by Gene Stiles
Now near dinner time, the club was packed with people filling the tables around the eateries and shops inside. The long, U-shaped bar that marked the boundary of the huge central area was already serving colorful drinks and dark ales to the crowd gathering after a long day’s work. Lively music pumped through the scattered speakers and shifting patterns of lights and vivid colors swirled across the giant display screens, pulsing in time with the electrifying beats. Laughter and friendly banter ebbed and flowed all around Hyperion and Thea, blanketing them in a feeling of joy and comradery. Maybe, they each thought to themselves, things were not as dire as they seemed.
They were wrong.
Despite the best efforts of Poseidon and Ra, Cronus established another military complex on the Afrikanikis coast. The oceans were simply too vast and the continent too mammoth to patrol them all. The Atlantean convoys stayed in the open sea far from normal shipping routes as they traveled northward toward the protected bay over three thousand nautical miles south of the abandoned fortress of Atlantica. Now the last shipments were docking in port and the next stage of the plan could be initiated.
Tholus spread like a huge, ugly blight across the forested landscape and through the burned and cleared meadows. The city, itself, was plain, dark and utilitarian, built of rough wood and unpolished stone. Most of the streets were only wide paths stripped of vegetation that had a tendency to turn into muddy rivers during the frequent heavy rains. By decree of the Lord Father, all windows were shuttered after dark to prevent the city lights from giving away their position to any errant passing ship or the Raven drones of Nil. To many people, these measures were unnecessary as neither ship nor Raven had ever been spotted.
Only two things made Tholus stand out as anything more than a dreary outpost or a stagnant settlement. The first was the port. Though only operational in daylight hours, it was equipped with the latest in technologies disguised by worn and weary-looking buildings. The wharves and docks ran along the coastline for ten miles on either side of the city center, looking more like rundown berths for fishing vessels than for modern warships. Gigantic warehouses dotted the shores, but they were half hidden beneath the tree line and green-patterned coverings. Each one bulged with unloaded cargo from a year’s worth of deliveries. Monstrous camouflaged repair facilities sat near the deeper parts of the harbor to mend any vessels damaged by war or the sea. With one exception, only the boulevards linking these complexes to the rest of the port and the causeways that wound through the warehouse district were paved, but they were made of pitch black stone so as not to reflect even a meager moonlight.
The other paved strip was the half-mile wide concourse that led fifteen miles inland to the second feature that set Tholus apart from other cities. Unlike the other roadways, this one was made of crushed and smoothed stones of greens and browns that gave it the appearance of a winding, oddly out of place woodland game trail. It slipped beneath canopies of trees and over small rivers on blue colored bridges, blending in with the contours of the land. From the air, the road almost disappeared.
The causeway ended at an irregularly shaped stretch of desert devoid of the abundance of life which surrounded it. At its widest, the dust-covered space spread out across the desolate terrain for two miles. Thick, dark forests bordered the swirling sands, the branches and leaves so intertwined that almost no sunlight reached the soil beneath. Embedded all along the edges of the desert, under this natural, dank and dripping rooftop, were huge hangers, each capable of containing six skyships. Every one of them was now filled with ships, crews and vicious-looking weaponry.
A large, decrepit fishing vessel with tattered and dripping nets hanging over the stern slipped quietly into the harbor at midday. The paint on its wooden hull was faded and peeling. The dirty, blue sails hung limp and soggy as if too tired to accept the gift if wind that pushed it up against the worn, cracked pylons of the old dock.
Two men in hooded brown cloaks disembarked while the crew secured the lines and began to unload crates and stacking the boxes on the uneven, sea-dampened planks. Without fanfare and barely noticed, they strolled down the pier and through the streets toward the Harbormaster’s office.
Despite the battered outward appearance of the office, the inside was clean, dry and well-appointed. The heavily shuttered windows kept the bright lights from seeping out into the streets even though it was sunny and warm outside. Banks of monitors covered the long, mahogany desks that lined two of the richly paneled walls. Men and women sat at each station, their eyes focused on the streams of data and images that scrolled across the screens.
Four, heavily armed, Aam stood on either side of the oaken doors of the office, alert and carefully watching the hooded newcomers as they entered. Their fingers automatically touched the triggers of their weapons, but they made no other move to impede the steps of the strangers. Unconcerned by the attention, the two men crossed the room to the long slab of smooth stone that made up the Harbormaster’s counter.
Merimarkus looked up from his display screen the moment the men entered the building. His dark hazel eyes narrowed as they approached and deep furrows marked his wide brow. The Harbormaster knew there were no ships scheduled to dock for another week. Unobtrusively, the big man pressed a button beneath the counter and waved a hand at the other six black-clad Aam sitting behind a table laden with a noontime meal. Slowly, they loosened the short swords in their scabbards and rose to covertly surround the visitors.
“May I help you, gentlemen?” Merimarkus asked as they stopped before him, their features hidden by their hoods and lowered heads. The voice that rolled over them from his barrel chest was tinged with suspicion and a touch of menace, though he kept his huge hands flat on his countertop.
“Yes,” the taller of the two men said, raising his chipped jade eyes to the Harbormaster. A slightly humorous smile played across the full lips visible beneath his thick, curly, red beard as he spoke. “You can tell your men to relax and be at ease. They have done well.”
When he threw back his hood, all conversation stopped. The Aam froze in their tracks and snapped to attention, their hands falling away from their weapons. Merimarkus sputtered, his mouth dropping open behind his long, black beard. His eyes went wide and it took him a moment before he could regain his composure. When he did, the Harbormaster threw his hands to his side and stiffened his spine.
“Lord Father!” he said, slapping one arm across his chest in salute. “Please forgive my rudeness. I was not aware you were coming here today.”
“And that is exactly what I intended,” Cronus replied calmly as he slipped out of his wet robe and tossed it over the counter. “I wanted to see for myself your reaction to an unknown presence. I assume my ship has been boarded by now and my crew detained?”
“Yes, sir,” Merimarkus stammered as Iapetus threw off his cloak as well. “I am sorry. It is protocol.”
“No need to apologize,” Cronus responded with a terse grin, impressed with the quick efficiency of the city guard. “I would expect nothing less. Please inform the Commander of my arrival.”
Cronus dried his hands off on his black leather breeches and glanced at the food-covered table. His nostrils flared at the strong, pleasing aroma and he realized just how hungry the sea voyage had made him. “Do you have wine to go with this meal as well? I would like to refresh myself if you do not mind.”
“I would be honored, Lord Father,” the Harbormaster replied, shouting out for wine to be brought.
Commander General Allaira walked alongside Cronus as they toured the warehouses and barracks, checking on supplies and the readiness of the troops. The stocky, well-muscled woman was almost as tall as the Lord Father and looked as if she could give even the mighty Iapetus a serious fight. The beauty of her wide, oval face was muted by the stern set of her features and the darkness of her onyx-black eyes. Her wavy, raven hair was cut short for an Atlantean woman, hanging just below the nape of her neck and straight cut across her lined forehead. Her garb was of the sa
me black leather as the rest of the Aam, though the dark-blue blouse beneath her hide-laced vest swelled with the rise of her ample chest. One look at her from her knee-high, well-polished, black boots to the tooled band around her forehead told everyone that this was a very formidable woman.
“As you can see, Lord Father,” Allaira said as she waved her hand across the assembled troops, “we are ready and only await your command to move on to the next stage.”
“Not yet,” Cronus said, glad he had chosen this woman to govern this vital port. “First we must begin our distraction. Only then can you safely shift this large of an operation to the Gangerius base. We must draw Ra’s attention elsewhere so he does not notice so much air traffic crossing his skies.”
“Of course, sir,” Allaira responded crisply. “May I be so bold as to ask how soon this battle will begin?”
“Within three months,” Cronus assured her as they turned back toward the city proper. “The armada is already on its way northward. We hit Solarum within a fortnight.”
Allaira licked her darkly tanned lips, her ebony eyes glinting with feral anticipation. She was anxious to lay waste to Nil and feel the blood of her enemies on her hands. War was what she was built for.
“Good, Lord Father. Very good,” she said coldly. “I am at your command.”
Six Atlantean ships plied the dark, murky ocean five days out from the southern coast of Afrikanikis. The violent storm of yesterday was long passed, but deep swells and frothy waters still marred the surface of the verdant sea in its wake. Long, thick banks of high, fluffy white cumulus clouds swept across the skies, pushed by the steady easterly winds, their tops brilliant red and yellow with the light of the setting sun filtering through them.
Captain Navarian stood on the forecastle deck of the warship Forrestal, staring out at the open ocean through his farseers. The deep troughs and dark skies limited visibility, especially at this late evening hour. A black band of rain could be seen to the north, too far away to be of any concern to the small convoy. He ignored the salty spray that dampened him as the sharp prow cut through the rough waters, keeping his hooded cloak tight around his blockish body. What he could not ignore was the itch at the nape of his neck that said they were being watched.
Two ponderous cargo vessels and two troop transports sailed in the wake of the Forrestal with the warship Gaia’s Light taking up the rear. Like his own vessel, the other warship was small, boasting only six guns port and six starboard. They were built for speed and maneuverability, not for babysitting these clumsy, graceless, glorified boats behind him, but orders were orders. Captain Navarian knew his part in this and, though he was honored to be chosen, he did not like being used as bait.
“The long-range scanners have detected black patches to the west, Captain,” Ravenaria said, coming up behind Navarian and stopping a respectful three paces away. The ebony-haired First Mate had her hood thrown back, relishing in the spray of the ocean on her copperish skin. Her cinnamon eyes were narrowed and not a trace of humor had ever touched the thin lips of her wide, stern mouth. “They could be nothing more than passing squalls, but there is no way to tell at this distance.”
“Thank you, First Mate,” Captain Navarian replied, not glancing over his shoulder at her. He knew without looking that she stood stiffly erect, her long, black leather-clad legs slightly spread to compensate for the shifting of the deck below her booted feet. “With Nillian cloaking technology and the use of EM drones, our scanners are near useless these days anyway. That is why I prefer to watch for myself,” he said, lowering his farseers.
Turning around, Navarian asked, “What say the men in the crow’s nests?”
“They have nothing to report, though it is getting too dark for them to see much of anything now,” Ravenaria replied, her voice flat and emotionless as usual. “I have ordered them down for the night.”
The Captain nodded his agreement as a large wave washed over the bow, catching him unaware. He stumbled a little but caught himself before he could slip on the wet planking. Ravenaria acted as if she did not notice the misstep, moving aside as Navarian headed toward the stairs leading to the main deck. She followed him in silence as they made their way across the deck to the galley at the stern. All around them the crew hurried about their tasks with quiet, well-trained military efficiency, all on high alert.
“What do you think of this plan?” Navarian asked as they settled at a small table awaiting a light stew and dark tea. He trusted the instincts of this woman. Her nearly supernatural insights had kept the Forrestal nearly untouched in the many skirmishes they had so far engaged in. This one would be like no other.
“This is the Lord Father’s plan,” she said cautiously, her hawkish eyes downcast. She stared at the swirl of a touch of cream in her drink and chose her words with care. “Who am I to find fault with them?”
“Come now, Ravenaria,” the Captain said with a huff. He waved his hand across the galley empty of all but a cook and a cabin boy. “We are alone here. I do not want a political response. I want your honest opinion.”
“I know you were censured for speaking out against Cronus’ attack on Olympia,” Navarian said quietly after the stew was served and the boy had returned to the kitchen. Even among his own crew, he knew Atlantis had ears. “That is why you were stripped of command and sent to my ship in the first place. You should also know I place a great deal of trust in you.”
A wry grin showed through his short-trimmed, brown beard. “You have even heard some of my own drunken, treasonous words. You could do more damage to me than I to you.”
“Then I must say I think this will end badly,” the First Mate said, her words low and hard. She swept her eyes over the room to make sure the cook and boy were out of earshot. Ravenaria ran a fingertip around the rim of her cup as she spoke softly, still not looking up at the Captain. “This Admiral Aegir is a smart and strategic commander. His blade ships are the fastest on the seas, save for warships and they are more nimble than those vessels. His hit-and-run tactics have sunk or severely damaged over sixty ships. He has taken at least twenty more and made them his own. Aegir’s fleet appears out of nowhere and then fades into the mist. Presenting him with such a small convoy could easily send us all to the bottom of the sea.”
“True,” Captain Navarian replied, nodding his head. He absently ran a thick-fingered hand through the short-cut, mahogany curls that clung tightly to his round, boulder-like head. His brown-black eyes were like sunken pits beneath his slightly protruding, furrowed brow. “But that is the point. To give him a seemingly easy target. Do not forget, reinforcements are close by and we are far better armed than this Aegir could possibly imagine.”
“You are of course correct, my captain,” Ravenaria agreed, still staring at her cooling tea, “but that hellish Captain is smart and cautious. I fear he will see through the ruse quickly. This convoy is too small to be running alone. A ripe fruit so easily plucked would cause me some concern.”
“As for our allies,” the First Mate continued, finally meeting the Captain’s steady gaze, “they may be too far away to arrive in time. I think our demise is of little consequence to them as long as they can draw in their quarry.”
Navarian pondered her assessment for a moment. She could be right. Like Ravenaria, he was not in high favor in Atlantis due to some of his poorly thought out words. It was probably why he was in command of this operation. No one would cry if he did not return.
Before he could reply, the lights in the galley flickered and went out, leaving them in pitch blackness. Shouting broke out throughout the ship and the pounding of feet on the decks outside brought the Captain and First Mate to their feet. The darkness only lasted less than a minute and the lights returned before the pair even made their way to the door of the galley. They hit the main deck in a run, Navarian heading for the bridge while Ravenaria rushed to assess cause and damage.
“Battle stations!” the Captain yelled as he ran up the stairs to the sterncastle deck. “Ba
ttle stations!”
Two grim helmsmen stood on the bridge as Navarian rushed into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. One held firmly to the wheel while the other stared intently at the display monitors. They saluted the Captain crisply but stayed on station.
“Anything?” he asked tersely as he glanced at the screens.
“Nothing, Sir,” the young helmsman replied, still scanning the screens. Everything went blank, but as far as I can tell, there is no damage and all is operational.” He pointed a shaky finger at the shapes showing on the stern displays. His hands shook not from fear, but from a youth’s foolish excitement. “These are our sister ships right where they should be. Nothing seems amiss.”
“Then what happened?” Captain Navarian demanded, his voice raw with anger and a touch of worry. “Anything on coms from the other ships?”
On command of the Lord Father, all of the ships were shuttered and sealed at night time so it was impossible to tell if the lights had faltered on the rest of the vessels. The only illumination on the ships came from the bridge monitors and the lamps hung from the tips of the bowsprits and off the sterns of each craft. The navigation lights were self-contained oil lamps and EM proof. Of course, the bridge and scanner systems were also shielded and supposed to be immune to electromagnetic interference, but Navarian knew that was not always true. So what caused the bridge to flicker?
The helmsman listened intently to his coms before replying, his head cocked to one side and eyes closed. He nodded to himself as if answering an unheard question then looked at the Captain. “Reports are coming in from the entire fleet, sir. They all suffered the same loss of power at the exact same time. No one yet knows why. All say their systems are up and running and no damage has been reported. Maybe it was just some glitch in our systems.”
Navarian glared at the youth as if he would smash him in the face for his ignorance. The boy cringed but said nothing. “A glitch that affected all of the ships at the same time?” the Captain said with a vicious growl. “Just how stupid are you? Have every inch of this ship searched and every circuit tested. Get me an answer!”
