Tides of Maritinia

by Warren Hammond

  I hefted the table leg and set it on my lap. “You mean you’re going to buy them off.”

  “A little carrot when appropriate. A little stick, too. These things can be very volatile if not handled correctly. That’s why we need an accurate account from you.”

  I picked out the U-­tipped tool. “Ask your questions.”

  “Please put the table leg down,” said the major. “That’s Ministry property.”

  I dug a long groove. “It’s mine now.”

  “My patience has limits,” said the governor. I didn’t have to look up to hear the frown in her voice.

  “I said I’d talk. Where should I start?”

  A clunk on the table drew my gaze. The major had set a comm unit on the table, a far newer model than the one in my pocket. “I will be requesting codes from your embedded political officer. As you know, some codes mean true. Others false. I’ll know if you’re telling the truth.”

  The governor said, “Start at the beginning, Mr. Bryce.”

  CHAPTER 34

  ­“People who see evrythingg in black adn white fit in onne of two groups. Thos who are lucky enugh to go through life and never have thos principlles tested. Ant those who are idiots.”

  –JAKOB BRYCE

  I carved while I talked. Finding it difficult to keep my composure, I kept my focus on the gouge in my hand and the short strips of wood tumbling to the floor. Staying lost in the heavenly aroma of cut redwood, I told my story.

  Kell. Sali. The ceremony. The missile-­defense system. Sali.

  The major stopped me every ten minutes for a code check. Because Pol had no way to directly communicate with anybody outside my head, he’d recite a new string of numbers for me to repeat to the major. The major kept his eyes on his comm screen as he compared Pol’s code against a predetermined list of true and false codes that had been communicated to Pol before his consciousness was implanted in my brain. Upon verifying I was telling the truth, the major would ask me to carry on.

  The admiral and Mmirehl.

  The lamprey and the mass poisoning.

  Terror and murder and death.

  Finished, I switched to the fishtail gouge. “I want to see the Falali Mother now.”

  The governor laid her hands flat on the table. “A harrowing tale, Mr. Bryce. No, an amazing tale. The results you’ve achieved are incredible. I can’t help but marvel at what one man can accomplish when he carries the Sire in his heart. I don’t mind telling you I was very nervous about accepting this post. I was convinced that a full-­scale invasion force was required, but my requests for two thousand troops and an escort of warships were denied.”

  “Resources are hard to come by,” said the major. “I imagine you haven’t heard the bad news, Mr. Bryce. War is imminent. At latest count, ninety-­two industrialized worlds have seceded. And another seventeen Outermost Ring worlds like this one have joined the rebellion.”

  “Yes,” said the governor with a grave nod. “We’ll hope that word of the atrocities that happened here will have a dampening effect on the traitors supporting revolution. The Empire hasn’t been tested like this for a thousand years, but thanks to the selfless efforts of ­people like you, Mr. Bryce, I have complete faith we will prevail. The Sire owes you a debt of gratitude for completing your mission so successfully. Understaffed and underequipped as we are, I’d feared the worse.”

  I said nothing and drove the fishtail gouge into the wood, a long strip peeling free.

 

  Nearing a knot in the wood, I pushed harder.

 

  It took all my will not to respond to him, not to shout that I, of all ­people, knew damn well how serious war was. But I wouldn’t give Pol the satisfaction of a response.

  Tightening my grip on the handle, I dug at the knot, the effort making my wrist shake. What I needed was a mallet, but I doubted my bone tools could withstand much pounding. Instead, I put the gouge back on the table and took up a carving knife so I could shave the knot away one flake at a time.

 

  Lifting my eyes, I met their questioning stares one at a time. “Are you going to let me see the Falali Mother or not?”

  “Don’t you want to know when you’re going home?” asked the governor.

  “I am home.”

  Her brows rose, thin creases forming on her forehead. “You’re clearly not thinking straight, Mr. Bryce. It’s no surprise after what you’ve been through. But staying here is not possible.”

  “Why not?”

  “The local population believes you’re really Colonel Kell. They think you’re the Empire’s most wanted man. We can’t let you walk among the locals without raising suspicions. We need you to go home, where you’ll be put on trial along with Dii Mnai and Mr. Mmirehl. Your executions will be broadcast throughout the Empire, though yours will obviously be faked. Trust me, we have ways to make an execution look believable. Then you’ll be surgically changed back into yourself. From there, if you want to request a posting on Maritinia, I’m sure you can. Your experience with these subjects could prove valuable.”

  “Fine. When is my deportation scheduled?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “For now, we need to keep the transport vessel floating outside the Ministry in case an emergency evacuation proves necessary. I’ll release it, and you, once I’m sure the situation is stable, say four to six weeks.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “And what do I do until then?”

  “You cannot leave the Ministry. Outdoor walks are allowed only under the cover of darkness, and only with an escort. A select few of our officers know you are a plant, but the rest think you’re really the traitor. Fear not, we’ve given explicit orders to all our soldiers that you are to be treated with respect. We’ve told the rank and file that you turned against the admiral and gave us invaluable information in exchange for not being treated like a criminal. As long as you remain indoors, you will have the freedom to go where you like.”

  Somebody knocked on the door. My eyes went back to the wood.

  “Come in,” called the governor.

  The door squeaked open, and a voice said, “We’ve checked all the video feeds for boats, and there are none within a half mile of the Ministry.”

  “You’re thinking this is a good time for a drill?” asked the major.

  “We need to make sure we can do a proper lockdown. We do it now, and we can have guards back on their posts in fifteen minutes. There aren’t any boats close enough to pose a threat.”

  The major rubbed his jaw. “What about the water pumps? This complex leaks like a sieve. How are we going to protect them?”

  “They’ll be fine. There aren’t any boats close en—­”

  “What about when it’s not a drill?” the major interrupted, his words chopped with by impatience.

  “Unlike the other domes, Dome 2 has a door that can be sealed, but the power situation is a mess.”

  “How so?”

  Following an audibly deep breath, he said, “The ignorance of these ­people is stunning. I can hardly believe what they’ve done.”

  Having witnessed the Maritinians’ technological incompetence on more than one occasion, I had to smile.

  The soldier standing in the doorway was an engineer according to the purple patch on his shoulder. His face was young and full like Dugu’s. He rubbed his jaw as he spoke. “The pumps’ power lines aren’t secure. Have you seen those black lines running alongside the lagoon?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s them, right out in the open. They run across the stone before dropping underwater to go down to the turbines. And you’re not going to believe what else they did.”

  “What?�
��

  “They hung crab traps off the lines. At least fifty of them.”

  The major groaned, while I laughed under my breath.

  The engineer rubbed his jaw some more. “It’ll probably take us a day just to remove and untangle all the ropes.”

  “What’s the best way to secure the lines?” asked the governor.

  “The lines will be vulnerable to attack until we reroute them through the protected conduit that runs along the outside of the Dome 2 stairway. That conduit terminates in the electrical room, where we can tap into the power lines that run along the ocean bottom between here and the turbines.”

  “What about those lines? Are they vulnerable? The locals are legendarily good divers.”

  “I know they are, but no need to worry. The lines between here and the turbines run under a ­couple feet of rock.”

  “How soon can we get the lines rerouted through the conduit?” asked the major.

  “Well, we have two challenges on that score. First, we need to make sure the conduit has no breaks that would leave the power lines open to tampering. I have two divers out there right now checking it out.”

  “And challenge number two?”

  “The electrical room is flooded.”

  “Flooded?”

  “Yes, sir. Which is probably why they rerouted the power in the first place. Frankly, I’m surprised we have power at all.”

  I looked to gauge the major’s reaction, but my eyes were drawn back to the door by a new arrival in civilian dress. He stood behind the engineer, leaning against the doorframe, his hands wrapped around a bamboo cuda fish.

  I banged a fist on the table. “Where did you get that?”

  After a startled jump, the man looked about like he hoped I was talking to someone else.

  “Where did you get that fish, damn you?” I was up out of my seat, the table leg thudding to the metal deck. The major was up, too, already coming to meet me.

  “That’s sacred, dammit.”

  The major took hold of my shoulders, “Come, sit back down,” he said.

  I twisted out of his grasp and tried to lunge past. “That’s a sacred blessing. Without it, we’ll all be cursed!”

  Managing to keep a hip in front of me, the major yelled, “Sit down!”

  Trying to pass him again, my feet tangled with chair legs, and I tumbled to the floor. I felt the major’s knee drive into my lower spine to pin me painfully to the deck.

  I tried to wriggle free, but the engineer was on me, too, his weight pressing down on my shoulder blades. Trapped against the cold steel, I could feel icy water from a window leak soaking into my pants. Wrenching my neck, I saw the man in civilian dress place my fish on the table. “Um, sorry,” he muttered. “I found it by the exit to Stairway 2.”

  “You think it was a gift?” I said between short breaths. “I put it there for a reason, you stupid asshole.”

  I was back in my chair with the table leg across my lap. Scarred and dented, it didn’t look like much, but soon it would become a cuda, the biggest I’d ever made.

  They’d left me alone after I finally calmed down, which wasn’t until after the governor agreed to have the cuda put back where it belonged over the hatchway. Harmless enough was what she said. Which the others took to mean, let the crackpot have his totem.

  The emergency drill was under way, the alarm’s awful whooping echoing off the walls. By now, the Empire’s new contingent was locked up safe inside the Ministry except, I imagined, for those who were stationed on the transport vessel anchored in the water nearby.

  Kell’s successful coup aside, the lockdown strategy was unbeatable. So unbeatable, the same strategy was employed on all of the tech-­restricted worlds of the Outermost Ring. In the event of attack, an Empire’s contingent could simply lock themselves inside steel chambers that might be underwater or raised high in the air, where they were completely impregnable to attackers who had little more than stone tools.

  Lock yourselves in like cowards and call in the bombers. Such was the wisdom of the Sire.

  The alarms finally quit though my ears continued to ring. I went back to peeling away large slivers of wood from what would soon become the dorsal fin. This cuda would be special. Its spine would be lined with fishhooks, its tail made to look like two machete blades. Scales like flames. A mouth full of viciously jagged teeth, and a corkscrew tongue.

  The door opened, and the governor stepped through, closely followed by Major Lensa.

  “We’ve sent for the Falali Mother,” said the governor. “She’ll be here shortly, but we have to talk to you first.”

  I made no attempt to hide a frustrated sigh.

  The governor sat without reaction. Not the same for the major. Tight-­faced, he took his seat with quick efficiency. I knew his type. A man who was used to cutting through the nonsense and giving orders. Not at all the artful operator the governor was. Despite his dual role in the Army and E3, he was clearly more soldier than spy.

  “I sense you don’t like me, Major.”

  Expecting a gruff affirmative, I was surprised to hear a denial. “Couldn’t be further from the truth.” The smile on his face looked painful, like it had been hung with thumbtacks. “Like all of the E3’s operatives, you’re a silent hero to the Empire.”

  I matched his smile as I struggled to comprehend the sudden change in attitude.

  The governor said, “I asked the major to send word home that you’re safe and sound. He was quite impressed to learn who your father was.”

  “You didn’t already know?” I asked him.

  “Until yesterday, you were just a number.”

  The governor said, “Yes, the E3 loves their secrets. Your personnel files were closed to us until just before entering Maritinia’s atmosphere. It appears the major hadn’t bothered to read them until I asked him to send word home.”

  “I had an invasion to oversee,” he said before turning to me. “I’m sure you understand. The safety of the men and women under my charge took priority. Your family’s reputation within the E3 is impeccable. I look forward to learning as much as I can from you.”

  “Why, Major,” I said, my smile widening, “I didn’t know you had so much to learn. I’d be happy to teach you how to do your job.”

  The twist at the edges of his tacked-­on smile said I’d pricked him deep. The governor’s eyes flashed for just a second. Whether in anger or delight, I couldn’t tell.

 

  I honored Pol’s input with a rare response.

  The governor drew our gazes with three sharp taps of her lacquered nails against the table. “We’re planning a show of force tonight. We’ll be launching and detonating hundreds of low-­grade rockets over the population centers. Though they’re harmless, the major tells me the racket they’ll create will be more than sufficient to cow the locals.

  “After the show, I’ll be making a speech introducing myself as governor and establishing the parameters of the Empire’s return. As a gesture of goodwill, I’m considering setting the Falali Mother free. I think it could enhance our image as magnanimous rescuers.”

  “Rescuers? That’s how you think of yourselves?”

  “Of course,” she said, her tone indicating she was surprised it was even in doubt. “These ­people aren’t capable of self-­determination. Humans like these are savages at heart. After what you’ve witnessed, you know that better than anybody. They require structure and stability. They need society and culture. Only then, when their wild sides are caged, do their better qualities emerge. Qualities like respect, nobility, and charity.”

 

  If I could’ve rolled my eyes at Pol, I would have. “Maritinians are nobler than you think.”<
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  “Save it, Mr. Bryce.” Her voice was suddenly lacking any patience. Apparently showing some respect for the ­people of this world was a sore spot. “I’ve worked with dozens of undercover operatives, and they all find themselves sympathizing with the locals to one degree or another. So trust me, I’ve heard the noble-­savage argument many times before. Let me do you a favor and smother this nonsense while it’s still in its crib. Maritinians were given the chance to govern themselves, and they decided to slaughter each other by the hundreds of thousands. Excuse me if I don’t find any nobility in that. The sooner you get these misguided notions out of your head, the better. Now can we get back to the topic of the Falali Mother?”

  Biting my tongue, I slowly nodded.

  “Do you think setting her free is a good idea?”

  I nodded a second time. “She means much to her ­people. They’ll never trust you as long as you keep her locked up. You have to let her go.”

  “We have another choice, you know.”

  My heart darkened at the thought of it. “You want to kill her, don’t you?”

  “It would give me no pleasure, but the thought has crossed my mind. We can say the admiral killed her like he did so many Jebyl.” She shrugged her shoulders. “We merely found the body.”

  I shook my head. “You have nothing to gain from killing her. She’ll just be replaced.”

  “Agreed. So the question is: Will she work with us? Or can we get a better deal from her successor?”

  “What kind of deal?”

  “Reconciliation is the goal. From what you’ve told us, the admiral has been spewing plenty of paranoid fantasies about us. We need to gain the trust of the ­people. The Falali church is the most respected institution on this world, is it not? Her endorsement would cement our legitimacy.”

  “Have you asked her for her endorsement yet?”

  “I have, but I’m still waiting on an answer.”

  “She’s a principled woman. She chose imprisonment over supporting the admiral’s government.”

  “That is why I need you to reason with her.” She pulled a comm unit from her pocket to check the time. “The show of force begins in about three hours. I’ll be doing my speech soon after, and one way or the other, I will make a statement about her. I hope to have the opportunity to announce her support. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to announce her unfortunate demise.”