The Thief of Kalimar; Captain Sinbad; Cinnabar

by Graham Diamond

  The turtle bounced like a leaky boat in a squall. It lurched, then pulled back sharply, unable to make further headway. Shara shot around, confused. The rotors were working all right, whipping furiously through the water. The whine grew louder as they spun uselessly, unable to propel the submersible forward.

  “My God, we can’t move!” Shara called.

  Aladdin, who had carefully been studying the workings of the control panel, reached forward and yanked the throttle. The metal handle slid back into the bottom slot — at full power — or what should have been full power. The craft was straining to make headway; everything was properly functioning according to the dials — but nothing was happening.

  “It’s like beating our heads against a wall. Shara, there’s something in front of us. Holding us back. Something we can’t see.”

  The yellow-haired scientist put a hand to her mouth and gasped. For the first time Aladdin could tell that she was frightened. Really scared.

  “Nets!” she cried. “They’ve caught us in the nets!”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Isn’t there anything we can do?”

  Reflexively, Shara hit the control buttons and felt the craft surge with full power. The cabin lighted, the white pod light brightened the water around them. Aladdin gaped at what he saw. It was a thick, metallic net. The rotors spun, the engine roared. The turtle drove headfirst into the massive obstruction; still the net held Shara flicked two more switches. Aladdin put his hands to his ears as a deafening whine was emitted from each side of the hull. The heat-seeking torpedoes were spit out like fire, as the net began to smoulder. It yielded, but did not give way.

  Again Shara pushed to full speed. The bow of the turtle tore into the webbing; she reversed, and the turtle shot forward again. She repeated this procedure several times.

  “We can’t get out, Aladdin!” she said, grabbing his arm. “They’ve got us cornered!”

  In a frenzy, she issued the red emergency signal, hoping against hope that some friendly craft might be within distance to receive the plea for assistance. Considering how far they had roamed from the safe limits, it was a useless gesture. But without their signal being noticed, they would never be rescued — at least not by an ally.

  Hellixian swimmers flocked around the turtle now, avoiding the craft’s spray and moving fins. Amphibs, tankless, garbed in wet suits, moved in steadily from above and behind the nets. Shara looked furtively at Aladdin, saying, “I’m sorry — I never thought — never — ”

  Before Aladdin could blame himself for their predicament, they heard noises from topside. The swimmers were making contact, and slowly opening the emergency escape hatch. Then the lights went out, the rotors ceased humming, and the sea around them was placid.

  “They’ve cut off our power,” Shara said.

  Aladdin fiddled quickly with the rows of controls. Nothing was working. The girl was right; the Amphibs had effectively severed the lines leading from the central power source. The engine droned off and fresh air ceased to circulate. Without a steady supply of oxygen, it would only be a matter of time before the turtle’s occupants suffocated.

  Unbuckling their safety belts, Aladdin and Shara stood and faced the rear compartment, the area from which the enemy swimmers would come at them. The young scientist drew her humming knife from its sheath and, panting, waited for the coming assault. Aladdin stood right beside her, ready to do his part. This excursion was his fault, he knew; he had been the one to manipulate the girl into making the voyage. And if they were to die — which seemed at the moment to be the logical conclusion of this sojourn — he was prepared to do it in the thick of battle. He’d take with him as many of the feared Amphibs as he could in his final breaths.

  There was more clamouring and banging, as the first of the intruders entered. Jets of residual steam hissed from the overhead brass pipes. As Aladdin prepared to fend off the attackers, he reached out and took Shara’s hand in his own, fastening his eyes to hers. “I wish we might one day — ”

  She responded with a thin smile, saying, “Might one day see the sun together? I know, Aladdin. I would have liked that, too.”

  He heard speech — strange speech — emitted from the throats of the fish-men. He drew Shara close, his arm around her, and both of them stood defiantly with drawn humming knives, ready for the kill. The blades shimmered in their grasp. But instead of a line of warrior swimmers confronting them, a billowing fog of steam suddenly rushed inside the cabin. Aladdin began to cough.

  “Gas!” Shara called.

  Her eyes were watering; she looked at him with a horrified expression, then fell forward, overtaken by waves of nausea. Her humming knife slipped from her hand. The hot blade fizzled as it hit the deck. Aladdin struggled to keep his balance. He was dizzy. The world was spinning around him. The yellowish haze of poison vapour swirled everywhere. His sight was blurring, growing dim. The coughing spasm worsened. The gas permeated his sticky wet suit, invaded every pore of his muscular body, and clogged his lungs until he was gasping for breath. He held onto Shara as tightly as he could, nesting the semiconscious girl in his arms. Then he passed out.

  *

  They woke to find themselves, unbound and ungagged, locked inside the storage compartment of the turtle, crammed against the boxes of scientific equipment and spare parts. The engine was purring like a kitten; the rod overhead was hissing with steam; the rotors were spinning.

  “They’ve commandeered the turtle,” Shara told him in a whisper. “Taken us prisoners, no doubt.”

  “Prisoners? You mean they don’t intend to kill us?”

  Shara sat with her back against the boxes, her legs crossed in a lotus position. “I don’t know what they’re planning to do,” she confided. “Now — or later.” She fumbled with the piles of supplies at her side, and found what she was looking for — a small flask. “Here, drink some of this.”

  Aladdin took the flask, unscrewed the cap, and swallowed a mouthful. It tasted sickeningly sweet. “Ugh! What is this stuff?”

  “Medicine — to line your stomach. It helps ease the nausea caused by the gas.”

  “What kind of vapour was it anyway? I expected it to kill us.”

  “Evidently our friends out there didn’t use a lethal dose. Which means they only wanted to stun us.”

  “Which also means,” Aladdin said dryly, “that they probably intended to take us prisoners right from the beginning.”

  “A logical conclusion. Had they wanted to, they could have rigged the submersible so that we’d have been crushed from the deep sea pressure.”

  Aladdin pressed his lips and allowed himself a begrudging smile. “I suppose we should be grateful for that.”

  “Maybe.” She was curt as she spoke now. “That depends on what they’re planning to do later. But it doesn’t surprise me that they have use for a pair of healthy Cinnabar specimens — interrogation, torture, maybe.”

  She was conjuring up images he’d rather not think about. “Do they often take prisoners?”

  Shara shrugged as she flicked a tendril of yellow hair away from her face. “We don’t know for sure, but over the years our forces have suffered innumerable losses, which we’ve classified only as missing in action. Perhaps the sea gobbled them up, or maybe some were captured, as we’ve been. In any case, we have no precedents to go on. All we can do is pray that our deaths — whenever they come — will be swift and merciful.”

  “What you’re saying is that we might be kept alive for a long time...”

  Shara drummed her fingers harshly; the fear Aladdin had seen in her eyes before was gone, replaced with typical Cinnabarian resignation. “I should have signalled some word about our cruising parameters, at least, when we crossed the Green Line.”

  “What happens when they find us missing at the Academy?” asked Aladdin.

  “Rufio and Flavius will send out half a fleet to hunt for the turtle. Believe me, there’ll be hell to pay at the Pavilion when they learn you’re missing.”r />
  His eyes grew brighter. “Then we may be rescued after all?”

  “I wouldn’t put too much faith in it. The fates alone know where we are now. Even if Rufio did get the go-ahead for a full scale assault to get us back, he first has to locate us. And finding us out here is like singling out a grain of sand on one of your deserts. We could die of old age before they even get close.”

  Aladdin sucked in a lungful of clean air, glanced around the dark compartment, and shook his head sadly. “We’ll find a way to get back. I promise. If a way exists, we’ll find it together.”

  His assurance and bravado did not seem to do much to dispel her gloom. “Of course we will, Aladdin. My father says that you surface adventurers can do anything.”

  Whether she was being honest or facetious he couldn’t tell; what he did know was that since coming to Cinnabar all he had accomplished was to get himself into deeper trouble. That Shara was also forced to pay for his ineptitude was an intolerable burden. He’d spent enough time being a fool; one way or another, he was determined to set things right.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” she asked, as he began to bang on the locked door of the compartment.

  “Making them take notice,” he replied as his fists pounded on the metal, creating such a ruckus that those outside were forced to be aware. “Let us out of here!” he yelled. “Or we’ll break out!”

  Light spilled outside the storage room as the door was abruptly opened wide. Aladdin and Shara stared up at the looming figure who planted himself in the door’s frame. Face to face, for the first time in centuries, these warring enemies regarded each other.

  The Hellixian was dressed in a green military wet suit, punctuated by silver threading across the shoulders and down the sides of the legs. Around his eyes, he wore huge bubble goggles with lenses of yellow glass. His flesh was pale and clammy, and at first he seemed to be hairless. On closer look, Aladdin saw that, indeed, his large head was covered with a short fuzz of white flaxen hair which made his palate look like a shaven billy goat’s underbelly. The human nose seemed squashed, the nostrils mere pinpricks. He had no protruding ears, only small openings on the sides of his head. Along his thick bull neck were additional slits — gills, exactly like those on the Hellixian soldier he’d fought. There were five fingers on each hand — Aladdin was careful to take note of that — but they were somewhat longer than human fingers, with the thumb much shorter. A froglike, fleshy webbing, joined the lower knuckles. Spindly legs upheld a rather powerful frame. He breathed through a wispish puckered mouth, and made a sucking sound with every breath he drew... He was a menacing and imposing figure, different than anything he had ever seen, yet also very human. He looked highly intelligent.

  Clearing his throat and managing to stand, Aladdin placed himself squarely before his captor. The two were of similar height, which meant they were a good deal taller than the average Cinnabarian.

  “Our turtle was on a peaceful scientific excursion,” he told the staring captor. “We carried no offensive weapons. Your unwarranted attack was a violation of law. We demand that control of this vessel be immediately returned to us.”

  The Hellixian soldier looked with curiosity at the demanding prisoner.

  “Did you understand me?” said Aladdin, raising his voice and bluffing it all the way. “Do we speak a common language?”

  Still there was no response. Aladdin gritted his teeth. “Do you understand or not?”

  The soldier glanced down at the yellow-haired girl, then resumed his fixed gaze on Aladdin. A long period of silence elapsed. Then, at his leisure, when he felt ready, the Hellixian commander said in a guttural, broken voice, “You are a full human being but you do not look like those of Cinnabar.”

  At least he could speak, Aladdin thought, thankful for that much. “I am human. From the surface.”

  Inside his goggles, the soldier’s slit eyes widened. That the prisoner was telling the truth he was fairly certain for, indeed, this man’s appearance was far different from that of the foes of Hellix. Different in a multitude of identifiable ways, from the hue of his skin to the colour of his hair and eyes.

  “She is Cinnabarian,” he said simply.

  “She is my guide,” Aladdin countered.

  Again the soldier looked at the girl before turning to Aladdin. “Your craft has violated the waters of our imperium.”

  “Our vessel sailed the open sea. We in no way sought to intercede in what you regard as your sovereign territory.”

  The small puckered mouth closed. To Aladdin’s surprise it appeared that there wasn’t a mouth there at all — no lips, no thin aperture — just a mass of pruned flesh below the nose slits. He shut the door and bolted it, then resumed his place at the control panel.

  “Aladdin,” Shara whispered as the adventurer sat beside her dejectedly. She looked straight into his eyes. “Aladdin, listen to me carefully. They know you’re not one of us, not a Cinnabarian. That could save your life. They may not treat you the same as they’ll treat me. Use your strangeness to your advantage, Aladdin. Demand to be set free, if you can. Return to the surface. You have a chance to get away.”

  He looked at her oddly. “And what about you?”

  “You heard him. I represent Cinnabar — all they loathe. For me there’s no hope, but for you...”

  He shook his head. “You mean leave you behind? No, Shara. I can’t do that. We’re in this together. No matter what happens, we share our fate. No matter what.”

  She drew away from him. “You heroic fool! My fate was sealed long ago; I told you that. But for you, maybe there is an opportunity to get out of this alive.”

  He wouldn’t hear of it, much less consider it. What she was proposing ran deeply against his nature and all that he was committed to. For better or worse, he had undertaken this journey. Deserting those he cared for, not only Shara, but Christóbal and the princess Fatima as well, not to mention his friend the sultan, would make life not worth the living. But he didn’t expect the young scientist to truly understand these things. In some respects they were very different, she and he. Worlds apart. He shared none of the quiet fatalism she and so many others believed in. He was a free man, a surface man. The tragedy of Cinnabar had been imposed on him against his will, but now that he was here, his word given, he would not go back on it — even if this meant the end of his miserable life.

  While half-human fish-men were guiding the turtle to Allah knew where, he became more resolute than ever. An adventurer acts best when outcomes look bleakest. For Aladdin, now, there was no way matters could get any worse. On this fateful day, he had reached rock bottom.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Christóbal gnashed his teeth in consternation. Beside him, Crispin, all spit and polish in his trimmed uniform, stared obliquely from the bay window, unmindful of the stunning view of his city as darktime slowly overtook it.

  Across from the staid walls of the grand Pavilion, deep down in the labyrinth of subterranean chambers of the War Room, Rufio would be pacing like an agitated leopard. His warrior’s eyes would still be flashing with anger — the same anger he had demonstrated when Aladdin was first reported missing from his station at the Academy. Rufio became livid when his adjutant had delivered the news personally. The muscles of his neck had bulged. He had roared at the bevy of subordinates in his presence. How could such a thing have happened? Where were the Academy security people? Where were nearby military guards who, under his own direction, had cordoned off the area completely? The matter was ludicrous. Aladdin — the man more valuable to him at this moment than any other — gone. Fled in a turtle. Allowed to leave at will, accompanied by a — a woman! The daughter of that old cantankerous fool, Shaman!

  Shaman himself had turned ashen when he was summarily summoned to the War Room and told bluntly that his daughter and her companion were missing. Unrestrained even by old Flavius, Rufio had screamed at the dying man. Uttered vows and curses, assured the dying man that not only his daughter but he himself bo
re a heavy responsibility in this matter. And what of his trusted officers in charge of the sector? Did he, Rufio, have to take command of even the most basic and piddling details? Was he Legion Commander over an army of dolts and blunderheads who didn’t even have the foresight to stop this damned turtle in its wake, before it left the safety zone?

  Nothing was going to calm him, Christóbal had seen — neither the promise of a complete darktime search of every quadrant, nor Shaman’s guarantee that Shara was quite capable of handling her turtle.

  “They’ve crossed the Outer Circle!” he bellowed, his hands shaking with the latest dispatch from the submersible that last spotted them.

  Shaman’s mouth hung open like an old hound’s. He protested that Shara would never have done such a thing. The child was too smart for that. No, not even in the name of science would she ever —

  “Get this shuffling old fool out of my sight!” Rufio had roared. While the dying man held his ground and continued to protest, Crispin and Flavius had quickly shunted him away, fearful that the mere sight of the man was going to give the Legion Commander a stroke.

  “I want that turtle found!” Rufio had screamed so loudly that his voice had carried along the farthest hallways of the War Room. “Do you hear? I don’t care what it takes! Put out a Priority Alert across every sector from here to the doorstep of Hellix itself. I want all Early Warning Systems generated and added to the search as well.” When it was pointed out by a brave young staff officer that the EWS was, by Pavilion command, not to be tampered with under any circumstances, Rufio grew only angrier and more obdurate. “Up the arses of the Council and the whole damned Pavilion. Do as I say! Now get to it.”

  No one dared utter another sound. Not even old Flavius who stood wheezing off to one side, his walking stick in hand. It was a foolish, foolish thing that Aladdin had done, he said to Christóbal, compounded a hundredfold by the yellow-haired girl who time and again had flaunted military procedure.