Vanessa is frozen, alarm very obvious on her face. If you hadn’t heard her speaking about you in the first place, you would definitely suspect it now. “Y-yeah,” she says, stilted. “Thanks.”

You slide the door open, manageable now that you’re not trying to be silent, and set the mug next to Vanessa’s tense hand. “Hope that’s okay, I just heated it like you do,” you say. You flick a smile at the feed, blank and grey. There’s the faint rumble of general public in the background. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“No problem!” squeaks the stranger. She’s got a high, unusual voice, and an accent that’s vaguely familiar. “You must be-”

“Was there anything else you needed?” Vanessa says brusquely. Her lips waver when you look at her.

“No,” you say lightly, “just dropping off a drink. You’ve been working hard.”

She blinks rapidly.

“I’m heading out for a bit to sort out that broken turbine,” you say, walking to the door. “I’ll be out of reach for a few hours. By the way, there’s half a bake in the oven if you fancy some.”

“Thanks,” Vanessa mumbles.

You send her one last smile, discomfort roiling in your gut. “See you.”

As you slide the door closed, the stranger says, “Why did you-” before they’re cut off.

BON-BON pipes up from the earpiece in your hand. “Awkward.”

Awkward indeed.

Uncomfortable events fade easily from your mind when you’re in water, as they always do. You spend a blissful time trundling from one remote generator to another until you find the likely culprit, and manually insert a tag to block off the power trigger. Once it’s deactivated completely you have to carve your way through the weeds and molluscs fused to the surface before you’re able to crack it open.

The framework is solid, but there’s plenty of gaps for a shitty, worn out piece of turbine to drift through. Sure enough, there’s the culprit, with just one spoke and the central mooring remaining in place.

Garbage. But an easy enough fix. You’re just preparing the replacement when BON-BON speaks up softly.

“Lunch,” he reminds you. “Come on. You have been under for hours.”

Reluctantly, you set down the spare turbine and close up the generator. That had been a part of your agreement – BON-BON won’t bother you or backseat drive while he watches out for threats and sets welfare reminders. You just have to listen, within reason, and avoid muting him unless absolutely necessary. It feels imbalanced, even though the entire arrangement is for your benefit.

You swim back up the tunnel and take a left, rising rapidly. “Wrong way,” BON-BON says testily.

Motioning him to wait, you surface in a fairly small air bubble, the circular entrance ringed with rocks. Settling yourself on one, legs dangling in open water, you remove your breather and say, “Can I take a small break here instead? Please.”

“No,” BON-BON says. “I already left it later than I wanted, and you haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“But the generator won’t even take more than an hour,” you protest. “Look, I even brought water and a snack.”

BON-BON stares at the wrinkly apple you hold by his viewfinder before heaving a staticky sigh. “Fine,” he says reluctantly. “But you have to rest for at least ten minutes. And eat the full apple.”

“I’ll have to rest for longer if I want to digest properly,” you point out.

BON-BON mutters something about nitpicking before saying, “Wait. Ugh, Vanessa wants me.”

“Yeah, she does,” you joke.

BON-BON snorts and says, “I’ll be right back – and stay.” He wisely leaves before you can rag on him further.

You guzzle bottled water, licking to catch the escaping drops. The apple is juicy despite its grainy texture – it’s old. You don’t think BON-BON would have agreed to this break if he knew you had found the apple under your bed this morning, having rolled away who knows how long ago. But it’s sweet and crunchy in places, and you’re happy.

Juice rolls down your chin. Without an audience you’re chewing with your mouth open, dropping pieces in the water like you did when you were a kid. Swinging your legs in the water with your eyes glazed, you don’t notice the figure quietly rising between them until his hands rest on your thighs.

You slurp and look down. Moon is watching you chew with fascinated eyes. Slowly you close your mouth, embarrassed. The little hairs on your skin raise.

“Uh-"

Moon’s mouth opens wide, a sudden flash of teeth and tongue, and then he eats the ravaged core of the apple right out of your hand.

You blink, mouth full of food, hand hanging open in mid-air. He was so fast you only got a brief impression of wet warmth on your fingers, the gentle scrape of teeth before it was over.

Moon chews and crunches, a dark tongue flicking out to catch the juice on his lips. His eyes brighten in enjoyment.

“Tasty,” he rasps.

I... wasn’t finished with that.

His claws tap a little dance on your thighs. “More?”

You shake your head, cheeks bulging. Moon watches as you attempt to swallow, chewing quickly to try and empty your mouth. His eyes flick to your hand, still held aloft.

A muffled squeak leaves your throat when he leans forward and presses his mouth to your palm. A long tongue snakes out and lathes over your fingers, and as you automatically pull your hand away he curls long claws around your wrist to keep it in place. You spare a thought to be grateful that BON-BON isn’t watching, only slightly louder than the thought of how warm Moon’s tongue is.

Painfully, you finally manage to choke down your food, croaking, “Whoa, chill. That’s it, it’s gone.” The switch in language feels heavy in your mouth, sluggish.

Moon pulls back from your hand, eyes narrowing. “Liar.”

“Hey,” you say, indignant. “I’m not lying-”

You cut off with a yelp that bounces off the narrow space as Moon plants his hands either side of your thighs and heaves, pulling himself out of the water until you’re face-to-face. His head tilts like he’s going to kiss you, and your heart leaps as he presses the flat of his tongue to the underside of your jaw, following the sticky trail of juice up to the corner of your mouth. Pressed flush against you, his ribcage feels less sharp than you remember.

The noise you make is muffled and frantic, and you clunk the back of your head on rock flailing to pull away. Moon’s mouth is hot on yours, the firm press of teeth and tongue on lips, and you purse your mouth as firmly as you can to keep him from trying to eat the apple straight out of your mouth.

“Get off,” you hiss, turning your face away. He sways back as you shove his shoulders, a faint grin curling his lips. “You stupid fish.”

“Stupid,” he repeats musingly, lowering down into the water with a steady control you envy. His hands clasp your thighs again.

You scrub your mouth with the back of one hand, glaring. “Yeah, that’s what you are. Don’t do that.”

Moon cocks his head. “Why?”

“Because,” you snap, then come up short. He’s watching you through heavy-lidded eyes, intent. “Because that means something different. Doing that. Not food, but uh... something special.”

“Special.”

“Special to some.” Shoulders slumping, the wind begins to leave your sails. “Do you even understand what I’m saying right now?”

Moon lowers a little in the water. “Friend. Speak, I listen.”

Your mouth hangs open for a beat before you remember yourself. That... was pretty clear. Did he actually understand you? “Ah... really?”

“Speak.” His claws tap lightly on your hip. He sinks until his mouth is below water, eyes gazing up.

“Okay,” you mutter, motioning him upward. He doesn’t move until you touch lightly about his head, obligingly drifting back until he’s no longer between your legs. The positioning makes you feel uneasy and vaguely ashamed, but you can’t fault him for not understanding the implications – it’s not like two legged creatures are the norm here.

You take a pull from your bottle to buy some time as the reality of the situation sets in. Moon may be behaving well, or at least non-violently, but the proximity is still frightening. He could switch on a dime. And you’re stuck in this cave with him. Plus, you just ate, which adds one extra pebble of weight on your tomb of bad decisions.

Moon’s eyes track the bottle as you crumple out the air and screw the cap back on. His claws tap lightly on your knees now, fidgeting.

“Uhh,” you say, searching for something miscellaneous that you can still describe. Your own ancient English is returning to your memory the more you study it, but it’s still not great. “So, I was just fixing a generator, right? That’s why I came down here. And y’know all this time I thought the spokes I found were from one of our shitty turbines Base sent us, but it turns out-”

You ramble on, quickly becoming distracted by your own story about today’s work. You hardly notice that Moon has drifted closer, eyes blinking slowly, until he rests his cheek on your knee.

Speech falters briefly, and Moon tenses in preparation for rejection. You continue like you hadn’t noticed. It’s as much for self-preservation as not to hurt his feelings. Moon relaxes in increments, one eye open as your story morphs into descriptions of the lacklustre quality of generator parts as of late, to explanations of how you would improve the process, to shipping times for your Globe that you’re getting well and truly sick of anticipating-

“Globe?” Moon murmurs, glancing up when you snap silent. You got totally carried away.

You hesitate, wondering how to explain. “So, a globe is a round object, right? A round shape on all sides. But the Globe that I’m talking about, it’s a gadget, or, uh, a tool. A thing you can use. A Globe is an artificial environment, it creates an air pocket like we’re in right now,” you continue, getting more animated the more confident your explanation becomes. “It can be extended or built upon, and you can set it up anywhere. So if I wanted, I could take my Globe to the bottom of the ocean, right, and set it up and sleep right there under the water! Like camping, with the fishes! And I could bring food and hang out for as long as I want – oh, it’s gonna be so cool-!”

Moon is gazing up at you with both eyes open, enraptured as you move your hands about in explanation. There’s a smile on your face at the very thought of your new toy, and as you reach the end of your explanation you hear a voice.

“What is this?” BON-BON says, his voice rigid with fury.

You stop mid-word, hands hanging in mid-air. Moon blinks at you, raising his head from your knee. “Uh...”

The AI speaks slow and low. “I leave you alone for ten minutes, and this is what I see when I return?”

Your hands lower. “It was kind of... closer to twenty, actually,” you say sheepishly, reverting back to general speech.

“What?” Moon says.

“Head... head on your lap,” BON-BON mutters feverishly. “A man-eater’s head on your lap, and you’re telling it stories about your stupid Globe-”

“It’s going to be very helpful for work,” you mutter.

Moon lurches forward out of the water, slapping his hands either side of your legs so he can lift himself face-to-face again. “What?” he demands.

BON-BON screams at the proximity, and you yelp, clutching at your ear. “Hey- stop!”

“Swim away, you idiot!” he howls.

“Do you want me to mute you?” you bark, and the AI warbles away into silence. “Hey! You said you’d stop screaming at me!”

“You have a mermaid in your face!”

“And you’re not helping,” you snap.

A warm hand grasps your jaw, and you’re startled enough to allow Moon to turn your ear toward him. He’s braced with one hand, leaning against you for leverage as he frowns at the earpiece, and warm breath fans across your neck.

You flinch away as he tries to pluck the earpiece out, batting him away with one hand. “No, stop that.”

BON-BON squawks an epithet, shrill enough to make you wince again. “Don’t let him take the comm!”

“I’m trying,” you mutter, leaning away.

Moon sinks back into the water, frowning. “Parasite,” he says, pointing at the earpiece. “Come here.”

You giggle, startled. “No, he’s- well yes, but not how you’re thinking –”

“Oh, screw you,” BON-BON says, and the fact he understood that is a surprise. He must have downloaded an ancient language packet. He gets points off for not bothering to speak it.

“Come here,” Moon insists.

“It’s an earpiece,” you explain, ignoring the AI’s protests as you dig it out of your ear to show to Moon, lifting it away when he tries to take it from you. “Look, see? My, uh, this guy I know, he has one too, and he can talk to me through it.” How do you explain the concept of long-distance communication to an alien fish? You’re not even going to touch the topic of AI. “Like, he’s far away, but I can still hear him.”

“PUT ME BACK!” BON-BON screams, so loudly Moon hears it.

He stares at the earpiece, then flicks his eyes up at you. “This... like you?”

You puzzle a little, unsure. Time for a bit of fudging in the name of communication. “Uh, I guess? This is BON-BON, and he is my... friend,” you finish with a sigh.

“What?” BON-BON says.

Moon looks at you. “Your friend?” he says quietly.

“Sure,” you say, reluctant.

A long claw reaches out, and taps delicately on the plastic of the earpiece. “Where?”

There’s something odd about the way he says it, but at least he seems to be getting the gist. “Oh, far away. Not here.”

“Not far enough,” BON-BON says.

Moon hisses, his eyes narrowing to slits, and you quickly shove the earpiece back into your skull before he can attack it. Maybe this was a bad idea.

But he settles down, hands resting warmly on your knees. “I understand,” he says, eyes fixed on the earpiece. “Far away. Fortunate.”

BON-BON audibly gulps.

“Yep,” you say cheerfully, inwardly crowing at how thoroughly the AI has managed to piss off Moon with barely a sentence, and not even in ancient English at that. You’ll definitely be rubbing that in his face later.

But time is wasting and you’re pretty sure you’ve been in here for half an hour. You take another swig of your bottle before returning it to your belt.

“Whoa, whoa, wait,” BON-BON protests as you lift your breather. “What are you doing?”

“What?” you say, touching the earpiece with your fingertips to indicate that you’re not addressing Moon. “I need to finish up.”

“Right now?! The mermaid is literally right there!”

“So what do you suggest I do then?” You can’t wait here forever.

“... At least take out the taser,” he sighs.

“Sure,” you say. “Now quiet, please. I’ll need to concentrate from here.”

Moon’s face is sour as you speak to BON-BON, but he perks up as you slip into the water, drifting forward. Light touches on your hip, arm, a warm tail down the length of your legs. You press a hand to his shoulder before he can get too close.

“I need to use this,” you say apologetically, lifting the breather. “I have work to do, but this was fun.”

You pop on the breather and sink beneath the water, feeling a brush of bubbles as Moon does the same. A shiver wracks down your spine, but you ignore it – he hasn’t attacked you at all recently and you’d rather take the good behaviour at face value than remain sitting in the air bubble. You’re aware of him on your tail as you make your way back to the generator and open it up. When Moon settles near, curling up on top of his own tail, you angle so he’s at your side rather than your vulnerable neck, quickly settling back into your work headspace.

An indeterminate amount of time later, you become aware of noise and movement. You turn to see Moon ripping into the shell of a large crustacean, the creature already limp and leaking from several puncture points. He unfolds the shell with little effort and extends a long tongue into the innards, eyes narrowed in concentration. When he notices you watching, he pauses and offers the shell like a pulsing platter.

You shake your head. Moon shrugs in a surprisingly human gesture and returns to his meal.

By the time the generator is fully fixed, Moon has disappeared. You have a vague memory of touches on your back, perhaps a little wave in your periphery, but there is little that can distract you when you’re deep in the zone. The remains of the crab shell lie pristine and broken on the seabed.

The company was nice. You feel a little surprised at your own disappointment, but you rally and turn your attention to closing up and reactivating the generator. Moon doesn’t reappear the entire journey back, which BON-BON fills with miscellaneous chatter now that you don’t have to concentrate.

You wish he didn’t dislike Vanessa so much, because you get the impression he may be bored, or perhaps lonely. Still, she doesn’t exactly make herself likeable.

Said person is in the main room when you pass, quickly ducking her head down before you can catch her looking. The events of this morning resurface in your mind, and you retreat to the lab for a late lunch rather than ruin your good mood with her presence.

You’re halfway through eating when you notice a braid unravelling. It seems that at some point while you trustingly turned your back, Moon absconded with another hair tie.

You take a rueful bite of your wrap. I hope he’s at least using them for something.

It goes like this. You wake up before Vanessa, complete most of your morning activities before she arises for a cup of ‘coffee’, and head out into the water for work, inside or outside. Occasionally Moon will surface inside one of the caves, or you’ll feel the brush of a current and turn to see him watching you from afar, and he’ll accompany you on your chores. BON-BON hates it, convinced that the mermaid is just biding his time to drag you to a watery death, but at least concedes that your breaks have become more frequent when you spend them trying to teach Moon ancient English.

Moon is a fast learner, appearing to take in more information from just listening to you speak than attempting to teach him vocabulary. The speed at which he learns is incredible – if you didn’t know better, you’d think he has a supplementary teacher.

He doesn’t answer your questions on where he picked up the language in the first place, or his home, or fellow mermaids he might know, opting instead to just blink at you slowly. He answers your questions about his day with one-word responses like ‘eating, ‘swimming’, ‘sleeping.’

“You’re being played,” BON-BON warns after another fruitless attempt of asking Moon about his home. “I don’t know how but it’s happening.”

“No, I’m being used,” you correct. “There’s a difference.”

Being used to learn a language, or for information, or just the novelty of spending time around an alien such as yourself. Put like that, Moon reminds you of a roommate you had back at the Rim.

It makes you feel a little sad, but if this is the price you pay for not being bitten again you’ll take it.

Not that Moon has been entirely swayed on that front. Sometimes his eyes brighten, teeth bared, and he says, “Play?” while darting back and forth. He wants you to chase him, or to flee. And you inevitably disappoint him with a stern and forceful, “No.” He doesn’t like that you stick to slow, calm movements, or that you refuse to turn your back on him.

Still, you’re glad for his company, if only to offset the tension of living with Vanessa. You find yourself praying her team will arrive soon if only to create a buffer between you two. That is, providing they don’t act in the exact same way. The stars only know what she has been telling them about you.

Today you have a double-whammy of suck to contend with. Vanessa has placed on the docket a meeting between the two of you, presumably to catch up on preparations for the upcoming team. It’s been a while since you have dreaded a meeting this strongly, and you never even liked them that much to begin with.

As you dress, you gaze at the shell Moon gifted you, sitting in pride of place on your desk. It shines prettily in the low lighting of your room, an iridescent glow. You’re preparing something in return – hopefully he likes it.

It’s almost time for the meeting, but you take a few extra minutes to improve your look. You haven’t forgotten Vanessa’s criticism of your appearance in your first shared meeting, so you have picked out smarter attire than you usually wear. You take the time to rebraid your hair and pin it up in two figure eight buns. It feels uncomfortable to dress like this for someone else in your own home, but you weren’t lying when you said you would do a lot for job security. The bad word of a researcher can carry some weight.

It’s a little later than you prefer, but luckily the meeting room is empty when you arrive. You sit down and arrange your reports and flimsies, setting them out as per the docket itinerary. Then you pour two glasses of water and settle down to wait.

And wait.

You jog your knee, scratching a finger with your teeth. Where is Vanessa? Did you get the time wrong? But no, it’s ten minutes after appointment and she’s still not here.

There’s an old adage about watched pots. You wander to the kitchenette and mess about, gently scooting a staffbot out of the way when it tries to take over from you.

“Have you seen Vanessa around?” you ask, and your answer is a headshake.

When you arrive back with two steaming mugs, she still hasn’t surfaced. Twenty minutes late now.

“BON-BON,” you say quietly, and the feed flickers to attention. “Sorry, do you know where Vanessa might be?”

“As your resident AI, it’s my pleasure to act like your maid and servant,” BON-BON squawks caustically. “My life’s goal, in fact. I definitely don’t have anything better to do than constantly keep track of you and your bitch of a co-worker.”

You really wish he’d stop calling her a bitch, or at least say it a little more quietly. You’ll have to talk to him about it. “Please?” you say tiredly. You just want this to be over so you can get on with your day.

“I don’t know,” he says. “It’s not like I follow her about. Asleep? Wait, did she ditch you?”

“We have a meeting.”

“Get your fingers out of your mouth.” BON-BON watches you whip your hand down. “So she ditched you. I’ll put it on my report.”

That distracts you from the anxiety. “Report? What report?”

BON-BON gives a nasal little giggle that raises the hairs on your arms. “My report of all the stuff I catch her doing. Late attendance, picking at the sofas, leaving the freshwater taps running – the whole shebang.”

Your mouth is hanging open. “Why?”

“In case she leaves us a bad review,” the AI says. “Or tries to complain or something. I’m telling you, there’s something about her I don’t trust.”

“That’s horrible,” you say, but there’s a reluctant smile lifting your mouth. “What did she ever do to you?”

“I’m on guard. “ The AI sounds as though he’s grinning.

“You’re just, what, waiting for her to trip up? Thought you had better things to do than keep track of her?” A nasty thought occurs, and your smile drops. “Hey, you don’t keep one on me, do you?”

The AI falls silent.

“BON-BON?”

The door slides open behind you, and you straighten from where you were leaning forward urging the feed to respond. Vanessa tromps in with a holoscreen tucked under one arm, dark circles starkly apparent. She bypasses the mug you left at her seat and chooses the next spot, leaving a wide gap between you. Your heart sinks at this subtle slight.

“Morning,” you say, aiming for an upbeat tone. “Did you sleep well?”

Your reward is an irritated glance. “No, not really.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that-”

“Is that coffee?” she interrupts, staring at the mug with a darkening expression. “You helped yourself?”

Whoa there, possessive. Like you even want to drink her nasty beverages. “Yep,” you say lightly, choosing to misunderstand. “I got my tea here. Lemme know if I made it wrong for you, okay? We don’t have coffee back home.”

Vanessa clears her throat with a faint look of embarrassment and pulls the mug towards her. “Thank you,” she mutters.

“No problem. Now...” You glance over your documents and select the first topic. “Uhh, I think first on the docket is a discussion of delivery delays, and the submerged subdock. It looks like the parts have yet to come...”

“I’ll start us off,” Vanessa says, launching into it.

The longer the meeting drags on, the less tense Vanessa becomes, settling into a work-focussed headspace. You’re almost grateful – this is probably the most civil exchange the two of you have shared, even if her questions do border on demanding at times.

“I also wanted to address the lull in facility upkeep as of late. I, uhm, was unaware you were suffering from recent injuries,” Vanessa says, tone becoming awkward before she rallies again. “So please be sure to report anything that could affect your workflow to avoid misunderstandings.”

You chew your lip. That’s a lie – you know for sure she saw your injuries the night you received them, plus you reminded her of it a few days later. Normally you’d be willing to let this slide, but the minutes of these meetings are sent to Base and you’re not about to look bad on record in the name of politeness.

“Of course,” you say, treading on the beginning of Vanessa’s next sentence as she tries to rush on. “Just a reminder though, I did submit a report on the night of my injury within the hour of returning to the facility. Do you have full access to the server Portal? All my reports are stored on there.”

Vanessa’s mouth twists. “I have access, but I didn’t see any reports.”

“That’s alright,” you say with sympathy. “I know the folders can be a little hard to navigate. Here, let me show you.”

“No, that’s- okay...” Vanessa begins, but you’re already pulling up the Portal and accessing the reports.

“See, here and here,” you point out, navigating slowly so she can follow along. “And reports are in the drop-down here. Injuries have their own section, but if you want a shortcut you can access this medical section on the toolbar.” Her face is confused, and you smile. “It’s a lot, right? But you get used to it. Here’s my report of the night I got injured.”

“I already read this one,” Vanessa says, just as you access the history to see who else has viewed it. The list shows Base, and yourself several times, a few of which must BON-BON using your account. No Vanessa.

“Okay, cool,” you say, swiftly flicking the list away, but the damage has already been done and Vanessa is turning red. You can feel your own cheeks warm in second-hand embarrassment as you say, “But yeah, all there. I wouldn’t say there’s been a lull in facility upkeep either – work is as-needed, so there’s bound to be downtime. The facility has its own troubleshooting system, so there’ll be a record of if issues are going unaddressed. That’s here, by the way,” you add, tapping the screen.

Vanessa is relaxing the longer you go without mentioning her fib. “Perhaps a solution can be found if there isn’t enough to do?”

You can’t help the derisive look you shoot her, though you quickly cover it up. “Well, we can’t exactly break the building to create work,” you say with a little laugh. “Don’t worry – I’ve usually got a chunky docket to handle. It’s just that with a new team arriving, most of the upkeep and preparations have been handled already.”

And I have the reports to back it up, so there, you add mentally. Vanessa wouldn’t be so critical of your routine if she knew what you had to deal with before she hopped aboard.

But she is, and she has no problem making it known. “So, magically your docket cleared immediately before my arrival?” she says dryly.

The anger that rushes your head momentarily makes you dizzy. You take a moment to look down at your holoscreen, flexing your fingers under the table to calm down. “Would you prefer the facility be left in disarray until after your arrival?” you say, with a little too much attitude to sound strictly professional. It’s getting harder and harder to keep up a polite facade. You take a deep breath.

The switch in your attitude startles Vanessa, but she responds with her usual challenging tone. “That’s not what I said. I just don’t think it’s the best use of your time to wait for maintenance work to manifest while you hang about the facility. Perhaps if you were more proactive in your approach you could fulfil the role that allows you to live here.”

That sounds like a veiled threat. A chill descends on your skin, but luckily you know you’re covered. “'Hang about the facility’?” you repeat slowly. “Are you referring to the time I spent recovering from my injuries?”

She rolls her eyes. “No, of course not. That time is necessary, I suppose. But if you’re insistent on-”

“So what downtime are you specifically referring to?” you pursue, taking refuge in professional language. “As I spent two days recovering from a severe bite and lacerations, then I returned to work the day after. I have had maintenance tasks to fulfil every day of the week since then. I have to admit I’m at a loss of what you could be referring to, aside from the time I take to eat and recuperate.”

Vanessa is silent for a few seconds. “I just feel,” she says slowly, “that if you find yourself unable to fulfil the obligations of your role, we should find someone who can.”

Eyebrows raising to your hair, you say, “Really? Are you making this judgement on the behalf of Base?”

“My team needs employees that take their role seriously,” Vanessa says.

“Good thing they have you,” you say, leaning back in your chair. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears. “But as I am contracted by Base, neither you or your team have the power to remove me from my position.”

Vanessa narrows her eyes, fingers clenching around the mug of coffee you made her. “If you cannot perform your role, you should vacate it.”

“I’m performing my role just fine. And again, you and your team do not have the power to fire me. Not legally, anyway,” you add jokingly. Please, let the mood lift.

Vanessa is smiling, a nasty little thing. “Do you think there aren’t ways to get rid of people like you? It would only take one call to give someone at Base the right incentive. You’re not as protected as you think you are.” She leans forward on the table, lowering her voice threateningly. “You’re expendable.”

She just... came right out and said it, you think, disbelieving. BON-BON must be going wild right about now.

“Wow!” You laugh, slapping your palm lightly on the table. Vanessa jumps, her spiteful smugness turning a little unsure. “Ahah, that was a funny joke! But let’s get back to business.”

“What?” she says. “Are you- I’m not joking. Do you really think you can-”

“We had fun here,” you interrupt, “but the joke’s over now. Let’s move on.”

Vanessa is staring at you like you just turned an impulsive cartwheel. “What’s wrong with you? I’m saying that if you don’t vacate the position, my team and I will-”

You slap the table again a little more forcefully, making the mugs and glasses rattle. “Just a heads-up, since I don’t remember if I told you,” you say cheerily, “but these meetings are all recorded and sent directly to Base. So even if you make a joke, a really funny and crazy joke, it’s best to clarify that you’re not being serious. Otherwise someone could get the wrong idea.”

Vanessa has frozen, her eyes wide. They flick to the main feed with its shimmering screen.

“Of course, private meetings with your team contain proprietary information, and aren’t to be accessed,” you continue, gathering up your documents. “But since this is a meeting that concerns Base and its facilities, it is currently streaming to a secure server. A joke like that could totally land you in legal hot water, so be sure to always say that you’re not being serious. Okay?”

“... Okay,” Vanessa says quietly.

“It was really funny though,” you say. “Anyway, I think we’ve covered it all here, but what I’ll do to prevent any further issues...” You tap your holoscreen, select and paste, send. “I’m sending you all my reports now. Oh, and scans. Here’s a link to my itinerary too. There’s a few hundred files, but all my duties and tasks are outlined. Hopefully this’ll give you a clear picture of everything that went down prior to your arrival, but if you have any questions or follow-ups, be sure to let me know.”

Vanessa’s holoscreen pings, then pings again, then the noise quickens and blurs into a shrill of continuous sound until she mutes the gadget. Her eyes are wide at the sheer volume of content filling her inbox.

“Please be sure to review all of that thoroughly before our next meeting,” you say, rising from your seat. “Was there anything else you wanted to address?”

Vanessa opens her mouth, then closes it again. “What... why are you... dressed like that?” she says, her eyes snagging on your outfit now you’re on your feet.

You want to slap her upside the head. YOU said I should dress smarter for meetings!

Shrug. “Just felt like dressing up,” you say lightly. “I probably won’t be doing it again.”

When the news comes through that the Glamrock team has a set arrival date, you almost dance. The tension has risen since your meeting with Vanessa, an almost visible current crackling in the air every time you find yourselves in the same room. Hopefully having other people around can cool things down.

Or make things worse. Still, you’re nothing if not an optimist. You still don’t have names or titles, and you’re certainly not going to ask Vanessa for the bazillionth time, so you make your peace with this team remaining a mystery for now.

It’s almost been a week general time since your disastrous meeting with Vanessa when she finally approaches you again. You have been avoiding her like the plague, not even stopping by to offer leftovers or drinks as is your habit.

Sequestered in a section of the lab hidden from the door’s sightline, you frown at your holoscreen. A short-notice meeting request has just popped up between you, Cora, and Mannon, a member of management. You’re mentally rearranging today’s itinerary even as you hit accept. Random video calls aren’t the norm.

Your gift to Moon lies before you on the desk, glimmering in the light of the holoscreen. Moon’s scans hover at eye eight, measurements and materials jotted down – a useful reference to perfect your gift. He probably didn’t give you the shell with anything in mind other than gaining some trust, but material reciprocation is crucial in your culture. It shows you care. You still have yet to update his file with notes on language or exchanges. It’s nice having this little secret.

The door slides open and Vanessa calls your name, shrilly. You deactivate the feed and quickly duck below the table, crouch-walking behind the bench so you can make it look like you approached from the other walkway.

“Vanessa,” you say, popping your head around the far partition. “Is everything okay?”

She brandishes her holoscreen at you, deathly pale. “Mermaids?” she says, strangled.

You relax. Looks like she’s making her way through the files. “Oh, those. Yeah, we got some.”

“Giant mermaids?”

“Well, just one.” So far.

Vanessa stares at you for a few seconds, then turns and walks right back out of the room.

“Okay, good talk,” you say, voice echoing in the empty lab. Your own holoscreen flashes a notification, so you go to get ready for your video call.

In the meeting room, you exchange the usual greetings and small talk before Cora says that Mannon will be heading the topic. You sit up attentively as he clears his throat, light flickering across his face as he consults a holoscreen off-view.

“Oh-kay,” he says, whiffling a sparse moustache. It’s night wherever he is, you can see from the window behind him. “So. An anonymous report has been made concerning unauthorised alterations made to Base-owned facility tools.” He squints. “Specifically, a pair of... ‘Zuru X-Action Turbo Boots: Series Aqua 9.’ I’m sending that through to you now.”

You make a noise in the back of your throat when scanning the report, raising your brows. It mentions you by name. A slow sense of dread begins to overtake you.

“The shorthand of this report is that you have been tweaking the performance of these boots without first seeking permission from your Base overseers,” Mannon summarises. “As you no doubt know, applying unauthorised alternations to Base equipment is a legally actionable offense. We just wanted to follow-up with you before making any snap judgements.”

“Yeah,” you say slowly, mind racing, “thanks for that. So, I think I know what this is about. I own a pair of these boots for my personal use – I bought them with my own money. They’re a different model though. Sometimes I do little alterations to improve their performance or sort out any issues in the mechanisms.”

Cora is nodding. Mechanics owning and fiddling with their own equipment is par for the course.

“I think maybe someone saw me working on my own boots and got the wrong idea,” you finish, raising your palms. “I can bring you my boots if you’d like? In fact, I can also scan the boots Base provided to prove nothing’s been changed.”

Mannon is nodding before you even finish speaking. “Yes, that would be helpful.”

It only takes a handful minutes to collect both sets of boots and return to the meeting room at high speed. Anxiety is clenching your throat, threatening to overtake you, but you know this claim is bogus. There isn’t actually anything to worry about. You pass Vanessa in the corridor on your return, and she steps back as you zip around her, turning to watch you go.

Back in the meeting room, you set up the stationary scanner and push through both sets of boots. It’s clear just from looking that only one set has been altered, and it isn’t the Base version. Mannon takes his time to examine the scans, tongue poking out from under his moustache. You wait patiently, entertaining yourself with watching the reflection of Cora’s roomcard on the table’s surface. There’s a slight shift to their shoulders, but otherwise very little idle movement. They blink on a seven second loop. So obvious.

“Hmm,” Mannon says, recapturing your attention. “All looks to be in order. I’ll put these scans through to the Trims department for the sake of certainty, but you’re in the clear. Keep an eye out for official confirmation in the next ten days.”

“Sure,” you say, with a swell of relief. You hadn’t realised how much you were sweating. “Thanks.”

“Of course. Now, I do find this concerning,” Mannon continues, tapping his off-screen feed. “An anonymous report so we don’t know who made it, but a serious accusation like this should not be submitted without preliminary investigation. Did anyone consult with you over the state of this equipment prior to this meeting?”

“No,” you say. “When was the report made?”

Mannon names a date, his eyes sharpening as you grimace. A little time after Vanessa saw you altering your own boots. “As I understand, you are alone in the facility aside from one member of the new team... let’s see... Glamrock.”

“Correct,” you say quietly.

“Oh dear!” Cora says, their artless delivery completely at odds with the serious nature of the conversation. You swallow a smile as Mannon’s face briefly twitches in irritation.

“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that an accusation of such a serious nature will be taken with the upmost weight,” Mannon continues. “We do not condone harassment or false accusations of any kind, particularly those that seek to use legal framework as subterfuge for spiteful actions.”

It takes you a few seconds to muddle through his wordy delivery before you understand. He’s promising to follow-up on the false accusation, against the accuser.

“Thank you,” you say. It’s the safest option.

Mannon offers you a brief twitch of the lips before wrapping up and signing off. You smile at Cora in the feed, offering a helpless shrug. Your face in your roomcard looks wan and sheened with sweat.

“Aside from this, I hope everything is going well?” Cora says. It sounds like they’re asking about the weather.

“Well enough,” you say. “Y’know, this and that. Got the sub dock coming in soon, so that’ll be a big task.”

“And your health? How is your shoulder?”

“Good, thank you,” you say, pleased. With all the Vanessa shenanigans, you forgot how nice polite company can be. “I’m healing up great. And you?”

It’s not too long until Cora also signs off, and then you’re left alone in the meeting room. You sigh, shoulders slumping. It feels like the day should be over, but it’s only just approaching lunchtime. The feed remains blank even as you sit in your chair and sip water, waiting for the anxiety to abate. Either BON-BON wasn’t listening, or there’s another reason for him to remain silent.

Sure enough, Vanessa is on the other side of the door when you slide it open. She glances over your shoulder, a question hovering on her lips.

“The meeting room’s all yours,” you say, stepping around her. “I didn’t touch your stuff.” She always leaves her big binder of documents on the far side of the table like a tempting invitation to snoop.

“Is there a problem?” she says. Her eyes linger on the two pairs of boots under your arm.

“Nope. Everything is fine, thanks,” you say.

The moment you enter the lab BON-BON is lighting up the feed with breathless exclamations. You indulge him for a few minutes before returning to your hiding place to work on Moon’s gift. He probably attributes your noncommittal replies to discomfort and anxiety, but it’s actually neither.

You’re thinking.

Chapter Text

The parts for the sub dock arrive, so you’re spared from having to see Vanessa so often. It’s a several day job, drilling and carving and oftentimes having to weld pieces above water before sending them down. Luckily the installation isn’t anything new to you, set into the rock wall beneath the facility and platform both. You’re basically working from home.

Unluckily, most of the parts are too heavy for you move by yourself, so you have to utilise the mini sub. A novelty, but less enjoyable than swimming. Moon’s eyes bug out of his head when he eventually arrives to see this monstrosity of a machine zipping around, and you laugh helplessly as his fins rise stiff, all bared teeth and pinprick pupils. You breach the surface and open the access panel, leaning your arms on cool metal. Moon surfaces soon after at a healthy distance, his aggressive stance turning sheepish and embarrassed when he catches you grinning at him.

“You’re so funny,” you say as he swims closer. “It’s a machine, silly fish. No hurt.”

“Shut up,” he hisses, a phase you think he may have picked up from BON-BON’S incessant squawking in your ear. “Stupid. Anger. Hate.”

“Aw, you don’t hate me,” you say. “Don’t say that.”

“Hate,” he insists. He blows mutinous bubbles under the water.

“So mean,” you sigh, and return to the sub. The platform is almost finished, and you have something to give him.

When you dock the sub and sit at the platform’s edge, Moon is ready to spit a mouthful of water directly into your face. You scrub it from your eyes, sighing. “I thought I told you not to do that.”

“You think?” Moon says, with just the right amount of innocent sarcasm. His ancient English is coming along in leaps and bounds, often to your detriment.

“Dick,” you mutter. “Guess you’re not having any of this, then.”

Moon’s eyes sharpen at the object you pull out from behind you. The grocery order came in a few days ago, with all manner of familiar and unfamiliar foods. It seems the new team has unusual tastes, and you’re actually quite excited for their arrival. You won’t let Vanessa’s poor attitude pull you down.

“This is called ice-cream,” you say, unwrapping the packet. “It’s a dairy dessert, made with milk, I think. Sweet and cold.”

“Sweet and cold,” Moon murmurs, eyes greedy. He watches as you try a bite, claws digging into your knees where your legs dangle in the water.

You tut as your teeth shiver. It’s been a while since you last had ice-cream, so you’ve lost the knack of biting without freeze pain. But the ice is good on your gums, especially since they’ve been aching lately. You try a few more mouthfuls before offering the rest to Moon. “Don’t eat the stick.”

Predictably, Moon consumes the ice-cream with barely a shiver and lot of flashing teeth. You withdraw your hand to a safe distance, plucking the stick back when he begins to gnaw on it. “Hey, chill. You need to learn to savour things.”

Moon subsides now the treat is gone, resting a cold mouth on your leg. “I can savour things,” he murmurs, red eyes gazing up at you.

He chuckles when you nudge him away, tapping up your legs with his claws until you pull them out of the water. He still doesn’t understand the leg thing yet, not even after you’ve blushingly explained why it’s a little inappropriate. It seems some things just don’t translate.

The door slides open behind you, and Moon’s laugh cuts off instantly. He stiffens like a feral cat as you turn and look at Vanessa hovering in the doorway. Her face darkens when she claps eyes on you, and she strides across the platform with no regard to Moon, making the metal ring.

“Whoa, hey-” You struggle to rise to your feet as Moon lets out a long, low hiss like a snake rearing to strike.

Vanessa doesn’t look at him, raising a holoscreen as she approaches. “Do you want to explain to me,” she grits out, “why I just got-”

“Stop!” you snap, throwing a palm up. Vanessa falters to a halt as Moon’s hiss morphs into a rumble of a growl, pausing briefly for intakes of air.

“What-” she begins, a faint look of confusion flashing across her face.

“Are you crazy?” you say, approaching her with a cautionary hand still held up. “What did I say about coming out here without a breather? Do you not see the mermaid?”

For the first time, Vanessa’s eyes flick down at Moon, now hunched over the lip of the platform like something out of a horror movie. She goes white. “What- that’s-”

“A dangerous thing to do? Yes,” you say. She still isn’t moving, so you take her by the shoulders and forcibly turn her, steering back towards the door. “We’re going back inside. Come on.”

You send a glance back at Moon before the door slides closed. He’s still braced on the platform, teeth bared, but the growling has ceased. His eyes are laser focussed on Vanessa.

She shakes you off once you’re in the exit chamber, holoscreen raised like a barrier. “Let go!”

“What do you think you’re playing at?” you say, furious. “Moon is not a fairy tale mermaid, he’s an intelligent and dangerous creature. You should not have come stomping up like he wasn’t even there. What if he attacked you? What if he attacked me?”

Vanessa is faltering under the weight of your anger, eyes shaking. “I- I didn’t...”

“Didn’t what? You didn’t know? Didn’t see him? Because I don’t believe either of those excuses for a second.”

Vanessa bows her head. “... didn’t think he was real,” she mumbles.

You have to restrain yourself from shaking her. “That doesn’t make sense,” you say in a voice of forced calm. “So you thought my reports were lying – fine, whatever. I only had like a bunch of scans and pictures to prove it, but sure. But then you saw Moon, a real life mermaid in the water, and you walked up anyway?”

Vanessa is silent, staring unsteadily. Her shoulders are hitching with unsteady breaths, swaying in place.

Sigh. You’ve seen that look before. “Okay, sit down. Head between your knees.”

“What..?” Vanessa barely struggles as you push her down onto the floor, a hand on the back of her neck.

“You look like you’re about to faint. Stay like this for a minute,” you say. Glancing to the side, the feed by the door flickers.

Vanessa is saying something faintly. “I haven’t been sleeping lately…”

You bite your finger, stifle a sigh. “Okay,” you say, more calmly. “Do you want to go back to your room? Try for a nap?”

The barest nod. A staffbot appears in the doorway, hovering uncertainly. Together you help Vanessa to her feet and take her back to her room. She settles on the bed heavily, her head lolling a little. “I’m fine,” she says, some of the old attitude coming back along with the colour in her cheeks. “You don’t have to stay.”

That’s great, because you weren’t intending to. “Alright. Do you want me to call someone for you? A member of your team, family? No?” She’s shaking her head. “We have an off-site doctor...? Okay.”

Well, whatever. You’re in the open doorway when Vanessa speaks up again. “I wanted to talk to you about something,” she says weakly, patting about for the holoscreen you left lying on the floor of the exit chamber.

You turn reluctantly. “Can it wait until you feel better?”

“No,” she says, though she doesn’t attempt to sit up. Her doggedness is almost admirable. “I saw... Tell me. Just why did I get a message from your company warning me about false reports and abusive language?”

You doubt it was phrased like that. Base isn’t nearly so blunt. “Ah. Maybe someone viewed the footage from our meeting?” you say.

“Our meeting?” Her voice is unsteady.

“Y’know, the one where you made that joke,” you say, as though you could be talking about any other meeting.

Vanessa is silent for a moment. “But... I didn’t report anything.”

You make a noncommittal noise and turn away – you’re not about to bring up the boots. Especially since you already got an email officially stating you’re in the clear. “Yeah, me either. Rest up.”

She says something else, but the door is already sliding shut behind you. You ask the staffbot trailing on your heels to fetch her a glass of water before tromping off alone, back to the exit chamber. The space beyond the little window is empty. Moon is gone.

BON-BON pipes up as you’re retrieving Vanessa’s abandoned holoscreen. “Her version of playing dumb is even worse than yours,” he says, a little note of glee sharpening his voice. “You should have mentioned the boots. Made her squirm.”

You’re silent for a few seconds, staring down at the holoscreen. Your face looks serious in the blank surface.

BON-BON says your name. You take a deep breath.

“Please don’t do that again.”

For a moment, the only sound is the faint buzz of the artificial lights and the distant rumble of the utility tunnels below.

“Do... what?” BON-BON says, uncertain. “You don’t want to talk about the boots?”

Your fingers tighten around the holoscreen casing. “I know you’re the one who made the false report,” you say steadily. “And I’m asking you not to try the same trick twice.”

BON-BON giggles, strained. “Seriously? You think I reported you? Why in the world would I do something like that?”

“To get Vanessa in trouble.” Obviously.

“Wouldn’t reporting you get you in trouble?”

“You think I’m stupid,” you mutter. “Okay, let me spell out my reasoning then, since you’re acting dumb.”

BON-BON makes a sound of protest, but you bulldoze over him.

“You make an anonymous report that’s easily proved wrong,” you say. “I show that it’s false, as you intended. False reports are taken seriously by Base, so they start looking for the culprit. And then they realise that the only two people in this facility are me and Vanessa. I’m obviously not going to report myself, so Vanessa is the one the blame lands on.”

“Hey, I’m here too,” BON-BON says weakly.

“But they won’t be looking at you, will they?” you counter. “Put that together with her threats during our meeting, and Base has cause to scrutinise her.”

“What would even be the point of that?” the AI says. “It’s not like it would get her fired or anything.”

“No, but it would piss her off. And you don’t like her, and you enjoy drama, because you’re bored,” you say viciously. “So you put me in danger of losing my job, and yourself in danger of being discovered, all to anger someone who’s already trouble enough anyway.”

BON-BON is silent, shocked by the venom in your tone. He stops and starts a few sentences unsuccessfully.

“And not only that,” you say, trembling a little. “But you were dumb about it too. An anonymous message with only two people in the building? Vanessa isn’t stupid enough to pull a stunt like that, and if she was going to make a report on me she’d do it with her whole chest. She’d do it with her name, with a smile on her face, because you’ve got to be confident to be as mean as she is. You don’t even understand what she’s like.”

“Hahah... so, uh, you’re saying that I’m the stupid one then-” BON-BON begins, his voice wavering.

“YES!” you scream dead into the feed. “You ARE stupid! Stars, she almost got mauled because she came stomping onto the platform after getting a warning for something you did! What would you have done if she died, or got disfigured or something? Is that funny to you?”

“... No,” he says, very quietly. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I didn’t think-”

“Yeah, you didn’t think,” you snap. “So stop messing about and start thinking. Use your brain – I know you’ve got one in there, somewhere.”

Once again, the AI is silent. You take a deep breath and step back before you can do something like punch the feed. The holoscreen is flickering where your clenched hand has affected the structure, and you collapse it before it wavers any further.

“I’m sorry,” BON-BON says.

You snort. “Yeah.”

“No, I am sorry,” he says more forcefully. “You’re... right. It was stupid of me. I thought I had a good plan and we could both laugh about it later, but I didn’t think it through. I should have considered all the problems it would cause.”

“You know, I don’t like that your apology seems to centre around the ways your plan falls short, but okay,” you say quietly. “I’m not asking for a miracle. I’m not even asking you to say sorry. I just want you to promise me that you won’t do this again. That’s all I want.”

“... I promise I won’t do this again,” BON-BON says. “I swear.”

You nod stiffly. “Okay. Thank you. I’m going to go now, and I don’t want you to bother me again today.”

“Okay,” BON-BON whispers. You leave him there in the exit chamber, still furious from such a close shave.

What a day.

The rumble comes when you’re sound asleep, ripping you out of an indistinct dream about losing your teeth. You stare blearily up at the ceiling as the rumble crests and dies down again, something on your beside table rattling along with the noise. Eventually, all is silent again.

Well, you’re awake now, and kind of thirsty too. You roll out of bed and shuffle to the door, eyes squinted against the night lighting of the hallway.

“Did you hear that?” Vanessa hisses, and you leap a foot into the air.

“Gah-! Don’t do that,” you croak, clutching your chest. “What?”

A clammy hand seizes your arm. “That noise,” Vanessa whispers, her eyes wild. She looks too awake to have been asleep recently.

“Oh... the rumble?” you say, making your way to the main room. You really want to shake off Vanessa from where she’s gripping your hand like a child. “Yeah, we get those sometimes, remember?”

“I- remember,” she says haltingly, and at this point you seriously doubt she does. “I just didn’t think it would be like that.”

“Did you think it was your imagination?” you say, too tired to be tactful. You grab and fill a glass all while one hand is trapped. “Or a dream?”

BON-BON’s blank feed stutters for a split-second in your periphery, and the glass creaks under your clenching fingers. Don’t say a fucking word.

“No!” Vanessa snaps. “... Maybe.”

You’re gulping water, complete with nose gasps and the occasional gurgle. “All real,” you say wetly, setting the glass in the sink. “C’mon, let’s go to sleep. They’re rare, so you probably won’t hear another for a while.”

“But what is it?”

“Unghh, a big fish maybe?” you say around a yawn. “Or... rocks. Y’know, tectonic? I forget the phrase.”

Vanessa is staring at your mouth with a faintly puzzled expression. You pause outside your door, waiting for her to get a clue. “Well, this is me,” you hint.

She jumps and finally lets go of your hand, shuffling back a step. Her eyes are wide and dark in the dim light. For a horrifying moment you think she’s about to ask if you can share a room for the night, hesitating as she is.

But then she blurts out, “Goodnight,” and darts into her room.

Shaking your head, you return to your room also. Now you need to pee.

You’re sharing an apple with Moon when another rumble comes. He seems to notice it approaching before you do, even going so far as to hoist himself up on the wet ledge you’re perching on before the water begins to churn. He scowls when you edge away, turning so you’re not baring an artery to him. You hold the apple in your mouth while you take out your scanner, making a note to log the disturbance for Base. You’re far enough from the territory that distant communications are patchy, BON-BON’s typical anxieties over Moon’s proximity blanketed by a thick layer of static. The water shakes around your shins, rock vibrating against your butt. Moon lets out a series of unhappy clicks and leans over, warm shoulder pressed against you.

You turn, only for him to take a bite from the apple in your mouth, tilting his head for a better angle. Since he’s so impatient you unhook your teeth and let him have it, only for it to bounce off your thigh and drop into the water. He doesn’t pursue it as you’re expecting, instead settling to lean more heavily against your side as he chews. The full-body suit is uncomfortably warm with his heat added.

“Do you know where those rumbles are coming from?” you ask, allowing it. Fear at his company has drastically decreased the longer you speak, although you still nurse a healthy dose of caution. No splashing, no sudden shouts, no swimming off swiftly in case you trigger his instinct to chase. You won’t show him your neck.

Moon licks his teeth, eyes flicking to you. “Lumblres?”

You smile. “Rumbles. You know, ruh, ruhhhh,” you try to imitate the deep down sound of colossal shifting.

“No,” Moon says, and creates a subsonic growl deep in his chest that immediately activates a prey response. The monkey ancestor in your brain stem shivers.

You shake it off. “Yeah, that’s better. But the word is still rumbles.”

“Lumbles.”

“No, look.” You raise your chin and enunciate slowly, so he can see the movement of your tongue. “Rumbles.”

Moon’s eyes narrow, staring intently at your mouth. “Rlumbles.”

“Very good,” you concede, and he preens. It’s close enough, but you don’t want him to look at your mouth any longer. It reminds you of Vanessa and the unsettling habit she’s picked up doing the same. It’s enough to make you self-conscious – every time you speak to her you want to check your teeth.

“Maybe you can learn to roll your R’s too,” you say, forcibly turning your mind from your unfortunate co-worker. “Like this: rrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”

Moon’s eyes go wide, pupils dilating. “How.”

You laugh. “Like this, look. Rrrrrrrrrrrr.”

“Rrr... lruhhhh.” He’s getting frustrated, brow pinched.

“Close,” you say, smiling. “But you didn’t answer my question. Do you know what’s creating the rumbles?”

Immediately his face closes off, but he widens his eyes and pretends anyway. “Lrunbles?”

“Mhm.” Judging by that reaction, you don’t believe him. He feigns confusion when he doesn’t want to answer, you’ve noticed. Playing dumb. “You don’t know, or you don’t want to answer?”

Moon tilts his head, blinking. There’s an unhappy slant to his mouth.

You sigh and fidget with your breather, looking down at the apple still bobbing in the water. “Okay,” you say heavily, feeling him twitch against your arm. “Listen, uh... I’m just going to say this, and then I’ll drop it.”

Moon tenses against you. His tail lashes briefly, then falls still.

“You may have already realised that I’m here to work, not just swim. Y’know, you’ve seen the scanner, the nets... something’s up, you’re not clueless. But what I do here isn’t connected to you. When I ask about other mermaids, or the rumbles, or where you live, I’m not doing it so I can tell anyone else. I’m just curious. Friends tell each other stuff, you know?” you ramble. “So just understand, that when I ask these things I’m not doing it so I can pass it on. I’ll keep everything a secret if you want me to, and I would never lead people to your home. I haven’t even told anyone I’m teaching you English.”

Moon is silent and still, though whether from reluctance or confusion is up for debate. You strangle the urge to kick your legs in the water – there’s still plenty of things around here that would like to take a bite.

He jumps when you slap your hands against your legs. “Anyway!” you say cheerily. “All that is just to say, if you don’t want to answer you can just say no. I’ll respect it, I’ll back off. Just, wanted to make sure we’re on the same page. I’m not asking to sell you or anything.”

“Friend...” Moon’s claws dig into the rock beside your leg.

You smile at him. “Don’t sweat it, yeah? I like hanging out with you, even if you’re all weird and secretive.”

Moon’s eyes narrow, teeth reappearing. “Brat.”

“Brrrrrrrrrrrrrat,” you say, laughing at the little pinch in his brow.

“Brrhh... braa...” He tries again.

“Brrrrrrrrrrat. Rrrrrrrrrrrumble,” you say, tongue starting to feel itchy. “Rrrrrrrrrrr-”

Warmth against your mouth, a tongue pressing against yours. Moon’s hand protects the back of your head as you instinctively rock back in surprise, opening his mouth and deepening the kiss. You make a little squeak in the back of your throat.

Then he pulls back and looks at you, eyes lazily half-closed. “Rrrrrrrrrrr,” he says, a grin of accomplishment spreading over his face.

Your brain comes back online slowly. He- he was feeling the position of your tongue. He was just trying to mimic the noise. “Ah- well done,” you say, eyes blank with shock even as you automatically congratulate him. “You did it.”

“Rrrrrrrrrrr.” He’s enjoying the new sensation, moving his tongue about his mouth. His gills flutter. “Rrrrr.”

You cover your mouth as his hands leave you, averting your eyes. How are you supposed to explain the implications of that? He doesn’t even understand not to put his face between your legs.

“Friend?” You flinch as his hand meets your shoulder.

“Yes!” you squeak. “What- no- what do you want?”

Moon’s eyes feel like a spotlight as they search your face. His hand cups your cheek. “Warm.”

You cough and bat him away, fanning yourself with one hand. He won’t understand what it means anyway. “Yes,” you mutter. “Um, listen. That- uh, do you remember the leg thing I told you about? There’s certain places you shouldn’t put your face?”

“Sad, friend?” His thumb presses gently in the divot between your brows, smoothing it out. There’s a faint smile curling his lips.

You lean away, but he’s back in your space and you don’t have room to speak. You turn and slip into the water, the coolness making you gasp and sharpening your clarity. “Listen- don’t pout at me,” you say as he makes a face, hand hanging in the air. “Don’t get too close, I told you. Don’t put your mouth on mine. It means something weird in my culture, got it? Weird to you. You won’t like it.”

“Mouth?” Moon says innocently, tilting his head.

“I know you know what a mouth is.”

There’s a sudden glup from beside you as something snatches the bobbing apple down. You freeze, eyes flicking to the side. That felt big.

Moon lets out an excited hiss and dives smoothly into the water in pursuit. You sigh and rest your face on the rock ledge, willing your cheeks to cool. Whatever. Conversation over, I guess.

You return to work, mapping out potential routes for the new sub to traverse. You actually used this task to lure Moon away from the facility territory – Base are teleporting the new sub into the home cave, and you don’t want a certain mermaid getting killed in a horrific fusing accident. It’s not a full sub, small enough to fit a modest team while still tackling many of the medium submerged tunnels. It’s rather exciting.

Moon reappears later with blood on his teeth and a sharkish skull in his claws. He sucks the eyes out of the sockets with every appearance of enjoyment while you watch on enviously. You have had time to cool down.

Sure enough, when you later return to the facility the new sub is ready and waiting. You dock the machine and return with the knowledge of several jobs well done.

Your lips are still slightly swollen.

Peeling yourself out of the suit, you pause in consideration. It’s about time for dinner, but BON-BON didn’t prompt you like he typically does. Half of that could be explained by travelling out of range, but he’s usually ready to chatter your ear off on the way back. What gives?

You pop your head into the main room, keeping a cautious eye out for Vanessa. “BON-BON?”

A few seconds go by. “Yes?”

“You okay?”

Another missed beat. Things have settled between you two since the whole false report situation, but there’s still a smidgen of lingering awkwardness. “I’m fine. Welcome back.”

“Hm.” You frown at his screen. “You sure? The new sub came in – I thought you would want to see it.

“I saw it,” BON-BON says, his voice very level.

He did? But he didn’t say anything-

A terrible thought occurs. You close your eyes even as a giggle rises in your chest. “Ah. By any chance, did you still have visuals after audio cut out?”

“... Yes,” the AI mutters, with supreme reluctance.

You clap your hand over your mouth as a snort breaks free. Face flaming, you say, “Listen, listen- if you saw anything with Moon-”

“I don’t want to hear it!” BON-BON snaps instantly.

“No, but- it’s not what it looked like-” you babble, voice wavering like a kazoo.

“I said I don’t want to hear it! Ugh!” The feed goes dark, and you burst into embarrassed giggles, covering your face with both hands. Oh, stars, you could hear the gross! through tone alone.

You’re still a little flushed when Vanessa finds you in the dining room. Your good mood instantly dissipates, face falling. “Hi. I’m almost done with the counter.”

Vanessa glances at the fish you’re preparing. “I’m going abroad for a few days,” she announces.

“Oh.” You wonder how she would react if you began applauding. “Okay. Thanks for the heads-up.”

“Do I need to arrange cover?”

“No,” you say, trying to hide the dry note in your voice. Typically you manage pretty well without her. “It’s all good. Have a safe trip.”

She’s peering at your mouth as you speak, and a result you find yourself unconsciously mumbling. You turn back to your meal prep, nudging aside the staffbot trying to take the knife from your hand.

“By the way, the new sub arrived,” you say, lifting out the fish spine. Vanessa shudders in your periphery. “Did you see it?”

“No.”

“The dock is complete as well. I guess it’s all systems go on operation Glamrock.”

“What do you mean?” she snaps, head lifting abruptly.

You pause with the knife hovering. “We’re all prepared for the new team.”

“What did you mean by systems?” Her green eyes are like lasers.

“It’s a phrase,” you say weakly. “Like, good to go? All systems go? Like a spaceship?”

She stares at you for a few seconds more before blinking and turning away. “I’ll be out of touch for about two days,” she says. “But when I return, I’ll schedule a meeting to get you up to speed on my team. Names and roles, you know.”

Your brows raise. That’s cutting it very close to the arrival date, to the point where you expected to be going in blind. “That’s great,” you say, setting the knife down. “And, do you think we could all have a video call or something too before they arrive?”

“No.” Vanessa shoots you down instantly. “They’re wrapping up their current residency, so they don’t have time to chat with you.”

The obvious implication being that your time isn’t in as high demand. “Alright,” you say mildly. “Well, I finished mapping the sub routes today, so feel free to let them know if you end up speaking soon.”

“I will.”

Vanessa stops talking as you yawn, one hand coming up too late to cover your mouth. Eyes watering, you say, “What? Is there something on my face?”

She’s frowning. “I think you need a dentist.”

“What? Why?” Alarm seizes you – has she been spotting a cavity all this time? You raise the knife to look at your teeth in the flat of the blade.

“It looks like you’ve got a few extra,” she says, tapping at her teeth. The side of her lip curls, mildly perturbed.

Ah. You did think your gums have been bothering you lately. Lowering the knife, you say, “Oh, that. Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

“I wasn’t.” But she hovers, eyeing you. “It looks odd. Why don’t you get them removed? Or, it’s never too late for braces.”

You suck a breath in through your teeth – the first row of them – and look away. “No, they’re fine. It’s no big deal.”

“I thought I spotted it the other day, but I wasn’t sure,” Vanessa says, leaning a hip against the counter. She’s in the mood for a chat, it seems. “My cousin had something like that, but not as severe. Yours almost looks like a second set. It’s got to hurt your tongue, right?”

“Hm.”

“It always reminded me of those people with weird alien quirks,” she muses, apparently blind to the rising tension. “Back at college there was this girl in my dorm with webbed fingers. Kind of gross, but I guess it can’t be helped. I hear most of those people get them removed.”

“Fancy that,” you murmur, slicing the fish a little harder than necessary.

“Not that I have anything against aliens,” Vanessa adds, finally picking on the tightness in your voice. “Don’t get it twisted. It’s just, it’s proof that some human-alien weirdness must have happened at some point, right? In the bloodline.”

“It looks strange on a human,” you summarise, quietly.

An expression flashes across Vanessa’s face, there and gone too fast for you to see. “Right,” she says. “But, you know. It’s not their fault.”

“Yeah.” You gesture to the board with your knife. “Did you want some?”

“Uh, no.” Vanessa steps away, a little wrinkle on her nose. “You know, you eat a lot of fish. Try not to stink up the place.”

She walks off, gold ponytail swinging, and you peel your shirt away from your sweaty skin. Flexing your fingers around the handle of the knife, you rue the uncomfortable sensation of insecurity and irritation Vanessa always leaves you with. Perhaps you’re developing a stomach ulcer.

The staffbot’s hand comes into view, trying to surreptitiously clear the board you’re not finished with yet. You pass it a peeler, nudging along a pile of veg. “Can you shred these for me, please?” you say, just to give it something to do.

At least the robots can’t fling speciesist rhetoric.

Vanessa leaves that night, which is cause for a one-person dance party in your room. You whoop, bouncing up and down on your bed with the music blaring. The next couple of days free of tension and tiptoeing stretch out before you, and it’s so freeing.

To top it off you have finished your return gift to Moon, and it sits shiny and new on your desk. You attempt a backflip and actually make it, though a braid does slap you in the eyes on your way down. Collapsing on the tangled blankets, you become aware of a noise competing with the music – BON-BON is trying to get your attention from the feed outside the door.

“Yeah?” you say breathlessly, leaning out the doorway. The music is still playing, so you press your ear close to hear him.

“I said it’s getting late,” BON-BON says snippily. “The docket has two slots of utility maintenance scheduled in the morning, so get some sleep.”

“Please?” you prompt. “Use your nice words.”

“Shut up, fish fucker.”

You let loose a startled raspberry, splattering the feed with saliva. BON-BON screeches, only getting louder when you wipe the screen with your fingers.

“Get off! Sweet nebula, you’re disgusting!”

“Stop talking bad about my grandfather, then,” you say.

There’s a pause and then BON-BON snickers. “Really?”

“Well, someone must have,” you mutter, turning the music off.

“What was that?”

“I said, do you want to watch a movie?”

“No. Go to sleep.”

“Come on,” you wheedle. “No one’s around to judge. These next few nights could be the only chance we get before the new team arrives.”

BON-BON hesitates. “... Alright,” he says reluctantly. “But I get first pick. And you can’t make fun of my choice either.”

“Deal. But only if you don’t make fun of my movie snack.”

“... Okay?”

But when you arrive in the main room, BON-BON has second thoughts. “Absolutely not,” he says, voice thick with disgust. “You’re joking, right? Put that in the bin.”

You clutch the bowl to your chest. “Hey, you can’t say that! Take it back.”

“What is that? Fish skin? Scales?” He sounds seconds away from gagging.

You crawl onto the sofa with your shoulders hunched, lifting the bowl onto your knees. “Seriously, stop. You’re going against the terms of our deal,” you say, trying to keep your tone light-hearted. “What movie did you pick?”

“I’m not putting it on until you’ve trashed that bowl,” the AI says flatly. “That’s disgusting. You’re going to give yourself food poisoning if you-”

“Stop it!” you wail, more upset than either of you expected. “We eat it all the time at home. You said you wouldn’t judge.”

The room is silent as BON-BON considers. You look down at the bowl in your lap, a burning behind your eyes.

“... I suppose I did,” BON-BON says grudgingly. “Are you sure you’re not going to make yourself ill?”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay, fine,” he sighs, and starts the movie. “It’s your funeral.”

Yay, me. It’s just as delicious as you remember.

You’re shifting from foot to foot on the platform, but as the minutes tick by and Moon fails to appear, you give up and slide into the water. Your gift to him you tuck into a compartment in your belt. With all your outside work completed and the utility tunnels fully serviced, today’s swim is just to hang out, if Moon is in the mood to be found.

The water is cool on your skin. With no one around to scrutinise you, this is your last chance to swim in your own suit and gear. Time will tell if the Glamrock team care at all about that.

You pass a leisurely half hour diving about, finding a little colony of crabs and feeding them urchins. Consulting your mental map, you venture into a few of the larger tunnels that the sub will traverse, taking note of all the significant oddities in the area. It’ll be nice if you can introduce the Glamrock team with a tour like you typically did for the previous teams. It looks good, to know every nook and cranny of the territory.

Hours pass, and eventually you give up on seeing Moon today. Your limbs have taken up the usual ache of exercise well done. Time to go back. You turn and dive into a long, wide tunnel pocked with many small offshoots. No worries though – the exit you need to take is marked clearly.

Your ears pop then readjust. A buzzing current brushes down your body as your helmet corrects a shift in pressure, a feature your full-body suit would typically handle by itself. You pause, head cocked. Did you just hear something?

The rumble comes upon you like the slap of a giant hand, stunning you with a crushing rush of water before you even fully register it. One second you’re hovering in place, the next you’re being blasted through the tunnel backwards, carried on a current you hadn’t even noticed until it was upon you.

Water roars, the marker of the exit tunnel zips past, and you lose all clarity as the world rocks and spins. You see your own legs above your head, countless tunnels shooting past, your hand suffers a blow and you tuck yourself into a ball as best you can. A pain is building behind your nostrils, your helmet screaming out a siren warning that abruptly halts as the torrential current is forced upwards and out, the force beginning to lessen. You aren’t the only one being carried along, as you can see from several forms of flailing creatures that zip by. Offshoot tunnels are washing into yours, a massive sharklike body flies past, and your fingers fail to grasp a jutting ledge. There’s a deafening crock as your helmet bounces off rock, then you’re spat out into a space where the pulse of water finally dissipates. You spin around a few times before the momentum allows to you to come to a halt. The bubbles tell you which way is up, which is not the direction you are currently facing.

What. The FUCK.

You flip yourself right side up and grab at your helmet. It buzzes reassuringly under your fingers, not a flaw to be found. Your hand is darkening rapidly on one side, but oddly painless. That could be from shock or the cold. Aside from a few scrapes and bumps, you seem uninjured. It’s a miracle you weren’t battered to death against the tunnel walls, skin shorn off like sandpaper.

Sea creatures and various chunks of vegetation spin and dart around frantically. This is a very populated space right now.

Then you look around and revise that opinion.

A sheer wall of rock rises before you, finely honeycombed with all shape and manner of caves and tunnel openings. Water is rushing from every orifice you can see, spitting out an endless supply of fish and weeds caught helpless in the current’s grasp. That which can’t swim sinks down, lower, into depths so deep and dark you can’t make out a bottom. You look to the right and left. The wall extends beyond your reach of sight in both directions, helpfully visible so you can see just how screwed you are.

Your helmet is not capable of illuminating such a vast space.

Slowly, tremulously, you look up. There’s... light? It filters down from some unseen source, turning the water greenish like sunlight through kelp. You’re so deep that such a sight is impossible without manufacturing an artificial source that breaks all the codes. Even if you cracked open the rock above you to the surface, you would be met with the black depths of the ocean. You’re in the seabed. What gives?

You turn. Far behind you is an endless rock face identical to the one you were just launched from, but this one is lit from behind by the same greenish light. It shines through the myriad of holes and tunnels. You’re floating in a massive space between the two walls, the water empty and black beneath you. You turn back to the dark rock face.

Panic is building, your breath quickening behind your breather. You can’t tell which tunnel you were pushed from. Even if you could, you don’t know the way back. You travelled at a speed that your boots can’t match, through twists and turns and intersecting pathways. Water is still spilling into the space where you float, and the creatures that wiggle past you immediately break for the wall of light, heading toward the mystery area beyond it.

You know it’s useless, but you unhook your flashlight and toggle the settings. There’s no path of heat for it to illuminate, everything pushed out along with you. Swimming closer is futile – with the water still rushing, you can’t even get close to the wall to figure out where you came from.

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears. With numb, trembling fingers you activate your earpiece, tapping a code for help. You know you’re too far from the facility to ping BON-BON’s servers, but you’re hoping for a miracle. Another one.

The earpiece remains silent. No miracle arrives.

... Alright.

Now you’ve exhausted all other options, you actually begin to calm down. You’re nothing if not inquisitive, and this space is unmatched to anything you’ve ever seen before. It’s even setting off a sense of thalassophobia you hadn’t realised you possessed, the huge dark space yawning below you with unspeakable depths. Curious.

But curiouser is the light above and behind you. You have never seen anything like it. The creatures dart towards it with no disorientation at all. How odd, how intriguing. Do they sense something you don’t?

You can’t swim up, or rather you don’t see the point of doing so. The light seems endlessly far away like the sun in the sky. While water can totally distort the perception of distance, you don’t want to waste time. Plus, something that bright is probably giving off incredible heat.

You turn and consider the opposite wall with its faint, backlit glow. It’s silly to go messing around in an unfamiliar space, but at the very least one of those caves can provide a handy ledge for you to sit and rest on. You don’t feel comfortable hanging over this endless, black drop, especially with so many toothy creatures being spat out towards you.

The water pushes against you. The current increases. Creatures and vegetation appear at a higher frequency and a faint rumble vibrates your teeth in your skull. It’s starting up again, and for the first time since you were blasted away it occurs to you to wonder just what could be large enough to push such a high volume of water in its wake.

... Nope.

A jellyfish drifts past as you kick your boots into high gear, its fleshy bulb bulging with bioluminescence, and squidges its way towards the tunnels of light. Then it catches the current and flattens from the force, sucked down twisting out of sight. You dart towards the opening directly opposite you, braids whipping straight against your sides. Even with your speed the encroaching pulse of water pushes at you, and you pause to score the lip of the opening with a big X before swimming inside.

It’s a twisty passage, the craggy surface pocked and rough just as you’re used to. The distant light gets brighter as you follow the path. Are you imagining things, or is the water getting warmer?

You look down and double take. A gorgeous ocean flower grows from the rock, something you have never seen before. Small and satiny, its lush five-petal structure waves pink fronds in the harsh current. It’s so bright, healthy too – oh, and it has teeth lining the pistil. Cool. Quick as a wink your scanner is out and doing its thing. This flower is not on the system, unless someone has added something in the hours you have been offline.

You hesitate before ultimately deciding against taking a sample. Chances are you’re about to see many more unusual things at the end of this tunnel, and you don’t want to get bogged down by the weight of shredded vegetation. If you die down here Base won’t receive any of the spoils anyway, and if you don’t die you can always return.

Don’t think about dying. Do not.

Life only grows as you follow the tunnel, more flowers and assorted weeds appearing in sparse clusters the deeper you travel. The tunnel dips, executes a funny twisting turn, then continues level. You brush past a carpet of floral plants that shrink and close up tight as you pass. Their colours are varied and gorgeous. The water is getting warmer. It’s so different from what you’re used to that it’s scary.

The tunnel’s end is an opening smaller than the one you entered from, and once again you mark the rock. All you can see before you is a thicket of wafting kelpy fronds, the leaves green and shiny on their slim stalks. The light through them makes the water glow emerald. A faint chirping sound gradually fades out, but other than that there’s nothing to indicate life.

A sensation presses at your spine, like Moon’s subsonic growl. Perhaps the rumble that forced you here is finally cresting, or the passage is just concentrating the noise. There are no predators approaching in the space behind you.

Well. Only one thing for it. You swim into the weeds.

There’s a knack to swimming through tall seaweed. You drift slowly and keep your limbs close to avoid getting tangled. All manner of unfamiliar creatures dart by – a spotted snakelike eel, tiny electric-blue minnows. You pause to allow a silvery shoal of fish to pass beneath you undisturbed. You recognise that kind, but not the myriad of colours marking their sides. Everything looks so much brighter here.

Too bright, in fact. Perhaps it’s the contrast to the caves or maybe your eyes aren’t built right, but the sheer brilliance of this little environment has you squinting with watery eyes. And you’re in the shadows of the seaweed, the light turned green and weaker as it filters through the leaves. Surely it can’t get brighter than this.

Then the forest of vegetation comes to an end and you revise that opinion.

This time you do close your eyes, blinded until they adjust. A painful tear rolls down one cheek and you moor yourself to a wafting stalk before you drift away into the light. Gradually the tears clear.

It’s bright, so bright, and it’s not little either. Your breathing accelerates at the vast space stretching out as far as your eyes can see, which is currently not very far. The water is as clear as a bell, lit from above as though from the sun. If a gorgeous tropical paradise could exist under the weight of an entire dark ocean, then this is it.

A wealth of rock structures and vegetation create intricate paths across a pale sand seabed. Pinkish coral dots the area in rosy crests, and the same green weeds you’re currently hiding in crop up intermittently in tall clusters. The plants you recognise for their bioluminescence just look white here. They’re huge, way bigger than you have ever seen them, up to a storey. The rocks are blueish, their holey structures creating tempting archways and narrow paths like the cobbled streets of an old town, slim structures and pillars rising higher than the eye can see. It’s teeming with life from fish to vegetation, brightly coloured in pinks and purples and yellows and blues, only camouflaged because the rest of the environment is just as bright. The water doesn’t darken the further you look – rather, it fades to a pleasant turquoise like a summer sky.

The vibrancy signals danger to you, like the sheen on a poisonous frog. It doesn’t look real – it’s like a child’s version of a fantasy reef paradise. Did you actually drown back there? How can this exist? Stupidly you look up, but before you’re blinded again you note you can’t see the flow of waves or a glowing orb – no end, no sun. The water stretches higher than you can make out with no discernible light source.

You squeeze your eyes shut, wincing. Looks like you finally found the last team’s theorised warmer environment. Too bad they might never see it.

With trembling hands, you raise your camera and snap several pictures. A thin whine catches your attention, until you realise it’s coming from your own throat. Excitement is quickly building like a fizz your chest, and you hug the seaweed you’re moored to. The tears in your eyes aren’t just from the light now.

Okay. Deep breaths. You need to remain calm, and not go shrieking into this alien paradise like a cork from a bottle. Not even if you’re so thrilled you could scream.

It’s very tempting though.

Something taps against your helmet with a little bzzt. It’s a tiny shell, fleshy tendrils trailing loose from the opening like a cross between an octopus and a hermit crab. A black button eye blinks at you, and it squinches away with a flailing of suckers.

Okay, game plan. Briefly explore this cool new environment then return from where you came to see if the current has abated. If it hasn’t, you’ll need to find a new direction to swim home.

... You know you won’t make it back from another direction.

The wall of tunnels rises up beyond the kelp forest, a massive and obvious barrier to the dark and cold. At least that’ll be easy to find again.

You set off towards the rock formations, keeping an eye out for predators. Close up the rocks are actually a bleached ecru, reflecting the water and vibrant plants. The texture is rough and brittle beneath your palm, not at all chalky as you expected. You’re turning your head every which way, taking in blooms and animals you have never seen before. There, a cluster of pink and yellow flowers, and there a starfish whose blushy tint blends in perfectly beside them. Those plants are glowing in the shade, that rock is moving – it’s a long squat crab camouflaged in the sand. Small creatures dart around you, confident to the extreme in a way that is puzzling. Are there no larger carnivores here? Why are they so tame? Or perhaps said larger carnivores prefer big game.

You give in to the urge to dive headfirst into the passageways between the rocks, shadowed from the bright light. The water is warming the farther you travel, though still cool enough to make inexperienced swimmers shriek.

Your heart leaps as you spot a yellow squash eel, just like from your lovely dark tunnels. It’s snuffling along, naïve to your presence, and it becomes your unofficial guide as you follow its meandering path. Over an archway of waving fronds, under a bridge of gorgeous coral, and around a narrow bend. The sand here is littered with all manner of shells, the walls similarly encrusted, and you blink as a piece of coral detaches itself from the green shadows and zips past you. It’s a pink little squid with a camouflaged top layer, speckled and bright. The squash eel turns as it swims past and breaks the squid open with a snap of its jaws, swiftly chomping it down.

You slow as more squid appear, startled into a flurry. The eel playfully snaps about, executing a clumsy U-turn, and is so distracted it drives its snout into your helmet before it notices your presence. The eel honks, something you didn’t know they could do, its bulbous eyes rolling like marbles.

Hello! you think delightedly as it turns its head to examine you. Like the last one, it seems more curious than anything else, swimming along with rough nudges of its blunt nose against your skin. These eels are either completely uninterested in larger prey, or trustingly dumb. It allows you to swim alongside, occasionally cocking its head at you. When you snatch squid out of the water to scan, it eats them greedily from your flat palm.

I can die happy now, you flippantly think, heart swelling. Oh, if only BON-BON was here to see this! Or the last team, they would be so pleased. I bet Moon would hate all this light though...

Actually, there’s a thought. Warm ocean paradise, all manner of interesting creatures... who’s to say that Moon doesn’t know about this place? There could be more mermaids here – this could be their home!

But not Moon’s home. Right? His colouring is so dark, far more suited to the caves than this. Surely he would find it difficult to hunt. Perhaps his home is farther away, deeper.

With a jolt, you notice your environment has changed. The rocks are breaking apart and levelling out, the light growing strong once more. Then the narrow pathway opens up completely to a rolling sandy field of undulating grasses.

You drift to a stop, entranced. The grass is thick and long, warmly coloured pink and orange and yellowy-green. Bulbous fish dart among the fronds like bees. The ocean above is a clear blue sky. Like a cool forest on a hot summer’s day, more giant kelp looms beyond.

Another picture. You feel dizzy with discovery-lust, punch drunk. The eel noses at your limp palm, looking for more food. It honks again when your arms gently encircle it, clutching it like a teddy bear.

This is beautiful. It’s unbelievable. You have to survive to get back to the facility, if only to show everyone this sight. Not even Vanessa could sneer at such a find, surely.

A distant groan has your head snapping around. The pale body of a fat beast crests the tips of the long grasses, seemingly appearing from nowhere. It sings like a whale, its mass slightly superseding yours, speckled with blue dots like thick moles. Its wide dumb face and beady binocular eyes look inherently friendly.

Your mouth would be open if you didn’t have a breather. Fumbling frantically, you pull out your scanner and toggle the settings to long range, glancing up every few seconds to make sure the creature hasn’t gone. It rolls across the grass, singing happily as it exposes a pale belly to the light. You look through the viewfinder, a necessity at this range, and scan while your knees brush the sand, sinking from inactivity. The gentle current is pushing you along, further toward the grass, and the eel is following with curious snaps at your floating braids. Growing bored, it snakes along your waist and you pet it absentmindedly.

The whale has been scanned, and it continues on its ponderous journey. You follow it through the viewfinder and turn back towards the grass. The little fish move too fast to get any data, and you settle for watching them through zoom.

The grass is looking back at you.

You freeze, a squeak stuck in your throat. When you look up you can’t see anything, just grass and fish, and the shadow of the whale drifting out of sight behind a distant hill. Its faint cry reaches you like a half-forgotten song.

Frown. You squint through the scanner. Did you just imagine a face? It is very bright right now. Moving your head from side to side, you search the grass through the screen but can’t make anything out.

The sun(?) may be bright, but you’re beginning to tire. Your chest aches, your arms and legs weighing you down. Swimming for hours before this, you had intended to return to the facility when the rumble swept you up in its wake. It’s time to return to the wall and its cold, hellish drop to see if the path back is clear. If not... then you might need to find an air bubble to rest in. Just for a bit.

The current buffets you forward. The eel nuzzles at your palms. You turn at the waist and consider the rocks behind you, their odd curves and holey structures. Though they sit bright and bleached, they’re not so different from what you’re used to. There’s bound to be ledges and false ascents, a myriad of places to sit. So there’s a plan, find a place with air where you can rest, then return to the hellcavern, as you are taking to calling it, to see if the way back is clear. You’re totally not procrastinating that part, nope.

But first you need to say goodbye to your friend.

The water has pushed you deep into the grasses now, and the eel has left in favour of seeking out the fat little fishes that dart about the fronds. You swim forward, accepting a nuzzle in your palm from its flat snout, pulling back gently at the scrape of teeth. It swims up, over your shoulder, and you hug its length. Cute. You hope you can come back and play.

A movement stirs the grass beside you. You turn, expecting to see more fish or perhaps another eel, but instead there’s something yellow resting on your knuckles. You tilt your head curiously. A starfish? It kind of looks like-

It’s a hand.

The fish scatter as something bursts out of the grass, sending up a blinding flurry of sand and bubbles. A vicelike grip around your knuckles yanks you forward. Deafening clicks and chirps batter your ears in a sonic barrage.

The sand clears, and like something from a technicoloured nightmare the first thing you see is a grin of shiny teeth, dazzling white eyes spotlight trained on your face. It’s a mermaid shining like a pale sun, like a miniature Eclipse. It’s so bright, yellow and golden, with orangey fins framing its face like a flower. Red coral gills flutter at its throat. Your eyes water, squeezing shut no matter how you fight to open them. This place is going to blind you.

The grip around your hand is strong, fingers crushed on top of each other. You open your eyes a crack just in time to see it blow a lungful of bubbles directly into your face, smiling and chirping. It looks ecstatic.

Oh, sweet flaming fuck. You make a muffled noise of dismay behind your breather and the mermaid squeaks, grinning massively like all its birthdays have just come at once, puffing up gills and fins. It’s coloured like something poisonous, something you really shouldn’t be touching with your bare skin. You’re ready to zoom the hell out of there even if that means leaving your hand behind, when the mermaid surprises you once more.

“New friend!” he says in ancient English, eyes curving into happy crescents. His voice is deafening and bright, bombastic like a firework, with a twanging accent. He sounds so excited he’s verging on hysterical. “Where did you come from, do you want to play? Where are all your friends?”

He descends into clicks and squeaks like a chatterbox dolphin, shoving his face closer and closer as he talks. Your eyes are wide enough to give the eel a run for its money, brain bluescreening. He can talk? He’s fluent? At the very least he’s bilingual.

His flat nose knocks against your helmet with a faint bzzt. “I was watching you!” he babbles, switching back to ancient English. “Yes yes, watching you hunt, but you’re not very good at it! But! You can be better! You have to strike, strike with your claws- where are your claws?”

He's advancing as you back away, eyes wide, too loud, too bright. You can’t get enough space to breathe, he’s blowing bubbles in your face, and when you raise your hands defensively he gives you a double high five.

“No claws, no webbing, what are you?” he says, winding his fingers between yours and dancing them about. “Is that a beak? Can you speak?”

His claws slit the skin between your fingers and down your palms as you wrench your hands away. You’re groping for your belt amongst touches to your hair, the helmet- he’s realised there’s a gap between your mask and face, he’s worming his fingers under-

The taser buzzes with blue light as it makes contact with the mermaid’s shoulder. He gasps, flinching away, and then giggles, eyes curving into crescents. “Oh, that tickled!”

What the fuck is happening? You don’t have time to recover from the shock of your taser being completely ineffective when the mermaid wrenches it from your grip with unnerving strength and turns it on you. The paralysis only lasts for a few seconds, halting your retreat with a crippling zap of pain. Your back hits the seabed gently, sending up a little cloud of sand, and with twitching limbs you manage to grab his arm, keeping him from jabbing you again. He drops the taser in your lap with a gasp.

“Oh, you’re bleeding,” he says seizing your wrist. “Oh dear, oh dear, how did that happen? When you were hunting? Here, let me-” And then a big orange tongue lathes over your palm and between your fingers.

Your brain is awash with animal fear as you struggle to no avail. The mermaid looks up, white eyes staring at something behind you. Very faintly, where his face against yours creates a shadow, you see the dilation of tiny pale pupils. “It’s getting away! I’m on it, friend!”

He dives right over you in pursuit with a curl of his powerful tail, reddish fins whipping over your head like the wings of a bird.

Holy shit. This is nuts in a way you’re not prepared to deal with, your limbs shaking in fear and exhaustion, and also from being tasered by your own weapon. Shoving the taser onto your belt, you flick your boots on, eyes on the rocks. If you can just get to an air bubble, you can speak back to him and ascertain a potential threat.

But the mermaid is faster than you are. You slam on the breaks as he rears up, blocking your path with an excited chirp.

“Look, look look,” he babbles, holding something that squirms between his palms. It’s your yellow eel, mouth opening and closing gormlessly. A siren of alarm blares to life in your head. “I can hunt, hunt very well. Well, not as well as clicnclikclclick, but! I will show you, see? Do you understand? Not very tasty, but see here-”

With a sharp crrrunch he splits the eel’s head like he’s halving an apple. The skull opens, shattered bone and pale brain, the long squashy body flinching a death rattle before twitching limp. You have your hands clasped over your breather like it’ll stop you from vomiting.

“Like that,” the mermaid says proudly, presenting the halves like a gift. The body hangs swaying. “Friend? Do you understand?”

You shy away, shuddering. A thin whimper emerges from your throat but you wrest it under control, pulse pounding in your ears.

“Friend? Are you hungry? Here!” He pursues as you back away, keeping the same distance. Your eyes are on his claws, smeared with viscera. He chirps a little, confused.

“Friend,” he says, softer now. “It’s okay. Look, for you! I’m not stealing, no no. Promise.” He drops the eel and reaches out, palms open on either side of your helmet. A sudden vision rises of your skull, two oozing pieces in each yellow hand.

Your nerve breaks. The mermaid gives a startled cry as you kick back and flee, blindly aiming for the kelp forest in the distance. Too late you realise you’ve become turned around – the wall is in the opposite direction, behind the other thicket of seaweed. Shit.

The mermaid is in pursuit, you can hear him calling out. You pray he’s not inviting his friends in on the hunt as you crest a small hill and continue down. He’s laughing now, a bubbling peal as he gains on you, and you’re almost yanked to a halt by a snag on your belt. You feel warmth brush your back as you hit the emergency release and continue on sans your gear. The mermaid gives a little, “Oh!” of surprise as you twist out of his grasp.

Another hill, more grass. You can no longer see the mermaid behind you, and as you turn to check you glimpse something dark in the corner of your vision. Patches of the field drop down into deep blue water, like sinkholes into nothing. In this place of vibrant colours, dark spaces signal safety to your overladen brain. Without losing momentum you careen off the side of a drop and sink feet first down the sheer face of rock.

You kill your boots, pressing your fingertips into where the rock meets your back until the descent halts and you are moored in place. Willing your heartbeat to slow, you remain perfectly still.

“Hide and seek, friend?” the mermaid calls, coming closer. “Are we playing? Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

The rock is cold. Your heart is in your throat. The mermaid searches from left to right, occasionally chirping like a bird. You’ll wait for him to travel away and then make your escape back to the hellcavern. Resting here is a very bad idea, especially if there are other mermaids about.

But as time passes, the mermaid only grows more insistent. “Friend?” he calls, still not far away enough for you to think of emerging. “Are you still hiding? Come out! The game is over!”

You shiver, and not just from fear. Though the light is shining down, the water here is cooler. A gentle current tests your purchase on the rock. You can’t risk drifting down into the darkness below, getting turned around.

“You win!” the mermaid says, an anxious note wavering his voice. “Come out! We can play another game! Please?”

Go away, you beg. Please, please just go away. Give up.

“Are you angry?” he calls, voice growing frantic. “I didn’t mean to steal your kill, I promise! Please come out!”

You close your eyes. Leave.

“I’ll catch more fish! All the fish you can eat!” There’s the scratching sound of sand, a flurry of movement. “Oh no. No. Please come out! Hello?” he shrills. “New friend, please! Come back!”

Stars, you feel bad. The mermaid sounds on the verge of tears, the desperation in his voice tugging your heartstrings. Kind of like you felt when he killed that eel.

Gradually, you become aware that the noises have stopped. It’s dead silent, cold, and you tense yourself against another current from below. Has he finally left? Did you do it?

A tug on your hair. Automatically you look down, but you can only see one braid. The other drifts above you, lifted on the waves.

Slowly, you look up. A yellow hand is extended over the lip of the opening, fingers curling gently around your braid. Your heart stutters in your chest.

The mermaid pulls your hair gently, tug tug, like a mountaineer’s signal to come up, but you remain still even as he shifts forward and peeks down at you. He’s still holding your braid. You’ll have to leave it behind. But when you reach down for your belt, your hand comes up empty. Right, you lost it. No knife. No means of defending yourself. Panic closes in, tightening your throat.

“Looking for this?” the mermaid finally pipes up. He’s holding your belt in one hand, waving it over the opening. He pulls back when you reach for it, hand still grasping your hair. “Come out, please. I promise I’ll give it back. Just come out.”

You feel hopelessly frightened. He tugs on your hair again, sending little pinpricks of pain through your scalp. You shake your head. Oh, please please please let go...

A grip on the back of your neck, then your arm, and you’re being hauled flailing up into the grass. “You’re really good at this, friend!” he warbles, struggling a little against your thrashing. “But let’s play something else! Do you like crafts? Or, or, we could go hunting! Would you like that? I won’t interfere, promise!”

He hisses when you land a lucky kick to his chest, and then you’re being pressed down until your back hits sand. “Don’t you want to play?” he says desperately. “Please? I’m sorry, just-”

Cool water on your face, the distinct sensation of suction being forcibly released. Your helmet blares a warning a millisecond before it cuts out and water rushes in to blind you. You release half a lungful of air in surprise before the realisation settles – the mermaid has removed your breather and you’re about to drown.

Clamping your throat shut, you begin fighting tooth and nail for the blurry white shape held above your head. The mermaid is still speaking, but you can’t make out the words with water filling your ears. You rake your nails down his arm and encounter smooth scales and tough skin – you can’t inflict damage. There’s a pounding in your eyes, your head feels like it’s about to explode. Your chest hurts, you’re dying, you’re dying-

The mermaid silences with a choked gasp. Your fingers dig into the blurry red above you, fluttering gills at his throat. You curl your nails deeper until they hit a pulsing gap, and the mermaid loses colour in his face, pawing weakly at your wrist.

“F-friend,” he rasps, eyes wide.

You don’t have time to feel bad. Snatching blindly, you pull his other hand towards your face, breather still peeping a warning, and slot it back over your nose and mouth. For a moment nothing happens, until the suction re-engages and the water is filtered out so you can finally take a breath.

Your chest jerks and heaves, gasping into the mask gratefully. Hair clings wet to your forehead and cheeks as the forcefield helmet flickers back into existence, pushing out water until you’re no longer blinded. The mermaid looks aghast, staring between the breather and your heaving ribcage with burgeoning realisation. You’re still holding his hand to the mouthpiece.

“Oh- but-” he stammers, strangled.

You release his gills and kick out, sending him tumbling back with a yelp. Scrambling onto your front, you take a second to snatch up your belt before slamming your boots into high gear, careening off towards the rocks without another look back.

“Wait!” the mermaid cries, and you huff out a little laugh behind the mask. As if.

You shoot like a rocket across the grass, sending up a cloud of sand and panicked fish in your wake. One hill, then another, and then the rocks come into view with the wall rising far beyond.

The mermaid is still shouting behind you, getting closer but no doubt slowed down by his own panic. “Stop!” he cries. “Please! I didn’t mean to!”

You clear the grass and opt to swim over the rocks rather than take the complicated route back. Spires and structures rise before you, and you dart recklessly between them, occasionally scraping a limb or clipping the backs of your hands. The water reaches a horrible heat as you rise, and you grunt as your back begins to burn, adjusting course.

“No!” the mermaid, cries, heartbroken as you finally, thank the stars, make it to the kelp forest. “It’s not safe out there! Please please please come back! Don’t leave!”

Sorry buddy, you think, regretful. You wind your way through the weeds to avoid getting tangled and caught, intent on the distant tunnels. Maybe if I can make it back home... maybe...

“No...” His voice is faint now.

It isn’t the tunnel you came from but it’ll do. You spare a glance behind but the kelp is unmoving – the mermaid hasn’t pursued you here. Yet.

You scramble your way through the tunnel, breathing a sigh of relief as the water begins to cool. Sparing a second to finally reattach your belt, you escape the bright paradise into the dark hellcavern.

It’s as before, massive and deep. The space seems void of creatures now, with nothing to indicate a rush of water. Your heart lifts even as adrenaline pounds through your veins and fills your head with cotton. The first step is returning through the correct tunnel.

But when you’re over halfway across the terrifying black drop, the rumble starts up again, louder, louder. You stare around wildly and make a split second decision to kick your boots into high gear and try to get to the opposite side before the water comes. You can’t risk getting knocked down into the depths – maybe you can brace yourself against the wall and let the force of the water pass you by? The closer you get the louder the rumble becomes, and the very water trembles around you as you finally reach the opposing rock face. It’s not coming from this side – it actually appears to be coming from below. You anchor yourself inside a yawning tunnel that only might be the one you were shot through, and turn to look.

Nothing, so far as you can see, aside from the noise and pressure. You feel a steady blast of displaced water from the depths, cling to the innards of the tunnel with all your might, and then-

A colossal shadow erupts from the gloom below, something lighting up violet and cold. It’s so big your brain needs to scramble itself to process the sight – a humanoid form backlit, so far down it looks tiny. An undulating coil rises and duplicates and curls and lashes behind it, and it’s getting larger, and the light is growing, and oh fuck it’s coming closer-

Jaws open like a silent scream, but no noise emerges. Its teeth are slim and crowded, a needle-like maw.  You see light shining between ribs, the stretch of flesh draped across bones, and understand that this colossal mermaid is emaciated.

The mermaid turns its face towards the green light and recoils slowly. Like a worm, it wavers and undulates before sinking back into the gloom, a creature of nightmares nestling into the dark. And now you know what to look for you can spot the way it contorts and disappears down into the opening of a massive tunnel into the bowels of the earth.

The water slowly calms. The rumbling fades.

You cling to the rock until your fingertips go numb, your tongue heavy in your mouth.

What the fuck?

Chapter Text

You would like to say that you handled the situation gracefully, but you don’t think several minutes of incoherent screaming as you thrashed your way back up the tunnel counts as that. The moment you regain the ability to move you are gone, not even sparing a second to check you’re entering the right entrance.

Miraculously, you manage the first ten minutes without getting eaten or pissing yourself, though you do tase a few fish that get too close along the way. Every cavern could house a monster, every drop could reveal a mammoth eye staring back. You’re strangling behind your mask, and when a shape moves in the gloom you shriek like a banshee, curling up in terror.

It’s Moon.

He blinks at you, shaking and covered in scrapes and bruises, and then at the tunnel behind you. His face darkens.

“Brat,” he hisses, advancing on you with his teeth bared. “Just why have you been sneaking-"

He cuts off as you launch yourself at him, clinging on in a desperate koala hug. You’re sobbing behind your mask, taking shaky heaving breaths, and after a second he gingerly moves to hug you back. Contrary to your usual concerns, the press of his claws indenting your spine only serves to comfort you. Moon is more vicious than anything you know of.

“Hush,” he says quietly, pressing his cheek against the buzz of your helmet. “Calm down. You’re alright.”

He leads you back to the facility like a lost child, allowing you to cling to his back and bury your head under his esca. You must have missed time to sheer relief, because it only feels like a few minutes before the facility lights come into view and you breach the water.

Moon has to heave you onto the platform, shaky limbs too weak to do it yourself, and you spit out the breather with a lot of tearful saliva. You feel like a snivelling idiot, but at least you’re alive.

“Thank you,” you wail, smearing tears and seawater across your face. Wheezing as you speak – you have worn the breather for far too long. “Thank you, Moon.”

“Alright, calm down. Hush.” He’s patting your leg gently, looking a mix between concerned and vaguely entertained. “Silly thing. Don’t cry.”

You suck in a shuddering breath. “Holy shit. I’m never getting back in, fuck this. Oh, stars. BON-BON’s going to be so mad at meee.” You dissolve back into tears.

“There, there.” Now the mermaid is definitely fighting a smile. “Go inside. You’ll be okay.”

You lathe another armful of snot across your cheek, staggering as you rise to your feet. “O-okay. Thank you.”

“Go. Goodnight.”

In the exit chamber you tear off your swimsuit and boots haphazardly, realise you forgot to stow a change of clothes, and wobble out in just a spare pair of underwear. A staffbot double takes and follows you anxiously, arms held out as you stagger like a drunk. You’re seeing double.

BON-BON gets a clue when you’re halfway to your room, lighting up every interface you pass by with machine gun questions on why you were gone for so long. You only realise you still have tears streaming down your face when you drag the blankets off your bed and burrow into them, the fabric smearing wetness across your face.

What the stars, what the stars, what the stars? What was that thing? Every muscle in your body is trembling, both from terror and exertion. You feel like you’re going to throw up. Despairingly, you try to remember your emergency training on being eaten alive.

If you survive past the first bite, lodge a foothold on the base of the tongue. Cover your face to avoid suffocation during the swallow. Search for light on the way down – it may be an opening for gills. Use a grip on the uvula to induce gag reflex.

“What are you doing?” BON-BON’s voice says. A robot is standing in your doorway wielding a tablet, and looking rather embarrassed about it.

Your face is wet and your throat is sore. “Trying to calm down,” you croak.

“By reciting guidelines on what to do if you get eaten alive?” His voice emanates from the tablet, so at least your suspicions are true that he can’t independently access your room.

A weak giggle emerges from your throat. “I saw a leviathan mermaid.”

He misses a beat. “What.”

“No- a zombie mermaid,” you say, shuddering. “It was massive – bigger than a house, bigger than- than this facility! And it was thin and starved and it had all these teeth, and there was this horrible purple light-!”

Your voice is raising and suddenly you’re on your feet, and the robot is leaning away from you.

“Stop. Stop,” BON-BON is saying, and continues until you run out of steam. “Okay. Come into the main room and tell me about it.”

“I- I need to make a report,” you say, unable to believe you haven’t done so already. “I need to tell Base- oh stars, and the new team won’t know about any of this-"

“Stop,” BON-BON says firmly. “Shut up. You’re coming into the main room, and you’re going to drink some rescue remedy. We will discuss this and you will not panic. You’re in shock. Do you understand?”

Your face feels heavy with sweat.

“Okay,” BON-BON says quietly. “Come on.”

There’s a robotic hand under your arm and someone is tucking a blanket over your shoulders. You’re helpless to resist as you’re led out of your room, and you come realise that you don’t even want to.

Whatever BON-BON had the bots give you was really good, calming your heart down instantly. But you don’t want to ask what it is in case it’s something super against code that makes you freak out all over again.

In the end, the AI injected some sense you should have had all along. The mermaid was undeniably colossal, meaning there's no way for it to get anywhere close to the facility nestled within rock, all its little holes and passages inaccessible to something so big.

In fact, BON-BON reasons, if it truly is as big as you perceive, then the chances are that if it’s not hunting in open water and instead hiding in the gloom, it may be trapped there. Pinned between rock and light, too large to fit into the tunnels leading to the wider ocean, slowly starving in the dark. With no big game, it can’t support its own size. You may have witnessed its death throes.

He seems startled when that makes you cry again.

Still, it makes sense. There’s no way it can actually make its way here, unlike Eclipse or that other yellow mermaid. Not wholly reassuring, given that Eclipse is still rather large, but it does make you feel a great deal braver knowing there’s something even worse out there.

The only problem is that the colossal creature has access to those warm waters, that bright fresh light. Even if it appears repulsed by it, you don’t want to take your chances. It just sucks knowing that the theorised ecosystem your previous team had been so eager to find is lying so close within reach. And it’s populated, too.

“Absolutely not,” BON-BON says.

“I know,” you say, watching the steam rise from your mug. The robots keep supplying you with hot drinks, fearful of another breakdown.

“You are not going down there again.”

“I know.” But the cries of the yellow mermaid keep echoing in your mind. Sun, you decide, you’ll call him Sun. “... I think he was lonely.”

“He has two equally-dangerous friends.” BON-BON is unmoved. “He’ll be fine.”

At least Base takes your report seriously, when you make it. They needlessly forbid a journey down into the hellcavern, as you’ve permanently taken to calling it. Some of that might be due to the snivelling you broke out into halfway through the call, clearly startling the supervisor – you can’t recall ever being anything but upbeat and eager to work on any previous projects. Perhaps it’s also due to your lies – I don’t know where the water took me. No, I can’t remember the journey back. Having to retrace steps you ostensibly don’t remember would just be a waste of time for them, and time is money. You don’t mention Moon’s assistance, but the colossal creature gets a full visual breakdown.

There are rules and guidelines in place for interacting with newly discovered communities, even small ones, but there’s always someone willing to leapfrog protocol to take credit for the discovery. You’ll not be the reason that happening here.

... You hope Moon doesn’t get eaten.

Vanessa must have arrived back during the night, because you’re awoken by a ping at your door. It takes you a while to separate dreams from reality – BON-BON supplied you with some kind of sleeping medication after the first sleepless night, and it works a little too well. You waste time staring blearily at the window before you realise your directions are all mixed up.

“Finally,” Vanessa mutters as the door slides open. “Listen, I don’t care what you get up to at night. I’m not interested in whatever’s got you whispering and giggling like a freak at three in the morning. But if you don’t keep it down-”

“Can you just leave me alone?” someone mumbles, and after a few seconds you realise it was you. “I was just sleeping. All you ever do is blame me for stuff.”

Vanessa recovers after several rapid blinks. “That’s not true. Don’t try to turn this around when you’re-”

“Yes it is,” your mouth says.

“Are you... being serious right now?” she says. It looks like she’s trying to be angry, but sheer incredulity is hamstringing her temper. “You keep me up, night after night. I have told you this.”

“The rooms are soundproof, dumbass. I said so ages ago.” Your voice is getting louder, though it still feels like someone else is using your mouth to talk. “If it’s that much of a problem, just move.”

“But... this is my room,” she says.

“And? I was here first. Or are you worried you’ll move and realise you’ve been bothering me for nothing?”

Vanessa’s lip is trembling slightly. “You usually don’t speak to me like this,” she says quietly.

You lean on the doorframe as one leg buckles. “I’m afloat to the tonsils in sedatives and I just met another giant mermaid,” you say frankly. “Do you think I want to be friends or something?”

This time Vanessa has no response. She stares at you with big tired eyes, a terrible expression on her face.

Okay, it looks like she’s done talking. You close the door and drag yourself back into bed, the walls and ceiling whirling nauseatingly. You only manage to pull the blanket halfway up your legs before you pass out again.

You’re not so blasé the next day

“At least the medication worked?” BON-BON says. He’s doing a really bad job of hiding how delighted he is.

“Don’t,” you groan, closing your eyes. “I’m going to get written up.” And damn your heart, you actually feel guilty.

“Not if you lie,” he says. “It’ll be Vanessa’s word against yours, and they already think she’s a liar.”

You don’t respond. This is the first time BON-BON has alluded to the false report since you shouted at him for it, and it still feels too sensitive.

Perhaps the AI senses your darkening mood, because he quickly continues, “Don’t sweat the small stuff. You were being too nice to her anyway – now she knows you have a backbone I bet she’ll back off.”

“No she won’t,” you sigh. “And I wasn’t being nice, I was being civil. There’s a difference.”

“Only if you’re a pussy,” he says, then snidely adds, “It stands for pusillanimous.”

“You never let anything go,” you say. “That doesn’t even make sense in this context.”

“I’m calling you a little bitch.”

“Shut up, you dumb machine.”

Vanessa clears her throat from the doorway. You reluctantly turn to see her bestowing upon you a look of absolute disgust. “If you have time to abuse the artificial staff, then you have time to start our meeting early,” she says, stepping back as though to say after you.

You almost turn to exchange a reaction to BON-BON. Granted, what you just said does look pretty bad out of context. You give Vanessa a wide berth as you pass her in the corridor, though that doesn’t stop her from shaking her head judgementally in your periphery.

“Are you alright, BON-BON?” she says gently as you walk away.

“I am functioning optimally,” BON-BON says brightly. “And you?”

“Would you like me to-”

The noise fades out. You stop off at the kitchen for a badly-needed beverage, either to hold for comfort or hurl at your co-worker’s head. This is going to be a horrible meeting.

Vanessa is pacing the far end of the meeting room when you arrive, arms crossed. “There you are,” she says, her voice stiff with tension. “And here I thought you decided not to come.”

“Are you kidding?” you say, aiming for your usual tone as you pick a seat down the table from her. “I finally get to hear about the new team! No way I’m missing out.”

It’s not meant as a slight, but Vanessa seems to find one anyway. “Sorry. I find that work takes precedence over gossip.”

“That’s okay,” you say mildly.

“You know...” She crosses her arms and stares you down. “I understand not being keen on me. I speak my mind, I’m brutally honest. I get it, I’m not everyone’s cup of tea, and I’d wager you’re not either. But speaking like that to BON-BON? Even if you don’t believe that a ‘machine’ could deserve respect, what did he possibly say to you that could warrant such language?”

Your brows raise. Incredible that the speciesest asshole is preaching the merits of politically-correct language to you. But you don’t say that.

“What? No excuses?” Vanessa says. “You’re taking out your temper on someone incapable of defending himself.”

Believe me, BON-BON can give as good as he gets. Worse, even.

“I thought this meeting is supposed to be about the Glamrock team?” you say, because there’s no response you can give that doesn’t expose BON-BON.

“Correct. The Glamrock team doesn’t stand for abusive language aimed at anyone, artificial or organic.” So this isn’t just about BON-BON, then.

Then I guess you had better tone it down. Stars, your best rejoinders are being wasted for the sake of salvaging a professional relationship.

Vanessa takes her sweet time giving you a long, dark look. “The Glamrock team will be made aware of your recent behaviour,” she says lowly. “Don’t think you can skate by faking nice when this is how you act.”

Why does everyone think that acting civil to your co-workers counts as some sort of heinous manipulation? Unable to help yourself, you say, “I didn’t realise character assassination was included in your job description.”

Vanessa slams her holoscreen down like she’s trying to split the table. You flinch, the liquid sloshing in your mug, but she settles down in her seat without another violent action.

For a few seconds the room is silent, Vanessa taking deep breaths while you remain alert for any further outbursts. Days of constant swimming have made you pretty strong by human standards, but you’re still banged up from yesterday’s ordeal, plus your bruised hand is sore. You’re unsure that you would be able to defend yourself effectively if Vanessa decides to take a swing at you.

But she doesn’t. Vanessa activates her feed and launches into an outline of the team’s needs without even looking at you.

The Glamrock team consists of several roles including team leader and material qualifier, excursion security, and translator and technology specialist. Clearance to access the details of their research will be provided as-needed. You will not discuss proprietary information concerning the team or their work with anyone not listed in this document. You are required to consult on mechanical repairs, assist in maintenance and map expansion of the big sub routes, provide access to the facility AI’s server core-

That’s not the first time she’s brought this up. Hesitantly you raise your hand, but Vanessa rolls her eyes and continues barrelling on. “Additional support will be required regarding-”

“I can’t provide access to BON-BON’S server core,” you say.

Vanessa clenches her fingers around her holoscreen until they turn white. A vein throbs in her temple. “You will provide access to the facility AI’s server core,” she repeats, as though she can force you to agree through tone alone, “and give additional support in-”

“I can’t provide access to BON-BON’S server core,” you repeat, a slight tremor in your voice. Still, this is another area you know you’re covered. That’s a fireable offense.

Vanessa’s head turns towards you slowly. “The team leader will want to discuss that with you,” she says, like a threat.

That’s less intimidating than the look she’s giving you. “Okay.”

The meeting goes just as awkwardly as you expected, with a great many demands made of your time. Does this team not realise you’re just the facility mechanic and handyman? They’re not renting you along with the building. You’ll probably still do it since it sounds fun, but damn. No information about their actual roles, where they hail from or past residencies, likes and dislikes, nothing. The most you get is Vanessa slipping up referring to the team leader as Freddy then immediately correcting herself to Chica, red-faced. A recent change in roles, perhaps?

“That’s it?” you say, startled as Vanessa stands to leave. She appears to have entirely disposed of the niceties, now openly glaring at you, while you’re holding on to civility by the very edge of your fingernails.

“That’s it,” she says, slamming her chair under the table like she wishes it were your head. “I told you not to get too excited.”

She didn’t, actually. “I still don’t know anything about them.”

Vanessa gives you a nasty smile as she rounds the table, heading for the door. “Monty’s eyes are red,” she says sweetly, as though that’s supposed to be scary or something. Of course, she slams the door as well.

You drop your head onto the desk. “Fuuuuuck.”

“Don’t let her access my brain,” BON-BON immediately yelps, the feed blazing to life. “Don’t tell her where I am. The freak, I bet she wants to mess in my guts!”

“Do you even know what that phrase implies?” you say, voice muffled by the table.

“Yes. No.”

“You have got to start looking up the context of things.” You rest your chin on the table, arms hanging between your legs. “Hey, do you know where Vanessa comes from, by any chance? Like, a settlement?”

“No. Hold on. Uh, her profile says she grew up on Needle Point, down by the series twelves’.”

“Ohhh,” you say, in deep understanding. A human-centric settlement. You met those kinds of people at the Rim, the ones that travelled from isolated and secular spaces to study. They tend to be humans that aren’t used to much else.

“What?”

You shrug. Even now you’re reluctant to divulge the uncomfortable opinions she has let slip – judgement over interplanetary relationships and using alien features as a means of intimidation. Poor Monty, whoever he is. You hope he never hears that Vanessa tried to use him as a creep factor. “She’s got some, uh, funny opinions. About cross-species.”

“Ohhhh,” BON-BON says in the exact same tone. “Told you.”

You choke on a laugh. “No you didn’t!”

“Well, I said you should harpoon her. That’s almost the same thing. At this point it’s self-defence.”

You rise from the table, shaking your head.

“Wait,” BON-BON says, an edge appearing in his voice. “Promise me won’t tell her where my server core is, okay? Because I’m not comfortable with that.”

“I don’t even know where it is,” you say. “Also, that’s illegal. Don’t worry.”

If a feed could sag, it would. “Thank the stars. And your scatterbrain, I guess.”

“Hey!”

“Well, aren’t you supposed to know this stuff? What would you do if I broke, huh?” BON-BON says, regaining his usual nasal condescension.

“I’d call someone actually qualified to deal with your brand of broken. This is a lost cause.”

The AI hums. “That’s probably for the best. I wouldn’t want you messing around in my guts.”

Your nose wrinkles. “Again, context,” you mutter, fleeing the room. BON-BON snickers.

That night, you happen upon Vanessa moving from her room to another down the hall. Staffbots are lifting and transferring piles of clothing, folded bedding, but you can hear from distant crashes and muttered epithets that Vanessa is participating in the move as well. Right where the corridor bends, you spy her throw a box of books into her new room with a careless toss of her arms. She kicks a novel over the threshold when it dares to slide back her way.

Exchanging a wide-eyed look with a staffbot, you silently retreat back into your room. Maybe you don’t want that late night snack after all.

The bots are buzzing. The facility looks pristine. Vanessa is striding around dressed in slightly nicer clothes, and it’s all because the new team is coming.

There’s a few more hours to go before arrival time, and you’re heading out the exit chamber. Vanessa’s stress is such that she appears in every room shortly after you sit down to attack you with a barrage of questions. Are the fridges stocked? Have the rooms been fully cleared? Did you schedule anything to arrive today? Are you sure? Are there definitely no scheduling conflicts? Are you sure? Are you sure?

This isn’t your job! Sweet nebula, you would think the king of the universe was coming for tea, or disgusting cups of black coffee. The only place Vanessa can’t reach you is in the water, so you’re fleeing out the back door before she can track you down again. Glum, you pin up your braids – your days of walking around in wet hair and personal swimsuits are over.

“Take me with you,” BON-BON whispers, mostly for comedic effect. He can’t truly escape her. You bring the earpiece anyway.

The cave you hide in is large and dripping, all glimmering stalagmites and stalactites. Easing around delicate clusters of minerals, you emerge and remove your breather. The water is about knee-height, chilled and dark. You’ll revisit very soon on a tour with the new team, although the last one hadn’t the skill to swim up here. Instead they sat in the meeting room while you livestreamed the dive and exploration. Maybe this team will be different.

Maybe this team will hate my guts.

Water anxiety never lasts very long with you. Moon wasn’t even the first large creature to attack you – you’ve experienced all kinds of stuff in your swimming history, so now all the memory of the colossal mermaid does is cloud your gut with faint nausea. You splosh about the shallow water, following little silver fish. They will be stuck here until the waters rise again. Try as you might, you can’t make out the rainbows that adorned the ones back in the reef.

“How are we doing?” you say. Your words echo slightly, bouncing off glimmering pillars.

“Peachy,” BON-BON says sourly. “Vanessa keeps circling the building.”

Like a shark. “Great,” you say weakly.

“Hmm. Say,” BON-BON begins hesitantly, never a good sign. “I have something planned for when the new team arrives. Just... a little prank.”

Your heart sinks to your boots. “No.”

“It’s not harmful and probably no one will get in trouble.”

“No.”

“And it’ll be really, really funny. To me.”

“No!!”

“So just remain calm and don’t take the blame.”

“BON-BON,” you say hopelessly. “What are you planning? No, don’t tell me. Please don’t do it, BON-BON, please. Hello?”

“Cool it,” the AI says, another random phrase he’s picked up from somewhere. “Didn’t I promise I wouldn’t do anything like last time? Enjoy your weird caves. You won’t find out until it’s too late, anyway.”

And then he’s gone. You sigh, sitting down in the shallow water like it’s a bath. He definitely waited for you to make your way into the caves before breaking the news.

Life never used to be this stressful. What happened?

There’s a little splash from behind you, an intake of breath. You turn to see the end of Moon’s long, fanned tail snake from the entrance of the cave into the shin-height water you’re sitting in. If you weren’t used to his creeping antics by now you would have soiled yourself.

“Moon,” you say, already knowing it’s futile. “Cut it out.”

The water is opaque, black in the light of your suit. There’s no response from the mermaid you know is sneaking his way around you. Briefly, your hand twitches to cover your neck.

“Wow, too bad Moon isn’t here,” you say loudly, riffling through your belt. You pull out a plastic case. “Sure would be nice to share this yummy ice cream with a certain mermaid friend. Such a pity that-”

Water surges as Moon bursts through the surface directly in front of you like a cheap jumpscare. His cheeks are full of water.

“Don’t.” You hold the case up threateningly. “I’ll melt it. I will.”

Moon subsides, and the water drains out through his gills in a fascinating waterfall. “Boo,” he rasps, eyes narrowed into slits. They linger on your hairstyle, curious – he has only ever seen your braids trailing.

“Yeah, I’m total killjoy.” You crack the plastic seal with a fingernail, slotting the ice cream out of the mold with little effort.

Moon focuses on it. “Different.”

“Yeah.” You don’t tell him I made it in case it skeeves him out or something. Apparently the other ice creams were added to the grocery order by that Monty guy, and you already feel bad for him.

“Give.” He misinterprets your sidelong look, curling his mouth into an angelic smile. “Please.”

“How could I say no to such a face?” you say, passing it over. You’re only a little sarcastic.

He’s enjoying it a little too much, wrapping a dark tongue around the popsicle. You avert your eyes, waiting until you hear the tell-tale crunch of shattering wood before you start trying to wrestle the stick away.

“Every time,” you mutter, hand slobbery and only a little bitten. Moon bares his teeth at you.

“Play?” he says, swaying from side to side. His hands curl around your ankles, moving them also. Now he’s had his treat, he’s immediately ready to harass you. “Tag, friend. I will seek.”

“No,” you say, your reliable and trusty word. Although you’re beginning to think that’s not the only one that would work.

Moon hisses, tilting his head in a way that shouldn’t be possible. His esca flexes minutely. “Spoilsport. Brat.”

“Fish.”

He flops back into the water, splashing, and re-emerges beside you floating on his back. “Talk, then,” he sighs. “Learn more.”

“I don’t know,” you say lightly. “I think you’re a pretty good study.” Ignoring the cautious look he tosses your way, you grope for your belt and pull out something inside curled fingers. “Besides, I’m not done. I brought something else for you.”

“More?”

“A gift,” you clarify, holding your hand out until he extends an open palm. “For my friend.”

Moon sits up slowly, watching with rapt attention as you place the gift in his palm. Silvery chains, little rings – it doesn’t look like much unworn.

“It’s called a loveknot,” you say, searching his alien face for a reaction. “Don’t, uh, read into that – it’s colloquial. A general term. It’s jewellery. You place this chain around your wrist, and then these rings go below the first finger joint.” You’re pointing them out, lifting the jewellery to illustrate. “And these chains, they’re meant to frame your webbing, see? It’s a gift from my planet, where I come from. And it’s measured to you, so no one else will be able to wear it.”

Moon is still staring, his expression unreadable. It makes you nervous.

“You don’t have to wear it, or accept it,” you say, fighting the urge to snatch it back. “You can just- y’know. But I hope you like it.”

“How,” Moon says, extending a hand in clear invitation. Your heart leaps.

“Like this,” you say, gently taking his wrist to put it on for him. “See, here. I made the chain shorter so it won’t catch your fins.”

“You made this,” he says quietly.

“I did.” There’s a little flush of pride on your cheeks. “It’s metalwork. Difficult, but yeah. Because you gave me that lovely shell.”

Moon holds his hand up, turning it this way and that to see the play of light on metal. His face looks odd, eyes wide and mouth pressed closed over his teeth.

“Do you... like it?” you venture.

Moon looks at you. “Yes.”

He stares when you beam at him. Your relieved laugh echoes off the walls. “Oh, good! I’m glad. I was kind of worried it wouldn’t fit, you know. Haha.”

“Haha,” Moon echoes. Then, “Thank you, friend,” said quietly to the water, the tail of his hat sliding down to shield his face.

Thrill rises in you like overflowing soda. Moon looks amused when you flap your hands a little, and you dunk them in the water. “That’s it,” you say. “All done. You’re a very spoiled mermaid.”

“Merrrrrmaid,” Moon says, rolling his R’s with relish.

“Yeah, yeah.”

He’s still admiring his gift in the dim light, and you peep at how the chains stretch over the top of his webbing, framing it perfectly. That’s always the hardest part, leaving the wearer with a full range of motion without too much slack.

“Usually these are made on the recipient,” you explain, quieter now. “If it’s too short you can’t move your fingers, and if it’s too long the chains might tangle or pinch.”

“No pinch.”

“Mm. Seems to fit well. Let me know I need to add any links or-” You break off with a laugh when Moon tucks his hands behind his back. “Okay then.”

“This... from your home?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s a cultural thing, you know? Families and close friends give them to each other.” Plus lovers. The materials and style makes the difference.

Moon is frowning now, pulling his hand out to examine the chain again. “Even this?” He traces a webbing chain with the tip of a long claw.

“Yeah.”

Moon glances at your submerged hands. “You can’t wear,” he says, a wisp of joking smugness in his tone.

“There are styles for people without webbing,” you say quietly.

Moon flicks a little glance at the side of your face, but you look away. The little silver fish are nipping at the side of one boot, perhaps mistaking it for a bioluminescent bulb. The glowing leaves in that warm habitat certainly resemble the size if not the shape.

Moon lifts your hand out of the water, curling his fingers between yours. The chain presses uncomfortably against the ridged skin and irritates the shallow slices Sun left behind. You don’t pull away in case Moon takes it as rejection.

“Mermaids?” Moon says, using your name for him. “Where you live?”

“No,” you say, glancing back.

“But... webbing?”

“Use your words,” you say dryly. He narrows his eyes, frustrated, as you wait to see if he’ll take the plunge and stop speaking in sentence fragments.

It works, kind of. “People have webbing?” he says reluctantly. “Like you?”

“I don’t have hand webbing,” you say.

“People like you,” he elaborates, glaring now. You don’t typically press him on sentence structure.

“Most do,” you say mildly. “Everyone in my community did, but there’s some that missed out elsewhere, in other villages.”

“But not you?”

You swallow. He’s examining your hands now, gaze sharpening at the scar tissue thickening the sides of your fingers. For a second you’re about to allow him the chance to look closer, but then his eyes take up a revealing red glow and your nerve breaks. You gently disentangle your hand and lean on it under the water, out of sight. Moon looks at you with his hand still held up, something odd in his expression.

“What was that?” he says quietly.

You couldn’t have asked for a better segue. “A little present from your friend,” you say, pretending to misunderstand. “He didn’t mean to cut me, I don’t think. Your claws are sharp sharp, huh?”

His hand clenches in the air. “What.”

“A yellow mermaid,” you clarify, watching his eyes widen. “He was holding my hands. He didn’t mean to cut me, but I was trying to swim away – you know the drill. Sorry,” you add with a little laugh. “I shouldn’t call him your friend. It’s not like all humans know each other either.”

“What.”

“Back in that tunnel,” you say slowly, “when you helped me get home. I met a yellow mermaid. He was in this... bright, colourful environment. Warm. I didn’t mean to,” you add, at his paling face. “A current carried me there. Poor guy, seemed kind of lonely.”

Moon doesn’t say anything. You can see his fins rising stiffly.

“Pretty amazing stuff. You don’t have to worry though, no one’s going to go storming into your home or anything. I’ve been told not to go back. Too dangerous.”

“Not my home,” Moon mutters, twitching his head, and you instantly clock the lie. Score, nice to have that confirmed. Funny how some mannerisms are universal.

“But that’s not even the most interesting part,” you say, as though he never spoke. “When I met the yellow mermaid, do you know what he said?”

Moon doesn’t speak.

“He said hello to me in perfect, unbroken ancient English,” you say with relish. “Isn’t that interesting? Perhaps you could use some lessons from him.”

Moon looks away, the tail of his esca sliding down once more to shield his face. Your smile drops as you go in for the kill.

“You’re fluent, aren’t you?” you say. “You’ve understood everything I’ve ever said.”

For a long few moments, Moon doesn’t speak, doesn’t move. Then the apple of his cheek lifts in a hidden smile and he lets out a raspy giggle.

That’s enough for you. “I knew it!” you yelp. You shove his shoulder and Moon flops into the water, laughing. “I knew something was off!”

It makes so much sense. Acting all clueless about words he already knew, and then coming out with a full sentence. The way he seemed to learn just by listening. Not to mention that some of his sentences suggested a deeper understanding of the language. There’s no way you’re that good of a teacher.

Moon sinks out from under your hands and resurfaces a safe distance away, grinning widely. “Silly,” he sings, swaying back and forth. “Silly, silly thing.”

He paddles away when you rise and splosh through the water towards him. “I can’t believe I wasted all that energy on you!”

Moon sinks again with barely a ripple. You pause in place warily, on-edge for a prank.

“Not wasted,” his voice comes from behind you. He’s peeking out from behind a stalagmite, long fingers curled around the brittle side. “Not good at speaking, even now. I did learn.”

You kick water at him. “Liar.”

He rolls his eyes. “Not lying.”

“Speak normally, then.”

“I don’t want to speak normally,” he says, mimicking your delivery. Then he grins, slow and sly. “Better?”

“No,” you say mulishly. He has a definite accent, you dimly realise, all rhotic consonants and flat vowels, but not quite as bombastic as Sun’s. It was hard to pick out when he spoke so little. “Why’d you make me teach you if you knew everything already?”

“I didn’t make you,” Moon points out. “You did that allllll by yourself.”

I suppose that’s true, you think reluctantly. You were the one to come up with the idea of teaching him all by your lonesome. But then again, what were you supposed to think when he only spoke in fragments? “You could have said you didn’t want me to teach you. It’s not like you sounded fluent. Were you faking then, as well?”

Moon grimaces, averting his eyes. “I wasn’t... confident,” he settles on. “Not a lot of practice. I, we talk like this-" He descends into a series of rapid chirps and clicks that you can’t hope to imitate.

“We?” you echo.

“And if you teach, you speak,” Moon continues hastily. “You let me in close.”

That brings you up short. “And you wanted to get close,” you say doubtfully.

There’s frustration in the tilt of his mouth. “You wouldn’t let me. Wouldn’t play. Still don’t play.”

“I think you and I have very different definitions of playing.”

Moon sinks lower into the water, barely audible with his mouth just above the surface. “You always ran away. Hit and slapped. Hurt me.”

What an excellent impression of a kicked dog. Too bad I'm not falling for it.

You cross your arms. “Yeah, don’t rewrite history. You hurt me first. Remember when I was trying to get you free in the cave and you shoved me into the ground? And then you chased me, and then after that you bit me! Remember that? Hunting me through the rocks?”

Moon’s fins flatten against his head the more you talk, hiding further behind the pillar. He blows a bubble, then lifts his mouth just high enough to say, “Not hunting. Playing, friend, just playing.”

“And the bite? Even if that was a play bite, it was still way too hard. You must have realised I was frightened.”

Moon averts his eyes. “Softer... than I was expecting.”

“Sorry that not all of us can be armoured with scales,” you say. “You can’t fault me for being wary after that.”

Moon hisses, slapping the water with a wide palm. “Ffffine,” he spits, glaring. “Won’t bite again.”

“Oh wow, what a big concession,” you say, reluctantly amused.

“Stupid,” he mutters. “Biting is a part of play. Dumb.”

“It’s not dumb,” you sigh, massaging the bridge of your nose. “Come on. How would you like it if I bit you? To hurt,” you clarify.

Moon startles you with a low raspy cackle, sending the hairs on your neck shivering. “You couldn’t,” he says, eyes curved into red crescents. “Blunt teeth, no claws. Little weak thing.” He shakes his head slowly, finally daring to creep out from behind the stalagmite. “I bet you’re a terrible hunter.”

I should probably be pleased he doesn’t see me as a threat, you think dryly.

“Sun said something similar,” you say, looking down at the scratches on your hands.

“... Sun?” Moon says quietly.

“Uh, the yellow guy. Sorry, I can’t pronounce your words, so... I named the other one Eclipse, the big reddish one, you know? Let me know if I’m being rude or anything.” Nicknaming other people due to pronunciation issues is pretty widespread but you don’t want to step on any toes. Or fins. “Anyway, yeah, Sun called me a bad hunter,” you say, with a little laugh. “And he called me ‘friend’ too. Do you know him?”

Moon heaves out a sigh, blowing bubbles again. “Yes,” he says, very reluctantly.

You purse your lips against the myriad of questions that come bubbling up. Are they friends? What’s their relationship? Is Sun dangerous? Is he lonely? Are there other human-sized mermaids? How did they both learn ancient English? Who are the giant mermaids? Why won’t Moon talk about anything? You already know Moon won’t answer them.

“Okay,” you say.

The lack of a reaction seems to disconcert Moon. He splashes a little, agitated, and mutters something.

“Hm?”

“Are you angry?” he says a little louder. “Because that would be stu- silly. That would be silly.”

“Really,” you say coldly. Moon sinks a little in the water again. “I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed. We could have been speaking together, but instead you had me rambling about stuff, thinking I was helping you to learn instead.”

He slaps at the water again. “I liked it. Interesting. And I did learn.”

“Good for you.” You turn and start sploshing your way over to the entrance. Talking is thirsty work and you left your bottle on a little ledge there.

Moon swiftly moves to cut you off, lashing his tail when you step back to maintain some distance. “Mad you can’t teach me?” he goads, but there’s an anxious note in his voice. “Stupid mermaid not so stupid?”

Oh. I don’t like that.

“I never thought of you as stupid,” you say slowly. “I’m sorry if something I did gave you that impression. I guess I never really told you why I wanted to teach you ancient English, did I?”

“To tame me.” Moon moves a little closer, creeping with his hands to keep his shoulders above water. “To make me nicer.”

Your immediate reaction is to deny, but the only problem is really his phrasing. You hum. “Not quite. I wanted us to be able to communicate,” you say, “so that we could tell each other if things were going wrong. So you could say ‘I don’t like that light’, or ‘I don’t like this food’, and you can tell me if you need help. And then I could tell you if you’re hurting me, or scaring me, or say ‘hey Moon, please don’t eat me!’” You give a little laugh. “And then at least if you carry on doing it, I know that you’re doing it on purpose, and I’m not just misunderstanding. You know?”

Moon isn’t laughing along, his face very grave. “I wouldn’t eat you,” he says quietly.

“Right,” you say quickly, not really believing it, and his face shutters. “But, y’know. Do you kind of see how the way we met skewed my perspective there?”

His gills flutter as he shifts uneasily. “I never meant to hurt you. Any of those times.”

“But do you understand?” you press. “I don’t think of you as some... animal or whatever. I just figured we could coexist better if we could understand each other. That’s why it’s disappointing, because we could from the moment you decided to speak, but kind of... didn’t.”

Moon drops his eyes, staring at the water.

“Hey, if it’s any consolation, I always thought your intelligence makes you more dangerous,” you joke, giving him a wide berth as you pick up your water bottle. “Oh, don’t smile. Wipe that look away.”

But Moon preens, pressing his cheek against his shoulder. “Intelligent. Dangerous.”

“I should know better than to comfort you,” you mutter, taking a swig.

Moon chuckles, low and raspy. He swims closer, smile losing some of its warmth when you take a seat on the ledge with your legs tucked up. “Stop,” he says, tugging on your ankle. “You sat with me before.”

“Maybe you can earn it back.” You cap your bottle.

Moon hisses, baring his teeth. “Come here.”

You give him a slow smug smile. “No. Ah!” You point at the end of his tail, fanned out behind him. “I know what that means. Splash me, and I’m going home straight away. I mean it.”

Slowly, Moon subsides. “Brat,” he says, and growls low in his chest.

“Yeah, this is really fostering trust,” you say, and the growl falters. “No no, carry on. I want to see what other bonding activities you have in mind for me.”

“Shut up,” he mutters.

“Uh huh. Hey, listen,” and you tap the rock to get him to look at you. “I just want you to understand something here. I’m pretty strong for a human, right?” Moon snorts. “No, seriously. I eat well, I exercise well, I’m trained in self-defence. But even with all that, and not to give you any ideas – you could tear me apart instantly.”

Moon’s smile drops. “I wouldn’t.”

“But you could, and it would be easy. So when I’m sitting next to you and splashing around, and giving you food – I’m also putting my life on the line to spend time with you. So keep that in mind the next time you call me silly for not wanting to sit next to you when you’re angry. Yeah?”

Moon rolls his eyes, a little too exaggerated to be genuine. “Fine. I understand.”

“And you’re being so graceful about it too.” But you smile to take the edge off.

Moon mutters, scratching at the rocks. You wince as he shaves off scores of mineral shards, glittering as they sink in the water. Still, this is his habitat – it’s not your place to tell him what to preserve.

“Friends don’t eat each other,” he says suddenly.

You have to fight a sudden laugh. “Sure?”

Moon raises his hand, and you think he’s shaking his fist like an elderly man until the chain catches your attention. “You said, a gift for a friend,” he says. “This loveknot is proof. So, you don’t be frightened, and I won’t hurt.”

Wonderful simplification. “Deal.”

“So,” and he taps the toe of your boot, smiling sweetly, “come here.”

“No.”

Moon snarls and throws himself backward into the water in a hissing tantrum, miraculously not splashing you. You have to fight not to laugh as he thrashes under the surface, tailing coiling and sending the water rocking up into waves. Finally he sits upright violently, slapping a fish into the air.

“Fine,” he snaps, heaving himself up on the ledge with his claws, “fine, fine, stupid brat, idiot...”

You edge away, trembling with restrained laughter. “Uh, are you sure you’re up for-”

“Stay!” he barks, finally managing to sit beside you. “Shut up. You annoying thing.”

“I’m really feeling the friendship in this cave today,” you say, and Moon makes a noise like a furious cat. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop.”

Moon clicks something at you, holding your wrist like he’s daring you to shake him off. You’re certain whatever he said is not complimentary.

“Here, how about this?” you say soothingly. “Why don’t we play twenty questions-”

“Play?”

“- and we each take turns answering something. No lies. It’ll be fun.”

“And you stay.” Moon’s hand tightens around your wrist.

“Up to a point,” you agree, eyes flickering down to his grip. “I won’t move away while we’re still playing.”

Moon smiles briefly, a flash of teeth. “I don’t want to answer questions.”

“Well tough, that’s how the game works.” You draw your legs up crossed, Moon watching the movement with a bizarre expression. “You can ask first.”

He takes a few seconds to drag his eyes back up, opening his mouth wordlessly. Choice fatigue, perhaps. “Why is... that different?” he says, nodding to your hair.

“I have new people arriving in the facility today, and they might think I’m unprofessional if I have wet hair,” you answer. “What-”

“Hair?”

“It’s my turn,” you remind him, and receive a scowl for your troubles. “Why didn’t you ever tell me about the warm environment? The bright place?”

Moon’s eyes narrow. “No.”

Welp. No is no.

“That was a quick game,” you mutter. “I guess I’ll head back if-”

“No.” Moon’s hand tightens around your wrist. “Do a different one. Please,” he adds, taking a leaf out of your book.

“Okay,” you say slowly. “Why don’t you want to tell me anything about the warm place or the other mermaids even now?”

Moon huffs and looks away.

“Come onnnnn.” You shake your trapped wrist, forcing his hand to waggle. “I’m getting bored, I’m so bored now. I’ll fall asleep right here.”

He closes one eye like your antics are too exhausting to view with both, mouth twitching slightly. “Dangerous.”

“What? Because of the giant mermaid? The one with the purple light, I mean.”

Moon grimaces briefly. “My turn.”

Damn his fins. “Okay.”

“What is hair?”

“This.” You tug on the protruding loop of a pinned-up braid. “It’s made of keratin, the same material as my nails. The hair itself doesn’t have any sensation, but it hurts my head if you tug on it. And I can’t move it.”

Moon briefly lifts his hand as though to touch it before rethinking the action. “Not… feelers? Tentacles?”

You snicker. “Not tentacles,” you confirm. “Was that two questions there?”

“No,” Moon says quickly.

“Hmm,” you say, just to make him sweat. “So is the warm area dangerous because of the giant glowing mermaid?”

Another glare courtesy of Mr Moon. “Yes,” he grits out.

“Oh, stop that,” you say, starting to get cross. “No one is making you do this, you know. Stop acting like I’m pulling out your teeth.”

Moon blinks, slightly sheepish. “They... can’t swim up,” he offers like an olive branch. “But they’re still dangerous. Hungry, and the currents can push creatures down. They become food.”

A shiver wracks up your spine. Moon glances down when your fingers curl against his hand. “Your turn,” you say, throat suddenly dry.

Moon appears to be swishing his question around his mouth before he says it. “... What are you?”

You giggle. It’s just such an unexpected question. “I’m a human.”

“Human,” Moon says, thoughtfully. “Human. I only heard the word.”

That’s interesting. Still, he knows a great many words he shouldn’t and you have more immediate questions to ask. “How did you learn this language we’re speaking?”

“Ancient English, you said.”

“Yep.”

“I was taught by the others,” Moon says. With a sigh, he adds, “Other... mermaids. And others taught them. I don’t know where it came from.”

“It’s old then,” you murmur. Of course, it is ancient English – perhaps a vintage vessel stopped off on this planet long ago and interacted with some of the locals? Under the seabed. Hm.

“How do you hunt?” Moon says.

“With weapons,” you say absently. “But mostly I don’t. Other people do it, and I pay them for the food. What relationship do you have with Sun? Like, is he your friend, or...?”

Moon hesitates for the longest time yet. “He’s my... my... he’s mine,” he says. Then, “What?”

You shrug, hiding a smile. “Possessive,” you comment, watching his fins bristle. “So that’s why you don’t want us to meet? He’s yours?” Whatever that means.

“I didn’t say that,” Moon says lowly. His fingers tighten around yours.

“Get back inside now. The pod is coming down.”

BON-BON’s voice in your earpiece has you startling so hard you almost topple into the water. As it is you slip off the ledge, and Moon’s other hand snatching your upper arm has you faceplanting onto his lap with no way to stop yourself. For a moment you lie there with warm scales against your cheek, stunned. Then you shove yourself upright with a hissed, “Shit!”

“What?” Moon says, releasing you reluctantly as you get your feet under you.

“I have to go.” You snatch up the bottle and fumble to reattach it to your belt. That lying little... Vanessa said they would be arriving in a few hours’ time. This is not that!

“Wait!” Moon slips into the water behind you as you splash to the entrance. “I followed your rules. I still have questions.”

“Sorry. It’s not your fault,” you say shortly, pulling out your breather. “The new team is arriving and I thought they were coming later. I have to be there to meet them.” Good thing you chose to visit a nearby cave.

“Glamrock,” he mutters.

“Yes, and please avoid them, for the first few cycles at least.” This is something you have already explained to Moon, but it bears repeating. You want to get these strangers used to the idea of sentient and sapient mermaids before they do something stupid, like try to tag and trace him.

You’re arrested by a firm grip on your arm, Moon holding the breather hostage. “One more thing.”

“Yes?” you say, exasperated.

“Don’t go back to the bright place. Not yet. Please.” His eyes are uncharacteristically grave, the laser-like focus typically reserved for impromptu hunting now held solely on your face.

Time ticking down in your head, it takes a second for you to gather up a response. “I won’t. I said I’ve been ordered not to. Didn’t I?”

“It’s dangerous. The currents are unpredictable,” he presses, fingers tightening until claws indent soft divots into the skin of your wrist. “And I need to speak to my Sun.”

“Moon,” you say urgently, “I need to go.”

He holds your gaze a second longer, eyes roving over your face for any hints of flippancy. Then, with a soft exhale, his grip loosens and falls away.

You cram the breather onto your face the moment you’re able, plopping into the water without saying goodbye. You’re definitely going to be late, not even factoring in the time to change from your suit. Moon follows silently, swimming along with a contemplative look in his eyes.

You yelp at a sudden grip under your arms, and then you’re cutting through water at a pace your boots can’t achieve. Moon has a look of long-suffering on his face, though his mouth does quirk up when you make an excited muffled sound. He surfaces by the platform at a speed that makes you nauseous and dives away without waiting for a thank you. Granted, you are already spitting out your breather and scrambling for the door.

“That was fast,” BON-BON remarks surprised, as you hurl your boots into the cubby and wiggle out of the suit.

“I had some help,” you pant, tugging on a t-shirt. You have no intention of keeping up a facade of office wear the entire half year – this team, like all the others, can take you as you are.

“Almost here.”

“I know, I know. Thank you.” You cram on a pair of shoes, all the better to sprint in, and take off down the corridor at a breakneck pace. Squeaking slightly on the shiny floors, you rebound off a wall as you take a corner and leap over the bear ears of little cleanerbot without breaking stride. Just before you reach the access chamber you slow, taking a second to control your breathing and wipe your face before rounding the corner at a sedate pace.

The doors are open, staffbots already busy loading cases and crates onto hovering platforms. One sees you and waves, and you waggle your fingers back before focussing on the group. Four people on the team, and it looks like they’re all anthropomorphic humanoids – a sure difference from your past few teams of mostly-humans. Resembling a bear, an alligator, a wolf, and a bird, all of them rock bright clothing and colourful markings. Your excitement rises – fashionable researchers! It probably won’t last in the isolation of the facility, but it looks fun. The bear helps a staffbot load up a case, and you revise your initial impression at the faint glow lighting the fur around his eyes – at least one is an augmented anthropomorphic humanoid. The poor guy must have lost his sight at some point.

Vanessa is standing by the birdlike one, head tilted as she speaks swiftly and hushed. You catch the stranger’s eye as you approach and smile, and to your relief she returns it without hesitation. Already a better start than Vanessa.

Said woman turns as she catches the drift of her companion’s gaze, her green eyes rabbit-like and wide. You hadn’t thought she was talking about you, but there’s something in that look that plants doubt in your mind. Vanessa takes an abrupt step back from her companion, compounding your suspicions.

Still, you keep a friendly face as you say, “Hello, welcome! You must be the Glamrock team.”

The team as a whole straightens attentively, and you introduce yourself by name. As the only permanent organic member of staff, welcoming talks and tours are old hat to you. The bear and the bird step forward at the same time with their hands held out, and the bear swiftly tucks his hand away with a bashful look. Oop. That must be the Freddy that Vanessa mentioned.

“It’s so great to meet you!” the bird trills, pumping your hand up and down.

You withhold a wince – it’s your bruised hand – and say, “Same! I hope the journey was okay?”

“Terrible,” she says cheerfully, releasing you. “An utter nightmare, babe.”

“Ah. The tolls?”

“The tolls,” she agrees.

“They always delay a journey.” The last of the luggage is zooming away, set to be piled into the corridor of the living quarters. “Well, I’m sure everyone is tired, so why don’t I let you pick out your rooms and rest, and then-”

Vanessa clears her throat loudly. You glance to see her giving you a pointed look, though you couldn’t begin to guess what it means. She can’t want to lead the tour, can she? This has always been your job.

“... refreshments,” you finish slowly, staring at her face for a clue. “And maybe a tour, if you’re up to it.”

“I can tour now,” the bird says, and turns. “What do you think?”

There’s a smattering of agreements, the bear markedly more enthused than the rest. You swear his eyes brighten, literally, the irises sparkling.

“Great!” You clap your hands, and Vanessa sighs loudly. Licking your lips, you add, “But first, shall we do introductions?” No one has given their names yet.

That makes them go quiet, and the bird glances at Vanessa for some reason. “Of course!” she says, sounding flustered. “I’m Chica, I’m the, uh, team leader and material qualifier.”

The rest of the team introduce themselves as Freddy handling translation and specialised technology, Monty as excursion security, and Roxy holding the titles of transport and mechanics.

You brighten. “Oh, perhaps we’ll be working in proximity,” you say to Roxy, who looks a little startled.

“... Maybe,” she says, distinctly dubious.

Ah. You quickly switch gears. “So, tour? All good to go?” General assent received, you turn and lead them down the hall, anxiety nipping at your spine. A mixed bag, perhaps? But so far they seem nice.

Gym, shared bathroom, lab. You’re aware of a hushed conversation behind you, however Roxy is keeping pace beside you, available to talk to about the facilities. But unfortunately, you can still hear them.

“-didn’t brief them?” someone hisses.

“I thought they would be prejudiced,” Vanessa says, her tone far too loud for the hushed conversation they’re having. “It’s better this way.”

Your shoulders hitch, but you quickly cover it with a scratch to your arm. “Next up is the dining room,” you say, trying to distract them from their own conversation.

“These hallways are long,” Roxy drawls to you.

“Yeah, they tried to incorporate the shape of the natural landscape into the structure, so some areas will be circuitous,” you say ruefully. “Still, it keeps you fit.”

“Prejudiced against our names?” Monty rumbles quietly. His accent is slightly different from the rest of them – an elongation of the vowels that turns his diction into a gravelly drawl. It reminds you of sunny swamps and muggy heat. “Don’t act dumb. They didn’t even know Roxy’s job title. What have you been doing all this time?”

“More than you,” Vanessa snaps. “I suppose you won’t be needing my floorplan, since my work is so useless?”

“It looks unsettlingly pristine,” Freddy muses, whispering.

Okay, that’s as good a segue as anything. “Our cleanerbots and staffbots are very dedicated,” you agree, walking backwards so you can speak to the group trailing behind. “Base went for pale cream to try to combat claustrophobia, and dirt shows up on everything, so they’re always at work. It practically sparkles, right?”

“It does,” Freddy agrees weakly, the teammates beside him sporting identical sheepish looks on their faces.

You turn back, satisfied when there’s no more whispering. Wonderful. “Dining room,” you announce. “The rock is fully secured, so there’s no risk of instability.”

“A teleportation fuse,” Freddy says, wandering over for a closer look. “How fascinating!”

“That’s right,” you agree. You’re pleased by the appreciative way the team regards the dining room.

Rattling off the features, you’re about to lead them away when Monty says, “What’s cooking tonight?”

You pause. “Ah... whatever you want, I guess? Within reason.”

“You don’t have a menu?” He seems surprised, sliding down his star-shaped glasses like you’ve got the menu stamped across your forehead.

“Nope. Whatever you want, so long as yourself or the staffbots can cook it. And we’d need the right ingredients too.”

“But what about you? What are you cooking?”

You think for a minute. “Maybe a salad?” It hasn’t been a particularly taxing day, exercise-wise.

“A salad?” Monty sounds almost distraught, until Freddy steps forward with a smile.

“I believe what Monty means to ask is what you have planned on the menu for the team,” he clarifies gently.

“Oh!” You blink at him. “No, I don’t cook. I mean, I’m not the cook. Any food needs to be prepared by the staffbots or yourself, or if you want a cooking rota... but cooking isn’t an assigned responsibility.”

“You’re not a cook?” Monty says.

Roxy leans against the wall, crossing her arms. “I thought you were the janitor.”

Your smile is definitely getting a bit tight now, especially as Roxy glances at Vanessa in askance. Time to nip this in the bud. “Nope! I’m the facility’s resident mechanical repairman, an executive assessor of aquatic and dryland quality, and I handle the maintenance and security of the external environment. No janitorial service from me.” There’s a little silence following that.

“I do apologise,” Freddy says. “We appear to have gotten our wires crossed. Please, excuse us.”

He does sound genuinely apologetic. “Yeah, no problem.”

“But you’re always making me drinks and food,” Vanessa says suddenly, a slight challenge in her voice.

“Mm, yes,” you say, anxiety rising. “I have leftovers, and it’s no problem to make your drink along with mine.” Still not a cook, though.

Her brow creases. “Why would you make me things if you weren’t?”

Do you hear yourself? What kind of cook does underwater repairs? “Because I thought it would be nice,” you say, a tired note entering your voice.

“You don’t do it now.”

“Wonder why,” Monty mutters, not entirely quietly. He meets your eyes with the quirk of a brow.

“And all you ever do otherwise is swim,” Vanessa complains, and startles when a white feathered hand grabs at her shoulder. Your shoulders relax from their tense stance as Chica pushes herself forward.

“Shall we move on?” Chica says quickly. Her eyes are flicking between you and Vanessa, alarmed.

“Yes!” You seize upon the opportunity and lead them out of the dining room, trying to ignore the hissed Vanessa! from behind you. This is rapidly going downhill.

“Rooms!” you say, gratefully. “First pick generally goes. Vanessa and I have got ours sorted.” After some drama.

Of course, she sidles up beside you while the others are distracted by choice. “You should have said something,” Vanessa says in an undertone, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. The side of her hand is bandaged, you notice. “You had me thinking you were arranging the meals.”

Has she been solely surviving on my leftovers? I surely don’t cook that much.

“I told you the food arrangements when you arrived,” you say steadily. Is she unfamiliar with the concept of sharing? “I would have mentioned if I was preparing the meals then. Hey, did you tell them I’m a janitor?”

She ignores your question. “We didn’t tour in this order when I arrived.”

“Yeah, we started from the exit chamber for you, so the order is different.” You can’t see that it matters much.

“And you didn’t even offer to let me rest before touring first,” she continues. “Nice to see how you treat them differently.”

This time you turn slowly to face her, incredulous. “You said no when I offered. You said you wanted to tour first. Remember? When I was fresh out the water and bleeding in my swimsuit?”

Vanessa colours, looking away. “Just- I thought it was strange, that’s all,” she mutters.

“What’s strange is your memory problems.” You eye her in profile, concern swiftly overtaking the irritation. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she snaps. “Don’t take that one,” she adds as Roxy pokes her head into the newly-cleared room beside yours. A sneer curls her lip.

“Why?” Roxy says. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Fun, you’ll be next to me,” you butt in, before Vanessa can do something horrifying like accuse you of imaginary whispers.

Roxy hums, giving the room another look over. She dumps a carrycase past the threshold. “Cool. I like the big mirror. What’s your room look like?”

You notice the others gathering as well, having settled on their lodgings with only minor squabbles. Having cleaned your room last night, you feel comfortable with showing it off a bit. “Most people don’t like it because it has this big window,” you say, reaching for the access button. “But I like it because I get to-”

The door slides open and the words die in your throat. Your room is completely trashed, dresser hanging open and all your clothes and belongings strewn everywhere. Your blanket is on the floor with a big tear, like someone kicked it off the bed and got their foot stuck. There’s a wide arc of shattered glass and miscellaneous objects, the result of the surface of your desk being swept onto the floor.

Your face goes cold, and when you turn around your eyes automatically find Vanessa. She looks just as dull-eyed and bored as ever, not a reaction to be had. For some reason you expected her to be smirking. Your body in the doorway isn’t enough to hide the destruction behind you. The Glamrock team have odd looks on their faces.

“Uh...” Your hand fumbles blindly for the access button. “L-looks like I forgot to clean up!” you say, your throat tight. “No room tour today. Why don’t we go to...” Finally your hand hits the button and the door slides closed. “The main room! We can get refreshments and meet BON-BON.”

“... Of course,” Chica agrees, a beat too late. Roxy is staring over your shoulder like she can still see the destruction.

“Great,” you say, and your voice comes out as a squeak. “Vanessa, could you show the way, please? I’ll be right back with you in a sec.”

Vanessa sighs but acquiesces, still no acknowledgement of what she’s done on her face. “Follow me.”

You wait just long enough for them to start after her before darting into your room and shutting the door behind. It’s utterly trashed, seemingly everything you own a target of anger. Peeking into your bathroom, even that is not unscathed, bottles and tubes hurled about. The mirror has a crack in it. You suppose you should be thankful the window isn’t the same way.

Returning to the bedroom, you begin to riffle through the contents of the floor, mindful of broken glass. Your lamp is shattered, an ornament spilling colourful sands everywhere. That was a present a friend gave you at the Rim. Finally, you find what you are looking for and hold it up.

The shell Moon gifted you is intact, with only a tiny chip marring the raised iridescent lip of the opening. You turn it over and over, looking for a break in the delicate whorls and curlicues, finding nothing. Well, that’s one positive thing at least.

You hide it under the squat bottom of your dresser and exit the room, locking the door for the first time ever. When you turn, you're surprised to see Freddy standing there.

“Oh!” you say, jumping. With this recent nasty surprise, you’re more easily startled than usual. “Sorry, I didn’t realise you stayed behind. I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

Freddy’s bear ears quirk, and you spare a second to wonder how the similarly-designed cleanerbots appear to him. “That is no issue,” he says calmly, smiling. There’s pronounced concern in those bright eyes. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yeah! Yeah. Just peachy.” Shrill, your voice is just on the wrong side of chirpy. You edge around him, wandering a little so he follows in your footsteps to the main room. “How are you liking the facility so far?”

“It is wonderful,” he’s quick to assure you. He gives your doorway a brief glance before it’s out of sight. “I am sorry if my earlier comment appeared at all disparaging...”

“No way.” You flap a hand. “You get used to it eventually. I mean, it is very white.”

Freddy hums. “I am quite enjoying what I have seen so far. I am sure I speak for the team when I say that we will feel right at home here. It is an impressive facility.”

You flush in pleasure. After suffering Vanessa’s particular brand of disparaging remarks, Freddy is like a drink of cool water. And it is an impressive facility, at least by your reckoning. “Oh, that’s great.”

Freddy spares you a warm, friendly smile. “I am sure you will fit right in with my team,” he says, allowing you through the doorway first.

“Here,” Vanessa says shortly, shoving a mug into your chest the moment you enter.

Everyone is sporting a beverage. It’s repulsive coffee, and you decide right then and there that you won’t take so much as a sip, not even to be polite. There could be glass in there.

Roxy and Chica are trying to activate BON-BON’s interface with little success, and Monty appears to be bounce testing the low cushion seats. A staffbot stands by, positively buzzing with excitement. It can sense an impending series of messes to clean up, no doubt.

Sidling away, you dump out the coffee in the sink just as Roxy turns and gives you an assessing look. You freeze, eyes wide, but she just looks right back at the interface with no comment. Okay then.

You let them poke and prod at BON-BON’s interface a few minutes more while you take a breather, then approach. “You have to address him directly,” you say, mildly apologetic for butting in. “A greeting sometimes works too.”

“Ohhhh,” Chica says, placing a finger to her beak. “I was looking for a button. Hello, BON-BON?”

“Gooooooood afternoon!” BON-BON sings, his interface blazing to life. “As the facility AI, it is my pleasure to meet team Glamrock!”

You swallow an exclamation. He’s using his avatar again, the horrible blue bunny. You close your eyes, dread settling in your bones. Right, the prank he mentioned. “BON-BON,” you begin weakly, conscious of Vanessa directing a furious look your way.

He drowns you out. “How may I help you out today?”

Chica is all smiles, apparently blind to the faux pas that Base dedicated several sensitivity training sessions drilling into you before your employment. “Hi, BON-BON,” she says, her shrill voice warm. “It’s great to-”

“BON-BON,” Vanessa interrupts, voice frigid. Chica directs a startled at her. “Is this your regular interface setting?”

“Indeed it isn’t!” he replies, artificial as all hell. You want to shrivel up and die.

“Who changed your display settings to this disgusting caricature?” Vanessa is trying to set you on fire with her eyes.

“My interface settings were changed early this morning by Vanessa A.,” BON-BON says.

Vanessa goes red. “Wha-no!” she splutters. “I didn’t!”

“What’s the issue?” Roxy says, looking between you both.

“I believe that anthropomorphic sprites can be viewed as offensive depictions of real life peoples,” Freddy pipes up, sounding utterly unconcerned.

“That’s stupid.”

“Stupid or not, that wasn’t what he looked like before,” Vanessa snaps. “I didn’t change anything, so it must have been you.”

Don’t take the blame. BON-BON’s words float back to you, accompanied by a vision of your trashed room. That’s easy enough. “I was in the water until arrival time,” you say quietly.

Monty laughs, loud and low. “Betcha all that coding practice came in handy.”

Argh, this is a bit painful. “It’s easily changed,” you pipe up. “If we go into the settings-”

“Ouch! I am sorry,” BON-BON says cheerfully. “Avatar settings have been permanently set to ‘Friendly Blue BON-BON!’, as per the T&C’s checked upon selection. Enjoy your new avatar!”

That’s a damn lie. Too bad you can’t call it out. “Looks like it’s stuck,” you say through gritted teeth. BON-BON shoots you a lightning-fast wink.

“No matter,” Freddy says mildly. “We shall simply accept BON-BON’s expression of himself.”

What a bizarre way to phrase it. You wait until there’s general agreement before you nod. This is fucking exhausting, and it’s nowhere near over yet. And you still have to fix your trashed room before you can crash. Once drinks are finished and the Glamrocks have had the chance to explore BON-BON’s range of use (limited, for them), you lead them from the room on heavy feet.

BON-BON blows you a kiss as you go.

That night you corral a number of staff and cleanerbots to help you restore your room. You take pictures of the damage, particularly of traces of blood you found on the cracked mirror and bedding. Swabbing with sterile wipes, you immediately feel like a creep and drop them in the bin. This isn’t a forensic investigation.

Picking up clothing and shaking the glass out, tiptoeing around crushed ornaments, you clear a little path so the robots have a traversable route and go from there. From your holoscreen propped up on the desk, BON-BON watches and gives unhelpful advice.

He’s trying to hide how giddy he is, but he’s unused to expression control and a grin keeps breaking through. “You should- careful, there’s glass – make an official report.”

“No,” you say dully. “Getting the new team’s liaison and coding expert kicked out on arrival day is hardly going to make a good first impression. Add it to your blackmail document or something.”

“Already done. But you have got to stop taking these beatings. You’re not a dog.”

“Try to say that without smiling.”

BON-BON unsuccessfully covers his massive mouth with a small hand. Finally having got his way to use an avatar, he’s practically walking on sunshine, even though Vanessa didn’t get in trouble as he had hoped. At least one of you is happy.

“Besides, what do you want me to do?” you say, delicately plucking shards of glass from the blanket. “Fist fight Vanessa in the main room?”

BON-BON literally shivers in delight. “That would be amazing. Could you?”

“Ergh.” You drop the glass into a safe refuse bag. “Yeah, that? What you just did? Never do that again.”

“What?”

You point up and down. “That.”

“You just gestured to all of me.”

“Yeah, it’s gross. Cut it out.”

“Ugh, you have no taste,” says the vibrant, cartoonish rabbit. “Unlike them lot. But- it’s a shame...”

“Hm?”

“I was expecting a bigger reaction,” BON-BON sighs. “Didn’t Vanessa call my avatar a caricature? They should have at least gasped.”

Your eye twitches. “It’s not so much a caricature. More like, an inaccurate depiction of some people that exist in society. There’s a whole debate around it, you know? But some care more than others. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer something less...” You gesture wordlessly. “Less?”

“No siree! But nice try.” BON-BON’s eyes narrow. “Wait. Are you distracting me?”

Damn. “From what? What were we even talking about?”

“Hmm.” He continues to give you a gimlet gaze as you pass off the last of the glass to a staffbot. You hop onto your bed and let the robots take over. They can just put stuff away anywhere, it’ll need to be refolded in any case. “I’m surprised you didn’t accuse me of trying to frame Vanessa again.”

You’re not a fan of how he says it – like the first time was a false accusation. You were right. “You couldn’t do this,” you say quietly. “The staffbots would never trash the room on your behalf, and I don’t think you would shatter my personal items. This was Vanessa.”

“Thought you said she would do things with her whole chest?” he challenges. “This doesn’t seem like that.”

“I know,” you say, gnawing at your fingers. “But she’s the only other person here. It’s not like she’s dumb enough to talk to me about it with an audience of her co-workers.”

“But she is dumb enough to do it in the first place?” BON-BON sounds dubious.

You hesitate. “Do you... have you...” you struggle. “She seems... prone to sudden rages. Have you noticed?”

“Duh,” BON-BON says instantly. “You should see her when something goes wrong. She shatters crockery, you know.”

“She does?” That’s news to you. “Well, my thinking is that when she found out I left the building earlier today, she trashed my room to get back at me. Did you notice her come in?”

“I didn’t,” BON-BON is quick to assure you. “I would have said.”

You nod, accepting it. Mostly likely he would have thought it was a staffbot dropping off laundry or something if he did notice the access panel being pressed. “I’m worried.”

BON-BON snorts. “Yeah, no wonder. Sleep with the door locked.”

“No, about Vanessa,” you say testily. “She was rude when she arrived, but she didn’t act like this. She doesn’t sleep, she forgets half the things I tell her, and she disregards danger when it’s right in front of her. I have no idea how she didn’t notice Moon that time.”

“Ah,” BON-BON says sagely. “You think she went space crazy.”

You send him a dirty look. “No, asshole. Cora said she was ill recently. I’m wondering if she picked up something.”

“Don’t call me names,” the AI says primly, that flinger of foul insults and the occasional slur. “She might just have mental health issues. Or she could just be a bitch- bad person. A bad person.” He glances at you nervously. You recently made your thoughts on the repeated term very clear. “Tell the team leader about it. Or Base. At least then they’ll have a pattern of complaints to refer to if things go wrong.”

Ignoring the slip, you say, “As crazy as it may seem, we don’t live in a utopia where health needs are accepted without discrimination. I don’t want her to lose her job because I reported her to the wrong person.”

“So... what?” he says. “You’re just going to take it?” His tone makes it very clear on what he thinks about that.

“No,” you say, stretching. The room is almost completely set to rights, robots buzzing happily about. “I’ll... talk to her. Or something ”

“You need to nip this in the bud, now,” BON-BON says unhappily.

“I need to think about team dynamics while we’re all isolated down here.” In truth, you have no intention of reporting her. Doing so could open a massive can of worms, and you’re surrounded by strangers who would probably take her side if things escalate further.

You blink as the door slides open, a robot trundling in with a little platter. “Hello.”

“You didn’t eat properly at dinner,” BON-BON says as you take the platter. It’s a covered bowl, and a mug of some dark liquid, the aroma infinitely more pleasant than the crap Vanessa drinks. “Hot chocolate, your gross fish stuff – it’s too late for a full meal.”

He’s right, you didn’t eat much earlier, distracted between thoughts of your room and chatting with the new team. You’re unexpectedly touched. “Aw – thank you. That’s really kind.”

“Don’t mention it,” the AI mutters, bashful the moment he receives a genuine response.

“I really appreciate it.” You take a cautious sip of the hot chocolate, humming. It’s surprisingly sweet, curling over your tongue like velvet. And he brought your favourite snack!

“Okay, enough,” BON-BON says, avatar jiggling uncomfortably. “Thank me by not getting bludgeoned by our resident HR violation.”

“Oh, please,” you sigh, tucking in. “I’m sure things won’t come to that.”

You feel... unsettled in your room. Perhaps it’s the loss of a sense of security, or perhaps the memory of Vanessa hangs about long after the room has been set to rights, but sleep is coming uncharacteristically slow.

Plus, you have heartburn. That’ll teach you to eat right before bed.

You rise and change your nightclothes for something significantly less heavy, mouth drooping at the low volume of clothes left in the drawers. The items too damaged to keep will have to be replaced, and you’re not a big shopper. Of course, this comes on the heels of someone raising the general temperature so that you’re sweating more than usual. Your next set of pyjamas might have to be your birthday suit.

Stepping out into the darkened corridor, you have to double back to lock your door, a sense of unease rising as you do so. You have never had to do this before, no matter what petty squabbles have risen. For the first time, you’re doubting your current method of ignoring Vanessa’s antics. But what can you do? Confront her? You have a temper of your own, but it rises and falls as swiftly as a summer storm. In contrast, Vanessa’s acid words and forceful confidence will easily wear you down.

Aside from drinking a heartburn soother, you have no destination in mind. You wander the corridors barefoot, licking away the chalky taste of medication. Having forgotten to apply your moisturising gloves tonight, the scar tissue lining your fingers is taut and itchy. You gnaw at the skin as you pass the various rooms, vaguely unfamiliar in the dark. A mermaid would be a fun distraction right now, but you told Moon to stay away. Not for the first time, you wish you knew where he lived. You slow your pace as a stationary cleanerbot registers the movement and blinks yellow eyes active, trundling along in your wake. Together, you amble.

Faint noise catches your attention. The cleanerbot bumps against your calf when you pause, and you rest a hand on a rounded plastic bear ear. Like a pale ghost, Chica crosses the far end of the corridor and disappears.

You’re not surprised someone else is still up. Jetlag is a bitch. You remember your first night here, wandering laps around the building, trying to familiarise yourself with the layout through a fog of exhaustion. With that in mind you step to turn back and give Chica her solitude, but she swiftly returns the way she came with a large box cradled in her arms. A moment later Roxy follows her laden down with a long cylinder hefted over her shoulder.

The cleanerbot turns and blinks at you. It’s probably just wondering why you’ve stopped walking, but you give it a shrug. Maybe Chica and Roxy are using their jetlag wisely by installing some of that equipment they mentioned. So long as they’re not messing about outside, you don’t have a problem. But you are curious, so you follow the direction of their path with the cleanerbot buzzing along at your side.

The closer you get to the exit chamber, the more your anxieties rise, but relief floods you at the sight of light spilling from the medical office. You pause outside the door and open your mouth in greeting, only to be met with a veritable mound of mystery equipment piled up on the floor. Chica and Roxy must have already moved on because the room is empty but for a medical staffbot. It stands with its back to the far wall in its pristine white cap, a silly old-fashioned affection, hands hovering perplexed. The way the equipment has been piled up boxes the staffbot in with no escape.

“What have they done to you?” you ask rhetorically, stepping forward to shift a pathway out. The staffbot will just remain trapped otherwise without being given a direct order to act, despite being entirely capable of lifting heavy loads. It seems a bit rich to make it free itself after your new team trapped it in place. The moment there’s space, the staffbot wheels past you to freedom, where it immediately idles in the middle of the floor with nothing to do.

You turn your head upside down to read a label on one of the boxes. There’s printed general dialect of course, but what is handwritten is in a vaguely familiar yet indecipherable language. Some of the boxes and tools are too heavy to shift, including a massive metal cylinder with a window like an old fashioned porthole. You peer into the glass, noting the innards are smooth metal and panelled wiring, retro-style. How odd. Your breath mists the little window, palms itching to get inside and poke around. But no, you shouldn’t.

Maybe these are hard-won spoils from a previous residency. There’s nothing wrong with doing stuff at night on a planet without a dependable day-night cycle, but this could be the reason why the Glamrocks waited until the night lighting switched on before bringing out their treasures. In which case, you should leave.

You wave goodbye to the staffbot and scurry back down the corridor with the cleanerbot still buzzing at your heels. It’s your own damn home, you can go where you please, but you have already had Moon falsely accuse you of sneaking around. You’d rather not get it from the new team as well.

Remembering that Chica and Roxy appeared to be intersecting the same path, you take a detour to return to your room the long way around. However, as you approach the long corridor by the access chamber, you realise you miscalculated. Voices and light bounce off the walls, and you peep around the corner to see the access chamber absolutely packed with boxes, luggage, and mystery equipment. The doors to the pod are jammed open with the sheer wealth of items, and behind several large boxes you can vaguely make out a tall, squarish figure moving about. A white glove flashes like a flame as it briefly enters a beam of the access chamber’s lighting. You squint, trying to get a better look. You don’t remember any of the team having hands like that. Whoever it is moves out of sight.

Monty emerges from the piles carrying a large box and sets it down on a teetering tower. “You got it?” he says, and to your astonishment the tower begins to move under its own power, zipping down an offshoot corridor out of sight without aid. Some sort of automatic platform, perhaps? There are no staffbots there.

“Good job, team,” Freddy says from somewhere you can’t see. “Keep up the pace! If we continue at this rate, we will be fully prepared within two hours.”

“See, that’s how a team leader acts,” Roxy pipes up. She saunters into view and lifts a canvas bag that jangles, quirking an amused smile over her shoulder. “Take notes, because you’ll need them.”

“I’m not cut out for this,” comes Chica’s voice, mildly despairing.

“You picked the short straw.”

So the whole team is here, bar one. You feel a bit left out. Dithering right at the bend of the corridor beyond the reach of the access chamber’s lighting, you hesitate with the cleanerbot blinking silently at your side. If any one of them were to turn they would spot you instantly, but they seem entirely preoccupied in their pool of light. Maybe you should offer to help? But they’re clearly far stronger than you, if the ease with which they heft heavy equipment is any judge. It will feel bad if they turn you down.

Or so you tell yourself. In truth, you’re just insanely curious at the glimpses of mystery equipment you can see. Could anything here help you with your own work?

“C’mon, let’s get these in the water,” Monty says, which immediately raises your hackles. Before you left them for the night, you made sure to warn them not to approach the platform before your health and safety talk.

Chica’s hand comes into view, shoving him on the shoulder. “Hey, we’re supposed to wait!”

“Weak. Say it more like a team leader.”

“If you want to go get eaten, be my guest,” Roxy says, flicking a lock of hair over her shoulder.

Monty snorts, a great harrumph of air. “Oh, please. I’d be picking those little fishes out of my teeth by morning.”

“We are not entering the water until we have received our health and safety seminar,” Freddy says firmly, putting an end to the squabbling. “We want to foster an open and friendly workplace atmosphere.”

“Yeah? Why don’t you ask her how that’s going?” Monty turns, his big snout in profile. “Speaking of.”

“What?” Vanessa’s voice is distant but grumpy.

“Why aren’t you on lookout?” Monty says, suddenly sounding a little less carefree. “You got one job.”

Vanessa is still out of sight but you can practically hear her glare. “Their door is still locked. I told you, once they’re in for the night they don’t come out. Unless we get another... grumble or whatever they called it.”

“Rumble,” Chica corrects brightly. “Thanks for the reports, hon! I read them through.”

“Me too,” Roxy says. “What’s this about mermaids? Is that a thing?”

“It’s just some weird fish they’re interested in,” Vanessa says dismissively. “Apparently they're dangerous. I tried to get them to clear the area of them, but they wouldn’t hear of it.”

They’re talking about you. You’re torn between piping up in defence of Moon – this is his environment after all – or scurrying away rather than hear another word about yourself. You may be standing there openly, but this definitely falls into the category of eavesdropping. And you’re terribly curious.

Monty makes a chuffing noise. “Boy, you have been making friends. Yeah, barge in and tell them to cull the fish they like. I bet that went over well.”

“You didn’t say that to them, did you?” Roxy says.

“So what if I did?” Vanessa says defensively. “You all sent me here to get things started.”

“What else did you get started?” Roxy rejoinders, not very pleasantly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Whatever you want it to mean.” She crosses her arms. “It just looks like you’ve been making messes.”

“Let us not fight,” Freddy says.

“I’m not fighting,” Roxy says. “I just want to know what Vanessa has been doing here all this time. Last I heard you had some brilliant plan, then zilch. Nothing.”

“It didn’t go through,” Vanessa mutters. “It wouldn’t have worked anyway. I thought it would be easier,” she explains, “if it was just us here. Your other residencies wouldn’t have gone as smoothly if there were people to mind.”

There’s a pause, then Chica sighs. “Oh, Ness,” she says. “You didn’t.”

“Well, it didn’t work,” Vanessa says quickly, reacting a lot more to Chica than she did to Roxy.

“What?” Monty says, turning this way and that. “What did she do?”

“Nothing,” Vanessa says, the same time as Chica says, “You tried to get the handyman fired?”

You almost trip over the cleanerbot backing away. You do not want to be here for this, and there’s no way you can come strolling up amidst this conversation. Once again the old adage about eavesdropping proves itself true. Chivvying the cleanerbot to follow you, you pad away. There are exclamations to Chica’s words from behind you, plus the sound of Vanessa futilely trying to defend herself.

At least they’re not cheering her on, you think wryly.

“I didn’t! I only suggested-”

“So you were causing problems before we even arrived,” Roxy says.

The buzz of the cleanerbot follows as the voices fade from earshot. You slow your pace only when you enter the passage to your room, slumping.

“What a nightmare,” you mutter, and look down at the cleanerbot. “Glad to have you with me, buddy.”

The cleanerbot spins in place, apparently ecstatic. Its round glowing eyes turn to pixelated lines when you pat it on the head, bumping up into the touch.

At least someone is happy you’re here.

Monty is surprised to see you exiting the gym the next morning, covered in a light sheen of sweat.

“All yours,” you say, stepping aside to let him pass. You’re still panting a little.

Monty glances over the rows of pristine machines. “Doesn’t look like it gets a lot of use.” His voice is even more gravelly from recent sleep.

“Yeah, the last teams weren’t very interested. But I gotta keep fit, you know?” You flex jokingly, and are rewarded with a smile. But is it genuine? You don’t know him well enough to tell, and you feel hypersensitive to any passing expression after what you heard last night.

“Sure thing, kid,” Monty drawls, and you grimace but let it slide. You can’t sense any malice in the term. “The team’s decided on a group breakfast, just for today. Roxy and Ness are late risers, so you got time to shower and chill.”

“Thanks,” you say, revising your opinion of the relationship between him and Vanessa. He calls her Ness, just like Chica. Good for you though, it sounds like group meals aren’t the norm.

You shower and change, and sit in the dining room after a quiet word to the staffbots. It seems like no one has arranged breakfast yet, so that’ll be handled. Knees braced against the table, you work on your holoscreen, rearranging your docket to keep the day open. Likely the Glamrocks will expect a tour of outside before too much time, and if you know teams they’ll want a meeting to cover their research plan for the next quarter. That may or may not involve you. Hopefully not.

The staffbots putter around, and you murmur a thanks before noticing a bowl placed at your side. Fish scales, fatty bones. “Oh- no,” you say quickly, waving it away. “Could you hide that, please? I don’t want anyone seeing this kind of food around me. Sorry,” you add, as the staffbot droops sadly and slowly takes the bowl back. “It was a nice thought.”

“What was?” Chica swings into the chair next to you, slumping with a whoof. Her white feathers, close-growing and layered almost like scales, are damp in places. She has been exercising too. Her workout clothing is a bright, searing pink.

“Breakfast,” you say, gesturing at the condiments littering the table. “Or, soon it will be. Monty told me we’d be eating together, but it doesn’t look like anything was arranged...”

“Oh!” Chica looks faintly embarrassed. “I think that was my job. Oops.”

“No biggie. I don’t know what everyone likes, so there should be a bunch of stuff,” you say, shrugging.

“Do I smell fish?” she says, scenting the air.

“Mmmaybe haddock?” you say, glancing around nervously. A staffbot serves you a glass of juice and you quickly sip.

“Do the robots always serve everyone?” Chica says.

“Not usually,” you shrug. “They just started doing it. I think they got bored while the place was empty. Typically, new teams cycle in sooner.”

Chica bounces in her seat as covered platters are served up, eyes bright. “We ran into a little trouble,” she says, then glances at you, furtive. “Ah... conflict over... the rights to a discovery,” she continues, like she’s trying to parrot a faded memory. “Certain companies wanted in. I’m sure you get the drift.”

“Sure,” you agree, even though you don’t entirely. But corporation clashes are native to every planet. That would explain the secretive nature of their late-night activities.

Monty drops into the seat opposite you, shaking the cutlery on the table. “C’mon, quit boring them. Betcha they’d rather hear about the stuff we’re gonna be doing here.”

“Ness said she would handle that,” Chica says, and you sip your juice without comment.

“Did she?” Monty looks at you over the top of his snazzy star-shaped glasses.

Reluctantly, you lower your glass. “Um...”

“Called it,” Monty says, when your hesitation becomes evident.

Chica tuts and shoots him a glare. “What do you know about our research, exactly?”

Abruptly, you decide against acting coy. Vanessa keeping you in the dark is one thing, but you’re not about to sabotage yourself. “Just assume I’m totally clueless.”

“Oh,” Chica says, a shadow of discontent passing over her face. Monty gives her a significant look as he pours himself milk. “Well... we’ll be having a team meeting later to go over everything, so you can get caught up there.”

Monty waves his glass, milk sloshing. “Pass.”

“Unpass.” Chica turns to you, expression hopeful.

Ugh. You hate meetings. “That sounds good,” you say, stomach grumbling. You wish the rest of the team would arrive already. “Do you have a time in mind?”

Chica hesitates. “I thought we could just... ballpark it?” she says, like she’s asking your permission.

Damn, she must be new in her role. “If you like,” you say easily, catching the sounds of multiple approaching footsteps. “But I also would like to go over water safety measures and the outside environment sometime, so let’s figure out a slot.” The sooner you can get the dreaded meeting over with, the sooner you can jump back into the water.

“Of course!” she says, feathered hairstyle bobbing as she nods. “Morning, everyone!”

Freddy is the only one who returns her greeting enthusiastically, Roxy and Vanessa groaning like zombies. The dark circles are incredibly pronounced on Vanessa's face as she sits further down the table. You have to control your expression before you send her a dirty look, your dislike is now so intense.

Roxy squints at your face and slumps beside you. “You’re a morning person,” she mutters. “Figures.”

“Unfortunately,” you say, pouring her some juice. “I’ll try not to make it your problem.”

Breakfast is a friendly enough affair, Vanessa even unbending enough to chat quietly with Chica. Starving, you eat as fast as is socially appropriate, piling your plate with seconds once you’re done. Chica overtakes you in speed and gusto, while Freddy appears to have already cleared his plate when you next glance his way. Today might contain a big trip if all goes to plan. Mostly you just want to escape everyone’s presence as soon as possible. New teams are typically a biannual novelty, but you don’t feel the same excitement after dealing with a certain teammate alone for so long.

Speaking of…

“Did you sleep well?” Vanessa says to Roxy, cutting across the table conversation.

“Yeah?” Roxy says, looking marginally happier with some food in her. “I slept fine. Why?”

Vanessa is looking at you in your periphery, and you ignore her in favour of dabbing away some sauce on your chin. You’re white-knuckling the napkin.

“Why?” Roxy repeats, getting annoyed with no answer.

Vanessa settles back in her chair. “I didn’t sleep well in that room,” she mutters.

“Well, I did.”

Chica clears her throat, cutting through this absolutely riveting conversation. “I think we should have our team meeting this morning,” she begins, and gets drowned out by a chorus of groans, Monty's especially loud. “Don’t be like that!”

“What’s there to talk about?” Monty says, rocking back in his chair. “We’ve done this song and dance before. ‘Less you think the squirt here needs to be brought in.”

Monty abruptly loses balance and slams back on four legs as you glance up from your plate. From the look he shoots Freddy, he might have received a helping kick.

“I can assist with whatever,” you say, for now ignoring the nickname. “You know, within reason. Samples, scans, further exploration, it’s all good so long as it fits around my duties.”

“Great!” Chica chirps. “Come on, we can take tea and coffee in the meeting room.”

With a scraping of chairs, everyone begins to stand. You wolf down the last few bites of your breakfast and wipe away grease, Roxy pouring herself another juice for the trip. The staffbots are already converging on the table with vulture-like intent, wielding spray and cloths. A cleanerbot bumps gently against your ankle.

Standing, you stretch, feeling your shoulder pop satisfyingly. It’s a good thing Chica wanted to have the meeting first, since swimming is a bad idea immediately after eating. Roxy has paused beside you, staring. You follow her gaze down and spot a ring of dark marks, puzzling you until you remember Sun’s firm grip in reeling you in. It’s very clearly a handprint. Embarrassed, you tug down your sleeve and wander after Chica and the retreating group, Roxy following a moment later.

“How was breakfast?” you say. “There’s not usually such a spread.”

“It was fine,” Roxy says after a tense pause. “We usually eat on the go.”

“Like, trail food? Or stop off stalls?”

“A bit of both.”

Hm. She’s a little noncommittal and this conversation is boring. “I like your hair,” you say, switching tracks. The streaks look to be natural but the green is clearly dyed. “Is that fresh? The green is so vibrant.”

“It’s getting old, actually” Roxy says, cautiously gaining some animation. “I visit this salon in Foundation 9 – you know the one? Then I do the touch-ups myself.”

“You do it yourself?” You’re genuinely impressed. “It looks fresh. How’d you get it to stay healthy?”

That’s enough for Roxy to launch into an in-depth explanation of her haircare routine, including conditioning masks and something called red light treatment.

“Vanessa’s got a little too,” you say. “Did you see the rainbow streaks? I bet they looked amazing new.”

Roxy’s smile dims. “We had ours dyed together,” she says, a little stiffly. “It was like an initiation present when she first joined the team.”

Oop. A landmine topic? Roxy is swiftly regaining her aloof aura, so you say, “I always wanted to try it myself, but it’s hard. Some people don’t realise that it’s a commitment.”

“Right?” Roxy agrees, immediately reanimating. “It takes time and effort to keep a healthy mane! I’m always saying to Monty-”

This is the most you’ve discussed hair in your entire life, and you make sure the relief doesn’t show on your face when you finally reach the meeting room. The topic isn’t even all that interesting to you, but at least you got a friendly conversation out of it. Score.

Serving yourself tea, you settle down in anticipation of the meeting. It takes Chica three tries to call everyone to attention at the head of the table, and she only succeeds by letting out at ear-splitting bwawk! that vibrates your eardrums.

“Now,” she says, breathless. The feathers on her cheeks are raising slightly in embarrassment. “Uh, welcome to our first meeting in this… what’s this place called again?”

She’s asking you. Hastily swallowing a sip of tea, you say, “Facility?”

Chica snaps her fingers. “Yeah, facility! And I wanna talk about our goals and go over the plan for the next few months, okay?”

She’s a twittering and self-conscious speaker without much authority. Something about her delivery is stilted and almost rehearsed, which you chalk down to nerves. What follows isn’t entirely coherent to you – you pick up something about scans and utilising drones to aid in data retrieval among a whole lot of tech speak beyond your understanding. Something something tide patterns, something something energy readings embedded in rock. You note what you can, the only one bothering to do so – the others are sitting dull like this is old news. Likely it is, if their previous residencies mirrored this once. Freddy alone is paying attention, sitting with excellent posture nodding along.

Your nails tip-tap on your holoscreen, and you wish they could be quieter. Chica appears to be addressing the majority of this information your way along with a great deal of eye contact, which has the effect of making you feel as though you shouldn’t be typing. You keep missing vowels trying to look up at her at respectful increments. Stars, you hate meetings.

They want to collect samples of rock and vegetation, as well as conduct research on the wildlife. Likely they’ll want your assistance collecting samples, as all previous teams have upon the unwelcome realisation that many of the fish and plants have sharp teeth.

“Any questions?” Chica says. She goes to hug herself, arms crossed over her belly, before switching to placing her hands on her hips. Power pose.

No one else is speaking, so you do. “What are your core objectives?” you say, praying that she hasn’t already covered it during the infodump you’re still struggling to understand.

“Oh! Um…” Chica looks put on the spot, which, she shouldn’t be. You’re essentially asking ‘why are you in my house?’, but professionally. They can’t study without a goal in mind, even if that goal is simply to study fish.

“Classified,” Vanessa drawls, crossing her arms in your periphery.

“Yeah, that’s the word,” Chica says gratefully. “It’s already been covered that our research is top-secret, right?”

Top-secret. What is this, a spy movie? Also no, it has not been covered at all, courtesy of an aggressive coworker who refused to divulge anything until the very last minute. But voicing that would be unprofessional.

Speaking of, you can feel said coworker burning a hole into the side of your face with the force of her stare. “Mm, I know that the details of your research can’t be shared with outside parties,” is what you settle on. You’re unwilling to lie outright to save Vanessa face, but fear that she might do something scary to vent her displeasure if you’re too blunt. Like hit the table again.

Chica nods so her tuft of feathers – hairstyle? – bobs up and down. “Right on! But also there’s a lot we can’t share with you since it’s all very, uh, proprietary.”

That’s… good news, actually. Less info means less work you can participate in. You only asked about their core objectives because you can’t collect samples if you don’t know what they’re looking for. Also, it makes you look attentive and hard-working. “Sure,” you say mildly.

Chica’s shoulders relax. “Great, cool! Are you- any other questions?”

You’re loath to take up any more speaking time, but no one else moves to pad out your questions with theirs. Damn. “Me again,” you say reluctantly, and hear Monty snigger. “It kind of sounds like you’re looking for something-"

“We’re not,” Chica says immediately, over an undercurrent of restless movement around the table.

Ah. You may have accidentally struck gold, to your detriment. “Right,” you say quickly. “But, uh, speaking of scans and energy readings – there wouldn’t happen to be anything in the water that could pollute it, right? Nothing floating about that you might be… hypothetically scanning for?” you finish lamely.

“Sorry babe, this isn’t something we can talk about,” Chica says apologetically.

Eyes narrowing, you set down your cup in preparation for an excruciating task – not immediately giving in to a team leader. The sweat is already prickling in your palms. You know now of three sentient humanoid creatures that wouldn’t be well-served by breathing polluted water, and the sanctions Base would impose on the Glamrocks for failing to divulge this information won’t be worth Moon croaking. You’re just opening your mouth to point out that bringing Base enforcements down here to settle the issue wouldn’t do much good for their research, when Freddy captures the attention of the room with a simple shift of his shoulders.

“To our knowledge, there is nothing in the local environment that has the potential to cause harm to you or the wildlife,” he says reassuringly. “Please rest assured, we would not expect you to work in polluted conditions.”

“Freddy,” Chica begins reproachfully, but she’s already slumping in defeat.

“It is a valid concern, and we cannot afford the delay of an inspection,” he points out, so at least he understands that the next step would have Base swooping down with scanners at the ready. He adds, “I am sorry, Chica, it is not my intention to undermine you.”

“No, it’s fine,” Chica says, at the same time Vanessa snaps, “Yeah well, you still did it anyway didn’t you?”

At least Freddy is reasonable, you think, glad to be out of the back-and-forth. You hadn’t even considered that you would also have to splash about in the hypothetical polluted waters, your attention focused solely on the mermaids.

“How’d you even work that out?” Monty says, cutting through the chatter. He tilts down his shades so he’s staring at you. “I read your profile. Thought you tackle underwater fixes?”

The implication being that their calibre of work is above your level, which is technically is, but it doesn’t take a genius to put environmental scans and data retrieval together to get searching for something that may have an effect on the surrounding environment. You hope that when Monty was snooping your profile, he came across all the cool multi-terrain training you did in order to earn your certifications.

“I often assisted the previous teams during their residencies,” you say simply.

Chica perks up. “Great! We might grab you for a bit in that case.”

How am I supposed to help when I’m not even allowed to know if the water is polluted? you don’t say. A question for later, because it might be funny to watch Chica try to explain what she wants without breaking her own rules.

After a little more rambling, it seems like Chica is drawing the meeting to a close. “We’ll be having private meetings to go over stuff more in-depth, but yeah!” she says, clapping her hands with an air of relief.

Go over stuff. That’ll look funny on the minutes. You wonder if Chica has ever attended a professional speaking seminar. At least it doesn’t sound like you’ll be expected to join these meetings in the future.

Chica is looking at you for some reason. You make sure you’re not smiling at the prospect of no more meetings as you tap at your holoscreen. “So... right, that’s all from me. Why don’t you give us the rundown and we can move on?”

That’s not as usual. Startled, you look up. “Oh, me?”

“You did prepare something, didn’t you?” Vanessa drawls, and you have to work hard not to turn and glare at her.

“Yeah, sure,” you say absently, tapping at your screen as the hairs on your arms rise. Even with so many people around, you still feel the need to monitor her for violent outbursts. “I’m sending a general report through now. Is there a particular area you’d prefer I cover first, Chica?”

“Whatever you think is best,” Chica says unhelpfully.

You’re irritated. It’s typically common sense to tell someone beforehand if they need to bring data to a meeting, but you suppose that with travelling to handle you can excuse Chica this time. If it was Vanessa’s responsibility, however...

Thank the stars you’re paranoid. Still, even if you didn’t create something the night before, you could always blag. They wouldn’t know any better, and you have years of meetings to give you some guidance. The Glamrock's holoscreens all ping with various beeps and bloops as your pre-prepared report comes through, and you screenshare to the main feed as well for the sake of convenience.

“I’ll cover my role and start with a rundown on the current facility status,” you begin, highlighting the relevant passage. “And then I’ll go over some recent factors I think you should know.”

“Hold on,” Vanessa says, scrolling her holoscreen with swift flicks of a finger. “I’m seeing parts of your mermaid reports here.”

Miraculously, the knowledge that Vanessa read your reports thoroughly enough to recognise snippets somewhat thaws your bad opinion of her. But then you remember the state of your room. “Yep,” you say, “I condensed the info to give everyone an idea of what to expect.”

“But this isn’t anywhere as long as what you sent me,” she protests.

“It’s condensed,” you repeat, sweating a little at the hold up. This is like an encore of your first uncomfortable meeting. The Glamrock team is following the exchange like a tennis match and you wish Chica would step in. “Crucial info only, you know. You couldn’t access my reports before, so I sent you the full spread.”

Vanessa slaps her holoscreen flat on the table, making you jump. There are two bright spots of colour on her cheeks. “Are you kidding me? That was hundreds of pages,” she says, shrill. “I read the whole thing!”

Despite the awkwardness, you have to fight not to smirk. “Yes. Thank you for that.”

Mute, Vanessa stares like she’s trying to set you on fire by eyesight alone. Clearing your throat, you look down at your holoscreen, finding the highlighted section.

“So. Mermaids?” Monty rumbles, looking far too relaxed for the level of tension in the room. His brows have risen above his shades. “Ness, didn’t you say that was a joke?”

“Monty,” Freddy says.

“Or, wait. They’re just fish?”

There’s something in Monty’s tone that makes you think he’s stirring the pot, only reinforced when Vanessa transfers her glare to him. Regardless, the tension has risen too far for your liking, so you laugh. “Oh, no. Not the mermaids, but Vanessa and I do joke around. We’ve had some fun meetings.”

Monty’s eyebrows further raise. “Fun,” he says, slow and dubious.

“Yes,” Vanessa grits out.

You clear your throat, finally locating your paragraph again. “Okay. So, starting with my role...”

It doesn’t take long before you slip into presentation mode, upbeat and professional. Itching with the weight of multiple gazes, you rattle off numbers and list your completed tasks just fast enough that you sound efficient rather than rushing. The end result being everything is fine. Aren’t I just so good at my job? Every fibre of your body is on edge waiting for Vanessa to challenge you on some small aspect like she did before, but she appears to still be smarting – she gazes down at the table top with a thunderous expression, not uttering a sound.

“Overall, we’ve overshot our monthly maintenance goals,” you conclude with a smile. “I predict that next month will have a lower success percentage, but only we can’t match the volume of work I just completed without causing issues to fix. Of course, our recent expansion of the territory is bound to come with extra tasks regarding security and upkeep, so I will be handling that. As always, my tasks and location will be logged on the shared docket, so please don’t hesitate to ping me remotely if you find an issue that needs immediate attention.”

You look up expectantly. Chica gives a little jerk from where she stands, blinking. “I- wow,” she says, with a little titter. “That was thorough! Um, very good.”

“Thank you! Maintenance can be like running on sand, but I do work to keep on top of it. Do you have any questions?”

Her eyes search your face for a clue. “... No?”

“Okay.” You look down at your holoscreen to hide your expression. While you were rather banking on ending your part of the meeting swiftly by gish galloping them with information, it’s odd that they don’t have anything to ask. Even if it’s just a simple ‘what?’ “Do you see any area of my duties interfering with yours? Because if there’s going to be, say, a conflict in scheduling when I’m doing maintenance versus your team’s activities, we could come up with an equal solution.”

“Um.” Chica’s eyes flick to Freddy for a split-second. “Let me get back to you on that.”

“Sure. Now...” You scroll and highlight another section. “Fauna, flora.”

“And mermaids?” Chica presses, brightening.

“Or something very close,” you agree. It must seem like the jackpot to them, securing a residency with mermaids recently discovered in the area. “But before that – the full range of current scans are available on the database. I recently came across a hatch of unrelated eggs in this offshoot cave here, so please be wary when exploring the area.” The team is following your gestures to the screen, you’re pleased to see, so perhaps you won’t have to rescue and overeager researcher from a territorial fish this time around. “And onto the mermaids. I’ve come across... four, now?” you say, squinting with remembrance. “Two about our size, one very large, and a colossal mermaid that’s thankfully too big to enter the territory. So, you don’t have to worry about that one.”

“Four?” Vanessa says, raising her head. “There’s only one scan.”

“Yeah, I could only scan the one,” you say regretfully. “I’m unsure if they’re all the same species that matures into gianthood, or a collection of subspecies-”

“Why don’t you have scans for the rest of them?” Vanessa says sharply. “Don’t you think that would be helpful?”

“Vanessa,” Freddy murmurs reproachfully, the same time as Monty says, “Whoa, what crawled up your ass and died?”

Vanessa colours, and Chica hesitantly says, “Perhaps we should let them-”

“That’s a valid question,” you say quickly. You forgot how awkward new teams can be, with their pre-established bonds and conflicts. The reminder is brutal. “I find the mermaids to be swift movers, and most reacted quite, uh, erratically when we met. I only managed to scan Moon because he got caught in a net one of the previous teams knocked loose. He’s fine now, by the way.”

Plus, aiding in gathering research data is a courtesy, not my job, you don’t say, in case they request that you stop doing it. You like finding cool new fish to zap with your scanner.

Freddy looks surprised. “This creature has a name?”

“I nicknamed him,” you explain. “He does have a name, so far as I can tell, but they communicate in clicks, and I can’t mimic it well enough. Anyway, the reason I’m bringing up the mermaids is as a cautionary action. I’ve found they can understand gestures, pull themselves onto land, and use tools when shown the method beforehand.” You bring up a few pictures of Moon onto the screen, including some of the embarrassing ones since they show his skills.

“Holy shit,” Monty rumbles.

Freddy shoots him a censorious glance. “Is that a... ‘selfie’?” he says, as though the term is foreign.

“Yeah, but you can probably tell I was manhandled into it,” you say ruefully. “Please be cautious when approaching and interacting with the local wildlife, and don’t rely solely on the nets to mark the territory boundaries, as those can be dismantled.”

“Can he talk?” Roxy asks, looking a bit queasy. She’s feigning boredom picking at her nails, but her tail is nervously lowered and swishing behind her chair.

A momentary hesitation. You still haven’t divulged any details on Moon’s ancient English to Base, and it’ll cause trouble if this team blabs before you do. Plus, there was that whole speech you recently gave him about not mining him for information. “I think their native language consists of squeaks and clicks,” you hedge. “He reacts when I speak. I’m trying to develop a rapport so we can coexist. So congratulations, I think you might be the last team we’ll have before official first contact is made!” You clap your palms and try to dial down your grin. Maybe you’re not a researcher, but this is still so exciting.

There’s a little pause. Then Freddy says, “First contact?”

“Yeah,” you say, smile dimming. “You know, if a planet is found to have intelligent life or signs of a societal structure, research is halted in favour of making contact with the native species. We could be in someone’s backyard right now and breaking a ton of local laws. We might need to compensate them for any damage done to their environment.”

“I see. What does that mean for my team?”

‘My team’, again. “Um, you might not be able to extend your stay even if you find whatever data you want. And Base could veto any further exploration into the surrounding cave systems. There’s a limit to how much space we can take up. We should try to keep our interactions as friendly as we can,” you add, grimacing. Hypocrite.

“We have a time limit,” Freddy says, almost to himself.

Now you’re confused. This kind of thing is environmental research 101. “Yeah, your residency is booked for a certain period. I mean, go ahead and submit an extension request, maybe Base will grant it. It all depends on how they want to proceed. For now, they’ll honour your booking period unless something urgent comes up.”

“Would have been helpful to know this earlier,” Monty mutters, but thankfully you’re not the one he’s looking at.

You speak before Vanessa’s sharp glare can morph into speech. “Before anyone enters the water, I’d like to first take you through our health and safety guidelines, and then have you tour in the sub. I’ll show you the best areas for fauna and flora examination, plus some local environments that could be of use.”

“This is indeed impressive,” Freddy says earnestly. “Do you think that if a meeting can be arranged, this creature can be reasoned with, and warm to the team?”

You and Vanessa both speak at once. “Maybe with some work,” you say, while Vanessa just intones, “No.”

Freddy deflates. “... I see.”

She taps the table before you can continue. “If you want to try it, you go ahead,” she says, “but from what I saw it’s just a vicious fish. We need to clear the area of them before we start.”

Perhaps ignoring Vanessa entirely is the better option. “I wouldn’t go that far,” you say quickly. “It’s just that it took Moon a while to warm up to me, and even longer before he tried to communicate. I think if we attempted something like that, you would have to try and try again, and it’s just not safe.”

His bear ears quirk. “Yes, that does make sense.”

“I could try to set something up,” you say, getting back into the flow. “Maybe get everyone acquainted the next time he appears. It’ll be random, since he doesn’t exactly have a schedule. And you’re welcome to talk to him yourself, from a safe distance.”

“That sounds great!” Chica chirps, startling you. Despite the chain of command, you have been directing your recent comments solely to Freddy. Oop. Still, if what you overheard last night is to be believed, she didn’t want the role of team leader anyway.

You say, “One more thing. I mentioned that the nets can be dismantled. The first giant mermaid I saw – I call him Eclipse in the reports – was able to access the facility territory by removing a net and some poles. I haven’t seen him since, but just be on the lookout if you intend to do any diving.”

Roxy finally speaks again. “Giant mermaids,” she says, staring at you. “There are giant mermaids, and one could be outside right now?”

“Yeah,” you say blandly. What else is there to answer?

Roxy stands abruptly and goes for the door.

“Roxy,” Chica calls, starting forward. “Uh, the meeting isn’t over-”

“It is now.” Roxy pauses in the doorway to swish her hair back dramatically, staring at the room with wide eyes. “I will not be diving – not in the sub, not ever.”

And then she’s gone.

Hm. Well, you can’t really blame her for being frightened. And it’s good to know that one of team is prone to grand reactions. Understanding everyone’s individual temperaments is useful when conducting group expeditions. You turn back to the table and consult your holoscreen. “Anyway. That’s about it from my end, but I’ve included a bullet point list of all my mermaid info, plus you can access my full reports on the facility server.”

“Great,” Chica says, regaining some equilibrium. “That’s all very helpful, thanks!”

“No problem.” You finally sip some tea, which has gone lukewarm. “Is everyone happy to dive in an hour, or shall we wait some time for Roxy?”

“She’ll be fine,” Monty drawls, waving his claws in the air. He paints them black. “Roxy’s a drama queen, but she’s no quitter. She’ll be back, like a bad smell.”

“Roxy is a very brave and headstrong member of our team,” Freddy adds. “I am sure she will see the benefit in joining us on our excursion.”

“Are you kidding?” Vanessa says, glancing left and right. Whatever she fails to find baffles her. “I thought- they just told you about giant mermaids and you still want to go out there?”

“It will be an opportunity for team bonding,” Freddy says, raising an optimistic finger. “A valuable experience!”

“I thought you would be on my side in this!” Vanessa says shrilly. “We are going to get eaten! See, even they think so!”

You lower your cup, a little imp of mischief stirring. “Oh, not necessarily. I got Eclipse to leave by shouting at him, and I haven’t seen him since. If it’s any consolation, I think the sub would be too large for him to swallow.”

Vanessa slams her palm down on the table, making the crockery jingle. “Are you hearing this?”

Regretting your moment of fun, you glance around nervously. Aside from a few narrow looks no one appears perturbed by Vanessa’s furniture abuse, though Freddy is watching your reaction with thoughtful eyes.

“Ness.” Chica sets a gentle hand down on Vanessa’s shoulder, who quiets instantly. They appear to be having some sort of silent communication thing going on, until you remember to avert your gaze.

Vanessa stands abruptly and strides out of the room, ponytail swinging. Chica’s hand hovers in the air before it slowly falls limp at her side.

“So,” you say into the silence, wanting to escape this bizarre atmosphere. Two members have stormed out since your portion of the meeting started, but you’re hoping no one else is keeping track. “Shall we reconvene in the main room in, say... an hour?”

Chica looks at Freddy. Freddy looks at Chica. Chica starts and belatedly answers, “Yep! Sounds good! Um, although we do have some more stuff to do...” She taps her beak, devolving into muttering. “I need to update DJ too- oh, and the welcome files still haven’t been logged.”

Plus they’re probably still jetlagged. “We can always do it tomorrow, if you would like,” you offer reluctantly. “First days are hectic and there’s no need to do everything at once.”

Chica dithers, hesitantly relieved. “Is that really okay?”

You’re the team leader, you tell me. “Whenever you’re ready. I only ask that everyone stays away from the outside environment until I can cover health and safety, plus the tour. Please don’t approach the exit chamber to the platform,” you add, for the record.

They exchange a round of surreptitious glances you pretend not to see. “Yeah, no problem,” Chica says cautiously.

“What about our long-range scanners?” Monty says, then yelps, jerking his leg.

“If those need to be set up outside, I can do it for you,” you say, ignoring that Monty definitely just got his instep flattened. “I’m supposed to anyway.”

“Thank you, but there is no need for that,” Freddy says. “We could not possibly take up so much of your valuable time.”

How flattering. Laying it on a bit thick there, aren’t you?

They’re definitely going to ignore your request. Theirs won’t be the first bloated corpses you’ve had to drag home if they disregard your warnings. People underestimate what a death trap this maze-like environment can be, and that was before the mermaids showed up.

Well, at least if they die after ignoring you now, it won’t be your fault. “So, health and safety, dive tomorrow? Shall I pencil it in?”

“Yep! That sounds great,” Chica says, glancing at the other two.

“It’ll give them two time to untwist,” Monty says flippantly. He stretches his arms above his head, stretching until something pops. “We done here? ‘Cos I still gotta unpack.”

“Yes,” Chica and Freddy both say, and they both wince at the accidental jinx. You pretend not to notice.

With time to kill and your usual swimming buddy sent away to temporary mermaid exile, you feel at a loss. You would rather not bother the new team while they’re trying to get settled in, but neither can you kick back and relax – Vanessa’s reaction to the time you took off to heal still haunts you. A sternly-worded warning about slacking from Chica would snap the rope of your temper. Not that she seems capable of sounding stern.

You’re forgetting someone. Who was that figure in the pod with the white gloves? Unauthorised visitors are not allowed in the facility, not that you care enough to uphold the rule.

Best not to mention it. This team already has enough weird factors to make your hairs raise without you adding your own curiosity into the mix. If this team moonlights as top secret government researchers or whatever nonsense BON-BON’s TV shows like to explore, you’ll only benefit from keeping your mouth shut. You revisited medical to pick up toothpaste from the supplies cabinet only to find the floor empty of all the spoils you found the night before, and you certainly won’t be asking what they were or where they went.

As it is, the information you received during the meeting was clearly pushing the boundary what they had decided they could tell you without threatening the privacy of their research. And then you went ahead and danced on that boundary by mentioning that they are clearly here to search for something. Obviously. It’s likely the only reason you even heard as much as you did is because all teams are required to divulge to Base the general gist of the nature of their work, in case it’s something along the lines of sucking this planet dry of every resource we can get our grubby mitts on. No point in keeping that from the handyman when said handyman can just request it from Base anyway. They clearly weren’t expecting you to understand the extent of what you did, which makes sense if they had yet to switch their thinking from Vanessa’s misreporting of you as the resident janitor-cook, or whatever nonsense she passed on.

At least their secrecy sheds some light on some of Vanessa’s more puzzling actions thus far. Quizzing you on the security of the facility, sucking up to BON-BON, and threatening to get you fired – ‘top-secret’ research requires privacy. The facility coming with the addition of an organic member of staff must have been a very unwelcome factor. With this in mind, you pulled up the Glamrock team’s history of previous residencies after the meeting, and found that they were remote, unmonitored, and devoid of anything but artificial staff. Bingo.

Speaking of, BON-BON thinks the Glamrock team are space pirates, or illegal marauders. He expands upon his theories while you crawl through the utility tunnels, unable to respond in any way other than muffled grunts, or glub. You don’t actually have any work down in the tunnels today, strictly speaking, but it’s as good a place as any to look like you’re doing something.

According to BON-BON, the boxes the Glamrocks were hauling about are actually secret artefacts appropriated from their latest victims. Their tools included hefty old school scanning devices and illegally-altered long-distance imaging equipment, plus BON-BON spotted an environmental dating probe in there too, so surely they must be looking for submerged treasure.

“What do you think?” BON-BON says brightly.

Well gee. First of all, you think BON-BON is trying to piss you off, because he knows you hate being asked to speak when you’re working with your breather in. Second of all, you think he needs to get a hobby if his boredom is taking him to such ridiculous conclusions.

If the team has treasure, why would they bring it down and stash it in this tiny facility, as opposed to keeping it in a safe place, or on their ship? Besides, illegally upgraded equipment is no big deal – everything has anti-tamper warnings that purchasers promptly ignore. The only difference for you is that Base personally provided your equipment to make it legally untouchable, but that doesn’t apply to the Glamrock’s own tools. Long distance scanners aren’t an indication of treasure hunting if the team is on the lookout for geological factors from certain time periods, which seems most likely from what you deduced in the meeting.

But you can’t voice any of that right now, so you raise your hand and give BON-BON’s viewfinder lens a big fat thumbs down.

BON-BON promptly blares a deafening negative buzzer noise that rattles the teeth in your skull. “Wrong answer. Too bad!” he chirps, as you clutch the side of your head and convulse.

Fucking machine. You fumble for the mute button, fighting the urge to flip him the bird in case he tries to burst your eardrum again.

“Oh, come on! Don’t be like-” he sighs, cuts off. Of course, he’s back in an instant, circumventing the mute. “It was funny! I won’t-” Mute. “-such a big baby!” Mute. “-will you stop pressing the-” Mute. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop! I won’t do that again! Okay?”

Cautiously, you lower your finger from the mute button. Your ear is still ringing, accompanied by cold little shocks of pain. BON-BON mutters something about a sense of humour before returning to a normal volume, continuing his chatter like he didn’t just try a new form of auditory murder.

You would have half a mind to ‘lose’ the earpiece if you weren’t sure BON-BON would find a way to make you regret it later. Jokes and earpiece tampering aside, things have massively improved on the AI front since he began speaking openly with you, and you’d rather not return to the low-level bullying he engaged in before. You can even gripe back at him now.

Maybe you need to take a course in assertiveness. This can’t be healthy.

Still, you’re doing something you enjoy, if not alone like you prefer. The utility tunnels are the stark opposite of the cave systems while still being underwater – long, tight cylindrical passageways of white metal and plastic, with the occasional squarish chamber to break it up. The routes are maze-like and varying in diameter, though always slim. Occasionally one will dead end in a generator, or a spinning turbine. But not right now. You always turn them off while diving.

Unfortunately, the main factor that puts the utility tunnels below the caves in your regard is that they’re unchangeably and inescapably illuminated with cold white lights.

Unlike the caves, there’s no life and no air bubbles. Every space is completely submerged, though there are emergency breathing tubes set routinely in the walls. Even the main access port is filled to the brim with water, slopping over the sides whenever you lower yourself through the narrow hole. From where you are right now, you must continue through your current tunnel, take a sharp turn, and retrace your route through the slim white maze to reach the exit again. There is no room to turn around. As you ease out of the tunnel into the chamber and approach the circle of light above, you tap your earpiece to signal quiet, halting BON-BON’s expanding theory on the Glamrock pirate crew. He mutters to a stop mid-sentence, miffed at the interruption. Still, you do need to focus. You climb the tube of water, buoyed by your boots, and emerged arms-first to haul yourself out sitting.

A shrill exclamation has you glancing up. Vanessa and Roxy are standing in startled attitudes in the doorway of the room.

“Hhug- ugh.” You spit out the breather onto the wet white floor and try again. “Hi. Is everything okay?”

“Yes. You just- startled us,” Vanessa is the first to recover. She steps forward, right into the puddles of water like it’s nothing, and reaches out her palm. “What were you doing down there?”

Half a flinch manages to make its way through, entirely from movement too close to your head. For moment you stare at Vanessa’s hand, brain buffering. Does she... want your breather? Is it a rude gesture in her neck of the woods? But then her fingers twitch, her brows lowering, and you realise she’s offering you a hand up.

“Uh, just inner machinery work,” you say, belatedly taking her hand. Half of you expects her to use her hold to dunk you under, but she helps you to your feet without malice. Her touch sends goosebumps down your arms. “This is an entrance to the utility tunnels – we get our power down here.”

Vanessa grimaces at her wet hand and wipes it off. “It doesn’t look like it’s doing anything.”

“I had to turn off the churn, otherwise I’d be working against the current. Excuse me.” You carefully unlatch and replace the cover to the tunnels, then clomp to the wall and open a panel. Within a few switch clicks, a low-level rumbling begins beneath your feet, negligible but in contrast to the silence before. “Now it’s on. We have backup sources, but Base prefers waterpower.”

Roxy dares to step further into the room, avoiding the puddles of water with a grimace. “Why didn’t we come here on the tour?”

“It’s my purview,” you say. You go to squeeze the water out of your braids only the encounter empty air – they have been pinned up. You’re on full uniform until you can ascertain the leniency of this team when it comes to stupid small details. “You wouldn’t need to do anything here. It’s not a secret or anything, though.”

“But what if something goes wrong, and you’re not around?”

“We could probably sort it,” Vanessa says, turning to face Roxy. “I recognise that breaker box. Half the transporters ran on those back home.”

You close the door to the panel controls, unease stirring. “If the utility tunnels were to shut down, the backups would kick in,” you say firmly. “And then you can send a report to Base, and Base would send someone to help immediately, providing I have been indisposed or absent for twenty four hours or more. Please don’t touch the panels.”

Vanessa and Roxy exchange a glance, but Vanessa as always has the quicker temper. “Okay? I was just talking about emergencies. It’s not like I want to do your mechanics.”

Your relief is slightly overshadowed by embarrassment, especially when Roxy looks between you two with raised brows. Are you being too defensive? But if you know anything about people in general, it’s that they love to fuck about with mystery buttons and levers. “Okay.”

“What does it look like down there?” Vanessa says, relaxing at the mild response.

“Think about swimming through a white plastic straw,” you say, slightly puzzled. She’s never shown much of an interest in your work before. “It’s very tight and bendy.”

“That sounds awful.” Roxy fiddles with her hair nervously. “Is there any air?”

“No, it’s entirely submerged.” The unease is stirring again. You hope they’re not hankering for an opportunity to go down there, because the claustrophobic quarters and difficult routes means they’ll almost certainly drown. People panic when they can’t find a way out, and it takes practice to keep your breather in while screaming. But you’re wary of another derisive reaction, so you don’t say anything. “Well, I’m done here. Were you looking for anything in particular, or...?” The entrance to the utility tunnels is placed out of the way of anything they could need.

“Just looking,” Roxy say, and she and Vanessa thankfully respond to your hint to leave. You whip a towel from a hook and spot-dry so you can walk to the changing station without slipping anyone up. When you emerge, the corridor is empty again.

“What were you saying?” you mutter as you make your way back to the exit chamber. “BON-BON?”

There’s a pause, and then he says distractedly, “Wait. Someone is trying to speak to me.”

Your lips quirk. Good luck to that someone, then. BON-BON wears affable uselessness like a shield. The automatic lights flick on as you enter a cubicle and shuck the suit, boots thudding on the ground. Your bare feet always feel a bit weird standing flat on the textured floor after wearing them, and the ankle holes of the suit leaves marks.

“Gah!” BON-BON barks suddenly, scaring the life out of you. “Come on!”

“What?” you say, rubbing where your elbow knocked the wall. “Did someone say something bad?”

“No, idiot! The viewfinder is still on.”

“Oh.” You can see it still attached to the suit, a little lens like the beady black eye of a crab. “Turn it off, then.”

He mutters something uncomplimentary as you pull on a t-shirt on and climb into a pair of fabric shorts. You don’t like wearing socks or shoes, but you’ll slip on something light to avoid people seeing your feet.

“I didn’t think you cared about that sort of thing,” you comment, mostly to halt the insults on the edge of your hearing.

“What? Nakedness?” BON-BON says. “Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

Ooh, defensive. You shrug. “I don’t know. You’re an AI? You don’t have any cultural baggage to make it a thing. Besides, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” He has the internet.

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” he mimics in an unflattering high-pitched voice. “How would you like it if I suddenly whipped off my clothes?”

“But... your avatar is naked.”

“Shut up.”

You laugh. “What? It is! All you’ve got is that silly little bow tie.”

“Excuse you. It’s not silly. It’s refined.”

“It’s goofy.” You gasp as an idea occurs. “Wait a minute. What if-”

“No,” BON-BON says immediately.

“No, no, listen. What if I could download a clothing pack? We could get you clothes! Would you wear them?”

The AI mulls that over. “... It depends,” he says reluctantly. “Nothing stupid. I’m not a doll.”

“No, of course you’d pick them out,” you assure him. “Shall we do that? We don’t even need to cover up ‘cos I have a personal feed. It piggybacks Base WiFi.”

“What? Why do you have a personal feed?”

You unpin your braids and let them flop loose. “For my illegal activities as a secret space pirate. Duh. Do you even believe your own theories?”

“No,” he says defensively. “It’s... just fun.”

“Hm.” Not the for the first time, you consider that BON-BON might benefit from taking up a hobby. But for now clothes shopping will have to do.

“Do you care?” BON-BON says suddenly.

“I mean, if you’re enjoying yourself-”

“No, I mean- what you said before. About, cultural baggage. And stuff.”

He sounds so grudgingly embarrassed that it takes you a moment to place the words. Then you shrug. “It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“You didn’t like it when your little mer-perv stuck his hand in your swimsuit,” BON-BON returns challengingly.

You roll your eyes. “That’s different. That’s touching under clothes.”

“Ugh,” BON-BON mutters. “I was programmed to Foundation cultural specifications.”

You snicker. “Yeah, they’re a bunch of prudes. Whatever.”

“I’m not a prude,” BON-BON protests.

“You are by my standards.” Stepping out the cubicle, you come face-to-face with a pink bralette top and immediately trip on the step in surprise.

Chica grabs your upper arms before you can drop, her grip startlingly strong. “Whoa! Don’t fall for me,” she jokes, and moves you bodily to stand on the floor of the chamber. “Who were you talking to?”

In your ear, BON-BON gives a nervous, nasal giggle. “... Myself,” you say reluctantly, feeling your cheeks heat.

She glances at the empty stall, before her eyes sharpen on the side of your head. “Is that an earpiece?”

You clear your throat, stepping away from her hands still grasped around your arms. “Music. Thanks for the save, I’m always a little wobbly after wearing the boots,” you say, ducking to gather up your things. “The stall’s free if you want to use it.” Though you can’t imagine why.

“Nope!” Chica clasps her hands behind her back as she watches you fumble the suit and drop a boot. The thud it makes sounds disproportionately loud in your embarrassment. “Actually, I was looking to talk to you.”

“Did you change your mind about touring?” you say eagerly. If you get it out of the way today, you can go back to regular work without the task hanging over your head. Then everything can be just as normal.

Her eyes crinkle. “Not today, babe,” she says, and your face drops despite your best efforts. “Actually, someone flagged an issue.”

Words that raise goosebumps on your skin. Your suit makes a squeaky noise as you cram it into the slot for cleaning. “Mm?”

Chica is trying for casual, but the way her eyes scan your face betrays her. “I hear you refused to grant the team access to BON-BON’s server core?”

BON-BON takes a quick little breath in your ear.

This again? You blow loose strands of hair out of your face and try to hide your impatience. “Yeah, I can’t provide access to BON-BON’S server core,” you say. “Sorry.” Not sorry.

A little wrinkle appears between her brows. “Okay,” she says, mostly to herself. “That’s...”

“Why do you need access anyway?” you say, stowing the boots away. “BON-BON is running just fine, and all his updates are applied remotely.”

“By who?”

“Base. They’re uploaded, it’s not a mechanical thing.”

Chica scratches her cheek, casting her eyes about in dissatisfaction. “It’s a thingie with all our residencies,” she explains. “Most of the AI we come across are kinda janky, and that slows down our work. They can be a helpful member of the team, if you alter their commands,” she adds.

Her tone is advertising that this is something you should be interested in. “Then that’s a shame,” you say blandly. “Unfortunately, you’ll have to take it up with Base if you want to edit BON-BON.”

Chica rocks on her heels. “Look, couldn’t I just get you to bend the rules this once?” she says in a low voice. Her lilac eyes are earnest. “Don’t you think it might be helpful to have an actual working AI?”

She has noticed BON-BON’s apparent inability to follow instructions, then. Lucky you, you’re aware that there’s nothing he can offer your work other than distraction. “Not really. He does his duties well enough. You just have to beat his reasoning.”

Chica sighs, her feathers laying flat in complete defeat. “Okay.”

She looks tired and fed up, and judging by what you overheard she didn’t even want to be the team leader anyway. This must suck for someone unaccustomed to the position. A stirring of sympathy prompts you to add, “Don’t worry, you get used to it. It’s like a puzzle.”

Chica pushes back the tuft of hair – feathers? – on top of her head and offers you a smile. “Yeah, I guess. I just figured that using him off-site would be helpful. For dives and stuff, you know?”

“Hm.” Again, Chica is severely overestimating BON-BON’s usefulness in the field, or in general.

She wilts a little at your noncommittal tone, before brightening up like a lightbulb. “Hey, we were planning on having lunch together, if you want in?”

A grimace crosses your face before you can help it. “I tend to take lunch late,” you say quickly, before she can take offense. “Plus I still have some work to do.”

Chica laughs. “You’re such a busy bee! I thought today was supposed to be a weekend. Don’t you get time off?”

You shrug, a little bashfully. “Ahh, you know how it is,” you say evasively.

You leave her standing there in the exit chamber, watching you retreat with an attentiveness that makes your skin prickle. Discomfort rises, and not just from turning down an offer from the team leader. “You’re popular,” you comment, voice mindfully low.

“They want to change me,” BON-BON says quietly.

You roll your eyes. “They want to fix what they think is a malfunctioning AI. Unluckily for them, you’re just an asshole.”

“Shut up,” he says, and there’s an odd emotion in his voice. “I bet you would lead them to my server core if you knew where it was.”

“I would fight them off tooth and nail if they even tried,” you declare jokingly.

“Yeah, right. You’ll have to take it up with Base if you want to edit BON-BON,” he mimics. “Edit me. That’s nice.”

“I was blagging,” you say. You’re a little hurt, but you know better than to ask him if he really thinks you meant it. “What am I supposed to say when a team leader asks me these questions?”

“And what if they do take it up with Base?” BON-BON says, and you identify the emotion tightening his words as fear. “What if they open my core and crack me open, and- what then?”

You slow to a halt in the middle of the corridor, frowning. Was that rhetorical? “You don’t know?”

“Other than losing my entire sense of self? No!” BON-BON snaps, then notices your change of tone. “Do you?”

“... Let me get back to you on that,” you murmur, slowly beginning to walk again. You had presumed BON-BON shares your knowledge, but you know what they say about assumptions.

“What? What is it?” BON-BON is beginning to panic. “What do you know?”

“Later,” you snap, pulling out a stern tone you hardly ever use. It actually works, as BON-BON instantly snaps silent. “... I might be wrong and I don’t want to give you a false impression,” you add, gentling your voice. “Just- Base would never just hand over their state-of-the-art AI to some random research team. Okay? They won’t get their hands on your server core.”

BON-BON is markedly subdued when he says, “But Chica said they do it with every residency.”

“It’s bullshit,” you say briskly, feeling an irrational stab of anger towards Chica for unknowingly panicking BON-BON. AIs are tangled up in so much legal red tape that there’s no way the Glamrocks succeeded in altering one per residency. Not within the law, anyway. If they did, most likely they sidestepped the rules the same way Chica was asking you to.

In fact, that would explain why they sent Vanessa ahead, for her coding knowledge. But then again, doing so would be a high risk endeavour with very little reward. Why go through so much trouble for what essentially amounts to an expensive but useless digital companion?

You give one last stab at cheering up BON-BON. “Don’t worry. If they so much as think of making you do your job, I’ll pop you in a USB and we can go live with the mermaids.”

BON-BON snorts. “It’ll take more than a USB to hold me.”

Well. There’s a thought.

The Glamrocks don’t close their bedroom doors, you discover. It has you wondering if the privacy of resting quarters is more of a human thing, as you wander down the corridor with an evening snack in hand. Tough pieces of dried, salted meat – not your usual nightly fare, but the coarse, chewy texture provides perfect relief for the itchy ache of your second rows of teeth. They’re on their way to fully cresting, the gums parting over the sharpened tips. Vanessa must have a good eye to have spotted them so early in the process.

Your mood takes an immediate dip. Don’t think about her.

Speaking of, hers is the only room of the team’s that is also sealed. You would assume she’s wary of you paying back her sabotage tenfold, only she’s always kept the door closed. It must be a human thing.

Raised voices have you turning automatically, peering through the closest doorway as you chew like a cow on cud. Roxy is in Chica’s room, both of them sitting together on her bed with their heads bowed. For a moment you think you may be interrupting an intimate moment, until you spot the object held in Roxy’s palms – an ornate box regurgitating a snarl of chains. Thin strips of fabric can be seen between metal and gem settings. It looks like a jewellery box-trinket hybrid that got caught in a washer.

Chica is trying to untangle the mass of chains without much success. Her hands are bigger than yours, unsurprising given the collective heights of the anthropomorphic team, and her fingertips are too stubby to gain purchase in the gaps of the tangle. She only has four digits on each hand, you realise with a jolt, and now you look closely Roxy does too. Huh. Another subtle difference to set you apart.

“It’s no good,” Chica says, slumping. “I can’t- it’s in the mechanism.”

“Oh, come on,” Roxy growls, but there are tears in her eyes. She drops the box and begins to pluck and tug roughly at the tangle, her sharp claws catching the fabric. “How did this even happen? I’m never going to be able to-” She pauses, ears perking, and then whips her head around to stare at you.

Chica looks too, straightening at the sight of you hovering in the doorway. “Oh!”

“What do you want?” Roxy says, her face still twisted into a moue of frustration.

It’s hard to take offense with so little bite to the words. “Is that your jewellery box?” you say, venturing into the room. Chica has laid out a plush carpet on the floor, khaki with pink hearts, and your feet sink comfortably into the thick pile. Closer now, you can spot holes and spokes in the metal of the object. “A music box,” you correct yourself.

“It was,” Roxy says sourly, turning her face away. The tears in her eyes are causing her mascara to stain her fur.

Aw. “I can take a look, if you’d like,” you offer. “Fiddly stuff is my job. I’m not too bad at detangling things.”

Chica nudges Roxy. “There you go!”

“It’ll take forever.”

“Well, we have months before you’ll have the opportunity to wear any of this again,” Chica says, a little dry.

You do your best not to stare too avidly at the box as Roxy hesitates. In truth, tackling mindless and small-scale tasks is your favourite way to unwind. You can even watch media while you do it

Reluctantly, Roxy hands you the box, trailing the chains through her fingers as it passes ownership. You tuck it reverently to your chest instead of your instinctual reaction to snatch. That would be rude.

“Don’t break anything,” Roxy says, and again her clear anxiety makes taking offense difficult. Either the jewellery or the music box itself must hold some significant value to her. “Okay?”

“Okay!” you say, already excited to begin. You smile and back up, the perfect movie already in mind for background noise. “Thanks, Roxy.”

And then you’re back in the corridor, and barely catch the sound of Roxy’s baffled voice, “Wait, why are you thanking me?”

Chica’s laugh is cut off when you enter your room and close the door behind you.

Roxy gives you a half-lidded stare barely an hour later, leaning in the doorway to her bedroom. She looks simultaneously disappointed and unsurprised as you offer her the box back. She’s in an attractive black pyjama set, a slim strap sliding down one shoulder, and you’re trying not to ogle appreciatively. You knew this team would look fashionable.

“Too much for you as well, huh?” she drawls, accepting the box back. She turns it over in her hands, and the slithering rasp of tumbling jewellery makes you twitch.

“Oh, don’t,” you say, hands coming up in an abortive gesture to stop. “Please – I just sorted all of that.”

Roxy opens the box and blinks, eyes widening. She straightens from her slouch.

It was an easy task to detangle the jewellery and trinkets from the inner mechanism of the music box once you unwound enough items to look inside. The winding key is located within the box, and that along with the rotating cylinder with all its spokes and teeth made for the perfect jewellery trap. The storage section is open within the box – clearly it was not made with travel in mind. With the help of tweezers and metal lubricant, you managed to not only free contents of the box, but tighten and moisten the workings of the inner mechanism.

All this you recount to Roxy as she pokes through the jewellery and winds the box. The tune produced is a pretty, tinkling little thing. You had paused your movie a few times to enjoy it while you fiddled. She lifts a ribbon bracelet with the tip of a claw, the fabric only a little fuzzy from the detangling process.

“You’re a fast worker,” Roxy says finally, looking at you. Her eyes are a warm yellow, the hue currently intensified by her earlier bout of tears. She blinks rapidly, shaking herself. “Thank you. I didn’t expect you to get it done so quickly.”

“No problem,” you shrug. You’re playing it cool, but her disbelief was a pretty satisfying reaction by itself.

“What do I owe you?”

You pause in the act of stepping away. “Nothing? I probably owe you for giving me something to do with my evening.”

Roxy smiles automatically at your jokey tone. “But, seriously. Nothing?”

You wave a hand. “Nah. ‘Night, Roxy.”

“Goodnight,” she says quietly. The music box is clutched tenderly to her chest like it’s made of spun gold.

You can feel her watching you all the way into your room, and, oddly, inside it. Shifting your shoulders, you turn your head as your skin continues to prickle, and a second later the sensation stops. Relaxing, you set about putting away your tools and preparing to sleep. With the health and safety talk and the outer environment tour, tomorrow is going to be a big day. It would have been better if you had ignored Roxy and gone to bed early as intended, no matter how fun the task, but…

You’re not stupid. You’re aware that Vanessa has been relaying information to her team, and some of that information relates to you. To date, she has shown that she considers you lazy, unreliable, and unsuited to your own role – who knows what image the rest of the team holds of you?

The best way to combat spite is with honey. If that comes in the form of making yourself useful and available to the Glamrock team, no matter the nature of the task, then you’re okay with it.

Plus, it’s always nice to help someone out.

You get into bed with fingers sore from metalwork, jaws throbbing with crowning teeth, and the peaceful sensation of a good deed done.

“Good, you’re early,” Vanessa says.

You pause mid-step, a grimace creasing your cheeks. It’s finally the day of your health and safety talk and tour, and you passed a restless night because of it. It’s odd – you’re usually excited, not nervous. You had been intending to fill the hour until meeting time hanging out in front of BON-BON’s monitor, but that was before you were ambushed by your least favourite coworker.

Vanessa is standing by the window, more looking at her reflection than gazing at the black expanse of water. She tucks a small cylindrical object into her pocket, a flash of silver. “I want to speak to you,” she says, turning from the glass.

Ugh.

“Cool, sure,” you say, internally tantruming. Right before a group dive is not the time for Vanessa’s shenanigans. “What’s up?”

She crosses her arms, then drops them again, shifting from foot to foot. You wait impatiently as she dithers. Finally, she mutters something.

You frown. “Sorry, what was that?”

Vanessa raises her head and glares. “Really? You’re going to make me repeat it?”

Calming breaths. Calm. “I genuinely didn’t hear you.”

She bites her lip. “I said I’m sorry.”

You almost bluescreen, laugh, make any number of impulsive reactions that would ramp Vanessa’s temper up to one hundred. “Thank you,” you say cautiously. “May I know what you’re apologising for?”

The grinding of her teeth is audible, but she makes an effort to control her tone as she says, “I’m sorry for blaming you for keeping me up. The noise wasn’t your fault. I realise that now.”

This... sure is something. Unable to help yourself, you rub your eyes so hard fireworks bloom behind the lids. “Okay,” you say, blinking the blur away. “I appreciate that, thank you. But is that everything you’re apologising for?”

Vanessa crosses her arms, instantly on the defensive. “I don’t play guessing games.”

Fair enough, but aren’t apologies supposed to be a little more penitent? Gulping a deep breath, you say, “I’m talking about what you did to my belongings.”

“I haven’t touched anything you own,” Vanessa declares instantly. “I wouldn’t do an underhanded thing like that.”

The trouble is, you kind of agree with her. Kind of. “Underhanded, like threatening to get me fired?”

A shadow crosses her face. “I didn’t mean that,” she mutters. “It was impulsive.”

I don’t give a shit what you meant.

“Okay, hold on. Here.” You flick through your holoscreen and turn it around, showing her the pictures you took of your trashed room. “Look. Do you have anything to say about that?”

She frowns, green eyes reflecting the screen. “What the... is that your room?”

Abruptly, you lose your patience. “Oh my stars!” you almost shout, and Vanessa jerks back. “You do realise that reaction by itself is suspicious, right? You already know what my room looks like! Just admit that you trashed it the day the team arrived.”

“Wha-? I didn’t trash your room!” Vanessa retorts.

“Vanessa,” you growl, wishing you could strangle her. “We were the only two people in the building. I left to go swimming. I come back, we tour with the Glamrocks, I open my door and find this. It couldn’t have been anyone other than you!”

“I’m telling you, it wasn’t me!”

“How did you cut your hand then? You didn’t have plasters before I went out, and whoever trashed my room smashed the mirror. You left blood behind, Vanessa.”

Like a concession she hides her hands behind her back, then looks furious for having done so. “I don’t know, I just- cut it, somehow. What, do you keep track of all your injuries?”

“I think I would remember if I cut my hand trying to smash someone else’s mirror!”

Vanessa hesitates, her eyes tracking up and to the side as though unsure. “I was probably cooking or something.”

“Cooking?” you say incredulously. “You don’t cook, you just eat my leftovers. You thought I was the cook!”

Vanessa bites her lip, looking away. You take a step back, huffing deep breaths of air to calm down. Whew, this is not ideal. For starters, you had wanted to keep a cool head so you could discuss her behaviour without temper.

“Listen,” you say quietly. “It couldn’t have been anyone else.”

Vanessa lifts her chin challengingly, jaw jutted out. “It could have been you.”

“I don’t need to destroy my own belongings to get at you,” you say flatly. “See that lamp? A gift from my graduation. All those ornaments were given to me, or stuff I picked up travelling. A bunch of my clothes are ripped, and that blanket right there was an heirloom present. Where I come from, leaving the planet is a big deal. My family got together to weave this for me, and I wanted to pass it down the line when I get older. It’s the only thing I have from them. Now I’ll have to repair that big tear, and the stitching will always be ruined.”

Vanessa is going green, shifting uncomfortably at the emotion in your voice. “... I didn’t do it,” she mutters, but there’s an uncertain note. She looks guilty.

You see the exact moment she decides to cut the conversation short, gold ponytail whipping as she turns to storm away. “Vanessa,” you call, holoscreen flopping down at your side. “Can we just... have a truce, or something?”

Sheer incredulity has her turning mid-flee. “A truce?”

You shrug helplessly. “Obviously you hate me-”

“I don’t hate you.”

You bark out a laugh before you can help yourself, clapping a hand over your mouth as her face darkens even further. “Well, you certainly don’t like me,” you allow once you regain control. “So, why don’t we just avoid each other? There’s an entire team here now. That’s a pretty a pretty good buffer, right?”

You’re practically pleading, and judging by the curl of Vanessa’s lip it’s the wrong tone to take. But you don’t care if she thinks you’re weak or childish so long as this increasing tension and destruction will cease.

You don’t get what you want. “I’m sorry to hear about your room,” Vanessa says, all dignified fury, “but it wasn’t me.”

It’s only when the sound of her retreating footsteps fade that your shoulders relax. Collapsing the holoscreen, you tap it against your palm thoughtfully.

Behind you, the feed activates. “... Are you okay?” BON-BON says. His big blue face is furrowed in concern.

“Hm? Yeah,” you say absently. “Did you see how her eyes were all over the place?” Why deny it when you were the only two people in the building? Still, panic can make people say stupid things.

“I saw,” BON-BON agrees, still with uncharacteristic hesitance. “Listen, I didn’t realise that blanket meant so much to you. If you tell me what thread you need, I can order you some spools...?”

“Huh? Oh, that,” you say, turning to him. “No, that’s fine. One of the staffbots offered to stitch it up.”

“But you said-”

“Yeah, I lied,” you say easily. “I thought maybe she’d admit to it if I made her feel guilty.”

BON-BON’s jaw drops. “You... you!!” he splutters, outraged. “I was going to forge a receipt for you!”

You clap a hand over your mouth. “Pfft- yeah? I fooled you, then?”

“Oh, sweet nebula,” he says, reeling. “How- you didn’t tell me you could act!”

“I didn’t know I could,” you say, giggling. “Crying would have been too much, right? Do you think I should have cried?”

“I’m not giving you advice on how to lie,” BON-BON says.

“Whatever,” you say. “You can lie and threaten, but sure. Draw the line there.”

“I can’t believe I actually felt bad for you,” the AI mutters. “The blanket really isn’t an heirloom?”

You snort. Your guardian weaving you some heartfelt gift? Get real. “Nah, it’s some cheap thing I bought a few years ago.”

“Unbelievable.” BON-BON shakes his head one more time.

“Is it really, though?” you say. “I lie for you all the time.”

In truth, you’re not so blasé. Your armpits are damp with nervous sweat, hands taking up a faint tremble. Adrenaline always makes your throat tight, and you help yourself to a glass of water from the kitchenette in the hopes it will help you calm down. Confrontation is always terrifying, but there’s no need to let everyone and their mother know how it affects you.

“He-llo?” BON-BON calls impatiently.

“What was that?” you say calmly, turning back. The water is quivering in the glass.

“I asked why she wouldn’t just admit it?”

“Why do people mistreat each other? She probably thinks she’s justified, so there’s no reason to own up.” You fiddle with your holoscreen, flicking through the pictures in your gallery. If your room needs redecorating, you might as well add in some recent stuff. Can you get these printed?

“That doesn’t make sense,” BON-BON says flatly.

“Doesn’t it?” you murmur, tapping the favourite icon. “People do terrible things to each other all the time, and none of them ever really feel guilty. They convince themselves the victim is a bad person, so that makes it okay. And the stuff they end up doing is usually worse.”

“Like what?” BON-BON says, his voice conspiratorial. He’s clearly anticipating some you-lore.

You nip that in the bud. “Oh, I don’t know. Framing someone for submitting a false report?”

His face immediately goes deadpan, glancing away with a huff. “She ended up being worse,” he mutters, crossing his stubby arms.

“Sure,” you agree, “but I don’t think that what you did helped.”

A nearby footfall catches your attention, and you snap your mouth shut with wide eyes. Could it be Vanessa returning to fight? Or Chica hedging for access to BON-BON’s server core again? The only person the noise can’t belong to is Freddy, who walks with the force of an industrial drill. You have no idea how he’ll manage the dives.

But it’s not approaching. Dipping out of the doorway, you catch the flick of something around the far corner – a foot, or a skirt maybe. Something low. Whoever it is was probably just passing by without having heard you talking to BON-BON, but your heart leaps just the same.

Either way, they’re gone. You breathe out a sigh, shoulders loosening, and turn back to see BON-BON looking at you with an uncomfortably assessing gaze. “Go back to your room,” he says, nodding towards your holoscreen. “I’ll talk on that.”

You consider arguing just on principle, but give it up when you realise that you would actually rather hide away than have to deal with another near-stranger right now. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”

“Great!” BON-BON says, brightening. “And while you’re there, we can talk about this new idea I have.”

You groan.

“This is such a bad idea”, you mutter, pinning your braids up. You keep getting the angle of the slides wrong and pinching your scalp.

“Oh, come on! It’ll be fun!” BON-BON says, practically singing with excitement. His avatar on your holoscreen looks horrifically giddy.

He wants to come along on the excursion, a proposition you immediately vetoed because... well, a facility AI simply should not have the ability to do that. You suspect this is a bid to get the team used to seeing him in unusual places, so he won’t get in trouble if they catch him chatting with you. There have been some close shaves lately.

Chica probably gave him the idea. Damn it.

But how will you explain it? You can’t take the fall – tampering with Base AIs carries severe penalties. BON-BON wheedled and bargained to no avail, before eventually pulling up a digital version of his manual stating that remote work is one of his functions. Not only did he dodge allowing you a copy of said manual, he most certainly forged the receipt of official editing at the bottom of the page. It’s certainly fake. It’s super illegal. Someone else would probably get in trouble. But it would serve as a get out of jail free card if BON-BON was ever caught doing something he shouldn’t, like yammering in your earpiece. This along with his incessant justifications, threats, and eventual pleading chipped at your resolve, wearing you down.

So now he’s coming along.

“Just the earpiece,” you stress. “Earpiece only. And you have to act like you did before, because I’ll be using it to talk to the team.”

“Yes, I know,” he says.

“Let me explain the situation to them too. And don’t speak unless they speak to you. Please.”

“I know.”

“And if you try to distract me while I’m giving my health and safety talk I’ll leave the earpiece behind. I mean it.”

“Hey, hey! I got it!” he stresses, irritation sending his voice static. “I’ll be as quiet as a mouse unless they speak to me. Okay?”

“Okay,” you sigh.

“It’ll be fun,” he chirps. “I’ll be all informative – I’ve read your reports enough. And Chica will be happy with you, right? That’s what she was asking for. Get your hands out of your mouth.”

“Right,” you mutter, ceasing gnawing at your knuckles. Instead you tug at your braids to check they’re secure.

“Also, stop with the empty threats.”

“Hm?”

“Don’t bluff,” BON-BON says. “Saying you’ll leave me behind. You won’t, because who knows what I’ll get up to if you left me to my devices?”

Slowly, you turn to look at him. The sly look on his face drops.

“Iiiiiii mean,” he warbles hastily, “I promise not to distract you. And also I got you a nice surprise recently, so let’s get along until it arrives!”

“A surprise?” you say quietly.

“A nice surprise,” he says. “Stop looking at me like that! Sweet nebula, what did I ever do to earn this much doubt?”

You don’t even deign to respond, grabbing your earpiece and leaving the room. When BON-BON tries to activate it to continue talking, you snap your fingers in a quiet signal, and he takes it for the hint it is. Or order. Whatever.

Of course, that doesn’t last long. Hovering in the main room where you arranged to meet everyone, he once again pulls you into a silly argument. No one is here yet – not necessarily a bad sign since diving suits are notoriously difficult to wiggle into.

You both fall silent at the sound of quiet footsteps, BON-BON firing off one last incendiary comment before deactivating the feed. You turn with an expectant smile, which immediately falls when you see Roxy enter the room in casual clothes, not diving gear. “Hi.”

“Were you just talking to someone?” she says, looking about frowning.

She has excellent hearing. Good to know. “I’m testing something new,” you say, raising the earpiece. “Say hi, BON-BON.”

“Hello!” his voice trills from the earpiece, tinny and loud.

“BON-BON will be joining us on our excursion today,” you say, popping it in your ear. “You’ll be able to talk to both of us while I swim alongside the sub.”

Roxy clearly couldn’t care less. “Cool,” she says. “Um, listen. I don’t feel up to coming out today. I’m going to skip the tour?”

Despite the phrasing, she’s asking for permission. You know what this is – she knows that if she consults the team she’ll be told to come anyway, so she’s hoping to get around it by asking you. It’s not the first time someone’s used this tactic. BON-BON snickers in your ear.

“Of course if you don’t feel well you should take the time to rest,” you say sympathetically. Her face lights up just before you add, “But I’m not a team leader or anything, so it’s probably best to tell the others before it’s time to go.”

Her shoulders sag, just a bit. “Alright,” she says glumly. She pauses just before leaving the room, glancing at your arm for some reason. “Listen,” she begins slowly. “This is weird question, but...”

You try your best to look open and helpful. “Yes?”

“Before we all arrived, was everything... like... okay?”

That is a weird question. Vague too. Taking a second to think, you say, “Well, I had some mermaid stuff to deal with, plus there was an issue with a rogue current, but other than that it’s been quiet.”

She nods, her face grave. It looks unusual on her, an ill-fitting expression. “Alright,” she says, and leaves.

You’re pleasantly surprised when everyone eventually arrives correctly kitted out in full gear, even Vanessa hovering pale and sullen at the back of the group, and Roxy grimacing between Freddy and Chica. Health and safety goes by with the minimum of yawning, and finally it’s time to take everyone out onto the platform. Excitement thrums in your belly – you’re finally getting back in the dark waters!

“Give me a minute,” you tell them, walking toward the platform. There’s not a scale to be seen. Just in case, you wave your flashlight about to call Moon to the surface if he’s swimming nearby, but it looks like he’s followed your instructions to stay away. Nice.

Returning to the chamber, you see Vanessa brushing off a concerned Chica. Monty and Roxy are sniping at each other in muttered undertones, and Freddy is... standing in place like a statue. He sways occasionally like an idle animation, blinking. Weird.

“Let’s go,” you say, excitement bleeding into your voice. The Glamrock team might be a funny bunch, but tours are something you always look forward to. You also enjoy finishing them, since that means a dip in your responsibilities. Out on the platform, you pause to allow them to appreciate the majesty of the cave while you remotely activate the sub.

For a few seconds there is silence but for the gentle lapping of water. It feels almost holy.

Then Monty breaks it. “Naw, no way,” he says, crossing his arms so his biceps bulge. “If I can’t see in the water, I’m not getting in the water.”

Great, another rando who thinks ‘dark water bad’ is a personality trait. “Okay,” you say, eyes glazed.

“Didn’t you grow up in a swamp?” Roxy says, flicking her hair back irritably. It doesn’t work, because she’s wrestled most of the mass into a chunky bun.

Monty glares over the top of his sunglasses, which for some reason he is still wearing. “Say that again.”

“Sub’s here!” you interject, as the width of its bulk breaches the surface. You’re a little relieved you won’t be riding with them.

“What a magnificent vehicle,” Freddy says with deep appreciation. He emits a little oof as Roxy shoulders past him to approach it, hands held out and flexing.

“Oh, you are beautiful,” she croons, as enchanted by the sub as you are with cool crabs. “We actually got one?”

“Yeah, it was buzzed down just the other day.”

“I am glad it survived the journey without a fusing incident,” says Freddy, in the tone who has seen one failed teleportation too many. “Thankfully the order was approved. I hope you like it, Roxy.”

“Freddyyyy,” she squeals, before collecting herself. “Ahem. Thanks, Freddy.”

“It was my pleasure.”

“Can we just get this over with?” Vanessa snaps. Her arms are crossed, fingers indenting her suit. Chica reaches out to her, before hesitating and withdrawing her hand.

With a speciality in transport plus the relevant papers, naturally Roxy is the one to drive. You adjust your helmet as you watch the sub slowly sink with the team inside, steady and sure. “All good?”

“I love my sub,” Roxy answers in a feverish tone. Then, “All systems green.”

You bite back a laugh. In addition to your full-body suit, you’re wearing a horrible clunky helmet, strapped to your head and painfully heavy. This monstrosity allows you to speak and breathe underwater, but it’s so terribly impractical that you only use it for tours. You can’t even reach medium speed in your boots wearing this thing, because the combination of water pressure and weight would tear it clean off. It also doesn’t cover your ears, so one is plugged with foam and the other sealed with plastic to keep the earpiece safe and dry. It’s waterproof, but you don’t want the currents to tear it away.

Checking you have your usual breather strapped your belt, you slip into the water and sink until you’re level with the submerged sub’s window. Freddy waves enthusiastically, pointing like no one else has noticed.

Waving back, you say, “Can everyone hear me okay? As discussed, BON-BON will be joining us. Say hi!”

The group plus BON-BON all say hello at once, varying wildly in volume and enthusiasm.

You wince. “Great! Okay, let’s start off.”

The tour goes well until about the halfway point. You’ve taken them to the stalagmite cave, detoured to the big netted opening while keeping a vigilant eye out for Eclipse, and brought a handheld camera down into a few tight spaces the sub can’t traverse while they waited outside. The reactions gradually ramp up in excitement, the Glamrocks chattering amongst themselves without muting the earpiece. Occasionally BON-BON will interject with some factoid or other, chirpy and bright, and answers questions while you focus on manoeuvring. It’s nice.

When you’re guiding the sub deeper through a downward tunnel the earpiece begins to crackle and fizz, static momentarily deafening you before sound cuts out completely. Turning to swim backwards, you make an OK signal to Roxy, where she stares anxiously through the front window. Her face relaxes.

“Huh,” BON-BON says as you turn back around. Up until now he’s been in helpful AI mode as promised. “Too deep?”

“Obviously not, since I still have you,” you say, facing front again. “Unfortunately.”

“Oh, ha ha,” BON-BON says caustically. “What a zinger. You sure got me. However will I recover?”

“Remember when we agreed you wouldn’t distract me?” You hold an arm out to signal a left turn, only dropping it when the light from the sub follows you around the bend.

“Distract you from what?” BON-BON says. “It’s dark as balls down here.”

You laugh, surprised. “Hey, where did you get that one from?”

“Monty talks to himself,” the AI says, his tone warming now he got a laugh. “Like, all the time. Have you noticed?”

“Nope.” A right turn. The team doesn’t know that you’re leading them to the bioluminescent cave, which is sure to get a reaction. “What do you think of the team? Better than Vanessa?”

“Anyone is better than Vanessa,” he mutters. “They’re fine, I guess. Though they are a bit weird.”

“You don’t have the bandwidth to call anyone weird.”

“Again. Ha. Ha. Hear the humour in my voice?” The tunnel begins to rise, slowly levelling out. “They talk to me like Vanessa does. All... nice.”

“Nice? To you? Quickly – we must call the humane society!”

“Shut up,” he mutters.

You snicker, keeping a sharp ear out for the comm coming back online. His language is steadily devolving. “What’s the problem? Do they baby you like she does?” You already know Chica has freaked him out with all that server core talk, but that’s no judgement on the others.

He hesitates. “No. They’re just... nice. They asked me about my opinions – the facility, the work. They expected me to have opinions. And they include me when they’re hanging out in the main room.”

You suck in a breath. “Ooh – dangerous territory, buddy. Better lock that down.”

“I’ve been careful,” BON-BON stresses. “I know I have.”

“They’re probably just bleeding hearts like Vanessa,” you say. Left turn, getting close now. “Just don’t get cocky.”

“Who do you take me for? I’m not cocky.”

You laugh.

“I’m not!”

“Yeah, you’re not cocky. You’re just loud. And obnoxious. And careless. And you’re speaking to me on an earpiece that could come back online at any moment. But not cocky. Stars, I wish I had your kind of delusion.”

“I’m not-"

“Delu-lu!” you sing. Swimming in your favourite waters has raised your spirits a smidgeon too high.

BON-BON is silent for a few sullen moments before he says your name. “Hey. Hey. You want to know another phrase I picked up?”

It’s sure to be something awful. Repulsive, even. “Sure, go ahead.”

Bzzt.

“Kill yourself.”

A sharp gasp, a murmur of words. You clamp your mouth shut on an exclamation, paddling along as though you didn’t hear the earpiece come back online at the worst possible moment. It’s clear that the Glamrocks heard what BON-BON just said. Silent panicky giggles shake your chest, threatening to give the game away. The hysteria is only marginally stronger than the outrage over what BON-BON just said to you. You are going to end him.

Freddy says in a faint voice, “... BON-BON?”

“Hello!” the AI says, all artificial cheer with the faintest shudder of panic. “What can I do you for?”

“What did you just say?”

“I said: hello! What can I do you for?”

“No, what did you say before that?” Freddy says, patient while still sounding gobsmacked.

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand the question.”

You decide to rescue the dumbest AI you have ever met. “He said, uh... ‘chill yourself.’”

“Chill... yourself?”

“It’s something the old team leader used to say,” you lie. “BON-BON’s a learning AI, so he tends to pick up on frequent phrases.”

There are faint scoffs and protests in the background, and faintly someone yelps that’s not-

“... I see,” Freddy says, sounding distinctly dubious. “I do apologise – I thought I heard something else.”

An innocent person would ask what he thought he heard, but you don’t want to push the issue. Instead, you loudly point out the entrance to the cave and scramble out of the water.

The cave is impressive, squat and long and thickly blanketed with bioluminescent plants giving off a cool blueish glow. They cover the floor on dry land and wet, and crawl up the walls. The water puddling the floor at shin-height deepens further down, forming a small stream that feeds back into the bigger tunnels. It darkens progressively further, a bend in the walls obscuring the other end.

You stand by the sub as the others climb out, waiting until they’re loudly reacting to the sight before you mutter, “Don’t you ever say that to me again. Stupid.”

“I know,” BON-BON whispers miserably, and goes silent.

Glancing up, you freeze when you see Freddy’s glowing eyes watching from across the way, ankle deep in the water. His face is calm but assessing, a thoughtful tilt to his head. He smiles when he sees you notice him.

Freddy doesn’t have an earpiece in, but you still feel caught. You slosh over to him. “What do you think? Pretty cool, right?”

“It is truly an impressive sight,” he agrees, casting faintly-glowing eyes over the space.

I wonder if bioluminescence looks different through mechanical eyes? It would surely be rude to ask.

Chica is squatting in the water pointing something out, tugging Vanessa by the hand so that she reluctantly settles down beside her. There’s something in the way they lean into each other, even through Vanessa’s chill, that has you raising your brows in revelation. I suppose there really is somebody for everyone. Chica seems so nice, though.

“This place rocks,” Monty says, enthused beyond what you expected. The cave is a fan favourite for a reason. He whistles through his teeth, long and low. It echoes down, bouncing off the wet rock walls, muffled by bioluminescent blooms, and fades out.

And then, high and sweet, something whistles back.

Chapter Text

You’re immediately on guard as the whistle fades out.

“Was that an echo?” Roxy says, her pointed ears swivelling. She stiffens, the fur rising on her face. “Wait. I can hear splashing.”

“No,” you answer her initial question, walking past the group and stepping into deeper water. Your eyes pick up a faint glint retreating where the river deepens and the tunnel bends, sinking into dark shadow. Great. Just… perfect.

“No?” Monty says, placing his hand on a long object strapped to his hip. He’s responding to your posture with his own alertness. “Do you see something?”

You look back. “What is that?”

He pauses and awkwardly removes his hand from the unfamiliar tool. His red eyes are shifty. “Uh... it’s a flashlight.”

It doesn’t look like a flashlight, and he doesn’t turn it on. You hum and turn away, more invested in the whistle than whatever weapon Monty has decided to smuggle on the trip. He’d just better not point it at anyone you like. “Could everyone stay here, please? I’m just going to check that out.”

Out the corner of your eye, you see Freddy and Chica exchange a glance. Chica steps forward. “Good idea, but I’ll come with you! What’ll we do if we lose our trusty guide?”

She says it jokingly, but you answer, “The sub maps all paths taken, so you would just follow the route on the feed. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Chica is already shaking her head as you step away. “I’m coming with, the others can stay here,” she says, more firmly. Her hands rest on her hips, chest pushing out in an effort at authority. “C’mon, I’ll take front.”

You hold out a palm before she can get too close. “Sorry, I should explain,” you say. “I think that was Moon whistling. The mermaid. If it was him, he could react badly if he sees a stranger.”

“Chica, they’re right,” Vanessa says, venturing closer from the back of the group. “Don’t go.”

Chica looks back and forth, torn.

Freddy says, “What if it is not Moon?”

“I’m the best equipped to deal with that,” you point out.

Monty scoffs. “Oh yeah? I read those lil’ papers of yours. You fancy yourself strong enough to take on a mermaid?”

“You read them?” you say, pleased. “That’s great, Monty. Also, yeah. I have.”

“You have what?”

“I fought with a mermaid.” And kinda lost.

“Why even go down there? Let’s just leave,” Roxy says, fear turning her voice sharp.

Moon called you for a reason, and if you don’t respond he’ll find another way to get your attention. You don’t want Roxy crashing the sub in panic because Moon decided to make a surprise introduction halfway through the swim back. “It pays to make nice with the neighbours,” you say mildly. “It’ll be fine.”

“Yeah. Wuss,” Monty tosses to Roxy in an undertone.

“Bite me.”

Stars, they have already begun bickering again. Turning to Chica, you say, “Why don’t I attach a tether? That way if something happens you’ll feel the tug.”

She hesitates, glancing briefly at the rest of the team. “I... okay,” she sighs, clearly still unhappy.

Tether attached, you finally wade into the water, steps becoming heavier as the passage deepens and turns. “Swimming now,” you say, trusting the walls to bounce your voice back. Chances are that Moon has become bored of waiting and already left, but as the tunnel narrows and the bioluminescent plants struggle against the absolute dark, you spot a glimmer beneath the surface further on. The ceiling lowers until it almost touches your head, dipping into the water a few metres before you, and that is where you stop.

Moon surfaces silently, eyes then mouth, blowing bubbles as is his habit. His eyes narrow to slits. “Hello.”

“Moon,” you say, annoyed. You’re face-to-face, hushed so as not to alarm the team you left behind. “I asked you to stay away for a few cycles.”

“Am away.” He drifts closer, powerful tail stirring a current against your legs. “Not near the building. Saw you swim, with the mechanical beast.”

“The sub,” you murmur, sighing. “I meant- away from us. Me and the team, and the building.”

He blinks, slowly. “Didn’t know.”

Hmm. After the revelation of his language capabilities, you’re never sure when he’s truly playing dumb.

Gentle claws reach for your face, stopping just short as you shy away. “Different.”

Right, the helmet. “This one lets me speak and breathe,” you say. “But it’s uncomfortable.”

Moon cocks his head. “Take it off.”

“Later,” you say, amused. Things seem so simple from his perspective. “Listen, the team heard you whistle and now they’re freaked-”

Moon raises his face and whistles again, long and loud. His grin stretches thinly at the distant sounds of general disarray, bouncing tinny down the tunnel.

“- so can you go away?” you finish dully.

“Rude.”

“I was going to say it nicely until you whistled again. Don’t,” you say, as he puckers his mouth to try for a third.

So instead of whistling, Moon moves closer. You twitch when his hands reach out, gently cupping under your bent elbows. He’s so close you can feel the heat down your front, even through the suit. “Come and play. Please.”

“I can’t,” you say, quietly, glancing back. They’ll be getting anxious, you just know it.

His fingers dig in. “No. Play.”

“You could come back down with me,” you offer. “Say hi... be nice. I won’t let them get too close.”

There’s little pinprick points digging into your arms. “Don’t want to,” he says. His voice is deeper now, more forceful. “Come.”

... Something is off. There’s an edge to his grin, you realise, the teeth grit a touch too hard. He’s not holding you like he intends to let go. “Moon,” you say quietly. “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing. Come.”

You try to gain some space but his grip tightens. He isn’t cupping your elbows now – he’s holding your upper arms. “I don’t like this,” you say, wavering uncertainly. “Please let go of me.”

He begins to swim backwards, tugging you along. “Come. I want to talk to you.”

“Moon, let go,” you say, loudly now. He isn’t listening, slowly submerging and dragging you with him. The tether will run out of slack soon. “Let go or we’re not friends anymore!”

That stops him, pausing with his face just below water. For a few seconds he surveys you and then his vicelike grip releases.

Fleeing is a bad idea with his reflexes, but more than anything you’re baffled by this switch around. Drifting back just a little, you massage the blood back into your arms. “Between you and Sun I’ll be black and blue in no time,” you joke. Your nervous titter fades out weakly with no reaction from the mermaid.

Moon breaches water again. It always looks bizarre to see the surface pressure cling to his open eyes as he rises. He regards you with a distinctly unfriendly expression now, all traces of mischief wiped clean. There’s definite tension in his stance, like he’s ready to hunt.

You swallow. “You know, because bruising? I’m making a joke about how you keep manhandling me, even though I said I don’t like it.”

His mouth presses into a thin line. “Did Sun say he didn’t like it?”

That’s an odd segue. Your brow furrows. “What?”

He moves a little closer, slowly, pausing when you twitch in preparation to run. “Blunt claws,” he says, voice low. “Stubby teeth. But you hurt Sun.”

You can’t help a small scoff. Out of the two of you, ‘hurt’ describes your state that day more accurately. “What, emotionally-?”

Moon hisses, his fins rising stiff, and every nerve in your body ignites at the sound. “You grabbed his gills.”

It sounds like a euphemism, but you’re not suicidal so the thought goes unvoiced. “I... kind of had to,” you say carefully, aware that you must have crossed some cultural taboo. “Did he explain-”

Moon lunges with his teeth bared and you scramble back, gasping. “You hurt my Sun!”

Between the possessive and the revelation that he’s angry with you, it takes you a second to react. Grabbing, hissing, lunging. Slowly the Moon, friend in your head is being overwritten by Moon, threat. “Okay,” you say carefully, raising both hands in peace. “Is that what he told you?”

“Didn’t have to.” Moon goes to circle you, and you retreat a little farther before he can cut you off from safety. “I saw. You crushed his gills. Scared him. Made him upset.”

Crushed his gills? No no, I only grabbed them. I’m sure of it.

Except, are you? You were blinded by water and light, oxygen deprivation sending you loopy with panic. Exhaustion shredded your cognition. You remember soft fluttering gills under your fingers, digging in your nails, a fleshy opening. How would it feel if someone tried to jam their hand into your airway?

Your stomach drops. Oh stars, did you genuinely hurt that lonely yellow mermaid? Can he breathe? Is he dying?

Moon’s approach slows now you’re no longer backing away. “Nasty thing,” he spits. “Vicious. Didn’t tell you about our reef, no no, didn’t tell you about Sun, but you still came. Sneaking where you’re not wanted, hurt my-”

“Is he okay?!” Panic gripping your heart, you seize Moon by the shoulders. “Is it permanent? Can he still breathe?”

Moon shies away under the onslaught of frantic questions, his eyes widening. “He’s- hurt,” he says, trying to regain his fire. “You hurt him-”

“I didn’t mean to!” you say desperately, following his retreat in your panic. “I just wanted him to stop! Please believe me, Moon, I would never try to hurt anyone, not really! Does he need help? We have a medical station aboard, it can deal with aquatic features-”

Your swift breaths are fogging up the mask faster than the filters can keep up, so you don’t see Moon’s eyes narrowing thoughtfully. But you do notice his hands encircling your wrists, and you snatch them back with burgeoning guilt.

“I’m sorry,” you say, shamefaced. You’re such a hypocrite. “You don’t want me near your neck right now. But- listen, I really didn’t mean to hurt Sun that bad. If there’s anything I can do to help-”

“Quiet.”

You clamp your mouth shut, struggling against more apologies and offers as Moon comes face-to-face again. His pale pupils flick up and down, calmer now you’re mirroring his distress.

“Explain.”

“The- the medical station,” you begin, grateful that he’s open to the idea. “It’s got all the latest-”

Moon flicks the screen of your helmet, thwok. “No, stupid. What you said. You just wanted him to stop.”

“... Yes?”

His eyes narrow to slits. “Stop what?”

“Oh.” You give your head a little shake, wading through the fog of panic and worry. “Uh, the mask, he took my breather.”

Moon stills. “He what.”

“He didn’t realise!” you hasten to explain. “But he was holding me down and I couldn’t breathe, and- listen, can you just tell me if he’s okay? Please?”

Red eyes survey you intently, an odd look on his face. “... He’ll be fine.”

“Oh, thank the stars,” you mutter, sagging. “You had me thinking I crippled him or something.”

“Are you?”

“Just a little heart attack,” you joke, relief making you giddy. “No biggie.”

“No. After you lost the breather.”

“I’m- fine,” you say shiftily. You refrain from looking down at where your suit covers half-healed bruises and scrapes, the slices on your hands. Moon has already seen the latter. “I mean I was fine. Still am. So...”

“Liar.” But he sounds dull. The anger appears to have fizzled out, and now there’s a distinct discomfort in the way he regards you. He rubs the back of his neck in a very human gesture.

“Listen,” you say, unable to help yourself. “I didn’t realise it would hurt him so bad. Please, could you tell Sun I’m sorry?”

Already cringing in preparation for rejection, you squeak when Moon’s hand lands heavily on top of your head. He just rests it there for a handful of seconds while you remain tense. “No.”

Yeah, that tracks. “I understand,” you say, lowering your eyes.

The hand briefly shakes your dome before retreating. “Silly thing,” he mutters, now sounding extremely uncomfortable. “Not like that.” Then he sighs heavily and sinks under the water.

Frozen, your eyes dart about, but there’s not a ripple to be seen. You can’t feel anything around your legs. After about a minute, you go to move, edging back down the river. It’s about halfway when you accept that he’s gone and start swimming in earnest.

Gills are off-limits obviously. You had been self-assured that it was a life-or-death situation with no other way out, but now you’re shaken by doubt. Perhaps there was a better way to handle Sun that day, that didn’t involve pain. But he was so loud and bright, cutting with his claws, holding you down as you drowned... but if you genuinely did extreme damage...

You’re no masochist. Between you and the mermaid, you have to choose yourself. But you never intended to scare Sun, to truly hurt Sun, and now Moon is furious at you because of it. Guilty tears prick your eyes.

The noise levels strengthen as you return, amplified by the low curved walls. Rising from the water and wading the last few steps, you turn the corner and almost crash into Monty sploshing towards you.

“Oh-!” You yelp as he seizes you under the arms like a toddler and turns, trudging the way he came with no regard to the glowing blooms he’s crushing underfoot. “They’re back,” he booms, shredding your eardrums. “Untwist, I found them.”

“Monty-” Chica calls, exasperated as she sees you hanging in his grasp.

“Yeah, yeah.” You’re dropped abruptly on your feet, staggering.

“Ow,” you mutter, rubbing your arms. If you wanted a distraction, this works pretty well. “What gives?”

In answer Chica holds up the tether, shorn on one end. It takes you a second to realise the other is still wrapped around her waist. Looking down, you can see your end swinging freely from your waist, clipped just above the butt.

Right. In retrospect, you should have questioned why Moon didn’t mention the tether.

“I’m sorry,” you say for umpteenth time today. “I didn’t notice that. He’s, uh... a bit mischievous. Moon.”

“It was Moon?” Freddy clarifies.

“Yeah,” you sigh, rubbing your smarting arms. With what just transpired, you rather wish it wasn’t. “He just wanted to-”

“Holy shit!” Monty barks, abruptly shoving you behind him. Unbalanced in your clunky boots, you immediately trip, landing heavily on your hands and knees. Between Monty’s legs, you spot light in the shallow water, Moon’s glowing red eyes only just visible around the dark bend. They narrow, lift, and there’s the glint of teeth. He hisses, the sound echoing like escaping poison.

Monty swears again, hefting the tool from his belt, but he doesn’t get to lift it before you grab it by the business end. You use your grip to haul yourself to your feet with both hands wrapped around the barrel. Monty grits his teeth, removing his finger from a raised piston. “Careful.”

“That’s an odd flashlight,” you say, still holding on even though you’re back on your feet.

He bares his teeth. “Yeah, it’s my design. Wanna let go?”

“You don’t need it,” you say, pushing it back at him. “There’s plenty of light in here. Do you see the plants?”

“Monty,” Freddy says from behind you, his voice pitched carefully low.

For a moment Monty wavers, before stowing the tool away. “Sure I do, squirt,” he says, abruptly sounding a lot more friendly. “The damn things are everywhere. That your fish friend, down there?”

“Yep,” you say lightly, then add to the team at large, “we’re leaving now.”

The hissing has stopped. Moon surveys the group with intent eyes, lingering carefully on each individual face. Then he sinks silently down in the water and out of sight.

You clap your hands to get them moving. “Great tour, everyone,” you say, unable to inject your usual pep. “This was actually the last place on my list, so let’s head back. It’s about time for a late lunch.”

There’s a general murmur of assent, complete with shuffling and cautious looks at the water where Moon has disappeared. Vanessa is clutching Chica’s arm with a white-knuckled grip, and you honestly can’t blame her. Not with the introduction Moon just served your new team. So much for making friends.

At least you’re treated to the amusing sight of the Glamrocks trying to board the sub without touching the water. Freddy just sploshes right on through like the Terminator, no fear at all on that pleasant face. The trip back is quiet enough, allowing you to stew without much interruption.

Unfortunately.

To your dismay, lunch is another group affair. You snag the end seat beside Chica, who eats with such single-minded intensity that you’re spared from having to make conversation. It’s only after you excuse yourself to your room that you remember the BON-BON issue. Massaging the fading mask-marks from your skin, you prop up your holoscreen and call his name. He doesn’t appear.

Typical. Just when you could really use a distraction. “Hello?” you say, pressing your face obnoxiously close to the lens. “Are you afraid I’ll say that I told you so?”

The screen flickers, and then BON-BON appears with his face already in his hands. It’s too massive for them to cover it fully. “Please don’t.”

You sigh. It looks like he’s already beating himself up thoroughly enough with your help. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Decommission me.” His voice is muffled despite there being no earthly reason for it.

“Don’t be dramatic,” you say, unravelling your damp braids so you can comb them out. The speaking mask doesn’t cover your hair. “The Glamrocks are all bleeding hearts, we both know it. Plus, I came up with that amazing excuse on the fly, so you’re off the hook. You should be thanking me.”

“They could be investigating me, and I just handed them proof on a silver platter,” he groans, dragging his stubby hands down his face. “Asking me questions, acting all nice... the keyword is acting.”

“No, the keyword is investigating.” His paranoia is so inconsistent. Where was this energy when he was blabbing through the earpiece? You comb your hair gently, separating the sections. “What have you been getting up to that would even trigger an investigation? C’mon, tell me.”

“... Nothing,” he says sullenly.

“Liar,” you say, then grimace. It reminds you of Moon. “Go on, I won’t laugh. Prommy.”

“Ugh!” BON-BON covers his face again. “I’ve been writing review articles on movies, okay?”

A few seconds tick by. Your mouth twitches. “What?”

BON-BON glares at you. “I watch videos,” he says slowly, “and if I don’t like them, I make articles. Like... long ones.”

You might not be laughing, but you’re definitely smirking. You had expecting crimes on the level of embezzlement, not this. Then again, you suppose him buying you stuff with Base funds already counts as that. “Oh. And you think that bears investigation? Isn’t that a little… conceited?”

“I should never trust you!” BON-BON howls. “Stop laughing!”

You hold your hands up, grinning. “Hey, hey. I’m not laughing. I’m just saying, that doesn’t seem like a strong enough reason-”

“AIs aren’t supposed to have opinions!”

“What, do you sign them with your name?”

BON-BON hesitates. “... No? That would be dumb.”

“Right,” you say. “And you must have done this on facility Wi-Fi, plus you’re no stranger to covering your tracks. It could be anyone in the building leaving feedback, and I covered for your very stupid and ill-informed slip up earlier. So, no worries.”

You return to sedately brushing your hair as BON-BON looks on, uncertain. “But...”

Sigh. “Look,” you say, giving him your full attention. “If push comes to shove and it turns out they are here for you – I’ll do something. Smuggle you out in a USB, or... whatever, like I said. Okay? So stop stressing.”

BON-BON blinks several times. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Even if you genuinely don’t want to. You’ve got it good here, mermaid quarrels and aggressive coworkers aside.

“But... you would lose your job if they ever found out.”

“I know.”

“You could get in legal trouble – jail time!”

“I know.” You cast him a quizzical glance. “Are you trying to get me to not to do it, or something?”

“... I just don’t understand,” BON-BON says in a small voice.

You don’t blame him, not really. Sniping and griping, begging him to tone himself down, you suppose you have been giving mixed signals. Perhaps BON-BON reads your attitude as genuine dislike, or he’s assuming you hold the same views on AI as most people do – fallible programs that can be altered or deleted at a whim.

But there’s a difference in your mind between regular AIs, and whatever BON-BON has developed into. Something with thoughts and opinions. And fears.

“It’s simple.” You begin plaiting your hair into neat ropes with swift, practiced movements. “I quite enjoy not being complicit in murder.”

Roxy is ass-up in an external panel of the new sub, rummaging in the guts of the machinery. Occasionally her feet squeak against the wet hull, and she kicks at the air to keep from slithering in.

Work has yet to pick up and you’re not keen on seeking recreation in the same waters as Moon right now. The sub is breached only a few metres from the platform’s edge, bobbing slightly in the water. You take a loud, crisp bite of apple and see the noise register through the twitch of Roxy’s furry tail. Her coat is such a lovely shade – grey-purple, very light with a conditioned sheen. Out of the team, she is one of the most well-groomed. When she hefts herself upright to look around, you make sure your eyes aren’t still locked on her backside.

“Does it need maintenance already?” you ask. Having to fix a new sub doesn’t bode well for its longevity.

Roxy shovels a hank of hair away from her face, looking ruffled. “Have you got a daisychain I don’t know about?”

The non sequitur has you blinking. Swallowing your mouthful slowly to buy time, you roll the apple between your palms. “Like the flower?” You have seen daisies before, which always seems to surprise those privy to your origins. Even ocean planets can sport vegetation, and you’re the only one in your community that got to travel outside of it and see more.

But Roxy huffs through her nose like you’re being silly. “No, smart aleck. Like the one that let your AI keep talking when our communications got cut.” She meets your blank gaze expectantly. “During the tour? Ring any bells?”

Well, what with a cave of glowing plants, Moon’s creepy introduction, and the long swim back, I had hoped you forgot about BON-BON’s little slip-up.

But that still doesn’t explain anything. When in doubt, be as blunt as possible. “I don’t know what you mean.”

She leans back on the swell of the sub’s hull. “What, you haven’t heard of it? When you want a signal in remote areas, you scatter routers to ping back to an area with service.”

“Oh! Like a constellation network,” you say, brightening. The concept is familiar. “No, we don’t have anything like that.”

Roxy raises a shapely eyebrow. “Really.”

“Really,” you confirm, through a mingled pang of irritation and amusement. “I’m not withholding a secret WiFi resource. Promise.”

Her ears flatten and she looks away, abashed. “… I never said you were.”

Suuure. You totally weren’t implying anything. But watching her fold so quickly is funny enough that you let it pass. You suck a droplet of juice from your wrist, following the path back up to the apple. “So, you think that if there’s no, uh, daisychain the sub might be faulty?”

Roxy glances quickly over, relaxing at the lack of reproach on your face. “Nothing I can’t fix. It’s just, I can’t find anything wrong.”

There’s a thread of frustration in the slight upwards whine of her voice, the tension in her brow. It makes sense, with her clear unease over the water prior – the sub’s communication issues would make diving anxiety worse, especially since the problem falls on her to solve.

You hum. “I’ll go check the maintenance logs. My predecessor might have installed a daisychain for a previous team and forgot to let me know.”

She perks up. “You think that’s possible?”

It’s highly unlikely, given that if there is the means to catch a signal in that area, the sub would have been able to make use of it as well. But voicing that won’t make her feel better. “It can’t hurt to check."

Roxy shifts her weight a little with the lolling of the sub. The pose looks effortlessly nonchalant; if she slips and falls into the water, you will laugh. “Why isn’t it already a thing? The internet’s helpful everywhere.”

Oh, lots of reasons. The sheer volume of routers needed to cover the entire facility territory even before it was expanded, versus selecting a specific area to populate, and even the environmental concerns of peppering little machines in the rock. And the cost, of course. Everything always comes down to money at the end of the day.

You settle on, “Mm, not really. I mean, none of the other teams ever strayed too far out, so lack of signal was never an issue. And I don’t use it.”

“But what if you need to look something up? Like… I don’t know, if a generator breaks? Freddy says there’s a bunch out there.”

“I already know what to do if anything breaks,” you say. “And my scanner holds all the data I collect until it can upload again.”

“You know it all, huh?” Roxy says, with the faintest tinge of sarcasm. There’s a smile playing about her mouth, but it’s not unkind. “What if something goes wrong? How will your emergency signal work?”

“I don’t have one.” The apple is starting to brown around the flesh. You take another bite.

“What?”

She answered faster than you expected. You swallow your mouthful prematurely and almost gag. “How would an emergency signal work down there? There’s nothing in range to receive the ping.”

Roxy isn’t smiling anymore. “But what if something happens?”

“It typically doesn’t,” you answer honestly. “But if I went AWOL for a cycle, the next step would be to let Base know. They’d handle things from there.”

Roxy is staring like you just spoke in tongues, leaning forward precariously. In turn, you feel mildly resentful – you covered this during the health and safety talk! Does no one care about the very important and life-saving information you took the time to memorise? But then again, perhaps she was still jetlagged during the tour. You should probably cut her some slack.

Her face is still urging you to say sike. You clear your throat awkwardly. “Um, don’t worry. You wouldn’t have to go looking for me or anything. Base knows your research time is valuable.”

She ignores that. “So you’re crawling about in those slimy tunnels without a phone or anything?” Roxy says, her voice shrill. “I thought you had a communicator! Isn’t that dangerous?”

You shrug. “So’s my job. Do you want me to put in a request for a daisychain?”

“Yes,” Roxy says, slow as if you’re a little dense. “Is that even a question?”

Okay, she’s kind of annoying you now. You snap open your holoscreen, fumbling with the ravaged apple still in one hand. “Alright then… that’ll be under your residency if it gets approved, so don’t worry if it shows up in the Glamrock resources folder. Base’ll contact you if it’s pricey enough to require a fee-”

“Nonono, don’t send that!” Roxy waves her hands sharply, like you’re about to type the request at breakneck speed and saddle her with devastating charges. “We don’t need a new daisychain, we can lay one just fine. Tell them you need one.”

“Oh!” You collapse the holoscreen with a little laugh. “Well, never mind then.”

“No, not never mind,” Roxy says testily. “What if you get attacked by a shark, or- or a big rock falls on you? You need to be able to call for help!”

Aww. She cares. Roxy is reminding you of BON-BON in a way, especially with the irrational displays of stress. It’s not like this is your first stint in the water.

“Base won’t approve it,” you say. “It would cost too much to cover the territory just for my sake, and that kind of expense is only permissible by the request of the team in residency.”

Roxy’s face is still too alien to you for her current expression to be fully understandable. She looks… anxious? Or angry. “But they wouldn’t do it for you? You work for them.”

She still doesn’t get it. “Yes, but you paid for your residency and signed an agreement, so Base is contractually bound to deliver an environment that meets the needs of your research. Uh, within reason. If you can’t research because there’s no signal, they’ll provide the means for a signal. But I can work without one. You should apply for them to provide a daisychain,” you advise. “They’ll look for a cost-effective option, and then you won’t have to use your own tools. They might be able to do it for free. Trust me, it’s wasting money if you don’t.”

Roxy closes her eyes, sits back. A deep breath leaves her mouth. “Right,” she says, abruptly sounding defeated. “Okay. I’ll… I don’t know. I’ll tell Freddy about it or whatever.”

You tilt your head. Shouldn’t the team leader be in on this? “Not Chica?”

Her eyes fly open again. “Shit, yeah. Chica. Ugh, I’m tired,” she mutters, and rubs her eyes. Her makeup smears.

Freddy must be shouldering some of the load while Chica is getting used to her responsibilities. That is, if you have read the dynamic correctly. This is your first residency where the boss was chosen through drawing straws. “How is she finding leadership? If this is her first time directing a residency on the go, it must be hard.”

“She’s-” Roxy begins, then shoots you an odd look, which is about the same time you realise you shouldn’t actually know that little detail. Still, it’s not like you didn’t suspect as much through Chica and Freddy’s clumsy actions before having it confirmed. You keep up a bland stare while Roxy struggles to decide if she wants to call you out on your observation. “… Chica’s okay,” she says finally, a little stiff. “Everyone helped with the contract to get here, and now we’re just preparing. You know, to do our research.”

Obviously. They’re not here to holiday. “It’s nice that everyone helped out.”

“Well, it wasn’t like Chica had time. Your company got her all tied up in a bunch of red tape,” Roxy says, her face going sour. “We’ve never had any problems or anything, but suddenly they wanted all this stuff our other residencies didn’t even ask for! We almost fell behind schedule. Like, what was that about?”

“Ohh. What did they ask for?” you say, with dawning interest. Chica did mention getting delayed at some point, but she made it sound like a conflict over data discovery or something.

Roxy whips a lock of hair over her shoulder, a dramatic gesture of irritation that has you biting back a smile. “Like, deep tissue scans, and a full medical assessment, and a complete list of all augmentations – Chica had to jump through hoops to get anything done. So stupid.”

Oh. A mundane gripe, then. Figures that the rebelliously-attired Roxy would have a problem with being held up by legal minutiae. The only juicy information is that the Glamrock’s previous residencies were probably breaking the law, given that dedicated medical assessments are generally mandatory. “Ah, yeah. The last team leader complained about that too. I don’t know the exact details, but apparently there was a big lawsuit over an augmentation malfunction a few years ago. Not here, on a different planet. It was because of pressure changes, or something, but that might be an urban legend. So now everyone has to go through the process.”

“Whatever. It was a pain to deal with.”

The apple is down to the core now. You wipe juice from your mouth. “Yeah, I bet. Still, it’s nice that they care to monitor these kinds of things. They’re just trying to keep the crew from exploding.”

Roxy startles. “Exploding?”

“Apparently. I don’t know the details. Still, if you guys are here now it means that you don’t have anything to be worried about. Base would have denied the residency if there was a risk of funky augmentations or medical issues wiping out the facility.”

“Right,” Roxy says, suddenly sounding nervous. “Yeah. Augmentations. Bad idea, right?”

“No?” You stare at her. “It would only be a problem if it were actively malfunctioning. I mean, I’ve never seen a bad one.” Who cares what people are doing to their own bodies?

“Me too,” Roxy agrees quickly, and looks away.

Maybe she’s got a case of the augmentation-heebies. Ironic, considering Freddy’s unearthly glowing eyes. “Uh… don’t let me put you off. I think the whole explosion thing was a freak accident-”

“Can I ask you something?” Roxy says loudly, shuddering, then immediately plows on. “The way your AI spoke to you during the tour – does he always do that?”

Ah, shit.

A shiver of fearful anticipation ripples down your spine, closely followed a prickle of goosebumps. Though your earlier assurances to BON-BON had partly been bravado – because it’s not like you can make it so the team didn’t hear his unfortunate comment – you had thought you'd at least covered for him well enough to warrant no further discussion on the topic. Apparently you were wrong.

But the part you’re playing is naïve to the dark phrase that Roxy is referencing. It takes you a second to unclench your jaw to speak. “Oh, BON-BON? Yeah, he’s really nice. A little too chipper for my tastes, but most AIs run the same personality settings. Did you find him helpful?”

It almost chokes you to describe BON-BON as nice and chipper. Wood-chipper, perhaps, in that his voice has much the same effect on your eardrums and patience.

“What?”

As if you can force her to play along with sheer stubbornness, you repeat, “Did you find him helpful? Chica said it might be beneficial to let him interact on the trip, so I went and found a way.”

Roxy’s stare is growing irritated. Her painted claws squeak at the metal hull of the sub. “What are you talking about?”

You start eating the apple core, eyes wide and blank. “What are you talking about?”

“BON-BON told you to kill yourself,” she states flatly, and you choke on a pip.

“Hurghh,” you cough, thumping on your chest. For some reason, you hadn’t quite expected her to just come out and say it. “Uh, no. No, he did not. What- you- are you talking about when the audio cut out?”

Roxy juts her muzzle in a single, assertive jerk. “What do you think he said, then?”

“He said I need to chill myself. I know it’s not exactly a common phrase, but-”

Roxy raises her voice to drown you out, “I heard what he said.”

“BON-BON can’t say that kind of thing,” you insist. “He has permanent automatic censoring. He wouldn’t even be able to speak the word without a buzzer drowning him out.”

Ostensibly. BON-BON’s extensive potty mouth has made it clear that such limitations no longer apply. But Roxy doesn’t need that information.

It at least makes her hesitate. Roxy’s ears, far more expressive than her actual face, quirk in an unsure manner. “… Really?”

“Yeah. He can’t even say, like, chicken breast.”

Now her mouth twitches, amused. “Really.”

The sight heartens you, makes you feel a little more secure. “Get him to try and read you a recipe sometime.” You flick apple residue from your fingers into the water. Your heart is hammering in your chest, subtly shaking your fingers in their sockets. Regretful now at even coming out here and making conversation, you say, “Listen, I have to go. Are you sure you don’t want me to contact Base about that daisychain for you?”

Roxy accepts your departure easily, despite your fears she might try and pursue the argument. She stands, stretches. “Don’t sweat it. If Fr- Chica thinks it’s a good idea, then we’ll handle it.”

She kicks the panel beside her closed and, not bothering with adjustment or consideration of distance, leaps from the sub onto the platform without so much as a wobble. It’s further than you could ever manage. Your eyes go wide, helplessly impressed, and when Roxy glances over she grins a little sliver of smug pleasure. She enjoys your admiration.

“We’re all having a movie night with dinner,” she says, sauntering toward the door. Apparently she’s content to leave the sub floating until she next returns. “Pizza and Fizzy-Faz. You want in?”

You have no idea what either of those foodstuffs are, and have even less inclination to join. First a group lunch after a tour, now a dinner with movies? Is this team afraid of being picked off by predators if they eat in solitude?

And what part of anything you just discussed screams dinner plans to Roxy? The part where she demanded you share imaginary WiFi access? Perhaps the topic of augmented individuals exploding (allegedly)? But then again, her interactions with Monty seem to be eighty per cent gripe. Maybe this is just how she chats with her friends.

Except you and Roxy are not friends.

“Sorry, I have a remote dinner meeting scheduled,” you lie, creasing your brow with fake regret. “Maybe another time.”

Now to let BON-BON know he can’t say chicken breast anymore.

Sleep comes fitfully that night. It might be because of your lack of faith in the security of your room, the steadily rising central heating, the conflict with Moon, or even worry over Sun.

Also, your gums itch.

You stick a finger in your mouth and spit out the taste of fabric. Even with the moisturising gloves, your fingers are twinging. You chewed the hell out of them today, and as much as you hate to admit it, BON-BON’s right. It’s a bad habit you really need to break, slurping and gnawing in front of people. Wiggling your fingers, you yearn for the typical flex and pull between them as you felt as a child, then stop as a sharp pang of loss echoes in your chest. This is ridiculous.

Typically, daytime issues don’t keep you awake – with all the exercise your job entails, unconsciousness tends to hit you like a hammer. But Moon’s expression comes back to bother you more than his words, that terrible look of dislike on his face. It seems you really messed up by hurting Sun, but despite your guilt over the matter resentment is beginning to rear its ugly head. What, were you supposed to just drown? Talk Sun into giving the breather back while your lungs were screaming for air? Or maybe Moon is angry that you discovered his environment at all, despite that also not being your fault. He was secretive for a reason, and it hurts that he doesn’t trust you with his home when he knows where yours is.

Then again, you can’t blame him for being protective when you hurt his Sun.

You roll to face the window, staring out at the black water. You have never liked leaving disputes unfinished, despite your aversion to conflict. The whole Vanessa thing has been rubbing you the wrong way, and now Moon is angry and Sun is injured. But apparently not that bad? Or did Moon say that to stop you from panicking?

You close your eyes, but they open automatically again. Sleep hovers on the cusp of your mind, but your thoughts feel loud like a conversation in the next room, a semi-audible buzz. The silence rustles like whispers.

Itchy itchy gums. You wince again at the scrape of fabric against your lips and remove one of your gloves so you can stick a finger in there. The taste of moisturiser is fresh and soapy. Oh, nice – the lower second row of teeth has almost totally crested now, a few completely impacted and sharp. Humming, you press and wiggle, searching, and finally you feel the shift and pop of an unsteady fang.

This quarter-annual teething is irritating for everyone who experiences it, but it’s generally agreed that the loosening is the best part. When the itch reaches a boiling point and the teeth are ready to shed, you can pluck out the new second set one by one. You like to suck on your tongue until it’s suctioned to the roof of your mouth, and feel the unsteady teeth pop pop pop pop pop in that direction. And then when you pull them out – yes.

It’s technically not ready, but you’re very tempted. You wiggle it with your tongue, serrated edges scraping painfully, and feel around with a finger. It’s wobbly... maybe if you-

Pop. Ouch. Yeah, that one wasn’t ready. You withdraw your hand and look at the little pearly tooth pinched between thumb and forefinger, the pink of live nerve visible from the blunt end. You taste a tinge of blood, but nothing to be alarmed over. The gum throbs unpleasantly.

Turning the tooth over to admire the pearly surface, you become aware of a presence nearby. The hairs on your arms raise, a shadow hovering at the corner of your vision. You move your eyes, just a little flick, and spot someone standing in the corner of your room.

What. “Lights on,” you say, and the figure is revealed to be a pile of laundry stacked on your desk chair.

The sheer relief makes you laugh. For a moment you wondered if Vanessa had come back for round two, but that’s silly – the door is locked no matter what. Right? Now you cross the room to check, paranoia rising. Yes, it is.

Sighing, you put away the laundry before it can do anything else to scare you, like inexplicably fall over in the dead of night. You’re not even sure now why you thought it was a person – the pile is too squat and wide to match anyone onboard. But when you close your eyes, the shadow in your memory resolves into a tall, slim figure. Incredible what the mind can conjure up.

But even with the misunderstanding rectified, you still feel like you’re being watched. You dropped the tooth as well at some point, so that’ll be fun to find later, likely lodged in the sole of your foot. Blood is pooling in your mouth, the hairs on your body rising. You glance around nervously.

“Why am I blind?” BON-BON demands from behind you, and you leap about a foot in the air.

The holoscreen tablet you use to talk to the AI sits elevated in its stand on your desk. Since BON-BON can activate any camera and has expressed very strong opinions on nudity, you placed a sticker on the lens to protect his fragile digital eyes.

“Hello? How are you doing this?” he says. His big blue face stares out of the screen, eyes darting comically.

“Hold on,” you call, pulling out an oversized t-shirt you just put away. You are not wearing pants.

BON-BON’s eyes squint in your general direction. “Why are you awake?” he demands.

“Why are you talking to me?” You peel the sticker from the lens, rattling the screen on its stand.

“Is that tape?” BON-BON is aghast. “There’s glue all over the lens!”

You’re regretting unblinding him. “What do you want?” you say tiredly.

He stays silent for a few seconds more, sending you a frankly intimidating gimlet gaze. And then you remember how difficult he can make your life through sheer presence alone, and suddenly it’s a little more effective. “... They’re setting up equipment under the water,” he says finally. “And they’re being real sneaky about it.”

No need to ask who ‘they’ are. So long as their equipment doesn’t damage your work or the environment it can stay, but you’ll have to examine it later to be sure. Base will be expecting a heads-up, no matter their zip policy. You sit in your desk chair, stifling a yawn. “What, because it’s night time? Okay.”

“And Vanessa and Roxy have both been poking about all the rooms. They scanned the utility chamber just now.”

“Great,” you mutter. If another stupid researcher drowns just because they’re curious about the tunnels, you might demand compensatory pay.

“And,” BON-BON pauses for effect, raising a brow. “Freddy and Chica were talking about erratic behaviour. In certain members of the team.”

“Hm.” Then your brain catches up with BON-BON’s words and you glare at him. “Hey, that’s personal private information. I don’t want to hear this. What are you, some kind of serial eavesdropper?”

“Yes,” he agrees happily. “C’mon, let’s go see what they’re doing. It’ll be fun.”

“Ohh, no. No way.” You hover your finger at the lens so that all BON-BON can see is a massive fingertip obnoxiously poking at him. “You can go and mess about all you want, but I’m staying right here.”

The AI bats irritably at the air until you lower your hand. “Come onnnnnn,” he whines, his nasal voice making it that much more irritating. “I’m bored. I’ve watched every movie we have three times over.”

“Sounds like a you-problem,” you say lightly. “I’m not about to make the team mad at me by sneaking around.”

“What, like how you did last night?” BON-BON leans against the frame of the screen, narrowing his eyes knowingly. “You and your little robot pet.”

His smile grows when your cheeks heat, and you look away. “... That’s different,” you mutter. “I didn’t mean to.”

BON-BON scoffs. “It really isn’t.”

“I’m not spying on my coworkers,” you snap, and BON-BON laughs. “I’m not! Go away.”

“Okay, okay,” he says, exaggeratedly wiping away an imaginary tear. “Calm down.”

Asshole. “Don’t tell me to calm down.” You stand and go looking for your lost tooth, before you slap at the screen or do something equally as self-destructive.

“I’m joking. Come on, lighten up. You have to admit all this secret stuff is weird.”

“They seem perfectly fine to me,” you declare, trying to search the carpet without accidentally flashing anything. “Top secret research, or whatever.”

“Yeah, right. What are you doing down there? Did you lose an earring?”

You don’t wear earrings. Running your hand across the carpet only results in dust and hair sticking to your moisturised hand. Urgh.

“You never told me what you think they’re doing here,” BON-BON says. Somehow he’s got half his face mashed against the screen, like he’s trapped in a glass box instead of a limitless digital interface. “Spill. I won’t judge you.”

He doesn’t have room to judge after all his crackpot theories, but you’re sure he’ll find a way. “They’re searching for evidence of a previous settlement stop-off, or they have a theory on mineral dating or bacterium they want to prove, and they’re scanning for it. Or both,” you say, bending to look at the narrow space under the bed. It’s mighty dusty, you can see the motes swirling in the air.

BON-BON grimaces, a threatening sight on an avatar with such a big mouth. “That’s... boring. Why would they keep that a secret?”

“Either because the stop-off search is government funded with a privacy policy, or they lost the settlement. Or maybe they have competition studying the same thing and there’s money riding on it.” You emerge with a piece of glass that you flick into the bin. How does a tooth disappear into mid-air?

Predictably, BON-BON focuses on the most unpleasant of your explanations. “How do you lose a settlement?”

You rise without the tooth, but covered in dust. “Typically through expiration.”

“What.”

“They crashed and everyone drowned,” you explain. “Or maybe they duked it out with their supplies and managed a mini colony in the wreckage. Some of the old-school ships were built for young settlements to begin within and expand outward. But there’s no room for outward expansion down here so they’re probably all dead.”

BON-BON stares at you, bug-eyed. “... Oh,” he says, strangled.

“It’s not all bad,” you offer, compelled to reverse what you just inflicted. “Maybe they managed to pop out a few generations before everything went dark.” That’s similar to what happened to your distant ancestors, except that they bonded with the natives before the ship could die and leave them bereft.

BON-BON doesn’t respond or smile, just looks at you.

You give up. “Anyway,” you say, and head for the bed. “Lights off.”

“Hey!” BON-BON says, affronted as the lights extinguish. “I wasn’t finished – stop doing that!”

You drop the t-shirt on the floor and wiggle under your blanket. The seam of the repaired rip slides against your calf, and the remembrance of how it got there makes a cocktail of anxiety and distaste bubble in your gut. “Goodnight, BON-BON.”

For a few seconds the AI’s big blue face looks at you, then he sighs and the feed deactivates without another word. You snuggle under your blanket, then kick it off as sweat begins to prickle in your armpits. It’s still too hot, too uncomfortable, and your anxieties are all still there. Plus you have a tooth to find tomorrow.

When you finally slip into a fretful sleep, you dream of a dark figure standing over you.

A few days on, the new team have settled down in their roles. You’re still unsure of their secret objective here – the lab goes unused, the gym getting more attention than the state-of-the-art research equipment. The wall beneath the facility platform is getting crowded, bristling with all manner of alien equipment in addition to the two separate sub docks you already have. Base accepts your quiet summation of the equipment installed without protest, so you can assume it carries no danger to the wildlife. The Glamrocks are dive certified and boast all the correct papers (colloquially-speaking – most things are digital nowadays), and it’s not uncommon for you to cross paths with them in either sub as you go about your external duties. You always exchange waves, some more excitable than others.

You like them, you decide, even though they’re secretive and have their squabbles, and sometimes fall silent when you enter the room. Proprietary info being what it is, you don’t take it personally. Even Vanessa has mellowed out some with their arrival, which can only mark them several thousand points in your book. You still do what you can to avoid being left in a room together.

They speak not of mermaids, missing nets, or supermassive currents. Instead, you catch wind of ‘pings’ and ‘ghost transmissions’, mostly through BON-BON who unashamedly spies on them every chance he can get. He relays their conversations to you even when you beg him not to, although history should have told you his sadistic streak could only be encouraged by genuine pleading. You just don’t want to be caught knowing something you shouldn’t – being labelled a snooper would be really embarrassing.

You have your own work to do anyway, general maintenance and repairs. Eclipse has yet to make a reappearance, the big net remaining firmly in place since you reattached it the first time. Perhaps your muffled breakdown really did scare him off for good.

Still, there’s one mermaid you wish you could see. Moon hasn’t returned since trying to spirit you away in the bioluminescent cave, and you can’t help the anxiety that occasionally rears its head. It’s well past the time you said would be safe for him to return. You wish you could find him to apologise once more, and check that Sun is okay. The urge to put on your boots and retrace your swim-steps to the massive cavern and the tropical paradise beyond grows stronger with each passing day. More than anything you hope neither of them have been eaten by the monster lurking deep below. If that’s the territory Moon has to cross before reaching the facility, it’s a wonder he didn’t give up on visiting you sooner.

In the end you feel like you ruined a good thing, and it’s all your own fault.

It’s not helpful that the intermittent insomnia has continued. You keep snatching naps on the main room sofas. Sleep comes easier when you have spent the day in the water outside. BON-BON takes notice of your dark circles and begins providing you with sleep medication that doesn’t do much to help. You can only chalk your restless nights up to the stress of guilt.

At least the Glamrock team seems to be settling in comfortably. Perhaps too comfortably – you find random socks and belongings strewn everywhere, the gym in disarray, the fridge groaning with meals someone got halfway through and forgot about. It’s pleasantly domestic, and the bots are ecstatic to have stuff to tidy.

Coming down the hallway, your feet pick up vibrations in the floor before your ears register the sound. Monty is bumping some unholy amalgamation of drumming, guitar, and shouty-vocals that manages to sound good even at this sheer volume. It thumps your heart inside your chest as you draw closer, and when you poke your head around the door you realise it’s because he’s adding to it with an incredible arrow-shaped black and yellow guitar. As your eyes grow wide he catches sight of you, points with one claw-tipped finger, and shreds a kaleidoscope of electric sound in time to the music. Ears buzzing, your laugh of delight is barely audible.

Monty grins and makes a motion, turning down the music on a holoscreen model far superior to yours. It continues caterwauling at a muted volume. “You like rock, squirt?”

Why is he talking like a caveman? You didn’t know Monty was a geologist. But then your brain catches up on the context, and obviously he’s talking about the music. “I’ve never heard this before!” you say, the novelty making you sound a great deal more thrilled than you intended.

His brow quirks. “No kidding? You’re missing out.”

You are. “What kind of guitar is that?” you say, daring to advance a little into his room. Monty has done the space up in green and black, some kind of strip-lighting sending down a grassy neon so vivid he keeps the main light off.

Monty not only answers your questions, but lets you touch the guitar and try out a few strings, although he does draw the line at letting you wear it like he is. He chats about his favourite bands and songs, and you listen to a few different tracks together while he tells you why all the others in the album are dogshit. You can say this for Vanessa: she really lowered the bar for the rest of her team. This friendly interaction is so far from your expectations that it leaves you ecstatic.

Chica pops her head in and immediately becomes excited. “You’re playing?” she squeals, bouncing up and down in a very un-team-leader-like way. “I’ll get my guitar!!”

“We set her off,” Monty says, but he sounds more grudgingly fond than anything.

You’re distracted, staring at the wall the doorway is set into. A blurry paint has been sprayed, drips and splatters indicating it was applied messily with great force and speed. It’s a vaguely familiar script, spiky and wild, and then you place it – it’s the same language that was written on their boxes of equipment that you probably shouldn’t know about.

When you turn back, Monty is watching you with a cautious light in his gaze. It extinguishes when you ask, “What does that say?”

“My name,” he says relaxing back in his seat on the bed.

“Is that your native language?”

“Naw,” he says, glancing at it. “But the team all speak it. General speech is fine, but it’s... clunky. I don’t know.”

You have heard that complaint before. “I’m learning a language,” you volunteer, watching as he picks out a few chords. He uses his claws and palms, and not a chip. “Some old Earth 1 English thingy. Not an offshoot.”

The thrumming pauses. “Which one?”

“I dunno,” you say vaguely, turning at the sound of rapid footsteps. “I forget. Like, an old one.”

Chica skids through the doorway, holding a crazy star-shaped guitar that beats Monty’s in every conceivable way. You want to scream like an overwhelmed child. “I’m here!” she says unnecessarily. “I’m here, I’m here! Are we still playing? C’mon, let’s play, turn that music up!”

The music rises, and the two Glamrocks play. When Freddy wanders by, you’re pleasantly surprised to find that he can sing.

Things are definitely looking up.

Roxy moans and groans that she missed the group jam session while calibrating the vesticular vibration outputs (???) in the big sub’s scanners, so she gets to pick a movie for everyone to watch. The correlation doesn’t make sense to you, but the Glamrocks seem to have a great many group traditions and activities you don’t understand, so that’s no biggie.

Your social reserves have been used up for the day, unused to impromptu group hangouts, and you beg off joining with a yawn stretching your jaw. A series of protests rises like a tide, and it’s only when Monty calls you a killjoy and nudges you towards a sofa that you give in.

The movie is sci fi fantasy, something that you’ve seen before. Wedged between the arm of the sofa and Freddy’s broad shoulder, you surreptitiously people-watch as the plot commences. Roxy and Monty are bickering in low voices, nudging each other so the seat framing shakes beneath you, while Freddy sits upright with posture so proper it’s almost robotic. He’s uncomfortably firm too, his plush orangey fur doing nothing to soften the curve of his arm. It’s like he’s not even organic. Chica has settled on a smaller sofa, stretched over the space, though she budges up the moment Vanessa enters the room. The woman wavers uncertainly until Chica extends an arm, and then she joins her as invited. Despite her rigid shoulders, they relax together perfectly. Vanessa’s gold head begins to turn, and you look back at the screen before she can catch you staring.

Then you fall asleep.

The group is chatting when you blink back into consciousness, the big finale of the movie turned down as explosions light the screen. They must not have found it particularly engaging, and you wince as you stretch out sore legs – you’re unused to making space for others. Light plays over your cheek as Freddy turns his head to look at you.

“S’nonsense,” Monty declares, gesturing at the screen. “No way some mini launcher would do that much damage. Now, if they used a combined vessel-”

“It’s not supposed to be exactly like real life,” Chica says, her voice more hushed. Vanessa is asleep at her side, head pillowed against Chica’s chest. Relaxation is an odd look on her.

You yawn, jaw cracking, and swallow saliva that makes the loose layer of teeth in your mouth shift. The reminder has you snapping your mouth shut, conscious of Roxy leaning to look past Freddy’s bulk.

“Enjoy the movie?” she says, voice dry.

The conversation has moved on. “- wouldn’t be one-to-one either,” Chica says, voice shrill in exasperation. Vanessa shifts and blinks, emerging from sleep. “It’s not like there’s anyone on the planet to test it on.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Monty says, “no one? We got a whole world here, there’s bound to be someone else bobbing about.”

Ahh. The last team spoke about other people being on-planet too. You pipe up, “Not legally, anyway.”

They look at you. “Oh, you’re awake,” Chica says.

“What’s that?” Monty says, tilting down his sunglasses to look at you.

“Uh, you know,” you say vaguely, your voice blurry from sleep. “Base has a contractual monopoly on the planet, so the only way people would be here is if they’re illegal. Or natives, I guess,” you add, remembering to put the mermaids under the umbrella of ‘people.’ “We got pings, one time. And sometimes old signals, floating about. There might be people somewhere.” You pause to stifle another yawn, shifting and failing to get out of your seat. Somehow, Freddy’s knee has blocked the way. Your feet kick a little in the air, uselessly.

“Please, go on,” Freddy says.

You had actually finished speaking. “Uhh, the old team knew more about it than me,” you say. “They called them ghost pings, but some might be legit. Could be explorers, or illegal mining. Or researchers that didn’t want to tie in to a contract. It’s illegal terraforming we need to watch out for-”

“What was the nature of the signals?” Freddy interrupts, and while he still sounds as pleasant as ever, something in his manner gives you pause. He’s leaning forward, boxing you into your seat with his torso, and there’s an unfamiliar intensity in his gaze. His hand rests on the sofa arm, elbow across your midriff like a seatbelt.

Weird. When you try to look at Roxy beyond him, she glances away.

You miss a beat. “Just… just pings? We never picked up anything from them, they would dissipate as they were caught. That’s why the team thought it was just old stuff. Like, signals sent with no receiver until we interrupted.”

“I would like to see this data,” Freddy says, somehow looming more. Apprehension begins to tighten your chest.

“Sure,” you say hastily. “Feel free. I mean, it’s all with the old team and you’ve got their contact details. Go for it.”

Freddy appears to consider this. “Thank you,” he says, leaning back, and all of a sudden it’s easier to breathe.  “I will do that.”

With the way clear you take the opportunity to stand, pretending to brush the wrinkles out of your shirt for something to do. You would be tempted to chalk the tension of that interaction down to your own claustrophobia or social alienation, unused to it as you are, only the entire room appears to have averted their eyes. Roxy has turned her entire head away.

You clear your throat, a tight squeaky noise. “I’ve had my fill of movies, but this was fun. I’m gonna go… go. Hit the hay.”

“Goodnight,” Freddy says pleasantly. He looks the same as always, upright, placid, eyes just a smidgeon too bright. “Sleep well.”

“Yeah,” you say, and swiftly leave. Sweat sticks your shirt to your back, tendrils of baby hairs clinging to your temples.

What was that about?

It seems your days are full of little anxieties, as you find it more and more difficult to sleep. Avoiding Vanessa has become second nature, something you think the rest of the team has begun to pick up on. Freddy is a little more difficult to pin down – no one has brought up the strange episode the other day, and you’re tempted to forget about it entirely. It was probably just research fervour. You have never liked been blocked from leaving a place, that’s all. Besides, he treats you just as pleasantly as always, so there’s no need for all your little hairs to raise at the sight of him. He’s a nice person, you’re certain.

With still no Moon appearance, plus the worry over Sun, you head to the lab for a distraction. The Glamrock’s work may be proprietary, but perhaps there’s something cool they’re allowed to show you. Just seeing their equipment would be nice. You have all settled into your separate roles, but you have yet to catch anyone transporting samples or organisms for study.

But your curiosity is in vain, as the lab is still devoid of use when you stop by. Pristine, cold, with nothing new in sight.

Huh? Your face drops in disappointment. Aren’t they studying anything? Well, if they’re not going to use the space, you might as well help yourself.

An hour later you’re crossed-legged on a table in the lab dissecting a spare breather when Roxy pokes her head through the door. She blinks at your odd perch, amusement flashing briefly across her face. “You have an order in the pod.”

You blink at her tiredly, fighting the urge to slink off the table. Why did she come to find you when she could have just sent a message? “I do?”

“Uh huh.” But her attention is caught by the pieces lying spread out across the table’s surface. She approaches slowly, eyes flicking over the parts.

“It’s mine,” you say quickly, remembering the whole false report incident. “The breather, I mean. I ordered a new one, and I’m trying to upgrade it.”

Instead of making the usual noises of polite disinterest, Roxy moves closer and leans against the table. “Upgrade it how?”

“I want to be able to speak and breathe in the water at the same time.” It’s difficult. Speaking compromises the suction that sticks the mask to your face, and the mouth bit that provides extra security would have to be removed entirely. There’s also the problem of the helmet, as mask disconnection dissolves the forcefield. You’re too tired to work on it anyway, so you sweep the pieces into a box, yawning.

Roxy watches with her head on one side, considering. “I can help.”

“Hm?” You rub sleep out of your eyes. “Wait, really?”

She flicks a lock of hair over her shoulder. “Sure. What’s with that reaction?”

“Oh, nothing,” you say quickly. In actuality, she seems too aloof to make such an offer. “That would be really cool, actually. I’m kind of stuck.”

“Really?” she says with a little scoff, and then reaches forward and grabs you around the waist. You’re struck dumb by the random manhandling, and Roxy lifts you from the table onto your feet without any resistance. Feeling the easy strength through her hands and standing face-to-chest, you suddenly realise just how different this new team is to you.

Roxy steps back and raises a brow. “What? A thank you would be nice.”

“T-thanks,” you stammer, clamping down on a louder reaction, “but, uh, I meant I was stuck on altering the breather. Not the table...”

“Oh. Well, how was I supposed know?” she says, ears lowering in defensive embarrassment.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” you say quickly, not wanting to make another team member mad at you. “No, yeah, help on the breather would be great. Your speciality is mechanics, isn’t it? Thank you, Roxy.”

“When I have time,” she amends, hackles lowering when it becomes apparent you’re not about to pursue her misunderstanding. “I’m very busy.”

With what? Driving the sub a few hours every other day? “Of course,” you agree, refraining from staring around at the completely unused laboratory.

Roxy falls into step alongside you leaving the room, glancing back curiously. You can’t imagine why – as a member of a research team she’s probably seen her fill of sterile lab spaces. You’re about to ask why the lab isn't yet in use when she beats you to the punch.

“So, what’s the deal between you and Vanessa?” she says, very casually.

You shoot her a sidelong glance. She has a real habit of tackling the hard topics with no finesse, you’re beginning to realise. “There’s no deal. Why do you ask?”

Roxy shrugs. “She’s been walking around like a thundercloud since we arrived.”

That’s not her usual demeanour? You hum.

“It’s been hard, hasn’t it?” she presses, her voice lowering in sympathy. “I remember when she first joined our team – she wanted everything to go her way.”

Roxy’s words hit the nail on the head so accurately that you grimace and nod before you can stop yourself. You clear your throat loudly to cover it, hastening to say, “Well, I feel like this has been a calmer residency. You guys work well together. There’s hardly any rush or drama like a lot of the teams we get.”

You’re hamming up the praise – it doesn’t look like the Glamrocks have done much work to have disagreements over, but it distracts Roxy enough that she smiles and puffs up. “We’ve had the practice,” she says, falsely modest. “We all go way back. Well, aside from Vanessa. She joined us a few missions ago.”

“Have you done many aquatic residencies?” you say, keen to move from the topic of Vanessa. “I see you have the gear.”

“Mm, not so many,” Roxy hedges. “I guess… it sounds like you already know we’re looking for something.”

For a moment, you’re caught on what to say, but you suppose you weren’t very subtle blurting it out in the first meeting. “I kind of got that gist, yeah.”

Roxy shrugs. “I don’t really see the point in being all secretive about it, but there you go. It’s the team leader’s orders. Usually we’re in deep space or tracking from port to port. It’s not often we have to come down to the surface. Or below it, I guess.”

“Cool,” you say, feeling a thrill. Deep space! Almost as interesting as the deep sea.

But Roxy rolls her eyes and scoffs. “Uh, no. It’s like, ninety percent travel, and you barely get to see anything different. Space is space no matter where you go.”

That makes some kind of sense, only you’ve heard people say that about cave diving before, and it never fails to enchant you. Maybe Roxy could do with engaging her sense of whimsy? You can’t imagine her almost weeping over an eel like you did.

“I know your work is top secret and all…” you begin cautiously.

Roxy’s side-eye has a great deal of amusement in it. “But?”

“But, do you maybe have any little stories?” you venture. “Like, when you were travelling, or having a rest stop? I get that you can’t tell me anything work-related.”

Roxy straightens up importantly, smiling wide before she catches herself and forces her usual aloof demeanour again. “Hm, I don’t know…” she says invitingly.

Ah. You hide your own smile. “Please?” you say. “I won’t tell anyone. I bet you get to see a bunch of stuff in charge of transport.”

Roxy’s tail wags so hard it slaps the back of your knees. “Well… okay,” she says, pantomiming reluctance. “Hm. Well, we had a weird encounter on our last mission – cracked open an old ship and got a faceful of spores.”

You almost crick your neck turning to look at her, and by the satisfaction on Roxy’s face that’s the exact reaction she was going for. “Ew.”

“Right?” she says, a laugh in her voice. “It was all mould and fungi wall-to-wall, covering the ceiling and crew. We were wearing full PPE, obviously. That’s a given when excavating old ships.”

“Obviously,” you echo, before your brain catches up. “Wait, crew?”

“Yeah, it was an escape pod. Y’know.” Roxy gives a wistful sigh. “Anyway, the structure was totally honeycombed and all the systems died a long time ago. It was a biohazard. The entire thing had to be incinerated, and I never got any salvage. A real shame.”

“Oh, that sucks,” says the part of your brain not currently occupied with gaping at her like a moron. Maybe BON-BON was onto something with his piracy theories? “Still, there’s always next time.”

“Right?” Roxy agrees easily. “Whatever we find here.”

You want desperately to ask if there was a quarantine, but obviously there must have been. They’re professionals. You’re wary of pressing too hard in case Roxy realises she told you too much and does an about-turn in mood. Not that she’s displayed a history of that so far.

Oh my stars. Has Vanessa traumatised me?

“Uh, by the way… don’t tell Chica I told you that,” Roxy adds, a flash of discomfort crossing her face. “About the crew. She was, like, really cut up about it.”

“Sure. I won’t tell anyone.”

Roxy does a weird motion then, pinching her fingers like she’s holding a needle and drawing it across her face. You stare at her in bafflement while she meets your eyes meaningfully. Hesitantly, you do it too.

Roxy immediately relaxes, smiling. “Great. Chica’s strong, y’know, but she’s got a soft heart. She was really sad. Vanessa was helping her before… well…” She gestures expansively to the facility at large.

What. Vanessa again? Roxy is as dogged as a homing albatross. “Mm. That was nice of her,” you say evasively. You’d rather spit than complement that woman, the words dripping sour from your mouth.

Roxy appears equally uncomfortable, a slight look of distaste when she agrees, “Uh, yeah. They’re really close.”

“Mhm.”

“She was okay at first, but she wasn’t doing too well with all the travelling,” Roxy continues, apparently blind to your steadily-rising discomfort. “We thought it might be good to send her ahead. Let her have a break from all that.”

And give you a break from her, you think shrewdly. Somehow, you don’t think Vanessa’s wellbeing is Roxy’s priority.

“That was nice of you,” you lie. Sure, you like the facility but only because you’re weird and obsessed with swimming. Everyone else who has ever come here has always seemed a little less happy due to isolation and lack of sunlight.

Roxy turns and leans her weight on one hip. You stop walking a step too late, glancing back at her. “I don’t think it worked. Has she… seemed okay to you?” she says.

You flounder for a moment. “I-I didn’t know her before. I can’t speak to any changes in her mood.”

“Do you think she’s seemed happier?”

“I really couldn’t say.”

“Did she mess up your room the night we arrived?”

You miss a beat. “… What are you talking about?”

Roxy’s mouth smiles, but her eyes don’t. “I saw your room,” she says, super lightly. “We all did. Broken glass, ripped clothing...”

“Oh, I had a bit of an accident,” you say, deciding right then and there that you shouldn’t snitch on Roxy’s own teammate, no matter her personal feelings on the matter. After all, there’s no guarantee she won’t do the same to you. “It’s nice that you’re looking out for your friend. Why don’t you talk to Vanessa? I’m sure she’d be pleased you’re worried about her.”

“I’m not worried, and she’s not my friend,” Roxy says, abruptly withdrawing. “She’s Chica’s.”

They’re quite a bit more than friends by your observations, unless you wildly misread things. “Okay.”

“Do you really expect me to believe that was an accident? It looked like a bomb went off in there.”

How did she get such a good look with just a second’s glimpse? “I…” You lick your lips nervously, glancing down the corridor for non-existent help. “Look. I really don’t want to talk about this. Everything is fine, it’s all handled. Okay?”

Roxy’s eyes flick to your upper arm for a split-second, then back to your face. She visibly wavers, indecision clear in the furrow of her brow. “… Okay,” she accepts. “Fine. Just- you know that if anything happens, if anyone starts acting out – it’s best to speak up. That kind of thing only gets worse when it's left a secret.”

Unexpectedly, you feel a little touched. Is Roxy concerned for you, a near-stranger? “Sure,” you say, not really meaning it. If Vanessa’s behaviour gets worse, you’re not sure how running to her partner will help you. “I understand. Thank you, Roxy.”

Abruptly she gets bashful, turning away to continue down the corridor. “Don’t mention it. Really. C’mon, let’s get your package. You don’t want Chica to pick it up – she’s opened all of ours at some point. She forgets to read the label.”

“Did I hear my name?” Chica comes down the opposite corridor just as the pod comes into view, eyes brightening when she sees you both. “Hiya, hon! Did you know a package arrived for you?”

You feel guilty seeing her so soon after talking about her partner. “Yep, yeah,” you say, quickly sidestepping Roxy and opening the pod doors. Contrary to your expectations, neither a robot nor delivery person meets your eyes – the pod is empty but for two small packages set on one of the seats.

You step inside slowly, looking around like an employee will just materialise from a blind spot. Usually they ride the pod down, requiring a signature of receipt. You’re aware of a muttered exchange between Chica and Roxy from behind, as you pick up the parcels and look at the labels. Excitement suffuses you – one of them is your Globe, finally, in a deceptively small box! And on the label is a scribbled signature in large, loopy script.

You squint. D… J… you can’t read the two words beside. Nobody here has a name beginning with D, right? Or perhaps it’s written surname-first. Either way, you’re not going to snitch on the delivery worker for failing to ride the pod down. They hate doing it anyway, the long trip interfering with their schedule. They probably signed on your behalf. The other package is signed the same, a negligible order you placed recently that pales in comparison to your latest gadget.

“What’s that?” Chica is angling to read the sticker.

“Just some replacement parts,” you say lightly. They won’t swallow that Base would buy you such expensive equipment as a Globe. “Look, the delivery guy signed. They’re supposed to come down, FYI.”

You look up to see a curious spasm pass over Chica’s face, Roxy sucking in a hissed breath beside her. A second later the reactions have passed, Chica straightening abruptly. “That’s bad,” she says, jerky and stiff. Her eyes flick from the label to your face, then back again. “I’ll- tell them! That they did that.”

“What? No,” you say, baffled. That wasn’t the reaction you expected from Chica. “Why would you do that?”

“Well. Uh.” Her eyes flicker again.

“There’s no need for that,” Roxy says, to your abject relief. In contrast to Chica, her eyes seem to be focused anywhere but at the packages, gazing up, around, down the corridor.

“Yeah. It’s fine,” you say, holding the packages closer. What is with these two?

“Sure!” Chica says shrilly. She finally pulls her eyes away and coughs awkwardly into a closed fist.

“Are you taking those to the lab?” Roxy says, stepping forward.

Interesting though she is, you have had quite enough Roxy-time for today. Perhaps for the week. You paste on a smile and say, “Oh, no. I’m going to go and sort this out in my room – I need to check my list, so I’m done with the lab for today.”

The door to the pod slides shut behind you automatically, and Chica leaps about a foot into the air. You suck in your lips and try not to grin as she brushes herself down, fiddling with those green triangular earrings she wears so often. “You do lab work?” she says, in a clear attempt to distract.

“Ah… not really,” you hedge. “I use the space for repair work and mechanics sometimes. Personal projects. I can clear out, if you want.”

Chica spreads open her hands. “No, no, you’re okay! Our space is your space.”

“Thank you,” you say, relieved. “Um, and the same goes to you. That is, if you can’t use the space because of me, feel free to let me know. This place is for your research, after all.”

The feathers on Chica’s face rise slightly in embarrassment. “Ya, of course! It’s just, the team is still settling in, and there’s a lot of planning to do before we can begin our research, and, um, we need to set up all our equipment…” She pauses for a breath, and remains silent as she runs out of reasons to list.

“That makes sense,” you say lightly. “I thought the lab looked pretty empty. Best of luck, then!”

You nod and smile, and trot down the corridor at a respectable clip. Then you turn the corner and up the pace until you’re jogging, a wide smile breaking across your face. Screw weird coworkers and their weirder reactions to innocuous comments, your Globe is finally here!

You’re still buzzing from excitement a few hours later, fixing yourself dinner. Gnawing on a tough piece of meat to satisfy your aching gums, you slice up a hank of slippery fish. The Globe was everything you hoped for and your mood has massively improved – there’s nothing like a little (big) (expensive) treat to raise your spirits.

Still, you want another. Glancing back at the door, you lift the fish skull to your lips and suck out the eyes, which is the best part. Sweet and salty, with the consistency of a thin-skin grape. You’ve been dying to indulge in this since Moon did the same, reminding you of old bad habits. Your guardian would smack you upside the head if they could see you now. Chewing merrily, you lick oil off your fingers and scrape the fish plus salad into a bowl, stepping aside as a staffbot snatches up the dirty board for washing. “Thanks,” you say, turning toward the doorway, and stop dead.

Monty stands there, arms crossed and a small grin on his face. It drops when you almost fumble the bowl, eyes wide like a rabbit in the headlights. He definitely saw what you just did.

“Please don’t tell Vanessa!” you blurt. Seeing his brows raise, you collect yourself and stand up straight. “I mean... sorry, I know that was gross. I’d prefer if you didn’t tell anyone about that. Please. Please?”

Monty tilts his head to the side assessingly. “... Alright,” he says, all signs of levity gone.

“Thank you.” Sagging in relief, you’re about to scoot past him when he arrests you with the tip of claw hooked against the lip of your bowl.

“Hey. Don’t get it twisted. Ness might be scary to a little squirt like you, but she’s not someone you need to hide stuff from. She won’t care about weird habits, food, whatever.” He spears a length of fish and flicks it into his long maw.

“Yeah,” you say blandly and go to leave.

“Yeah? Yeah? Why’d you say it like that?”

“It’s... not...” You squirm, especially when he tilts down his sunglasses to squint at you. Why does he wear them indoors?

“Did she say something?”

You kind of bob your head to the side, grimacing. Maybe as an augmented anthropomorphic humanoid Monty will understand – he must have received disparaging comments before, right? But there’s a difference between being a human with alien traits and habits, and just straight up being a different species.

Monty sighs, pushing his glasses back up. “Look, kid. If Ness has made any weird comments... she was probably feeling out the waters for the rest of the team.”

It didn’t seem that way to me. Surely if Vanessa was doing that, her comments wouldn’t focus so heavily on human-alien hybrids? “Okay.”

“No, not ‘okay.’ That’s what she does,” he insists, and helps himself to your meal again. “What is this?”

“It’s a native kind of mackerel,” you mutter, powerless to stop him.

“Hm. It’s her M.O. Get talking, say something suspect, see if she can set ‘em off gabbing. ‘Course, then we have to come in and iron out the misunderstanding if she misses the mark,” he adds.

“Mm.”

Monty pats you on the shoulder, sensing your withdrawal. “Don’t take it to heart, yeah?”

You paste on a plastic smile and eel out from under his hand. Leaving him behind as swiftly as socially appropriate, you take stock of your surroundings. You had intended to eat in the dining room, but now you’ve kind of lost your taste for food in general. At least Monty helped you out by decimating half your meal.

Someone calls your name, and your shoulders hike up to your ears. Thankfully it’s only Freddy, clomping up to you with footsteps that shake the ground. “I hope everything is alright?” is the first thing he says on seeing your face. “You look... tired.”

“Rough night,” you say honestly, relaxing a little. Freddy has a very earnest attitude that’s difficult to take issue with. “Is everything okay?”

He brightens, his ears quirking. “Everything is great,” he says. “I only wanted to ask you – a few of us intend to take the miniature submarine out to some of the smaller routes, to acquaint ourselves with our surroundings. We intend to collect samples for examination. Would you like to join us?”

Wow, an awkward ride in a cramped space, where no one shares any information with me while I sit silently at the back? Hmm, I’ll have to think really hard about that one.

“No, thank you,” you say, lifting your bowl. “I just made a meal. Maybe another time.”

“I see.” The ears droop. “Well, we also plan to later use a drone to venture into the smaller spaces of the territory! We will be projecting the journey in the meeting room. Would you like to join us for that?”

“No, sorry,” you say, nipping that one in the bud.

Freddy begins to look a little anxious. “We also have plans to dive-”

He’s friendly and all but this is getting tiresome. “You know, you don’t have to include me in everything,” you say, as nicely as you can manage. “I’ll do my stuff, and you do yours, and we can both help each other out in the meantime. But you can treat the facility like your house and do whatever. You don’t have to tell me anything.”

Freddy sighs and fiddles with his earring, a bold choice for someone with such a gentle persona. “Forgive me if I am being too forward,” he says. “I feel that this facility is also your home. I worry that my team’s presence is an intrusion. I would like to include you in our activities, to form a bond... after all, you are a part of the team as well. Even if we cannot tell you everything.”

You’re unexpectedly touched, although... “That’s very kind of you, but I’m not actually a part of your team. My role is to work separately, and I’m contracted by Base. That’s not to say that I don’t want to be kept in the loop!” you add. “And, y’know. I’m happy to help.”

Freddy’s brow creases. “I understand,” he says quietly.

“Freddy!”

You flinch as Vanessa comes stomping up, ponytail swinging. Freddy touches your arm gently, and something about the way he turns puts him between the two of you like a reassuring barrier. “Vanessa.”

“Everyone is waiting,” she says, then flicks a look your way. “Are you coming as well?”

“Nope.” You lift your bowl again in demonstration.

Her nose wrinkles. “Fish again? Is that all you ever eat? You’re going to start smelling.”

Freddy makes a low sound, says something reproachful, but it’s barely audible through the rush of blood in your ears. A sudden fury rises up like vomit, something repulsive and alien to you, and abruptly you want nothing more than to lift this bowl and smash it right over her golden head.

You break away and walk down the corridor as fast as you can without another word, practically running the moment you’re out of sight. You duck inside your room and lock the door for good measure, sliding the bowl onto your desk so you won’t have any projectiles at hand. You’re panting, sweating, you lost most of the salad in the way over, but right now you’re more focused on quelling this sudden rage than you are on anything else. Gulping air, you shake your hands to work out some frantic energy, a ringing in your ears. What was that? That reaction, over a random disparaging comment? Vanessa has said things before that flayed the top layer off your brain, and a comment about fish got that reaction?

You’re just tired. And stressed. You’re tired because you’re stressed. Maybe you need to try the sleep medication again, or meditation, or exercise until you’re forced to sleep. You didn’t go swimming today.

Or, a little voice in your head whispers, you could try to solve one of sources of your stress?

Heart finally beginning to calm, you stare out at the black expanse beyond your window. There’s an idea.

Chapter Text

Another fitful night passes, but at least you have a plan. It’s early enough that not even Monty will be awake yet, and a nervous energy runs through you like a current. This is such a bad idea, but you just need to remind yourself that things will feel better once something is resolved.

“Hey.” BON-BON lights up the feed on the exit chamber while you’re pulling your boots on.

“Hm?” you respond, checking your gear. Full-body, breather, hair pinned up, water, bag full of fish...

“I’ve been talking to you in the earpiece for the last five minutes.” He sounds annoyed, which annoys you.

“Then you’ve been talking to my desk. I left it in my room.”

“What? Hurry up and get it.”

“No. I’m swimming alone today.”

“Oh, ha ha. Stop joking around and go.”

“No,” you snap, and take a deep breath. “Listen, I’m a bit stressed right now. I want to swim alone.”

“Nuh uh, we had a deal. Come on. Earpiece in.”

You breathe through another swell of unfamiliar anger. You have got to get yourself sorted out – BON-BON isn’t even needling you in his usual unbearable manner. You hit the wall panel to open the door. “See you later, BON-BON.”

“Wait... what?” BON-BON sounds baffled, and, oddly enough, hurt. “You’re serious? Hey! You said you wouldn’t leave me behind!”

You step through the first doorway, but the other refuses to open. You mash the button before common sense catches up and you turn to the feed. “Are you doing this?”

“Tell me why you’re leaving me behind,” BON-BON demands. “Did I do something? Why are you angry?”

“I’m not angry,” you protest angrily. “I’m just- look, all this stuff with Vanessa and the new team is starting to get to me. I want to swim alone. Is that too much to ask?”

“Yes,” BON-BON says without hesitation. “This isn’t just to alleviate my boredom, this is for your safety. Go and get the earpiece.”

“What, and have you chatter my ear off the entire swim?” you snap. “That’s not exactly what I would call relaxing.”

“I won’t talk. Cross my heart.”

Yeah, I’ve heard that one before. “No. Open the door, BON-BON.”

“What do you want?” he says.

You almost stomp. “I want you to open the door.”

“No. You want something, right? Something else,” he adds dryly. “Your Globe arrived and now you want another gadget, so what is it? Tell me what you want.”

This time you give in to the urge and press your hands against your face, grinding the palms in until you see spots. “You... stupid machine,” you groan. “I’m not trying to blackmail you, I just want to leave the building.”

“Stop that,” BON-BON says, his voice tight, and you realise that your fingers are also curling into your hair, pulling it down so your scalp sparks. “You’re not acting normal. You haven’t been sleeping and I don’t want you going out by yourself. If you won’t bring me, then ask one of the team.”

“Open the door.”

“I’m calling Chica,” BON-BON says warningly. “You want me to call Chica, expose myself because you’re being stubborn? Because I will. I’m doing it now.”

Why is he so stubborn? Anger swells in your chest like carbonation, ready to burst. The air in your lungs trembles and tastes sour. The fact that BON-BON would rather call your bluff than accept that you need some time away from everyone’s overbearing company is dizzyingly infuriating. Worse is the way he’s dangling his own safety in front of your nose like a threat. Like it’s nothing.

“BON-BON,” you begin lowly. “If you don’t open the door right this second I AM GOING TO TEAR A FUCKING HOLE IN IT!”

The force of your shout rings through the small chamber, and distantly you hear a muffled exclamation. Without another word from BON-BON the door opens, and you stomp out onto the platform, collect the seaskim, and plunge into the ocean before it can even close again.

The cool water is a balm to your temper, the adrenaline simmering down until you can admit you maybe overreacted. Possibly. Just a little. With the seaskim pulling you swiftly through the dark waters and the breather forcing you to pace your breaths, you regain the clarity and conscience to re-examine your actions. Random and wild mood swings, a lack of sleep, and meeting concern with hostility – you’re practically acting like Vanessa. You promise yourself that once you get back, you’ll apologise for yelling at BON-BON. He may be annoyingly dogged, but he was also kind of right. Except for the part where he forcibly kept you in the building, that was approaching fucked-up territory.

But now your focus needs to be turned elsewhere.

While your sense of direction is pretty good, it’s certainly not perfect, so you brought markers, tethers, and temporary lights to map your path. That bright environment is quite a distance away. You’re mostly going by memory, both from what you remember from being buffeted by the violent current, and the hazy and panicked journey back. You’re a few hours in even with the seaskim easing your path, having to double back and remap your route every time things start to go off-track. Having long since fallen into work mode, marking and mapping and swimming on autopilot, you almost fail to notice the hairs on your arms raising.

Something has its eyes on you.

You turn slowly, fingertips on your semi-useless taser. The tunnel you’re in is wide, massive even, but by your estimation nowhere near big enough to accommodate the colossal mermaid. The light of your helmet is dim, barely haloing you and illuminating the rock wall at your side. You can’t see anything of note.

Then something moves beneath, and you realise what looks like the ground dropping away is actually the action of something large swimming down the tunnel. Something you are close enough to touch. The water barely budges you so subtle is the motion, a fluttering of petal fins blends with the dark, your light glances off something that could be an eye, and then you’re left alone again in a tunnel that suddenly looks fairly deeper.

You swallow around your breather, eyes wide. You’re just about certain that was Eclipse. With him in the area, you should leave.

But Eclipse is a mermaid...

Following his path, stupid though it is, actually does lead you back to the hellcavern. He’s long since gone by the time you emerge, the greenish light alerting you of your success long before you reach the gap. The massive drop yawns far below with no sign of life, colossal or otherwise. It seems that with no current ferrying creatures into this space, it remains abandoned.

The swim across the drop is somehow more horrendous than before even with the seaskim whipping you along in record time. With no disorientation to muddle your thoughts, and the full knowledge of what’s down there, you just want to curl up in a corner. You mark your place and wiggle into a tunnel with a squeal stuck in your throat, collapsing the seaskim and hooking it to your laden belt. Now is the time for friendliness and calm, not alien tools and frantic movements. Hopefully.

It’s just as warm and bright as you remember, painful tears stinging your eyes as you drift through the kelp forest. Either the vegetation stretches across the perimeter of the wall, or you got lucky and emerged in about the same place as last time. Doing what you should have the very first time you came here, you bring up your scanner and test for radiation.

Hmm. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that’s going to make you go bald or hulk out. Little beyond that of a strong Earth 1 sun, in fact – the first one, not the replacement they installed later.

Swimming through the rock formations is its own wondrous journey once again, but you steer clear of creatures friendly or not. Even when you see another squash eel, this one delightfully orange, you refuse to engage. You still remember the muffled crunch of Sun splitting the skull of that last eel, even the mere memory causing your throat to tighten. You can’t fault mermaids for hunting the food available to them, but it’s better for you if you don’t also form attachments to that same food. It might also have been better not to form attachments to mermaids either – now look where you are. Hunting down a potentially injured and certainly dangerous creature all to alleviate your own guilt.

The grass, when you reach it, is just as brilliant and obscuring as before. Yellow, orange, pink, a hint of green. Unlike back in the tunnel you’re on full alert, ready to whip around the moment something lays eyes on you, but you remain aggravatingly un-spied upon. It’s the perfect camouflage for Sun, his colours exactly crafted to suit the environment, and you just can’t find him. But then again, what are the chances he’ll be hanging out in the exact same place you first met?

If he is injured, would he be out in the open?

Your chest aches, your mouth dry. Returning to the rocks, you swim among the formations in turquoise water that darkens the further down you go. Bathed in a lilac shadow, the creatures around you growing progressively spikier the closer you get to coral tunnels, you swim through an archway of rock and finally find the tell-tale shimmer of an air bubble. Surfacing, your heart leaps at your good fortune – not only is the air bubble sizeable, but there’s also a ridge for you to rest on. Not comfortably, perhaps, but you can sit instead of swimming.

Sipping from a bottle, you weigh your options. You currently have no way of contacting either Sun or Moon, but you have been swimming for hours without achieving much more than a map of the route to this place. Which is good and all, but that wasn’t your main objective. The last BON-BON saw of you was erratic behaviour and deranged yelling, and you didn’t tell the team that you would be going out. Previously, you never felt the need to inform the other teams of your whereabouts, but this one is new enough to the building that disappearing could worry them. They might call Base, and while Base may just shrug, it would also be embarrassing. And unprofessional.

You should go back and try another day. Returning also cuts down the likelihood of meeting Moon, who despite your anxiety from his absence you’re kind of skeevy over encountering right now. His comments about sneaking still ring in your ears, even though you did nothing of the sort.

Your lip wobbles, and you cap the bottle with a sigh. He hurt your feelings, it feels safe to admit that now. You had thought with all the gifts and food and declarations of friendship that you had both gotten over the predator and prey behaviour that coloured so many of your early interactions. Apparently not, if Moon could regress back to it after realising you hurt Sun. The memory of his grip around your arms, that look of intense dislike as he dragged you down against your will for a little chat still makes your throat clench. He frightened you.

Before your thoughts can spiral further, you slip back into the water and leave the bubble. You still don’t know for sure what the team is looking to do on this planet other than ‘searching’, but maybe they’ll like a few scans? You’re unwilling to spirit some poor creature from this environment on the off-chance that the team will actually want to study it. Actually, you definitely shouldn’t. Post-study relocation will take some effort this far from its home, and you’re not supposed to have returned here.

Instead you dive through the rocks and explore the coral reef, marvelling at the assortment of creatures dwelling in its pocked terrain. There’s a great deal of flora and vegetation, sea slugs and sponges and undulating ribbons that might be an unfamiliar type of crinoid. Diving through gaps and a myriad of intersecting holes, it’s like a 3D maze that remains bright no matter how deep you go. The rocks are heavier with shells and molluscs, and you amuse yourself with poking and examining everything you clap your eyes on before you make the best discovery yet.

Hardly able to believe it, you swim closer to a jagged curve of rock, eyes sparkling. Here you can see a multitude of particular flat ridged shells that feel achingly familiar under your fingertips. Levering one from the surface, you see you are correct – oysters, or something like it, shucked by nature so that they cling to the rock face single-shelled. Just like on your home planet – you have such fond memories of diving for oysters and swallowing them down. You would dunk the things in salt and lemon. When you were feeling particularly nasty, you enjoyed eating them freshly harvested underwater.

Your mouth waters. Oysters, a treat you miss more than your own guardian after leaving your home planet behind. Not even restaurant oysters can compare to a fresh oyster you harvested yourself. It’s such a bad idea- you shouldn’t-

As though in a trance, you remove your breather and perform the practiced scoop with the slit of a nail, levering the oyster from the shell so you can suck it in even as water floods your vision. Replacing the breather, you indulge in one little chew before swallowing. Salty, fresh like the sea, colder than the water around it. There’s a knack to eating them without inhaling half a gallon of seawater alongside. The bright waters and sleep deprivation render the experience dreamlike. It’s so good.

You eat another, and another. Drifting, you hook a leg under the curve of a rock so that you’re anchored in place like a seahorse, bobbing in the soft current. Softened nails begin to bend and splinter after the few times you claw a shell free, but you refrain from unsheathing a knife – you still don’t know when a mermaid might happen upon you. Never mind looking friendly, you still vividly remember getting tased. There’s juice on your chin under the breather, and you remove it again to shake your face in water. One more oyster can’t hurt. Or another. The dumb part of your brain thinks about bringing BON-BON here to share before remembering that not only doesn’t he eat, but he’s probably mad at you right now. Your joy dims, and you quickly pry up another oyster.

But you should probably slow down. Isn’t there some stereotype of humans happening upon a planet and immediately gorging the environment barren? Reluctantly, you decide that this oyster should be your last. For now. Maybe second to last? No, you need to stop.

It’s when you’re lifting the last shell up to your mouth that you finally feel it – the shiver of a gaze set upon you.

Immediately you lower the oyster, eyes darting about. While the rock is cool toned, the surrounding environment is still a chaotic enough mishmash of colours that you can’t make anything out. The water stirs by where your hand clutches the breather, and you lift it quickly to look behind you. Nothing.

In your inattention you have ventured into a deep grid of rock and coral. This isn’t a space for swift swimming – you need to manoeuvre carefully to avoid scrapes and bumps, and spilling blood. It’s hardly claustrophobic, but revving your boots will have you crashing face-first into crunchy mineral in short order. The water ebbs and flows around you in the same mild current as the rest of the environment.

Carefully, you unhook your legs and begin to float up in a gentle motion. The oyster, slit from the shell, dislodges and drifts down slowly under its own limp weight. You’re turning your head to check behind you, lifting your breather to your mouth, so you only see the flash of yellow in the corner of your vision.

You freeze, turning your eyes first before slowly following with your head. The oyster is gone.

Your lungs are burning now, so you lift your breather and take several breaths, finger on the button to block the helmet from forming. Switching back and forth is scrambling your vision, and you have something in mind that requires the breather to remain removed. The rock around you is nothing but tunnels and holes rife with movement and life, so it’s hard to spot the one creature you’re looking for. Sinking down does nothing but scatter small fish that confuse things further. You peer beneath your feet. There are plenty of openings and tunnels down there as well. It’s like you’re in a little cage.

Dropping the empty oyster shell, you pry up another, once again slitting and popping it free. You tip it over so the oyster falls, and turn your back so you can watch its descent from between your boots.

One second, two, then a handful. Just as the oyster crosses the boundary from filtered light to lilac shadow, a yellow hand darts from a small hole and snatches it away in an instant.

You let loose a flurry of thrilled bubbles, and have to suck air through your breather again. It is him!

Turning head over heels, you dive down to peer into the hole, disappointed when all you see are drifting weeds. Sun, unless there is another yellow mermaid about, has moved on. You snap a nail pulling up the next oyster, and gnaw the sharp edge down as you toss it out into the water. It drifts down, down, before getting caught on a jutting ledge and landing. Hmm.

You try again, this time turning your back so you can feign ignorance. This oyster drifts out of sight completely, falling endlessly until the angle of the rock below obscures its descent. Frowning, you turn in a circle, scanning the walls. You can’t see anything.

Maybe Sun left. Perhaps he thinks this is a trap – you certainly did when Moon began offering you freshly killed fish. You still do, actually. There’s no way he wasn’t luring you back then.

At least Sun is well enough to swim through these tight bends and eat oysters. If he were dying, would he be able to do that? Don’t most animals hide and lick their wounds? Then again, he’s not exactly on par with an injured lion if he can speak, despite the mane of orangey fins. You know you would be hiding in your room if someone stuck their fingers in your windpipe.

Another breath from the mask. You swim down, disappointment a dull ache, and reach for the abandoned oyster still on the ledge. You never did get that last bite. Settling cross-legged on the rock, you bring the oyster to your mouth and freeze. Directly opposite you, camouflaged in shadow that turns his yellow blueish, is Sun peeking out from a gap in the rock.

He stills when you lock eyes, long fingers clutching at the rough sides of his tunnel. It’s a shallow lip almost like a window, the rest of his body spiralling out behind him in an open space similar to yours. His colour camouflage is really good, blending in so perfectly you would have never seen him otherwise.

In the shadow, his blank white eyes have gained a bright pupil. They trail over you, moving in minute increments while his head remains still.

You can’t see his gills from this angle. The oyster is squished between your fingers, but you offer it anyway, extending just your hand while the rest of you remains still. The tactic didn’t really work with Moon, so you’re not surprised when Sun doesn’t react to it other than with a quick glance. The wide grin that overtook his face last time is gone, an alien look of watchfulness replacing it instead. He reminds you of Moon when you ask him probing questions, though he never looks quite so anxious.

Well... waste not, want not. You pop the scorned oyster in your mouth. Sun’s eyes widen into disks and overwhelm his features, comical in their intensity. His eyes follow the chew, the swallow, the brief bulge in your throat, and he shifts as though to advance. He licks his teeth with a flash of orange, and you’re weighing the pros and cons of turning your back to fetch him his own to eat when he extends a trembling hand, uncurling his fingers to present two shucked oysters.

A frustrated bubble floats free from one nostril. Why is it that every time you try to gain trust with food, these mermaids insist on switching the roles? You have spent enough time with Moon now that you don’t think you’re misunderstanding. Sun is offering you a flat palm of food because he wants you to eat it.

You take another quick inhale through the breather, pressing the button once more to halt the helmet from forming. Sun’s stare intensifies on the breather, worry wobbling his mouth, and he tenses when you reach out and delicately pluck an oyster from his palm. It’s hard – every muscle in your arm is screaming, nerves sparking in expectation of injury – but your hand returns to you unscathed and with an oyster to boot. You eat that one too.

Sun’s mouth parts in wonder. The fins around his face quirk, the corners of his mouth lifting, but he holds himself in check, adjusting the last oyster so it’s held out in his fingertips. You’re about ready to stop eating oysters now, but you accept the last one, brushing Sun’s fingertips with your own. He withdraws his hand slowly as you chow down, accidentally biting a squirt of juice into the water. With the hand not holding your breather you waft it away.

“You came back,” Sun murmurs, instantly stilling in regret when you look at him. “Don’t run, don’t run,” he whispers, like he’s saying it to himself.

Setting aside the fact that the mermaid is using ‘run’ as a colloquial term for fleeing, he’s actually just reminded you why you’re not currently wearing your very essential breather. Bowing your head toward him, you blow a large air ring like a far cooler version of the bubbles Moon uses as greeting. Sun gives a surprised little chirp, leaning out of his window to follow the path of the bubble as it rises, which puts him face-to-face with you. Slowly and exaggeratedly, you mouth the word hello.

Sun’s eyes widen like saucers, his mouth opens, and you kick back and up, replacing the breather and allowing the helmet to finally form.

“Nonono, wait-!” Sun begins, panicked, silencing when you beckon him to follow. As you reach the ceiling and manoeuvre through the hole you came through, you think he must be reluctant, scared to advance, but then he pushes out and up with a coil of his bright tail.

Sun keeps a steady pace as you retrace your swim to the air bubble. Occasional glances back catch him worrying his hands together, almost hiding behind rolling ridges of coral and rock, and you often think you have lost him before he re-emerges a respectable distance away. Regret pangs your chest. Is he frightened that you’ll hurt him again? Maybe the bubble will be too small a space for him to feel comfortable...

But you need to speak and you want to rest, so into the bubble you swim, surfacing with a sigh of relief. Off comes the breather, clipped to your belt, and you haul yourself onto the ridge so you can sit with your legs in water, head bowed against the scrape of the low rock roof. For about a minute you're alone, waiting for the movement you can see beyond your dangling boots to come closer. It looks like Sun is dithering down there, swimming back and forth. Did he not see you surface? Ultimately you decide against splashing to grab his attention – you don’t want to set off some sort of instinctual frenzy.

Your patience is rewarded when the water ripples, Sun hesitating right before he breaks the surface tension. He rises like Moon does, eyes open all the way. With an enclosed dome, the space feels dim and intimate, the only light coming from the vibrant water below. It sends dazzling shards of turquoise across the walls, making Sun’s scales take on a subtle sparkle.

A thrill of fear and excitement buzzes up your spine like electricity, but you play it cool. “Hi,” you say. “I thought I lost you there for a second.”

Sun sinks again with a little glup! of water closing over his head. A series of bubbles rise. It’s hard to tell, but you think he’s making noise.

Well then. You shift in your seat, smoothing back the wet baby hairs clinging to your temples. The small space is warm, your armpits prickling with sweat in your full-body suit. When Sun resurfaces, slowly peeking out of the water, you stay still and silent. Perhaps you scared him, chatting right off the bat. You’ll let him speak, even if all you want to do is ramble and apologise and ask him five billion questions about himself.

But he doesn’t. His eyes are wide, hands fidgeting beneath the water. You can see the drift of his tail keeping him aloft, yellow fading to orange to coral-red. No wonder he got the drop on you in that grass before.

You take the opportunity to examine his gills, as much of them as you can see beneath the wide curve of his face. They look about the same as you remember from your oxygen-starved recollection, a vibrant pink-red, except – there. A near-imperceptible difference. The gills on the right are slightly discoloured compared to the left, the distinct lettuce-edge sporting a faded bluish hue. Bruising, perhaps, coupled with a faint spiderweb of broken veins. Now you have spotted it, you struggle to keep from seizing his head and tilting it back for a better look. Does it extend to the throat? Is this why he won’t – can’t talk right now? But no, he spoke earlier. Remorse ties a knot in your chest.

Sun is wilting under your silent examination. He opens his mouth to speak, closes it again. The fidgeting intensifies.

Your patience runs dry. “Are you alright?” you say, voice mindfully low.

An intake of breath. Sun’s throat works, his gills fluttering. The movement looks fine to you, just as swift and delicately-ridged as before, but it’s not like you’re an expert. “You can speak,” he whispers, practically trembling. The fins around his face are lifting, stiffening. “You came back and you can speak.”

You eye his fins with mounting caution. When Moon does that it never means anything good. “Yes.”

He makes a sudden movement under the water, like he was about to lunge but thought better of it. Whatever the reason, you have to work hard not to jerk or pull your legs away. His hand reaches out and clutches the rock wall like he’s mooring himself in place, claws digging little grooves into the brittle surface.

“I can speak,” you say, when he doesn’t. “This language isn’t my own, though.”

The trembling intensifies. This mermaid looks like he’s about to explode. “C-can I speak?” He’s whispering, and so plaintively too.

“Sure,” you say, a little confused. Is he scared or what? “Go right ahead.”

“... You won’t run?”

Ah. For a moment you think about adding conditions, like no grabbing or touching, but ultimately decide it’ll just confuse things. He seems to be doing pretty well on that front already. “I won’t run.”

Sun dares to come closer, hands clasped as he gazes up at you. “Do you promise?”

Your eyes narrow as his hand rises from the water, end finger extended. The webbing stretches taut. You have no idea what this motion means, and you find yourself leaning away from the appendage like it’s the barrel of a gun. Sun’s face falls, his hand lowering, but he pauses when you grit out, “I promise.”

Sun lets loose a deafening squeal that bounces off the ceiling and shreds your eardrums. You flinch, splashing water, but he’s already doing plenty of splashing himself as he darts forward and pulls himself up onto the ledge next to you in a seamless, practiced movement. Like a buttercup, his yellow colouring paints the wall and ceiling. Heat all down your arm and leg, he leans close as though he’s not shouting right into your ear:

“– would come back, I just knew it! And you can speak, oh, oh, oh my gosh – how can you speak? Where is your home? Is it nearby? Why have I never seen your pod? Are there others like you?”

You’re leaning back as he’s leaning forward, he grasps your hand when you hold it up defensively, and- this is just a repeat of last time. Crap.

“Stop,” you say firmly, cutting through the shouting. “Stop, no. Stop.”

Sun falters his way into silence, his mouth hanging open. “... Stop?”

“You’re too close,” you say, a little tremulously. “And it’s too loud, and – please let go of my hand.”

“Oh!” Sun lets go and rears back, but unfortunately doesn’t return to the water. He winds his fingers together in front of his chest, the fins that frame his face drooping. “Sorry, sorry! I’m sorry,” he says, voice hushed like a stage whisper. “New friend, please don’t be angry.”

Your heart begins to calm at his obedient reaction. “That’s okay,” you say cautiously, daring to sit upright again. “I’ll answer your questions, but there’s no need for... that.”

Sun tilts his head to one side, makes a clicking noise in his throat. It doesn’t look like he understands your issue.

“Um, I live far away,” you begin, wracking your brains to remember what he even asked you. “I had to make a map to get here. I didn’t travel in a pod, I swam. And there’s plenty of people like me, but they’re not here. Like, not on this planet. But there are other people here, who are not like me.” Cringing, you await his reaction. That wasn’t exactly the clearest explanation of your life.

But Sun doesn’t seem to mind, positively beaming. “There... are others?” he says, flapping his hands. “There are others?!”

“Sure,” you say, a reluctant smile lifting your mouth. “There are plenty of them. I think Moon- uh, the other mermaid got to see them recently.”

Sun abruptly falls still. “... Moon?”

“The blue mermaid,” you say hastily, embarrassed at your own slip up. “You know, he’s got this long thing on his head, it lights up, and-”

“You met?” Sun says. His fins have tensed, laying almost flat against his head.

What’s with that reaction? Hesitating, you wonder if you should be honest. Didn’t Moon say they were acquainted, far enough to call Sun his? Did Moon even fill him in? They must have talked.

“... Yes?” you say.

Sun holds your gaze for a few unblinking seconds. His blank eyes are highly unsettling, particularly with the sharp white pupils. It feels like you’re staring into a spotlight.

Then he smiles, his fins rising again. “Well! Never mind.”

You inhale a quick breath, feeling as though a pressure has suddenly lifted. Suddenly you feel very unsure, and you decide that you might as well rip the band-aid off, metaphorically speaking. “I actually returned for a reason,” you say. “The last time I came here-”

“Yes!” Sun nods so hard his fins flap. “I remember, friend, and-” He hesitates, eyes darting to your belt and back again. His expression takes a turn towards guilty.

“Oh.” You look down and see your breather. “Yeah, I can’t speak or breathe underwater. To breathe down there, I need my mask. Don’t worry about it though, it’s not like you could have known. That’s related to why I came back, actually.”

Sun’s fins lie flat again. “It- it is?”

You nod, your throat tightening. Now you’re actually getting to the meat of the matter, you can feel your pulse begin to race. “Well- that is- when you removed my breather, before,” you say unsteadily, “I did something I shouldn’t. I was drowning, and I was scared. And I... panicked. And I grabbed your gills.” Shamefaced, you direct your gaze to the water rather than look at the slowly-deepening furrow in his brow. “I came back to check if you're okay. And, I’m sorry for hurting you.”

Sun is silent for a few seconds. One claw taps the rock. Then he says, “I understand. It’s alright, friend.”

Yeah, I don’t believe that for an instant. His response is way too nonchalant.

“Are you okay?” you say, darting a glance at his throat. Now that you’re up close, you can definitely see that the discoloration extends towards the throat, a darkening beneath the frills. Your heart sinks. “I just thought- like, there’s no reason for you to trust me, but back home we have a medical bay- uh, it’s kind of a place for healing...”

Your words falter when you finally meet his gaze again. Sun is resting his cheek on one shoulder, smiling with his eyes narrowed. An odd expression. “I understand,” he says again.

“... Do you?” you say. This isn’t the reaction of someone receiving an apology of wrongs done.

“Mmhm.” He leans in, and white eyes fill your vision. “I remove your... beak?”

“Breather.”

“Your breather, yes. I remove your breather, get too excited, play too rough, and drown you. And you apologise.”

What? “No. I mean, yes, but… I hurt you,” you say, befuddled. “And I won’t lie and say I didn’t know what I was doing, because I did. But I should have thought better of it. I’m sorry, Sun.”

His smile widens. “I get a name, too?”

Immediately your cheeks heat, closing your eyes against the onslaught of embarrassment. You’re just making mistake after mistake here. This entire apology is a trash fire. “... Forgive me,” you say, opening your eyes to see the mermaid looking positively delighted. “That was presumptuous. What is your name, please?”

“Sun. Like the light in the sky?” he says.

“No, I meant- well, yes, but I was asking after your real name. If you feel comfortable telling me. Please.”

He hums, chirps in the back of his throat. “No no, Sun is fitting,” he says. “Sssssun. What an unusual sound. Sun will do.”

You purse your lips, but acquiesce. There’s no reason for him to trust you with his name, and if he prefers a nickname that’s much easier for you to say, who are you to deny him that right?

In your distraction he has edged closer, leaning forward into your space. You twitch when long fingers curl around your wrist, branding you with heat as he lifts it up.

“As for my gills,” Sun says, bringing your hand close to them, “why, they are perfectly fine! Handy, dandy. Do you see? The delicate part is beneath – the gills are hardy and strong.”

You flinch, curling your fingers under to keep the cut of your nails well away from where he breathes. “Okay,” you say tightly. “But. They look, uhm. Bruised.”

“Only a little!” Your knuckles bump against a soft, fluttering edge. “You may touch. They are fine, can you feel?”

“Mm.” Your body is half twisted away, fist clenched in his grip.

Sun huffs a quiet breath and releases your arm, watching with no small interest when you pull it close to your chest. “So, no need for apologies, friend.”

“... I’m glad you’re well,” you say, rubbing your wrist absently. “I was worried. I thought-”

Sun boops you on the nose, so swiftly you don’t have time to react. “How sweet. Worried, over my gills?”

Covering your nose with a hand, you flounder for a response. And you thought Moon was touchy-feely. “Well, Moon told me I hurt you. And he was a-angry.” You lower your eyes again, unable to help the waver in your voice. “I’m sorry that I didn’t think of it myself. He didn’t come back after, so I thought I should check.”

Sun’s claws scrape rock. “How interesting,” he says brightly, leaning in again. “He told you I was injured, did he? Say, how do you know of my Moon?”

You lower your hand slowly. “He didn’t tell you how we met?”

Sun laughs, a jolly sound that almost has you smiling along on instinct. “Oh, he did, yes yes. But I would like to hear your story.”

“Okay,” you say, cautiously warming to the idea. Sun isn’t injured in any significant way, isn’t angry, and in fact seems eager to speak with you. And you had been worried about his apparent loneliness – this is your opportunity to make a new friend! A mermaid one at that. “So, there was this net holding up an unstable rock structure, right? And then one of the people I work with accidentally knocked it loose...”

Sometimes when you get carried away talking, you forget to watch for people’s reactions. It’s an irritating habit, especially when you finally tune back in and realise you lost your audience long ago. Sun is not such an audience. He treats what you say like a child at group story time, gasping and exclaiming, and even clapping. His gestures are bombastic and exaggerated – everything about this mermaid is a lot. Coincidentally, these movements have him edging closer and closer until he’s practically in your lap, something you choose to ignore in favour of not ruining the flow.

Sun falls a little more silent at certain points – discovering Moon in the cave and his manhandling, though you’re very careful to frame it as Moon gently looking at you, non-harmfully holding you in place. He was just curious. You know better than to talk disparagingly about someone’s significant other, best friend, whatever they are. And when you recount returning to the facility after, you describe Moon accompanying you, rather than the breakneck chase it actually was.

Still, you can’t help your elevated heart rate. Rubbing your chest absently, you add, “I think he got the good end of the deal, kind of. I mean, nothing can make up for being trapped the way he was, but he got food, he got a knife, and I’m pretty sure he took my chain clippers too.” Your tone takes a dip towards dry there.

“He did,” Sun says. He’s drawn his tail up a little so he can brace his elbow, resting his face in the palm of one large hand. “I saw them. Shiny, sharp things. He keeps them under his old nest.”

“Well, I hope he enjoys them,” you say. You know better than to ask for them back.

But Sun appears to have the opposite thought. “Naughty, naughty,” he murmurs, casting a blank white gaze across your little bubble. “Rulebreaker, thief, and a liar too. Hmm.”

Oop. You make a face and look away. Dropping other people into trouble appears to be a recent habit of yours. “Um, not so much stealing,” you hedge. “More like he... picked up litter? I did leave the knife with him, and the clippers on the floor.”

Sun is smiling with narrowed eyes again, a wry expression that makes you want to shrivel up a little. “Is that so? Aren’t you a generous one?”

Laughing weakly, you tug at the neck of your suit. Sun’s eyes flick toward the movement. “Nnnot really? Things just kind of happened like that. Um, but then after he just kept showing up and we realised we could understand each other, and the rest is history. Yeah. It hasn’t actually been so long since we met, but – you probably already know that.”

Sun starts. “What? Oh! Yes yes yes, indeedy! My, you are a good storyteller! I knew it would be so much more interesting coming from you. And is Moon how you came to be here? He led you to our home?”

“No, that was my accident,” you say, eager to assure Sun that his friend (?) didn’t just bring some stranger to where they live. “He didn’t do anything. The rumblings, uh, a big current carried me here. And I couldn’t find a way back, so I followed the light.”

“Rumblings?”

“Yeah, when the rocks and the water shakes? Like rrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”

Sun sucks in a gasp, so loud you jump and scrape your head on rock. For a moment you’re about to panic – does he think you’re growling at him? But then he covers his face with both hands and laughs.

“So you’re the one who taught Moon to do that,” he says, shaking his head. You can see a jagged grin beneath his wrists.

“Oh, yeah,” you say. “You kind of have to tense your tongue behind your teeth. Like, see? Rrrrrrrrrr.”

Sun drops his hands, watches your mouth. “Rrrrrrrrrrrrr,” he says, perfectly.

This time you laugh. “Good job!” you say, and he perks up at the praise like a blooming flower. “It took Moon longer to do that. And- I feel like you speak this language so much more fluently as well.”

“Oh, you.” Sun cups his cheek like a flattered middle-aged woman. “Yes, he doesn’t practice quite as often as I do.”

A little amused, you say, “I know that if you don’t practice a language, you lose it.” Hence your dwindling skills until speaking with Moon. Your hand touches something on your belt, and you jump at the squish. “Oh! Oh no.”

Sun straightens as well as he can in this cramped space. “What is it?”

You unclip the bag and lay it on your lap sheepishly. “Um, I brought food but I don’t think it’ll still be appetising. Too warm. I kind of forgot about it. It’s the same stuff I gave Moon when he was trapped – this was the only thing he would eat.”

Sun’s face brightens, and he reaches for the bag. “For me?”

“I think it’s gone off,” you say quickly, not wanting to choke the small space with the scent of hot raw fish, but Sun takes the bag anyway.

He opens it briefly, not at all struggling with the roll seal, and then throws his head back with a peal of deafening laughter. It bounces off the water, amplifying as he shakes with mirth.

You wince. He’s so loud, but at least he doesn’t leave the bag open.

“This,” he waves the bag at you, giggling helplessly. “You fed Moon this while he was trapped?”

“... And some other fish,” you say slowly, feeling your cheeks warm. You’re definitely being laughed at.

“Oh, oh, oh!” He clutches his stomach and rocks, laughing like a bag of smelly fish is the funniest thing he’s ever encountered. “If only,” he gasps, “if only I was there!”

“What?” you say, getting agitated. You flinch when Sun’s hand fills your vision, but he’s only patting your head, fingers lingering curiously on the texture of your hair.

“The fish,” he says, pulling his hand back and reaching into the bag, “raw, like this? Cooking is much better.”

Suddenly, you feel like the alien you are. “Cooking.”

He lifts a strip of fatty meat from the bag, sending another waft of ripe stench into the air. “Mmhm. When you heat the food, prepare with seasonings and spices. For taste, texture, safety. We rarely eat food raw.”

Not only is the mermaid explaining cooking to you, he’s also bringing home something you should have realised yourself. Moon, flinging away the fish you offered, only chowing down on one type under duress. Merrily eating apples and ice cream, but rarely hunting where you can see. He ate that shark once, plus a crab... but those moments were few and far between. After all, it’s not like you eat every creature you come across, excluding the oysters.

Sun pats your head again, this time sneaking in a curious brush of his claws over your pinned-up braids. “Don’t pout,” he says, voice brimming with amusement. “You didn’t know.”

You remain very still until his hand retreats again. “No, I should have realised,” you admit. “He doesn’t really say these things to me. He just kind of... obfuscates and lets me have my misunderstandings.” You meet Sun’s eyes and suddenly realise you’re heading into uncomfortable territory with someone you’ve only just met. “Uh, not that he doesn’t have his good points,” you add hastily.

Sun dumps the fish back into the bag and rolls it tight. “He is secretive,” he agrees easily.

“Nngh.” This is veering out of how we met storytelling and you don’t want to gossip about one mermaid to another. You hold your hand out for the bag but Sun just stows it onto the stretch of ledge behind him. Okay then.

“And you!” Sun regains your attention. “What an exciting story! How thrilling! Miles better than our first meeting! Why, I feel almost embarrassed.”

Embarrassed is one word for it. “Yes. I’m sor-”

A hand presses against your mouth, stifling the apology. “Enough of that,” Sun says.

You freeze with wide eyes, acutely aware of his claws on your cheek, above your neck. With the rock behind your skull you can’t move back, and a rush of adrenalised blood turns your vision static.

Sun’s face remains calm and friendly as he speaks, something about grabbing and frightening. It’s an apology, and you nod quickly to end the ordeal. A thoughtless action, and you feel the slit of claws dipping past the top layer of skin before you can think better of it. Ow.

He smiles, a maw of teeth. “Oh, I am so glad you came back. Wouldn’t it be awful if that was our only meeting?” He tuts, shaking his head. “My, your scales are very soft. Just what kind of a creature are you?”

“A human,” you say hoarsely, as his hand leaves your mouth. “And I don’t have scales.”

Sun’s smile freezes at the slip of blood down your cheek. He looks down at his claws like he’s never seen them before, jerking upright. “Ah-”

“It’s fine,” you say quickly, pressing a hand to your cheek. “It’s fine, it’s okay. Moon has done the same thing before. Don’t sweat it.”

Sun curls his claws in, pressed against his chest. “Oh dear,” he says faintly, a tremble of panic in his voice. All that casual friendliness disappears in an instant, leaving a mermaid much closer to the one you met before. “N-new friend, I didn’t mean to! Please please please don’t run-”

“I’m not running,” you say, raising both your palms. “I’m still here, see? There’s no need to panic. Hey, don’t do that.”

Sun is clutching the fins around his head like he wants to tear them off, but the motion stills when you reach out. You rest your fingertips lightly on his wrists, careful not to touch the fins there. “You’re soft,” he mutters. “I didn’t realise...”

“Or you’re hard,” you counter, then pull a face. “Actually, let’s go with yours. Ugh.”

Sun looks confused, but lowers his hands from his head. His eyes keep flicking back to your cut cheek. “You need something for that,” he says hesitantly. “A poultice. I have-”

“No, that’s fine,” you say, withdrawing now he’s not trying to rip his fins off. You don’t want to smear alien goo over an open wound. “I’ll disinfect it when I get back.”

“But, but it’s bleeding. I can help! Do you remember, before?”

“Remember-?” You cut off as Sun leans forward and opens his mouth, orange tongue flashing between white teeth. “No!” you yelp, jerking back and knocking your head against rock. “I remember! Please, don’t lick me.”

Sun stills, frowning with his tongue blepping out. “It will help.”

“It’s clotting already,” you say, hand held protectively over one cheek. “Besides, I need to start heading back. The team will be worried.” Or something.

Sun wilts like a flower. “You have to go? But- you said you wouldn’t run. You promised.”

Biting your lip, you feel a pang from your conscience – and just when you cleared up your guilt, too! “I never said I was staying forever. I can come back to visit, but I just can’t stay here. I need more air, water.”

Sun looks around. “There’s plenty of water,” he says, baffled.

Despite yourself, you hold back a giggle. “No, drinkable water. Fresh. It’s different from this kind. I’m sorry, Sun, but I really have to go.”

“But...” He’s twisting his fingers into knots, entire body drooping.

“Don’t be sad,” you say. “You can tell the others about me before I come back. Maybe I could meet everyone else, get together like a party.”

Your tone is jokey, but Sun raises his head with a blank look. “Everyone else?”

“Yeah, the other mermaids,” you clarify. “I mean, there’s Moon, and I saw that other guy, the big orange one. I, um, call him Eclipse in my head,” you admit awkwardly. “And-” A vision of the colossal mermaid swims across your eyes, accompanied by a shudder. Nope. “That’s it.”

“There are no other mermaids.”

“What?”

“There are no other mermaids,” Sun repeats. “There were, before. But it’s just us now.”

“Just... you?” you repeat, confused. He must mean Moon and Eclipse. “But what about- I mean, you must have parents, or friends?”

Sun just looks at you, hands clasped together in his lap. “No.”

Your mouth opens, but then you shut it again, abruptly aware of just how insensitive you’re being. “I’m very sorry to hear that,” you say. It’s on the tip of your tongue to ask what happened to them if there were mermaids before, but you’re not that rude. Not right now at least.

Still, this does put his reaction upon first meeting you into a different perspective.

Ugh. I’ve just complicated things for myself again. It’s one thing to leave behind a lonely mermaid that’s pursuing you, actively begging you to stay. But it’s quite another to abandon someone to near-complete isolation, when they have no way to rectify their situation themself.

“Well... you can come and visit,” you say. “Moon knows the way. Has he showed you where I live yet?”

Sun shakes his head, not entirely to your surprise. You can’t help but think that someone this excitable and enthusiastic would have made a solo appearance already if he knew how to.

“Okay. How about this?” you say slowly, only just warming up to the idea. You’re feeling sweaty and impulsive. “I will show you where I live. Where my facility is. And then I’ll bring you back. And that way, if something happens so that I can’t come and visit you, you can come to see me. Does that sound okay?”

Sun tilts his head. “You... will show me where you live?” he says, softly incredulous.

“Sure,” you say. “I mean, Moon knows all about it, so why not you?”

“Yes, why not?” he murmurs, absently tugging on a fin. “But, this is where you live? Your nest, your pod?”

“I swam here. I don’t have a pod,” you remind him. “But yeah, I sleep there and all that. It’s not a secret or anything.”

Sun sucks in a little gasp, his gills rippling. “That- okay,” he says breathlessly. “Yes, yes please. I would love to know where you live.”

Your mouth twitches. His enthusiasm, while exaggerated, is pretty endearing. “Cool,” you say lightly, unclipping your breather. “But first I need to say a few things, if we’re going to be swimming together. Ground rules, y’know.”

Sun nods so hard his fins flap, making a distinctly flabby sound. “Of course, of course!” he chirps. “I am paying attention! I am all ears!”

Come to think of it, where are his ears?

You shake the thought off. “Okay, so. Diving. Please don’t grab me, hold me in place, or attempt to lead me without prior warning. Do not under any circumstances attempt to remove my breather, this mask here. I won’t be able to speak using my breather, so please refrain from asking questions that require more than a yes or no answer. If I need to speak, I will signal this to show that I am going to find an air pocket. Also, please don’t leave my side for the duration of the trip. If you get lost I may not be able to find you again.”

Sun’s eyes are widening the more you speak. “... Yep,” he says faintly, nodding like a bobble head. “Yes yes yes. Whatever you say.”

“Yeah?” you say, watching him carefully. “You got it?”

The mermaid snaps such a crisp salute that you have to hold back a grin. “Yessir! No grabbing, no blabbing, no wandering off!”

“Okay,” you say, pleased. “One more thing. My team at the facility... they have never seen mermaids before. They might behave weirdly, or loudly. They don’t mean any harm, but I would like you to keep some distance from them if that’s possible. Like, don’t surprise them or touch them or anything. Can you do that?”

Sun is beginning to look a little amused, as though your first meeting wasn’t one long chase sequence from start to finish. “I think I can, yes.”

“Great!” you say, ignoring his tone. Prepping for dives often means having to explain simple concepts to people who know them already, so you’re used to it. “Well then. Let’s go!”

“Wait!” Sun says, right before you’re about to situate the breather. “Before we go... what is your name?”

Oh, right. You tell him.

“Oh,” Sun says politely. “I see.”

You’re paying close attention, so you spot the slight wrinkle over his nose, the way those barely-there pupils flick away, back, and away again. “Moon won’t use it,” you say. “For some reason.”

In a very human gesture, Sun sucks in a breath between his teeth. “Are you open to nicknames?” he says.

The fantasy sea creature doesn’t like your name. You finally allow yourself a brief giggle, and Sun sits upright, eyes fixated on your face. “Sure,” you say dryly. “Knock yourself out.”

The swim goes smoothly aside from having to practically drag Sun across the hellcavern. The mermaid locked up upon leaving the kelp forest, hands wrapped around your wrist while he babbled about danger and dark and cold. Unable to speak, the best thing you could do was slowly drag him forward. This eventually culminated in crossing the drop with the mermaid’s face buried in your shoulder, far too close to your neck with his tail trailing behind like a streamer.

To your silent fascination, he takes on an abrupt physical change the moment you both cross into cold waters, the hyper-bright yellow, orange, and coral of his colouring that serves him so well in his own environment shifting to a dark, muted palette. He’s still observably as sun-like as his namesake, yellow and all, but a muddier shade, greenish in dim lighting – the perfect camouflage against the vegetation-riddled rock walls. It doesn’t appear to come with any effort, shifting as the light and temperature does, but nor does Sun express surprise at his entire body changing colour. Even the sparkle of his scales has dimmed.

Once in the caves he eases off a bit, eyes wide and cautious as he takes in dark stone and unfamiliar flora. It turns out your ground rules didn’t stick when he attempts to follow a glowing sea cucumber on its path down a hole, and you resign yourself to literally hand-holding him for the rest of the trip. At least he keeps close proximity once the cold hits, unsubtly trying to leech warmth with the constant press of a furnace-hot shoulder. You have no idea how he can even feel the cold through his own heat.

The markers you set are all present and easy to spot, and you’re pleased at the evidence of your own dedicated work. Without having to stop to record the path, or double back down wrong turnings, the path to the facility is shorter than you expected, though by no means a five minute trip.

Sun is a babbler, you find. He keeps up a constant litany of comments and rambling, while you remain silent throughout. He doesn’t seem to mind, taking your glances and head-tilts as punctuation to his comments. You learn, in no short order, that he’s cold, that he’s never seen that fish before, that those fronds would make a wonderful addition to his latest crafting project, that he doesn’t like the dark, that he doesn’t know why Moon insists on hunting here when their lovely reef is so much better, and that he’s worried about Moon. Also, he’s still cold.

That second to last one surprises you a little when Sun segues into gossip, naive to your uncomfortably-prickling arm hairs. Apparently Moon has been venturing further and further into the caves where they promised each other they wouldn’t swim for reasons Sun doesn’t divulge. He doesn’t come home as often as he should. Moon returns quiet and pensive, seeking comfort and play from Sun before diving back into the deep again.

He doesn’t frame it like a recent development, or link it to you. It sounds like something that’s been going on for a while, so you suppose you don’t have to feel guilty for dragging Moon from his mermaid friend, with your unusual food and weird two-legged swimming. You pat Sun gently on the knuckles and take a turn at the next marker.

The water shivers. A low, subsonic roar tickles your inner ear as the rock begins to tremble. You tug Sun sharply as he pauses with his head tilted, an inquisitive chirp in his throat. You may have mentioned the rumbles in passing, but you forgot to tell him anything about them.

“What is-” Sun begins, only to cut off with a squeak as you activate your boots, pushing him flush against the rock wall with the length of your own body. Reaching down, you pray you remembered to bring it, and your fingers find the flawless curve of the Globe.

The Globe expands intuitively from you, forcefield pushing out and locking half in rock in a glowing gossamer cage. As the water begins to churn, you dig your fingers against the wall and cross your ankles around Sun’s tail, lifting it up into the perimeter of the Globe right before the thundering current begins.

The roar is deafening and the rock beneath your fingers shudders brutally. Sun is gasping, you can feel the lift of his ribcage from where you’re pressed chest-to-chest with no room to move. His eyes are white and blinding, impossibly wide, and you close yours against the sight.

Something rebounds off the forcefield of the Globe, but it retains structural integrity. You can’t see the movement behind you, frightened that if you ease your pressure on Sun he’ll panic and try to slip away. His palms press open against your chest, large and very warm. Resting the chin of your breather on his shoulder, you wait for the rumbling to stop.

Eventually the roar begins to fade, and the sense of terrible movement at your back does as well. You feel the squeak and pop of your suit readjusting pressure and deem it safe to back off, deactivating the Globe and releasing your grip from the wall.

Drifting away, the warmth from Sun’s hands fades as you examine your own. They’re bloodless and tensed into claws, and you slowly flex the fingers to get the flow moving again. The wall has left a thin residue of mystery slime under your splintered nails. Sun is still pressed against it, tail slipping lax as you release it from your legs. He blinks rapidly, hands held out like he’s still cradling you.

You make a motion and take off again, swimming backwards until you can be sure he’s following. Spying the next marker – and aren’t you relieved they retained their places against the rumble? – you spiral up towards the next air bubble and breach the surface. It’s nothing more than a tiny gap, just wide enough to accommodate your head and shoulders, and you remove your breather as Sun surfaces as well.

Anchoring yourself to the ceiling with slippery grip, you say, “Sorry about that. I’ve been hit with one of those currents before, and I’d rather not get a repeat.”

“O-oh!” Sun says, clasping his hands so splashily that you have to squint. “No problemo, friend! I was just, ah, surprised.”

“Yeah, I-” You lose your grip on the ceiling and slip under the water, resurfacing with a splutter. “Pwah. I forgot to say. Before. Uh, I don’t actually have a better way to avoid the currents just yet, so are you okay with me doing that again if another comes?”

“Of course-” Sun’s reply is drowned out when your grip slips again.

You shake water out of your eyes when you break the surface. “Damn. Okay, cool. So-”

“That’s a bad word,” Sun admonishes, shaking a finger.

“Sorry,” you say on automatic, fighting to get a better grip.

“What was that... glowing thing you used?”

You’re pleased to be able to talk about your latest gadget. “It’s called-” is the only thing you’re able to get out before you dunk under the water again. This time warm hands close under your arms and haul you up before you can try by yourself. You rub water out of your eyes to see Sun much closer than before, clearly holding back laughter.

“Better?” he says. He’s holding you like you’re a child learning to swim, hands cupping your armpits and bracing your legs with his tail. Somehow, he’s able to keep the both of you afloat.

“Yeah, thanks,” you say, taking the indignity over trying to speak while actively drowning. “Uh, it’s called a Globe. It’s a forcefield – like imagine if light could be solid. Like that.”

He’s nodding along like it’s old news. “Ahhh, solid light. Yes, yes, I understand.”

Does he? Does a mermaid have the worldly bandwidth to grasp such a thing? But then, you’re probably doing him and the power of imagination a great disservice. “It’s new,” you say. “I got it recently.”

He smiles, eyes curving. “Ooh, a new toy? How exciting!”

“Right?” you say, a little giddily. The novelty hasn’t quite worn off yet, and BON-BON was less than enthusiastic about discussing the gadget you blackmailed him into getting you. A jaw-cracking yawn takes over your face, and you blink blearily once it’s over. Sun and all his warmth is putting you to sleep. “Come on,” you say, wiggling. “Let’s go. We’re almost at the facility and then I’ll need to take you back.”

Sun, fixated on your mouth since the yawn, turns his attention to you once more. “Back?” he says, fins drooping. “But, but couldn’t I stay? Just a little? We could have a slumber party!”

Aww. “I don’t think you’d like that,” you say, genuinely apologetic. “It’s all cold around the facility, and there’s nowhere nice where you could sleep.”

He still hasn’t let go of you, mulling over your words. “Well...” he hedges, “this is a little presumptuous... just a teeny weeny bit...”

“Go on.”

“But, maybe we could share your nest?” he gabbles, wincing. “Just! Just for one night! It doesn’t have to mean anything!”

Hmm. Cultural codes rear their mysterious heads again. “You wouldn’t be able to get to my nest,” you say. “Or, like, I call it a bed. But it’s inside, so the most you could do is see it through the window.”

“Inside what?” Sun says, befuddled.

“Inside the building.”

“Am I not allowed inside the building?” Sun says, now looking hurt.

“I mean, if you can make it, go ahead,” you say. “But I don’t think you would be able to drag yourself inside.” Then again, he is pretty strong.

He’s getting frustrated, the bite of claws pinpricks against your suit. “Why would I need to drag myself?”

Then it clicks. “Ohhhh,” you say. “Okay. We have a failure to communicate here. So, you see this air bubble?”

Sun looks up and all around him, like he suspects a trick question. “Yes?”

“Imagine a massive one. And there’s all this rock, but it’s not underwater, so you wouldn’t be able to swim around. That’s kind of like where I live.”

“But... how do you swim?”

“I don’t swim at home,” you say, stifling a giggle. “I walk. That’s why I have two legs, instead of a tail.”

Sun looks down at your legs through the water. “Legs,” he mutters to himself. One hand leaves your ribs to rest lightly on top of your thigh. “Walk. Walking. I have heard of that.”

From where?? you don’t ask him. You have grown tired enough of Moon brushing you off without Sun adding to it.

“It’ll be easier to understand when you see it,” you say, patting his hand. “Shall we go?”

Sun is quieter for the rest of the swim, and you’re grateful for it. Exhaustion has its hooks in you, hours of swimming and mapping, plus exploration, plus conversation, all on top of barely any sleep. And you’ll have to take Sun home after as well. Sigh.

Finally you reach the point where the markers are no longer necessary, the tunnels becoming familiar, and you speed up with a firm grip on Sun’s wrist. Surfacing at the far end of the cave, you smile at the sight of home.

Removing your breather, your first words are garbled by exhaustion. “This is the facility,” you say, pointing.

Sun’s eyes take up half his face. “What... is that?” he says, hushed.

You’re uncertain which part he’s referring to. “The wall is metal and plastic, and the rest is behind the rock. That’s a platform for me to dive off, and those lights are artificial. Uh, kind of like the glowing plants?” You could probably show him the rest of the facility through the windows, but they peep out into random caves and openings, and you just don’t have the energy. “Do you want to see my room?” you say. “My nest?”

Sun perks up. “Please! Do you think-”

“What. Are you doing?”

Heart immediately leaping into your throat, you turn. Moon floats behind you at a respectable distance, but his face is anything but. His eyes are narrowed, sharp teeth visible, gaze switching between you and Sun with deepening anger.

It’s a rhetorical question, sure, but fear prompts you to answer, “Showing Sun the facility...”

Moon’s face screws up in a snarl, facial fins puffing up in clear display of territorialism. It’s so odd, to see the tiny scales around his nose fold and wrinkle over the force of the expression. “And who,” he hisses, swimming forward menacingly, “said you could do that?”

There’s a brief twitch from Sun, who, oddly enough, hasn’t turned to acknowledge Moon’s arrival.

You fidget with your breather, ready to slam it on and flee the moment Moon performs the lunge he’s clearly preparing for. “You said he was injured, and then you didn’t come back,” you say. “I thought I should check, myself.”

“You’re a little sneak,” he says, and you feel your lip begin to wobble. “I told you he would be fine.”

“Well, you also-” He moves again, makes a little lunge, and you flinch. And then abruptly, you feel tired of shying away and protecting your neck. Anger surges through you and burns away the hesitance, and you slap your hand down in the water in front of Moon’s face in the exact same motion he always does to you. “Stop that!” you snap, a little louder than you intended to, feeling an unfamiliar satisfaction in the way he pulls back with his eyes wide. “Yeah, you said he’s fine, but only after telling me that I crushed his gills! I’m not a mermaid, Moon, I don’t know how serious that shit is!”

It’s you swimming forward now and Moon backing up, scrunching down as you jab your finger at him.

“And that was only after you called me nasty, and- and vicious, and you tried to drag me under the water even though you know I don’t like it when you do that-!”

Moon tries a new move, a kind of hiss-and-spit like he’s popping gum in the back of the throat, only to retreat once more when you hiss back at him.

“Yeah? Yeah? I can hiss too, asshole,” you say. There’s genuine hurt threading your voice, tears in your eyes despite the anger. “If this is how you treat your friends, then you might as well throw away that bracelet I gave you.”

Moon opens his mouth in protest, only for the words to shrivel in his throat. Automatically, you follow his gaze and see Sun slowly turning to finally look at Moon.

Immediately, all the little hairs on your body stand on end. You feel like you’ve been dunked in ice water although you couldn’t say why, some animal instinct quivering in your brain stem. It felt like this once when you were followed several blocks by a stranger at the Rim, it felt like this under Eclipse’s mammoth gaze right before he revealed himself, and now you can feel the weight of predator’s regard pressing down upon your head like several tons of rock. It urges you to turn your eyes down in submission, to roll over and expose your belly. And it’s not even directed at you.

Sun’s expression is eerily mild, mouth pressed in a vague smile with his eyes taking on an incredible intensity. The force of his gaze has you shrinking back, opening up a path between you and Moon.

Sun says his name, his real name, in a gentle series of clicks. “You have been keeping secrets.”

“No,” Moon says quickly, seizing you by the wrist before you can retreat too far. You immediately set to work trying to unpeel his fingers, even while you wonder what Sun is talking about.

“Oh, yes,” Sun says, almost pleasant. “Disappearing for days on end. Reappearing with such strange items. You have been secretive, yes yes, lying. And now,” he adds, pointing at the glint of chain on Moon’s hand, “I know who gave you such a pretty trinket.”

Pausing in your efforts, you look up at Sun, who returns your gaze calmly. He didn’t know anything, you realise. Should you feel guilty, or dumb for spilling Moon’s secret? Mostly you feel alarmed that you’re caught in the middle of a mermaid spat without anywhere to hide. If these two come to blows, you’ll definitely lose a limb at the very least.

“Did you think I wouldn’t wonder where you disappeared to for over a week?” Sun continues, advancing now. “Why you returned wounded? Why you left again and again to swim in the cold?”

“I hunt better here,” Moon mutters, averting his eyes.

Sun snarls and swipes the water, momentarily blinding you. “Rulebreaker,” he hisses, and a rumbling growl starts up in the chest without interrupting his speech in the slightest. “You were keeping secrets, selfish.”

He’s slipping into the same speech patterns as Moon. You finally manage to twist your wrist away and evade the follow-up grab, backing off slowly and quietly.

Sun advances again, and Moon gives up his human shield in favour of defending himself. “Wrong,” he says quickly, fins lying flat against his head. “Was checking. Making sure it was safe-”

Sun laughs, and it’s not a nice sound. “No no no, liar,” he says, tutting. “Our friend has no claws, blunt teeth, their tentacles lie limp. You were keeping this to yourself.”

Tentacles? You touch your pinned-up hair self-consciously, still slowly backing away.

“They couldn’t even hurt me when I removed their beak.”

“Breather,” Moon says quickly, sensing an opportunity. “You’re not supposed to do that. They will drown-”

Sun hisses, his rays beginning to take on a fiery glow. Uh oh. “Well, maybe if someone told me that before I met them, I would have known.”

You turn away, cramming your breather on. The moment the light show starts you have to go, helmet or not. At least the two aren’t ganging up on you as flocks in the wild often do. Yet, at least.

But Moon darts around you, blocking your path. “Lights off,” he says quickly, foiling your lunge for escape with his body.

Sun’s glow colours the water around you like he’s igniting. “Lights on.”

“No,” Moon says, and tries to cover your eyes with one big hand, accidentally driving you under the water as he does so. You resurface in time to hear Moon finish speaking, but not the contents.

“Fine.”

A flurry of movement, the light cuts out, but you’re already ducking back under the surface and kicking your boots in high gear. You’re aware of hissing and the roiling of water behind you, but you keep your eyes forward and focused on the platform.

Hauling yourself up, you spit the breather and collapse away from the water. Far off, there’s a disturbance on the surface like a push from the jets of a hot tub, plus the occasional air bubble. As the ripples from your escape smooth out and fade, so does the rest of the movement. You hope they’re not killing each other down there.

Should you have tried to intervene? How would you even go about separating the pair?

You reel back with a squeak as Sun surfaces right in front of the platform. “New friend!” he chirps, as though nothing happened to interrupt your little exploration trip. “Can I see your nest now? Can I, can I?”

You stare from his wide smile to his claws. There’s blood on both.

Sun’s smile twitches when Moon slowly appears behind him, face woebegone. He looks markedly battered, while Sun remains pristine.

Every nerve screams not to enter the water right now. “I’m... tired,” you say, and it’s the truth. “There’s a hole right down there – if you swim through the tunnel, you can see my room through the window.”

Sun’s smile wobbles. “But- you said we could see it together,” he says, placing his hands plaintively on the platform.

Moon rolls his eyes. “I’ll show you-” he begins, only to jitter back when Sun turns and hisses.

You clear your throat before they can fight again. “I can’t swim for as long as you, Sun,” you say, exhaustion weakening your voice. “I need to rest. It’s just a little trip through the rock there.”

Sun wavers, tapping his claws on the metal of the platform. His eyes search your face, from the deep bags of sleep deprivation to the tremble in your lips. “Okay,” he says, withdrawing his hands. “Okie dokie, friend! You rest up, yes yes, rest nice and well! I’ll be right back.” And then he’s gone.

Moon waits a few seconds to make sure Sun isn’t about to reappear before approaching the platform. You shuffle back from the edge as he rests where Sun just was, claws clinking gently on the metal. He hesitates, glancing up at you. “Hello.”

“What?” you say tightly. You keep your gaze turned away, over the water.

Moon mutters something, picking at the grating of the platform. He glances up when you don’t respond, tilting his head. “Did you hear me?”

“No.”

“I... I said I’m sorry.”

“Mm,” you say, cold.

Moon sighs, his tail lashing the water. “I’m sorry for calling you names,” he says, trying to catch your eye. “In the bright cave. I shouldn’t have tried to pull you down. I was angry.”

Your eyes meet his unwillingly. “Why did you say Sun’s gills were crushed when they weren’t?”

Moon grimaces. “Saw his gills... bruised, crumpled. But we heal fast. I saw and came to find you.”

“Hm.” You can see it, actually. Moon hearing from you that you met Sun, spotting Sun’s injury, and seeing red. Coming to find you without getting the full story from either side. It’s understandable, especially since if Sun is to be believed they’re pretty much alone. But just because you understand, that doesn’t mean you have to like his reaction.

“I came back today to find you,” Moon continues, watching your face with uncharacteristic anxiety. “To apologise.”

“Great job,” you say, glancing over the water. “I felt very apologised-to out there.”

Moon hunches, wincing. “... Surprised to see Sun,” he mutters. “The black water is dangerous. Bad things down there.”

“You don’t seem to have a problem swimming here,” you point out.

“Sun isn’t like me. He is bright, friendly. He cannot... defend. Danger.”

You look at a Sun-inflicted injury pointedly, and Moon covers it with one hand. “Hm.”

Moon clicks, but is careful not to splash too much. “Not the same,” he mutters. “I am sorry, friend. I didn’t know at first that Sun took your breather, but I understand now.”

Well, that’s a better apology than the one I got from BON-BON. You nod, looking away. “Alright.”

Moon perks up. “Alright?”

You look at him, all big eyes and hopeful attitude. “Yeah,” you sigh, deflating. “Fine, okay. Just... so long as you don’t try and drown me again.”

Moon jerks upright with a splash of water. “I wouldn’t. I didn’t.”

“I don’t believe you,” you say blandly. Someday you’ll have to introduce him to all the old mermaid legends to give him a taste of the reputation he has to work against.

But right now Moon is aghast, an unsuitable audience. “Friend...” he says, reaching out.

“Well, here’s a lesson for you, then,” you say, shooing his hand away. “When you grab a land-walking creature such as myself, and angrily try to drag them into the depths of the ocean, all the while they’re struggling and begging you to stop... it looks like a murder attempt.”

“No.” Moon’s hand pats blindly towards you, settling gently on your boot. “No, no, friend. No violence.”

“Yes violence,” you say. “We’ve had this talk before. How am I supposed to trust you won’t hurt me when you flip out every time something makes you angry?”

Moon is silent, red eyes flicking from you to the water and back. For a few minutes you rest, enjoying the sound of lapping waves and relaxing your muscles. Of course, it doesn’t last for very long.

“Why does your face look like that?”

You sigh, casting an irritated look his way. “I’m tired. I haven’t been sleeping lately.”

“No.” He reaches up, but pulls back his hand back when you lean to the side. “Your cheek. It’s bleeding.”

“Oh, right.” Joy, you’ll need to disinfect that. “Sun didn’t realise I’m not scaled, I guess. He didn’t mean to.” What idiot shakes their head with razor-sharp claws against their cheek? You, apparently. “He knows now.”

“Come here. I can help-”

“No.”

Moon looks distinctly unhappy, but doesn’t press the issue. He retreats into the water and sulks, blowing bubbles and pretending he’s not looking at you.

Stars, this is awkward. You haven’t held such an angry silence since BON-BON made his disastrous false accusation posing as Vanessa. Somehow, it’s easier to remain stoic on the behalf of someone else than it is for yourself.

Though if you had to pick a volunteer, Sun is the obvious option. Just why was Moon hiding this from him – you, the facility, all of it? It makes more for sense for you to be the clueless party, kept in the dark. He has already expressed wariness over your intentions with him. Withholding information from the alien diver professionally interested in his movements is honestly the smart thing to do. But why keep this a secret from his Sun?

A faint memory jogs you. Actually, didn’t he recently say he wanted to talk to Sun? Don’t come back to his home until he does? Something like that.

Now it’s your turn to break the silence. “Hey. Do you want to tell me why Sun had to find out about all this-” you wave a hand, encompassing yourself and the entire facility, “- from me?”

Moon’s face, hopeful as you finally speak, turns cautious. “Was going to tell,” he mumbles. “But… but…”

“I know you said it’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous” he echoes, running a fretful claw over the platform’s edge. “And unfamiliar. Too many threats. Creatures, currents, nets. It’s my job to scout. And it was… you are…”

Fingers clench. He had better not be trying to pin the blame on you. Grit out, “I’m what?”

“Fun,” Moon admits quietly, almost a breath. He lowers his face, peeping over the edge of the platform with morose red eyes. “New. Different. I wanted to share, but… not yet.”

You frown hard as he returns to blowing despondent little bubbles in the water. Honestly, you can see it. A novelty. Aliens on his planet, food and technology he has never seen before, and unfamiliar items for him to hoard. If Sun is to be believed it’s not like they have had much interaction with most of the mermaids gone. Unless he was being pedantic, and there’s a whole host of other species for them to be friends with. Did Moon think the treats and gifts would stop if you found someone else to share them with? Or did he just want to enjoy the thrill of a big secret before reluctantly giving it up? But either way Sun was alone in the bright environment, stranded on the other side of the hellcavern, while Moon was enjoying himself with you.

Sun was right. “Selfish,” you murmur, testing out the word that Sun spat.

Moon flinches.

With an inhuman trill, Sun surfaces grinning from ear to ear. Your face relaxes at the sight of his simple excitement. “Good?”

“It’s so strange!” he gasps, absolutely delighted. “There truly is no water, none, none, none! Nothing floats! But I like it!” he adds hastily.

A small smile lifts your lips. “Yeah?” you say.

“But still there were tiny bubbles!”

That causes you to raise a brow. What could he have possibly mistaken for bubbles in your room? “… Uh huh?”

Sun splashes about a little, elbowing Moon out of the way. Moon goes obediently, but something about the squint of his eyes puts you in mind of an offended cat, allowing the indignity only so long as he can bear. “But! Your nest,” Sun says. “It’s so small. For a cave that big you need a larger nest. Where is the padding, the canopy? There is no... no camouflage.”

“I get hot at night,” you say, stretching out your legs with a wince. Your muscles ache. “And the bed – the, uh, rectangular thing under the window – it’s very soft. I don’t need anything else.”

Sun makes a soft sound of dismay. “But what if something swims inside?”

Your lips twitch. Sun has yet to get the hang of ‘walk', it seems. “Well, that would be impossible. No one can go inside without my permission, because I lock it.”

“No. He’s right,” Moon says, daring to swim closer. Sun’s baring of teeth dials down when Moon bumps their shoulders together, gentle. “You need more. Bigger. Not soft enough.”

“Oh!” Sun claps his hands. “Do you want us to fetch some more? Soft things, fragrant. I have so so so many!”

It’s so surprisingly sweet you have to smile. But still, you don’t want to fill your room with whatever they think is comfortable – weeds perhaps, or the corpses of sea sponges.  “No, it’s okay,” you say, watching Sun deflate. “I have plenty of extra bedding, I just don’t use it.”

You break off with another jaw-cracking yawn, rolling your head onto one shoulder. Stars, you’re shattered.

“You. Have more teeth,” Moon says haltingly.

“Mm.”

“Not there before.”

“They’ll shed eventually,” you say complacently. You pick up your breather and fiddle with it.

“Shed?”

“It’s a type of large nest,” Sun says to him. His mood appears to be elevated just from seeing your bedroom. “A buil-ding. Say, friend, we’re not so different after all!”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Uh huh! Wanna see?”

“Um-”

Sun braces himself on the platform’s edge and hoists himself so he’s about level with you. Like the blooming of some horrific flower, his mouth opens, then splits further, a pinkish maw with an orange tongue, jaws of razor-sharp teeth. The throat flexes and reveals a second set like a bad dental joke, the muscle and gum pulsating wetly. Then Sun folds his mouth back down so it’s all hidden behind his big friendly face.

The breather drops from numb fingers and clatters on the platform. Your mouth is hanging open.

“Friend?”

You make a strangled sound before your brain reboots. “That- wow! That sure is... teeth.”

Sun beams, still holding himself aloft. “Like yours!”

Not quite. “Yeah.”

“Sun,” Moon says, and the yellow mermaid bends his locked elbows and finally slips back into the water.

“So, we’ve just embraced the names?” you say, getting to your feet. “Do I get one too-?”

Sun gasps, holding his arms out. “Careful, careful!”

You pause, staring at him. “What is it?”

“You’ll fall!”

Moon sighs, placing a knuckle between his eyes. “No.”

“Oh,” you laugh. It’s so odd to remember that he’s probably never seen half of the stuff you have before. “Right, walking. No, this is fine.” To demonstrate, you walk back and forth, clomping in your boots.

Sun clutches his rays, watching you like a toddler who has just discovered brain-melting cartoons. “... It’s like falling,” he mutters feverishly. “Just like the pictures. Falling but not. How??”

“This is walking,” you say, putting a little jaunt in your step. “Hold on, look.”

You turn a cartwheel, and Sun shrieks, thrashing in the water. Moon, so blasé through your pacing, is clutching the rim of the platform with eyes like saucers.

“How did you do that?!” Sun is splashing so hard the spray splatters your shoulders.

You’re laughing too hard to continue, sinking back down with your legs folded. “It- it’s called a cartwheel! Oh my stars...”

“Cartwheel,” Moon mutters, committing it to memory.

You yawn again into your palms, the skin criss-crossed with lines from the grating. “Ugh. Guys, I think I have to go,” you say, deciding to end on a high note. “I’m so tired.”

Sun’s face falls comically. “But- no!!” he squalls, slapping the platform. “You said you would swim me back! You said!”

“Yeah, so you wouldn’t get lost on the way,” you say. “Moon can take you home. Right, Moon?”

Moon opens his mouth lazily, only to close it with a click when Sun turns to look at him. “... No. So sad.”

“See?” Sun turns to you, beseeching. “Oh, please come and swim with me! Please, please?”

“If only I was this popular on the Rim,” you mutter. “Sorry, Sun, I’m too tired. If I get back in the water I’ll fall asleep swimming.”

He extends long yellow arms. “I’ll carry you!”

“No,” you say, firm and feeling guilty for it. “Moon can- stop giving him a death-glare. Moon can take you. He probably knows the way better than I do.”

“I do,” Moon says, preening.

“...Not a death glare,” Sun mutters. “Don’t want him to die...”

“I love you too,” Moon deadpans. He tugs gently on Sun’s wrist, smiling when Sun gives a reluctant whine.

Love. Huh.

You haul yourself to your feet, stretching languidly. Hopefully the hours of swimming today are enough to finally put you to sleep later. “See you next time,” you say, wandering to the door. “It was nice to meet you, Sun.”

“... Next time,” Sun echoes mournfully, before he follows Moon beneath the surface.

Great. Maybe Moon can take the opportunity to finally iron out his web of lies with Sun on the long swim back. A lie by omission is still a lie, after all, and there’s no way someone as curious as Sun didn’t question Moon producing the alien equipment he appropriated from you. You wonder what story Moon fed him.

Then again, Sun said Moon kept them under his nest. He never said Moon actually told him about them.

… I do not envy Moon right now.

The automatic light flicks on in the exit chamber. You step through the door and get to work wiggling out of your suit, heavy boots thudding on the ground. You toss on some light clothing and give up from there, figuring there’s no point in looking presentable when you’re just going to shower and conk out.

Well, at least that’s been sorted. You have pierced not two, but three fish with one trident – you ascertained that Sun is unharmed by your gill-grabbing manoeuvre, you gained a tentative new friendship out of it, plus Moon apologised! Even with exhaustion weighing down your limbs, you feel lighter, more hopeful somehow. The simmering tension that had been building in your chest appears to have dissipated somewhat. Maybe now you’ll actually get in a full night of sleep. You can think of no other reason for this sudden bout of insomnia other than stress. Stifling a yawn, you squeeze water out of your pinned-up braids. Weirdly, the exit chamber seems quieter than before, almost ringing with silence. Darker, too. You feel like you’ve forgotten something.

Heavy footsteps sound in the corridor, a thudding pace that picks up speed the closer it gets. You continue putting away your equipment without paying much notice, and it’s only when a figure lurches around the corner and stops dead in the doorway that you pause and look up.

Chica says breathlessly, “Where have you been?”

Chapter Text

So, it turns out the several hours you thought you had dedicated to your trip actually translate into a full day and night of restless activity. That is, when assessed through actual time measuring devices, and not the vague assumptions of your overtired, overwrought, and under-fed mush of a brain.

You find this out during the course of an extremely detailed and reproachful lecture from Freddy, who is confirming your suspicions of his ex-team leadership with every passing word. It’s a bit like being told off by a parent figure, except your guardian never cared to the extent of illustrating your sins before punishment, so it just comes off as mildly condescending instead. But why would Freddy give up the position of team leader to Chica if he’s just going to take over in cases like this? He’s clearly better at it.

Freddy says your name, and you jolt guiltily. “Y-yes?”

“I asked if there is anything you want to add.”

You’re not my boss and neither is Chica. Neither of you have any real authority over me, and this kind of dressing-down isn’t your responsibility. It’s no business of yours what I work on, or for how long.

Except, the team sent out multiple search parties for you once your absence reached the ten hour mark, long before the end of the cycle period that protocol dictates. Upon Chica leading you to the main room, lit up in defiance of the usual orangey night lighting, the team had been present and visibly anxious, awake hours past their usual retirement. Because of you.

It’s weird, to feel both touched and irritated. It would be better if they just assumed you were slacking in your room – it’s not like they could get in to check. Part of you wishes they hadn’t cared, had contacted Base at the end of the cycle, who would be dependably slow in their response, up until the point where they received an email from you apologising for the bother. But instead of choosing the option that would have you snug in bed by now, Freddy wants to talk. Ugh.

At least this isn’t happening in front of an audience, though between Freddy staring you down and Chica leaning by BON-BON’s darkened interface, you still feel as though you’re under the microscope. And there’s no way the AI isn’t listening in, probably with a vengeful smirk. You just know he’s pissed you yelled at him.

Freddy is still waiting patiently for a response. With great effort, you summon the dregs of your energy. “I do apologise,” you say limply. “I was completing a long-distance task, and time got away from me. It won’t happen again.”

It probably will, but that’s a problem for future you to iron out. Regardless, the two Glamrocks don’t look particularly impressed, exchanging a lightning-quick glance.

“What task were you working on?” Freddy interjects, still sounding as placid as ever.

Luckily you already thought of an answer to this earlier in the day, given that what you actually were doing goes against Base’s orders. “I was marking an unsafe route,” you reply promptly. “I found an area with dangerous currents some time ago, and I figured it would be best to leave indicators so no one wanders in by accident. The area needed mapping.” You turn your expression sheepish as another excuse occurs. “I also spotted a few unfamiliar creatures that hadn’t been scanned. It’s not a part of my duties, but Base finds it helpful when I expand our database. I guess I got carried away.”

Another meaningful glance. “Did you find yourself... becoming confused or disoriented? Perhaps unsure of the return route?” Freddy says delicately.

“No.” You’re too busy stifling a yawn in the least obvious way you can manage to wonder much about this line of questioning, when a flicker of light catches your eye from Chica’s direction.

Freddy takes a hasty step forward. “I would also like to know if you encountered anything unusual during your work period,” he says. “Anything out of the ordinary for the environment might be related to our research.”

It’s a valid question, and interesting too, but Freddy is too late – you already saw Chica tucking away a familiar object with a swift flick of her fingers.

“Did you... just scan me?” you say, high-pitched in disbelief.

Chica gives a guilty twitch. Though she keeps her voice calm, the brief pause before she answers confirms her guilt all the same. “Nnn-no. I didn’t scan you.”

“Then what was that?” The light you saw must have been the beam glancing off the side of your face, taken as you turned away. It’s ridiculous that she’s trying to hide it.

Chica’s eyes swivel to Freddy for a split second, then her shoulders sag. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I just wanted to check if you had a temperature, but I felt too awkward to ask. Not too cool of me, huh?”

You remain bewildered in the face of her sheepish laugh. Why lie in the first place? A topical medical scan is no big deal. And Chica clearly isn’t being truthful about her motives – Freddy was distracting you. For reasons you can’t fathom, you’re being tag teamed.

A sinking feeling opens a crater in your chest. You suddenly feel distinctly unsafe. “Well. It’s nice that you’re looking out for me,” you say lightly. “What’s the prognosis?” Right in your periphery, you sense the tension of ready energy in Freddy’s stance and wish desperately to back away. Suddenly, his hulking form is entirely threatening.

Hesitating, Chica pulls out the scanner to look at the reading. “All good,” she says, straining to match your tone. “Your temp matches the human ideal – I give you an A-grade in health.”

You endeavour to release the anxious strain around your eyes. “A normal thing for me to achieve! Do I get a prize, team leader?”

Chica is relaxing the more you play along, smiling ruefully. “Come back from work at a normal time and I’ll think about it.”

You snap a joking salute, make a penitent comment. You might be doing too much, but Freddy and Chica are responding positively, not a sign of that intense attention that rose the moment you noticed the non-consensual scan. You feel sick even as you answer a few more questions, your own worries circling your skull. Why scan you in secret? Perhaps because it wasn’t your temperature Chica was taking – she could be scanning for radiation, infection, bacterial corruption.

The Glamrock team is searching for something, that much is obvious now. What are the chances that it exudes something hazardous to human life? But if it does, that would mean that Freddy lied right to your face during that very first meeting.

A foreign item, harmful, in the area, in the water. If your deductions are correct, then the Glamrock team are conscious of the risks not just to you but the local wildlife, including the mermaids, and they- what? Care enough to worry when you go missing, but not enough to inform you of the real danger close by?

Or maybe it isn’t close by. Maybe they’re having no luck searching, but they booked the entire residency and have to see their cover story through. If they don’t have the proper search-and-seize permits, then this hunt could be illegal. And Roxy mentioned some kind of infectious close call on their last residency. If it was more serious than Roxy had you believe, then this could be nothing more than survivor’s anxiety over your safety in light of a dangerous incident. Unconnected, but recent enough to still affect their behaviour.

If that’s the case, this badgering is well-intentioned.

Regardless, it’s nothing you have the mental fortitude to address now. Freddy and Chica are clearly hedging at something, you’re cognizant enough to recognise that, but even your heightened penchant for curiosity isn’t enough to make you to stay and find out. You’re so tired your eyes are blinking out of sync.

You don’t even remember what you said to eel out from under their noses, but the next second you’re halfway to your bedroom and feeling all the better for it. Your cheek stings – the cut making itself known again. But a visit to medical can wait until tomorrow. Surely, if Chica’s scan actually picked up something harmful, she wouldn’t let you just swan away, and she definitely wouldn’t be so relaxed about it. Despite your recent foray into insomnia, you feel as though you could sleep for a week.

Hitting the access panel to your bedroom, you almost crash face-first into the door when it doesn’t open. A second later you realise your mistake – right, you started locking it, didn’t you? Shaking your head, you hit the access panel again and begin typing the password.

Your finger jabs blank space. The access panel doesn’t even light up in response to your tapping, and pressing the manual buttons below doesn’t elicit a response either. You let your hand fall with a frown. Typically, this wouldn’t be a problem given that the door has a manual release, only you locked it electronically and the physical key is stuck inside the room. Shit.

You almost call for BON-BON, but strangle the urge just in time. He’s mad at you, and if the panel is broken he won’t be able to interact with it anyway. A door wouldn’t be the hardest fix you’ve ever tackled, but your head is swimming with exhaustion. You want to sleep, right now.

Wandering down the corridor, you chew your fingers pensively. The Glamrocks looked exhausted and irritated when you last saw them, so there’s no way you’re going to knock on a door and ask if you can crash. You could sleep in the main room, but that has BON-BON’s interface, and you wanted to get some rest before attempting an apology that is probably going to flop anyway. Plus, Chica and Freddy might still be there. Ugh.

With no other option, you pop over to medical and sit through the staffbot’s fussing over the cut on your cheek and various other unnoticed wounds in exchange for sleeping in one of the curtained beds. When the staffbot offers a dedicated scan, you decline on the basis that you’re so tired sitting under a flickering bright light will make you puke. Apparently you’re overdue a general checkup as well, so you pee in a cup to complete the ordeal. It takes several seconds of blank staring to realise that you forgot to close the cubicle door and have just been sitting locked-eyes with the robot the entire time, and then you almost spill the cup laughing. Perhaps you’re a little delirious.

Finally, bed. The sheets are stiff, starched, and pristine, the pillow crinkling loudly in your ear. The medical room is just as uncomfortably warm as the rest of the facility, and once again you mourn the time you had between teams, free to change the settings as suited. You’re considering asking for the lights off when the staffbot rolls up beside you and presents a holographic file. It recommends you keep an eye on your stool as you may have ingested something unusual lately.

“Aw, shit,” you mutter.

Figures your transcendental oyster feast would come back to bite you in the ass, figuratively. Perhaps literally. You can’t have anything nice. Then again, this is just a projected problem based on alien bacteria in your urine sample, meaning that you might actually be fine. In reality, you should be leaking at both ends rueing the day you were stupid enough to gobble up alien seafood without even ascertaining whether it would ruin you first. But aside from the understandable exhaustion, you feel fine.

Vision blurring, you lean up on one elbow and edit the form, pinning the blame on the oysters and attaching the scan you collected for future reference. At least if you expire in the night from alien cuisine, they’ll know why sooner rather than later. “It was impulsive of me,” you confide to the staffbot, who looks at the form as though spellchecking your answer. “I’m not usually so reckless, but I guess oysters really bring it out in me. Could I have some water, please?”

The staffbot whirrs away and returns sans the form, holding a paper cup. As it begins to hand it to you, its arm jerks, and it upends the cup directly over your head.

You gasp at the surprise ice-cold shower, while the staffbot panics and drops the cup and waves its arms. It chivvies you out of bed and attacks you with paper towels, until you push it off and ask for the bed to be remade.

“It’s fine,” you say for the hundredth time, as you climb back into a fresh set of sheets. The robot hovers, anxiously twisting its fingers together. “Just a mistake, no biggie. Could we have the lights off? Please.”

The bot perks up and zooms to the switch, apparently relieved to have a task that can distract from what just happened. It flicks the switch and turns back to you.

The lights stay on.

The robot double-takes and flicks the switch again. And again. And again. Its movements get more and more erratic, glancing back at you over its shoulder with clear anxiety.

Okay. You’re sensing a variation on theme here. “Never mind,” you call, your voice strained with exhaustion. “It must be broken. We can fix it in the morning. I’ll just do what I can here, okay? Goodnight.”

The bot sags, arms hanging by its sides, and quietly wheels away in the direction of its charging station. You roll over and pull the sheets over your head, a useless barrier against the cold white lighting of the medical bay. Within seconds the space becomes stifled, hot and sweaty as you search for sleep.

Luckily, you find it.

The next day finds your bedroom door mysteriously operational once more.

If you didn’t already have suspicions regarding last night’s string of unlucky events, this would light that flame. You enter your room, peering around cautiously for anything out of place, something sharp on the floor perhaps, or a missing precious object, but spot nothing. Then again, there are lows that some people wouldn’t sink to. Probably.

Your hair is crunchy and smells of seawater. The rubber-and-body-odour scent you’re sporting isn’t much better. You sigh and slink to the bathroom. Brushing your teeth feels like heaven against your hot and itching gums, and a tooth spits painlessly free without any blood. It’s reaching the point where eating will be risky for a while.

Surprisingly, you feel pretty refreshed after your night in the medical bay. Sure, your dreams were bizarre and plagued by dark and whispering figures, and yeah you had jolted awake several times gripped by the certainty that someone was standing over you, but you actually slept long enough to dream. That’s progress. It looks like burying the hatchet with Sun and Moon really did help your anxiety.

The difference is so stark that you feel startled. You hadn’t realised how tightly sleep deprivation has held you in its grip this past week or so, your thoughts coming swift and crystal clear when before they had been oozing like treacle. Your limbs had felt heavy, your cognition delayed – even your physical movements were clumsy and sluggish. Not to mention the constant low-level unease.

Okay, I’m going to remember this, you decide. Every time I’m sleep deprived, I’m going to remember exactly what I’m recalling now, and know that whatever I’m trying to do is severely compromised.

Because how you were acting before – seeking out Sun and ignoring Base’s direct orders to boot – it was not like you. You’re curious, yeah, but not typically impulsive to such a reckless degree. And that tantrum you subjected BON-BON in the exit chamber was the bow on top. You want to cringe just thinking about it.

You step into the shower and turn on the spray, standing back as you normally do to allow it to switch to your preferred temperature. It’s ice cold when you test it, which isn’t so unusual, but then the next few minutes don’t reveal anything different. Your shower appears to be permanently set to arctic levels.

Well, I guess this’ll keep me cool with the facility so hot. It’s not so different from swimming outside. You step under the spray and begin to wash.

About midway through, the water abruptly turns scalding hot, and the shriek you let out has you thanking Base architects for soundproofing the rooms as well as they did. It hurts, but you have a face full of soap that there’s no other way to rinse off, so you grit your teeth through the temperature and continue with your wash. When you exit, your skin is throbbing, the mirror is fully steamed up, and you have to sit on the shower mat with the en suite door open until the room stops spinning.

Bastard. You had better address the BON-BON issue soon, before his next prank involves locking you in a small room and opening the water seal.

BON-BON ignores you calling him through the tablet in your room, and the earpiece, and the feed outside your door. The only other option to speak to him is to approach his interface in the main room, but you stop short at the sight of a familiar golden head.

If Vanessa is taking up BON-BON’s attention, you can’t begrudge him for ignoring you. Even with her voice low, you can make out a softer intonation, a rise in pitch in her voice. BON-BON did say he hated being babied.

BON-BON’s artificial gaze catches yours, and you move on before Vanessa can notice your presence and say something undeniably caustic. Maybe a comment about your late start considering you were up half the night, or a jab at wasting everyone’s time.

Perhaps you’re imagining conflict where it wouldn’t occur, but you think not. You saw everyone’s faces last night – tired, concern morphing into irritation when you swanned in behind Chica with nothing but a small scratch on your cheek. They had filed out silently once your safety was confirmed, clearly intent on nothing more than sleep.

The anxiety that you thought you had quashed with Sun begins to rise again, but you take a deep breath to banish it. So they might be angry at you. You’ll just make sure to let Chica know when you think a task might take longer than usual. They’re probably just used to working as a team, and don’t know how to handle a rogue element operating separately. They’ll soon learn.

You have the knuckle of a finger in your mouth, gnawing in your anxiety. And you still haven’t managed to talk to BON-BON yet.

A grip around your wrist has you yelping in muffled surprise. Vanessa grimaces as she pulls your hand back from your mouth, a string of saliva stretching for a little too long before it breaks. “I was calling you,” she says.

For a moment the surprise, general anxiety, and revulsion over the unwanted touch combine together in your brain to render you speechless. Then you twist your wrist free and take a step back. Just typical. Here you are because Vanessa was taking up BON-BON’s attention, and now the one person you don’t want to talk to is blocking your way back.

“Sorry,” you say, almost choking on the automatic word. Your wrist prickles, and you want nothing more than wipe off her touch on your shirt. “I didn’t hear you. What’s up?”

Vanessa blinks, her hand hanging in the air before she quickly lowers it. Instead of the expected jab over your late-night return, she says, “I want to talk about what happened the other day.”

The other day? Puzzled, you wrack your brains. Is she talking about that weird moment during the movie night? But no, she was asleep for most of that. Or, is she finally coming clean about trashing your belongings? She doesn’t sound as snappish as usual – maybe she wants a truce after all!

Face brightening, you go to speak, but Vanessa jerks her head in an impatient motion and starts down the hall in the direction you had been headed. Excitement dimming, you follow reluctantly. “Could you be more specific, please?” you venture, keeping your voice as light and polite as possible so as not to touch her on her incredibly-sensitive quick. It would just be your luck to scupper your chances because she took issue with your tone.

Despite your efforts, the look Vanessa tosses over her shoulder has a derisive curled-lip feature to it. “Wait a minute.”

You glare as she turns back, leading the way with her usual brisk strides, but the lure of finally ending this animosity is too great for you to stop now. Though caution does stir in your gut as Vanessa finally comes to a halt in the long, featureless hallway leading to the lab and gym area. Everyone who uses the gym tends to do so at the early beginning and close of the day, and the lab is echoingly empty. You’re painfully aware that if the facility does have monitoring devices, this would be one of the blind spots.

A big rule when dealing with an aggressive coworker – don’t follow them to an unmonitored location.

You pause a respectable distance back, and Vanessa’s brow quirks in momentary disquiet. As usual, she dives right into the matter with no preamble, saying, “You didn’t have to worry everyone because of me.”

“Whah?” you blurt. This doesn’t gel with your expectations.

Vanessa crosses her arms. “I know I hurt your feelings, but there was no need to go AWOL. We all wasted our time looking for you, and you totally ruined everyone’s night.”

Your stomach sinks like a stone. Oh. This is a lecture about last night after all. “What does this have to do with you?” you say, voice dead with disappointment.

“Really? You’re going to act like- ugh. I’m sorry for insulting your food the other night, okay? Freddy told me I hurt your feelings after you ran away. I guess it makes sense that you eat a lot of fish given where you came from.” She shrugs, clearly not particularly cut up about it.

“You think I stayed out for so long because you dissed my salad?” you say slowly, hardly able to believe it. The disappointment is slowly churning into something more sour.

“That was salad?” Vanessa’s nose wrinkles. “It looked all- uh, fine. It looked fine, I guess. For a salad.”

Someone please shut this woman up. “Vanessa, I was working,” you stress. “I didn’t stay out because you said I eat a lot of fish, I was marking off dangerous areas. I just lost track of time.”

Another brow raise. “Sure. It’s just a coincidence that you ran away with your feelings hurt and disappeared for the next day and night. I guess it’s also a coincidence that Chica got a notification that our handyman was screaming at the door trying to leave, huh?”

For a heartbeat you’re confused, then blood rushes to your face in a dizzying blast. You had thought BON-BON was bluffing when he said he was calling Chica on you, but apparently not. It seems like overkill, and risky too – did BON-BON contact her directly, or fake some kind of security alert to get the message across? So far as everyone knows, he can only access the main room’s interface and your earpiece.

“Wha… how do you know that?” you say, scrambling for a foothold to get away from this topic. The thought of Vanessa seeing you freak out feels too much to bear. Can you punch a memory out of someone? “You were with Chica when she was pinged?”

The look Vanessa gives you suggests she’s doubting your intelligence. “Obviously. You know, you’re not exactly the picture of stability if a faulty door has that effect on you. Perhaps the management team would be interested in how their handyman conducts themselves in the workplace.”

Oh great, she’s trying to threaten you again. You waste half a second to irritation before a thought occurs. “What were you and Chica doing together so early?”

Vanessa opens her mouth and pauses. “… We were liaising,” she says, a little too casually. “Catching up on the day’s tasks, and stuff. We actually do have work to do, you know.”

Ahahah. I saw that hesitation. “Is that what they call it nowadays?” you say, packing as much derisive condescension into the words as you can. Despite your attitude, adrenaline begins its dizzying effect, sending sweat prickling across your forehead and under your arms, fingers trembling. You hate when your body readies for a fight.

Now a slow flush begins to crawl up Vanessa’s neck. “I don’t think I like what you’re implying,” she says. Her tone is low and warning.

“I’m not implying anything, I’m making an inference,” you say sweetly. “I hope you know that liaising with team leaders is against the rules of conduct. You could get your residency suspended for that. I expect that would ruin everyone’s mood far more than I ever could.”

Actually, you couldn’t care less what the team gets up to in their spare time, but seeing the red flood Vanessa’s face and her hands clench into fists is totally worth the veiled threat. Her tired eyes fix on you with furious intensity. “You may have wormed your way into their good graces, but don’t think the team won’t act if you try to sabotage us.”

Yeah, you’re well aware that genuinely screwing over both Vanessa and Chica would be suicide, no matter how many impromptu jam sessions or movie nights you get invited to. But if Vanessa still has the confidence to be making her own threats, then you haven’t gone far enough.

You tilt your head. “Would you even still be part of the team if you’re the reason everyone gets kicked out?”

Vanessa sucks in a breath, a little one. There’s a slight tremble to her lip. You feel a sickening satisfaction at having found a weak point. This confrontation obviously hasn’t gone the way she had planned – probably giving a half-hearted apology for insulting your food to placate Freddy, all the while slipping in a lecture on your own behaviour. Indulging in wielding her temper against you, as always, while you struggle to remain civil.

A little voice in your head is revelling in finally making Vanessa feel half as small as she always does to you, wants to push and see if the slight water to her eyes could turn into tears. It’s not an impulse you’re familiar with.

But you have had your fun, and returned her threat with one of your own. Enough now. “Regardless, my periods of work don’t involve you. But if it’s all the same, I’d appreciate it if you quit making comments on my diet,” you say, starting forward to continue down the corridor. You have an eye out for sudden movements, but Vanessa draws back as you pass, similarly watchful. It looks like she doesn’t want a physical fight either. “I’m going to get back to work.”

You walk briskly, focusing on not stumbling over the jelly-legged sensation of unused adrenaline. Fists trembling at your sides, your breaths coming out unsteady, but it doesn’t sound like Vanessa has moved to pursue. The tension begins to leave your shoulders.

“You- wait!”

Just as you spot movement ahead – a flicker of colour and shadow bouncing off where the white walls curve – you hear thud thud thud, Vanessa’s steps hurrying to follow you. Before you can even turn she’s got you by the shoulders and spins you around, your back colliding with the wall with a force that stuns you. Spots cloud your vision, the headrush of pumping blood.

Vanessa is far too close for comfort, and you inadvertently inhale a mouthful of warm coffee breath. “What the hell gives you the right to say that about Chica? You think you can just threaten to tear everything apart and walk away like it’s nothing?!” Her voice hits a shrill note of incredulous fury.

Shocked and frightened, mouth inexplicably tasting the iron tang of blood, you go to demand she let go only to hiccup a pearly, second-layer tooth right into Vanessa’s face.

She flinches back, blinking rapidly as it falls and bounces with a surprisingly plasticky tiptiptap on the pristine white floor. A little spot of blood blooms on the nerve-end. “O-oh,” she stammers, eyes fixed on it. “How did- I didn’t mean to-”

You stagger as she abruptly releases your shoulders, pulse buzzing in your arms as your circulation is restored. Vanessa must have been holding you more firmly than you realised. “What the fuck,” you say faintly, still unable to believe she would actually lay her hands on you in the workplace. Inexplicably, you’re frustrated that you missed the chance to shove her away.

Vanessa’s hands are fluttering in front of you, frightened to make contact in a complete about-face from her attitude a few seconds ago. “I didn’t hit you,” she says, like she’s trying to convince herself. Her eyes are wide like saucers. “Are you okay? Your mouth- you’re bleeding-”

You flinch back as her hands rise to your face, furiously scrubbing your lips with the back of your hand. “What is wrong with you?” you snap, pressing your back against the wall hard. There’s nowhere to retreat to. “You don’t meet words with violence! Are you crazy?”

Vanessa’s eyes are shaking in her skull, snarling automatically at your tone before shame seems to cloud it. “I didn’t!” she shrills, far too close and loud. “I mean, I did, but- I didn’t mean to hurt-”

“What’re you playing at?” a gravelly voice says from behind you.

To your abject relief Vanessa jerks away again, her eyes fixed beside and above your head. Whatever burgeoning fury staining her expression drains away in an instant, leaving her looking guilty and unsure. “Monty,” she greets, weak.

Unwilling to turn away again, you escape the wall and back up until your elbow meets a muscled arm. Your heart is hammering in your chest, hands shaking at your sides. Vanessa got physical after all, you still can’t believe it. You feel ill.

A hand on your shoulder, then Monty guides you to the side, around him, and then you’re being pushed up the corridor. With his body as a barrier, you glance up.

Monty jabs his thumb at you. “You’re good. I’ll see you at the lab.”

You take a shuffling step, hesitant, then another. You can just see Vanessa’s face, still flushed from anger, those fatigued green eyes fixed on you beneath anxious brows. Monty takes a deliberate step to the side and breaks the spell, his bulk effectively blocking the way back. Or Vanessa’s way forward.

As you gain traction and begin scurrying, the last thing you spot before you round the corner is the ripple of green muscles as Monty places his hands on his hips. There’s something stolid and comforting in the stance, and you’re finally able to let the two out of your sight. The desire to get away overruns your fear of a sneak-attack.

Well. I fucked around and found out, you think ruefully. You should know by now that throwing someone’s bad treatment back in their face only results in escalation. A shuddering breath escapes your chest. If Monty hadn’t shown up you don’t know how that would have ended, though judging by Vanessa’s frantic energy you could take a guess. Suddenly the facility feels very small.

The lab finally comes into view, that blessed space with multiple hiding spots, and a feed BON-BON can access, and probably a bazillion hidden cameras and microphones. You speed up, passing the shaded observation windows, and hit the access panel. Usually the doors are left open, so it’s just your luck that there’s another barrier to deal with right now.

The doors don’t budge. The feed crackles to life. “Password?” BON-BON says. Though his voice is tinny and muffled through the subpar speaker, there’s no hiding his cold tone.

For a moment you gape at the little screen, struggling to sort your thoughts. “… BON-BON?”

“BZZT!” the speaker blares, causing you leap back with your heart rabbiting. “Wrong!”

The feed goes dark. The doors are still locked. You hit the button again.

Crackle, zzt. “Password?”

“BON-BON, let me in please.” You glance over your shoulder, paranoid and anxious.

“What’s the password?” he says silkily.

Sweet flaming nebula. Maybe you should make a break for your room. You glance back again, conscious of some kind of distant noise. Shouting, or footsteps? You rub your arms, subconsciously trying to scrub away Vanessa’s touch.

“Come on. You were trying so hard to get my attention earlier,” BON-BON says, regaining your attention. “I’m sure you’ll get it if you think hard enough.”

You haven’t heard this kind of cold malice from him in a while. “Yes,” you say belatedly, unable to keep your eyes from flicking to the corridor every other second. “I wanted to apologise, but I really need to get inside this room right now! Please?”

BON-BON isn’t impressed by your urgency. “You could at least look at me.”

You finally identify the noise. It’s voices and footsteps, coming closer.

“Oh shit!” you squeak, and throw yourself at the door. It rattles in its frame as you yank the handle, paw at the sliding partition, and then give it up as a bad job and turn to run down the opposite corridor.

Then the door slides open behind you and you almost trip and fall as you change directions and throw yourself through, hearing the hiss closed immediately after. Your shin catches a step stool, thoughtfully left out right in the entryway, and you splat on the floor in an ungainly tangle of limbs.

The feed crackles again, and this time the blue rabbit appears. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” BON-BON snaps.

“I made Vanessa angry!” you yelp, scrambling to your feet. “She was being so mean, and she grabbed my arms- oh stars, she’s going to hit me, and then I’ll have to hit her, and I’ll lose my job-”

“What?” BON-BON sounds baffled as you cast around wildly for something to block the door. The nearest options are a table that’s too heavy to move, and a long-handled tank hook that will be useless without something to brace it against. “She grabbed- you were together for five minutes! How did you manage that?”

“She was being a BITCH!” you holler, whirling to face the feed. “There, are you happy? You were right, she’s raging bitch, and I can’t stand her! If she raises another eyebrow at me, I’m going to pull it off!”

Shaky-limbed, you stand there panting as your voice echoes off the walls and dissipates. A droplet of sweat stings your eye.

“Do you feel better now?” BON-BON says archly.

Your shoulders slump. “… No.”

“Yeah, I thought- you have blood on your teeth.” BON-BON’s tone sharpens. “Why do you have-”

A rattle at the door distracts you both, and you clap your hands over your mouth. Eyes wide like saucers, you stare at BON-BON pleadingly.

“… Did you make Monty angry as well?” BON-BON whispers.

“Oh!” you sag in relief. “No, he stopped Vanessa. He helped me.”

“Hm,” BON-BON says. “Do you want me to-”

The door rattles again, then crunches. Slowly, and with a squealing of warped metal, Monty manhandles the door open and presses it fully into its frame. It doesn’t close again behind him – it looks like it’s jammed in place.

“Door broke,” Monty said, as casual as you ever hear him. He seems immune to your horrified, bug-eyed stare. Despite the voices from earlier, he’s alone.

“Oh,” you say after a moment. “Okay. Um, thank you for helping me back there.”

Monty flicks a glance over his shoulder, then back at you. “Don’t sweat it.”

He seems subdued, and no wonder – he just intervened in his teammate behaving aggressively with the handyman. Even if he doesn’t see Vanessa’s actions as the prelude to a fistfight, that has to be an uncomfortable experience. Absurdly, a sudden fondness swells in your chest, almost prickling your eyes with tears. Somehow you doubt Monty would appreciate you grabbing him in a hug and snivelling your thanks, but the impulse is still there.

Monty is looking at you expectantly, and you realise you missed whatever he just said. “Sorry?” you say faintly. The adrenaline crash is finally catching up to you.

“Has that happened before?” he repeats.

“Oh…” You cast your gaze up in recollection. “Well, I guess sometimes disagreements break out among teams. It doesn’t often get physical, but-”

“Runt,” he interrupts, impatient. “I mean with Ness.”

That’s a little more tricky. You right the upended stool and sit on it slowly, buying some time. Does he mean if this is the first time she laid hands on you, or the first time she got aggressive? Or perhaps he means arguing in general. Monty’s expression grows more stormy the longer you go without an answer.

“We’ve had some disagreements,” you hedge. “Um, things have got tense before. It’s better, now your team is here.”

His eyes flick to your arm, shades angled low on his snout. “She ever got physical before?”

“She’s never touched me,” you say slowly. “Not- not like that.” You hesitate for a moment before blurting, “Does she get into fights often?”

Monty surprises you with a low, gravelly laugh. “Does she ever,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning against a table. “You wouldn’t think it to look at her, but she’s a real spitfire.”

Though you remain silent, you disagree vehemently. Vanessa has the vicious look in her eyes of someone just waiting for an excuse to maul.

Monty isn’t done, sobering a little. “But I guess you mean the physical kind, don’t you?”

You rub your arms, uncomfortable. “Do you think I need to watch my back?” you say glumly.

“Naw,” Monty says, surprising you. “Ness has a nasty temper, and she isn’t afraid to show it. But she’s not violent. We had a close call on one of our, uh, latest jobs, and she’s been on a hair trigger ever since. But she’ll always want to speak than swing.”

You stare at him bleakly. “That wasn’t my experience just now.”

Monty shifts on his feet. “If it helps any, she feels real bad about it,” he offers, his gravelly voice softening a smidge. “She said it was all her fault, ‘n she acted on impulse.”

“She did?” You genuinely can’t imagine that. Her frantic reaction was likely fear of the consequences of assaulting a coworker.

A slight grin of curved teeth. “You might expect an apology soon. No comment on if it’ll be a good one, mind.”

Yeah, you know better than to count on any closure from Vanessa’s brand of repentance. “I’m good,” you say quickly, and Monty laughs like he’s chewing rocks. At least one of you is cheering up.

“Anyhow. Maybe it’s best I caught you down here – gives me a chance to get your opinion.” Monty nods his head past you, still mirthful. “What d’you think?”

You stare at him blankly, then turn on your step stool. What is he-?

Oh! Oh. The Glamrocks have finally made use of the lab.

In your panic, you had completely missed it. With the tables and study spaces closest to you kept clear, the far end of the room is packed with tanks and boxes, glass cases, and lucite cabinets of wet samples. Conflict momentarily shelved, you wander forward with your lips parted, eyes jumping from one fascination to the other.

A shadow falls over you, Monty drawing level with his arms crossed. You’re aware of his gaze on your face when he says, “Better late than never, eh? Now everything’s set up, we got a place to store our research.” He pauses as if for effect. “Thoughts?”

You blink rapidly. “It’s… wow. Am I allowed to look?”

“Knock yourself out.”

Everything is spread out over several spaces and cubicles, the entire long table lining the wall at the back bristling with stacked boxes and crates of supplies and tools. There are tanks kitted out for live specimens, one already occupied by a singular fish of the silvery kind you often see just outside the facility. It looks lonely and bereft without its shoal.

On a nearby table sits a convoluted contraption of beakers and bulbs, delicate glass spouts and test tubes suspended in corkwood frames. There are several setups of this kind, one bubbling with neon colours, another slowly dripping a tar-like substance into a glass container. The room is filled with various bloops and dripping noises. It all looks very colourful. Kind of like a movie lab, a kid’s idea of a serious research space.

You’ve seen plenty of study setups in this facility. This doesn’t look like anything you’ve ever seen before. It’s all… so pristine. Like a demonstration. Like a lab who’s only use is posing for a photograph to be pasted onto the cover of a science textbook.

“What?” Monty says, an edge to his voice, and you realise you’re frowning.

“It’s…” You can’t find the words to describe the faux-intellectual aura of the space. There may not be words to describe it, or at least none that would communicate the concept to Monty accurately. “It looks like a movie lab.”

Monty relaxes. “Yeah? Betcha haven’t seen anything like this before, huh? Welcome to a real research space.”

Ah. Awkward. It feels inappropriate to correct him that you’ve seen far better better laboratory arrangements than this one, that this is the version that falls short. You smile and nod.

“Feel free to look around when you want,” Monty says magnanimously. “You can use the free tables. ‘Sides, I think Chica’s angling to get some samples out of you.”

You perk up. “Oh, sure! What are talking about – live creatures, plant snippings? I could grab some rock samples too.”

Monty shrugs. “Yeah, those. We got plenty of storage space for all that.”

Well, that’s vague. “Is there anything in particular you want me to bring?” you hint.

“Be good to fill up those tanks.” Monty nods to a particularly large case on the floor several feet away. “Maybe you could wrangle us a mermaid, eh? Hah!”

Your smile freezes on your face. “Uh… ahah. That’s funny. But I’ll pass, I don’t fancy getting mauled.”

He chortles. “No worries. I got tranqs I’ve been itching to use. Them mermaids give you any trouble, we’ll stick ‘em in the tub.”

It looks like he’s joking, but discomfort still rises in your gut. “Not really, though,” you say with a nervous titter. “They’re pretty smart. It would be like sticking one of us in a tank. Right?”

Monty shrugs. “A fish is a fish is a fish. Listen, I gotta dip – you can look around, but don’t touch anything. And don’t get your jimmies rustled by Ness. Her bark’s worse than her bite, yeah?”

Just when you had forgotten. “Sure,” you say, mouth suddenly dry. Monty’s clueless assurances aren’t serving the comfort he thinks.

Monty grunts and turns to the door. “Later, squirt.”

You wait until you hear his footsteps echo and fade before you turn back to the lab, eyes dancing over the setup. It looks like several projects are all laid out and on the go in unison, with no one around to observe the data that’s presumably being collected.

A beaker holding some dense cobalt-blue liquid turns automatically on a glass stalk, upending into another container of what looks like smoking pencil sharpenings. They fizz and dissolve with a slight whistle, and the resulting mixture turns neon pink.

See, what does that mean? Was that supposed to happen, and if so why? No one is here to watch or record so you can’t even ask, a concept unheard of in the lab space. Surely it’s dangerous to leave so many things unattended.

Did the Glamrocks begin all these projects at once? They must have – the lab was completely empty the day before last. When exactly did this all happen?

Right after I brought it up to Chica and Roxy…

You turn away and catch BON-BON’s eyes, still watching from the feed. He’s wearing a frown, eyebrows drawn comically down. He blinks when he notices you watching.

“… Have you been there the whole time?” you say. Thinking back, the feed remained a glowing rectangle in the corner of your vision the entire time Monty was here.

“Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you turn off the feed? Or the screen at least.”

BON-BON places a hand over his disproportionately large mouth, eyes widening as he grasps what you’re getting at. “I… forgot.”

For a moment you both stare at each other. Torn between horrified dismay at the close call, or laughter at the stupidity of such a mistake, you just sigh and say, “Yeah, okay.”

“I can’t believe I forgot.”

I can. “Yeah.”

The AI looks sharply towards you, perhaps triggered by your tone of voice. “What?” he snaps.

You shrug. “Nothing.”

“Hmph.” BON-BON crosses his arms, treating you to a severe gimlet stare. “Shouldn’t you have something you want to tell me right now?”

“Uhh…” Under his increasingly frosty expression, you wrack your brains for a clue. There had been something, right? Something about a notification and the exit chamber’s door… “Oh! Oh my stars.” You almost smack yourself in the forehead. “Yes, I did- I do. I wanted to apologise for how I spoke to you-”

“Not that!” the AI howls, beating the screen from his side, somehow. You swear you can see the feed juddering on the wall. “I want to know what happened between you and Vanessa! Why you have blood in your mouth! Sweet nebula,” he adds, not quite under his breath.

You blink, completely wrong-footed. “Ah… well…”

“Tell me you punched her,” BON-BON says, clasping his hands together and speaking to the heavens. “Oh, please tell me you gave her a broken nose. A crisp slap, at least.”

“What? No! It was nothing like that.” Now you feel concerned for the AI’s moral core. But he’s still staring at you expectantly, and you’ve had quite enough of his brand of punishment already. With as little incendiary embellishment as possible, you relay your violent Vanessa encounter in the corridor, all the way up to Monty’s rescue.

“… Hold on.” BON-BON touches his artificial temples. “There’s a lot to unpack here.”

“There is?” You’re still expecting a lecture on what you actually should have done, complete with violent instructions that would realistically get you not only fired but blacklisted from all possible research locations.

“You were lying to Vanessa when you said you were out marking dangerous routes – so you did leave because of her? That’s why you threw a tantrum?”

You ignore the tantrum comment. “No, I went out to… uh, do something else.”

“To do what?”

Oop. “To meet Sun,” you mutter.

“What?” BON-BON’s face fills the screen. “What was that?”

You clear your throat, studiously avoiding eye contact. Base wasn’t the only one who forbade you try this stunt. “To, uh… to meet Sun. Because Moon said I injured him, that time I got blasted down to their habitat. I wanted to check he was okay.”

BON-BON’s face spasms through a few different emotions – fury, resignation, sheer hungry curiosity – before he takes a deep, staticky breath. “Okay. So you decided to go by yourself to meet a strong, violent mermaid who almost drowned you, on his own turf-!” His voice begins to rise.

“What was the other stuff you wanted to unpack?” you say quickly, hands held up peacefully.

BON-BON wavers on a knife’s edge, clearly torn. “… You have another set of teeth?” he says reluctantly.

“Oh! Yeah.” You perk up. “I thought you knew- no? Okay. It’s like, a quarter-annual thing where I come from. It’s not a big deal or anything.”

BON-BON is eyeing your mouth as you speak, hankering for a glimpse. “Does it hurt?”

“Not right now. It’s kind of itchy.” You rub your gums with your tongue, reminded of the annoying buzz of useless teeth. “I’m lucky, you know. I always get away with a clean shed, but my guardian often got ulcers.”

“A hereditary thing?” BON-BON says. You’re relieved to see that his anger has subsided under the novelty of new information.

“Yeah. It’s not Vanessa’s fault my tooth came out, but it got her to stop, so…”

“So no one got punched.” BON-BON sounds like how you feel seeing back-to-back meetings on your docket.

“Sorry,” you say, not entirely insincere. If there’s anything you’ve learned about the AI, it’s that his boredom is crippling to the extreme. A bust up would probably make his entire year.

“And as usual, you’re not going to do anything about it,” BON-BON states, a judgemental sneer curling his lip. “I didn’t think you were this much of a wuss.”

You stay silent.

He sighs, deflating under your refusal to rise to the bait. “Well. Get on with it, then.” He waves a small blue hand.

Blank, you stare at him. “Uh…”

BON-BON crosses his arms, glaring at you. “I’m still waiting for my apology. But I get it, I’m just an AI. It’s not like I’m owed anything after having you scream at me when I was just trying to-”

“No, no!” you say, holding up your hands to stop the flood of recriminations. “No, you’re right, I’m sorry! You’re definitely owed an apology, BON-BON, don’t get me wrong.”

BON-BON gives the appearance of settling down in his screen, taking a moment before waving a magnanimous hand. “Go on.”

If you had less self-preservation, you would roll your eyes.

Suddenly every door is operational again and no robots inexplicably dump water on your head. You expect that if you were to check, the shower would set to your preferred temperature without a struggle. This is the privilege of not pissing off the AI that somehow holds control over the entire building.

Ironclad control, capable of holding doors closed when the locks have been disengaged. How far does BON-BON’s reach extend, and how much damage has been avoided simply because he hasn’t thought to inflict it?

… I’m not going to think about that.

BON-BON accepted your apology after ten solid minutes of grovelling. A stroke of genius had you sit back on the step stool about halfway through, given how the AI clearly enjoys being able to literally look down on you. It probably shaved off an extra ten minutes from the ordeal, and then you could finally retreat to your room.

That doesn’t mean he has stopped holding it over your head yet.

“I want this one too,” BON-BON says, scrolling your holoscreen to view a new ensemble. If you knew your suggestion to shop around for digital clothes would be used as guilt fodder to make you rue shouting at him, you never would have brought it up. “Add to cart.”

You close your eyes rather than risk glaring. “You don’t even have actual feet,” is your feeble protest. It’s true, he has paws. “Half of the price is for the shoes.”

“I don’t have actual feet yet,” the AI corrects, which, what? “Are you refusing to buy me clothes? I’m cold. I’m cold and I’m hurt because you-”

“It’s in the cart,” you say.

Instantly, BON-BON is all smiles again. “Good! Now go back, I want to see that top again. No, not that one. Scroll- yeah, that one. What do you think?”

You examine the top with little interest. It has short sleeves and mesh panels. “I don’t know. Do you like it?”

“I’m asking what you think,” he says. “Will the colour look nice with my fur?”

Forget tops, he should buy shades to cover up those horrifying eyes à la Monty. “I think green and blue are near each other on the human colour wheel, so maybe not?” you hazard, uncertain.

BON-BON pauses in his examination of the top to give you an incredulous look. “I don’t care about the colour wheel, I’m asking you to use your eyes. Would it suit me?”

You shrug. “It’s nice, I guess.”

He throws his hands up. “Ugh! I don’t even know why I bother.”

You don’t either. Just because you can appreciate good fashion on others doesn’t mean you have the foggiest clue on how it all works. There’s a reason why you stick to wearing t-shirts and swimsuits. “Wouldn’t you know what suits you more than me? They say dress for the body you want, right?” At least, you think they say that. Do they say that?

“No,” BON-BON answers your mental question. “They say dress for the body you have, actually.”

Ah. “Right,” you nod. “That’s what I meant. Dress for the body you have, of course. So if it suits the body you have, why not get it?”

The AI tilts his head, eyes narrowed. “Oh yeah? Exactly what kind of body do you think I have?”

Well that’s easy. “Rabbit.”

BON-BON turns away abruptly, ducking his head. “O-oh,” he chokes, a little strangled. The rosy apple of his cheek is lifted.

You’re bored of shopping, and the AI’s existential avatar crisis is just slowing things down. “Shall I add it to the cart?” you prompt.

BON-BON turns back, a smile playing at his mouth. “No,” he says, after examining the top for a few seconds longer. “I don’t think the green will go with my fur after all.”

So I was right. BON-BON should really consider the complementary colour wheel theory as a valid tool. “Is that everything?” you say, trying not to sound too eager. Your finger hovers over the cart icon.

“No,” BON-BON says dryly, watching you wilt. “Back up and go to the accessories tab. Let’s see what they’ve got there.”

“Okay,” you say glumly. You already figured you’d be parting with more money than you planned.

And you do.

“Okay,” BON-BON says happily, after credits have been applied, and the clothing pack has been downloaded, and he’s cycling through a dizzying array of items at a speed that makes you vaguely nauseous. “You’re forgiven.”

You sag in your chair, having half-expected the ordeal to draw out days further than this. “Thank the stars.”

BON-BON slaps on a hoop earring reminiscent of the kind Freddy often sports. “I won’t block the exit again either. Don’t want you, ah, tearing a fucking hole in it.”

You shoot him a brief, anxious glance, but the AI is preoccupied with a pair of pink star-shaped sunglasses and doesn’t look like he’s trying to reopen the issue. He doesn’t think you’re owed an apology, but this is at least a nod to his own behaviour that morning. “… Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”

BON-BON hums. “Later.”

The holoscreen goes dark so abruptly it leaves an after-image on the back of your eyeballs. You reactivate it and, after clicking around to make sure he’s really gone, open the shared docket and send a meeting request to Chica.

Now, what to do? You suppose you’re overdue a report to Base. Since the Glamrocks don’t insist on weekly meetings like every other team you’ve encountered, Base is entitled to schedule their own with you to make sure maintenance is running smoothly. You can avoid that for a while by keeping them up to date yourself.

You’re forgetting something. Breakfast, you haven’t even eaten yet. Of course, that means leaving your room to go the dining room or the kitchenette, where you might run into any other member of the team. Including Vanessa.

… Maybe I’m not that hungry after all.

What with your fight with Vanessa, the team potentially still annoyed at your spontaneous disappearance, and the fact that it’s a weekend, you decide it might be appropriate to remain out of the water for the rest of the day. It’s not like any of the tasks you’ve got lined up are time-sensitive, so you can afford to hide from everyone.

Music set to your preferred volume, you snack on handfuls of chopped fruit someone left in the fridge, thoughtfully set in the communal section. You’re redecorating your room. After Vanessa’s rampage had torn down most of your efforts to make the space your own, you have simply been too anxious and busy to even make the attempt before now. Still, it’s not like she can do it again when you lock your door now.

Humming through a mouthful of juice, you step down from your desk chair. On one side of the wall the interactive blackboard lists miscellaneous tasks for the upcoming week, and around the frame you have pasted up pictures of all the media in your Favourites folder. Interesting fauna, a wide shot of Sun’s environment, an extra-large print of your eel selfie, and the nicest images you could find of Moon.

Somewhat ruefully, you have included the panicked pictures you took in the grassy cave – it’s a distant enough memory that the terror has largely faded, leaving you vaguely amused every time you look at them. Your anxious smile and Moon’s esca in the background is a funny combination, but you draw the line at using the pictures he took while chasing you. Moon’s selfie in particular always grabs your attention – his red eyes are intent and focused, concentrating very hard as he manipulates a gadget he has never used before. He is not smiling, but there’s a mischievous aspect to his expression. The light has caught the scales around his eyes and the shallow bridge of his nose, like shiny freckles. And you’re there too, pressed to his side with eyes screaming shock. It’s funnier in retrospect.

I must remember to take more. Especially now that Sun has been added to your list of mer-friends. It would be such a shame for these blurry and scant photographs to be the only memories of your time with mermaids. You’re not naïve enough to believe that this state of affairs will last forever – anything could happen. The two could be eaten by the leviathan tomorrow for all you know. Or your role could be made redundant. Besides, if there’s anything that life has taught you, it’s that even the closest bonds can be easily broken.

And that’s natural, you tell yourself for the umpteenth time. No use railing against the ways of the world.

Besides, your relationship with Sun and Moon isn’t even particularly close, in comparison to others you have seen. There’s no use worrying about it right now.

Inspired by Monty’s strip-lighting, you have strung up some softly-glowing lights, having had to shop quite strenuously to find the kind of dim gold bulbs that won’t strain your eyes. What few ornaments and keepsakes that have survived are placed back on your desk, with Moon’s beautiful carved shell sitting once more at the forefront. The room looks like it belongs to you again.

“Lights off,” you say, and then the soft gold of the string lights is the only thing illuminating the room. It’s dim enough that you can make out the flicker of fish in the dark waters outside your window without sacrificing your own vision. The faint reflection of the bulbs in the glass only obscures patches of the view outside. Much better than the looking-glass effect the overhead lights usually have on the window.

You smile and toss yourself backwards onto the bed, only to jerk upright as a fine cloud rises from the mattress. Instinctively, you hold your breath as it begins to disperse and fall from view. Is that dust? Does your bed need changing? With your recent sleep deprivation you can’t quite remember the last time it was done, and besides, the staff bots can be trusted to do a regular strip and clean. A locked door doesn’t stop them.

The dust has almost completely disappeared now, drifting apart when you try to grab a pinch. You punch the mattress with a fist, eliciting another puff into the air. You have never seen this before – is this the result of spending a single night away from your room? It’s fine and pale, like powder.

Well, at the very least you should change your bedding. “Lights on,” you say, and the dust in the air disappears like magic the moment full light is restored. Huh.

Maybe you should vacuum the mattress before you put on new sheets. There’s a chance it could be leaking something.

Another restless night. At this point, you’re disappointed but not surprised. For whatever reason, you just… have trouble sleeping now, anxiety over injured mermaids notwithstanding. With the timing, you’re almost tempted to blame it on the Glamrock team, only you know that correlation does not necessarily constitute causation.

You’re lying on your bed minus the blanket, having kicked it to the end of the mattress in a tangle. It’s hot, far too hot, and that is something you can blame on the team and their habit of messing with the thermal settings. It just sucks that temperature for the facility includes the bedrooms. Of course, the lab is excluded from that to allow for experimental temperature control and study validity. Perhaps you should try to sleep in there.

A droplet of sweat trails down your temple and tickles your earlobe, but you can’t summon the energy to wipe it away. You’re damp under the arms, the nape of your neck, the backs of your knees. Salt stings your eyes, sweat beading above the lids. It’s odd – the temperature is brutal, but you don’t feel the slightest bit drowsy. You should at least feel the urge to sleep, if not the ability. Perhaps you didn’t tire yourself out enough today, having kept out of the water and the gym.

It was simple to avoid everyone, with the staffbots willing to make you something to eat in your room. It’s for the best – the stars only know what Vanessa has told the Glamrocks. You’re not stupid enough to buy that she won’t try to get ahead of you after shoving you up against the wall, no matter what Monty said. And losing a tooth as well, you suppose, even though that one wasn’t her fault. Many strangers have passed through this building, and it’s always the ones who cause the most dramatic trouble that hurry to salvage their reputation immediately after. You think it’s more suspicious to assure your coworkers that you haven’t done anything wrong before the victim even gets a word out, but maybe that’s just you.

Speaking of, Chica still hasn’t accepted your meeting request.

You huff and roll over, staring out the dark window. Figures. She isn’t particularly professional or diligent, and you’re willing to bet that checking the docket is at the bottom of her daily task list. She seems like more of a casual authority, which is fine, but you want to speak to her sooner rather than later. You really don’t want to have to seek her out.

Pulling the blanket back up, you bask in the temporary coolness of sweat-dried fabric before it begins to warm again. Sleeplessness is boring, and the buzz of utter silence sounds like whispering in your ears. If you close your eyes and allow your mind to drift, you can almost believe people are speaking in the next room over.

You grab your holoscreen and turn down the brightness, scrolling aimlessly through your notifications. A request for a maintenance update on the platform since it’s nearing its scheduled examination time, a refreshed email thread between various Base researchers asking after the mermaids… some spam…

Finger hovering over the notification slots, you frown and blink tired eyes. Motion detected in a monitored area? What is-

Oh, of course. Base had you line the tunnel leading off from the large net with motion detecting cameras after Eclipse’s stunt with the poles. It hasn’t even been that long since you set them up, but enough has happened since then to shove them to the back of your mind. Motion detected an hour prior. The cameras are set to spot large mass only, so anything small will go ignored unless it gets close enough to confuse the issue. It’s not like the facility territory is a high-traffic area for larger organisms. You tap the notification to view the footage.

Several cameras, several sections of the big tunnel. The footage is greenish and grainy, set to night mode in order to make out anything in the pitch-black waters. One holds a view of the net and that is where your eyes automatically turn first, examining it suspiciously. There are no perceivable flaws or movement. If the footage begins with your net being dismantled again, you might scream-

Light flares to life on the screen, blinding you with pure white intensity. Sucking a breath between your teeth, you squeeze your eyes closed and feel painful tears mingle with the sweat on your face. Stars, that hurts. Thank goodness you already turned down the screen brightness.

The light begins to slowly dim and level out as the cameras adjust to the sudden change. On the furthermost camera nearest the net you catch an arc of movement, some kind of upwards swipe that reminds you of a fanning leaf or upraised arm. The net ripples violently, only visible as a white-lit gossamer shimmer.

Oh stars, oh no. You bring the screen closer despite the twinge behind your eyeballs, chewing anxiously on a finger. Please don’t break the net, please please please please…

The net settles to a sway and begins to still. The cameras continue to darken, dimming, the view turning from a stark black and white, the rocks brutally silhouetted, to the calmer green and black of night vision. All the cameras – whatever made the light either spanned the entire length of the significantly-lengthy camera radius, or emitted light so bright that every camera was effected at once. You’re more inclined towards the latter – surely the camera footage would have started earlier if something that long travelled beneath them prior to lighting up.

The footage returns to normal. The net looks unharmed.

You blow out a breath that stirs the wispy hairs sticking to your forehead. A large animal, perhaps, moving slowly enough so as not to alert the cameras until it came upon the net and emitted light as a danger response. If Sun, Moon, and Eclipse can all light up at will, there’s nothing to say that no other animal in this ecosystem can. Some smaller creatures have bioluminescence or lightshow tricks, granted, but the mermaids are the largest ones you have come across. But that doesn’t mean other glitzy creatures don’t exist.

Or perhaps the culprit is obvious, and you’re just wilfully fooling yourself.

You rewind the footage and cautiously raise the lighting and contrast settings. Allowing it to play at half the speed, you keep an eye on the progress bar so as not to blind yourself a second time. Green rocks, the wafting net, the slow journey of smaller creatures-

The pause button gets a turn right before the light can blaze into being. You rewind again, pressing your face up close to the screen. If you need to search camera by camera for the culprit, you’ll do it. Your interest is piqued now.

It takes several rewinds and a pair of lightly-seared retinas before you finally spot it – a shape incongruent with the rest of the environment. You stare hard, willing your tired brain to make sense of the anomaly, and then suddenly your perspective shifts and you see the curve of a torso, beautifully camouflaged against the misshapen rock walls and boulder-laden seafloor. With that spotted, it’s easy now to follow it down to the taper of a massive tail, ending in a familiar twin-fan formation.

Swiftly, without blinking, you screenshot and sketch a circle around the tail with the Notes feature, framing the torso with scribbles. Then you rewind and start again. You might be able to see the rest on the other cameras.

Sadly, it’s not to be. Try as you might, you can’t spot an approach in any of the other viewpoints, can’t see a face before the light swallows up the screen. The most you get is a glimpse of petal-like fins in the camera set just before the one focussed on the net, a fraction of a second before all visuals are overwhelmed. It honestly could just be a strand of vegetation with how little is captured, but you dutifully screenshot and circle that as well anyway.

No matter how you toggle the settings, you can’t get around the blinding light. It isn’t the fault of your eyes, ill-equipped to handle this level of brightness – the cameras simply do not have usable footage several seconds after the burst. By the time they clear, Eclipse – who are you kidding, it must be him with that size and location – is gone.

You wish you knew what he was doing. Rattling the net, maybe? It looks intact after, despite the violent swaying it went through. Perhaps the arc you saw was Eclipse flipping back on himself to swim away down the tunnel, having given up on disturbing the territory. It kind of looks like it could be the end of his tail.

Why give up though? He could tear through that net like toilet paper, or simply dismantle it like he did before, the sneaky bastard. It must be a coincidence that his appearances and sabotage ended right after you shouted him away, but it brings a smile to your face to think that you managed to scare off a mermaid that size. As if.

… Why didn’t he shout back? Sun and Moon seem perfectly comfortable talking. Well, perhaps not perfectly, considering Moon’s lackadaisical approach to communication, but they talk. Can Eclipse not do that?

Actually, given their wildly disproportionate sizes, it might be unfair to compare the mermaids at all. You kind of assumed that Eclipse is simply a fully-developed specimen of Sun and Moon’s species, but perhaps they’re not the same at all. They could be like humans and monkeys for all you know, or shrimp and crabs, or crickets and crabs, or grasshoppers and crabs. Sun and Moon seem mature – they can hold a conversation like you. They’re bilingual at the very least. Maybe they won’t grow giant like Eclipse has. Or, maybe mermaids are sexually dimorphous! Eclipse could be a girl, or some other thing that mermaids can be!

But then, what is the colossal mermaid? If you’re wrong, and mermaids grow and grow, does a fully mature mermaid outgrow its environment and the prey that surrounds it? Is that the eventual fate of every mermaid – to grow until the caves crush it, until it’s trapped and starving with no way out? Unless it can realise its situation and reach the wider ocean, it’ll die down here? Is that going to happen to Sun and Moon? Is that what happened to all the other mermaids?

How horrifying. Like a ram whose horns curve back to blind it. A failure of evolution.

I feel sick.

You should stop spiralling. You should definitely be writing all these random theories down for the benefit of the Base researchers. What progress you make will only be a stepping stone on the way to communication for them, after all. You’re not naïve enough to think the honour of official first contact will lie with you. At least their idea of lining the big tunnel with cameras paid off with results.

Knock knock knock knock knock knock knock-

The sound of high-speed rapping at the window, directly above your head. With a strangled yelp, you jerk back and meet air, the drag of the blanket tangled around you only somewhat slowing your fall from the bed. The holoscreen skids off across the carpet, landing face up to dimly illuminate the room at large. You sit up with some difficulty and peer over the top of the mattress.

Sun has stopped battering the window, must have done the moment you fell out of sight. To your alarm, the moment you make eye contact he perks up and beams, literally. He takes up a gentle golden glow, the petal-like fins around his face shimmering a yellow-orange gradient. Then he frowns and squints, leans in until his face smushes against the glass, fingers splayed as he doubtless runs into the same dilemma Moon did the first time he entered this area – that light turns the glass opaque when the other side is too dark to see.

The gold flickers and fades. You’re left staring at each other in the gloom.

Slowly, with some trepidation, you lift your hand and give him a wave. Sun makes a squirmy movement that you somehow know is accompanied by a squeal, and waves back so fast his hand blurs. Then he begins knocking at the window. Again.

Okay. Okay, it’s just Sun and his characteristically over-the-top communication methods. The thrum of your heart begins to calm now that the scare is firmly over, almost matching the slow throb of your elbow where you knocked it on the way down. Ouch.

Clutching the blanket, you climb back on the bed and shove some of your pillows against the headboard, leaning back in a seated position. Sun is still knocking, varying in tempo and rhythm, and you knock back if only to give yourself some relief from the noise. Knock-knockknockknockknock-knock-knock. Sun smiles wide, fingers bracing himself against a gentle drift downward in the water, and mimics the pattern right back at you.

You do it again, eyeing the water behind him – it doesn’t look like Moon is also in that little opening, unless he’s lurking with the intention to scare you. That’s right up his alley. Did Sun leave him behind? You had been hoping that the fight from last time would be resolved so you could all spend time together.

Sun is blinking wide eyes at you, expectant. He puts you in mind of a dog waiting for you to throw the ball for the bazillionth time, and your finger bones throb. You’re built for repairing delicate underwater machinery, not slamming your fists against glass.

Behind you, the dim light abruptly cuts out as the holoscreen goes idle, and Sun freezes with his knuckles raised. You can just see the white of his pupils flickering, trying the place the change in environment. He says something, glancing back over his shoulder so that even if you were to attempt to read his lips, you can’t make out a word.

You’re not trying to read anything. Ancient English isn’t as difficult now as it was initially, but you’re aware there are massive areas of improvement for you to work on. Sometimes Moon will make a face of deep amusement and you know you have messed up a word or phrase, and your pronunciation can definitely use more work. It’s difficult enough to speak the language without adding lipreading to the mix, especially with a mouth so alien as Sun’s.

He’s still talking, becoming more insistent the longer you go without a reaction. You blink slowly, your eyes gritty. It’s tempting to try and get some sleep, but there’s no point if you’re just not that tired. There’s less reason to be wary now than the last time a mermaid showed up at your window, and Sun has taken the trouble to come all this way.

Sun is face-to-face now, hands pressed to the glass either side of his head, yammering a mile a minute. His face is terribly earnest.

“I can’t hear you,” you say, gesturing to your ears. The chances of the motion going misunderstood are high given that you still haven’t confirmed where mermaid ears are. “Go. Go outside, I’ll meet you outside.”

Pointing and shooing, you make the same movements that got Moon to surface at the platform not so long ago, but Sun blinks and tilts his head inquisitively. The intensity of his blank white stare, the sight of him pressed right up against the glass, it’s all rather unnerving in the dark.

You give up and rise from the bed, shedding the blanket without much thought and making your way over to the dresser. The tails of your braids tickle your hips as you select a t-shirt and loose shorts, both marred with permanent stains – an unwelcome reminder of Vanessa’s rampage. They drag uncomfortably against your damp skin as you pull them on, and you waft the fabric of the shirt against your chest, puffing out a breath. It’s so hot. Historically, readjusting the building settings to match your standards only results in an unspoken war with them being switched back and forth while everyone becomes more irritable in the process, but you might have to risk it just to breathe at night. You glance over your shoulder, pulling your braids out through the neck hole, and see Sun abruptly pull away from the window and dive in the direction of the exit, frilled tail flicking like a streamer.

Huh. Well, he got it in the end. After a brief hesitation, you decide to bring the earpiece with you. Then you dust off the abandoned holoscreen and pop it on the desk, and leave and lock the door behind. The sound of your bare feet going plap plap plap plap plap against the shiny floors makes you want to snicker, the footsteps disproportionately louder in the dark corridors under the dim orange lights as you pass the doorway to the main room. To your abject relief the big interface doesn’t flicker, BON-BON occupied by whatever he does at night – writing more disparaging reviews on random movies, perhaps. You patter down the hallway into the exit chamber, and ghost your fingers over the taser out of habit, before bypassing it entirely and just grabbing the breather instead.

The waters are still and empty when you step outside, the air only a fraction cooler than within the facility. It’s still a little warm – your body needs time to adjust. The platform rings quietly as you pad across it, the grating an odd sensation against your bare feet. To your consternation, Sun doesn’t surface even when you approach the water and peer down, trying to catch a glimpse of gold. Did he leave already?

“I wasn’t aware you swim at night.”

“Gah-!” You almost topple right off the platform in surprise, only managing to cling to the breather out of sheer luck. As it is, you stagger a couple of steps back, unbalanced, before whirling to face the speaker.

Vanessa has a hand held out, eyes wide, but relaxes once you catch your balance. She leans back against the wall of the facility, as far from the water as she can get while still being outside. A slim silver tube dangles from her other hand. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” she says, so quiet that you can only detect a tinge of her usual defensiveness.

“What are you doing out here?” Vanessa seems to hold nothing but disdain and a healthy dose of caution for the water. She isn’t dressed for a swim – in fact, she’s kitted out in a pyjama set of pink ditsy print. It’s completely at odds with her usual appearance, which resembles something approaching office-athleisure.

Vanessa lifts the tube and waggles it at you, before bringing one end to her mouth. To your astonishment, she sucks on it and exhales a thin cloud of vapour that hangs about her head before it dissipates. The faint smell of peppermint stings your nostrils. “Do you smoke?”

“No,” you say, assuming the phrase is self-explanatory. You have never been set on fire either. For a moment curiosity wars with intense dislike before you reluctantly ask, “What is that?”

Vanessa looks down at the tube. “This? It’s a cigarette. An electronic one though – it’s too much trouble to roll myself.”

Roll yourself where? You hum, glancing back over the water. Still no mermaid.

“Don’t they have cigarettes on your planet?” Vanessa has her head tilted, green eyes catching the faint light oddly. “I thought sailors smoked.”

“Not that I know of,” you say vaguely. Would Sun surface if you dipped a toe in the water? Or maybe he’s stuck. Stars, how would you go about getting a mermaid unwedged from that small tunnel?

“What did they use, then?”

You turn back to her. “Use?”

“It’s…” she looks down at the silvery cigarette, “a recreational thing, like drinking.”

Maybe if you humour Vanessa, she’ll go away. Her random chatty moods aren’t usually long-lived. “Um… I guess we had this kind of herb paste? You rub it on your gums and it makes them numb, but it has a relaxing effect. And you can get different flavours.”

Vanessa’s eyes bug for a second. “That sounds like cocaine.”

“No.”

For a moment her eyes narrow, a snappish retort on her lips the moment you responded brusquely. Then she takes a deep breath and visibly swallows it back, centring herself. “Do you want to try it?” she says, holding out the tube.

For a moment you’re tempted, always happy to add a new experience to your repertoire. But you can already see how it’ll go – you’ll choke on the vapour or cough, or do something a little wrong, and then Vanessa will say something caustic and mocking, and then you’ll snap back, and she’ll forget she has something to be sorry for and her tenuous control will snap. You’re sick of playing toss the grenade with this woman’s temper. “No, thank you,” you say, because even if you hate her you can still remember your manners.

Vanessa sucks in a breath through her nose and drops her arm.

This is so awkward. You’re considering going back inside and trying again later when Vanessa says, “You don’t look like you’re dressed for a swim.” She exhales another cloud of vapor right after, somehow managing to have kept it in her lungs until now.

“I’m not swimming.”

“Well, I assumed that since you’re holding your mask…”

Reluctantly, you explain, “It’s just in case. Sun- uh, one of the mermaids. He came up to my window, so I’m out here to meet him.”

Vanessa stills. “… The mermaid is out here?”

You cast another glance over the water. “I think he might have left by now.”

“You said they can get up on the platform.” Vanessa is edging towards the door.

You have to hide your smile. “They can.”

“But they can slither up? All the way over here?” Her voice rises shrilly.

Slither? “… You’re probably out of reach at that distance,” you say reluctantly.

Vanessa bites her lip, eyes scanning the water. “… Do you think I could meet it?”

You stare at her in such disbelief that she looks away. “You?” you say, before remembering exactly who you’re talking to. “I mean- sure, I guess. If you want to. Do you want to?”

“That’s what I said, yes,” she says testily.

“Okay. Uh, well… I’ll just go and…” You approach the platform’s edge again, completely at a loss. Just what is going on with her? At your throat one moment, and then offering you her cigarette and asking to meet a mermaid the next. Maybe there’s weirder stuff in that pipe of hers than she lets on.

Still, you’re not dressed for a swim and it’s not like you have a way of calling the mermaids to you. When you came out here, you didn’t anticipate an audience. You sit on the far edge and dangle your legs in the water, peering between your knees down at where the tunnel leading to your window is roughly located. You can’t see much – no light, no yellow, but you can spot part of where the rough stone drops down and down, riddled with the odd growth. Distracted, you lean until you’re almost lying down and grab at movement, coming up with an interesting-looking shrimp. The shell is greyish-blue and mottled with odd patches that spark under your touch in a purely visual defensive measure. Its many legs skitter against your fingers, tickling you.

“What is it?” Vanessa calls, and you jump. You already half forgot her.

“Look,” you say, lifting the shrimp, and Vanessa makes what can only be described as the verbal version of a shudder. You hurriedly plop the shrimp back in the water.

Water stirs around your ankles. You feel a hand wrap gently around your calf. Sun rises from the dark, beautifully camouflaged until he’s not, his upturned face pausing a few feet below the surface. You can see his tail beneath him, wafting from side to side to keep afloat.

“Hello,” you murmur, surprised. Has he just been hanging about this entire time?

He smiles when you do, his grin like a big white banana. You motion him up and set aside the breather, the ripple of cold water against your knees offset by the sensation of big warm palms being placed on them. Sun surfaces and turns his head at the sound of Vanessa’s gasp, white eyes peering past you. A fin on his head drags silkily across the top of your thigh, leaving a trail of water.

“Why does it look like that?” she says shakily, voice hushed.

You twitch in irritation, and Sun glances up at you. “Like what?”

“Like…” Vanessa makes some kind of motion about her head in your periphery, daring to advance a little. “Like that. All weird and flat and… what are those things on its head?”

You look down at poor Sun, who looks completely lost with you both communicating in general speech. You’re being very rude. “Fins, I think. Look, why don’t I introduce-”

“I guess it is a fish,” Vanessa muses, drawing closer still. You catch the sickly scent of sweet lotion. The hairs rise on your skin, and you have consciously untense your muscles at the sensation of her at your back. It wasn’t so bad when you were a fair distance apart, but now every instinct you have is screaming danger. “I was picturing something different.”

“You’ve seen Moon before,” you say, neck aching with the effort of keeping her in your sightline.

“I wasn’t paying much attention,” Vanessa says, the echo of a snap in her voice. “Remember? Or are you talking about that time in the cave? How well do you think I can see?”

Sun lightly pets your thighs, a quiet chirp in his throat. You relax your legs, realising you have been squeezing them against his arms the sharper Vanessa’s voice becomes. Sorry, you mouth in ancient English, shooting him an apologetic look, but Sun’s eyes are searching your face with an uncharacteristically shrewd expression. He looks at Vanessa narrowly, smile thinning.

Uh oh. “Sorry, could you lower your voice a little?” you say to Vanessa, already cringing in anticipation of her reaction. Your hands raise in peace. “I think Sun-”

“Oh,” Vanessa says, stepping back sharply. “Is it angry? Come away from the water.”

You hadn’t realised introducing her to Sun would involve so much backseat driving. “In a minute. But, do you want to introduce yourself? This is your first meeting, right?”

Vanessa snorts. “Believe me, if I met one of these things the whole building would know.”

“Right,” you say, holding back a sigh. Sun rubs your leg, a no doubt idle gesture that feels soothing to you.

Vanessa waves her hand, drawing his attention. “Hello,” she says in a loud monotone. “I am-”

“Hello!” Sun says right back in general speech, injecting cheer where Vanessa had none.

Vanessa straightens abruptly. “Oh- it just-”

You’re giddy, an echo of the same excitement as when you sat on this platform and first spoke with Moon. He just picked up the greeting, right there! “He can speak like us,” you say to her earnestly, willing the shock on her face to morph to the same joy you feel. “He doesn’t know the language, but he can understand the context.” Actually, you’ll have to follow up on that with Sun to be sure, but it’s nothing Vanessa can argue about right now.

“That was… uncanny,” she says reluctantly. “Can he mimic voices?”

“No,” you say, growing frustrated. Uncanny wasn’t the descriptive you were looking for. “But it’s cool too, right? I mean, this is our neighbour. And he just echoed general speech. We can learn to communicate.” Well, even more, but she won’t be interested in the minutiae.

“Hmm.” Vanessa turns her attention back to Sun, placing her hand against her chest. “Vanessa,” she says, still in that same loud monotone.

Sun glances at you, scaled brows raised. Something about his expression says get a load of this? and you have to bite back a grin. “Sun,” he says, touching his own chest. Then he leaves his spot between your legs and anchors himself to the platform beside you, sharp fingertips ringing the metal. He holds his hand aloft, water sliding down his elbow, and says, “Hello, Vanessa!”

A beat passes with the both of you looking at her expectantly. Vanessa looks between you and the hand before saying, “Yeah, I’m not touching that.”

Sun must grasp the rejection in her tone, because he trills out a noise so mournful your chest instantly goes tight. His eyes widen, dewy, his mouth droops and quivers, and his fins deflate against his head. You have never seen a creature emulate a wet paper bag so successfully. Sucking in your lips is the only way to hold back a laugh.

Vanessa backs up several steps. “What is he doing?”

“He’s sad.” Ostensibly.

“Ugh, okay. That’s enough for me, I’m going back in.”

“Okay,” you say, and turn back to where Sun is still doing his miserable routine, allowing his hand to slowly drift down onto the platform. His mouth is trembling, the corners struggling not to upturn. He’s really milking this.

Vanessa is still hovering. “Come on, then,” she says, her voice sharp.

“I’m fine staying out here, thanks.” You’re puzzled – does she want to talk to you in private? No way you’re going along with that.

But then Vanessa looks between you and Sun, a frown on her face. “I don’t think it’s safe to be here alone,” she says, jerking her head at Sun like he can’t connect the dots.

You studiously avoid looking at him. “It’s fine. I hang out with Moon alone plenty, this is no issue.”

“… So long as you’re sure,” she says, pulling herself away reluctantly. You wonder how she would react if you told her that of the two, you consider Sun’s company far safer.

“Buh-bye!” Sun calls in ancient English, right as Vanessa reaches the door. He waves from the water beside you, lightly flecking your skin.

Vanessa freezes in the doorway, hand clenched on the frame, and slowly turns with wide, disbelieving eyes. “What did you say?”

Sun tilts his head then emits a series of chirps and clicks, his throat and gills tensing and flexing oddly. You’re close enough to see the giggle that shakes his shoulders.

Interspecies communication is fun and all, but you want her to leave already. “He’s messing around,” you say.

Vanessa taps the doorway with her fingertips, biting her lip. “I thought… alright. Goodnight.”

“Sleep well,” you return dishonestly. You hope she has the most terrible night of her life. Maybe featuring nightmares of being shoved into the wall by her coworkers. When the door slides shut, you sag like a puppet with its strings cut.

Sun’s eyes are fixed on the door where Vanessa has disappeared, curious and hungry. His tiny pupils reflect the automatic light streaming through the window like pinprick LEDs, and they slide over to you without him moving his head. It feels like an intense, secret scrutiny.

You offer him a tired smile. “Sorry about that,” you say, switching over to ancient English. “She doesn’t know the language, but we shouldn’t have spoken over your head.”

Sun perks up, the fins around his head quirking. “Oh, no no no friend, no worries at all! I didn’t want to interrupt, terribly rude! Was… was that your language?”

Vanessa could learn some grace from Sun. Actually, you probably could too. “Yeah,” you say, deciding to skip over the concept of general speech vs your native tongue. “Everyone calls it general speech. It’s the best option if you want to be able to communicate with most people you meet.”

“And that one speaks it?” Sun gazes at the door again like it holds answers to all the mysteries of the universe. “Is she a part of your pod?” he adds, dubious.

“Uh… she works alongside me in the facility,” you say, puzzled. “I think I might be mistranslating something. By pod you mean a small travelling cubicle, right?”

“Nope!” Sun flaps his palm like he’s swatting away the misunderstanding, once more speckling you with water. “Pod, like when all your friends and family live and swim together! The community, the group!”

“Ahh,” you say, feeling the familiar thrill of new understandings achieved. “Okay, cool. I didn’t know that.”

Sun drifts slowly closer. “Do you think… I could ever learn general speech?” he says, hesitant.

“Sure.” You already went into this expecting to teach Moon an entire language. “I can teach you.”

Sun accidentally clangs the platform in his haste to look at you, eyes wide searching for a hint of dishonesty. “R-really?”

You shrug. “Why not?”

“Oh, but…” He worries his fingers together, face filled with hope. “But, but, it’ll be a big use of your time, and I might not learn it quickly… it might not be fun…”

“I don’t mind.”

Sun quivers, then shrills a throat-deep squeal that jabs your eardrums like red needles and leaves you wincing. The sound echoes out over the water and bounces back against rock as Sun plants his hands on the platform and hauls himself up to sit, enfolding you into a hug before you can even raise your arms. You’re buried face-first against his gills as he rocks you both from side to side.

“Thank you, thank you, thankyouthankyouthankyou!” he sings, squeezing hard. You can feel the wiry strength in his arms, utterly unbreakable. “Ohhh, this is like a dream come true! A new friend, more people, a whole new language-”

“Yes Sun, yep, that’s okay, it’s fine, thank you Sun-” you babble, patting him on the elbow from your constrained position. His body burns with heat, scales slick against your face and arms. The side of his round, alien face presses against your temple. A fizzy buzzing starts up in your stomach like you have just slid down a hill. “Yes, yes, please let go Sun- Sun, let go-”

“Oh!” he gasps, releasing you only to clasp his hands to his face. “You could teach me your language, and I could teach you mine! Would you like that? Would ya? Would ya?”

He leans in as you lean back, smiling despite yourself. “I don’t know how that would go…” From what you have seen, the language consists of various clicks and chirps, most of which appear to involve the usage of gills. But Sun’s smile falters, his fins drooping, so you hasten to add, “But sure, yeah! No harm in trying, right?”

You’re overcompensating in your haste to avoid offending him, but Sun doesn’t seem to care as he immediately perks up with a wide smile, another trill leaving his throat. He gathers your hands like a bouquet, pumping them up and down. “Oooh, this is gonna be so much fun-!”

This time you let him touch you without attempting to disentangle yourself, wary of his sharp claws. You know how well that went the last time. “Just to be clear, you definitely don’t already speak it, right? Even a few words?”

Sun makes a questioning noise. “Mmm, nope! But I promise I’m a quick learner, oh yes! My studies were always the fastest in the pod.”

“Okay,” you say, but you’re having Moon flashbacks. When Sun deduced Vanessa’s greeting and effortlessly returned it you had felt thrilled, but now you think about it, it’s disturbingly close to the way Moon ‘picked up’ ancient English just by having you speak it to him. That big faker.

“Hmm? What’s the matter?” Sun leans in again. “You don’t believe me? The cheek of you!”

“Oh- no!” you say quickly, shaking your head. “That’s not-”

“I’ll have you know I’m more than just a pretty face!” Sun sniffs, and oh, he’s just joking.

“You spoke to Vanessa so clearly, I thought you must have some prior experience.”

“Oh, you flatterer! Who taught you to be such a sweetheart?” Sun says, ducking his head. It gives you a glimpse of the topside of his facial fins. There’s a series of faint threads running through them like golden veins, shimmering wet. They’re partially translucent where the tips make a point, and you have to strangle the urge to take one between your fingertips and pinch and rub.

Sun appears enchanted by your hands much in the same way, though you can’t imagine why. His are much more interesting, with their coral webbing and glimmering scales. He turns your palm this way and that, running the pad of a thumb over your fingertips. “Whatever happened to your claws?”

It takes you a second to refocus. “I had to file my nails down. Usually I wear them longer, but I damaged them when I was eating those oysters.”

“Those what?”

“Oysters. Those shells I was pulling up the last time we met?”

“Ohhhh,” Sun says, running his thumb over the blunted edge of your nail again. “Oysters. Me too!”

His firm grip is starting to make you nervous. Though he is handling you gently, using his fingers to spread yours out from the palm, you can feel an intense strength behind his movements. His muscles shift like smooth machinery under the scales. Your hands are your life, your main tools with which to complete your work, and you’re very aware that he could crush them like brittle twigs in his grasp.

“Mhmm,” you say, distracted. “You too?”

Sun extends one hand like he’s showing off a ring. “I filed mine down too! Moon showed me.”

Moon blunts his claws? Whatever for? Not that you’re complaining, given that Moon’s track record of scratching you is non-existent compared to Sun’s. Come to think of it, Sun does have yet to cut you today. You can still feel the press of claws, but nothing near the effortless slices and pinpricks you had received from him prior. “Won’t that make it more difficult to hunt?”

Sun’s eyes drift to your cheek and its near-healed cut. “Mmmaybe? I don’t mind.”

You tilt your head. “Did you do it for… for…” You can’t think of the word. “When you clean and take care of yourself? That kind of thing.”

“Oh!” Sun’s eyes curve into white crescents. “No.”

He finally releases your hands, and you clutch them back to your chest. Despite your efforts in keeping to the platform, all of Sun’s activity has you soaked, from his tail pushing up water through the grating to wet your shorts, to his hug drenching the rest of you. You gingerly peel the fabric from your chest with a grimace, dimly aware of Sun’s surreptitious glance. The platform grows darker as the automatic light in the exit chamber’s window finally deactivates.

“You have a great many coverings,” he says, super-casually.

“Coverings? Oh, clothes. Yeah.” You squeeze water out of a braid where it puddles in your lap.

“That other one… Vanessa. She had coverings too.”

“Those were sleep clothes,” you say, in the spirit of education. “Pyjamas.”

“Uh huh, yep! Pyjamas. I know the word,” Sun says uncertainly. “But, but… in your nest, you had… that is, I understand that humans wear coverings for every occasion,” he says. To your fascination a faint discolouration ripples beneath his eyes and across his nose, an orangey tint. “Lots and lots of coverings! For everything. Or, most things.”

You’re a bit lost as to where this is heading. “Yep. Sure do.”

Sun visibly struggles, turning as though to look back out over the water. His pale pupils remain on you, white on white, and it occurs to you to wonder if he knows that you can see the focus of his gaze. Can mermaids spot the subtle difference in colour?

“You weren’t… wearing any?” he says delicately. “In your nest. On the soft block.”

Soft block. You hide a smile. “Yeah, it was hot in there.”

Sun snaps his face away again, and this time his eyes follow. You can empathise – cultural differences can be intensely difficult to grasp, especially all the unspoken rules and contradictions that come with them. It must be weird as a mermaid who doesn’t wear ‘coverings’ to learn that humans wear clothes, all the time, except for when they don’t. At least with him you don’t have to deal with the weird prudish mentality that comes along with most human settlements, convinced that any way of life that contradicts theirs must be weird and wrong. You’ve heard enough ‘going native’ jokes to last you a lifetime. Sun’s confusion doesn’t surprise you – Moon has shown a curiosity in your clothing too, given his propensity for trying to jam his fingers under your swimsuit or the seals of your boots.

The disparity between the cool water and your warm skin is making you shiver. “Did you come here by yourself today?”

Far from expecting an actual affirmative, you’re surprised as Sun perks up with a wide smile, his chest swelling pridefully. “Mmmm, yep, yep, yepperino! And…” He once more leans into your space, white eyes filling your vision. “I didn’t get lost even once!”

Even with his blinding colours muted in this cold environment, he’s still yellow enough to leave you blinking. You lean back rather than speak directly into his mouth. “Really? But, where’s Moon?” He strikes you as far too protective to let Sun make the journey alone. You assumed Moon was just loitering sulkily in the area after the awkwardness of your last meeting.

Sun’s excitement dims somewhat. “I left that rulebreaker at home. No play, no snacks, no fun at the fa-ci-li-ty until he finishes all his jobs, no no. That’s what I told him!”

Sun crosses his arms with a huff, giving you the opportunity to scoot sidelong the platform’s edge to gain some space. He’s bristling, pouting almost – it looks like they haven’t managed to bury the hatchet just yet. “Jobs?”

“He was missing his turns! The meals – the nest. He did not replace the bedding, he didn’t clear the pests – he knows I hate pestwork! Instead he was here, feasting on… appels,” Sun finishes, hissing out the word with a decent amount of bitterness.

Oop. You have to keep from twitching guiltily, the mermaid enthusiast who lured Sun’s pestworker away with exotic foods (and an unfortunate net.) Also, you’re pretty sure Sun pronounced ‘apples’ slightly wrong.

“Aah,” you say sagely, endeavouring to look appropriately stern. “So he’s under house arrest.”

It’s kind of funny to imagine Moon moping around his tropical paradise, shooing scuttling pests out of the nest with a makeshift broom, sadly gazing over the gorgeous kelp forests. A mermaid Cinderella left to languish under a beautiful blue subterranean sky, yearning for the cold and dark tunnels that Sun gets to explore. Talk about the grass being greener on the other side.

“No fun until he does his part!” Sun declares, then turns to you with sudden anxiety. “No treats. No appels, not unless he’s done, yes? Please promise. Please?” And then he repeats that odd motion from back at the warm environment, extending a hand with his end finger pointing at you. His face is earnest.

You’re unsure of what Sun wants, aside from participation in depriving Moon of as many alien pleasures as possible. Which, fine. You’re not exactly thrilled that Moon has been keeping your friendship his dirty little secret either. “Sure! I promise.” Since he looks so expectant you stick your pinkie finger out also, joint hesitantly crooked. Maybe it’s a sign of reassurance or something.

Sun gives an approving hum, gills fluttering, and hooks his finger around yours. Completely lost, you gently pump your linked hands up and down like a handshake. He’s smiling wider now, so maybe your modulation of this gesture is correct.

“You don’t know what this means, do you?” Sun says, tilting his head. His facial fins flop like the petals of a soft flower.

Maybe not. “Not in the slightest,” you admit, gently wiggling your finger free. His webbing is so delicate it clings like plastic as your skin pulls away. “Is it like an agreement?”

“It’s a promise, friend. See, look-” He grabs your wrist as it lowers, manoeuvring your little finger out again. “Pinkie promise! And when you hold your fingers like so, you seal the deal.”

As with Moon, it’s nostalgic to feel the webbing of someone’s digits pressed against your hand. You look down at his skin yellow against yours, interlocked. “And what happens if you break the promise?”

Sun gives your joined fingers a little shake as though to test the security. “Then the finger gets broken!”

“Ah! Ha ha,” you say, and nervously extricate your hand once more. Somehow it sounds scarier coming from that jolly smile. “I’ll keep that in mind. No apples for Moon until he’s finished all his chores.” Please don’t break my finger, strange person I only recently met.

Sun taps your knuckles with the pad of his finger. “Yes! Appels,” he corrects.

Definitely not. “Okay.”

Heat pressed against your arm, your side. He has managed to close the distance you created, you only just realise. If this keeps up, he’ll end up chasing you off the far side of the platform by shuffling along every time you edge back. It’s kind of irritating, actually.

As though he is eager to encourage your thoughts, Sun clumsily jabs you in the ribs as he hooks his elbow through yours. “That’s not to say that I can’t have appels! In fact, I would be quite happy to try one.”

“Mhm,” you say, distracted. The inside of his arm feels deceptively soft, the frill of a fin against your shoulder an odd texture. “This doesn’t mean a promise as well, does it?”

Sun blinks down at your linked arms. “This…? No no, it’s just… well, it’s nice,” he finishes lamely. His smile falters, suddenly looking unsure of himself. “Isn’t it?”

Well, there go your plans of wiggling out of his grip for some breathing room. “Sure it is,” you say. The fin squashed between you two gives a flex as its owner relaxes.

A yawn catches you by surprise, the combination of the late hour and the sheer body heat Sun is emanating lulling you relaxed. Drowsy tears gather on your lashes. The press of a warm tail against your curled-up knees is oddly comfortable.

Then you choke when Sun rams his hand into your mouth, recoiling away from him in a sprawl. One of your legs sends up a wide arc of seawater, splashing you both. The metal glangggs loudly. Sun sits there with his hand still raised, claws glistening with your spit, and has the gall to look surprised.

“What did you do that for?!” you splutter, scrubbing your knuckles across your lips. The back of your tongue kind of hurts, especially when your voice rises into a squeak.

“Oh, sorry,” Sun says. He looks at his hand and dabs the fingers together curiously. “I’ve never seen a mouth like yours before.”

What. You spit into the water for good measure. This is a first, and not a particularly nice one. Incredulously, you say, “So you just stick your hand in it?”

Sun sniffs his fingers, then catches sight of your appalled expression. “It’s a very nice mouth,” he says quickly, anxious not to cause offense. “Your teeth – some are ideally serrated! And, and, your tongue is a wonderful shade of pink!”

Your mouth hangs open speechlessly, and you quickly close it before he can take it as an invitation. Lying back on one arm with the grating pressing patterns into your elbow, you’re both literally and figuratively floored. Not ideal, given your vulnerable position half-reclined.

Judging by the steady increase in fidgeting movements, Sun is cluing in on the fact that he has committed a social blunder. “Y-you can look at mine too! And even touch! Here-” He opens his mouth, eyes quirking invitingly. Clearly, he sees nothing wrong with you messing around in there – his shoulders are relaxed enough that you might well be inspecting his mouth on the daily, just a casual routine.

Embarrassingly, the part of you that likes to poke weird plants until they squirt ink genuinely wants to take him up on the offer. But you don’t need BON-BON present to tell you that sticking your hand in a mermaid’s toothy maw is a bad idea. If those jaws snap shut like a bear trap, you can wave goodbye to your job and hello to physiotherapy, prosthetics, and chronic pain.

So Sun instead receives a look. You rise to your feet to gain an advantage in case he tries to finger your oesophagus again. He starts and closes his mouth, anxiety overtaking his features.

Sun warbles, “Friend, I didn’t mean to make you mad! Please don’t leave.”

Has Moon ever done something quite like this? You lick your lips, restraining the urge to hide as Sun’s eyes focus on them. But you feel more confident now that you’re standing further back. “I think you should ask before putting your hand in someone’s mouth,” you say mildly, able to calm yourself now you’re no longer sprawled out in shock.

He immediately nods an enthusiastic consent, too fast for you to assume any genuine agreement. “Yes! Sorry, sorry. I will ask, next time.”

Next time…? He is incredibly optimistic.

Sun shifts on the platform, body language hopeful. Every subconscious cue is an invitation to sit back down beside him again – he even has his elbow crooked for you to link arms. The tip of his tail lashes eddies beneath the water.

It’s partially your fault. Sun’s happy smile, flower-like appearance, and friendly attitude had you following his lead before considering that he’s the exact same creature as Moon; including his ignorance of current social rules. Sun eats up every bit of space you try to keep between you, much in the same way as Moon touches about your waist and legs with no regard to propriety. Moon sticks his hand under your swimsuit, Sun puts his in your mouth. The same issues, just with different window dressings.

From the start, you should have applied the same rules to Sun as you do with Moon, regardless of how differently he acts. Just because they don’t have the same stressful history, doesn’t mean Sun can’t draw level with Moon if you let your guard down.

Besides, one permanent scar from a mermaid is enough, thank you very much. You should keep some distance.

“Okay,” you say, making your shoulders relax. “That’s alright then.”

Sun looks relieved, and gives the platform beside him another inviting patpatpat with his palm. No thanks, you think, and sink down right where you are. You’re still close enough to touch, especially if he tries one of his whip-sharp movements, but from the way he wilts crestfallen it’s as if you ran screaming back into the building. It’s funny, how he droops like melting butter. Everything he does is just so exaggerated. He looks like a staffbot who has just realised you intend to wash your own crockery instead of leaving it in its capable hands.

“Friend…”

“So, Moon is banished,” you say easily, ignoring for the moment that Sun is putting every muscle in his body into looking like a wobbly pile of sad jelly. “Man, that sucks. I guess I’ll have to share all my apples with you, then.”

Sun perks up a little. “Really? Have you got any here?”

“In a day or two, maybe. We’re all out until the grocery order comes in. Ah, when more food arrives,” you clarify at his mystified expression. “People provide us with food so we don’t have to hunt our own. It’s so that we have more time to devote to work.”

“Ohhh. I see!”

“Is Moon allowed visitors?” You twirl a damp braid around your fingers, enjoying the coolness of water evaporating from your skin. This is miles better than tossing and turning in your sweltering bedroom, even if you do have to keep stifling yawns. “I promise I won’t bring the prisoner any snacks.”

Sun tries to stifle a laugh and fails. “Wellllllll, I suppose it would be cruel to say no…”

You nod gravely, playing along. “Totally inhumane. But of course, that depends on his sentence.”

“Years and years!” Sun declares, then waves the joke away. “No, not long. If my Moon has been good and obedient, and works very hard, he’ll have made up for all his missed turns by tomorrow! That is, if he hasn’t lied to me… again… and gone swimming out in the cold when he said he wouldn’t like a naughty, nasty fibber…”

Brows raising as Sun devolves into bitter muttering, you take note of how his mood can flip on a moment’s notice. He’s not unlike Moon in that respect. “I’m not actually supposed to make the journey to your home,” you confess, recapturing his attention. “I returned once to check on your health, but I figured that was a special exception to the rule.”

“… Oh,” Sun says quietly. His mouth presses into a wobbly line, his shoulders sagging.

You hasten to continue, “But I won’t tell if you don’t. I’ll bring you some snacks to try. We can all hang out! That is, if it’s not an imposition.” Sun has gone very still, his eyes wide and bright, and you’re unsure of what it means. “Please tell me if you’re uncomfortable. I won’t go barging into your home.”

“YES!” Sun blurts, then claps his hands over his mouth. “Yes, I mean yes! Please. Anytime you want, whenever – bring what you like too! You’ll always be welcome.”

A warmth spreads in your chest, and you smile. “Great. It’ll be our secret, the three of us.”

Sun nods furiously, his facial fins flapping. “Yes, yes, friend! Pinkie promise?”

This again? But you acquiesce anyway and link fingers. With his firm grip, it’s a little harder this time to pull your hand back. He chews his lip in consternation once you regain your distance, eyeing the space between you. “Wouldn’t you… like to sit by the water?” he says casually, brushing a hand over the space next to him. “It’s very refreshing.”

If you were as familiar with Sun as you are with Moon, you would let him know that he isn’t slick. “I’m fine right here, thanks.”

Sun hums and turns his face away, but not before you catch his expression. Is he… pouting?

That’s kind of funny. But more important is the fact that you have secured yourself an open invitation to return to the warm environment for a visit. Base’s instructions not to return were predicated on the notion that you would be doing so in the spirit of research, but they have no real authority over your personal life. With this, you can sidestep both their instructions and the ethical ramifications of entering a closed environment to interact with the locals. You’re not an interloper, you’re an invited guest. And Moon won’t be able to complain that you returned despite his wishes, if you’re visiting Sun.

Not that you think that’ll actually stop him, of course.

“What is it?” Sun says, and you realise he’s watching you sit there smiling to yourself.

“I’m happy I get to come back,” you say.

Sun’s face softens, a chirp in his throat. His gills, close to looking fully healed already, flutter with the sound. “I am happy too,” he confesses in a rush.

You bet. Lonely as your post can be at times, you have the promise of access to a wider universe, teeming with life and culture and entertainment and people. Unless they have been hiding some seriously subtle technology from you, the two mermaids can’t say the same.

But their isolation isn’t an issue you can solve right now, or perhaps ever. Still, at least they have each other. And Eclipse. And that monstrous leviathan lurking in the depths of the hellcavern, for all the comfort that brings.

You open your mouth to ask about Eclipse’s place in Sun and Moon’s dynamic, when Sun shivers and curls in on himself. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes,” Sun says distractedly. He’s almost entirely out of the water now, tail pulled up on the platform. “I’m, ah, as right as rain!”

Concern makes you sit up and frown, but then Sun hugs himself tightly and darts an odd look at you. Beseeching, trembling, his eyes wide and dewy- oh. You think you might know what’s going on.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you say, piling on the concern. You lean forward, the neckline of your oversized top sliding down, but you barely notice. “Is it the cold?”

Sun sways forward like he can’t help it, before pulling back into his woebegone attitude. “It’s a little chilly…”

You nod sympathetically. “No, that makes sense. You must be used to a different temperature.”

“The cold was easier to ignore before, when you were sitting beside me,” Sun says, warming to his theme. “But then you moved back, and it’s so dark…”

Is the problem the cold or the dark, then? You look down briefly to control your expression, and when you raise your face there is no hint of a smile. “I won’t keep you suffering, then,” you say, and rise to your feet. “See you later.”

Sun jumps out of his cold-and-afraid pose. “Uhhh, um- friend-”

“If it’s any consolation, you’ll probably warm up on the swim back,” you say cheerfully, shaking your legs out. The skin is marked by the grating of the platform. “But you don’t want your temperature dropping too far. That could be dangerous. Best to return now, y’know?”

“Nonono, that’s not what I meant!” Sun says hastily. “I’m sure that if you just sat close-”

“Aww,” you say. “That’s very sweet, Sun, but I run a lot colder than you. I’m sure I wouldn’t be any help – in fact, I’d probably just make you feel worse. I’d hate to do that.”

Sun opens his mouth in protest, pauses, squints a little. Your cooing tone is making him suspicious of your sincerity, you can tell, but you can’t help it. It’s hard enough just to keep from laughing at watching his little pantomime fail – you were not born yesterday. He’s so warm you can feel it emanating from him.

You amble towards the door. “I’ll try to bring something nice to eat next time.”

The moment Sun gives up is visible in the way he uncurls and straightens, the sigh of his chest. He waves a hand carelessly. There’s a rueful note in his voice as he says, “Yes… next time, friend.”

The door slides shut behind you. When you peek through the window, Sun is slapping at the water in discontent. His tail lashes stroppily. Then he slithers from the platform and vanishes, gone in an instant. The ripples only take a second to fade.

You place a hand over your mouth and huff a laugh into your palm, rather than risk alerting BON-BON with loud sounds. You do feel a little bad – Sun is almost totally alone after all. His mithering attitude, that pervasive clinginess, is likely the result of it. Still, you like to be able to breathe without feeling like the air is going to end up directly in someone else’s lungs.

Now you need to wash the taste of mermaid from your mouth.

No matter how simple it is to shove your hair into braids and just be done with it, there does come a point where you need to accept the inevitable and give it a trim.

Like they know what’s coming, your braids keep getting in your way as you search the room for a pair of scissors. You still have yet to fully reorganise your belongings since Vanessa’s rampage, having shoved everything into drawers and cupboards at random. You used to be so tidy, but now you can’t be bothered. It feels like such a chore. Worse, it enrages you to even try, knowing that the culprit is still swanning about like she hasn’t been steadily-escalating her behaviour ever since.

You know the scissors are in here somewhere.

A self-inflicted haircut is exactly the kind of thing BON-BON would overreact about, which is why your holoscreen is face down and muted on the desk. It’s not like you told him what you’re about to do, but it would be very in-character for him to pop up at the wrong moment and scare you into an irreversible snip.

The scissors you find wedged between the pages of a magazine, which you promptly drop into the bin. It misses the first time, so you have to fish the crumpled paper out from where it has fallen half-behind the dresser. It comes out smeared with a dusty substance – you should really move your furniture around one of these days and let the staffbots have at it.

You have been your own barber for most of your life. Your guardian hadn’t seemed too bothered about the upkeep of your hair, letting it grow and tangle until it became necessary to inflict damage control. Now you feel uncomfortable wearing it too short.

The window with its opaque reflection is the perfect mirror, much better than the small cracked one in your en suite. You have already taken your hair out of its braids, and you’re just raising the scissors when a frantic series of pings stops you short. Someone is at the door.

Sighing, you answer it to see Roxy with her finger still jammed to the feed, a look of alarm on her face. Ah, shit. It’s just your luck that the team is having some kind of immediate emergency. “Is everything-”

“What are you doing?” Roxy barks, taking you aback. She sounds oddly accusatory.

“Um. Nothing?” The scissors are held lax at your side. “… What are you doing?”

She ignores your question, instead jerking her muzzle at your hand. “Then what’s that?”

The urge to hide the scissors behind your back manifests. But you’re not doing anything wrong. “I was just about to cut my hair.”

“Yourself?” The sheer incredulity in Roxy’s tone makes it clear how stupid she thinks that idea is. Before you can react, she reaches down and firmly twists the scissors from your grasp, the blade-end tucked into her palm. “Listen, I know the mood; but no. Trust me, you’ll regret it.”

This is so unexpected you can’t muster the will to feel indignant. “I can do it myself.”

Roxy snorts. “Yeah, right. C’mon.” And then her hand is reaching around you, pressing between your shoulder blades. You are steered out of your room and into hers with a running litany of, “You should have come to me in the first place. I do everyone’s hair when we can’t reach a salon. And I have all the right tools. What, do I look like someone who can’t style you right?”

“Oh,” you say, and, “um,” and also, “wait,” but Roxy is a tsunami in bright purple lipstick and several tons of hairspray. By the time you’re seated at her vanity with a towel around your shoulders, you’ve cottoned on to the fact that she’s extremely excited. The sheer volume of haircare products and little combs and brushes she whips out only serves to heighten that impression.

“Aw, man.” In the mirror’s reflection, Monty leans through the open doorway and tilts his glasses down. “Another victim for the Rox-star.”

“Shut it, gator,” Roxy says, but there’s an undercurrent of glee in her voice. She grasps your head between two large paws and turns it from side to side, assessing.

“I don’t know about this,” you say nervously, but both of them ignore you.

“What’re we looking at?” Monty says, crossing his arms. “Dye job? Styling?”

“Haircut.” Roxy holds up a pair of scissors, notably not the ones she took from you. They glint threateningly in the overhead light.

“You can tell her no,” Monty says to you.

“I did,” you mutter.

“Oh, please. I’m not going to mess it up.” Roxy flicks her hair over her shoulder dismissively. “Hey. You trust me, right?”

Those scissors look very sharp. “… Yes?” you warble, a beat too late. Roxy huffs.

Monty laughs softly, shaking his head. “Good luck, squirt. I’m swinging by the kitchen. Y’need anything?”

“Grab me a Fizzy-Faz with a straw, no ice,” Roxy instructs.

“Shush your noise. I didn’t ask you.”

“Water, please,” you say.

“Gotcha.”

And then he’s gone, to your complicated relief. You really do like Monty, but something about him stringently defending Vanessa right after asking if she laid hands on you wasn’t ideal. Call you crazy, but you don’t think cheerleading Vanessa’s good qualities was the right approach in that situation. Even so, he didn’t actually see her grab you, and he did intervene when he could have just walked away, so now you’re left with a uneasy cocktail of emotions.

Now is not the time to think about that, when you’re left to the mercy of Roxy. She meets your eyes in the large vanity mirror, jaws parting in a grin.

“I just wanted a trim,” you say hastily.

“Easy enough,” she says, and pats your shoulder.

At least BON-BON will find it funny if you turn up bald. You relax in your seat as best you can, worrying your fingers in your lap. Roxy’s scissors snip so much more crisply than your own. “By the way…”

“Hm?”

“What did you want to talk to me about?”

Roxy’s reflection frowns. “When?”

“When you came to my door. You wanted me for something, right?” Before you were roped into playing salon guinea pig.

The snipping stops abruptly, before slowly resuming. “Oh, that. It’s not important.”

You almost turn your head to look at her. “Are you sure? You seemed pretty, uh…”

“Loud?”

You said it, not me. “You pinged my door a bunch.”

Evasively, Roxy says, “I got the feeling you were about to do something dumb, and I was right.”

This time, the only thing that keeps you from looking at Roxy is her hand gripping your head. “Hey!”

“If I didn’t step in, I’d only have to fix the damage later. You should be thanking me.”

“I’ve cut my hair my entire life.”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

Your mouth drops open indignantly, which is when Monty returns. He kicks out a footstool from behind the vanity. It gives an ominous creak when he sits on it.

“Don’t break my stool,” Roxy snaps.

Monty leans over and drops a bottled water in your lap. “If it can handle your weight, it’ll handle mine.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t,” you say loudly when Monty goes to respond. “She’s still cutting my hair.”

Roxy flicks you in the back of your head in retaliation, which, ow. Those claws of hers hurt. Through watering eyes, you watch a grinning Monty deposit a drink on the dresser. It’s neon orange.

“You forgot my straw,” Roxy says.

“We’re all out.” Monty leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and the footstool groans. “Are we doing the face too?”

“Face?” you say, alarmed.

“Obviously,” Roxy says. She leans past you to swap the scissors for a hairdryer of such intimidating design that it could be a weapon. Confusing, as your hair isn’t wet. “Close your eyes.”

“What’s going to happen to my fa-” You choke as Roxy sprays you in the mouth with some sweet-smelling chemical, recklessly spritzing around your scalp. The blare of the hairdryer cuts off all sound. Monty plucks the bottle from your lap without asking, and pours a generous portion directly down his throat.

“Done!” Roxy says, switching off the hairdryer. She whips the towel from your shoulders in a motion that flings little particles of hair everywhere.

Your hair looks exactly the same as before, except slightly shorter in length. “Wow, thanks!”

Roxy swells with pride, her tail wagging hard. “Pshh, don’t thank me yet. I still haven’t styled it.”

“Oh, that’s not-”

“What are we thinking?” She gathers up your hair and piles it onto your scalp, turning the lengths this way and that. She puffs up two handfuls like giant mouse ears. “Don’t you get tired of the same thing every day?”

“No.”

“Do that mohawk thing,” Monty says, and drinks more of your water. He ignores you when you gesture for a sip.

“Oh, that-”

“Yeah, with the-”

“Can I have a break?” you say plaintively, but they pay you no attention.

You end up with an ornate bun complete with pinned-in braids and several tons of product before Roxy finally allows you to escape. Monty replaces you in the seat, tossing your empty water bottle underhand into the bin.

“It looks great,” you say, tilting your head this way and that. The distribution of weight feels peculiar. They had wanted to add in stickers and clasps, and even dye. No, no, and no. Negotiations eventually weaselled down to non-permanent streaks, but on this you stayed firm. Your hair colour remains unchanged.

Even so, it’s uncomfortable as can be. Pins throb against your skull, your scalp pinging painfully where a few individual strands are pulled too tight. If you can wriggle a finger in, you could probably loosen them.

“If you touch that, I’ll kill you,” Roxy says calmly from where she’s slicking down Monty’s hair, and you yank your hand away guiltily. “Go ask if Chica wants a turn. She said she needs a treatment.”

I wonder if I’m being initiated, you think, plodding down the corridor to Chica’s room. Didn’t Vanessa get streaks in her hair when she first joined the team, or something? At least now you know that they’re not all holding a massive grudge over you disappearing without notice the other day. Unless this is some kind of subtle punishment? No, no way.

As always, Chica’s doorway sits open. It spills pink light out onto the bleached walls and floor, staining them like the innards of a tropical conch. You can hear her humming as you approach, plus the sound of rustling movement – and something else. Beeping. Chirping?

Cautiously, you peek around the doorway. The team isn’t shy about leaving their bedrooms vulnerable, but you don’t want to walk in on her changing clothes or something.

Chica isn’t changing. She isn’t facing the doorway either. Instead she’s leaning over a cage on her desk against the far wall, surrounded by a clutter of trinkets and ornaments. It’s squat and rectangular, and momentarily puzzles you. You have never spotted a cage in her room before. Movement within draws your attention, and you crane your neck to see a gaggle of tiny, assorted chicks. They range in size and colour, cheeping sweetly, running around their enclosure and scattering substrate padding.

Immediately, you’re thrilled. They’re so cute! Are they Chica’s pets? Why does she have so many? Base does allow animals, within reason, though you would assume that these wouldn’t be permitted. They’re small enough to make it into the inner workings of the facility and die somewhere inconvenient, providing a very sad mess for you to locate and clean up.

I suppose being the team leader has its perks. You’re just about to ask if you can handle one – are they as soft as they look? What would their tiny claws feel like scrabbling on your palm?

But then Chica waggles her fingers and reaches into the cage. And plucks up a chick.

And eats it.

Silently horrified, your mouth drops open as Chica’s beak emits one loud, fleshy crunch. She hums appreciatively and licks her fingers, bending back over the cage. She’s reaching out again – she’s about to pick another –

You leave the room so quickly it’s as if you teleported. Skittering back down the corridor, you lurch into Roxy’s doorway and announce your presence with a panicked, “UHH-”

Too late, you see that Roxy and Monty have been joined by Vanessa, whose face does something complicated when she turns to look at you. But for once, her reactions are something you couldn’t care less about.

“So? What did she say?” Roxy says.

Right. I was supposed to have asked her something. In your dismay over the sudden death of a pet, you had forgotten. Not pets, NOT pets, Chica doesn’t have pets, Chica has snacks-

“She’s busy,” you say lamely.

Vanessa frowns. “Chica loves getting her hair styled.”

“She’s…” your mind flashes to that tiny, fluffy chick, gobbled in an instant, “… eating.”

The group at large emits a collective, “Ohhhh,” of understanding, accepting that reasoning immediately. Apparently, eating is one thing that excuses Chica from a makeover.

Monty’s hair keeps getting bigger and bigger under the influence of Roxy’s aggressive combing. It’s so big it’s superseding the maximum mass the length allows for. You stare at it blankly while you lean in the doorway, trying to reorganise your way of thinking. Different cultures have different modes of acceptable food, that’s all. You’re just shocked because you had assigned the chicks into the category of ‘pets’ before Chica ate one.

Still, you’re fidgeting while you hover in silence. Roxy and Monty are griping back and forth, Vanessa occasionally interjecting. Does she know about Chica’s unorthodox snacking habits? It’s hard to imagine that she could, with how she reacts to your far less offensive diet. A part of you wants to demand what makes you so gross in comparison. You feel oddly hurt.

Then Roxy pulls out a massive makeup case and sets it on the vanity with a thud that rattles the glass. You’re struck by the urge to be someplace else, very fast. “I’ll go ask if Freddy wants in,” you say hurriedly, pushing off from the doorframe.

Monty laughs loudly. “Naw, he doesn’t care about hair.”

“But he does about makeup,” Roxy points out.

I know. He wears the same face markings the others all like to apply, on occasion.

“Is something wrong?” Vanessa says. She stares at your sweaty forehead, and your fingers picking at their own skin.

“Yeah. I mean, no, nothing’s wrong.” Your attention shifts as Roxy pulls out a spindly tool and looks at you. It has many bristles on one end. “I’llgetFreddy,” you blurt, and leave before she can use it on you.

Freddy is in the meeting room using his personal holoscreen. He must have some video playing maximised, the display flickering rapidly with lights and colours. It reminds you of when BON-BON scans through your reports, registering all the data faster than you ever possibly could. Freddy gazes down at the screen with a look of concentration, forefinger and thumb framing the charging port. His blue eyes are glowing slightly more than usual. Maybe his prosthetics have further capabilities than you first considered.

For a moment you watch him. It’s unusual to see him look so serious. Then you knock the door softly and step inside.

You needn’t have bothered. Freddy glances up, sees you, and jumps so hard in his seat the table rattles. The light from his eyes dials down immediately, the holoscreen going blank. For a second, he looks shamefully, intensely guilty.

Whatever he was watching, you don’t care enough to question it. “Roxy’s doing hair and face styling on everyone if you want in.”

Freddy perks up, his eyes focussing on your snazzy new hairstyle. “… So I can see. It looks very good on you.”

Self-conscious, you almost touch your hair before thinking better of it. “Roxy did a nice job. I haven’t had my hair done by someone before.”

Freddy rises to his feet, drawing his chair aside. “I am sure that is not the case. Young humans often require assistance in personal grooming, do they not?”

That makes you pause. Dimly, you can remember quite a few childhood occasions where your guardian had noticed damage and matting in your hair, usually due to someone in the community pointing it out. They would address the issue by trying unsuccessfully to save the length, before giving up and shearing the whole thing off. Unpleasant, but at least it gave you an incentive to learn how to take care of human-grade hair by yourself. You say, “Actually, yeah. I think you’re right.”

Freddy collapses his holoscreen and tucks it into a pocket. His face is now as relaxed and affable as usual, not a trace of that guilty surprise remaining. “I hear that salon appointments can be nostalgic, for that reason.”

I wouldn’t know. “Do you feel the same way?”

He hesitates on his way out the door. “… No. Appearance was not a priority during my early years. However, I do enjoy the ability to explore my freedom of expression at this stage in my life.”

“Hey, same.” For example, you like wearing your hair in unpinned, non-painful braids. You fall into step beside him, heading back to the living area. “I like your earring. And the, uh, eye makeup.”

“Really? I am glad.” Freddy touches the earring self-consciously. “I used to have a hat. But I feel that I have grown apart from it.”

You hide a smile. Such a funny way to say that he’s gone off a clothing item. “What kind of hat?”

“A top hat.”

“Really?” You can’t imagine it.

“It was very small.”

You’re trying to figure out how to lead on from that when a staffbot wheels past with a tub of machinery lubricant. Idling to a stop, you turn to watch it travel out of view. That will be going to the deceptively-named staff room. You bite your lip.

“Is something the matter?” Freddy has stopped a few paces ahead, waiting for you.

“Uh… no,” you say slowly. “Actually, I think there’s something I forgot to do. You go on ahead, I’ll see you in a minute.”

“Ah-”

But you are already striding away. The staff room isn’t too far from here, nestled behind a door in one of the longer corridors, slotted between two larger rooms. The door and access panel are featureless to the point of invisibility, the latter requiring a press before the cover slides back to reveal the feed. You don’t include it in your tours. Organic occupants of the facility have no reason to access this room, unless something breaks that the staffbots can’t handle themselves and they require your assistance.

This is a space for the staffbots and cleanerbots to repair, dock, and rest – or, charge.

The code to enter is long and difficult to remember. It has been a while since you last needed to enter. The door glides open silently, so at least you know the staffbots have been maintaining it well. You raise your hand to give a perfunctory knock at the wall, only to jolt back at the sight of a pristine chassis right before your nose. Evidently, you have just got in the way of a staffbot trying to exit.

“Oh, sorry.” You step aside.

The staffbot wheels past slowly, head turning to keep its gaze on you. It’s clearly curious as to why you’re there – or not, you realise as it points at your head.

You touch your hair lightly. “Do you like it? Roxy got me.”

The staffbot reaches out slowly, giving you enough time to dodge its hand. With a plasticky rustle of product-caked hair, it peels something off and holds it up on one fingertip. A purple star sticker. Roxy had wanted to apply them. You thought it was weird that she gave in without much argument. The staffbot places the sticker on its face like a tiny purple nose and looks at you for approval.

“Stunning,” you say. “It looks much better on you than me.”

It clasps its hands together in pleasure, then turns and zooms away. You wonder if it’s going to go and show the other robots.

The staff room is about the same as you remember; dimly-lit and lined on every wall with shelving units. The floorplan is circuitous because the room has been hollowed out to fit between the other corridors and living areas. Passing by shelves and wall mounts of machine parts, cleaning supplies, and various tools, it widens into a roomy chamber filled with docking panels the robots use to charge. Some are currently active, humming with soft lighting under a number of idling staffbots and cleanerbots. None of them acknowledge your presence – they’re the robot version of unconscious until their charging cycle is complete. Ridiculous impulse has you tiptoeing between them, even though you know the sound of your footsteps won’t wake them up.

You’re not here for them anyway. Easing past a pair of cleanerbots snoozing side by side, you make it to the end of the room and into the last chamber.

It looks nightmarish. This room is devoid of robots, though that doesn’t look to be the case. The first thing you see are staffbot heads with blank sockets lining the walls. Next hands, then forearms, then chassis’. Empty shells that clip on to the endoskeletons, though they look much scarier. Further on are the endoskeletons themselves, janky figures of metal and wiring. They hang from secure hooks on vertical drawers that fold into the walls, so you can pull them open and flick through like clothes on a rack.

That’s what you do, riffling through the limp bodies with a critical eye. These are what the staffbots are before their AI and coding are inserted. Then the casings are snapped on and they’re sent out to work. If a staffbot gets injured- damaged, it can be brought here and given a whole new everything. You wonder what it feels like, getting into an accident and waking up in a fresh body – identical in every way, but still different somehow. Plus, it’s always odd to remember that they have legs under their skirt-like wheel units.

Finally, your eyes alight on an elusive orange slip. These are applied to endoskeletons that have been found to be defective, so that they can be scrapped for functional models when the next shipment arrives. That can take years to happen, given that the facility’s robot turnover rate is low. The endos are checked for defects each week, and the list updated the same.

Perfect.

Taking the slip from the endoskeleton, you hesitate. Should you make a copy of the paper and leave the original where it is, or just stick it on a functional machine? In the end, caution wins out – the staffbots might notice the slip has been duplicated. You scratch off the endo’s ID from the paper and replace it with that of a functioning one, then transfer it. The broken endo will get a new slip during the next check, no harm done. You take a picture of the ID with your holoscreen.

Then you restore everything to how it was before you entered, and leave the staff room as quickly and quietly as you can. Hopefully, that tiny fudging of numbers will bear fruit soon enough. And if it doesn’t, no issue. You can just rip the slip from the working endoskeleton before anyone notices it has been incorrectly labelled as broken. It’s not like the staffbots will notice – they don’t scan defective endos twice, and it won’t be logged on the system for the same reason.

… You feel like you got away with something cool. All you did was enter a room you’re allowed to be in and move a piece of paper around. And a staffbot saw you on the way. But you struggle to keep a smile back regardless.

When you get back to Roxy’s room, everyone is still inside and music is playing. To your surprise, Freddy is wilfully subjecting himself to Monty’s face-painting in front of the vanity. Chica is lying flat on her back on the floor, and she along with everyone else glances up when you enter.

“Hi, hon!” she chirps. “Where have you been?”

“Oh… just something I forgot I had to do,” you say evasively. You sink down on the floor next to her, valiantly not thinking about adorable baby birds.

“Hey.” Vanessa glares at you from where she’s sitting on the bed with Roxy. There’s a good few feet of space between them. “Why didn’t Chica know we were doing hair? Roxy sent you to go tell her.”

“Ness, it’s okay,” Chica protests, but you can she’s lying by her quick, hesitant glance. She’s hurt.

Aw man. Now I feel bad. But you’re not about to spill her business in front of everyone, even if it would feel amazing to throw it in Vanessa’s righteous face. You paste on an expression of glassy innocence and say, “Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt. You seemed busy.”

“Interrupt eating?” Vanessa says with heavy derision.

Chica jolts and looks at you with an odd expression. You hadn’t meant for her to find out that you saw her feasting straight from a cage. “Yeah,” you say. “Sorry, Chica.”

“It’s okay!” Chica says quickly as Vanessa opens her mouth again. “Yeah, no, yeah, it- it’s fine. It’s cool! Cool, cool cool coolcoolcool. Cool.”

You’re not the only one staring at her now.

Freddy rises from his seat at the vanity, turning his face this way and that in front of the mirror. “Very good job,” he says approvingly. “Thank you, Monty.”

“S’alright,” Monty says gruffly. He drops down on the bed, bouncing Vanessa and Roxy where they sit. “I could have done better if you weren’t so… plush. Fuzzy.”

“But I like being fuzzy,” Freddy protests. Now he has turned his head, you can see that his usual mask-like facial markings have been erased in favour of a big star over one eye. You wonder if Freddy realises that Monty has painted on a lens of his own glasses.

Slowly, you become aware that Roxy is staring at you. She looks anticipatory, like a vulture about to swoop. You blink as Chica’s hand gently but firmly encircles your ankle, securing you in place. She smiles.

“Your turn!” Roxy says. Freddy steps aside so you have an unimpeded path to the dresser.

Ah.

The Glamrock team is largely self-sufficient, and your weekly reports aren’t relevant to their private meetings. As a result, Base wants to arrange a meeting to catch up with you. The tone of the email is blandly professional with a touch of irritation – typically the teams enfold you into their own assessments, taking the task from Base’s hands during the residency. It’s a real bummer that the Glamrocks have not inherited that same formula.

“Noooo,” you wail, and press your forehead against the holoscreen. It was relaxing while it lasted. Meetings, like death, are one of the few constants in life.

And emails.

At least Base is only floating the idea, and not demanding a full run-down of the facility’s inner workings right now this second. You sniffle and raise your face, swiping away the notification and also a bit of glitter. It’s getting late, so you can avoid giving your answer until tomorrow. Good, because you don’t want to answer – the only acceptable response is acquiescence, after all.

You should bring up Eclipse with Base again. It had actually been your intention to ask Sun about his larger counterpart, but you forgot. It’s a habit you find yourself guilty of regarding Moon as well – they’re just so interesting. Their reactions are entertaining, their conversation fascinating. You can’t remember ever having as much fun talking to people as with them. You get distracted.

It was nice hanging out with the team, even with Vanessa present. Roxy went ham on your face and now it feels stifled and itchy. She coloured in your lips and brows silver, speckled your cheeks with star-shaped stickers. Glitter winks in your periphery. It looks cool, but you don’t feel like yourself anymore.

You collapse your holoscreen and gaze out over the water. Once again, the facility got too hot for your liking, so now you’re hiding out on the platform. The team will be having dinner now, in all their makeup finery. Vanessa said she was going to cook, but you don’t fancy spending the night in medical picking glass out of your mouth.

The skin of your forehead feels tacky and stiff with product. The smell is nice but overwhelming. You want to take this stupid hairstyle out already because it's giving you a headache. You run your fingers over the intricate braids, the firmly twisted bun, but can’t find the heads of any pins to start the process. How does this work again?

Water laps loudly. You look up to see the end of a coral fanned tail skim out of sight, several metres away. When Sun surfaces again, you’re prepared for him.

“BOO!” he shouts, exploding out of the water. His glee falters when he realises you have moved further back, out of the splash zone.

“Hi,” you say, waggling your fingers.

Sun sticks out his tongue, a shock of bright orange. “Ohh, that’s not fair! You saw me!”

You’re amused. “Better luck next time.”

“There will be a next time,” he says, ominous. He folds his hands daintily on the platform, one on top of the other. “Come closer, friend! I feel like I can’t even see you! That won’t do, no no.”

Closer. Come closer, friend. Play, friend. Come here. Come. “I should get that tattooed at this point,” you mutter. “I’m not sitting on the edge.”

Sun immediately looks hurt, his fins drooping. A noise you have never heard before emanates from his gills, a thin, mournful note.

Your stomach drops in automatic guilt, but more than anything you’re suspicious of his about-turn in mood. “Hey. Are you trying to make me feel bad?”

The noise immediately stops. “No.”

Hmm. He looks halfway embarrassed. After that fiasco of a first meeting you’re already predisposed to a level of contrition towards him. It seems you’re not the only one aware of it.

Sun watches with hungry eyes as you scoot across the metal and settle cross-legged in front of him. His hand reaches out, the tips of his claws just grazing your knee, then he hesitates and withdraws them. He’s staring very hard at your face. “Your tentacles- hair. They look different.”

“Someone from my team styled it today,” you say tiredly. You’re sick of the subject. “Roxy did it. You’ll probably see her around, if you come by often. She’s the one with purple fur.”

“Fur? Fuzzy?”

“Yeah, actually. Or maybe fluffy? Just don’t tell her that.”

Sun cocks his head. “Why?”

“I’m not sure she would like it.” You tap a finger against your temple, gazing down at Sun thoughtfully. He only seems to blossom under your attention, staring back like he’s drinking in the sight. You can’t remember anyone ever looking at you with such avid intensity before, aside from Moon. “You know what fuzzy means, but not fur?”

Sun nods so hard he almost bashes his chin against the platform. “Mhm, yes! Fuzzy is like the glass seaweed, the soft-shell crabs, the bedding in the nest! Soft and sssshh sssshhkkkk.” He mimes brushing his palm over something textured.

“What is glass seaweed?”

“It’s a type of seaweed that is veeeeeery thin.” He pinches his thumb and forefinger together with a tiny gap. “I can bring you some! If you’d like.”

“That’s okay. I can come and see it myself the next time I visit, right?”

Sun’s hands clench on the platform. “Right,” he says, gleeful. “Yesyesyes, right! You’re going to come and visit!”

His excitement is infectious. You tamp down on an excited squirm. “But fur is a word in the language you’re using,” you return to your point. “How did you learn this language?”

You’re not really expecting a clear response – Moon has destroyed any hope of that. So when Sun says, “I learned it in the daycare,” you’re floored.

“The- the daycare?”

“Mhm!” Sun nods “Every one of us learns in the daycare! The adults teach us, and when it is finished, we leave.” He pauses, a shadow crossing his face. “At least, that was the case. But not anymore.”

Because all the mermaids are gone, you gather. Nervously, you lick your lips. They taste vaguely waxy. An urge to push for further information wars with your general sense of compassion.

Sun raises his head, and his expression clears at whatever he sees in yours. “Well! Let’s not be negative Nancies, no no. The daycare is not so far from home – maybe your pod has young ones that might like to visit?”

He looks so hopeful that you feel even worse for having to let him down. “… Not my team,” you say regretfully. “But maybe the next one will bring children along.” It’s not unheard of in other locations, though it has never happened here given the lack of open spaces and sunlight. “So you learned to speak from the daycare, but where did this language come from? Like…” You struggle to express yourself in the same language you’re not entirely confident in.

“It came from us!”

“Yes, but where was it created? Or developed?”

“Here. We did.” Now Sun is looking at you funny, patiently amused. “We have always spoken it, since back when there was nothing. It’s in all of our stories, all of our records.”

“But is the other language not yours?” You don’t know the name, you realise. “The clicky one, the one I don’t know.”

“That is ours too, yes.”

“So you and your relatives invented what we’re speaking now? Your ancestors?”

“Bingo!” Sun raises a fingertip and taps the air right before your nose, stopping just short of contact. “Co-rrect! Good job!”

No. Not correct. Even if you have yet to see Sun’s ancestors records, you have viewed enough at the Rim to guarantee that ancient English, coined and evolved on Earth 1, didn’t originate from this remote ocean planet. The progression from the language was thoroughly documented, given it was in use around the time humanity began their foray into legitimate space travel.

“So how can I speak it, then?” you say, jabbing a thumb at yourself. “How do I know it? I’m not a mermaid.”

Sun looks at you like you’re a child who has pointed out the obvious – indulgent, but as though you should know better. “It’s our language. You learned it from us.”

“From other mermaids?” you clarify.

“Yes.”

“There are other mermaids? Like, out there elsewhere.”

“Well, there must be. How else could you speak like us?”

He says it so certainly, so simply, like it’s a matter of fact. Sun clearly hasn’t considered any other options. The notion hasn’t occurred to him.

“You and Moon are the first mermaids I have ever met,” you protest, but lightly. He’s likely mistaken, not lying, but voicing either thought could be taken as an accusation.

Sun sighs. “Oh? Then our language has spread far. Such a shame! I was going to ask if I could meet the others.”

You can see this conversation becoming circuitous, so you pre-emptively give up on arguing the point. “Huh,” you say aloud. No wonder Sun didn’t question your use of ancient English – his surprise seemed to centre on you having the ability to speak at all.

It’s kind of similar to some of BON-BON’s shows, now that you think of it. Characters encountering an entity beyond their knowledge, whether eldritch or otherwise, never seem too fussed that they share a language. Some skip over it entirely, with the assumption that if it can talk, obviously it would choose to talk like them. Maybe Sun is wearing the same brand of blinders.

Either way, it doesn’t really matter. It’s just interesting.

Sun tilts his head. “What are you thinking so hard about, friend?”

“Nothing,” you say, snapping out of it.

“Now that’s not so. Why, I could open clams on that face!” He raises a hand again and cups the air around your cheek, gently.

Your eyes follow the movement, narrowing. Sun is testing the limits of your personal space, stopping just shy of touch. It’s like you’re a dog being baited. You have the wild urge to nip. “Could you really?”

Sun smiles wide and playful. “Because it’s so stony!”

“Rude,” you say, but the corners of your mouth are lifting. He looks so proud of his joke. “Hey. You know, you never actually told me your name.”

“Ohhh, silly! You know my name.” He retracts his hand and bites the tip of a claw.

“I do?” Then you see the giggle shake his shoulders and sigh. “I’m not taking responsibility for christening you. Sun is a nickname.”

“Nnnope!” He pops the P. “It’s mine now.”

“If I’d have known you were going to use it yourself, I would have chosen better,” you complain. This is way too much of a weight on your conscience. Sweet nebula, you named him for his appearance.

“Hmm.” Sun draws his claw from his mouth and taps the platform assessingly. “Cheer up, friend! It’s clickkclickc.”

The sudden barrage of rough chirps and clicks is startling, the alien language making Sun’s gills flex oddly. “That’s your name?” you say, dawning excitement in your voice. “It’s- how do you say it again?”

Sun repeats it, raising his face so you can see clearer. His mouth remains closed the entire time, only parting slightly to reveal a hint of teeth. This close, you can see a lot of throat movement. You’re certain gills are essential here.

“I’m gonna mess this up,” you murmur, trying to wrap your head around the pronunciation. There are no words. “Okay, okay, hold on. Okay.” And then you try it too, but just end up swallowing very loudly.

“Ooooh, almost!” Sun says. His voice is warm with restrained laughter. “Would you like to try again?”

Yeah, laugh it up, buddy. The shoe will be on the other foot when it’s your turn to teach him general speech.

Your next few attempts fail just as predictably, even when you give up on utilising non-existent gills and try to make the sounds with your mouth. Sun seems gratified by the effort even as he fails to keep the lid on his laughter.

“Maybe…” he begins, then hesitates.

“Hm?”

“Maybe you… need a little extra help?” he says slowly. He draws a fingertip along the metal of the platform like he’s checking it for dust.

“Like what?” You hope he’s not about to suggest cutting you a fresh set of gills.

Sun gives you a quick little glance, a flash of white. A nervous titter. “Like. How you helped Moon learn to rrrrrrrrrrr?”

You smile at the unexpected sound. “I associate rolling R’s with Moon now,” you confess. “But I can’t remember how I taught- Sun, are you okay?”

Sun has frozen with his eyes wide and unseeing, facial fins puffing up comically. “Oh no. Oh no no no no no.”

“What?” you say, immediately on guard as he clutches his head like he’s trying to unscrew it. “Sun? What is it?”

“I forgot!” he shrieks, then throws himself beneath the surface of the water in an action that soaks your legs.

“… Okay, bye,” you say to the empty platform, forlorn. Sun is already gone, not a flicker of yellow in sight. And now your shorts are sodden. You lean back on your hands, and your finger touches the cool, waxy surface of an apple. Right, you brought that out with you on the off-chance that Sun might happen by again with Moon still exiled. He said he has never tried one before.

Moodily, you take a bite, only a little pleased at the crisp crock it makes. Fresh. That makes one of you. Peeling off your wet socks, you dunk a leg in the water and idly stir up a current. Even outside you feel kind of sweaty. Most of your work was completed in the morning so it’s been hours since you last swam.

I should organise a timetable with those two. It would be nice to have company when you’re not feeling tired and unsociable. Moon seemed to clue in on your working hours at some point, but Sun hasn’t had the opportunity. The only problem is that you have no idea how they tell the time, or if they do at all. Does that subterranean sun of theirs have a cycle? Their world may be an everlasting daytime.

Through your leg in the water, you feel the faintest shiver of echoing movement.

With barely a ripple to herald his return, Sun erupts back out like a rocket, all flapping fins and lashing tail, and snakes his way onto the platform before you can so much as blink. A pane of water floods your lap as the mermaid scrambles behind you, and you gasp as you’re seized from behind and dragged from the edge in a singular tug.

Like something out of a horror movie, Moon slaps both hands onto the platform and hauls himself upright, water cascading down his shoulders. “Naughty…”

Sun eeps from behind you, ducking his head down and pressing it between your shoulder blades. The pressure of his face, his clutching hands drawing your shirt taut, is a shock of heat against the cool water he’s dripping down your back.

“Um,” you say, holding the apple in limp fingers, “can I not be a shield?”

Moon tilts his head at an impossible angle, eyes narrowing into slits. “Yes, Sun,” he hisses, swaying forward, “don’t hide. Come here.”

Sun peeks over your shoulder. “Sorry sorry sorry! I didn’t mean to forget!”

Moon’s lip curls, but he rolls his eyes and hoists himself to sit where you just were on the platform. Sun breathes sigh of relief into your ear, his weight leaning into you. One arm snakes over your shoulder and hangs down your chest, supporting a mermaid who is swiftly becoming very heavy.

You’re being used as furniture. If it were Moon, you would be totally comfortable shrugging him off, perhaps even pushing him into the water if he’d recently conducted a prank of his own, but Sun is still a near-stranger to you no matter his affectionate attitude. You ease to the side, shuffling on your butt until Sun is forced to let go or follow. He rolls over onto his back on the platform, claws plucking little pinpricks in the fabric of your top as his grip releases.

Moon scoffs, his body language losing all threat. “Difficult.”

“Mean,” Sun counters, but there isn’t any heat to it. His tail gathers and loops, sprawling loosely behind you.

They both look at you when you clear your throat. “So, uh… is everything alright now?” What the hell was that? you don’t say.

“Someone,” and here Moon glares at Sun, “said he would check if the coast was clear.”

“Uuuuu…” Sun places his hands over his face. “Uuuhuuuhh… boo hoo hoo…”

“Stop that.”

Right, you had forgotten you had asked them both to be wary of the rest of the team. You open your mouth to rescind that warning, but close it again upon remembering the big tank sitting empty in the lab. Perhaps you should allow things to remain as they are for now.

What you had actually wanted to know, was if you were going to have to witness more infighting. But now they’re lounging beside you, talking normally. Playfully, even. You have no idea how to ascertain if Moon has been released from his chore duty punishment, or if he’s out on probation. If you phrase it like that, he will certainly go for a vengeful pinch.

The crescent of a white eye peers out from between Sun’s claws. “That reminds me… I got to meet a member of the pod,” he says, a little smugly.

Moon’s tail thrashes briefly where it dangles in the water. “Which? The green thing?”

Poor Monty. You suck your cheeks in.

Sun rolls over onto his forearms, excitable. The grating of the platform is pressing rather painful grooves into your butt, but neither mermaid seems effected by the metal. “The loud one,” he chirps, grinning. “Vanessa. Her head is yellow. Like me!”

Moon’s face sours. “That one.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“We met too.”

“Wait, what?” you say, looking up from fiddling with the apple. “When?”

“A while. Here. She came out from there, shouting.” He extends one long finger to point at the facility doorway.

Right, that time where she almost fainted. You never did really get to the bottom of that. “Oh, I remember,” you say, relieved that Vanessa hasn’t been conducting secret rendezvous with Moon while she was out here puffing on her cigarette. The thought raises your hackles in a way that isn’t entirely due to concern of their safety.

Sun sits up, indignant. “She shouted at you? Why?”

“Not me.” Moon’s eyes slide to you.

Sun turns his entire head to look at you, unsubtle. “Did you have a little tiff?” he says teasingly, knocking your arm gently with his knuckles. “Did my poor Moony have to sit through a squabble?”

You lift the corners of your mouth in a fairly unconvincing smile. “Something like that,” you say lightly.

“All friendships have their ups and downs!” says Sun, self-confessed victim of isolation. “The important thing is that you made up in the end!”

“No,” says Moon, and grins a mouthful of sparkling teeth, “the important thing is introducing me next.”

Let’s change the topic. “I brought an apple,” you say, holding it up.

Sun tilts his head this way and that, examining the fruit. “How strange,” he says, poking it lightly. “What a pretty colour!”

“It’s fruit,” you say, allowing him to take it.

“There’s a hole in it.”

You clear your throat, embarrassed. What with Moon stealing half-eaten food from you at random, you had forgotten not to just tuck in. “Uh, yeah. That was me.”

“Tasty,” Moon supplies. He stretches out across the edge of the platform, languid.

“I have never had one of these before,” Sun says without looking at him. “It would have been so, so nice if someone had offered.”

From the way Moon goes still, you don’t think you imagined the tinge of passive aggression in that musing tone. “You can have the whole thing,” he says. Generous.

“Ooooh!” Sun claps his hands together around the apple, perking up. “Why, I don’t mind if I doo-dle!”

If you expected him to ravenously devour it much in the same way as Moon, you’d be disappointed. Sun first sniffs the apple, then licks the juice from the bite mark, then gnaws the stem, then nibbles at the peel, then finally takes a bite of the flesh inside. He hums and munches, occasionally swiping up juice with his startlingly-orange tongue.

Well, it looks like all is forgiven. “I’ll bring two next time,” you say.

“Why not bring three?” Sun says, crunching into the core of the apple. “Then you can eat as well! We can have a picnic!”

“We share,” Moon says, something wicked in the curve of his smile as Sun turns to look at him.

“What?” Sun looks back and forth between you both, growing more agitated as Moon’s grin widens. “You- that’s not fair. That’s not fair!”

You look at Moon for an explanation, but he’s clearly having too much fun winding Sun up. “We swim together, too,” he adds.

Sun jabs an accusing finger at Moon. “I said you have to tell me everything! So you get food and trinkets and- and playtime, and you keep it all to yourself!”

Moon nonchalantly flicks the loveknot bracelet on his hand, sending it glimmering in the faint light. “Yes.”

“That- oooh, you are such a- such a-”

“Go on.”

“Such a hoarder! Selfish! A mean, horrible, selfish-” Sun puffs to a halt, apparently running out of insults. His face is going steadily orange, a slight glow beginning to light up his fins. “Naughty! You’re naughty! And a rulebreaker!”

“Just curse at me,” Moon says.

Sun tosses his head, crossing his arms. “I’m not you.”

Watching them bicker is pretty entertaining. “I wouldn’t put too much stock in what he says. I don’t think stealing my food every time counts as sharing.”

Moon meets your narrow-eyed look with a smile. “You bring it out for me,” he says sweetly.

“I have fed them,” Sun announces, apparently having ignored the both of you to try and score points on Moon.

He stiffens. “What.”

“I have fed them. Oysters,” Sun says, pronouncing the word in that delicate way of the unfamiliar.

Moon’s face is doing very interesting things. You wonder if he’s recalling his own unsuccessful attempts to lure you with food. “That’s nothing.”

“And we have hugged. Twice,” Sun adds, now looking rather smug himself.

You hum dubiously, but otherwise stay silent. Barring yesterday’s hug on the platform, the only example you can think of is when you trapped Sun with the Globe to avoid getting swept away. It kind of counts, technically. When Moon looks at you in askance, you tip your head to the side in a reluctant nod.

“And,” Sun readies his final blow, “they promised to teach me their language – general speech.”

Moon pauses, then relaxes back where he lays. “Dumb.”

“Not so.”

“They can’t teach anyway. Bad tutor.” He flashes a sharp smile your way, joking malice lighting up his eyes. “What did you give him to make him agree? Did you lie?”

“Hey-” Sun tries valiantly to interject.

“Naughty, naughty.”

Asshole. He’s trying to get you to join in. “Actually, Sun asked me to teach him,” you say mildly, refusing to rise to the bait. “And he said he’ll teach me how to speak your language.”

The smile wavers, fades. Moon looks away. “You’ll just end up teaching us both,” he mutters. “If you even can.”

“Hey!” you say, lifting your hands. “Why am I catching strays here?”

He barely spares you a glance. “Stay out of this.”

“You’re talking about me!” The absurdity has you laughing.

“We have played hide and seek,” Moon says to Sun, apparently still invested in the argument.

“Ah!” you say sternly. “Don’t lie. We didn’t play, you were chasing me. There’s a difference.”

“I thought we were playing,” he mutters.

“You scarred me for life. That was not a game.”

“I think you mean scared for life,” Sun says helpfully. You don’t.

Moon scoffs. “Dramatic.”

“I don’t want to hear that from you.” You go to fiddle with a braid, and grope empty air for a few seconds before you remember that your hair is currently encased in a cocoon of product on the top of your head. Sighing, you feel around for a hairpin and come up empty. The strands feel crispy to the touch.

Moon is watching you with his head on one side. “You look different,” he comments.

You just grunt.

“Shiny.”

“Hairspray,” you mutter.

“Your face.”

“Your face,” you shoot back.

Sun snickers. Moon sighs and sits forward, a hand extended. “No,” he says. “On your face.”

“What- uhhh…” Moon’s fingers crook under your chin, his thumb swiping across your lower lip, and then retreats before you can react.

The pad of his thumb is smeared with silver. You had forgotten about that – incredible, given the glitter sparkling in your periphery. He surveys it curiously, tilting it to shine against the dim light. A scaled brow quirks, then he brings his thumb to his mouth to taste.

You look away, feeling unaccountably flustered. A wild urge rises to scrub at your face until all the paint is gone, and you resist– it won’t work. But you want it off anyway, and perhaps ten minutes to hide behind your hands. Moon’s spirit of adventure strikes again.

“Is it tasty?” Sun says. He’s leaning forward, his eyes bright. He looks excited at the prospect of more alien materials to try. The fact that it has been lifted off your face doesn’t seem to bother him at all.

“No,” you say, at the same time as Moon says, “Try.” He lifts his thumb, but it’s been licked clean. “Hm. Get some more.”

“No!” you squawk when Sun turns towards you. “It-it’s not hygienic. And it doesn’t taste good.”

Sun smiles and blinks. “Friend, I don’t know what that means.”

You frown suspiciously, but he seems genuine enough. His face is open and innocent. “It’s dirty,” you explain. “You’re not supposed to eat this stuff. And it’s been on my face, so it’s not clean. I mean, you wouldn’t eat off someone’s face, would you?”

“Yes,” they both say.

“What?” you say faintly. You feel like you’re losing control of the situation. “Okay… Well, you shouldn’t.”

“Why is it on your mouth if you can’t eat it?” says Moon.

“You can ingest small amounts, but it’s not for eating. It’s for appearance.”

“So you can eat it.”

“But you’re not supposed to.”

Sun is slowly inching closer, his tail pressing warm against your leg. He accidentally puts his hand down on yours before you pull it away. “Please. Can I taste?”

“Well- not like that!” you say hurriedly as he pokes out his tongue. You raise a hand, ready to shove him in his big face. “Don’t lick me!”

Sun snuffles out a quiet laugh. He presses his thumb to your mouth like Moon did. “Just let me take a little, then.”

You’re sweating now, boxed in and uncomfortably warm. Vaguely, you’re aware of Moon watching in your periphery, his smile a lazy crescent. You suppose that this is better than Sun licking you, so you allow him to run the pad of his thumb over your mouth without complaint. It’s only when he’s let you go that you realise you could have just taken the makeup off and smeared it on his hand yourself. Stars…

“Bleh.” Sun sticks out his tongue, silver face paint coating the orange. It doesn’t look like he’s enjoying the experience.

You clear your throat. “I told you,” you say, but your voice breaks on the last word.

“Hmm.” Sun’s eyes slide to meet yours, narrowing thoughtfully. “I don’t know, friend. I think I need another try.”

“You still have some on your- hey! No!” He’s leaning in, hands very much not in play, and you finally give in to your initial instinct and shove him hard in the face. Sun hisses and rears back, tail roiling on the platform. When he looks up again, all disbelief and wibbly eyes, you have absolutely no sympathy. “I said don’t lick me.”

“Mean! Moon- that- mean!”

“Came on too strong,” Moon murmurs, shaking his head.

You squint at him. “What was that?”

“That was very wrong,” Moon says to Sun seriously. He turns to you, and your back stiffens at the sly curve of his smile. “You did this. For appearance?”

“Roxy did.”

“Roxy.” Moon frowns with the effort of remembrance. “Purple, yes.”

“That’s right,” you say, eyes fixed on Moon and the bright light of mischief in his eyes.

He leans forward like he’s about to whisper a secret. Here it comes. “You look very nice today.”

You blink. From the look of his face you were expecting some sarcastic remark, not- not this. “Oh,” you say, a beat too late. “Um. Thank you?”

The smile widens. “Very shiny. Dazzling. Like crystals. Like my loveknot.”

The confusion is going down under a wave of embarrassment. “Yeah, it’s the face paint-”

“You’re sparkling like the sea. Shining like bubbles, like-”

“Like pearls,” Sun supplies. He has his cheek resting on one hand, watching your expression with steadily-increasing interest. Your recent assault has clearly slid from his memory.

This might be the hottest your face has felt in a long time. Flustered energy itches under your skin. The impulse to do something dumb arises, like cough and make shrill noises. You rise to your feet abruptly, the urge to move overwhelming you. “You’re too much,” you mutter, but both of them are exchanging a bright glance now, like they just learned something.

“Come,” Moon says, and hooks a finger around your ankle. “I want to see it closer.”

“Oh, get off.” You pull at the neckline of your top, wafting cool air against your skin. If you were wearing a swimsuit and breather, you would have dunked your overheating body in the water by now. Like all those times where Moon got too close and personal, it’s one hell of a sobering agent.

But thinking about that isn’t helping.

Moon’s hand trails up your bare calf, feather soft and curious. You decide that getting your clothes wet is a fine price to pay for escaping these two and their teasing comments, and within a stride you have reached the edge of the platform to jump into the water.

The cold shocks you. You almost gasp, but instinct prevails. Spending so much time in the breather has left you sensitised to the feeling of water in your face and ears. The bubbles are loud. Something impacts the water nearby, but you’re already rising towards the light again. You break the surface and shake the water from your face, taking a breath of fresh air.

Moon is the only one who hasn’t fled the platform. He leans over with a deadpan expression, eyes half-lidded and unimpressed. He casts a stark shadow over you.

“Now, why did you do that?” he says quietly.

You feel refreshed and energised. “I’m going to spit water in your eyes.”

“Try.”

Sun surfaces beside you, and bops you smartly on the nose. “Now now, that’s not very nice. You’re an impulsive little thing, aren’t you?”

You duck your head and blow bubbles at him. The makeup is slowly melting off your face, but you don’t care. “I am not.”

“Are too,” Moon says. He’s draped once more along the platform, tail flicking back and forth lazily.

Sun tuts and moves closer, his body heat warming the water. It makes for a far more pleasant contrast in the sea than out. “Oh dear, your… hair. It’s slipping.”

“Ugh.” You reach up and once again search for a pin, tugging the bun this way and that. Losing patience, you yank at it roughly, and the hair gives a loud crrkch.

“No, nonononono!” Sun says quickly, worming his hands under yours. “Don’t do that. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“Hair doesn’t have any feeling.” You retract your hands and focus on keeping your face above water. You can dimly feel the gentle movement of Sun running his fingers over the bun, trying to fix it. “I want to take it out now. It’s too tight and there’s all these pins in it. I don’t like it.”

Sun’s gives a little hum. “I can do that for you. I just need to untangle it, yes?”

“I don’t think it can be untangled,” you say dubiously. The product is leaking down your face, you can smell it. The corner of one eye stings. “I’ve been trying for ages.”

“I can do it.” He takes your shoulders and turns you to face the platform. “Take a rest, take a spot! You’ll be as right as rain in a jiffy!”

What’s a jiffy?

You go uncertainly, Moon shifting aside to allow you space to rest your arms. Sun’s hands ghost over the back of your head, plastering his body against yours beneath the water, and your nerves spark at his proximity to your very vulnerable neck. What a great time to remember your rule about personal space. You jolt upright with a nervous, “Wait-”

Sun grasps your head on either side and turns it to face front again. “No fidgeting!”

Moon meets your eyes calmly. If you were to pillow your cheek on your arms, you would both be resting face-to-face. “Talk to me,” he says. Ridiculously, having him close does help, not that you genuinely suspect Sun of wanting to do you harm.

Sun’s hand comes into view, grasping something thin and shiny. Moon extends a hand and accepts the hairpin, enfolding it in his palm out of view. Neither you nor Roxy are going to get that back.

Okay, then. Sun is already making better progress than you ever did. Your nerves are still twanging, giving you a phantom preview of sharp teeth, but it’s slowly dying down. Forcefully, you relax your shoulders. “What’s this I hear about you ignoring your chores?”

Moon’s face sours and Sun laughs. You settle down to the pleasant sensation of getting your hair untangled by a mermaid.

Chapter Text

There is a hand brushing over your hair. It presses fingertips between the damp strands and rubs pleasant pools of heat and sensation into your scalp. A different hand rests on your own, trailing idly along the bumps of your knuckles and feeling at the ridges of scar tissue. There are quiet voices, a warm body leaning against yours, an ache in your temples that tells of pressure recently released. A tail swings idly by your legs and then settles from hip to ankle.

With a twitch, you snap back to full consciousness. You almost fell asleep – bad idea. That was close. Your eyes are gritty and dry, your mouth in the same way. Ew.

Sun and Moon are chatting at a volume mindful of you, occasionally slipping in and out of mer-speak. Not much time has passed since you began dozing, otherwise Moon would have doubtless left the platform to rehydrate in the water. Your arm is tingling where it pillows your head against the metal, body submerged from the shoulders down. Sun’s presence is like a personal heater. He speaks so close his words stir the hair fluffing dry near your ears.

You don’t move to interrupt. The clicking, chirping sounds of mermaid conversation have a calming quality like rain on a waxed roof.

The hand stroking your hair encircles the nape of your neck, examining through feel, then presses in with thumb and forefinger and pushes up.

That feels so good. You groan, eyes squeezing shut, and the conversation cuts out abruptly. The hands falls away. Stretching, you crack your jaw in a massive yawn and dunk your head under the water.

“How far are we?” you say upon resurfacing. Running your hands over the dome of your head, you delight in the lack of pins and tacky textures, though a slight film does remain. The skin of your temples feel blessedly free. You are never letting Roxy get her hands on your hair again. “Hey, you got it all out!”

“How long were you awake?” Sun demands. They’re both staring at you.

It was close, but… “I never fell asleep. Why, did you say something?”

“No,” he says instantly, exchanging an alarmed glance with Moon. “No, no no no, why would you say that? Of course not.”

You snort. “Right. You know, there’s such a thing as overdoing denial.”

Sun crosses his arms splashily. His facial fins shiver and stiffen like the fur of a cat. “I’m not!”

Hahh. He looks so offended you have to hide a laugh, hauling yourself up to sit beside Moon on the platform. “Of course not. My mistake,” you say complacently. Sun’s upturned face is indignant, but his eyes widen when you give in to impulse and stroke back the fins on his head. “Thank you for helping me, Sun.”

Sun doesn’t answer. Instead, he goes bright orange and silently sinks out of your grasp below the water. A second later, a trail of air bubbles follow.

“Hm,” you say, watching them pop. Maybe you shouldn’t have done that.

“I helped also,” Moon says, very casually.

“Did you? Thanks.” This time you keep your hands to yourself. They’re smeared with silver paint, you realise – you’re going to be finding that everywhere forever. “Is he coming back? I want to talk to you both about something.” Before you forget it like every other time.

Moon huffs and rolls over, propping his head up on one hand. “Talk.”

This will go down easier if Sun is present. “This really involves both of you.”

“Talk,” Moon stresses, just as Sun breaks the surface again.

Moon is so pushy. You resist the urge to swat him, pulling your legs out of the water and resting your arms on your knees. Testily, you say, “Okay, fine. I wanted to ask your permission to speak about you to my employers.”

The silence that falls is colder than the water. Moon’s face shuts down instantly.

Sun looks between you both, his brow furrowed. “… Why?”

You hum, trying to hide your awkwardness. “Well, this building here is actually a research facility-”

“He knows,” Moon interrupts, a sharp undercurrent in his voice. “I told him.”

“Yeah, I’m not taking your word for that,” you say. Besides, informed consent is a thing. “The people I work for study the environments of different planets. My job is to make sure this building is a functional and safe place for researchers to live in. And because I’m doing that, they can focus on making a database of all the creatures and plants, and stuff.

“Oooh!” Sun clasps his hands. “So they’re teachers? They find out everything and share it?”

You blink. “… Yeah. That’s a pretty good summary, actually.”

Sun puffs up in pride. Moon sends him a look of exasperated fondness and says, “That includes us, Sun.”

“That’s correct as well,” you say, slightly apologetic.

“They scanned me,” Moon adds, clearly trying to stir the pot again. It’s a transparent attempt to lead the topic astray.

Sun gasps, clapping a hand over his mouth. “Could you… scan me too? Pretty please? I want to see!”

You hold back a snicker at the slump of Moon’s shoulders. “Another time,” you say, voice brimming with amusement. “I left my scanner inside. But anyway, the point of me telling you this is that I’m supposed to report back on the things that I come across to Base. I did a report when I first met you, Moon, sorry,” you grimace, “and I have talked to them about the bright environment – the reef. But I haven’t told them where it is or anything, and I haven’t mentioned that we can speak the same language fluently.”

“So…?” Moon drawls.

You take a deep breath. “So, I was thinking it might be a good idea if I did do that. I’m not saying I’ll be repeating all our conversations word-for-word, but I wanted to get your permission to share information if the topic comes up.”

“Of course!” Sun says, the exact same time as Moon says, “No.”

Well, it’s nothing you weren’t expecting. You clear your throat as Sun turns to Moon in askance, his face puzzled. “I can step away if you want to discuss it.”

“Nothing to discuss,” Moon grits out.

“Hey,” Sun says sharply.

“I’ll just…” You jab your thumb over your shoulder and stand, walking down the platform until the sounds of harsh clicks and chirps isn’t so clear. It’s the principle of the thing, really.

And so is this request. In actuality, you don’t need explicit permission to share what you want about Sun and Moon with Base, their researchers, and the entirety of your team – there hasn’t been anything to stop you so far. But you have been reading up on the correct procedures to follow when making unofficial first contact, and treading with caution certainly doesn’t hurt.

“Friend.” You turn to see Sun looking at you apologetically.

“That’s a no, then,” you say, wandering back. Figures.

“It’s not safe,” Moon says before Sun can speak, oblivious to the bared teeth that earns him. His attention is on you, presenting his case to you like you’re about to argue back. “We don’t know these researchers, this Base. We don’t know what they want with us.” His voice is getting louder, picking up agitated speed. “They could ruin our home! Nasty, vicious creatures, too cowardly to talk to us themselves. Why would we ever tell you anything when it’s just going to be used to spy-”

You hold up a hand to halt the stream of words as his tone becomes venomous. “Okay, I understand. That’s a pretty frank answer. I won’t share any further information on you.”

Moon falters, the intense territorialism fading from his face. “You- what?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. No worries,” you say easily, waving a hand. “Though I do need to be clear, this agreement only applies to you two. Not to any other mermaids.”

“Good luck finding them,” Moon scoffs, but the derision is weak. The wind is still missing from his sails.

“I do have one request, though.”

They exchange a glance. Moon’s eyes have narrowed to suspicious slits again. “What?”

“Can I at least let them know that you can speak ancient English?”

“What’s that?” Sun says.

“It’s another name for the language we’re using right now.”

Moon cuts in. “Why is that so important?”

“I’m worried that your intelligence won’t be taken into account when people interact with you,” you say, choosing your words very carefully. “For example, when people want to study a fish, they might place it in a tank in the building to observe it up close. You’re not a fish so it would be bad if someone trapped you in a tank, even if they release you after. If I report that you can speak, everyone who comes here needs to read that information, and they know to treat you with respect.” Hopefully. In theory.

Sun’s brow furrows. “But- I don’t understand. Can’t they just ask you?”

“If they’ll listen,” Moon says. His eyes are serious beneath the glare.

You nod, gesturing to Moon. “Exactly. I’m not very impor- I’m not a researcher. I don’t have a position of power, and it’s not like I’ll be around forever anyway.”

“What?” Sun looks genuinely distressed. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere. I mean- anything could happen, right? But since you guys obviously are intelligent, at some point someone will want to come down here and speak to you.” And won’t that be an historical thing to watch? You hope you’ll be allowed the privilege of getting to see it, as insubstantial a possibility as it is. “It’ll be easier for everyone involved if there’s already some progress made – for example, a language they know you speak?”

Sun seems to have no real issue sharing information, so it’s Moon you direct your wheedling tone towards. He holds your gaze for a few long seconds, face blank, before theatrically rolling his eyes with a sigh. “Fffffine,” he says begrudgingly, though not so severe as before. “Make your… report. Whatever.”

What a relief. That was the one thing you hoped they would agree to. You hold a hand over your growing smile, but it can’t disguise the crinkling of your eyes or the joy in your voice. Your feet shift on the platform, happy energy making itself known. “Thank you, both of you. I swear you won’t regret this – it’ll be so much better in the long run, trust me.”

Moon is openly amused now, any suspicion and reservations he had draining away. “Friend,” he says, affectionate, “you won’t make us regret it.”

A gleeful laugh bubbles up before you can stop it, and both the mermaids smile in response. You take a step back towards the door – it must be getting late. You haven’t even eaten dinner. “Sorry. I should probably-”

“Wait.” Sun extends an arm over the platform and opens his palm to reveal a stack of glistening hairpins. “You almost forgot these!”

Shoot, good call. You had taken it as a given that you wouldn’t be seeing those again. Now you can return them to Roxy, and avoid the conversational minefield of admitting that the mermaids spirited them away. You hurry over and kneel to scoop them from Sun’s hand-

Warm arms encircle your back and shoulders, a palm smoothing over the back of your neck. Off-balance, you lean all your weight into Sun, your hands pressed flat to his chest and face buried in his gills. He doesn’t even sway with the pressure, turning his face against your temple. “This was fun. We should do this again, friend,” he says. His voice is lowered in consideration of your proximity, and it rumbles in his chest. You make a muffled sound and inhale the scent of cold water, undercut with a mellow sweetness.

Sun squeezes you briefly, arms winding tight, then releases his hold. You wipe a light film of water from your face with the back of an arm, feeling embarrassed again. These mermaids are a touchy pair, but this time the issue lies with you – there’s nothing wrong with a hug, you’re just unused to them. And this one was… unexpected.

Besides, you’re hardly practicing safe distancing.

Your hand hangs limp, half-frozen in a cupping position from where you had been ready to take the pins. So when Sun places them into your grasp half of them fall through your fingers and plink plink plink through grating of the platform and into the water.

Sun tuts and closes your fingers with his own, enfolding your hand in his. “Careful now,” he murmurs. His eyes are half-lidded, perhaps growing tired of your clumsiness. “Are you still tired? Don’t go losing any more, there’s a pet.”

There’s-? The unfamiliar endearment makes your head spin. You clear your throat a good deal louder than necessary and take your hand back. The pins dig into your fist. “Uh, yeah. Sorry about that.”

“Silly thing,” Moon says, and offers a handful of his own. The part of your brain that isn’t offline wonders why they halved the pile.

Your hands have gained a tremor. Now you decide you are not doing that again. Staggering upright, you struggle with a boom of headrush and the unfamiliar sensation of metal against your bare feet. “No- that- you keep them,” you babble incoherently, clutching the pins for dear life. If you drop these ones, you might just die. “Have a safe journey back, you two.”

“Sweet dreams,” Moon drawls, his face as enigmatic as ever. You offer a wave before the door slides shut.

The halls are deserted, the night lighting having kicked in. You make it all the way to your room before you realise that at some point you have misplaced your socks. If the universe has any kindness, you will find those safe and sound on the platform tomorrow. If not, you’re uncertain that you want to tackle explaining to the mermaids how weird of an item that is to steal.

In your room, you find your face is smeared with silver and stickers. You’ll need to remove all that and wash your hair, and dry your hair, and braid your hair. And you haven’t even eaten. Ugh.

At least you’re all friends now.

The next day dawns dark and exceptionally early for you, despite another night with little sleep. You spot an active light in the laundry room on your way back from breakfast, and pop your head through the door. “What are you doing?”

Roxy sighs from where she’s hunched over the washer, her tail hanging low. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

Craning your neck to look past her, you can see some kind of bulbous mass oozing out of the washer, blue and made up of thousands of gooey beads. In Roxy’s hand is a length of thin, shredded fabric covered in the same substance.

“Is that…?”

“Rrrgh!” Roxy hurls the fabric at the open washer, where it thwaps wetly against the door and sticks. “Yeah, it’s one of the gel pillows! I didn’t read the washing instructions, okay?”

You grimace, more in confusion than anything else. “Why didn’t you give it to a bot to clean?”

Roxy sinks back on her haunches against the wall. Her hair slides across her shoulder as she looks up at you. “Don’t you find them a bit…” she struggles under your expectant stare, “… creepy?”

Your kneejerk reaction is to say no, but you pause to consider it. “Mm… not anymore. I used to find them uncomfortable to speak to, because we don’t have much in the way of robots back home. And we had to clean our own dorms when I was studying.”

“Back home?” Roxy echoes. “Ah, you grew up on the sea, right? I guess robots and water don’t mix.”

You shrug and smile. “Well, you get used to it.”

Roxy’s shoulders slump. “I’m not used to robot staff,” she confesses, lifting up a handful of blue slop and squeezing it between her fingers. “I have more experience with AIs. Like yours. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be trapped behind a screen. Always having to smile.”

That got negative quickly. “Oh?”

“I met some intelligent ones,” Roxy says, perhaps catching the confusion in your voice. “Some are so much like people, they don’t deserve to be constrained to a singular interface. I always feel like if they could speak openly, they would ask to be set free.”

Bleeding heart. Vanessa isn’t the only one. But you have a secret to maintain, so you say, “I guess it’s lucky ours isn’t like that, then. You know, considering he’s Base property.”

Roxy’s face sours. “He shouldn’t be. No one deserves that kind of life. You can just tell he doesn’t like what he has to do. There’s something in there.”

“Are we still talking about BON-BON?” you say, taken aback and not a little alarmed. Suddenly, this conversational meander feels a lot less trivial. “No, don’t get mixed up. He’s supposed to feel life-like, but he’s a rudimentary AI at the core of it. There’s nothing deeper there.”

There’s something judgemental in the way Roxy looks at you, but you’re willing to fail her mental assessment if it means leading her off this path. “… You know that even simple AIs can develop sentience, right?”

You crouch to gather handfuls of gooey blue beads. “Sure, there are stories, but I wouldn’t put any stock in it. It’s just wishful thinking. Trust me, you’ll feel a lot happier if you take these things at face value.” You slop your handfuls into a near-empty box of detergent sitting by the washer. “And you’ll make the robots happy too. I swear, if you asked them to come here and clean this up, they’d beep for joy. Or something.”

Roxy lowers her eyes, pops a gel ball between her claws. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“What brought this on, anyway?” you ask, rapidly filling up the box. It’s beginning to buckle wetly. “Is work getting you down?”

“No, it’s…” Roxy finally rises, locating a dust-covered bag to help you clear the washer. “I guess I just feel bored. Our, uh, research or whatever isn’t going as well as we hoped, and there isn’t a lot for me to do right now. And this building – it feels so small.” She breaks off, shuddering.  “I swear it’s pressing down my head.”

“Maybe you need a break. You could try going to the surface.”

Roxy snorts and rolls her eyes. “Oh yeah, let me just grab my swimsuit and life jacket. We’re underground, genius.”

It’s incredible what non-malicious delivery can do for a person – you don’t feel the slightest urge to smack Roxy upside the head the way you do every time Vanessa talks. She should take notes. “No,” you say patiently, “I mean the docking platform. You must have seen it when you arrived – that big floating plaza with all the windows? It’s not the same as being on the planet terrain, but you’ll be able to get some sun. It’s bigger too.”

Roxy pauses, staring at you. “That’s not such a bad idea.”

“Maybe I’ll go as well.” It’s been a while since you left the facility via the pod.

“What? No!” Roxy clenches her fists so hard she splatters gel up the wall.

You blink at her. “Why not?”

“I… I think I need some alone time right now,” Roxy says, eyes darting anxiously. “No offense.”

“None taken,” you say mildly. “I can always pop up there another time.”

Roxy grabs your arm as you turn to dump your disintegrating box into her far-superior washbag. “Don’t! Just… could you tell me first? Before you go up.”

“Uh, sure,” you say, more than a little puzzled now. “Why?”

Roxy’s grip tightens minusculely. “So… we can… go together?”

“But I thought you wanted alone time.”

“I changed my mind.” Roxy releases you, taking the box from your lax hands and shoving it in her bag. “I think I’d like the company, actually. Those pods make me nervous.”

“Okay,” you say, lost. “I’ll let you know when I feel like going up, I guess.”

“Yeah, thanks. Do that.” As Roxy grabs a rag to clean up the last of the slop, you spy the faintest glimmer of sweat dampening the fur over her forehead.

No comment. You’re getting used to this entire team being a least a little weird at all times.

It seems that the main room is always occupied nowadays.

You walk past Chica trying to wheedle some request or other out of BON-BON and pour yourself some juice at the kitchenette. Maybe your gulping is a tad too loud, because that’s when her head pops up, looking frazzled.

“Oh, hi!” she chirps. “Do you wanna chat with BON-BON?”

“No, I’m just hanging around,” you lie, and pull out your holoscreen to wait.

It seems that your weeks of low activity are over for now, as the burden of a new team starts to make itself known in the facility through wear and tear. You already have a few things lined up for today – namely, this week’s checkup on the external barriers and markers, which combines handily with an examination and report on the area you saw Eclipse at last night. Now you see an alert concerning a potential blockage in one of the external pipes that cycles water out of the facility’s utility tunnels, a filter that needs changing within the utility tunnels, and a request from Chica to fix a malfunctioning bedroom door. You also need to find time to catch up with Base. That certainly isn’t going to happen today.

It’s difficult to arrange these new tasks on the docket while simultaneously fending off a staffbot determined to wash your near-empty glass, so you drain the juice and hold it out. The bot snatches the glass from your hand and begins washing up at the sink with intense concentration.

“Thanks,” you say, then spot Chica heading your way. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she says, faint irritation still shadowing her face. BON-BON tends to have that effect on people. “It took ages but I finally, finally got BON-BON to tell us before our post comes!”

“Sounds good,” you say, glancing behind her at where BON-BON is waggling his eyebrows on the screen. “Thanks for that.”

Chica grabs a glass of water, one of those ones with an odd lip that arrived with their supplies, and gulps heavily. You wonder just how long BON-BON has been keeping her trapped here going around in circles. “No problem! S’worth it,” she says indistinctly, lowering the glass. When she wipes the water from her beak, she smears her pink lipstick. “But things would easier if we had his server core.”

“Speaking of malfunctions,” you say, ruthlessly diverting the topic, “I saw you’re having trouble with your bedroom door. Is this something I can do later, or is it totally jammed?”

“Oh! No.” Chica blinks as the staffbot snatches away her empty glass. “It’s actually not mine, it’s Vanessa’s.”

This fucking person again. “Right.”

Chica doesn’t notice your cold tone. “She says her door keeps locking her in, or locking her out, or jamming halfway – it just sounds like a mess. She didn’t want to bother you with something so small, so I logged it for her.”

“That’s nice of her,” you murmur.

Chica smiles, a sweet and fond thing. “Yeah. She acts all tough, but she’s an angel at heart.”

You almost blurt out a laugh. “I’ll sort that out when I can,” you say briskly, trying to halt any further praise of the current bane of your existence. “By the way, did you notice the meeting request I sent?”

“Did you?” Chica fumbles at her pockets, pats herself down. “I didn’t bring my screen. Sorry, I didn’t see that, but you can sign me up! Do you want a group meeting, or…?”

“One on one,” you say. “Would today be okay?”

Chica shrugs, then visibly remembers she’s the team leader and straightens up. “That sounds great – let’s do this evening! We can chill out. Shall I bring anyone?”

She hasn’t even asked you for an itinerary. The previous team leader would have eaten her alive, and then passed around the remains at a mandatory group breakfast. “Just yourself. Thanks, Chica.”

Chica smiles, but instead of leaving she follows you over to the main console and plumps down beside you on the sofa. BON-BON’s interface cuts out, faking idle, but not before he sends you a frustrated glance. He knows you’re angling to talk to him.

“By the way, did you get to see the lab yet?” Chica asks eagerly.

“Yeah, it looks very nice,” you say. If this goes on for much longer, you’ll have to start your tasks and speak to BON-BON later.

Chica deflates a little. “Did you… did you see the tanks? I thought maybe you could bring back some stuff to study, if you’re not too busy.”

You set your holoscreen aside, giving her your full attention. “Sure, that’s fine with me. Is there anything you want me to focus on in particular, in terms of specimens?”

Chica wavers, unsure. “I… well, you could bring us anything that we don’t have any info on yet. Like when you scan something, and it’s not on the database? Would that be okay?”

“Sure, but I was wondering if you want me to focus on animals, plants, and rock, or-”

“Oh! No, that’s fine,” Chica says, waving her palms. “Just fish, or whatever. Actually, this is going to sound weird, but… uh…”

“Yes?” you say encouragingly.

“If you come across anything at all that’s out of the ordinary, no matter what it is… it would be really, really awesome if you brought it back.”

“Out of the ordinary? Could you be more specific?”

Chica grimaces. “Not really? Just, if you find anything that doesn’t belong… or maybe any creatures that don’t look the way they should. You know?”

“The way they should,” you echo, confused.

She flaps her hand, jingling a charm bracelet on her wrist. “Like, if they look all weird and mutated, y’know?”

“Mutated?”

“Well, not mutated,” Chica backtracks. “But, like, we’re on the lookout for anything unusual.”

Putting aside the fact that the planet is so new to everyone involved that everything seems unusual, Chica’s words send alarm churning in your gut. Suddenly, the vague suspicions that arose the night that Chica and Freddy interrogated you clamour to the forefront of your mind. “Chica, there’s nothing dangerous in the water, is there?” you say quietly.

“No! Gosh, no,” Chica is quick to assure you. “It’s just a part of our contract to look out for this stuff.”

“Okay,” you say, unconvinced, “but, you understand I would need to know if there is, right? Because if there’s, I don’t know, radiation or pollution, or something, I’d need to wear something to protect myself. Everyone would, and me walking around would just endanger everyone else-”

“No, wait,” Chica says, rubbing her eyes. “That’s not what I mean, sorry. It’s just… how can I say this? Uhh, basically all the other teams that came here have got to the local stuff, but we’re studying further out than they did. So I figured if you saw something unusual, then the other teams never got to see it. Y’know, because then you would already know about it and you wouldn’t think it’s weird. Yeah.”

You stare hard at Chica’s face, trying to spot if she’s lying. Weirdly, this clumsy and roundabout reasoning does make sense for her, if not for anyone else. And you can’t imagine her being so eager to send you into poisoned waters. “Okay,” you say reluctantly. “Alright. Unusual creatures. I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Chica? Are you- oh.”

Chica twists around to look over the back of the sofa, beaming. “Ness! Hiya, babe!”

You don’t bother to look, picking up your holoscreen and exiting out of the docket. There’s movement behind you, a few more words exchanged, and then Chica is placing a friendly hand on your shoulder and rising to leave.

It’s funny that this request for samples should come right after you wrote off having to collect any for the team. With Roxy’s vague confirmation that they are indeed on the hunt for something, possibly ship related, and the subpar lab space letting you down, you figured this would be one residency you wouldn’t have to contribute to. It looks like you were wrong.

You become aware of your name being said, someone hovering in your periphery. Reluctantly, you turn to see not only Vanessa standing close by, but also Freddy in the doorway.

You refocus on Vanessa as she says, “Do you have time for a quick word?”

Schooling your face has never felt more difficult. “Sure. What’s up?” you say, unable to help the way your voice falls flat.

It’s a surprise when Vanessa makes no attempt to move closer or dismiss your audience. Instead, she says, “I want to apologise for the way I behaved the other day. We both said some harsh words, but there’s no excuse for the way I reacted. I’m sorry.”

Blood rushes to your head in a dizzying pulse. Dimly, you can feel your fingers curl, your jaw grow taut. Behind her, Freddy and Chica look bright-eyed, approving, and Vanessa…

Her tired eyes are earnest, her mouth pressed in a nervous line. She worries the sleeve of her top with slim fingers, the nails gnawed down to stubs. She looks sincere.

You hate it. You hate her. You hate how you have three sets of eyes staring at you expectantly, waiting for a positive response to this dismal apology, when Vanessa doesn’t even have the grace to acknowledge the exact actions that have hounded you since the day she arrived. Do Freddy and Chica even know what she’s apologising for? Do they think this is an acceptable level of penitence?

It doesn’t matter, because you have two high-ranked members of the team waiting for you to say something nice. A part of you wonders if Vanessa is calculating enough to use public pressure to force you into accepting her mediocre apology, and an even bigger part of you screams YES!

“Thank you, Vanessa,” you say, as lightly as you can. The words come out tasting like ash.

You only have a second to take in the softening of Vanessa’s expression, the clear relief, before she nods and turns away, heading towards the door with a bashful hunch to her shoulders. Chica smiles at you, even warmer than before, and links arms with her partner as she passes, towed from the room.

Freddy pauses in the doorway. “It takes a very mature person to put aside conflict,” he says, all at once approving and mentorlike. “I am sure you and Vanessa will get along again in no time at all.”

Even blinking is too risky right now to maintain your self-control. For the first time, you feel genuine hostility in the face of Freddy’s affable kindness.

Freddy’s ears quirk. “Are you alright?”

You swallow convulsively, trying to choke down the mouthful of epithets you want to hurl not just at him, but the culprit walking down the corridor. “Yeah. Just peachy,” you near-whisper, clenching your fists so hard the knuckles crick.

All at once, it’s too much. You turn away before your expression can betray you, and activate your holoscreen. After a few seconds of blind staring you hear Freddy walk away. The room becomes still and silent once more, the holoscreen blurring further and further until you register the moisture burning in your eyes. You don’t look up, not even when BON-BON’s interface reactivates.

After a hesitating silence, he speaks. “Not to sound like that orange moron,” he says, “but are you alright?”

You breathe in to answer, then continue until your lungs inflate like balloons. Then you slowly let it out. Then in, then out again, then in until you think you might be able to speak without hurling the holoscreen at the wall. “No,” you confess, rubbing away the tears that clump your lashes together. “I feel- I- I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” There’s a tremor in your voice.

“Okay,” BON-BON says again, his voice unusually quiet.

“Actually,” you say, remembering why you even came here in the first place, “I wanted to tell you something. Or warn you, I guess.”

BON-BON is blinking, when you risk looking up. “What? What happened?”

“Something Roxy said earlier. She went all bleeding heart on me and went on about how AIs are trapped and smiling, or something. Like, she can see you don’t like your job and you want to be free. Inner pain or… I don’t know. Something like that.”

BON-BON’s face screws up the further you speak like he just sucked a digital lemon. “What is she talking about? Has she been swapping notes with Van- uh…” He snaps his mouth shut, looking awkward.

You wilfully ignore it. “Could have, I don’t know. They don’t seem to like each other much. But she’s picking up on something from you.”

“She is not,” BON-BON protests. “I’ve been doing everything right!”

“Well, not really though,” you say. “I mean, everyone knows it’s a struggle to get you to change the heating, or whatever.”

“That comes up less often than you’d think.”

“My point is that as facility staff, you fall short. And I know, you do it on purpose,” you add quickly as BON-BON opens his mouth, “but maybe that’s the problem. Maybe Roxy is picking up on your reluctance to do this stuff, or that you’re not being genuine.”

“If I act genuine, I will get decommissioned,” BON-BON points out.

“But you can act differently,” you say. “Look – you’re a learning AI. Now might be a good time to demonstrate that learning. If you slowly start improving and communicating better, you’ll get Chica off my back about the whole server core issue too. Right? And it gives you some more space to breathe. Surely it can’t be fun to act all…” You struggle, trying to find a description that isn’t insulting. “… like that all the while?”

BON-BON’s mouth twitches. “It’s entertaining enough at times.”

“You don’t have to act like yourself. In fact, don’t act like yourself, please,” you say, pointing a finger. “But maybe if everyone gets used to you acting more naturally, you won’t get caught out. You know?”

BON-BON takes a simulated breath, gazing off to the side. “… I’ll think about it.”

Funny how such a small admission makes you feel better. “Okay, great. Listen, I have to go, but later I need to do a few more reports. Do you want to hang out?”

“Hold it!” BON-BON barks, even though you haven’t moved an inch from your spot on the sofa. “I have something I want to talk to you about.”

What now?

BON-BON narrows his eyes at you, taking a moment to ‘lean’ against the corner of the screen and cross his stubby arms. “Is there anything at all you want to share with me? Something that happened, oh, I don’t know… last night?”

You close your mouth, having immediately opened it to snitch on Roxy destroying a gel pillow. “Uh, no? What? Oh, I was going to ask if I can try that sleep medication again.”

“It’s in the cupboard,” BON-BON says, momentarily distracted. “And have you considered you might get more sleep if you didn’t spend the night outside? Hm? Ever thought of that?”

“Oh, that,” you say. “Yeah, Sun and Moon came to visit. And guess what!”

“What?” he says flatly.

You spread your arms, a grin breaking across your face. “They gave me permission to report that they speak ancient English! Isn’t that so cool?”

“I don’t care.” BON-BON sighs when you wilt, rolling his eyes. “Weren’t you telling Base about all that stuff anyway?”

“No, not exactly. This is first contact, so I figured I should tread carefully. You know?”

“No.”

“Okay, well…” You scrape a finger with your teeth, thinking. “Like, imagine some aliens came here without permission and started asking us all these questions, and you find out they were reporting on us and making up theories, and looking at our bones with their scanners. That would be scary, right? It’s kind of like espionage. So I did some research, and I think it’s better to get permission.”

BON-BON still doesn’t look as excited as you hoped. “And you got permission.”

“Yeah! I think Base is going to be pleased.” Though your inbox won’t be, once their researchers get a hold of your report.

“Woooo,” BON-BON says, applauding lightly. For a split-second you think it’s genuine, until you register the sarcasm. “Woohoo, yayyyy, well done – now let’s talk about my thing.”

“Hey, this is big,” you protest, a little hurt. “Can’t you at least pretend to be pleased for me?”

“I just did. Anyway – between the mermaids and this weirdo team, I don’t think it’s safe for you to be going on the platform at night. Anything could happen.”

Hm. Best not mention that you spent time with Vanessa on the platform as well. You don’t want to trigger a meltdown over wasting the perfect opportunity to get Vanessa eaten.

“I appreciate the concern,” you say diplomatically, mindful of your recent argument about this very same topic, “but I am an adult with a high-risk job. If I spent all my time worrying about potential issues, I’d never get anything done.”

“What part of your job details hanging out with mermaids?”

“The part where I netted Base permission from the mermaids to report their language. And besides, if you’re so worried you can just activate my earpiece. I stayed within range.”

“What, the earpiece you left in your room?” BON-BON says caustically. “Helpful.”

“No, the earpiece I was wearing,” you say, getting irritated. “I brought it out with me. You did try the earpiece, right?”

BON-BON suddenly rivals Cora in regards to robotic blinking. He stays conspicuously silent.

Your lips twitch. “You didn’t, did you?”

BON-BON deactivates the feed without another word, and it takes a few seconds of listening out for approaching footsteps for you to accept that yes, he did just rage-quit the conversation. Grinning, you pick up the holoscreen and leave the room in a much better mood than earlier.

You decide to do an external perimeter check first since you’re itching to see if Eclipse did anything to the big net. It’s a path you have swam many times before, and you quite enjoy the familiar solitude. With BON-BON still sulking, and a distinct lack of mermaids to keep you company, you’re left to your own thoughts as you check off barrier after barrier from your mental list. It feels like a novelty – you’re so rarely alone nowadays.

The journey is as usual until you draw near the area you saw Eclipse and find the massive, circular tunnel entrance the net usually covers gaping empty. You almost panic until you recall having had to shift the net farther down about the same time you installed the cameras. The sigh of relief you give is so gusty that bubbles escape the filter of your breather. A nearby fish approaches and starts trying to eat the air.

Your guard doesn’t lower until you have tugged the net and checked that each and every mooring is secure. They glint like silvery eyes in the light of your helmet, making your heart leap every time you catch them in your periphery. This particular area wouldn’t be so nerve-wracking for you if Eclipse didn’t keep coming back.

There is one inconsistency – an area at the lower part of the net that is stretched and gaping. Not in any significant way, and nothing that would allow Eclipse and his massive skull to squeeze through, but it is worrying nonetheless. Perhaps you messed up the installation and left that part too loose, or maybe Eclipse was trying to pry it open before he gave up and swam away. And started glowing, for some reason. You still can’t work out why he did that.

But then, why not just dismantle it the exact same way he did before? Or even tear it open? It would take him less effort than it takes you to open a packet of breather filters. Not that you want him to, of course.

If you point your flashlight further down, you can just make out that craggy jut of rock that rises before the split in the tunnel. With a quick glance around for approaching trouble, you lift the lip of the net and slip through the gap, gently scraping your chest and stomach against the floor. The full-body suit protects you from spilling blood – this new team may be generally pleasant with the exception of a certain someone, but they’re inconsistent enough that you’re not risking a frivolous report over your swimming gear. You’ll just have to suck it up with the suit, like you always have. At least you can use your own boots.

There’s nothing to show for Eclipse’s visit. Swimming over the cavities in the rock where the poles used to be embedded is as interesting as it is chilling – while some have filled with debris, others are now the homes of assorted creatures and vegetation. One has sprouted fleshy anemones, and another further aside has several eyes poking out on stalks, all belonging to the same entity. You spy a conical sheath that may house a stinger, and decide against looking closer.

The poles still lie in the second offshoot tunnel just as before, though not as neatly arranged. The work of Eclipse, or dislodged by the currents? The gaps between them bristle with fuzzy plants, and small fish dart in and out. Something has created a nest of glistening mucus where one pole rests against the wall, billowing slimily as the water eddies. You can see small, pale eggs.

Huh. Good thing Base doesn’t want these poles back. You would hate to break up this miniature neighbourhood.

With no damage to report on and a distinct lack of giant mermaids in the area, you take scans and pictures before heading back. It turns out the creature with the stinger isn’t listed on the database yet, but the anemone is. The net gets its own photoshoot for the report later. You give it one last tug, mistrusting, as if Eclipse has snuck behind your back and loosened it while you weren’t looking. Finally, you swim away.

Because you are an unmatched expert at your job, you have not only adjusted your perimeter check route to end close to where your next task is located, but you have timed it so you can take a break as well. It’s around lunchtime, but you’re not about to start carrying full gourmet on the clock – a small snack break it is. To save BON-BON the agony of having to break his sulk to remind you to eat, you find a place to rest before you approach the pipes you’re due to unblock.

Usually your breakroom of choice is a small air bubble with just enough room to sit, but you feel up for variety. This large tunnel is only half full of water, and the slate-like material of the walls has resulted in a selection of random elevated platforms courtesy of centuries-old rockfall. They dot the black water like rafts, and you amuse yourself hopping from one to another before clambering onto a shelf jutting from the wall. Something resembling a spider skitters away from the light of your helmet, but that’s the extent of life populating your seat. Score.

You’re not thinking of much as you munch a handful of grapes. The rock beneath your butt is cold, and you sit with your legs splayed because the boots keep slipping on the smooth surface. Mostly you just stare vacantly into the gloom. The wall at your back stretches out either side into nothing, the dark water below doing the same. The ceiling is too high for the miniscule light to reach it, the darkness unchallenged by even bioluminescence – for whatever reason, no plants of that kind have made their way here. With the orb of your helmet placed active aside your knee, you sit in a singular oasis of light surrounded by absolute darkness. It’s a tunnel longer than it is wide, putting you in mind of the superfast tube transports back at the Rim. You daydream the approach of a wormlike creature carving out these tunnels, mimicking the relentless path of the transport vehicles. Eyeless and yet somehow still able to sense you.

That gives you a thrill, and you drain your water before crumpling the air out and returning the bottle to your belt. You could slip back under the surface and swim the rest of the way, which is a lot safer than paddling with your head afloat – at least you can see if something is coming below the surface. But jumping across the rocks raised above the surface was fun, and you want to do it again.

In the dark, your mind starts playing tricks on you. Half-glimpsed and terribly malformed faces dance in your periphery, and you ignore them as you carefully clamber down from your raised shelf against the wall. Slate is really slippery, and you slide and skid a few times before you’re level with the water again. The echo of your clattering boots bounces back at you, elevated and overlapping to the point where it sounds like someone approaching.

You replace your breather, because there are few worst places to lose it than here. At least if you drop it while actively swimming you will be granted a quick death.

Hopping from rock to rock would probably be easier in bare feet, but it’s entertaining anyway. You enjoy considering the distance before taking the leap, and the brief slide of your boots upon each landing. When you almost do the splits slipping on a patch of seaweed, you reluctantly decide that enough is enough. There’s a pipe to unblock.

The back of your neck prickles. You pause upon sliding into the water, peering around at the dark pressing in on you. As is usual for submerged air pockets, it is not totally silent – you can hear the faint roar of distant waters, and a closer cacophony of drips from the wet walls. The water laps around your knees, submerged in the action of ducking beneath the surface. All is still.

Except- no. Is that movement up ahead, the faintest glimmer of light bouncing off a wet surface? For a moment you swear you see two twin dots of reflected light, but then you blink and it’s gone. It could be your imagination, overstimulated by misleading shapes in the gloom, or it could be legitimate. Either way, you activate your torch and shine it down the length of the tunnel.

You see a loop rising above the surface of the water, a wet arch, and then realise you’re staring at the long body of a creature that is diving slowly down, the length of its tail following. A snake-like form, the thin frill of a spinal fin, all in harsh gold and black by the beam of your flashlight. Your breath catches in your throat and you hastily clamber back out of the water rather than watch it complete its dive.

With the oppressive darkness, the dim light, and the jagged shapes of assorted rocks confusing the issue, you really can’t tell exactly where that creature is. It could be far ahead of you in the tunnel, in which case it’s probably larger than you just perceived. Truthfully, it already looks too large for comfort, and so you beat a hasty retreat to the highest wall ledge you can find and sit there.

A few minutes, and then a ripple stirs the calm surface of the water like an arrow. It draws close, weaving beneath the slate platforms, approaches the jut of rock you’re hiding on, and then continues past without pausing. You follow it with your torch, the need to keep tabs greater than your fear of accidentally attracting it, but you can’t see anything past the beam on the water. It overtakes the range of light and disappears into the dark.

You wait a good while on the ledge before daring to return to the water again.

When you finally make it to the blocked pipe, you are pleased to find that the area of issue is in an air bubble with a sizeable platform of rock. It’s a little slippery, with the water lapping around your ankles, but you can work with that. The pipe pokes out horizontally from the wall at about waist height. You figure you’re standing approximately behind and below the gym, give or take several layers of rock, water, and trapped air. With the facility placed directly in and weaving through the natural landscape, it is often necessary for you to travel a great deal just to approach it from a different side.

The pipe turns out to have your favourite kind of blockage – one that can be solved with a hammer and tongs. Looking into the grating, you can see not only a mass of mud forming a thick barrier, but several tiny, squirming bodies. When you remove the cap, you’re treated to a nest of semi-aquatic snails, their shells soft and flimsy. Relocating them is difficult – you feel more than one squidge fatally as you attempt to scoop them out of such a narrow opening. The best you can do is dump them onto a rock near the water, struggling as they cling to your skin.

With that out of the way, you turn to the enjoyable part. Pulling long strings of rotting seaweed free is a stinky task that you still enjoy, and then you get to hit the pipe with a hammer. With each tap, a cylindrical length of mud and silt pops loose, occasionally sliding out like toothpaste from the tube before getting stuck again. You tap along the surface, searching for the point where the sensation rings instead of thuds, and then hit the weak point dead on. All at once, the pipe ejects length after length of mud, debris, packed-in rot and carcass, that abruptly turns to crystal-clear water as the blockage completely exits. It has been installed beautifully, as the water arcs over the stone and pours directly into the entrance in the floor. When you return through the hole, you will receive a complementary shower.

All the fun stuff is over now. You have at least two reports to write, and you’re not looking forward to it. You sink beneath the surface and begin the swim home, taking a more convoluted route to avoid passing through the slate tunnel again. The creature you saw might not be as big as you think, the darkness and perspective a misleading duo, but something about the calm descent of that undulating tail gives you the shivers. Whatever it was, you hope you don’t meet it.

It's when you’re close to approaching the facility again that you feel a prickle at your neck. You pause half-out of a narrow tunnel, looking this way and that for the culprit until you decide to ignore it. The current is a little choppy, pushing you along and then drawing you back, and you raise the thrust on your boots to compensate.

You don’t spot the pair of golden eyes tracking your path.

With the report on Eclipse’s visit completed, you move on to populating the mermaid database. Given that the only thing you are free to disclose is information relating to language, you go all-out in detailing everything you can remember – the exact branch of ancient English they both speak, their accents, even Sun’s belief that the language originates on this planet technically counts. Feeling a tad guilty, you add a file to elevate your claims from the theories subsection into fact. The feed by the door of the exit chamber can work both ways when pre-activated, although the footage and audio both is very grainy. A few seconds of speech is all that’s needed.

Sun couldn’t have known he was under surveillance on the platform. There’s no harm done, but attaching your ill-gotten file to the report still makes you feel uncomfortably mercenary.

BON-BON is still a little quiet, though he does do ‘helpful’ things like pointing out typos a millisecond after you make them. You finish up and hit send, leaning back in the chair until your back crackles. In your room with only the fairy lights on is cosy place to be. You have your braids tied up in a bow on top of your head, and the tails tickle your ears whenever you move.

BON-BON watches as you put your feet up on the desk and rock back. “Are you done for the day?”

“Mm, not quite,” you say, staring up at the ceiling. “Apparently Vanessa’s door keeps jamming, or something.”

“You’re not actually going to fix it?” he says, exasperated.

“I don’t need to,” you say lightly. “It’s not broken.”

BON-BON’s face briefly spasms, a smile brutally wrestled down. “What do you mean?”

You turn your head to look at him. “How often do you mess with the electronics, exactly?”

He glances away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. By the way, you have a package due.”

“Uh huh,” you say. “Thanks.”

It’s two packages, actually, one so large and soft that it might be a pillow. Odd, since you didn’t order one. Unusually, you’re once again bereft a delivery person, and both packages have been signed with the same incomprehensible looping script as before. This time you can only just make out the D, the rest a muddle. Weird. The same delivery person as before? What are the chances?

You’re approaching your room when Vanessa exits hers, stopping short at the sight of you. You’re far enough past that you only catch a glimpse of gloom inside before the door slides shut behind her. Reluctantly, you stop.

“Hey, Chica requested that I take a look at your door,” you say.

Vanessa looks alarmed. “No,” she says quickly. “It’s fine. You don’t need to.”

That’s exactly the answer you wanted from her. You figured Vanessa wouldn’t want you near her room after what she did to yours.

But you don’t want anyone to think that you’re letting work like this go ignored, so you say, “Alright. I’ll drop off a reset key later in case it happens again. It should get your door open if there’s a system malfunction.”

Vanessa wavers, clearly reluctant. “… Thank you.”

You nod and return to your room without another word, skin crawling in her presence. BON-BON is still active when you close the door behind you, and he brightens up at the sight of the packages.

“Open the big one first,” he says. “What’s the other?”

“A spare scanner and some bits and bobs,” you say, ripping open the bag as instructed. You upend it over your bed and blink as several tissue-wrapped items of clothing spill free. “I didn’t order this.”

“I did,” BON-BON says, full of gleeful pride. “Try them on and see if they fit. I won’t look.”

Surprise doesn’t begin to cover what you’re feeling right now. “You can stay.”

“I never said I was going,” he retorts, and the camera’s LED blinks off even as the screen remains bright.

Given BON-BON’s personal taste in clothing, what he has chosen is remarkably restrained. Several roomy t-shirts, some fabric shorts, and a few pairs of socks and underwear. Everything is in your preferred understated colours. There’s a long vest top in bright blue with a cartoon rabbit that reminds you of the AI himself, and a pack of brightly-coloured hair ties since you keep losing them to light-fingered mermaids. Your usual ties match your hair, so you doubt these will stick around for long.

“Oh, that’s the best one,” BON-BON says as you lift an overlooked item from beneath piles of tissue.

You open it up to reveal a new swimsuit in a similar style to your own, shiny and silver with a pattern reminiscent of scales. The fabric dazzles with shimmery iridescence as you hold it up. Perhaps you judged BON-BON’s restraint too soon.

“Try it on!” he says, so you do. You feel like one of those silver fish outside, or- yes, that gorgeous relic you once saw in a museum as a child. A disco ball. You spin in place and the walls dance with reflected light. You might end up blinding Sun and Moon on your next meeting.

With these gifts, you won’t have to go through the boring trial of restocking your wardrobe at all. They more than make up for the clothing Vanessa destroyed and then some. More importantly, they’re exactly the kinds of things you would wear, down to the colours and sizing. Even the crazy swimsuit is a nod to your recent interests.

BON-BON is rambling on about overly-long shipping times and size charts, ignorant to the emotion swelling in your chest. You smooth your hand down the silver fabric, watching the scales ripple.

“Do you like it?” he says.

You have clear the lump from your throat before you can speak. “Yeah, BON-BON. I love it. All of it.”

He puffs up. “Duh, of course! I figured if I left it up to you, you’d wear the same three shirts forever.”

That’s… not inaccurate. “Is this the surprise you mentioned?”

“You remember that?” he says, startled. “I mean, yeah. I figured you should get some compensation after that bi- woman ruined your room. Not like Base is gonna help,” he adds in a mutter.

“Thank you, BON-BON,” you say, unable to help the quiver in your voice. You’re touched, deeply so, but you don’t want to make him uncomfortable with gooey emotions. “This is really…”

“Yeah, well, it’s okay,” he says hastily, already looking alarmed. “You’re not about to cry, are you? Take the swimsuit off.”

With a watery laugh, you climb out of the suit and remove the tags from a t-shirt and shorts, still fresh with buttery-soft newness. You put them on and hug them to your skin. “This saves me a shop. Did you use Base money?”

“Of course,” BON-BON says smugly. You don’t know why you bothered to ask.

Freddy catches you leaving the dining room with one of your own homemade ice creams, and declines one for himself. It occurs to you that for such a large individual, you so rarely ever see him eat.

“Thank you for the offer, but I simply wish to enquire about the specimens you retrieved for study today,” he says.

You brighten. You had left an alert on the digital bulletin, but with how slapdash this team is you hadn’t expected anyone to see it so quickly. “Do you like them?” you say, trailing after him as he heads in the direction of the lab. “I mean, are they within your field of study? Chica asked me to look for anything unusual.”

“They are great,” Freddy says warmly. “Though I would like to know why you chose these… creatures in particular.”

Hmm. That sounds like you got it wrong. Honestly, you’re not that bothered anymore – with how vague they are regarding their search and study topics, you’re willing to just fling all manner of fish at them until you strike gold.

“They have factors that put them at odds with their environment,” you say, overtaking him as you reach the lab and making a beeline for three tanks along the wall. “This eel has some kind of natural mutation,” you say, pointing. “See how it has a split tail with a double spine ridge? That’s not normal for this species. And this plant here appears to be an albino with bioluminescent veins. Usually the entire bulb glows, so far as I know.”

“Plant?” Freddy eyes the fleshy vegetation, with its fat undulating feelers. “It appears to be crawling.”

“Yeah, they do that sometimes,” you say dismissively. Dimly, you hear someone else enter the room but you’re too absorbed in your presentation to look up.

“And this one?” Freddy nods to your last offering, a dark-scaled fish with a fin rather like a mohawk. It is spotted, with massive bulbous eyes and a gaping mouth.

In demonstration, you stick your hand in the tank and gently lift the fish from below like you’re holding a hot dog. As it rises from the water a shrill scream fills the air, the fish creating a sonic blast of horrific sound without pause for breath.

“Ah,” Freddy says, and behind him Chica recoils with a, “Bwawk!” of surprise. You jump and drop the fish back into the tank, whereupon the screaming instantly stops.

For a moment you both stare at Chica as she straightens and awkwardly smoothes down her ruffled feathers, looking intensely embarrassed. “How weird!” she says, struggling to recover some dignity. “Uh, why is it doing that?”

You shrug. “I don’t know, I’m not a researcher. I’ll be interested in the answer if you ever find out.”

Chica appears doubtful.

Freddy says, “This is truly an impressive selection! Well done.”

“Looks good to me!” Chica says, while you’re swelling with pride over Freddy’s compliment. “Only… uhm… I’m not sure what we’ll do with them.”

“… Study them?” you say slowly.

“No, of course!” says Chica, still looking visibly dissatisfied.

You shrug. “If this isn’t what you’re looking for, feel free to pour the tanks back out from the platform. I’ll let you know if I’ve brought you anything that needs to be relocated once you’re done with it.”

She brightens. “Sure! Sorry babe, I don’t mean to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

The idiom is so confusing that you only get the general gist of what she just said. You have never even met a horse. “No problem,” you say, skipping over that entirely.

“Actually, I came to hunt you down for our meeting!” Chica says. “Though I’m a bit early…”

Freddy makes a noise of interest. “We have a meeting scheduled?”

“No, just Chica and I,” you say, sweat instantly springing to your palms at the reminder. You have a real chore ahead of you.

“May I sit in? I find myself at a loss of evening activities,” Freddy says, earnest as usual.

You speak over Chica’s acceptance, “Sorry Freddy, it’s a bit of a private thing. I’m hogging Chica,” you add jokily, relieved when they both smile.

“I’m popular!” Chica boasts, and links her arm with yours to guide you from the room.

You have never walked arm in arm before. The height disparity makes it awkward, your hip bumping into Chica’s with every step. You feel both thrilled and discomfited, not familiar enough to be doing this. Perhaps you and Chica perceive your working relationship differently.

Either way, it’s not the right tone to set considering what you want to discuss, so you squeeze Chica’s arm and slide yours free. Chica doesn’t seem remotely put out, saying, “By the way, thanks for handling Ness’ door. I saw it got checked off the docket.”

“Sorry, I can’t take the credit,” you say lightly. “She said she doesn’t need any work done on it.”

“What?” Chica is flummoxed. “But- but she’s been complaining about it for days! Ohh, that girl.”

“I’m going to give her a reset key anyway,” you say. Reaching the meeting room, you allow Chica to go in first. “It’ll help if it’s just the door’s system acting up.”

Chica beams. “Good thinking! What would we do without you?”

What indeed.

“She never likes asking for help,” Chica is saying, as she pours both of you a glass of water from the side cabinet and selects a seat. “She’s super capable, but, like, so stubborn. It’s one of things I love about her, even when it drives me crazy.”

You smile, a twitch of the lips. It’s best not to engage with this topic given the reason you called this meeting in the first place. Judging by the direction of Chica’s chair and where she has placed your waterglass, she expects you to sit beside her at an angle – a position more suitable for a casual chat than the serious issue you have in mind. But you remember the way it felt when Vanessa purposely chose a seat farther from you when you were trying to be friendly, so you sink down opposite.

She bounces a little in her seat, smiling. “These are the comfiest. Number one rule of new meeting rooms – scope out the best seats ASAP and never let them go.”

She’s so carefree. You’re genuinely reluctant to shatter her good mood and ruin the friendly camaraderie that has sprung up between you. There’s no doubt in your mind that continuing will result in that.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you say. You are so very nervous.

“Sorry, sorry!” Chica flaps her hand and leans back in her chair. “This is your meeting – go ahead and spill. I’ll keep my beak zipped.”

Your heart is pounding in your ears. Taking a sip of water to moisten your mouth, you endeavour to appear as serious and secure as possible. “Thanks, Chica. Truthfully, this isn’t strictly related to work. An issue has come up, and while my first instinct was to report it to Base, I figured it would be best to raise it with you so we can try to solve it in-house.”

Chica’s face slowly loses its brightness as you speak, responding to your grave tone with serious concentration. She leans forward, no longer slouching back in her chair. You nervously tuck a wisp of hair behind one ear, conscious of moisture beading across your forehead and upper lip. Here goes nothing.

“I’m here to report an incident of physical assault.”

Chapter Text

By the time you’re finished relaying the events of the other day, Chica is hunched over the surface of the table with her fingertips pressed against her browbone. You can’t blame her – it’s rather a lot to dump on someone out of the blue, and this is her partner you’re talking about, or fling, or whatever they are.

You didn’t skimp on the details, including every detail of the argument between you and Vanessa. The obvious next step for Chica will be to get Vanessa’s side of the story, and you’re not about to be tripped up by omitting responsibility of what you said. The only part you left out was the lost tooth – that one wasn’t really Vanessa’s fault, so you see no reason to include it. Besides, your second row of teeth is strictly your business.

“This isn’t an isolated incident,” you say, as Chica massages her forehead. “It’s been building up for a while. From day one she has been needlessly rude and challenged my authority at every turn on the smallest of details. She made a tasteless threat to get me fired in one of our meetings, and on one occasion she destroyed my personal belongings. Her behaviour has never been appropriate for the workplace, but I thought I could withstand it until she put her hands on me. That’s the last straw – I won’t be made to feel unsafe in the place I live.”

Chica blows out a long breath and sits back in her chair. If panic had a face, it would resemble hers. “… You say Monty saw all this?” she says. Her throat sounds dry.

“No,” you say, a little irritated. Was she even listening? “He might have seen Vanessa holding me against the wall, but I doubt he knows anything that came before that. He separated us and sent me to wait in the lab.” Though you could argue that what he did see was concerning enough.

The next breath Chica takes sounds shaky, and when she raises her head she has trouble looking you in the eyes. It’s the first time you have seen someone so visibly scramble to collect their words. “Do you mind if I call Freddy here?” she says, her voice strained. “Just to get a second opinion.”

So I can face two members of Vanessa’s team who won’t give me what I want? How unbalanced.

“I’d rather hear what you have to say first.”

Chica swallows loudly. “Okay. So… so what I’m hearing here is your word against hers. And- I’m sorry, but I can’t just penalise Ness on that alone."

As you expected, and yet still unpleasant. “Are you making this judgement before speaking to anyone else first?” you say. It’s a struggle to keep your voice steady even as your heart thuds a nervous tattoo. “This is why she apologised to me earlier today. She’s aware that she messed up by putting her hands on me. If I were you, I’d speak to Vanessa and Monty before putting the matter aside.”

“Well, there’s another thing,” Chica says quickly. “She apologised to you, and you accepted it, so what’s the problem? You know?”

Is Chica aware that she has essentially admitted that Vanessa had cause to apologise, and that apology was for the assault you just outlined? Why no, you don’t believe she is. The heat of incredulity warms your cheeks and sickens your stomach.

“What’s the problem?” you repeat quietly, and Chica squirms. “First of all, I don’t consider that a valid apology. She didn’t mention what she did wrong, she didn’t take responsibility for any of her actions… she didn’t even have the decency to say it without an audience. And secondly, I didn’t accept it. I just thanked her.”

Chica blinks rapidly. “Why not just reject it, then? She thinks you accepted her apology. She was really relieved.”

You couldn’t care less what Vanessa is unless the description includes ‘fired.’ “Do you genuinely think I felt able to do that with you and Freddy looking over her shoulder?” you say, and this time a healthy dose of derision makes its way through. Chica’s naivety, so often charming, is wearing at your temper.

At least she understands your meaning, as she rubs her eyes and sags. “No, that makes sense,” she admits.

“Besides,” you continue, “apologising for assaulting me doesn’t undo any of the other stuff she’s done.”

“Weren’t you antagonising her though? A little? I mean, from what you said, it sounds like you were winding her up, and then-” Chica trails off at the look on your face. “Don’t get me wrong, Ness can drive me up the wall! But sometimes it’s better to back down than make the fight worse, you know?”

“Are you saying that physical violence is an appropriate response to words?” you say. Chica’s reputation in your mind is swiftly plummeting.

“No, of course not! No way. But you see how the fault is kind of equal here, right?”

“No. Unless I was the one to start the physical altercation, there’d be no excuse for her to jump to violence. And I didn’t.”

Chica raises her hands. “I’m sorry,” she says, looking genuinely apologetic, “but I still can’t do anything with this. I mean, I’ll talk to Ness and Monty, but there isn’t enough to act off just your word. And honestly, she isn’t the type to do that kind of thing – she’s been working with us for months, and she’s never caused any problems for the team. Everyone gets along really well.”

I doubt Roxy shares in that belief.

It takes you moment to absorb that Chica has, in a roundabout way, called you a liar. “I disagree,” you say. “I hope you feel able to assess this situation in an unbiased manner, no matter your personal relationships with the team.”

She glances at you, a quick guilty flick of the eyes. “… You said you brought up something like that with Ness,” she mumbles.

“I’m referring to your close bond to the team at large.”

“But- you know that…” Chica struggles. “Ness is my girlfriend. And you know that. Right?”

“Your relationship status isn’t relevant here,” you say robotically, wishing to run screaming from the room. “And at any rate, I was just throwing Vanessa’s intimidation tactics back in her face. She was trying to threaten me. I don’t care what you two get up to.”

“I guess I’m just wondering why you came to me if you knew,” Chica says. “Why not go to someone like Freddy instead?”

That one’s easy. “I wanted to report Vanessa straight to Base, but I decided against using the nuclear option first. Freddy isn’t the team leader, you are. They would ask me if I tried to settle this within the team first, so I approached you.”

Chica looks agonised. “I- I can’t do anything. You know that, right? Ness is a part of the team, and she’s my girlfriend – I can’t send her away. We need her.”

“I can’t imagine what you need her for. She’s finished liaising, and there’s nothing to code,” you say bluntly, and Chica gives a minute flinch. “Can I take this as a refusal to act on the information I’ve given you?”

Chica audibly moves her tongue within her beak, gulping nervously. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “I like you, babe, I really do. But I can’t do anything here.”

“I understand,” you say, rising to your feet on legs made of jelly. Chica looks relieved for a split second before you add, “I will be escalating this issue to Base, alongside all evidence I can gather of Vanessa’s harassment. They’ll probably contact you in a few days regarding this meeting.”

“Wha- the- this meeting?” Chica stammers, scrambling to her feet. “I thought – isn’t there a zip policy for these?”

You push your chair in under the table. “This meeting doesn’t concern your proprietary work. Given that I’m the one making a complaint, this only remains private if I want it to.”

“Wait!” Chica lurches herself forward and grabs your hand, only to drop it when you recoil with a look of alarm. “Sorry- that was dumb of me, huh? I wasn’t thinking.” She gives a shrill laugh, palms held up peacefully.

You clutch your hand to your chest, backing up. “I’m leaving now,” you say carefully. Suddenly the room feels far too small.

“No!” she panics. “Let’s talk this out, okay? There’s no need to be hasty – don’t report this to Base. They don’t need to know about this.”

I beg to differ. “I feel like you have already made your feelings clear,” you say. “If you’re not going to give this issue the consideration it deserves-”

“No, I can,” she says urgently. “I will. I’ll go right to Ness and get her to apologise, alright? How about that?”

What a hasty about-face. “I don’t want an apology. Vanessa has apologised to me before, and it only ever causes another fight. She’s not sincere and she doesn’t change.” Not to mention that a mere apology wouldn’t remotely make up for the bullshit she has pulled.

Chica’s beak opens and closes, defensiveness and anxiety clouding her face in equal measure. She wants to defend her girlfriend’s good character, but has the common sense to know that you don’t care to hear it. “What do you want?” she finally settles on.

You’re the team leader. “What can you give me?”

“Credits?” she says quietly.

“What?” You recoil, disgusted, and Chica is already stammering and backtracking. “Sweet nebula, no! I want consequences. You seriously think I’m trying to extort you?”

“No, no, of course not,” she says, closing her eyes. She has a grip on the back of her chair that’s making the metal buckle. “That was stupid, I just- I- can we sit down again? Please? I feel like you’re about to bolt and it’s making me nervous.”

You’re not exactly the picture of ease either. Sigh. You do as she asks and Chica does as well, sagging in her seat.

“To be clear, I’m not looking for compensation,” you say, more calmly this time. It feels unfair, that you’re having to control both your emotions, and those of a clearly-frantic Chica. She’s the team leader – she should be setting the right tone. “And I’m not trying to hold Base over your head, it’s not like a threat or anything. I’m just following the line of escalation, okay? If someone gets attacked, I go to the team leader, then Base, that’s protocol.”

“No, yeah, I understand,” Chica says weakly. “I would just really prefer if Base doesn’t get involved. Can we do that?”

“It depends. If you can investigate this and come up with reasonable solutions then I wouldn’t need to escalate.”

“What is it that you want?”

“Anyone in my position would demand the assailant be fired,” you say dryly, and Chica flinches so hard she rattles the table. “But you’ve already made it clear that’s not an option. So instead, I want the investigation and the details of my accusation to be put on record so that if Vanessa is violent again, there’s a clear history behind it. It’ll also cover you, if someone asks why action wasn’t taken sooner. I don’t want Vanessa to interact with me outside of anything work-related, and I want the root cause of whatever this is to be addressed. Anger issues, discrimination, whatever, I’ll leave it up to you to figure it out.”

Chica is nodding along cautiously, gaining some enthusiasm the longer you go without suggesting she eject Vanessa from a porthole. “Okay, that sounds doable… but, discrimination?”

“I have-” The words get stuck in your throat. Chica waits patiently as you cough to clear it. “I have multi-species heritage, and Vanessa has made a habit of pointing out the ways I differ,” you admit, almost in a mumble. You feel an odd mixture of shame and indignation, and a drop of sweat rolls down your temple. Pulling your water glass close, you swallow loudly.

“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed,” Chica says, scanning you in a way that makes your skin prickle. “I mean, you don’t look it.”

What does she expect you to say? ‘Thanks’? “I don’t think Vanessa knows, herself,” you say, a little coldly. “But she points out parts of my appearance that don’t match the human standard, and she comments constantly on my food and habits. It’s rude even if she doesn’t know.”

“I get that, but… listen,” Chica says. “This might not be about you. Sometimes, when we go to a new place, we get Vanessa to scope it out for us. Human settlements or more remote places… sometimes, people don’t like guys who look like us. So she’ll say some stuff to feel out if people will be welcoming-”

You cut her off harshly. “Yeah, Monty gave me that reasoning too, but Vanessa didn’t mention anthropomorphic people. She made rude comments to me specifically, and some about mixed human and alien species in general. I really hope you’re not about to imply that making speciesist comments is okay so long as she’s doing it for your benefit.”

She’d better not, because you think that might be the end of your self-control. You’re one wrong comment away from throwing your water in Chica’s face.

“Whoa, no,” Chica says, “that’s not what I’m saying at all!”

“Good,” you say, “because so far as I know Vanessa isn’t human-mixed, so it’s not like it’s coming from a place of kindness. Is she?”

“No,” Chica says meekly.

“Well then.” You stand, and Chica scrambles to her feet again. “I’ll leave the rest up to you, and I’d appreciate it if you update me on how your investigation is going. I’ll leave Base out of the loop for now, but if Vanessa touches me again I will report her without any further consultation. Okay?”

“Well…” She peeks at your face and wilts. “Yeah, okay. Alright. I’ll do that stuff.”

“Right,” you say slowly.  “You can look back over the minutes of the meeting if you need a refresher. I’m going to leave now. And, Chica?”

“Yes?”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about my heritage.” There’s a lot more that you could say – that enough damage has already been done, that you took her into your confidence in order to mention it at all, but anything more might make you sound as vulnerable as you feel.

Chica opens her beak, and for a second you think that she’s about to insist that it’ll be okay, and her team would never dream of judging you by such a thing. But she just says, “Of course. I promise I’ll keep it to myself.”

Leaving the room, you maintain a calm and steady clip up until you reach the end of the corridor, whereupon you instantly begin scurrying away as fast as you can without outright sprinting. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, you can’t believe you did that! Who are you? Someone with a spine, that’s who! Even if it is a bit bent and battered.

Your everything is sweaty, your hair sticking to your face, and you wobble with unused adrenaline. It feels like the aftermath of every interaction gone wrong with the mermaids, like you just faced up against the leviathan and survived somehow. A part of your brain is squirming and nudging you, wanting to re-examine the entire ordeal from start to finish and point out all the ways you messed up, but you’re flying high on elation and a dizzying punch of sleep deprivation.

Oh stars, did I just make another impulsive decision while impaired by a lack of sleep? You think perhaps you did. Too late to do anything about it now.

Still, you should mentally prepare yourself once the post-danger euphoria wears off. Making a formal accusation against a member of a team will no doubt have a knock-on effect regarding everyone else in the building. No matter the bonds you have cultivated, or their kindness so far, even the nicest person can turn in the blink of an eye if they feel one of their own is at risk. In fact, they don’t even need to like Vanessa for this to happen – as Chica so cogently pointed out, Vanessa has a place in the team structure. If they feel you’re threatening their career or their subject of research, they can make your life very difficult indeed.

Still. Unpleasant though it will be, it’s not like any of your work requires you to be in close proximity to any of them. If you avoid them during meal times and remain dedicated to your role, you can ride out any hostility and aggression until they finally leave. You have done it before, morphing into an in-house ghost during one residency where everyone seemed to be at each other’s throats.

You won’t even need to be lonely, not with BON-BON and Sun and Moon. That is, unless the two mermaids take a deeper interest in the team and want to spend all their time with them. Then it’s all over.

Yeah, right. Haha.

Except it might happen. Sun tried to be friendly when Vanessa was on the platform, and you know Moon must have been curious when he saw everyone in the bioluminescent cave. How could they not want to find out everything they can? The team, with all their differing colours and outfits and makeup and contrasting species must seem like the biggest novelty they’ve ever seen. They’re only keeping their distance until your instructions grow stale and the team checks their files and decides to try ancient language communication. Whichever comes first. Then you’ll have to share.

Your smile slips.

“Hhhhhey!”

That sure was a loud whisper-yell. You back up a couple of steps and stop in front of the door feed BON-BON just spoke from.

“You did it!” he squeaks, voice distorting from sheer disbelief.

A smile spreads over your face so wide your cheeks hurt. You forgot that he can snoop through the meeting room’s interface. “I did it!” you confirm, bouncing in place. Your exhilaration reignites.

“You were walking so fast I couldn’t get you!” BON-BON says. “Come to the main room, no one’s here now.”

Restless energy has you picking up the pace until you’re running by the time you skid into the room. BON-BON already has his interface active, and he watches as you plop down on the sofa in front of him. You pull a blanket over your shoulders, then whip it off again. Too hot.

“Okay!” you say.

BON-BON slams his hands against the inside of the screen. “I was watching the whole thing! When the hell did you get brave?”

Your face does something complicated, torn between indignation – you have always been brave – and pleasure over the disbelieving pride in his voice. “I just had enough,” you say, shrugging with faux-nonchalance.

“You have more patience than me,” BON-BON says, but not like it’s a good thing.

“Yeah, well, you don’t get how this works,” you say. “What was I going to say before? ‘Boohoo, Vanessa is being mean to me’? Assault is more concrete. Anyway, can you stop criticising me? I thought we were about to celebrate.”

“Yes!” BON-BON squawks. “I thought Chica was going to lose her lunch! Do you actually think she’s going to do what you said? I need to be a fly on that wall!”

“She’d better,” you say, but you’re smiling again. It feels like you and BON-BON are equally as excited about this, which is unusual. One of you is typically rolling their eyes.

“She doesn’t have a backbone,” he says derisively. “The way she switched up- ugh! She really pulled every excuse from the book. I’m glad you mentioned Base. Were you going to call Base?”

“Oh, yeah,” you say, “absolutely. I’m not going this far with a bluff in mind. In fact, I’ve already got a report drafted, in case I need to snitch in a hurry.”

“WHAT?” BON-BON blares, then immediately connects to your private storage while your ears are ringing. The screen flickers with a multitude of documents rummaged through at a speed that turns your stomach until your report is laid bare for you both to see. BON-BON mutters to himself as he scans through it, making the odd change here and there almost too fast for you to catch. “You use a lot of downplaying language,” he comments, closing it up again.

You ignore that. “I might have more to add once Chica starts her investigation.”

“Chica is too far gone on her girlfriend,” BON-BON says, with deep and colourful disgust. “That might work in your favour, if she undersells everything to save Vanessa’s feelings.”

“Maybe,” you say, perking up. You hadn’t considered that.

“But I don’t want her to!” BON-BON explodes. “I want Vanessa to know what she did wrong, I want her to feel bad – I want her to cry. Gross, ugly crying, with snot and spit-”

“Whoa,” you say, laughing. “Dial it back a bit!”

“I want her to beg you for her job,” he says viciously.

You feel like he’s writing mental revenge fanfiction. “Did I miss something? Was it you who got pushed up against the wall?”

“I notice you forgot to mention your tooth,” BON-BON says, switching tack. “You know they’re going to assume she punched it out of you, right? Please don’t correct them. I will give you whatever stupid gadget you want.” He clasps his stubby hands, giving you the most earnest look a cartoon bunny can achieve.

Tempting, but… “I didn’t forget,” you say. “It’s just not relevant. Besides, the only people who know I lost a tooth mid-fight are me and Vanessa. You really think she’s going to offer up that information?”

“No!” BON-BON claws at his face, the screen glitching comically. “No- fuck! Damn the stars! Get back in that meeting room and tell Chica right now!”

A laugh bubbles up, and once you have started you can’t make yourself stop. The sight of BON-BON hurling himself around the screen in dismay just makes you laugh harder until you’re coughing, eyes watering. “I-I can’t,” you giggle, wiping a tear away. “Oh, stars…”

“Do it now!” BON-BON shrieks, and that sets you off again. He sighs, deflating. “Okay, fine- stop, stop it! Yes, I’m very funny, now shut up. Stop laughing!”

You manage to wrestle yourself back under control. “Do that again. Please.”

“No,” BON-BON says sullenly. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to report her? I could have told you what to say.”

“Uh, excuse me,” you say, too amused to be truly offended. “I think I handled it well enough by myself, thanks.”

“Still. I can give advice!”

“Your problem is you talk too much for your own good,” you declare, and continue over his outraged spluttering, “and if I told you anything, I’d be going into the meeting ten times more nervous than normal.”

“Wha- that’s not true!”

“You’d tell me to demand she gets carried out in cuffs and a spit hood, or something,” you say. “You’re so extra.”

“Or you’re not extra enough.”

You shrug. “I mean, yeah. Sure. If I ever need to do something violent, I’ll be sure to employ your advice.”

BON-BON opens his mouth to argue, considers, then closes it again. “Make sure you do.”

You snort. “Perhaps I’ll have to soon. Vanessa is going to be angry at me.”

“Let her,” BON-BON says flatly.

“I guess it won’t make a difference from what’s usual,” you allow. “She’s not very nice.”

BON-BON fakes a cough that sounds an awful lot like, “Downplaying!” Then he continues, “Anyway, she’s had it coming since before she even stepped into the building. Let her be mad. What can she do, report you for something stupid? Base already sent her a warning for that. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“That doesn’t make that okay,” you say sternly.

“Chill, I’m not saying that,” he backtracks. “I’m just saying… well, it doesn’t matter what I was saying. But it’s not like she can do much about it at this point.”

“Except attack me again.”

“So attack her back,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. For him, who has never been in a physical fight and has only seen them dramatized in media, it probably is.

“I’d rather not have it come to that,” you sigh. “I hate this. Let’s get off the topic of assault, please?”

“Okay,” BON-BON says slowly. “So… how do you think Vanessa is going to react to her punishment?”

“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself,” you say. “There’s no guarantee anything is going to happen yet. Chica seemed pretty adverse to following up on things.”

“Are you kidding?” BON-BON says. “She was outright begging you not to call Base. Vanessa is getting punished. Now, what do you think she’ll do? Cry? Yell?”

A slow smile spreads over your face as BON-BON grins down at you. “I think she’ll hit the table.”

“Wake up!” BON-BON hisses.

“Huh?” You sit up, dishevelled and covered in sweat. An unpleasant dream, swiftly fading, gives you the impression your nap on the sofa was not as restful as you would prefer. At some point someone must have put a heavy blanket over you, because it flops from your upper body and pools in your lap, radiating body heat. Your bet is on a staffbot given the unreal precision with which you have been tucked in.

The lights are off, so the blinding glare of BON-BON’s bright blue face staring down at you from the main feed only adds to your disorientation. If you weren’t so used to it, it would feel like a fever dream. “They’re using the meeting room,” your very own night terror says.

You push stray hairs off your damp forehead, squinting. The skin is hot to the touch, but it should lower now that you’re awake and not covered in a layer of thick fabric. You don’t even remember falling asleep, but you’re grateful for it. It seems you sleep better outside your room. “Can you… turn it down?” you croak. It tastes like something died in your mouth.

BON-BON blinks. “The noise or the display brightness?”

“Yeah, please.” You grope around the table blindly.

The light decreases drastically. “What are you looking for?”

A presence at your side has you turning to see exactly what you want – a fresh glass of water filled up high, clinking with ice and frosty condensation. You accept it and gulp it down, taking loud breaths through your nose even as your front teeth shriek. Droplets run across your chin and down your neck, and you lower the glass when the ice touches your nose.

“Thank you,” you say, and the hovering staffbot perks up and refills the glass from a large decanter.

“Yes, yes, off you go,” BON-BON says impatiently, and waits until the bot has returned to the kitchenette before resuming. “Hey, listen. The Glamrocks are using the meeting room.”

“Uh huh,” you murmur, pressing the cool glass against your cheeks.

“You wanna listen in?”

“Do you always snoop their private meetings?”

“Yeah, but it’s as boring as a heart attack,” he says. “They never say anything juicy, they just point out places they haven’t been yet. They’re definitely looking for something, but it’s not worth hanging about. I have more important stuff to do.”

You’re awake enough now to find him funny. “Serious. The phrase is serious as a heart attack. Not boring.”

“Oh. Well, I think a heart attack would be boring to watch as well,” BON-BON says. “But no, this meeting… is an investigation.”

Suddenly you’re wide awake. “Oh, shit.”

“Oh shit!” BON-BON says giddily, and opens his link to the meeting room interface. His avatar disappears and gives you the uncomfortable feeling of having been abandoned. Realistically, that’s nonsense – the AI is even more invested than you are.

“-all here,” says Freddy. His voice is slightly tinny through the audio. There’s a great deal of rustling, a squeak of fabric as the final person standing, Roxy, joins the others seated around the table. It’s odd to see the room from this angle.

You wince as Vanessa speaks, sitting two seats down from a visibly-anxious Chica. “The new tracking algorithm isn’t done yet, if that’s what you’re after. Did you catch something?”

“The scanners haven’t picked up anything. I checked them earlier,” Roxy says. She’s the only one who looks ready for bed, with her hair woven into a single thick braid. She already looks done with the whole affair.

They’re all addressing Freddy, but they look to Chica when she clears her throat, passing a hand self-consciously over the tuft of feathers on her head. “Actually, I called this meeting.”

“Ooo-oooh,” says Roxy teasingly. “Miss team leader over here. Finally stepping up?”

“Gonna show us your authority?” Monty chimes in with the same playful tone.

Chica’s answering smile is a wobbly rictus.

“Oh no,” you whisper, clutching your glass so hard it creaks. You quickly set it aside. “She’s going to talk about it in front of everyone?”

“She is bad at her job,” BON-BON murmurs. You’re both speaking as though the team might somehow hear you eavesdropping.

“Maybe she’s just still upset from before,” you say desperately. “This could just be about a different topic-”

“Shhh!”

“-everything alright?” Vanessa is saying, leaning forward to direct a concerned look down the table at Chica.

Chica opens and closes her beak for a few seconds before blurting, “Did you hurt the handyman?”

You bury your face in your hands, unable to watch the cacophony of loud reactions that rise from the screen. Peeking between your fingers, you see the only one who isn’t trying to speak over the others is Vanessa herself, sitting white-faced and grim in her seat.

The loudest is Monty, who says something that includes the word, “-again?!”

Freddy’s voice rises above the mess and silences it. “Monty. Are you aware of such an incident?”

Now Vanessa speaks up. “It was-  he came up when-”

“Yeah,” Monty says, and there’s a forceful bravado in the way he speaks, a challenging jut of the head. “Unless it’s happened twice.”

“No,” Vanessa says, clipped and quiet.

Monty huffs. “I only saw the one time.”

“Oh, there’s been more than one time,” Roxy says loudly, and, what? No? The noise rises again, including Vanessa denying that particular allegation.

BON-BON giggles, and you automatically copy him. Your sweat situation is just getting worse, your throat tight. This sucks, but you can’t bring yourself to pull away. The uncertainty would kill you.

“I saw!” Roxy is barking, so loud so as to teeter on the edge of shouting. “I saw, when we first came here, you-”

“Everyone, please stop,” Freddy says, and somehow silences the room again. You have to admire the man’s gravitas. “There is no sense in shouting over each other – we are a team. Chica?”

Chica gulps so loudly the mic picks it up, and BON-BON giggles again. “They came to me, earlier today. They said they wanted to report an incident of assault. A-and…” She hesitates, looking a little shame-faced. “I tried to make it go away, but they threatened to go to Base. They said you were having an argument, and you grabbed their shirt and shoved them up against a wall. They said you’ve been picking fights with them for a while. But that’s not true, right?” Chica stares imploringly at Vanessa. “Ness?”

Vanessa rises to her feet abruptly, shoving away from the table, but Roxy arrests her retreat with a firm one-handed grip on the back of her chair, preventing her room to leave.

“Running away?” Roxy says, baring her teeth in a not-so-friendly fashion.

Chica’s face falls. “Ness?” she repeats, her voice small.

Vanessa throws herself back down in her seat again, two bright spots of colour vivid on her cheeks. “Yeah, we had an argument,” she snaps, crossing her arms. “It got heated, we both did some stuff we shouldn’t have. Did they also tell you they threatened to report our relationship?” she sneers at Chica. “Or did you just jump to believe the first complaint you heard against me?”

“What? No! They- I didn’t-” Chica splutters, looking horrified. She takes a deep breath. “I tried to defend you, actually. I said everything I could. And, yeah, they did tell me about that. They said they were sick of you holding stuff over their head and antagonising them, so they did it back.”

“They did?” Vanessa blinks, momentarily discomfited before going back on the attack. “Well, whose fault is it that they even know about us, then? Because I certainly didn’t say anything to them.”

The way Chica is regarding her girlfriend isn’t quite on the level of dislike, but there’s a definite vibe of disappointment. “I didn’t either,” she says quietly.

Freddy says, “I am sorry to be harsh, but your relationship is immaterial in this matter.”

Chica closes her eyes and takes a breath, centring herself. “Yeah, sorry. They said that Monty witnessed the end of the situation, and I should… I don’t know? Ask what you saw?” She shrugs helplessly.

Monty remains unusually silent as all eyes turn to him. He sits slouched back in his chair, one hand in his pocket and playing with something. Then, slowly and deliberately, he removes it, extends his hand, and places a tiny object on the table for all to see. “Ness knocked out their tooth,” he drawls.

“YES!” BON-BON screams, so loud you almost leap from the sofa. “YES, FUCK ME, YES- sweet nebula, thank you! Ohhh my stars!”

You’re too busy staring at your tooth sitting proudly in the middle of the table. The meeting room is so loud you’re surprised you can’t somehow hear it from the hallway, Chica in particular having released an ear-splitting squawk of horror that has Roxy clutching her ears. Vanessa is looking numbly at the tooth like it’s a live grenade.

“Found it in the hallway after,” Monty says, clearly having enjoyed the effect his evidence has garnered.

“I didn’t mean to,” Vanessa says quietly to the table top, her defensiveness vanished like magic. “I-I don’t even know how it happened. I only pushed them.”

“Sure, whatever,” Monty says derisively. “Y’know, I tried to downplay it for you? Told them you were sorry and all. Got me lying like garbage for you.”

“I am sorry,” Vanessa snaps, switching up again.

“Hmph.” Monty crosses his bulging biceps and looks away.

“Well, I saw a lot more than Monty,” Roxy says loudly, raising a hand. “Can I talk now?”

“God,” Vanessa grits out, screwing her eyes closed. “Do you think that for once, you could just put away your hate-boner for me-”

“Gross,” Roxy says, undeterred. “I was right, by the way. Vanessa smashed up their room the day we came here – wrecked it. And they tried to pretend they didn’t know what I was talking about.”

Chica groans into her hands, covering her face like she wants to hide from the world. “They mentioned something like that,” she says, muffled.

“And when we got here, they had a handprint on their arm. Bruises.” Roxy looks at the team significantly. “Did you enjoy roughing up the handyman, Vanessa?”

“Handprint?” BON-BON says, his voice dangerously quiet.

“Sun,” you say quickly, before he can blow his cover storming into the meeting himself. “Remember? I had a bruise from Sun the day they arrived. I didn’t think anyone noticed.”

Vanessa is speaking. “I didn’t!” she protests shrilly. She glances at Chica for help, but she still has her face covered and is hunching over the table. “Hey, I didn’t! That time yesterday – that’s the only time I ever touched them, and I lost my cool, okay? I know it’s not the right way to act, and I’m sorry! But I never touched their stuff and I never left bruises on them!”

“Right,” Roxy nods, looking viciously disgusted. “Your way is more subtle, isn’t it? Must have been a nasty surprise when their arm turned purple.”

“Oh, fuck off!” Vanessa snaps, gripping her armrests like she wishes it were Roxy’s throat. “I bet you’re enjoying this, you bitch, you’ve never liked me-”

Roxy fake-gasps. “Bitch? Is that a speciesist comment?”

“Oh yeah,” Monty says, and Chica groans again.

“This as well?” says Freddy to her, sounding faintly horrified. “How many allegations did they address to you?”

Chica just shakes her head. “I don’t- I was just scrambling, I don’t know. I didn’t know what to do, I’m not a real team leader!” She removes her hands and slumps in her seat. “They said we can read the minutes or something.”

“There is a record?” Freddy says quietly. “I would like to see it.”

“This is a trainwreck,” you mutter, watching various teammates shuffle around trying to find the minutes. In a way, you feel reassured by their inefficiency.

“I know, right?” BON-BON whispers happily. “Look at her face. Haaa!”

“She still hasn’t cried yet.”

“Yeah, well, she hasn’t hit the table either.”

Touché.

“I’m not speciesist,” Vanessa is protesting futilely. “What, don’t tell me they said I’m being speciesist against humans? I mean, hello?”

You feel a rush of horror as Chica opens her beak. But she hesitates, casting Vanessa a loaded look – shrewd, mistrustful. She closes it again.

Thank the stars. The last thing I need is for Vanessa to know exactly what to use against me. You wonder if Chica’s thoughts run in the same vein as yours; if she’s honouring your request, or if this is one last act of protection for her girlfriend. Either way, it doesn’t matter, because Freddy has the minutes and is storing them to read later. Luckily your request for heritage privacy automatically redacts the public copy, or someone else would know soon.

“Regardless,” Freddy begins, cutting through the chatter once more. “Vanessa, you have admitted to assaulting the handyman, which is the main issue of discussion. I am very disappointed in you.”

Vanessa manages to both shrivel where she sits, and dredge up a spark of rebellion. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to cry and beg for your forgiveness?”

“No, this is the part where you shut up and let someone else talk!” Roxy explodes.

“Hey!” Chica says sharply, and Roxy sends her an irritated look. “Roxy, watch it.”

“Your girlfriend is going to ruin everything,” and then Roxy turns back to Vanessa. “How can you even take fault with them? All they do is fix things and ramble about mermaids. What’s there to hate?”

“S’not quite true,” you mutter sullenly as BON-BON snickers. “I do other stuff too.”

Freddy gets the room under control again. “Physical assault of an innocent staff member is unacceptable,” he says solemnly. “We may need to undertake a great number of unpleasant tasks during our missions, including harm for the sake of self-defence or coercion. A member of the custodial staff does not deserve unwarranted violence in the course of fulfilling their role. If they say something that may jeopardise our mission, the correct course of action is to deescalate the situation and report to me so that I may determine the most peaceable resolution. Not to indulge in acts of intimidation and aggression.”

You’re struck dumb, and, more tellingly, so is BON-BON. There’s something in the calm and steady way Freddy speaks that makes him seem like a sturdy rock against the crashing ocean, a source of stability in a chaotic situation. What with Monty and Chica both downplaying Vanessa’s harmful actions right to your face, having Freddy lay it bare so brutally is making your eyes prick.

Vanessa isn’t bound by such sentiment. “But they said-”

“If you wish to remain on the team, you will refrain from antagonising and assaulting the handyman,” Freddy says simply. “As I told you after you relayed your threat to get them fired, I will not take such actions lightly. I have read their reports and I have surveyed their actions. They are a hard worker whose only concern is their job and the native creatures. It is remarkably easy to get along with such a person, and we have come too far to be hamstrung by your temper.”

Vanessa is both pale and red-faced, a furious flush creeping up her neck and in the apples of her cheeks. Her mouth is clamped shut, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and after a few fraught seconds she lowers them to the table.

Freddy turns his attention to Chica, who straightens automatically. “Did they request compensation for the damages they have incurred as a result of these incidents?”

You let out a frustrated breath. What’s with these people and ‘compensation’? You just want Vanessa gone, as much of a pipe dream as that is.

Chica shakes her head. “Let me think… they want, uh, the ‘root cause’ to be addressed,” she says, using air quotes. “If it’s anger management, or… something. They asked for a record of this so there’s a paper trail in case it happens again, and they want Ness not to talk to them unless it’s about work.”

“God forbid I try to have a conversation,” Vanessa mutters.

“They also wanted you fired,” Chica snaps, for the first time displaying genuine anger towards her partner. “I made it clear it’s not an option, of course, but- this is serious, Ness! I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you’re not talking to anyone and you’re not taking care of yourself. Something’s gone weird since our last mission, so yeah! Maybe there is a root cause! And we’re going to find it if I have to make you sit down and tell me!”

Vanessa stares at her with wide eyes, her lip wobbling. Suddenly she shoves out of her seat again, and this time Roxy is too slow to stop her from rounding the table and slamming out of the room. Your tooth rattles and rolls as the table shakes, and Monty plucks it from the surface and returns it to his pocket without comment. It’s vaguely disquieting to see him keep it – does he intend to give it back? Or is it a weird souvenir?

“She lasted longer than I expected,” Roxy comments, and Chica sighs.

“Please stop talking badly about my girlfriend,” she says heavily.

“What? She’s not your ex yet?” Roxy stares at her incredulously. “Come on, Chickadee. What’s it going to take?”

“Murder,” Monty mutters, and Chica glares at him.

Freddy sighs. “I will speak to Vanessa once she has had the opportunity to absorb what we have discussed,” he says. “I will see about preparing an apology.”

“No, nope, bad idea,” Chica says. “They were very clear that they don’t want an apology.”

“Yeah, because Vanessa can’t apologise to save her life,” Roxy says.

“Roxy!”

“What? I feel vindicated.”

Chica makes an inarticulate noise of frustration. “You know, the handyman was nicer about Ness than you are! Just because you’re my friend, that doesn’t make it okay for you to-”

“Can we turn it off?” you say over the sound of squabbling. Freddy has the glazed look of someone who has overseen one repeated fight too many, and has mentally logged off.

“It’s good old-fashioned Vanessa slander,” BON-BON protests. You stare at the monitor with clear exhaustion. “Oh, alright.”

The feed cuts off, and now it’s just his big blue face peering down at you. Objectively, only slightly better. “How do you feel?”

You open your mouth and find no words. Victory, fury, vindication as Roxy said – all of it is drowned out by one simple desire. “I want to sleep.”

“Hm.” BON-BON turns his attention to movie selection, and you see the volume bar swiftly dial down real low. “You did good,” he says casually, not looking at you. “Well done.”

“What?” But BON-BON has found a movie in the new media tab and the opening credits are rolling.

You sip some water, the ice melted away into tiny little chips, and snuggle down sideways on the sofa with your eyelids already drooping. Dimly you register retro medical suites and old-fashioned hospital garb onscreen, painfully pretty actors rendered plasticky with cosmetic editing technology, but your mind is already drifting – up and out and away from the facility and into the waters, a long tunnel… dark and echoey, the flicker of scale beneath the water, coils of tail undulating closer and closer… the distant flicker of light like an approaching transport… the silhouette of a tall figure watching from afar…

BON-BON enjoys his movie, and you suffer an unpleasant sleep.

You wake up from such a confusing maelstrom of dreams that you have trouble disentangling yourself. Something softly jostles your side, but you’re too busy sorting through imagination and reality to even try ungluing your eyelids. A hazy memory surfaces, the Glamrock team at large seemingly putting Vanessa through the wringer for hurting you. That seems unreal, until the context clicks and you remember the events of last night. You must not have returned to your room after.

Something touches you again, but you’re still disoriented, so you mumble with all seriousness, “BON-BON, what are you doing?”

The hands tucking you in pause, then rest on the blanket on top of you. “You must be close indeed to dream of him.”

You flinch at the unexpected richness of the voice, opening your eyes to see Freddy kneeling beside the sofa. The lights are on full blast. “Wha-uh?” you manage indistinctly. It’s a struggle to sit up as you find yourself once more cocooned in a blanket, this time with such thoroughness as to rival a staffbot.

Freddy looks disappointed as he watches you fight your way out of your fabric coffin. “My apologies for waking you,” he says, deeply sincere as ever. “I used to have a son- ah, a friend who would need tucking in. I felt nostalgic.”

“Aw,” you say, unexpectedly touched by that little morsel of information even though it was a slip. He has always struck you as radiating a vaguely paternal air. “That’s alright, Freddy. What time is it?”

“It is very early in the morning,” he assures you. “Do not worry, you have not overslept. Did you mean to fall asleep here?”

“Oh, no,” you say, rolling to your feet. You feel nicely rested for once, and stretch to enjoy the aching flex of muscles. “I couldn’t sleep so I came to watch a movie. I guess that did the trick.”

“Watching a movie is enjoyable with friends,” Freddy says, and for a moment you’re torn between smiling at the utterly inhuman energy of the statement, and wondering if he’s telling you to invite him next time. The urge to smile fades when he says, “Do you often watch movies with BON-BON?”

You shoot him an odd look. “… No?”

Freddy hums. “I have asked him many times if he would care to participate in recreational activities, but he always declines.”

“Because he’s an AI,” you point out.

“Everyone should have the chance to relax and unwind,” he says, like it’s a simple truth of the world. He is folding the blanket into a perfect square. “By the way, I am curious as to when Vanessa approached you. Was it before you began the movie?”

You’re hopelessly lost now. “What are you talking about?”