Constance Verity Saves the World

by A. Lee Martinez

  “Feelings acknowledged. How are things going, then?”

  “Weird. Extra levels of weird.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “It’s late. You need your sleep.”

  “I can talk,” he said.

  She almost told him to forget it. She didn’t want him to worry, but that wasn’t up to her. But she also didn’t want to unpack all the problems she was dealing with now.

  “Let’s talk about your day,” she said.

  “Oh, the usual. Defeated a paper jam. Had an interoffice-memo typo emergency. Had a good lunch. Defused an unlabeled-yogurt-cup crisis started by Gayle.”

  “Sounds like Gayle.”

  “You’ve never even met Gayle.”

  “I know the type.”

  She lay back in bed, feeling a million times better as he shared his trials and tribulations with her.

  16

  The death of Lady Peril, genuine or not, had left Siege Perilous with dozens of pressing problems. Larry had a corkboard on his office wall, filled with index cards. Each was a possible bomb in need of defusing. Information wasn’t always clear. The organization was large and compartmentalized. It was the way Lady Peril ran things. Schemes within schemes, some of those schemes working in direct opposition to each other so that no matter which one succeeded, Peril would win.

  Larry decided Connie’s next bomb by throwing a dart at the corkboard, which was how she ended up dispatched over the Indian Ocean, investigating a forbidden aquatic archeology mission being held captive by giant starfish.

  The helicopter hovered over the largest tugboat, and Connie, Tia, and their soldiers rappelled to the deck.

  The captain exited the bridge. Behind him, a massive echinoderm flopped forward on six thick legs. Its suckers popped with each ponderous step. The blue and yellow spines along its back bristled.

  “What seems to be the problem?” asked Connie.

  “These goddamned things have been keeping us prisoner,” said the captain. “Destroyed our engines. Won’t let us leave.”

  “Anyone hurt?”

  “Not yet,” he said.

  The giant starfish raised up, and its circular mouth gnashed. It didn’t have any teeth. When necessary, it would evert its stomach to digest its meals outside its body. Connie had a book on starfish as a kid. They were truly terrifying monsters of the deep, and this one, weighing nine hundred pounds conservatively, was a thing born of nightmares.

  It lurched on two legs, threatening to topple over onto her and the two soldiers behind her. From there, it could dissolve them at its leisure. The soldiers raised their weapons, but Connie gestured for them to hold fire.

  The monster flapped its top tentacle back and forth and whistled in the ancient language of the echinoderms. “Hello, Constance Verity of the land things.”

  “Tweep of the deep dwellers, is that you?” asked Connie with a melodious whistle. “You’re looking good. Is that a new arm?”

  Tweep wiggled the limb. “Yes, thank you for noticing. But you, Constance Verity, possess the same number of limbs as the last time we met. Have you been ill?”

  “No, it’s a land-thing thing.”

  Tweep fell on his back and folded in on himself in a traditional gesture of apology. “Excuse me if I offended.”

  “It’s fine. No apologies necessary.”

  The giant starfish flipped over. “It is good to see you again, Constance Verity of the land things. Fortuitous, as well. We have been attempting to communicate with your fellow land things, but our efforts have met with no success. Now that you are here, there is hope.

  “Long ago, my people waged a terrible war to see that the god of the depths would never rise. Until your fellow land things discovered the lost city under which the god dreams of the light above. As he stirs, the universe itself shall unbecome. The disturbances of its resting place threaten us all.”

  The ocean rumbled beneath them, churning and bubbling. White sand muddied the waters.

  “And why didn’t you just scare them off?” asked Connie.

  “If we’d caught the desecration in time, we would have done so. But the god already stirs, and we need help to return it to its slumber. Help only a land thing can offer.”

  Tweep of the deep dwellers briefed Connie. It was all so much whistles and squeals. At one point, Connie had to make a farting nose with her armpit. The alien linguistics and inhuman body language were impossible to follow.

  “She does this all the time,” said Tia to a soldier. “I barely passed conversational Spanish.”

  More starfish creatures climbed up from the water and onto the deck as they talked. All of them were smaller than Tweep, but their alien otherness put everyone on edge. Everyone but Connie.

  Maybe Tia had been wrong to worry. Connie wasn’t invincible, but she wasn’t stupid. A sidekick was handy to have around but not required. Connie had been saving the day for decades, and despite it all, she was still alive. She knew what she was doing.

  Tweep vomited up an asymmetrical tube of black and purple. Connie picked up the slimy thing and bowed, flapping her arms. Tweep repeated the gesture. They both blew raspberries.

  Connie said, “Here’s the deal. There’s this monster or god or something under the ocean. The sun might be a figment of its imagination. Or it’s just a giant monster. Either way, these guys want to put it back to sleep. Unfortunately, they needed a human to play this flute to do it, and they couldn’t get anyone to understand.”

  “Sounds simple,” said Tia as she handed Connie a cloth to wipe the juices off the instrument.

  Connie cleaned the slime and goop off and offered the cloth back.

  “Keep it,” said Tia.

  Connie put the flute to her lips. “You’re going to want to cover your ears.”

  She played a soft, discordant tune, both terrible and hypnotic. Even with her ears covered, Tia felt the urge, almost irresistible, to hurl herself into the welcoming icy depths, to fill her lungs with water and rest forever on the ocean floor.

  One soldier surrendered to the siren song. He ran toward the edge, but a pair of starfish tackled him before he could do it. He laughed and cried as he struggled to free himself, but they kept him pinned to the deck.

  The song was only thirty-one seconds long. Tia counted those long seconds. If it’d been thirty-four or -five, she’d have probably needed restraining herself. By the end, she was crying, pining for the primordial depths that her ancestors, buried under millions of generations of DNA, had once called home. In the blackness, there was peace. In the darkness, the world was as perfect as it ever could be.

  Connie gave the all clear, and Tia uncovered her ears.

  “How did you not jump in the ocean?” asked Tia.

  “I like pizza too much. There’s no pizza down there.”

  “Sometimes, it’s really hard to tell when you’re joking.”

  A deep rumble below whipped the waters.

  “Probably just rolling over to go back to sleep,” said Connie.

  The waves roiled, and the ship rocked to one side.

  “Damn it.”

  Connie whistled at Tweep who gurgled back.

  “I might have a shot if I can get closer. Captain, where do you keep your diving gear?”

  A tentacle slapped over the railing as a giant nautilus dragged itself onto the main deck. The horrendous thing sloshed toward them.

  “That’s not so scary,” said Tia. “Not monster god of the deep scary.”

  “That’s not the god,” said Connie. “It’s just one of its children.”

  More nautiluses pulled themselves onto the ship. Soldiers fired their weapons. The bullets bounced off their shells or splattered against their exposed squishy bodies. A few of the creatures withdrew into their shells with squeals. Others charged with impossible speed for giant invertebrates. A soldier was grabbed by the ankles and dragged, screaming, overboard.

  A tentacle wrapped around Tia’s waist, but before she could meet the sa
me fate, Connie hacked the appendage with a knife. The nautilus howled, releasing Tia and sliding into its shell.

  The ocean tossed the ship around. An angry wave crested over the deck, carrying several more people into the merciless depths. Tia was knocked over but somehow managed to stay on deck. Funny word, somehow. It meant she had no clue how, but she’d take whatever small miracles she could.

  A howling nautilus flailed its many tentacles as it rushed at her. Even if she’d had the sense to spring into action, she’d have no chance of escaping across the rocking, slippery deck. But she didn’t spring. She stared into the thing’s white eye, and amid its hundred writhing tentacles, she caught a glimpse of its snapping beak. This was how she died, eaten by a giant bivalve.

  Were nautiluses bivalves? And was that really going to be her last thought?

  Tweep pounced on the nautilus. He wrapped his arms around the monster, which whipped its tentacles in an attempt to escape. Tweep shrieked.

  Connie grabbed Tia’s arm. “His people are buying us some time.”

  They ran through the chaos of monsters and humans and monsters. It was all indecipherable to Tia. Just water and howls and gunfire. Somehow, Connie guided them through it, and they ended up in a radio room. Or a room full of electronics that Tia assumed was the radio room. She didn’t know enough about ships. Connie shut the door and locked it.

  The angry sea lurched, and Tia felt like she was going to throw up. Then she threw up.

  She wiped her mouth. “Are nautiluses bivalves?”

  “Cephalopods,” said Connie.

  The ship bobbed. Tia threw up again.

  She didn’t wipe her mouth this time. She could sense another bout of nausea punching her in the gut.

  “Stay here,” said Connie.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  Tia considered arguing, saying something about belonging by Connie’s side. It was right there in the word sidekick. The very first syllable said it all. But Tia wasn’t going to do anybody any good.

  Connie exited, slamming the hatch shut behind her. Tia dragged herself over to the small window and watched as Connie jumped overboard without any diving gear. Just a flute in her hand.

  A huge white eye appeared in the window. Tia ducked against the wall. With some luck, she hadn’t been seen.

  Funny word, luck.

  The monster pounded on the door. The hinges buckled. Tia looked around for a weapon. Anything. All she found was an old mop. She struck it against a console, breaking off the tip. It was shorter than she would’ve liked, but it was better than nothing.

  The door fell in with a clang. The doorway was too small for the nautilus’s shell. It flailed with dozens of tentacles, and Tia pressed against the far wall. She wished she knew the vulnerable parts of a sea monster.

  A shotgun blast chipped away at the nautilus’s shell. It screeched and withdrew.

  Tia struck. She shoved her spear into its eye. It burst, spraying goo everywhere. The monster retreated, hurling itself into the ocean.

  She threw up again, though she had nothing left to vomit. The retching dry heave nearly caused her to drop to her knees.

  Hiro steadied her. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

  She leaned against him. She nodded toward the weapon in his hand.

  “What kind of ninja uses a shotgun?” she asked, her throat dry and raw.

  “Whatever gets the job done.” He patted her back. “Sit down.”

  She walked to the railing. It wasn’t smart. Not with the monsters and the waves and the very real possibility the ship might capsize at any moment.

  “She’s down there,” said Tia, but there was too much noise from the ocean and the shrieking and the groaning ship. She pointed.

  Hiro nodded, holding her tight. She hoped he was holding tight to something else.

  He’d seen Connie jump and hadn’t tried to stop her. Tia elbowed him rather than waste her time yelling.

  He shrugged, and that said it all.

  If Connie was determined to do something, she’d do it. No matter how stupid. Tia had seen it a hundred times. Somehow, Connie always came out okay.

  Somehow.

  Something massive stirred in the depths. A bright red eye opened, and Tia realized how much she’d underestimated its size. It was huge. An island on fins, perhaps. It would rise and swallow this ship like popcorn before sending devastating tidal waves across the globe simply by swimming. Then it’d stomp whatever was left in its wake, crushing humanity beneath it without thought or mercy.

  The sun flickered as if it might extinguish.

  “Come on, Connie.”

  The flute’s song drifted from the raging ocean. Tia and Hiro stepped back from the railing and covered their ears. Despite the noise, despite the impossibility of it, the flute played in their heads. The frozen, wet darkness beckoned. Tia and Hiro edged toward the siren’s song. They couldn’t stop. They could only slow their progress, taking one hesitant step at a time.

  Tia tried thinking about pizza. It didn’t work.

  The song stopped suddenly, and she found herself poised half over the railing. Hiro had one of his legs over. She pulled him back.

  The ship rocked with the dying waves. The sun stabilized, seeming brighter than usual, but that was only because of its previous dimness. The dreaming god of the depths closed its eye and sank quietly into the dark to rest until the end of time. The nautiluses skittered overboard, and Tia’s shaky legs wanted to give out. She pulled herself along the edge, scanning for any sign of Connie.

  “She’s all right,” said Tia. “She’s always all right.”

  “Yeah,” said Hiro.

  Neither of them admitted that maybe she wasn’t. This might be the last time she saved the day. There had to be a last time. Debra had said so. The law of averages said so.

  A starfish splashed to the surface. It rolled over, holding Connie in its arms. She whistled a thanks and swam to the boat. Hiro helped her aboard.

  “Oh, thank God,” said Tia. “I thought . . . I just thought . . .”

  She didn’t know what she’d thought. Of course Connie was fine. Connie was always fine.

  Tweep lumbered over. He uttered a disquieting series of squeaks and fart-like noises.

  “Couldn’t have done it without you.” Connie gave the cursed flute to Tweep, who swallowed it. He belched.

  “I’ll see that the god is left undisturbed,” she said.

  He blurted out a slobbery good-bye, and Tweep and the other starfish went overboard.

  The boat rocked with the lingering waves as they watched the starfish swim away.

  “How the hell do you play a flute underwater?” asked Tia.

  “Practice. So, do you want to tell me what Hiro is doing here?”

  He stepped behind Tia. “It was her idea.”

  Tia considered surrendering to the lingering impulse calling her to the ocean depths.

  • • •

  While repairs for the boats began, Connie, Tia, and Hiro changed out of their wet clothes. They had to borrow some new clothes and neither Connie’s nor Tia’s fit very well. Hiro’s looked like they’d been made for him. Tia was trying to remember a time he’d ever looked less than perfect. Even when saving her from the giant nautilus aboard a supernatural storm, he’d only looked mussed. He didn’t even have bedhead in the mornings.

  Her hair was all over the place. She really should cut it shorter if she was going to keep this up. Sidekicking demanded certain practical choices.

  They sat in the small dining area of the tugboat, had some coffee to warm up.

  “I’m sorry,” said Tia. “I was just worried about you, so I came up with this stupid plan to have Hiro follow us around. Like secret backup.”

  Connie took a drink of her coffee but didn’t say anything.

  “I should’ve asked,” said Tia. “I didn’t because I was afraid you’d say no.”

  “You didn’t know that,” said Connie, more into her coffee cup than to Tia. “It’s
true, but you didn’t know.”

  “It was a stupid idea. I admitted that.”

  “Not that stupid,” said Hiro. “I did save you.”

  Tia didn’t need reminding.

  “I shouldn’t have done it,” said Tia. “But, Connie, even you have to admit that things have felt a bit off lately. Like there’s something different happening out there. Like maybe the universe has it out for you.”

  “The universe always has it out for me,” said Connie.

  “I know.” Tia slumped across the table. “And you handled everything. You always do. The world was blowing up around you, and not only did you stop it from ending, you saved me while doing it. I’m the sidekick. I’m supposed to make things easier. Not get in the way.”

  “You weren’t in the way.”

  “If you weren’t looking out for me, it would’ve been easier.”

  Connie chuckled. “It’s never easy, Tia. I just make it look easy.”

  “You’re not mad, then?” asked Tia.

  “Why would I be mad? You and Hiro were looking out for me. I’m not happy that you thought you needed to lie about it, but it came from a good place. I’m glad he was here to save you.”

  He leaned in and kissed Tia. “So am I.”

  “You’re not getting rid of me?” asked Tia.

  “Hell, you’re my sidekick, my friend, not my mindless lackey. I don’t need your unquestioning obedience.”

  Connie poured herself another cup. She didn’t like coffee, but she was still cold. A few minutes of meditation and biofeedback could shake the chill, but she didn’t feel like interrupting the conversation.

  “When I was down there, staring into the eye of that monster sea god, I thought it might finally be it. I’d thought it before, but not like that. And I wondered if things have changed. Maybe I broke the caretaker destiny. Maybe my luck is finally running out. Maybe I’m getting slow.”

  Hiro threw his empty mug at her. She caught it in her free hand before it hit her in the face.

  “Are you nuts?” asked Tia.

  “Reflexes look fine to me,” said Hiro.

  Connie set his cup down and went on deck. Tia tried to follow.

  He took her arm. “Give her some time to figure it out on her own.”