[Fiction] Kasili, part 3
I still haven't thought of a better title for this story, haha. In case you were wondering, Kasili is a mythical eel that is responsible for the Earth's rotations (Philippine mythology, though I forget exactly which tribe the myth is from).
My original intention was to be able to post the entire story by the end of this month, but as usual, I'm slow at moving my ponderous literary ass.
* * *
Gomez adjusted the straps holding the oxygen tank to her back. Perspiration beaded along her forehead and trickled down into her eyes despite thick eyebrows. Fully suited up, she could only bear the sting of salt. Her breath misted on the fiberglass faceplate.
"Are you alright, miss?" Ladao's voice trickled through the radio.
Gomez cursed. "Fan's broken again. In this godawful heat, no less."
Gomez saw Ladao's white-suited form in front of her through the hazy faceplate. "Okay?" he mouthed, holding a gloved thumb up.
She help up her own thumb in response. "Okay."
Gomez followed Ladao, both of them moving slowly through the seaside wreckage. Wreckage was a strong word perhaps. Time and the elements had softened the edges off the twisted metal, eroded the concrete bedrock. The counter ticked at Gomez's hip, a constant reminder that the suits, although inconvenient, were necessary. Otherwise, nothing seemed amiss about about the place, except for the sheer scale of everything in it. Gomez looked around at what must have been the ruins of a great city. Old buildings--reduced to metal skeletons glinting with the few surviving pieces of sheet glass--seemed about to pierce the clouds. Gomez yearned to take one of the blue glass drops, beautiful tragic witnesses. Of what? Gomez shook her head. The Old Ones were dead, after all.
A large part of the old city lay submerged in the ocean. From what they could piece together, most of the damage had been caused by some long ago battle. It was hard to imagine that there had once been enough firepower to sink parts of the ground to the sea. Gomez crossed herself, an old habit. In her other hand was a functioning instant-read thermometer. Ladao dragged the rest of their equipment, including the makeshift fins and tanks, in a metal cart.
Ladao stopped, abruptly, at the water's edge. Gomez, lost in her own thoughts, almost bumped into him.
"What's wrong?" The thermometer was still secure in her hand. Gomez's grip on it tightened, for a moment.
Ladao was silent. He was the type, she thought, who seemed to consider most questions as rhetorical. Gomez walked past him, dipping a booted foot into the water: it was clear, almost anti-climactically so. The water glinted orange on the surface, reflecting a reticent sun. She felt a warm weight, Ladao's hand, rest on her shoulder.
"Are you sure?" he asked, finally.
She began to nod, then remembered the suit. "Yes. There's one more thing I need to confirm." She strapped each of the fins on her booted feet. The arrangement was awkward, but workable. The beeping at her hip, slowed to an almost friendly drone. Water, she thought, could wash away almost anything.
Ladao joined her, and slowly they waded into the water. Gomez gritted her teeth at the sudden onslaught of cold on her limbs. For a moment, she flinched at the phantom feeling of wetness, seeping in. But there were no leaks, they made sure of that beforehand. The ground receeded slowly, but dropped off into a steep shelf about two meters away. Fully submerged, Gomez could see an almost perfect continuation of the city above water. They were walking on what appeared to be a paved road. Remnants of painted white lines lay at their feet. Street signs jutted out of the concrete in strange angles, like trees in a windstorm. Plastic, Gomez concluded. STOP, one told them, in white on hot pink.
Never one to follow directions, Gomez stepped forward, into the depths.
For a moment, Gomez stood confused and buoyant, her feet dangling limply over the darker water. Ladao was already releasing the air from his floating jacket. Gomez cursed, pulling the release cord. She followed Ladao's trail of bubbles. The man had even turned on his torch. She could do nothing but follow suit. The torches, mounted above their faceplates, cut twin paths that crossed in the thickening dark.
"Ladao, I think we should stop here," she said, feeling the change in pressure in her ears.
"Yes."
The white-suited form of Ladao stopped in mid-descent. Gomez drew level to him, then closed off the air release in her own jacket. Ladao had his back to her. Seen this way, the joints in his suit, under where his shoulders and elbows should be, looked especially fragile. Gomez suddenly felt tired. What was it like to possess new things? How did it feel to create? She reached a finger out to touch the fabric of the joint, reused from a raincoat, the raincoat itself reused from an object nobody knew the use for anymore. Before she could make contact, Ladao's voice piped in through the radio.
"It should be fine now."
Ladao was not really a technologist, he didn't have it in him. What he was, was loyal. "I'm sorry, Ladao," she said. "I know you hate this."
"I don't know what you mean," he said. He had already pulled his release cord, receding below her feet even as she thought of a reply. "Shit," she said, yanking the cord to catch up.
The descent was taking too long. According to the old maps, this area was the shallowest they could go to make the measurement. The islands were surrounded on all sides by fault lines. Gomez swallowed. Were the old documents even reliable? She wished she had Ladao's unstinting ability to trust. He was still plunging, at a steady clip, down the murk.
Something brushed against the arm of her suit, quickly disengaging. Gomez hissed.
Ladao stopped his descent. "What's wrong, miss?"
"A fish," Gomez said. "Sorry." The silver shape had moved quickly past the beam of her torch. Probably, it was a fish.
"There are more." Ladao pointed to what appeared to be a mass of darker water moving towards them.
Without thinking, Gomez reached across the water, gripping Ladao's shoulder as the school of fish neared. Under the cloth, Ladao was warm and steady, sturdy as stone. His face was a mere suggestion under the faceplate. Gomez tried to remember what he looked like, as the school of nightmare fish swarmed over and past them. Some slithered past their suits, a mob of eyes askew, misshapen faces, stunted fins.
"The curse," Ladao said. Gomez opened her eyes. The feeling of weight had passed. The fish were long gone. She released Ladao's shoulder, too quickly.
"It's the radiation," Gomez muttered. "Don't be superstitious."
Ladao's laughter filled the speakers, reverberating warmly inside her suit. "It has a sense of humor," Gomez said.
"Let's go." Ladao was once more moving down. "I see the bottom."
Gomez tilted her head to light the way. The torch touched the beginnings of a coral bed, no more than dead gray fingers now. She pulled the cord gently, slowing her descent just before her fins brushed the highest projections. "According to the plans, the structure should be around here."
"What are we looking for?"
"Something manmade," Gomez said, wading above the calcified growths. "Boxy."
"Like this?"
Ladao was floating above a white square cut into the coral. On the surface of the smooth expanse were the words "Maharajah Enterprises", both in the Old Language and in Alibata.
Gomez could feel her heart beat in her ears. "Exactly. Is there an opening, a handhold of some type?" Already, she was running her hand over the silky material. What was it made of, to have withstood the elements for such a long time? Her hand snagged along a subtle hollow in the material. A small rectangular screen the size of her palm sprung to technicolor life. WELCOME, it greeted her. ENTER PASSWORD, the screen commanded, showing her a three by three table with the numbers 1 through 9.
"Shit, it's asking for a code of some sort."
Ladao silently hovered by, a presence comforting but useless. After a few seconds, he said, "Do you want me to kick it in?"
"Hah. Hold that thought." Gomez turned back to the screen. "Let me try first." She punched in 1-2-3-4. INVALID PASSWORD, the screen told her. ENTER THREE NUMBER CODE.
"Well, that's to be expected," she muttered. Three numbers? Gomez thought back on what she had researched about the Maharajah enterprises. It was that family, although--she thought, with a slight wrinkle of her nose--time had suddenly turned that bloodline sour. She wondered how Abel was doing. Lost his temper by now, most likely.
"For sheer egotism, it has to have number 1 in it," Gomez whispered. The argument seemed pretty thin, but she punched in the number nonetheless. "Anyway, it's only about 900 possible combinations." She began an exhaustive search, starting with 1-1-1. It was rejected. So was 1-1-2, 1-1-3, 1-1-4, and on until 1-1-9.
Maharajah was supposedly the largest armaments company during the height of the war. Even this outpost was for military purposes, but with any luck, it would be collecting other useful information as well. Gomez had one thing in particular to check.
"We must hurry," Ladao said calmly. "The air."
"Yes, you'll get to kick the door in soon." Gomez sighed. An exhaustive search was too slow. The number had to mean something. Maharajah was a top company, check. Gomez thought back on all that she had read about it, even the company logo. It was emblazoned still on the remaining groundcars that the family used, hypocritically, she personally thought, if anyone asked. Nobody ever did.
The company logo. It was a single sun, with three small stars arranged in an equilateral triangle around it. Supposedly, it had nationalistic meaning, but there were no nations now, only tribes, cults, factions. There weren't enough people left for nations.
"Five minutes." Ladao said. "We need to fill up the jackets too, miss."
Gomez looked, both irriritated and fond, at Ladao. "I know that." Now Ladao, he would be at home in a world with nations. He was always looking for a great cause to serve. The logo flashed once again in her mind. One sun, three stars. She punched in the numbers 1 and 3. Still one number missing. She thought with all concentration on the details of the logo. She had been a child when she had first seen it. They had been bringing the firstborn of the family back from the midwife's dwelling in a slow procession of groundcars. It was extremely rare to see so many groundcars at once.
The sun had beaten everything into a noonday stupor, and she had wondered whether it was hot inside the groundcars. The day had been so bright, and she had found it difficult even to count the rays on the stylized sun in the center of the logo. The real rays had competed with the yellow painted ones. How many were there? Her count had been either seven or eight.
Gomez pushed 7, as the last number in the sequence.
ACCESS DENIED, the screen said.
Gomez tried 1-3-8.
"Did you feel that?" Gomez asked, of the rumbling she began to feel against her skin. Ladao did not reply, but she got her answer soon enough. A square hatch had opened on the previously seamless surface. Ladao dutifully entered first, ostensibly to check for hazards inside. His helmeted head was the last to disappear under the hatch.
Gomez climbed in after him.
My original intention was to be able to post the entire story by the end of this month, but as usual, I'm slow at moving my ponderous literary ass.
* * *
Gomez adjusted the straps holding the oxygen tank to her back. Perspiration beaded along her forehead and trickled down into her eyes despite thick eyebrows. Fully suited up, she could only bear the sting of salt. Her breath misted on the fiberglass faceplate.
"Are you alright, miss?" Ladao's voice trickled through the radio.
Gomez cursed. "Fan's broken again. In this godawful heat, no less."
Gomez saw Ladao's white-suited form in front of her through the hazy faceplate. "Okay?" he mouthed, holding a gloved thumb up.
She help up her own thumb in response. "Okay."
Gomez followed Ladao, both of them moving slowly through the seaside wreckage. Wreckage was a strong word perhaps. Time and the elements had softened the edges off the twisted metal, eroded the concrete bedrock. The counter ticked at Gomez's hip, a constant reminder that the suits, although inconvenient, were necessary. Otherwise, nothing seemed amiss about about the place, except for the sheer scale of everything in it. Gomez looked around at what must have been the ruins of a great city. Old buildings--reduced to metal skeletons glinting with the few surviving pieces of sheet glass--seemed about to pierce the clouds. Gomez yearned to take one of the blue glass drops, beautiful tragic witnesses. Of what? Gomez shook her head. The Old Ones were dead, after all.
A large part of the old city lay submerged in the ocean. From what they could piece together, most of the damage had been caused by some long ago battle. It was hard to imagine that there had once been enough firepower to sink parts of the ground to the sea. Gomez crossed herself, an old habit. In her other hand was a functioning instant-read thermometer. Ladao dragged the rest of their equipment, including the makeshift fins and tanks, in a metal cart.
Ladao stopped, abruptly, at the water's edge. Gomez, lost in her own thoughts, almost bumped into him.
"What's wrong?" The thermometer was still secure in her hand. Gomez's grip on it tightened, for a moment.
Ladao was silent. He was the type, she thought, who seemed to consider most questions as rhetorical. Gomez walked past him, dipping a booted foot into the water: it was clear, almost anti-climactically so. The water glinted orange on the surface, reflecting a reticent sun. She felt a warm weight, Ladao's hand, rest on her shoulder.
"Are you sure?" he asked, finally.
She began to nod, then remembered the suit. "Yes. There's one more thing I need to confirm." She strapped each of the fins on her booted feet. The arrangement was awkward, but workable. The beeping at her hip, slowed to an almost friendly drone. Water, she thought, could wash away almost anything.
Ladao joined her, and slowly they waded into the water. Gomez gritted her teeth at the sudden onslaught of cold on her limbs. For a moment, she flinched at the phantom feeling of wetness, seeping in. But there were no leaks, they made sure of that beforehand. The ground receeded slowly, but dropped off into a steep shelf about two meters away. Fully submerged, Gomez could see an almost perfect continuation of the city above water. They were walking on what appeared to be a paved road. Remnants of painted white lines lay at their feet. Street signs jutted out of the concrete in strange angles, like trees in a windstorm. Plastic, Gomez concluded. STOP, one told them, in white on hot pink.
Never one to follow directions, Gomez stepped forward, into the depths.
For a moment, Gomez stood confused and buoyant, her feet dangling limply over the darker water. Ladao was already releasing the air from his floating jacket. Gomez cursed, pulling the release cord. She followed Ladao's trail of bubbles. The man had even turned on his torch. She could do nothing but follow suit. The torches, mounted above their faceplates, cut twin paths that crossed in the thickening dark.
"Ladao, I think we should stop here," she said, feeling the change in pressure in her ears.
"Yes."
The white-suited form of Ladao stopped in mid-descent. Gomez drew level to him, then closed off the air release in her own jacket. Ladao had his back to her. Seen this way, the joints in his suit, under where his shoulders and elbows should be, looked especially fragile. Gomez suddenly felt tired. What was it like to possess new things? How did it feel to create? She reached a finger out to touch the fabric of the joint, reused from a raincoat, the raincoat itself reused from an object nobody knew the use for anymore. Before she could make contact, Ladao's voice piped in through the radio.
"It should be fine now."
Ladao was not really a technologist, he didn't have it in him. What he was, was loyal. "I'm sorry, Ladao," she said. "I know you hate this."
"I don't know what you mean," he said. He had already pulled his release cord, receding below her feet even as she thought of a reply. "Shit," she said, yanking the cord to catch up.
The descent was taking too long. According to the old maps, this area was the shallowest they could go to make the measurement. The islands were surrounded on all sides by fault lines. Gomez swallowed. Were the old documents even reliable? She wished she had Ladao's unstinting ability to trust. He was still plunging, at a steady clip, down the murk.
Something brushed against the arm of her suit, quickly disengaging. Gomez hissed.
Ladao stopped his descent. "What's wrong, miss?"
"A fish," Gomez said. "Sorry." The silver shape had moved quickly past the beam of her torch. Probably, it was a fish.
"There are more." Ladao pointed to what appeared to be a mass of darker water moving towards them.
Without thinking, Gomez reached across the water, gripping Ladao's shoulder as the school of fish neared. Under the cloth, Ladao was warm and steady, sturdy as stone. His face was a mere suggestion under the faceplate. Gomez tried to remember what he looked like, as the school of nightmare fish swarmed over and past them. Some slithered past their suits, a mob of eyes askew, misshapen faces, stunted fins.
"The curse," Ladao said. Gomez opened her eyes. The feeling of weight had passed. The fish were long gone. She released Ladao's shoulder, too quickly.
"It's the radiation," Gomez muttered. "Don't be superstitious."
Ladao's laughter filled the speakers, reverberating warmly inside her suit. "It has a sense of humor," Gomez said.
"Let's go." Ladao was once more moving down. "I see the bottom."
Gomez tilted her head to light the way. The torch touched the beginnings of a coral bed, no more than dead gray fingers now. She pulled the cord gently, slowing her descent just before her fins brushed the highest projections. "According to the plans, the structure should be around here."
"What are we looking for?"
"Something manmade," Gomez said, wading above the calcified growths. "Boxy."
"Like this?"
Ladao was floating above a white square cut into the coral. On the surface of the smooth expanse were the words "Maharajah Enterprises", both in the Old Language and in Alibata.
Gomez could feel her heart beat in her ears. "Exactly. Is there an opening, a handhold of some type?" Already, she was running her hand over the silky material. What was it made of, to have withstood the elements for such a long time? Her hand snagged along a subtle hollow in the material. A small rectangular screen the size of her palm sprung to technicolor life. WELCOME, it greeted her. ENTER PASSWORD, the screen commanded, showing her a three by three table with the numbers 1 through 9.
"Shit, it's asking for a code of some sort."
Ladao silently hovered by, a presence comforting but useless. After a few seconds, he said, "Do you want me to kick it in?"
"Hah. Hold that thought." Gomez turned back to the screen. "Let me try first." She punched in 1-2-3-4. INVALID PASSWORD, the screen told her. ENTER THREE NUMBER CODE.
"Well, that's to be expected," she muttered. Three numbers? Gomez thought back on what she had researched about the Maharajah enterprises. It was that family, although--she thought, with a slight wrinkle of her nose--time had suddenly turned that bloodline sour. She wondered how Abel was doing. Lost his temper by now, most likely.
"For sheer egotism, it has to have number 1 in it," Gomez whispered. The argument seemed pretty thin, but she punched in the number nonetheless. "Anyway, it's only about 900 possible combinations." She began an exhaustive search, starting with 1-1-1. It was rejected. So was 1-1-2, 1-1-3, 1-1-4, and on until 1-1-9.
Maharajah was supposedly the largest armaments company during the height of the war. Even this outpost was for military purposes, but with any luck, it would be collecting other useful information as well. Gomez had one thing in particular to check.
"We must hurry," Ladao said calmly. "The air."
"Yes, you'll get to kick the door in soon." Gomez sighed. An exhaustive search was too slow. The number had to mean something. Maharajah was a top company, check. Gomez thought back on all that she had read about it, even the company logo. It was emblazoned still on the remaining groundcars that the family used, hypocritically, she personally thought, if anyone asked. Nobody ever did.
The company logo. It was a single sun, with three small stars arranged in an equilateral triangle around it. Supposedly, it had nationalistic meaning, but there were no nations now, only tribes, cults, factions. There weren't enough people left for nations.
"Five minutes." Ladao said. "We need to fill up the jackets too, miss."
Gomez looked, both irriritated and fond, at Ladao. "I know that." Now Ladao, he would be at home in a world with nations. He was always looking for a great cause to serve. The logo flashed once again in her mind. One sun, three stars. She punched in the numbers 1 and 3. Still one number missing. She thought with all concentration on the details of the logo. She had been a child when she had first seen it. They had been bringing the firstborn of the family back from the midwife's dwelling in a slow procession of groundcars. It was extremely rare to see so many groundcars at once.
The sun had beaten everything into a noonday stupor, and she had wondered whether it was hot inside the groundcars. The day had been so bright, and she had found it difficult even to count the rays on the stylized sun in the center of the logo. The real rays had competed with the yellow painted ones. How many were there? Her count had been either seven or eight.
Gomez pushed 7, as the last number in the sequence.
ACCESS DENIED, the screen said.
Gomez tried 1-3-8.
"Did you feel that?" Gomez asked, of the rumbling she began to feel against her skin. Ladao did not reply, but she got her answer soon enough. A square hatch had opened on the previously seamless surface. Ladao dutifully entered first, ostensibly to check for hazards inside. His helmeted head was the last to disappear under the hatch.
Gomez climbed in after him.