Chapter 10
Dear sister,
How glorious to write to you knowing that once I finish, I may close the envelope, stroll down to the docking area, deposit it in the next outgoing delivery container, and rest assured that you will hold it in your hands presently. I missed these simple pleasures!
After such a cheerful introduction, however, I must beg your forgiveness. In truth, our expedition ended yesterday evening, but I found myself so weary and confused upon our return that I could not write to you immediately. The summons of sleep proved impossible to ignore.
While yes, in truth, much has occurred since I last wrote, I remain emotionally sound (for the most part), in good health, and eager to process what I discovered. And please know that Eliniea and Irye found no signs of trouble whatsoever in the life-sustaining systems of the Spheres. (It is this discovery that put almost all the crew in a cheerier mood. I say “almost all” because I’m sad to say that Eliniea is distant, of late, and that is particularly disappointing due to—)
Well, you will read the enclosed letters and find out, so I need not reiterate!
Though this package feels like one overextended monologue, please remember that I yearn to hear anything you would like to tell me. Also, would you kindly assist me by informing Arvist that his behaviour officially enrages me? It is a bit grotesque that they claimed my bedroom, but to be honest, E., I find myself willing to part ways with it for now. It’s not as though I will come back any time soon.
Please stay strong, dear sister, and feel free to commandeer the library as your home base. He can crawl into his studio through the pipes if he must.
Yours ever so fondly,
Sophy
Dear E.,
I begin this letter in the same environment in which I finished the last – afloat in my “Bubble” after a long day and hoping that nothing untoward will glide into my dreams once I finally turn out my lights!
I have discovered much about these Bubbles since writing to you, by the way. For example, if I desire utter privacy, there is a button I may press that will shift the opacity of the shields to encase me in slumber-inducing darkness. (These shields lift on a timer, too, to ensure that my non-existent grasp on the passage of time down here does not impede our mission.) I can also adjust the temperature, which is a boon like no other since I perpetually feel too warm. How curious that is, given that the temperature of the water is near freezing! All these protective layers must be to blame. If Mother were here, she would laugh because I have not yet altered the diving gear into a fashionably cropped style as I did in my youth…
Most remarkable, however, is that the Bubbles can connect into what is for all intents and purposes a miniature version of a Sphere from the station, allowing our team to converse as a group in relative comfort and protection. I won’t bother trying to describe how it works, because I do not fully understand it myself (though Mother would, certainly), but visually speaking, the Bubbles press together and somehow fuse, creating one larger space. Eliniea demonstrated this feature later last night so we might have a chat (when she caught me spying, you know), and I thought I might return the favour this morning so we could share our breakfast as usual. As soon as I “arrived” in this fashion, Eliniea immediately abandoned her present occupation – which, my inquisitive eyes noticed, happened to be reading a letter signed “With fondness, Tevn” with the most enormous flourish – and gave me a smile fit to illuminate all the abyss.
I wish I could have spent the morning in her fine company, but our breakfast lasted only as long as it took to devour our rations. Time was of the essence – for we were to travel to the Point of Interest, where our research could begin in earnest!
So we broke off into diving pairs and commenced the journey. Irye and Vincenebras joined up again, as seems to be their wont of late. (You would not think from their Ridge Revealed interview that these two would make a good match – but somehow Irye’s sensibility and Vincenebras’ senselessness balance each other out.) I did so very much want to spend more time with Eliniea, but she insisted she must be the “odd one out”, as she has the most experience with the region. Plus, I did not want to offend my assigned diving partner, Ylaret, who seemed especially withdrawn.
It took the better part of the so-called morning to reach our destination. I noticed our arrival when my Device immediately revealed the contours of a great canyon, running even deeper than the trench into which we had initially descended. An abyss within an abyss within an abyss! (I say, cheerfully, in an attempt to quell my fears!) At the same moment, Eliniea pulsed all of us on the communicators and asked whether we would prefer to make our first survey of the canyon before or after lunch. (Can you imagine – an expedition leader who cares about the basic human needs of her colleagues? You can tell she is from Intertidal.)
I shall not bore you by describing our work for the rest of the day – besides the fact that we swam into the most unreachable place on the planet, you would find our discoveries unremarkable. O, but you would appreciate the series of spectacular illuminated specimen photographs that Niea took with that marvel of a camera. Her artistic skill makes even the most horrific deep-sea beasts seem sensitive and stately. Imagine how much underwater photography will transform your friend Scholar Clel’s Natural History practice when these cameras are available more widely!
For your benefit, I will summarise my own cartographical findings in one sentence: “The canyon is very deep.” So deep, in fact, that I doubt we will be able to reach its lowest point without a depth-craft – there may be limits, after all, to the pressure our suits can withstand! I will propose to the Department that we invest in a surveying automaton capable of enduring the journey to get a sense of how far down it goes.
Before we separated for the night, I noticed Ylaret gesturing to Eliniea, who joined her in retreating to a metaphorical “corner” (otherwise known as a slightly further-away patch of endless empty water) to talk. One does not eavesdrop on private communicator channels, of course, but I do wonder what they discussed. I hope I have not offended Ylaret in some way! I shall have to make a more concerted effort to socialise with her tomorrow.
Sophy
Dear E.,
We “settled in”, so to speak, at the Point of Interest, and I promptly neglected to add to this extensive letter! For efficiency’s sake, I will now share only the highlights of today – as though they were pearls I’ve plucked from the seafloor.
Pearl #1: Well, I’ve picked a poor “pearl” to begin with – I suppose this is more of a grain of sand frustrating the oyster-bed of my mind. I awoke feeling resolute, ready to uncover the secrets of the canyon and my diving partner’s taciturn turn. Who could imagine that the former would be easier than the latter?
Upon entering the water, I greeted Ylaret with as much of a smile as one can project through a diving helmet and asked how her research fared. In return, she offered me a few indistinguishable mumbles about stars and seas. Alas – no significant success here. But I did make an effort!
Pearl #2: Around mid-morning, the five of us descended about five fathoms into the canyon, claiming a small outcropping as the temporary centre of our operations. While gathering any number of geological samples from the ridge’s wall, Niea spied what looked like a sea of luminescent spheres below us – flashing and fluttering at intervals in purple, blue, yellow, and red, as though a swarm of stars swam beneath our very feet (or fins, I should say!). Niea asked if anyone among us wished to accompany her as she observed the creatures at close range. I responded with great enthusiasm, while everyone else claimed they were far too busy with their own assessments and observations. I imagine that you can hardly believe their reticence – indeed, who could resist the wonder of encountering an unknown species in the company of one of the foremost Scholars of Life? – but I assure you, E., that the average Scholar in the field often becomes so fixated upon their present project that the thought of any “distraction” that does not serve their Thesis seems absolutely repulsive.
We spoke little while swimming closer, as Niea feared that the vibrations of our communicators might alarm the creatures. At one point, we observed that this “school” of unidentified beings was, in fact, drawing nearer to us just as we approached them. Niea flicked her wrist in that most essential Diverspeak gesture, known to novices and experts alike – Stop here. I trailed her to the side of the canyon wall, pressing up against it while I treaded water to keep myself in place, and followed her lead as she switched on the smallest and most delicate of lights available on our helmets. The thin beams illuminated just the slightest of cracks in the darkness – but that was light enough for us to see something.
And what we saw was quite the opposite of what I expected.
For even through this fragmented, obfuscated view, I realised that we had not encountered a flock of tiny, glowing creatures, but a single, massive beast, speckled all over with an ethereally precise array of lights. These lights covered tentacles each about as long as our dear Deep House is tall, and the eerie appendages attached to a hulking body unlike any I had ever seen before. Its glowing eye, dear E., possessed a circumference greater than the sum of mine and Niea’s heights together.
Suitably convinced that mere shrimp of our size stood no chance of alarming such a behemoth, I dared to flick on my communicator and ask Niea what manner of creature we had encountered. A Colossal Squid, perhaps?
The creature’s multi-hued luminescence reflected off Niea’s helmet, making the glitter of delight in her brown eyes all the more radiant.
“It is a sort of Nautilus, Sophy! Do you see the chamber?” She gestured towards the bulk at the back of the creature – the protective shell that it carries. (In a way, it rather reminds me of us and our Bubbles!)
“I did not know that a Nautilus could grow larger than a Chancellor’s ego,” I said, simply because I knew not what else to say. “It is breathtaking.”
For a moment, her eyes turned away from the creature – and the viewfinder of her camera – to pause on me.
“Your curiosity and courage astound me, Sophy.”
“Do you mean to say,” I blustered, struggling as ever to take a compliment, “that we were in danger today? I never would have imagined it!”
As the creature continued its journey through the canyon, Niea began to paddle after it, seemingly half-drunk with Scholarly joy.
“I have never seen anything like it!” Her voice echoed in my ears, warm enough to raise even these extreme water temperatures. “When we came down here for the very first time, I never saw—”
I am quite sure she said “we”, by the way, which confused me, because it sounded as though she was talking about her initial solo trip to the Ridge before the Spheres were built – but one never knows the sonic tricks that a Communicator might play. At any rate, Niea’s musings were soon cut short by the sudden broadcast of Vincenebras’ loudest shriek into our ears.
“By the WAVES, ladies!” he screamed into the communicator. “Why did you send that monster our way? Call it back immediately!”
The Nautilus – fortunately undisturbed by our technology – continued its slow ascent without even casting a colossal eye in Vincenebras’ direction. As its luminescence flickered into the distant darkness, I marvelled at how insignificant I am within this vast Ocean.
Pearl #3: You would think that such an encounter would have been the highlight of my day – not so!
When our team reunited at the outcropping and began to make our way out of the canyon (the Nautilus long gone – to Vincenebras’ great relief), Niea and I lagged behind.
“So, how does it feel to be the first to see this colossal creature?” I asked her. “Surely the Chancellors will be delighted!”
“Perhaps,” she replied, her furrowed brow obvious even through the helmet. “This camera is ineffective.”
“But it is the very height of modern innovation!”
“And this Nautilus is beyond modern innovation. The device is intended for capturing images of small creatures at a close range. Nothing of this scale. Certainly, I must obtain some manner of additional proof if I hope to convince the Chancellor of the Nautilus’ existence. To make it ‘real’, you know. Yet I hardly know if it’s territorial, or simply wandering through the area, or if others might live nearby.”
“What a task it is to prove the existence of something you clearly witnessed with your own eyes,” I observed. (How odd for me to say something so – well, anti-Academic!)
“That sounds just like Tev,” whispered Niea, so softly that I almost did not know if she had spoken or if the communicator was encountering unexpected static.
“Tev?” I clarified, trying my hardest not to let the wistful nostalgia in her voice lead me into unfounded jealousy.
“O, my former colleague, of course,” said Niea. Then she grinned. “Nobody of amorous significance, Scholar Cidnosin. I assure you that he is not my sort.”
My breath hitched. Though I live by the rules of decorum, something about hearing Niea say my formal title for the first time, even in jest, was – especially intimate. “And, if I may ask – what is your ‘sort’, Scholar Forghe?”
She peered down at me with an unexpected confidence that made me feel dizzy.
“Do you really not know?” she murmured, before immediately seeming to short-circuit with anxiety and swimming away from me at high speed.
We have not had a moment alone since, but I caught her glancing at me on several occasions as we dined with our colleagues this evening. Too giddy to write further!
S.
Dearest E.,
Tonight, I hope, will be the last time I write to you from a Bubble for the foreseeable future. It has been a strange end to our journey, and I almost do not wish to record it. The frivolous delight of my past letter seems so alien to me today. Perhaps we are all simply too tired.
After yesterday’s—exchange—I greatly anticipated a private breakfast with Niea. You can imagine my disappointment when I overslept (can I truly be blamed when there is no sunlight and setting the timer for the shades is so easy to forget?) to find her already with Ylaret. When I pulled my Bubble closer to join them, they stopped talking immediately. Niea smiled, as though relieved to see me; Ylaret appeared as distant as she has been since we left the Spheres.
“Good morning – well, arbitrarily-determined-start-of-the-day, Sophy!” Niea chirped, though her voice sparkled less than usual. “I was just about to summon you. I shall pulse Irye and Vincenebras so we may all speak together.”
When those two arrived – their Bubbles already connected, as they seemed to have been enjoying a spirited morning debate – Niea gazed at us with an undecipherable expression. Was it a smile that hadn’t risen high enough on her face, or a frown in disguise?
“First of all, my friends, I would like to commend your excellent work,” she said, nodding at each crew member in turn. “Yet I know this unpredictable way of living has been difficult for each of us. You will be relieved, I hope, to learn that we will begin our return journey to the Spheres today.”
A mild uproar ensued out of Scholarly politeness – all of us saying Certainly we can endure another day? and O, but there is so much work to be done! – but we did not protest too much. How comfortable and safe the Spheres seemed after several days drifting in the void!
To my continued disappointment, Niea subsequently announced that she would pair up with Ylaret for the return journey, leaving me as the unwelcome third party to the dynamic duo of Irye and Vincenebras.
“Dear Irye,” asked Vincenebras as soon as I paddled over, “as a Scholar of Sound, have you ever quantified that which makes any particular noise most irritating?”
“Not yet, dear Vincenebras, but if you would be kind enough to continue talking, I may be able to complete this groundbreaking work as you speak!”
At the very least, their incessant chatter ensured that I did not ever need to contribute anything more than the occasional “You don’t say?”
When we stopped for the night, Niea bowed out of a shared meal, claiming that she had too many reports to prepare in advance of our return. I agonised for hours afterwards, wondering if it would seem inappropriate to speak plainly to her about her sudden change in mood.
I determined that it would seem inappropriate, and yet I did it anyway.
When I pulsed her communicator, she answered with the same forced cheer she had been maintaining all day – which made her voice sound five times higher than its usual pitch.
“It is me,” I said, trying to keep my voice at its normal tone. “I wanted to see if there was anything amiss, Eliniea. Did I offend you yesterday? If there is any way in which I might help you, I would be glad to know.”
“You are generous as always, Sophy,” she said, with a non-negligible amount of her usual warmth. “And I am grateful for you, as I always am. In more ways than you know. Yet I fear it was imprudent of me to speak so informally to you yesterday. But that is little offence compared to dragging you to see that creature, when you did not realise the potential risk involved.”
“You said yourself that I am courageous, no?” said I. “I am also a Scholar, equipped with as many years of experience as you. I consider myself capable of assessing risks and acting accordingly. You did nothing wrong!”
“But you cannot even imagine the dangers of this place! And after what happened with…” She paused, and when she began to speak again, her voice had softened. “My—experience—with you, Sophy, has been like no other. Sometimes it heartens me to dream of how we may become better acquainted once we return to the surface. At the moment, however, I live in fear that all of us may fall into terrible peril. It is imperative that I focus my energy upon preserving our mission and your safety. I apologise, I really do. You know not how—”
Embarrassed by her communicator-distorted sob, I quickly cut in.
“Is there nothing I may do for you, Niea? Nothing at all? Name any task, and I will do my best to make it so.”
It took what felt like several long minutes for her to respond.
“If this makes you uncomfortable, you may certainly decline, but I wonder – would you leave your communicator active tonight? Simply so I may hear that someone is there? It is a silly thing, to be sure, but I would appreciate the companionship.”
I assented, she bade me good night, and I have lain here for an indeterminate amount of time listening to her breathing echoing in my ears.
It is so painfully clear that Eliniea bears some burden – from her past expedition, that first foray into the depths? – that she dares not reveal to the rest of us. I know she made that initial voyage all alone – and in relative secret, because the Chancellors did not wish the broader campus to know too much about this project until its success was confirmed – and being by one’s self down here must have been a challenge like no other. Yet I so wish to help her! And, more shamefully still, there is a part of me that wishes fervently that such help were not necessary – that we had simply met as others do above the surface, in a library or Debate Society presentation or in a crowded refectory – and could enjoy getting to know each other without the perils of the deep sea coming between us.
O, my dear E., how I miss you.
S.
Long-missed sister,
Hello again! O, it is such a relief to know that you are safely back at your Spheres and no longer wandering the great unknown…
… but I must admit it surprised me to read how truly tame your mission was! Your Device picked up nothing untoward or mysterious; your encounter with a monster beyond my wildest imaginings ended in flirtation; and the most sinister force at play was some briefly flickering lights at the Spheres!
(Those preceding sentences were my attempt at both bleak humour and reassurance – if I convince myself nothing went amiss during your expedition, then that will become the truth, won’t it?)
I am sorry to hear of Niea’s woes, and sorry for you – someone who seeks so desperately to help her. The warning Niea gave you – that she did not wish to burden you, or endanger you, or overtax you with her strife – reminds me immensely of what I have said to you on past occasions. I do not fully know of what I speak, but I do know how it feels to be overwhelmed with worry about the safety of those around me.
If I might be so bold as to offer further remarks on the topic of Scholar Forghe, it seems relevant to remember that though she is your peer in practice, her additional experience with the deep ocean might make her feel as though all responsibility falls squarely on her shoulders and no one else’s. Consequently, though you think you have not helped her, perhaps the mere reminder that she is not alone assisted her in ways you cannot yet see.
Of course you are better versed in that esoteric vocabulary of human relationships than I. Please disregard everything I wrote!
I will not speak of Arvist and his antics, to spare you further strife, but please know that if I had even an inkling of hope that you would be returning home, I would summon an unprecedented fury from who knows where and eject him from your chamber immediately! Until then, I will remain – unfortunately – my feeble and non-confrontational self, content to let Arvist do whatever he wishes with the Structure while I stay confined to my room for the most part. I reclaimed the dining room, however, and can endure sitting across from him over a meal if necessary. Yesterday he babbled on and on about how the rescheduled School of Inspiration Gala had been cancelled again, and that he must do something, and—I rather ignored the rest, I fear. How tragic for Arvist! And how tragic for me – because at least the accursed gala would have lured him out of the house for an evening!
I hope to find you in better spirits in your next letter. Have I mentioned that I am very relieved you are safe?
Gratefully,
E.
P.S. Because I know this will brighten your day like nothing else – I do continue to write to Schr Clel. In fact, I await his next letter as we speak. (That is quite a significant change from my previous attitude, as I used to assume by default that he would never respond to me again.)
Dear Sophy,
I thought that the episode with the Nautilus would have been the cause of the most intense emotional reaction I experienced while reading this set of letters – and yet both Reiv and I have been – I hesitate to admit this – practically weeping over the tense conclusion of your emotional arc with Niea. (Yes, I have taken up the habit of reading particularly engaging passages to my husband from time to time. He sends his regards, by the way. I think he is very happy that I have a “project”.)
There is so much more to say, and I can hardly think how to express it adequately. I suspect this was a bit of jesting banter, but in case it was not – would you truly like to meet up, at the papercraft marketplace or otherwise? My only obligation this week is a flexible research cruise and Reiv finds himself with a rare “free day”. I would not mind making a short detour to any anchorage of your choice at Boundless!
Tomorrow?
V.
Dear Vyerin,
I accept! I do so like thematic relevance, so if it is indeed not too much trouble for you and your husband to come to our part of the world for the market (how lucky we are to have those high-speed vessels these days!), we shall meet you there tomorrow – say, eleven bells in the morning?
Perhaps it will comfort you and Reiv to see Niea alive, well, and happily married to me – our past troubles long passed (for the most part).
When I read your letters, it often occurs to me how little I know of you – what your voice sounds like, the expressions you tend to make, and even what sort of clothes you like to wear! I look forward to making your acquaintance (what a funny thing to say to someone who knows one’s life so well).
Until tomorrow,
Sophy