Chapter 41: The Gardener of Mer

Curtis rubbed the sides of his face. "That's it. That's all I remember of high school biology. If you challenged me to wire up an atom-smasher from diagrams drawn in crayon, I'd be more willing to tackle that than to pick up a pipette and try my hand at genetic research. All I recall is that four base nucleotides make DNA. GATC. Don't ask me what those letters stand for 'cuz I don't remember. I'm willing to bet this reality uses five at least. Call it 'S' as in 'Special' maybe. Or 'Super.' As if there's a gene for magic." He could tell her the plot of the movie "GATTACA," and discuss the general philosophies underlying the film, but the exact sciences it was based on were beyond him.

Lady Valerica shrugged. "It's still a more organized and intelligent arrangement of data than I'm used to working with. How did you describe it? 'Poke it with a stick and see if it wiggles?'"

"Yeah. Everything starts with observation." Part of the headache, Curtis realized, was that all his words were based on "dead" languages from another universe. Terms weren't translating. Basic Latin or Greek weren't auto-translating to ancient Nede or Aldmer. His brain said one thing, what came out of his mouth were sounds he didn't recognize, and it threatened again to disconnect his brain from this reality. Somehow, the machine mechanics and physics stuff he spouted came across easier to his Dwemer than the mechanics of biology and chemistry. Maybe because he understood machines more? Maybe.

It was that weird mental detachment he felt coming on as he tried to shift words from one reality to another.

But he no longer had a foot in the other reality.

Biology and that whole field of sciences had never been his interest to study. What nonsense he remembered was from movies and cartoons, stuff that just needed science-sounding gobbledegook to advance the plot. OK, and maybe a few Youtube medical shows of maybe 30 minutes max of health and fitness, shows that threw out terms like recombinant DNA, ribonuclease, DNA/RNA, DNA transcription, mitosis, meiosis, gametes, haploids, zygotes ... What the hell did all that really mean?

He had been at Castle Volkihar the last three days. Lady Valerica was a thoughtful and intelligent hostess. His tour of her lab was a tour through the outer rooms of hell. But then again, he'd felt the same way when he'd done HVAC work on an animal experiment lab and had to look away from the sad, caged animals used in cancer research. "Sacrifices" was the cleaned-up, disassociative term used. He had friends who argued against using live animals, saying computer simulations should work. Then he had other friends who shrugged and said computers can't account for everything, especially bottom-line expenses. An infamous line from NASA put man as the cheapest multi-tool produced by untrained public sources to throw into space or something like that. Well, same with science. Animals were cheaper and easier to breed to specifications than paying for a team of programmers to create simulations for experiments not yet conceived.

His ex-friend, Lord Kagrenac came as close as one could to creating a god machine that could account for all variances beyond the base programming. Even then, he had to steal the core of godhood from Lorkhan.

And for the future of Falmer salvation, all those poor mutants got was an engineer from the wrong branch of science and a self-taught vampire lord. Well, hopefully, they'd have some lucky breakthroughs, although he doubted Jhunal would be offering a free study night on genetics to a Molag Bal-worshiping vampire lord. Technically, she could go to Apocrypha on her own, but without someone over there to guide and guard her, she'd only get lost. Would that mean he'd have to plead her case to Jhunal to get Savos Aren's help? A one-time day pass to his little Garden of Knowledge? He'd have to ask The Kid for his thoughts.

He had brought her some of the Falmer they'd killed while defending their camps. Rangers and scouts mostly, males, those that ventured outside their caves to do the hunting and proactively kill anything they perceived as a threat. It was a start.

"Some of you will die, but that's the sacrifice I'm willing to make."

Classic cold-ass [fill-in-the-blank] bastard — royal, corporate, noble, military, political, gamer.

Days ago, he had looked at maps. Red pins marked Falmer colonies containing children and gravid mothers. He was making initial plans on how best to take out the defenders so that females and children could be taken alive for delivery to the vampires. Part of his discussion with Lady Valerica was the minimum she needed alive and the best age groups.

And he was on his way back to Winterhold to check in on the Sightless Pit project and see how his Falmer there were responding to better food doctored with drugs to stimulate health and soothe their mental chaos.

Call me Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde … What a strange case he found himself in.

Back at Winterhold, there was the chemical castration option he was hoping was advancing. He did not want to lead his few Dwemer on a campaign of slaughter. That was unfair to them. They were emotionally bonded with their Falmer/Snowmer compatriots. They no longer felt that separation of "Them versus Us." There was no doubt in his mind that the future population of the Vale would be a mongrel mix of Dwemer, Snowmer, and Altmer with a few humans to add a sprinkle wildcard genetic variance.

"They're animals anyway, so let them lose their souls." So it was said about blacks in the Godfather movie.

For himself, he had started making himself think of the mutant Falmer as feral cat colonies. He loved cats, but the ferals were too many. They were miserable, and they were starving. They were eating each other in their desperation. Their numbers had to be reduced, and aside from outright slaughter, there was trapping and sterilization. Controlled food poisoning, basically, to decrease sexual drive and fertility. More poisons. Poor creatures.

Gelebor had said he'd seen glimpses of rising intelligence over the centuries. That won't happen if there isn't room to grow. Ground had to be cleared. Sure, some of the good plants would be destroyed in the clearing, but …

It's that damn "people in a lifeboat" riddle that's always brought up when people start talking about ethics and the value of lives — who would be sacrificed and why. There was no "live and die together" option because the only outcome of that was always death.

He smiled cynically. "Lord Curtis," the Snowmer and Dwemer called him. This wasn't a democracy. He was going to decide who lived, who died, and how it was to be done.

X—X—X—X—X—X—X

"So, um, Kodlak never told you about the Glenmoril witches?"

"He spoke of a future mission concerning them," admitted Vilkas, "But the details would have to wait until after the Moot at Whiterun. The Emperor was visiting, and all the jarls were gathered to discuss the separation of Skyrim. The Silver Hands struck soon after the Emperor had left, and it was chaos as a lot of people were also leaving. We were all tired from having assisted the Whiterun Guard with security and hunting Thalmor spies. We failed to notice their gathering. And then they attacked, and Kodlak was among those murdered."

"Yeah, I can see that happening. Man, what a shitshow. Well, way I heard the story, Harbinger Terrfyg didn't really think it through when he accepted the payment the Glenmoril bitches offered him. They asked him and the Companions to do some hunting in the name of their Lord Hircine in return for Hircine's favors, which would give them strength beyond all others when they needed it. Dunno what the job originally was, dunno what they told the Companions to get them to drink the blood, but you know the results.

"Out of curiosity, did you ever offer Harbinger Nicky Faustus the beast blood? What did he say?"

"He turned it down," answered Vilkas. "He said he already had Hircine's Ring for winning at the last Bloodmoon Hunt, and Hircine never said a word about needing the blood to be his champion. He flatly told us he didn't need that kind of a crutch to be a warrior. His chosen gods would never include Hircine, and he had better things to do in the afterlife than rolling belly-up at Hircine's feet to beg for scraps. If that was the best afterlife the proud Companions of Jorrvaskr could come up with, he'd get more honor by becoming a storefront security guard for his Dunmer cousin in Windhelm.

"Too hot-tempered to be a security guard." Vilkas added, grinning. "After Skjor and Aela tried to pressure him in the Underforge, he came storming into Kodlak's quarters to object at the insult being offered him. Kodlak sent me and my brother to bring Skjor and Aela to him, and then Nicky said all that about Hircine."

"So, um, is Skjor still alive?"

"Yes. Why do you ask that?"

"Oh, just morbidly curious. Must've been a bitch-slap to him and Aela when Nicky was named Harbinger."

"They could hardly object his lack of the beast blood when he could Shout fire like a Tongue out of the ancient tales and used it to save the lives of the Emperor and Jarl Ulfric," said Vilkas. "And his blessing came from Shor and Talos, not Hircine, even though Nicky is an Imperial. There could be no objection in the Circle about his worthiness."

"Wow. I hope I get to meet this Nicky Faustus someday."

"Probably Emperor Felix Mede by then," said Farkas.

"Cool, cool. OK, now back to the Glenmoril bitches. I confirmed it with Savos, and we need their heads — one for every Companion that wants to be rid of their wolf, including one to free Kodlak's soul. We also need the reforged Wuuthrad. Um, has Eorlund reforged the Wuuthrad? You got all the pieces, right?"

"We have the pieces, but Eorlund hasn't reforged it," said Vilkas.

"He needs to do that. You need to put the reforged ax into Ysgramor's hands to be able to get into the tomb. Then you gotta fight past all the ghosts of the ancient Companions to prove your skills and your honor. When you finally get to Ysgramor's tomb, you'll find Kodlak's ghost there. He and a bunch of other Harbingers and Companions are hiding there because Hircine can't touch 'em while they're there. Anyway, don't worry about them. You've only got a limited number of heads, so one head is for Kodlak. Toss the head in the fire. That rips the beast out of Kodlak's soul, and you've got to kill the beast, then he's free. Throw another head in if you want to kill your own beast."

The brothers looked at each other.

"Do you know where we'll find these witches?" asked Farkas. "And it's 'witch,' not 'bitch.' Female wolves are some of the best mothers around."

Curtis smiled at the rebuke. "Sure. My bad. The Glenmoril Coven are not wolves. Chances are, most of them are now hagravens."

"OK. So, where to find 'em. Somewhere on the western border of Falkreath. Um, um, if I remember correctly, north? Um, northwest of Knifepoint Ridge, I think. Caves in the mountainside."

After leaving the Vale, Curtis, the brothers, and Serana went to Castle Volkihar. Then at Northwatch, Serana resumed her disguise as the Archimage of Winterhold. The Legion commander there was happy to provide the Archimage passage aboard a fast courier ship.

At Dawnstar, the brothers took their leave to return to Whiterun. Ilya was waiting at Dawnstar.

"How ya doin', girl?"

"Good dreams, Master Curtis. And some good memories."

"I'm happy for you," he said, giving her a quick hug.

"How is the Vale?" she asked.

"Beautiful, if you don't mind all the ferals. The temple of Auri-El is beautiful, even if it is mostly in ruins. But you can tell that back in its day, it was magnificent. The grand statue of Auri-El is so elven it's no wonder the Alessians chopped him up to stick a dragon's head on his body, or they stick a mass of hair and beard on him while clipping his ears off. Though the armor they got him in, gotta say, it could be dragon scales, but it still looks like chaurus plates."

"And how are they settling in?"

"Good as can be expected. So, what's the word?"

"Which one do you want to hear first?"

X—X—X—X—X—X—X

"… and that's it so far."

Colette was absent at his request from this meeting in the archimage's quarters. He wasn't ready to tell her the deal he'd made with Lady Valerica. He needed a bit more time. So Tolfdir had managed to come up with something off-campus that required the attention of the head of the Restorations school. And after he recovered from telling her, Curtis figured he should be ready to go back to the Vale to tell the rest of them of the work he'd arranged with the handmaid of Molag Bal. Those present at this meeting were the Archimage Dragonborn, of course, Tolfdir, Urag, Serana, Ilya, and Joric.

Joric's inclusion was at the Dragonborn's insistence over Curtis's objections. He didn't think the subject matter was appropriate for the boy, but she seemed to think otherwise.

"Hm, I wonder if they'll let me visit if I go there?" mused the Dragonborn, referring to the garden in Apocrypha. She waved vaguely to the glass-locked bookcase behind her desk. "I found another Black Book that Mephala hasn't tried to reclaim yet for her brother. And I've already explored the island platforms it brought me to."

"Probably not safe until you get an invitation from Jhunal," said Joric.

"Mm. I suppose." She sighed. "It's nice. I'm happy Savos managed to restart his garden. I wonder what kind of plants grow there?"

"Huh. Now that you mention it, I wish I'd taken a closer look."

"But teleport technology was more important."

"Yeah."

"Two possible sites for a teleport platform," she said. "One is near the Oblivion platform in the Midden, or we clear and rebuild the Skytemple. The midden site accesses Winterhold's primary magicka well, while Skytemple has the smaller one. I wonder why they built their project at the weakest site?"

"Because it was the weakest," said Curtis. "They knew in time others would want to build on the primary, which is the college, and secondary, the previous teleport platform, which is now underwater, and Saarthal, the tertiary. So in the interest of project longevity, take the weakest source. Besides, the machines could go on low power for centuries with the minimum backup feed from the tower stone in Saarthal."

"Until we removed the Eye of Magnus."

"Yeah. Then they were in trouble because the computers that were drawing and refining the majicka of Skytemple had been essentially non-functional since the Second Era, and Saarthal became the primary feed."

"Saarthal still has plenty of power, but it's a hard place to secure. Skytemple is easier to watch," said the Dragonborn.

"Agreed. We're likely to build a Dwemer-type platform, one that requires keys to activate, especially since it will link to the wayshrine in Darkfall. So that would be another security measure should somebody manage to infiltrate Skytemple. And it's already got most of the machinery there we can repurpose."

"That would be best. So, how much knowledge did your people retain from that one-night cram session in Apocrypha?"

"A pretty good amount." He laughed. "They were writing for days afterward. We ran out of paper quick, so every smooth, white marble wall is covered in ink and charcoal. If you haven't noticed, I've been buying tons of paper and ink and paper-making equipment to bring back with me. They're already building little hybrid models, and we're connecting, but every test chaurus egg is cooked and plants are dehydrated. We've also some side notes on some of the changes in magic since the Dawn Era and the Dragon breaks at the tail-end of the First Era and throughout the Second. I've brought a few notes with me this time, smudgy 'cuz we had to bleach out the ink from the original pages, which damaged the paper quality, but ..." he shrugged. "What I brought should help Master Baladas 'cuz the subjects are changes in majicka since the First Era."

"Not just Baladas, the rest of us as well," growled Urag. "If we can trust the source."

"Jhunal and Savos Aren will have to be good enough," said Curtis.

"Works for me," Urag said. "The rest of the world may have some questions."

"Not my problem."

"Good. My husband is getting anxious," Lady Helsette commented quietly.

"Right." Curtis surreptitiously studied the Dragonborn. Ilya had told him the Dragonborn had started forming Dragon-hunting parties. Publicly, she said she needed to concentrate on several important projects as the Archimage of the College of Winterhold. People grumbled, but there was no lack of applicants of would-be heroes wanting to be Dragon Hunters. Ilya's assessment was that Lady Helsette was still recovering from childbirth, and her return to top physical peak was not going as fast or as easy as she wanted. The masters at the College watched her carefully. Her powers were also erratic, and she wasn't as mentally alert as they were used to her being. She was depressed and temperamental.

It was good Serana was back to resume her disguise as the archimage. Lady Helsette clearly needed more time to rest at home with her family.

"Half-year tests are over," Joric told him after the meeting. "When are you heading back to the Vale? And for how long?"

"You thinking of visiting?" asked Curtis.

"Of course. I want to see the temple in person, not just in my dreams. And the archimage gave me the key crystals to the gate near the Shrine of Resolution that will get me to locked and hidden areas in the Vale. Interested?"

"You bet."

"And I'd like to meet Lady Valerica."

"Nope. Not happening. Not until you're older and with enough magic to defend yourself against a vampire lord."

"You don't trust her then?"

"I don't trust her god, and I don't fully trust the other vampires with you, kid. I'll bet if you asked Lady Serana, she'd tell you herself to stay away until you're older. It's bad enough you're being exposed to my perverted eugenics plans. You don't need to get your hands dirty with the actual fieldwork. Leave that to me."

"I can't ignore it."

"Not asking you to. But as the master mechanic here, I'm telling you I don't need a rookie on the floor. It ain't your job. You got me?"

"But —"

"Nope."