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Life under the sea is challenging at best, even for those adapted to it. For historically terrestrial life, it is nearly impossible. The Event was ancient history by modern standards, but it was, they said, irreversible. Certainly, if it was reversible, no civilization had the resources anymore to fix it. The fundamentals of society had been built assuming a literally stable foundation, not the ever-shifting and ever-moving surface of the New Sea. Not, either, the ferocious storms that plagued the air and ripped across the ocean. Anything that was above the waterline would be torn apart by the end of the year.
The only place to stay, permanently, was on the Bottom. The closer to the ancient shores the better, where the water was shallower and the pressures not so terrible. But too close and the wave action would rip your structures from their foundations. A delicate balance, and one very costly to maintain.
The UMV Gemini Charm was a standard underwater shipping vessel with a hull crush depth of 300 meters and a capacity of 100 persons, or 30,472 dedicated cubic feet of cargo space, or 26 standard twenty-foot-equivalent-units. Shipping containers were loaded one at a time through the ship's nose and shifted into place using the overhead crane. It was a complicated and tedious process to load and unload, but for settlements on the Grand Banks, the Gemini Charm was a critical lifeline during the stormy season.
"That's the last of the whale cheese," said Captain Ray Miller. He was a thin man, long and rail like, his already lanky features made longer and thinner by this year's harsh winter. "Should be the last of your order, Alderman."
"Should be," said Alderman Yeltsin, of the bottom colony pohja-Suomi. He was squat and wide, seemed strangely energized despite his clothing hanging off his body. "You've lost some weight, old boy. You want some of this for yourself?"
"Ah, it's nothing," said Miller. "Just trying to stretch the rations a little. Normal stormy season problems."
"You sure?" Alderman Yeltsin asked. "We've known each other for ten years, Miller, you don't gotta keep up a tough face for me." He leaned in closer and spoke more quietly. "Listen, you know I gotta drive a hard bargain for my people, but if its between you and me, I'm always happy to help…"
"It's not like that, Yeltsi," Miller replied, leaning in as well. "It's just, this year's worse than usual, right? The last storm season cleared up way late, so the kelp crop's been sketchy, and we don't got as much of all the rest as we'd like as a result."
"Yeah, obviously, I know all that, so what's the problem for you?" Yeltsin asked, tapping Miller on the chest. "The Charm needs a steady hand to steer her, not to mention the rest of your crew. You need help, you ask for it. It don't gotta be charity, we'll work something out."
Miller glanced to the side and grimaced before sighing. "...Alright, so we're short on rations this year. Every run's been shit. But I can't ask you to help us out when you've got your people to feed."
"That's true," said Yeltsin, folding his arms across his chest and furrowing his brow to think. In fact the port was closed — this run was the last that pohja-Suomi was accepting owing to the bad harvest. They had nothing to sell on, at least not without starving their own people. After a moment, Yeltsin snapped his fingers. "I've thought of something. You know the group out in the Azores? Should be about two or three days sub drive for you."
Miller took a moment to work out the distances. "I thought the colony there was a bunch of eggheads. They don't usually got anything to sell and don't buy much either. We'd lose on the gas."
"PohSuo has been doing business with them on something special for a while," said Yeltsin. He rubbed his fingers together eagerly. "Never found a good, trustworthy cargo runner to make this happen, but I know you."
"What's the fee?"
"Depends on the outcome," said Yeltsin. "It's experimental, so you'll have to see what the Azores Colony says and bring it back to us before we pay you. If all goes well, then we'll easily be able to keep your families fed through the next year."
Miller felt his eyebrows raise. That was shocking. "You have that much lying around?"
"It's the harvest, not the currency that we're lacking, Miller," said Yeltsin. "If the experiment works, then it'll be worth it."
"What're we hauling?"
"It's a secret," said Yeltsin. He shuffled guiltily. "I'm sorry, Miller. You'll have to keep it quiet, from the public and the crew."
Miller folded his arms and squinted at him. "Why? What's the catch here, Yeltsi? We've known each other for years, you've never acted like this before. It's bad policy to be hauling unmarked cargo, and bad luck besides."
"The Azores Colony has… strange hangups," said Yeltsin. He hemmed and hawed before he continued. "They're not exactly… well, they're science driven, but they're a little… Let me put it like this: for various reasons, they think that the more that people know about their work, the worse it will go. Some justified, some not, but I'm asking you to respect their wishes on it."
Miller grimaced. "Hard to sell that to the crew, Yeltsi. Especially because cargo like that always comes with handling requirements."
"Well you're not wrong. I'm not saying it's not without risk, but we'll mitigate by having my folks load it and the Azores Colony folks will be the ones who unload it. All you gotta do is haul it." Yeltsin rested his hand on Miller's arm. "I wouldn't ask anyone else. You're the most trustworthy man I know, and the Azores Colony could save all of us a lot of pain and heartache. We just gotta make this one run."
Miller grimaced. He didn't like it. Yeltsin was never like this, but what could Miller do? He wasn't going to rake his old friend over the coals, and the Azores Colony really were a bunch of hermetically tight-assed weirdos. If the money really was that good…
"Alright Yeltsi," said Miller. "But I want a deposit. Rations and gas for the way there and back again, and a bonus for the men as well."
"Done," said Yeltsin. "Let's work out the details in my office."
He held out his hand. Miller shook it.
The crew was indeed not happy about the run, even with the rations, the gas, and the deposit.
"All'a this is nice, but it ain't gonna keep the family fed back home, Cap'n, not when PohSuo only gave us one crate to transport," said Jorge, the Charm's first mate. He and Miller were conferring quietly in the captain's stateroom as to the details of this cargo run. Jorge was the man Miller trusted the most to take the temperature of the crew, and the conversation was going about as well as Miller could expect. "We're running pretty thin margins this year, and a promise of more money later isn't really that comforting."
"I understand," said Miller. He rolled a pencil between his fingers pensively. The fact was that he was taking a much larger risk than cargo haulers normally took. The way it normally worked was that the ship would sell off its cargo from the prior run, then take on more cargo to sell at its next destination. This time, they had been only given an advance and the promise of payment upon return. The payment wasn't even guaranteed. "Alderman Yeltsin has been my friend for a decade and has always been good for the money. This is the best he had for us — we'd have been running empty otherwise."
Jorge rubbed his hands across his face. Miller and Jorge had only known each other for four years, but Miller had rescued Jorge from pirates once, and then been rescued in turn when the situation had gone out of the airlock and into the thermal vent. "You trust Alderman Yeltsin?"
Miller looked down at the table, then back up at Jorge. The other man's eyes were grim and searching. Was Miller really convinced this was a good idea? Why? Miller didn't have a great answer. "I don't think I got a choice."
"What do you mean?"
Miller pressed his hands together tightly and rested his lips against his thumbs. He was quiet for a moment before speaking. "Truth is we both know what the books are like. They're not good, but we can make it if this all goes wrong. We've got enough credit left to hold us to the end of the season, and I know the Azores at least'll sell us gas, so worst case we tell Yeltsin to fuck off and we head to Portugal."
Jorge grimaced. They'd have to pay a toll to get there and the ports were crowded, so the margins would stay slim. But they both knew that consistent slim margins were better than no margins at all.
"Fuck me," said Jorge. He rubbed his head with his hand restlessly. "Did we fuck up? How did we end up here?"
"I don't know Jorge," said Miller. He leaned back in his seat and tapped a pensive finger on the table. "I… I don't know. We're doing the best we can, but we're here. This is the best we have right now."
"The cloak n' dagger is worrying too," Jorge said. "Why is Alderman Yeltsin keeping the Azores Colony's secrets like this?"
"Look, you know what some folks are like," said Miller. He waved a hand as if it would explain everything.
Jorge grimaced and wrung his hands. "But we have manifests for a reason, Cap'n. Electrical fires, hazardous materials, all of this is lethal on a ship. We're really trusting the Alderman not to make a mistake? Or worse, he knows, but because the Azores Colony said not to tell…"
Miller sighed. "I don't know what to tell you Jorge. Alderman Yeltsin's never fucked me over in the last ten years. I trust him not to start now."
"Trust huh."
Jorge closed his eyes and pressed his palms against his forehead. Miller watched him as he worked through the problem in his head, weighed the pros and the cons.
"Fuck. Alright then. If we can get a good payout from it, then it'll be worth it," said Jorge. "I'll see you in the command center, Cap'n."
"See you there, Jorge."
Jorge stood up and left the room. Miller watched him go and wondered if he had done the right thing.
"Fire in the cargo hold!"
Miller slammed up against the railing on the walkway overlooking the cargo bay as the fire alarm klaxons rang throughout the ship. The single crate that Yeltsin had given them to transport had once been strapped to the cargo floor in the center of the bay. The lack of other cargo had saved them, because only a heavy haze of smoke and the smouldering cinders of the crate remained.
"Fire's out! Cancel the alarm! Cancel it—"
Miller coughed and watched through the smoke as Jorge led the damage control team as they double checked the fire hadn't damaged the deck and secured the cinders to make sure they wouldn't catch again. Sea water sloshed across the deck from the hoses. The fire had been well controlled long before Miller arrived on the scene, and the only risk was if the cargo inside had been powered by lithium batteries somehow. If they had been damaged, they might catch again. The Gemini Charm wasn't equipped to fight a lithium fire — Miller would eject the cargo and damn Yeltsin to the depths for his stupidity.
Everyone stood in silence for an entire minute, watching the sopping remnants. Nothing happened, and they all breathed a sigh of relief.
"Start taking it apart, I want to know what caused that fire," said Jorge as he headed for the stairs. His expression was tightly controlled, but less angry than Miller expected "Cap'n, a word in your office?"
"Here is fine, Jorge," said Miller. He tromped down the stairs towards his first mate, his own face surely betraying his anger. What the hell had Yeltsin been thinking? He ought to know better. "Did you get anything from fighting the fire?"
Jorge grimaced. "I was gonna give you hell for it Cap'n, but truth is nobody has any clue what happened. I figured at first it must be electrical, but smoke in here just smells like charred wood."
Miller frowned. "That doesn't make any sense. There's got to be some ignition source."
"We'll see. Might be the wood's just covering it up."
"The whole crate though? All at once?"
Jorge raised his shoulders and shook his head in confusion. "Samuelsson pulled the alarm. Said it was fine when he went to the machinery rack, and when he turned back 'round the whole crate was up."
It made no sense. Miller could feel the men shifting uneasily. He wasn't immune from superstition either, and the Event had only made it harder to believe the world was an ordered, rational place. There was something strange happening here and he wasn't sure he wanted to learn what it was.
"Let's get this place drained and then figure out what we can do to try and keep more fires from happening," said Miller. He licked his lips and lowered his voice. "Do you think an exorcism would make things worse or better, Jorge?"
"Worse, sir," Jorge replied. He'd never been as superstitious as Miller, and his certainty in what he could see was grounding right now. Already, Miller could feel himself center into the now. Focus on how to solve the problem, not the bullshit. "Better we act like it was a freak accident. Samuelsson'll tell folks it was electrical if we need to."
"Alright lets go with that."
"Right. Samuelsson! A word!"
Miller let Jorge go to deal with that while he walked forward to look at the cargo. Yeltsin had promised this would be safe for him and his men. Miller wanted to see what thing, exactly, Yeltsin had decided was worth risking their lives. He pushed aside several pieces of charred wood to look at what was inside.
Whatever it was looked unharmed from the fire. It was made of a hard, glassy, translucent material, colored deep black, and seemed to have unspeakable depths hidden inside. The surface was like fine crystal, but swirled as if it had been poured from the crucible to puddle on the table. Despite this, it was plain by the way the light reflected off of it that the surface of the object was clean, smooth, and unnaturally perfectly finished. As if it had manifested into the world already formed and never touched by human hands.
He reached his hand out to run a finger across it. Something inside him screamed: don't touch!
Miller flinched back, his hand drawing away. What was that? Had that been a voice in his head? No, it was just a stray thought. The superstition and mysticism getting to him.
He raised his hand again and pulled back the top of the box. The object inside was some kind of… monument? Four sided, narrow, and tapering, and capped by a pyramid. An… obelisk? Right, that was the word. There wasn't anything on the thing, it was just a giant piece of material, maybe stone or something similar. It had been wrapped in some kind of padding, but that had all burned away and rested now as wet ash running across the cargo deck. Without any support, the obelisk has shifted to rest on one edge of its base, tilted down towards the pointed tip.
Again, Miller reached out to try and touch it. But again something said to him: no! Don't touch!
He withdrew again. Stupid. It was just sailor's superstition. There was nothing dangerous about a dead piece of rock.
"Cap'n?"
Miller blinked and turned away, taking a deep breath. He hadn't realized he had been holding it. "Jorge?"
"Samuelssons' ready to take a look at the cargo, Cap'n," said Jorge. He gave Miller a strange look. "You ok there Cap'n?"
"I'm fine," said Miller. He shook his head to clear it. "A little smoke inhalation, maybe."
"You should see the Doc."
"Yeah, after this. Samuelsson, your thoughts here?"
Samuelsson looked at the obelisk, licked his lips, then began to speak uncertainly. "Well… not much we can do if it's just lying there. Let's… get it upright?"
Miller felt a shiver of apprehension run down his spine. "Yeah, sounds good. Jorge, you support the base while me an' Samuelsson lift…?"
"Sure Cap'n."
The three of them cleared a space in the remnants of the crate before Jorge moved around to stand at the wide base of the obelisk and Miller and Samuelsson went to stand at its tip. Miller took a breath and blew it out with a huff. He looked up at Samuelsson. The other man's hands were shaking.
"You good there Samuelsson?"
"Fine sir," said Samuelsson. He took another breath and wiped his hands on his overalls. "Just— just shook up from the fire sir. Always scary on a submarine."
"That it is," said Miller with a nod. He hoped it looked more confident than he felt. He looked down at the obelisk. No! Screamed the thing in his mind. Don't do it!
"Ready on three," said Miller. He crouched down next to the obelisk and held out his hands. "One, two, three!"
He and Samuelsson both touched the obelisk at the same time.
Nothing happened.
See? Superstition. They both heaved upwards, but found the obelisk surprisingly light. Miller looked over to Samuelsson over the top of the obelisk. Samuelsson's expression was unusually relieved — maybe they both were being superstitious today. Miller nodded and they both lifted, bringing the obelisk up to shoulder height, then walking towards Jorge with their hands supporting the obelisk as it rotated to the vertical. Jorge placed his hands on the face closest to him to stabilize as the obelisk hinged around its bottom edge, then finally landed on its base.
There was a sound like the knell of a bell, ringing throughout the ship and into the water around them. Miller felt his knees hit the cargo deck. He tasted blood in his mouth, felt something dripping from his ears and nose.
"It is done."
In his office in pohja-Suomi, Alderman Yeltsin heard the bell and the words. In his soul, something dark and wet unfurled, began to push through. The obelisk had needed innocent blood, sacrificed unwillingly and unknowingly. A condition that Yeltsin had despaired of ever meeting when he had been sent on his pilgrimage by the priests of the Azores. Years now, indeed decades, and he had never forgotten, remained faithful, and his patience had finally been rewarded. Three souls, their minds weak to the Master's manipulations, especially under water, away from the Sun that weakened Him, lured by misplaced trust and desperation. Finally, after all this time.
Ecstasy filled Alderman Yeltsin's body and mind as the thing used him as a conduit, sliding through in a rush of cold and wet. Like the sea in its most brutal, washing away worldly concerns. With joy in their hearts, he and the other Acolytes across the Bottom finally laid down their burdens, the world fading into brilliant motes of light their Master's grand plan was finally complete. Rapturous in His presence, they knelt down and welcomed Him to the new home they had built in His name.
This Eternal Sea.