Tides of Maritinia (27 page)

Taking the leg, the generals headed for their boat. The queen lingered for a moment to say, I'm sorry it had to happen this way. I had no choice.

The new king stood on his remaining leg and tried to tell her again that he understood, but a new convulsion brought him to his knee. She took his elbow and helped him get back onto his throne.

He saw her eyes go to his robes piled alongside the throne, and, taking a glance, he could see a green-­striped fishtail poking free. He watched her eyes light in recognition, and, fighting with all his might against the pain, he said, With my sacrifice, I give you a choice.

She nodded her understanding before walking silently to her boat.

Managing to stay upright long enough to watch the boat set sail, the new king collapsed just as the sun ducked below the horizon. He died moments later, staring into the eyes of his subjects, who steadfastly held him from the water.

 

CHAPTER 37

“Ninety-­nin percentof a mission's sucess is in teh preparation.”

–
J
AKOB
B
RYCE

I
walked with the pages of my story pinched between my lips. Thanks to my satchels and my redwood cuda, I didn't have a hand to spare.

Entering the conference room, I found Emmina sitting with the governor and the major. Mumbling through closed lips, I said, “I heard you were here.”

“We're busy,” said the governor. “Representatives of Maritinia's cities are beginning to arrive, and we have much to discuss.”

I dropped my satchels by the door before setting my cuda on the table with a proud flourish. The governor stared at the fish with knit brows. The major tilted his head like he was giving the fish serious thought. Only the Falali Mother appeared genuinely impressed. “It's beautiful,” she said.

I took the papers from my lips. “Thank you, Emmina. I knew you had an eye for art.” Waving my papers, I said, “I wrote you a story.”

“Not now, Colonel,” said the governor.

I helped myself to a chair and sat down. “I decided to come find you, Emmina, because I was afraid these two would take up the rest of your morning, and afternoon, too. You promised to come see me.”

“And I would've, Colonel,” she said.

“But you might not have found me. I spend all my time in Dome 4 now. I've set up a workspace in there.”

“We don't have time for this,” said the major.

“Sure you do. We all know the talks won't begin for real for a few days. Your little session this afternoon is nothing more than a meet-­and-­greet before you send them all back to Maringua for the night.”

I put my hand flat on my papers. “You have to read my story, Emmina.” Feeling wetness under my fingers, I tried to rub the moisture away. “Sorry, I must've drooled a little carrying it in my mouth.” I checked to see if any of the ink had smudged. “It's okay.”

The governor turned to Emmina. “I need you to step out for a minute. I have to talk to the prisoner alone.”

I hadn't missed the special emphasis she'd put on the word prisoner. Neither had Emmina, who was now staring at me.

“It's okay,” I told her.

The Falali Mother rose from her seat. It had only been a day since she'd gained her freedom, but she'd already recovered her posture. With her chin held proud, she stepped out of the cabin and closed the door.

The governor watched her go before turning cold eyes on me. “You've exhausted the last of my goodwill.”

“What's your problem?” I asked. “Would it kill you to let her and I chat a bit?”

“I have much respect for the job you've done here, but you've become a pest, and it must stop.”

“Fine,” I said with a defeated tone. “If you don't want me around, I'll give her my story and leave you be.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Yes.”

“It better be, or I'll confine you to quarters. Now what's this story about?”

I handed it over. “I didn't write it for you. You won't understand it.”

“Of that I'm quite sure.” She put out a hand. “Let me see it. I can't let you give it to her until I know it doesn't contain classified information.”

I pushed the short stack of pages across the table.

She skimmed the first page before looking up. “You really need to see the doctor.”

“Can I call Emmina back in now?”

She passed the papers to the major before turning back to me. “Your political officer read this, right?”

I nodded. “He sees everything I do.”

“What does he have to say about it?”

“He thinks I'm a fucking loon.”

“He's got that right. He deserves a medal for having to live inside your head.” She turned to the major. “Verify the story is harmless, and let's be done with this nonsense.”

The major pulled his eyes from my pages. “Looks like a really good story.” The man was clearly still in suck-­up mode since learning how well connected my father was. The major set his comm unit on the table. “If the story is indeed harmless, I need a truth code from your political officer.”

said Pol.

Pol spoke numbers into my head. This was the moment of truth, and not just in a literal sense. All of my plans depended on Pol's believing the story was harmless, just the lunatic ravings of a psyche cracked by too many traumas.

Forcing my voice to stay level, I repeated the numbers aloud. My pulse ratcheted upward as each digit fell from my tongue.

The major watched his screen, and when I'd recited the last number, his eyes lifted to meet mine.

“True,” he said.

I stood and huffily grabbed hold of my pages. “I know when I'm not welcome. I'll go now.”

Swinging open the door, I found Emmina standing just outside. With my back turned to the governor and major, I held my pages close to my chest so the backside of the last page would face her. I needed her to see the message I'd written there without Pol's knowledge. Just two words was all it was. Two words that I'd written with my eyes closed.

She took the pages from my hands and clutched them to her chest. “I very much look forward to reading your story.”

“I hope you enjoy it.” I took up my satchels before turning back to retrieve my redwood cuda from the table. Hefting the cuda to my shoulder, I knew my preparations were almost complete.

“Wait, Colonel,” said the governor.

My feet froze in place. I had to will myself to look back at her.

“We received a message from your father.”

I
stood to stretch my back. One side of the cuda was completely filled in with etched scales shaped like flames. The other side was still half-­bare, fire reaching from the cuda's gills to just past the dorsal fin before giving way to smooth wood the rest of the way to its tail. It really was the best work I'd ever done. Too bad I'd never get the chance to finish it.

Stepping to the dome's doorway, I looked out at the lagoon and soaked in every last drop of the crystal-­clear water. I scanned the horizon to see waves shimmering with the gold of late-­afternoon sun. I measured the length of the dome's shadow with my eyes and knew the sun would soon set.

Leaning my head outside, I could see each of the half dozen soldiers standing at even-­spaced intervals around the atoll. All six of their gazes faced outward. I understood their thinking. If attack came, it would surely come from out there somewhere. Attack from within was impossible. The fools hadn't learned the lesson the real Colonel Kell had taught them.

I returned to my workspace and, with a heavy sigh, took hold of the comm unit the governor had handed me that morning. On it, I knew, was the message my father had sent. I'd spent most of the afternoon thinking I shouldn't watch it. I was a new man now. I'd put every ounce of my old self into my journal before creating a better self. One who could shed the events of the past and move boldly into the future.

I'd been a pawn my entire life. My youth was spent being the good son who left little doubt that he'd follow in his family's footsteps to become a spy. When I got older, I rebelled against those expectations to take a desk job in the E
3
. I thought I was proving my independence. But in the end, I was still a pawn of the Empire's operation.

All I'd done was change chessboards.

And when life as an E
3
bureaucrat proved unfulfilling, I'd stunned my friends by leaping feetfirst into the deadly profession of spying.

I thought the experience would bring out my full potential. My father often taught me that you can't know your true mettle until you've been through the cauldron. Only the white-­hot heat of danger could temper your steel. Only the pride of serving your Sire could forge true worth.

My mission would bring challenges I couldn't imagine. Challenges that would make me dig deep into my soul to find the resources required to overcome.

I'd come home a stronger person. A better man. And a hero.

But everything my father told me was a lie. A big, powerful lie. A lie so great it could make me risk my life. So seductive it could make me give up my convictions. His was a lie with such potency, it could make me welcome a dirty intruder in my head.

I didn't blame my father for lying to me. He believed the lie. He'd been through cauldrons of his own, and at some point in his spying days, he must've faced the same doubts as me. And he'd made the choice that the lie was the only truth that mattered.

Because the alternative was too hard to face. Recognizing the lie for what it was would've meant his mission wasn't turning him into a great man. Instead, it was turning him into the ultimate pawn.

Not a man at all. A tool.

I'd fought against that realization when Pol trained me to be an assassin. And I'd continued to fight against it when he turned me into a mass-­murdering saboteur. It wasn't until the bodies piled up by the thousands that I could see the truth.

By then it was too late change the catastrophic events that had befallen these ­people. But I had survived. As did the Falali Mother. As did many others.

The past had already slipped through our fingers. But the future was ours to seize.

The past might be gone, but it wasn't something to surgically cut from memory. It was to be accepted and studied. I wouldn't blaze a blind trail for Maritinia to follow. These ­people deserved better. They deserved a leader who could learn from his own wrong turns.

I turned on the comm and started the recording.

My father sat on the edge of his bed, a cinched robe hugging his shoulders. Closed curtains hung in the background.

Jakob, I just now got word that you're safe and sound. They tell me Maritinia has been successfully recaptured. I'm sure that's in no small part thanks to you.

He looked well. His smile genuine but understated, as expected of a family required to mask emotions.

I'm so proud of you,
he said
. From the day you were born, I knew you would make an excellent operative.

He leaned toward the camera and lowered his voice in concern.
The governor sent a personal message that gives me pause. She said she felt you are in a troubled place right now. You mustn't dwell on the things you've seen and done. Nothing good can come of it.

Let me give you the same advice your grandfather gave me after my first mission. It's the same thing he heard from his father, who I'm sure heard it from his father on and on through generations of Bryces. A street needs its sweeper, and a stable needs its shoveler. Neither should feel ashamed of working in filth, for their sacrifice is for the greater good. So it should be for men like us, the cleaners of history.

You've got a long journey home, but know that I'll be here waiting for you. The end of a mission is always a difficult time. Safe travels, son. I love you.

I love you, too, Dad.

Leaving the comm unit on the workbench, I went to the door again and rubbed my eyes clear of tears. I wished I could talk to him without censor. Like old buddies, we could share our experiences as spies and assassins. Perhaps then we could discuss why the real Kell had crossed the line to become a revolutionary. I ached to tell him how I came to see the rightness of Kell's decision.

Would he disown me that instant? Perhaps. But unlike Sali's father, mine, I believed, was capable of empathizing with perspectives other than his own.

Looking to the sky, I knew he was out there somewhere very far away. Bye, Dad. I hope you'll see through the worst of what they'll say about me.

I blew out a long, head-­clearing breath.

said Pol.

I bristled at the intrusion.

No. This pawn didn't move by anybody's hand but his own. Not anymore.

Judging by the length of the dome's shadow, I estimated sunset at just fifteen or twenty minutes away. It was time.

Time for revolution.

 

CHAPTER 38

“The rise of tides is an umstoppable force of nature.So is the fall.”

–
J
AKOB
B
RYCE

W
ith certainty of purpose, I strode to my workspace, snatched up my cuda carving, and headed down the stairs. The stairwell lighting still hadn't been repaired, but having walked up and down the stairs a few times before, I made quick progress in the dark.

Reaching the bottom, I marched down one empty corridor, then the next, until I arrived at the hatch leading into the admiral's torture chamber. Looking left and right, seeing nobody, I went inside.

Pol was wary. But I wouldn't let that dissuade me from completing the plan I'd carefully constructed. Although he had the power stop me anytime he wanted by making me see and hear things that weren't real, I was confident he had no idea what my intentions were.

Uncertainty was the key. It was uncertainty that would make him hesitate until it was too late. He hadn't seen the danger hidden in almost every action I'd taken since coming back to the Ministry. He hadn't realized that the erratic moves of a madman were really the opening maneuvers of an elaborate plot.

As he'd once taught me, leaps of imagination were rare.

I spoke the words I'd been rehearsing in my head.

I didn't respond. He'd figure out what I'd meant soon enough.

The pool stood to my right. Lampreys continued to swim its waters, but their prey had been removed. To my left was the aquarium. Inside was the small school of green-­striped fish.

Taking a net that hung on the wall, I fished one out and drove one of my carving tools through its head before dropping it in a pail.

I told him. I scooped another fish from the tank and repeated the process of piercing the poison sacs before dumping the wriggling fish into the bucket.

My dark suspicion confirmed, a grin threatened to stretch the corners of my mouth. He cared so little for me, he would actually let me kill myself. My plans would be able to proceed as long as I kept him believing the poison was for me.

I pumped my voice full of disbelief.

I dropped another pierced fish into the bucket.

Another fish fell into the pail.

I netted another fish and pulled it from the tank.

I drove the carving tool under its eye and let the fish fall into the bucket with the others. Tossing the carving tool to the floor, I looked into the bucket and let my eyes linger on the cloudy liquid pooled around the dead fish. Before moving to the next step in my plan, I had to sell the false conflict raging inside me. Had to, or he would exercise his power over my senses.

Bending over, I reached my right hand down, my fingers stretching for the poison that had stolen so many Jebyl. I edged closer and closer until I stopped just a breath above death.

I whispered the words.

I pulled my hand away.

I walked to a chair, perhaps the same one I'd once been tied to, and I moved it next to the pail of poison fish. Locating my carved cuda, I set it crosswise on the seat.

I knelt before the cuda.

I leaned my face down close to the cuda, where fishhooks stood like cobras along the carving's spine, their barbed fangs aimed at the ceiling.

I was in position.

If I was to carry out a successful revolution, I couldn't let Pol see through my eyes. I'd never be successful if he could manipulate my vision and hearing. This was the only way.

I'd spaced the fishhooks perfectly, the distance between them the same as the distance between my eyes. Breath raked in and out of my lungs. My heartbeat pulsed in my temples.

Do it now.

But I couldn't move. I'd almost lost an eye once before in this room, and memories of the lamprey's hungry, cavelike mouth loomed in my mind.

Conflicting signals ricocheted along my nerves. Do it. Jerk away. Do it.

I'd once slapped young Dory for coming too close to my eyes. And now that same panic had taken my nerves hostage again. How could I have ever thought I could do it without flinching?

Maritinians. I'd be asking much of them. The Jebyl would have to overcome their fears, grievances, and desire for vengeance. And the Kwuba would have to purge their hearts of wrongheaded righ­teous­ness and jealousy. How could I ask so much of them and nothing of me?

With singular focus, I lined myself up. I took a sharp intake of breath, then slapped the bridge of my nose against the cuda's spine. I felt the hooks pierce my eyeballs, my head exploding in pain. I pulled my head upward and felt grip of the barbs as my eyes pulled free from their sockets.

Lifting my head farther, I felt my optic nerves spool out before tugging against the backs of my eye sockets. Through my left eye, I could still see the fine grain of the wood until I ripped the ganglia out of my skull, and everything went dark.

he asked, a desperate tone of incredulity touching Pol's voice.

I heard the hatch open, followed by the clopping of boots and voices ordering me to move away from the fish, but I knew better than to believe it. Dizzy with pain, I traced a path with my fingers along the flaming fish scales, past the gills, then the teeth, to the cuda's tongue. Pulling the tongue free from the cuda's mouth, I aimed the corkscrew at my right ear.

Pol's control over my hearing had to be silenced. I drove the wood as far as it would go into my ear canal, then started twisting the wood with my fingers. Clenching my jaws against the pain, I felt the corkscrew bite deep. Twisting round and round, I felt a pop and knew I'd pierced the drum.

But I could still hear the soldiers shouting orders in that ear, and knew I had to go farther to kill the nerves Pol was using to send his false noise into my brain.

I drilled deeper and deeper, so deep I feared the corkscrew was tunneling to the other side of my brain. Forcing myself to take one more painful turn, all sound in my right ear disappeared.

I gingerly unscrewed the redwood from my ear. Gingerly because I didn't want to do any more damage than I'd already done. With my other ear, I could still hear the shouts of soldiers who, had they been real, would've grabbed me by now.

I wiped my cheeks free of tears that might've been blood and inserted the corkscrew into my other ear. Pain came in waves to slam the rocks that were my skull, but I wouldn't let that stop me from turning the corkscrew until I'd taken away the last of Pol's power.

Pol's voice somehow sounded small.

I felt no rush to explain myself, so I let him and his question dangle in the dark that had become my entire world. To test my hearing, I put my fingers against my windpipe and felt the vibrations as I hummed a few notes that must've sounded like pain-­stricken groans. I spoke the next words out loud even though neither Pol nor I could hear them. “You don't own me anymore. I do.”

I let the corkscrew tongue fall to the floor and reached about until I located the pail. Finding the handle with my fingers, I stood up. With my other hand, I felt for the top of the chair back, which I'd been sure to aim at the hatch. Mentally drawing a line for my feet to follow, I walked with one hand stretched before me.

Reaching the hatch, I spun the wheel.

The hatch was open. I couldn't let myself be seen, but without sight or sound, there was no way to know if anybody was nearby. I stepped out to the corridor, trusting that the Empire's engineers had moved on to Staircase 5.

I turned right to head for the air lock. Dragging a palm along the wall to keep on a straight line, I counted my steps. At thirty-­three, I turned again.

The next run would be sixteen steps, but a bout of dizziness made me stop halfway. Leaning against the wall, I took several calming breaths until my balance returned and started counting again.

My hand brushed across wet air tanks, which served as proof that the scuba teams had already come in for the night. Arriving at the air lock, I worked the controls by memory. I reached out a hand to verify the air lock had opened before stepping inside and moving toward the back wall. Making contact, I worked my way down and to the left until I found the screen.

I struggled to get the screen back in position, and once I did, I turned the handles and sealed the bucket inside.

I was in the corridor; my next destination was back up the stairs to Dome 4. Dragging a hand along the corridor wall, I counted paces back to the T and turned for the staircase, which would be exactly nineteen steps away.

I was keenly aware of how dangerous it was for me to walk these corridors. If spotted in my current condition, all was lost. For all I knew, the governor herself was standing by the stairs, and she was watching me approach, horrified by what the crazy idiot had done to himself.

But I wouldn't let myself be paralyzed by such possibilities. I chose to believe in my destiny. Nothing could stop me from defeating the Empire.

On the nineteenth step, my hand bumped a bulkhead, and I ducked through and started up the stairs.

The Empire hadn't survived for millennia because it met the needs of its ­people. It had survived because of inevitability. But this little backwater world had done the impossible. With a successful revolt, it had cracked the Empire's aura of infallibility.

The Sire called it a fluke. And now that his minions had returned to broadcast the atrocities that occurred here, he called it a failure.

But what would he say when the Empire fell a second time? What could he say?

The Empire's foundation was cracking, and I held the hammer. The blow I was about to land would be the epicenter of a massive quake with the power to topple the Sire.

Let it be known that it started here.

It started with Mmasa, the diver. With a kiss on his cheek, he stood up to his governor. He put voice to the question all who are oppressed must ask: Is there no limit to what you'll take from us?

Yes, it started with Mmasa. And as Sali had said, it would end with me. I only wish she were here to see it.

My heart pounded with the exertion of the climb. Every heartbeat tightened the tourniquet of pain wrapping my head.

Reaching the top, I bumped my way through shelves and rows of boxes until my hand landed on the chill of steel. With effort, I lowered the object to the floor and felt for seams with my fingers until I managed to find the control panel and pop it open.

I recited the numbers for Pol.

I kept stating the numbers until I finished punching them in.

Pol's voice had turned to ice.

With total concentration, I pictured the interface in my mind as I set the timer for thirty minutes. I had no way to verify success, but I trusted my ability to navigate without sight. I'd been journaling blind for weeks now, and although I suspected my typing abilities left much to be desired, the missile's interface was so much simpler. All I'd had to do was press
timer
,
three
,
zero
,
start
. Then
yes
,
yes
,
yes
through the verifications just like the last time I'd set one of these missiles to blow. Except that time I'd gone out of my way to disable the main payload so only the hull-­piercing head would detonate. This time I'd unleash the full payload's destructive power.