Republic
Page 15
“That’s good,” the sergeant said, kneeling back, “because he’s not carrying any identification or so much as a business card or tin of mints.”
“Doc,” Colonel Starcrest said. “You didn’t have anything else planned for the night, did you?”
The doctor sighed down at his sleeping gown. “No, of course not.”
Chapter 7
The early morning breeze pulled at Amaranthe’s bun as the salvage tug rounded the rocky promontory, entering the cove where she and Sicarius had lost the Explorer.
“Not lost,” she murmured. “We know exactly where it is.”
“Just not its precise depth?” Sicarius asked from behind her.
His silent approach no longer made her jump—most of the time—but she always felt unobservant for failing to see, hear, or otherwise sense him coming. With all that gear on, he ought to have clanked or clinked at least once.
“Precisely.” Amaranthe ticked her nail against the brass helmet balanced on the railing beside her. “Remind me again why we’re dressed like this—” she waved to the canvas diving suits enshrouding their bodies, “—and the marines who run this ship, a ship specialized for aquatic retrieval, are dressed like that?” She pointed to the man at the helm, who wore a simple black military uniform and jacket.
“I volunteered to direct the marines to the place where the submarine sank. You volunteered to help them find it and hook it with their winch.”
“All I remember saying is, ‘I’ve used a diving suit before.’”
“Yes. The captain construed that as volunteering.” Sicarius gripped her shoulder, though his eyes were toward the promontory and the woods as he spoke. Remembering their assailant? Lamenting that he had failed to catch him? Or was it a her? “It will not take long,” he added. “I don’t believe the sub was in water more than fifteen feet in depth when it sank.”
“No, and if the water were as clear and pristine as those tropical lagoons, we wouldn’t need diving suits to find it at all.”
“Perhaps you can suggest to the president that a more comprehensive sewage processing program would be advantageous for our team’s further aquatic adventures.”
Amaranthe smiled. Their team? With Akstyr in the west and Books gone, did they even have a team any more? It had been good to see Basilard last night, however late it had been by the time she had been able to visit, but he had a new job and wouldn’t likely be signing up for further missions as a mercenary. Maldynado was the only one who had asked her what their future plans might be, though even he had been looking for employment with Starcrest. Amaranthe hadn’t seen Yara yet, but had heard she was back on the force, protecting the city. She wouldn’t likely be interested in mercenary work, either.
“About here?” the helmsman called out.
“Proceed to the east another eighth of a mile,” Sicarius responded.
The engines thrummed as the tug pushed against the current, navigating into the cove.
“Might as well get ready.” Amaranthe hefted the helmet from the railing and headed toward the flat back end of the boat. The textured decking was cleared, ready to take on the submarine—what remained of it.
A crane, winch, and other machinery for heavy lifting waited with men prepared to operate them. Amaranthe stopped by the air tanks. A fellow who barely appeared old enough to enlist saluted her and stepped forward to attach her hose. Metal scraped as he fumbled with the attachment. No wonder. He was watching Sicarius, who stood impassively, the big helmet under one arm, his eyes scanning the shoreline. The wind ruffled his hair, which always managed to be unkempt, despite Amaranthe’s regular haircuts. She didn’t find his stance threatening, but the private might be intimidated by his reputation. Or was he nervous for some other reason?
Amaranthe checked the gauges on the air tank and her own hose connections after he moved on. Nothing appeared amiss.
“Sir?” The private held up the hose meant for Sicarius’s helmet, though Amaranthe didn’t know how the kid expected to attach it from five feet away.
Sicarius stepped closer. The private looked like he wanted to scamper back, but he licked his lips and closed in. His fingers shook as he fastened the hose. Sicarius observed this through hooded eyes, but said nothing.
Amaranthe hadn’t yet donned the diving gloves, so she used Basilard’s hand signs to ask, You didn’t maul any of his relatives when you were cutting down marines, did you?
With the private facing him, Sicarius did not sign back. “Unknown.”
The kid glanced at him, then skittered back. “All done, sir. You can double-check the connections if you like.”
Amaranthe looked around the tug at the marines, most of who were busy at some task or another, rather than watching them. Starcrest had ordered this tug out, and Sicarius and Amaranthe had volunteered to go along, since they knew the location of the wreck. Starcrest surely had no reason to plot mayhem against them—unless he was secretly more irked about the loss of his craft than he let on—but would some marine captain or other officer on board risk his career for a chance at revenge? If Sicarius had wronged one of these men in the past...
“Private,” Amaranthe said, “go get the captain, please. I’d like to talk to him before we go down.”
“Erp?”
“You heard me.”
For a long moment, the kid didn’t move. Either he was intimated at the idea of going up to the captain and making demands, or he didn’t think Amaranthe was someone he needed to take orders from, or... he was scared for some reason, something beyond Sicarius’s reputation.
“If you don’t get him,” Amaranthe said, “Sicarius and I will simply sit here and play Tiles until he comes down.” She patted her bulky suit and nodded to Sicarius. “You didn’t happen to bring a set, did you?”
“I only brought my knives.” He leveled a cool stare at the private.
“I’ll be right back,” the kid blurted and sprinted for stairs leading up to the navigation deck.
“What do you suspect?” Sicarius asked.
“Maybe nothing. Maybe something. We’ll see.”
He didn’t question her further. By the time the captain walked down the stairs, the private trailing at his heels, Sicarius had a steel knife out and was making a point of noisily sharpening the blade.
“Good morning, Captain,” Amaranthe said cheerfully.
The captain glowered darkly at Sicarius and glowered slightly less darkly at her. The honesty of the emotion reassured her though—one didn’t openly show hatred for a person one was plotting against.
“What’s the delay?” he asked gruffly. If he was intimidated by Sicarius, he didn’t show it.
“I caught a whiff of an unpleasant odor,” Amaranthe said.
His lips moved, as if he were trying to figure out what to say. Not surprising since she was making up her reason for delay as she went along...
“Near the tank here.” Amaranthe tapped it with a fingernail.
The captain frowned at his private, who was standing by the tank. “Attendance to personal hygiene is recommended in the service, but not mandatory unless it interferes with the duties of others.”
It took Amaranthe a moment to find a suitable response—she hadn’t expected humor from the gruff officer. Nor was she a hundred percent certain this was humor.
“Do you have spare air tanks below decks?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I’d like this one replaced, please.” She smiled, knowing she was asking for an irritating amount of extra work from someone.
Not surprisingly, the captain’s glower deepened. He looked at Sicarius, as if this might be his fault. Sicarius had stopped sharpening his knife, but he resumed now. He watched the private rather than the captain as he made his long, raspy strokes.
“Ghomes,” the captain growled to the private, “do it. They’re the president’s special friends.”
“No.” Amaranthe lifted a hand, stopping the young man from scurrying away. “I want someone else to do it. And I wa
nt you to watch, Captain.”
“Listen, woman—”
The private—Ghomes—didn’t stop. He started running, but instead of heading for the ship’s stairs, he lunged for the railing, jumping onto it, then dove overboard. His arms were moving in swimming strokes before he hit the water.
“Should I go after him?” Sicarius asked.
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Amaranthe said, imagining an interrogation at knifepoint. “He’s not going to try anything else today.”
The captain’s glower had turned into a look of stunned disbelief as his private paddled away, heading for the nearest stretch of shore. He recovered and called to a man in an engineer’s uniform. “Tudolivc, come check this slagging tank.”
“Yes, sir!”
The lieutenant who jogged over went straight to work without more than a glance at Amaranthe and Sicarius. He pulled off a panel and frowned at a couple of readings.
“Well?” the captain asked.
“The mix is off, sir. It probably wouldn’t have been noticeable to the divers, but if they had stayed down there long enough without being attentive to their bodies...”
This time, the captain’s glower went overboard, in the direction of the private who had clambered out of the water and was charging across a rocky beach. “I’ll deal with him later. I know where his parents live, and the boy’s too stupid to know he better not show his face in town again after this.” The captain jerked a hand at the tank. “Change it out, Tudolivc.”
“Yes, sir.”
The captain left without apologizing for his man. If anything, the over-the-shoulder frown he gave Sicarius implied he was more annoyed that having him on board meant he was going to have to court-martial the kid.
Amaranthe sighed and leaned against Sicarius. “I’d say that you know you’re home when people start trying to kill you again, but it happened when we weren’t in Turgonia too. Not very charitable of him to meddle with my air supply too.” Unless she had been the target. If the relatives of those who had died at Fort Urgot ever found out she was responsible for the crash... But no, that couldn’t be the case. For good or ill, everything that had happened aboard that monster ship had been locked down tighter than a safe.
“I am always attentive to my body,” Sicarius said.
It took Amaranthe a moment to remember the lieutenant’s words and figure out what he meant. “You’re saying you would have noticed the dubious air?”
“Yes.”
“That fails to reassure me. People are trying to kill you.” Amaranthe gazed up at him. “I wonder how long it will take the world to forget about you.”
“Twenty-three years.”
“That’s... a random guess? Or some knowledge based on a mathematical model?”
Sicarius rested a hand on her shoulder. “Yes.”
The lieutenant lumbered out with a new tank. He replaced the old one and checked all of Amaranthe’s and Sicarius’s hoses and connections, then opened a lid on a storage bin built into the deck beneath the railing. He pulled out another bulky helmet.
“I get to come down with you,” he said dryly. “Going first, even.”
“Your suggestion or the captain’s?” Amaranthe wondered.
“The captain’s. He’s a lot of spit and piss, but he’s loyal as a hound. He won’t risk any of Admir—President Starcrest’s allies.”
“I understand,” Amaranthe said, though she found it odd to have herself considered an ally of Starcrest’s. She might have helped change the empire into the republic so he could become the first president, but she wasn’t sure how much of a reward that was. Further, she had only meant to end Forge and save Sespian. The rest had fallen into place by chance. And by Sicarius’s hand. Amaranthe doubted anyone who didn’t know him could tell, but he looked pleased at being called one of Starcrest’s allies.
After the three had secured each other’s helmets, they headed for a ladder off the stern of the tug. A private unpinned the access gate, making it easy to climb off the ship in the cumbersome suit. True to his word, the lieutenant led the way, descending into the dark water. Amaranthe followed, and Sicarius went last, carrying one of the large winch hooks with him.
They did not descend far before reaching the ground. Amaranthe found reassurance in the fact that they didn’t need to go any deeper this time. With luck, there wouldn’t be any giant krakens roaming about, either.
A wavering bit of green on the lake floor made her pause. Knee-high seaweed grew up all around them, but this was different, a long dark vine almost like a tentacle...
She gulped. So much for reassurance.
Amaranthe grabbed Sicarius’s arm before he could head off, and she pointed to it.
The same plant, she signed, right?
Yes, though this doesn’t appear to be floating free like the clumps we encountered. Sicarius gazed to the north, though the murky water didn’t offer much visibility. It’s possible it’s grown down from the core plant in the harbor.
It can’t be. That’s three miles away.
The newspapers report that its growth has been exponential.
When had he had time to catch up with the papers? They’d barely been in the city for twelve hours, most of those night hours. Busy night hours.
Maybe, Amaranthe signed, but three miles? Plants aren’t three miles long. They just aren’t. Great argument there. Very reasoned and logical. She snorted at herself.
Our priority is the sub. Sicarius pointed toward the shoreline, or where it ought to be. As she had noted earlier, the visibility was poor compared to the sparkling waters they had visited in the tropics. At least the dark hull of the tug floated above them, providing a marker.
Yes, I know. Be careful. Amaranthe eyed the vine, the image of the body parts floating in that tangle coming to mind again.
Always.
The lieutenant had already disappeared, though the air tube leading back to the tug showed where he had gone. Sicarius headed off at a different angle, the knee-high vegetation stirring and wavering as he passed through it. Normal vegetation, Amaranthe told herself and followed him. Even though Sicarius had been busy chasing a blasting-stick-hurling assailant, she trusted him to have a good idea of where they had anchored the Explorer.
There weren’t any fish flitting through the water. Odd. Maybe they knew this plant was something to be avoided.
The submarine came into sight sooner than she expected, and she exhaled a long breath, the sound echoing in her helmet. The oblong hull appeared to be intact, its body resting on the lake floor. Maybe the damage had been internal only and Starcrest would be able to recommission it with minimal repairs.
Amaranthe’s relief and optimism didn’t last long. Sicarius halted before he reached the hull, his body growing still, his head unmoving. Her stomach shivered with uneasiness. What now?
She moved up beside him. Oh.
Several of those vines rose up from the lakebed and curled around the sub’s hull, grasping it like a lover. The carpet of seaweed had been hiding the plant’s tendrils as they stretched across the ground, she realized. Vines might be anywhere down here. Grimacing, she peered down at her own feet, the diving boots barely visible amongst the wavering seaweed. She lifted one and then the other to make sure nothing was grasping her like a lover. Nothing green anyway.
She touched Sicarius’s hand to draw his attention. Think we can cut those off?
He drew his knife, not the one he had been sharpening, but the black dagger from the alien civilization, a blade that had never needed sharpening for as long as she had known him. I will cut the tendrils. You find a place to fasten the winch hook.
Amaranthe nodded and took the big metal prong from him. While he waded in, she walked around the exterior, the winch’s thick cable trailing behind her. For all that she had spent many weeks living in the Explorer, she had never examined the craft from the outside—ninety percent of the hull had always been underwater. Its smooth surface did not offer many spots for hooks.
The weights on Amaranthe’s diving belt did not make it easy to swim. She had to release a few of them so she could scramble up the side of the hull. That was the plan anyway. But when she tried to jump, her right boot didn’t lift off. A twinge of pain ran from her ankle to her knee at the failed attempt.
With that uneasy feeling returning to her stomach in full force, she bent and parted some of the seaweed. A green tendril two fingers thick had wrapped around her ankle.
“Sicarius?” she called, though her voice would not travel underwater. He was on the other side of the submarine somewhere, so she couldn’t wave for his help, either. “Well, your suit came equipped with a knife too, didn’t it?”
Yes, but she would have brought a machete if she had known this plant would be down here.
Switching the hook to her left hand, she pulled out her blade. At first, she tried to calmly slice through the vine. The knife cut its flesh, but barely. The thing proved harder to slice through than a branch of the same thickness.
“Stay calm,” she muttered and looked for someplace to put the hook, so she could use both hands. She shrugged and attached it to the vine. Then she laid into the vine with the vigor of a logger with a saw.
Her progress was slow, but not futile. The blade gradually cut in until she reached the halfway point. After this, she would have to make sure she didn’t stand still along enough for another one to grab onto her. At this thought, she lifted her other leg to make sure she could. Yes, good.
Motion behind her caught the corner of her eye. Sicarius?
No, another tendril, this one having risen several feet from the floor, its tip waving ominously, almost beckoning. It drifted closer. Dear ancestors, could it actually know she was a living being and could it be after her? No, that was preposterous. It had tangled up the sub after all. It probably had some inborn instinct to wrap itself all over everything.
Keeping an eye on the tendril, Amaranthe reapplied herself to cutting off the first one. The second one kept drifting closer.