Rhodoreef

8. The Star Valley

The perks of opting for a shiny new model included an easy interface and smart AI. It wasn't that different from trying her hand at an unfamiliar video game.

Joystick in hand, Dea slowly maneuvered the Little Angler towards the airlock doors. The massive viewport offered full hundred-and-eighty degree vision, and incorporated augmented reality—should she wish to activate it. The proximity sensors also made it practically bump-proof.

Dea peered over her shoulder at the indigo-clad buoy that was her friend, bobbing on the gentle waves as she spyhopped above the waterline. When their eyes locked, Hima pumped a fist into the air as if they were at the pop rock concert they attended a month back.

A kaleidoscope of thoughts eddied in Dea's head as she returned the gesture with as much confidence as she could muster.

The vehicle droned onward under her hesitant driving, drawn to the titanium doors that shone silver under the LEDs. Her flukes made a repetitive thumping motion while her peduncle shivered in the Angler's pocket of water, which reached up to the level of her waist. Greys dominated her vision, in contrast to the colorful chaos inside.

A merman swam up to her. "Good to go?"

"All good." Dea grinned, struggling to curb her last-minute jitters. "Thanks!"

He proceeded to give her instructions and worked the airlock. The doors growled open, beckoning her into the chamber within. This is it! I'm really doing this!

When the submersible sailed out into the open, a thrill quaked her to the bone. She was now on her own, about to embark on the most daring mission of her life. The rhythmic thudding of her heart seemed to resound in the enclosed space of the craft. You still need to get out of the city, you silly gull! Her grip tightened on the joystick.

The water turned a brighter blue to herald the new day as the Angler advanced towards the main channel that led out of the coral atoll. The warehouse structure of the DSV showroom soon disappeared into the surrounding blandness. Ropes of road markers wormed through the district in a series of overpasses, and vehicles chugged along in free-flowing streams, including a swarm of tuks and motorpods. As she approached a stack interchange, the traffic slowed to a crawl.

Out of the blue, noises of a commotion stole into Dea's ears, though the submersible in front blocked her view of the way ahead.

"Traffic jam detected," the AI piped up, making her jump. "Rerouting advised. Delay time—ten minutes."

"Great," Dea muttered, wondering if it was due to a collision. "Do your thing, bot."

"Command unrecognized. Would you like to search online for—"

"Just reroute! And enable autopilot."

The AI intoned its affirmation, and the Angler soon swerved to a new lane. As the little craft picked up speed, Dea spotted the cause of the hold-up.

It was an anti-human rally.

A thousand protesters swarmed in a tight formation, churning and frothing the water. Waves of animosity radiated out, directed at not just humans, but also the pro-human merpeople they kept calling "mudskippers". The schism was gaping wider each day.

Dea set her jaw and continued on to the channel. It turned out to be a broad opening in the reef, beyond which was the shallows of the insular shelf. Decaying coral walls loomed on either side, interspersed with brutalist architecture, which blended in with the industrial greys of Karmant.

She leveled the submersible next to a checkpoint—one of many modules that jutted out like barnacles. The digital screen next to the window displayed a generic welcome message in stark white. Then a fleet of scanner bots surrounded the vehicle while the droopy-eyed officer on duty scrutinized her from within. The experience brought to mind a turtle at a coral spa, holding still as cleaner fishes buzzed around to peck off parasites and debris.