Zarah Voss's Arc

Chapter 7 of 16

The last of the crab fluid sat in a shallow dish by the ant nest. Zarah counted the drops. Fewer than twenty. Each drop guided the ants along one seam. When the dish ran dry, the ants stopped mid-build. Two cells sat unsealed on her bench, split open where the seam had never closed. She needed more fluid. That meant more crabs. And crabs only came close when she opened pearl shells in the deep water. "One dead crab won't finish a pod," she said. She rubbed the dried film in the dish. "I need a dozen. Maybe more." To dive again, she needed to breathe underwater. The gill root Sylvana had given her lay on the bench, browning at the edges. Its two fern leaves had gone limp. She pressed one leaf. It crumbled. A gill root worked once, maybe twice, then died. She had used hers already. Without a living gill, the dive would kill her on a single breath. Zarah went outside and studied the tall growing tanks beside her workshop. She had built them to sprout replacement parts for the pod. Clear chambers, glowing pipes, water pushed through in slow loops. She had never grown a living root in them. But the gill root was still a root. Roots grew. She cut the healthiest thread off the dying gill, a pale strand no thicker than wire. She set it in the middle tank, packed it in wet fiber, and turned the pink lights up. Then she waited. She fed the ants their last drops through the night, sealing what few cells she could. By dawn the dish was empty. Two more cells cracked open, unfinished. Zarah checked the tank. The thread had swelled. A tiny bulb pushed up, and one fern leaf uncurled against the glass. It was alive. But it was small. Too small to breathe through. She turned the lights higher and pushed more nutrients through the pipes. She watched the roots spread down through the water, hour by hour. On the third day, the bulb had grown to a fist. Two full fern leaves draped from it, thick and green. Zarah lifted it dripping from the tank and pressed a leaf to her mouth. She breathed in. Cool air filled her lungs. The gill worked. She held it up to the light and let out a slow breath. Her machine had failed at the seams. Her tanks had not failed here. She could grow her own gills now, one after another, as many dives as she needed. Zarah gathered her pearls and her spear and walked toward the shore. She had a working gill and a clear plan. She would open the shells, draw the crabs in, and kill enough to fill a barrel with fluid. But she remembered the giant blue crab that came the first time. One shell had brought one monster. She meant to open many.