by Jasmine Walt
The woman stared at him. Pain filled her eyes. She wrenched her head away, whispered something in bitter tones that he did not catch and wiped at a tear in the corner of her eye. “Months ...”
“Yes. Not to harp on this, but how did you wind up in the whale?” He heard the desperation in his voice but couldn’t help it. He had to know.
She continued to stare upward. “Hizven!” she said, an Octunggen curse word. Her hands balled into fists, and her fists shook at her sides. In the background Avery heard the laughter of the scientists and the whine of a bone saw. He need not fear being overheard.
He leaned forward. The movement earned him the woman’s attention, but her eyes narrowed as they fell on him, and suddenly he felt cold. Whoever she was, she possessed a powerful personality. He could feel the weight of it whenever she looked at him, and the absence of it when she didn’t.
“And you healed,” he heard himself say. “You healed unnaturally fast. I ... I’ve never seen anything like it, in all my medical career. Or heard of anything like it. It’s almost ... inhuman.”
She hardly seemed to be paying attention. Suddenly she started to sit up, apparently impatient to be on her way, but even her amazing body had experienced muscle atrophy over the two months of her coma. She groaned in pain and collapsed to the bed, gasping. Sweat beaded her brow.
He patted her forearm. She wrenched her arm away.
Clearing his throat in embarrassment, he said, “It’ll take some time before you regain your strength. Of course, with your regenerative abilities, this might be accelerated now that you can exercise, but ... it will still be some time.” He indicated the intravenous tubes that connected to her arms, pumping her full of medical and alchemical substances. “I think eating proper food again will help. We’ve been feeding you through the tubes, but I must confess I wouldn’t want to eat what comes through there.” He had to struggle with the words, and he knew he must sound like a fool to a native Octunggen.
Perhaps he was right, as she glared at him haughtily. Then, slowly, she softened, and her body sort of sagged. She breathed out a long breath. He supposed she must be realizing that she needed him for the moment, that for now she was helpless.
“I must leave here,” she said. “It’s urgent.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s impossible.” He imagined what would happen if Dr. Wasnair and the others discovered that the woman was Octunggen. People like them had invented most of the torture techniques used during the time of the Drakes, and the ancient torture chambers were said to be conveniently located the next level down, home now to secret research—the resurrection projects and the like—but easily cleared for special guests, Avery was sure.
Yet what could he do with her? He’d pondered the matter for months and hadn’t come up with anything satisfactory.
His silence and evident brooding seemed to intrigue or disturb the woman. She went from sulking and staring at the ceiling to reluctantly looking at him. He could see her out of the corner of his eyes grudgingly begin to view him as an actual person, a person with an agenda of his own.
“What ails you, Doctor?” she said. Still he said nothing. It seemed to worry her. “You are enemies of the Lightning Crown.”
Still not looking at her, this time deliberately, he said, “Of Octung, yes. Rather it is the enemy, if it is not too theatrical to say, of the world.”
No longer were her eyes haughty. They were blue and mysterious, and they gazed at him beseechingly, latching into him like hooks. “You must help me, Doctor. I can’t tell you all, but I am on a mission.”
“Yes, you said before.”
“I don’t remember.”
“You said you were on a mission to stop Octung. It’s the only reason why I haven’t spoken of you to anyone. Please, tell me more.”
“Get me out of here and I’ll tell you everything.”
“Again, that’s impossible. The others consider you property of the Navy. I’m afraid they’ll never let you go, especially if they learn you’re Octunggen. Not everyone is as gullible as I am.”
Her face was tight. “You are not gullible. I’m telling the truth. And I’m not Octunggen. Fine, if they won’t let me go, then you must, Doctor.”
“Tell me how you plan to stop Octung.”
“No. I ... I cannot. Just know I will, that I will end the war.”
He studied her. There was nothing deceitful in her manner, only earnestness and urgency. Could she possibly be telling the truth? It was absurd. And yet ...
“It’s not that easy,” he said.
Her voice became leaden. “Then Ghenisa will burn. Octung will raze it and set up shrines to the Collossum in its ashes.”
“Who are you?”
“I am ... have you heard of the Black Sect?”
“Yes. Yes, of course. Heretics and saboteurs.”
“We’re a lot more than that. We’re enemies of the Collossum.”
“But they’re just gods. Myth ... superstition ...”
She sank back, looking tired. “You would not believe.”
“Why don’t you let me decide what I’d believe?”
She didn’t answer.
“Fine,” he said. “If you’re part of the Black Sect, you should be an ally of Ghenisa. I could bring in the others.”
“No! Spies would find out. Assassins. They would kill me as soon as anyone knew who I was. You can say nothing, Doctor. To anyone. If you do, it will mean my death.”
She was right, of course. If she could truly harm Octung, Sheridan would kill her or have someone do it for her.
“Can you speak anything other than Octunggen?” he asked.
Slowly, haltingly, she said in Ghenisan but with a strong Octunggen accent, “Speak me small volume languages many.”
He winced. “You must pretend, in front of the other doctors, to still be asleep.”
Her eyes widened. “I must leave. I will never—”
The bone saw escalated in the background as it drilled through a particularly thick section of carapace, and Avery imagined what other uses Wasnair might find for it.
“You must,” he said. At last he looked her in the eyes again, but this time firmly, asserting the power of his own personality. “If you don’t, you will die.”
Her chin jutted out, but she did not argue.
Reluctantly, he stood. She had no more answers to give, not yet, and now that she was awake he couldn’t afford to draw attention to her by staying here. Sooner or later, Dr. Wasnair would surely draw him aside to admire some anatomical feature of the crustacean before letting him go back to sleep.
“Say you’ll pretend to still be comatose,” he said.
Frustration showed in her face, and she made a growling sound. “But I must grow strong again! How can I become well enough to finish my mission if I’m bed-ridden?”
“I’m your doctor. I’ll help you get well. However, I still haven’t decided what to do with you once you are well.”
She started to say something, but she was obviously exhausted from talking so long. “I can stop ... Octung ...”
“Close your eyes. Get some sleep.”
With obvious reluctance, she obeyed. Within moments her breathing became regular, and her eyes rolled under her eyelids.
Wondering at himself, he reached out and tucked her in. He said not one word to Dr. Wasnair and the others as he left the lab to find a quiet spot to sleep in.
Avery visited her the next night, and the night after that. Every night he helped her exercise. He fed her real food, for which she seemed grateful. He worked throughout the days, running blood tests and developing cultures, keeping up his pretense of trying to find out what and who she was. Privately he’d given up on such experiments. He’d found a better, easier way to get his answers. Yet she refused to give away her secrets, only hinted at vast agendas. He still wasn’t sure he believed her, but he’d decided to win her trust and go from there. If nothing else, she was a good actress during the days, playing her part
as coma patient well.
Between his work during the day and his labors during the night, he found little time for sleep, and it also meant that he had less time for the commute to his apartment. He hadn’t been this exhausted since his days as an intern in Benical. Reluctantly, he took Admiral Sheridan up on her offer and bunked in the late Captain Marsh’s quarters on the floor below hers. This naturally led to more frequent trysts with the admiral herself, which further spent him. He honestly didn’t know how long he could keep this up. At forty-two, he was not a young man.
Added to this pressure were the reports that flooded in daily regarding the war. Octung had finally subjugated Asrakad and was bringing its full powers to bear on Cumnal, which was immediately to the south of Ghenisa and a close ally. To get to Cumnal, the Octunggen first must plow through the highlands of Ungraessot, land of the God-Emperor, home of the Soul Door, but with its might freed from the mire of Asrakad this was less problematic, and Ungraessot was half crushed beneath the boot heel of Octung already. At the same time, Octung also waged war on a host of other nations—the Confederation of Sorwed to the south, Hygaerd with its famous and wealth-producing inland sea, the Illith, and, trampling over the ruins of Asrakad and its brother countries Nalakath and Mureen, drove into the eastern regions of the Ysstral Empire to the north, just across the Borghese Mountains from Ghenisa. And everywhere they went the Octunggen set up their temples to the Collossum and purged the populations of ethnicities and religions disagreeable to them. Rumors spread of strange and horrific experiments being conducted on the prisoners, and on facilities to which prisoners were brought healthy but left either dead or ... inhuman.
Ghenisa, even though sheltered by the Borghese, was not safe. Octung had already tried to strike through the Korwen Pass, through which Ghenisa had historically traded with Ungraessot, but Ghenisa had collapsed two mountains into it, stymieing the Octunggen advance. Not to be put off, Octunggen engineers worked day and night at removing and destroying the debris, aided by their strange technologies, while aerial, dirigible-mounted patrols sought for ways around the pass.
No one knew where Octung had acquired such technology, nor could any other country even build similar machines on their own. Some scientists claimed that the devices used what they called extradimensional capabilities. In any event, the only way to counter the otherworldly weapons was by stealing information related to them (and sometimes parts) to produce similar weapons. Thus it was a war of spies and counter-spies, and Avery knew he must stop Sheridan before she disclosed something vital to Octung, if it was not too late already.
He didn’t push her. He didn’t want her becoming suspicious of him. Still, he was eager for her to take him into her confidence. She didn’t follow up on their discussion the night of the crustacean attack, not immediately, but sometimes he would catch her staring at him, eyeing him as a man might eye a dog that he wanted for his own yet was afraid might bite.
Meanwhile, Dr. Wasnair and his cabal continued their research into the crustacean, and in a magnanimous display he bade Avery to assist. This was Avery’s invitation to join a wider world of scientific pursuit and a possible step on the ladder of promotion.
On the morning of the eighth day after the attack, Dr. Sharra Winegold and three assistants—or at least their remains—were found as puddles of rotting flesh on the floor beside the great decapod. Winegold’s distinct puddle was identified by her horn-rimmed spectacles, whose frames had remained mostly solid.
Instead of being saddened or intimidated, Dr. Wasnair rejoiced, exclaiming that the gland that caused melting could not only be located but was still operable. Sadly Dr. Winegold’s notes were ruined by her own dissolved flesh and so much of the carapace had been cut open that it was impossible to determine what anatomical feature she and her assistants had been studying at the time of their accident.
Piles of carapace were stacked in the corner, carefully photographed and analyzed. One by one they were sent to the incinerator. So went the remains of Dr. Winegold and her assistants once they had been scraped off the floor.
Avery, when his time came to investigate the crustacean, limited his researches to familiar-looking organs.
From all this, he gained an idea.
“Dr. Wasnair thinks he’s hit upon something,” he said. He and Sheridan lay in bed together.
Sheridan, lighting a cigar, seemed only half-interested. “Yes?”
Strictly speaking, Avery was not supposed to divulge any information related to his research to anyone not in the scientific strata of the Navy. In fact, he was only supposed to report to the investigative committee and its immediate supervisors. Just by saying anything, he was technically committing treason. He hoped Sheridan appreciated this.
“The crustaceans’ ability to melt enemies,” he said. “He thinks he’s discovered the apparatus responsible.” This was nonsense, of course. Even if Wasnair ever located the organ, Avery knew it would be years before he could use it to create weapons. And Ghenisa did not have years.
Smoke drifted up from Sheridan’s thin black cigar. She turned her gaze toward him. “Oh?”
“He plans to develop a device to amplify the ability. Destroy entire Octunggen legions at once with just a sound.”
Flame crackled on the tip of her cigar. “Why are you telling me this?”
He interlocked his fingers behind his head. “No reason. It’s just interesting, that’s all.”
She said nothing, but he could feel her gaze on him. At last she said, “Is this machine ... in development?”
How far should he go? “Not yet,” he said. He could almost feel her breathe easier. “But soon.” She tensed. “Certain engineering principles must be worked out. This technology is all quite alien, you know. It reminds me very much of the weapons Octung has been using against us, in fact.”
With an unladylike grunt, she leapt up from the bed and strode to the bar. The muscles of her shoulder-blades and buttocks flexed and rolled as she walked. Criggred, her hideous bagrith, chittered and approached her. As she poured herself a drink, she tossed him a cube of ice. Criggred caught it and crushed the cube between his rear teeth with a snap like breaking bone. Avery winced.
Sheridan sipped her drink at the bar with one hand, smoked with the other, and a thoughtful look came over her. For some reason, Avery felt his skin tighten, his hairs prickle. Had he gone too far—pressed her too obviously?
Her bedroom was large and opulent. Made of oak, her sturdy bed hunkered beneath white fur blankets, and sealskin carpets draped the stone floors. The barnacled head of a whale calf jutted from one wall, fangs curling out, and a pair of crossed fencing blades hung from the other. Two tall tallow lamps burned with warm light, making the five eyes of the whale calf seem to move.
Sheridan, in a sudden series of motions, sat down her drink, jammed her cigar between her jaws, crossed to the fencing blades, ripped one loose—
—and sprang tiger-like onto the bed.
The mattress bounced under Avery. Shocked, he stared up at Sheridan, gleaming with sweat, standing-straddling him, the point of her blade pressed lightly into his neck, but not so lightly that he didn’t feel it prick. A thin trickle of blood welled out.
“Um, Admiral, I don’t think ...”
She kicked the furs away. He was utterly naked, and his scrotum contracted. Her voice came, as sharp and hard as her blade: “Commander Hambry’s cabin was searched.”
Shit. “That’s interesting, but—”
“Silence!” She pressed the blade deeper. He gasped. He felt the warmth as more blood trickled down his throat. “I know it was you. You were seen in the officers’ quarters late that night, after we reached the convoy. Lt. Ambrum was on the way to the head and recognized you. She said you looked nervous.” Sheridan grinned hard around the cigar. “I bet you look more nervous now.”
Avery licked his lips. For a moment, he thought of lying. However, Sheridan knew enough that a lie, at least the wrong lie, could get him killed. Hearing t
he stammer in his voice, he said, “Y-yes. I ... I admit it. I searched his cabin.”
“Ha! I knew it.” She lifted one foot and shoved it down on his chest, pushing him into the mattress, making it hard for him to breathe. At least it had the effect of lessening the blade’s pressure on his neck. Her eyes narrowed, and her lips turned into a thin line. “Why?”
He swallowed. “Because—”
“No lies!”
“I suspected you two were seeing each other. I wanted proof.”
One side of her lips curled up. “You expect me to believe that? You, a jilted, jealous lover?”
His mouth was very dry. “I know it’s true. I found the shotgun shell. You can’t deny it.”
Her foot eased on his chest. He swallowed a deep breath.
“You’re full of shit, Doctor. Fortunately for you, it’s a brand I find amusing.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She stared down at him for a long moment. “You can’t be working with anyone,” she said. “You must be independent.”
She eased the blade away from his neck and stepped back. Leaping down from the bed, she paced back and forth, reminding him of a jungle cat. She seemed to be thinking. Perhaps picking up on her feelings, Criggred arched his back and hissed at Avery.
Sheridan spun to the doctor. The suddenness of it startled him. “What exactly do you want?” she said. “Why did you tell me of Dr. Wasnair’s plans?”
Carefully, Avery sat up. The movement caused Criggred to hiss louder. He tried to ignore it. Slowly, staring Sheridan in the eyes, he said, “I only want to help.”
“How?”
Her body tensed, and her breathing stopped. She fixed him with a look that he knew to be lethal. If he answered wrong, that was it. He would never be seen again. Perhaps she would say Criggred had gone mad and ripped him apart. Perhaps he would have taken a suicidal plunge off the terrace. Or perhaps she had other, subtler ways of disposing of enemies.