Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
SALEM
The small cave was a perfect den. Tucked away, dark and private. Safe. The black volcanic stone blended in perfectly with the rock wall of the cove. Salem’s cove. Where the current softened to a slow, gentle sway. But it wasn’t just the location that made it perfect.
It was the cephamorphs outside, guarding them, supporting them. Aurin’s consortium and now, by association, Salem’s as well. Their family.
They’d made this perfect cave, this den of safety, for this new family.
Aurin curled one tentacle protectively around the cluster of four eggs fastened to the rock wall. They’re smaller than I imagined, he whispered.
Beside him, Salem gave a soft nudge, keeping Aurin close. They’re perfect.
Aurin smiled and leaned in closer, keeping his eyes fixed on the tiny translucent pearls. Within a few of them, faint shapes had already begun to form, delicate as drifting ink. I just… I thought they’d seem more real.
Salem moved beside him, overlapping their arms into a loose knot. In their freeforms, touch was easy, constant. Comfort flowed through skin and thoughts alike. He brushed the tip of one tentacle over Aurin’s shoulder.
They’re real, he said softly. Look at them, darling.
One of the eggs trembled faintly, and Aurin let out a startled laugh. The sound bubbled through the water.
Oh! Did you see that?
I saw.
No, you didn’t see it. His skin flashed bright gold in excitement. That one wriggled because you spoke. It already knows your voice.
Salem’s colour deepened with affection, his hearts full to bursting. Oh, my love. They’re so perfect.
Aurin nudged him with a tentacle. He caught it immediately, winding it around him in an affectionate spiral.
For a while they simply watched the clutch together.
The eggs swayed gently as they took turns gently brushing over them, four tiny futures gleaming in the dim den. Outside, the world seemed impossible. Inside, everything felt small and safe.
Salem finally spoke, quieter now. Do you think they’ll inherit your gold?
Maybe. His expression softened. Or maybe they’ll take after you.
Salem nudged him, his tentacle coiling tighter around Aurin’s. A Mimic, he murmured, unable to keep the rush of uncertainty at bay.
Aurin’s big eyes met his, honest and reassuring. Hey. We won’t let anything happen to them. They’ll be the most protected hatchlings ever. He glanced toward the cave entrance at their brothers outside.
Salem flushed with love and appreciation. I will protect them and you with my life. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the depths of his emotions. You’ve given me the greatest gift, Aurin. I can never thank you enough.
I clearly took you being the last of your species as a challenge, Aurin said with a laugh.
Salem laughed again, softer this time. Then Aurin reached toward the eggs, careful and reverent, brushing water across them to keep them clean and oxygen-rich.
Salem watched him with open awe. You’re going to be incredible at this, he murmured.
At that, Aurin’s colours dimmed nervously. You really think so?
I know so.
He hesitated. We have four hatchlings, Salem. That’s four children. How are we even going to do this? They outnumber us.
Yes, it is true. But we have eight arms. We’ll be fine.
That’s true, he relented with a sigh, I’m just worried, that’s all.
Salem rested his forehead against Aurin’s. In the darkness, their tentacles tangled together, black twining with gold.
We’ll figure it out, he said. One hatchling at a time.
Aurin gazed at the eggs again, his entire body softening with tenderness so intense, it almost hurt. One hatchling at a time, he agreed.
HADEOM
Rain crawled down the windows of Special Agent Hadeom’s office in crooked lines, distorting the lights of the harbour below. The city looked submerged tonight—all blurred neon and black water, and Hadeom longed to be out in it.
He couldn’t, though.
He told himself he was used to it. Used to this life. He told himself he was happy. He was content. He had purpose, and he’d always found it rewarding.
Until lately.
Maybe for longer than he’d like to admit.
The rules and regulations he’d once found comfort in had begun to feel confining, while the loneliness was vast and unending. It was quite the paradox.
Hadeom sat motionless behind his desk, jacket folded over the back of his chair, sleeves rolled to the elbows. The document in front of him remained unwritten, save the subject’s name at the top of the page.
Tobin Tiller.
He wasn’t sure what he should divulge. If anything at all.
He leaned back in his chair, looked toward the dark ceiling, and sighed.
Somewhere beyond the concrete walls, electricity hummed through the building, through him.
The electricity used to pass through him unnoticed—a background current, as forgettable as breathing.
Now he could feel every fluorescent pulse in the walls, every elevator shudder traveling up the steel bones of the building and into his skin.
The wiring hummed beneath the floors and through every conduit, a low mechanical choir threading through his nerves until his teeth ached with it.
It was as if his body had lost whatever shield that once kept its voice out.
Hadeom needed a break.
He needed silence and isolation. He needed to reconnect with himself, to leave the madness behind, and breathe.
He needed to go home.
But first, he needed to go see her.
The first corridor was sterile white, too clean to feel real. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and ozone. Cameras tracked him from every angle with soft mechanical clicks. Beyond the walls came distant metallic sounds, and he heard it all—heavy doors cycling open and shut somewhere deep below.
The elevator descended.
Most employees believed the complex extended ten or fifteen floors underground. In truth, it descended nearly a kilometre.
The deeper one travelled, the less the building resembled human architecture. Because, well... it wasn’t.
As the numbers dropped lower, the lighting changed from white to dim blue. The walls became reinforced titanium mesh layered beneath thick observation glass. Hadeom caught brief glimpses through narrow windows as the elevator passed various containment sectors that housed all kinds of inhabitants.
Magnetic suspension chambers. Cryogenic vaults. Negative-pressure habitats.
Impenetrable, unbreachable. Electrified corridors, localised EMP systems, kill-switch implants, pressure-sealed sectors. Every corridor contained emergency incineration ports, or flooding plasma capabilities, or brain exploding sonic frequencies.
Then the elevator crossed into sublevel nine.
The temperature dropped immediately, even before the doors had opened. He walked into the darkness, not needing light to see. Every cell was empty but one.
Hers.
Hadeom stopped at her containment cell. Though perhaps “tank” was more appropriate.
Filled with water, the thick glass made Hadeom feel like he was visiting the city’s aquarium.
Lusca was there as if waiting for him, floating, smiling.
Her teeth were too sharp and too many in number, her eyes little more than black hollows.
She was healed, mostly. Barely. Her body was misshapen and grotesque, synthetically suspended in a half shift of her true form. Her arms were still not yet completely regrown, the mangled scar lines an angry purple on her silvery skin.
You can hear me, she said.
Yes, he replied, pointing to the implant on the back of his neck.
Stolen technology, she hissed.
Hadeom shrugged, not about to get into the politics of that. You’re going home.
No....
Yes.
Did you see him? Was he there?
Hadeom stared into her hallowed eyes and smiled. No.
Lies! she cried.
His injuries were too severe, Hadeom said casually.
She hissed again. You dare lie to me!
He sniffed with indifference, as if this was an entire waste of his time, and that enraged her.
You raid my memories for proof, taking whatever you want. You saw they have one with the gift of telepathy. You knew what to look for this time. Tell me, did you plunder his mind? Did you get what you were after?
Hadeom smiled, because he had, yes.
She raged, her body trying to morph out of the chemical binds they had subdued her with. You saw him! You saw Salem in his mind.
Hadeom checked his watch. Goodbye, Lusca.
She sneered at him. I’ll be back again for him, now I know where he is. Salem will be mine. He will give me offspring, the descendants of the gods—
And right on cue, the water shifted and cracked open like a gaping, jagged mouth, revealing a darkness so bleak, so austere, Hadeom almost had to look away. He felt the horrors of it seeping through, coldness reaching out like a sickening tongue.
Lusca shot him a wild look, shrieking as she tried to back away. It took her like a frog would take a fly, the mouth of horrors snapping closed. She was gone.
The water stilled as if none of this had happened, and Hadeom took a moment to relish the quietness, the silence.
“You won’t be back this time,” he said out loud to absolutely no one. “Fucking weirdo.”
Then he turned and, looking directly into the camera he knew was watching, said, “Level nine, containment cell four is now empty.”
There was a blip of static, then a voice said, “Acknowledged.”
Hadeom gave a nod and went to continue on his way.
“Inspector Hadeom,” the voice then said, and Hadeom stopped. “You have a call.”
Hadeom looked up at the camera again. “Who is it?”
“Dirk Bridges. Cephamorph. Leader of the Bass Strait consortium.”
Hadeom made a sound of distaste. “On my way up.”
He made his way up directly, the elevator pulsing with every floor it passed. He walked into his office and sat at his desk. He took the document he’d been staring at earlier and read the name Tobin Tiller one more time before he fed the document to the shredder.
The he picked up his phone and pressed the blinking button. “Inspector Hadeom speaking.”