Mayor Danelia ignored her staff’s murmurs and stares as she ordered her city turned upside down. She had no time to explain herself—not when everything was crumbling around her.

  The return of those girls, unharmed, had turned her entire plan on its head. She was going to use them as an excuse to keep the alien boy, and now both options had fallen apart. Things were spiraling downward fast, and she was about to lose her project to the whims of those savages. Their depth projection technology had already identified the army of merpeople gathering below, and she knew they’d be upon the city soon enough, if she didn’t get that boy back.

  Meanwhile, given the way that Orwen was constantly underfoot, she’d decided to make the best use of him, peppering him with what if’s and challenging questions which were aimed at throwing him off.

  “Tell me how we prevent those…creatures from attacking, assuming we can’t get our hands on the boy.”

  “The boy is key. Always has been. The fact that they gave up their own hostages speaks to their willingness to bargain, but they won’t remain placid for long. That was their leap of faith, mayor. I don’t think they’ll give us another one. Unless…”

  The mayor stared him down.

  “The girls. They might have formed a bond with their captors—it’s not uncommon. Abductees often grow attached in such ways, and that connection could prove useful.”

  It was an intriguing notion. If the boy was out of reach, what else did she have to work with? The girls. It wasn’t ideal, but…

  “You mean use them to open talks?”

  “Perhaps,” Orwen said. “Or, we let them assume the girls might, well, serve a different purpose.”

  “I’m not sure I follow you.”

  Well, if they’ve grown fond of these waifs—and they see us as monsters anyway…

  The mayor sat perplexed for a minute. Then her eyes widened.

  “You’re suggesting we use them as bait? Threaten to actually hurt them?”

  “No, of course not,” Orwen Albi said, shaking his head with a faint smile. “We simply let them believe the possibility exists. That we’ll stop at nothing to keep our city safe. That their boy could face similar consequences, should they force our hand. A message, nothing more.”

  “Unless they call our bluff, of course.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t get that far,” Orwen said, his words carefully measured.

  “Alright,” she snapped, turning to her ever-vigilant advisor. “Find out where the girls are and bring them to me. I don’t care what permissions you need—get it done. They’re to be in my office within the hour.

  “Now, Orwen,” she went on, turning to her elderly would-be advisor. “Tell me what you know. What sort of damage can these…things do to our city?”

  “Militarily?” he replied. “Not much, probably,” Orwen said carefully. “They’ve relied on primitive weapons for generations and lack formal training in battle. But... they’ve surprised us before. Still—we have the capacity to close the gates, and our defensive capabilities are more than adequate at repelling a siege.

  “And if we went on the offense?”

  “On the offensive?” Orwen was surprised she went there, in an open room no less. “Well, they wouldn’t stand much change against a true campaign of aggression…but we don’t want to go there, do we?”

  The mayor gave him a sideways glance, then seemed to remember there were others in the room. “No, of course not. We just want to fend them off.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Now, of course until now we’ve merely been discussing physical capabilities,” Orwen went on.

  “Ah yes. This mind-reading ability of theirs.”

  “Not just reading minds. My research suggests they’ve evolved the ability to influence thoughts—perhaps even control them. There’s little evidence, but the accounts I’ve found are... troubling.”

  “Go on.” The Mayor looked far more concerned now than she had when discussing military options.

  “They’re rumored to have limited telekinetic abilities—moving objects collectively and manipulating ocean currents, and even tectonic shelves, a demonstration of which I believe we’ve been experiencing in recent days, not that we could prove it. The rest—conjecture, from ages past. One vital point being, they tended to confuse their enemies and cause a collective sort of forgetfulness. Thus my research has been spotty in terms of assessing their full capabilities. There’s much we don’t know. Or, more to the point, have been lead to forget.”

  “Jesus,” the major and her assistant muttered in the same underbreath. There it was. The Achilles heel of The Shallows, and the people who’d come before them too, it seemed.

  “At any rate, mayor,” Orwen soldiered on, “the ability to project words and thoughts into the minds of others is well documented. As is their influence on the minds of others. Our soldiers would hardly be immune. Additionally, they have a talent for manipulating sentiment and emotional states, again, on a societal scale, so that could have a profound affect on our population if they should attempt to use these powers.”

  “You make them sound like wizards,” the assistant shot back, exasperation clear in her tone.

  “No,” Orwen corrected. “They’re not magical beings, or anything of the sort. They’ve simply evolved certain sensitivities that all of us are capable of. My research indicates we have that in common, as well.

  Major Danelia took in a thoughtful breath. “It’s a shame they never asked for any dialogue or—"

  “They wouldn’t,” Orwen interrupted. “It’s not in their nature. Our understanding of these merpeople is limited because they’ve always resisted open relations. They avoid exposure and undermine any effort to reveal their existence to the public, forcing us into this cold stalemate.”

  “…which was working well enough,” the assistant said, “until our newly aggressive posture put them—”

  “Newly aggressive posture?” Orwen Albi sputtered, “you were the ones who sanctioned this.” He seemed suddenly aware of the rest of the gathered leaders, and the fact that this assistant was ready to place blame anywhere but at her bosses feet. You thoughts they would simply slink off into the open sea and leave us to plunder their resources without a response, did you?”

  “Alright,” The major said, deciding to de-escalate, “none of us anticipated this. Yes, I sanctioned an expedition to gather information and assess resources. It’s all on the record. I don’t care about how we got here, though, I care about where we go from here.”

  She looked around the room, ready for a challenge. With none forthcoming, she went on: “This being a newly militaristic posture they’ve taken, not in keeping with their passive nature of times past, we need to treat it as such. Using magic tricks to calm the waters and make us forget, that’s one thing. But this is a genuine threat, and that will not stand.”

  Before anyone could respond, the floor shuddered violently beneath them, the sudden tremor rattling the lights and sending a stack of metallic binders clattering to the floor.

  “Report!” Danelia barked, steadying herself against her desk as the walls creaked around them.

  The tremor surged again, stronger this time, violent upheavals that rose from the ocean floor and jolted upwards through the whole of the city.

  “Is this an attack?” her ever-present aide gasped, clutching the table for support.

  “Get to your alert stations!” Danelia snapped at the guards near the door. She looked over at her aide with an expression of agreement. “You’re right. This isn’t nature, and it isn’t a coincidence. We have to consider this part of an all-out assault by these natives. These merpeople. These Solarians.”

  Orwen gasped, the word hanging in the air like an incantation. Solarians. How could she know that name? He’d buried it deep, kept it locked away since finding it in the heart of his most secretive research, so many Pelagics past.

  Before he could speak, the door burst open, and a wide-eyed officer stumbled in.

  “Mayor Danelia,” he said, his voice shaking, “there’s been… an incident at the school.”

  “The school?”

  “The one we’ve been monitoring, Mayor.”

  “Dammit,” she muttered, her stomach tightening. “What kind of incident?” she demanded.

  “Channel breaches, ma’am. Multiple breaks reported. One of the students was swept away and presumed drowned.”

  Danelia froze. “Not one of the rescued ones,” she whispered, her voice brittle with dread. “Please, not one of them.”

  The officer hesitated, his silence twisting the knife.

  “I need specifics,” she said sharply, her control slipping. “Which student?”

  The officer glanced down, his voice faltering. “The reports are incomplete, but…” He trailed off.

  Her breath caught as she stared him down. “Find out,” she ordered coldly, the edge in her voice cutting through the room. “And if it is one of them…Poseidon help us when the Solarians find out.”