Undersea (30 page)

“What do you want?” he asked dismissively.

“This couldn’t wait, Governor,” said a tall, portly man with graying temples and a short brown beard. He stood in the middle of the group. “Perhaps your... pet project can remain seated for a few minutes while we discuss more...
pressing
matters?”

Oppai dragged Ralla towards the couches and gave her a shove. She tried to remain standing, but tripped on her coveralls. Oppai joined the others, all of whom had their noses buried in papers on the table. Ralla only caught occasional word or snippet—“ration situation,” “dire”—but the occasional glances they cut her said more than words ever could.

It seemed too perfect. As if Oppai wanted her to hear what they were saying. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d tried to trick her. But his anger at seeing these men seemed genuine, like a child being denied a cookie.

Eww, she thought, I’m the cookie.

Ralla resisted the urge to dismiss Oppai, or underestimate him even slightly. Even if the situation on this ship was bad, he was still an unpredictable threat.

Oppai stood up straight, then said yet another thing Ralla couldn’t make out. The message was clear, though; the other men filed out of the room post haste. A few eyed her as they left. She knew a lot of emotions could be faked, but no one could fake fear that well. Certainly not that many of them.

“Clever. I bet your friends think they’re very clever,” Oppai said, looking out at the shipyard outside the windows. From what she could see, it seemed fine.

“Pardon?”

“I’ve had four mines go dark on me these past weeks. Tried contacting them. No response. I don’t suppose you know anything about this?”

Tentatively, Ralla stood and made her way towards the table. Scattered across it were dozens of printouts of graphs and long series of numbers. Ralla took a moment to realize he had asked a question. She held her arms out in front of her, the long sleeves covering her hands.

“How would I know anything about your mines?”

“We gave your people explicit instructions. I said any attack would result in your death. So they did it all quiet. No distress messages, just darkness.”

Ralla felt a wash of panic, but forced it to subside. Why would he have brought her up here to kill her? The cell would have sufficed. The mess would certainly be easier to clean up. His tone made her nervous, though.

“What do you want, Governor? I’ve been locked in that cell for, what, a month? I have no idea. I have no idea what you’re talking about, and honestly, I don’t care.” She played the part of exhausted prisoner, going so far as to droop her shoulders and bow her head.

Head bowed, her eyes darted around the room searching for anything that could be used as a weapon. With nothing to do in her cell but exercise she was toned into the best shape of her life. Ralla had always felt she was a little soft around the edges, but now she could see muscles making new curves. Oppai was bigger, though, and then there were the guards outside. She doubted she’d be able to force Oppai to the balcony before he struggled free or called for help. Patience, Ralla thought. For the moment, he was buying her act.

“Fine. If they’re moving on our mines...”

Our
mines, Ralla thought.

“Then we’re going to strike. Now. Tell me where this silo thing is.”

“I told you, I don’t know.”

“I’m sure you do.. You’ve obviously been involved in the planning. You've obviously had access to all the data. Would you have me believe that the Princess of the
Universalis
...”

“I’m
not
the…”

“You will tell me!” he screamed, and as quickly as the storm brewed in his eyes, it subsided. “I see imprisonment has done nothing for your demeanor, so I have a new plan. Let’s call it... escalation. Your life is about to become much, much worse. And when you’re finally broken, Miss Gattley, you will tell me what I need to know. It’s that easy. In the meantime, I’m going to step up my attacks on your people. I won’t let them just take what is ours. Have fun in the Sewers.”

His smile made her nervous.

On her ship, they called it the Bilge. It was a series of connected compartments that ran the length of the keel: above the multi-layer carbon outer hull, and below the bottom-most decks. Any water that washed in with an arriving sub, or was spilled above decks, eventually, through a series of tubes and channels, ended up down in the Bilge. The water brought with it all the grime and ooze it had picked up along the way. On the
Uni
, a team of techs kept colonies of microbes to break down the nastiness. Eventually the water was recycled, desalinated, and used as part of the rather sizable amount of fresh water hydrating the Garden.

On the
Pop
, there was no such program. Worse, it seemed like much of their wastewater emptied here as well. The water, such as it was, made its way from compartment to compartment through holes in the bulkheads towards the stern. Presumably, it was then pumped out into the sea. This left solid waste, along with all manner of other unidentifiable filth, to accumulate slowly in the chambers. She could smell it from two levels up, and they hadn’t even opened the locks to the stairs.
Nausea
didn’t fully describe her repulsion.

As the soldiers opened the hatch to the dark foulness, she vomited. Two guards had brought her down; neither seemed friendly. If suits existed to protect those unlucky enough to clean the humid nastiness, Ralla wasn’t given one. Instead, she was given a hose half the thickness of her arm and a partial face mask.

Stepping down from the entrance platform, she immediately sank into a knee-high mass of churning, slimy brown waste. She vomited again, sadly making the area no less revolting.

Feeble orange lights hung from the ceiling, casting barely enough light to let her see what she was doing. Of this, she was thankful. By the look of the hastily patched-together bulkhead behind her, it seemed like this was the forward-most compartment behind the shipyard. Looking aft, she could see all the lights, slowly swaying with the ship, stretching into the distance, blurring to a solid line. As she struggled to get some slack, the dull ache in her slowly healing shoulder erupted into piercing pain.

So she stood there, death grip on the hose, shaking in the muck and the stink and the echoing gurgle.

Ralla closed her eyes. Forced away the thoughts of what was pressing against her legs. Forced away the pungent stench, the clammy cold, and the sting of her wound.

Then she was sitting in the thick grass of the Yard floor. The picosun was at its most intense, bright and warm. Spread chaotically before her were papers filled with charts and tables, like what she had seen in Oppai’s office.

No, not there. Here, in the Yard. With...

Thom lay on his back, beside her, hands behind his head looking as relaxed as Ralla had ever seen him. He looked asleep, though she knew he wasn’t. At least, he hadn’t been when this had really happened, which seemed so long before. He had said something right before this moment, but now Ralla had forgotten what it was. The air smelled of cut grass and half a dozen different types of flowers.

The papers were from some committee she was on, and she pushed them away in disgust. This, she had done before. Or was it just then? The sound caused Thom to turn his head and open his eyes, squinting in the bright light. His expression asked the question.

“I can’t do it, Thom. I just can’t.”

“Do what?”

“This. All of this,” she said, her arm sweeping in front of her. “I’m not smart enough for this stuff.”

Thom expression soured.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I’m not. I know I’m not. Look, Thom, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, I’m not smart like my mom, I’m not born for bureaucracy like my father. It’s OK, I’m OK with that. It’s just...”

“I don’t get where
that
’s coming from.”

Ralla flashed to homework as a kid, her mother getting upset when she couldn’t figure out a math problem. She remembered how her father would insist she’d be able to understand something, and then when she didn’t get it immediately, he’d gently move on, giving up in everything but the words.

“My dad...”

“Is what? What makes you think he’s good at this?”

“Because he is.”

“Sorry, Ralla. I know I’m coming at this from a way different angle, but I learned a long time ago that parents are nothing but the people who gave us life. They don’t have extraordinary powers. They’re just normal people.”

“Not my parents.”

“Was your dad around a lot when you were a growing up?”

“Some, yeah. He taught me a lot of the things we didn’t learn in school.”

“And when he wasn’t there, how do you know he wasn’t struggling with all of this just as much you are?”

“Well...” Ralla trailed off. Thom had a point. It wasn’t likely, but it wasn’t impossible.

Thom propped himself on one arm.

“Ralla, look at me. You are the smartest person I know. You more capable of figuring things out and doing, well, anything, than anyone I’ve ever met. If you can’t do whatever all this dreck is, no one can. And anyone who seems otherwise is faking.”

She wanted to kiss him then more than anything. No one had ever told her that before. He was so sincere in his words, so without hesitation in her ability. So much more so than she was.

As much as she wanted to fall on him and kiss him on the lips, she didn’t want anything to ruin this friendship. He meant more to her than anyone. He was such a mess sometimes, but when he wasn’t...

Tomorrow was dinner with Cern, and she realized that more than anything she would rather just stay here with Thom forever. The thought was terrifying, not because of Thom, but what that meant about Cern. Ralla felt confused, but somehow hopeful. She looked back at Thom with a different set of eyes.

Thom had rolled onto his back again, eyes closed, but his words continued to echo in her ears. The papers scattered before her no longer appeared a daunting, insurmountable task. Now they were just a task. Like any other. Maybe challenging, but doable. It was like a switch had been flipped in her brain. She could do this. Why not?

Ralla did something that she hadn’t done the first time. She turned and laid down, her head on Thom’s chest, his arm around her. She could smell him, then, that incredible smell of his.

Above her, the picosun started to fade, its color shifting to a faded weak orange. The warmth on her skin disappeared, the dank washing over her in a rush. 

But it didn’t matter. The horror was gone, the stench no longer overwhelming. Ahead of her was a job, nothing more. One that others on this ship had certainly done before her. Ralla activated the hose.

Ten hours later, after the two guards had returned their charge to her cell and after a long detour in an industrial washroom, they sat in their barracks and argued. One was convinced that right before the tiny blond woman had turned on the hose, for a brief moment, she had actually smiled.

 They had lost one of the modified transport subs in a raid on a dome the previous week. One of the dome’s patrol subs had lost its port engine, spiraling out of control, and colliding with the transport. Both subs imploded instantly, killing twelve. In agony, Thom wrote to the parents of the dead.

Two days later, a mini accidently clipped a torpedo distracted by countermeasures, vaporizing both of them.

The
Reap
had received a few hits, but the hull had taken little damage. The crew, though, was a different story. There wasn’t anyone on board lacking a bruise or gash from being knocked around, or just from navigating the narrow passageways. The
Reap
fleet had been on the hunt for close to a month, and morale was low. Fatigued and battered, Thom signaled the
Uni
on the longcomm. They were cutting their first patrol short and were returning to rearm, repair, and relax. The response took longer than expected, and surprised him and confused his comm officer. The
Uni
was at location Alpha, approach with caution.

Alpha was the codename for the Fountain build site. Thom was the only one in the fleet that knew where it was. The
Uni
was ahead of schedule, and had not only freed itself from its hiding place, but had already moved north for the build. Thom instructed the Navigator to head north in a zigzag route, stopping frequently and jumping layers on a regular basis. Commands were relayed to the fleet, and they set off. Muscles groaning in protest, Thom left his command chair and made his way back to his tiny quarters, looking forward to the first real sleep he’d gotten in weeks. The trip to the
Uni
would take over a week, and he thought he might sleep the whole way.

His shoes were off before the door to his cabin had shut. He didn’t even bother taking off his clothes before collapsing onto the thin cushion that covered his fold-down wall bed. His feet dangled over the end. As tired as he was, sleep didn’t take him. His mind was still going, snapping from thought to thought, from responsibility to responsibility. He imagined himself taking hold of his brain and steering it towards something relaxing.

Thom’s first thought was of a celebration. It had been just over a month after the
Uni
had buried itself in hiding. The major damage had been taken care of, and people were cautiously optimistic that they weren’t, at that moment, going to die. And that was all they needed to celebrate. Ralla had invited him and his friends to come out with her and hers. There was a small dance club midway up the port side of the Garden. It was not his idea of a good time, nor his scene, but his boys were excited to try out a new place and meet some new women. The music was loud, it was dark, and it had taken them forever to get in the door and find Ralla. He wasn’t surprised she had a booth towards the back. Drunken, sweaty dancers packed the place wall to wall.

After his third drink, though, everything was good. He was able to lean back in the booth and look out at his friends dancing with Ralla’s. It was an odd sight, Olly towering over the others on the dance floor, doing a decent job dancing with one of Ralla’s petit brunette friends. She came up to his chest. Hett’s beard dripped with sweat but neither he nor anyone else, it seemed, noticed or cared. Perhaps the most amazing transformation was Yullsin. His skilled, fluid dance moves held the attention of not one but two of Ralla’s friends. Even Ralla, alternately dancing with no one and dancing with everyone, seemed oblivious to anything outside of this room, this beat, this moment. Thom wished then, as he did now, so much time and space later, that he could freeze that moment and not leave. Everyone happy.