The Atomic Sea: Volume Two

by Jack Conner

  “Treat with the bastards!” As if enraged all over again at the merest thought, the butcher-faced man slammed a fist onto the table. His goblet jumped.

  Another woman leaned forward. Though young and attractive, one of her eyes was obviously made of glass. In low tones, she said, “You know it’s the only way, Surdan. If the Octunggen keep coming, they’ll obliterate us. They’ll conquer Ungraessot like they’ve conquered everyone else, and what do you think will happen then? We’ll be the first ones they kill. They’ll execute us in bloody public spectacles to show the people their leaders are dead and they must look to Octung for control. They’ll burn the temples and kill anyone who refuses to worship the Collossum—and that will only be the beginning. Then will come the purgings, the slave camps, the experiments ...”

  Surdan glared at her. “And you think they won’t do the same if we surrender?”

  She started to say something, but evidently could not. Chagrined, she sat back.

  The foppish gentleman, who sat beside her, patted her hand. “It’s all right, Sis. I for one agree with you. Treating with the Octunggen likely won’t save us, but it’s our only hope. They do seem to honor their agreements.”

  “Until it becomes prudent for them to do otherwise,” added the middle-aged woman.

  “It will buy us time,” insisted the fop.

  “Time for what?” growled the butcher-faced man, Surdan.

  The younger man gestured vaguely with his hands. “Time to organize ... regroup ... maybe fight back.”

  “You’re a fool. They’ll kill us all immediately.”

  The white-faced woman’s voice was sharp. “Then what do you suggest?”

  Surdan glowered at her, then slumped back, weary and disgusted. He ran a hand over his face. “Perhaps this way is best,” he said. “This way at least the Octunggen may spare our people.”

  Janx grunted. “Yeah. You lot seem like a real people-first bunch.”

  The silence at the table was sudden and chilly.

  Avery cleared his throat. “What my friend meant was, Where is Lord Haemlys? Is he actually treating with the Octunggen now?”

  It was the white-faced woman that spoke. “No. He’s preparing to meet the delegation here. They’re traveling by aeroplane and should be here any minute.”

  Avery turned to the others of his group and said in Ghenisan, “This is the worst possible news. Not only for Ungraessot, but for us. The Octunggen delegation will completely distract Haemlys. We won’t be able to speak with him at all.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

  Avery spun to the new speaker, who stood directly behind him. It was, to his shock, Lord Haemlys himself. Dressed in his finest royal clothes, with a burgundy-and-purple cape depending from his broad shoulders, his beard carefully combed, his lobster claw adorned with burgundy ribbons and golden baubles, smelling of fine cologne, he looked a much different man than the one Avery had met last night. Though, by the way he blinked his eyes and scowled, it was clear he suffered some degree of hangover.

  “You speak Ghenisan,” Avery said.

  “I speak a hundred languages.”

  Not bothering to argue with the obvious exaggeration, the nobles at the table greeted him loudly, but there was no true enthusiasm in their helloes, and he seemed to realize it. He pulled at his beard and frowned out over them.

  “I know my decision isn’t the popular one,” he said. “I know you have your doubts, and with reason. Yet I cannot stand idly by while our country collapses.”

  “But you’re a god!” said one.

  He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I am a messiah of greater gods, as have all those of my line been. But my greater gods, the gods of my fathers and the Father of My Fathers, have all abandoned me. Perhaps I am unworthy. I don’t know. I will continue to make sacrifice to them, pray to them, but I cannot depend on them. Thus I must treat with devils.”

  There was some outcry at this, shouted arguments and curses, a few praises here and there. Avery was impressed by how Haemlys weathered it all, just standing there, regal and poised, especially after his display last night. At last he raised his true hand to placate those of the table. They calmed in fits and starts.

  When he had their attention, he said, “It’s the only way. Now—prepare yourselves. I’ve been told the delegation has arrived and is being taken here. I want my friends around me in my time of need. We will feast them and wine them, win them over with our hospitality. Any treating that shall be done shall be done with them drunk and fucked to within an inch of their lives.”

  There were some reluctant nods and smiles, but most of the guests simply looked grim. Avery turned to see his group looking much the same.

  “He’s mad,” Janx said, speaking in a heated whisper.

  “Actually, I think he’s on to something,” said Hildra.

  “Octunggen will not be swayed by food and wine and sex,” Layanna said.

  “What will they be swayed by?” Avery asked.

  “The promise of power. And I’m afraid that can only be had once the aristocracy is dead.”

  Avery swallowed, remembering the dark times of Ghenisa. “So you think they should fight.”

  She made an apologetic face. “Fighting would be futile. You cannot defeat Octung.”

  He felt desperate. “What then?”

  “Surdan is right. The nobles must sacrifice themselves to protect their subjects, at least as much as they can.”

  “That ain’t gonna happen,” said Janx, hiking a thumb at the room at large, referring to the halted debauch.

  The main doors opened with a bang. Everyone jumped. People in conversation ceased talking. Even the priests quit slaughtering their animals. Flanked by guards and led by royal aides, a procession of Octunggen filed into the room.

  “Holy shit,” said Hildra. “It’s really happening.”

  “Octunggen don’t waste time,” Layanna said.

  The delegation approached. The room’s lanterns, braziers and chandeliers glinted off the silver trimmings on their crisp black uniforms, shining boots, peaked caps, and sharp lines. Everything about their appearance was designed to invoke fear, awe, respect. And from the way they snapped their boots on the marble to the way they swiveled their ice-cold gazes around the room, taking it all in, they knew precisely how to evoke the feelings they wanted. There were about a dozen Octunggen, Avery saw, most dark-haired and gray-eyed, the Octunggen ideal, and they cut a neat swath toward the God-Emperor.

  Haemlys, flanked by four royal guards, waited for them at the foot of the table. Other guards at the edges of the room stiffened and drew closer.

  As the Octunggen approached, Avery could almost feel the temperature of the table decrease. The nobles drew away, just a bit.

  With a snap of boots, the Octunggen halted, all in unison, directly before the God-Emperor. The aide that had brought them—not Jynad, Avery saw, but another—bowed to his lord and introduced the lead Octunggen, a tall man with steely gray eyes and more pepper in his hair than salt. His face was hard, businesslike, as if he were merely conducting a professional transaction from a place of some advantage.

  “General Varicanus,” said the aide, “may I introduce you to his Great Eminence, the Lord of Ungraessot, Wielder of the Jade Scepter, Father of Horns, the Boar in the Woods—”

  “Oh, he knows who I am already,” Haemlys interrupted. He stepped forward and gave a curt nod, not quite a bow, to General Varicanus, who returned the gesture, adding a stomp of his boot.

  As one, the Octunggen behind him stomped their boots, as well, a peal of thunder in the hall.

  “Shall we begin?” the General said. His voice was crisp and clear, his accent only seeming to sharpen his words.

  Haemlys nodded, with just a hint of fear in his face. He gestured to the table. “Please, I would like you to join me at supper. I’ve had my finest chefs prepare a grand feast, just for you, and I would like you to enjoy some genuine Ungraessotti hospitality.”

&nb
sp; General Varicanus visibly suppressed a frown. “If we must.” Avery was impressed that he showed no fear of poison.

  Disgustingly obsequious, Haemlys ushered the Octunggen to the table, and his fellow nobles moved down for them, squeezing up against each other and shooting each other cold, hard looks. They clearly didn’t like this. Avery’s own skin crawled to be near the members of the delegation.

  Even worse was the realization that he occupied a seat on the outer edge of the group of nobles. He would have to sit next to one of the Octunggen.

  Just as he realized this, he heard a strange, familiar voice beside his ear.

  “Is this seat taken?”

  He looked up at the black-uniformed Octunggen that stood there. Short auburn hair framed a slightly squared jaw, and that old scar still showed on the bridge of her nose. Blue-gray eyes stared at him from over a slightly predatory smile.

  “You,” he choked.

  Sheridan’s smile widened.

  Chapter 7

  He felt cold all over as Sheridan sat down next to him. She moved smoothly, confidently, showing not the slightest discomfort. Indeed, she seemed amused, enjoying this. Her leg actually brushed up against his as she settled in. As if receiving an electric shock, he recoiled.

  His mind spun, and he struggled for words, for comprehension. How was this possible? Sheridan should still be pursuing him on her ray, or perhaps she would have returned to some other duty by now, having given up on catching him and Layanna now that they had entered a foreign warzone.

  Janx and Hildra found words.

  “Holy fucking crap!” said Hildra. “It’s her!”

  Janx glared at his former captain, his jaws clenching, fists shaking on the table. “The gall!!”

  No one seemed to notice their exchange. The Octunggen were talking casually amongst themselves, the God-Emperor was making some jest to General Varicanus, who did not seem amused, and the Ungraessotti nobles were whispering darkly to each other.

  Rage and frustration, confusion and fear all welled up in Avery, fighting for supremacy.

  Sheridan only gazed at him sideways, pleased. “It’s good to see you, too, Doctor.”

  At last one of his emotions won out. “It’s not so good for me, Admiral,” he snapped, then winced at the brittleness in his voice.

  “At the moment I’m not acting as admiral,” she said. “I am here as a special advisor to the General.”

  Janx reached for a fork. Its points glittered in the light of the candles that dripped and sagged on the table. “Retired from navy life, eh?”

  She leaned back casually, to all appearances quite comfortable. “Perhaps not. We shall see. At the moment Ghenisa considers me missing, presumed taken captive. A sad fate that our rays were ambushed, our men taken prisoner.”

  “I bet you loved that,” Hildra said. “You probably rolled out the welcome mat.”

  “At any rate, here you are.” This came from Layanna.

  Slowly, obviously relishing this, Sheridan turned her attention to the woman from the sea, satisfaction glimmering in her eyes. “You. At last. Let me say that it is an honor to break bread with one of the Revered.”

  “I wish I could say the same.”

  A rueful twist lifted one corner of Sheridan’s mouth. “You led me a merry chase. I almost thought you’d escaped. Fortunately our psychics traced your progress to Maqarl, and our spies were able to confirm you were in the Palace.”

  Avery reached for a knife. “You have spies here?”

  Sheridan eyed his knife, her amusement only growing. “We have spies everywhere. You of all people should know that.”

  He forced himself to relax his grip on the knife. “So. You’re still on the hunt.”

  She raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. “On the hunt? Oh no, my dear, I’m afraid the hunt has finished.” Her gaze flicked once more to Layanna. “I have my quarry in my sights.”

  “That is not the same as catching it,” Layanna said.

  “We shall see.”

  The tension did not ebb as chefs wheeled silver-domed platters out and began to serve the opening round. This whole affair was a hasty, last-minute effort, Avery knew, without the pomp and ceremony it would have normally had—a necessary measure, he recognized—but those in charge did not skimp. Avery had never attended a royal feast before, despite being married to a noblewoman (however impoverished and in hiding), and he found himself in awe at the waste, at the extravagance, at the sumptuousness. Course followed course, from pâté to caviar to braised pork ribs to salad to grilled squid and rice to bowls full of batkin eyes (a delicacy) mixed with dates and nuts to ox tongue to haunch of goat stuffed with cloves to ... And all of it was served with the richest wine imaginable. His mind reeled. His palate staggered.

  With Sheridan sitting right next to his elbow, occasionally brushing it, he drank and drank, but it was not enough.

  Sheridan, by contrast, sipped her drinks daintily and tackled her meals with relish yet precision. He occasionally caught her dabbing at her mouth with a napkin, her eyes on Layanna, as if confusing meal and prey. Perhaps they were all one to her.

  Layanna ate little. She sat there staring downward at times, or letting her gaze wander over the members of the table. Janx ate loudly, taking his anger out on his food, his murderous glare on Sheridan, while Hildra followed Avery’s example and let the wine flow freely. She’d found an expensive pack of Ungraessotti cigarettes somewhere and smoked one after another. Hildebrand, having consumed some wine, lay drowsing on the table, occasionally hiccupping. She petted him distractedly.

  Meanwhile the God-Emperor laughed nervously and told joke after joke, trying to win General Varicanus over. Yet if the General was warmed he did not show it. Nor did he seem interested in the prospect of an orgy or “private entertainment”, an idea which Haemlys wasted no time in laying before him. The God-Emperor’s companions did not help very much. A few offered some nuggets of conversation, but most seemed disoriented and uncomfortable. How could they even pretend to make polite conversation with Octunggen?

  Finally Sheridan stood and left the table—accompanied by two Ungraessotti guards—presumably to find a washing room, but Avery, who did not want to grant her any human needs, decided she went to scout territory, or, who knows, find a baby to eat.

  Hildra took the opportunity to lean forward and say, “Doc, let’s get the fuck outta here.”

  Janx nodded, chewing his slug fillet into submission. “I can’t take any more of this.” Yet he didn’t stop chewing.

  Layanna looked weary. “We must go to our rooms and pack. We must leave immediately by whatever means necessary. We will have to find another avenue to the Hallowed Halls.” She started to rise.

  Avery reached out and laid a hand on her forearm. He still wasn’t sure what they were supposed to feel for each other after last night, or what he wanted them to feel, and the gesture was self-conscious.

  “Yes?” she said.

  He let out a breath. “I have a plan.”

  The others looked at him.

  “What?” asked Janx.

  “Packing our bags and trying to leave will get us nowhere. I think this delegation is a ruse, and the Octunggen’s true aim is to secure Layanna. If that’s right, then an attack should come at any time in order to provide cover. Don’t you see? There is no escape, not that way. Besides, we’re so close.” He looked at them, meeting each gaze sternly. “All we need is Haemlys to give us access to the Hallowed Halls.”

  “Yeah,” said Hildra. “And?”

  Avery was patient. “What’s the one thing he wants above all else?”

  Hildra frowned. “To get in touch with his stupid gods.”

  “Exactly. And what is it that we happen to have, sitting right here with us?”

  After a beat, all eyes traveled to Layanna.

  Avery smiled. “Okay, here’s how it will go ...”

  Afterwards, they consulted with Jynad. Thinking they merely wanted a tour, the aide showed him and
the others to the Soul Door, which actually turned out to be double doors, purple and thirty feet high. The grand, ornate, heavily locked doors were said to be the portal to the afterlife, at least for those of the Verican faith. The God-Emperor opened the palace up to visitors on holy days, and citizens from the furthest reaches of Ungraessot made pilgrimages to see the portal. Thus viewing the Door itself was not off-limits—it was the door to the afterlife; little chance of keeping that from the people—though it was set in a quiet area of the sub-levels, guarded by well-armed guards, and kept locked with a key only the God-Emperor had access to.

  “Nice,” said Hildra, staring up at the high, purple-lacquered doors. Their edges were bossed in solid gold, and the knobs gleamed of gold as well. “So—behind those is heaven, eh?”

  “Not heaven,” said Jynad. “We are not Haggaran. Our afterlife is very real.”

  “We know what we need to do,” Avery said later, when they’d left the Soul Door and separated from Jynad. “Everyone know what their assignments are?” They nodded. “Layanna, are you up for it?”

  “After last night, yes.”

  “Then we’ll all meet back here at midnight.”

  Janx and Hildra departed to scavenge for supplies, while Avery returned to the suite and packed. Layanna set out to get in place. Thus Avery was all alone in the suite when knocking came from the door.

  Hair prickled down his spine. He stared at the door, a pair of socks raised halfway. Please no, he thought. I don’t have time for this. Already Layanna would be wrapping things up, if Haemlys kept to his usual schedule, or what guests of the palace had assured them was usual.

  The knocking came again, more forcefully.

  With some misgiving, he quit his packing and opened it.

  Sheridan looked just as crisp and sharp in her black uniform as she had earlier. Ungraessotti guards stood to either side of her, not willing to let an Octunggen roam the halls unattended. She seemed to ignore them completely.