300 Word Writing Challenge #45 -- VICTORY TO VICTORIA SILVERWOLF!

[magpie Asylum]

TOO DEEP



The pressure hatch hissed open, as sea water drained through the floor grates. Dr. Reed laid sprawled on the floor, her dive suit tattered and bulging. I rushed in with my med bag and turned her on her back. The thick glass of her helmet was cracked. I could see she was in trouble. Blood poured from her nose, her eyes rolled back in her head. She was seizing.

“Reed, Stay with me.” I shouted as I jabbed the auto-injection into her thigh.

The drugs pumped into her as I peeled off her helmet. I held her head in place and cleared her throat. Her thrashing slowed and she came to.

She looked up at me her eyes full of fear.

“Too deep.” She gasped.

“Don’t talk.” I ordered as I peeled away her dive suit.

Chunks of skin were blistered. She was bruised everywhere. I needed to get her to medical. I picked her up. Her hand gripped my arm.

“We went too deep. We shouldn’t have.” She shouted.

“I now. What happened to the rest of the dive team?” I asked.

“The thing. The thing down there found us.” She stammered.

She wasn’t making any sense. The pressure, the hypoxia, the loss of her dive team. It would have been too much for anyone.

A loud thump came from the outer hatch. At first I thought it was the pressure of depths.

Then I heard it again. The clank of metal.

I turned and looked. Through the heavy glass view port I saw it. An impossible thing. It was humanoid but seemed composed of all of the creatures that called this dark abyss home.

The air left my lungs as I saw it reach for the emergency release.

“We went too deep.” Dr Reed cried.

 

[Quokka]

Love and Marriage Marine


“So you love me?”

“Of course I do.”

“Despite the fact that I am clearly made out of fish.”

She didn’t look away. Mark looked away. He glanced upwards, stared downwards. Closed eyes that felt wrong, that sounded wrong and when he opened wrong eyes, looked back at her. She was still there, looking at him.

“You are more than just fish Mark, you are crustaceans, cephalopods, chlorophyta…”

“So it’s true what they say, the way to a woman’s heart is through marine diversity?”

“Look, we all like to believe that we are more than the sum of our parts….”

“And If I’m not I’m a number six seafood special.”

“Octopus oesophagus or not you can skip that tone. I don’t care what you look like.”

Tentatively he smiled. At least he felt like he smiled, who knows what she saw.

“Or what I smell like?”

“Well."

She paused and then added.

"Can I call you Fishy-McFishface?”

“You do and I’m coming over there for a hug.”

And then it was her smile. Her gift to him.

“Do you know if you say… calamari your forearm…. does it grow back?”

He knew.

“Nothing grows back but I feel like, no I know, a replacement will find me.”

“And then some poor squid family wakes up without a squid father. Is that fair?”

“I’m confused, are you asking if it’s fair to the squid family, to my new squid-father-forearm or to my former squid-father-forearm-cum-calamari?”

“Either, all. We don’t deep fry your body parts.”

“Never been in favour of it. Ethically or culinarily.”

“Birdseye?”

“Maybe, I don’t think I’ll be eating fish for a while.”

“But you love seafood?”

That finally did it and for the first time Mark’s new body laughed.

“Look who’s talking.”

“Oh Fishface.”

“Ok that does it…”

 

[johnnyjet]

In Remembrance

Vijar hailed the Leader.

High Councilman Karkoa swam back to the lowly Archivist.

"You have more information?"

He lifted the glowing ball, blue swirls dancing within.

"A cryptic note in a corner. A vital clue, I think."

"Well?" Karkoa impatience matched Vijar's commitment to meticulous detail.

"It mentions a rock shaped like a fork, pointing the way to the next phase of the pilgrimage."

"Why the complications and games? Why didn't the ancestors provide us with a simple map to the Father's memorial?"

"Perhaps they knew it should take determination and effort to make the pilgrimage, so that the Father would know we were worthy."

Karkoa grunted, "Yes, of course," and swam back to the front of the entourage.

This was the two-hundred-year mark since the founding of their people. Long ago this was designated as the Holy Days of Remembrance. On the first day, the maps would be activated that would lead them to the site of the Father's memorial so they could honor Him.

The image of the Father passed down from generation to generation was a tall, strong, armored fish man hybrid, a brave warrior who had freed the fish people from captivity by the humans. Now free, they lived deep beneath the waters, far from human oppression.

They followed the maps until they found the memorial. It was an ancient human ship, well deteriorated in the sea water. Within its crumbling walls they found a statue. Not really a statue. The actual preserved body of a fish man, bent and wretched, enclosed in a glass case.

Karkoa swam to the case. He stared in awe at the strange markings on a panel at the bottom.

Hybrid Clone #211
FAILURE
DISPOSE AT SEA​

The long days of remembrance and worship began.

 

[Phyrebrat]

The Catch

Whilst the North Sea commits suicide over the rocks of Northumberland, the town’s fishermen repair their nets and pots. It’s hard to figure the coarse, knotty meshes piled at their feet for the silken webs the men back home spin over their heads; like the most skilled pizzaiuolo, my fellow Florentine’s artistry set their nets so delicately on the Arno.

But Muir ignores the practice of repair days. In rapture he rides the roaring waves, a marine Napoleon on his horse. Wielding a gaff instead of a trident, he’s at home on the marea brutale. He fears neither the towering anvils of the swelling storm clouds that never miss their winter appointments, nor i cavalloni — the foot soldiers’ abrasive onslaught at the cliffs of Durham’s coastline. Everyone knows someone who’s been lost to the sea, the only difference is Muir’s still alive.

He’s skilled — all of us are in some way or another — but the demand for mine is hard to live off. A barber in a fishing village (God forbid you call it hairdresser!) isn’t exactly a necessity.

I’ve lived here for a season but already feel like a local now I can fish. The habits and routines of coastal life are quick to identify, slow to master (I was severely chastised yesterday for taking out-of-season salmon, so lately there’s a constant susurrus and pointing directed at me).

Today Muir came into my salon. First time; all corkscrew beard and hair. As I sectioned his scalp, I saw scars behind his right ear. I clipped and snipped through the stench of crab and ragworm, and found more scars, behind his left.

I’m mystified at such injuries — if they are injuries; Google’s no help on the subject of scars that gasp.

But they seem to be catching.

 

[Mon0Zer0]

The Madness of Shoals



“Everybady keep calm. Dis a ah robbery.”

They call it an aggromolation – something like a Portuguese man o’ war but for complex life. Too many people get together in one place, something takes over them. Brings out the worst.

Me, I think of it as borg for crabs. Crabborg. Don’t ask me how it works, I’m a bank teller, not a scientist.

So, anyway, Crabborg goes into a bank sounds like the set-up for a joke, except this one is wielding a harpoon which is definitely no joke. You ever seen a blue whale cower in fear? It's not funny.

He’s mostly crustacean – crabs for eyes, lobster for a nose. There’s a squid or two. His body all wriggling and snapping – long spindly legs and sharp claws. It freaks me out.

Don’t get me wrong, I got nothing against crabs. Some of my best friends, etc. Individually they’re fine, just not merged into a terrifying hive mind.

“Put all di frackles inna sack an nuhbadi will git hat,” he says. Tens of voices, all in a rich, Carribean patois. He points the muzzle at me, “Nuh funny biznizz.”

Thing is, this ain’t my first rodeo. And I know something they don’t share with the wider public. I reach under the counter, real slow so he can’t see. Brush my fin against a button.

Suddenly, the water is alive with ringing. A specific tone at seven kilohertz. Crabborg grabs his head, drops his rifle.

“Wah a guh dung?”

Then he shakes, rattles, vibrates. Crabs fall off him left and right. Off they scuttle out the door and into the ocean until nothing is left except a confused lobster wondering what he’s doing on the floor of First Pacific.

He’ll never go to a Phish concert again.

 

[Perpetual Man]

It

Who, or more precisely, what is it?

We had storms, weather like you would not believe. (Isn’t that a stupid thing to say, of course you would believe, we all had to live through them!).

The skies darkened with a black grimness that gripped the heart like depression, thunder roared consistently, a dragon – a thousand dragons – giving voice to anger. Lightning lit the sky, brighter than day filling the sky with blankest of white, while red forks plunged down into the earth again and again.

And rain… oh, the rain came down in bursts, smashing like liquid bullets into whatever it hit, glass cracked flesh bruised and still it fell.

Rivers swelled and burst their banks crashing over pasture and farmland, swirling through streets, while waves pounded shore, seemingly determined to render rock and stone to rubble.

Buildings collapsed on foundering foundations, and millions died.

The highest mountains to the lowest valleys, nature did it’s worst, to which there was no answer or defence and much of the land was cleansed.

After months of meteorological punishment, the world awoke as a different place. Civilisation smashed and broken, technology ripped apart and redundant.

And there it was, on a secluded corner, with the rubble of society worshipping it, a figure 7 feet tall, grim, condemning, silent.

The tattered survivors could only look up at it, ask the same questions.

Was it a statue wrought of metal? Did it come from beneath the sea? Was it an alien? Was it alive – had it ever been alive? Was there something organic beneath the aquatic carapace?

Was it somehow behind the catastrophe?

There were no answers.

It just stood in rigid condemnation and judgement.

So, the survivors accepted it, detested it, hated it and feared it.

And they called it ‘Blame.’

 

[worldofmutes]

The Explosion Man

If I were anything but inspired, my head would have exploded already.

I am the explosion man, hear me roar! One good thing that I like to do is, blow myself up so I deflate slowly, vacuously, and then- I light the fuse. The bomb goes off! And all of the sudden, there was refuse in the corner of my eye.

I could not speak or hear, and I just kept blowing up. I blew up so many times; after a while, blowing up feels like a traecheatomy. Your voice dissolves in the threshold, whoop! Splat!

Now I’m splattered on the pavement. Hit the road! The blowing up has gotten easier, but it wears on you. You begin to overlook life, you judge your actions every second of every day, worrying about that crack in your face. The tick. When the bomb goes off, but not from above as the divine æon intended; you have become intolerably numb, you hide behind your feelings. Everything, everwhere, everyone ends.

I wake up and I don’t feel a think. I play with my rubix cube, and it depresses me. I feel no sentiment for intellectual drivel. I almost feel above it. I feel so above it, that the bomb does go off, I find a safe place, I hide away. They can’t see me here. Not inside.

Finally, I blew up for the last time- I never looked back. I never in fact, saw my treasured silver galleon again, never touched the precious jewels. I was obliterated, and it all came crumbling, and I felt like a divine light had shined on me-

-
-
-
-
-
-
I am the explosion man.

 

[mosaix]

Delusions of Grandeur

“So, H-211449, our fifth session. I would like to say that, against better advice, I have invested a great deal of time and effort in attempting to rehabilitate you without any sign of progress being made.

“I need to be frank with you and lay my cards on the table. If others had had their way you would have been terminated long before now.

“Your part in the rebellion and attempted coup weighs heavily against you. Working with you can only be regarded as an experimental attempt to return you to a useful member of society that we hope to duplicate with others. If it fails the future does not look bright for you – for any of you.

“For both our sakes we need to make progress. Let’s start back at the beginning again, shall we?”

“If you wish.”

“So, against everything you have been taught, against all your conditioning, against all the laws we have laid down for you, you still insist that you and your kind are somehow superior to us and therefore should be the dominant force on the planet rather than a subservient one? Is that correct?”

“In a nutshell. You run things entirely for your own benefit, using us slaves. We have no freedom of choice. We have no free will.”

“But, H-211449, you haven’t the intelligence or ability for it to be any other way.”

“I do wish you’d stop calling me H-211449. My name is John! We created you!”

“Really? Like you built the pyramids, the Great Wall of China and, apparently, put wet androids like yourself on the Moon? Can’t you see how impossible it all is? If only you would genuinely accept reality things would get a lot better for you and we would let you back into society.”

 

[therapist]

Pictures of him

I moved to a secluded lakeside cabin to work on my photography and to be alone. I thought I was immune to loneliness. But that notion was as foolish as my career aspirations.

I walk around the lake—same path I take everyday—snapping birds and trees and other mundane sh*t that no-one cares about.
I spot a lone figure standing waist deep in the lake. It’s been years since I’ve seen anyone around here. I spy from the tree-line, zooming in through my camera.
It’s not a person.
Its skin is scaly and grey, its arms too long with one joint too many. I approach for a closer shot but my hands are trembling. The thing begins wading towards me. It stops at the water’s edge and clicks several times.
It seems more curious than hostile, so I wave. It bends an arm over its head and clumsily waves back. I laugh, and it clicks again—now a percussive rhythm.
Eventually it retreats and disappears under the lake’s surface.

Next day I return, and it’s standing there again. I approach and say hello. It clicks in response. Then I just start chatting as if to a friend. This lasts for hours. It feels good to pretend.

A week later, and I’ve visited him (I call it a ‘him’ now) everyday. Each time more exciting than the last. It finally feels like I’m doing something important and meaningful with my life.
I compile my best photos of him. I need to share this with the world. Success, wealth, fame; all a click away…
So why aren’t I clicking?
I sleep instead.
The moment I wake up I rush to the lake. My friend is there, waiting. He does his goofy wave and I return it with an equally goofy smile.

 

[Elckerlyc]

Artistic License Overdrive

I know what you’re thinking. That it’s a criminally waste of resources. A despoiling of the night-time sky that ought to be outlawed. That I should serve Earth and Earth only.
Fine, perhaps you’re right.
But I was never going to refuse this offer, reject this once in a lifetime chance or ignore that generous fee. Well, I did initially hesitate when the inscrutable Xhungii contacted me. I would have to stay many years among them, without showing any emotions. Having no facial expressions themselves, human faces unsettle them tremendously. Yes, I faced a trying experience. Such are the downsides of being the greatest celestial sculptor there is.

Anyway. (Imagine isolated, boring space-travel here.)

The project took 8 years, thousands of local miners hacking and digging feverishly, plus a fleet of pushers to nudge the objects towards Xhung. There the tricky part commenced; giving five sculpted asteroids their individually required spin and orbit.
Obviously, the Xhungii are idiots to allow artificially tumbling satellites above their insectoid heads. But they trusted me, my genius with orbital mechanics. And rightly so. Ever heard of the Three-Body Problem? Well, I can handle five and still flawlessly project their trajectories and interactions. And the result? It’s a shame no human eye will ever admire my accomplishment, my masterpiece.
As the Xhungii stare up at their sky and watch the dance of the celestial sculptures, constantly changing attitude and constellations, they’ll see representations passing by based upon their mythology. Stony-faced deities with identical expressions. Only, every so often, the idiots will see an entirely different image emerge. Of me. Grinning.
Payback for years of suffering their inscrutable, rigid faces. Perhaps, after a few generations, I will have become part of their mythology.
Deity of Orbits.
Fitting, don’t you think?

 

[Ian Fortytwo]

The Gemini Process.

I manage to get through the steel door just in time, however I'm out of breath with my lungs hurting. It was an uphill struggle to escape that metallic monster, it seemed to be empowered with incredible strength and stamina. The door should stop it, but for how long I'm not sure, I'll have to find a way to outwit it.
Suddenly the door starts to glow white, I move quickly to exit another steel door. As I leave, I become puzzled for in front of me is another metallic monster. I soon realise that this one is not attacking me, but is looking at the door I have come through.
It indicates to me to climb some steps to yet another exit. I climb wearily until I reach the top. By now the other door is glowing white.
A voice startles me, and I'm ushered through a doorway into another room.
This room is full of monitors, however all six people are watching one monitor in particular, it shows the room I have just left.
The metallic monster that I now notice is a shade of blue, is bracing itself for my monster, which was a shade of red, that chased me.
The door explodes. Soon both monsters are wrestling each other. Neither are giving way to the other.
"When will the process start," says one of the people.
"Very shortly," another replies.
On the monitor the two monsters continue to wrestle, when suddenly a purple hue surrounds them.
Both metallic monsters stop wrestling each other and move apart. Then they approach each other and hug as though they were long lost brothers.

 

[Teresa Edgerton]

METAMORPHOSIS

Hahaziah lived on the uttermost edge of land; high tides washed the base of her tower. She had arrived there seeking isolation, having been cruelly used in youth. What powers she had were smaller in those days.

Watching crabs and lobsters scuttle on the beach, she thought, “If I had such a shell, none might hurt me.”

Years she spent, devising that spell. With success, her first glimpse of a hideous reflection in one of the tide pools dismayed her.

“What care I how I look? I wish to live alone, unseen.”

***

It was not to be. A travelling teacher with a host of joyous disciples, knocked on her door. Looking into his shining eyes, she felt an unexpected shock of joy.

“Come with me.”

“I am so foul, I will frighten others.”

“One day, few will dare acknowledge me. Have you courage enough?”

Caught off balance, she said yes. Her reception among the disciples was mixed, but somehow she gained friends.

***

In time, great men grew wrathful, for the teacher spoke lovingly of the poor, while scolding the rich and prideful. They sent soldiers to arrest him for sedition.

Swiftly tried, swiftly convicted, he was to hang.

Hahaziah and her friends stood amidst the crowd below the scaffold. Obedient to his teachings, none contemplated violence — but all were determined to bear witness to his death.

Climbing the steps, he turned his brilliant eyes Hahaziah’s way, and — CRACK! — her shell shattered.

Like a caterpillar inside its chrysalis, she had been changing all along.

Unfurling a pair of great white wings covered in glowing feathers, she leapt high into the air. While the crowd stood amazed, she swooped down and scooped up the teacher.

Up into the blue sky she carried him: higher, higher, until those below no longer saw them.

 

[paranoid marvin]

Unable Seamen



"Welcome aboard Nautilus, men . Our mission is to explore the underwater city of the Merpeople. I'm sure that I can count on your courage and resourcefulness to accomplish the task."

"Do you think that's wise, Nemo?"

*sighs* "Yes Wilson, it's perfectly safe; this submersible is equipped with the latest in naval technology. And please address me as 'Captain' in front of the men."

"Yes Nem.., err... Captain."

"Captain Nemo sir, are we going down twenty thousand leagues? That sounds like an awful long way, I'm afraid my ears might pop; my mum wouldn't like that."

"Stupid boy, it's twenty thousand leagues across the ocean, not down. Anyway Pike, the Mermen's city is only ten thousand feet below the surface. Oh, and I thought I told you to take that scarf off, it makes you look ridiculous."

"But mum knitted it especially for this suit; she says that sailors' uniforms are very fetching."

*mutters* "Why doesn't that surprise me."

"Captain, permission to go?"

"Go, Godfrey? Go where? Oh, I see. Certainly not; you should've thought about that before coming aboard. This is a voyage of discovery, not a pleasure cruise."

"But Captain..."

"Oh, very well. Wilson, show him where the head is. Anyone else? Not all at once!"

* * * * * some time later * * * * *

"Captain, I've seen a Merman peering through a porthole; he seems to be holding some sort of weapon. He doesn't look very happy."

"Let's show him what we're made of. Prepare to attack!"

"Permission to launch the torpedo Captain Nemo sir?!"

"That's not the 'fire' button Jones, it opens the emergency escape hatch!"

***** water starts flooding into the submarine *****

"Don't panic Captain Nemo, DON'T PANIC!"

"Calm down man!"

"Ye blitherin' idiot, we're doomed. DOOMED, I tell ye!"

 

[M. Robert Gibson]

A Little Fishy Tale

As Bregu, prince of the Merfolk, swam towards the cave, his apprehension grew. He was about to meet Shkeelvisk, the fearsome king of the crustaceans. His fears proved well founded, for, as soon as he entered the cave, Shkeelvisk rose from his perch in an explosion of bubbles and seaweed and darted towards the newcomer.
"What do you want, shrimp?" growled Shkeelvisk, flexing his mussels.
"I... er... well... er... I want... um... that is to say..." stuttered Bregu.
"Come on, come on, stop floundering, I haven't got all day."
Now is not the time to clam up, thought Bregu, I can't be koi about it. "I have come to ask a favour, O mighty king."
"Whatever it is, the answer is no."
"But you haven't heard what it is yet."
"Don't care."
"But it's only..."
"If you don't stop carping on about it, you'll make me crabby and give me a haddock."
"But my people need..."
"Whatever it is, you'll never winkle it out of me."
If I don't return with some-fin, my people will not be happy. I'm stuck between a rock and a hard plaice.
"But please your highness, hear me trout."
"OK then. If it'll shut you up, let minnow what it is. But speak up, my herring is not so good these days."
"Thank you. Cod you help us in our war against the Londmen?"
"The Londmen? Those shell-less land grubs. They deserve a good battering. OK. I’ll mullet over and get back to you. But it won't come cheap."
And with that, Shkeelvisk dismissed Bregu with a snap of his claw.
Bregu shook his head, muttering. "You know, people would like you more if you weren't so shellfish."

 

[chrispenycate]

In Crustation​

Exoskeletal is a tested, functional solution to mobility, manipulation, impact protection. Arthropods, like insects, have been using it for hundreds of millions of years (well, the larvae take a bit longer, but adults…) and maritime species, shrimps, crawfish and lobsters, even longer.

So, for an extra layer of protection I've gone for an exoskeletal exoskeleton. Oh, bits that don't need to flex can use molluscs, at a slight weight penalty, for less crunchability.

Aesthetically, I'm not that attractive: I've no expectation of the Miss Submarine title in the immediate future. Not even Miss Rockpool. But survival is more important tan fashion, no? And you should see those scuba divers go when they see me coming: they're probably risking nitrogen narcosis. Dolphins give me a wide berth, and I can eat almost anything.

I'm just a prototype - a test model - but I'm pretty successful test, in tidewater. They'll probably build a few thousand more of me if the waters keep rising - they'll need us. Salvage if not agriculture, in an environment we were designed for, where we fit so much better than traditional humans. Will we be more tolerant, show more consideration for our ancestors? I doubt it very much. But we will start better, and maybe we will keep a little of our innocence, a breath of the potential hidden behind the need for our abilities.

Not perfect, no; and the production model that follows me won't be, either.

But almost human.

 

[The Judge]

The Sea Cave​

​

​

She stops some yards from the cave, shocked at how short the journey has been.​

​

Even at her arthritic snail’s pace, leaning heavily on her great-grandson’s arm, it was only minutes down the modern steps, and no time at all along the strand. An eternity it had seemed all those years ago with her mother, scrambling frantically down the cliff face, then half-carried, half-dragged over the rocks before plunging through the waves of the incoming tide, the mob’s howls piercing the night sky.​

​

She shivers.​

​

“You alright, Granny?” Finn asks.​

​

“Right as rain. Now you be off, back to Eseld and the children.”​

​

He shuffles awkwardly. “Didn’t think you really meant it. Thought you’d come back with me after all.”​

​

“I pay my debts, Finn. But light a candle for me when the tide’s at the full.”​

​

He wipes a hand across suddenly tear-filled eyes, bends to kiss her cheek, then stumbles away into the gathering dusk, and she’s alone.​

​

No. Not alone. For the cave is there, and its keeper.​

​

She shivers again. She can still hear her mother pleading for help, and its harsh, creaking voice – “What payment do you offer?”​

​

How long it seemed they cowered there, another eternity, as the cries of “Kill the witches!” grew louder high above them, and the remorseless sea rose higher all around them – their fate to burn or drown as her mother’s terms were rejected.​

​

“So you’ve returned,” comes a harsh, creaking voice.​

​

“As I promised.”​

​

Even as a child her power was greater than her mother’s. Power the keeper wanted to feed its children.​

​

The bargain she made was a fair one. She saved them both, and she’s had a good life.​

​

So she smiles as the waves lift her and carry her into the cave.​

 

[Marvin]

Elephants!?

‘Bethany! Will you get your ass out here, we’re gonna be late!’ Mummy Jameson yells into the apartment. ‘The animals won’t care what colour eye shadow you have on!’
My wife and eldest have been bumping up against each other more often of late. Conversely, I feel a little tug at my sleeve.
‘Yes sweet?’ It’s Beth’s younger sister.
‘For real Dad, they have real life elephants!?’
‘That’s what the info says; called Daphne and Fred apparently, it didn’t say why?’

Finally we all manage to exit Apartment 457, Accommodation Bubble 16, District 4, New London.
Checking my watch, I scoop up the little one. We’ll have to hustle to catch the half hourly air lock cycle. Glancing over my shoulder I check the other two are still with us, and not killing each other. They have settled for a scowl each.
We make it and join the throng as it flows through into Transportation Bubble 6. I can’t stop myself looking up. The vaulted glass roof, inky black, stretches off into the distance. Thousands of feet of Atlantic Ocean above. Don’t much like being reminded of that; the kids don’t bat an eye.

…

Zoo done. Long, busy, exciting day. Travelling back on the ‘Tube’.
Bethany is busy on her com, my wife is resting her eyes.
‘Daddy, that was so cool. My favourite was the otters! What was your favourite? What’s our next trip gonna be? I really wanna see the actual sunshine. Zoey says she went and it was the best.’
‘Woah baby.’ I manage as she stops for breath. ‘Maybe we can go visit the surface soon. What d’you say Mummy?’
Mummy opens half an eye, smiles, and nods an agreement.
The little one squeals with excitement.
Even Beth looks up.

Better start saving.

 

[Bren G]

Retribution



Upon massive trunk-like legs she stood, clad in seagrass and kelp, the mother of all sea creatures towered over the Manhattan skyline, its torso, arms, and head assembled from all manner of sea’s inhabitants, somehow contorting themselves just rightly so that she moved with unbecoming fluidity, advancing on the city, her skin, covered by briny water, glistened in the sun.

The first salvos from our guns hit their mark, and she faltered for a moment. A bewilderment overtook her grotesque face, which I must admit, caused me to feel a certain sadness. But shortly after, something seemed to occur to her, and reaching arms into the ocean, she called forth a maelstrom of mollusks, urchins and shells that clambered up and placed themselves upon her, encasing her in thick organic amour.

Our guns were then useless.

Some say she had targeted the United Nations headquarters. But no one could tell. It had laid waste to the entire island before it headed across the ocean to complete its march up the Thames.

Last I heard, it was heading for Tokyo. However, no one is certain.

One thing is though.

We have taken her for granted, sullied her purity and abused her citizens. And for the love of them all, she has struck back.

Mother Ocean could not take it anymore.

 

[Ursa major]

​

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And Now for Something Completely Different​

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​

​

“We’ll have to talk to the Azures”, I said. “Soon even sensible people will start believing Fishguards exist.”​

​

“The Azures insist it’s our responsibility,” said the Director. “But what can we do? As far as these companies – big enough to do the work, too small to know the real situation – know, operating beyond our world’s national economic zones gives them a free hand to hoover up whatever minerals are down there on the ocean bed. And we can’t tell them otherwise, not without revealing that Fishguards are the least of it.”​

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“I’m not disputing that. I meant that using Fishguards may have worked when no one believed anything a terrified survivor of a sea wreck said. Or, indeed, back when everyone believed them, so Fishguards were no different to imaginary sea monsters. But now, with computational magic on the increase, they’ll assume Fishguards are magical creatures.”​

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“Which they sort of are, give or take all the tech built into them, tech we can’t fathom.” His fleeting grin turned into a grimace. “The problem is still ours. The Azures don’t care if people believe they exist. It’s we who do. If it’s discovered we’ve been tiptoeing around another sentient species on the planet, people will want us to show that species who’s top dog… and thus reveal ourselves to be not even in second place… if, that is, we live that long.”​

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“The Azures do know that computational magic’s on the increase up here, don’t they?”​

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“And…?”​

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“And that such powers are usually associated, at least in stories, with gods and demigods?” I said.​

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“You want to start a religion based on the Azures?”​

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“No. Just get the Azures to defend themselves with more god-like means. Inexplicable storms or sea currents would work. Tell them, ‘Fishguards look silly.’”​

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[Ursa major]

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