Deep Blue felt the excitement wash down his body, from the tip of his snout, down his broad back, to tingle in the tips of his broad, weathered flukes. It was springtime again! And springtime meant that it was time for the Great Northward Journey. And the Great Northward Journey meant many things, the food rush, the songsinging, the Mothers. But it also meant that he would see his Outworlder friend again!

 He remembered the first time he met the Outworlder, back when he was still called Little High Squeaks, trailing after his mother. It was his first Great Northward Journey, the first time he had ever left the warm places of his birth to travel to the cold places where the food swarmed and rushed. He had been trailing alongside his mother, up the great coastline, when he had seen something new.

 Now, being young, most of the things he saw were in fact new, but this new thing was far different from all the other new things that existed in The World. This new thing floated, just outside it, just inside it. His mother knew what it was, of course, his mother knew everything, and she had given him the thing’s song.

 It was an older song, passed down from matriarch to matriarch, it was the history of the Outworld things. It started with curiosity. The wonder of something new, as most songs did. Then it was the confusion of mystery, of something unknowable, or at least not well understood. This shifted into the pain of conflict. Of lives ended, and pods broken. The loneliness of an emptying world and songs left unanswered. The despair of knowing that all things were ending. This then shifted into a song of depression, of isolation. A song of wandering, searching for what few others remained. The song lightened into one of bated waiting. A cessation of hostilities. Then, the song shifts hopeful. Small kindnesses done. Help after a stranding. Aid from shark attacks. Assistance from an ice-lock. Then reciprocity. Lifting one of them from the World and into the strange Outerness. Assistance catching fish.

At the end, the song became hopeful. It spoke of uneasy peace. Of a mutual studying of each other. Of attempts to understand.

The song of this Thing was the most complex song that Little High Squeaks had ever heard, then, or since. He had immediately gone to investigate, his mother tensing in worry. He raised an eye out of the World, and he saw the small figure standing on the Thing. It was tiny! And so strange looking. But Little High Squeaks could see the intelligence in its eyes.

He jumped out of the World, to crash back in with a big splash, singing in the joy of youth. To his surprise, a few minutes later, his joy-song was played back to him, distorted slightly, a little off perhaps, but still recognizable. He waved his flukes in farewell, then he and his mother continued on.

The next year, on his own this time, as is the way, Deep Blue lingered a few days. As he approached, the joy-song played out from the Thing, and the Other stood smiling on it, waving one of its long, thin limbs. Deep Blue gave the greeting call, then sang the joy-song. After a few minutes, the other played the two songs, in the correct sequence. Deep Blue was excited! The Other was smart, like People!

Deep Blue stayed for a few days, teaching the Other how to sing. And he was smart, he picked up the songs quickly, learned their combinations and flows. But, like all Sea-Singers, he couldn’t stay. His urges drove him towards the hunting grounds. The mating grounds.

The next twenty years passed in much the same fashion. He met the Other, who gave his name as Close Looker, they sang to each other, Deep Blue taught him more songs. Then he would have to leave.

In time, Deep Blue found a mate, and he brought her to meet his Other friend. Initially suspicious, she warmed up quickly. Deep Blue listened as they conversed for a short time, shared his joy and pride with his friend, then left again.

The next year, Deep Blue met his mate at the Other’s Thing, a calf in tow. This was an odd thing, a new thing. Usually Fathers didn’t meet their calves until they met at the hunting grounds, but Deep Blue was proud to be able to show off his offspring to his friend.

The next year, Deep Blue travelled alone. Close Look greeted him warmly, and excitedly told him that his offspring was well and in good health. Deep Blue was happy to hear that, but was confused. How did Close Look know?

Close Look sang a song of a fearful, tiny creature. A thing of tall kelp-like growths, living among its hardened fronds. A thing of intelligence and dexterousness. A thing that learned about the world around it.

He sang of learning to harness the world around it, of making things from the stuff around it. Of refining and learning and studying. He sang of the Dark Times, when the Others hunted the Sea-Singers. He sang of a great realization, of guilt, and regret and atonement. He sang of special ornaments, that sang in a voice no one can hear, to keep track and ensure safety. He sang of a pane of hot ice, that shows pictures of migrations and places of great hunting.

Deep Blue left a few days later, pondering these things.

The next year, Deep Blue asked a question he probably shouldn’t have. Excited over seeing his own mate, he asked Close Look about his own. Deep Look got a strange look on his face, and he took a long time to respond.

He sang a song, heartbreaking in its depth. Of an infatuation that, following a courtship, deepened into an abiding and enduring love. A song of adventuring, of traveling and learning about the world together. The song dropped into despair. A sickness, a fading. A mating broken decades too soon.

Deep Blue was immediately ashamed, and sang begging for forgiveness, but Close Look was quick to sing that it was a thing of the past. The wounds had mostly healed.

A few years later, Deep Blue was introduced to a New Other. A furry thing, standing upright, with sharp claws, slit-pupiled eyes, and triangular ears. She also was learning how to sing. Apparently Deep Look had gained some small fame from his own learning of the Sea-Singers’ songs. Deep Blue accepted it as a thing of the Others and moved on.

The last year, Close Look looked deeply unwell. His normally black fur was shock white, his skin pallid and sickly. Deep Blue was deeply concerned, but Close Look was dismissive, and indeed, he looked better as the two friends sang to each other. But, as always, too soon Deep Blue had to leave.

This year, there was no greeting song. No Joy-Song played. There was no Close Look on his boat. Only Twitchy Nose, the assistant.

“Twitchy Nose, where is Close Look?”

“He’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“They’re all gone.”

“There’s so many! How can they all be gone?!”

“There was a sickness. From beyond the Outside. We… we were supposed to protect them. We failed. By the time we realized…. By the time we knew… all of them. Gone.”

“He was my friend.”

“He was like my father.”

The song that spilled forth was a pean of sorrow, heartbreak, loss. A deep and abiding grief. Tears fell from Twitchy Nose’s eyes, as Deep Blue wailed his grief to the endless oceans.

Deep Blue left. But he carried his song to the Great Hunting Grounds, singing it to every Sea-Singer he met, telling the story. And in the years to follow, he never returned to the meeting spot he shared with his friend, but others did.

Close Look had one last gift to give, to all the Sea-Singers and Air-Breathers alike. He had given the gift of understanding. The remaining races of the Outside had been gifted an AI matrix, containing the entire translated lexicon of the Sea-Singer speech. There would never be war between them again. No whaling. No hunting. Close Look had given them the gift of acceptance as a people.

“Ladies and gentlemen, as we gather here for the Annual Day of Remembrance, we take a moment to reflect on the Legacy of Man. Man, who took us into his bosom. Man, who gifted us with his own wisdom. Man, who crafted wonders. Man, who gave us our marine borne siblings. Man, who loved and taught us. We gather here to remember our common parent. Please join me in a moment of silence and genuflection.”

The somber felid bowed his head, his luxuriant mane seeming to deflate in his sadness. All across the great amphitheater, as in rooms and homes and sea-lanes across the many planets, not a sound is heard.

“We have here with us a very special treat. Joining us today is the Cetacean Deep Blue, who, in collaboration with noted scientist James Walker, developed the Catacean Translation Matrix. Deep Blue, the current is yours.”

“I knew him as Close Look, he was my friend. Let me show you who he was. Hear the song of my people.”

The haunting tones of the ethereal song played on for seemingly forever, but all too soon, the song was done. There was not a dry eye to be found anywhere.