Page 57 of Claimed By the Deep
"Best case scenario, they capture me for study. Worst case..." He doesn't need to finish the thought.
Fergus nods, understanding the stakes. "And this houseboat would provide a safe haven. Somewhere you could exist together without risking detection."
"That's the hope," I confirm. "But we need somewhere to build it, materials that won't raise questions, expertise beyond what either of us possesses."
"You need a third partner." Fergus rubs his jaw thoughtfully. "One with property, connections, and a lifetime of experience keeping secrets for the right reasons."
My pulse quickens. "Does that mean—"
"The boathouse is yours," he says simply. "It needs work, but the structure is sound. The cove is deep enough for your purposes and naturally sheltered from observation." He gestures toward the water. "There's an old equipment shed behind the boathouse filled with marine-grade materials—stuff I've collected over the years thinking I might renovate the place. Never got around to it."
"Fergus, I don't know what to say."
"Say you'll let me invest properly, Meridian. Twenty percent stake in whatever salvage operation you two establish once you're mobile." His business instincts remain sharp despite the extraordinary circumstances. "I know enough boat builders who owe me favors to get specialized work done without raising eyebrows. Retired guys who don't ask questions when the pay is good."
I glance at Cyreus, who watches this exchange with something like wonder on his face. "What do you think?"
"I think," he says slowly, "that I'm beginning to understand why you've trusted this man for so long." He extends a tentacle toward Fergus—not threateningly, but as a gesture of partnership. "We accept your terms."
To my amazement and profound relief, Fergus doesn't hesitate. He reaches out and grasps the offered appendage, sealingtheir agreement with a handshake that bridges species, worlds, and conventional understanding.
"I assume you'll need to start immediately," Fergus says, releasing Cyreus's tentacle. "The research vessel is scheduled to remain in our waters for at least another week."
"The sooner the better," I agree. "Though we'll need to be careful. If Donovan or his team notice unusual activity here..."
"Leave that to me." Fergus's eyes gleam with unexpected mischief. "I've been deflecting nosy outsiders from family business for decades. Besides, I might have a few ideas for redirecting their research efforts to less productive waters."
I look between these two unlikely allies—one a crusty antique dealer with seventy years of coastal living behind him, the other an alien being who's observed human civilization for nearly a century—and feel a surge of hope so powerful it almost knocks me back.
"Thank you," I say simply, the words pathetically inadequate for what Fergus is offering.
"Don't thank me yet, Meridian. We've got a hell of a project ahead of us." He turns toward the boathouse, already assessing it with a builder's eye. "But first things first—let's get you two a proper look at what we're working with."
As we follow Fergus toward the boathouse, Cyreus moves closer to the shore, propelling himself in the shallows with his powerful tentacles. His voice carries easily through the still night air.
"You were right about him," he says quietly. "He's remarkable for a human."
"One of the best," I agree. "Though don't tell him I said so. His ego's big enough already."
"I heard that," Fergus calls back without turning around. "And for the record, I'm still processing the fact that I just shook hands with a tentacle. So let's all agree this evening has been remarkable all around."
Cyreus
TWENTY FIVE
Winter has descended on the coast with unforgiving fury. I observe the surface from my position deep beneath the waves, watching ice form along the shoreline and heavy swells hammering the rocky outcroppings. The water temperature has plummeted, though it affects me far less than it would a human. What troubles me more is that the researchers' vessel—the Horizon—remains stubbornly anchored in the harbor despite the deteriorating conditions.
Twenty-six days since I last touched Meri.
Twenty-six days of watching from a distance as she shuttles between harbor and Fergus's property, hauling materials, conferring with the craftsmen he's recruited, laboring tirelessly on our future home. The winter storms have rendered our planned rendezvous impossible—smaller coves too treacherous for her boat, larger bays too exposed for me to surface without risking detection.
The separation has become its own unique torture, sharper than anything I experienced in my decades of solitude. BeforeMeri, I had adapted to loneliness as a permanent condition. Now, knowing she exists, knowing what we share, the isolation cuts deeper, more personally.
I shift position, gliding through deeper water toward the harbor entrance. The research vessel's hull looms above me, its sonar pings grating against my sensitive receptors. They've curtailed active exploration due to winter weather, but their monitoring equipment remains operational. Twice in the past week, their submersible drone has ventured dangerously close to my territory, forcing me to retreat to abyssal depths.
Their persistence defies scientific convention. Most seasonal research expeditions would have departed weeks ago, seeking more hospitable waters until spring. Yet the Horizon remains, its crew undeterred by harsh conditions. Their determination suggests they've gathered enough evidence to justify the discomfort and expense of a winter deployment.
Something must be done.
