The Seas of Time (A Love Across Stars Series Novel)

by Christine Castle

  She headed for the rocks, splashing through little pools of water and tugging Janelle along. Despite the party atmosphere of the crowd, her pulse was in an all-out sprint, as if trying to urge her to move faster.

  Away from the crowd, she could finally try to talk to her friend. “Are you okay?”

  Janelle was blinking rapidly, but she nodded. “I think so, except everything is covered in black blobs.”

  “Your poor eyes. They just need some time to recover.” Talia helped Janelle over a patch of rocks and kept a hold of her hand. Talia angled toward higher ground, straining to pick out the best route in the darkness.

  “What’s happening? Some kind of storm?”

  “Maybe, I don’t know. It’s not like any storm I’ve ever—” Talia’s words were interrupted by Janelle’s scream just as she realized the water was rising again.

  Just as Janelle tripped, Talia stumbled in the swirling water and lost her grip on her friend’s hand. Talia turned to see the water swelling up, a rogue wave that was seconds away from crashing down on them.

  Except it wasn’t a wave. Every muscle in Talia’s body went rigid as she watched an object rise out of the ocean, an enormous dome shape breaching the surface and sending water cascading down its sides. A green arc of electricity bolted over the surface of the dome—or maybe inside it?—and dissolved back to darkness. Talia caught sight of more domes rising up back where the college students were milling along the shoreline. And the water was rushing in, already churning up to her knees and rising at an alarming speed.

  Talia lunged, tripping as she tried to reach for her friend’s outstretched hand. “Janelle!”

  Something had a hold of Janelle, and it was dragging her out toward the dark dome. Splashing after her friend, Talia fell when something sharp jabbed into the bottom of her foot. She went down, her chest and stomach dipping into the water and her hands hitting the sandy bottom. When her knuckles knocked against a small, jagged object, she automatically wrapped her fingers around it, hoping it was something she could use as a weapon. Pushing back up to her feet, she clutched the shard of shell she’d found, feeling its sharp edge against her palm.

  She frantically struggled forward, but Janelle was being pulled under. When her head disappeared into the water, Talia shouted her friend’s name and pushed herself to go faster. The water was nearly to her chest now, and it was still rising. In the dark, it was impossible to see where Janelle might be. Every second mattered. If Janelle stayed under much longer, she’d surely drown.

  Talia dove at the spot where she’d last seen Janelle. Flailing her arms around in the cold water, Talia searched blindly.

  After a long minute Talia had to surface for air. The sounds of panicked screams met her ears. Now the college kids were fleeing away from the rising water, but there were cries of female voices and splashes of struggling forms in the shallow water. Others were being dragged out to sea like Janelle.

  Another flash of green light arced over all of the domes. Talia whipped back to the ocean and the dome looming a few yards away, her chest tight with panic.

  “Janelle!” she cried, salty spray filling her mouth as she treaded water.

  The wind had picked up and was gusting rhythmically, throwing up small waves and splashes.

  Something solid brushed Talia’s shin, and tried to wrap around her lower leg. She gasped and jerked her legs up. Again, something seemed to grasp at her, this time around her ankle. She kicked out, trying to pull away as more fingers, or tendrils, or something, bumped against her.

  With a spike of adrenaline fueling her, she turned toward the shore. She shot forward with a strong kick and launched into the fastest crawl she could manage. But an iron grip encased her ankle and yanked her back and down so abruptly, she barely sucked in a breath before going under.

  Kicking madly against whatever was holding her, she suddenly remembered the sharp shell still clutched tightly in her hand. Doubling over to get closer to her attacker, she slashed down. The shell hit soft flesh, and the hold on her ankle released. She stuck her makeshift weapon between her teeth and scooped water down and away in strong strokes, struggling toward the surface.

  But just as her head rose high enough to allow a desperate gulp of air, something wrapped around her waist and pulled her back under.

  She slashed out again, but this time her attacker’s grip stayed firm. The shell slipped from her fingers. Something was pulling her down . . . down . . . The sound of swirling water and her own panicked pulse filled her ears. She was out of air. This was it. She was going to die in the ocean she loved so much.

  Her body screamed for oxygen, and she choked back the urge to inhale.

  Then something pressed against her face, and bubbles tickled her skin and went up her nose. She coughed and then reflexively inhaled.

  Air.

  Someone was holding some kind of mask over her mouth and nose. She took greedy gulps of air and coughed again. The mask didn’t cover her eyes, so she was still moving blindly through the water, but whoever—or whatever—had her by the waist was pulling her through the water at an impressive speed. Cool skin—smooth and rippled with muscle—pressed against hers.

  Her captor began to angle them upward, and suddenly her head was out of water. The oxygen mask came away, and she struggled to wipe water from her stinging eyes so she could look around. It was dark, and splashes and voices echoed off hard surfaces. Some kind of cave?

  She heard a scream and whimpers. More splashing. There was a shuffling nearby, and hands reached from above to hook under her arms and haul her out of the water. She was dropped roughly onto a platform.

  “Careful with her!” A voice that was somehow rough and sinuous at the same time barked out. “This one’s of prime harvest age.”

  Harvest age?

  Talia’s eyes were starting to adjust, and she spotted dim red lights in a ring around her. She looked up. This wasn’t a cave. Not a natural one, anyway. It was a hollow space with a smooth, rounded ceiling. Forks of dull green light blazed across it. Talia gulped as realization hit her. She was inside the dome.

  Hands grabbed her upper arms and pulled her to her feet. She nearly tripped on the sarong that had sagged down her thighs and was now twisted and dripping down her legs.

  “You’re a prime piece,” a man’s voice purred in her ear. Her stomach turned at the words and the sour smell of the man’s breath. The man’s chest pressed against her, and his hand slid across her stomach and then lifted to cup one of her breasts.

  Angling for his nose, Talia jabbed upward with her elbow. She caught him hard on the outer corner of his eye instead, but it was enough to make him stop groping her. She twisted out of his grasp and lunged away, elbowing him in the sternum in the process. Before she could take a second step, a hand clamped on her shoulder and hauled her backward. She stumbled and fell hard on her backside.

  “Don’t move,” said a new voice—another man—but one without the threatening edge of the others.

  Her eyes were getting used to the dark now, with the aid of the red lights, and she saw the man she’d elbowed holding the side of his face and cursing. He was bald and seemed to be wearing some kind of high-tech wetsuit pants under form-fitting shorts. He was unclothed from the waist up, and his upper body was built like an Olympic swimmer’s. A wide belt cinched around his waist, some sort of utility belt or tool belt with a snap-closure pouch over one hip and a few oddly-shaped holsters.

  He shook his head and then stomped over to her, his chest puffed. “You just earned yourself a little private time with me.”

  He bent, clamped his fingers tightly around her wrist, and yanked it so hard Talia’s shoulder popped. This close, she had a clear view of the tribal-style tattoo that wrapped around the right half of his ribcage. It was grayish, instead of the usual dark opaque ink. At least she thought it was, it was hard to tell in the low light. She tried to twist her wrist out of his hold.

  “Enough, Gentry!” thundered the man who was
still holding her down by her other shoulder. “Nobody’s getting any private time with any of these girls. That’s not what we’re here for.”

  The grabby one—Gentry—angrily threw Talia’s wrist from his grasp and faced off with the other man. “Crab crawled up your ass, Ballard? Or maybe you just don’t like women?” Gentry scoffed and leered at Talia, and then turned back to Ballard. “No one would know the difference, they’d still harvest even if we all took a turn with them. Hell, it might even make them more ripe.”

  Gentry waggled his tongue at Talia in a lewd gesture and grabbed his crotch. Talia grimaced but didn’t avert her eyes. She glared at him until he looked away.

  There was something odd about the men’s speech—their accent wasn’t one she could place, and their words were spoken in a rapid, clipped cadence. She glanced up at the man who had come to her defense—Ballard. He was dressed like Gentry, utility belt and all. The men had similar physiques, except that Ballard had a couple of inches on Gentry. When Ballard had half-turned to reprimand Gentry, she saw that Ballard’s tattoo curved across his pec, over his shoulder, and partway down his shoulder blade. And instead of a bald head, Ballard had short-cropped hair.

  Ballard kept his hand on Talia’s shoulder and pressed down to keep her where she was, but compared to Gentry, Ballard’s touch was almost gentle.

  At the sound of footsteps, Talia turned, tensing. Someone else coming over to harass her?

  The new guy loomed over her. “This is the one who cut me up. She’s got a bit of fight in her.”

  This man looked younger than the other two—the muscles of his torso less developed, and his facial features slightly rounder. He reached down and roughly spun her partway around, out of Ballard’s grip, and knelt next to her. There was a long cut down the young man’s arm. It seeped blood, but it wasn’t deep. Instead of touching her, he just looked into her eyes. But there was no connection there—the way he looked at her was detached and almost bird-like, as if he were examining a curious sparkly object instead of a living human being. Then his gaze slid down her body in a way that was somehow much more menacing than Gentry’s groping and lewdness.

  “Settle down, Maynard,” Ballard said. “She couldn’t have hurt you all that badly.”

  Maynard rose, and his eyes locked on Talia’s again. “No, I’ll heal just fine. But now I know she likes to struggle.” His tone was mild, but his words were edged with barely-leashed danger. His lips widened in a slow smile that made Talia’s insides go cold.

  “Go on and let the captain know we’ve made our catch,” Ballard said to Gentry and Maynard. “We’re secure.”

  The other two men turned and walked away, and Ballard leaned down to slide his hand under Talia’s elbow. He pulled her up to her feet, helping her to stand rather than manhandling her the way Gentry had.

  She pulled away from him. Just because he seemed kinder than the others didn’t mean she could trust him. “Who are you? What are you going to do with me?”

  He reached for her elbow again and firmly pulled her along the platform, which she now realized ringed the dome. The center was open to the water. It was where she’d entered, presumably with Ballard as her captor, though apparently Maynard had been the one to try to grab her first, and he was the one she’d sliced with the shell.

  Ballard kept silent, his jaw muscles flexing, as he guided her toward a bunch of people on the opposite side of the dome—where the screams and whimpering had come from. But his eyes slid over to hers, and he pressed his full lips in a tight line. Talia had the distinct feeling he wanted to say something to her. Instead, he glanced ahead at where several men were milling, and her gaze followed his.

  There was more light over where the others were gathered, and as they neared the area, Talia realized there was some kind of wide stand-up console, probably the controls for the dome, which had been blocked from view by the men milling over there. And there weren’t just men. Girls were sitting in a row along the wall of the dome, about a dozen of them. Just as Talia noticed that the girls’ hands were all hidden behind their backs, Ballard stopped, turned her, and pulled her hands around to her lower back. He wound something around her wrists, securing them.

  She looked at him questioningly over her shoulder, and for a second she could swear he looked apologetic about tying her up. His fingers brushed her lower back, just above the waistband of her bikini bottom, and she stiffened, surprised by his touch.

  He nudged her forward, walking her toward the end of the line of girls. Talia gasped. She recognized the jewelry on one of the girls’ ankles. “Janelle?”

  A pretty face, with round eyes and a tangle of sopping wet dark hair framing it, turned upward. “Oh my god, Talia!”

  Talia’s eyelids closed briefly, and her chest swelled with relief at seeing her friend alive. Talia opened her eyes and looked up at Ballard. “Can I sit next to her? Please?”

  He seemed ready to deny her request, but then his face softened. Without a word, he flicked his hand, indicating the girl to Janelle’s left should move over and make room, and then lowered Talia to the floor.

  “Thank you,” Talia whispered before Ballard straightened. His eyes met hers, and he gave her the tiniest of nods before he moved away.

  “What the hell is going on?” Janelle rasped. She coughed hard, clearly still trying to work out water that she’d inhaled.

  “I don’t know, but I’m just so glad you’re okay. When I saw you go under . . .” Unable to finish the sentence, Talia blew out a breath and shook her head. “If this is some kind of spring break prank, it’s gone too far. I nearly drowned on the way here. And what is this thing? I’ve never seen anything like it.” She looked up at the curved ceiling.

  “I don’t know.” Janelle coughed again. “Military technology was my first thought when I got inside. I mean, look at this. I can’t even imagine how they propel it. And to be able to drive it under water . . . can you imagine the power it takes to force down this huge container of air? I figured they must be military.”

  Talia gave her an appreciative look. The fact that Janelle could even think about such things just minutes after nearly drowning reminded Talia why she loved her friend. In contrast, a few of the girls along the wall were sobbing loudly. The one next to Talia was silent, but shaking so violently her shoulder was knocking into Talia’s.

  Talia squinted at the console area. Her eyes had adjusted to the dim lighting, and she could see well enough to make out distinguishing characteristics of the men who milled several feet away. She eyed Ballard. Wide shoulders with muscled arms, impressive pecs, and tight rows of ab muscles. “They’re really fit. Short hair, shaved heads. Yeah, I guess they could be military.”

  “Military was my first thought. But I don’t think they’re military.” Janelle licked her lips and leaned closer to Talia. “I think they’re sea people.”

  “What, like pirates?”

  That actually made a shred of sense. Maybe these men built these fancy rafts and then went around and kidnapped people from beaches for ransom. Except, it seemed like the sort of thing that would have been on the news if it had happened before. Unless this was their first attempt? In any case, Talia knew this wasn’t the only dome—there had been more along the beach. Who knew how many girls were held in each one.

  “No, sea people—people who live in the sea.” Janelle’s eyes were wide again.

  Talia let out a mirthless laugh. Her adrenaline was starting to fade, and her temples were pounding. “I’m holding out for a more rational explanation. Whatever they are, we have to figure out how we’re going to get away.”

  She leaned forward and looked down the line of girls. They all looked young. One girl had lost her bikini top, and she’d pulled her knees up and hunched forward. Another looked to have lost her bathing suit completely, and she’d half-turned toward the wall, trying to curl into a ball. The sour scent of vomit wafted past. Most of these girls had probably been totally sloshed when they were taken. They likely wouldn�
��t be very useful allies in an escape attempt.

  She took an inventory of what she had to work with. She’d lost the sharp shell she’d used to cut Maynard. Her little waterproof pouch was still on her wrist, but there wasn’t anything in it that could be used as a weapon. Now that she thought about it, it was odd that Ballard hadn’t taken the pouch from her when he’d bound her wrists.

  “I don’t suppose you have a dagger hidden in your cleavage?” she whispered to Janelle.

  Janelle snorted, and Talia managed a wry smile in return.

  The men seemed distracted. If she could get her hands loose and untie Janelle, they could slip into the ocean when no one was looking. The dome appeared to be floating on the surface of the water, and it probably wouldn’t be too difficult to swim under the edge and get away. Even Janelle should be able to make it.

  Talia started to work at her wrists, trying to stretch the bonds enough to loosen them and slip a hand free. Her hands were so cold, she could barely feel what she was doing. Several men broke off from the group and strode toward the row of women. Ballard slipped around one of his comrades and ended up in front of Talia. The men starting pulling the girls up to their feet—one man to each girl—and moved the line toward where the rest of the men were grouped. Talia kept working at her bonds but wasn’t making any progress.

  The man at the front grabbed the first young woman by the elbow and yanked her forward. She let out a squeak and tried to back up, whimpering at him to let her go. He ignored her pleas and gripped her arm more firmly.

  “Test them in the scanner, and if any aren’t fit for harvest, we’ll dump them before we shove off,” said a man near the console. He was among the tallest of the bunch, and although his face was lined with age, his body was lean and muscled like the rest of the men. Just by the way he stood, Talia figured he must be the one in charge.

  “Yes, sir,” responded one of the other men. He swiped and tapped at one of the monitors.

  One by one, the girls were marched up near the console area and forced to stand in an upright coffin-sized box with clear sides, a little like a smaller version of the full body scanners Talia had passed through many times at airport security points. With each girl, a row of lights blinked. When they got to the girl in front of Janelle, fewer lights illuminated.