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“Grapplers are probably going to struggle today,” says Gary contemplatively, staring across the deck to the relentlessly flat sheet of ice beyond.
The mate, exoskeleton a brilliant turquoise with the sub-chitinous buildup of their natural antifreeze, twitches their antennae at him. “How in Typhon’s name do you reckon that?” they ask.
“Because every day that my joints have been stiff, the grapplers’ joints have been, too,” Gary returns cheerfully. “And my joints are very stiff this morning.”
The mate moves off, grumbling, though not out of any doubt for Gary’s unusual insights into the ship, Hope thinks–just grumpy that it's going to be another slow day clawing through thick ice. It’s clear that the mate, at least, is willing to trust that Gary’s assessments are competent; and that’s satisfying, when taken as evidence of how well they have both integrated into the crew, in spite of who they are.
“I think your Infernal is getting better,” Hope says to him, knowing he’ll enjoy the compliment, even if the nuance misses him.
“Thank you!” he chimes back. “Noachi’s learning it now, and practicing with them is very motivating. Or, at least, they have enough motivation for both of us. They’ve gotten to the age,” he continues, now happily on a roll, which Hope is happy to indulge while her brain is still warming up enough to be conversational at this early hour, “where they’ve noticed that Nemei uses Infernal to conduct adult conversations in their presence, and they won’t stand for it. They’re determined to get over this hurdle, and they’re bringing us all along for the ride.”
“Like parent, like child,” observes Hope, fondly.
“Well now,” says Gary, verbally conveying a wink as much as he can short of winking out one eye-light on his display. “If you could find your way to helping me calibrate the ballistic pistons this morning, I could forget to tell Nemei you said that.” Which is such a perfectly Gary send-up of devilish behavior that it gets the laugh he was angling for.
“Alright, we’ll calibrate, then spot me on the grapplers, please,” she says. “I bet they just need their tension adjusted for the weather.” It’ll garner more goodwill with the crew, and she’d rather be doing that than talking to them, really.
***
The grapplers do struggle. The long metal limbs with their shovel shaped feet, spanning out from amidships to nearly double the length of the smokestack, remind Gary of some kind of aquatic insect, whether those limbs are being used to claw the ship across packed or half-broken ice, or being used as mechanical oars to skate the craft across the surface of the water. Today the movements of those limbs seem geriatric with cold; Gary keeps feeling the urge to pat the hull and offer gentle encouragement as if to an aging beast of burden. He keeps the affectionate gestures to a minimum, so as not to make the crew uncomfortable.
The crew of Glasya’s Vengeance take the typical infernal stoicism to a pretty humorous extreme. Gary isn’t really surprised: it takes a particular kind of temperament to thrive in arctic research, and the isolating environment self-selects for it, same as on Materia. Pragmatic and antisocial are perhaps unflattering ways to describe the temperament in question, but Gary doesn’t look on those traits with either aspiration or judgment anymore; it’s just a different way of being. Honestly, Gary surmises, the generally reserved atmosphere probably helps with how well Hope and Gary fit in with the crew.
“They probably don’t bring up who we are because they’re worried we might start telling them stories,” says Hope one night, chatting in their shared berth. Gary is about seventy percent sure she’s joking.
Instead, the kinds of interactions valued here are unfussy showcases of competent artificing, in-depth theoretical discussions of magic and marine biology, quiet card games, and uncomplainingly scraping the ice off the hot-drink dispenser in the mornings; Gary and Hope have all that covered. So what if they are a Material mech and an infamous Stygian expat, respectively: neither of them go over their allocated time slots on the analytical machinery, which would be a much bigger problem in the eyes of the crew.
Gary has his own feelings about this social environment, sure–feelings which he is making space for and working with–but the crushing loneliness at the source of those feelings is centuries in his past, and on another plane. Hope’s traumas are much more recent, and as such, Gary is taking the excuse to backburner his own feelings a bit in favor of being on standby to help with hers. The last time either of them were here on Stygia was a scant several years ago, and the circumstances were dire. Hope is returning home for the first time in a peaceful context in…possibly ever, given her specific background.
Hope seems to be doing well on this trip, though, and that’s really all that Gary could wish for. She is focused on her task, sitting astride a grappler in motion, working steadily despite the pitching changes in elevation. She generally keeps to herself amongst the crew, he notices, preferring to make herself useful; but she seems calm and content enough whenever she chats with Gary, so he supposes that’s fine.
She’s gone still up on the grappler, staring out over the ice. Gary follows her gaze across the blue and blinding white, and sees a dark blot near the horizon to port. He pulls a glass from his pocket–he hasn’t quite got around to attaching the scope to his face–for a closer look.
“I don’t recognize the flag: crossed spears on an orange background?” Gary shouts up to her.
“Stygian Upper Navy,” says Hope, voice flat.
She’s scared, and Gary can understand why: neither Hope nor any of the various Material beings traveling with her at the time made themselves especially popular amongst the surface dwellers of Stygia. Gary takes another assessment of the ship through the glass, and begins to feel a growing dread as he confirms that the naval ship is, in fact, on an intercept course.
“We could go below,” he offers. They aren’t ranked members of this expedition, so they have no obligation to interface with the navy if they decide to board.
“I’m nearly done,” Hope responds, because she has always resented anything that makes her afraid. So Gary waits, and Hope finishes up on the grappler, and then they make their leisurely way down to the engine room.
***
The metallic thud of heavy feet hitting the deck echoes clearly down to them, and Hope unholsters her gun, laying it on the floor next to her right knee. She and Gary both stop their tinkering, and look up, listening.
“They aren’t approaching the hatches,” Gary eventually says. Hope says nothing. She simply sits and waits. She can hear voices speaking in Infernal–not raised, authoritative but calm. Bored, even. Which could be good or bad, depending on how much the bored parties tend to resort to sadism to alleviate boredom.
The navy is likely about to commandeer whatever resources it can from this ship, but there is a way for the captain to cut some of their losses: handing over Hope and Gary instead. Not that they are wanted criminals, technically, but they humiliated several ranking members of the Stygian military on their last trip here, and the middle of the Stygian ocean is a good place for the two of them to disappear. Hope can’t find it within herself to blame the captain for it, either; it’s the most logical move, and it’s not like either of them are close with members of the crew.
The talking stops, and the footsteps move toward the fore. They’re heading for the ladder amidships; Hope’s fingers alight on the gun, on her grenades, on the heavy wrench she selected from the ship’s toolkit when they came downstairs. Final checks. She and Gary have the main engine between themselves and the door. It’s big enough to be decent cover, and either the boarders will hesitate to shoot the main engine for fear of it blowing them up as well, or they won’t hesitate, and Gary and Hope won’t be taken prisoner. Both acceptable alternatives.
The footsteps keep receding, continuing past the ladder, further forward. They do descend belowdecks, but at a point farther forward than Hope would have expected; they must be using the ladder above the fore cargo hold, if Hope is interpreting the distance right. Hope grabs up the gun, finger resting on the safety. Why would the captain show off the available goods before offering up the two of them? Perhaps there was a threat he had to comply with, and is thinking to renegotiate once he’s obeyed the order to take them below. She listens.
She remains crouched and ready while the footsteps ascend to the deck again, orders are shouted, and over the next half hour, several containers are removed from the ship. No footsteps approach the engine room.
“Hope,” says Gary softly, behind her. “I think the coast is clear.”
Rationally, he’s right, she’s sure. She can relax, she tells herself. She should at least stand up. The metal around her gives a low groan, and she almost jumps out of her skin. The naval ship is leaving, causing the research vessel to sway a little in its wake. She takes a deep breath, and holsters the gun.
“Hope?” says Gary from closer behind her. She startles again, and finally dares to put the door at her back so she can face him. “Coming down from the adrenaline?” he asks sympathetically. She wonders if he actually knows what that means or if he’s just heard enough flesh people say it that he knows it’s a thing.
She finds her words with a little effort. “I don’t know why…the captain didn’t sell us out. He let them take supplies instead.”
“Was the captain selling us out very likely?”
“I thought it was the most likely option–he knows who we are, and what we did last time we were here–it spread to other layers, so probably most people have heard the rumors here. Handing us over to the navy could have bought their favor, or at least saved some of the supplies. I don’t–I just can’t figure out–”
She gives up. She’s keyed up, even worse than when the navy was actually onboard. Something here is very different from what she thought it was, and that means she could be wrong about a lot of things about this voyage she thought were safe.
Gary’s voice cuts through her thoughts. “Is the captain’s unexpected behavior worth worrying about, do you think? I trust your judgment; if you want me to look into it, I’ll do my best.”
She takes another deep breath, and lets it out over a count of three. She’s never been good at accepting help. “Yes,” she finally says. “I would like an answer for this.”
***
Gary’s nervous about this. His version of “I will look into this” ends up being “I will ask the captain about this.” He’s honestly not sure where else to go for answers. Over the three days since the naval boarding, the crew has declined to speculate in his hearing about why the captain did what he did, or why the two obvious bargaining chips weren’t used. It’s been business as usual, as though no raid took place, but for an uptick in fishing and water purification to supplement the lost cargo. He’s tried to invite gossip, to no avail. He can understand why Hope is a little shaken about it.
He knocks, and hears the captain’s level voice commanding him to come in. He enters.
The captain seems a bit taken aback at who has come into his cabin, but he regains control of his face in a second. “Gary Bronzecraft,” he says, in accented Common. “What brings you to my cabin?”
The captain almost looks human, but for his pale skin and the pair of small horns emerging from his forehead–an incubus, Gary realizes. He doesn’t look as young as incubi typically look; his close cropped hair and neatly trimmed beard are graying, and there are lines around his eyes. More Everard’s type than Gary’s, but Gary can see how one would be compelled. The intensity of the captain’s gaze is arresting.
“Right,” says Gary, collecting his thoughts. “Three days ago…how did things go, with the navy? We were in the engine room at the time, so we didn’t see.”
“But you must have noticed the supplies changing hands,” responds the captain levelly. “Typical resupply tactic with the Upper Navy, commandeering goods. I cache enough of our supplies out of sight that we will not be on short rations.”
“Oh, good! I’m glad to hear that, for the sake of the crew who eat.”
A pause. The captain does not break eye contact.
“Was there anything else?” he eventually asks.
“I wanted to ask you a question,” says Gary. “And I’m trying to ask it in a way that won’t come out sounding rude.”
“Quit prevaricating,” the captain suggests. His tone hasn’t shifted away from that assured, commanding calm.
“Right,” says Gary again. “When the navy boarded us, Hope was sure you would choose to hand us over to them in exchange for them taking less of your supplies. Not that she doesn’t think of you as a man, uh, devil of good character–she just said it was the most logical choice. We haven’t been able to figure out why you chose not to. Not that we’re not grateful! But…”
The captain takes this in without a change of expression. Gary has enough time to wonder if he’s made him angry by questioning his command decisions when the incubus answers.
“Hope is reputed to be an intelligent, even brilliant young lady. I see that she is sensible as well; which is refreshing, as the two don’t always go hand in hand, especially with mages and tinkerers.” He diverts his gaze to the papers on his desk, shuffling them absently. “She is correct; that would have been the most logical choice. I was not making my decision based on logic, but on principle; a principle Hope herself helped me to find.”
“Hope…what?”
“I think you, and perhaps also Hope, might not understand what your deeds in Stygia have accomplished,” the captain says, turning his intense eyes back on Gary. “What you did shifted not only the balance of power here, but also shifted expectations. Those of us who have lived long and seen little change end up feeling that there are some things in life which must simply be endured. But having seen what she did, many of us can now see other possibilities.” He smiles, not kindly. “I’m not fond of the corruption in the Upper Navy, or the way they extort from civilian ships. If they want Hope or yourself more than they want my salt fish or purified water, they will have to pry you from my cold, dead claws.”
At first, Gary isn’t sure what to say. Then he beams a smile from his facial display. “Thank you, captain. Hope will be relieved to hear that. Can I tell her what you said, about her reputation? She deserves to hear that too.”
“Give her whatever compliments you like,” The captain turns back to his desk, all dour gruffness once more, waving a hand in dismissal. “And then go make yourself useful at the main engine, Bronzecraft, I can hear it grinding from here.”
***
Hope triple checks the spell array covering the surface of her auxiliary friendship drive, and continues to find it flawless, before admitting to herself that she is just stalling.
The rest of the device is bolted to the deck, and she’s been shy about going on the deck in view of the crew ever since Gary spoke with the captain. The first time Hope saw the captain again, after, he’d inclined his head to her, and she hadn’t been able to suppress the urge to bow. It was a gesture of unprompted respect from him that supported the report Gary had given of him, which should be heartening, but it was–Hope couldn't–
Hope remembers her former master saying this one performs consistently well, but it keeps clenching its teeth.
Lord Inorolan had been visiting then. He’d tried to laugh it off. The way you keep setting it on fire, it’s little wonder. I’d be clenching my teeth too!
It’s when it clenches them, her master had said. Some of the test slaves lock up in terror the moment they’re spoken to: acceptable. Some of them grind their teeth at random, stay docile and stupid the rest of the time: also acceptable. This one, though…this one only does it the moment after it’s ordered onto the testing floor.
It knows what’s going to happen to it, and is afraid, Inorolan had responded. So?
It acts like it’s trying to summon up the will to go through with it; her master had said. It acts like a person, one who has a choice in the matter.
The fact that this is a ship almost entirely crewed by Stygian researchers, who likely wouldn’t have batted an eye to watch her be magically tortured for the sake of arcane theory had they encountered her in her previous life, is not lost on her. She’d assumed that their acceptance was born from her known favor with Lord Typhon, and bolstered by her ability to keep quiet and make herself useful. It’s strange to have evidence that they think of her as anything but a rebellious slave. If she looks at her feelings head on, it’s strange to think they might not be looking for an excuse to push Gary into the ocean and use her as an experimental subject.
These are marine biologists, not weapons developers. Quit stalling.
She ascends to the deck.
Gary is reinforcing their anchor points and cheerfully holding two crewmembers as a captive audience to his exposition on the notable differences between sailing metal ships and wooden ones. From the body language of the devils in question–a pair of ice half-devils who look like they might be relatives–they’re coming to the realization that polite attempts to exit the conversation will be futile, and they may just have to cut and run the minute Gary looks away from them.
“And of course a material as relatively porous as wood provides a better substrate for barnacles–oh, hi Hope! Is this our final part? Everything looks good here, I’m just tightening the bolts–I’m quite a lot of weight for them to hold, ha!”
“They’ll hold about eight times your weight, Gary,” reassures Hope, identifying that little laugh as a nervous one. Not that she can blame him for nerves; Stygia’s ocean is rumored to be bottomless, after all. If he sinks, he has a long, long, long way to sink.
“There’s a sconce for this right underneath the main belt,” she says, handing over the friendship drive and chancing a look at Gary's hostages. Hope hasn’t looked away from them for more than three seconds and they are at least thirty feet across the deck, looking extremely busy. Good for them. Being comfortable to leave without dismissal is a sign of a good gig. Gary is oblivious, plugging the device in. “Do you want to do further prep before we try the cage?” she asks.
It’s the second magical cage they have built–the first one was that clock tower, with time running rampant–but this one serves a different purpose. It’s taking them down into Stygia’s ocean, on a rumor that there are more than just aberrations and huge, forgotten creatures in the deep. It’s said that there is at least one mech down there: one that can swim. It opens up possibilities that Hope had given up on, since her initial, early childhood mutilations, and the (metal, heavy) modifications she made to fix them.
Gary hesitates just a moment longer than is natural before lighting up his face with a smile. “I think…that I’m just fine!” says Gary. “Let’s try it when you’re ready!”
It’s strange in a way that is completely in character for Gary that he wants to go underwater in the cage with her. If she weighed upward of a ton and there was no ready capacity to reverse or slow or otherwise interfere with her descent, she probably wouldn’t do it. But then, there is a short list of people she would do Stupid Shit for, Gary among them; she has an uncomfortable feeling that the reasons Gary has for doing Stupid Shit for her are akin to the ways Nemei acts absolutely mortal-insane about Noachi.
“Not that I don’t want your company,” she says carefully. “But you don’t have to go down there with me. I’ll be alright in the cage, and if the friendship drive winch doesn’t work, it would be really good to have someone up top I can call to organize hand-winching it up.” She hopes he takes it as meant, as a reassurance that he can support her without needing to hover, rather than as a rejection of his support. She has never been good at being delicate with people’s feelings.
He seems to take a moment; to really consider the offer, or to really assess her motives, she can’t discern. “Let’s at least try out that friendship drive first,” he suggests. “If there are any issues, then that might make our decision for us.”
She can’t tell if he’s procrastinating on this decision for his sake or hers, letting the decision make itself so neither of them have to assign any emotional weight to it. It’s uncharacteristically delicate, and characteristically gentle. She’s grateful for him.
This friendship drive has a new feature compared to her previous builds: it’s got a remote. She took note of the way that Dis’ skyscrapers were set with inlaid crystal, promoting resonance with particular kinds of orderly Infernal magic. Here, she is trying to promote resonance between the drive itself and a smaller activator that can attach to her stone. It allows her to power up and run the drive without having to be in close physical proximity, in theory: the perfect thing for activating a winch from a magical cage deep in lightless water.
They decide to try and activate the main drive the traditional way first, as a control. It lights up readily, and smoothly runs the belt that drives the automatic winch that raises and lowers the magical cage from the deep. Hope deputizes the crewmembers that Gary was holding hostage earlier; when she explains to them that she doesn’t need them to get in the cage to test it, just wheel it across the deck as she gives and takes slack with the chain, they readily involve themselves in her project. They end up having a lot to say about ways to make use and storage of the cage more practical to the needs of the ship, and Hope asks them to note these ideas for presentation to the captain. The cage stays with the ship, when this expedition of hers is over; that was part of the price of passage she negotiated with the captain when they started this voyage. In exchange for passage, meals and berth, her and Gary’s artificing expertise and general handiness on board, plus one custom-made magically reinforced cage that will allow members of the research crew to descend protected into the ocean for their studies.
Activating the winch remotely proves slightly more difficult. On first tests, both of their hands on the remote don’t start it, nor do either combination of having one person touching the remote and one touching the main engine. Time to regroup.
“It might need a stronger signal,” says Hope, hesitantly.
“Does that mean we need to, um–reinforce our bonds?” Gary seems like he is trying to be as verbally careful as Hope was earlier. “Would it help to talk about our feelings?”
It would. Hope would rather swallow a few pounds of lead fishing line sinkers and cast herself into the ocean.
She squares her shoulders and offers up the remote so Gary can rest his hands on it too. “It would help, yes,” she says in Common. Not many of the crew speak Common, thank all the gods. “So. How have you been doing.”
Gary places a hand on top of the remote, and brings the other up under Hope’s hand, supporting it. “I’m actually doing pretty well, all things considered,” he says, comfortable and conversational, tactfully ignoring her obvious discomfort. “And from where I’m sitting, it seems like the same could mostly be said for you, too. Which I’m really happy about. I know coming back to Stygia isn’t easy for you.”
He’s so earnest, and it makes Hope feel restless and embarrassed in the same moment that it makes her heart hurt. Gary is always so kind to her. She’s getting more used to that sort of kindness, but the raw feeling it comes with still catches her by surprise.
“It isn’t easy, no,” she agrees. She can’t really bring herself to say more. The device isn’t active yet, but it’s starting to warm in their joined hands, like it wants to come on.
“What you went through here would make it hard for anyone,” Gary affirms.
“Mm,” hums Hope, noncommittally. The way Gary talks about feelings is so Material, so direct and intentional. It’s not without merit, she knows this, but she doubts it will ever feel comfortable. The device remains dormant.
Gary hums back, contemplatively. Then he says, “You know…when I said I was doing well, all things considered, what I meant is that I’m coping well, but being in this environment hasn’t been the easiest thing for me.”
This is…not how feelings conversations with Gary usually go. Hope stares with rapt attention.
“I don’t know if I’ve told you this before,” continues Gary. “But I was originally created for arctic research. I was built to sit at the bottom of a freezing ocean, still and quiet, while fish and other animals swam around me.”
“Only this ocean has no bottom,” Hope says, understanding.
“It doesn’t, no, and that is extremely scary! But that’s not the point I’m getting at,” Gary says, gently. “The hardest thing about that life, and the reason I left it, was that it was very lonely. The only other people to talk to were a crew of researchers very much like this one. They preferred the isolation, and the quiet, and they valued data more than they valued feelings. My creator included. And, well, you know me,” he says, bringing a calm smile onto his face. “I thrive in a more sociable environment. I have had a very long time to come to terms with that, but even so…returning to a place you came from, and left for a reason, isn’t easy, no matter how long ago it’s been.”
“I’m…sorry I dragged you here,” Hope says, softly. “I had no idea.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” insists Gary. “I wanted to come with you, and I would do it again given the choice. I am not telling you this to make you feel bad, but because I realized it was maybe a bit unfair to ask you to be vulnerable without sharing a little in return.”
Oh. “Thank you,” she manages, past a tightened throat. “For telling me.” The remote powers on, and with it, the main drive.
“Hey!” Gary exclaims triumphantly. “It works! Well done, Hope!”
He’s not the only appreciative voice. Various crewmembers on deck had started eyeing the proceedings when they started their tests, and now that the drive is working, they’re drawing a small crowd of curious onlookers. Gary turns to them, and switches back to Infernal. “Who wants to watch the first voyage of your new diving cage?” He actually gets a couple of appreciative whoops in response.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Gary says quietly to Hope. “I just got a little excited.”
“It’s fine,” she says with a laugh. “I have to prepare myself for the dive, though, and someone should probably tell the captain we are about to go down.”
“Right!” says Gary, then hesitates. “When you said you were okay going down alone…”
“I was being truthful.”
“Okay,” says Gary, relief extremely apparent in his voice. “Yes, I believe that you’ve got this! If this ocean had a bottom I would be there in a heartbeat, but this is just so, so scary.”
And so, when the cage is wheeled to the gap in the railing meant for a gangplank, and pushed over in a dizzying second of freefall before plunging into the freezing, dark water, she’s in the cage alone. She lets the weight of it pull her under like an anchor: she’s shut off the air-breathing functions of her respiratory system, and is relying on her gills. She’s holding enough air in her lungs that she can use for talking, but she can breathe independently of that.
Gary’s right, returning to her origins isn’t easy. She can barely remember her aquatic life, before she was enslaved, but the cold water, the dim blue light, and the growing pressure feel primally familiar to her. Her darkvision adjusts to the disappearing light. Her chest, airtight because chests with lungs have to be, feels the weight of the water around her.
Stygia’s ocean is endless. Yes, they brought the ship to an area where a deep sea mech has been witnessed surfacing before, but the chances of her actually meeting anything down here are low simply because she is a single point in an infinite void. Then again, being a magically active ball on the end of a very long chain might be just the thing to attract some attention. She tries not to think about bait on a hook.
She waits, she doesn’t know how long, in the cold darkness. The cage drifts nearly imperceptibly with the currents, and she lets her thoughts drift as well. It’s almost peaceful.
She becomes aware of a shape in the darkness with her. It is huge, and not more than sixty feet from her. It has approached so stealthily that it hasn’t even disturbed the water with its bulk.
Her heart instantly begins racing. She suppresses the reflex to scream before she lets all the conserved air out of her lungs.
The shape, apparently aware that she has noticed it, changes. It closes the distance swiftly, abandoning stealth. The front part of it opens in what look to be huge jaws, though she sees no teeth inside. Instead, faintly glowing tentacles spool outward, exploring the dimensions of the protective spellwork on the cage.
The tentacles are made of segmented steel, she realizes. The lights embedded in them, glowing softly blue, are artificial, not biological. She’s found the mech.
It makes a series of clicks and whistles at her, deafening due to its size and proximity. It’s speaking a dialect of Cypher, she realizes, one suited like whalesong to be heard underwater. She digs her stone out of a belt pouch, praying that her shaking hands won’t drop it through the bottom of the cage. Please, Saren Raithe, let my plans bear me through. Asmun, let what I have built protect me as well as it always has so far.
She starts to play an Infernal recording that she prepared days before, on the surface where she had the air to speak. “Greetings, Elder. I apologize for the invasion of your territory. I approach you to seek your wisdom. I am a child of the Styx, but when I was very young I was captured by surface dwellers and made to live above the deep. They cut off my tail so I couldn’t swim away from them. When I built a new one, it was made of metal and not good for swimming. But you, Elder, are made of metal and do not sink helplessly. If I may be so bold as to ask it of you, I would like to learn how you do this, so that I might learn to swim without sinking again.”
The tentacles hesitate. Hope realizes that there’s a chance the mech simply doesn’t speak Infernal at all–the devils of Stygia’s surface might be as foreign to it as it is to her.
Finally, the tentacles withdraw into the jaws, which close. She hears, muffled by the dense water, the feedback whine of a speaker coming on. The voice which speaks–in Infernal, thank Alokas for her good luck–is stilted, each word coming out crisp and inflectionless, a recorded database of words in a language that is not its preferred way to communicate.
“Child of Styx,” it says, and when it speaks, Hope feels the vibration in her chest. “Your invasion is forgiven, because your motive moves me to pity. I have lived a long time, but the rapaciousness of those who dwell above is unchanged. Were you born in my waters, I would have torn apart those that stole you.”
Hope lets one of her hands come to rest over her heart, where the mech can see it. She’s fairly sure her chest wasn’t this tight a moment ago. “Elder, I have avenged myself,” she squeezes out, rationing her air.
“Brave child. If my wisdom can undo their damage, I will share it with you. Watch the way I move in the water, and learn what you may.”
It circles the cage, moving at a deliberately slow pace. She turns to watch it. It propels itself with four powerful flippers and a wide, finned tail, like an aquatic hydra; unlike a hydra, it doesn’t have a long neck, but a large proportion of its body is made up of the vast jaws containing the sensory tentacles. Its head is long, almost wedge shaped, like something between a whale and a crocodile. The body–
The body is hollow. It’s a complex latticework of metal, a frame to which the limbs and head are anchored, but it isn’t solid. The skill of engineering needed to absorb the force of the propulsive movement with so little material is astonishing. It’s beautifully made.
It swims close to the cage, buffeting it. She grips the bars for stability. The current feels icy moving around her.
An idea hits her, and she pushes herself up against the bars, squinting at the body of the moving mech. It’s difficult to see with darkvision, but now that she knows what she’s looking for, she can make it out: the latticework of the body is collecting ice. Growing ice, really. There must be an aspect of that latticework that allows for temperature control, which promotes the crystallization of ice from the cold water around it. And ice floats. The mech is huge, and heavy, and made from metal, but fill up that hollow body with ice, and it would be enough to counterbalance the weight.
“Can you see how I do not sink?” asks the mech.
“You become an iceberg,” Hope answers.
“A quick learner. Have you questions, child?”
Hope decides to risk it. “What is your name, Elder?”
“I have no need for such things,” it says. “I am myself. Go in peace from my waters, child.” And then, in an eyeblink, it’s gone into the black.
She hangs there in the cage for a few more moments, replaying the interaction in her head. When she returned to Stygia the first time, and killed her former master, it had felt like the start of a wound closing; speaking to this nameless mech of the deep ocean, of someplace like her first home, makes her feel as though a wound has healed.
She wills the remote to take her up. The cage doesn’t move.
She doesn’t panic, but she’s very, very glad she has someone to call for backup.
“Hand winch me up,” she says when Gary picks up.
“Oh, it stopped working? Are you okay?” He sounds concerned, but not fearful. He’s staying calm so she stays calm, she realizes.
“Okay,” she says. “Limited air for talking.”
“Oh, yeah. I hadn’t thought about that but it makes sense, that is how vocal cords work. Hang on, I’ll get the crew on the winch. Do you want me to stay on the stone with you?”
“Mmhm.”
There’s some chatter at the other end, and the cage starts moving, and then Gary is back, talking loudly to be heard over the shouting of orders and the creaking of the winch in the background. “So, did you find anything?”
“Mmhm.”
“Oh! Was it the mech you were looking for?”
“Mmhm.”
“Hope, that’s fantastic! It worked on the first try, that’s incredible! Did you gather any helpful information?”
“Mmhm.” She’s looking forward to surfacing, so she can tell him.
“That’s the best news! I’m so happy for you!” He sounds so genuinely excited for her, too. Her eyes sting. She is starting to see light again after a long while in the dark, is why.
“And you know, this was such an incredible build you did, and an incredible thing to do going down so deep,” he continues, and switches to Common to preserve her modesty. “I’m really proud of you, Hope.”
The device in her hands reactivates, and she hears some surprised yells over the stone as the crew get out of the way and let the drive work as intended. It must have come back into range, is all. She’s not crying. The only saltwater in her eyes is the ocean. She’s out of air, and can’t answer, so she just listens to Gary’s voice, and to the distant voices of the crew who got her to this place and were working to pull her to safety, and to the hum of the machine running on the strength of their bond.
It’s the decrease in pressure as she surfaces, she knows, but every moment, her chest feels lighter.