by J. N. Chaney
Morgan stared down into the endless depths. Her head still tingled, and her stomach still twitched. But she was able to make herself keep looking, keep watching. Her eyes kept trying and failing to find something, anything to latch onto.
It was like looking into the sky, only doing it while looking down, instead of up.
“So old rock gets pulled down into this trench and becomes lava, and that becomes new rock—uh, land?”
“That’s right. It’s called plate tectonics, but you don’t need to worry about the complicated name. Think of it more as recycling.”
Morgan looked at the shaman, then back outside. Old rock becoming new rock. So Tāmtu was doing just what she’d been thinking about before they passed over the lip of the world. Rock from before—a long, long time before, she knew from other conversations she’d had with the Nyctus about how old Tāmtu was—was being made into new rock now.
The old was becoming the new.
“Does it go down forever?”
“No, child, of course not. There is a bottom to this trench. It is”—the shaman consulted the glowing instrument panel in front of him— “twelve kilometers, more or less, beneath us right now.”
Morgan just kept staring. She knew twelve kilometers was a long way, but she couldn’t really imagine it.
“You sure it doesn’t just keep going forever? Like, maybe into space?”
“Yes, I’m certain, child.”
“How come? Have you been down there?”
“No. No one has. The weight of the water above you would crush you long before you even reached the bottom. Even this shuttle car, which is designed to withstand a lot of pressure, would last one or two kilometers and then would simply be squashed.”
“Oh. And we’d be squashed, too?”
“Oh yes.”
Morgan once more stared into the depths.
“Now then, child, I think that’s enough for today.” The shuttle car started to turn around to go back the way it had come.
“Wait,” Morgan said. “I want to go down there.”
“I just told you, child, that we would never survive.”
“Sure we will. I’ll make sure.” She turned to look at the shaman. “Wouldn’t you like to be the first one to see what’s down there?”
“I—” the elder shaman began, then paused. He shuddered, and ruddy pulses of bioluminescence glared amid his otherwise placid teal glow.
Morgan narrowed her eyes. She wanted the shaman to take them down there. She’d protect them. But she might have to change the shaman again, make him even more cooperative—which might make him boring. She’d tried that with another Nyctus, making him into someone who always did as he was told, but she soon got tired of it. She wondered what had happened to him.
But only for a moment. She turned her attention back to the elder shaman, but the crimson flashes had faded.
“If you want to do this, child, you must find a way to prevent us from being crushed by the great pressure.”
“That’s easy,” Morgan said, then she gathered up handfuls of magic and used them to change the universe into one where this shuttle car couldn’t be wrecked by anything, ever. It was a whole new truth, but it was the truth that Morgan wanted. Her short fingers waggled in satisfaction, and it was done.
She slumped back in the seat. Changing the universe made her tired. Still, she smiled at the elder shaman. “Okay, we can go down there now.”
“Of course we can, child. There is nothing that can harm this shuttle car.” His tone, although gentle, was a little chiding, as though this was just something obvious, something that had always been true.
“Huh. It’s just dirt!” Morgan said, glaring at the seafloor.
It had taken a while, but they’d finally fallen all of the way to the bottom of the trench. Morgan wasn’t sure what she expected to see, but she expected to see something. This was just more flat plain, like the enormous one sprawling above them. If anything, it was even more featureless, even more boring. At least above, there were bits of life here and there—coral reefs, creatures of different types, some big, weedy plants. Down here, there was nothing at all.
Even the water didn’t look any different.
“I thought you said the water down here would be so heavy it would crush anything,” Morgan said.
“I did. And it is. If we weren’t in this shuttle car, I can assure you, we wouldn’t last more than an instant. We’d be squashed into little blobs.”
“I wonder what that would be like.”
“I’d rather not find out, thank you.”
Morgan laughed, a silvery sound. “Yeah. I don’t want to do that, either.” She looked around at the featureless sand illuminated in the soft glow of the shuttle car’s lights, then sighed. “Well, this is boring again. Let’s just go home.”
A glittering light caught her attention, pulling it back into the surrounding gloom.
“What’s that?”
Something swam into view. Something massive.
Something horrifying.
A fat, round body, like a massive worm. A rounded, gaping maw filled with row upon row of jagged teeth. No eyes, just lights, a series of them surrounding that maw, gleaming softly.
That maw alone had to be half the size of the shuttle car.
Morgan whimpered. “What’s that?”
“I don’t know, child,” the elder shaman said. “There are many secrets here in the great depths. This is one of them.”
Morgan braced herself, expecting the creature to attack, to begin gnawing on the shuttle car. She scooped up magical power, ready to make it stop—
But the creature veered at the last second and swept past overhead. It seemed to go on and on. Morgan could only see it because of the shuttle car’s lights. Aside from the glowing spots around its mouth, the big worm-thing was just a featureless black. That seemed so deliberate, like there was a specific reason for it. She asked the elder shaman about it.
“There is no light at this depth,” the shaman replied. “There’s never any light here, in fact. So creatures are attracted to light when they see it. That’s likely why that creature came to investigate us, because we have our lights on.”
“Okay,” Morgan replied, narrowing her eyes. The elder shaman was saying it as though it should answer her question. But she didn’t get it.
The elder shaman flickered his indulgence. “Think about that, child. Creatures are drawn toward light. They don’t see that monster’s black body, but they do see the lights around his mouth, so they move toward it.”
“Oh. Oh, I get it. They get eaten.”
“That’s right. It’s a lure.”
“A lure?”
“Yes. A way of drawing someone or something in close, to a place where you want them to be.”
Morgan nodded but said nothing else. The elder shaman started the shuttle car back up the long climb to friendlier depths. That was fine. Morgan had seen enough today.
Besides, the idea of a lure intrigued her. It could bring someone close to where you wanted them to be.
She could use that.
20
The High Shaman glinted his satisfaction. The report was succinct, and clear, and most importantly, said exactly what he wanted it to say.
“Our operatives among the humans have done excellent work,” he said. “When they are no longer useful to us, please ensure they’re terminated as quickly and painlessly as possible. They’ve earned it.”
The High Shaman’s Deputy Chief Advisor flickered agreement. “I agree. It’s the least we can do for them. Now, what about the substance of their report? It’s quite shocking, isn’t it?”
The High Shaman glanced at the Deputy Chief Advisor. The title was a meaningless one. He was actually the High Shaman’s Spymaster. The High Shaman had learned long ago that the key to taking and retaining power wasn’t strength, or power, or even resources. It was information. Accurate information allowed for the exploitation and defeat of stronger opponents, wi
th smaller amounts of pressure applied at decisive points in time and space. It allowed for a slow but steady accumulation of influence. The result was that the High Shaman could count on the support of the Caucus when he needed it. After all, if certain Delegates didn’t fall into line, then unfortunate things about them might become known.
The High Shaman flashed agreement. “Shocking is an understatement. We already knew that Stellers and the girl, Morgan, were linked somehow. But father and daughter? Do we know this for certain?”
“With reasonable confidence, yes,” the Spymaster replied. “Morgan has the power to have changed our people on Tāmtu into something they aren’t, and have never been before, but she’s otherwise naïve in the way of all immature beings. She hasn’t thought, or simply isn’t aware, that we’re able to Scry into the minds of our people even if we can’t gain entry to her thoughts. And that has revealed much.”
“And the girl hasn’t discerned that we’ve landed a ship on Tāmtu? Are we certain of that?”
“The leader of the expedition insists that the Shading effect on the ship was never breached. The girl never even attempted to. Again, in the way of the immature, she apparently tends to only focus on those things that she finds interesting and ignores everything else.”
As the Spymaster spoke, the High Shaman swept his attention around the meeting chamber, his sanctum. He’d erected a powerful ward around it to prevent anyone from prying either acoustically or by Scrying. But the Spymaster’s mention of his operatives being able to surreptitiously peek into the minds of their corrupted brethren on Tāmtu prompted him to make sure.
He turned his attention back to the Spymaster. “But you don’t know that she’s unaware, and this may simply be misinformation.”
The Spymaster scintillated with amusement. “I must remember this, should I ever become High Shaman.”
The High Shaman flared with dangerous radiance. “Remember what?”
“That being forever immersed in plots and schemes risks exposure to a hefty dose of paranoia.”
“You believe I’m paranoid?”
“I mean it in the most respectful way.”
“I’m sure you do,” the High Shaman said. “In any case, need I remind you that there have been fourteen attempts on my life since I assumed office? Fourteen times, someone has deliberately tried to kill me to open the way to this office for themselves or some patron. Fourteen attempted assassinations tend to make one cautious. If you prefer to call it paranoia, well, do that. I don’t care.”
“You make a compelling argument, High Shaman. After all, when everyone really is out to get you, paranoia is merely smart thinking.”
The High Shaman gave the Spymaster a suspicious look. “I am reminded that four of those attempts remain unsolved. And, just a moment ago, you alluded to you becoming High Shaman. Are these things related?”
“Of course not. If I had wished you dead, then you would be dead.”
The High Shaman flashed a mix of surprise and concern. “Is that meant to be comforting?”
“No. It’s simply the truth. Fortunately, I have no interest in the office of High Shaman. I am quite content to be the power behind the office.”
“Is that what you are?”
“Of course.”
A moment of tension hung between them, then the High Shaman relented. “You’re right. If anyone could successfully kill me, it would probably be you.” He pulsed with suspicion. “Although, you are a liar by nature. Why should I believe that you have no interest in my office?”
“Because everyone’s always trying to kill you. That is not my idea of a happy or fulfilling life.”
The High Shaman hung silent for a moment, then burst into flashes and sparkles of humor, what amounted to uproarious laughter among his kind.
“You are refreshing to deal with, Spymaster. For an inveterate liar, you can be remarkably honest.”
His good humor faded, though, as he turned back to the report, glowing in a softly illuminated globe hovering over the table. “And now, we come back to this. I will put my paranoia aside and accept that it’s true, at least for the moment. So it is good information. The question is, what do we do with it?”
“Clearly, Stellers and Morgan represent the most powerful of all human shamans, and quite likely the most powerful anywhere,” the Spymaster said. “They have transcended the normal limits of magic acumen.”
“I think that’s safe to say. He moves entire fleets and recreates destroyed planets. She makes stars and nebulae, and changes the fundamental nature of an entire planet of our people. Having said that, she would appear to be the more powerful of the two.”
“I agree.”
“And then there is this,” the High Shaman said, touching a block of text with a tentacle, highlighting it. “This being Bertilak? She has apparently created him and dispatched him to find her father, Stellers. Why?”
“We aren’t as certain about this. Very few of our corrupted people on Tāmtu even know about this. It took a great deal of Scrying to learn this much.” The Spymaster drifted closer to the table. “I have a theory, though.”
“Go on.”
“It would seem there was some sort of conflict between the girl and Stellers. We don’t know the nature of it, but it seems to have been a major and traumatic event in the girl’s life. We speculate that she created Bertilak as a way of spying on her father—or perhaps even of punishing him.”
“Now that is an interesting theory,” the High Shaman said, flickering thoughtfully. “If there is some sort of schism between the girl and her father, it gives us something to exploit.”
“Exactly.”
“However,” the High Shaman went on, “there is another possibility.”
“Oh?”
The High Shaman highlighted another section of text. “Here. This section suggests that the girl indeed had some sort of clash with her father and fled, then took refuge on Tāmtu, for some reason that we just can’t discern. Whether she selected Tāmtu deliberately or simply stumbled upon it, we don’t know.”
“Does it matter?”
“It might,” the High Shaman replied. “But at the moment, it doesn’t. What does is the fact that the girl seems to be considerably more powerful than her father. And yet, she is hiding from him. And then she sends a constructed being, this Bertilak, to interact with him. So she may be spying, or she may intend to punish him—but she also might be seeking to test him.”
“Test him?” the Spymaster asked. “Why?”
“She is his daughter. Conflict has driven them apart. It stands to reason that she would want to heal the rift between them. So she remains in hiding and sends this created being out to spy on and test her father. The ultimate goal may be to repair her relationship with him.”
“That would be a problem,” the Spymaster said.
“The two of them reconciling and potentially joining forces? It would be catastrophic. We must not allow that to happen. Indeed, we must seize the opportunity to widen the rift between them and try to turn the girl to our side.”
“That’s going to be difficult.”
“It will,” the High Shaman agreed. “But difficult is not impossible.” He flickered in thought for a moment. “We must maintain close watch on the girl. When the opportunity finally presents itself, we will have a limited period of time in which to act.”
“And what opportunity would that be?”
“I have no idea. That’s why we must maintain a close watch. Your team on Tāmtu must remain undetected. It’s absolutely essential.”
“I understand. I will ensure that they do as well,” the Spymaster replied. “In the meantime, there is one other matter I must bring to your attention.”
The High Shaman waited.
The Spymaster called up another report. “This is from our operative among the Danzur. Apparently, our efforts to stymie the human attempt to enter into an alliance or treaty with them have borne much fruit. They are barely a cycle away from having the
ir diplomatic credentials revoked.”
“No,” the High Shaman said.
The Spymaster flashed his confusion. “No?”
“No. If the human diplomatic mission is brought too precipitously to an end, that will free the human woman named Wixcombe to do other things. And, as we’ve discovered, she is almost as big a problem as Stellers and his daughter.”
The High Shaman thought back to the reports he’d received while Wixcombe had been their captive. She had proven utterly immune to Scrying or any other sort of mental influence or control. The High Shaman himself had traveled to her place of imprisonment and probed her mind. He’d found it to be encased in an implacable barrier, one through which even his formidable power couldn’t pass.
“If she remains among the Danzur, pursuing diplomacy, she is removed from involvement in other matters. And she represents an unpredictable, chaotic factor. We don’t truly understand her powers, nor how she escaped our most secure facility. So I would rather she remain where she is—making futile attempts to gain the confidence of the Danzur.”
“So what would you have us do?”
The High Shaman considered the report. “We will offer the Danzur full compensation for their lost trade. Tell them . . . tell them that we don’t wish to see them get pulled into this war, that we only have their best interests in mind, something like that. However we manage it, I want the Danzur to remain out of the war. I also want them to keep Wixcombe busy.”
“I gather you don’t believe the humans would hand over Stellers to placate the Danzur, then,” the Spymaster said.
“Do you?”
“Oh, no. It was a clever bit of turmoil to introduce into their discussions with the Danzur, though. And who knows, perhaps they would have fallen for it.”
“I suspect that Stellers may have objected—and he certainly has the means of doing so.”
“Turn him against his own, beloved Orbital Navy? That would be quite the achievement.”
The High Shaman didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he just gleamed his distraction as he thought about that. He’d never taken the idea of the humans handing over Stellers seriously, so he’d never even considered the idea of turning him against his own people. Could they?
