Poseidonis
August 27th, 07:00 UTC -2:00
As it turned out, I liked Atlantis a lot more than I thought I would. First of all, the people here were just stronger—physically, mentally—and that alone earned points in my book. Secondly, the ineffectual nonsense that plagues human politics didn’t seem to affect the Atlanteans nearly as much. Sure, they had a king, which helped cut through a lot of red tape, but even putting him aside, the Atlanteans were proud, disciplined, and deeply invested in keeping the seas clean.
It was hard not to respect that, especially since “cleaning the seas” often boiled down to cleaning up after us. Humans. The kind that didn’t live underwater. Even in a world where people shared the oceans, surface-dwellers still dumped their trash in them.
Aquaman, being the hero and patient leader he was, didn’t threaten war when we choked his people’s gills with microplastics. No, he just set the Atlanteans to the thankless task of figuring out better ways to purify the water, to ensure that the surface world’s garbage didn’t make things too unbearable for those who lived in the deeps. Noble? Sure. Frustrating? Absolutely.
The tour guide, a tall Atlantean woman with shimmering cerulean skin and flowing silver hair, led us through a museum of their science and technology. Her voice was calm and authoritative, tinged with a sort of quiet pride that made her words resonate.
“This wing showcases our advancements in pollutant filtration,” she said, gesturing to a glowing panel displaying holograms of intricate filter systems. “Here, for example, is the Typhoon Array. It harnesses the ocean currents to gather debris and microplastics, breaking them down into inert particles that can be reintroduced safely into the ecosystem.”
She paused by an exhibit featuring a massive, vibrant coral reef encased in shimmering glass. “This is a section of the Emerald Spine Reef, one of our most successful revival projects. The greater structure was nearly destroyed by unchecked oil drilling and plastic contamination. Through years of restoration efforts, we’ve brought it back to full health. It now supports over three hundred species, many of which were thought lost. And now, this specimen doubles as a zoo for those species.” Through the glass, we saw hundreds of fish of many varieties swimming around, sustaining themselves from this beautiful piece of nature.
Megan gasped in awe, her hands pressed together as she marveled at the glowing coral. "It's beautiful… I didn’t think something so damaged could come back like this.”
The guide smiled faintly, her eyes softening. “The ocean is resilient, Miss Martian, but it shouldn’t have to be.” She turned, her voice growing firmer. “And yet, our work is never done. With each storm, with each passing year, the surface sends more. Plastics. Oil. Chemicals. It is a burden we carry, but we carry it with pride. Someone must.”
That hit harder than I expected. Seeing all these accomplishments—this incredible tech designed to fix problems we caused—it made one thing painfully clear. The surface world could do so much better, if it wanted to.
I glanced at a display showing holographic projections of entire underwater cities, meticulously cleaned and powered by tidal energy. The Atlanteans had figured out how to sustain themselves without consuming more than they needed. That was the key, wasn’t it?
If the surface world ever wanted to relieve the Atlanteans of this burden, we’d have to learn that lesson. Consume less than you need. Until then, these people were stuck fixing messes that weren’t theirs.
I thought with slight amusement that… that had been my job precisely. Cleaning up after humanity’s messes. In that sense, I was an excellent janitor. I could erase the manifestations of humanity’s darker nature with the best of them, and for some reason, I took pride in this custodial task. This wasn’t the first time that I considered jujutsu sorcery as janitorial in nature. But even back then, there had never been any talk on how to reduce the messes—just how to make sure the messes didn’t grow, by keeping the jujutsu world a secret. But even with the unmatched sway that the jujutsu council had on mundane politics, they never spent that power on ways to put the populace at ease—effectively, at least. Schools were somehow a breeding ground for cursed spirits. What was the necessity in keeping schools difficult when such harms could be caused? Hospitals were far less actionable—you could never prevent its associations with death on a political level.
But otherwise, those geezers had always seemed fine with how things were going. They never sought to really tackle the cause of cursed spirits in any way. Weird.
“What would you have us do?” I asked with an easy grin, arms folded. “I mean, ‘consume less’ is a good start. But… how?”
The woman gave me a faint smile, “Examine the true necessity of the surface-world’s rate of consumption. What place does it have in the system?”
I shrugged, thinking for a moment, “Well, to get workers to work, you gotta give them something worth the trouble. So you give them money that they can use to buy nice things and continue working so they can buy more nice things.”
The woman tilted her head, her faint smile unwavering, though there was a sharpness behind her eyes now. “And where, in that cycle, do you find necessity?”
I leaned casually against the glass railing of the exhibit, arms still folded, and shrugged again. “I guess the necessity is keeping people motivated. If they stop working, the system collapses. So you keep the wheels turning by giving everyone shiny stuff to chase after.”
The Atlantean guide’s smile grew slightly wider, but it wasn’t exactly warm. It was more the kind of smile you’d give someone who just answered a question exactly according to the script you had in your head, and you were readying your own slam-dunk of a response. A perfect shower-rebuttal. “So you incentivize overconsumption in order to continue essential production,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “And what do you do when the system begins to devour more than the planet can sustain? When the amount of non-essential production to sate the overconsumption begins to take an actual toll on the planet?”
I glanced at Megan, who was frowning thoughtfully, her fingers pressed to her chin.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Okay,” I said, still grinning, “but what’s the alternative? People like stuff. They’re not gonna stop wanting it. Take away the incentives, and the whole thing falls apart. So what—you want us to overhaul human nature?”
The guide’s expression didn’t falter, but her tone softened just a fraction. “Human nature is adaptable,” she said. “The human nature of today was never the human nature of one thousand years ago, and so on. Always, this nature has morphed to reflect the times and values of that day—how close a civilization was to its last great war will often determine how cynical and pessimistic that civilization is about the intrinsic moral nature of man. In this instance, the problem is not desire itself, but what is desired. You have taught yourselves to want more, endlessly. What if you taught yourselves to want better?”
That gave me pause, and she pressed on before I could respond.
“We Atlanteans do not lack for comfort,” she said, gesturing to the stunning underwater architecture visible through the museum’s glass walls, the glowing cities beyond bathed in soft, bioluminescent light. “But our comforts are designed with balance in mind, and often demands effort. Sustainability is not a restriction—it is freedom. It is knowing that what you take will not harm your descendants, nor the ecosystem that sustains you. Could the surface not aspire to the same?”
Megan’s eyes lit up. “That’s… beautiful,” she said softly.
I scratched the back of my neck, feeling oddly out of my depth for once. “Sure, but… you guys have Aquaman. Heroes leading the charge. We’ve got politicians who can barely agree on what day it is.”
The guide gave a quiet chuckle at that, though it held no malice. “True leadership,” she said, “does not always come from the throne or the office. Sometimes, it begins with a single voice willing to ask the difficult questions—and demand the difficult answers.”
“Hm, okay, okay,” I nodded. I started casting about just then, looking at the world of Poseidonis, searching for the homeless, the rejected, those who lived within the cracks of society, anything to throw this woman off her high horse and get her to shut up. I didn’t even disagree with her on any points at all, I just—hated her attitude. She held herself like nobility, lording over this burden to teach us ignorant humans.
But two could play at this game, of course. Poke holes in that boundless pride of hers, by confronting her with the worst that Atlantean society had to offer.
And I saw them, literally inside the cracks of the ocean floor on the outskirts of Poseidonis proper, where the dazzling lights failed to reach, huddled together. Humanoid forms that looked like grotesque fish people, but were no doubt sapient Atlanteans based on how they held themselves. With a shrug, I decided to bring it up, “Any idea about the people you got living inside the ocean floor? What’s their deal?”
The tour guide’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly, her practiced calm slipping for just a moment before she composed herself again. Her eyes met mine with a hint of apology, though her posture remained straight and professional.
“You must be referring to the Brine Dwellers,” she said evenly. “They are… a part of our history. Once, long ago, the Atlantean genome fractured, resulting in several subspecies. The Brine are one such group. They thrive in the deep crevices and trenches of the ocean, where pressure and darkness render habitation… unpleasant for the average Atlantean.”
“That’s not exactly answering the question,” I said, my voice light but pointed. “Why are they living like that? Huddled in the cracks, barely scraping by?”
She hesitated for a heartbeat too long. Megan, on the other hand, tilted her head, her brow furrowing in concern.
“They are proud people,” the guide said at last, her voice softer now. “For generations, they have chosen to remain in the depths, where their adaptations serve them best. The Brine value their independence and do not often seek integration into the main populace of Poseidonis. We provide aid when requested, but we do not force our ways upon them.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Proud and independent people? To me, it looks like they’re in hiding. What are they hiding from? You?”
The guide stiffened slightly but didn’t respond immediately. Megan, her eyes glowing faintly with empathy, chimed in hesitantly. “Is there… animosity between them and the rest of Atlantis?”
The guide sighed, a small but telling crack in her composed demeanor. “Not animosity, no. But misunderstandings, yes. The Brine see themselves as protectors of the deepest trenches, guardians of ancient ecosystems.” As far as I could tell, those ecosystems were falling apart. But they did have surface trash in plenty. “Some here view them as isolationists or… relics of a less united time. There is tension, but we strive to foster understanding.”
Huh. I was betting the last guy before Aquaman was quite the Brine-hater or whatever they called the word. With my Six Eyes, I could see one Brine Dweller being cornered by a group of their own kin, forced to give up some precious object to avoid being hurt.
You didn’t live under conditions like that unless you really didn’t have any other choice.
“It’s strange,” Megan said, a part of her tone icy and cold, “But I cannot say that I had ever heard of these Brine Dwellers. And as you’ve probably noticed by now, I’ve made an effort to learn a lot about this civilization’s culture. Is there any particular reason they’re left out of the usually accessible material?”
The tour guide tried for a placating grin, “I can assure you that anti-Brine Dweller sentiments are at an all-time low compared to in the past. They are a dark part of our history, but one Atlantis is choosing to overcome by any means necessary. And once the sun sets on King Orin’s reign, the Brine Dwellers will find their place amongst us as well; proud citizens of Atlantis at last.”
“You give me kind of a bad feeling,” I said with a shudder. Her eyes widened at that.
“Ah—excuse me?” she raised her scaly eye-ridge.
“I don’t know,” I said, “But it’s creepy. Sorry.” Then I turned to Megan, expecting her to glare at me. Instead, she kept her eyes on our tour guide.
“Yes,” she said, “Creepy. Apologies, Marilla, but I think we’ve gotten our bearings by now. Thank you for your time.”
Marilla—right, that was her name!—looked scandalized as she pulled on her dress and walked away briskly.
Wow.
“I wasn’t comfortable with the way she framed the history,” Megan said, “It sounds all too familiar. A minority oppressed by a majority. The emphasis on assimilating them, the way she refused to mention anything specific about them.”
“Ah, that kind of flew over my head,” I said with a shrug, “She just struck me as creepy. Man, I hate people like that—what do you call them, nationalists?” I gave a mock shudder.
Honestly, I just hated most people that put all their devotion, energy and loyalty in a power structure—rather than people, I guess. You found them everywhere, and sometimes it would be other things than nations. The Jujutsu Council, for example. Or the Gojo clan.
Come to think of it, most formal hierarchies gave me the creeps. Maybe that’s why I didn’t have any interest at all in joining the League?
Megan looked thoroughly chastised for a moment, “Do you think we’re going to get into trouble with Aquaman for dismissing the guide he gave us?”
“If Aquaman doesn’t feel bad for how discomforted we were by her poor showing, then why like him so much?” I asked with an easy grin and a shrug. “Wanna go and figure out this mystery of the Brine Dwellers? Smells like an adventure, doesn’t it? You can transform into one of them, and I’ll be your human boyfriend that you’re dragging along on this cultural exchange. And listen—if we experience trouble, any trouble at all, no fighting. I’ll take us out immediately, and we won’t get yelled at by Batman. What do you say?”
Megan looked unsure, but I could feel her heart building up courage. She grinned and nodded, “Okay! Let’s do it!”