Gillian Anderson - The Sound of Seas

“Then we should agree on what is about to transpire,” Skett said. “That is what I am looking for—more proof of all those ‘we believes.’”

“Skett?” a voice said in his phone.

“Here,” Skett replied.

“We’re ready to move on this,” Mikel informed him. “Do you know anything about that—hold on. Dr. Cummins, do you hear that?”

Skett heard a mumbled response.

“Mikel, what is it?” Skett demanded.

“I hear a sort of cooing. Definitely not a geologic sound,” Mikel said. “Skett, the thing that created this pit—could that entity still be down there?”

“It’s possible. What do you know about that?”

Mikel didn’t answer. Skett hadn’t expected him to. Always and still the careful Group agent.

“We’re setting up a rope,” Mikel said. “I’m going to keep this line open. If I need information, you will give it to me.”

“Of course,” Skett replied. “We both want the same thing. To understand.”

“I don’t believe you,” Mikel told him. “If you wanted to pool our resources, you would have done it long before this.”

“As would have Flora and her people.”

“Then you’re all stupid,” Mikel said.

“Save the editorializing, highwayman. You brought something to a city of more than eight million without vetting it, without quarantine. That, Dr. Jasso, was stupid. It caused death. Not just Arni, but Andreas Campbell, a mailman down the street. Maybe others. All I’m asking you to do is observe and report. Innocent stuff. Now, do you want to stand there and freeze or will you do what you went to the South Pole to accomplish—just for a different chief executive?”

“I’ve already agreed,” Mikel said. “Let’s get on with it.”

Skett was standing again, looking at the stone. It didn’t seem to have changed, nor had the digital numbers gone up or down on the monitor. Peripherally, he saw sudden anxiety on Flora’s face. It wasn’t just for Mikel Jasso: she was also no doubt starting to be concerned about her stone and the future of the Group. For all her faults, Flora had always been about the work.

Maybe that’s why she’s so good at this job , Skett thought. Her agenda is unbiased toward Priest or Technologist.

“I’m ready to make my descent,” Mikel said at last. “For the record—and I hope you’re keeping one—there is some kind of humming down there. It sounds almost like cooing of some kind. My companion hears it too.”

“Human?”

“Difficult to say.”

Skett motioned his head at Flora. She followed where he was pointing, saw a tablet on the table. It was the same one Arni had been using when his brain liquefied. She used it to turn on the audio recorder, to open a new file.

“I’m recording now,” Skett said. “I want to know everything.”

“You will,” Mikel replied. “Assuming that even the audio signal can get out.”

There was a low, smooth grinding sound—the winch on the truck, Skett assumed—and Mikel was quiet for another long moment. The Technologist agent noticed Flora’s breath quicken slightly. For Mikel, or for what the Technologists might be on the verge of acquiring?

Finally, the voice of the archaeologist came over the phone once more: “Beginning my descent.”

“Mother?”

Standor Qala craned her head to watch as Vilu raised his cheek from her shoulder. The boy tapped both index fingers against his temples. There was a blossoming look of wonder in the child’s face, like a baby discovering its toes for the first time.

Beside Qala, Bayarma was looking around with frank confusion. “Where—where is this?” she asked in Galderkhaani.

“Mother?” the young boy said again, in English.

“Vilu, are you all right?” Qala asked.

The boy continued tapping the area in front of his ears and smiling strangely. He was not looking at either woman but rather staring off at nothing in particular.

“Vilu!” Qala said.

The boy looked at the Standor . “I can hear you,” he replied in effortless Galderkhaani.

“Then why didn’t you answer?”

“I am. I said, ‘I can hear you!’”

“Where am I and who are you both ?” Bayarma asked. Her eyes moved to the side of the gondola. A small gasp puffed from between her lips. “I am aloft ?!”

“You are aboard my airship,” Qala answered, frowning as her eyes shifted to the woman. “Apparently, high-cloud madness has touched the two of you. You claimed to be from another time and place,” she told Bayarma, “and you,” she continued, looking at the boy, “suddenly fell unconscious in the street where Lasha and this woman found you.”

“I don’t remember,” the boy responded. Vilu looked at the other woman. His hands moved from near his ears, made little gestures the next time he spoke. He didn’t seem to notice what he was doing. “I thought—I thought that you were my mother,” he told Bayarma, then looked around. “But you aren’t. Where is she? Where am I ?” His eyes returned to Qala. “And why are you dressed like that? Halloween was weeks ago.”

Only when he said that one word, “Halloween,” in English, did the boy become frightened.

Vilu began to breathe rapidly, his hands became fists, and he looked around, unsure what to do or say next. He squirmed and pushed against the broad shoulders of the Standor . She held him firmly.

“Boy, relax yourself,” Qala told him. “You’re onboard the pride of Galderkhaan—”

“I can’t, I—I want to be home ! This… this is not a good place.”

“It’s a fine place, boy,” the Standor insisted. She stood him on the taut wicker floor of the gondola. “Youngster, you are behaving very strangely. We are going to go see the physician.”

Vilu stood there unsteadily on the gently swaying deck. He looked past the officer’s legs at the gangplank. “A doctor. My mother is a doctor,” he thought aloud. “I heard her talking about a place, about Galderkhaan.”

“You are there,” Qala said.

Vilu shook his head. “No. I am dreaming.”

“You are quite awake—”

“I can’t be here!” the boy shouted. “Something is supposed to happen.”

“A celebration,” Qala said.

Vilu looked around, as if trying to remember the something. “Why can I hear everything so clearly?” he asked.

“Perhaps you struck your head, but that is past,” Qala said.

“No, no!” Vilu insisted, his voice rising. “I can hear ! How is that possible? Where are my hearing aids?”

Once again, the Standor did not know what the boy was talking about, did not even understand the words. She turned to Bayarma, hoping to get some insight. But the Aankhaan woman seemed equally confused. Around them, great fabric hoses were being uncoiled and carried to the top of the column, to replenish the air volume with the rising heat.

“We’re on an airship !” Bayarma marveled, looking up at the great envelope. “How did I get here?”

“You had a fit in the water courtyard, you came to help look after the boy,” Qala said.

“I remember none of it!” She looked around. “I’ve never been so high!”

“Are you frightened?” Qala asked.

“No—not of this ship. I always wondered what it would be like.”

“How did you come to Falkhaan?” Qala asked.

“I left my birth mother and birth daughter and came by river to Dijokhaan, then the rest of the way by foot.”

“And the reason for your journey?

“I was selected by my caste, by lot,” Bayarma said. “I was bringing tokens blessed by Aankhaan Priests and others along the route. I had just left the amulets with the Priest Avat. I was going to say words over one of my ancestors and meet others for the celebration when—I was here.”