He gave Lana a hug, and then a kiss, and then another, longer hug. The seagull hopped from Lana’s shoulder to Plat’s.
“Thank you,” he whispered in Lana’s ear.
She held up his belt, the pistol and sword swinging in the breeze.
“It’s nice of you to remember, Lana, but I don’t think I’ll be needing them.” She gave him a confused look and then slung the belt over her shoulder.
“Clive?” he said turning towards the bird on his shoulder.
“SQWAAAAK! Aye, Cap’n?”
“That was you the whole time, wasn’t it? At the warehouse? Aboard Caan’s ship?”
“SQWAAAAK! Aye, Cap’n!”
Plat ran a finger under the seagull’s throat, eliciting a quiet, satisfied grumbling sound from the bird.
“Then it’s all the crackers, anchovies and whatever else you can eat. For the rest of your life. I owe you one,” Plat added, patting the bird on the head.
“YES CAP’N!” Clive flapped his wings excitedly.
Turning to his crew, Plat smiled. “It’s good to see you all,” he said. “But who’s in command? Tierney?” Every set of eyes shifted from Plat to something behind him.
“It’s customary for even the Captain to request permission to come aboard The Kraken,” a familiar voice grated behind.
Plat froze in place and smiled. “It can’t be,” he whispered. He turned and took in the green countenance of Dimont, leaning against the doorway to the inner deck. A dark bruise and severe rope burn ran around his entire neck. “You son of a bitch!” Plat shouted. “I saw you hang!”
Dimont shrugged … hard to do when you’re a turtle … and said, “Aww, c’mon, Cap’n. You know us turtles can hold our breath even longer than platypi can. Them dumb, Raelish bastards cut me down after they was finished with you and dumped me out a back door into the bay.”
Plat strode to his First Mate and embraced him, slapping him on the back.
“It’s good to see you, my friend. Damn good to see you.” Plat was teary eyed. “Permission to come aboard?”
“Permission granted! Sir!” Dimont saluted.
Plat returned it and said, “Let’s head on home. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“Well, we’re not out of this fix yet. If you’ll look astern, you’ll note a Raelish frigate steaming towards us. She’s powered, sir. Not a sailing vessel.”
Plat turned and spotted the dark plume of smoke from about a mile off. “Well, it can’t be Caan,” he said, disappointed.
“What’ll we do, Cap’n?”
“Are you sure it’s just one?” Plat asked.
“Yessir,” Dimont said confidently. “Caan has every Raelish vessel out of Hamerheim spread up and down the coast looking for us.” Dimont nodded to the frigate closing on them. “I’m sure they’ve spotted us, but any help they might expect will be hours away.”
“Then come about. Head straight for those Raelish pigs. And give me all the speed you can muster!”
“Sir?”
“You heard me, Mister Dimont!” There was a fierce determination in Plat’s voice. Dimont had heard it many times before and knew what it meant: death or glory.
“SIR!” Dimont shouted and disappeared back into The Kraken.
“The rest of you … BATTLESTATIONS!” Plat shouted. He pulled the oilskin from off his shoulder. “Move like you’ve got a purpose!”
Even Lana dashed inside, although Plat was certain she had no idea of what to do. He closed the hatch behind them. The Kraken’s engines roared. A fountain of water blossomed from the stern as her screws bit deeply into the water. The ship lurched ahead, gaining speed quickly.
“You ready for a little payback, Clive?”
“Aye aye, Cap’n! SQWAAAAK!”
Captain Plat made his way around the conn tower of The Kraken, stopping at the narrow bow of the ship. The Raelish frigate was now a mile off.
“SQWAAAAK! What’s the Cap’n got?” Clive asked, his gravelly voice sounding clearly curious.
“Just an antique, Clive,” Plat replied easily.
A wave splashed up from the bow of the ship as the ocean sped by. The wind made Plat’s longcoat billow and flutter. Clive had to grip tightly to stay on Plat’s shoulder.
A puff of black smoke appeared at the bow of the frigate, followed several seconds later by a boom. There was a splash of water far astern and to the left. Plat turned and motioned to Dimont who was safe behind the thick glass of the bridge. He waved his hand back and forth and then pointed ahead. Dimont nodded.
The ship veered hard to port fifteen degrees and then raced at an angle, still closing the gap between The Kraken and the frigate. Twenty seconds later The Kraken veered again, this time to starboard thirty degrees. Several more puffs of black smoke appeared on the bow of the frigate. The reports of its heavy guns came even sooner, although the splashes appeared further off than the first one.
Plat released the leather straps of his package and peeled away layer upon layer of oilcloth. As the last fold dropped away, lost in the waves beneath the bow of the ship, he revealed a slim, silver rifle of a design no one alive had ever seen or even dreamed of.
More gunfire erupted from the frigate, and Dimont veered yet again. The shots hit closer this time but were still far enough not to worry Plat. He raised the rifle and placed its scope to his eye. The ship, a thousand yards away, bloomed to ten times its size in the tiny image within the scope. Plat lowered the barrel slightly, placing the tiny cross hairs at the waterline of the frigate.
“I hope this works,” Plat muttered. He’d fired it once at the water when he found the thing at the back of the cave … along with others like it. He’d eventually figured out where it came from, although he had no idea what powered it. But it was a rifle … a rifle that unleashed hell itself.
He pulled the trigger. There was a flash, and a hiss of energy that sounded like red-hot iron dropped into ice water.
The water line near the bow of the frigate erupted in a flash of steam and molten metal. Through the scope, Plat saw a hole the size of a man at the waterline, half of the hole lay beneath the pressure wave of the oncoming vessel.
He fired again.
And again.
And again.
Plat dotted a wide line of destruction along the side of the frigate, knowing that tons upon tons of water poured into the belly of an already doomed ship.
An explosion detonated near the stern of the frigate, sending metal plates and men sailing into the sky. Another explosion erupted amidships.
The frigate listed to port. With a groan of bending metal, the ship’s back broke, and she keeled over on her side, flames pouring out of the gaping holes now visible in her deck. Dimont turned hard to port once again and set a course away from the dying frigate.
With the rifle resting easily over his shoulder, Plat strolled back to the main deck and waited for his crew to open the hatch once again.
When they did, Dimont stood before him, his eyes full of awe as he stared at the rifle.
“Cap’n,” he blurted, “where in the name of nine hells did you get such a thing?”
Plat ignored the question. “Dimont, we’re going to build ourselves a fleet and raise us an army.”
Dimont was taken aback, looking confused. “Pardon me fer askin’, Cap’n, but how the hell are we gonna do that? We can barely afford to keep The Kraken afloat. You plannin’ on going full pirate with that little pop-gun?”
A bright gleam, borne of golden mountains lit Captain Angios Plat’s eyes.
“Trust me, my friend.” Plat slapped his First Mate on the shoulder and stared at the horizon where he knew the heart of the Raelish Empire waited. He would first crush Commander Caan, and then he would turn upon the Empire and wreak such vengeance upon it that the pillars of history itself would shake to their foundations.
He fingered the pendant about his neck. Faen’s pendant. “I was saved, Dimont. By what I can’t really say, but it showed me something. Gave it
to me, actually. Beneath us is a cave, and in that cave are riches beyond our imagination. There was enough treasure down there to buy a hundred ships … a thousand. And there were more of these.” Plat held up the slim, silver rifle. “Thousands more. It’s not just gold down there, Dimont. It’s history. It’s the knowledge of the simians, gone these forty thousand years. And we’re going to use it to change the world … free it.”
Baby WEI
(Originally appeared in It Lives: What Hath Mother Wrought from RuneWright Publishing in June 2011.)
For three days, she’d thought only of three-hundred-thirty-five babies waiting for her, and the though made her nauseous. From the moment she’d hung up the phone with her old mentor, Dr. Hayes, through the flight from Athens, Greece, to the limo ride that felt more like a funeral procession than a business trip, the thought of those comatose infants had filled her waking … and dreaming mind.
The dream she’d had on the plane was both surreal and terrifying. In it, a cacophony of infant cries filled her mind to the point of breaking, but not a sound broke upon the silence which cradled the suffocating darkness wrapped around her. Out of the darkness swelled a shape. Glowing faintly from an inner light, it was a mass of flesh, with newborn faces and limbs scattered across its pink surface. Although the cries filled her mind, the faces were calm, sleeping, as if borne upon the aspect of a dreaming child safe in its mother’s arms. As the great mass of flesh approached her in the darkness, a single, great eye of translucent blue opened. She felt its razor-sharp mind dance across her flesh and pierce her consciousness, peeking and prying into the whole of her existence. It was done not as a violation, however, but as a gentle exploration achieved with all the care of a gifted surgeon. Then a mouth split across the surface of the flesh, and for a moment it smiled before opening into a gaping maw that stretched wider and wider.
There is nothing to fear.
The single phrase echoed within her mind as loud as a thunderclap, gentle as spring rain.
She felt herself pass within the maw, and a screech of terror clawed at the back of her mind as the mouth closed around her. The new darkness folded in and a calmness carried her into oblivion.
She’d awakened on the plane with thoughts of the mouth closing around her. She shivered at the thought and pushed it away, focusing on the children in need who lay ahead of her. She’d gotten off the plane and been greeted by a short man in a black suit and cap, holding a small sign with the word SARANTOS upon it. With only a few words exchanged, he’d escorted her to baggage claim and then led her to a waiting limousine.
She’d only sat in a limo twice before. The first was the day of her wedding, a union that turned out to be nothing more than an expensive prelude to a very ugly divorce. The second was her baby’s funeral. She’d lost the little girl to SIDS, and her ex blamed her for the death. After that, she lived only for her work.
“Ever been to Atlanta, Dr. Sarantos?” the driver called back with a thick southern accent.
She pulled her gaze from the magnificent blossoming trees lining the highway and looked at him in the rear-view mirror. Her iPad lay forgotten on the seat next to her, the screen still displaying a paper on SIDS. “You can call me Chrys. And no, I’ve never been. Are you from Atlanta?”
“Born and bred … not many of us natives left … Chrys. Is that short for something?” His eyes flicked from the highway back to look at her, and she saw his eyes crinkle in a smile.
“Chrysanthy,” she said and smiled.
“My name’s Charlie.” He tipped the brim of his hat, in true Southern style. “Chrysanthy Sarantos … pretty name…. Spanish?”
“Greek, although I was born here in the States. How close are we to CDC Headquarters?”
“It’s about ten miles behind us, but that’s not where we’re going.”
“We’re not?” she asked, surprised. “Dr. Hayes said over the phone that the project was under the governance of the CDC.”
“It is … least they’re the ones who sign my checks. But we’re headed to Applegate. It’s a smaller facility west of Atlanta. It’s for special projects they want to keep off the media’s radar.”
“Do you know anything about the project?” she asked.
“Nope. Don’t want to, either. There’s actually quite a few projects at the facility, but I’m just a driver. I don’t have much interest in all that stuff.”
The driver suddenly tossed a cell phone through the window between them, and it bounced on the seat in front of her. He looked at her in the rearview mirror and winked. There was a sticky note attached to the phone, and the phone was a cheap, prepaid model. She leaned forward and picked it up. The sticky note simply read “REDIAL.” She looked up to the driver with a questioning look. All he did was nod at her with serious eyes.
She peeled the sticky note off, flipped the phone open, and hit the redial button. It was picked up on the first ring, and she immediately heard a shower running in the background.
“Wave at the driver and don’t say anything,” a man’s voice on the other end said. She could barely hear him over the sound of the water. She recognized the voice as Dr. Hayes. “I’ll explain the cloak-and-dagger as much as I can before you arrive. Just ignore the driver. He’s going to keep talking.” A perplexed look upon her face, she waved at the driver.
He nodded. “Let me tell you the one about the preacher and Nooky Green….” the driver said, continuing in a lower voice. She focused all of her attention on the voice of Dr. Hayes.
“It seems I may have gotten you into something dangerous, but it’s too late to get you out now, and I really need you.” She heard worry and fear in his elderly voice. “Besides, you may be the only one who can help the infants. Something’s happened, and I don’t know if it’s wonderful or terrible. Two days ago, we lost thirty-five of the babies. Their life-signs just stopped in the middle of the night. The other babies have shown remarkable improvement but no sign of coming out of the coma. Drake, the co-chair of the project has grown increasingly nervous, even suggesting euthanizing them all with a lockout protocol. I’m not supposed to tell you this, but there have been two deaths amongst the staff: a suicide and a car-accident … both in the last two weeks. They seem suspicious, but I don’t have any proof. I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t believe that Drake is with the CDC, and I’m certain that Graebel, the security man for the project, isn’t. Some of the things they’ve said over the past eight months lead me to believe that they may be intelligence or military or something. Whatever you do, don’t trust them; don’t tell anyone what you’re working on and look for signs from me for when we can speak in private. Just act as if it’s business as usual, and I’ll tell you more as soon as I can. Throw this phone and the note out of the window, and don’t let anyone see you do it.”
The call ended, and the driver was still talking. “No sir, I think it’s the light coming through the stained-glass window,” he said. He started laughing and looked in the rearview window expectantly.
She started laughing at the driver’s joke without knowing what she was laughing about. Chrys felt queasy as she closed the phone, rolled down the window and, checking to see if there was anyone behind them, threw the phone out the window. What has Hayes gotten me into? she thought. She picked up the iPad and started scrolling through the SIDS data. “That was a good one,” she said, trying to sound natural, “but I have to finish up reading this paper before we arrive. Is that okay?”
“Of course! No worries. It won’t be long now.” He turned his eyes fully back to the road.
She rolled past pages of the medical journal she had been reading, but all she could think about was Hayes’ cryptic message. Ten minutes later, they pulled up to a security gate with a twelve-foot steel fence running away from it in both directions. A guard with a sidearm and a radio clipped to his belt stepped out of the booth and held out his hand for the car to stop. There was another guard inside who picked up a phone. The driver rolled down his window, spoke
to the guard and showed him an ID badge. After a quick look at a clipboard, the first guard turned to the one inside and nodded. The one inside pressed a button, and the steel gate in front of them rolled to the side. The driver rolled up the window and pulled away, driving slowly up a gently curving, two-lane road that led to a large, eight-story building with glass circling the first, third, fifth and seventh floors.
She could see Dr. Hayes standing just outside the main entrance, wearing the sort of tweed suit he’d always worn when he was a professor at Harvard. Chrys had always teased him that he should wear something more contemporary. A middle-aged, stern-looking man in a black suit and red tie stood next to Hayes. Hayes waived at the car as it approached while the other man merely stood there. The limo pulled up and the driver got out, quickly opening the door for Chrys.
“I’ll get your suitcase, Miss Sarantos.”
“Take it to her quarters,” the stern-looking man said.
Dr. Hayes stepped up and hugged his old pupil. “It’s good to see you, Chrys.” He smiled at her, but his eyes held a seriousness that she’d never seen in him. She knew she couldn’t ask him anything yet, but she was bursting with questions. “Jim, may I present to you Dr. Chrysanthy Sarantos, the best student I ever had and a better pediatrician than you or I will ever be.” She held out her hand, and the man shook it firmly. “Dr. Sarantos, this is Dr. Jim Drake. We’re running the project together, and we felt we could use your help.”
“Doctor,” she said to Drake and nodded her head.
“Doctor Sarantos,” Drake said, releasing her hand and watching the driver go by with her suitcase. “I read your file: Harvard Medical; four years at Children’s Hospital in Boston; three years neonatology in Philadelphia; five at Johns Hopkins with their Children’s neurology program … now the UN? And old Hayes here has been singing your praises for a week, which is the biggest endorsement of all, if you ask me.” Drake gave her a flash of teeth that she thought was supposed to be a humorous smile but looked stiff and contrived. His teeth partially agape, he held the rictus for a few seconds then changed the subject. “So, what has my friend here told you about our project?” Drake eyed Hayes almost suspiciously.
Out Through the Attic Page 15
