The ocean held them. It didn't toss them like debris. It cradled them. Ezra floated on his back, the salt stinging his eyes, but he didn't blink. He stared up at the sky. It was vast. Empty. No satellites. No contrails. Just the blue dome of the healed atmosphere.
Tomas was ten feet away, clinging to a piece of the rig's decking. He was alive. Barely. His suit was torn. He was breathing hard.
"Ezra," Tomas croaked. His voice was rough. Saltwater. "We need... to move."
Ezra didn't answer. He listened. The water beneath him hummed. It wasn't the mechanical hum of the Node. It was organic. A chorus. Whales. Dolphins. Fish. The life that had been suppressed for decades was singing.
"She's in it," Ezra whispered.
"What?" Tomas paddled closer.
"The water," Ezra said. "She's everywhere."
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