Chapter 13: Killer Instincts
This level was another server farm. This was operations, Curtis felt certain. What was down below in the flooded levels were then power regulators and filters and reserves. That seemed to make more sense to him now that he thought about it.
If Saarthal, as he suspected, had been the power source, then it had been compromised for some centuries. When one of the Gaulder boys was tossed in there, the draugr he had become began leeching off the power. Power to Skytemple got totally cut off over five years ago when the Dragonborn killed the draugr, and then the college hauled the big ol' glowball out of Saarthal.
Reserves below had sustained operations so far despite damages to the chamber, but energy was low. Some of the panels up here flickered erratically in contrast to others that held steady.
He was sure the level above held the sleepers. He wanted to rush upwards, but this time Baladas wasn't moving. He insisted there were patterns in the way the gems were set, and he wanted Curtis to also look in case there might be something he would recognize with his esoteric knowledge.
Damn, if he wasn't right. Rose-gold lines on yellow-gold panels. Giant circuit boards. They were bugs walking inside a giant, open computer case. This was not his specialty. He had vague ideas of what he was looking at but beyond that …
OK. The five-panel groupings around a single column of tubes. Wide, flat metal bands engraved with letters and studded with powered gems wrapped the columns. The gems were stacked in columns of five. Readout levels. Two dozen groupings, two dozen sleepers. He explained his impressions to the others.
Looking around they found one column with dead readouts. "A corpse? Let's go see," said J'zargo.
"Wait, I gotta finish mapping," said Curtis. They waited, impatient, as he plotted the positions of each grouping and painstakingly copied the letterforms. He was certain these were names.
Upstairs or up the ramp. Easier to move large objects.
The doors opened to a shallow room. In the center was another Falmer fiery sun statue.
Baladas sensed strong enchantments buried throughout room to prevent brute-force attacks, whether sledgehammer or explosive magic. He was unfamiliar with this pattern of magic and, at present, had no idea how to de-spell it. "It's nothing like the ancient Dwemer magic. I can only conclude it's strictly Falmer."
"Falmer only, huh? Wanna bet it was put in a lot later. Like, probably when relations crashed with the Dwemer. So Falmer put this in place to prevent their former friends from accessing the people inside."
"Paranoid speculation. Probably right. You're thinking like a Telvanni." Baladas touched the sun. "In which case, the magic must be carefully studied. A wrong approach could be fatal."
Curtis lingered behind as the others headed back down to study the gem boards. He ran his hands over the sun carving, searching in his mind for any "feeling" of power and only getting humming in his ears that, for all he knew, was simply the feedback squealing of tinnitus. He was feeling disappointed that he couldn't get into the final chamber.
Yeah. It was ego. Maybe special in some game god's plan, but not that special. Nah, bro, you ain't the hero. You is the hero sidekick. Yeah, that was it. He was Watson to some Sherlock who needed to get his or her ass back on board. He was the Chief Engineer of this ship, not the captain. Fine. So where's the captain? Was it the Archimage, the Dragonborn, that needed to be here?
Whatever. The job of the Chief Engineer was to keep the ship intact and ready to go when the powers-that-be got their butts aboard and started barking orders. So he'd better get back to work and start studying those over-sized circuit boards.
Nope, nope, hold up a sec. First, get crews in here to fix the plumbing. Second, clear out the debris in the lower levels. Third, get the power system running; third, make sure Baladas and Calcelmo work together with minimum gear grinding 'cuz they are the wizard bros who need to figure the magic crystal setup.
Tolfdir accepted that premise with a grim look on his face. "Pull whomever you need from the college staff to help you," he said, surprising Curtis. "I've just received this morning news that the archimage is sending a new friend of hers here. A Knight-Paladin Gelebor, an ancient Falmer alive since the late-Merethic Era.
"You're f**g sh**g me."
"I'm what? Please clarify," Tolfdir demanded in icy tones.
"Sorry," said Curtis, instantly slumping in apology. He'd since learned Tolfdir was one of those who were fussy about casual coarse swearing though he wasn't above the occasional "by Oblivion" or "damn" himself. However, a mage who couldn't control his language then had no business trying to control magic. That Curtis was not a mage made no difference. He was an accepted member of the College and therefore had to exhibit the same discipline. Curtis clarified: "I mean, this is mind-blowing news. An original Falmer? He could — Oh, wait. 'Knight-Paladin,' you said. So, not a mage. Maybe a spellsword type? You think he might know the magic used to unlock the door?"
"I don't know. Out of necessity, details were not included in the message. There are, unfortunately, many spies about. As we had warned you against putting yourself too forward, you've managed to do so anyway. Students have reported to me the many questions asked about your past.
"Yeah, I get asked a lot. But it can't all be me. The archimage is the Dragonborn, and people want to know what she's about. The Empire hasn't had a Dragonblood Emperor since Uriel Septim died. Martin Septim was his secret bastard son, and I don't know if priests of Akatosh are vowed to celibacy, but far as I know, he's not known to have any children, so that's it for the Septim line. The archimage is not a Septim, but she is Dragonborn. I'll bet most of the spies want to know what she's up to."
"Those spies we expected," said Tolfdir patiently. "It's these new ones that worry us more. We've compiled quite a bit of history about Slitter, and Councilor Adril of Raven Rock has sent us copies of official investigation records of both Mogrul and Slitter. Ask Urag if you wish to see them.
"No. These spies want to know where you get your ideas. They want to know where you learned these new theories that you teach. They want to know if you have any attachments and family. Anyone who might miss you.
"And I think we can both agree the last thing they need to find out is the existence of living Falmer and Dwemer. Any suggestions on what misinformation we can spread about your project in Skytemple?"
"A cover story, yeah, yeah. Lemmee think about that."
"Think of one quickly. And watch your back.
"But just in case you forget to, I'm assigning Apprentice Ilya to you. Please be considerate of her school schedule."
"A bodyguard? But …"
"You will accept Apprentice Ilya or I will hire a professional spellsword to act as your keeper."
"Is Ilya OK with this?"
"Her schooling is free for howsoever long she is with us. I do hope you will do nothing to endanger her scholarship."
As he left the archimage's quarters, Curtis found himself clawing at his ears again, a sure sign Slitter had been triggered. Slitter was frustrated and wanted desperately to find these spies and make minced meat of them. Curtis was so tempted to let him. "But we don't know who the spies are," he argued. "Just find one and make an example of him!" Slitter retorted. "What? And prove we have something to hide? No, no. This is shield work. Deny, deny, deny." "I don't use shields; I have a claymore," Slitter grumbled but settled back.
Curtis took some slow, deep breaths to calm his heart rate down; ramp down from a battle alert. He'd once explained his world's definition of schizophrenia, and Urag had retorted, "You're living in a haunted house, and the house is the ghost. It's one of those situations where the only way to get rid of the ghost is to burn down the building and salt the land. Impractical in your case." Hence, his recent meditation instructions with Drevin, the illusion master, to help Curtis ground himself in reality, then Colette for self-healing in an attempt to blunt Slitter's killer instincts.
The Slitter House needed a lot of internal patchworks and foundation work as far as Curtis was concerned. It was solid, sturdy, and protected him well from when facing external physical challenges. The ground, however, was crumbling, and the Dunmer building style was unfamiliar. Playing the Morrowind game gave him some clues on attitude and mannerisms, yet all he had to do for a reality check was hang out with regular Dunmer at the tavern. Inflections, body language — totally alien yet familiar in his dreams. Get drunk enough and channel through Slitter, but Slitter wasn't a great conversationalist. Any friends or acquaintances trying to talk to him would only get surly grunts back. Asked a technical question and get: "Sod off, s'wit."
Yeah. Homey don't play that.
He went looking for Colette and found her in conference with Ilya. They were having tea in Colette's room. "Oh, hey, sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt."
"Not at all, Curtis. We were discussing Ilya's schedule."
"Yeah. 'Bout that. Ilya, I'm sorry. I had no idea this was gonna happen. Look, guarding my ass doesn't have to be your problem. If it's school fees, I'll help you pay for —"
"No. I'm happy to take the job. Master Colette and I were discussing my lesson plans."
"Private lesson plans," added Colette, "that I will tailor to accommodate Ilya's learning goals and schedule."
"Yeah, but still —"
"And or the times Ilya can't be with you, we've been discussing alternates. J'zargo is fond enough of you and certainly makes time to be present for your judo classes. 'Hanging out,' as you would put it, with you would not be seen as unusual. It's expected since you two have been collaborating closely of late on your special underwater tools. As a third possibility, we think Sergeant Beck or his son, Elden. Everyone knows that Beck likes your judo classes, and he's also your regular sword sparring partner and wilderness guide when you want to go poking at mines. And Elden, well, he's clearly an admirer of yours and is eager to learn everything you can teach. If he started tagging along with you, people would naturally think you've taken him on as your apprentice.
"Oh, and stop scowling like that, Curtis. If there's any danger, Elden has been sword and knife training with his father since he could walk. He's not a helpless child. It's not unusual for Nords around here to take on adult responsibilities or even start families as young as 15. He's hunted and fought against wolves and bears and has survived battles with robbers; he was a junior guardsman before quitting to work on the Breakwater project."
"OK, OK. How 'bout you, babe? Maybe you wanna guard me sometime?"
"Very funny, Curtis. I'm not a guard."
"Lady, you is a master healer. You don't need a knife or sword. You can drop anybody just by stopping their heart or popping a blood vessel in their brain."
"It's better if our Master Healer not get comfortable in the mindset of a killer," said Ilya, frowning at him. "I'm a killer coming out the end of it. I know plenty of ways to kill, and now I'm determined to learn how to heal. Killing, if it ever becomes too easy a solution, is a hard habit to unlearn. Killing, even more than healing, is trained to be a reaction faster than thought. An impulse to happen at the merest twitch of nerves."
Curtis blinked at the almost fanatic intensity of her voice and posture.
"Ilya is learning healing to help her fellow soldiers," Colette said gently, laying a hand on Ilya's nearest arm and clearly exerting a soothing spell. "Curtis, during your fumbling explanations of the discipline you called psychiatry in your world, you mentioned post-traumatic stress disorder. Battle sickness. Ilya has said she had no problems killing, but she is aware not all her fellow soldiers felt the same. Many did so because it was war, yet the guilt, the horror eats at them."
"A killer. That wants to be a healer." Curtis looked at Ilya with some confusion.
She smiled wryly. "I know I'm a killer, and I've decided my enemy is the madness that strikes down my friends at their most vulnerable moments. That hounds them to exhaustion and madness where they can't live with others because they can't stop fighting."
Curtis abruptly smiled. "OK. I get it. I'll tell you what I know. I used to have three guys on my crews in active treatment. It's a tough challenge you're taking on, Ilya. I'll be glad to help in any way I can."
"And that is what makes you worth my efforts," said Ilya.