meeting.
“What’s wrong with your friend? With Chachel? Why is he so rude to everyone? And why is he, as you said, an ‘insufferable outcast’?”
“He’s not rude.” Fragments of chitinous shell spiraled lazily downward from beneath the cuttlefish’s mouth as he methodically demolished a crab. “He’s brusque. He is an outcast because that’s the life he’s chosen for himself. The reason’s the same, I think, for the ‘insufferable’ part.”
“But why?” Sitting on a shelf of plate coral that grew outward from the inner wall of the greeting chamber, she found herself using her teeth to scrape the last bits of flesh from bone as naturally as a chef preparing the ingredients for a chowder. “He’s more than unfriendly: he’s openly hostile. Why? I never did him any harm.”
Finishing the last of his crab, Glint turned toward her. As he spoke, he used his sensitive tentacles to clean the area around his beak. Indicative of his sudden seriousness, his body turned a dark yellow.
“It’s not you,” the cuttlefish explained in a tone turned suddenly somber. “It was a mob that made him what he is. It all happened many years ago.”
So solemn was the cephalopod’s manner that Irina felt compelled to set the remainder of her own meal aside. “A ‘mob’?”
“That’s what is called a school of sharks.” Pivoting, Glint used both hunting tentacles to gesture back the way they had come. “In Chachel’s case, they were mostly oceanic whitetips and makos, working together as a gang.” Reflecting his feelings, his body turned white with unsightly black splotches. “It was ugly, it was bloody. I know: I was there.”
Sitting cross-legged on the pale blue shelf, illuminated by the light that was still pouring in through the open top of the chamber, Irina stared at the cuttlefish. “You were there? But that’s impossible. Your—you people—only live a couple of years or so, and Chachel is at least my age.”
One eye regarded her intently. “What are you saying? My people live as long as yours.”
“Maybe here they do.” She considered thoughtfully. “That might explain why despite showing so much intelligence, cuttlefish like you, and octopods like Oxothyr, and squid where I come from, don’t have any higher skills like communication. They don’t live long enough to learn. I wonder—if you took an octopus from where I come from, from my ocean, and extended its lifespan by a factor of ten or twenty, how much knowledge would it be able to acquire? How smart could it become? As smart as its older counterparts here?”
“Ask Oxothyr. He is ‘of an age.’” Pivoting, Glint gestured upward toward the open water and the mirrorsky above. “I will tell you how Chachel became the way he is.…”
— IV —
The crimson feather star was graceful, beautiful, and lost. Multiple downy bright-red arms propelled it slowly through the water. Though some of its kin favored the depths, that was not the case with the red wanderer. It had been carried away from the reef by a sudden surge of strong current. Now it found itself out in open water without a potential hiding place in sight. It could not avoid the hand that reached for it.
Tempting toxins, a youthful Chachel flicked his fingertips playfully at the ends of the feathery arms but did not quite make contact. The weak-swimming echinoderm bobbed in the water, unable to escape. It tried curling its fragile arms in upon its body, which was miniscule in comparison to the spray of furry limbs. Grinning, the young merson continued to toy inoffensively with the creature. In the open ocean, anything was a diversion.
Having commenced the long swim the previous morning, the clan group’s destination was now in sight. Rising to within a couple of body lengths of the mirrorsky, the twin peaks of the seamount called Splitrock materialized out of the watery haze like some ghostly great gray spear. As the clutch of swimmers drew nearer, both its
“What’s wrong with your friend? With Chachel? Why is he so rude to everyone? And why is he, as you said, an ‘insufferable outcast’?”
“He’s not rude.” Fragments of chitinous shell spiraled lazily downward from beneath the cuttlefish’s mouth as he methodically demolished a crab. “He’s brusque. He is an outcast because that’s the life he’s chosen for himself. The reason’s the same, I think, for the ‘insufferable’ part.”
“But why?” Sitting on a shelf of plate coral that grew outward from the inner wall of the greeting chamber, she found herself using her teeth to scrape the last bits of flesh from bone as naturally as a chef preparing the ingredients for a chowder. “He’s more than unfriendly: he’s openly hostile. Why? I never did him any harm.”
Finishing the last of his crab, Glint turned toward her. As he spoke, he used his sensitive tentacles to clean the area around his beak. Indicative of his sudden seriousness, his body turned a dark yellow.
“It’s not you,” the cuttlefish explained in a tone turned suddenly somber. “It was a mob that made him what he is. It all happened many years ago.”
So solemn was the cephalopod’s manner that Irina felt compelled to set the remainder of her own meal aside. “A ‘mob’?”
“That’s what is called a school of sharks.” Pivoting, Glint used both hunting tentacles to gesture back the way they had come. “In Chachel’s case, they were mostly oceanic whitetips and makos, working together as a gang.” Reflecting his feelings, his body turned white with unsightly black splotches. “It was ugly, it was bloody. I know: I was there.”
Sitting cross-legged on the pale blue shelf, illuminated by the light that was still pouring in through the open top of the chamber, Irina stared at the cuttlefish. “You were there? But that’s impossible. Your—you people—only live a couple of years or so, and Chachel is at least my age.”
One eye regarded her intently. “What are you saying? My people live as long as yours.”
“Maybe here they do.” She considered thoughtfully. “That might explain why despite showing so much intelligence, cuttlefish like you, and octopods like Oxothyr, and squid where I come from, don’t have any higher skills like communication. They don’t live long enough to learn. I wonder—if you took an octopus from where I come from, from my ocean, and extended its lifespan by a factor of ten or twenty, how much knowledge would it be able to acquire? How smart could it become? As smart as its older counterparts here?”
“Ask Oxothyr. He is ‘of an age.’” Pivoting, Glint gestured upward toward the open water and the mirrorsky above. “I will tell you how Chachel became the way he is.…”
— IV —
The crimson feather star was graceful, beautiful, and lost. Multiple downy bright-red arms propelled it slowly through the water. Though some of its kin favored the depths, that was not the case with the red wanderer. It had been carried away from the reef by a sudden surge of strong current. Now it found itself out in open water without a potential hiding place in sight. It could not avoid the hand that reached for it.
Tempting toxins, a youthful Chachel flicked his fingertips playfully at the ends of the feathery arms but did not quite make contact. The weak-swimming echinoderm bobbed in the water, unable to escape. It tried curling its fragile arms in upon its body, which was miniscule in comparison to the spray of furry limbs. Grinning, the young merson continued to toy inoffensively with the creature. In the open ocean, anything was a diversion.
Having commenced the long swim the previous morning, the clan group’s destination was now in sight. Rising to within a couple of body lengths of the mirrorsky, the twin peaks of the seamount called Splitrock materialized out of the watery haze like some ghostly great gray spear. As the clutch of swimmers drew nearer, both its
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