Saxon (Shared Survival #1)
Copyright ©2020 Annalise Alexis
All Rights Reserved.
Saxon (Shared Survival #1) is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Editing by The Novel Fixer
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This book contains content for adult audiences.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Annalise Alexis
Chapter One
Leigh
Twenty minutes. That’s all I have until this beautiful beast makes or breaks my career. I’m either going down in history as the first female to design a sub capable of taking a human to the bottom of the New Mariana Trench, or as an obsessed, ice queen with a hard-on for failure.
Let’s hope it’s not door number two.
The comfortable chatter of my crew in my earpiece helps to settle the frantic beat of my heart. Normally, they get on my nerves. Especially Johan because he never shuts up. But right now it’s dampening the back and forth I’m having with my inner bitch.
Even with the noise, she won’t let me forget how much is riding on this test dive. What has it been? Six years? I’ve missed holidays and nights out with the girls, thrown away countless relationships for this exact moment, and I’m either going to throw up or scream.
If this baby crumples under the pressure, I’m done for. My job, my dreams, and the meager credibility I’ve managed to build will be laid to rest at the bottom of the ocean.
“Hold her steady now, boss. You’re almost there,” Johan, my sub team captain, says. I’m sure the rest of the crew’s on pins and needles watching the live feed from the boat. I spent years being on that side of the action and damn, if it doesn’t feel good to finally be in the captain’s chair.
“Are you getting good feedback from the exterior cameras? You know Elgin will throw a fit if I don’t get quality images tomorrow,” I say, salivating like one of Pavlov’s dogs at the idea of tomorrow’s maiden dive. To be the first human to explore the deepest depths known to man? And in a sub I championed, no less? Talk about girl boner. It’s the things dreams are made of.
“Looking good from here. The still image cameras are working seamlessly, as well as the 3D. And before you ask, yes the battery management system is operating smoothly as well. They’re all doing exactly what we created them to do.”
The gauge on my onboard computer system moves, the fathometer dinging every time the craft descends another thousand feet. Call it superstitious, but I designed it that way—like a mother listening to her newborn breathe, I need to hear my baby. Need to make sure she doesn’t crash and burn like the last one.
I just need to make it to thirty-two thousand feet before I can bring her back and declare her dive ready to descend the additional five thousand feet to the underwater caves tomorrow.
She’s tough as diamonds and slim enough to fit the second smallest crevice in the newly found portion of the trench. With state-of-the-art imaging and temperature sensors, I can get readings that no one else has ever gotten. The exact temperature and chemical makeup of the lowest point on the planet, maybe even a clue as to how a series of caves formed down there to begin with.
Damn, just the idea of that kind of data gives me the tingles—and they said nothing was better than sex.
Focusing on the positive, I try to ignore the doubt creeping in. I’m still descending. It was at this moment, near thirty-one thousand feet, the Juniper sank. When I failed, I nearly lost everything.
My math was wrong. The pressure per square inch was greater than I’d calculated, the temperature colder, and the Juniper sank on its unmanned test mission.
I lost all confidence and nearly quit. The only way I could even keep my job was to accept a giant pay cut and turn a blind eye to Elgin taking an axe to my funding. It was total humiliation. There were endless news articles about how I crashed and burned, but after spending six days in a bottle of rum, I got myself together and tried again.
This time will be different. I spent the prime of my thirties creating this magnificent bitch and there’s no way I’m failing this time.
She’s going to make it, and then I’m going to finally get the credit I deserve.
After the Great Shift in 2045, an earthquake that nearly tore the Pacific Ocean in half, the seabed split, revealing several underground tunnels and caverns that were deeper and more complex than anything previously explored. So much so, everyone said it couldn’t be done.
But the newly revealed network of passages isn’t impossible to navigate. It just needs a machine capable of surviving it.
I tighten my grip on the controls and hold my breath, trying to channel all the power of my female ancestors, dance a little jig, cross my fingers, and do whatever-the-hell else I have to in order to make this happen.
“Holy crap, we’re almost there,” Johan screeches, and I cringe at the feedback in my ear. As Henrietta, my sub, hits the lowest previously recorded depth, my anticipation doubles. The computer dings, and cheers erupt back at the lab.
I can’t help but laugh as my lungs start to deflate and some of the tension leaves me. For once, I’m going to let myself enjoy this moment. I deserve it. And after tomorrow, the world will see what Dr. Leigh Lennox is capable of.
The entire ascent feels surreal. I’m finally on the cusp of achieving my dreams. Maybe, after this, whatever black cloud has been following me around will die a merciless death, and I’ll be accepted back into all the scientific circles that laughed me out before.
No, screw that. I’m going to make my own damn circle. And I’m not letting any of those old, pale, dickheads in.
As soon as I get safely back on deck, my crew’s there to greet me, several of them with drinks in hand. They’re all fully dressed. Even Rafe who normally sports a wrinkled v-neck and last week’s jeans looks like he’s showered.
“Whoa, what’d I miss?” I ask, accepting a schooner of beer from Johan. Normally, we don’t bring alcohol on the boat, but today’s test dive was definitely a special occasion.
“He looks good, right?” Risa, my robotics girl, says jerking her chin at Rafe. He turns the color of beet soup and Johan elbows him in the side. Risa smiles and clanks her glass against mine. “You better go get dressed. It’s going to be here any minute now.”
“What is?”
“When Elgin got the relay data from the test dive, he practically jump
ed for joy. He was so happy he arranged a party yacht for us tonight. The entire crew’s invited.”
My drink nearly slips out of my hand. “Seriously?”
Risa nods, and I throw back the rest of my beer. The excitement and relief I felt just seconds before sours a little. There’s no way Elgin can afford to sign off on a purchase of that magnitude. Either we aren’t as strapped as I think we are, or he’s single handedly been blocking most of my funding requests for the past year and a half. I haven’t said anything about it out of fear of retaliation. We hardly have anything left. So, whose money is he using?
Making a beeline for my room, I rip off my clothes and hop in the shower. The water pressure on Daxx Corp’s research vessel sucks, but it’s got enough cabins for me and the rest of the crew and a launch pad for Henrietta. Not two seconds after I’ve stepped under the spray, my work phone rings.
Elgin starts talking before I’ve even managed to put the phone to my ear. “I hear congratulations are in order. Did you receive my little gift?” he asks.
“Everyone told me about the yacht, if that’s what you’re referring to.”
He laughs in that elitist, douchey kind of way. “It is, it is. Hey, while I’ve got you on the phone, I’d like to go over a few of the changes I’ve made for the launch day schedule.”
Changes. I’ve. Made.
“I thought we’d gone over this a million times. The launch is scheduled for tomorrow night. You can’t just change things at the last second.”
“Sure I can. I’m the boss, right? After putting a lot of thought into it, I’ve decided I’m going to be the one to go down.”
Several long seconds go by, and I still can’t find words to respond to him that consist of more than four letters and aren’t preceded by the words “you” and “slimy.”
“What? I must have misheard you because—”
“You didn’t. I’m taking your place.”
My tongue feels like sandpaper against the roof of my mouth. “No. I’ve waited my whole life for an opportunity like this. You can’t just—”
“I can. It’s already arranged. Come tomorrow night, you will be alongside your team in the lab where you belong, and I will take the Nautilus Five down.”
“The hell you will. That maiden dive is mine.”
“Was yours.”
The walls close in, and I can’t get enough air. I’m so pissed I’m shaking. “Elgin, don’t do this.”
He laughs. “Begging doesn’t suit you, Dr. Lennox. If I were you, I’d enjoy yourself tonight. I have it on good authority that Daxx Corp will be pursuing different ventures after this, and I suspect your services will no longer be needed.”
Phone in hand, I stand there naked for several minutes after he hangs up. Did I just get fired? Did that megalomaniac really just say he was going to take the maiden dive in the sub I created and steal my chance at being the first to explore the trench?
Fuck that. And fuck him.
You want to know what you don’t do? Fire a girl and then tell her she can’t do something. Why? Because she has nothing to lose.
I’ve worked my butt off for more than half a decade on Henrietta, and he isn’t going to take the opportunity from me. No one, and I mean, no one but me will be the first down there.
Opting for sweats rather than the semi-dressy attire everyone else seemed to be planning on, I throw my wet hair up in a messy bun and shuffle out my door and onto the deck.
Risa cocks a brow and scurries over while the rest of the crew heads for the party yacht. “You okay? You look like someone just ran over your puppy.”
They did. Except, it wasn’t a dog. It was my life’s work—and my livelihood to boot.
I force my lips into a smile. “No, nothing like that. Just tired. I think I’m going to hit the sack early to prep for tomorrow.”
She tips her head to the side and pouts. “You want me to stay here? I could pop open some wine and we could talk about girl stuff.”
Gross. I’d rather get a yeast infection than talk about my feelings. Extreme, I know, but it’s the truth. Interacting with my cat, Binky, is as far as my social tolerance goes.
“I’m good. Promise. Go have fun!”
I wave as the last of my crew files onto the overpriced boat. I know everyone who comes off and on this vessel, and when I scan each of the faces, I can tell the only person left is Carlos, one of the guys who usually captains the boat. After dropping anchor, he’ll be drunk as a skunk all night.
As the laughter of my crew fades and the rumble of the yacht’s engine disappears, I grab the unopened beers Johan left on the deck and settle back against the rail.
The rest of my crew won’t be back until late afternoon tomorrow, and tonight, I’m going to take what’s mine, consequences be damned.
The smooth straps of my harness fit snugly against my chest, like Henrietta herself is trying to soothe my nerves. Releasing her and getting her in the water alone was tasking, but the automated system Johan helped create made it a breeze compared to how it used to be.
Thank goodness for mandatory training videos. They might have been a total snoozefest, but I wouldn’t have known how to operate the controls without them.
“Good girl,” I say, patting the front console and giving the pink shark bobblehead above the control yoke a little tap. Stella’s fake plastic hips swivel in a red and white hula skirt. A Christmas gift from my niece when she was six, it’s been my good luck token ever since. It might be ten years old, but the oversized coconut-covered cleavage and chipped guitar give me endless comfort because they remind me of my niece.
It’s been years since I’ve seen or heard from my sister, and I’m hoping this year that will change. If I can succeed here, I can finally spend some time fixing what my unwavering ambition has broken.
Dressed in nothing but a wetsuit, fuzzy socks, and tennis shoes, I turn on the tiny music player I brought along. Mozart’s “Requiem in D Minor” fills the air. The added weight was totally worth the cost.
The music makes Henrietta my personal little happy place, and I try to keep the possibility of failure—and my death—shoved to the back of my mind. My mother taught me to trust myself, if nothing else.
Readying the controls, I flip on the internal recorder but make sure no external signals will be sent. If I can pull this off, Daxx Corp, Elgin, and his boss Sterling will be none the wiser. My little voyage will remain secret, but I can still document it. I can always flip the transmitter on if something goes wrong. It’ll automatically connect with the lab.
I refuse to share this moment. Elgin can have the honor of taking the first samples, smiling pretty for the cameras, and all that jazz. I don’t really care. It will still be my name on the reports. I created Henrietta. For me, what’s important is being the first to see the unseen, something the masses—even my own sister—said I never would.
Achieving this would prove all the loneliness was worth it and that my devotion isn’t a baseless obsession.
My heart threatens to jump out of my chest the further we drop. Unable to resist, I’ve spent most of the past half hour staring out the small window, absorbing every single second. It’s so beautiful.
Before I started the dive, the setting sun still streamed through the water, creating the most beguiling patterns of light. With the increased depth came solitude and now, at nine-thousand meters, all I can see is what’s on the sonar and the small amount of water illuminated by the external lights.
The pressure gauges beep, announcing that we’ve hit fourteen thousand pounds per square inch of pressure—enough to crush most ocean equipment. This is what kept people from reaching the bottom of the trench—the Challenger Deep— in the early years.
Here we go. The entrance to where the earthquake deepened the trench is close.
My lungs tighten, and I swallow down a sudden rush of panic as the pressure nears sixteen-thousand pounds. “Come on, Henrietta. You can do this, baby. You’re literally made for this, girl.”
>
The external lights dim in the murky water as we break the second-to-last boundary to have been crossed. “Ha! Hell yes, girl. Go! We can do this,” I yell, grabbing my bobblehead to give her a big kiss. “Stella, you big beautiful slut, we’re doing it!” Turning her around so her lopsided googly eyes can see the depths she helped me reach, I wiggle in excitement.
The fathometer registers the depth again. Sixty meters from the record descent, and I stare at the numbers as they grow larger and larger until we’re five meters away.
My heart skips a beat—or ten—the years of depression and failure flashing through my mind as we slide into the undocumented and unknown. My tears fall. Big fat drops of success pour down my face, and I let the moment consume me as Debussy plays in the background.
I did it. I really freaking did it. The elation—the satisfaction—is just as wonderful as I imagined. Screw every person who ever said I was too blond to be an engineer, too soft to work in the private sector and survive, and too, well…everything to convince someone to finance me.
Screw being too loud, too opinionated, and thinking too far outside the box. I’m the first damn human, woman no less, to breach the barrier and enter the only unexplored place on the planet. Take that all you naysaying negative Nancies!
The hull whines slightly, adjusting to the increased pressure, and I glance over the latest mapping coordinates and compare them with the data I calculated this morning. Everything’s the same. Water temp, pressure, density all seem to be within the expected parameters.
“All right, baby. I’m letting you drive. Show me what you can do,” I say, engaging the auto-drive. Henrietta scans ten feet in every direction, trying to maintain a safe zone to prevent collisions with the piles of earth and rock around us.
Saxon (Shared Survival Book 1) Page 1
