Republic

by Lindsay Buroker

  The one wrapped around her boot snapped off. She yanked her leg away and ran several paces as quickly as the awkward suit would let her. But she had forgotten about the hook. With the vine no longer attached to her foot, it had slipped off and grown entangled in seaweed several meters away.

  Amaranthe waved her knife at the upright vine and angled around it so she could grab the hook. As she bent to pick it up, the first vine reared into the air, its stump pointing toward her, the cross-section revealing a dark viscous green interior. Amaranthe stumbled back as that stump seemed to stare accusingly at her. Whatever this thing was, it wasn’t natural. Not a chance.

  As soon as she snatched the hook, she raced for the sub and tried to clamber up the side. Starcrest should have incorporated more handholds on the hull. The stupid rivets might have been serviceable if she weren’t wearing the gloves and oversized boots, but—

  “Oh, right,” she grumbled and grabbed one of the vines attached to the hull. So long as it didn’t try to grab her back...

  She hauled herself up to the hatch, which hung at an odd angle, one of the sturdy hinges warped. Well, if that was all the damage the exterior had taken, Starcrest shouldn’t be too distressed. She pulled the hatch shut—it squealed like a dying pig but complied. She secured and attached the hook to the handle and hoped it would hold up against the stress of being used for lifting the sub.

  A hand gripped her shoulder. Amaranthe turned, expecting Sicarius, but it wasn’t a hand at all.

  She shrieked and lashed out with her knife. It didn’t bother the thick green vine at all. It simply curled closer to her helmet, a tendril threatening to wrap around her neck.

  A flash of black came down from above.

  Sicarius’s dagger sliced through the vine as if it were a blade of grass. He grabbed the severed end—which was still gripping Amaranthe’s shoulder with alarming vigor—and tore it free. He cut it again. The severed vine floated away. Sicarius landed in a crouch on top of the hull.

  Thank you, Amaranthe signed. I did battle with one over there, and my knife wasn’t nearly as effective. She hoped her shriek hadn’t carried through the water for Sicarius to hear.

  Nor was the lieutenant’s, Sicarius signed. I regret my delay. I saw him in trouble and moved away to help him. He nodded toward the other side of the submarine. The lieutenant stood on the lakebed, eyeing the seaweed at his feet. He noticed them looking, though, and pointed at the hook and cable.

  Amaranthe gave him a ready sign, then smiled at Sicarius through her faceplate. Saving a stranger’s life? That was very heroic of you. We’ll turn you into a noble man yet.

  Would a noble man tease a woman for screaming at the touch of enemy foliage?

  Absolutely not, Amaranthe signed. So much for shrieks not carrying underwater...

  Then I shall pass on your label.

  She might have kissed him, but with a pair of faceplates between them, it didn’t seem very feasible. She swatted him instead, and Sicarius returned to cutting the sub free of the vines. A necessary task. Amaranthe wagered the evil things would prove stronger than the winch if they were still attached. Fortunately, with that knife, he finished shortly.

  The lieutenant must have signaled someone above, because the cable attached to the hook tightened. Amaranthe reluctantly dropped off her perch and back into the seaweed. She hoped they did not chance across any more hidden vines on the way back to the tug, though having Sicarius beside her, his knife in hand, made that prospect less alarming.

  She signed, We should be done before afternoon, don’t you think?

  Yes.

  I made an appointment. With a doctor. To check on... things. Amaranthe rolled her eyes at herself. Someday she would learn to speak bluntly with him, to say exactly what she meant. But this wasn’t that day.

  Good, Sicarius signed. I will go with you.

  That’s not necessary. I don’t think any doctor is going to feel comfortable examining a woman when her assassin lover is looming in the corner, fondling his knives.

  Sicarius slanted her a sidelong look. I can wait outside.

  Fondling your knives in the front room? That might upset the desk clerk.

  They had reached the tugboat, but Sicarius lifted a hand, keeping her from dumping the rest of her weights and swimming up to the ladder. You seem certain that I am the target of this assassin, but it’s possible you may be the target.

  The bit about the vixen and the kit sounded more like you and Sespian than me and... I don’t have any kits.

  Yet. Her visit to the doctor would hopefully give her more information on that, though between the assassin and the twitchy marine who had fled, Amaranthe wondered at the wisdom of having a child with Sicarius, at least having one soon.

  I will go with you to the appointment, Sicarius repeated.

  It seemed she would have a bodyguard whether she wanted one or not.

  Having double-checked that the sub was ready to move, the lieutenant joined them. Amaranthe kept her response to a quick, As you like, then swam up to the ladder.

  Up on deck, she was tempted to toss the helmet aside with an unceremonious clunk. How she kept ending up back in these awful diving suits, she wasn’t quite sure. Before this feeling of anarchy could take root, she spotted a stack of towels. She selected one and wiped the helmet clean of water instead, then started to wind her air hose neatly back around its reel.

  A private jogged up. “I can handle that, ma’am.”

  “I’m glad you had that knife,” the lieutenant told Sicarius as the men removed their own gear. “What’s it made of?”

  “An unknown material.”

  “Unknown?” The officer’s brow furrowed. “Who made it?”

  Sicarius gave him a quelling stare.

  “Don’t mind him,” Amaranthe said, adjusting the hose on the reel—the private was letting it wind in crookedly. “It’s not at all uncommon for him to save your life and then utterly ignore you.”

  “Oh.” The lieutenant lifted a hand and whispered to her behind it, “Technically, he’s not ignoring me. He’s glaring at me.”

  “That too.”

  “I hope the team going down in the harbor has something similar,” the lieutenant said. “Those vines were definitely... grabby. My diving knife barely made a dent.”

  Amaranthe had been in the process of removing her boots, but she froze at his words. “The other team.”

  Sespian, Maldynado, and Basilard had gone with Mahliki that morning to get root samples. Sicarius met her eyes, his face unreadable, but he had to be thinking the same thing. If the vines had been difficult to deal with here, they would be a nightmare in their originating location. And the other team didn’t have a special knife.

  “Lieutenant,” Amaranthe said, hose reels forgotten, “if you could urge your men to get that boat off the bottom as quickly as possible, I’d appreciate it. I’m going to talk to the captain.”

  Sicarius was on her heels as she jogged up the steps.

  • • • • •

  Sespian buckled the weights onto the belt of his already-heavy canvas diving suit and tried not to think claustrophobic thoughts as he eyed the brass helmet waiting for him. Hyperventilating at the bottom of the lake wouldn’t be good. Hyperventilating on the deck of the ship wouldn’t be good, either, not with all these burly marines strutting around, making preparations for his team. Mahliki’s team, he reminded himself. He wasn’t an emperor any more, and he certainly wasn’t in charge of this mission. He wasn’t even sure how he had gotten himself invited along. The construction workers were breaking ground over on the build site. His build site. He ought to be there, watching with a critical eye as the foundation was poured for the president’s new residence.

  Next to him, Mahliki didn’t appear at all intimidated by the prospect of this mission as she tugged on the oversized boots.

  “Have you done this before?” he asked.

  “Gone out in diving suits? Oh, yes. I grew up in a submarine and for a time t
hought I would specialize in marine biology. I even took some classes on marine pharmacology when I was home last planting season. It’s fascinating, and being down in the ocean, it’s amazing.”

  In other words, she wasn’t nervous at all. Sicarius wouldn’t be, either. Sespian wondered why he hadn’t inherited some of his father’s fearlessness. Probably because he had spent most of his life indoors. If he were more experienced with adventuring, he might feel less daunted. After all, Maldynado and Basilard were tossing jokes and reminiscing as they donned their gear.

  “I do admit to being the teensiest bit nervous about this setup though.” Mahliki lifted one of the tubes attached to her suit. “Everything is self-contained on our suits back home. There’s a tank and a device that provides air, and you simply wear them on your back when you go down.”

  “A... magical device?” Sespian wasn’t an expert on diving technology, but he didn’t think they could make self-contained units in Turgonia yet.

  “Essentially. I’m not all that comfortable having to depend on strangers, but that’s what we’ll be doing with this surface-supplied air.” Mahliki shrugged and released the tube. “At least we’re not going that deep. The fellow who put out the anchor said we’re at forty-five feet.”

  “I’m sure the marines can be counted on to keep you safe. In fact, if it came between choosing who to save...” Sespian pointed at Mahliki, himself, then Basilard and Maldynado, “you would be their first choice. None of them would want to answer to your father.”

  “I wouldn’t want to answer to my father if I lost anyone on my team, either.” Mahliki scooted closer and whispered, “Don’t tell the others, but this is my first command. Unless you count ordering relatives around.”

  She grinned, but Sespian sensed a hint of anxiousness beneath her facade. She might not be worried about her own safety, but it seemed she did have some fears.

  “That’s tougher than it sounds,” Sespian said. “I’ve never succeeded in ordering a relative around.”

  “Where is he today?” Mahliki asked. “Your relative?”

  “He and Amaranthe are out with another marine vessel, a tug, to try and salvage the submarine. They volunteered. I gather they both feel responsible—and a little sheepish—at having lost it, especially this close to home.”

  “Sheepish?” Mahliki asked. “Sicarius? I have a hard time associating that word with him.”

  “His sheep is buried deep down. You have to hunt for it.”

  “I’d be afraid to try.”

  Maldynado and Basilard shuffled up, their helmets in hand. Both men had more weapons than the standard-issue diving knife attached to their suits. Basilard bore a number of daggers and a long serrated blade. Maldynado wore a cutlass in a scabbard across his back. Sespian would be afraid he would cut his own air supply tube if he tried to draw a sword underwater, but he supposed Maldynado had practice.

  “We’ve been discussing this mission,” Maldynado said, “and there’s something we need to know before we get started.”

  “Oh?” Mahliki asked.

  Basilard set down his helmet and signed a few words.

  “Yes, yes, I’m asking,” Maldynado said. “We used to call Amaranthe ‘boss.’ Or I did anyway. What should we call you? I’m suggesting a proper, ‘my lady,’ since your father is warrior caste, but Bas here thinks that since you grew up on the Kyatt Islands, you wouldn’t expect a Turgonian title. You’d be a Miss Starcrest or something, but that doesn’t seem proper to my ear.”

  “Uh, can you call me Mahliki?”

  Basilard signed, That sounds presumptuous. Won’t the president think us overly familiar?

  Sespian hadn’t seen his hand signs for a few months but found he remembered a number of them.

  “What?” Mahliki asked. She would doubtlessly have a quick ear—or in this case eye—for languages, but Sespian didn’t think she had spent much time with Basilard.

  “He says that’s a lovely name, and it would be a pleasure to use it,” Maldynado said.

  Basilard thumped him on the arm with the back of his hand.

  “You should have brought your new interpreter if you wanted strict translations,” Maldynado told him.

  “We’re ready to descend, my lady,” a new voice said. It belonged to one of two marines walking up behind Sespian, neither looking much older than he.

  “My lady,” Maldynado whispered to Basilard. “I told you.”

  “Let’s get down there then.” Mahliki waved toward the harbor. “That plant spreads every day. It’s going to be having dinner at Father’s table before long.”

  Indeed, the green vines had smothered the docks and now stretched across Waterfront Street, some curving up the sides of buildings. From this far out, it looked like a green carpet. Soldiers were working with the fire brigade to hack at and try to burn the vines, but the appendages were growing back as quickly as they were destroyed.

  Sespian and the five others in diving suits dragged their gear to the back of the vessel.

  “Remember,” Mahliki said. “Don’t touch the pods. Don’t touch anything actually. Just let me get close enough to take my samples of the root system. I appreciate you all volunteering to come along, but I hope I won’t need you and that you’ll merely be...”

  “Decorative?” Maldynado suggested.

  Maldynado is good at being decorative, Basilard signed.

  “Extraneous,” Mahliki said.

  “I think I’d rather be decorative,” Maldynado muttered.

  Sespian followed Mahliki to the departure dock at the back of the ship. The team secured each other’s helmets, and a marine in uniform came around to double-check everyone’s gear. Sespian eyed all of the hoses coming out of the air tanks sitting on the deck and hoped people wouldn’t get tangled up down there. The self-contained units Mahliki had mentioned sounded much more appealing.

  “Everyone ready?” Mahliki asked.

  “My lady, you need weights or you won’t be able to sink down to the bottom,” a marine said, stopping her with a raised hand. “The suits are heavy, but they’re buoyant in the water.”

  “Oh, I know that.” Mahliki grabbed a bag slouched against the side of the deck, using both hands to lift it. Dozens of zippers provided access to interior pouches that bulged with pokey objects.

  “A... purse?” the marine asked. “That won’t be sufficient.”

  “How much weight were you going to give me?” Mahliki asked.

  “Fifty pounds.”

  She hefted her bag a couple of times. “Yes, that’s about right. And it’s a sample collection bag, not a purse. The tools and vials will weigh me down.”

  Maldynado leaned close to Basilard and whispered, “I’ll bet she keeps the same weird collection of doodads in her purse.”

  Diplomatically, Basilard said nothing. But his blue eyes glinted with good humor.

  Sespian saw the joke for what it was, but he felt compelled to defend Mahliki, in case she didn’t recognize—or appreciate—the teasing. “I find it admirable that a girl—a woman—would carry useful items along on a mission. If Maldynado had a purse, it would be full of useless toys for wooing the ladies.”

  The group fell silent and stared at him.

  Dear ancestors, he was as awkward as Sicarius at times. What a trait to inherit.

  Basilard was the first to comment, his eyes still gleaming with humor. Maldynado does have a purse.

  Maldynado propped a fist on his hip. “I do not. That’s a man bag. Full of manly things.”

  Last I saw, it had cedar candles and perfumes in it.

  “Cologne, not perfume. Goodness, Bas, don’t your yurt-dwelling people have any sense of the fineries of civilization? And cedar... is a masculine scent.”

  Sespian shrugged at Mahliki. He didn’t know if he had made her feel better about being teased, but he had at least deflected the attention away from her. These two looked like they had a lot of practice at flinging insults and were ramping up for a long bout, no doubt to mak
e up for the months they had been separated.

  Mahliki was... gazing back at him with an enigmatic smile. When Sespian raised his eyebrows in inquiry, she merely shook her head and clapped her hands to get the group’s attention.

  “Time to go, everyone. That plant’s getting bigger every minute.”

  After a last check of everyone’s gear, the team headed in, the marines leading despite Mahliki’s protest that she should go first. Sespian would back her up on anything related to biology and plant research, but silently agreed that the strong fighters should lead the way. He waved for Maldynado and Basilard to take the rear and slipped in ahead of Mahliki himself, giving the excuse that their hoses would tangle if she went ahead. He thought she might protest—it was a feeble excuse—but she smiled again.

  Sespian descended the ship’s ladder into the dark water, expecting it to freeze him to the core. The suit insulated him, however, and he found the chill manageable. From the bottom of the ladder, the weights pulled him down ten, twenty, then forty feet before his boots stirred the seaweed and silt on the lake bottom. He worked his jaw to pop his ears. The hose trailed up above him, a beacon that would lead him back to the ship if he lost his sense of direction. Fortunately, enough light filtered down through the water to brighten the murky surroundings. Already, Sespian could make out the green horizon to the east, the forest of thick stems sprouting from the lakebed.

  The marines had already fanned out to take the lead. Sespian waited until Mahliki landed so he could walk at her side. She clanked softly as she touched down. Sespian clanked a bit, too, when they headed toward the forest of green—after his encounter with the vine on the dock, he had not believed a standard-issue diving knife would prove sufficient. A sturdy one-handed axe hung from one side of his belt and a machete the other. He had a serrated dagger strapped to his calf as well. Maldynado and Basilard dropped down behind them, their weapons also clanking.

  Sespian’s boots squished in mud and silt as they walked. The greenery took up more and more of the horizon, and the water seemed to grow darker. His imagination, no doubt.

  The team slowed as it drew closer to the edge of the jungle, the stalks rising up toward the surface, the vines sprawling in all directions, waving and twitching in the current. The density of the wall of green was daunting, more like reeds crammed together in a marsh than trees in a forest or jungle. Even if the plant didn’t have appendages that liked to grasp a person, Sespian would be loath to push into the thick foliage. One might become entangled even without the plant doing anything.