#1: Shipwreck Soul

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind…

In ages past, no one would’ve thought to take the term “dive bar” seriously. But here it was, lodged in the trench wall and filled to the brim with brine and booze. The Seaweed Saloon lived up to its name, no doubt about that – a temporary respite for all those lost in the weeds, off the edge of the map, in any capacity.

OctoPint-3, or just ‘Opthree’ to friends and drunkards alike, checked the kegs – a task made easier by eight robotic arms. He slunk across the bar, tidying what he could – simple programming, but he didn’t mind. He liked cleanliness – being a former seafloor scavenger built to trawl through the silt for anything valuable, he’d had enough of digging through mess.

Something he couldn’t tidy up though was the diving suit slumped over the end of the bar. Silent and still, save for the occasional bubble escaping. He slowly clambered back over the bar, slinking towards the suit – two taps on the shoulder, “Oi.”

A muffled groan was a better response than nothing – the suit slowly restored to life, sitting back in an attempted upright position. The suit was old, no doubt about it – like a well-loved but well-worn jacket that had seen every kind of weather over decades of use. The main body was still a snug fit, but was covered in patches, stitches, and other haphazard fixes. As for the helmet, that was in decent shape – the face inside was another matter. Adriana was tired, so very tired – but clearly not the type of person to do something about it. She was young, but would be the first to tell you she’s “world-weary” or whatever. With a groan, she managed “Splice the mainbrace, Cap’n.”

Opthree cocked his head (which was technically his whole body, being based off an octopus, now that he thought of it…). Another groan – “Pour me another one, clanker.”

He reaches behind, pulling a hand-sized cartridge from a chilled unit under the bar. He handed it over – the brand was faded, but it was some kind of alcohol – good enough. She gratefully took it, and plugged it into a small seal on the lower side of her helmet – one twist, and it released. Inside the mask she grasped a straw with her lips, as the alcohol flowed in. Down in one – she disconnected the cartridge, and regarded it. It would be easier if her vision wasn’t so blurry. “Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and auld lang syne…”

“Old long since has gone, if my calendar’s correct.” She cocked her head at him, eyes narrowing. “What day is it?”

“It’s not new year’s eve anymore, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Her eyes narrowed more – “Another round.”

His eyes were two blue dots so couldn’t emote – but if he could narrow them or have eyebrows to cock, by the seventeen seas he bloody well would. “It’s not even mid-morning yet. I may not be flesh and blood like you, but by Poseidon’s salty bollocks I know you’ve had more than enough.”

She might’ve growled under her helmet, he didn’t know or care enough. “Hell of a way to start the year, me heartie.”

That did not go down well.

“You can…”

Another (metaphorically) cocked eyebrow…

“…Sod off.”

She pulled a half-empty cartridge from nearby, downed it all in one, and scowled. “It’s been a rough ride, pardon me for wanting to drown it all out for a moment. And do not tell me that being chased by a Razor Rorqual is really just a metaphor for life – the metaphor had big teeth, and I saw them!”

Opthree found himself pulling back, as if her outburst had physically moved him away. “I sense something is troubling you.”

“Do I look like I want to talk about what’s fucking troubling me?! You’re a damn robot anyway, for Poseidon’s sake…” She slammed another cartridge back, fell off the stool, and stumbled towards the door.

“Where will you go?” He wasn’t concerned.

“Anywhere else, wherever the currents take me, whatever…” Something suggested that was a common answer with her. A strange sensation tingled within Opthree’s soul – something approaching sympathy. “Well, if you must be on your way, be careful – there’s a new wreck out there, try not to hit it on your way out. The silt’s unstable too.”

Reaching for the door, she stopped…and slowly looked back. “New wreck?”

Opthree began polishing a few cartridges. “Aye – engines went kaboom, methinks. Think everyone got away in time though.”

“Huh. Well, that’s all you can hope for.”

“Is it?” He kept on polishing, but he found himself leaning in. She cocked her head, eyes narrow but something had clearly hooked her. “What would you hope for?”

“If I were you, I’d be sniffing about for…I don’t know, barnacles.”

“…Barnacles?”

“Barnacles.”

If she narrowed her eyes one more time, she would have a headache for the rest of the day. But…the bait was on the hook, and she was hungry. “How many?”

“Buggered if I know – but it’s a big ship.” Up again, almost to the door --

“I don’t know about you, but I think there’s a great bit X on the map over there!”

“Put something on the rocks in case I get back!” With that, gone. He returned to his polishing, mulling over the past few minutes in his central processor. All algorithmic calculations suggested something interesting would come of this…