The Circle

Stenton,
     who, with an almost imperceptible tilt of his head, made clear that Mae should turn
     her lens back to the aquarium. She did, her eyes straining to catch Kalden in some
     acknowledgement. He stared into the water, giving away nothing. Bailey continued.
    “Until now, our three stars have been kept in separate tanks as they’ve acclimated
     to their lives here at the Circle. But this has been an artificial separation, of
     course. They belong together, as they were in the sea where they were found. So we’re
     about to see the three reunited here, so they can co-exist and create a more natural
     picture of life in the deep.”
    On the other side of the tank, Mae could now see the caretaker climbing the red ladder,
     holding a large plastic bag, heavy with water and tiny passengers. Mae was trying
     to slow her breathing but couldn’t. She felt like she’d throw up. She thought about
     running off, somewhere very far away. Run with Annie. Where was Annie?
    She saw Stenton staring at her, his eyes concerned, and also stern, telling her to
     get herself together. She tried to breathe, tried to concentrate on the proceedings.
     She would have time after all this, she told herself, to untangle this chaos of Kalden
     and Ty. She would have time. Her heart slowed.
    “Victor,” Bailey said, “as you might be able to see, is carrying our most delicate
     cargo, the seahorse, and of course his many progeny. As you’ll notice, the seahorses
     are being brought into the new tank in a baggie, much as you would bring home a goldfish
     from the county fair. This has proven to be the best way to transfer delicate creatures
     like this. There are no hard surfaces to bump against, and the plastic is far lighter
     than lucite or any hard surface would be.”
    The caretaker was now at the top of the ladder, and, after a quick visual confirmation
     from Stenton, carefully lowered the bag into the water, so it rested on the surface.
     The seahorses, passive as always, were reclining near the bottom of the bag, showing
     no sign that they knew anything—that they were in a bag, that they were being transferred,
     that they were alive. They barely moved, and offered no protestation.
    Mae checked her counter. The watchers were at sixty-two million. Bailey indicated
     that they would wait a few moments till the water temperatures of the bag and the
     tank might be aligned, and Mae took the opportunity to turn back to Kalden. She tried
     to catch his eye, but he chose not take his eyes away from the aquarium. He stared
     into it, smiling benignly at the seahorses, as if looking at his own children.
    At the back of the tank, Victor was again climbing the red ladder. “Well, this is
     very exciting,” Bailey said. “Now we see the octopusbeing carried up. He needs a bigger container, but not proportionately bigger. He
     can fit himself into a lunchbox if he wanted to—he has no spine, no bones at all.
     He is malleable and infinitely adaptable.”
    Soon both containers, those housing the octopus and the seahorses, were bobbing gently
     on the neon surface. The octopus seemed aware, to some degree, that there was a far
     bigger home beneath him, and was pressing itself against the base of his temporary
     home.
    Mae saw Victor point to the seahorses and give a quick nod to Bailey and Stenton.
     “Okay,” Bailey said. “It looks like it’s time to release our seahorse friends into
     their new habitat. Now I expect this to be quite beautiful. Go ahead, Victor, when
     you’re ready.” And when Victor released them, it
was
quite beautiful. The seahorses, translucent but tinted just so, as if gilded only
     slightly, fell into the tank, drifting down like a slow rain of golden question marks.
    “Wow,” Bailey said. “Look at that.”
    And finally the father of them all, looking tentative, fell from the bag and into
     the tank. Unlike his children, who were spread out, directionless, he maneuvered himself,
     determinedly, down to the bottom of the tank and quickly hid himself amid the coral
     and vegetation. In seconds he was invisible.
    “Wow,” Bailey said. “That is one shy fish.”
    The babies, though, continued to float downward, and to swim in the middle of the
     tank, few of them anxious to go anywhere in particular.
    “We’re ready?” Bailey asked, looking up to Victor. “Well this is moving right along!
     It seems we’re ready for the octopus now.” Victor opened the bottom of the bag, splitting
     it, and