Page 31 of Music of the Ocean

“You’re not the king?”

“No.” Indigo drifted closer, his tentacles curling and uncurling slowly. “I am old, though. I remember when the planet was different, when the ocean was empty and the world above was still forming.”

Saxby goggled at Indigo.

“I am the caretaker and the collector, and if something needs to be done, I am the one to do it. Especially when it comes to newcomers like you.”

Saxby swallowed. “So, what, you’re immortal?”

“I can die, although not easily, because I am connected to the planet.” Indigo flexed a tentacle, and the city’s living walls rippled in answer. “You are not the first to object to your fate. You will not be the last. It changes nothing.”

Saxby pinched the bridge of his nose. “You said there are other humans here.”

“Yes. Some are here, some are in the other cities, and—”

“Other cities? Wait, there are other cities?” Saxby demanded.

“Of course. It is a big planet. Some residents also live in the farthest reaches of the ocean.” Indigo shrugged. “That is more dangerous, but that is their choice. Most adapt well enough, although some prefer isolation.”

“The ones who don’t accept this way of life. What happens to them?”

Indigo hesitated. “Those who cannot adapt do not last long. The planet will not tolerate a passenger who refuses to become part of the whole. But most do not resist for long. The world is persuasive.”

“Well, now, that’s just great. What I heard was adapt or die,” Saxby said.

“Is that not true of most life-forms?” Indigo asked.

Bubbles rose above Saxby’s head as he laughed harshly. “That’s rich, coming from a species that forcibly rewrites anyone who touches the damned water.”

“Welcome to evolution, my friend,” Callie injected. “You see a lot of voluntary adaptation in the universe?” She grinned, then bit into another orb.

Indigo listened to them debate evolution as they ate. When Callie pressed another orb into Saxby’s palm, the motion was easy, practiced, and Indigo felt a flick of pride that the girl had adapted so swiftly to her role here.

He watched the way Saxby’s jaw flexed around the food orbs, how his webbed fingers had already learned the economic movements that worked best under water. Even new, even in anger, Saxby adapted. The first days were always the hardest for the freshly claimed. Hunger and anger, those were the constants.

Indigo had seen the push and pull between what was lost and what was possible too many times, and he let the tension play out without interference.

Callie, as ever, filled the silence when it happened. She ate her fill, but her gaze lingered on Saxby.

When she finished, she gathered the empty net, excused herself, and glided away. She’d played her part, and later, when Saxby needed a friend more than a teacher, she’d be there again.

Saxby turned the next orb between his fingers. “You knew I’d be like this. Angry. Because you’ve seen it before.”

Indigo’s tentacles flexed, gathering closer. “Every time.”

But he did not apologize. The world remade what it wanted. That didn’t mean he liked the ache that slithered through Saxby’s mind like a brine worm. So much resistance, so much anger.

Indigo remembered the first of the humans, the way a few did not adapt. He refused to let such a fate happen to Saxby. “But you are not like the others. You are my mate. You will adapt.”

Saxby’s lips tightened, but he didn’t say anything. Didn’t matter. Saxby’s thoughts still beat against Indigo like a storm.

Instead of forcing that subject, Indigo tackled something else. “You need to learn to shield so you don’t broadcast everything.”

Saxby grimaced. “Probably a good idea.”

“Come. There’s less noise below.” Indigo led Saxby down a passage lit by intricate webs of bioluminescent threads, thankful Saxby was willing to change the subject.

Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed Saxby moved more easily now, though he ducked his head at tight turns, his body still adjusting to the new joint angles and the drag of the current against his skin.