The Technoquatics - Chapter 19: Carried Away
An angel-faced boy appears in the teacher’s tank—only he’s no student, and he’s not supposed to exist.
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He’d gone to the city with the intention of looking around, but found it particularly difficult. For the ones he heard being called ‘full-gill’, there was a series of tubes and tanks, like a fish in a maze it felt, and there was an upper level with more room to move but he feared someone would notice him. He was too young to be full-gilled, so he stuck out. He realized this immediately, so he stuck to the lower levels, flitting back and forth and seeing how far he could go between barriers.
And the city was rife with barriers. Bolted doors here, passcode protection there. Each whir and click of the city’s locks set his nerves on edge, but his nimble fingers, trained on seashell clasps, found a way through. Ever closer to unlocking that mysterious school Calistya had told him about.
‘Told’ isn’t the right word, he realized. She’d envisioned the school in her mind, during a time of homesickness, and he’d picked up on the imagery she’d created. The Solarians had such abilities, and were able to make use of it during times of deep connection. They couldn’t carry on conversations with strangers, not like they could with each other, but they could sense things. Loved ones. Familiar places. Important things like that.
In this way, he knew the precise structure where the girls had come from, though he sensed that the girl Khrystal no longer belonged. He got an impression of where the girls lived, where they studied. All of it. And because it existed in Calistya’s mind, he also obtained a vision of where the headmaster kept the emergency egress key. In the flowering bed outside the back double-entrance.
Because such access allowed for both fin and leg, he could enter anytime he wished. And he wished to do so often—but the exhaustion was too much, the oxygen levels too rich. He had to get back.
He’d enjoyed his time in the city, and the incredible memories he’d carried back with him. But in the heady excitement of meeting up with actual, true-life finless ones, he had stayed too long. It was dangerous to be up there for extended periods, the enriched oxygen could only be tolerated for so long, and the warm water soon turned uncomfortably hot, slowing him to a perilous, sluggish pace.
With a final surge, he dove, through the dark places and into fresher waters, the coolness awakening him and sharpening his mind. The closer to home he got, the better he felt. As much as he loved the exotic realms of the legged ones, he realized he didn’t belong.
So much more was his shock to see one of them this far down, that he almost wondered if he were still in a fog. Yet there the girl was, far inside the chasm, a pitiable sight. Crying, lost, scratched and worn around those shiny technological edges of her funny breathing suit. He sensed immediately that she was looking for Calistya, same as he.
She looked up at him, exhausted and pleading.
Krystal. The name rang out like a song. He knew it was her.
Her sadness pressed against his mind like a heavy tide, too raw to ignore. He had to show her the world he’d given Calistya—the chasm’s extent, the portal, everything she would need to be happy. She’ll understand, he thought. She’ll want to stay, too. Just like Calistya does.
He waited until she looked up, startled, but his gaze relaxed her, and he encouraged her to follow. She went, following him to the chasm and down, all in a confused haze. She was trusting in him completely, and he would show her the way.
He guided her into the swirling, cooler currents of his home waters. The flow was gentle here, a slow river that would carry her toward the heart of Solarian territory. Closing his eyes, he sent a focused thought into The Deep—a clear, resonant call. He projected Khrystal’s image, the feeling of her connection to Calistya, and a simple plea for an escort.
He waited, holding his breath. A moment later, a soft pulse of understanding echoed back, a feeling of warmth and acknowledgment. He felt the presence of two of his kin moving to guide her the rest of the way to her friend. His duty was done. She was safe.
As he sealed the portal behind Khrystal, trusting in his people to guide her from there, he was about to find his own way home when a violent psychic echo slammed into him. It wasn't the general panic of the citizens; it was a sharp, cold, and calculated intent. He saw images—not his own, but those of the legged-ones—of heavy machinery grinding into rock, of his chasm being torn apart. A cold ambition aimed directly at his home. They weren't just searching; they were planning an invasion. And it was his fault. His interactions with the girls had prompted them.
Every instinct screamed for him to flee home, to warn his elders. But he knew it would be too late. He was the only one who had seen their city, the only one who stood a chance of communicating with them, of stopping this before it began. The exhaustion was a crushing weight, the rich oxygen a poison in his system, but the weight of his responsibility was heavier still. He had to go back. He had to try and undo what he had done.
The city was in a panic. A pair of missing girls, friends at that, could have been seen as runaways. One even had a troubled history, so there was that. Yet it painted a disturbing picture nonetheless, one that required they turn the city upside down to get to the bottom of. The history of The Shallows was dark with stories of such abductions, and the Technoquatics wanted answers.
Fearful parents pulled their young ones out of school, stayed home to care for them, and generally ground normal city life to a halt.
Loudspeakers blared a curfew order, their metallic voices slicing through the usual hum of The Shallows. ‘All students are to return home immediately,’ a voice echoed, monotone and sharp. Parents herded their children indoors, some clutching their arms tightly, others murmuring reassurances they didn’t believe themselves. Above, the city’s bioluminescent warning lights flickered in an unusual pattern—a sharp, disjointed pulse of pale greens and yellows, signaling an unfamiliar escalation in the alert system. It cast the streets in a sickly, surreal glow, one meant to set the population on edge, but without sparking outright panic.
The ‘gang of four’, as the teachers and their sentinel friend had been branded, were reluctant to be seen in each other’s company. There were too many accusatory stares, too much to lose. Though there was scant evidence against them, that hardly mattered. Until the girls were found, they would be looked upon with suspicion.
“We should go public,” Albi whispered, nervously scanning the hallway for prying eyes. “To what end?” the headmaster replied. “They’ve already made up their minds.”
Their voices fell silent as a patrol swam past, their sloshing displacement reverberating like a passing storm.
They agreed to avoid each other for now, and go back to work—three in the school, Marla at her post. For now. None of them had been formally charged, never mind let go, but the hunt was on for a scapegoat. Or four.
The atmosphere in the school had turned grim. Guards roamed the halls, in order to protect the young technos and ensure no further abductions would be possible.
Ms. Terri had no more classes for the day, and had taken to retreating into empty classrooms at such times, to avoid accusatory stares or, from the guards, aggressive posturing. Of all the ‘gang’, she was the youngest, and the least accustomed to confrontation. At times she felt as if she might die from the fright of it all. But she soldiered on for the sake of the students, even if the students, too, were looking on her as if she were some sort of a monster.
In the empty room, she took a seat at the teacher’s desk and proceeded to review her notes for the next day. As she tried to focus, whispers of suspicion gnawed at the edges of her mind. She’d never felt so unmoored, even among her students. A glint behind her snapped her back into the room, her heartbeat loud in her ears. She took one look backwards, and screamed.
The scream was mere surprise, it was hardly a frightening sight. Quite the opposite. An angelic figure floated in the full-gill tank, but this was no technoquatic. He was far too young for full-gill, for one thing—he looked as if he belonged in school himself, not in a teacher’s tank. His piercing green eyes stared back at her, seemingly intrigued and repulsed at the same time.
She shook her head, clearing away the boy’s unsettlingly angelic appearance. He was just a child—lost, vulnerable, and impossibly out of place. Whatever had brought him here, he needed help, not judgment.
What do I do with him?
He didn’t belong in a school for girls, obviously, and his presence would raise a million questions. She thought to call in the sentinels, though recent experiences had left her skeptical of their intent. So she was on her own. But as she couldn’t get into the tank directly, she needed a way to make the boy stay put.
As if reading her mind, he looked up and kicked off, his powerful fin propelling him straight up into the ceiling. But in his haste, he misjudged the curve of the tank, and smacked his head, right on the edge. He floated down, stunned, eyes shut, and Ms. Terri screamed again.
The guards, sweeping the school as part their missing technoquatics investigation, hadn’t reacted to Terri’s outburst the first time. But the second scream, louder and sharper than the first, brought them running. They took one look at the tank and dashed out of the room. They’d go to the upper floors to dive in themselves, or call one of their full-gill colleagues to go in for them. They knew as well as she that this boy didn’t belong. But for Ms. Terri, her only concern was for the child. The last thing she wanted was another traumatized child on her conscience.
So she went up to the tank and, gently, started speaking to the boy.
“How did you get in here? Are you okay? I won’t hurt you.”
The merboy’s eyes fluttered, there was that watery green again, and as his eyes locked on hers, she felt her own eyes grow heavy.
“What are you? How are you doing that?” She shook her head to clear it. The boy was casting some sort of spell, it seemed. Or else he was so angelic that she was truly falling under the spell of his attractive looks.
She shook her head again. This boy was just compelling. That was all. This child had some sort of a way about him, but she was an adult, and a teacher, and she would be having none of it.
“You just take it easy, we’ll get help for you.”
A long arm reached down, followed by the head and torso of a full-gill city guard. He grabbed the boy around the arms and raised him up.
Author bio: David Deane Haskell is a fusion writer who’s impossible to pin down. Want new age future-vision with a deep dive into the human psyche? Nominally fictional (nom-fiction) tales that resonate somewhere between fact and fantasy? With that undeniable kind of truth we can still find, even in this messed up, post-truth world?
David’s stories drill into the lives of introspective characters (real ones, and ones who feel almost real) and illuminate the thought-provoking themes that keep us up at night. His settings range from ultra-modern A.I. life with fantastical future backdrops, to dark places in real life where he hesitated to return—but had to. David weaves personal reflections into his stories, creating a reading experience that blends relatably human reflections with deeply personal truths. Truths that you may well share.
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Parts of The Technoquatics were originally serialized on Royal Road under the title “Solaria Rising – Book I of the Technoquatics Series”. This Substack version may or may not contain revisions. The final chapters have never been published anywhere, and will debut on Substack exclusively.