Starfish

"Now that I think about it, that's always been my problem," Acton muses. "I always had to go on what other people told me, and people — people lie all the time, Len, you know that. So no matter how many times she swears she's not fucking around on you, or even that she doesn't want to fuck around on you, how can you ever really know? You can't. So the default assumption is, she's lying. And being lied to all the time, that's a damn good reason for — well, for doing what I do sometimes."

"Karl — you know —»

"I know you don't lie to me. You don't even hate me. That's kind of a change."

She reaches out to touch the side of his face. "I'd say that's a good call. I'm glad you trust me."

"Actually, Len, I don't have to trust you. I just know."

"What do you mean? How?"

"I'm not sure," he says. "It's something to do with the changes."

He waits for her to respond.

"What are you saying, Karl?" she says at last. "Are you saying you can read my mind?"

"No. Nothing like that. I just, well, I identify with you more. I can — it's kind of hard to explain —»

She remembers him levitating beside a luminous smoker: the Pompeii worms can predict them. The clams and brachyurans can predict them. Why not me?

He's tuned in, she realizes. To everything. He's even tuned into the bloody worms, that's what he —

He's tuned in to Fischer —

She tongues the light switch. A bright cone stabs into the abyss. She sweeps the water around them. Nothing.

"Have the others seen him?"

"I don't know. I think Caraco caught him on sonar once or twice."

"Let's go back," Clarke says.

"Let's not. Stay a while. Spend the night."

She looks straight into his empty lenses. "Please, Karl. Come with me. Sleep inside for a bit."

"He's not dangerous, Len."

"That's not it." At least, that's not all.

"What, then?"

"Karl, has it ever occurred to you that you might be developing some sort of dependence on this nerve rush of yours?"

"Come on, Len. The rift gives us all a rush. That's why we're down here."

"We get a rush because we're fucked in the head. That doesn't mean we should go out of our way to augment the effect."

"Lenie —»

"Karl." She lays her hands on his shoulders. "I don't know what happens to you out here. But whatever it is, it scares me."

He nods. "I know."

"Then please, please try it my way. Try sleeping inside again, just for a while. Try not to spend every waking moment climbing around on the bottom of the ocean, okay?"

"Lenie, I don't like myself inside. You don't even like me inside."

"Maybe. I don't know. I just — I just don't know how to deal with you when you're like this."

"When I'm not about to beat the shit out of anyone? When I'm acting like a rational human being? If we'd had this conversation back at Beebe we'd be throwing things at each other by now." He falls silent for a moment. Something changes in his posture. "Or do you miss that, somehow?"

"No. Of course not," she says, surprised at the thought.

"Well, then —»

"Please. Just — indulge me. What harm can it do?"

He doesn't answer. But she has a sneaking suspicion that he could.

* * *

She has to give him credit. His reluctance shows in every move, but he's even first through the airlock. Something happens to him as it drains, though; the air rushes into him and — displaces something else, somehow. She can't quite put her finger on it. She wonders why she's never noticed it before.

As a reward, she takes him directly into her cubby. He fucks her up against the bulkhead, violently, with no discretion at all. Animal sounds echo through the hull. She wonders, as he comes, if the noise is bothering the others.

* * *

"Have any of you," Acton says, "thought about why things are so fucking grotty down here?"

It's a strange and wondrous occasion, as rare as a planetary conjunction. All the circadian clocks have drifted together for an hour or two, drawn everyone to dinner at the same time. Almost everyone; Lubin is nowhere to be seen. Not that he ever contributes much to the conversation anyway.

"What do you mean?" Caraco says.

"What do you think I mean? Look around, for Chrissake!" Acton waves his arm, taking in the lounge. "The place is barely big enough to stand up in. Everywhere you look there's fucking pipes and cables. It's like living in a service closet."

Brander frowns around a mouthful of rehydrated potato.

"They were on a very strict schedule," Nakata suggests. "It was important to get everything online as quickly as possible. Perhaps they just didn't have time to make everything as cushy as they could have."

Acton snorts. "Come on, Alice. How much extra time would it take to program the blueprints for decent headroom?"