Page 44 of Claimed By the Deep
We part ways—Meri toward harbor, myself toward deeper waters. My mind drifts back across decades to memories carefully submerged beneath time and solitude.
The crash. Desperate months searching for survivors. Years attempting to repair unsalvageable communication systems. The gradual, agonizing acceptance that no rescue would come.
***
By the time I reach our meeting cove, twilight casts indigo and gold across the water. Deep Pockets is already anchored, cabin lights glowing. Meri emerges at my approach, descending to the swim platform with two steaming mugs.
"Thought you might like tea," she says, setting them down and sitting on the platform. She's dressed warmly, because winter is approaching fast.
"Thank you." I shift to human form and join her on the platform, accepting the drink. "How was Fergus?"
"Profitable." She leans against my shoulder. "And interesting. He's asking questions about how I'm finding such high-quality artifacts lately."
"What did you tell him?"
"That I've developed new techniques." She sips her tea, watching me. "Not even a lie, really. Partnership with you is definitely a new technique."
I smile, appreciating her ability to navigate our complex situation without compromising her integrity or my security—practical wisdom complementing her adventurous spirit.
We sit in comfortable silence, watching stars emerge. I find my gaze drawn upward more than usual, thoughts drifting to the vast distances between worlds.
"There's something I've been wanting to ask you," Meri says quietly. "Why hasn't anyone come looking for you? Your people, I mean. It's been almost a century."
The question I've asked myself countless times. I feel a familiar weight settle in my chest—not surprise at her inquiry, but the eternal ache of knowing the answer.
"The simplest explanation is distance," I begin, gathering thoughts I've turned over endlessly during solitude. "Agual V orbits a star system you haven't discovered yet, roughly eighthundred light-years from Earth. Even with our most advanced vessels, the journey takes twenty-two Earth years."
"Twenty-two years?" Her eyes widen. "That's how long it took you to get here?"
"Yes. I left as a young explorer." I remember the excitement of departure, the honor of being chosen for first contact. "Our vessel carried twelve crew, the minimum necessary, with life support as needed."
"If something went wrong, like a crash—"
"Our protocols were clear. The departure window allowed for a maximum round-trip of sixty years, including observation and contact. If a mission failed to return or communicate within that timeframe, it was classified as lost."
"And no rescue attempt?"
I shake my head. "Interstellar travel requires enormous resources. Rescue missions launch only when there's reasonable certainty of finding survivors and knowing the vessel's location."
"But surely they received some signal before the crash?"
"We sent confirmation of our approach to the solar system, but our next transmission would have been after establishing Earth orbit." I remember those final journey days, excitement growing as the blue planet appeared on sensors. "When that never came..."
"They knew something went wrong," she concludes.
"Yes, but not what or where. Space is vast. Finding a crashed vessel on a water-covered planet without beacons or distresssignals..." I spread my hands. "The mathematics make it nearly impossible."
She's quiet, absorbing this. "So they just wrote you off? Classified the mission as lost and moved on?"
Her indignation on my behalf warms me despite the painful subject. "It's not as cold as it sounds. My people mourn deeply. But they're practical. Interstellar missions require difficult resource decisions."
"Still," she insists, "technology advances. Couldn't they send another mission with better chances of finding you?"
This requires cultural context she doesn't have. I choose my words carefully.
"My people evolved in deep ocean environments where resources are scattered and precious. Our civilization developed around conservation and careful allocation." I look upward, thinking of home. "Space exploration represented our greatest collective expenditure. Each mission required decades of preparation, diverting materials from other needs."
"So it's economic?"
