Her Scales Shine Like Music Read Online Free PDF Page B

slow.
    â€œGood news,” I called to her, “the hard part’s over.”
    But, oh joy, when I set up my roll-your-own system with shovel handle and a thick rock, the surface dirt and sand proved so soft that it kept the device too trapped for me to get my new and least favorite toy moving. Which meant my troubles were far from over. I’d have to dig a very long trench, one deep enough to reach the firmer soil below.
    After another two hours of back-ruining labor, I’d dispensed with my parka and both clothing layers beneath. Sweating in the near-freezing temperature, I stood up to see what my efforts had accomplished so far. My trench now stretched all the way from the object of my affliction perhaps two meters toward the lake. At this rate, I’d be done in about a week. I wasn’t a happy castaway.
    The big question now: Could I actually get the device rolling on the harder surface I’d uncovered? I had to answer that one before doing any more digging.
    I stepped into the trench behind the artifact, positioned my flat rock under its curve, and jammed the shovel’s handle on top of the rock and as far under the device as I could. Then I stood on the shovel’s blade and let my weight work for me.
    My shout of joy when the device began rolling was instinctual, but heartfelt. And then it kept rolling. I trust my eyes, but this time it took an effort. The barrel shape didn’t stop when the trench did, as I expected, but leapt free, accelerating, spinning and skidding along toward the beach. It finally slowed when it hit several large rocks, doing them no good, and eased to a standstill where the dirt became deep sand.
    I politely asked my heart to descend from my throat. Evidently it didn’t approve of having something resembling a massive power supply get violently shaken in my vicinity. Understandable.
    As I calmed, it occurred to me that the accident had saved me and my back most of the remaining digging. It seemed possible that the longest of my friend’s tendrils could just barely touch the artifact where it had settled.
    â€œHow about that?” I called out to her, climbing out of the now obsolete trench. “All part of my plan!”
    Her response came as another struck gong, and she reached out. I’d been right: She could touch the device with a few tendrils. What I didn’t expect was the way she used them to slide the thing a bit closer and effortlessly lift it into the air, then into the water beside her. What I really didn’t expect came next.
    She lit up like a cruise ship on party night. Small, bright lights suddenly ringed her, and blazing strips of them ran along her back underwater. You learn something new every day. She gonged again, so loud it seemed to shake reality, and slowly vanished with her new treasure. For quite some time, I could trace her progress downward until she’d dived too deep, or quenched her illumination.
    I walked down to the sand, and stared into the lake until it occurred to me that bare skin wasn’t keeping me warm. Besides, I was ravenous.
    *   *   *
    She failed to appear for the following two days, although I kept waiting by the lake from morning to well past midnight. Loneliness chilled me more than weather, and depression became my new companion. Sometimes, I’d sense more than hear a faint rumble, and when this occurred in daylight, the lake’s surface would become unnaturally agitated, wavelets running in all directions. I kept asking myself the same questions: What had I done, and why had I done it? If rescue came, however improbable, the consequences felt more real to me than whatever benefit I’d provided my wet pal. What was that artifact, really? Why would a kaiju-size fish want it?
    By the third day, I wondered if I’d ever see her again. Maybe she’d wanted nothing from me but the device. The thought of breakfast appalled. I’d taken to adding water to