The Atomic Sea: Volume Nine: War of the Abyss

by Jack Conner

  “I’m receiving word from King Marqua-thon,” said Gallansi, speaking in her own voice again, and Avery didn’t have to be told how the feat had been accomplished. He'd been the one to give the ruby shard to the king himself, one lord to another. The shard was a piece of Gallansi, and it allowed him to speak directly to her, as the Gaelythans had no way to communicate through the water other than the squid-ships. Thus Gallansi had become a sort of radio.

  “Patch him through,” Avery said.

  After a moment, the voice (somewhat garbled but intelligible) of King Marqua-thon came from the ruby girl’s mouth: “The Pass is ending up ahead. We’re about to enter Xicor’ogna.”

  Last chance to back out. “I’ll instruct the subs to fan out upon our entry.”

  “Don’t spread out too much. You don’t want to dilute your strength.”

  “But if we stay too close together one good blow by the R’loth will finish us off.”

  “Hopefully they won’t know we’re coming.”

  “I wish I could count on that.” Avery really wished that someone here was an expert on submarine warfare. Unfortunately the Gaelythans were mainly hiders and sneakers, not fighters (except against corals), and his own people, at least most of them, were just learning how to operate the submarines, let alone plan coordinated assaults using them. The Octunggen could have handled these duties, but unfortunately none were on hand. “I think it would be best for your ships to spread out in a cloud around my fleet, a sort of shield, and pick off any attackers that get too close,” Avery went on. “We’ll drive in a wedge toward the Central Processor, destroy it and go back out the same way we came in if we must, although once the Processor is gone the energy shield over the city should break up, so in theory we can leave any way we want.”

  “I’ll see to it, Lord of Ghenisa,” Marqua-thon said.

  His voice switched off, replaced once more by Gallansi’s pretty but inhuman tones: “I’m sensing something up ahead … a buzzing …”

  “It must be Xicor’ogna,” Sheridan said, and her hand strayed, as if in reflex, to the butt of the pistol at her hip. In her other hand she gripped the shaft of a pale spear whose tip was coated in jellyfish venom. At the edges of the room stood half a dozen soldiers likewise outfitted with venom weapons, just in case.

  Avery felt his heart speed up. Almost there. Part of him couldn’t wait to see the dread city of the R’loth; part of him wished the moment would never come.

  “If there are any goodly gods out there,” Avery said, “now would be the time for them to send us their blessing.”

  “Indeed,” said Admiral Herobnic, and touched a silver half-moon tattoo on his palm; Avery hadn’t noticed it before. The Admiral belonged to the faith of the Three Sisters, then—Mari’s religion. Avery had attended many of their services with her and had a fondness for their peaceful philosophies.

  “May the Light shine down,” he said, expressing one of the more common sayings of the faith.

  “May it shine always,” echoed the Admiral.

  “May the Shifters in the Veil preserve us,” said Gallansi, and Avery assumed that the Shifters she spoke of belonged to the broader pantheon of the Outer Lords. He refrained from telling Gallansi that they didn’t want such help.

  And, then, just like that, the relative calm of the coral canyons ended, and the fleet shot out into the vast bowl of Xicor’ogna. Avery was aware of this not just by the announcement of the sonar operators but by a rocking under his feet; the water here was more turbulent, and it knocked the submarine up and down, side to side. He tasted bile in the back of his throat. One of his hands clutched toward Sheridan, but he made himself stand firm. Besides, her free hand, the one that had gone to the butt of her pistol, had grabbed at the netting overhead, placed just for this purpose, and wasn’t available to comfort him in any case.

  The curses and grunts of the sailors bounced about the metallic bridge, and Avery suddenly felt hot. Sweat beaded his forehead, and he wiped it away. His hands shook, which was unusual; as a veteran of the operating room, he could almost always quell his fear, at least enough to steady his hands if not his heart. There was no steadying them now, though. Hopefully no one else noticed. Unusual sensations washed over him, but he took comfort in knowing that the Ygrithan technology warded off the worst effects of being in the vicinity of the R’loth.

  “Fan the ships out,” he told Herobnic (his voice only betraying a slight quaver), and the admiral relayed the order, having the submarines of the fleet array to either side of the Cavalier as they emerged, one by one, from the valley. They had arrived in a snaking, single-file fashion, and Avery feared it would take too long for the ships to get in position.

  Admiral Herobnic blinked, visibly collected himself, then approached the periscope to take a look at the city they had come so far to destroy.

  “Wait,” said Gallansi, and made a subtle motion with her hand. The air blurred around her crystalline fingers, and Avery’s ears popped. “Now you can look. I’ve had my counterparts make the same change in the other ships.”

  “What did you do?” asked the admiral.

  “I altered your minds so that what you see will not drive you mad. The Gaelythans are from here, and I need not worry about them. They were altered long ago.”

  “You … our minds?”

  When she said nothing further, Herobnic shot a glower at Avery, squared his shoulders and risked a glance through the periscope. Instantly the admiral gasped and staggered back.

  “By the Three …”

  It was Avery’s turn to see, but the expression on the admiral’s face unnerved him, so Sheridan stepped forward and looked in his stead. She, too, sucked in a breath, and he could see her fingers tighten around the white shaft of the spear. She stared through the lens longer than Herobnic, but at last she too stepped away, shaking her head and looking ill.

  Avery drew in a deep breath, counted to ten, then put his face to the periscope’s glass. Before him stretched an impossible scene, so mad that he instantly felt his knees go weak and part of his brain switch off. He couldn’t really understand what he was seeing, only a mad jumble of grand towers and strange buildings that conformed to no natural law and stretched on and on, a city that seemed to move and flex, moment by moment, never constant but waving like seaweed in a strong current, and all blazing with alien light that seemed to hide more than it illumined. Vast forms moved from tower to tower, and Avery thought of whales crossed with thunderheads, but beyond that he could get no sense of them, and he knew this must be the result of Gallansi’s tinkering. She had known humans couldn’t process the truth of the R’loth and so had made sure that they couldn’t. Part of Avery was irritated for her intrusion; he had wanted to see, had wanted, after all this time, to know what he’d been up against—what he’d been sleeping with!—but part of him was grateful. He knew, on some basic, primordial level, that she was right; he wasn’t prepared to grasp the fullness of what the R’loth were. More than that, he didn’t have the faculties to properly process it.

  In the midst of Xicor’ogna blazed a light stronger than the rest, and Avery concentrated on it. It emanated from a rounded structure, a sort of massive onion-shaped dome with an elongated spike on top. The structure bulged and flexed and twisted, changing shape moment by moment like everything else here as though the building itself were alive, but Avery knew that it must be the Central Processor.

  Breaking away from the periscope, he said, after catching his breath, “Can you get a lock on that central structure?” When the sonar operators said that they could, he said, “As soon as the fleet’s in position, make for it. It’s the Processor.”

  “I’ll see to it,” said Admiral Herobnic, and began barking instructions.

  “Make sure those weapons are ready,” Sheridan told Gallansi.

  The ruby girl frowned but began to nod. Then, abruptly, anger flashed across her face and Ani’s voice issued from her lips: “Don’t tell me what to do!”

  Sheridan
blinked. “Is it you, then? Are you in control, or is it the Monastery?”

  “We’re sharing responsibilities, not that it’s any business of yours. Gallansi doesn’t know how to deal with human beings, exactly.”

  It was Ani’s idea to alter our minds, Avery realized. Not Gallansi’s. He wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse. She was trying to protect us. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said. Is this the real Ani I’m talking to, or the changed Ani? How could he know for sure? Gathering himself, he said, “Before the attack begins, I just wanted to say—”

  “Don’t.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t want to hear it.” Her eyes moved to Sheridan. “Anyway, I hope you die, you evil woman.”

  “Ani,” said Avery.

  "She killed Uncle Id and Aunt Oris. She killed all of them!"

  "Enough."

  Ani made an angry, frustrated noise, and abruptly the ruby girl shuddered, then became Gallansi once again; Avery could see it in the too-still expression she wore and by the smooth uncurling of her fingers; Ani had made a fist.

  “The ships are in position, my lord,” said Admiral Herobnic, politely saying nothing about their little scene. “Shall I give the order to attack?”

  Before Avery could respond, the chief sonar operator lifted his face, looking panicked. “Sirs, there’s movement! A lot of movement. And it’s coming this way.”

  “They’ve seen us,” said Sheridan.

  Avery tried to speak, couldn’t, and cleared his throat again. “Begin the attack,” he told Admiral Herobnic.

  “Aye aye, s—”

  The submarine rocked, pitching Avery off his feet. He cracked his head on a console, then hit the deck. The world twisted and turned fuzzy, and when it snapped back into focus alarms blared and people shouted all over the bridge. Sheridan was leaning over him, helping him to his feet with one hand; the other still gripped the netting. The spear rattled near her toes. Avery thought he'd lost a minute or two.

  Shaking his head, he stood, but the world still seemed tilted around him and he wasn’t sure if it was just him or if the submarine was at an angle. Shouting echoed from down the passages. A tinnitus whine rang in his ears like the buzzing of flies.

  Herobnic had been frantically speaking into a radio handset, but he switched off and glanced at Avery. “You all right, sir?”

  Avery spat blood. “Are we all right?”

  The admiral nodded, looking weary. “Looks like they were ready for us, after all, or at least there was a patrol prepared for us, checking each entrance canyon in turn. Probably … her. The goddess.”

  “Layanna must've warned them,” Sheridan agreed. “Luckily their main force was distracted, preparing for the battle above. At least that’s my guess.” She tipped her head to Gallansi, who stood serene in the midst of the chaotic bridge, almost floating. “Lucky her people repelled them.”

  Avery bent, lifted the spear and passed it back to Sheridan. “Hopefully they’ll see us through the rest of the battle. Admiral, get us under way again.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Herobnic barked orders, both to his crew and to the other ships, and in moments the hundreds of ships barreled toward the alien city once more. Avery’s head still rang, but at least the alarms were only within his skull now; the real alarms had ceased.

  With every moment his head swam more, and strange thoughts and sensations swept through him. The protection of the Ygrith wasn’t absolute, then. Sheridan swore and blinked, and he knew she must be feeling it, too. So were the others, he noted as he scanned the bridge. Several appeared as if they might be ill. Indeed, it wasn’t long before one doubled over and vomited to the side of his station. Avery wasn’t sure if it was some weapon or ability of the R’loth, or if it was simply a side effect of their presence or technologies, but either way it was clear: this was no fit place for humans, wards or no wards. Avery had no doubt that unless they were altered in some way, as Marqua-thon’s people must once have been, that merely being in Xicor’ogna would kill them or drive them insane if they remained here too long.

  “The enemy is almost upon us,” Admiral Herobnic said. “Brace yourselves.”

  The submarines rocked again, violently, but Avery was prepared this time and hung grimly on, one hand on the netting above and one hand on a nearby post. Men and women at their stations clung to consoles with one hand and worked with the other.

  Gallansi stood straighter and seemed to glow, and Avery could hear the crashing of the machine guns from the gun emplacements studding the length of the submarine. The big guns had been retrofitted, converted to fire Ygrithan energy rounds, and Avery knew they must be working, as the submarine did not go down. It creaked and groaned and shook around him, but for the moment it held on, and he knew the rest of the fleet must also be continuing to barrel toward the heart of Xicor’ogna while the R’loth or their agents and machines tore at them.

  Avery stumbled to the periscope, but outside all was a roiling madness of great dark shapes and flashes of eerie light. Ahead the lights of the Central Processor grew brighter, and he could sense a wildness about them; despite the possible new psalms and equations, the Processor was unstable. The R’loth were pushing it too hard. Pushing the world too hard. Trying to change it too fast. He didn’t know if they could accomplish it before the Processor simply erupted, and when that happened—if it happened that way, that the Processor’s energies had become uncontrollable—he feared the world would follow it into oblivion, or worse, be warped into some nightmare-scape. No, the only way was to destroy the Processor before it got that far, either in success or failure.

  “How does it look?” Sheridan said.

  “Bad,” Avery said, stepping away. “But the squid-ships and our energy weapons are holding the R’loth back, or what I think is the R’loth. The only good news is that their sheer size isn’t allowing them to slip in among us. I see smaller creatures, too, or machines, but they don’t seem to be able to penetrate our shields.” The ruby people had rigged an energy shield for each of the submarines, and Avery couldn’t even pretend to understand that sort of technology.

  “Fire one!” Admiral Herobnic shouted, and Avery felt the faint thrum as one of the Ygrithan-altered torpedoes was launched. “Fire two! Fire three!”

  “Firing now!”

  All in the bridge held their breaths as the weapons raced toward the Processor. The seconds stretched on, interminable, but then a woman who was bent over a console raised her face, which had drawn rigid, and said, “Sir, the first one has been destroyed.”

  “The second, too,” said another, after a moment, then, “The third.”

  Herobnic’s jaw bulged as he ground his teeth. Still, Avery was impressed by his command of himself as the admiral said, without pause or evident concern, “Fire four! Fire five! Fire six!”

  “Sir, we only have seven altered torpedoes. Shouldn’t we try to get closer?”

  The sub shook about them, more violently this time, flinging several people against bulkheads and decks. Avery was tossed against Sheridan, but he held firm to the netting and caught himself before he fell again. His head still rang from the last time.

  “We don’t have time to get closer!” Admiral Herobnic said. “Fire, damn you!”

  “Firing!”

  Avery felt the thrumming again as one, then two more torpedoes were launched, and bit the inside of his cheek as they thrust through the water. Sheridan caught his eye and nodded as if to give him strength.

  The fates weren’t on their side, though. Almost immediately came the verdict:

  “Torpedo four is down, sir.”

  “Five, as well.”

  “Six has just been hit.”

  Herobnic’s composure started to slip. He listed backward and shook his head, as if suddenly faint, and Avery said, “Maybe one of the other ships will be able to hit it.”

  “We have one torpedo left,” Herobnic said, and there was fatalism in his voice.

  “Hail the
other subs,” Sheridan said. “Your king's given you an order.”

  Herobnic swallowed and obeyed. The submarine tilted as some weapon of the enemy struck it, then tilted again the other way, but the admiral gripped the overhead netting with a tight fist and spoke into his handset: “All fire on the Processor! Fire now with everything you have!”

  Once again Avery peered through the scope, watching as the hundreds of submarines loosed their torpedoes. The weapons, glowing with a green light given them by the Ygrithan technology, charged among the thrashing dark shapes that assailed the fleet, squid-ships darting among them, energy flashing, and toward the great bulk of the Central Processor, the very thing that had created the Atomic Sea, that reared in the heart of the alien city, which was rapidly approaching. The fleet had entered and was threading its way through the outermost spires of Xicor’ogna. Avery’s eyes itched to look at them. He saw towers of many facets, changing and bending and pulsing with unnatural color.

  Ahead, a torpedo exploded brightly, then another and another. Soon all were being dashed apart by some thing or things emanating from the Processor itself. Avery saw the hint of odd limbs extruding from the building as if the structure were alive.

  “Well?” said a breathless Herobnic.

  “All destroyed,” Avery said. “The Processor defends itself.”

  Herobnic staggered back, and for a moment Avery thought he might just collapse, just sit down on the deck and refuse to move again. Instead, after a moment, he nodded and said, “What now, sir?”

  Avery opened his mouth, then closed it. There was only one thing to do, but the idea chilled him. He pushed the words out: “I think … I think something mobile could evade the Processor’s defenses … something light and fast …”

  “Yes?” The admiral stared at him blankly. “I don’t understand.”

  Avery hesitated. There HAS to be a better way.

  Something slammed the Cavalier. Hard, then again.

  “Do it!” Sheridan said, evidently seeing it, too. “Order it done, damn it!”

  Avery nodded. To Herobnic, he said, “Have the remaining torpedo strapped to one of the squids.”