Red Sun Also Rises, A (29 page)

The twelfth cave to the right of the plants was occupied by one of the underwater vessels—
Underconveyance 98
.

I brought our vehicle to a halt and allowed it to sink down until it was just five feet or so above the gently rolling water.

“That’s the ship we’re looking for,” I said. “The one that’ll transport us back to the mainland. Shall we try it?”

“I don’t see that we have much choice.”

“Hopefully, Colonel Spearjab will be somewhere nearby.”

“The colonel? Here in Phenadoor?”

“He’s Mi’aata now, but hearing me speak English restored his memories. I wouldn’t have found you without him.”

“Then I owe my life to both of you.”

I turned to face my one-time sexton. She was almost naked. Like my own trousers, hers had been reduced to little more than tatters. Her shirt was lacking sleeves and buttons and did little to cover her. The goggles still hung about her neck. Her skin was smudged with dirt and bruises and scored with scratches, her hair lank and matted, and her weird yellow eyes slightly wild with urgency, fear, and excitement.

She looked spectacular.

“I love you, Clarissa Stark.”

She smiled, and her face, already stained red by the crimson light, blushed a deeper hue. I didn’t need any other response.

We stood. I took the pikestaff from my friend, we climbed over the side of the flier, and jumped into the sea.

It wasn’t far to swim but, even so, I’d underestimated the severity of my exhaustion and found myself struggling, especially with the heavy weapon—its shaft was made of buoyant wood but it was difficult to drag through the water—and Iriputiz’s robes tangling around my limbs. By the time we climbed up onto a shelf of rock beside the cave entrance, I could do nothing but lie on my back panting. Clarissa put her hands under my shoulders and dragged me a few feet to one side to ensure we couldn’t be spotted from the dock. She sat beside me and said, “Rest a moment. Get your strength back.”

We were silent for a while, before Clarissa asked, “When did you realise the truth?”

“When the Quintessence showed no knowledge of the Yatsill. I remembered all those Workers entering the sea, thinking they were going to Phenadoor. Suddenly I recognised that they were the Yatsill in their most natural form, just animals sporting in their natural environment, free from telepathic influence.”

“And free of the parasites,” my friend said. She touched the two lumps on her forehead and grimaced.

“Yes.” I thought for a moment, then asked, “What does Phenadoor normally make in those manufacturing plants?”

“From what I could gather, underconveyances and large dome-like structures that the Mi’aata affix to the seabed to house farming communities. Also, Phenadoor’s infrastructure is constantly being replaced, so parts are always required.”

“I noticed as much.”

“Very little actually
needs
replacing. The work is demanded of the Mi’aata simply to keep them occupied and enslaved. The Quintessence is a dictator, Aiden. Phenadoor is all the trinity wants it to be and nothing more. Inevitably, in reaction to such despotism, extremes are born, giving us monsters like Yissil Froon, whose desire to escape his fate as a component of this languishing autocracy has led him to seek power elsewhere. It’s sending him along a path of destruction that threatens to annihilate millions of innocents.”

I sat up, removed my robes, and wrung the water from them. “You think that’s his motivation? Well, one way or another, we’ll defeat him, and when we do, his hold over the Divergent will be gone. Perhaps when they reveal the truth of their origins to the rest of the Mi’aata, it will stimulate questions, and discontent at the suppression of imagination and creativity will cause an uprising. The Quintessence’s days might well be numbered.”

“What chaos Froon generates!”

We rested for a few moments longer. I looked at the sun. It was very low—its nadir almost on the horizon—and I realised my journey to the Forest of Indistinct Murmurings and subsequent time in Phenadoor had occupied a far, far greater period than I’d initially estimated. A deep longing overcame me—I wanted that infernal globe gone! I yearned for two little yellow eyes to look down upon Ptallaya again!

“We’d better move,” Clarissa said. “I can feel the Quintessence searching for me. I’ve learned from bitter experience that I can only resist his mental intrusions for short periods.”

I stood, put the robes back on, and, after wrapping the hood around my head to conceal my face, took up the pikestaff and led my companion around the ledge, into the cave, and onto the dock. A few Mi’aata were working at its far end and three were standing by the underconveyance’s gangplank, but otherwise Dock Twelve was sparsely populated. We slipped behind a stack of crates and, remaining concealed, moved around the periphery of the cave until we came to an arched opening. I took a tight hold of Clarissa’s arm, as if she was my prisoner, and strode into the open, giving the impression that we’d just entered through the doorway. One of the Mi’aata moved away from the gangplank and met us halfway to it.

“Mr. Sepik, we’ve been waiting.” I saw that his four eyes had a peculiarly distracted quality about them. Yissil Froon’s doing, for certain.

Imitating the witch doctor’s whispery voice, I replied, “Can we depart at once?”

“Yes. One of the Discontinued came aboard moments ago and our hold is now full. If more want to make the trip, they’ll have to try another vessel.”

I had no idea what he was referring to, but, acting on intuition, I asked, “What was this latecomer’s name?”

“Tharneek-Ptun.”

I gave a nod of satisfaction. Good! Colonel Spearjab had found his way aboard!

We followed the Mi’aata up the gangplank and entered the ship. Its corridors were narrow and its rooms small. We were escorted to a chamber and I was told, “These are your quarters. What shall I do with this one?” The Mi’aata looked at Clarissa.

“She will remain in my custody,” I answered. “I have to interrogate her.”

The floor suddenly vibrated.

“Ah,” the other exclaimed. “We are leaving Phenadoor. There will be time to sleep if you wish it. You can place your prisoner with the Discontinued in the hold at the end of this corridor.”

He departed.

Safely ensconced in the small room, I drained its trough and put my robes in the bottom of it. “This will be your bed, Clarissa. I’m afraid it won’t be very comfortable, but it’s better than nothing. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

We settled down, both too worn out to worry any more about our security.

“What happened to you in New Yatsill?” I asked.

“Poor Pretty Wahine,” my companion replied. “She pushed herself beyond all endurance trying to protect the Yatsill and her abilities eventually failed her. I’d just returned to the cave after a fruitless search for Yissil Froon when three Mi’aata burst in. Two grabbed me while the third killed the old woman. I was then dragged into the sea. I lost consciousness, woke up in one of these vessels, and was taken to Phenadoor.”

“I should never have left you,” I said. “My trek to the Forest of Indistinct Murmurings was a complete waste of time. Well, almost.”

“Almost?”

“I met a Zull. I’ll tell you about it after we’ve slept.”

I was conscious of nothing more until I was awoken by the touch of a tentacle against my leg. A Mi’aata had entered the room. I sat up and immediately became aware that my face was exposed. The creature didn’t react—probably, I realised, because it was unfamiliar with Iriputiz’s appearance.

“We have arrived,” it said.

“Already?”

“Yes.”

As Clarissa stirred, I thanked the Mi’aata and told it we’d be on deck presently. It handed me a tray, on which there was a skin of water and an assortment of fruits and vegetables, then left us alone.

Clarissa groaned. “My muscles are as stiff as wood.”

“Mine, too. Good gracious, Clarissa, we must have slept for hours and hours. Phenadoor is a long way from the mainland, yet the voyage is already over!”

“I’d hoped for an opportunity to study the vessel. How do Phenadoorian machines function? I can hear no engine, have seen no fumes, can smell no oil—I’m intrigued!”

“Crystals and frequencies, that’s all I know,” I replied. “Perhaps we’ll one day have an opportunity to learn more.”

“Unless we find our way back to Earth.”

I looked at her. She returned my gaze. There was no need to say it—we both saw an odd reluctance on the other’s face. Despite the wounds and exertions and losses, the dangers and our merciless opponents, we were both more engaged with the business of living than we’d ever felt on our own world.

We ate, quenched our thirst, left our quarters—taking our captured pikestaff with us—and followed the corridor to a ramp that led to the ship’s deck. A group of a dozen or so Mi’aata had gathered outside. A great many of them were of an unhealthy hue, their skin pale and blotchy, their limbs quivering uncontrollably.

The creature who’d ushered us aboard at Dock Twelve—the “captain,” though the Mi’aata don’t use such terminology—met us and indicated the group. “The Discontinued. The strongest of them will help you to shore.”

I looked landward and immediately recognised the northernmost limits of the Mountains That Gaze Upon Phenadoor. We were floating about a mile offshore, directly opposite the narrow mouth of a river that emerged from a densely forested valley.

“It’s the Forest of Indistinct Murmurings,” I told Clarissa.

The Discontinued started to flop over the side of the ship. One of them approached us and said, “Follow me in.” Though he spoke Koluwaian, I recognised—from small markings above his left eyes—Colonel Momentous Spearjab.

I turned to bid the captain farewell but he’d already wandered away, obviously uninterested now his duty was discharged.

Spearjab jumped into the water and Clarissa and I dived in after him. He gripped us under the armpits and began to swim. We were all on our backs and thus able to converse.

“I say, Miss Stark!” he exclaimed. “How perfectly splendid to see you! And looking as fit as a fiddle, too! At least, I assume so, not knowing what a confounded fiddle actually is. Ha ha! What! What!”

“Well, I’m a lot better for meeting you again, that’s for certain,” she said.

I asked our friend whether he’d encountered any problems getting to the ship.

“None at all! I went straight through the tunnels, avoided the populated thoroughfares, and when I reached the dock, declared myself Discontinued. Harrumph! What! I was hustled aboard with nary a ‘by your leave!’ Humph! Humph!”

I glanced to my right and saw the other Mi’aata swimming nearby.

“Discontinued? What does it mean?”

“They are the aged and diseased ones, old thing. They’ve lived their lives and are now on their way to jolly well die.”

“On their way to where?” Clarissa asked.

“I’m faking it, dear lady, so can’t possibly know. They probably don’t even know themselves—what!—they’re driven by instinct. Shall we follow and find out?”

“Yes,” I answered, though I already had an idea of what we were going to see.

Looking past the colonel’s face at my companion, I asked, “Clarissa, are we far enough away from Phenadoor? Can Yissil Froon or the Quintessence still infiltrate your mind?”

“I think we’re safe, Aiden. Are we returning to New Yatsillat?”

“No. The destruction you witnessed continued after you were taken and the city is no more. Perhaps, when the yellow suns rise and the Yatsill children visit the Pool of Immersion, they’ll return and rebuild it, but I think our destiny lies elsewhere.”

“You have somewhere in mind?”

“I do, but first we must deal with the threat to Earth.”

Upon reaching the shore, we crossed a wide expanse of sand until we came to the treeline, then stood with the rays of the sun shining on our backs and watched the Discontinued file into the forest. Once a little distance had been established, we trailed behind them, pushing our way into the shadows and past the spiny roots. Moisture dripped onto us and I passed my robes to Clarissa that she might be better protected. The atmosphere was thick and humid, the late afternoon of the Heart of Blood stifling and oppressive. There was a heavy scent in the air, spicy and not altogether pleasant.

We hiked beside the river until, finally, the Discontinued moved away from its bank and headed for a clearing, which was perhaps a couple of miles to the west of the one in which Clarissa and I had arrived and where, later, I’d met Gallokomas. We stopped at its perimeter and, concealed by foliage, observed the group.

“I say, I feel I’m committing a terrible act of desecration,” Colonel Spearjab whispered.

The Discontinued climbed into trees on the opposite side of the clearing, dragged themselves out onto branches, then lowered themselves until they were each dangling by a single tentacle.

“What are they doing?” Clarissa murmured.

“Exactly what I expected,” I replied. “Watch.”

Slowly, beads of viscous liquid swelled from the creatures’ skin. The droplets ran together until the Mi’aata were completely coated in a thick clear slime. They became utterly still. Gradually, they darkened.