by Jack Conner
He studied her briefly, then turned back to pilot the ship. “First you.”
She smiled around her cigarette. “What secrets could I possibly be keeping?”
More than the stars in the sky, I’m sure. “Well, for starters, why did the Octunggen create the Vathe?”
She nodded. “Very well. And then—you will tell me what your plan is?”
She was still armed, he realized, with the weapon that had killed Lasucciv. And he wasn’t. Oh, there was a flare gun aboard the ship, a few knives and various tools that could be made into weapons, but he had none on him, and none were as fast as a gun, and even with a gun he doubted he could defeat her. It bothered him that he would even think such things, but there it was. Was she his enemy still?
Hiding a sigh, he said, “Tell me that one thing and I’ll tell you one thing.”
She blew out a plume of smoke. “A trade of secrets?”
“A trade of secrets.”
She tilted her head. “The Collossum mean to destroy humanity and replace us with better servants—that is, if they can’t locate the Ygrithan monastery and use its contents to subdue us. Clearly the Vathe were one such attempt. The R’loth drew these creatures—beings that worshipped them—from another plane and installed them in corporeal bodies in order to carry out their will. To become servants of the Collossum. I doubt any of the researchers aboard the Flying Fortress knew what their research was really about, they were only doing what they were told, but that was its purpose, I’m sure of it.”
Avery felt sick. “Gods ...”
“It was just an early experiment, or so I’m guessing. There could be others, scattered around. Other attempts by the Collossum to devise something to replace humanity with. I suppose it must gall them to be forced into our plane, a place sadly devoid of their usual lackeys. At least, that’s how I see it. These are creatures used to being worshipped as gods. They have many followers across countless worlds and planes. But, pursued by the Muug and trying to reach the Ygrith, they came here, and here they’re stuck. They have to make do with what followers they can find—us, if we work out, but if we don’t ...”
“They can simply bring some of their other followers over. If they can figure out how. Damn.”
"Yes."
"When I was in their Great Temple, and also on the Over-City, I saw some familiars of theirs. Inhuman creatures they had brought with them from their own set of dimensions. They could use those more easily than the Vathe, I would guess."
"I'm sure they could, if those creatures could survive for long outside the sphere created by the R'loth's energies and machines. No, the R'loth need beings that will serve them on this plane, not that are tied to another. That's why they wanted to bring the Vathe over." She sucked in a hit, then expelled the smoke through her nostrils. “In any event, they mean to wipe the slate clean soon enough, whether they have a replacement or not.”
In the cold rain his face had gone numb, but he nodded. When he spoke, his voice sounded distant to his ears. “And there are ... other research facilities working on this?”
“There must. Much of it’s probably being done in Octung itself. This Vathe experiment was only done here to make use of the Atomic Sea storms.”
“So that’s why you came with me,” he said, seeing it, or at least he thought he did. “You chose me over Lasucciv because you thought I might be able to rouse the Sleeper, hence find the Monastery, faster than she could—or even Uthua.” His mouth was dry. “That’s high praise, I must say.”
She lifted a shoulder. “There may have been ... multiple factors involved.”
He wiped a trembling hand across his face. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss her or punch her, and it was far from the first time he’d felt that way.
“So,” she said, “now you. What’s your big plan? I know you have one.”
“You think I do. You gambled quite heavily on it, in fact.”
She didn’t deny it. “Well?”
“What would you do if I didn’t have one?”
One side of her mouth curled up. “You mean, would I shoot you? For fuck’s sake, Francis. Then who would I get to pilot the dirigible?”
At that, he had to laugh.
“Fine,” he said. “Remember our shadow?”
She didn’t have to think about it. “The blip on the Valanca’s radar when we first set out from Ghenisa.”
“That’s the one.”
“Don’t tell me—you caused that?”
He tried not to look smug. “You didn’t really think I would abandon my friends so easily, did you?”
She scanned the sea, and Avery could almost feel her thinking. “So who is it that’s tailing us—Janx?”
“We’ll see. I just asked him to have us followed. Thought I might have to make an escape at some point.”
“Wise.”
“We’re heading back along the route the zeppelin took to reach the Flying Fortress. If they’re still following us, we’ll hit them.”
The expression on her face was admiring. “Maybe I did bet the right way.”
Flicking her cigarette into the ocean, she strode up to him, hips swaying slightly, and planted a smoky kiss on his lips. It was a strange kiss, at least from her—almost … hesitant at first, then, as if trying to overcome the awkwardness, almost too passionate.
She’s in shock, he realized. She had lost everything, everything but him, and she was trying to assure herself of something between them. He leaned into the kiss, feeling her tongue on his. As he tasted her mouth, he knew that somehow this felt right, that being with her was a more natural place for him to be than with Layanna.
Can I ever trust her, though?
They made love, and it was as if they did it for the first time, with plenty of awkwardness on both sides, but also the joy at doing it anew, then held each other and stared up at the stars twinkling against the just-fallen night. Wisps of clouds slithered between them. The great storm the Flying Fortress had encased itself in was far behind. When Sheridan offered Avery a cigarette, he accepted, and she lit it for him almost tenderly as wind ruffled his hair and flapped the skin of the envelope that blocked out half the sky, making gentle whup-whup noises. The wind had dried his clothes, but they were stiff and he chose not to wear them for the moment. The air stank of salt this low to the sea, but it was a good smell after all that smoke and blood.
“Why do you think they did it?” he asked suddenly.
“Who?”
“The pirates, of course. Why did they turn on us—I mean, the Octunggen? I thought the pirates all worshipped the Collossum these days, that the faith had been spreading amongst them for years. Why would they all of a sudden turn against you?”
“It’s not me anymore.”
“Sheridan.”
She blew out a plume. “I can’t account for it.”
He drew in a hit, choked and let it out. Octunggen tobacco was harsh. “I can’t make sense of it, either. Unless Quasch has turned against Segrul.”
“That doesn’t make sense to me. If they all worship the R’loth, and Segrul was carrying out the gods’ will, then going against him would be tantamount to sacrilege. It would be sacrilege. The High Priest said something about them going to the Outer Abyss. I suppose that’s what he meant; I never listen enough in church to know for sure.”
“It doesn’t track,” Avery said.
“Obviously we’re missing a piece of the puzzle.”
He played the smoke around his mouth. “Part of that piece involves our mystery party. Just who the hell are they?”
She squeezed his hand. In that moment, with her lying by his side and the stars overhead, he felt like anything was possible. She must have felt the same way, as she said, “I don’t know, Francis, but I do know if anyone can unravel this mess, we’re it.”
“Together.” He said it firmly, but there was a question in the word, too. It was an odd concept.
There was a smile in her voice. “Yes.” She let a beat go by
. “So what’s the rest of it—your plan? How do you intend to find the Sleeper, wake it up, and get to the Monastery—or get the R’loth there—before the mystery party beats you to it? They have all they need now, save the Codex, and they can simply take that from us when we reach our destination.”
“That is a closely guarded secret,” he said. “Unless ... do you have any more secrets to trade?”
“None that I’m willing to part with at the moment. I have a feeling that by sticking around I’ll figure your plan out in time, anyway.”
Yes, but when you do, what then? It was not a question he liked to consider. For a plan had occurred to him—not the specifics, but a general idea, mad and dangerous and as unlikely to succeed as it was—and he did not know if it was something she would assist with or oppose him on. She might kill me yet, he thought as he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.
Then he thought: the Pocked One. Something deep inside him went cold.
* * *
The dirigible found them several hours later. Avery, wearing clothes once more (they were awfully stiff) had brought the dirigible up a ways under the theory that if he was too low for pirate radar to spot then they were also too low for Janx’s radar to find them. With that in mind, and knowing the pirates must be far away by now, he traveled back toward the spot where the Flying Fortress had been, then traversed the same length again, but this time higher. It worked. About an hour before dawn Sheridan spotted something on their radar screen (she’d taken the wheel while Avery napped) and roused him with a shout. Sure enough, another dirigible was closing on them.
Avery peered through the spyglass and saw no weapons, only a handful of men and women without military uniforms. They flickered one of their lights on and off in the international Naval Code, but Avery’s understanding was rusty and it was up to Sheridan to inform the new dirigible of their desire to rendezvous. This was done with no little trepidation on Avery’s part, as his and Sheridan’s vessel was running low on gas and soon they would have to float her—if they could, that is, and for however long they would last before something in the sea ate them; Lasucciv had not been wrong on that.
The vessels docked in mid-air and the crew of the new ship rejoiced to see Avery, speaking rapid-fire Ghenisan and clapping him on the back. Though it was his native language, it had been weeks since Avery had really spoken it, and he had to mentally switch gears. It required more effort than he would have thought; he was even dreaming in Octunggen these days.
“We were given a picture of you,” the senior crewman said, showing Avery an old photograph, taken appropriately enough during his Maul days.
“Not one of my better ones.” Avery felt ebullient. Finally, at last, he was with friends once more.
“Who are you?” Sheridan said. She still wore an Octunggen uniform and the crew was staring at her warily. Yet none had dared suggest she hand over her sidearm, for which Avery was grateful; it hadn’t worked out so well last time.
“A scout ship,” the senior crewman said. “There’re several others flying about, trying to find you. The captain nearly had a heart attack when that big station vanished from our scouts’ screens.” He explained that the zeppelin they operated out of had kept far away from the Valanca and the Flying Fortress (though the man did not know their names) but had sent out scouts who could fly low and pop up to get quick radar readings before going down again. They would look like large fauna to an enemy radar operator.
“But who’s your captain?” Avery said.
“See for yourself. We’re fifteen minutes away.” The senior crewman spoke into a radio, calling the zeppelin to meet them, then asked Avery what he wanted done with the Octunggen dirigible.
“Scuttle her,” Avery said. “Or if you’d rather save your explosives, let her sink.” That was what they did, and moments later they were flying away from the ship that had taken them from the Flying Fortress, but not before aiming it toward the sea, as they could not afford for it to alert an enemy to their presence. Farewell, and good service, Avery thought.
Once away, the senior crewman drew Avery toward the bow. “What of her?”
Sheridan eyed them back coolly, though she could not have heard the question, leaning against the stern gunwale as she was.
“Leave her be,” Avery said.
“She’s a friend?”
“We’ll see.” Sheridan had said much the same thing about him when he first accompanied her into Octunggen company in Laisha, and it amused him to use her own words now.
She lifted her eyebrows at him across the deck, and he did not hide his smile. She returned the amusement, if a bit wryly, as if to say, I hope you’re enjoying this. He realized that he was.
“Is it ... her?” the crewman said. “Admiral Sheridan?” He spoke as if discussing a fabled demon, a creature from one of the hells.
Still smiling, Avery said, “Oh, yes, and she is everything you’ve heard.”
The man started, his gaze riveted on Sheridan—no longer colonel, Avery reminded himself, but admiral. They were in Ghenisan hands again.
It took closer to thirty minutes than fifteen, but soon enough the zeppelin materialized, shining red-orange in the light of the rising sun, and it was one of the most beautiful things Avery had ever seen. Birds circled it, sweeping in to pick off the lamprey-things and other creatures that had attached themselves to the low-flying vessel. The dirigible approached its rear, where a hangar bay gaped invitingly, and docked inside. A loose formation of troops, none wearing uniforms in case they encountered enemy vessels, had formed up, and trumpets blew when the gangplank slammed down. With the wind of the open hangar in his scant hair, Avery felt like an honored dignitary as he stepped from the ship, rows of soldiers to either side saluting him. He threw an ironic glance to Sheridan, whose gaze was no longer amused. She likely wondered what her new station was now, whether she would be incarcerated or executed.
A heavy throat cleared itself.
Slowly, relishing this, Avery turned. There before him stood a sight that defied all logic, at least in the way that it affected Avery, making his heart beat faster and a huge grin split his face. It was Janx, of course, all six and a half feet of him, shaved pate gleaming, lantern jaw thrust out, a fresh, polished leather patch over the hole where his nose had once been, and all of him covered in scars and tattoos. He was dressed more neatly and conservatively than Avery had ever seen him, and he grinned so widely it looked like he might swallow his own head.
Avery laughed and threw himself at the big man, and Janx hugged him tight, laughing and clapping him—very soundly—on the back. Avery was not surprised or ashamed to feel tears burn his eyes, and when he pulled back he thought Janx’s eyes were a bit redder, too.
“Gods below,” Janx said, “ain’t you a sight for sore eyes. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see your mug again, Doc.”
Avery wanted to hug him again, but restrained himself. “Nor I yours. Thank you for being here when I needed you. I ... well, I wasn’t sure if you would.”
“Fuck that, Doc.”
“I only mean the way I left—going with Sheridan and all.”
The whaler shrugged. “You did what you had to. Speaking of which.” His eyes flicked over Avery’s shoulder, and Avery knew he was studying Sheridan. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but was it necessary to bring her?”
Sheridan’s boots clomped on the gangplank as she sauntered down. “It’s good to see you too, Janx.”
“Shove it.”
Avery felt his arm squeezed as Sheridan pressed, lightly, against him, not leaning into him exactly, but inserting herself into his life. Claiming him. And, therefore, Avery realized, a possible position as a free woman.
Janx swore.
Sheridan extended her hand. “So you’re captain now, are you? Congratulations.”
Janx eyed her hand with distaste. He didn’t take it, and after a moment Sheridan withdrew her hand, looking indifferent to his hostility.
“I hope I se
rved at least in some small way as a model for you,” Sheridan said. “I was your captain.”
She said it with a trace of humor, and for the first time in her presence Janx almost smiled. “Well, I guess you did show me what not to do.”
She actually laughed. Janx eased, and Avery breathed a sigh of relief.
“I’m gonna have to ask for that,” Janx said, indicating her gun.
Avery tensed.
“Of course,” Sheridan said, and handed it over with such smoothness that Avery was surprised. Janx passed it to a lieutenant behind him, and the gun vanished.
“She’s not to be arrested,” Avery said. “She’s to be treated as an individual at liberty.”
“That’s askin’ a lot, Doc.”
“You can trust her. If she sabotaged the ship, she would die, too, and she has no need to, not anymore. If you don’t trust her, trust me.”
Janx hesitated. “I doubt the folks back home’re gonna let her loose, Doc. But ... for you ... well, I’ll give her the run of the ship for the moment. All bets are off when we get back to Hissig, though. How’s that?”
“It’s more than I could have expected.”
“Where are we going, anyway? We have just enough fuel to get us home. But I know you left for a reason, so ...”
Avery nodded. “We need to reach the Ysstral Empire. Make for the capital, Salanth.”
Janx arched his eyebrows. “I’ll see to it. I may be captain, but I’m putting the ship at your disposal. On the way back to the bridge, let me give you the tour.” Janx led the way out of the hangar, and Avery and Sheridan strode behind him up the aisle created by the troops, all still saluting. They only relaxed when their captain had gone. Janx showed Avery and Sheridan down orderly halls, saying over his shoulder, “Soon as ya left, Doc, I told the others what you’d said about following you. We got on the horn to Prince Id—that’s what folk’re calling him—and Gwennie, too, and they fixed us up with this job here. I’d already sent out some dirigibles as relay scouts, and they marked your position till we got there. We flew out after you till you reached Xlaca, then had to sit around with our thumbs up our asses and wait to see what y’all would do. What did y’all do down there?”
