by Bob Finley
"Captain Justin! I understand you’re leaving us," boomed the Washington's captain, reaching out to shake hands.
"Yes, sir, I’ll be shoving off in just a few minutes. Soon as my bunch here gets underway." He nodded toward the Sarah Dale. "Janese...Ms. Cramerton...is the last to arrive."
"Oh, well, they needn't have waited on her," Carruthers said jovially, with a twinkle in his eye.
"Sir?" Justin said, glancing from the Captain to Janese and back.
"I understand she isn’t leaving with them," Jerry Carruthers explained, grinning.
Marc frowned, confused. "I’m sorry...I don’t..."
"She tells me she’s leaving...with you."
The look on Justin's face must have been comical because he distinctly heard laughter all around him.
"Excuse me?" was all he could manage.
Janese took her hand off the Captain's arm and moved closer to Marc. Her movement brought with it a muted fragrance of…Shalimar. She looked up at him. With those eyes.
"I don't want to impose, but during dinner last night it occurred to me that I’d like very much to get to know your ship better."
"My ship?"
"I've had several ideas for deep-ocean acoustical research that I’d like to discuss with you. I believe your ship is probably the only platform that would be suitable for such experiments. How long will it take you to return to Miami in the VIKING?"
"Ah, two days, most likely."
"And a night?"
"Ah..."
The Captain had backed off and was beaming at Justin's discomfort. Those within hearing range weren't even trying to conceal their amusement anymore. She laid one hand on his forearm.
"The other reason for my asking to go back aboard the VIKING is that everything’s been so hectic since before we were rescued that we haven’t had a chance to...talk. And this would give me a chance to properly thank you for all you’ve done for us." Her smile would have melted armored deck plating.
He looked around helplessly. Kim gave him a ‘don't look at me’ shrug and grinned.
He turned back to her. "You, ah, don’t seem to have any luggage."
Her laughter was throaty and husky.
"For just a couple of days...and one night...I don’t think I'll need any. Do you?"
There was more laughter and a scattering of applause rippled around the hanger deck.
Before he knew what was happening, he and Janese had been escorted by the Captain to an accommodation ladder that led down from an enormous opening in the side of the huge ship. They carefully negotiated the shaky steps and stepped into the waiting Captain's gig. Marc looked back as they pulled away from the canyon wall that was the port side of the carrier and saw Kim and the others grouped in the doorway. They waved. He feebly returned the gesture.
The trip out to the waiting VIKING was only fifty yards. It was being held on station by a small power boat at each end with light lines attached to the bow and stern. The gig came alongside the titanium hull, gleaming dully in the bright morning sunlight and Marc grabbed a lever that extruded a runged ladder from the side of the vessel. He helped Janese get a footing on the ladder, trying not to look up as he followed. When they reached topside, Marc waved the gig off and walked Janese along the spine of the ship until they came to the elevator hatch. He reminded her how to use it and she quickly sank from site. He couldn't help but notice that she was watching him with an amused smile. A wicked smile.
He cast off the bow and stern lines and thanked the boat crews for riding herd on his ship. Then he stepped onto the elevator plate. Filling his lungs with the tangy salt air, and hearing the wash of the Atlantic swells against the VIKING's hull, he exhaled gustily. He was finally home. Facing the massive aircraft carrier that dwarfed his tiny craft, he came to stiff attention and saluted. A couple of seconds later, he heard a boson’s whistle. He recognized the first signal as the call to attention. The second, meant for him and his ship, he knew was called ‘piping the side’, an honor probably ordered by the Captain. With his foot, he tapped the elevator release switch and sank into the VIKING's embrace.
Aboard the Washington, sailors crowded around Kim and the other civilians to watch the departure of the fastest ship in the world. There was a muted explosion of water at her stern as her engines kicked the hungry thrusters into gear and she got underway. In moments she was sliding under and thirty seconds later there was only a swirl of eddies and a long, thin streak of foam on the surface to show she’d ever been there.
"Well," Kim said aloud, "the VIKING’s not the only thing around here that’s fast."
"What do you mean?" Jerry Carruthers asked.
"That dive..."
"What about it?"
"I know my ship. Marc didn't make that dive. Yoko did."
"You mean...?"
"Yep. She’s on automatic pilot. And I’d say that right about now the boss has his hands full of a whole ‘nother kind o’ trouble."
Jerry Carruthers leaned back and roared. And in seconds, half the hanger deck was echoing with laughter. Kim Matsumoto, grinning, shook his head ruefully and began to gather his flock about him for their own return to normality. Whatever that was. He had a sudden thought...maybe that journalist he’d run out on in the middle of the night might be interested in an exclusive, one-on-one interview with the man who...CNN said...had almost singlehandedly saved the world. His smile slowly faded as he helped the last of his bunch board the Sarah Dale. He took one last look around the cavernous hanger deck. It looked too much like another cavern from which he’d so recently escaped. He shook his head ever so slightly and, climbing up into the cabin, thanked the good Lord above that this mission was...finally...over.
Thank you!
Thank you for reading The Victoria Stone.
It is the culmination of my addiction to all things ocean-related, blended with my frustrated wish that I could jump into my magic personal submarine and go see for myself what is just beginning to be discovered about the unseen three-quarters of our world.
This first of a series of I-don’t-yet-know-how-many-novels takes you into that black hole that we are barely beginning to explore called the oceans. Marcus Justin, a self-made billionaire inventor, literally goes where no man has ever gone before…into the hundred and forty billion square miles of ocean that makes our planet habitable, discovering what has until now been unknowable.
I have meticulously crafted the world in which Marcus Justin lives using bricks of verifiable science bonded with the mortar of current and emerging technology and immersed it all in a sea of unknowns and remote possibilities. His inventive ingenuity that translates into great personal wealth enables him to own and pilot the most technologically advanced submarine in existence. The Viking’s availability as a chartered vessel results in a new ‘adventure’ every time he accepts a charter from the governments, universities and corporations that stand in line to pay his daily rates. Which results, happily, in a new book for you, the readers. This series will, I promise, never devolve into the ‘monster of the week’ that so many television shows disappointingly became. It will, instead, explore my favorite sub-sub-sub genre of science fiction: What if? When you’re twelve thousand feet down, groping your way along the ragged spine of the Atlantic Ridge, and the only light to have illuminated it for millions of years is suspended from the front of your fragile, semi-glass submarine, what if…?
The Victoria Stone is my third novel. If you like it, and want to join me and others in exploring more what if? adventures, look for ‘United Cherokee States of N’America: The Knower’ and ‘Nice Doggie!’.
Next will be the second in a trilogy, ‘United Cherokee States of N’America: The N’American Revolution’. It will take your imagination places you’ve never been before.
What if?
If you like ‘what if’ fiction and want to share your thoughts and ideas about it, you can reach me by email at [email protected] . We can talk about possibilities.
Bob
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