Chapter 7: The Color of Music

David stepped into the apartment, bending over for a moment to catch his breath after the arduous climb. Almost as soon as she moved away from the pillar in the center of the room, Selkie was accosted by Flower, the slug weaving its way through the water as it made a beeline for her. Her coloration immediately lightened to a vibrant pastel cream, her blue stripes standing out against her skin, the eyespots on her veils seeming to glow. She laughed as the slug spiraled around her, those flowing veils flaring out, her tentacles swirling in the air. Flower landed in her open hand, nuzzling her suckers, the animal’s brightly-colored antennae dancing across her rubbery skin. Selkie brought up another of her hands, stroking her pet’s feathery back, the slug’s muscular body arching into her as though enjoying the sensation.

“Looks like she missed you,” David said, watching as the slug rose into the water again.

The creature left Selkie’s side, flashing bright blue patterns as it wormed its way towards him. He resisted the urge to bat it away as it floated up to his visor, those dexterous feelers mapping the glass, trying to figure out what he might be.

Selkie laughed again, the clicking of her beak filling the water, bright bands of color like sunlight bleeding through blinds passing up her mantle. Reluctantly, David held out a hand and let the slug perch there, the creature draping itself over his palm. It was thick enough that he wouldn’t have been able to close his fingers around it, and it was surprisingly weighty.

“She wants you to play with her,” Selkie explained, beaming at the pair.

“And how exactly does one play with a giant slug?” David asked, grimacing as the animal smeared mucous on his glove.

“They evolved from ambush predators,” Selkie explained, the slug returning to her when she presented it with a new perch. “They would conceal themselves in the corals and leap out to catch unsuspecting prey. Here.”

She moved over to a mound-shaped reef that was up against the far wall beneath the overhang of the second level, David following curiously. As he neared, he saw that it was purely decorative, filled with little holes and crevices between the colorful replica corals. It must be the equivalent of a dog house or a cat tree, because there were toys scattered on the floor around it. She searched for a moment, poking a hand into one of the holes and retrieving something that looked like a ping-pong ball.

Flower took notice immediately, doing laps around Selkie excitedly as she raised the ball, bright patterns flashing along the slug’s tapered length. The Broker released the toy, which was apparently very buoyant, the little white sphere climbing towards the glass ceiling like a rising air bubble. Flower darted after it with surprising speed, catching it before it reached the fish tank, then returning it to her master. David realized that the slug had a little beak situated on its underbelly beneath its head, the creature using it to grip the pocked surface of the ball.

She released the toy obediently, Selkie catching it with a cupped hand as it began to rise.

“You try,” she said, offering the ball to David.

“Alright,” he grumbled, his gloved fingers brushing her leaf-shaped hand as she passed it to him. She seemed fascinated by the way that he created a cage around it with his digits, holding it palm-up as the delighted slug bobbed in the water nearby.

He opened his hand, and the ball rose, Flower spiraling up into the water behind it. When she caught it, she brought it back to him like a dog playing fetch, releasing it near his hand.

“Curious,” he muttered as he caught it again. “It’s a much more intelligent species than I first assumed.”

“I could say the same of you,” Selkie replied with an amused click of her beak.

David released the ball again, and this time, the slug returned the toy to Selkie.

“I didn’t have an opportunity to look around when I first arrived,” David began, turning his attention to the apartment. “Mind if I have a poke about?”

“I suppose,” she said, her skin tone dimming a little. “Please do not touch anything.”

“Got it – I won’t touch your stuff,” he replied as he began his bounding walk over to the opposite end of the room. There was a porthole that looked out over the city – larger than it had appeared from outside, David peering out through the glass at the cityscape beyond. He could see a couple of neighboring towers through the murky water, joined by the intricate network of transportation tubes, the way that the visibility faded with distance masking the sea floor from view and making him feel even higher up than he actually was.

He glanced around the room, searching for items of interest, noticing a small table beside a nearby fish tank. Sitting atop it was a glass case that enclosed some kind of knife, David moving closer to get a better look. It was large – too large for a Broker, the leather-wrapped handle big enough that he could have gotten both fists around it. The long blade had a cruel gut hook, and the polished metal had been decorated with intricate, flowing inlays of gold damascene.

“Do you like it?” Selkie asked, shuffling over to his side. She still maintained arm’s length, leaning forward in an attempt to gauge the expression on his face.

“This doesn’t look like a Broker artifact,” he said, admiring the tiny hunting scene that had been engraved into the metal.

“This is a Royal Guard’s blade from Elysia,” she said.

“All the way from Borealis?” he marveled. “What use would a Broker have for a Borealan knife?”

“Art is an excellent investment that appreciates in value,” she explained, her eyes seeming to glitter as she looked over her prize. “I also enjoy just ... owning rare things.”

“You have more stuff like this?” he asked.

“Of course!” she replied with a flush of bright color, perhaps excited by the prospect of showing off her collection to a visitor. “Come.”

With Flower still orbiting nearby, she led him over to a display case that was recessed into the curving wall, protected by a sheet of transparent material. On one of the shelves was a large necklace hanging from a jeweler’s bust, its hairy string adorned with colorful beads and shells. The centerpiece was a chunk of wood carved with a strange, alien symbol that he didn’t recognize. Beside it was another, much smaller dagger sitting on a display stand, this one decorated with intricate patterns that reminded him of Damascus steel. It was hard to tell whether it had been designed that way or if it was some natural element of the metal. It almost looked organic.

On the shelf below them was a piece of petrified coral decorated with inlaid pearls and shining seashells, perhaps a Broker artifact, and beside that was an abstract sculpture of unidentifiable origin – just meaningless curves and shapes carved from dark stone. Something more familiar caught his eye, but he held his tongue as Selkie began to list off her treasures like a museum curator.

“Here, I have a traditional Krell necklace woven on their homeworld. The arrangement of beads and shells carries special meaning in their culture, and the rune engraved upon the wooden pendant represents a wish or aspiration to the wearer. This is a blade forged by the hives, recovered from one of our lost colonies during the war. It was likely wielded in battle by one of their Drones. This is a decorative piece of coral made by our ancestors, and this is a contemporary piece – made by hand rather than machine printed.”

“That one looks human,” David said, pointing at another of the artifacts. It was a little porcelain box decorated with finely embossed silver, intricate representations of leaves and cherubs adorning it. It was encased in a little glass cube, likely to protect it from the water, and it was sitting on a velvet cushion.

“You know of this?” she asked, giving him a wide-eyed glance. “It is an Earth artifact, its design dating back over twelve-thousand Mountains – so the art dealer informed me. He said that it was an ancient human puzzle box.”

“Not exactly,” he began cryptically. “Want me to show you how it works?”

“It cannot be removed from its display case,” she explained, worried blotches appearing on her skin. “That would subject it to water damage.”

“We can bring it up to the habitat,” he replied, his tone reassuring. “Trust me – you’ll be glad that you did.”

“Well...”

Flower seemed to sense her emotional state, swimming over to her and giving her a nudge on the cheek, Selkie’s hue lightening again in response.

“Aren’t you just a little bit curious about what secrets it’s hiding?” David asked with a grin.

“Alright,” she conceded, reaching for a control panel beside the cabinet. A flickering force field appeared to protect it, allowing her to slide one of the glass doors open without exposing the treasures within to the water, one of her leaf-shaped hands reaching out to grasp the box’s display case with its suckers. She closed the door again, then swam up to the tent-like habitat on the second level, David following behind her.

They entered through the molecular force field, David pulling off his helmet and setting it down on his little desk, taking a breath of unrestricted air. As good a job as the suit did, wearing it for an entire day had him feeling more than a little claustrophobic. Selkie closed the door so that Flower could not follow, then set her prize down beside the helmet gingerly, gently prying open its case and setting the glass lid aside.

“Be very careful with it,” she stammered as he reached for the box, making him hesitate.

“Don’t worry,” he replied, hoping that he wasn’t about to ruin one of her treasures. He took off his gloves, disconnecting the seals at the wrist, then lifted the antique to expose a little silver key on its underside. He began to turn it, the unmistakable sound of a coiling spring filling the habitat.

“What is it doing?” Selkie asked, leaning in curiously.

“The dealer wouldn’t have been able to show you this underwater,” David began, releasing the key once it had been wound tightly. “Hell, if he was a Broker, he might not even have known what it really was.”

He set it back down on its cushion, then gently raised the silver lid, activating the clockwork mechanism within. A tiny sculpture of a pirouetting ballerina lifted from within the box, starting to turn slowly as a tune began to play, David seeing Selkie’s eyes light up in the lid’s mirrored coating. All of the red drained from her complexion, the maroon giving way to a pastel cream and rosy pink, the blues and yellows of her stripes more prominent than ever. Pulsing bands of bright color swept across her mantle, paced almost like the beating of a heart, as though the rays of the sun were reflecting off her glistening skin. It was a mesmerizing display, David finding himself transfixed by her just as she was transfixed by the toy.

“It’s a music box,” he explained. “There’s a little clockwork mechanism inside that turns a cylinder, which has these little pins that pluck the teeth of a comb, vibrating them to produce a musical note. It’s entirely mechanical – powered by the potential energy of a spring that coils when you turn the key.”

“I had no idea,” she whispered, watching the little ballerina turn in place. She remained enthralled as the tempo of the tinkling music gradually slowed, the tiny figure coming to a stop. She closed the lid gingerly, then lifted the device, trying to turn the key again. It was designed for human fingers, and she had no bones in her hands to create leverage, her slippery flesh failing to find purchase. She clicked her beak in frustration, then unsheathed two of her black hooks, using them to grip the device like a pair of forceps. Now, she had a strong enough grip to turn it, listening to the creaking of the mechanism as she wound up the spring. She set it back down, then lifted the lid, bright patterns sweeping up her mantle as music filled the habitat.

“Is that voluntary or reflexive?” David asked with a gesture to her patterning. “Those colors are incredible. I think I’m starting to get a feel for which patterns correspond to which emotions.”

“It is an involuntary reaction,” she explained, her horizontal pupils still tracking the little sculpture. “Our chromatophores respond to our emotional state, as do our papillae – the small muscle structures that give our skin its texture. In our prehistory, the system evolved to help camouflage us from predators and aid in hunting prey, but it became a means of communication as we became more advanced.”

“A social adaptation, like body language and facial expressions in humans,” he said with a nod. “Interesting. For such solitary and private people, your emotions are literally written on your skin for all to see. That has to complicate your interactions.”

“I find it strange not knowing what you are feeling,” she replied, glancing up at him. “Even when you are angry, you appear overjoyed. I have seen your face change color, however. My research material was vague on what it meant.”

“It can mean a lot of things,” he replied with a shrug. “It’s called blushing – it happens when the capillaries in my face flush with blood in response to an elevated emotional state. Depending on the situation, it can be embarrassment, anger, more positive things...”

“I still think you look funny,” she added, clicking her beak in amusement as his cheeks began to warm. “But, thank you for showing me this. I will treasure it.”

He felt something brush his leg, glancing down to see the tip of one of her tentacles exploring his suit. A shiver of spiky papillae passed along its length as he pulled away reflexively, the appendage following suit, Selkie seeming to draw it back.

“My apologies,” she stammered, maroon blotches darkening her creamy coloration. “Our tentacles are controlled subconsciously until we take manual control. They move reflexively and have a tendency to explore their immediate environment when left to their own devices.”

“No need to apologize,” he replied, watching the tips of her eight legs wriggle and twitch as she stood beside the desk. “It’s not all that surprising. I imagine that exerting conscious control over so many limbs with so much range of motion would put the brain under intense strain. If they have a limited level of autonomy, they can map out their environment and handle locomotion without taxing the rest of the nervous system. It’s kind of like breathing in humans, I imagine. All of the muscles and mechanisms associated with breathing are handled involuntarily by the autonomic nervous system until we choose to take conscious control, for example, when holding our breath.”