Chapter Seven
Vel'aan
The zhik'ra is worse than I thought.
The storm tore through Section C with particular violence, uprooting entire clusters that were decades old.
I've been working since I came back from returning Alex, cutting away dead growth, checking holdfasts, trying to salvage what I can.
The water is still murky with disturbed sediment, visibility poor, which makes the work slower and more difficult.
My hands are raw from handling the rough stalks, water stinging the small cuts along my palms. Each dive takes me deeper into the tangle of destruction—what was once a carefully cultivated forest now resembles a battlefield.
Massive fronds drift like ghosts in the current, their holdfasts torn clean from the sea floor, leaving gouges in the sandy bottom that will take seasons to heal.
I surface for the twentieth time this morning, arms full of damaged fronds that need to be cleared.
The physical labor is good. It keeps my mind occupied, stops me from thinking about warm skin pressed against mine, about fingers tracing along fabric, about a voice rough with sleep suggesting things that made my entire nervous system light up in panic.
The debris pile on my harvest platform grows with each trip. Brown, brittle zhik'ra that weeks ago was healthy green. I sort methodically—compostable material in one pile, diseased growth that needs disposal in another. My movements are automatic, practiced, soothing in their familiarity.
A school of silver swimmers darts past, their bioluminescence flickering in distress patterns. The storm has displaced everything, disrupted the careful balance of the ecosystem. I watch them spiral away toward deeper water, seeking stability in the currents that won't come for days.
I dive again, deeper this time, my gills filtering the murky water as I focus on a particularly tangled section.
The zhik'ra here is knotted beyond saving—I'll have to cut it all away and replant.
My harvesting blade slices through the thick stalks, each cut releasing a cloud of disturbed sediment.
Months of work destroyed in one storm. But that's the nature of cultivation.
Things grow, things die, you start again.
Alone.
Always alone.
Which is what I wanted. What I chose. What's safe.
When I surface, the sun has climbed higher, its heat already making the water uncomfortable for extended work.
I pull myself onto the platform, water streaming from my body, and immediately notice movement on the main walkway.
Someone is approaching my section—their gait unsteady on the bobbing platform, definitely not used to aquatic agriculture.
My bioluminescence flares with treacherous hope before I can control it.
"Vel'aan."
It's Kav'eth. Councilor Kav'eth, in his formal robes despite the agricultural setting, looking ridiculously out of place among the storm debris. The platform dips under his weight as he steps carefully around a pile of rotting zhik'ra, his nose wrinkling at the smell.
"Councilor." I bow appropriately, water still dripping from my hair, trying to hide my disappointment. The formal gesture feels strange when I'm half-naked and covered in sea foam. "Is something wrong?"
"I wanted to check on you." He settles onto a dry section of platform with careful dignity, arranging his robes to avoid the wet patches. "After yesterday's... revelations."
His patterns shift to something that might be concern, though with Kav'eth it's always hard to tell if emotion is genuine or political.
"I'm fine," I say, returning to my sorting. The rhythmic motion of separating usable from waste gives my hands something to do. "There's significant storm damage to address."
"So I see." He watches me work, golden eyes taking in the extent of the destruction. A piece of zhik'ra slips from my grip, splashing back into the water, and I have to dive to retrieve it. When I surface, he's still watching. "That was quite an emotional encounter yesterday. With the human."
My hands still on a particularly stubborn piece of kelp-like growth. "Yes."
"He seemed very grateful."
"Yes." I keep my voice neutral, but my bioluminescence betrays me with quick pulses of gold.
"Very... intense."
I look up at him, noting the careful way he's studying my reactions. "Did you need something specific, Councilor?"
"Just checking on your wellbeing. It's not every day someone learns they accidentally saved a life instead of damaging it."
I dive again, letting the cool water wash away the heat climbing up my neck. Down here, surrounded by the gentle sway of damaged zhik'ra, I can pretend the conversation isn't happening. But I can't stay under forever.
When I surface again, Kav'eth is still there, apparently prepared to wait me out. His robes have dampened from the spray, making him look less dignified and more determined.
"You're not going to leave, are you?" I ask, pulling myself back onto the platform.
"Not yet. The Council is concerned about your adjustment to these new circumstances."
I squeeze water from my hair, the droplets spattering the platform between us. "There's nothing to adjust to. The human expressed his gratitude. The matter is concluded."
"Is it?" Kav'eth tilts his head, and his patterns shift to something almost amused. "He seemed quite determined to maintain contact."
"That's no longer relevant."
"Oh? Why not?"
The question catches me off guard. I pause in wringing out my work tunic, fabric heavy with water. "He was here. Last night. This morning. But he's too... forward. Impulsive. I sent him back to his dwelling."
Kav'eth's eyes widen, and his skin brightens with what's definitely amusement now. "He was here? After the Council meeting?"
I realize my mistake immediately, but it's too late. I fold the wet tunic with unnecessary precision. "Briefly. The storm made travel difficult."
"The storm ended yesterday afternoon."
"Yes."
"And he stayed the night?"
My bioluminescence erupts in chaotic patterns of embarrassment—gold and blue and that terrible pale green that appears when I'm mortified. I turn away, pretending to examine the horizon. "It was practical. Transportation in storm aftermath can be—"
"Vel'aan." Kav'eth's voice is gentle but knowing. "What happened?"
I sit on the platform's edge, letting my feet dangle in the warm water. Small fish immediately approach, curious about the disturbance. Their gentle nibbles at my toes are oddly comforting.
"He wanted to see the zhik'ra forests. I showed him. The storm came. We took shelter." I watch the fish scatter as my feet move. "Then I brought him to my dwelling because he was hungry. He stayed because it was late. This morning he was... inappropriate."
"Inappropriate how?"
The fish return, bolder now, and I focus on their delicate explorations rather than Kav'eth's expectant silence. "He suggested physical intimacy."
Kav'eth makes a sound that might be suppressed laughter. The platform rocks slightly as he shifts position. "After one day?"
"Exactly!" I turn to face him, water sloshing around my calves. "It was too fast. Too much. Humans are—"
"Forward? Impulsive? Direct?" He's definitely laughing now, his patterns brightening with genuine amusement. "Yes, they are. It's actually quite refreshing once you get used to it."
I stare at him. "How would you know?"
"I've been working with Derek—my human partner—on integration initiatives. We've been learning about their customs." He adjusts his position on the platform. "The patterns are consistent. Humans often express interest within days of meeting someone they're attracted to."
I pull my feet from the water, disturbing the fish again. "That's... terrifying."
"Initially, yes. But also liberating once you understand it.
" The platform creaks as he adjusts his position, trying to find comfort on the wet surface.
"They don't spend months analyzing compatibility before acting on attraction.
They follow instinct, take risks, deal with consequences as they arise. "
"But how do you know if it's genuine? If they truly want connection or just physical gratification?"
A larger piece of debris bumps against the platform, and I lean over to examine it. Salvageable, maybe, if I can untangle it from the twisted holdfast.
"You don't, at first. That's the risk." His patterns shift to something almost fond.
"But from what they've told us, humans often express emotional intimacy through physical touch.
For them, the two aren't separate. When they suggest intimacy, they're often also suggesting trust, vulnerability, emotional connection. "
I grip the debris, using it as an anchor while I process this information. The rough texture of the damaged zhik'ra grounds me. "But we barely know each other."
"Do you? He traveled across space to find you. That suggests significant determination." Kav'eth pauses, watching a school of displaced fish swim past. "And from what I observed yesterday, his gratitude was deeply personal. Emotional."
"He said he trusted me," I admit quietly, my voice almost lost in the gentle lapping of waves against the platform.
"And you sent him away."
"I said goodbye was for the best."
Kav'eth winces, his skin darkening. "That's... definitive."
"It was practical. Logical."
"And how do you feel about it now?"
I release the debris, watching it drift away on the current. Look out at my damaged zhik'ra sections, at the work that stretches ahead of me. Work I'll do alone, the way I always have. The way I thought I wanted.
The emptiness in me feels vast as the ocean itself.
"Empty," I whisper.
Kav'eth stands, brushing water droplets from his robes.
"From what the humans have shared about their relationship customs, persistence is characteristic—they've described pursuing partners for weeks, even after rejection.
They bring gifts, offer help with projects, find excuses to maintain contact. "