The Navigator, page 47
"Your suit is sealed and activated. You may begin your descent whenever you are ready."
Petal glanced back at Quill. She looked like she was a second away from crying.
"Goodbye, Quill."
Quill couldn't hear Petal's muffled words, but she could read her lips. She put her hand against Petal's visor and forced herself to smile.
"Good luck. I love you."
"I love you too."
Quill helped Petal over to the back of their shearwater, to where there was a set of stairs that Cynax had lowered into the sea.
Petal descended them, step-by-step in her heavy boots, until she was chest deep in the ocean. At that point, a thin, blue film of light enveloped her suit - some kind of alien shielding.
Quill waved goodbye to her one last time.
Petal waved back, and then took her foot off the lowest stair, taking a step into open water. Immediately, she sank under the waves, leaving behind a thin trail of bubbles.
Quill stared down at the water, despondent. She spent the next hour huddled on the floor of the shearwater, sobbing, as the craft rocketed toward land.
- 72-
Catalin's dark loafers squeaked across the lonely halls of Baffin Island's dreaded Quarantine Unit. The prison looked like a sanitarium - long, empty, white corridors lined with rows of thick, steel doors. Armed guards were posted in front of some of the doors, occasionally peering through their narrow window slits.
Once Catalin reached the end of the corridor, he glanced out a window to his left. The surrounding bay and the skyline of Khai Shen were hidden behind the island's high walls. He could see nothing but a dismal, razor wire-lined courtyard and several guard towers. He lingered by the window, sniffing the stale air. Its stuffy smell rekindled his germophobia. He reached into his pocket, retrieved a bottle of alcohol gel, and disinfected his hands. When he put the bottle back, he pulled out a little strip of paper.
Quarantine Cell # 207.
Catalin looked up from the paper and read the numbers stenciled on the nearby cells.
201, 203, 205. . .207
Posted outside that cell was a burly guard wearing black riot armor with a shielded helmet that completely obscured his face, giving him the same sinisterly anonymous appearance of every other S.S.S. grunt.
Catalin approached him.
The guard saluted his superior with a bulky, armored arm. "Sir."
"At ease."
Catalin walked up closer to the cell, peering through the window slit.
Cell 207 was a tiny prison. Inside was a cot, a water-filled bucket for bathing, and a gun-metal gray toilet. Sitting between these bare furnishings was a very young girl. She had a purple crayon in her hand and was scribbling something onto the foam pads that lined her cell.
"How long has she been in there?"
"Since her arrival, sir."
"She's been kept isolated for two months? Why? She poses no danger."
"My orders were to keep her under strict quarantine."
"Those orders were for the other girl - the key. That girl is an ordinary child."
"I'm sorry, sir. I'm not allowed to question orders. I have to follow them to the letter. My orders are to keep that girl in that cell at all times. Strict isolation."
"She's eight years old. There's no need to keep her in solitary confinement. She could suffer brain damage from sensory deprivation. This is a barbaric."
"I'm sorry," the guard stammered. "I - I gave her some crayons. And sometimes - contrary to orders - sometimes I talk to her."
"Open the door."
"Yes sir."
The guard saluted Catalin once again and then grabbed a keychain.
Inside of cell 207, Junk was coloring. The pads that lined her cell were divided into twenty four, evenly-spaced sections. Every day she'd mindlessly draw on the padding, trying to fill up a new section with scribblings of the things she remembered from the outside world; boats, the sea, various fish, grass, seagulls, the sun, her sister. She heard the sound of a key entering the door lock, but barely reacted. It was probably just her guard opening the latch to feed her. She glanced over her shoulder and realized that her door had finally opened.
Junk spun around, studying the tall, pale man who was standing in her doorway. His suit was charcoal black and crisply pleated. He smiled at her and stepped inside.
The guard gently closed the door behind him.
"Who're you?"
"My name is Catalin."
Catalin tried to hold his smile, but he wasn't very good at it. The corners of his mouth twitched constantly as if he never exercised those muscles. He scanned the cell walls. Most were covered with shaky crayon doodles. He ignored the drawings and walked over to Junk's cot, placing a briefcase on it.
Inside the briefcase were toys; a blond doll, a small dollhouse, three matchbox cars, and a coloring book. He removed each toy, one at a time, showing them off to Junk as he placed them across her cot.
"Would you like to play with these?"
Junk stared at the colorful toys. She'd never owned a toy before.
"Yes."
"Take them, they're yours." He stepped away from the bed. "I will have more toys sent to you tomorrow."
Junk had zero trust in this cold, plastic-looking man. She darted forward and snatched the blond doll off her cot like he was going to take it back if she didn't.
"I'm very sorry you've been alone in this cell all this time. This is a mistake. Sometimes, in the P.R.K., it takes information a long time to filter down."
Junk stared up at him, vacantly.
"Do you feel alright? Are you healthy?"
Junk said nothing.
Catalin was unnerved by her lack of response. He stared into her eyes, wondering if she'd already suffered brain damage.
"We were able to locate your family, Junika. The P.R.K. keeps fingerprint records on all of its citizens. According to our analysis, your father was a high-ranking P.R.K. merchant marine. He died during a Sand Tiger attack on his convoy. You must have been very lucky. You were sailing with him at the time of the attack. We were unaware there were any survivors."
"I don't have parents."
"They're both deceased now, but I am sure they loved you very much. You still have other surviving relatives in the P.R.K. Including a grandmother."
"I don't have parents," Junk repeated. "Petal pulled me from the sea. The sea is my mother and father."
"What can you tell me about Petal?"
"Petal's my older sister. She's smart and really strong. She took care of me. Until the masked men took me."
"Do you know how Khan Rho found Petal?" Catalin knelt down so he was face-to-face with Junk. "Did Petal ever talk to you about her birth parents? Or where she came from?"
"Petal doesn't have parents. She's just like me. We were both born from the sea."
"She must have found you after Khan Rho sank your father's convoy. You weren't born from the sea. You have a real family here in the P.R.K., Junika."
"My name is Junk."
"Is that what Petal called you?"
"Uh-huh, cause that's my name."
"I'm sorry. We're trying to find Petal right now. Do you know where she is? If you can help us find her, we can reunite you."
"I already told the other men I don't know. We were trying to get to an island. . .Rimany. . .Brimany. . .?"
"Bimany?"
Junk nodded.
"Bimany has been thoroughly searched. Is there anywhere else you can think of? Did she ever talk to you about a fallen star? Did she ever mention a woman named Quill to you?"
Junk began to cry. "Please find her. I really miss her. And she must miss me. We need each other. We'll die without each other. Petal used to tell me that and I know it's true."
"I understand." Catalin stood up and grabbed his briefcase. He snapped it shut, coolly.
"Can - can I please leave this place? I hate it here. It's so boring. And - and I'm lonely. Please? Did I do something wrong? If I did, I'm sorry."
"I. . .I will speak with high command about releasing you back to your family. It may take a few weeks, but in the meantime, I'll see to it that you receive more toys. And I'll make sure they let you go outside in the courtyard to play and get some exercise."
"I don't have any family," Junk whimpered. She looked away.
"You were too young to remember them, but they remember you. I assure you. If you'd like, perhaps I could arrange for them to visit you before you're released?"
"I don't want to see them. . .I want to see Petal."
"As do I."
Catalin knocked twice on the cell door.
City in the Sea
- 73-
Petal drifted through the water, down to where the sunlight could barely reach, down to where the sapphire blue of the upper ocean turned into the midnight blue of the barely illuminated, abyssal depths. She'd been falling for hours. The viscosity of the water surrounding her kept her quasi-buoyant, elongating her five-mile fall. She felt weightless as she glided downwards, toward the bottom of the sea. Her suit crackled constantly as the shielding that enveloped her fought against the ever-increasing pressure.
At first, Petal was fascinated by the fall. Her eyes wandered around the dark sea that'd swallowed her whole. Occasionally, a fish darted by, a brief flicker of movement barely seen out of the corner of her eye. But slowly, the water began to grow more and more dim, turning into a murky haze of royal blue through which she could see nothing.
Petal became more anxious the deeper she sank. She couldn't hear any noise besides the constant crackle of her suit, and her own frightened breathing. She felt trapped, utterly trapped in a skin tight prison from which she couldn't possibly escape, drifting down into the greatest void imaginable.
By the second hour of falling, Petal had never felt more alone. She was alone, utterly alone. There was no one around for hundreds of miles. Her suit felt like it was digging into her skin. The sea above and below was trying to crush her to death with every passing second. The water was growing darker and darker - darker than space - darker than blindness.
Petal cried. She'd never been so afraid. She was diving into death - into the great abyss - the cold, dark void where the damned would never return from. Her sobs became louder and more desperate the deeper she sank. Her body trembled. All of her courage and boldness, which she'd always worn on her sleeve, dissolved in the face of the nothingness. She felt the sea close in. It felt like she was dying.
"Cy - Cynax?" she peeped between sobs, unsure if it was still able to hear her. She kicked her feet as she fell through the blackness. "Cynax, are you there! Please, Cynax, are you there? Ca - can you hear me?"
"Yes, crewman Fatima?"
"Please - please talk to me." Petal's eyes burned from built-up tears; she couldn't wipe them off. Her neck line was soaked. "Please."
"What would you like to discuss?"
"Anything. The - the sound of your voice - it - it will help me calm down. Just talk. Please. Keep me company. Say anything."
Cynax stayed silent for several moments.
"Do you enjoy poetry?"
"Uh. Yes. Sure. Anything."
"As of late, I have developed an affinity for poetry from the Warring States Period - very metered and eloquent verse - much less verbose than what was penned afterwards. I especially enjoy the poet Cirnak Xepoteneo - the Prophet of Whei."
"Okay. . .whatever. Please keep me company."
Cynax began to hum:
"Do you see young Branibus what comes to pass?
What creatures stalk this land,
And what did in days of old,
When the sun was not yet born,
And the stars, alone, illuminated the sky?
See what roared, what ran, what shrieked,
What broke bones with gnashing teeth,
Devouring hot flesh greedily in primordial time?
See the future in my eyes, young Branibus?
See my Manyas hanging proud over open hearth,
Anyas steeled fast to my side as I sleep,
Ready to defend myself,
From spells and beasts that creep in the night.
The stars beckon down to me, young Branibus,
Slowly, I'm carried into the sky,
My jaw broken, bleeding, wet and warm,
My face frost-kissed by icy clouds.
Higher and higher I ascend,
Into the great sky-sea, Sama,
To the place where the lions weep,
The astral ocean where men become Gods,
And Gods become men. . ."
Petal continued to listen to Cynax drone on with its verse, until its voice devolved into static, and the sea grew pitch black, twinkling with bioluminescent jellies and hellish, fanged fish, like a dreamy, star-filled night sky.
***
Quill paced back and forth inside the shearwater. Her craft had become inoperable less than twenty minutes ago and it was now floating dead in the water. She tried to get the shearwater running again, but was unable to interact with any of its controls. They all flashed red with an annoying beep whenever she put her fingers to them.
"Cynax? Cynax!" She shouted into the empty space where his projection had once flickered. "Hello?"
There was no answer.
Quill turned her eyes up from the dizzying controls and scanned the surrounding ocean. There was nothing but water out to every horizon. It looked as though the shearwater had come to a rest in a completely empty patch of sea.
Her eyelids twitched nervously.
Lost at sea. . . again . . .
Quill clenched her teeth, trying to keep herself from throwing an enraged, misery-fuelled tantrum. Her shearwater rocked back and forth from the gentle push of the waves. She looked up through the sunroof at the overcast sky. The dull, ambient noise of sloshing water and the howl of the wind seemed bleak and lifeless. She banged on the nonresponsive controls, infuriated.
"Cynax! CYNAX!" Quill was hysterical. When Cynax failed to respond, she defeatedly giggled. She then collapsed onto her knees, screaming at the surrounding machinery. "Was this your plan all along? You're just going to let me die out here like Naris - aren't you? This is what I get for trusting you - you soulless, alien, fuck!"
Quill's enraged shriek reverberated in the cabin. After hearing it echo, she slumped into a nearby seat. She put her head into her hands and grabbed two fistfuls of her greasy hair, nearly pulling them out in frustration.
One of the panels at the front of the shearwater crackled to life. It glowed dull green.
Quill scurried over to it. Nothing further happened, so she smacked it with both hands, like it was an old TV set plagued by static.
"CYNAX!"
"Yes?" Cynax's cold voice buzzed out from a hidden speaker.
"What's going on? Everything shut off, all at once. I'm floating dead in the water. I - I can't even see land. What's happening?"
"You are approximately twenty miles from land. I have turned off all of the shearwater's systems and will soon be scuttling the vessel."
"Scuttling the vessel? With me on it?"
"There is a survival pod located at the rear of this vessel. Please enter that pod and I will eject it. By my calculations, the current will deposit the pod on land in less than two hours."
"Huh?" Quill backed away from the control panel. "Why? Why can't I just ride this thing to land? You said you'd take me to land!"
"C.G.G. directives forbid me from initiating unscheduled first contact. The indigenous population of this planet cannot be allowed to recover an advanced piece of machinery like this shearwater. Doing so could alter your species' technological development timeline."
"Then scuttle it after I get to land! I can't swim twenty miles!"
"Negative. If the native population so much as witnessed this shearwater, I would be in violation of C.G.G. directives. The natives would know that the Khoi exist and your planet's future would be inexorably altered."
"We already know that Khoi exist! Every sea person has heard of the Khoi - and everyone knows about Amanahora - and the trells! You've contacted us already!"
"You are correct. However, while the Consortium may have taken it upon itself to briefly communicate with the indigenous population, I believe those actions were both illegal and unethical. Furthermore, as far as I am aware, the existence of the Khoi is considered a myth on this planet. It is not accepted as fact by any sophisticated civilization."
