Unfathomed (The Locus Series Book 1)

by Ralph Kern

  “Nothing too fancy?” Laurie repeated with a mischievous grin. “You should see it, Brett. Jack here has one of those simply gorgeous ones. It’s bigger than my apartment back home. Why you felt you needed your own dining room, I’ll never know. It’s plain old simple excess.”

  “Yeah, well, you need the basics,” Jack not so smoothly segued into her act.

  “Oh, you’ve seen it then?” Reynolds raised an eyebrow at Jack, his lips pursed slightly.

  “I... dropped by.” Laurie gave her father an opportunistic fleeting wink as Brett cleared his throat and regarded the glass in his hand, swirling the wine around. He had a disappointed look on his face, despite the fact his wife was standing next to him.

  Reynolds nodded nearly imperceptibly at the wink, the twinkle back in his eye and clearly catching on to Laurie’s mischief. “I’m glad to see you’re making friends.”

  “To new friends.” Laurie raised her glass for the others to toast against.

  Chapter 7 – Day 3

  “We should have sight of land by now. So where the hell is it?” Captain Solberg growled to Liam. They both stood at the very front of the bridge by the huge floor to ceiling windows, out of earshot of the bridge crew. The two senior officers didn’t want to show their concern to the others.

  “Without a solid heading, we could have slipped between Eleuthera and Great Abaco. But yeah, agreed, it’s worrying we didn’t see either,” Kendricks murmured back. The two long, thin Bahamian islands should have created a barrier stretching across their course. “The question is; do we mess around trying to find Nassau or the Andros Islands?”

  Pinching the bridge of his nose underneath his glasses, Solberg’s mind raced. If they lost any more time, they would never be able to catch up with their itinerary and that carried all kinds of financial implications in terms of compensating the passengers. It was not a decision which Solberg would take lightly.

  “No, whatever’s going on is a major malfunction. We can’t even count on our clocks telling the right time. I’m half-tempted to call a pan-pan.” Solberg looked at his reflection in the window. His face was tired and drawn from only taking the shortest of catnaps over the last couple of days. If he called a pan-pan, and it was found to be inappropriate, at best he would face some hard questions. At worst, his long, and thus far illustrious career would be over. Still, as master of the Atlantica, if he was found to have put his passengers and crew in even the slightest danger, he was damn sure Crystal Ocean Lines wouldn’t think twice about hanging him out to dry. After a few moments’ consideration, Solberg finally said, “Let’s push on back to Fort Lauderdale. We can get a technical crew out to us who might be able to solve this problem while we head back east to at least try to make up our timeline.”

  “We wouldn’t be able to stop, sir. We’d have to get there, pick ‘em up, and get underway while they’re fixing us. But I agree, sir. We might miss Nassau, but we sure as hell aren’t going to be missing Florida.”

  “Hopefully they could fly someone out to us by helicopter and meet us off the coast.” Captain Solberg continued gazing through the window. Beyond his own reflection he saw the twinkle of stars in the sky. Seeing the distant points of light, a thought occurred to him. “Liam, are any of your staff good at navigating by stars?

  “You can be damn sure I can’t remember how to do it; it’s been years since I’ve had a go. We need someone fresh out of training.” Kendricks turned to look at Grissom, who was yawning at his console. “Walt? Over here, please.”

  “Sir?” The young officer started, then stood and walked around his console to them.

  “We want to confirm our heading. What’s your celestial navigation like?” Kendricks asked.

  “Err.” Grissom frowned. “It’s passable, I guess.”

  “Good enough,” Kendricks said, nodding. “Get somewhere you can get a sighting on the stars and see whether you can get us a location.”

  “I might need to, you know, brush up a bit,” Grissom swallowed as his gaze flicked between the two senior officers.

  “Understood. It’s not like you’re able to do much here with the system’s outage anyway.” Kendricks smiled reassuringly at the young officer. “Hand your station handed over to Kelly. Do whatever you need to do to get yourself up to speed and go see if you can give us some kind of position report.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” Grissom hustled out of the room, grabbing his fleece from the rack by the hatch on the way out.

  “Celestial navigation? I can’t believe it has come down to this,” Solberg grumbled.

  ***

  There weren’t many areas on the ship’s deck to get away from the light pollution that spilled off the Atlantica in every direction, but the muster stations where the bulbous gaudy orange mega lifeboats were situated was the closest Grissom could think of.

  He walked past the boats toward the stern of the ship, where he knew the lower lighting from the sports facilities above wouldn’t wash out the stars—as much, anyway.

  The art of celestial navigation was nearly a lost one when it came to the average sailor, and Grissom was little better than most. On the way down he’d grabbed a small brass sextant and taken the opportunity to go by the ship’s library to see if there were any books on the subject... which there weren’t. Fortunately, when he had checked the ship’s intranet, he’d seen that someone had, at some point, viewed a website on the subject and it was still in the ship’s cache.

  Finally reaching the stern, he saw he wasn’t alone. Standing in the center facing out to sea was a male figure, dimly illuminated in the low LED lighting.

  “Hey there,” Grissom said as he approached the man from behind. He gave a start and turned, moving his hands behind him to keep something out of Grissom’s view.

  “Oh, hi,” the man said, glancing around the deck before focusing on the young officer.

  “What are you up to?” Grissom was mindful to keep his tone lighthearted. This area wasn’t off limits to passengers, it was just that it wasn’t exactly visited often being far more utilitarian in layout than the majority of the ship.

  “Just getting a bit of me time away from the crowds, you know how it is.” The man smiled. “How about yourself?”

  “Working, I’m afraid. Hey, aren’t you the guy we pulled off that boat?”

  “Yeah, you folks saved my bacon. I’d be starting to lose a bit of weight in a couple of days if it weren’t for you,” Grayson said.

  “Ha, you’re welcome. I’m not sure how much better off you are with us though right now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Realizing he’d said too much, Grissom changed the subject. “Don’t suppose you know too much about celestial navigation?”

  “Celestial navigation? Not a clue. Why?” Grayson cocked his head.

  “Nothing.”

  A crackle came from behind Grayson and a tinny voice. “Karl, did you get my last?”

  “What? Who the hell are you talk—” That was all Grissom could manage before Karl Grayson was on him. The athletic man clubbed the young officer on the temple with the base of his CB radio which he’d had hidden behind his back, dazing Grissom and causing the young officer to drop to his knees.

  Grayson grabbed Grissom’s head and smashed it into the railings again and again, knocking him clean out. Going limp, Grissom slumped to the floor, blood bubbling out of the gash on his head.

  Glancing around to ensure no one else was present, Grayson whispered calmly into his radio, “Standby, just dealing with something.”

  Putting the radio into his jacket pocket, he knelt down next to the unconscious officer and wrapped his hands around Grissom’s neck and began to squeeze.

  For the briefest moment, Grissom came to. He gave a gargling choke and kicked frantically at the railing while making a weak effort to pull the much stronger man’s hands off him. It was to no avail... within seconds, the life had left him.

  Grunting in effort, Grayson picked up the dead weight of the c
orpse and heaved it overboard. With a distant splash, Grissom’s body disappeared into the white frothy trail emanating from the ship’s engines.

  His chest heaving and his body trembling with adrenaline, Grayson looked around again, satisfying himself that no one was around.

  Pulling the radio out of his pocket again, he pressed the talk button. “I’m back with you but we might need to speed things up. How long until you can overtake us?”

  The radio crackled briefly before a heavily accented and authoritative voice on the other end said. “We’ll be with you in ten hours.”

  Chapter 8 – Day 3

  The pumping bass erupted from the speakers with a force that Jack could physically feel pounding his body, yet the warm glow of the alcohol in his system turned it from an annoyance into a pleasure. Even better, the music drowned out the constant ringing of the tinnitus in his ears.

  Laurie and Jack were in the middle of the dance floor of Buccaneers. This was the younger and hipper of the ship’s two nightclubs, and was nestled deep in the bowls of the hull away from the passenger cabins. Strobe lighting and lasers washed over their sweat-slicked, gyrating bodies and the crush of others around them pushed them closer together.

  Jack’s dancing had not been great even before Syria. Now it had descended to new depths of awfulness, but right now, he didn’t care. He was drunk, dancing with a beautiful woman, and for the first time in six months, felt alive again.

  The music smoothly segued from a dance track to a slower beat and with a hiss, smoke was pumped out onto the dance floor, creating a misty, surreal place with strobes flashing in time to the beat. Around them couples pressed together, some kissing, some just cuddling up.

  The distance between Jack and Laurie began to reduce even more. Their bodies began to press closer, eyes locked together.

  No, Jack thought. He stepped back slightly. She’s drunk, she’ll just regret it. She’ll have to find an excuse. No. If she does this, she needs to do it sober.

  Jack couldn’t believe he was cockblocking himself. His first chance at any action in a year—including the time he had spent deployed in Syria.

  “I’m thirsty,” Jack shouted to be heard over the music as he made a drinking gesture with his hand. “Want one?”

  A quickly suppressed flash of disappointment crossed Laurie’s face. Giving a nod and smile, she followed him off the dance floor, both heading to the bar.

  ***

  “Sergeant Jack,” Laurie slurred. “It has a nice ring to it. I think that’s what Captain America’s real name should be.”

  “Actually,” Jack said pointedly, staggering slightly as they wandered up the near-deserted promenade. “I think you’ll find Captain America’s real name was Steve.”

  “Really?” Laurie frowned, cocking her head in the look of abject concentration which only a drunken person could give before saying decisively. “Well, I prefer Sergeant Jack.”

  “Well, I’m sure your father would prefer an officer and a gentleman,” Jack replied as they reached the glass elevators. “You know I have a policy, I only use the stairs.”

  Laurie looked up at the vast atrium space and squinted. “I think you’re on your own there, Sergeant Jack. I’m on deck ten.”

  “Yeah, you may have a point. That’s a long way.” Jack frowned; it did indeed look a long way up. “I’m only on deck four.”

  “That,” Laurie laughed loudly, causing one of the crew whirring by on a motorized floor polisher to start and look at them, “is the worst line I’ve heard in a long time.”

  “No, no I didn’t mean it like that!” Jack held his hands up as if he were warding off the accusation. “What I meant was—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Laurie continued, chuckling. “You can walk me back to my cabin like a good gentleman and then you can go back to your palatial suite.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Jack nodded.

  “Because the last thing we’d want is for you to take advantage of a drunken lady and my father have to castrate you.”

  “No, ma’am.” Jack winced.

  Chapter 9 – Day 3

  “That radar return is firming up. We definitely have a ship out there,” Kelly Maine said from Grissom’s usual station.

  For the last few hours as dawn had set in, again far earlier than expected, they had been picking up something seeming to be trailing them. It had slowly gone from being an intermittent blinking smudge to a solid spot of light on the radar display as it steadily overtook them.

  “Understood. Let’s try signaling her again. Now we’ve established they actually exist, hopefully someone is now in the mood to talk over there,” Captain Solberg said.

  “She’s definitely closing in on us, Captain. Her speed has jumped to around thirty knots.”

  Solberg glanced at Kendricks who was stood next to his chair. “Thoughts?”

  “I’m not liking this.” Kendricks frowned. “She’s been messing around at the limits of our radar perception, and suddenly she jumps to thirty knots. She’s not talking, and we’ve already figured out our radio is transmitting and receiving just fine. If she’s having the same problems as us she should, frankly, be begging to talk.”

  “Indeed.” Captain Solberg began lightly drumming his fingertips on the arm of his chair. “She could just be nervous if she is sharing our navigation difficulties. Send another message; reiterate to them we wish to offer assistance.”

  “Aye aye.” Kendricks reached for the mic, lifted it to his lips and paused. “Shall we come to a stop? Let her catch up?”

  Solberg looked at the radar return on the screen above his head, trying to divine some kind of sense from the speck of light that seemed to be silently stalking them.

  “No, maintain course. If she’s not requesting assistance then I don’t want to burn fuel and time stopping for her,” Solberg said after a few moments. “How long until she overtakes us?”

  “We’re looking at around four hours, sir.”

  “And how long until we sight land, or at least should, anyway?”

  “Five, Captain,” Maine called out.

  Kendricks frown took a more pronounced turn. “That sounds a little too convenient timing to me.”

  “Yes... yes it does.” Solberg agreed. He continued drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair for a long moment. “Send out another broadcast. If she doesn’t answer keep putting it out every thirty minutes, but maintain course and heading.”

  ***

  With a groan, Jack lifted his head from the couch cushion onto which he’d fallen face first. Pushing himself into a sitting position, he wiped the corner of his mouth where some dried drool had formed a crisp film.

  Taking in a deep breath, Jack made an abortive effort to stand up, getting about halfway before the alcohol-induced dizziness and pain in his head caused him to slump back down into a seated position.

  Resting his head in his hands for a moment, he desperately fought the temptation to lie back down on the couch and slip back into blissful unconsciousness.

  Come on, man. Buck up and get up. You know what you need to do. With a groan, he stood himself up and stumbled into the toilet. Taking a deep breath, he stuck a finger down his throat, feeling it tickle.

  Without much more incentive, he vomited, feeling his stomach heave painfully.

  Panting from the effort, Jack grabbed the shaving glass and filled it with water. Rinsing out his mouth, he spat into the toilet after the remains of the previous night’s excess. Fumbling in his wash bag, he took out a tub of aspirin and gulped down four of them, washing down the pills with more water.

  Peeling off the previous night’s shirt and trousers, he turned the nozzle on the shower and stepped in for the next stage of “Operation Feel Human Again.”

  ***

  The surfing simulator, a blue sloping surface with water roaring down it was, as ever, surrounded by laughing and cheering people. The grinning young woman on it was performing well. She had been on for at least thirty seconds as she
zigzagged through the surf.

  The attendant, who couldn’t have been out of his teens gave a shout, “Who wants to see her plant?”

  The crowd roared an affirmative and the attendant turned up the flow. The running water became a bubbling white torrent. The woman managed to resist for a few more seconds before flying off and tumbling gracelessly into the netted catch area.

  The attendant pulled the laughing woman out of the water and gave her a quick once-over before turning back to the crowd. “Next!”

  Kendricks had made his way around the periphery of the crowd, nodding and exchanging pleasantries with the more nervous passengers who were hanging back.

  With one final, “If you’ll excuse me,” he reached the stern and lifted the binoculars hanging around his neck to his eyes.

  The tiny black speck behind the Atlantica came into focus. A white shape, twin hulls joined by a boxy cross-section, powering through the blue sea in pursuit of them.

  Kendricks pressed the screen on his smart phone, selecting the Captain’s number. “Sir, looks like she’s a catamaran ferry. Probably a Caribbean island hopper.”

  “At least it’s not a goddamn pirate ship. Is she displaying any flags?” Solberg replied.

  Squinting, Kendricks looked through the binoculars again. From this distance, the flag was minute, but just visible. A red cross on a white background—the international sign of a ship requiring assistance.

  “Sir, I’m seeing a Victor flag,” Kendricks said.

  “A Victor? Stand by, Liam.”

  “Standing by.”

  ***

  “She’s talking, sir.” Maine pressed the headphone into her ear.

  Lowering himself into his chair and composing himself, Solberg said, “We’ll, let’s hear what she has to say.”

  “Aye, sir.” Maine touched her console.

  “—say again, I require assistance.” The voice through the speaker had a Spanish or Hispanic lilt to it.