A violent grinding shudder rips through the sand beneath me, jolting me from a shallow sleep. My eyes snap open to the copper cage. Bolt pulses with brilliant blue light, his serpentine body wrapped impossibly tight around the rusted pistons. He is forcing his own bio-electricity through the human machinery, converting his life force into mechanical power that drags this colossal shell across the dead silt.
He is the living engine of this impossible vessel.
"Stop gawking, shark," his voice crackles weakly through my nerves, the light at the edges of his body flickering like a dying ember. "Food. This heap of garbage cannot run on plankton and spite. Go find me something dead. And something green for the Shrimp."
An order. A directive.
My mother's commands once filled my days, but this feels different. Bolt doesn't command from authority. He commands because this shell needs functioning parts, and I am one of them.
I propel myself through the kelp curtain into the crushing cold, my iron scraper clutched in one hand.
The Wastes yield what little they can. My eyes, not the dead sonar that once guided me, scan the gray landscape. I discover a heavy stone-crab half-buried in silt and tear it from its hiding place. Nearby, a mat of black-moss clings to a rock formation—Pip's meal.
Inside the shell, I split the crab's armored shell with my bare hands, the crack resonating through the chamber. The meat tumbles into the copper cage, and Bolt consumes it in one savage lunge. The protein surges through his system instantly. His blue light flares brighter, and the mechanical hum of the engine strengthens.
"Acceptable," Bolt's mental voice grunts, the words sharp with static. He scrapes his jaws against a copper coil. "You have your uses. For a mute shark."
Useful.
The word is small. But in this place of decay, it is enough to keep my heart beating.
My heavy fins pivot, turning me back toward the copper cage where Bolt lays. His blue light pulses in a steady rhythm, casting strange shadows across the engine's rusted pistons. His golden eyes fix on me, unblinking in the bioluminescent glow.
The cage is unlike the crude engine that powers this mobile home. Its copper is polished to a mirror sheen, ornate in a way that feels ancient and deliberate. Red gemstones, each the size of my thumbnail, stud the upper rim, catching the eel's blue light and throwing it back as blood-red glints. There is no lock, no hinge or bolt. The cage floor is a mesh of fine copper wiring, spiraling inward to form a tight ring directly beneath Bolt's midsection. My fingers twitch with curiosity, reaching toward the impossible craftsmanship.
"No!"
The voice explodes in my mind before my fingers make contact, a crack of static that sends me jerking backward. Bolt's body has gone rigid, his light flaring so intensely that spots dance across my vision.
"Do not touch the cage," the mental words bite, sharp as electric teeth.
I hover, my hands held away from my body, a gesture of question and disbelief.
"I mean it, shark. There's no getting me out of here."
Prisoner.The word forms in my mind, a silent accusation against my useless tongue. My hands mimic the shape of bars, fingers curling around nothing.
Bolt nods, settling slightly. "Yes. Touch that cage, and I'll shock you. I have no say in it. It's what will happen. It'll be the last thing you ever touch. Don't try."
The water grows still around us. No say. My hand rises to my throat, fingers pressing against the deadness there.
"Yes, a curse," Bolt's voice crackles, softer now, tinged with something like recognition. "Similar to what you're dealing with. I wonder, shark, what did you run your mouth off about to get this form of punishment, hmm?"
I look down at the white sand floor, the tiny grains blurring as shame burns in my chest. I feel his eyes on me, studying the scarred map of my face. My attention moves to Pip, who is meticulously cleaning algae from the shell's inner entrance. My finger points toward the tiny creature.
"Who, Pip?" Bolt's mental voice shifts, the static clearing slightly. "Pip didn't do this to me."
My hand makes the barred gesture again.Trapped.
Bolt laughs, a sound that manifests as a shimmering ripple of blue light through the water. "No, he's here of his own free will. I have my life to thank for him. He's a brave little one. Not very handy for catching food though."
Pip overhears, and before I can wipe the smile from my face he makes a furious gesture with his tiny limbs, his antennae twitching with indignation. He scurries off to clean the outside of the shell, a tiny storm of offended dignity.
A routine soon settles in.
I hunt for Bolt, fueling the engine with dead things from the silt. I patch the deep fissures in the calcium shell with resin I harvest from strange tube-worms. I scrub the green oxidation from the copper coils until they gleam in Bolt's light. I remain still while Pip meticulously picks debris from my scarred scales, his small appendages surprisingly gentle.
I do not speak. I physically can't.
