Outer Ocean Odyssey

One: Choppy Foundations

Waves lapped at the flower bed as the house bobbed along the water. Chris looked out across the burning sunset, letting the sound of the wash become the only thing his mind could process. Deep breath in, deep breath out.

Crunch.

"Damn it, Rye," he whined. "I was in the zone then."

He looked down at his faithful companion - the indescribable creature that only fit the convention of cute by having a black button nose and two huge sapphire eyes - who was munching on fried gull pieces.

"Where did you even get that? I thought we'd run out."

"It's amazing what you find if you just look," Rye replied.

Whether her reply was out loud or not was up for conjecture. It had been months since they had come across anyone else, and no one had used that time to talk with Rye. In fact, Chris was convinced that the last group of floaters had been dead, and skeletons weren't known for being good conversationalists.

"There's not many places to look. The basement is still underwater."

"And who's fault is that?"

Chris scoffed. "I'm not the one who opened the hatch to start a fight with a particularly peeved fish."

"If you had seen him, you'd have done the same."

With the smaller sun's glow quickly vanishing behind the horizon, Chris rose from his cross-legged stupor. Once the natural light was gone, the planet became a pitch black orb. Occasionally, schools of the aforementioned peeved fish would be provoked, providing travellers with a florescent trail, but the stretches between these seemed to be getting longer and longer.

"I'm just gonna go to bed," Chris mumbled. "You've ruined my calm evening."

"Are you not even going to have a brew?"

"Na. I'm just not in the mood."

"Spoilsport."

Rye trotted, or maybe slithered, to the bungalow door and disappeared inside. Chris checked the anchor was secure, before joining his companion.

Two candles burned lowly in the hallway, one illuminating another door, and the other a table. A notebook sat crooked on the top, the gold lettering on the cover shimmering in the flickering light.

Chris's sigh seemed to push him towards the far end of the house. He rolled off the back wall, ricocheting into his bedroom like a spinning top. Rye watched him from a distance, shaking her head.

"You're so over dramatic."

"Whatever."

The bed shook as he toppled onto it.

"Can you pass me the journal?" he asked. "I'm down now, and I don't think I can get back up."

"Only if I can have a slice of Booton."

The particular crustacean in question became a delectably sweet treat once boiled and massaged with sugar. Chris spent hours preparing the dish, and usually rationed the portions between the pair so that it would last a larger number of solar cycles. Desperate times, however, called for tough decisions.

"Fine, but don't moan when we're out of it again."

"I know you'll just make more," Rye tossed the notebook onto the bed beside Chris. "You like it too much."

Spray hit the porthole window by his bedside table. The lamp flickered slightly, as though scared it would be snuffed out by the water. A two-tailed mouse with light blue fur scurried across the floorboards, disappearing into a crack within the wood. Chris turned, with all his might, to face the journal. His hand landed with a thump on the hard leather exterior, before flipping to the correct page with expert precision.

He began to write;

Nothing interesting to report.

I wish I could just leave it there, but I know how much that would have annoyed you. Will annoy you! There I go speaking in the past tense again. It's difficult, when you don't know which way is up; what direction you're going in; what day, month, or year it is.

That's another thing. We lost count a while back, and I still haven't managed to retrace our steps, so to speak. You'll just have to settle for knowing that we're still here, still going. Still alive, somehow.

I saw a Møgeâ today. It's been a long time since I've seen one of them! I'm not sure if that means we've come back around, or if they exist in multiple areas of the planet, but either way, it was amazing to see one again!

Rye is about to eat another slice of Booton. I know that's not important to the mission, but it'll give me leverage the next time she complains!

I miss you. I miss home. Not in the same way I used to, but more in a nostalgic sense. I know there's a high chance you'll never read these entries, and an even higher chance that you're long gone by this point, but I still have dreams about the old days. Maybe one day I can relive them in the flesh.

Anyway, until tomorrow then ...

A knock sounded from down the hall.

"Rye, what are you doing?"

"Eating," came a muffled reply. "What are you doing?"

"I was writing. Was that you knocking?"

Another round of knocks echoed around the house.

"Yeah," Chris continued. "Like that."

"That's not me."

Chris rolled off the bed, scooting along the floor towards the hallway.

"It must be ..."

A shadow was stood in the doorway.

Dry mouthed, Chris suddenly found himself sinking into the floorboards. His eyes pooled out like cracked eggs as he tried desperately to not look away from the figure. Rye wandered in casually from the kitchen and froze.

"Are we expecting guests?" she asked.

"Never."

They both watched as a hand rose to round off the trio of knocks.

"Are you going to answer it?" Rye questioned.

"Huh? Are you kidding?"

"It's the obvious thing to do."

"Not when you don't know who's behind it."

"I thought that's when the concept would be most useful."

The figure cleared their throat.

"Erm, hello. I can hear you. The door isn't that thick, and I'm pretty sure you're not that far away from it ... also, you're talking quite loudly."

The stranger's logic was undeniable. After a pause, Chris rose from his pile on the floor. The voice that had spoken had been vaguely feminine, a tone that always struck a comforting chord in his cranium. He approached the latch tentatively, opening the door and stepping backwards in one swift movement.

Beyond the slim figure, the water was illuminated. Thousands of peeved fish swarmed in shallow pools under the surface, causing the surf to shine bright amber. Silhouetted, the woman glowed, unable to hide the crevasses of her body. What she was able to hide, until Chris's eyes adjusted to the light, was her lack of hair, and the fact that she was naked.

"Blimey." he muttered.

"Hello," the woman repeated. "I'm Aruana."

"I'm ... ah ... this is ... um ..."

"Those are odd names."

"I'm Rye," she said stepping past her bewildered friend. "This is Chris. Don't mind him, he's human."

"That's funny," Aruana replied. "I'm a fish. What are you?"

She didn't get her answer.

"You're a fish?" Chris blurted out.

"Yes, sometimes. I used to be one all the time. It's a long story."

Rye looked up at Chris. "I think we'll need more Booton."