Rhodoreef

3. The Grumpy Gramma

"Grey, grubbing groupers in a thundering hurricane! That cow's trying to break into Mr. Nudibronk's vegetable patch! This is the second time he called!"

Dea sighed in her sleep pod, rudely awakened from her daydream.

Two days had gone by since she returned to Calliathron from her adventure in the wilderness—a welcome break she mostly spent zonking out in her room.

She groped around for the oxy-hose for a quick sip, even though she was half out of the water. The new smart domes were like large terrariums, partially filled with breathable atmosphere. Her pod jutted up mere inches above the water level—a white islet not unlike the rest of the furniture.

"You call that animal off his property now, young lady." The mini tidal wave that was Gramma's voice rolled through the little house. "That ball of blubber is an absolute menace!"

Dea shifted to a more comfortable position and watched the water rippling out with the motion. It cast shimmering reflections, dabbed with turquoise, on the achromatic walls.

"Dea? You hear me or not?"

"Yes, yes, Gramma, I hear you." She scrambled off the pod's translucent waterbed, causing the pink blobs inside to move like amoebas. "I gave him some grapes and lettuce—I think he's developed a taste for it. You know, after the ordeal."

"Ordeal? What ordeal? He was just grazing in the meadows when the search parties found him."

"Hima said he looked forlorn."

Exasperated clicks emanated from the kitchen, which was an adjacent cubicle barely bigger than her room. Dea mused how fast Gramma had reverted to her old self—even grumpier for some reason.

Dea navigated through the clutter to her curving window that looked out onto a neighboring wall of coral and mobile homes. Fish darted outside in a synchronous dance—bright, spirited and strikingly colorful.

Her gaze halted on a balcony, where tilled earth and clay pots contained several varieties of sea vegetables—delicate fronds of green and red that swayed in the current. Hovering by it was her sea cow, facing off Mr. Nudibronk, who flapped his sluggish arms in an attempt to shoo him off.

She suppressed a giggle and let out a shrill whistle. The cow turned around with an answering chirp.

"No, cow!" she said, modulating her tone the way she had done before when she tried to train him.

The chubby sirenian gave the vegetables a wistful look but moved away. It was definitely due to the prospect of better treats for good behavior.

"Mr. Nudibronk, I'm really sorry about my cow," she called out. "He's not fully trained yet!"

The elderly merman mumbled something under his breath and stormed indoors.

Dea laughed and paddled up to her ledge table that followed the length of a rounded wall. Her computer was on it, emitting a pink glow akin to bioluminescence. She slid onto the chair and gave it a fond pat.

The impressive rig resembled a bigger version of her unfurled ogi. It cost a small fortune, which she managed after saving up for almost two years. It was now the most valuable possession among her worn things, except for the gold starfish jewelry that Gramma said belonged to her mother.

Dea emitted a combination of clicks to log in and deliberated the research that greeted her from the point she left off.

It turned out that movie portrayals of humans were far from accurate. For instance, humans came in varying degrees of hairiness despite being almost naked compared to other primates. Movies depicted female humans with silky hair coverage on the legs—hair being a coveted feature. She was surprised to watch a scientist explain that many females actually shaved it off for aesthetic reasons, while leg hair was a phenomenon mostly observed in males.