Leviathan Rising

by Jonathan Green

  As Ulysses struggled with his nemesis, their craft plunging towards their mutual destruction, he could feel his heart pounding within his chest, as adrenalin flooded his system, could hear it knocking against his ribs, throbbing almost painfully.

  And then the villain's face was disappearing into the darkness and the whirling snow and the banging was becoming louder, like a fist beating at a door.

  And now Ulysses was blinking himself awake, trying to remember where he was, only dimly conscious of the fact that a man's voice was calling him.

  "Mr Quicksilver! Sir! Please open the door. Mr Quicksilver! The captain urgently requires your assistance!"

  After the banging at his door and the urgent voice outside it, the next thing Ulysses was aware of was that he was alone; Glenda's place in the bed beside him had been vacated. A totally unexpected knot of cold shock gripped his stomach, as if he cared more about her than he had realised.

  Pushing himself up from the mattress, trying to clear his head, forcing sleep from him enough so that he could string a coherent sentence together, he managed a "What is it?" without his voice sounding too sleep-slurred.

  "Captain McCormack has asked for you, sir," the voice from the other side of the door said.

  Pushing his fringe out of his eyes, Ulysses focused blearily on the luminous clock face on the opposite side of the double bed. It wasn't long after six.

  "What are you bothering me for at this time? Breakfast isn't until nine, isn't it?"

  "It's a very urgent matter, sir. The captain wouldn't bother you if it wasn't an emergency."

  At that moment there was a discreet tap at the adjoining door between Ulysses' cabin and the communal room of the suite.

  "Come in, Nimrod," Ulysses said.

  The door opened and Ulysses' manservant's aquiline profile appeared around the edge.

  "I just wanted to check you were awake, sir," he said. "It sounds like something that won't wait."

  "I know," Ulysses muttered, "regrettably."

  He clambered out of bed, walked to the door naked and pulled on the dressing gown hung there. He opened the door, even as he was still covering himself with the robe.

  Standing in the corridor outside was the Neptune's anxious-looking purser. He was running his peaked cap through his hands and looked decidedly unwell.

  "What is it then that you have to disturb me at this ungodly hour of the morning?"

  "Captain McCormack has asked to see you, sir."

  "Might I enquire as to why?"

  "There's been a murder."

  The purser led Ulysses and Nimrod through the winding corridors of the ship to a crew-access-only elevator and from there down through the decks to the heart of the sub-liner. On arriving at their destination, the lift doors opened and the three men stepped out into another broad passageway, decorated in the Neo-Deco style, just like the rest of the ship. They stopped again outside a pair of double doors, emblazoned with the trident logo of the Neptune.

  "Where have you brought us? What is this place?" Ulysses asked as the purser inserted his crew-key into a lock beside the doors. "Apart from, I take it, the scene of the crime?"

  "This is the heart of the ship. This is where the artificial intelligence engine is located that runs the on-board systems."

  "So more like its brain than its heart, then," Nimrod commented in a tone that attempted disinterest.

  "And there's been a murder here? At the very centre of operations in what I imagine must be the most restricted area on the ship?"

  The purser turned and paused for a moment. "Mr Quicksilver. You have to realise that what you are about to see is quite... shocking."

  "Oh, don't worry about me. It takes a lot to shock me."

  The purser turned the key and the double doors swung open with a pneumatic hiss.

  Captain McCormack was inside the AI room already, with another officer attending him along with Dr Ogilvy - who looked even worse than Ulysses felt he himself did. Ulysses' gaze followed theirs to the body lying on the floor of the chamber, just inside the doorway, and he felt his knees buckle under him.

  It was Glenda. She was lying in a crumpled heap, wearing the same dress that he had torn from her in his desperate need to make love only hours before. Her attire, her whole presence in this place, seemed incongruous and out of place. Her right arm was stretched out in front of her, the left trapped under her body. She lay with her head on one side, her eyes closed as if she was only sleeping. But it was immediately obvious that this was more than some restful slumber.

  Her shoulder-length blonde hair fell in disarray about her head, matted with the blood that coated the back of her skull and pooled on the floor next to her.

  Ulysses felt his stomach knot with cold nausea; muscles becoming slack, his spine a quivering knot of jellified ganglia. His skin beneath the dressing gown pimpled, every hair on his body standing on end. His vision began to swim and he took a stumbling step forward, catching himself against the door jamb.

  What was wrong with him? He had seen much worse. There was the horror of what he had uncovered in the tomb of Rahotep the Third in Luxor, the monstrosity he had battled off the Cornish coast, the de-evolving fish-man he had seen die, in the most horrible way, right before his eyes. He had witnessed all manner of cruel and blood-soaked deaths in his time. This girl had only been a passing distraction to him, nothing more. So why was he so shocked now?

  "Are you alright, sir?" Nimrod asked, moving to help him.

  Ulysses pushed him away, sheer force of will returning strength and stability to his weakened legs. "Is she -?"

  "Dead?" Dr Ogilvy finished. "I'm afraid so."

  "But... you're sure?"

  "Well, a severely fractured skull can do that to a person."

  Ulysses took another step forward, unable to take his eyes from the mess of gold and crimson covering the back of Glenda's head.

  "But... what was she doing here?" he stumbled on.

  "That was what I was hoping you might be able to help us determine, Mr Quicksilver," Captain McCormack said, his lilting Scots brogue calming in the given situation, "given your reputation."

  "'The sluttish hack must have been grubbing around in here hoping to find some piece of titillation for her scandal column," Dr Ogilvy muttered dismissively.

  And then, the doctor's disrespectful words filtering through to Ulysses subconscious as he stared at his erstwhile lover's corpse, the old fire returned and grief became furious anger in a moment.

  Ulysses sprang at the doctor, slamming him against a wall, a hand around his throat, pulling him off the ground so that he was forced to teeter on tiptoe, or else choke.

  "A hack was she? A slut? Better a hack than a dope-fiend doctor, who's probably so high he wouldn't know if his own pathetic body had a pulse or not!" Ulysses snarled, spittle flying from his lips.

  "Sir," Nimrod said, from where he was now crouched beside the crumpled body of Glenda, his fingers gently holding her wrist, "I'm afraid Dr Ogilvy is right. She is dead. I'm sorry."

  Ulysses sagged again as the truth of the matter sank in. His hold on the doctor slackened and Ogilvy sank to the floor. Ulysses turned away from him in sense-numbing shock and disgust, leaving the medic coughing for breath as he rubbed at his bruised throat.

  It was only now that he took in his surroundings in any detail. The chamber was about the same dimensions as one of the guest cabins on board. However, rather than the usual accoutrements and pieces of furniture one might expect, there were only two things of interest in the room. The first was a grand desk in the centre. Set into the green-leather top of the desk was a Babbage terminal finished in teak and brass, as well as a small cathode ray screen to the left and various other ports and slots for inserting mimetic keys and other such information storage devices. There was also a paper-fed printing machine to the right.

  The second was a large screen facing the desk, in the middle of the far wall of the chamber. At the moment it was obscured by two sliding panels, bea
ring the same trident image as the doors to the room.

  Looking more closely, it was possible to see where the Neo-Deco styling had been used to best effect to disguise the mechanisms of a massive analytical engine - one so large and so complex that it had acquired something akin to independent mechanical thought.

  And Glenda Finch had been murdered here.

  Questions began to emerge from the murky ooze of grief clouding his mind. What had she been doing here in the first place and how had she gained access if it was restricted to crew only? Had she had an officer's key, like the one the purser possessed, or had someone let her in? And someone else had obviously been here with her or interrupted her as she was about her own clandestine business, but whom? And why?

  "Look at this, sir," Nimrod said, still knelt beside Glenda's body. "It's her bag."

  Ulysses took the proffered item from his manservant. There was something inside: like every good reporter she had obviously never been without her notebook.

  Amidst the gaggle of questions and the conflicting mix of emotions crowding his consciousness, Ulysses still felt the tingle of pre-warning and turned towards the open double doors. A moment later Agent Harry Cheng appeared, his aide, Mr Sin, coming after. Cheng looked like he was about to speak but then caught sight of Glenda's curled, foetal form, and remained silent.

  "Mr Cheng," McCormack said on catching sight of the man at the door to the AI chamber. "Can I ask what you're doing here, in a restricted area?"

  'I find myself begging your most humble apology again, Captain, but I heard a commotion and wondered if myself and Mr Sin might be able to help.'

  "But this is a restricted area of the ship."

  "And now a murder scene," the purser added.

  "I beg your most humble apology, Captain," Cheng said, bowing deeply. "I did not know."

  "Look, Mr Cheng," McCormack went on, "you may not realise this but I am aware of your status within the Chinese government and have tolerated you on board so far, as I would any of my passengers, but do not take advantage of my goodwill. Goodbye, Mr Cheng. One of my officers will escort you back to your rooms."

  "Very good, Captain," Cheng conceded and allowed himself and the hulking Mr Sin to be led away from the scene of the crime.

  McCormack turned back to those present in the AI chamber.

  "My ready room, gentlemen, thirty minutes."

  "Mr Quicksilver," the Captain said once they were all installed in his private ready room, actually more than an hour later, all of them having taken the time to dress for the day. "I would be very happy if you would lead this most unfortunate but necessary investigation into Miss Finch's brutal killing. But I am also aware that you and Miss Finch were... close."

  Ulysses accepted the glass of brandy that was being offered him by the purser with a curt "Thank you" before responding to the captain's request.

  "No, I would be happy to accept. As you say, just such a thing is in my line of work."

  "Very well," McCormack said. "Then might I suggest we begin by reviewing the facts as we have them so far."

  The others gathered in the room nodded their assent.

  "Mr Wates here found the body," he said, indicating the other officer who had been present with him when Ulysses first entered the AI chamber, "when it was his shift to check on Neptune first thing in the morning."

  "Neptune? Do you mean the ship or -"

  "It's how we refer to the artificial intelligence. It has been designated Neptune. The AI really is the ship."

  "And when would the last check have been made before that?"

  "At midnight. I carried that one out myself."

  "Miss Finch was still with me at the Casino Royale at that time," Ulysses added, "along with half a dozen other reputable witnesses."

  "Can you vouch for her whereabouts after that time?"

  "Er... Yes. Yes I can."

  "Until when?" the Captain asked, looking uncomfortable. "I know this is difficult - potentially embarrassing - but any pertinent detail could be the key to solving her murder."

  "I realise that," Ulysses said. "Around one, one-thirty? Beyond that, I'm not sure."

  "So some time between one-thirty and six this morning, Miss Finch somehow entered the Neptune AI -"

  "And was murdered," Ulysses finished for him darkly.

  "Those times would fit with the medical evidence," Dr Ogilvy said, chipping in, as if feeling the need to justify his presence in the ready room and prove his medical credentials after Ulysses' outburst.

  Ulysses glowered at the doctor, making Ogilvy physically pull himself back into the armchair in which he sat. "Can you also confirm cause of death?" he asked.

  "Er, y-yes. One or more blows to the back of her head with a blunt instrument fractured the skull, causing sub-cranial trauma. Death would have followed soon after."

  "Indeed." Ulysses stared into his brandy glass for a moment before going on. "Was there any sign of such an instrument at the scene?"

  "No, there wasn't," the purser put in.

  "So what we need to work out now is why Miss Finch was there in the first place and how she gained entry," Captain McCormack went on.

  "Well, I think I can answer both of those conundrums for starters," Ulysses said.

  "Really? Already?" the captain was taken aback. "I can see why your reputation precedes you, Mr Quicksilver."

  Ulysses held up Glenda's bag. "While we were waiting to meet in your ready room Captain, I took the liberty of inspecting the personal effects Miss Finch was carrying with her at the time of her death."

  He put a hand into the bag and fished out a key, almost identical to the one the purser had used to gain access to the Neptune's AI chamber. The purser gasped.

  "How the hell did she get hold of that?" Captain McCormack cursed.

  "Was Miss Finch particularly well-acquainted with any of your officers?" Ulysses asked, not mincing his words, his own face reddening. "She could be very... persuasive."

  "I'll look into it immediately," McCormack promised, "as soon as we are all done here."

  "So that answers the how," Mr Wates said, chipping in, "but not the why."

  "No, but I think I can help you there too. This answers the why," Ulysses said, taking out the reporter's notebook from the bag.

  "Really?" He had the captain hooked.

  "But I warn you, Captain McCormack, you're not going to like what I'm about to tell you." Ulysses opened the notebook, flicking through the pages of shorthand script, finally stopping at one particular page. "It seems that Miss Finch was onto something regarding your employer, the owner of this ship and the Great White Shipping Line."

  "Mr Carcharodon?"

  "Indeed." Ulysses fixed McCormack with a needling stare. "Are you able to check if anyone accessed the AI terminal outside of the times when it would have been routinely inspected by members of your crew?"

  "Yes, we can and we have." It was Captain McCormack's turn to look uncomfortable.

  "And?"

  "The terminal was accessed at oh-two forty-seven"

  "Then I would suggest that gives you an even more accurate time of death, wouldn't you, Captain?" Ulysses felt the chill in his belly worsen but pushed on, regardless. "And which data files were accessed?"

  "You have to understand that this is highly classified information," the Captain said, suddenly evasive.

  "And you have to understand that you have asked me to carry out a murder investigation," Ulysses pointed out, his voice rising in sudden anger. "I applaud your loyalty to your employer but I fear that on this occasion it may be misplaced."

  McCormack looked from Ulysses to the purser, back at Ulysses' intense expression and then at the other faces observing him from around the room. "Can't we speak about this in private?"

  "What information, Captain?"

  "An attempt was made to access files containing financial information about the Carcharodon Shipping Company," McCormack said ruefully.

  "Just as Glenda's own notes, written in
her own hand in this book, imply," Ulysses said with impassioned vehemence. "And it doesn't take a huge leap of genius to make the supposition that that is the reason she was killed."

  Ulysses paused in his tirade, silence rushing in to fill the vacuum. Then he spoke again.

  "I think it's about time we spoke with Jonah Carcharodon himself, don't you?"

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Worse Things Happen at Sea

  With a hiss, the trident-emblazoned doors swung open. Unwatched and alone, a visitor entered the chamber housing the Neptune AI.

  Considering where the murder of Glenda Finch had occurred, in the aftermath of the gruesome discovery made in the room, Captain McCormack had not considered it practicable to secure the crime scene, else the continued running of the whole ship be compromised. The scene was recorded on film, the body moved to the sub-liner's mortuary, the mess cleaned up as best could be managed and a robo-sentry put on guard. The same sentry had greeted the visitor as they approached the AI chamber door, had made friendly pre-programmed small talk as an access key was turned in the electro-lock and even ushered them in as the doors opened.

  The doors swung shut again and the visitor stepped up to the control console, trying not to look at the bloodstain still there on the floor. Their footsteps faltered, staring at the spot where the snooping newspaper reporter had fallen, imagining seeing the body there again even now, after it had been removed by the captain's staff. Only Captain McCormack's most senior staff had been entrusted with the knowledge of the murder of one of the Neptune's most prestigious and public figures, for the time being. Of course, the relevant authorities would have to be notified in time, along with Miss Finch's employers at The Times and, by extension, her family, but for the time being, mid-ocean, the captain was the ultimate British authority on the ship and he had tasked Ulysses Quicksilver with solving the mystery of the woman's death. It was the captain's secret hope that by the time the authorities back in Magna Britannia were notified he might have something more to report that just the death of a passenger; he hoped that he would also have the perpetrator of that crime under lock and key in the brig as well.