Page 63 of Claimed By the Deep
"Everything secure down below?" Meri asks, emerging from the main cabin with two steaming mugs. She hands one to me before settling beside me on the bench seat built into the stern deck.
"Perfect. The circulation system is working great, and the pressure seals are holding steady." I accept the drink, still amazed at how easily we've adapted to sharing such simple human rituals. "Your navigation equipment all set for coastal waters?"
"Charts loaded, GPS running, weather reports updated." She leans against me, her body warm through her light spring clothing. "We're officially ready to go whenever the tide turns."
"Another hour, then." I wrap my arm around her shoulders, savoring the casual contact. "Are you nervous?"
"About the boat? Not at all. We've tested every system thoroughly." She sips her coffee, gazing toward the horizon where blue sky meets bluer water. "About finally having this freedom after months of careful planning and separation? Absolutely."
I understand her mix of anticipation and disbelief. The journey to this moment has been difficult—not just the physical construction of our vessel, but the emotional strain of limited contact while maintaining secrecy and evading detection.
My month creating false sightings along the southern coast stretched into nearly six weeks as winter storms complicated my return journey. By the time I reached Tidewash waters again, construction had progressed significantly, but Meri had suffered through the worst of winter largely alone, working alongside Fergus and his crew through bitter cold and punishing conditions.
Our reunions since then have been cautious, limited by the continued need for discretion until we could be certain the researchers had truly abandoned their local investigation. Now, finally, we stand on the threshold of the freedom we've designed and built together—a mobile home that accommodates both our biological needs without compromise.
"I can't quite believe we're here," she admits, echoing my thoughts. "After everything—the equipment failures, the researchers, the winter storms—it seems impossible that we actually succeeded."
"Not impossible. Just improbable." I press a kiss to her temple, inhaling the scent of her hair. "We are, after all, rather specialized problem-solvers."
She laughs, the sound carrying across the calm water. "That's one way of putting it. I just call it stubborn determination."
"A trait we share, fortunately."
We fall into comfortable silence, watching seabirds wheel overhead in the clear spring air. Below us, fish dart through the shallows, unconcerned by our presence. The natural world continues its rhythms around us, neither acknowledging nor rejecting the unusual partnership we've forged across biological divides.
"I should check on Fergus," Meri says eventually. "He's bringing the last supply delivery before we cast off."
"I'll prepare the moon pool for departure." I release her reluctantly, already anticipating the freedom of shifting to my natural form once we're underway. Maintaining human appearance has become easier with practice, but extended periods still drain my energy reserves.
As Meri heads toward the dock where Fergus's truck will arrive, I make my way below deck to the specialized chamber that represents our vessel's most innovative aspect. The space is already partially filled with fresh seawater, circulating throughsophisticated filtration systems that maintain optimal salinity and oxygen content.
I adjust several controls, checking pressure differentials and temperature regulation. Everything functions perfectly—the result of meticulous design and expert craftsmanship guided by my knowledge of what my biology requires. For the first time since my ship crashed on this world, I have a space that truly accommodates my natural form without compromising my ability to interact with the human environment.
The sound of voices above signals Fergus's arrival. I return topside to find him and Meri transferring boxes from his truck to our deck—final provisions and supplies for our maiden voyage.
"Everything shipshape below?" Fergus asks, noting my appearance. In the months since our initial meeting, he's grown remarkably comfortable with my dual nature, treating my transformations with the same practical acceptance he brings to all aspects of our unusual arrangement.
"Fully operational and ready for departure." I take a heavy crate from his arms, the weight negligible to my enhanced strength. "Your suppliers delivered materials of exceptional quality."
"For what I paid them, they damn well better have." He supervises as we stow the remaining supplies, his experienced eye catching details we might have overlooked. "Navigation lights tested? Backup generator functional? Emergency protocols established?"
"Yes to all," Meri confirms with fond exasperation. "We've been through the checklist three times, Fergus. We're prepared."
She leans closer to me, whispering, "I don't know how or why Fergus has these connections and I'm smart enough not to ask. Wonder if there's a Newfoundland Mafia." She suppresses a laugh before turning back to our benefactor.
"Humor an old man's caution." He makes a final inspection of the mooring lines, checking tensions and attachments with meticulous care. "This vessel is unlike anything that's ever sailed these waters. Standard protocols may not apply in all circumstances."
"Which is why we've established our own protocols," I remind him, appreciating his concern while gently asserting our competence. "Specialized for our unique requirements."
He nods, finally satisfied. "Fair enough. You two have thought of everything else, no reason to think you've missed anything now." He straightens, wincing slightly as his aging back protests the movement. "Time for me to head back to shore, then. Leave you to your maiden voyage."
"You could join us," Meri offers, though we all know he won't accept. "Just for the day trip around the headland."
"My place is on solid ground, watching for opportunities and managing the business side of our arrangement." He pats the vessel's rail with affection. "Besides, this first journey should be just the two of you. Christening your home together."
The sentiment touches me deeply. Home. Such a simple concept for humans, yet one that has eluded me for nearly a century on this world. Until now.
We say our goodbyes, with promises to maintain regular radio contact and a schedule for future meetings to exchange salvage finds for market distribution. Fergus has become more than a business partner in these months—he's a true friend, a bridge between our isolated existence and the wider human world. His acceptance of our unconventional relationship has provided not just practical assistance but emotional support through the challenges of our construction project.
