“We shall retire,” said Weitz and led them to the lounge they’d entered earlier in the day. Jonah asked how a shark-like sub had ended up in the Atlantic. Weitz talked as if no one had asked him before, going into excruciating detail and waving his short, chubby arms with enthusiasm. After the Collapse, he explained, Weitz’s family had become refugees in northern Germany and wandered “like the children of Israel” until his father, a naval engineer, had stumbled across an old circus on the coast of the North Sea. The Schork had been abandoned, but in former times was a wonderful treat for children, used for joy rides and naval pantomimes. Now it lay as a wreck in a disused dry-dock. His father convinced the family he could repair the sub and find a new life on the other side of the sea. “We dreamed of a tropical paradise where the coconuts drop on the sandy beaches,” he said with a throaty laugh. Instead, they suffered long winters, eking out a life in the dilapidated dockside, searching for parts and equipment – and of course food.
“That’s where I met my friend, Midas,” said Weitz, touching the giant on the shoulder. “Both our mothers had died, more of broken hearts than anything else, and so too did my darling little sister. It was a simple flu that got her. We found friendship in all that sadness. By then, Father was consumed with the Schork and he worked like a madman in the hope that we’d set off for Fiji or a place where they send postcards from.”
“And did you?” asked Tria.
“Well, ha, ha, look around, my darling! She floats, she dives, she rescues children from the ocean,” he winked at her, “and she puts on quite a good dinner party, don’t you think?”
“Yes, she does,” smiled Tria and she gave the captain an unexpected hug. Weitz blushed. “And your father, did he get to see the Schork do all those things?”
Weitz dabbed at his eyes and blew his nose like a French horn. “Yes, he did. It was a magnificent day! Everyone from the docks came to help us kick the blocks away and see her roll into the water. What a party! We’d saved a bottle of Dom Perignon for just that occasion and someone even had some Camembert cheese. He died only a few weeks after but was very happy to see his baby afloat. We buried him at sea. I think he would have liked that.”
They fell silent for a time until Midas began clearing plates and food. “And how about you, Midas, how do you come to be aboard the mighty Schork?” asked Tria. But the giant lowered eyes and walked away with a stack of dishes.
“Forgive Midas,” whispered the captain. “He doesn’t like to speak of the past. His family were part of the circus: ‘The Midas Giants with the Golden Touch!’ It didn’t go well with them after the Collapse. Bandits took a strong interest in anyone with odd features – tall, strong, hairy, whatever made you a freak made you a target for kidnappers. And his family, well, ‘nuff said about that,” and touched the side of his nose.
One of Jonah’s eyes was closing, despite his best efforts. The combination of wine, food and warmth was overwhelming.
“Speaking of freaks, look at the one-eyed pirate over there,” laughed Weitz.
Tria smiled and slid her arm inside Jonah’s and helped him up and back to their cabin. She laughed at his clumsy efforts at climbing into the hammock then kissed him on the cheek. Before she'd got into her own hammock he was already deep in sleep.
◆◆◆
They spent the remainder of that week steaming on the surface, heading nor’west (according to the compass on the bridge) to reach the NMA headquarters. Jonah had no idea where the base was but he figured they were heading into what was once the Arctic Circle. Through the eye-like domes they saw incredible sea life, flying fish and diving sea birds and dolphins that flipped around the bow. Late one afternoon, as Jonah snoozed in his hammock, the diving bell rang and he rushed to the bridge to see the surface lap against the glass and then disappear into the foamy grey of the ocean. They’d come across a group of ships that looked dangerous. “Pirates,” Midas said.
For the most part, though, the journey was slow and Jonah paced the metal ramps and fake wooden hallways trying to relieve the tension in his mind. Talking with Tria helped. She listened patiently as he revisited the conversation with GK, questioning yet again why his grandfather had restrained him, perhaps even drugged him and certainly lied to him about Abaddon. He felt betrayed – and confused. Everything had changed. His enemies were friends, his friends were enemies. His family was now cut off by mistrust and deceit. And the vengeance he felt for his father’s murderers now waned as he contemplated just who or what had killed Petreus.
Whenever he thought of Nassim he felt a stab of fear and guilt. Here he was obsessing about his own family when her fate and that of Wadid was unknown.
The dread of that place stayed with him and it took all of Tria's efforts to reassure him that what he’d done was right. “You can’t ignore what you saw at Abaddon. You have the truth and you must tell the world. You cannot run away, Jonah.”
It was a relief when late on the third day they were shaken from their hammocks by Midas. “It’s time,” he said and led them to the bridge. At first there was only darkness but the flickering iridescence in the ocean revealed they were submerged and moving slowly forwards as Weitz clanked a series of levers. The Schork groaned under the pressure and tiny cracks appeared at the edge of the windows. The circus act was fraying.
“Look!” exclaimed Tria and pointed at a light that grew brighter by the second. A second light appeared and it became obvious that they belonged to the same object. Another sub that was travelling towards them at high speed. Soon it was on them and floodlights lit up the cabin like a stage show. They had to shield their eyes until the craft flicked itself around and pulled away, blinking a red beacon at its stern.
A radio crackled. “S-46 this is Atlantica. You have clearance to enter. Follow the guide. Do not deviate.”
“Roger Atlantica,” replied Weitz into a hand-held microphone. He opened his mouth to say more and looked for a moment like he might break into song but Midas clicked his tongue, irritated. “Maybe later, huh? They have karaoke here,” he muttered.
The vista opening before the Schork was breathtaking. More lights emerged from the gloom and soon Jonah could perceive a vast undersea structure that appeared at once organic, with tangles of tubes and bulbous outcrops, and yet was also dotted with lights and the straight edges of man-made objects. The submerged island dwarfed the Schork and Jonah feared they would crash head-first into it. But at the last minute the sub slid into a dark opening and Midas followed, with only the red tail lights as his guide. The Schork bumped and grazed its way through the passage as translucent tendrils like jelly fish draped themselves over the cockpit windows. The headlights revealed the walls to be a mishmash of colours and odd geometrical shapes, with fish darting in and out of the crevices like swarms of insects.
“Plastic!” said Tria, suddenly. “The walls are made of plastic!”
Jonah looked again, and sure enough he could make out the odd milk bottle here and a carry-case there. What at first looked like a colony of coral was in fact an old freight pallet now covered in barnacles and furry sponges. And the tentacles were plastic bags and long strips of torn vinyl, waving life-like in the currents.
“Welcome to Atlantica,” laughed Weitz, “the plastic vortex of the northern Atlantic. After one hundred and fifty years of careless littering it all ends up here, forced by currents and prevailing winds into a giant spiralling mass of waste. It’s like an iceberg in an ocean without ice. A trashberg!” he laughed at his own joke.
“But one man’s trash is another man’s treasure,” said Midas as the Schork breached the ocean surface and emerged into a cavernous chamber, well-lit and dotted with boats at a multi-coloured wharf. Jonah marvelled at this massive space, a cathedral of junk, formed into a magnificent, secret military harbour. The ceiling loomed some one hundred and fifty metres above them and the sides were a kilometre apart.
It took several minutes for them to snuggle into a space between two military subs, in shades of gre
y camouflage. Despite the fruit salad of colours in the dock it was clearly a naval base: sailors paced along the wharf and weapons were being loaded into the boats. Soon they were leaping from the battered fins of the Schork onto the spongy mass of the wharf, testing it with their feet and hands. They recognised shapes like bottles and chairs. Years of pressure had compressed them into a matrix solid enough to walk on – even build a naval base on.
“It’s solid, don’t you worry,” a serious voice said behind them. They turned and saw a young man in a grey uniform, similar in age to Jonah but with a long scar down his right cheek. Once it would have been a nasty cut; now it made him look deadly serious and, thought Tria, devastatingly handsome. Two soldiers stood behind him.
“Well, look at that! If it isn’t our young friend Augustus!” said Weitz and embraced the boy with enthusiasm. Augustus blushed and tried not to smile but returned the embrace nonetheless. Adjusting his coat, he turned to Tria and Jonah and saluted. “Augustus van Meer, wharf captain on watch. Welcome aboard Atlantica.”
“Captain on watch, eh?” continued Weitz. “We have been promoted then, haven’t we? And to think you were just a young ...” but Midas elbowed Weitz in the ribs and he coughed to swallow his words. “Still, captain, that’s quite a promotion for a young fellow,” he muttered.
Jonah began to introduce himself but Augustus cut him short. “I know who you are. I am to take you directly to the Commander. Please follow me.” Augustus turned and began to walk, but Weitz sighed.
“Oh, come on Gus, let us at least say our goodbyes. It’s not every day the Schork picks up young adventurers in the middle of the Atlantic.”
Weitz turned to his guests. “Goodbye, my sea urchins. This is the end of the journey for us. We cannot stay long here and anyway we’ve got places to go, islands to discover!”
He threw his arms around them both and cried.
“I know there’s a beach with coconuts trees and warm sand waiting for you, Captain,” laughed Tria. “And there’s a restaurant just nearby advertising for a chef.” She winked at Midas.
“Goodbye, thank you for rescuing us,” said Jonah, feeling unexpectedly choked.
They all stood for moment until Augustus coughed.
“Off with you! Go save the world!” instructed Weitz.
So they followed Augustus and his coterie up a long set of steps carved into the walls of plastic. Halfway up Tria turned to see the dorsal fin of the Schork break the water and then slip below the surface. “So long, Captain,” she muttered and continued to climb.
Chapter 19 - Atlantica Special Ops
They reached a large, open landing with hundreds of people carrying bundles of papers, scurrying like insects, appearing and disappearing through holes dotted along the walls. In the centre, a bank of desks formed a raised circle with attendants handing files to the throng of walkers or tapping into consoles and yelling into headsets. From the middle of the circle cables rose like tangled vines and vanished into the roof.
“The Comms Mez,” said Augustus matter-of-factly and slid into the mess of paper-holders. Tria and Jonah followed and were bustled by a scrum of army clerks, all speaking into headpieces and brushing past one another in an elegant swarm. The path opened easily. Despite the crush, nobody touched them as they sailed through, Jonah chasing after Tria’s bobbing hair, and Tria following the fast-moving Augustus. Then they were out the other side. Jonah felt like he’d just been for a stroll through long grass. He brushed his arms instinctively.
They stood before securely fastened of doors, flanked by two heavily armed guards. Augustus leaned into an iris reader and exchanged words with a holo-post while Tria tried a friendly ‘Hi’ to the sentries. They simply stared. “Oooookay. Strictly business,” she said looking embarrassed and she slid over to Jonah. But as the doors creaked open and they stepped through onto a wide stair case, one of the guards gave her a wink. “Human after all,” she smiled.
The stairs were curved and wound upwards to reveal a dimly-lit, semi-circular amphitheatre with a low ceiling and sloping floor. At the lowest point, a transparent, holographic globe slowly spun, lit by tiny flashes and electric blue lines. Jonah’s eyes adjusted to the darkness and he picked out other shapes. Facing the spinning orb were rows of operators hunched over holo-visions, and beyond the globe, two figures sat in large chairs apparently unaware of the guests. Tria opened her mouth to speak but Augustus brought his fingers to lips.
They waited for a full minute, when a voice resonated around them. “Welcome Jonah Salvatore and Tria Baptiste, we’ve been waiting for you.”
“And we’ve been waiting for you,” muttered Jonah impatiently but suddenly an officer appeared next to them. She had a thin face and short, red hair and even in the dark Jonah could see that she had intense green eyes.
“I’m Scarlet Agassi, commander of the NMA’s North Atlantic Fleet. Welcome to the bridge of Atlantica. You may leave now, thank you Captain,” she said to Augustus, who nodded and departed down the stairs, but not before glancing at Tria, as if to say, see you again soon.
Commander Agassi showed them to a booth hidden in the shadows, where a pot of coffee was steaming and a plate laid out with thin crackers and dried fruit.
“Please help yourself,” she said as she poured their drinks. “You must be wondering why you’ve been brought here?”
They nodded, crumbs falling onto Jonah’s lap. He tried to not to look like an idiot.
“We have limited time so I’ll skip the niceties. Jonah, we’ve been tracking you since you returned to Nuevo Madrid – yes, we can track citizens, thanks to some friends in the right places. We knew something was up when your grandfather’s office went into a panic about your adventures in northern Egypt. The amount of high-level activity suggested there was something more going on than just a missing child. That was pretty interesting in its own right. But things escalated when you slipped your minders to meet Tria. Our Scion monitors went off the charts! You’re hot property, young man. So we sent the Nautilus in the hope that you’d find your way to us, perhaps through the Baptistes, perhaps through other means.”
Jonah looked at her quizzically. “You mean, there are more NMA spies on Nuevo Madrid?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered. “Far more than you know. All risking their lives, like Tria and her father, for a better future. Not just for Metricia, but for Landers also. We don’t know what you’ve discovered in Egypt but clearly it’s hot – too hot for your grandfather. We have deep concerns about him and we believe he is not acting alone. But we don’t know what it is or why. We’ve long held suspicions about the secret plans of the Council. Something, or someone, has been seizing control of Metricia and in the last few years it’s gained the upper hand. But it’s impossible to penetrate this inner circle. We don’t even know who’s in it or who’s calling the shots or what their ambition is. The Council is their plaything and we think they have a secret weapon that we don’t know anything about. All our intelligence leads us to northern Egypt. We simply can’t detect it, not on radar or by ultrawave. Our spy network comes up with nothing. We suspect the Council don’t even know what it is. But perhaps you do? Please tell us everything you know.”
Jonah noticed they were being recorded by a holocam and figured there was no going back. The Baptistes, the crew of the Nautilus, Captain Weitz and Midas – they’d all risked their own skins to bring him to this moment. He felt burdened by it and recalled that day, almost eleven months ago now, when he first left Nuevo Madrid, before the bomb, before Nassim, before all this, when he’d felt a sense of imminence, as if seeing the sun for the first time signaled a turning point.
“Well?” asked Agassi.
He spoke for over an hour. Agassi wanted to know everything, starting from the hoverpod crash and finishing with the Schork. She interrupted often and took notes from his detailed descriptions. It was especially important that he help refine the location of Abaddon, she said. At one point she buzzed up a holomap and they tried th
eir best to narrow down the area. But his geography was patchy and an attempt to reconstruct the flight of the training pod just confused things, leaving Agassi frustrated. By the end he was tired and unsatisfied – especially that the question of Nassim remained unaddressed.
“So, we’re going to get her, right?” he asked.
“This is not a rescue mission, Jonah,” she replied.
“You’re kidding! Why do you think I defected?”
“We all have our reasons!” she fired back, her eyes blazing. “We all have loved ones who are locked up or lost. Some of us are angry and want vengeance. Some of us want a better world. What you and I want is not important. What matters is that we win back control of Metricia.”
“But I promised her!” he said.
Agassi softened. “What we promise is not always within our power to achieve. There’s a chance your friend is still alive. There’s even a chance we will find her. But there’s a chance of doing something much bigger. If we can find Abaddon we will destroy it, and we may save Metricia and who knows, restart the path to peace that your father so desperately wanted.”
Jonah understood the logic but he liked it less the more she spoke. You have to break an egg to make an omelet, GK had once said. It sounded like an excuse back then and sounded worse now. But more protest was pointless. A sentry was already at their table and Agassi looked like she was about to give orders.
Road to Abaddon Page 15
