She rolled her eyes. “I’m on campus twenty-four-seven. When I’m not there, I’m in band practice or at the Franklin.”
“Yeah, your band. It had a weird name, right?”
The corners of her lips perked up, and her eyes smiled. Damn. Her smile stole my breath. It whooshed out of me, and I couldn’t breathe for fear of never seeing that smile again. But as long as she was smiling, I didn’t care. Take my breath.
“Phoenix and Lobster,” she said. “Yeah, it’s weird, but it does have meaning. Sort of.”
“Well, explain it to me then, because I’m still confused.” Confused but grinning.
She shook her head a little. “It’s ridiculous.”
“I could have told you that.” It was a weird name for a band, but coming from someone who listened to music as often as this Xbox fan enjoyed a PlayStation, it didn’t mean much.
She didn’t reply to that, but at least she smiled. My plan worked.
“Come on, it can’t be worse than the name,” I prodded.
“Thanks,” she said slowly. “The name was inspired by a story my sister and I wrote for a class we had together in high school.”
Oh, this would be good. “Please, tell it.” I leaned back in my chair and would have put my feet up, too, if we weren’t on camera right now.
Chelsea fought a grin. “The gist of it is: a lobster was gazing at the sky from under the surface of the ocean. One day, he saw a beautiful phoenix fly overhead. She kept coming back, interested in the oceanic world the lobster lived in. But she knew if she landed her firebird body on the surface of the water, she may risk warming it up—thereby hurting the lobster.”
Phoenixes didn’t exist, and lobsters couldn’t think in-depth. I scratched the back of my neck. “All right, this is weird.”
“I told you! Anyway, the phoenix visited every day, growing more and more curious. She found herself in love with the lobster. The lobster couldn’t understand why they couldn’t be together, until, one day, she flew too close. The water heated up to an almost unbearable level, and the lobster retreated further into the ocean. Then he knew”—she looked at me—“the one thing he found most beautiful could kill him up close.”
Silence echoed in the wake of her story. I didn’t know what to say, so I held her gaze for as long as possible and tried to ignore the way her spicy perfume filled the air. Somewhere in those hazel eyes, the sadness of her story echoed something broken. Was it her situation? What happened between us months ago? Or could it be something else?
That same ache for action I’d had in the alley returned. I wanted to punch whoever caused that sadness, to make sure they couldn’t do it ever again.
“That’s depressing,” I said instead.
Chelsea shrugged, but the sadness remained. “We wrote it for this fantasy class. We had to write a cautionary tale.”
“Which you then named your band off of.”
She held up a finger. “They did. Not me. I went along with it because I joined the band a few months later.”
I sat back. I didn’t believe her. The grinning manner in which she told the name’s origin story spoke volumes—she’d had more say than she claimed. “Of course,” I said.
“Oh, come on. Like you don’t have something weird in your own life.”
I did have plenty of weird going on. I just didn’t parade it around.
She leaned back in her seat and tried to cross her arms. She winced, probably from the metal digging into her wrists.
I scooted closer and reached an arm across the table. She straightened, lifting a brow.
“Give me your hands,” I said.
“Why?”
I spun to look at the camera behind me. The red light blinked in response, reminding me someone on the other end observed us. “Because I don’t think you’ll hurt me, and you’re clearly uncomfortable. I can help you.”
She considered the cuffs and offered me her hands. “Yeah, maybe they’re a bit tight.”
If someone viewing the security camera feed cared, they’d already be in here, so I took her hands in mine and pulled them to the center of the table. They were soft and warm, the purple of her nails stark against her creamy skin and the metal slab. A small, grey box rested on the cuff band in between her wrists. I flipped open the cover and withdrew a pen from my pocket, using the uncapped end to type in combinations until one worked. Valerie had figured out the override codes months ago. Said it would be “helpful for the future” if we knew them. Score one for you, Valerie.
The cuffs beeped and popped open. Chelsea withdrew her hands and rubbed her wrists. My own hands felt cold and empty with hers gone.
Her eyes found mine. “Thanks. Hope you won’t get in trouble.”
“I won’t.” My radio beeped. Or maybe that was a total lie. I fished it out of my pants pocket and held it to my face. “Yeah?”
“Could you escort Chelsea to the Dr. Gordon’s office? She’d like to speak with her,” came the Captain’s voice on the other end.
“Uh, yes, sir.”
The radio clicked off.
Chelsea didn’t need a military escort? Either Dr. Gordon had convinced Captain Marks of Chelsea’s innocence, or Lieutenant Weyland wasn’t on duty. The latter must have been the case, or he’d have been down here the second I’d taken Chelsea’s hands in mine.
I stood from the table and gestured for the door. “We should go see what Helen wants.”
Chelsea nodded. “Hopefully not to imprison me.”
Chelsea
revor led me through a labyrinth on our way to the Science Lab, where Dr. Gordon’s office apparently was. Every corridor and grated floor blurred together save for the color-coded markings labeling each intersection. This maze of colors and halls made learning the human skeletal system look like painting with watercolors in kindergarten. It didn’t help that we were in a time zone far off Eastern Time. I’d ticked off the hours as they passed. What felt like midnight to me was late afternoon for them. Maybe we’re in the Pacific somewhere?
Captain Marks and Dr. Gordon greeted us at the Science Lab, a large room with mobile half-walls littering the floor, breaking up the space into smaller work zones. The white walls and steel floor matched the rest of the station. Bland, boring, but intimidating in the severe, cold colors.
Lieutenant Trigger-Happy lurked off in a corner of the main area, watching every step I took. His eyes zeroed in on my wrists, which hung free at my sides. “Trevor?”
Trevor stopped short of a table in the center of the room. “Yes?”
The Lieutenant gestured at my wrists. “Why are her cuffs off?”
Trevor didn’t falter or glance my way. “Because they hurt her.”
Captain Marks cleared his throat—a warning. The Lieutenant’s narrowed dark brown eyes met mine with a threat, like he thought I’d try to escape now with all the freedom a lack of cuffs afforded. Where would I run to?
Dr. Gordon ushered me into her office and shut the door behind us, leaving the men outside. “Have a seat. I’d like to talk to you about working with me here on SeaSat5.”
I sat. Apprehension spread like New England fog across my bones, slowly but with purpose, condensing tighter with every inch. It started with a clenching of muscles in my neck and jaw, sliding downward into my arms and fingers.
“So by asking me to ‘work’ with you,” I started, “I’m assuming you’ve looked into those other cases of teleportation.”
Dr. Gordon gave a small nod. “They’re rare, and some don’t involve the waterfall-like light show.”
So I’d received the crap end of that stick. Lovely.
“What other abilities are there?” I asked. She’d said she had one, and I might have two. So, what about everyone else who had these strange powers?
“So far, we’ve recorded teleportation, super strength, future-sight, telekinesis, and control over elements, amongst others. Sometimes, although extremely rare, two abilities show up at once.”
I shook my head.
“Abilities like those have been recorded since the beginning of time, but they’re usually tied to mythology, like the Titans or gods—or to people in the loony bin.”
If I didn’t have powers, I probably wouldn’t believe her.
Dr. Gordon nodded grimly and fiddled with her hands. “Of course. I’m not discounting history and mythology; I’m merely interested in modern day cases, the ones directly affecting people in positions such ours.”
I.e., those of us lucky enough to accidentally trespass on super-secret military property. At least I wasn’t alone.
“So what’s the overall story? Do you think all of the instances of strange abilities are connected?” I asked.
She inclined her head. “Yes, and no. I hypothesize the connection is based in genetics. I’m not entirely sure how, since the gene seems to be passed through family lines, but these groups can go generations without seeing it. I do, however, strongly believe the powers to be traced to Atlantean refugees.”
I sucked in air through my mouth so fast it drew spit into my lungs. I coughed to clear it. “Atlantis? Are you serious?”
Dr. Gordon regarded me with hard eyes. Of course she was freaking serious.
Well, no wonder why they’d trusted me so quickly. They must have looked up my school records and saw my thesis, too. My archaeology professors would shit chickens if they knew what was going on right now. An archaeologist in military hands studying Atlantis? What a joke.
I had to be dreaming. Any minute now, Logan would wake me up. Back to South African Archaeology, I’d go. Please, please, please.
I stood. “Look, I’m pretty sure none of this is real, so I’m going to go walk out and—”
“Sit, Chelsea.”
I shook my head, restlessness and panic urging me to pace the room. “You’re trying to tell me Atlantis is real—or was—and, well, no, I’m not sorry. I don’t believe you, and I think you’re nuts.”
Dr. Gordon’s lips pressed into a hard line. She paused for several long, agonizing moments before speaking again. “You study myths, do you not?”
“Yes, which is especially why I think your hypothesis is heavy on the side of crazy.” My bite hurt even me, but, dammit, could she hear what she was saying? Atlantis? Seriously?
“We don’t have evidence for Atlantis, no. But consider for a moment why humans never let the thought of other-worldly abilities go. Or why every society has a flood myth.”
“Maybe because things flood all the time?” I snapped.
“Chelsea.”
I leveled my gaze with hers. She hadn’t appeared to be crazy when we first met. But I hadn’t pinned Trevor for a liar, either. “What?”
“I followed all the records we have to the beginning. I’ve had countless experts weigh in. They all trace to Greece and a war hard-fought but from which no evidence was left—save the stories and abilities passed down for generations. How else do you plan to explain what you and I can do, along with everyone like us?”
I took slow breaths to steady myself. She had some good points, and I doubted the Navy would’ve hired a complete lunatic. She either did have damn good proof to support her claims, or she was working on something even better, and the Navy humored this side research.
I sighed and retook my seat, but left my guard up. How far would I go to stay out of prison?
Helen relaxed into her seat and resumed her questions. “Have you had teleporting episodes before you appeared on SeaSat5 earlier today?”
“No. I don’t even know what happened the first time.” How many times did I have to explain that to people?
She leaned forward. “The first episodes of my abilities occurred in instances of intense anger or fear. Did you have a similar experience?”
Images of Lexi and her open palm flying at me smashed through my vision. My fists tightened, nails digging in hard. I wanted to play one show, one damn set, without having to deal with them. I shouldn’t have looked at my phone. Bless Logan for the warning, but that text started it all. He couldn’t have known what I’d do. Tears stung my eyes. I hated Lexi for what she did, for how she continued to tear me down. And I hated myself even more for letting it happen. In the moment she slapped me, I feared it’d never end.
I swallowed down memories of that night. One tear escaped despite my efforts. Then another. I wiped them away in quick, frantic movements. “Yeah. Anger. Some fear. Then black. I don’t remember teleporting anywhere.”
“Did you have any association to SeaSat5 before today?” Hesitation hitched her voice, as if she, too, worried over the answer. “I find it strange you teleported here, out of everywhere else in the world.”
Only one response existed. “I met Trevor a couple months ago. Kind of. But I wouldn’t call what we had a connection. I barely know him.” And yet, here I stood, with no other correlation to offer as explanation.
“Interesting.”
“Is Trevor in trouble for lying about it?”
Helen shook her head. “I’m sure Lieutenant Weyland will have words for him, but Captain Marks understood.”
This Captain Marks seemed quick to understand a whole lot of things, his crew’s immature decisions included. “Why is the Captain so eager to let me on board? I haven’t done anything to prove I’m trustworthy… or worthy of anything, period.”
“Because he knows of the work I do. And, to be quite frank, at twenty-one, you’re the youngest person to discover their ability, which is something I’d like to look into.”
I frowned. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t enjoy being made akin to a necessary research subject. However, her honesty after the last year of lies and drama was welcome, respectable. Maybe she could help me after all. But first, I needed to know how much. “What’s your ability, if I can ask?”
“I can see future events, how they may end up. Although it doesn’t happen as much anymore,” she answered without hesitation.
“Could be interesting.” Or dangerous. She didn’t say one way or another.
“And twenty-one is young for abilities manifesting?” I asked.
She nodded. “Mine appeared at twenty-five. The second youngest was twenty-four. I don’t know why they manifest so late in life, and that’s part of the reason I’d love to work with you. But there’s more.”
She leaned forward and placed her forearms onto her desk, linking her fingers together. “Like I said before, you deserve to know what’s happening to you and how to control it. Captain Marks has also proposed you join the Science Staff as an archaeology intern. Believe it or not, we don’t have an archaeologist on board. We need one, and you would need something to do during the hours I’m not available.”
I tilted my head, eyes narrowed. They didn’t have an archaeologist? That seemed awfully stupid for a ship scouring the ocean floor. Shipwrecks could be anywhere. And where shipwrecks lurked, artifacts rested. “Why don’t you have an archaeologist?”
“Our primary research focus is the ocean itself, not any archaeological sites, wrecks, or artifacts we may find.”
I shrugged. “Fair enough. So, we work together on figuring out my teleportation thing, and I play unqualified archaeologist in my spare time?” It seemed too easy, too unreal, that someone wanted to hire me straight out of college. My powers were worth that much?
Helen’s eyebrows rose in scolding. “It’ll be hard work, Chelsea.”
A long moment passed while I extricated my foot out of my mouth. “Well—I mean—I’m sorry. I know, and I’m willing to do it.” Maybe. Who knew what kind of work this would entail? And to be a lab-rat on top of it?
With nothing lined up for after graduation, an internship, especially one that paid, sounded fantastic. Grad school wasn’t an option, given my GRE score. Until I retook them and reapplied to my dream school, my plan consisted of continued customer service employment at the local record and comic book store. Totally classy. While too classified to flat-out state, “Naval Archaeology Intern” seemed like a great addition to my resume.
/> I rubbed my face. Was I really going to sign up to be a lab-rat in exchange for the prospect of future employment? God, this sucked. But what other choice did I have?
To save my ass from imprisonment, I asked, “Where do I sign up?”
Trevor
fter leaving Chelsea with Helen, I spent hours investigating how Chelsea got through Humming Bird, my ballast system turned secret shield. Humming Bird was meant as a doodle, a drawing I had made in class alongside lecture notes my freshman year of college. Then my parents had found it, got excited, and pushed me through school early to make the system a reality. To mold me into the perfect spy for their organization.
The thought of the lengths Lemuria would go to end Atlantis made me ashamed to call my parents my own. They had started the extremist campaign I’d been unwillingly roped into, the one aimed at obtaining as many Link Pieces as possible to travel through time to Atlantis. War over control of time travel was stupid. And risky. Anyone willing to mess with time, willing to go to war over the ability to travel it, deserved what they got.
The data from the diagnostics readouts from earlier reminded me why I built Humming Bird the way I did. With added electromagnetic wave capabilities, it should have been enough to screw with the brain’s normal makeup and keep any powers from working. But Chelsea had jumped past it like the shield didn’t even exist. Her powers resonated on a different frequency, but calibrating Humming Bird again sounded like something I didn’t want to do right now.
My stomach growled as I reached the last line of the data. My clock read 7:32 p.m. I dragged myself out of my computer chair, saved the diagnostic results, and logged off. I slipped into a shower for a few minutes to rinse away the confusion. Mom had always said the Lemurians had had the powers, not the Atlanteans. At least, not until the end.
Captain Marks had decided to hold Chelsea in the Briefing Room for the time being, and I hopped on the elevator to see if she wanted dinner. The Lift ride to the Briefing Room dragged on forever. Every lurch in the Lift reverberated throughout my body, judging my intentions. I tried to ignore the machine’s fifth degree.
Gyre (Atlas Link Series Book 1) Page 5
