Page 55 of Music of the Ocean

“Damn. Okay, Cayman, give me a second. Oh, and this is Saxby, Indigo’s mate,” Callie said. “Saxby? This is Cayman. And yes, he’s a merman. He’s native to the planet.”

The first thing Saxby noticed about Cayman was his light teal skin. His face was delicate but angular with cheekbones accentuated by the sharp lines of his jaw. His full lips were pulled into a permanent, easy half grin that suggested laughter came more easily to him than words.

There were smatterings of scales at his temples, and his short hair was a darker teal with lighter streaks near his face. His ears were delicate fins with seashell earrings. A faint bioluminescent glow traced the veins at his temples, blinking in time with the pulse of his voice as he spoke to Callie.

His hair was long flexible waves that undulated with each current, fanning out above his head like a crown. Where his ears would have been, two leaf-like fins protruded, translucent and tinged with cobalt, fluttering slightly as he listened.

The torso was human enough, but from the waist down, his body tapered, then flared into a muscular tail, the scales growing larger and overlapping in an armor of iridescent blue and green.

He wore no clothing, but a utility harness crisscrossed his chest. Its pockets were stuffed with small tools, cutting implements, and sample jars that rattled as he moved.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Saxby said.

“Welcome! It’s great to meet you also,” Cayman said.

“Sorry, guys, but I need to check this out. I’ll catch up with you two later,” Callie said.

Chapter Eighteen – Indigo

INDIGO WATCHED Callie and Cayman leave together, their conversation fading as they moved deeper into the garden.

He glanced at Saxby, whose attention lingered on the workers tending the plants. The new lines along Saxby’s jaw and the subtle color shift in his skin set him apart from the humans of his past, but he blended effortlessly with the diverse crowd that populated the city.

Turning, Indigo gestured for Saxby to follow. They retraced the path, weaving through the garden’s grid. They exited the garden, passing through a membrane whose surface snapped shut behind them.

Bioluminescent veins lined the corridors.

Indigo and Saxby joined the steady stream of citizens. Some were humanoid, others distinctly aquatic. He paused at the next junction, where a transparent dome overlooked the city’s central thoroughfare. He gestured Saxby closer.

The view revealed a tangle of towers and bridges, all organic in design. Citizens swam between buildings, some riding the slow-moving current, others using built-in handholds and footholds along the structure.

Below, a broad avenue curved through the city’s core, lined with stalls shaded by enormous kelp fronds. Vendors sold food, tools, and trinkets to passing crowd. The market was a kaleidoscope of colors and motion.

Indigo led the way down a spiral ramp, emerging into the main square. The transition from quiet corridor to bustling thoroughfare was abrupt. The water was thick with the scent of food and minerals, and the noise of conversation and music overlapped in a constant surge.

They navigated the market with no clear destination. Indigo stopped at a stall where an elderly woman, her face patterned with luminous gold scales, offered samples of a spongy fruit.

He accepted a piece for himself and took another, handing it to Saxby. They continued, occasionally pausing to inspect a display or exchange words with the vendors.

At the edge of the square, a troupe of performers had gathered an audience. The group, a mix of species, moved through an intricate routine that combined acrobatics with a kind of synchronized swimming.

Their bodies twisted and unfurled, creating shapes and patterns against the backdrop of the city’s living architecture. The crowd watched in silence, then erupted in applause as the performance ended.

Indigo and Saxby moved on, following a side street that led to a quieter part of the city. Here, the pace was slower. A gentle current moved through the lane, carrying with it floating lanterns that cast shifting shadows on the walls.

They passed a row of communal workshops, each one a transparent cell built from the same latticework as the rest of the city, but here clustered close, forming a spine of creative industry along the gently sloping path.

The front of each workshop was open to the corridor, allowing the scents of heated resin, salt, and mineral dust to drift out and mingle with the current.

Within, citizens of all forms collaborated at benches and worktables, their motions choreographed by a constant and unspoken communication. Small groups clustered around intricate models, fitting delicate stems of bioplastic together or soldering microfilaments in place along a branching matrix.

In one workshop, a pair of broad-shouldered builders wrestled a woven frame the size of a small boat into a suspension cradle, while a third, smaller worker darted beneath them, applying a viscous gel to the contact points.

In another, people fabricated clothing or jewelry from synthesized kelp and pearlescent shells. The finished pieces were displayed on busts that lined the counters.

Some workshops specialized in repairing the city’s living infrastructure. Inside one, a team grafted new tissue onto a segment of pipe, their hands moving with precise, almost surgical intent.

Indigo slowed his pace, gesturing for Saxby to take in the scene at a shop named Happy Tides.