Heights of the Depths

by Peter David

  “It is…revelatory, Colonel. But my opinion of humanity has not been as dire as all that. I have been impressed by what your people were capable of accomplishing.”

  “That is because you didn’t know us as well as I did.” He spoke with a grim sadness. “I knew us as only one who has fought for our preservation could. Ah. Here we are.”

  The elevator had slowed and now the doors opened. They stepped into a large room with light flooding in. Nicrominus had literally lost track of time. Dawn was coming up, the first rays of the sun spreading tentatively across the city.

  There was an observation deck outside and the Colonel walked out onto it, Nicrominus following. A large set of curved metal bars reached around the perimeter, obviously designed as a safety measure.

  “You think that the Twelve Races are warlike,” said the Colonel.

  “I know they are. Were it not for the Firedraques, and the authority we carry in the name of the Overseer…” His voice trailed off.

  The Colonel smiled at that. “Yes. Your precious authority, devolved from me and enforced by the Travelers. Imagine a world devoid of that authority, as would be the case were the Twelve Races to know that the Overseer were a lowly human.”

  “It could well be chaos.”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “Or,” said Nicrominus thoughtfully, “it could establish the foundation we require to re-create the human race. That would seem to be a necessity, if you believe the theory that I have put forward in regards to the very essence of reality that they provide.”

  “I am not entirely sure I believe it, although I’ll tell you this, Nicrominus: It’s just insane enough to be true. Except here’s the thing: I’m not convinced that resurrecting the human race is a necessity, or even a good thing.”

  Nicrominus was dumbfounded to hear such a notion. “How can you possibly say that, Colonel?”

  The Colonel leaned against what appeared to be some sort of viewing device. “I won’t lie to you, Nicrominus. When the voices first offered me this—job—I saw the possibilities of payback for what they had done to us. I figured I could find ways to manipulate the Twelve Races into obliterating each other, and sit back and laugh on behalf of my demolished race. I was going to enjoy watching the Twelve Races crash and burn. However the more I thought about it, and the more time I had to ponder it—and obviously I had more than enough time—the more I was forced to the conclusion that not only were the Twelve Races no less deserving to survive than humanity, but that they were in fact more deserving to survive.”

  “I don’t understand, Colonel. Look at that,” and Nicrominus gestured toward the entirety of the city that lay sprawled beneath them. “Look at what your people accomplished! We have nothing like that in the Elserealms! Nothing! Your achievements—”

  “They mean nothing.”

  “But Colonel—”

  “It’s soulless, Nicrominus. They’re just buildings, just architecture. The things that we did…they’re just things.” The Colonel sighed heavily and there was great sadness in his voice, in his face. “They’re just a vast, elaborate façade to cover up the fundamental emptiness in our souls. Hell, I couldn’t say for sure that we even have souls.” He turned back toward Nicrominus. “You haven’t seen what I’ve seen, my friend. You haven’t seen the great evils that humans are capable of perpetrating upon each other. At least with the Twelve Races, you were attacking someone other than yourselves. Beings to whom you by rights had no emotional or spiritual attachment. But the things that we’ve done to each other…that I’ve seen us do to each other…”

  He stopped talking. Nicrominus waited and, when the Overseer did not speak immediately, he prompted, “Colonel—?”

  “Sometimes,” said the Colonel so softly that Nicrominus had to strain to hear, “I think the reason humans have such limited life spans is that, if we’re around for too long, then we have too much time to think about what we’ve seen. What we’ve done. In my case, what I’ve seen us do, and had to do, and been ordered to do. I killed women, Nicrominus. Women and children, and the types of people I swore to protect, and I was given medals for it and awards and a high rank. And the things we’ve built to destroy each other, from the smallest virus to the biggest bomb. The inhumanity, the brutality that became the hallmark of our day to day existence…it would stagger your imagination. And every time I would encounter yet another example of what we were capable of doing to each other, I would die a little more inside. And now I’ve had years and years to dwell on it, more years than any human should rightfully have. And all I can do is think that, considering what we were doing not only to each other, but to the very planet itself…considering all that…perhaps our extinction is the absolute best thing that could have happened. Your people may have done us a tremendous service, annihilating us and saving us the trouble of slowly drowning in a vast cesspool of our own making and quite possibly taking the planet down with us.

  “And now you’re telling me that resuscitating our race has become an imperative? That it’s necessary not only for the survival of this sphere, but the Elserealms…”

  “And possibly the entirety of reality, yes,”

  “Then maybe reality doesn’t deserve to exist. Maybe humanity is the litmus test, the yardstick by which we’re supposed to measure just how worthwhile the universe is to save from entropy. And if we’re going to judge reality by that standard, then I think the solution pretty much presents itself, don’t you?”

  “With respect, Colonel, I do not think that at all. Nor, if I may be so bold, do I think the gods believe that. Or do you place no more stock in the reality of gods than you do in the right of your race to exist?”

  “I did,” said the Colonel with a sigh. “Once upon a time, many long years ago. I believed in the notion of a single great being looking down upon us, having a master plan and with our best interests at heart. But now?” He shook his head. “Now I very much doubt it.”

  “I do not,” said Nicrominus firmly. “There are forces in the universe that we cannot comprehend—”

  “More in heaven and earth than is dreamt of in our philosophy?” said the Colonel, chuckling slightly.

  “Yes. Very much so. There is order in the world, and there is chaos. Two factions that are capable of butting against each other,” and he thumped his fists together, “or,” and then he interlaced his fingers, “working together. Order and chaos, if they act in an obstructionist manner, can inflict great destruction. But if they work with each other—if they ally—they can accomplish anything.”

  “I can see that,” said the Colonel. “This world, born out of chaos, and then cooling and becoming…ordered, I suppose.”

  “Yes. And it was the hand of the divine that brought order out of that chaos. I believe that hand remains in existence to this day. Beings infused with the spirit of order and chaos walk among us, touching the world, influencing events.”

  “Fanciful.”

  “Perhaps. On the other hand, I would submit that this very conversation we are having is proof of His divine hand.”

  “How do you figure that?” The Colonel sounded genuinely interested.

  “Why else would we have been brought together if not for a particular reason?” said Nicrominus. “You have trusted me with a great many secrets this day. Secrets that none others save, I assume, the Travelers know.”

  “Not even the Travelers,” said the Colonel. “I have never spoken to any other living being as I have spoken to you.”

  “There, you see? Further proof of trust. Here we are: I, the person who has come to believe he knows why the hotstars are dying, and you, the person who holds the power to reverse the trend. We need humans. We need to repopulate the species. At such a time, who better to lead us in our efforts than a human?”

  The Colonel stared at him, looking incredulous, and then started to laugh. He laughed so hard that tears began to well in his eyes and he had to wipe them away. “Is that what you think is going to happen? That I’m going to b
e Adam and we’re going to trot in a series of Eves so that I can singlehandedly regenerate the species with my mighty seed? Is that what you believe is God’s plan? Because if it is, then it’s a pretty damned stupid one.”

  “I would not presume to know God’s plan.”

  “Well,” said the Colonel affectionately, and he rested a hand on Nicrominus’s shoulder, “that makes two of us.”

  “I assure you, Colonel, I wish I did know what His plan was.”

  “Good news in that regard, Nicrominus. I believe I can help you, by arranging for you to ask Him.”

  It was only at that moment that Nicrominus realized his danger, but it was too late. The Colonel’s hand swung quickly and struck Nicrominus in a nerve cluster just below his shoulders. Nicrominus felt all power of movement vanish from his body, and before he do anything, say anything, the Colonel had lifted him off his feet. His strength was astounding, although it might very well have been powered by his armor.

  “I’m sorry, Nicrominus. But the last thing this planet needs is more humans. Or any humans.”

  And then Nicrominus was flying, up, up, up and over the metal rails that served as protection toward anyone who might fall from such a tremendous height. He would have reached out to snatch at it, but he remained unable to move.

  A vast drop yawned beneath him, and he had just enough time to realize that he’d never had the opportunity to ask what the purpose of those flashing lights at the intersection were. Then visions of his daughter and Xeri and Norda Kinklash all spiraled in front of him. They seemed to be saying good-bye.

  He fell, slamming into an extension of the building, and there was the loud crack of his back snapping as he rebounded from it and tumbled out into midair. The last thing he saw was the sun rising, and he wondered how he had never noticed just how beautiful it was, and then the pain from his shattered back finally caught up with him and caused his brain to shut down.

  By the time he hit the ground he was already long gone.

  ii.

  Norda Kinklash was surprised to discover that she was waking up in exactly the same place as she had fallen asleep.

  This caught her off guard for several reasons. First, for Norda, the division between reality and fantasy was always a shaky one at best. To her they coexisted nicely with each other. So if something was happening to her, she was never entirely certain whether she was dreaming it was happening or it was actually happening, or for that matter if she was dreaming it while she was awake. It was, as far as she was concerned, an exciting way to live, presuming she was actually living it. She might have been dreaming all of it. No way to be sure.

  Second, Norda had been absolutely positive that, presuming what she thought had happened had actually, in fact, happened, that Arren would be along in short order to rescue her from her predicament. That was, after all, what Arren did. He made certain that he was there for her at all times, which meant that she had the luxury of being the way she was and not having to worry about the ramifications.

  Consequently, she had hitched a ride on the very same Zeffer that had absconded with New Daddy (as she had come to refer to Nicrominus, having only the vaguest memory of her original father) and had done so with impunity. She had given no thought to her action other than that it seemed like a wonderfully good idea, and if she got into too much trouble, Arren would find a way to rescue her. She had clung to that notion in the exact same manner that she clung to the tall spike atop the building.

  Norda had been getting extremely hungry for a while, but a few passing birds that got too close to her, doubtless out of curiosity over never having seen anything like her before, had enabled her to attend to that problem. She had snatched one right out of the air with her hand while ensnaring another with her tail, crushing both of them to death in an instant. Then she had devoured them hungrily, feathers, bones and all. The feathers tickled as they slid down her gullet, and every so often she coughed up another small cluster of them. But they had at least satisfied her hunger, although she still remained powerfully thirsty. To allow herself some rest, she had sung herself to sleep with a gentle song that she found particularly relaxing.

  She dreamed of Arren saving her with such certainty that, when she awoke, she was genuinely surprised to discover that she was still atop the spike. She was also surprised to discover that she had some fleeting memory of a dream that didn’t quite seem to fit within her own head. There was a human, a female she was reasonably sure, in the dream, and she could have sworn that the human female was looking right at her even though they were in fact nowhere near each other. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense to her, but then again, most things didn’t.

  Norda blinked against the rays of the slowly rising sun, and that was when she heard something from below. The sounds of thumping, something hitting something else. She looked down and saw a man in the strangest suit of gleaming metal, and he was holding New Daddy over his head. She couldn’t fathom why. Perhaps New Daddy wanted to have a better view of the city and the metal man wanted to help him by providing him an improved vantage point.

  And then she watched the metal man throw New Daddy high in the air, over a fence, and New Daddy fell and fell and at first Norda still did not understand what she was seeing. When she finally did comprehend it, when she realized that she was watching New Daddy being thrown to his death, her impulse was to believe that what she was seeing was not, in fact, happening. That it was just another dream, another fantasy from the fevered mind of Norda Kinklash that bore no resemblance to the real world.

  At some point, as a stiff wind blew across her face, she realized that this was not so. What she was seeing was actually happening, and what was actually happening was terrible beyond belief.

  She had never witnessed anyone’s death before. She had been the cause of it. For instance, she had released a gigantic bell from a tower that had crushed an enemy of her brother into paste. It hadn’t bothered her in the least, and she had applauded herself over her cleverness and resourcefulness.

  But this was different, because this was New Daddy. New Daddy, who had found her adorable and pleasant to talk to and was quite obviously charmed by her. He was going to fill the void in her life that Arren could not, no matter how much he tried. He was going to teach her things and care about her and the notion that she might be witnessing his death was so overwhelming that she had no desire to believe it. She wanted to believe that he would somehow manage to slow his descent and land gently upon the ground, and she would be waiting there for him and they would have a good laugh together over it and at the silly man in metal who thought that he had killed New Daddy.

  Norda loved games, loved fantasies, loved to live in her own head, and that was where she wanted to remain rather than deal with what she was seeing.

  But she could not.

  This was too big, too monstrous, too unjust, and as much as she wanted to run away deep into her head and not deal with it, the enormity of it pulled her out of herself and squarely into the real world.

  Norda Kinklash felt something breaking within her and realized belatedly it was her heart.

  Then she felt something else, something black and powerful forming around that same broken heart and mending it and darkening it and making it a fearful and frightful thing.

  Never in her life had Norda Kinklash hated anyone before. She didn’t have the capacity for it.

  That all changed when she witnessed the death of Nicrominus.

  The metal man was still standing there, staring down toward the street. From the angle she was perched, she could not see his face. She didn’t know if he was smiling or sad. She didn’t care. All she wanted was to see him dead.

  Her impulse was to leap down upon him, to tear into him, rip his head off, send his body tumbling down into the street so that he would be able to keep Nicrominus company. But before she yielded to that impulse, she found herself wondering what Arren would do in a similar situation, because he was ever-so-clever at figuring out ways and means
to dispose of people.

  And Arren, in her imagination, said to her gently but firmly, Wait. Not now. Not yet. You have to wait.

  She stayed where she was. She stayed there and watched as the metal man reached down, picked up his helmet, and placed it back upon his head. He twisted it and it slid into place with a slight “click.” Seeing this caused Norda to curse herself that she had made no move, because he was now effectively impervious to whatever harm she might be able to inflict upon him.

  It was a new sensation for her, wanting to inflict harm. That time with the bell, when she had conspired with Arren, it hadn’t been personal or stemming from any sort of enmity. It had just been part of a grand game of power that Arren had put together. That was how he had explained it to her.

  Not this time, though. Not anymore. This time she was seized with cold, implacable fury. But fortunately the words of Arren the Schemer, Arren the Planner, were wisely counseling her and preventing her from meeting a demise as quickly and as assuredly as had New Daddy. Whoever and whatever this metal man was, he was clearly formidable and could not be readily dispatched with a frontal attack, no matter how fueled by righteous fury it was.

  She had to wait.

  But she knew that there was one thing for which she could no longer wait: her brother. Perhaps Arren would eventually show up, or perhaps not. Perhaps she would find him, given time, or perhaps she would never see him again. The latter notion would have overwhelmed her with grief at one time, causing her to curl up into a ball and become inconsolable.

  Not now. Not this time.

  Fortunately she felt as if she had Arren in her head, right there with her, instructing her, telling her what to do. Sadly, he wasn’t telling her how to go about it, save to counsel caution. That she could do.

  The metal man had turned away from the observation deck and disappeared from view. She was actually able to hear a faint clanking from his armored feet that receded until he was gone. The wind continued to buffet her and the chill had worked its way into her bones. As a result when she made her first efforts to move, her muscles protested and her joints ached. She overcame such discomforts, though, because ultimately they were minor and nothing for her to concern herself over.