Decrypted Read online

  “It looks like it was made for hunting people,” Rias had said in a note. He hadn’t been by for a while, but he’d sent encrypted messages almost every day. She’d come to look forward to receiving them, like one might anticipate love letters, albeit these “love letters” focused on ancient mysteries, modern bureaucrats, and pesky telepaths showing up at his shipyard.

  “My people have never hunted human beings,” Tikaya had written back, though not with the same certainty she would have felt a few weeks earlier.

  Rias hadn’t brought it up again. Subsequent notes had detailed the progress he was making with the submarine-that-looks-like-a-surface-ship. He’d mentioned little of troubles, but Tikaya sensed he was leaving things out. One day, he’d informed her that he’d switched to living aboard the ship. That same day, a colleague at the Polytechnic had shown her a newspaper that mentioned a fire at the Pragmatic Mate.

  More than once Tikaya had thought of bringing the arrowhead to the Polytechnic or the archaeology museum to seek out physical specimens to compare it to, but she’d had little time for extracurricular activities. After leaning on the police to get her back at work, Dean Teailat had been keeping her busy from dawn to dusk—often later—every day. Her colleagues were not only studying the sphere and the ancient language held within but deciding what to do with the information. Should it be locked away or shared openly in hopes of furthering man’s understanding of nature and the world? As much as Tikaya wanted to be out helping Rias, and delving deeper into their subaquatic mystery, she couldn’t walk away from the decision-making process when it came to that alien technology. Her colleagues hadn’t seen the horrible things it could do, and too many of them were leaning toward publicizing their notes and inviting experts from around the world to study them.

  Tikaya pushed away the thoughts; she’d been worrying about the technology at work all day. This was the time she’d set aside to study her and Rias’s mystery. She’d best make use of it. Iweue had sent the energy source to the shipyard a couple of days earlier and, in his last note, Rias had alluded to a maiden voyage. Tikaya wanted to have as much information as possible for him when the submarine was ready, even though she worried about what they might find out there, or more precisely that they might dig up something that would mean she was no longer welcome in Kyatt. She bent back over her work, refusing to grow weepy-eyed thinking about being exiled and never seeing her family again.

  Just as Tikaya finally found a pen, a knock sounded at the door.

  Tikaya pushed a few papers over the Turgonian journal and propped a history book in front of the skull. “Come in.”

  Her cousin Aeli sauntered into the room, a letter clasped her in hand. She wore a flowing ankle-length skirt—one might have called it modest—with a sleeveless top that left everything except her breasts bare—definitely not modest. Tikaya had confirmed that the adulterous Komitopis who’d been the love interest in the Turgonian’s journal was indeed Aeli’s ancestor. Who knew such tendencies would breed true through the centuries?

  “Thank you for coming, Aeli,” Tikaya said after her cousin flopped down on the bed.

  “But of course. You don’t often ask for my help. In fact, you never have. I can only assume you’re seeking advice in regard to your relationship with your strapping Turgonian.”

  Tikaya had been on her way over to shut the door, and she almost tripped and used her face to do the task. “My what?”

  “Your relationship. You know what an expert I am on matters such as pleasing a man in the bedroom. Or on the beach. Or in the waves. Wherever you choose, though knowing what a prude you are, I imagine a bed is involved. Likely with little ruffling of the sheets.”

  “Aeli!” Tikaya shut the door with a bang. She’d intended to close it to keep the discussion quiet anyway, but this was a topic she was even more certain she didn’t want escaping into the hall.

  “You’ve found yourself a handsome stud, one most certainly accustomed to less... cerebral mates, and you’re worried that he’ll grow bored with you. Or perhaps he already is.” Aeli patted the bed. “Come, I have all sorts of suggestions that you can try.”

  Cheeks flaming, Tikaya stalked over to the desk and pushed aside the book hiding the skull. “I asked you here about this.”

  Aeli’s lips moved a few times before she managed to say, “That?”

  “And this.” Tikaya held the arrowhead up to the window—the sun was dipping toward the horizon, but enough light remained to highlight the obsidian. “Despite your unambitious secretarial status of late, you did study anthropology at the Polytechnic, and, as I recall, your thesis was on mental science dating methods for fossils, artifacts, and rocks to determine the time periods of past geological events.”

  Aeli’s eyelashes fluttered a few times. “That was the exact name of my paper. You read it?”

  “You’re my cousin, and it’s in my field. Of course I read it. I thought you’d go on to study with—” Tikaya shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not comfortable going to my usual sources at the Polytechnic right now, so I’d appreciate it if you could date these items for me. I believe they’re from the earliest years of our colonization, but the popularity of historical artifacts amongst collectors of late has caused some unscrupulous sorts to learn how to create—and sell—plausible fakes.” Not to mention the dubious career of for-profit relic raiding that had grown up in the last generation.

  “All right.” Aeli held out her hand. “Let me see the arrowhead first. That—” she tilted her chin at the skull, the hole in the cranium clearly visible, “—is ghastly.”

  “Then I’ll wait until after you’ve finished to mention where we found the arrowhead.”

  Aeli’s lip curled, but she wrapped her fingers around the artifact and closed her eyes. Tikaya caught herself bouncing from foot-to-foot and forced herself to sit down at the desk. She’d seen other practitioners date items and knew it would take time. Also, Aeli had trained predominantly in telekinesis, not Seeing, so it’d take her even longer. At least she seemed to remember how to apply the Science. The last Tikaya had heard of Aeli using her skills, it had been to cause the seams and belts of handsome young Polytechnic students to fail at inopportune times. That had been two years earlier and had resulted in Aeli losing her job and being encouraged to enroll in counseling for her addiction to “wanton living,” as the student newspaper had called it.

  A while later, Aeli said, “Your estimate is correct.”

  Tikaya had resumed compiling her notes, but she dropped her pen and spun around in her chair. Beads of sweat moistened her cousin’s brow, and her freckled face had grown pale. Tikaya handed her a glass of tea Mother had brought by earlier. Aeli guzzled it.

  “I’d say this was made within months of the original landing,” she said. “I can’t tell if it was before or after, but obsidian implies island origins.”

  “Thank you. Did you get... anything else from it?” Some seers could sense how an object had been crafted and used, though Tikaya didn’t know if her cousin’s skills were that well developed.

  “I saw that.” Aeli scowled at the hole in the skull. “The moment of impact. Then darkness. Ages of darkness.”

  Tikaya leaned forward. “You saw the arrow kill that man?”

  “It wasn’t a man. It was a woman. And Tikaya?” Aeli collapsed fully onto the bed.

  “Yes?”

  “I hope you like mysteries, because it looked like a Nurian.”

  Tikaya leaned back in her chair. “Turgonian, I’m guessing.”

  “No, she was darker skinned and shorter and—”

  “Thirty-odd generations ago, which is where we’re placing that arrowhead, the Turgonians basically were Nurians. They spent the next seven-hundred years interbreeding with the taller pale-skinned natives of their current continent.”

  “Oh. Huh.” Aeli sat up. “I guess that’s right.”

  “Could you tell...” Tikaya wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer to the next question, but pu
shed on anyway. “Could you tell who shot the arrow?”

  “No. The only aura around it that I sensed was the impact point. That was vivid. I could almost feel the crunch of stone piercing flesh and bone.” Aeli shuddered and set the arrowhead on the desk. “Really, Tikaya, I would have much preferred it if you’d wanted advice on creative ways to please a man.”

  “Maybe next time.” Tikaya tapped a fingernail on the arrowhead. “So, the Turgonians were here seven hundred years ago.”

  “And we were shooting them. How odd. I wonder what it was all about.”

  “We don’t know for certain that one of our Kyattese ancestors fired the arrow,” Tikaya said.

  “Who else would have been around and knapping obsidian arrowheads back then? The Turgonians were using copper or iron for weapons, weren’t they?”

  “Yes, but it’s possible they ran low on supplies and had to make do with what was here. Maybe this was some squabble between crews on their own ships and had nothing to do with our people.”

  “It seems more likely that the Turgonians tried to start their conquering and invading earlier than the history books say, and that our people drove them off to defend their new home.”

  “If that’s so, why isn’t it mentioned in our history books?” Tikaya asked. “And why were our ancestors shooting women?”

  “The Nurians have female warriors. Maybe the Turgonians did too back then.”

  Tikaya decided not to argue further. She didn’t yet have enough evidence to posit a different hypothesis. Besides, the hypothesis creeping into her mind wouldn’t be a popular one if it proved true.

  Paper crinkled. “I almost forgot,” Aeli said. “This letter’s for you. Aunt Mela told me to bring it up.”

  Tikaya recognized Rias’s writing on the address. “It’s been opened,” she said when she accepted it.

  “Has it? Huh.” Some of Aeli’s paleness had faded, and she winked.

  “Did you find it entertaining reading?” Before looking, Tikaya knew it was encrypted, as all of Rias’s messages had been thus far.

  “I found it a bunch of gobbledegook. When I first saw the man, I couldn’t believe he’d be interested in you...”

  “Thanks.”

  “...but if he encrypts his love letters, perhaps you’re made for each other.”

  “Someone finally noticed. Could you tell Father and Grandpa?”

  “I will if you read it to me.” Aeli wriggled her eyebrows.

  “You’d be bored. They’re not about ruffling sheets.” Tikaya unfolded the page and started replacing the substitution letters in her head. “He’s just checking on me and asking about the family.”

  “I don’t believe you. That sounds far too boring to bother encrypting.”

  There were a few inquiries about their mystery too, but Tikaya didn’t mention that. “Oh, here’s some fodder for your lusty imagination.” Tikaya grinned as she summarized. “He says he’s looking forward to once again calculating the coefficient of friction with me once all this is resolved.”

  “Calculating the what of the what?”

  “The coefficient of friction. You know, in math. It describes the ratio of force of friction between two bodies and the force pressing them to...” Tikaya sighed at her cousin’s blank expression. Of all the people who shouldn’t miss an innuendo. “Never mind.”

  Aeli flopped back onto the bed again, her skirt flapping. “You are made for each other. Unbelievable.”

  Tikaya decoded the rest of the note. “Oh. He wants me to come to the docks at sunset. His ship is ready to sail. Already? I can’t believe it. I’ve barely seen any of—” Tikaya ran to the window. The sun was already setting. “Why didn’t you give me this earlier?”

  “No need to thank me for examining your arrowhead. I’ll just leave you to dress in something appropriate for an evening out. Hint: that—” Aeli pointed at Tikaya’s ankle-length skirt, “—is not it.” She ducked through the doorway, perhaps anticipating a pillow being hurled after her.

  As if Tikaya were that juvenile. She threw her pen.

  “Thank you,” she called out the window as Aeli bicycled away.

  Then she hustled to gather a few notes and hide what work she intended to leave behind. If Rias was ready to sail, and had indeed crafted a vessel that could investigate the ocean’s secrets, maybe Tikaya would finally have a chance to stop guessing at this mystery and to find some answers.

  • • •

  By the time Tikaya reached the quay, the sun had fully melted into the ocean, emblazoning the western sky with reds and oranges. A woman in a city worker’s short-sleeve blouse and skirt moved from lamppost to lamppost, filling reservoirs with fresh whale oil and tapers, then setting them to light.

  Tikaya’s bicycle tires bumped along the wooden boardwalk as she peddled toward Shipyard 4. She had to weave past groups of students and numerous couples strolling hand-in-hand. At first, she thought everyone was simply out enjoying the sunset, but there were a lot of people for that. Drum and conch-shell tunes drifted from somewhere ahead.

  Trying to recall if she’d forgotten some festival, Tikaya slowed as she approached the shipyard. Dozens of lamps and torches had been lit around it and the adjacent dock, pushing back the approaching evening. Numerous people milled in the area, forcing her to leave the bicycle parked several docks away. Tikaya didn’t see many Kyattese in the crowd. The multicultural group included more than a few Turgonians, though, not only ex-soldiers but women and children as well. A Turgonian carrying a bulging toolbox and wearing a bristling tool belt ambled past, flashing a gap-toothed smile at Tikaya. Another helper Rias had recruited?

  As she walked closer, she realized the music was coming from the dock beside the shipyard. The scent of grilling seafood and pork wafted to her nose as well.

  Rias had planned a party? A launch party? That wasn’t exactly the way to keep away people who might notice his steamer had the ability to turn into a submarine...

  “Pardon me,” Tikaya said as she slipped around and between groups of people, suffering more than one clunk in the ribs from elbows involved in excited gestures. The smell of spiced rum reached her nose—more than one person carried kitschy coconut mugs as well as skewers of shrimp and pork. “May I pass, please?” Tikaya asked when she reached a thick knot of people. The docks left little room for slipping past congregating crowds. “I have a... I know the...” What would Rias call himself? “I have an appointment with the captain.”

  Between the music and dozens of conversations, nobody heard or noticed her. She cleared her throat to try again, but a familiar head appeared above the crowd. People stepped aside, making room for Rias. Naturally. Unlike her, he had all that formidable Turgonian brawn along with his height. Though the clothing he wore made him appear less formidable than usual... Dear Akahe, she hoped that Ell had picked out that hibiscus-dyed shirt and that he hadn’t chosen it for himself. She intended to look into his eyes and ask if this outfit was part of a master plan or simply an unpleasant accident, but her gaze snagged at his chin. In the days since she’d last seen him, Rias had started growing a beard. More of a goatee, she decided. It was in the incipient stage, but his black hair made it stand out.

  “What do you think?” Rias stopped in front of her and took her hand.

  His presence created an insulating bubble, and people eased away from Tikaya. “I don’t know,” she said. “I have to get used to it. It’s, uhm...” She lifted her fingers and stroked his chin. “Kind of bristly.”

  The corner of Rias’s mouth lifted in a wry half smile. “I meant the Freedom. Our ship.” He lifted an arm toward the berth at the end of the dock.

  “Oh.” Tikaya dropped her hand, aware of chuckles and shared nods on either side of her. Who were these people? “I haven’t had a look yet. There’s a crowd all the way back to Dock 58.”

  Rias chuckled, though the mirth didn’t reach his eyes. There was a tightness about their corners and a tension in his posture. Because of the party? All of the
people swarming about? “When Milvet asked if he could invite the families of the workers for a celebration, I was imagining a small gathering. Certainly not anything that included a music troupe.” Rias shrugged and led her the rest of the way down the dock.

  When they reached the end, the Freedom came into view, and Tikaya halted to gawk. There was no sign of the rusted wreck from three weeks earlier. The dark gray ship that floated in the berth was...

  Sleek. That was the word that popped into her mind. Like a dart. No, a javelin. An arrow-shaped deck comprised the back half, while ladders in the middle led up to a wheelhouse and down to a cabin. A man wielding a spatula worked a portable grill set up on deck next to the music troupe. The entertainers left little room for much else. Tikaya guessed the entire vessel was only meant to carry four people. Her gaze roved fore and aft as she tried to figure out how it might become a submarine. For that matter, how would it sail? She’d assumed he’d build a steamer, even if it was a fake steamer, but the sleek craft lacked a smokestack. Maybe that hadn’t been necessary with the energy supply.

  “What do you think?” Rias bit his lip.

  “It’s fantastic,” Tikaya said, realizing he was watching her, holding his breath it seemed as he awaited her response. “I never thought I’d say this about a mode of transportation, but it’s quite handsome.”

  She’d never seen Rias smile so widely. The warmth in his eyes stole the strength from her knees, and she swallowed, more than a little effected by the fact that her praise meant so much to him.

  Tikaya leaned over the edge of the deck, trying to peer through the water toward the craft’s aft end. “What sort of propulsion does it have?”

  Rias’s smile beamed even brighter at this display of interest. “A screw propeller system much like we—the empire—uses on ice breaking ships. Compact and powerful, capable of...”

  When he stopped speaking, Tikaya followed his gaze to the companionway leading to the sunken cabin. A string of blond-haired men and women strode onto the deck, speaking rapidly and gesticulating to each other as they maneuvered past the entertainers and toward the gangplank. Tikaya recognized most of the faces. Five were on the faculty at the Polytechnic, mathematics and engineering professors, and from the toolkit the last man carried, she guessed him a shipwright or some sort of naval expert. If anyone could suss out the fact that this was a submarine in disguise, that group could.