Shadow Watch: Kethurg War, page 24
“Let me try this...”
The code cracker flashes green, and the sealed door inches open. The scent of mothballs wafts through the air. Attica’s heart flutters. After all this time, it's done and now with Sob-Majere's death, everything is possible. Now, the Enclave will understand. Now, the entire galaxy will understand. It takes a grand vision to mold a system, to create. The time for a new age has begun.
Attica steps toward the door. “Wait here.”
Disappointment flashes across Scajana's face. “Doctor, if I may. Opening this tomb is dangerous, but without an Archivist, you're putting not only yourself at risk, you're risking the health and safety of the Institute.”
“Am I then!? You are dismissed, Scajana. You too, Marshal.” Attica snaps his fingers, and a Ronin comes to take her away.
The stench of an alien technology millions of years old emanates from the chamber. It barrels through the tunnel like the smell of a weeks old rotting corpse, and to Attica, it's an elixir. It's the allure of eons of research far surpassing the technology created with silicon and circuits, and yet it's as familiar to him as the back of his hand or the grip of a dueling blade.
When he enters, the door slams shut behind him, sealing him inside the spacious chamber. The ceiling rises over a hundred meters and is illuminated by flickering blue flames from grates high above. From copper cubes embedded into the wall, horns blow, and a low chant echoes. In the center of the room, a representation of the galaxy comes into view, its stars countless in number. Arcane symbols not meant for human eyes spin at the ends of the galaxy's arms.
The smooth, stone walls bear images of a giant bipedal race, their features obscured by a silvery sheen like quicksilver, their smooth visages obscuring their identity. They tower over him like three story buildings, and they wield a luminous star in one hand and a tool in the shape of a crook in the other, their claws extended. Single pieces of loose cloth cover them from the neck to their knees, and they wear thick sandals. The genderless beings gaze down where he stands. They are the Kethurg, and this is their original form before the Web changed them into gods.
Soon, they will realize their true form again and be free once more.
As Attica continues his trek, sets of obsidian pillars line the hall. The further he travels, the more he trembles. His footsteps clap along the narrow corridor. Brilliant purples and reds coat the surface of the floor, the hues changing in rhythm with his breath. He wipes a bead of sweat from his brow.
He's achieved what no other could possibly hope to achieve. He's helped open the first of the Kethurg Gates and gained a seat at the Enclave. Nothing compares to opening the Cave of Secrets. This place is the reason the Institute exists at all. No one except the Enclave is permitted to enter, and only once did they dare try.
The air dampens, thick and sticky. As he progresses, the chanting slows. It's this place. It thinks. It knows. It welcomes the brave. The Kethurg cast an invisible shadow into Attica’s heart, a gift for all he's done. He's never alone so long as they exist. They can hear him think and taste his victories.
He passes next to old excavating machines from early in the Institute's history. From what Sob-Majere explained as his Ronin tortured her by peeling chunks of flesh from her arms, the Institute attempted to bring back materials from the Cave to study. They died a work cycle later of mysterious causes, their corpses ejected into the void. The thought eases the tension in Attica’s shoulders for a second, and he smiles. Her death was long overdue.
Scajana will be next to die. She knows too much, now. Such a shame. She would have been useful.
Attica takes his next step, and his momentum slows slightly as if he's pierced an invisible membrane. All is quiet. Not even his steps make a sound. He cannot hear his breath, and the air burns his nose like fishy vapors from an Ushar shellfish kiosk. A burning itch begins at the bridge of his nose and stretches over his entire body and worms into his bones. It passes into his mind, touching his consciousness like a velvet glove and then it disappears. The Web’s touch exudes its influence. It’s what Attica needs to think clearly now.
An electric shiver snakes up Attica’s spine, and he shakes his head.
It's safe to continue.
When he reaches the end of the hall, he passes through an iris hatch the size of a small freighter and into his destination.
Coruscating energy erupts at the inside the triangular chamber's apex, like a star going nova, and he holds up his hand to the blinding light. He can see his veins through his skin. His muscles lock, and his chest freezes. When he tries to inhale, his lungs won't cooperate. An itch walks steadily over his body.
I have come to communicate with Mah Dekon, Attica thinks.
A force shoves him face down. As he lands, his elbow cracks onto the floor. One eye stares down at the dull metallic floor, the other pointed toward the light, searing into his retina.
It is me, Doctor Attica Tharand.
The oxygen trapped in his lungs fights to keep him alive, but it won't be long until it's expended.
Pain hammers into his eye as his cornea burns. Where once there was light, now it is dark. His lungs cry out to scream and when nothing happens, his mind reels in tremendous agony. As more of his eye is burned away, his pulse climbs to infinity.
He lets go. Nothing remains of his eye. His eye socket smokes, the flesh around his eye scorched crisp.
Air. He needs air, air to explain himself to Mah Dekon. Air to last another second.
Attica inhales and then coughs. He rises to his hands and knees and then brings his fingers close to his burnt flesh. Heat flares from his wound. He concentrates on the pain, shoving it down his throat and swallowing it through decades of practice dedicated to this single moment. He clenches his teeth, and the harder he presses, the more he wills his body to ignore the smoking crater in his face.
The brightness lessens like a curtain call and stops shy of twilight.
Every bit of his willpower is channeled into restraining his throat from screaming. His face pounds with the beat of his heart, and his hands curl into gnarled fists. He tilts his head to get a look at the room.
A set of thirty-three uneven steps lead up to the top of a raised platform, where a hazy glow surrounds an octagonal arch. The opening is wide enough to fit a platoon. A noxious green hue flickers in the center of it, and wisps of white smoke belch at the top.
Kethurg technology comes in many forms, all of them alien and unknown. Through this portal, the future of the galaxy will be determined.
A gong sounds, and suddenly a thin layer of frost covers his flesh. The pain in his eye recedes, and his nostrils flare wide, inhaling an invisible minty gas flooding into the chamber from an oval pipe mounted in what appears to be a pair of swollen lips bubbling from the wall.
Rise.
The word comes to him, not in a particular language, but as defiant mumbles and feral grunts from deep in the void. The sensation of hearing it makes Attica freeze momentarily. He's heard the voices before, but never this close, this real.
Attica stands. At this moment, he has come farther than anyone before him. He will be remembered as a pioneer, an avatar of death, the savior of the Institute and all its wisdom. As a boy, he knew his path was set, to undo the tide of decay, to ride the death knell of the weak and weary. Time to break all that is and render it to dust.
“My lord, I have come at last.”
Step to the portal.
He climbs the steep slope and reaches the raised platform. The brilliant light overhead warms his skin.
“What is your bidding, Mah Dekon?”
The portal shimmers like water. Where is Hex Thorn?
“He has been dealt with, my lord.”
He lives. You will bring him and the omni-weapon to me.
“He has not yet learned how to manifest it. It exists in shadow.”
Bring him to me, or you spend the rest of your days in a torment box.
“By your will, Mah Dekon. And the Institute?”
It is yours.
CHAPTER 33
I'm not the biggest fan of Ushars. To be honest, they get on my nerves. If I'd had more time to get to know Sobsyg, I bet that feeling might have disappeared-eventually. When Captain Irina Sosicho sent her troops to search our ship, I didn't put up a fight. They turned the place upside down and clasped us in irons “for our protection-and theirs.” Afterward, they put us in a shuttle and sent us to the UC Gaelaene, where they gave us masks and tanks to wear, so we could breathe.
Now, Stu, Corr, and I are sitting inside a kind of brig, if you could call it that. It's made for four, and the “beds” look like sliced-open bread rolls. Captain Sosicho assured us they were comfy, but I'm not getting in one. It is a way to rest without wearing this annoying contraption. It's supposed to regulate all that stuff when you're asleep. For food, we've been given cans of multi-vitamin and proteins, which we can eat with a special straw that goes into our mask from the front and into our mouths. It's how we drink, too.
A couple of guards keep an eye on us, but they seem more interested in me than in Stu or Corr. What, am I supposed to be the bad guy now? This has something to do with either Sobsyg or the think blade or the Kethurg.
Why, oh why, can't they use Dominion tech for this? I'd bet a million credits these Ushars don't get a lot of visitors.
Stu adjusts his mask, which is too tight around his snout. He's done nothing but complain since they made him wear it. “Can't breathe in this.”
“Well, you sure can't breathe their air,” Corr says. “By the way, you look absolutely ridiculous wearing that. If I could, I'd take a holo of you right now.”
Stu stands from his bench and paces. “I must take it off.”
I lean forward. “My friend, there's no use thinking about it. In no time, you'll be breathing normal air. Take it easy.”
“Easy for you to say! You are not a Root!”
“I don't get it. What difference does it make if you’re a Root or not?” I ask. Then it hits me: He's muzzled. “We'll be there soon.”
As much as I loathe being stuck in a brig of all places, to be fair the UC Gaelaene is one of the most interesting cruisers I've seen. Passages resemble seashells. Bioluminescent mollusks provide the lighting. The walls and floors are comprised of some kind of shell as well.
Ushars don't send their own ships into Dominion space very often, and when they do, they don't stay long. Maybe it's got to do with their tech. Maybe they don't want Dominion's scientists and engineers to reverse engineer them. See, Ushar ships aren't manufactured. They're grown. This one is a 1,500-ton patrol cruiser, so she's probably around 2,000 years old. Something like that. The math is a little complicated.
Our journey takes us the better part of three work cycles. When we arrive, guards dressed in scaly bodysuits deliver us three antique void suits they stuff through a slot in the door. The suits are a welcome sight but climbing into them is not so easy. Mine has around seven patches where someone blasted holes into the previous owner. Hey, beggars can't be choosers.
Soon, we're taken aboard a shuttle along with Captain Sosicho and some of her crew. Our hands and arms are free, and they've stowed our weapons and equipment. Out of the port window, I glimpse a Class 0 battle station orbiting a world dominated by a vast ocean. The Lancer and the patrol cruiser are specks against the size of the station. It's tethered to an asteroid belt, and large-scale mining operations harvest the precious metals from them. Hundreds of transports ply the void, their ion engines burning in the darkness.
Inside the shuttle, one of the pilots drags a finger across a panel, causing colors to ripple across a black surface. The colors form balls of light, where incoming data is received and processed. When another pilot pulls a handle in the shape of a starfish, a slew of new symbols appears on a rotating orb. It's as if they're finger-painting.
Captain Sosicho turns toward the station and then to me. Patches of her green hair curl over a hair band made of shaped pearl. “Do you recognize it?”
“No. I've only ever read about Class 0 battle stations before. How old is it?”
“No one knows. It's the only remaining Jupiter Class battle station in existence. The Terrans gave it to us for saving them.”
“Captain, you mind telling us where we're going?”
“You are to be judged by the Sea. It is out of my hands, now.”
“What's that?” Stu asks sternly.
“Our matriarch.”
As we hurl through space, I can't help but wonder if and when I'll capture Attica Tharand. I'm out in the middle of nowhere. Look at this place, not a human ship to be seen. What can I bargain with? I don't have any leverage here, and without that, I'm at their mercy. I promised myself I'd bury Sobsyg, and that's what I plan to do.
A long time ago, before the Second Founding, they used to call Terra “the Blue Marble,” but they never looked upon Upsish. If there's a bluer planet in the galaxy, I sure haven't seen it. The sight of it causes me to shiver. All that...water. Everyone is under it, and since Ushars have gills, it's probably no problem for them. Seems like the pressure would kill them, though. I'd rather be dropped off on a moon or some desert planet.
They put me in cuffs and I shake my wrists, and the irons clack. “Why am I the only one wearing these?”
A few moments pass, and instead of answering my question, she speaks in Ushar to her pilot.
The planet Upsish gets closer until we break through the atmosphere, the shuttle's nose dispersing the heat. We're screeching toward the ocean. The blue, I can't take it. Sweat pours off me, and my heart feels like it's a grenade, without a pin. I steady myself, so I don't get sick. What's the matter with me? It wasn't this bad before.
So much blue. This should be illegal.
“Don't you build...on islands?” I ask, more to stop from vomiting than from wanting to know the answer.
“The corrosive air makes that difficult,” the captain says. “Close your eyes. We have much further to travel.”
There's only the vastness of blue, and we're not leveling out. The ocean gets closer, and now I can make out gigantic waves, and floating patches of pod algae. The Ushars are calm as ever, and so is Corr. Stu studies the way the pilot is flying this thing. I should have been doing the same.
I'm going to be sick. “We're going into the water?”
“Correct.”
Splash!
We dive like a harpoon underwater. Deep below the vast black abyss, pink and orange illumination spreads out like a starfish, with arms reaching out over a hundred kilometers in every direction. Jagged shells stand over twice that height, with vast apartment complexes and offices.
Transports made of coral are pulled by glowing eels like sky traffic.
As we approach, my unease begins to wane. It's just water, right? Nothing to be afraid of, unless I'm forced to breathe it in and die, as my lungs fight futilely for air. Yeah, that sounds real fun. And I'm stuck in these irons if anything happens.
Corr is so busy taking it all in, she shakes her head and gasps. “Is this Jade?”
“No,” Captain Sosicho says. “Jade is on the other side of Upsish. This is Quartz. It was built during the reign of Queen Chibbo some seven centuries ago. Splendid, isn't it?”
“It's beautiful. How do you control for pollutants?” Corr replies.
“Long ago, our scientists created bio-burners that evolve to consume certain chemicals and use it to build some of the structures you see below.”
Stu folds his arms. “So, are we going to be put in prison down there?”
“No. You and Corr will be given travel passes while the Sea meets with Mr. Thorn.”
I grimace. “You're kidnapping me while a psychopath plays like he's some kind of god by unleashing a Kethurg. Maybe you should release me from these things, give us some supplies, and let us go about our business.”
Out of nowhere, a blob of grey and white fat with a twelve fins swishes past us.
“Mr. Thorn, I suggest you remain quiet the rest of the way there. I would hate to remove your tongue.”
Like I haven’t heard that a million times before. Granted, I'm underwater, so she might have an upper hand.
We plummet into the depths and enter a vast cavern stuffed with schools of jelly worms and arachnofish. Ushar security drones, shaped as curved horns, direct us into a narrow gap marked with squiggly lines and tapered crests. The dense rock houses a variety of multicolored spinneters, which are a mix of sea sponge, square corral, and wiggling nests of water vipers. Steam rises the cracks beneath the entryway. Only now do I see the shimmering overlay of invisible submersible water craft lurking nearby.
The pilot kills our lights, so it's impossible to see anything. He's flying via sensors. We travel for another hour in silence, the irons weighing me down.
Captain Sosicho places a hand on her forehead, and the other Ushars join her. She utters what sounds like a prayer and lowers her hand to her chest and repeats the prayer.
I'm jolted back. The shuttle clangs against a docking port, and the pilot powers down the engine.
The rear hatch slowly cranks open, and all I see is white light.
“We're here.”
CHAPTER 34
Respect the First of Twelve. It's a phrase I repeat while I'm waiting to be summoned by the Sea. The room I'm in is large enough for me to pace, and so I've been doing that for at least an hour. A chair sits on one side of the room, but it's not made for humans, let me put it that way. I'm afraid if I sat on it, it'd bite me or wrap me up with its tentacles. The guards left me a pitcher of ice water on an irregular table made of single slab of copper ore.
I'm wearing what the Ushars call a... who am I kidding? I can't pronounce it. It's basically a smock made of “living seashells, rare fish scales, colored sand, and golden ropes modified for the human host organism.” If that sounds weird, you should see how it looks. When I move, it's as if I'm carrying an aquarium. The officials here forced me to put it on, but it was a small price to pay to be out of those blasted irons.
