“How do you mean?”

“A wrecked island setting down on a ship.”

“ Nowcan I go in?” Aili Lavena asked, trying with little success not to sound like an impatient child. Her scans had shown the water chemistry to be safe, and at Pazlar’s suggestion, Vale had allowed her to pilot the aquashuttle to a fairly empty region of the ocean, one which the interplay of currents had left essentially devoid of dissolved iron, without which there was little phytoplankton and thus hardly any of the higher life forms that would be sustained by it—or by each other. It was as safe a spot for a first swim as any.

Vale threw her a look, amused at her tone. “You remembered to wait an hour after eating, right?”

“That’s a myth, ma’am. Especially for a Selkie.”

Finally, Vale grinned, letting her off the hook—so to speak. “Okay, Aili. But don’t swim too far from the shuttle.”

“Thank you, ma’am!” Aili was already out the door, standing on the short platform that extended from its base (which Keru had dubbed “the plank,” for some reason). She was eager to get out of her hydration suit, but had to wait until it had drawn its water supply back inside its storage capillaries, for she would need that water once she donned the suit again. Once that was done, she hastened to shed it. She could survive in the open air for a few minutes at a time, as long as enough moisture remained in her gill crests. She couldn’t take in a breath of it the way she could have back in her amphibious days, since her lung had now closed off and become a flotation bladder, but she opened her mouth to taste the breeze. Its flavor was strange and alien in many ways, yet there was the familiar salty tang, the fresh, wet flavor of ocean air. Oh, how I’ve missed that.

Once out of the suit, she transferred her combadge to the front of the brief, backless undergarment she wore before tossing the suit into the shuttle. Her preference right now would be to strip fully nude, but Starfleet had its standards of decorum. This would have to do for now.

A sense of ceremony made her pause briefly, but eagerness overcame her. She dove into the water as though it pulled her into itself. For several moments, Aili remained completely immersed, her nictitating membranes shut, reveling in the too-long-missed sensation of diving in the open ocean. The confines of the glorified fishtank she called her quarters were nothing compared to this. Here, currents wafted across her smooth blue-green flesh like cooling breezes, carrying exotic, information-filled flavors to her tongue and scents to the receptors in her gill crests. Distant sounds shivered through the water, resonating through her body—the low ostinato of wind playing percussion on the waves, the chirp and chatter of distant schools of fish, a hint of distant moans and creaks that could be larger life forms. Land-dwellers had the bizarre notion that the sea was silent; in reality, being out of the ocean was like being deaf for her. Out there, sound was a thing of the ears, a tenuous disturbance in the air; down here, it was a tangible thing that permeated one’s whole being. She was made mostly of seawater, closely matching its density and chemistry, and sound waves passed through her as though she were part of the sea, her flesh resounding in tune with the rest of this great instrument.

She opened her eyes now for the complete experience, for up here near the surface, the sea was alive with light as well. She bathed in the rain of gentle yellow-orange sunlight as it danced across her limbs, adding its own intricate marbling to the mottled blues and greens of her flesh. She observed the shifting patterns of the light as it illuminated the water, her practiced eye discerning information about the wind, currents, and purity of the sea around her. As expected, this stretch of ocean was largely barren of algae or plankton, giving her a clear view for hundreds of meters around and below her.

But what was this? Near the limits of visibility, she saw a glint of movement. She tapped her combadge and spoke softly, needing no breath, for muscles vibrated her larynx. “Lavena to Gillespie. I think I see something swimming nearby. At your five o’clock low,” she added, checking the position of the aquashuttle above her. “I’ll try to get closer.”

“Acknowledged. But be careful.”

“Don’t worry, it looks small.”

She began swimming slowly at an oblique angle toward it. As she drew closer, she began to discern its appearance. It was another of the tentacled fishlike creatures, but its head seemed to consist mostly of an enormous pair of forward-facing eyes, its tiny mouth tentacles barely visible below them. Eyes that seemed to be watching her. Soon she had no doubt: the grandocular piscoid was gazing directly at her as she approached, yet not fleeing. Was it simply unsure what to make of a form as alien as hers?

Taking a chance, she kept coming closer, but slowly, doing her best to appear unaggressive. She halted her approach a few meters away from it, letting it get a good look at her. It swam around her, scooting sideways as it kept its gaze locked upon her, surveying her from all sides.

Belatedly, Aili remembered her wrist-mounted tricorder, and deciding that turnabout was fair play, she switched it on. But no sooner did she begin the scan than the piscoid abruptly darted away, heading for deeper waters. Determined to get the scan data she should have collected already, she impulsively swam in pursuit.

Her combadge soon crackled. “Ensign, you’re ge…ng too f…ay. Los…gnal…”

“I’ll be fine,” she called back. Vale could be such a worrywart sometimes. She was enjoying the chase, enjoying the freedom of this vast ocean, and there was certainly nothing dangerous about the little bugeye fish she was pursuing, nor was there likely to be much of anything else inhabiting this barren stretch of ocean. The bugeye must have wandered off from its school and lost its way. It was probably half-starved.

Though it did seem to have plenty of energy for swimming, she realized after a while. They were getting deeper now, not too deep for her body to adjust quickly, but enough for the light to begin to fade, along with the susurrus of the wind upon the ocean’s roof. She began to notice a high-pitched piping coming from the bugeye piscoid, almost beyond her auditory range, and probably beyond that of most humanoids. A distress call?she wondered. She was no expert, but that suggested some sort of social structure. But what could it be calling to?