Undersea

by Geoffrey Morrison

  “Ralla...” he said, his voice softer, no longer trying to argue, but trying to say something else. Trying to sum up everything that had happened, everything he’d thought over the past months. She looked up at him and her expression showed that she seemed to understand. He tapped the comm on the back of his hand. “Lo, what’s the status on our turrets?”

  “I’ve got volunteers in each one, and Soli and I are giving them instructions the best we can. The equipment is pretty similar to ours.”

  “So we’re good to go?”

  “Similar. I can’t say they won’t lock up or explode or... I don’t know. Uh oh. I shouldn’t have said that, now everyone is looking at me funny,” his big voice sounding surprisingly bashful.

  “Lo, in about three minutes I’m going to need you to slag it.”

  “Slag what?”

  “Everything.”

  “We’ll be ready.”

  Thom focused back on Ralla, as she struggled with the armor’s gloves. He was surprised Cern hadn’t said anything, and when Thom looked over at him, the taller man was shaking and looked ready to explode. His face had flushed with blood and emotion.

  “STOP!” he shouted. Everyone in the room froze. When they realized he wasn’t talking to them, Tegit’s “doctors” went back to their charge, cutting away at the underfabric of his armor and poking at wounds in ways that made Thom queasy. “Ralla, you must stop this craziness. You aren't a warrior. What do you know about armored suits and guns? Who do you think you are?! You’re just, you're just, you're...”

  He looked ready to pop. Without warning or provocation, Tegit’s nearest physician turned with a syringe and jabbed it into Cern’s leg. The big man snapped his head towards the attack, then crumpled to the floor, syringe still stuck in his thigh. The physician casually turned back and continued his work on his patient. Ralla stooped to pick up a rifle, pistol, and two charges of explosives.

  “Can you help me with the helmet?” Ralla said, as if she were asking him to zip up a dress. The stretchy underfabric conformed to her petite frame, but the covering armor pieces rubbed and clattered against each other. He fitted the helmet and they walked back to where they had entered the sub, stepping over and around people. Pausing at the lock, they could see through the small porthole the rolling stairs still pressed against the hull outside.

  “Are you sure they won’t kill you?”

  “I’m sure they won’t kill me more than I’m sure they won’t kill you.”

  “Huh?”

  “As sure as I can be.”

  “You can’t know. Let me come with you.”

  “No. If you don’t understand why I need to do this then please just let me go because you care about me and I’m telling you this is something I have to do.”

  “I was in pretty bad shape when I left you the last time.”

  “I figured you might be. Maybe you can think of this time as me leaving you.”

  “That doesn’t help.”

  “Are these suits that good, or were you just showing off before?”

  “Both.”

  “OK,” she said. She checked the charges on her carbine and sidearm, then looked back up at Thom, his face bracketed by the retracted helmet, much as hers was to him.

  “I’m going to come back for you.”

  “Oh, don’t start that again.”

  “Ralla...”

  “We’ll talk about it later.” She fumbled for the button to seal the helmet, then thought better of it. Grabbing Thom’s shoulders, she pulled herself up and kissed him. The helmets clunked against each other. As awkward as it was, standing there in front of the lock, armor holding them apart, Thom pulled her towards him. All that was unsaid was said unsaid.

  Neither moved, but for the kiss. Then Ralla dropped from her toes and pulled away from him, still holding his arm. Thom couldn’t let go of her. She gently placed his arm from her side to his. His mouth opened to say what they both wanted to say, but she stopped him.

  “Later,” she said, hitting the button on the helmet, her tone indecipherable. When it snapped down it made her jump. For a moment, through the helmet, Thom could see she was far more nervous than she had let on. She took his gloved hand in hers, and gave it a squeeze. Reaching around her hand, Thom activated his comm.

  “Lo. Light it up.”

  From deep within the Reap, the unmistakable sound of heavy gunfire emanated from all around them. The turrets on the top and bottom of the ship reverberated through the corridors and the deckplates themselves. The people crowded in the passageways of the ship, startled, let out a few screams, many yells, and covered their ears from the sound. Ralla and Thom stood at the lock, oblivious to it all. Thom pounded the door release, which hissed as its pressure seal deflated. The door pivoted outwards.

  The walls and floor of the bay were lit red and yellow as the weapons of the Reappropriation launched their salvos into everything at the far end of the bay. The guns made short work of subs, containers, and hatches, punching torso sized holes into everything they could see. In the enclosed space, the sound was deafening. Soldiers lying prone on the upper levels, ready to snipe, now fled back to the main part of the ship.

  Sealing his own helmet, Thom gave Ralla one more look, his heart in his throat. He stepped out onto the landing of the rolling stairs. Dropping to one knee, he raised his carbine to add his own music to the symphony of noise. He was sure Ralla looked back once as she got to the elevator. Then she was gone.

  Neither saw Cern limp back towards the medbay.

  A handful of soldiers scattered from the hallway as she exited the elevator. The scene caused her to smile. She fired a few times after them with the rifle, then continued towards the control room. It was empty, dark except for alarm lights pulsing for attention. Floor-to-ceiling windows bowed out, showing a panoramic—if a bit vertigo-inducing—view of the entire bay.

  Rolling chairs with consoles attached sat dormant, awaiting activation. She sealed the door with a blast from the pistol, then dropped into the middle chair and coasted towards the window. The cruiser’s light cannons were turning the small attack craft and the hanging decks above into burning and falling hunks of metal and plastic. Smoke was billowing out of several cargo containers, accumulating high above in the expansive curved ceiling of the bay.

  Ralla tapped the console, which immediately lit up with warnings of the smoke and damage. She scrolled through the menus and found the section she needed. Tapping the screen, she watched the floor of the bay start to slide open; seawater started pouring in. Klaxons screamed their warnings, loud enough for Ralla to hear even though the suit. The flooding happened rapidly, the floor of the bay almost immediately disappeared under water, and the parking struts of the cruiser were quickly halfway submerged. Chest height, she thought to herself. That was fast. A new sound came through the helmet. As her brain registered what it was, she was on her feet with the rifle raised. The door trembled as someone rammed it repeatedly. For the moment, it held.

  Tossing the rifle and the pistol into the chair, Ralla started stripping out of the suit. It came off quickly, and the noise of the room pained her ears. The alarms, the shouting from behind the door, the metal-on-metal clang as the battering ram impacted the door, not to mention the continued destruction that bled through the windows from out in the shipyard.

  She rolled the rifle and explosives up into a bundle, and used the pistol to shoot out one of the windows. A wall of sound hit her as if it was physical. Acrid smoke burnt her nostrils. Far below, the Reap had just started to float free. She wondered if Thom was watching from the now-sealed door. She tossed the bundle out the window, and watched it fall the three stories to the churning water below. The seawater had dropped the ambient temperature, and a cool breeze cut into her rumpled indigo blouse. She waved goodbye as the Reap started to slide below the surface, still firing into the rafters.

  Turning to watch as the soldiers finally broke through the door, she felt pure fear for the first time. She had bee
n wrong; they were going to kill her. It was unmistakable on their faces. For the second time in her life, Ralla watched a rifle as it connected with her face.

  Thom returned Ralla’s wave, knowing she would never see it. Water covered the window, and he could just make out the edge of the bay doors as the Reap sank away from the Population. He tapped his comm.

  “Now.”

  Two dozen charges of high explosive cut through two engines, several inner and one outer bulkhead, four freshwater tanks, three elevators, and a tiny bundle of otherwise sturdy armor.

  The explosions could be felt as tiny tremors to the people on board the rapidly accelerating Reappropriation. Most didn’t notice it. Thom rested his head against the lock, and sighed.

  Part 3

  I

  Thom Vargas stood at attention at the front of the room, but they spoke as if he wasn’t there. Back-and-forth comments were shot right past him, growing louder with every retort. Proctor Jills raised his left hand, and almost immediately the room was silent. Awbee glared at Thom from the opposite corner. Cern, seated next to her, did the same.

  “Mr. Vargas. Is it true that you deceived the Council in order to mount a rescue of Ms. Gattley? A venture you knew we would never approve?”

  “Yes.”

  He wasn’t sure what answer they were expecting to hear, but half the Council erupted in shouts of condemnation. Jills silenced them again.

  “Obviously, you failed. A majority of this Council would see you locked up for what you’ve done. Before we go that far, I think it only fair you tell us yourself what casualties resulted from your ruse.”

  “I was told Sergeant Tegit is likely to survive, though it’s doubtful he’ll be walking anytime soon.”

  “And how many ships were lost?” Larr asked after a glance from Jills. The glance put Thom on edge. These two were setting him up for something. Something bad.

  “Well, probably none. We still have the coordinates where we left the shuttle. I’m sure it’s still there.”

  The room was still hostile, Thom could feel it, but they were listening to him.

  “Mr. Vargas,” Larr continued in his usual smarmy voice, “the Council, and the ship at large, is only aware that you returned with a few hostages. Can you tell us, what else did you return with?”

  “Well, it was more than a few. We rescued at least 3,000 people.”

  The members of the Council were visibly shocked. They looked to Jills for verification.

  “He is correct,” Jills confirmed. “We have hidden the actual numbers from the ship for fear it would cause a run on supplies. We’re dealing with it. I’ll need you to talk to your constituents directly and let them know that there is plenty of food for them and the returning residents. Go on, Mr. Vargas. What else?”

  “You mean the sub?”

  “Sub?” asked one of the several Council members Thom didn’t know.

  “A brand new cruiser, Eccee-class, not fully complete but with most of her armament intact,” Larr answered. Thom felt that some of the once-hostile Councilmembers were now looking at him in a new and different light. It made him squirm. He tugged at his black uniform. “While your personal mission was a failure, Lieutenant Vargas, what else did you do with your time on the Population?”

  “Well, we’re pretty sure we crippled three of their engines and caused enough flooding that they'll have to use the other engines just to pump out the water. They had come to a dead stop and were listing pretty bad to starboard as we escaped.”

  “And you’re sure no one followed you?” Jills asked. Thom had relaxed, seeing friendly eyes around most of the room.

  “Even with the rather poor equipment on the cruiser, we’re confident we were not followed. Yes, sir.”

  “Mr. Vargas,” Jills said, rising to his feet. The other Councilmembers, apparently caught off guard, quickly did the same. “While your subterfuge in getting us to approve your mission was dishonest and irresponsible, your actions have had a stunningly positive result. I am not saying that the ends justify the means, but we are at war, and I would be amiss if I didn’t recognize a powerful and effective leader. You led your team into hostile territory, returned with minimal casualties, and did significant harm to the enemy. In light of this, and your previous history of actions, I would like to recommend to the Council your promotion to the rank of Commander, with duties to be determined by this Council at a later date. Second?”

  “Second,” Larr said immediately.

  “Vote?” Jills asked the room. Hands went up around the table. Clearly a majority.

  “So said. Commander Vargas, would you please approach to accept the insignia of your rank?”

  In a daze, Thom walked around the Council table to Proctor Jills. Later, he would remember there was clapping. Not from everyone.

  The pain woke her. Throbbing pain, pulsing with each heartbeat, dragging her towards consciousness. She futilely resisted, finally succumbing, arriving at wakefulness with eyes closed and a face in agony. Grimacing in pain caused the corners of her vision to jab white as her damaged tissues shouted hostility. Gasping in anguish, she sat bolt upright in bed.

  Either she was blind, or the room was pitch black. For the moment, Ralla was able to step around her pain and focus on the new problem. She was in a bed; she could feel the tattered blanket and the rough material of the cushion under her. The edges were metal. A cot. It was against a wall of cold metal. Following the wall, she slowly worked her way around the space. It was a tiny room, no longer than the cot, not much wider, either. A cell. Her shin discovered a toilet along the other wall, with a sink. The water tasted faintly of salt, but seemed fresh enough.

  Cupping some of the cold water in her hands, she pressed it gingerly against her face. Delicately, she touched the damaged right cheek with the pads of her fingers. She knew it was swollen and bruised; the real question was if the bone underneath was broken. Ralla tried to smile slightly, just to move the muscles. The pain was excruciating, but everything still moved. So it was bad, but maybe not too bad.

  The left side of her face was fine, so she was pretty sure there was just no light. Even as a kid she had left a shade open in her room to let some of the light from the Yard in. Her mother had slept with the shades fully drawn, in blackness like this. Ralla could never figure that out. The water had felt good, so she held some more against her face.

  The metal door was rough with rust that flaked off in her hands. It was locked, so she banged on it. To her surprise, a dead bolt clicked, and a crack of light entered her cell. It was not much brighter in the space beyond, but to her wide open irises it was like daylight, making her squint. This created a whole new wash of pain from her damaged face, but she fought it back.

  The man in the doorway was dressed as a soldier, but wasn’t one that had been guarding her people in their makeshift prison. He looked serious, but so much so it was as if he was hiding nervousness. His rifle was at his hip, finger on the trigger, pointed right at her. He looked her up and down, seemed to linger on her face, then started to close the door again.

  “Wait!” she said, grabbing the edge of the door. Fear broke through the soldier’s facade. He staggered backwards and readied his weapon.

  “Step back! Now!” he shouted. Ralla tensed and stepped slowly back into her cell, pulling the door more open as she did so.

  “I’m not going to do anything to you, soldier. I’m no trouble. I just want to talk to your Governor. That’s all. He knows me. We’ve spoken before.”

  “Let go of the door. I don’t care who knows you. Let go of the door,” the soldier said, nearly tripping over his words he was trying to get them out so quickly.

  “OK, I can do that. Just please pass the word up that I’d like to talk to Governor Oppai.”

  Ralla released the door from her fingertips and it swung shut, clanging against the frame. Blackness.

  Shuffling across the floor, she lay back on the musty cot and found herself so consumed by thought that she momentar
ily forgot her pain.

  It could have been hours or minutes, but the sound of the door unlocking again woke Ralla instantly. She was upright and sitting on the edge of the bed by the time the door finished opening. Squinting again in the comparatively bright light, the pain had no time to make itself known before her mind was racing. Oppai stood in the doorway, backlit by the room beyond. He seemed frozen there, black shadow casting black shadow.

  “Governor, let me first say...”

  “No. I don’t plan on letting you say anything. You are responsible, directly or indirectly, for the deaths of dozens of my people. Your unsuccessful escape, however vain, caused havoc throughout the ship. That you are alive now should alarm you. You live only until the ship is repaired and I will give my people what they want: the villain. You did this. You tried to destroy the ship just as I told them you would. When they have finished repairs, I’m going to have you executed in front of them all. And they will scream your name as they watch you die.”

  Ralla’s mind paid cursory attention to his words, but moved on rapidly. Why is he here at all, she thought. Why would he come down here if he was just going to let me rot and then kill me? There was something more to this.

  “You failed, by the way. You are the only survivor. We had no choice but to destroy the sub your people stole. They’re all dead.”

  That was it. He was livid and trying to conceal it. Livid that she had bested him. That they had bested him. Which meant he was lying. They had gotten away. Otherwise he wouldn’t be angry, he’d be gloating. Perfect.

  “Governor Oppai...”

  “No tears for your friends? You’re colder than I thought.”

  “I can give you something to save your people. All our people.”

  Oppai paused, searching her damaged face.

  “Anything you say now would just be to save yourself. You have every reason to lie and none to tell the truth.”