Driftwood: An Atlas Link Series Novella

by Jessica Gunn

I accepted the drink, eyeing it. The visage of it swam back and forth across my tipsy vision.

  “It’s liquor,” he offered in my silence. “The crazy guy at the bar poured it.”

  Logan? If Logan poured it, it’d be fine. I brought the cup to my lips. The liquid was cool, tangy, and burned on the way down. Whiskey. The cheap kind with an aftertaste that coated my mouth with a gross flavor.

  “It’s like,” I said, “if we had news, don’t you think we’d share it? The crew’s families would be the first to know.”

  “Do you keep in touch with them?” he asked.

  “Some. A few more than others, for obvious reasons.” I saw Julie and the Captain’s families the most. The others I knew Trevor talked to. Then there were the ones we’d lost track of, people like Lieutenant Weyland, who hadn’t returned for a second tour, but had since disappeared off the face of the planet.

  “Like?”

  “The Captain’s family,” I offered, but only because it seemed logical. Unlike my brain, which grew heavier and hazier by the second. Maybe I’d pushed through the wall after all.

  “Are they mad?” he asked.

  My eyes narrowed once more. “Mad about what?”

  Anthony’s entire body language shifted in a single second. His muscles went rigid with arrogance and power as he straightened. “That the entire crew except you and one engineer, Trevor Boncore, went missing less than two weeks after the station was hijacked?”

  I stepped toward him against my better judgment. Journalists were usually easy to spot with a camera or notepad in hand. Anthony had neither, which left me grappling to figure out what he wanted. Could he be Lemurian?

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Have I struck a chord?”

  “What do you want?” I growled.

  “The truth, once and for all, for the entire world,” he said. “What really happened that day? Is it some military experiment? Are you and the engineer really the only two people still alive, or are there more?”

  “Experiment?” I echoed. “You know, I gotta admit—that’s a new one.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Back off right now,” I said.

  “Or what?”

  “Look, I’m glad we were lab partners in high school, Anthony, but I’m not answering anymore questions.” I reached out on a hunch and, through the woozy haze of my intoxication, scooped a finger under the collar of his shirt in a quick motion. I fished out a wire. “Man, you guys will do anything for a good story, won’t you?” I yanked out the wire and pulled it apart. “What happened that day is the world lost ninety-seven good, honest people. But we will find them. Now leave me the hell alone already.”

  I shouldered past him and combed the crowd for my sister. I found her with Logan, my best friend since diapers. “Hey.”

  “What’s up?” Logan said. “You look…”

  “Not so great,” Sarah replied.

  “Extremely inebriated,” I said. “And there’s a reporter inside. Pretty sure he’ll leave now, but it might be best to shut this down soon.”

  Their eyes widened.

  “Did he corner you?” Logan asked, his body poised to take flight for Anthony in my defense. His hard eyes searched the room. “Where is he?”

  I put a hand on Logan’s arm—or, tried to with my awful depth-perception—and held up a fistful of wire. “I’m fine. I ripped out his wire, and he got nothing out of me anyway. They never get anything.”

  Sarah rose to her tiptoes. “I’ll go find the guys and have them kick people out.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “You should get out of here,” she said to me. Her eyes held concern and wariness, as tired by all of this media attention as I was.

  “No way. I’m not leaving until I know every last person is gone.”

  I helped Logan and his friends herd people out of the basement door and attempted to clean up. Not an easy task with the world swaying before my eyes. I stumbled between piles of cans.

  As soon as he saw people leaving in mass exodus, Trevor came in to help, too, but we didn’t speak. Sarah shot me concerned glances and I shook my head, telling her not to say anything. I’d talk to Trevor after, back at TAO. Until then, I wanted to clean up and not deal with it. Only, said cleaning up took longer because my eyes crossed right along with the rest of the world. Why did people get drunk willingly? Even throwing an empty can into a trash bag became a depth perception challenge.

  Once the keg and empties were taken care of, I said goodbye to Sarah and hopped into the car that TAO had loaned me. Trevor climbed into the driver’s seat and we drove down to an empty parking lot with no cameras. I grabbed onto the dashboard and held out a hand to Trevor. “Taxi up,” I said, half-heartedly.

  He placed his hand in mine without a word. I teleported us back to TAO’s garage and we filed into the main building. Only when we were in the cramped elevator and headed for our separate quarters did Trevor speak.

  “Did a fight break up the party?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “A journalist.”

  His eyes bugged out. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I crossed my arms at my chest and fought the stumble threatening to tip me over. “Didn’t seem like you wanted to talk.”

  “I was tired,” he said.

  “And pissed at me.” I ran a hand through my hair. “Apparently I’m not even safe from my own high school class. Turns out this kid I was lab partners with in AP Chem is now a reporter. Glad to see neither of us put that one hundred percent grade average to good use.”

  Trevor’s face scrunched up. “You aced AP Chem?”

  “Yeah, what of it?” He only stared. I bristled. “Just because I graduated with a degree in archaeology doesn’t mean I can’t do science. I just prefer rocks and folktales to numbers and particles I can’t see. God, anything but numbers.”

  He pressed his lips together until a smile edged them and I swear to God sunshine filled the elevator. His eyes danced with the smile and became a brilliant blue, drawing me home like the ocean. His fingers brushed mine, electricity passing between us. I wrapped my arms around him and he held me tight. My head found its home under his chin and he kissed my forehead. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “It’s fine,” I mumbled into his shirt. “Sorry I’m a lush.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t usually mind.”

  “I egged you on.”

  “To be fair, you wouldn’t have had to if I hadn’t screwed up in the first place,” he said. “How about we call this one a draw and forget about it?”

  I nodded into his chest. “Sounds good to me.”

  “What’d the journalist want?” he asked.

  “Same old stuff. I stole his wire and made him leave.”

  “Good. Tell the General about it in the morning,” he said. The elevator dinged and the door opened. “Now, tell me about this AP Chem class you supposedly aced.”

  “Supposedly?”

  He grinned and snuck out of the elevator like a kid caught stealing chocolate. I chased after him, smiling.

  Chapter Five

  Get out of bed.

  My body didn’t want to heed the command. At all. The alarm clock blared away, an annoying, high-pitched siren. Thick fog captured my thoughts and held them in place, unreadable.

  “Come on, sleepy head,” Trevor said, towel wrapped around his waist as he exited my bathroom. His muscular chest glistened with water droplets. “Briefing is in an hour, and you have to talk to General Holt before then.”

  A groan signaled my protest. Why did everything feel so weird?

  “Chelsea?”

  I sat up. “Did I take one of those pills after you left last night?”

  His eyes darkened. “I thought I swiped them all from you.”

  I massaged my temples and retraced my steps. One. I’d had one before he took them, but not enough alcohol with it to push through the wall. Why’d I feel this bad, then? “Something’s not right. But I’ll be okay.”

&nbs
p; I hoped.

  “You sure?”

  I nodded and forced myself into the shower. The world swayed inside the sauna, combining with the warm water to make nausea rise to the surface. I turned down the water temperature and braced myself on the shower wall. What the hell?

  A flash of a memory, a brief moment of utter stupidity, overtook my mind. Anthony offered me a drink, waited until I drank, then went in on the hard questions.

  “Son of a bitch,” I said. What’d he drug me with? I shuddered to guess. Nothing was supposed to inhibit me. The right amount of pain medication or an IV drip could, that poison Thompson had used on me, but that was it.

  “Chelsea, let’s go,” Trevor said through the door.

  I forced myself through the rest of the shower, biting back as much of the dizziness as I could. Alcohol mixed with maybe one Vicodin pill, mixed again with whatever Anthony had used. That must have been what happened.

  Whatever. It’ll wear off.

  But did I believe that? I glanced at myself in the mirror. I had to.

  It didn’t wear off. Twenty minutes later found me standing outside the General’s office with Trevor by my side. He refused me entry.

  “Just tell me,” Trevor said. “How many pills did you take before I got to them?”

  “I look that bad?”

  “You’re braced against the wall because you think the world’s caving in,” he said dryly. It was an act. His arm muscles tensed, ready to hit something. He probably thought I’d done it on purpose, or had taken something after he’d gone to sit outside last night. And while that was inadvertently true, I wasn’t sure telling Trevor the truth would make it any better. I’d rather have him think I lied and took something, than admit I was stupid enough to accept a drink from someone other than him, Logan, or Sarah.

  “I feel sick. I can get sick, Trevor.”

  His lips formed a hard line. He pinned me with his gaze for long moments, deep blue and endless. Then he shook his head and looked away. “Go to the Infirmary after we talk to General Holt.”

  I nodded, mostly to satisfy him. “Okay.”

  He knocked on the General’s office door and Holt called us in. We filed inside.

  “General, something happened last night,” I said before realizing someone other than the General was in the room.

  “Well, this is certainly an intriguing opportunity,” Dr. David Johansson Jr. said.

  My gaze slid to him in a glare before I could even begin to think of stifling it. “What in the flying fu—”

  “Dr. Johansson, sir,” Trevor interrupted me. “We didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Dr. Johansson nodded deeply at Trevor, ignoring me completely. Probably for the best. “I didn’t expect myself to be in military company so quickly, either. Much less yours and Ms. Danning’s.” Now he did look at me. He might as well have thrown the ninja throwing stars from our mission two months ago at my face for all his stare said. “You’ve made a mockery of a respectable science.”

  “I’ve made a mockery of it? Are you kidding me?” My eyes jumped to General Holt in desperation. “Tell me he’s joking.”

  General Holt swallowed hard. “You two should take a seat.”

  “Yes, please do. General Holt was telling me the most interesting story,” Dr. Johansson said.

  “We didn’t steal anything,” Trevor said. “You have no idea what you’ve done by accusing us of that.”

  Dr. Johansson waved it off. “Sometimes I say the things I mean, and sometimes I say what my contract wants me to say in order to get paid.”

  My fists balled in my lap. This guy wasn’t an archaeologist, a champion of historical truth. He was little more than a fool. “General, what’s going on?”

  “The Admiral obtained approval to move forward with the only course of action we thought we could take to preserve our current efforts,” General Holt said. “I’ve already begun briefing Dr. Johansson on some of the elements of TAO, but he’s yet to hear all of it. Now that you’re here, Chelsea, I hoped you could help.”

  I leveled him with a look despite the queasiness in my stomach. He couldn’t mean everything. “All of it, sir?”

  General Holt nodded. “Everything.”

  “Yes, what is this truth?” Dr. Johansson asked. “How did SeaSatellite5 come into possession of so many artifacts?”

  Well, here goes nothing. I looked at him, eyebrow cocked, and slapped my hands onto my waist. “Today’s your lucky day, Dr. Johansson. Aliens don’t exist, but Atlantis does.”

  Trevor rested his forehead in his hands. Okay, so I wasn’t the most tactful person when in a sour mood. Or ever.

  Dr. Johansson didn’t miss a beat. “You’re covering up your international robbery incident with Atlantis?” He looked to General Holt for confirmation, like he thought me ignorant and naive. Fair enough. I thought the same of him and anyone else who thought aliens built Stonehenge—especially when I knew for a fact the Lemurians did.

  General Holt had the good sense not to glance my way. “It’s true.” He uncovered a manila folder on his desk and pulled out a photograph. “This photo likely wasn’t in the leaked emails. We kept this one safe.”

  “This is preposterous,” Dr. Johansson said, even as he took the photograph from General Holt. I could guess with certainty what was in the picture—the very thing that had convinced both Dr. Hill and I what we’d found in the Sargasso Sea was, in fact, remnants of Atlantis. The Amarna piece.

  “My word,” Dr. Johansson exclaimed, a hand covering his mouth.

  “There’s also this,” General Holt said as he produced another photograph, this one showcasing my ancestor’s journal. A sheet of paper had been clipped underneath, containing a translation of the Atlantean text to make it easier to read. “This is the writing found at the site, which our archaeologist, Dr. Connor Hill, knew how to read. Chelsea did not.”

  “I do now.” I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to defend myself. I didn’t care what this guy thought as long as he stopped accusing SeaSat5 of international crimes.

  Dr. Johansson took the Atlantean writing and glanced over it, eyes flitting between the script and the photograph of the Amarna-era relief. Based on history, I’d known that art piece shouldn’t have been there. Things from Amarna period Egypt tended to be ruined, abandoned, or tarnished. This relief had been polished and proudly displayed, like it’d be in a present-day museum. Alone, the Amarna relief wasn’t enough to scream Atlantis. But the location of the find, along with the size of the artifact cache, was too hard to ignore. Dr. Hill’s confirmation had been what eventually sold Captain Marks and Admiral Dennett.

  “This is remarkable,” said Dr. Johansson. It was the only non-arrogant or sarcastic remark he’d made since I entered the room.

  “The site was incredible,” I admitted. “I couldn’t believe my eyes when I first saw the sheer splendor of the artifact cache.”

  Dr. Johansson’s gaze wandered to mine. “And you found the selection of artifacts from the photos, undisturbed?” I nodded. “Just like that?” I nodded again. He cupped a hand over his mouth and then rubbed his cheeks and nose. Then his eyes grew dark. “How do I know this isn’t a fabrication of evidence?”

  “We found this a few weeks after Chelsea joined SeaSatellite5,” Trevor explained. “Until then, we hadn’t had a real archaeologist on board unless we needed one immediately—in which case we’d have flown one in. At the time of discovering the site, we had to call for outside help, which is where Dr. Hill came in.”

  “Which is to say that if SeaSatellite5 was actually stealing artifacts, they wouldn’t need outside help from an accomplished archaeologist,” I said. “I realize that sounds bad, but it’s true.” I looked to General Holt, who seemed to know what I wanted to ask because he nodded an answer before words left my mouth. “I could also bring you there.”

  Trevor’s eyes bugged. “You?”

  I waved him off. “Via shuttle. The Navy has a few on tap for when we want to go back and forth.
The site is cordoned off. No one can get close or anything. But I could bring you there if you really don’t believe us.”

  “Or,” General Holt said, “There’s another alternative.” Trevor and I both looked at him. “The one the Admiral approved because he thinks it’ll be quicker and more effective than booking a trip to the outpost.”

  “Oh, you can’t be serious,” Trevor said, his gaze darting to General Holt’s.

  Dr. Johansson placed the photographs and paper on General Holt’s desk. “Going to this site would probably be convincing enough. I can’t imagine the magnificence of the place. But I have to admit, I’m intrigued by what the Admiral thinks would be a better alternative.”

  I had a sinking feeling I knew exactly what that alternative was, and I’d rather expose my teleporting ability and take Dr. Johansson to the Atlantean outpost and kiss him instead of following through with the Admiral’s plan.

  “General?” I asked.

  General Holt produced a second manila folder and handed it to Dr. Johansson. “Inside is a non-disclosure agreement. What I’m about to tell you isn’t a military secret in interest of homeland security, but we barely understand it ourselves, forget having to explain it to the masses.” And, you know, the whole war over time travel that might destroy the planet as we know it part. Oh, the danger of paradoxes or whatever the Atlanteans and Lemurians were so worried about these days.

  “Right,” Dr. Johansson said slowly. He signed the agreement anyway.

  Satisfied the paperwork was in order, General Holt addressed the lot of us. “Admiral Dennett has decided that letting Dr. Johansson in on what we really do might ease some of his misgivings, as well as any disbelief.”

  “And open up a new jar of both,” I said despite myself. “Are you sure, General?”

  “We might need more archaeologists on staff in the future, and Dr. Johansson, Discovery Channel special notwithstanding, has the qualifications.”

  Why, because he studied ancient lost cultures? So what if he’s close to cracking a language we can’t yet translate? The guy’s an idiot.

  I held my tongue. I was the last person who should be talking about qualifications, as mine were laughable. A Bachelor’s degree, some extra classes, and a few summers’ worth of field school. It didn’t matter that I’d worked for TAO for a year, and for SeaSatellite5 before that. My sole qualification for this job was my super soldier blood marking me as a descendant of Atlantis. This job was more my birthright than anything I’d earned through academics or professional background. It’d all been luck. Luck and blood.