27. Cyreus
Cyreus
TWENTY SEVEN
T he summer sun warms my face as I stand on the aft deck of our newly completed houseboat. Long months of hard work have transformed Fergus's rough sketches and my engineering ideas into something remarkable—a true hybrid vessel that bridges our different worlds.
From the outside, it looks like a modern houseboat with some unusual features—sleeker lines than most pleasure craft, reinforced hull sections, and specialized propulsion systems. Anyone passing would notice it's custom-built but wouldn't guess its true purpose.
The interior tells a different story. The main cabin provides comfortable human living space—a galley with excellent equipment, sleeping quarters with a surprisingly luxurious bed, and a spacious common area for shared meals and conversation.
But the heart of the vessel lies below deck, where the specialized chamber I designed allows me direct access from open water.
The chamber is a marvel of engineering—a hybrid environment with variable water levels, temperature controls, and environmental systems that can shift between fully aquatic and partially terrestrial settings.
I can enter directly from beneath the vessel through a moon pool sealed with flexible, reinforced membranes that admit my body while maintaining watertight integrity.
Once inside, I can remain in my natural form or shift as needed depending on our activities.
Fergus named the vessel "Between Worlds," which seemed fitting given its purpose and our unique circumstances. Stenciled across the stern in elegant script, the name serves as both identity and mission statement for our unconventional partnership.
Today marks our official launch—our first journey beyond the sheltered cove where construction took place.
The research vessel Horizon departed these waters nearly two months ago, following the trail of "sightings" I created along the southern coast. According to Fergus's sources, they're still conducting intensive research near the Florida Keys, convinced they're tracking a previously undocumented marine species of remarkable intelligence.
The irony isn't lost on me.
"Everything secure down below?" Meri asks, emerging from the main cabin with two steaming mugs. She hands one to me before settling beside me on the bench seat built into the stern deck.
"Perfect. The circulation system is working great, and the pressure seals are holding steady." I accept the drink, still amazed at how easily we've adapted to sharing such simple human rituals. "Your navigation equipment all set for coastal waters? "
"Charts loaded, GPS running, weather reports updated." She leans against me, her body warm through her light spring clothing. "We're officially ready to go whenever the tide turns."
"Another hour, then." I wrap my arm around her shoulders, savoring the casual contact. "Are you nervous?"
"About the boat? Not at all. We've tested every system thoroughly." She sips her coffee, gazing toward the horizon where blue sky meets bluer water. "About finally having this freedom after months of careful planning and separation? Absolutely."
I understand her mix of anticipation and disbelief. The journey to this moment has been difficult—not just the physical construction of our vessel, but the emotional strain of limited contact while maintaining secrecy and evading detection.
My month creating false sightings along the southern coast stretched into nearly six weeks as winter storms complicated my return journey.
By the time I reached Tidewash waters again, construction had progressed significantly, but Meri had suffered through the worst of winter largely alone, working alongside Fergus and his crew through bitter cold and punishing conditions.
Our reunions since then have been cautious, limited by the continued need for discretion until we could be certain the researchers had truly abandoned their local investigation.
Now, finally, we stand on the threshold of the freedom we've designed and built together—a mobile home that accommodates both our biological needs without compromise .
"I can't quite believe we're here," she admits, echoing my thoughts. "After everything—the equipment failures, the researchers, the winter storms—it seems impossible that we actually succeeded."
"Not impossible. Just improbable." I press a kiss to her temple, inhaling the scent of her hair. "We are, after all, rather specialized problem-solvers."
She laughs, the sound carrying across the calm water. "That's one way of putting it. I just call it stubborn determination."
"A trait we share, fortunately."
We fall into comfortable silence, watching seabirds wheel overhead in the clear spring air.
Below us, fish dart through the shallows, unconcerned by our presence.
The natural world continues its rhythms around us, neither acknowledging nor rejecting the unusual partnership we've forged across biological divides.
"I should check on Fergus," Meri says eventually. "He's bringing the last supply delivery before we cast off."
"I'll prepare the moon pool for departure." I release her reluctantly, already anticipating the freedom of shifting to my natural form once we're underway. Maintaining human appearance has become easier with practice, but extended periods still drain my energy reserves.
As Meri heads toward the dock where Fergus's truck will arrive, I make my way below deck to the specialized chamber that represents our vessel's most innovative aspect.
The space is already partially filled with fresh seawater, circulating through sophisticated filtration systems that maintain optimal salinity and oxygen content.
I adjust several controls, checking pressure differentials and temperature regulation.
Everything functions perfectly—the result of meticulous design and expert craftsmanship guided by my knowledge of what my biology requires.
For the first time since my ship crashed on this world, I have a space that truly accommodates my natural form without compromising my ability to interact with the human environment.
The sound of voices above signals Fergus's arrival. I return topside to find him and Meri transferring boxes from his truck to our deck—final provisions and supplies for our maiden voyage.
"Everything shipshape below?" Fergus asks, noting my appearance. In the months since our initial meeting, he's grown remarkably comfortable with my dual nature, treating my transformations with the same practical acceptance he brings to all aspects of our unusual arrangement.
"Fully operational and ready for departure." I take a heavy crate from his arms, the weight negligible to my enhanced strength. "Your suppliers delivered materials of exceptional quality."
"For what I paid them, they damn well better have." He supervises as we stow the remaining supplies, his experienced eye catching details we might have overlooked. "Navigation lights tested? Backup generator functional? Emergency protocols established? "
"Yes to all," Meri confirms with fond exasperation. "We've been through the checklist three times, Fergus. We're prepared."
She leans closer to me, whispering, "I don't know how or why Fergus has these connections and I'm smart enough not to ask. Wonder if there's a Newfoundland Mafia." She suppresses a laugh before turning back to our benefactor.
"Humor an old man's caution." He makes a final inspection of the mooring lines, checking tensions and attachments with meticulous care. "This vessel is unlike anything that's ever sailed these waters. Standard protocols may not apply in all circumstances."
"Which is why we've established our own protocols," I remind him, appreciating his concern while gently asserting our competence. "Specialized for our unique requirements."
He nods, finally satisfied. "Fair enough. You two have thought of everything else, no reason to think you've missed anything now." He straightens, wincing slightly as his aging back protests the movement. "Time for me to head back to shore, then. Leave you to your maiden voyage."
"You could join us," Meri offers, though we all know he won't accept. "Just for the day trip around the headland."
"My place is on solid ground, watching for opportunities and managing the business side of our arrangement." He pats the vessel's rail with affection. "Besides, this first journey should be just the two of you. Christening your home together. "
The sentiment touches me deeply. Home. Such a simple concept for humans, yet one that has eluded me for nearly a century on this world. Until now.
We say our goodbyes, with promises to maintain regular radio contact and a schedule for future meetings to exchange salvage finds for market distribution.
Fergus has become more than a business partner in these months—he's a true friend, a bridge between our isolated existence and the wider human world.
His acceptance of our unconventional relationship has provided not just practical assistance but emotional support through the challenges of our construction project.
As his truck disappears up the winding path from the cove, Meri turns to me with a mixture of excitement and nervous anticipation. "Ready to cast off?"
"More than ready."
I take the wheel of Between Worlds with the same rush I once felt breaking Earth's atmosphere in my original vessel. This time, however, I'm not arriving as a stranger, but departing as someone who belongs.
The engine purrs to life beneath my hands—a sound I've come to associate with freedom rather than the human technology I once viewed as primitive.
Meri moves around the deck with practiced efficiency, casting off lines and securing equipment for our journey.
Her movements flow with the confidence of someone born to the water, each action precise yet natural.
As we glide away from the dock, leaving the sheltered cove that has been our sanctuary and workshop these past months, I feel a peculiar sensation in my chest—a lightness I haven't experienced since before the crash.
For nearly a century, I've been tethered to secrecy and isolation, my existence defined by what I must hide and where I cannot go.
Today, those limitations fall away with each foot of distance we put between ourselves and shore.
"Where to, Captain?" Meri asks, joining me at the helm. Her smile contains the same liberation I feel—the boundless horizon now represents possibility rather than restriction.
"Anywhere," I reply, the truth of it almost overwhelming. "Everywhere. The entire coastline is ours to explore."
She leans against me, fitting perfectly against my side. "I vote we head north first. The waters off Nova Scotia should be warming now, and there are shipwrecks there that haven't been touched in centuries."
"Nova Scotia it is."
As the mainland recedes behind us and open water stretches ahead, I find myself in the unprecedented position of having exactly what I want.
Not just survival, not just adaptation, but genuine belonging.
A home that moves with us, accommodating both our natures.
A partner who sees me fully, without fear or reservation.
A future limited only by imagination rather than biology.
The spring breeze carries the scent of salt and possibility. Below deck, the moon pool awaits, ready to receive my true form whenever I choose to shift. Above, the sun shines on a day unlike any I've experienced in my very long life.
I am no longer a survivor, an observer, a being caught between worlds.
I am home.