by J. N. Chaney
“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, with 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 their 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?
A germ of an idea flickered into existence.
“That would be quite the achievement, yes,” the High Shaman said. “Yes, it would indeed.”
21
Kira couldn’t believe how much she’d missed these quarters. The new, shitty ones she’d been assigned had always been either too hot or too cold. On top of being too cramped. And too noisy with the hiss and swish of fluids and gases flowing through pipes and conduits that seemed to snake along behind every bulkhead. Too uncomfortable for it to be accidental. It was as though they were specifically designed to be as discomfiting as possible—which they probably were. After all, if you were going to try to leverage some advantage during negotiations, what better way than to make sure your opposition was tired and cranky?
She got it. On the battlefield of diplomacy, coarse sheets and noisy claustrophobic compartments were weapons. After all, it would be rude to decline the hospitality of your hosts. That was why Kira had resolved to actually live in the quarters to which the Danzur had downgraded her, instead of staying aboard the Venture in much more comfort.
So what had changed? Why had the Danzur suddenly and without explanation moved her back to her original, much more pleasant quarters?
For a moment, she didn’t care. She dropped her small amount of baggage on the bed—which now by itself seemed as large as the crappy quarters she’d just vacated—and luxuriated in the palatial surroundings.
Her indulgent enjoyment only lasted a moment, though, until the question reasserted itself. What had changed? Why had the Danzur relented?
For that matter, did this mean negotiations were back on, or were they still on a deadline for having their diplomatic credentials revoked in—she checked the time—less than twelve hours?
She needed to talk to Damien.
The door chime sounded, and she answered.
“Well, speak of the devil,” Kira said, as Damien stepped into the compartment. “I was just thinking about you.”
He smiled. “I’m flattered, Kira. Is this the start of something beautiful?”
“Kind of full of yourself, aren’t you?,” she said, grinning back at him as she flopped into a chair as soft as a cloud. “Oh yeah, that’s the stuff.” She closed her
eyes and stretched out.
“A diplomat, full of himself? Say it ain’t so,” Damien said, and Kira laughed. He sat down across from her. “What have you heard?”
She opened an eye. “Nothing. All I know is that there I was either sweating or freezing, I don’t remember which—all the discomfort kind of blurs together. Then a Danzur showed up, all obsequious-like, and told me I was moving back in here.” She glared. “Oh, thanks for that sojourn in accommodation hell, by the way.”
“This is technically an ON mission and you’re the head of it. It would have been rude not to use the quarters you’re offered. It’s essentially saying ‘oh, by the way, you’re terrible hosts’ and that their hospitality sucks.”
“But they do suck, and they are terrible hosts.”
“You do realize we’re probably being bugged?”
Kira sat up, then looked at the ceiling and raised her voice. “Good! I’ve had more than my fill of bullshit diplomatic head games anyway.”
Damien smirked. “Well, that should help our cause.”
“Do we even still have a cause, though?” Kira asked.
“Well, here you are,” Damien replied, gesturing around. “You’re back in the nice diplomatic digs. There must be a reason for that.”
Kira sat back again. “Yeah, well, it wouldn’t surprise me if it’s just some bureaucratic foul up. You can’t have as much officious crap going on as the Danzur do without some of it occasionally screwing up.”
Damien’s lip twisted a notch. “Sure, why not? Let’s insult their institutions on top of it.”
Kira waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t think it matters. I think the Danzur have made it very clear that they’re not actually interested in—”
The door chimed again. Kira exchanged a look with Damien, then stood and answered it.
It was Tadrup.
Kira started to assemble something suitably diplomatic to say, but she suddenly thought to hell with it. “Hello, Tadrup. Come to throw me back out of these quarters and into something else? Maybe a bed stuck in an airlock this time?”
