Dark Fathoms Read online

Krysty looked at Raina, who looked at the second guard. He produced Jak’s .357 Magnum blaster and several of his throwing knives. Rubbing his wrists, Jak walked to the entrance. He snatched them out of the guards’ hands so fast the man stepped back in alarm. Jak shoved his blaster into his belt and made the knives disappear with twitches of his wrists and fingers. When that was done, he stared at the other two through ruby-red eyes. “What now? Where’s others?”

  “They’re abovedecks. These people want to talk to us. They say they need our help,” Krysty said. “I thought we’d hear what they have to say—we may need help to get Ryan and the others back.”

  Jak glanced at J.B. “What think?”

  “I think I’m glad to be out of that room, that’s what I think.” J.B. blew out a breath as he pondered the situation. “Might as well see what they have to say.”

  “All right.” Krysty nodded at Raina. “Now we go talk to your leader.”

  * * *

  RYAN WAS ABOUT ready to pull his blaster and demand to see the captain when a young man dressed in a white shiftlike garment came running up to Chief Officer Markham and saluted.

  “Sir, the captain wishes to invite all of the Recovered to dine with him at his table this evening. He will be sitting down at five bells.”

  About to retort, Ryan felt a gentle hand on his arm. He glanced down to see Doc’s slender fingers resting there and turned to the old man in surprise.

  “You always catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, my dear Ryan. I know you are concerned about dear Krysty. We all are. But she is not alone down there, and even if Chief Officer Markson is correct—” Doc held up a hand to forestall Ryan as the taller man opened his mouth to retort “—no matter how distasteful the thought is, what is more important is that she is safe for now. Let us meet with the captain and see what we can learn from him, and then we will figure out what to do next.”

  By the time the old man was finished speaking, both Ryan and Mildred were staring at him. “Who are you, and what have you done with Doc?” she finally asked.

  Doc flashed a sly grin as he tapped his temple. “I may look old...indeed, and at times certainly act like it, but these old gray cells can still spark off the occasional decent idea or two at times.”

  Ryan sighed, knowing what his answer was going to be. “All right, Doc, we’ll play it your way for now.”

  He turned to Markson. “Let your captain know four will be joining him for dinner.”

  As the officer turned back to his messenger, Ryan grimaced. “I can hardly wait.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Raina led Krysty, J.B. and Jak deeper into the ship, toward the stern.

  As they walked, Krysty noticed that the areas they passed through were older-looking and more jury-rigged, with odd bits of iron or framework holding things together. Rerouted piping ran everywhere, including across the floor, making some places a scramble to cross. What floor they could see was almost hidden under a layer of compacted dirt and grime, and the still, foul-smelling air was even hotter here.

  Still damp from her accidental swim, Krysty soon found herself bathed in sweat. Her long, red hair had become a tight, damp mess in the humidity, tucked up at the base of her neck as if trying to hide.

  “Krysty,” J.B. said quietly, “I’m picking up residual radiation all throughout this area.”

  “Anything we need to worry about?” she asked.

  “If there was, we’d already be heading back the way we came. But what kind of ship is this? No way it’s military, but it runs on nuclear fuel? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Anything since landing Poseidon Base does?” Jak asked, making the other two look back at him in surprise. “What? Things crazier than usual, is all.”

  “Yeah. I’m definitely thinking that Ryan and the others got the better end of the deal,” J.B. muttered as they walked.

  Krysty was inclined to agree, although she didn’t say anything.

  At last, they rounded one final corner and found that the corridor ahead ended a few yards away in a massive steel door. Two more guards stood here, dressed in an odd mix of the same rag-tag clothes that Raina wore. Both of them also wore the headgear from what looked like a nuclear protection suit, but just the hood and faceplate, which seemed to be hacked out of the rest of a normal suit. The skin on their arms was pitted and scarred, and one had what appeared to be a large tumor growing out of his armpit. Each also held a crude, homemade firearm that they immediately leveled at the small group.

  “Wait!” Raina held out her arms, as much to protect the newcomers from the guards as the other way around. “I’m Raina, from the Navgators. I am her—” she nodded at Krysty “—hostage. These Recovered are here to see the Chif Engner. Been sent for by him.”

  “We’ll need to double-check with him before they can go in,” the guard with the tumor said as he turned to the door. “Watch them all.”

  The second guard took a tighter grip on his cobbled-together blaster and regarded the small group with a suspicious expression on his face. After a minute, he relaxed a bit and sighed. “Haven’t seen you around lately, Raina.”

  Her stoic expression didn’t change. “Been busy.” She nodded at the others. “Recoverers keeping me hopping lately.”

  “We just got them today. Talking about my invite to the waste dumping tomorrow. I sent you word, but you never said yes or no.”

  A quick look of sorrow flashed across her face, but it was quickly replaced by anger. “Don’t need your pity, Marek. Go find someone else to watch the dumping with. I’ll be on duty.”

  “Oh, okay,” Marek replied, looking at the floor. “I gotcha.” He was spared any further embarrassment when the main door opened again and the first guard stepped out.

  “Chif Engner says he’ll see them now—but no blasters are allowed inside.” The guard pointed at the corner of the hallway. “They can put them there for now and they’ll get them back when they come out.”

  The three exchanged glances, each thinking the same thing—that taking any of these folks out with blades or bare hands probably wouldn’t be all that difficult. J.B. went first, unslinging his shotgun and laying it down next to his cherished, trusty Uzi. Jak was about to go next, drawing his Magnum blaster, when Krysty, who still had her weapon trained on Raina, raised a hand.

  “Hold up, Jak. If we all lay down our blasters, Raina is no longer my hostage,” she said. “What guarantee do I have that we will be treated fairly?”

  The first guard shrugged. “Chif’s word is law here. If he said he’ll talk with you all, then that’s what’ll happen. Don’t get more plain than that.”

  Krysty hesitated, then turned to Jak. “Stay out here and keep an eye on her. J.B. and I will go inside and talk to this ‘Chif.’”

  Jak nodded, the muzzle of his blaster settling on Raina’s midsection. Krysty nodded to J.B., and they headed toward the door.

  “The Chif’s room is to your right,” the second guard said. “You speak to him through the speakerbox on the wall. We’ll be listening from out here, as well, so don’t think you can try anything.”

  Krysty glanced at Jak, who rolled his eyes and nodded. The albino teen could probably handle all three of them without breaking a sweat. “Go on,” he said.

  With Krysty leading the way, they entered a room that was the complete opposite of what they’d seen so far. It was a bright, antiseptic white, with a clean tiled floor and walls.

  “What’s the reading?” Krysty asked.

  “About the same as before,” the Armorer replied. “If they do have a nuke or nuke power, they keep it well shielded.”

  Another door was at the opposite end of the room, this one made of metal and glass. Krysty and J.B. could make out blurred, radioactive-suited shapes moving around behind it.

  “Greetings, Recovered,” a voice said to their right. They both turned that way, and there, sitting in front of them, was a warped, mutated being who had to be the Chif Engner.

  Any hair the
man once had was nearly gone, with only a few, wild strands plastered across his misshapen head. The right side of his skull bulged on the right side, but whether it contained brain matter or just layer upon layer of bone, they couldn’t tell.

  His face was no better. The left side was a complete, weeping ruin, with no semblance of features anymore, just an open sore. A large hole in his cheek showed two yellowed, rotting teeth. The remaining skin on his face and neck was ashen-gray and hung on him like a sack. He sat hunched over on a plain metal chair.

  The rest of him was swathed in the patchwork quilt of several radioactive suits sewn together with shiny metal wire. He didn’t even sit on the chair as much as he perched on it, looking as though he might float out of it at any moment. He shifted his position, exposing a large hump rising out of his back over his left shoulder.

  “Welcome, Recovered.” The man’s voice was breathy and sibilant. “I was given to understand that there would be three of you.”

  “Our third friend is outside, watching over Raina, who allowed herself to become my hostage in order to convince us to see you,” Krysty replied. “My friend is J. B. Dix, and my name is Krysty Wroth.”

  The mutated man nodded. “And you already know I am the Chif Engner. The three of you have been Recovered from the dangerous sea as well as the Topsiders, who would wish to convert and pervert you to their own dark goals. De Kooning’s grace has seen fit to bless us with your arrival in our hour of need.”

  “That remains to be seen,” J.B. said. “We need to know a few things first. Like what exactly is going on around here?”

  “If you wish, I would be happy to share with you our story, so that you may be more familiar with our ways. It may take a bit of time, however.”

  Krysty and J.B. exchanged a glance. “We seem to have a bit right now, so please, go ahead.”

  “Very well. It all began more than a century ago.”

  * * *

  RYAN PACED BACK and forth in the two-bedroom stateroom they’d been given, earning concerned looks from Mildred and Ricky, and a bemused look from Doc. He’d cleaned himself up after his dip in the ocean, but once that was done, there was nothing else to do but wait.

  “You’re going to wear a hole in the floor doing that until we see the captain,” Mildred said.

  “I can’t help it,” Ryan replied as he strode across the worn, threadbare carpet. “Besides, it’s better than the alternative.”

  Mildred regarded him through slitted eyes. “Do I even want to know what that might be?”

  “Open this door and start chilling every one of these freaks until someone tells me where Krysty is.”

  “That would be rather a rude thank-you to our saviors, Ryan,” Doc said.

  “I don’t give two shits about any of these people!” the one-eyed man snarled. “All of them can go on sailing on this bastard thing for the next hundred years for all I care. My first priority is getting Krysty back, and then getting all of us the hell to dry land.”

  Doc rose from the bed where he’d been sitting. “While I heartily agree with you regarding both of those most worthy goals, may I remind you that at the moment we still need their help? If there is truly any kind of a civil war between these two groups, to attempt to go below and try to find our dear friends would most likely only result in our swift deaths, as we would be entering a place where our opponents would hold all of the advantages, even against one as formidable as yourself.”

  “Again—and I don’t know how or why—Doc has a point,” Mildred said.

  Doc bowed to her. “Your confidence in me apparently knows no bounds, my dear lady.”

  “Right now, I’m thinking of you as more of a broken clock, Doc,” Mildred replied. “Lately you’ve been right at least twice a day.”

  “Accepted,” the old man said before turning back to Ryan. “We need to know more about the lay of the land, so to speak, before we go charging off on the noble, gallant quest to save Krysty, the good John Barrymore and young Jak. The opportunity to do that lies within our grasp, we need only to be sensible enough to reach out and take it.”

  Ryan stopped in the middle of the stateroom and took a deep breath. “You’ve been awfully quiet during all this, Ricky. What’s your take on it?”

  The teenager turned from where he had been staring out the window that gave an incredible view of the setting sun over the ocean. “From what I’ve seen of all three of them, they can handle just about anything that comes their way. I agree with Doc—our best hope right now is to find out as much as we can about this place, so in case we do get a chance to go after them, we know what we’re doing, where we’re going and what we have to deal with.”

  Ryan digested all of that and nodded. “You’re both right. It just pisses me right off that we’re stuck in here, waiting on this bastard captain—” A knock sounded on the door, and Ryan walked over and opened it. “Yes?”

  A junior officer stood in the corridor. “The captain is ready to dine, lady and gentlemen. If you will all accompany me.” He turned on his heel and began walking down the corridor.

  “Weapons?” Ricky asked as he crossed the room.

  “Handblasters only,” Ryan replied. “Might not take too kindly to carrying longblasters at the dinner table.”

  The young man led them through a dizzying maze of corridors that all looked alike, more or less. They came to a stairway and ascended three flights to come out in a small alcove. One of the sailors from the longboat—Elial—stood flanked by two secmen. The sailor’s hands were in manacles. He watched them with sad eyes as they walked past.

  Voices could be heard in the next room as the young man held the door open for them. Ryan and the other companions entered a room that had been scrupulously maintained, from the carpet to the furniture to the tableware. There was white linen, polished wooden chairs, crystal wineglasses, and matching, if worn, silverware. A large arrangement of fresh, tropical flowers sat in the middle of the table, with eight place settings arrayed around it.

  Four other people stood in the room—three white-shirted men gathered around another man who was holding court. As the companions entered, the officers all laughed at something the man in the middle said.

  The steward cleared his throat. “Captain, your dinner guests have arrived.”

  The man in the middle turned to them. “Good evening, and welcome to the Ocean Queen! I am Captain Selius Frost. You have already met Chief Officer Markson—” he nodded at the redhead “—and allow me to introduce Staff Captain Quercis Lind, as well as our Chief Security Officer Aturk Coller.”

  The captain was trim and fair-skinned, with light brown hair and dark brown eyes. Like Markson, he had a beard, except his was short and neatly trimmed. He wore what Ryan assumed was an actual captain’s shirt that had been carefully maintained for who knew how long.

  Lind’s ancestors must have hailed from somewhere far north. Although his skin was deeply tanned, he had light blue eyes and blond, almost white hair. His beard was long and split into three large braids that hung halfway down his chest. The clean-shaven sec chief, on the other hand, was a huge fireplug of a man, with skin so black it almost had a blue hue in the waning sunlight.

  Ryan handled the introductions for his people as the steward went around the room lighting the wicks of several old-style glass lamps. “Is Mr. De Kooning from the bridge going to be joining us as well?”

  His question seemed to take the officers off guard, although the captain recovered first. “Mr. De Kooning prefers to dine alone. He is very elderly and nowadays prefers to remain above all of the activity aboard the ship, in peace and quiet in his private quarters.”

  Frost’s attention was caught by Markson. “Before we get started, sir, there is the issue of Ensign Elial’s dereliction of duty on the longboat. He awaits you outside.”

  Frost nodded. “Bring him in.”

  The steward walked to the door, and Elial and his guards walked in a few moments later.

  “Ensign Elial, you
are charged with dereliction of duty while carrying out your duties. How do you plead?”

  “I plead guilty, Captain, and cry for De Kooning’s pardon, sir.”

  “Chief Officer Markson, will you summarize the events of earlier this afternoon?”

  Markson did so, noting that Elial had performed the rest of his duties, including fending off the Downrunners so they could get onto the main deck safely. A look of displeasure crossed the chief officer’s face. “Truth be told, sir, it was a minor infraction, but I am compelled to bring it to you for your judgment.”

  “Thank you, Chief Officer.” Frost walked over to Elial. “Do you have anything to say in your defense, Ensign?”

  Elial met his captain’s gaze as he replied, “It was a momentary lapse, sir, and it will never happen again.”

  “Well said.” The captain began walking around his subordinate. “Your superior officer speaks highly of you, which I am taking into account. However, you did knowingly speak of the ship to a Recovered before we had ascertained their true bearing.” He looked around the room. “Everyone is well aware of the dangers of doing that. I cannot have any exceptions to this rule.”

  Elial looked absolutely terrified, but still managed to find his voice. “Y-yes, Captain.”

  “I find you guilty of this crime, and sentence you to be keelhauled across the ship’s forward hull once. If De Kooning’s grace is with you, and you survive, your wounds will be tended to, and you will rejoin your fellow sailors in time. Let the record show that I have passed down my judgment and punishment. The sentence shall be carried out at dawn tomorrow, and so shall it be noted in the log.”

  His shoulders slumping in defeat, Elial was led away.

  “Ryan, you can’t let them do this to him!” Mildred whispered. “You saw what that hull looked like! Those barnacles will slice him to ribbons!”

  “It isn’t our battle to fight,” he replied. “Ricky didn’t know there’d be blowback, and that isn’t his fault. But you know we don’t get between a ville’s laws and its people carrying them out. It’s a sure way to end up next on the punishment list.”