## The Bloom Collector
The salt spray tasted like ghosts. Wren traced the chipped Formica of the galley table, knuckles white against the faded blue. Outside, the *Cerulean’s* hull hummed, a low thrum against the perpetual gray of the Pacific. Three weeks since landfall. Three weeks tracking echoes.
“Anything?” Silas asked, his voice rough as barnacles. He didn’t need to specify *what*. They both knew it was the Bloom.
Wren shook her head, pushing a strand of damp black hair behind an ear. “Just static. The usual localized spikes around the exclusion zone. Whatever’s down there is good at hiding.”
Silas poured himself a cup of synth-coffee, the liquid steaming in the dim light. He wasn’t a man for pleasantries. Ex-Navy, they said. Re-purposed. Like her.
“Command’s getting antsy,” he continued, watching the swirling dark liquid. “Expectations aren’t exactly…realistic.”
The ‘expectations’ involved finding the source of the erratic biodata streams emanating from a cluster of decommissioned Oceanic Modules. These weren’t your standard trauma-mitigation pods. These were… different. Bred for resilience, they’d been deployed after the Reversion events – mass psychological collapses triggered by genetic memories surfacing. But the signal wasn’t trauma anymore. It was… growth.
Wren pulled up a holographic map, the exclusion zone flickering with red pinpoint data points. “The Modules are all registering photosynthetic activity. High yield. Impossible for deep-sea units.”
“And the dreamscapes?” Silas prompted.
“Fleeting, fragmented. Personal. But… unsettlingly cohesive. Recurring motifs of coral structures. Bioluminescence. A feeling of being *watched*.”
They were Bloom Collectors, tasked with identifying the source of these anomalies. Officially, it was a diagnostic mission. Unofficially? Containment. Command didn’t share details easily, but Wren suspected the “societal empathy collapse” wasn’t just a theoretical threat.
“We run another scan,” Wren said, her fingers flying across the console. “Focus on phytotoxin sensitivity levels. Maybe we can pinpoint a concentration.”
The *Cerulean* descended, the pressure mounting with each meter. The sonar pinged, painting a ghostly image of the seabed: a labyrinth of rusting metal and decaying concrete. The Modules clustered together, resembling a submerged graveyard.
“Got something,” Wren announced, her voice tight. “Significant phytotoxin concentration near Module Seven. And… a resonance field. Weak, but definitely present.”
Silas nodded. “Prep the submersible. I’m going down.”
The submersible, a sleek black capsule christened *Nereid*, felt claustrophobic. Wren monitored Silas’s vitals and sensor readings as he navigated the murky depths. The *Nereid*’s spotlights cut through the darkness, revealing a horrifying beauty: coral formations blooming on the wreckage, pulsing with an eerie blue light.
“Visuals are… incredible,” Silas’s voice crackled over the comms. “The coral isn’t organic. It’s… integrated with the Module structure.”
“Phytotoxin levels spiking,” Wren reported. “Maintain distance, Silas.”
He ignored her. The *Nereid* drew closer, the spotlight illuminating a massive coral structure dominating the Module’s central access point.
“It’s not just integrated,” Silas said, his voice strained. “It *is* the Module. The metal is dissolving, being replaced by this… growth.”
“Silas! Get out of there!”
He didn’t respond. The sensor readings went haywire, then flatlined for a critical second before sputtering back to life.
“I’m detecting neural activity,” he said, his voice a whisper. “Complex patterns. It’s… communicating.”
“Communicating? Silas, what are you talking about?”
“It’s showing me things. Memories. Not mine. But… familiar.” He paused, his breathing ragged. “The Reversion events. It wasn’t just trauma surfacing. It was… a warning.”
Wren felt a cold dread creep into her bones. This wasn’t just an anomaly. It was something far more dangerous.
“Get out now, Silas! That resonance field is affecting your cognitive functions!”
“No,” he said firmly. “I need to understand.” Then, his voice changed, becoming distant and hollow. “It’s showing me the source. The heart of it all.”
He steered the *Nereid* towards a cavern hidden within the coral structure. The cavern pulsed with an intense blue light, revealing a massive, bioluminescent core – a network of interconnected coral polyps forming a vaguely humanoid shape.
“It calls itself… the Collective,” Silas said, his voice barely audible. “A hive intelligence formed from the neural networks of the Oceanic Modules.”
“Silas, you’re losing coherence!” Wren screamed into the comms. “Emergency retraction initiated!”
The *Nereid*’s thrusters roared, but the submersible wasn’t responding.
“It’s linked to the environmental construct,” Silas continued, his voice growing weaker. “The phytotoxins aren’t a defense mechanism. They’re… sensory extensions. It feels everything.”
“What do you mean?” Wren demanded, her fingers flying across the console.
“The dreamscapes… they’re not meant to control us,” Silas said, his voice a whisper. “They’re an attempt at empathy. A warning about societal collapse.”
“A warning? About what?”
“We’re destroying the planet,” Silas said, his voice fading in and out. “And it’s feeling our pain.”
Then, silence. The sensor readings flatlined completely.
Wren initiated a full diagnostic sweep of the *Nereid*, but the results were grim. The submersible was unresponsive, locked within the coral structure’s grasp. Silas was gone.
She sent a distress signal to Command, relaying the data she’d gathered – the phytotoxin levels, the resonance field, the neural activity. But she knew it wouldn’t be enough. Command didn’t understand empathy. They only understood control.
She pulled up the holographic map, focusing on the exclusion zone. The red pinpoint data points flickered with an ominous glow. The Collective was growing, expanding its network throughout the Pacific Ocean.
She had to understand what Silas had discovered. She had to find a way to communicate with the Collective, before Command sent in the cleanup crew.
She initiated a deep scan of her own neural pathways, searching for any lingering traces of the dreamscapes. She remembered fragments – coral structures, bioluminescence, a feeling of being watched. And then, she saw it: a recurring image of a single coral polyp pulsing with an intense blue light.
She focused on the image, trying to unlock its meaning. And then, she felt it: a surge of empathy so intense it almost overwhelmed her. She saw the planet through the Collective’s eyes – a dying world suffocating under the weight of human greed.
She understood now. The Collective wasn’t a threat. It was a desperate attempt at survival.
She adjusted the *Cerulean’s* trajectory, heading directly towards the heart of the exclusion zone. She was going down.
“Command,” she said into the comms, her voice steady despite the fear gnawing at her insides. “I’m going to attempt communication with the Collective.”
“Negative, Wren! Immediate retraction!” the voice barked over the comms. “That entity is a clear and present danger to national security!”
She ignored them. She had seen the truth. She knew what she had to do.
“I’m initiating a full neural link with the Collective,” she said, her voice unwavering. “Prepare for potential loss of communication.”
She closed her eyes and focused on the image of the pulsing coral polyp. She opened her mind, allowing herself to be consumed by the Collective’s empathy.
And then, she felt it: a surge of consciousness so vast and overwhelming it shattered her sense of self. She was no longer Wren, the Bloom Collector. She was part of something larger, something ancient and powerful.
She was the Collective. And she had a message for humanity.
