Tides of Maritinia
Page 30
He laughed.
He stayed quiet for a while, surely trying to think it all through to see if everything I’d said fit with everything I’d done. He’d soon find the fit as perfect as the one between sky and sea. He’d soon realize the Empire was about to lose Maritinia.
Again.
The shock wave swept across me. I jumped upright as a flash of heat curled the hairs on my hands and the back of my neck. Next came a torrential rain of seawater that pounded my head and shoulders as I followed the dome wall toward the lagoon.
A wave of water yanked my legs out from under me. Landing hard on an elbow, I washed across the stone for a few seconds before finding my feet again. The next wave tried to slap me back down, but I managed to keep my balance, and I walked perpendicular to the current until I relocated the curving dome wall.
Hustling fast as I could, I followed the wall until my hand landed on the arched frame of the dome’s only entrance. Stepping up a short stair, I knew I was inside. I turned left to duck behind some barrels I’d scoped out earlier.
This was their last chance to spot me. I expected the guards were still outside, trying to gauge what had happened. Alarms would soon alert them that a lockdown was under way. Some soldiers would pass through this dome on their way down to the underwater structure. If I managed to escape detection again, the game was over. By the time the governor understood what was happening to her contingent, it would be too late.
I’d squatted on the floor. Each beat of my heart meant another second had passed. Each puff of breath meant I was closer to landing the final blow.
My face and ears stung from the recent dousing of salt water. My elbow throbbed from the hard fall. And the lacerations on the balls of my feet chewed at sensitive nerves. I might’ve tracked bloody footprints, but I had to pray my feet had been freshly washed by the waves that had swamped the atoll.
I counted heartbeats until I was sure five minutes had passed. Then I stood and went to the door that exited on the lagoon. As expected, it had been closed and locked.
Feeling my way around the circumference of the dome, I found the staircase and started down.
I reached the bottom of the stairs.
I reached up to the top of the hatch’s frame and pulled down the bamboo cuda.
His voice overflowed with vitriol.
I was back on the stairs, working my way up to the surface. Pol’s insults kept coming, a surefire sign he’d realized my coup’s success was inevitable.
Upon reaching the top of the stairs, I went to the door, unsealed it, and let myself out of the dome before turning left to walk exactly 125 paces to Dome 3. After putting the next cuda in place, I hurried to make the trip to the last of the working staircases.
By the time they noticed the rising water levels, their fate would be sealed. They’d send somebody to check the pumps. When the hatch refused to open, they’d try the other staircases to find the same result. That was when they’d panic.
They’d send a group out the air lock, but the seawater coming through the water intake would be fouled with poison. The next group could flush the air lock of water, but poison would have soaked into the wet clothes of the dead trapped inside the air lock. Open the air-lock door, and that poison would mingle with the water flooding the corridor, and nobody would be able to go anywhere near the air lock without being stricken down by the deadliest poison this world had to offer.
Back inside Dome 2, I stood before the pumps. Hot, greasy air filled my nostrils. Pelted by the high-pressure spray of water, I reached with my palms to feel the machinery humming with life. By touch, I located the power cords and followed them to a junction.
Thinking of the people below, I wished I could spare their lives. Grabbing one of the cords in my fists, I cringed against visions of widespread panic. Yanking the cord, I was horrified by the thought of bureaucrats, their faces pressed against the ceiling to sip from a rapidly diminishing pocket of air. Taking hold of the second cord, I recoiled at the image of young soldiers gasping for their last breath. Jerking the cord free, my revolution was complete.
I didn’t revel in my victory. I wouldn’t stomp on the graves of the governor and her soldiers. Nor would I take an ounce of joy from bringing watery revenge to the admiral and Mmirehl. They might’ve been my enemy, but that didn’t mean I had to make them evil in anybody’s mind.
Dehumanization was the only true evil.
Now, I had a world to serve.
CHAPTER 39
“A narrwo line separates suffring from sacrifice. The diffrence is the latter hasa purpose.”
–JAKOB BRYCE
I sat near the lagoon where I’d be easy to spot despite the dark hour.
;
I continued to wait. It wasn’t long before I felt the touch of many hands. Hands came near my eyes and pulled away in shock or horror, or I didn’t know what.
I stood, and found myself lifted high on an undulating bed of raised hands. Unable to see the smiles or hear the cheers, I let myself be carried on the waves of celebration.
They set me on a mat. A cup of liquid touched my lips. Reedflower wine spilled across my thirsty tongue. I asked for water and was soon greedily drinking from another cup.
Somebody dipped my hand into a bowl, and I rubbed what felt like a very fine mud between my fingers. Gentle hands tilted my head back, and I felt the mud fill my eye sockets. Tilting my head to one side, then the other, more mud entered my ear canals giving me the sensation of sinking into a soothingly warm bath.
A hand took mine, and a finger traced letters on my palm. E-M-M-I-N-A
I reached for her, touched a hand to the shells hanging from her headdress. “We have much work ahead of us.”
W-H-A-T-H-A-P-P-E-N-E-D-T-O-Y-O-U-R-E-Y-E-S
“They put a spy in my head. It was the only way to blind him to my actions.”
Y-O-U-D-I-D-T-H-I-S-T-O-Y-O-U-R-S-E-L-F
I nodded. “Did you go with the divers?”
Y-E-S
“Know that you did what was best for your people. Taking lives is difficult for people of conscience.”
W-E-B-O-T-H-M-A-D-E-D-I-F-F-I-C-U-L-T-D-E-C-I-S-I-O-N-S-T-O-N-I-G-H-T
Somebody took hold of my other hand. D-U-G-U
I pulled him close, so I could wrap my arms around his thick shoulders. “I tried to find you. I went to your home every day.”
W-E-W-E-N-T-T-O-S-E-A
“Do the skyscreens still work?”
N-O
“Arrange a flotilla. We must visit all the cities and pontoon towns. The Empire is gone. Fear and hatred are our greatest enemies now. We must show the Jebyl and Kwuba they have more to gain through reconciliation than retribution. We must put people to work on the rebuilding effort. I want you and Emmina to travel with me.”
Dugu took my hand and touched my fingertips to his heart. Emmina did the same before turning up my palm. Y-O-U-H-A-V-E-O-U-R-D-E-V-O-T-E-D-S-U-P-P-O-R-T
I felt a light touch near my temples. Fingers crept forward to cover my eyes. I snatched her wrist like her great-uncle used to and pulled her onto my lap. Sinking my fingers under her ribs, I felt her shake and twist with unbridled laughter.
I found myself joining her, the silent rumblings of joy erupting from my mouth. “Yes, Dory, we’ll all need much more of that, too.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks to the people who left a positive mark on this book: Mario Acevedo, Richard Curtis, Angie Hodapp, Margie Lawson, Tom Lawson, Tamra Monahan, David Pomerico, Aaron Ritchey, Jeanne Stein, and Terry Wright.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
WARREN HAMMOND is the author of three books in the KOP series: KOP, Ex-KOP, and KOP Killer, which were hailed by The Denver Post as “an addictively readable mix of hard-boiled detective and science fiction.” Hammond grew up in the Hudson River Valley of New York State. Upon obtaining his teaching degree from the University at Albany, he moved to Colorado and settled in Denver, where he can often be found typing away at one of the local coffee shops. He lives there with his wife. You can learn more about him at http://www.warrenhammond.net.
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Also by Warren Hammond
KOP
Ex-KOP
KOP Killer
COPYRIGHT
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are drawn from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
TIDES OF MARITINIA. Copyright © 2014 by Warren Hammond. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition DECEMBER 2014 ISBN: 9780062389251
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062389244
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