Playing Koi (12) (Patreon)

Time passed in Algaegard. The city grew taller, its buildings sturdier and better engineered. What they lacked in coral or salvaged decorations to build solid buildings, they could supplement with flexible construction of hardened plants and densely-woven fabric. Simple openings in the tunnel were replaced with metal gates and locking mechanisms, permitting the free flow of water and small fish but sealing away anything that might be dangerous.

The growing city didn't turn any fish away, so long as they were willing to work and respect the rule of law. That meant its own adaptation, as their growing prosperity attracted many “barbarians” from the wider aquarium. These fish craved stability, safety, and comfort.

A handful were like Jemma and Brady, desperate humans who had survived who knew how many suffering years in the aquarium. Those were easy to rehabilitate, and usually had skills to contribute. Even skills most humans took for granted were incredibly useful amidst the glass walls and gravel floor.

Many more had never known dry land, or anything like civilization. What was the city to do with all those?

There would be no magical barrier to hold them all at bay, transfiguring them into more manageable fish before allowing the bravest to enter. The city had only a single fish with any magic to speak of, and Arlo's powers were nowhere close to strong enough to transform every fish who swam their way.

A few of the most difficult ones, though... they could manage that. Granted, Arlo hadn't reacted well to the idea that becoming a goldfish was a punishment. But when the safety of his new home was at issue, the teenager accepted in the end.

Algaegard expanded into several adjoining tanks, until every part of the sprawling two-story food court was swallowed by their growing town. Suburbs raised crops and livestock, flowing ever-inward towards the center of Algaegard and its impressive population.

In the end, density was constrained not by how many they could feed, but by how much water the filters of any tank could circulate. Fish could have many eggs after all, and when they weren't being eaten by predators...

Jemma learned that for herself before her first year, when eight little fish joined her and Liam. They excavated further into the crags, overflowing in bedrooms for each of them.

Not all survived that first year in Algaegard, as booming population brought a new threat: disease.

Ichthyophthirius multifiliis swept through the city in a wave of white spots and withering. The strongest among their number—and the former humans who respected the dangers of a horrifying infectious disease—were untouched by the plague. Many others were not, however, and disposing of the dead became another of the many emerging problems Algaegard had to solve.

They found their solution in time, interrupting the life-cycle of the parasite and preventing further infection. Meanwhile the dead became a part of the robust fertilization system, using underwater microbes and an isolated, heated tank to process all the city's organic waste into nutrition to sustain its growth.

There could be no graveyards to remember the three Jemma lost that year. Instead, the city had its own morbid tradition—taking a single scale from the dead, and pressing it in lacquer. These along with little illustrations earned a special place in Jemma's home, soon joined by scales from each of Liam's parents.

Day finally came to the mall, and humans passed them by at the speed of orbiting astronomical bodies. Very few seemed even slightly curious about what they saw through the tank. Those unfortunate enough to watch for too long often ended up drawn into the magic one way or another, and ultimately joining the city that they'd noticed.

Jemma did not spend every day in the workshop anymore. As the city's population grew, so too did the number with the understanding to do as she taught, and build. Between the scattered human recruits, the city had assembled something that was almost an educational system.

Liam remained passionately invested in his expeditions, and often took Jemma's proposals down into exciting new avenues. His work provided for their large family, and left Jemma free to care for the young fish.

She wasn't the only one, of course. Several formerly-human fish brought their young together into a homeschool co-op of sorts, where the little ones could learn skills they hoped might one day serve them in the world outside.

They built the nursery school in the upper stories of Algaegard, atop a skyscraper of coral and woven seaweed. There they were closest to the fresh water flowing in from the filter, where their young bodies wouldn't be choked on the clouds of foul water that sometimes clogged the “ground” level of the aquarium.

"Ryan, quit trying to wiggle through the net! Don't think I can't see you there!" Jemma glided through the nursery, passing little fish of all colors and sizes. There were about a dozen of them there, each one the child of at least one human parent.

Though they might look a lot like fish, not all the details of their new bodies were that simple. Almost any male and female could have eggs together, so long as their sizes were close enough. The resulting hybrids were some mix of the two, both in size and patterns and more.

That meant little Ryan had a pale underbelly, but the bright blue scales of his father running down his back and near his fins, with darker scales on his left side. His twin Sean had a similar pattern, though his dark patches were all on the right. Both had their father's propensity for getting into places they didn't belong, and causing endless stress to their mother.

Unlike human preschoolers, fish could “fly.” That meant a nursery fully contained on all sides, with sturdy nets small enough to stop even the smallest little ones from wiggling through.

Jemma caught him under one arm, easing Ryan away from the net. Had to be careful not to pull too hard, or else potentially damage those gossamer-thin fins. "You know we're here until evening bell. Wouldn't you rather go be an example for your twin? Sean learns from everything you do."

She spun the little fish in her arms, forcing him to face her. Ryan wasn't a goldfish, so had no need for sight to communicate with her. But like all children, guilt was still a powerful force. He struggled and squirmed in her grip, trying not to look at her.

There were plenty of strange quirks of being a fish. Instead of holding still, Ryan's tiny squirms and twitches still spun her gradually in place, forcing her own fins to move gently in the opposite direction.

"Daddy says he wants me to be in the workshop one day," Ryan muttered. "I wanna go!"

Jemma pulled him close, running one hand through his messy blue hair. "One day isn't today, sweetheart. One day is when you're big enough to do numbers all on your own."

"I can... numbers," Ryan protested. He held out tiny fingers, lifting each one to a different height. "One... three... nine... a million!"

Jemma pulled him in close to her face, blowing water over him in energetic bubbles.

He giggled and squirmed in her arms. Sean soon joined her, swimming away from where he'd been diligently studying beside his brothers and sisters.

"Momma! You said—" He circled around her, brushing past tail one minute and hair the next. Humans really were lucky their children couldn't fly.

The doorbell chimed, and Jemma straightened instantly. She pushed Ryan and his twin away, using a single stroke of her tail to send them gliding across the room towards the study corner.

"You want me to get it?" asked Laura, from across the room. "You look busy, Jemma."

"No, I was expecting this. Try to get the sixes back on numbers, if you can. Remind them they all have to pass if they want to go on the field trip tomorrow!"

She swam out into the hall, past several rooms of about the same size. Each had fish of a different age—the oldest in her classroom. That probably wouldn't change—it seemed best to leave the most advanced instruction to a fish with an actual education.

At the end of the hall was a trapdoor, leading into the administration section of the little school. The mechanism here required a fish to push with their tail and their hands at the same time, dexterity that the daycare's occupants just couldn't manage quite yet.

Jemma did, opening it quickly before locking it behind her. The space below was dimmer, with only windows along one side to light the desks, shelves, and lockers. A single secretary worked at one of those desks, his attention never wavering from the paperwork in front of him. Someone had to manage their finances, and it wasn't gonna be Jemma.

Two familiar fish waited at the door. Not parents of any student, at least not yet.

Arlo was bigger than Jemma now, his chest and shoulders broad and his hair cropped short. He'd gone from Nicole's silent shadow to almost twice her weight, though they were more or less the same length. Where he was muscle, she'd grown into grace, wearing her long black hair in a braid just like Jemma's.

"Does Liam know you're not at the workshop?" Jemma asked. She reached up absently, straightening her own hair that one toddler or another had pulled out of place. At least they didn't have underwater crayons to write on her scales.

"His expedition won't be back until tomorrow," Nicole said. "Half our equipment is on the submarine anyway. What would we do?"

"Organize," Arlo said, swimming confidently inside. The fish had grown in many ways—but not in his ability to speak. Even so, the goldfish carried no slate to write with, or flashcards. All he had to do was make sure Nicole and Jemma were both looking when he wanted to say anything.

That never got any less strange to Jemma, even after her earlier life with Kisten. His graceful partner glided through the water, sending subtle ripples around her—but the muscular goldfish wearing magical tools around his waist and a speargun across his back didn't so much as rustle or squeak with metal.

There was no better stealth than a creature cursed never to make a sound. "Mom told me she would talk to you about this," Nicole continued. "Did she—"

Jemma clicked the door behind them, then gestured for her office.

Entirely against her will, Jemma had become the dean of this illustrious institution of higher learning. She wasn't too important to accept a little office by the window. "This morning, yeah. Said you'd be coming."

There was little worry of being overheard, what with the giggling and roughhousing and the occasional thumps and squeals and whimpers from overhead.

Arlo floated into one of the seats. He glanced once at Nicole, then up at the ceiling. "Are schools supposed to sound like battlefields? So many. Constant roaring, primitive noise..."

Nicole shoved him with her tail, hard. It was hard for a fish like her, anyway. Arlo was so solidly built that he barely even reacted. "That's how you can tell they're happy. You can't tell me goldfish guppies are all perfectly behaved little angelfish from the moment they hatch."

He chuckled silently. "Behaved? No. It's just the noise. Machines sound like that, predators sometimes. Not children."

Jemma floated gently into her desk, folding her arms across her chest. She glanced briefly down at the mess of reports there—a page for each child, describing the progress of their education in exhaustive detail. This wasn't something they had stolen from Thetria—Jemma invented this system entirely on her own.

These weren't strangers' offspring, but her own kids. If they were doomed to live their lives entirely within a prison of glass walls and decorative neon gravel, she could at least give them the best possible chance at that life she knew. “You want to reserve enrolment, I take it?”

"It won't be very many," Nicole said hastily. "I've been taking that... medicine. There should be three at most, maybe just two. You won't even see them for a few years—Mom is still working with the youngest fish, right?"

Jemma nodded. Brady didn't have the mind to help with the workshop—but as it turned out, she was a natural at childcare. Like Jemma, and every other human trapped in the Aquarium, Brady never seemed to get older. Somehow that translated to never getting frustrated while dealing with the youngest, most difficult fish.

Better her to change all those swim-diapers than Jemma, that was for sure.

"It's not the labor that makes me hesitate," Jemma said. "You know I want to say yes. We're expanding every year... making room for the next generation at the bottom."

"If it's because we weren't human—" Arlo said. His silence meant he couldn't “interrupt” Jemma, exactly. But after living so long with Kisten, old habits were hard to break. Just as she stopped for Kisten, she fell silent for her son. "That shouldn't matter. Thetria raised me better than most of the humans in this tank. Any kids we give you won't hurt the others. They deserve a place here just like yours."

Jemma sighed, her fins fluttering gently in the water. She looked at Arlo and Nicole, her eyes filled with understanding. "I know the goldfish curse better than most," she said softly. "Kisten had a version of it before coming to the aquarium. That's why she climbed in here, so she could find magic of her own, and cure it."

Kisten hadn't cured it after all—she didn't have to, when she could just live in a whole city of fish like her.

Arlo's eyes widened. He gestured rapidly, growing more agitated. "I knew that," he said. "What does that have to do with whether our children can go to school here?"

Jemma looked away. "Arlo, your curse... they're going to get it. Maybe some, maybe all."

Nicole's face paled, her tail twitching nervously. "Arlo, is she telling the truth?"

Arlo shrugged. "In Thetria, everyone was a goldfish. Of course we were all silent. I didn't realize..."

Nicole turned to Jemma, her eyes wide and pleading. "Are you sure?"

Jemma swam closer, reaching out to take Nicole's hand. "I'm sorry, Nicole. That's how it works. It's why Kisten never..." Except she had. Arlo was swimming right in front of her, just like his long line of siblings before him. All born in a world where their disability no longer mattered.

Nicole pulled her hand away from Jemma, wrapping her arms around herself. "You don't want to teach goldfish?"

"I didn't say that. I don't know what it will be like for them. Maybe their brothers and sisters can translate for them, like you've done for Arlo. Maybe more fish will know their language by then."

Arlo swam to her side, his gestures frantic, desperate. "Nicole, please. We can figure this out."

Nicole lowered her arms again, slow and deliberate. She glanced over at Arlo, but the goldfish was silent. "You're right, this doesn't change anything. If that really happens, they deserve a teacher who can understand them."

"I'll try to give them that," Jemma said. "But they might do better with goldfish teachers. An environment they can be more comfortable."

"No." Nicole straightened, retreating towards the doorway. "Arlo doesn't live in a corner somewhere, isolated from Algaegard. Our family won't change that."