Colony- Olympian

by Gene Stiles

  “No, I do not know how long the stronghold has been there,” Lelantos answered Anak after Zeus’ siblings and advisors had gathered in the huge, well-appointed living room. “I am not even sure of its exact location.”

  “What I do know,” Lelantos said, sweeping his hand over the data displayed on the big wall monitor, “is that it is somewhere within this five hundred mile stretch of Afrikanikis coast. Our best spies have not been able to pin it down any further. Not even the Sisters,” he added with a small smile at Demeter, Hestia and Hera, referring to their network of pleasure house ladies.

  “Our girls are the best,” Demeter grinned back, her blue eyes twinkling. “Where there is men or women, there is a need for companionship. In the warm afterglow, our Sisters know how to extract many secrets. If there is more to learn, they will find it.”

  “And their information has proven invaluable on many occasions,” Zeus said, nodding at his sisters. “We thank you for that.”

  “Our ‘father’ locked us in a hellish pit for much of our lives,” Hestia said, her thick auburn hair held back from her sparkling emerald eyes by a simple, red leather headband. Her thin ruby lips were tight and bitter as she said, “The least we can do is use what we learned to against him. We owe Cronus that.”

  “Does Ra know of this?” Hades sat on one of the long, black leather couches, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands gripped between them.

  “To the best of my knowledge, no. I wanted to inform you all first,” Lelantos responded as he accepted a cup of hot tea from Zeus.

  “Ra has established settlements and outposts around the southern tip of Afrikanikis, which is closest to Atlantis, and along the shipping routes that run near the southeastern coast,” Lelantos said after taking a sip of the sweetened brew. “Much of the western shoreline is dense jungle and tropical forests and is plagued by hurricanes and regular violent storms. Cities there would be difficult to maintain so Ra has left that region alone.”

  Poseidon stood near the huge picture windows, gazing down on the tumbling current of the river, his jade eyes thoughtful as he stroked his wavy, red beard. “To do tell Ra of this may spark a war between Nil and Atlantis,” he said, turning to the others. “Of course, we must share this with Ra, but I would like to do so in person. I have an idea that could work for us and forestall the coming conflict for now.”

  “Why would we want that?” Anak asked from his chair at the massive dining table. As always, the eleven-foot-four gargantuan had a large platter of meat, cheese and bread in front of him and he spoke between mouthfuls. “Fighting with Ra would distract and deplete Atlantean forces and weaken them for us. We could wait for them to be fully engaged then attack Cronus from the rear, splitting his armies and further migrating his strength.”

  “First of all, it would be immoral to allow such a war to begin if we can stop it before it starts,” Zeus said, his eyes flaring at the suggestion. The way he glared at Anak made the Nephilim cringe and curl in on himself. “To use it as an advantage for us is detestable. I will not sanction the loss of so many lives just to aid our cause. To do so would make us no better than Cronus.”

  “Forgive me,” Anak replied, his head lowered, his face blushed a bright red. “I mean no disrespect. I was thinking logically and not about the loss of life.”

  “I know this,” Zeus said, his tone softening. “You are a good man, Anak.”

  “Still, Anak has a point,” Hera interrupted, brushing her fiery red hair away from her sharp, angular features. “Cronus is invading Nillian lands. It is obvious he is planning an attack on Ra. If telling the Trinity what we know leads to conflict, it is not our fault. I see nothing wrong with using it to give us an edge against Atlantis. Is taking down Cronus not what we also desire?”

  “Yes,” Zeus agreed with a nod, “however there are other ways that do not result in mass casualties. We have been slowly infiltrating every facet of Atlantean society for years. We will crumble it from within.”

  “The mines and miners still belong to me,” Hades said, his raven-black eyes hidden beneath his thick, bushy brows. The full lips within his neatly trimmed beard curled in a wry smile. “My ‘death’ at the hands of Cronus only made me a martyr in their eyes. When I returned to Tartarus, I was greeted as a god.”

  “You went back into Atlantean lands?” Poseidon said with a start. “How were you not caught?”

  “Not to worry,” Hades replied with a laugh. “I am Lord of the Underworld. I know ways into the mines known only to a few. My people are loyal beyond question. They have been carrying out my orders ever since I left and still do.”

  “But if your name was to get back to Cronus, he would know we still live,” Poseidon admonished him. “That would be dangerous for all of us.”

  “My brother,” Hades said, placing a firm hand on Poseidon’s broad shoulder, “I have had many names over the decades. Did you not know we all have new code names since we ‘died’? I am now Pluto. Zeus is Jupiter. Demeter, Ceres. Hera, Juno. Hestia, Vesta.” His ebon eyes danced as Hades grinned at his gigantic brother. “Even you have a new name. Yours is now Aegir since you never show anger.”

  “Excuse me,” Poseidon said, making his chiseled features tough-looking and planting his fists on his huge hips. “I can get as mean as the rest of you!”

  “We know,” Demeter said, her blue eyes glowing as she lightly patted him on his brawny arm. “You are just better at concealing it than we are.”

  “Back to the business at hand,” Zeus commanded sternly. He was happy and grateful his family could playfully banter even in times like these, but decisions had to be made quickly.

  “Bottom line,” Zeus said, scanning everyone in the room and stopping on Anak, “we are using subversion to loosen the grip of Cronus, gain information on his weaponry and battle plans and build up the resistance movement that has quietly gone underground. Soon we will move and it will be on our own.”

  Zeus stood at the head of the long, oval table and planted his hands on the polished edge. His golden eyes blazed like the morning sun, his wavy red mane its bright corona. “Ra has been our closest ally and saved us in more ways than I can count. He wishes to keep the peace for his people and to keep them safe. I would not pull him into a conflict that is inherently ours.”

  “Yes, we will inform him of the fortress,” Zeus added, clasping his hands behind his back. “It is our duty to our friend. But if we can deal with it on our own and leave Nil out of it, we shall.”

  “And that,” Poseidon said, looking at all those gathered around him, “is exactly what I have in mind.”

  Chapter III

  The first battle of the war when completely unnoticed except by those engaged in it. There were no frantic communications to Cronus for help. No one escaped to make their way to the Great Pyramid of Atlantis to tell the tale of their destruction. In fact, it took almost a month before the loss was noted at all. Even then, it was thought to be a simple act of nature instead of an expertly planned and well-coordinated assault.

  The cargo ship Akastie glided through the inky-black sea at a steady, leisurely pace enjoying the unusually calm waters for this time of year. The night was not truly dark though no moon cast its silvery light upon the waves. Its very absence allowed the lights from billions of stars and colorful galaxies to glow like an endless field of sparkling jewels on an ebony blanket. A fairly constant westerly wind kept the huge white sails full and stiff with just enough variance to cause the occasional snap of thick linen.

  Merizan stood at the helm, his large hands lightly holding the spokes of the big wheel as he gazed at the awe-inspiring sight above him. The myriad hues of reds, blues, greens and yellows washed over his stocky, muscular form as did the salty mist of seawater from the waves split by the ship’s sharp prow. His dark blue eyes sparkled with the reflection of stars upon the ocean and the joy he felt inside.

  The night watch was Merizan’s favorite tour of duty at times like this. Most of the crew were bedded belo
w with only a few on deck to tend the riggings. The senior officers slumbered beneath their soft cotton sheets leaving command of the eighty-foot vessel to him. Merizan felt strong and powerful, fantasizing about the time when a ship like this would be his to command.

  “Would you care for some tea, Captain?” Azazel teased, knowing where his friend’s thoughts were wandering. The tall, lanky crewman held a tankard of strong green tea in his hand that steamed even in the warm midnight air. The smile on his long, pointed-chinned face was genuine and toothy beneath his scraggly blond beard.

  “You laugh now,” Merizan grinned, gratefully accepting the tea, “but one day soon you shall be my First Mate and I will order you to do all the dirtiest work aboard ship. Now take the helm so I can sit on my butt for a spell as all good captains do.”

  “Aye, aye, Sir,” Azazel laughed, taking a firm grip of the wheel. He glanced at the scanners on the bridge and looked up at the Creator’s heavenly masterpiece. “It is amazingly beautiful, is it not? I never tire of such a sight.”

  “It does make one feel insignificant,” Merizan replied as he sat down on the thickly padded chair bolted to the deck of the bridge. “It is that and the quiet I love. I can hear is the waves churning around the bow and the sounds of the wind billowing the sails. Beyond that, it is so still I can almost hear my own heartbeat. It is incredible to be so alone in all this vastness.”

  Even in the silence, the two friends did not notice the soft buzz of the four, small, black spheres that slid over the bulwarks. One of them attached itself to the back of the helm. The others slipped through the open hatches and worked their way belowdecks. Two entered the electronics room unnoticed by the crewman sleeping at his console. The last one made a slight clink as it stuck to the main engine housing.

  Merizan saw the slight flicker of the scanner monitors only because he was looking at it at the exact right moment. It passed so quickly, he paid it no heed and continued his conversation. It was not until he happened to look back and saw a dark, looming form materialize at their stern that alarm bells went off in his head. His mouth dropped open and he glanced at the monitors seeing nothing. Shouting, he reached for the coms. All he heard was static.

  By now, the sound of the waters parting around the huge vessel’s prow could be heard by all on deck. Stunned, the men turned to see the shape of a black ship with ebony sails just before its wide, steel-tipped bowsprit slammed into the aft deck, sending shudders throughout the Akastie.

  Merizan grabbed at the console and threw the engine levers full forward in an attempt to pull away from the demonic ship. Nothing happened. The EM pulse from the spheres rendered the electronic circuitry inoperative and killed the vessel’s only means of escape.

  A swarm of heavily armed men poured over the bridge created by the bowsprit and met the men scrambling from their beds before the hapless crew of the Akastie could even register they were being attacked. Surrounded by squads of warriors, they were herded to the main deck and forced to kneel on the wet planks with their hands upon their heads.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Captain Kalistius shouted as he was roughly escorted to the aft deck. The tall, burly, bald-headed man was prodded forward by the muzzles of pulse rifles, his round, hard face crimson with anger. “This is an imperial ship of Atlantis! How dare you board her!”

  The Captain was a big man, built like a pillar of granite, yet he suddenly felt tiny compared to the red-haired behemoth that stood before him. Still, he met the man’s burning emerald eyes with enraged belligerence. Kalistius tightened the belt around his sea-green robe and planted his fists upon his wide hips, glaring at his captor.

  “The Lord Father shall hear of this!” he bellowed.

  “No he will not,” the giant said flatly. “You are the intruders here. Your holds are filled with weaponry bound for Nillian lands. I am confiscating your cargo and dropping you and your crew on the shores of Afrikanikis for Ra to do with as he sees fit. You will be given supplies and small arms and that is all.”

  “And just who do you think you are to supplant the will of Cronus?” Captain Kalistius yelled. “You have no right!”

  “I am Poseidon, son of Cronus and brother of Zeus,” the gargantuan responded coldly. “And these men with me give me all the rights I require. You seek to start a war that could destroy the world. Be grateful I allow you to live.”

  Two weeks behind the Akastie, the Mescaline cut through the ocean beneath a turbulent gray sky. Far off to port, bright blue and white spears of lightning split the rolling, fierce-looking clouds though no rain yet washed the ship’s mahogany decks. However, the swirling winds were picking up at an alarming pace and the crew rushed through the riggings to secure the snapping sails. The lashings of the six huge grates on the main deck were double-checked and tightened. It would not bode well for the ship should they break free.

  Belowdecks, the holds were abuzz with activity. Everyone knew how dangerous their cargo was so extra straps were added each of the mammoth wooden boxes. The men hustled through every room and corridor, their brows damp not from the warm sea air or physical exertions, but from the fear twisting in their stomachs.

  Captain Zachariah was already strapped in his chair on the bridge, his turquoise eyes barely watching the scanners as he clung to the ship’s wheel. He had been at sea all his life and trusted his instincts more than electronics that could be disrupted by the electrical interference of lightning. His rock-like forearms bulged with the strain of fighting the churning sea as they dropped into deep troughs that sent huge waves over the bow making the decks slippery and treacherous. If he thought the Mescaline’s engine could give her any more speed, he would have fired it up, but the winds were strong enough and coming from the right direction to push his big cargo ship to nearly top speed. If they could maintain their course, there was every chance they could outrun the main bulk of the storm.

  “Captain,” Hestcalli shouted out above the noise. The First Mate was strapped in his chair next to Zachariah with one hand cupped against his ear so he could better hear the coms. His other hand pointed at the monitors where a foggy shape had appeared two miles off the starboard bow. “We are picking up a distress call from a small passenger vessel. They say they are disabled and taking on water.”

  The Captain bit his lip beneath his tightly curled, blond beard. Knowing how precious his deadly cargo was, dare he take a chance on slowing down to make a rescue attempt? He knew his mission was vital to the Lord Father and all of Atlantis, yet he was a mariner first. If he did not render aid to the damaged vessel, it would surely sink in the coming storm. There was a strict, unspoken code of the sea and doing nothing would be a terrible violation. Zachariah also had a duty to his men and slowing could cost them all.

  “Captain?” the First Mate asked, his thick brown eyebrow raised and his head cocked to one side. “Your orders?”

  “Ready the crew,” Captain Zachariah said, coming to a difficult decision. “We will do what we can to assist, but quickly. Comlink the other captain and tell him to prepare to evacuate.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Hestcalli responded, feeling relieved. For a moment, he feared they would ignore the call for the sake of their cargo. “Oh. I should tell you, sir. Their Captain is a woman.”

  Zachariah only nodded as he tacked toward the damaged ship. Somehow, knowing there were women on board, made his choice a little easier. Not that he thought of them as less capable. He knew many women as accomplished and skillful as any man. It was his respect and gallantry that would not allow him to ignore any woman in trouble.

  The Creator’s luck was with them as they neared the floundering vessel. The storm seemed to be taking a northwesterly course which was pushing it away from the Mescaline. The ocean still bucked and twisted and torrents of rain now fell from the heavens, but the swells had lessened a bit. Half of the sails had been raised and the sea anchor was dropped to slow the ship.

  As they pulled up near the other craft, Zachariah could see that it had
little time left afloat. The mainmast was snapped in two leaving the deck littered with sails and wood splinters. The spars on the other mast hung limply, the linen flapping in the riggings. The forty-foot ship listed heavily to port and the lights flickered as the power systems failed.

  The crew of the Mescaline threw hooked ropes over the bulwarks of the other vessel and pulled them close enough to toss ladders onto the tilted main deck. The other crew secured them as best they could in the rolling water. It was a dangerous maneuver and more than once the two ships slammed against each other with a resounding crack. Twenty-four people managed to make it aboard before the lines were cut and the Mescaline swung away and left the sinking ship to the sea.

  “Thank you, Captain,” a tall, shapely woman said to Zachariah as a leather wrap was tossed across her shoulders. Even soaking and sodden, her long, braided, blond hair matted against her bare, bronze skin, he was awed by her stunning beauty. “We would have been lost without your help.”

  “Please,” Zachariah said, desperately trying to keep the stutter from his voice, “let us go below and get out of this rain.”

  “We again, thank you,” the woman said as they made their way down. Her red-leather clad legs moved easily on the shifting decks, a sure sign of someone who knew the sea. “I am Captain Thalassa.”

  Five miles away, on the deck of a dark, unlighted ship bobbing on the rocky ocean waves, the captain sent a coded message to Poseidon. “They are aboard.”

  Fortress Atlantica was an ugly compound of rock and wood buildings tossed haphazardly along the otherwise beautiful white sandy beaches of the hidden bay on the eastern coast of Afrikanikis. None of the structures were taller than a single story, though a few were built like huge airship hangers. They were either square and squat or long and rectangular with no thought of style given to their construction. The most impressive aspect of the fort was the forty foot, rough log wall that enclosed the compound from seashore to seashore.