Tides of Maritinia (7 page)

Moving toward the lagoon, I exited the dome's shadow and let the sun heat my face. Looking to my left, three more onion domes curved around this side of atoll. Dome 1 stood to my right. Beyond it was the pier where three large boats were moored, and a small platoon of soldiers loaded supplies.

The young soldier from the communications room appeared at my shoulder. “The captain sent me to film the departure.”

Facing him, I saw his cheeks were round, belly, too, like he'd never shed his baby fat. Sparse patches of whiskers grew like weeds on his chin and upper lip. His cheeks stretched like big arid fields that led to long, silo-­shaped sideburns. He pulled a comm unit out of his pocket.

“Know how to work that?” I asked.

“Not really. But I know how to work the camera. I found dozens of these things in a box inside the communications room. I wasn't sure which one to take.”

I held out a hand. He passed it to me, and I made a quick check. Decent camera resolution. Plenty of storage space. A full charge. “It will work.”

“Um, sir, I was thinking that when the time comes, you could walk out of the central dome with your detail, and I could shoot from over there.” He pointed to where the pier intersected the atoll. “That way, I can get you with the domes and the sun in the background. That would look good, wouldn't it?”

“Sounds perfect, soldier.”

He flashed a smile full of big teeth. “Then when your boat shoves off, I'll ride on a bundle of sea bamboo tied to the stern and keep shooting until the sun sets.”

Before I could respond, speakers crackled to life in the distance. I turned to the closest skyscreen just in time to see the still shot of Admiral Mnai disappear, leaving a few seconds of black before footage of Kell appeared. Kell standing before the lagoon. Kell standing before a crowd waving the Free Maritinia flag. Kell with bloody machete in hand.

A voice boomed, the newly familiar sound of Captain Mmirehl.

Come, brothers and sisters. Come and gaze upon a true hero of the Maritinian ­people. Look to the skyscreens, and you will see a great man. A warrior and a thinker. His current is strong, my friends. The spirit of Falal flows inside him. Come, brothers and sisters, and you will see the. . .

The platoon on the pier had stopped loading goods. The Jebyl team responsible for the water pumps exited the dome to join the young soldier and me. I glanced at Maringua, Maritinia's capital city standing in the distance, and I imagined the ­people coming out to the street or standing on rooftops to watch the nearest screen.

You all know the story of Colonel Drake Kell. An honor-­ed war hero who was brought to our fair world to be a minion of the usurpers. But Colonel Kell is a man of honor! A minion to no one. He came to Maritinia with his eyes open, his ears ready to listen, and he found a ­people needlessly suffering. Face-­ed with the gross injustices impose-­ed by the invaders and occupiers, he join-­ed the Free Maritinia movement. He join-­ed Admiral Mnai, the hallow-­ed father of Free Maritinia. Without his fearless bravery, this planet would still be in the grip of the usurpers and colonialist enslavers.

Total propaganda. But good propaganda. Watching the glorified footage of Kell before adoring crowds, I understood for the first time the allure he must've felt. The power of facing down an empire. The intoxicating temptation of becoming a hero and an icon.

A great man, Colonel Kell. A man who rebell-­ed against his own ­people because he saw the evil that reside-­ed in their hearts. He peer-­ed behind their false smiles and saw their greed, and their cruelty, and their arrogance, and he cut them. Yes, he cut them, and he fed them to the angry souls they'd wrong-­ed!

And now, my brothers and sisters, he wishes to become a true Maritinian. He wishes to be one of us. Soon, he departs for Selaita. Tomorrow night, he will take the sacred rites.

Tomorrow, he will brave the ocean depths, and tomorrow, he will ask the cuda fish for mercy.

Cuda fish?

Tomorrow, they will smell his blood, but they will also smell the purity in his heart. Sensing the strength of the spirit flowing within, they will spare him.

My heart dropped like an anchor. Not for the first time, I couldn't help but think: What in Sire's name was I in for?

 

CHAPTER 9

“The most peacful waters hide the deadliesst undrecurrents.”

–
J
AKOB
B
RYCE

A
fter voyaging through the night, I sat on the prow, watching the sun peek over the portside horizon to cast morning rays that glistened off the rolling emerald sea. My booted feet dangled over the water, catching splashes of sea spray as the boat cut through the waves.

Unlike the Jebyl crew, I wasn't going barefoot. Not until I knew for a fact cuda fish couldn't leap.

Ahead, I could see gray shapes below the surface, a team of ten yoked squiddies dragging the boat forward in regular spurts. They were fascinating to watch, the way their tentacles would snake randomly about like hair gusting in the wind until the next jet forward, when all those stray tentacles would suddenly converge in a coordinated thrust. All ten squids in unison. With every burst, kelpstalk ropes would snap taut, and the boat would lunge forward in time to a lazy waltz.

The squids were an invention of the Empire. A genetically engineered gift to the ­peoples of Maritinia. Same with the mammoths, the mantas, and many others, all of the creatures intended to increase kelp production without machines.

Like all who were born into the Empire's aristocracy, I'd learned all about the technology restrictions in school. It was too dangerous to provide machines to worlds so far from the military and economic controls of the Empire. Provide a machine, and you have to provide expertise to operate and repair it. Offer that knowledge to a populace, and you give them the tools they need to rebel.

Repeat after me, children, “Knowledge is the enemy of stability.”

And stability was the Empire's greatest strength. The stability for all to know their place. The stability for all to accept their roles and live their lives to their fullest.

Such was the wisdom of the Sire . . . even if there were those, like the ­people of this world, who would try to deny it.

A hand touched my shoulder, and I looked up to see Sali, a damp breeze fanning her hair. “Sleep well?” she asked.

“I did.” It was the best night of sleep I'd had since arriving on this watery world. Rocking the night away in a fishnet hammock was far superior to sleeping on stone.

She squeezed in next to me, her feet hanging over the water, our hips and elbows touching. “You saw my father yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“You told him I was back from my trip, didn't you?”

I'd told him more than that. Idiot.

“Didn't you?” she repeated.

“Yes. I mentioned it during our briefing.”

“Then why didn't he come out to see me before our departure? He knew I'd be there.”

I didn't know. But I was glad they hadn't talked. Glad the admiral didn't have the opportunity to share what a fool I'd made of myself.

I looked into her eyes, saw the sparkle of hope, and watched it extinguish when I said I had no idea why he hadn't bothered to see her. I knew how she felt. Knew what it was like to not be a father's top priority. “He probably didn't want to be filmed,” I said.

I felt her tense beside me. Her voice grew thorns. “Don't patronize me. Didn't want to be film-­ed? That man loves cameras. His image is plaster-­ed all over this world.”

“You know you could've gone into the Ministry to see him.”

“And risk running into that witch he married? Why would you even suggest that?” Her eyes were tight slits.

I wanted out of this bramble of father-­daughter dysfunction. When it came to her and me, I had no clue what I was doing, a fact that became more evident every time I opened my mouth. Rather than entangle myself any deeper, I decided it was time I offered silent support. So I reached for her hand, but she dodged my grasp and pinched my forearm. Hard.

“Ow.” I stung from the shock more than the pain.

“Don't try to pick a fight, Drake. You know how I feel about that woman.”

I stuttered out a syllable or two but couldn't find any complete words.

She gave me a disapproving shake of her head, her brows angled downward like the corners of her mouth. She swung herself around, a sharp elbow poking me in the side. Then she was up, bare feet padding across the bamboo decking.

I craned my neck, watching as she reached the stern and began to pace left and right, probably frustrated she'd reached the end of the boat and couldn't get any farther away.

Pol's wry voice sounded in my mind.

I suppressed a chuckle and faced forward. She was quite the complication.

Off the starboard side coasted the other two boats in our group, each boat running on several pontoons that cut wakes in the emerald water like rakes. Atop the pontoons were decks made of sea bamboo, and atop the decks stood small lean-­to-­style cabins, with roofs made of dried kelp leaves. Above the cabins, each boat had a second story made of several fishnets strung between a dozen or more vertical supports, the nets drooping with supplies.

said Pol.

As if I didn't have enough to worry about, the admiral had also tasked me with convincing the voodoo priestess to come back with me. Something about needing her to calm tensions with the Jebyl by making a statement.

Fifty well-­armed, well-­trained soldiers. Plus one well-­placed undercover assassin. Together, we'd decapitate the illegitimate regime. Together, we'd take back the Ministry and reclaim this world in the name of the Sire.

A surge of pride swelled my heart. For the first time since I'd arrived, the mission seemed possible. Achievable.

Of course not. My inflated heart sprung a leak. Always another complication.

Civilian transport. As in no defensive capabilities.

I
still sat on the boat's prow, noonday sun beating on the top of my head. Selaita's city platform had eclipsed the horizon twenty minutes ago. Another five minutes, we'd be docked.

I put a bite of stewed skate in my mouth and chewed on the mealy flesh. It had no flavor whatsoever.

But they wouldn't be able to trade for money. Give them money, and there was no telling what they might buy. Give them consumable goods, and they'll keep producing kelp. Such was the wisdom of the Sire.

I swallowed the last bite and dropped the kelp leaf I'd been using as a plate into the water, and, conquering my fear of leaping cuda fish, I reached way down to rinse my fingers in the sea. I let my hand dangle in the water for a few seconds to enjoy the feel of kelp leaves dragging across my skin before pulling my hand out and shaking it dry.

Not far off the starboard side, raised on columns high over the water, almost as high as the skyscreens, stood a round, stone platform with a large square punched into the floor's western side. Centered under the four-­sided hole was a smaller platform, this one made of bamboo. Twenty feet above water level, the bamboo lift moved slowly upward, carrying bales of dried kelp. Swaying from ropes, the lift was powered by a group of five circling mammoths turning a big stone winch connected to a series of pulleys.

The cargo shuttle that brought me to Maritinia landed on a similar platform. And I'd ridden a similar lift down after debarking. This platform was one of Maritinia's eight landing points for cargo shuttles to lift kelp up to orbiting space barges.

Despite the Empire's embargo, a handful of shuttles continued to come and go every month. Some of the kelp was shipped to the worlds of the Beyond, but the majority of the harvests went to the Empire's black market.

A voice sounded over my shoulder. “I think we could use a shot of this, Colonel.”

Turning around, I found the eager young soldier and filmographer. The other soldiers called him Dugu.

“Yes, of course,” I said. Standing, I smoothed my uniform and straightened the Maritinian flag I wore around my neck.

“Hang on,” said Dugu as he fiddled with his comm unit. “I'm trying to hook up to the skyscreens.”

My eyes went to the screen standing off the port side, the constantly watchful eye of Admiral Mnai bearing down. He disappeared in a blink, replaced by a jerky picture of the water.

“Got it,” said Dugu before aiming the camera at me.

My image appeared on the giant screen. I stood on the boat's prow, one hand lifted high, with fingers grasping the netting overhead. I looked good on screen. Bold. The Empire's uniform appeared crisper than it felt. The slight grin on my face projected confident authority. I was the Hero of Free Maritinia.

The bobbing image of Selaita served as my backdrop. Balconies filled with ­people, and rooftops overflowed with flag flappers. I turned around to face them and waved with my free hand, the crowds waving back, cheers skimming across the waves to my delighted ears.

I was learning to enjoy being Kell.

A pair of Jebyl deckhands stepped past me. Wearing nothing but wraps around their waists, they jumped the prow's rails and tumbled into a fishnet strung between the two pontoons that extended beyond the boat's decking. Crawling to the net's edge, they took hold of the harness ropes and dropped into the water. Pulling along the ropes, they dragged themselves toward the first pair of squids, their human torsos momentarily disappearing in twisting, twining tangles of tentacles.

The Jebyl ducked their heads underwater and unfastened the yokes around the first two squids, who peeled off to the sides. Yoke by yoke, the Jebyl worked their way forward until there were only two squids still tugging the boat slowly along.

The pier approached. Jebyl stood along the edge, ropes in hand, behind them a crowd thick with smiles. The last two squids were set loose, and the boat coasted the last few feet. Ropes flew back and forth between the boat and the pier, the Jebyl beginning to tie off.

I jumped the short gap between the starboard rail and the stone pier, feet landing to thunderous applause. I walked forward, and the crowd closed around me. Hands grasped at my clothes and touched my face. Voices rang in my ears, rousing cheers and shouts of joy. The sweep of excitement invaded every pore, and my every last nerve hummed with electricity.

From somewhere far off, a chant started, and the cacophonous voices around me shaped into a chorus.

One of us.

One of us.

One of us!

Soldiers arrived from one of the other boats, and they jostled into position around me, carving a small bubble of free space. Dugu shouted in my ear. “Please, don't move ahead of security again. You need to wait until we're in position.”

I heard his words but didn't let them dim the moment. Such adulation. Such adoration. I understand why you rebelled, Colonel Drake Kell. I understand.

As a group, we moved toward a trio of mammoths standing just ahead. My guards ushered me to a ladder propped against the second animal, and I climbed the bamboo rungs, each step taking me higher up a wall of wool, the air smelling of damp must.

My hands arrived at the top rung, and I reached for a braided-­silk hand rope that rested on the beast's back and led a short distance to the canopied howdah. A figure sat inside, a woman on an embroidered-­silk mat. Her headdress was made of hundreds of tiny seashells carved to look like fish scales. Her sarong was a deep green silk with embroidered leaves of golden kelp.

Going hand over hand along the rope, I climbed toward the peak of the beast's back, my shoes sinking into the wool as if I were stepping across a mattress. Pulling myself into the howdah, I took a seat next to her.

She touched her fingers to her heart. “We meet again, Colonel.” Her voice was firm, somehow loud enough to be heard over the crowd without yelling. She wasn't old, but she wasn't young, either. Her eyes were perched on high cheekbones, crow's-­feet forming in the corners when she smiled.

I touched my heart. “The honor is mine.”

I turned to my left just in time to see Sali reach the top of the ladder. She'd changed her clothes. Her dress was silk, fuchsia with gold trim, her hair pulled up and tied with gold ribbons that curled down her neck. She made a quick transition from the ladder to the hand rope and pulled her way up with a most unladylike efficiency. The dress didn't suit her, and the sour expression on her face said she knew it.

I reached out a hand to help her with the last step, but she waved it away and settled behind me. “Dearest Mother,” she said with a touch to her heart.

“Sali,” said the Falali Mother. “You look well.”