Chapter 33: Busy Work

Curtis added extra honey to his coffee before sitting to review his new little tribe of Dwemer and Snowmer.

dead male - Igrend Nodrunz, first engineer, Fal'Zhardum Din
male - Agrund Ychonard, energy physics, Nchuand-Zel
male - Gourd Djuhretz, tonal composition analytics, Alftand
male - Jalen Kolzarf, 2nd engineer, Raldbthar
male - Amgar Manzcharn, energy physics, Mzinchaleft
female - Tazval Stumorn, automaton programmer, Alftand
female - Irdal Mharach, tonal analytics, Nchardak
female - Drilira Jhodlin, phase shift sciences, Bthar-zel

male - Balvus Antan, Pathfinder/1st navigator, Anthor/Eastern Gate
male - Sidanyis Fortan, pattern analytics, Saarthal
male - Sidabor Vrannoth, pattern analytics, Minetaroth Hills
male - Harvus Orborin, time relativity, Saarthal
female - Lesshan Yrevarys's, 2nd Navigator, Sacred Vale/Western Gate
female - Kineher Yreloth, Long-range scan & analytics, Sacred Vale/Western Gate (& Gaulder's grandmother-in-law)
female - Gwenlenor Yresaris, fractal analytics, Anthor/Eastern Gate
female - Shivhis Harborin, 3rd Navigator, Caerloth Hills

All crewmembers were in their prime, masters of their fields of study. Great. He'd the Mensa group of their races, and here he was, the average IQ mutt who was supposed to be leading them. But, as Colette was fond of saying, his ego was a master at compensating for any mental shortcomings.

He sighed. Well, so much for being "just" the chief engineer. He'd really, really, really hoped there was a missing captain who just needed to get here and get his/her into the program. Who knew he'd turn out to be the AWOL officer? Figures. Get your brains blown out, take a few thousand years to pull it together, and then get hijacked back. As one of his brother's favorite necromancer shirts proclaimed: Reduce, Reuse, Reanimate!

Projects, projects, projects. Number One: get these people to the Snowmer's Sacred Vale located somewhere in the High Rock Mountains. Number Two: lock the place down (somehow!). Number Three: check to see if the machines beneath Mournhold were still functional. Easy, right? He should be able to do something before he died of old age in, oh, say, the remaining 200 to 300 years of his life, right? Provided no one else shanks him again in this world.

Knocking on his door.

"Come in."

Ilya came in. "I need to leave for a while," she announced. "I just got a request from my ex-unit commander Hrafnhildr in Windhelm. She and the rest of my old unit were assigned as guards to Lord Sadri. Ceremonial until assassins tried to kill Sadri. She's asked for my help since it looks like magic's involved and she thinks I might be able to help since I've gone over to being a magic user.

"Normally, I'd turn her down and tell her to swallow her pride and ask the Gray Guard mages for help, and I may still tell her to do that, but the assassins killed Gunnar. He was a Great War veteran, trained most of us in the unit. A lot of what I'm learning here was because of him, for warriors like him. I want those bastards who got him."

"You do what you gotta do, Ilya. Give me a shout-out if you need help and I'll come running."

"Thank you, ser. But I won't know until I get there and hear what's going on."

More knocking. It was Taliesin and Severus. They were also heading back to Windhelm for the same reason. Also news: there was actually a Greybeard in Windhelm who wanted to meet Severus.

"Aw, man. I'd love to go with you guys if I didn't have so much to do here. A Greybeard? That's — Oh, hey, hey, that gives me an idea! This is as good as any. Ilya, tell me, what's one of the most important things a good unit needs for basic operation?"

She scowled as she tried to anticipate in what strange way her fey charge was moving towards.

"Leadership? A clear plan? Information? Skills? Courage?" she hazarded.

"I'm thinking communication," he answered. He got up and went over to the wall of shelves loaded with square baskets and took down a basket was labeled: "Comm. Gems." It had scrolls and boxes in it.

"We Dwemer had, I mean, they had that inborn talking thing. Not quite that magic-assist telepathy like the Psijic's practice, not that mind-melding stuff. We — they had that delusion-type thing where you hear voices that have no tones. Anyway, because they did, they never really developed radio or any type of telecomm devices between people. Between machines, yeah, but not people. Weird." He brought the basket back to his desk and shoved aside the rolled papers to pull out small bags.

"I started working on this after I got back from being kidnapped, so we can talk to teams underwater. So far, it's only good for receiving. I mean, even Argonians need air to talk and they never really developed the right vocals for water. Well, they can growl and click subsonically like crocodiles, but they tell me there's no formalized common code language worked out for that." He took out a device and fitted it to a patient Ilya.

"This piece," he tapped the first piece — a curved bonemold piece that went over the top of her head with flat, round ends that rested against the bony area just in front of her ears, thin metal antenna stuck up from the flat ends, the second piece was a tight headband that pressed the flat ends of the first piece tighter against bone, "has crystals in the flat end. It's a receiver. The crystals vibrate when it receives signals. Now you're hearing. This is what's called bone conduction. I mean, this is how you normally hear when you're underwater. Bone conduction. Because normal hearing is air conduction, meaning sound is carried by air, and the sound vibrates your ear drums. But water's too heavy for our ears to work that way, but you can still hear stuff underwater, right? That's 'cuz it's your bones that's conveying the sound. Can ya feel it in your bones? Bahbeep-bah-bah." he sang softly, doing a little two-step dance.

"Now this little device kinda refines those waves by vibrating against the bone in the right way to stimulate the nerves in our ears so that our brains get the vocal signals it was designed to interpret. Now you go walk to the other side and stand near the stairs, okay?"

Ilya left the room. Curtis closed the door behind her and went back to his desk. He picked out a box-like object from the basket: a curved metal tube, and a piece that looked like the bell end of a horn. The little opened to reveal crystals held in a strange metal device. He attached the bell to the metal tube and the tube to the box.

"Really crude build, I know, but it was the easiest I could slap together from what I had on hand," said Curtis. "We can refine once we've worked out the most efficient… Anyway. Okay, switch on, get the power going." He bent closer to the bell. "Hey, Ilya," he said, in a volume that shouldn't be heard through the door, even by elven ears, "while you're out there, could you please pop over to the snack room and pick up some ale and some apples? Thanks."

Ilya returned with a bowl of apples and four bottles of ale. "That buzzing could get really annoying," she commented. "I feel if the conversation's too long, one could develop quite a headache."

"Some people do," said Curtis.

"This could be useful."

"Yeah. You still can't talk underwater, but at least we can put — Sorry. Anyway, give me a few days to refine the transmitting part so it's portable and easily hidden. Once we've got that, we can hop down to Windhelm and install it in the helmets of your team. It'll be a speed build. It's a party channel right now, but I figure something's better than nothing."

"Ser, I'm sure anything you can come up with will help us," stated Ilya.

Yeah, a little radio miniaturization project should keep one of the engineers busy for a few hours. Most of it just in fabrication. The actual circuitry design was probably kindergarten stuff for the Dwemer engineers. Curtis hadn't planned to finish this project until the spring when work underwater started up again. There was still some kinks or unknowns, like range, physical transmission blocks, battery life, et cetera.

Both Dwemer and Snowmer had moved back to Skytemple. They felt more comfortable in the ancient, but familiar rooms, it ensured privacy, and they didn't mind the researchers there. The Dwemer were quickly getting their machines back to as near optimal operation as one can with equipment that had sat rusting for a millennia. And they meticulously documented their experiences and impressions of Oblivion. The Snowmer likewise documented their own impressions. They spent their hours in deep meditation. Magic had changed from what they were familiar with. Why was magic different? What laws had shifted since their absence? Their eyes ranged the world, mapping the new patterns, noting where magic was still changing, making predictions of future patterns, updating the old plates of energy patterns.

A lot of solid work out of them. It's nice they were keeping busy. His heart hurt for them.

Okay. Major issues, their respective races were gone and horribly vilified by history. Urag was their gruff guide to interpreting official, written history. If anyone knew about raw deals, he could always tell them how the world treated the Orsimer.

But other than that, the world hadn't changed that much technologically. Magic was weaker, required more effort to use, yes, but they were all masters and were more irritated than puzzled. Nations and names may have changed, but people were essentially the same. Just learn the new names and push on. Already they had friends. Okay, friendly mages and historians who wanted to study them, but you gotta start somewhere, and they'd lucked out that this bunch wasn't intent on exploiting them for all they were worth.

Smart people. And yet they trusted him because some over-sized owl god told them to.

Well… Fuck. Here he was again, shooting off his mouth and promising goods he wasn't sure he could produce. Thing is, he didn't promise anything, really. Yeah, he said he'd help, but, um, what was he supposed to help with?

Don't over-think it, he told himself. First move is getting to Gelebor's hidden valley and finding a way to keep it hidden and safe from explorers.

X—X—X—X—X—X—X

Don't over-think it, he told himself. Their expressions were blank, but their distrust and hostility radiated off them. Only Nerevar was at ease.

"That one seems trustworthy for one of their warlords," said his great uncle on his mother's side. Forgemaster Jnaggo, a master fabricator of automatons, visiting from the northern mainland, an area suffering from the highest plague of barbarian incursions. "His friends, though, I wouldn't turn my back on them."

"Yes, uncle, I've already made that assessment."

"Alliance with Chimer. Against the barbarians. Are you sure? The Chimer are not trustworthy. Their gods value treachery."

"I am aware of your experiences. However, this one has made earnest effort."

"You know, it's quite rude to be talking in front of our faces as if we're not here," interrupted Nerevar. He inserted himself between them, grinning. "I know you Dwemer have your secret talking ways. And, no, we're not interested in just your metal dolls. That trick you, Sera Jnaggo, played on the Karenithil was sufficient warning. I prefer to talk face to face with the dollmakers, and I'm not interested in just your tricksy toys."

"You are a perceptive one," said Forgemaster Jnaggo. "Watch this one," he advised Dumac aloud.

"Good advice," said the Chimer. "I am one who prefers to let my actions speak for me." He looked at Dumac. "I think you are the same who chooses to let results prove your intent."

X — X — X — X — X — X — X

"Amazing how the ice flow of a few thousand years changes the entire landscape," said Tazval. They stood on the steps of the Alftand lift. "This was a tower with bridges that spiraled down to a much tamer, gentler slopes to the sea. There is a village beneath the ice. Sea trade and ports with ships from Aldmeri and Ayleid lands. We knew a minor ice age was already in development. If any of the local supervolcanos erupted, the ash fallout… The Vvardenfell clans, we heard, were progressing in their goal to colonize the volcanic lands."

"Yeah. Pity about the Aetherium Wars. With all that shit going down, we were left dealing with the Chimer and the Atmorans on our own. We were working on climate control, but we got side-tracked."

"A bit after our time. We were asleep by then."

"Yeah, I know. And the Falmer did final lock-down, which is why we needed Gelebor to unlock your room. No one else knew Falmer magic."

The Dwemer were pushing for an expedition into Blacklight. They wanted to consult the research library at Mzark. Curtis had to tell them the Elder Scroll had been removed from the lab by the Archimage for reasons. Actually, they'd been surprised that there had been an Elder Scroll there. Must have happened after they'd shipped out.

It wasn't really a good sign when Elder Scrolls appeared. While it did mean a destiny was going to happen, it wasn't always to the benefit of the chosen host. Which is not to say the Dwemer would not have tried to find some advantage, and building a special machine to read it was to be expected. If the so-called gods decided to drop some knowledge on you, it was sort of one's obligation to pay attention.

And no knowledge was forbidden. Restricted access, yes, but not forbidden. The worst crime in Dwemer society was willful ignorance. There was good knowledge and there was sorrowful knowledge. You were obliged to learn both if one was a responsible member of society. If there was "secret" knowledge, then the fault lay in the one who was suppose to keep the secret, not on the ones who read this secret.

"That's a way to look at it, I suppose," said Curtis. "Bit harsh. I mean, there are plenty of stuff I wish I didn't know about. Plenty of stuff to learn that wouldn't benefit me by either knowing or not knowing."

"Yes. But we do acknowledge innocence. If you honestly didn't know such knowledge was available. But then you learn it is. What then? Dismiss it sight unseen, or at least look it over before dismissing it as inapplicable to your needs?"

"There is an argument for dismissing data just because you don't have the ability to parse enough bits out of a day to look. Gotta sleep sometime. And other activities where studying is detrimental to one's health."

"No argument." Tazval smiled. "As you have been constantly saying to us, 'Information Overload.' We aren't the machines we strive to perfect. Our minds do not have unlimited storage capacity, and ambition does not make up for the physical limitations of our organic processes."

"And since our machines aren't perfect, it reflects the limitation of their creators. And that includes gods," said Curtis.

"Very Dwemerish of you, Dunmer with a hacked together dual-install."

"A living 'Hackintosh,' yup, that's me. That's our Jhunal, right? God of Opportunistic Design. Though I object to being called Frankenstein's Monster."

"Pardon?"

"Story about a healer who crossed the line into necromancy. People screamed 'Monster!' at the poor creature he'd revived and lost sight of who was the true monster of the story. Nevermind me. Just babbling." He started walking down the ramp of the lift tower. The decrepit shacks, collapsed tents, and bodies of a failed expedition of the Skyrim Game had long been cleared away once Winterhold authorized an expedition to carefully document Alftand. He hooked arms with Tazval. Ever since the tower, when she'd tried to jump and he'd stopped her, he'd felt an "older brother" closeness to her, which was nonsense because she was decades older than him, not counting sleep time.

"Ah, you're right. You are not a monster, and neither is our god." She tilted her head, resting it against his shoulder. "Strange. To have a god. I never thought I would ever acknowledge one."

"One of the benefits of a polytheistic world. Don't like one god, find another you do like. And I have to agree I like Jhunal a lot better than the god I was originally raised to believe in."

"Hm. Speaking of opportunities, do you think the Archimage will allow us to read the Dragon Scroll?" she asked. "There might be ancient cube copies somewhere in the tower, especially if the scroll had been there any length of time. It would be inconceivable that multiple data copies would not have been made, especially if information within the scroll changed per the reputed nature of the scrolls."

"Treading close to Hermaeus Mora's territory. Or is that Jhunal's now? Maybe. But I got a feeling that scroll is gonna stay locked down until the Dragonborn resolves this problem with Alduin. But it's a good idea about searching the Tower of Mzark for any old copies.

"Though, if I were the Archimage, I'd probably want to dismantle the scroll reader. With things as dicey with the Dominion, don't want them getting any ideas. And with Moth Priests, forcing them to read is near useless because the priests can't control what information the scrolls choose to let them read, and a priest might manage a couple of reads before going permanently blind."

"A reasonable demand. We are not in any position to defend such knowledge against immature minds. And we are not destroying any scrolls — a futile, impossible action — just the means to read them," said Tazval.

They went into the new wood-and-bonemold structure set up for outside temporary quarters. Warm, plus able to block bear, sabre cat, and trolls, lockable against bandits and Falmer, and spelled against the rare ice-loving Volkihar breed of vampires. Curtis brewed tea while Tazval went into communication mode with the Dwemer party exploring the upper levels of Alftand. They'd also been testing the radio comm links, seeing how far they could get before signals degraded and ultimately blocked. Gourd and Irdal were primarily doing the work on that, their ability to sing changes on the fly to the enchantments on the crystals was light years above what Curtis could manage.

Tazval handed him a headphone.

"We're at the first stage of the lift, that torture room and kitchen you told us about," said Gourd. The sound was buzzy, but considering how far down they were and the tons of metal and frozen earth and rock between them, it was damn good. "No signs of recent activity.

"Bad news: the program room that controls the security system has collapsed to sideways-shift pressure of the glacier. We would have to build a safety override system from scratch. That would take at least two years to build and test, and that's if we had all materials at hand, another two years to reroute nodes and cables. A 10 to 15 years if we have to fabricate everything on top of correcting the power system."

"So no choice but to smash our way through, unless you happen to be a master thief," concluded Curtis.

"Yes."

"Damn. Wish I could duplicate what Dumac did with the Raldbthar lift. As it is, I'm pretty much still at novice level."

"Drilira and Agrund are adepts at Alteration. Sending them to Raldbthar to examine the lift bypass would likely be sufficient for duplication."

"Say, you said there's some power disruption. Could that also be affecting the main lift? What about secondary lift stations on another power grid and the externals not a affected by glacial shifting? I think there's a second Alftand lift somewhere south near Fort Kastav. Usually easier to jury-rig a fully functional machine that's operating correctly than one that's just about to collapse."

"I do not know Fort Kastav, and I presume 'jury-rig' is slang for an artificially induced deviation of codified behavior. Correct. We had no technological peers and program security was therefore minimal."

"Okay, so we can jiggle a working lock better than one rusted shut. If Drilira and Agrund are willing, I think we can get an escort for them to go study the altered lift lock.

"Oh, and they'll need the orb key, too. I know Dumac altered that to match the security used in Morrowind. There, we had to up the security to keep the Chimer out. You had to lock out aggressive Atmoran barbarians, we had to lock out other aggressive mer. Never give a Thalmor and even break. And plenty of nosy mages of other races in Skyrim."

"Noted."

X—X—X—X—X—X—X

"Ain't me that needs the apology," said Curtis.

He'd come across Gelebor some days after the tower fiasco. The mer had been cradling a bottle of brandy and crying. He'd waited so long to see others of his kind and they'd rejected him. He was a reminder of what they'd lost and found reasons to avoid him. He said he understood. They'd eventually come around. Didn't stop the hurting, though. Curtis had sat and drank with him until the mer had finally passed out. He'd put him to bed and Joric had appeared and volunteered to watch over the Snowmer until he woke. He'd try his hand at counseling Gelebor. Curtis found that he had strange faith that the weird kid could totally handle the job.

"And we have apologized to the paladin," said Sidanyis.

"Yes. And we extend that apology to you," said Kineher, earnestly. "We have caused him undue pain as we lashed out at the one least deserving."

"I know. It ain't easy," said Curtis. "And it probably won't ever heal. Pain management is a field of healing that doesn't get the attention it deserves, even where I came from. It's a hard-to-define field with no clear symptoms, no definitive treatment, and not one to be controlled by cost savings 'cuz how can you count the cost of an individual's pain? For some, it's a practice that will go with you the rest of your life. Subvert, divert, convert — s'all you can do."

"And sharing… When appropriate," added Kinehar, with a sharp glance at Joric.

Curtis sighed and turned to look at the teen kicking back on the padded lounger that Curtis liked to use when he was studying material he knew he'd fall asleep on from exhaustion.

"A little dream sharing. A few curated memories from the thousands of years of Gelebor's life," said the kid. "On the ship, I know they did dream-time sharing with the Dwemer. That's Balvus' and Gwenlenor's ability: they share dreams with others, doing that automatically as they sleep. So they're all a bit mind-clannish. I just thought introducing a new soul's memories on their side of the door would help. Like introducing a new puppy into a pack, letting them sniff at each other through a door, rather than just dumping the new pup right into the den."

"Wait, you're saying they did a group mind-meld?" said Curtis, fascinated. "So, um, we're throwing unconscious separation anxiety on top of it all?"

They all looked at him. Joric looked puzzled. The Snowmer at first looked baffled, then flushed with realization. Curtis made a note to talk to Salindil, who was the primary mental-health counselor for the Sleepers.

"That dream-share ability — yes, it was a lengthy debate whether to include them," said Kinehar. "But in the end, it was decided that their expertise in their fields was too valuable to dismiss, and that it would enable us to share specialties. The hardest part was to convince the Dwemer of this. They were used to sharing what they heard, but adding visuals was particularly unpleasant to them. Those two were obliged to do quite a bit of napping with Dwemer candidates to find those who tolerated the exchanges."

"Wow. Bet those two were popular at sleepovers. Not. Hate to see what they'd pick off me, Slitter, or Dumac. But… Visuals only, right? Like, if they shared memories of a battle, you'd see the action, but you wouldn't hear it, right?" He thought of trying to watch a TV show with no audio, no contextual information given ahead of time. Yeah, those two things Dumac hated.

"Yes, that is so," said Sidanyis. "That is what upset the Dwemer most — they could not hear anything in our memories."

"Gwenlenor could help you recover more of Dumac's memories," said Joric. "In fact, it made her popular with her study group when she was younger. They all excelled in multiple studies because they shared their schoolwork. And if you want to try that route, I'd recommend asking Irdal. She is, after all, from one of the Solstheim clans and can relate, stronger than any of the others, to Atmoran aggression upon her clan. Another reason why Gwenlenor instead of Balvus just comes down to sex. Irdal is fine dream-sharing in a mixed group because the other women add a buffer, but with three males? Not so much."

"Only two in this body. The third's a shadow," muttered Curtis.

"Yes, ser. Not to embarrass you, but Dumac is very much Irdal's ideal. You're a flirt, and Slitter's dreams are angry and violent unless he's with Master Colette. Remember, when you're asleep, you go in raw, all your social filters and inhibitions are down."

"Wow. Rude," Curtis growled, blushing.

"I'm sorry, ser?"

Curtis eyed him and decided Joric wasn't being cute. The kid was only 12, and by genetic luck of the draw, he could pass as 18. And the swamps of Morthal didn't have the same dangers as the gutters and docks of Riften.

"Just admitting you're right. Dreams can get pretty scary even without Vaermina's influence. And I admit when I was younger I did try for a month or so 'conscious dreaming' exercises when it was the latest psych fad. Never quite managed it, except that I got better at recalling what I'd dreamed about when I work up, so I gave up on it. But I'll think about it."

"You could also see if Master Colette is willing to join in. That'd calm Slitter, you too, and leave Irdal to chase King Dumac out from wherever he's hiding." This time, there was definitely a hint of wickedness in Joric's grin.

"I said, 'I'll think about it!'" Curtis growled as everybody, even the owl, laughed.

133_v2 06.14.2021