Submerged Page 21

  They were carried along, through room after gigantic room, monsters of everyone’s and anyone’s nightmares slumbering here just as they did in the streets outside. Conason realized he’d accepted that they were in a city. A city whose inhabitants weren’t yet conscious.

  Finally, they reached what was clearly the altar room. There was a large outcropping of rock, carved all over with the tentacles, claws, and horror design that was prevalent all over. A skyscraper with no sky to scrape.

  There was something wrapped around this idol, and it looked to be made of stone as well, something that looked like a cross between the worst cephalopod in existence, a dragon as conceived by the most twisted of minds, and a caricature of what a man might look like if he were the embodiment of every sin ever committed.

  Adams was there as well, floating in front of the weird altar, devoid of any of his gear, though it was clear that he was using the breathing crystals. That they actually worked under this kind of water was the only pleasant surprise so far, but Conason was willing to enjoy it for a moment. The Messenger might be “breathing” but that thing wasn’t a human being, not anymore.

  The Messenger threw them all towards Adams. As it did so, the robots detached from Rothstein’s body and swarmed over the four of them, stripping them naked, taking their helmets, leaving them completely helpless, though the breathing crystals weren’t taken.

  Conason was shocked that he wasn’t cold and that he could open his eyes without pain. “The water’s warm. Amazing.”

  “Isn’t it?” Adams said. “You all can hear me, and each other, through the generosity of the Greatest of the Old Ones.”

  “Why aren’t you naked?” Phillips asked.

  “Would that make you feel better?”

  “No,” Conason said. “Why are you doing this to us, Josh?”

  “Because the Great Old One must be awakened. It’s time.”

  “Time for what?” Katano asked.

  “Time to cleanse the solar system,” Schreiber whispered, sounding truly terrified for the first time. “The end of humanity.”

  Adams nodded. “You never made fun of me, Kathi.”

  “What does that do for her?” Phillips asked truculently. Conason knew Phillips was terrified, too, but the other man was never one to show it. “Are you going to save her, not let her die here on this Godforsaken planet?”

  “Some get to die quickly,” Adams said. “And some don’t.”

  A clawed limb snaked out from the stone creature and grabbed Schreiber. She screamed as the limb dragged her towards its tentacled maw, which opened slowly. Her scream was cut off sharply as the mouth closed on her with a thud that sent shockwaves through the water.

  “So,” Conason said evenly, “that’s not a stone statue.”

  “No. The Great Old One slumbers and must be awakened fully.”

  “I thought you were supposed to be the first meal,” Phillips snarled to Adams. “You murderous traitor.”

  “The Great Old One called to me. I will be joined with Him forever, but first he needs to enjoy a kill.”

  With that, the tentacles shot out and grabbed Phillips. They wrapped around him, shoving through his body, rending him limb from limb, weaving in and out of his head through the ears, eye sockets, nostrils, ripping him apart slowly.

  As Katano reached over and clutched his hand, Conason watched the breathing crystals float out of Phillips’ nose to the floor. He looked back in time to see Phillips, or what remained of him, being sucked into the tentacles somehow.

  “How would you like to die, Melissa?” Adams asked rather kindly. “You weren’t as nice as Kathi, but you also weren’t as dismissive as Janelle.”

  “What did you do to Janelle?” Katano asked, voice shaking. “Was it what you did to George?”

  “No. Her insides fed the Dagon and allowed it to fully awaken. She was sucked dry, then filled by the robots. As you saw.”

  “How did it begin to awaken?” Conason asked.

  “Our arrival roused it. The Dagon has been slumbering, as the rest of the Elder Gods have been, waiting for someone to come and rouse them for their next age. The Dagon smelled us before we breached the atmosphere.”

  “This is why you worked so hard to be on my crew,” Conason said.

  “Of course. Wouldn’t you have done the same to bring your God back?”

  “No. My God isn’t like this.”

  “No,” Adams agreed, with a laugh that sounded worse than anything had so far. “Your God is weak. All your Gods are tiny, helpless against real might.”

  “But Josh,” Katano said, “it’s going to kill you, too.”

  “Yes! And that is my honor!”

  Something moved on the monster again. An eye—bigger around than a football field—opened slowly. They stared into something so inhuman as to be almost incomprehensible. There was age there, age greater than mankind, maybe greater than the Solaris System itself. And it looked upon them and there was no pity, no disdain, no interest. They were merely things, looked at by this monster as a human would look at an ant.

  The monster began to rise. As it did so, the tentacles reached out again. But this time, they grabbed Adams.

  “No! Wait! I am to go last! Your final meal!”

  No, a voice said in their heads. You are to go now. The other has what I truly need.

  And with that, the tentacles ripped Adams apart in the same manner as Phillips.

  Once that was over, it spat at them. Schreiber flew out, tumbling head over heels. They caught her and held on. “Kathi, are you alive?” Katano asked hopefully.

  Schreiber turned to her. “I am more alive than I have ever been.” Her voice said her words were lies—Schreiber sounded dead, long dead. She shoved Conason away with more strength than she’d ever had as a living human woman, wrapped her arms and legs tightly around Katano as the monster grabbed both women in its claws, ripped them in half, and shoved them into its tentacles. Katano didn’t even scream, though Conason was fairly sure he’d heard a whimper as she’d been pulled in half.

  Now it was only him and the monster.

  I am Cthulhu, the High Priest of the Great Old Ones.

  “I’m Commander James Conason of the Solaris System’s Space Exploration and Protection Corps. And I offer you a choice.”

  Cthulhu chuckled. What choice is that?

  “You can join with our government peacefully, or we will turn all of our weapons against you and yours.”

  I have a different choice to offer you, Commander.

  “What’s that?”

  You may become my emissary to your people. I will enter your consciousness and control you. Through you I will choose who among them live or die, which are our food and which are our slaves, which will die quickly and which will suffer over an eternity.

  “Why me and not Josh?”

  He was a fanatic and would not be listened to. You have rank. You will be given an audience.

  “Why are you offering this?”

  We prefer to have slaves. We find them helpful. And while we have enslaved many against their will, it would be … entertaining … to enslave an entire race with their complete permission and eager approval.

  “If I say no?”

  Then I will eat you, awaken my people, and destroy your pathetic race in one day.

  Conason considered this. What choice, really, did he have? Besides, he was a human, the race of ingenuity, a race that had conquered the whole solar system. They would figure out how to rise up and save themselves from this horror. All they needed was time.

  * * *

  Commander James Conason was returned to Neptune, some said miraculously. He said it was through the grace of the Great Cthulhu, who had saved him when the Neptune Ten had malfunctioned and crashed during orbit of Planet Yuggoth.

  The Solaris System’s government was willing to work with this new race, to achieve mutual benefits and go forward together into a brave new age. The Cult of the Old Ones was declared the one true
religion. Conversions were strongly encouraged and, in some cases, demanded.

  A hundred years passed and humanity was joyfully and willingly enslaved to the Elder Gods, just as Cthulhu had wanted, and Conason still lived. He was now the Commander of all the Solaris System and everyone followed his orders immediately and without argument.

  The Elder Gods and Great Old Ones now inhabited every planet, while there were millions of humans who were on Yuggoth, all breathing through their crystals, serving the Gods on their home world, which was considered the highest honor. The vastness of space was the blink of an eye to the Elder Gods, so even as Yuggoth moved farther from Solaris the distance meant nothing.

  Somewhere inside of his body, a tiny part of Conason remained. And that part realized that the others had been the lucky ones. They were dead.

  Cthulhu was more than a monster. He’d known what would happen, and he’d allowed Conason to have the last human feeling he’d ever have again—hope. Hope that had been dashed.

  He was going to live forever in this form of hell, watching his people willingly turn into slaves, the ingenuity bred out, no self-will remaining, just placid acceptance that this was how it was with their Gods.

  And the worst part of all? Cthulhu wouldn’t allow him to go mad or to die. Conason would watch this forever, or until the Great Ones chose to slumber again in, possibly, ten thousand years. Then they would sleep until another foolish race that thought themselves wise would venture to Yuggoth and awaken Cthulhu and start the cycle all over again. As it had been done for millennium before and would be for millennium after, until every star burned out of the heavens and existence ended.

  PEN’S BRACER

  Misty Massey

  Aysu loved the beach at sunrise. The air tossed her black hair, and gentle waves lapped at her bare toes, the water just chilly enough to send a shiver up the backs of her legs. Tiny crabs raced along the water’s edge, their shells gleaming in the half-light. Off in the distance, mere shadows against the rising light, boatmen paddled from their village around the bluff to anchor in the lagoon. Their voices echoed over the water, like the low calls of marsh birds. Soon Aysu’s companions, who lingered over their breakfasts of bread and fruit, would join her, and they’d all climb into the boats to be rowed into deeper water to begin the day’s diving.

  She walked up the beach to where the sand was always dry and sat, the sand cool and silky under her legs as she dug her toes into it. With one finger she drew patterns, the way she had when she was a child. Twenty summers, and she hardly remembered a time when she wasn’t a diver. From the moment she could walk, she’d toddled down to the water’s edge chased by whatever older child had been assigned her care for the day. Other little ones cried at the splashing waves, but Aysu welcomed them with laughter. Sorab had said many times that she was more fish than girl.

  As soon as he’d decided she was old enough, Sorab began training her to join his crew of divers. There were other divers working the waters around Eldraga, but Sorab’s people were renowned throughout the Nine Islands for their skill at searching out hidden beds of pinkshell and catching elusive flatfish. They dove until the sun was nearly to its height, then Sorab sold their catch to local buyers and merchants on the docks. In the afternoon, the older divers helped the younger ones strengthen their lungs with breath practice. The longer a diver held her breath, the more food she’d catch. Aysu could stay underwater for a little more than ten minutes on a single breath. Combined with her long, nimble fingers, she was a master at her craft. Now and then people accused her of using magic, but she laughed at the suggestion. The real magic was the world underwater. She loved the beauty of the sunbeams streaming like glass lightning through the surface, turning the entire world blue, the only sound that of her heart beating. She loved feeling at one with the schools of darting jewelfish that rich women bought to decorate the ponds in their gardens. There was nothing magic could achieve that would rival the joy of the ocean. Not for her.

  A soft rustling caught her ear and Aysu turned. Two men trudged down the sandy path, heading for Sorab’s home. They were dressed in black robes, hoods over their heads, their sleeves drawn over their crossed arms. She kept very still. Every islander learned from infancy never to draw the attention of a Danisoban mage. Quick to take offense at any perceived slight, their magical torments were legendarily cruel. Sailors on the docks had told her stories of Danisobans causing mens’ heads to explode merely for staring at them. Mages rarely left their enclave in the city, though. What business would they have with Sorab?

  As soon as they passed behind a dune, Aysu leaped to her feet and ran to the back entrance of the house. She burst into the kitchen, startling Banu into dropping a plate of fried bread.

  “I’m so sorry,” Aysu said, dropping to her knees to collect the spilled bread. She rose and handed it back to Banu. “I wanted to see what the mages had come for.”

  “Mages? Here?” Banu frowned.

  “I saw them on the path.” Aysu pushed past Banu to the doorway. She pulled the rough drapery aside to peek through into the main room where Sorab did his accounting. A few other divers in the kitchen crowded against her back and she shushed them.

  The mages stood next to Sorab’s hearth, their arms still crossed and their hoods drawn back. Both were tall men, one slender and dark skinned, with a hungry sharpness to his bones. The other was pale, and white-haired, the skin of his face hanging heavy from his brow and jaw. Neither smiled as they spoke.

  “We have need of a diver,” the pale one said. “We want your best, and we’re prepared to pay well.” He withdrew his hand from his sleeve, holding out a full pouch. A silver band around his wrist gleamed in the morning light.

  Sorab didn’t take the pouch. “I can’t imagine what my diver could do that you, with your magic, cannot.”

  Aysu’s eyes widened. Sorab was no coward, but refusing a Danisoban was dangerous.

  The slender man scowled.

  “There’s an object trapped on a shipwreck just past Treleya bluff. Underneath the water,” he leaned forward on the words, “where we cannot go. I’m sure you know.”

  The divers crowded behind her laughed softly, and Aysu herself couldn’t help a smile. Sorab did know—everyone did. Danisoban mages, for all their deadly power, were weakened by salt water. They rarely ventured to the docks and never went swimming. Rumor had it that when mages were forced to travel by ship, they accomplished it by riding in boxes of dirt, to keep from having even a bit of spray touch them. There was even a rhyme children sometimes sang while playing—“Dunk a wizard in the drink, watch him bubble, thrash, and sink.” She might have felt sorry for them, being forbidden from the water, but Danisobans weren’t the type of people to attract sympathy from anyone.

  “I see.” Sorab rose from his chair, and paced to the window. “What is this object you need us to retrieve? And do you know its approximate location? Something a little more specific than ‘a shipwreck?’ There are a fair number of broken vessels in those waters.”

  The two mages exchanged a glance. “The Peregrino.”

  “Ah, and now the truth comes out.”

  “We can pay another fifty.”

  One hundred octavos. More than Sorab earned in three days at market. What could the mages have lost that was worth so much to them?

  Sorab sighed, and faced the two men again. “You want me to send one of my divers into your haunted ship to collect … what? A bauble? Some magical trinket? How much money do you think my diver is worth, once she floats to the surface in pieces?”

  Aysu gasped and pressed her hand to her mouth. Too late. All three men looked toward the doorway. The divers scrambled to get out the back door, tripping over each other. Aysu bumped her hip into the table and it slowed her just long enough for Sorab to yank the drapery aside.

  “Outside with you,” he snapped. She nodded, frightened at the look in his eyes. Usually Sorab was the most patient of men, but something about the mages had raised a fury in him. Ay
su didn’t waste a second.

  Aysu followed her fellow divers down to the beach, her mind whirling. She’d been diving these waters since childhood, but she’d never heard of a haunted shipwreck off Treleya Bluff. And what kind of ghost could rip a person to bits? Most important, would the mages come up with enough money to change Sorab’s mind? Everyone knew who Sorab’s best diver was. She could hold a breath longer than Sorab himself, or so he’d proudly admitted more than once.

  The boatmen had beached their boats, and the divers were climbing aboard with their baskets by the time Aysu reached them. She took a deep breath. Time to forget about the mages and focus on work. Half the island wouldn’t eat tonight without the harvest the divers brought up from the water. And being underwater always cleared her mind of even the most unsettling thoughts. She stepped into a boat and sat down.

  “Aysu!” Banu was hurrying across the sand, waving her kitchen rag at the boats. “Aysu, come here.”

  The others laughed and cooed as Aysu climbed out of the boat again. Banu waved a hand at the boatmen. “Take them on. Aysu isn’t going with you today.”

  Aysu watched the boats as they rowed into the rising light, then turned to the cook. “Why am I staying behind?”

  Banu was out of breath, her eyes watery. Had she been crying? “Sorab needs you, right now.” The older woman grabbed Aysu’s hand and pulled her along. “There’s no time. Come along.”

  Sorab sat at the dining table in the kitchen, his head cradled in his hands. The mages stood against the far wall, as motionless as statues. The heavier one nodded at Banu. She raised Aysu’s hand to her lips, kissed it, then released her and left the room. Aysu walked around the table to Sorab’s side. He hadn’t moved, so she laid her hand on his shoulder. “Are you well? What’s wrong?”

  Sorab drew a breath, but he didn’t raise his head. “Against my judgment, I’m accepting the job they’ve offered.”