“Private Benjamin, the two of you take these two carts back to the mess.” He glanced at the young man and then at Janelle. “We’ll wait for the next two.”
Janelle and Talia exchanged a long look before Janelle went ahead of Benjamin, wheeling a cart with her bound hands close together on the push bar. Talia didn’t like the idea of getting separated, but Benjamin appeared to be one of the few men who didn’t have any lascivious intentions toward the women. No, it wasn’t Benjamin she was worried about—it was the others like Gentry and Nielson. And Maynard, who seemed the most predatory and calculating of all the men. He seemed intelligent, too, which made him even more dangerous.
The two men working in the kitchen were unfamiliar, but they wore the same diving pants and form-fitting shorts as the others. Talia knew she and Ballard couldn’t continue their conversation from before—about his mission—in earshot of the galley workers. And she certainly wasn’t going to bring up what she and Janelle had been discussing. But if Talia could find out anything more about him, about all of this, it could only help her figure out how to get out of here.
“So . . . do you have a family?” she asked, aiming to put him at ease.
His brows rose in surprise, and for a second he didn’t answer. “My mother is, ah, back home. My father died when I was a baby. And I—” He clamped his mouth shut, and his face tensed as if he couldn’t decide whether to say more. Finally, he continued, “I had a sister. She died two years ago.”
“I’m so sorry,” Talia said quietly. “What happened?”
“There’s a sickness going around, a plague. It hits women the hardest. The ones who don’t die are left barren. It’s been . . .” He trailed off, and then shook his head. Something within him seemed to loosen, to give way, just a little. “It’s been devastating.”
Talia examined his face, his pain obvious even though he was trying to hide it. She shifted closer so she could keep her voice low. “That sounds terrible, I can’t even imagine what it’s been like. In this day and age, it seems like no one should have to suffer that way. What’s the name of the disease?”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t have a name. We’re not supposed to have these types of—” He broke off and looked away. His expression hardened, the bit of openness she’d seen a few seconds before gone. But then he continued, “My, ah, homeland has never been struck with a sickness like this one. We . . . took measures to prevent such a thing from happening.” He shook his head and looked down at his hands.
His homeland? She still couldn’t place his accent, but at this moment she was more interested in getting details about the plague.
“What kind of measures?”
“When the plague began to spread from the other col—from another country, we shut down travel between there and my homeland. It helped, but many still died. And the other country suffered enormous losses.”
He obviously didn’t want to disclose where he was from, but this seemed like something she should have heard about. She received daily alerts from every major disease center in the world and read through them every morning while she drank her coffee. Surely this sort of thing would have been reported.
“And your health officials haven’t identified the virus?”
He looked at her for a long moment and then shook his head again. Pain flashed behind his green-flecked brown eyes. She waited for him to say more, but instead he looked at the floor.
She glanced at the galley workers to make sure they weren’t within earshot. “Ballard,” she whispered. “I’m a virologist. Studying and eradicating communicable diseases, viruses like the one that took your sister, is exactly my specialty. It’s the only thing I’ve ever really wanted to do, ever since I was a kid. I know there are things you feel you can’t tell me, but this plague . . . your countrymen and women shouldn’t have to suffer this way.”
He looked up quickly, his eyes meeting hers. The stoic mask of his chiseled face faltered again, and he blinked rapidly. His lips parted, but the bang of a stack of trays onto one of the carts distracted him from anything he might have been on the verge of saying.
The cooks finished filling the two carts and Ballard pushed one, his head down. Talia followed him with the other. After they turned a corner, she stopped.
“Hey,” she called softly, and waited for him to stop and turn. “I could help you, I know I could. If you told me about the symptoms of the disease, I might be able to narrow down—”
“No,” he said sharply. “You can’t involve yourself in the things that happen with my people. It’s incredibly dangerous.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “I hate to break it to you, but stealing me away from the beach and bringing me down here to wherever we are has already involved me.”
“The more you know, the more dangerous it is. In ways that are much bigger than . . . Bigger than you can imagine. You just have to believe me on this.”
They stared at each other in silence as seconds ticked by.
“Maybe it would be better if you let me in on it,” she said gently. Something told her he truly wanted to reveal more. Maybe if she just gave him the right kind of nudge. “You’ve already decided you want me to help, right? You gave me your knife. You told me about your mission.”
He drew a deep breath, conflicted emotions passing over his face. “We’re . . . not like you.”
Talia tilted her head back and squeezed her eyelids closed. “Oh god, please don’t say you’re mermen. That’s what my friend thinks, you know.” She gave him a sardonic roll of her eyes.
“That’s not what I was about to say.” The hint of a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth, but it faded and his eyes grew serious. “We come from a different time.” He said it slowly, watching her face intently.
She narrowed her eyes in question. “You mean you live by traditional cultural practices?” That explanation didn’t match up with what she’d witnessed so far, but she couldn’t imagine what else he could mean.
“I really shouldn’t be telling you any of this.” He shook his head and ran a hand over his short hair. “But here’s the truth. The people I’m descended from came from the future. We were never supposed to interfere with you, the people who live Above.”
Her jaw dropped. Was he trying to distract her with crazy stories?
A noise down the hallway drew her attention, and Ballard quickly turned just as the captain, Nielson, and a handful of other men crossed the corridor directly in front of him.
Ballard straightened and saluted.
Talia’s mind spun with what he’d just told her. Descended from people who came from the future? You who live above? Above what? Her eyes went wide. Did he mean that he and the other men lived here . . . below . . . in the ocean? That his “homeland” was actually down here somewhere?
The strange domes . . . The men’s unidentifiable accents . . . Could it really be that people from the future had traveled back in time to live deep in the sea? Apprehension passed through her in a wave, collecting in an uneasy ball in her gut.
Who were these men?
Chapter Four
Already feeling off-balance from his confession to Talia, Ballard nearly reeled when he recognized one of the men who passed by with Captain Rogers. It was Marianas Trench Colony Vice Minister Pierre Casta. The second most powerful person in Ballard’s home colony.
What was the VM doing here? Could he also be operating under cover as part of the mission to take down the rogue Ice Cap group? During Ballard’s preparation for this mission, back before he left Trench Colony a year ago to go under cover, his superiors certainly hadn’t informed him that Vice Minister Casta would be part of the mission. Of course, many things could have changed in the past year, and there was no way for Ballard to get updates from his people. But to involve someone so high-ranking and recognizable seemed incredibly risky. As possibilities churned through his thoughts, he couldn’t think of a single good reason to put the Vice Minister in this position.
After the
men passed, Ballard resumed pushing the meal cart, his thoughts swimming. No, he couldn’t assume that the Vice Minister was on his side. He had to assume that the VM was somehow involved in this rogue operation. And if that was the case, did Vice Minister Casta know about Ballard’s insertion in the Ice Cap Army?
Ballard’s stomach turned to ice as a thought occurred to him. For all he knew, the people who’d originated his mission had been removed from their positions—or worse. Most of them were political advisors and military personnel, not elected officials. News of changes in leadership in Trench Colony—those areas of leadership, anyway—probably wouldn’t have reached him. He knew only what the average Ice Cap Army grunt knew about Trench Colony events and politics—less probably, now that he was part of the rogue group and isolated for long stretches of time. At best, he knew no more than what was reported in the major media and carried through the deep sea lines between the colonies.
It was distinctly possible that Ballard was now completely on his own. But one thing was certain: no matter what had happened back home or why the VM was here, the Ice Cap rogue group’s trips Above were terrible risks to everyone on Earth. He winced, remembering the girl who’d been pushed into the water to drown. The consequences of interacting with those Above—of killing one of them—were potentially so grave, it was still difficult to believe that it had been done so casually.
This was why the First Tenet existed, why it was so critical. And regardless of what may have changed in Trench Colony in his absence, the original mission still needed to be carried out. But now, if Ballard was the only one left to complete the mission, he couldn’t stop at discovering where the rogue group was headquartered. He’d have to figure out how to return the kidnapped women to their home Above, and then destroy the Ice Cap’s vehicles that had allowed them to violate the First Tenet in the first place.
When they neared the crew’s mess, he stopped and turned to Talia. Her brows rose when she saw his face, which no doubt gave away at least some of the seriousness of his thoughts. For some reason, it was much more difficult to stay stoic with her than it was with the Ice Cap men.
“After the meal and when I’m in the room,” he said, speaking rapidly, “wait for me to pass nearby and ask for an escort to the head. There’s more I need to tell you.”
He hated the thought of risking her life even more by involving her in his mission and the struggles waging Below; things that, if all was as it should be in the world, she would know nothing about. But as she’d said, simply being here meant she was already involved. And now that it was clear the events Below could have catastrophic consequences for everyone Above, he couldn’t deny that she was right.
She nodded, and a spark lit in her eyes. “I’ll be ready.”
The tightness across his chest loosened a little. It was a small thing, but her reaction to his request—eagerness instead of apprehension—gave him a shred of reassurance that asking her to play a larger role was the right decision.
He closed his eyes briefly. “Thank you.”
They wheeled the carts into the mess, where Talia’s friend and Private Benjamin had already distributed the trays they’d brought in. The meal was a simple one typical of many households Below. Seasoned broiled fish—by the aroma and appearance some type of bass, most likely—and a sea vegetable vinegar slaw. Ballard preferred most fish raw with a sprinkling of salt and dried wakame seaweed, but the rumbling in his stomach reminded him that at this point any meal would do.
The men stood along the side of the mess next to the serving counters, where in the normal operation of the sub the crew would slide trays along the rails and pick up food. The men dug in heartily, while many of the women at the tables peered uncertainly at their food or took tentative bites. It might not be the kind of meal most of the women were used to, but Ballard hoped they ate everything they were offered. He wasn’t sure when they’d get another chance at a meal like this.
He wondered if any of the women had any idea that they were on a Russian sub. Well, she used to belong to the Russians. The Sea Dragon had been salvaged from a wreck, cleaned up and repaired to working order, and outfitted for the Ice Cap military. Each colony had three salvaged subs that were cloaked to elude the detection of those Above. The fact that two of Ice Cap’s three subs were devoted to this rogue operation made his gut tighten with unease.
Ballard glanced around at the other men, taking a quick survey of who was there. The officers were absent—they took their meals in the wardroom. They were probably unwinding, maybe drinking and talking about the mission. Possibly discussing the Vice Minister’s role.
Scraping up the last of his food, Ballard finished his meal in two huge bites. He moved toward the doorway where he set his empty tray on one of the carts.
Full and relaxed, and without any officers around, many of the men were joking and telling stories. Ballard waited until no one was looking his way, and slipped out of the mess.
Moving quickly, he turned through narrow, dim corridors, taking a roundabout way to the wardroom. If someone stopped him, he’d just play dumb and claim he’d gotten lost. When he passed a rusted metal fire extinguisher, he paused and went back to it and pulled it from its wall mount. He could use it as an excuse for an errand, if he had to. Or as a makeshift weapon.
When he neared the wardroom, he stopped around a corner from the door, held his breath, and tipped his head around for a quick glance. This corridor was completely unlit. Sections of lights throughout the sub were inoperable, and fixing them was such a low priority it never got done. But no one guarded the wardroom door. Not a huge surprise, as the rogues had no need for high security here on the sub. As far as anyone in this operation was concerned, the only outsiders here were the women from Above, and with their hands bound and armed men guarding them, there’d be no reason to consider them a threat.
With the fire extinguisher in one hand, he approached the wardroom door. There was the sound of silverware clanking against dishes—no plastic trays for the officers—and low conversation. Ballard pressed his ear to the door.
“. . . as you know, the cargo from Above will be harvested,” someone was saying in the wardroom. Ballard didn’t recognize the voice. “Many of the eggs will be cryogenically stored, but some will be used to impregnate the barren colony women we’ve been, ah, collecting.”
There were a couple of noises of approval.
Ballard squinted. Could he have heard that right? They were holding women from Below, too?
“The pregnant women will be returned to their respective colonies if our demands are met—our best insurance, as we know the colonies can’t possibly leave pregnant females to die. The females from Above will be auctioned off to the highest bidder.”
Auctioned off? Ballard’s grip on the fire extinguisher tightened. Someone in the wardroom asked a question that he didn’t quite catch.
“Yes, well, many people believe in that old myth,” the same voice continued in a pompous tone. “We’ll all start to just disappear—poof!—if we interfere with those who dwell Above. Five Abover females perished in the past twenty-four hours. Look around you, gentlemen. No one has faded out of existence. Nothing has changed. Those old threats about interfering with Abovers don’t seem to hold any water. Or maybe these time travel paradoxes, whatever they’re called, just work themselves out in a way we don’t understand. It was all theoretical anyway. Sometimes theories turn out to be wrong.”
Ballard’s jaw muscles worked. Five women dead? Someone else said something.
“You’d be surprised,” the same man responded. “The black market here Below is much more widespread than you might think. I don’t expect we’ll have any problem getting rid of the Abover females. It’ll generate some additional cash to help kickstart things for us, as well.”
There was a scrape of a chair across the floor, and by the time Ballard realized one of the officers was heading for the door, it was too late for him to make it around the corner. He quickly turned and wa
lked a few steps away from the wardroom. Light spilled out into the dark corridor as someone opened the wardroom door.
“Hey, you there!” called a voice behind him, the same one he’d heard speaking inside.
His heart jumping up his throat, Ballard turned and saluted. “Yes, sir!”
He swallowed back his surprise when he realized it was Vice Minister Casta. With a rush of gratitude, he realized the hallway was so dark the VM probably couldn’t make out his face, especially after being in the much brighter wardroom.
“Where’s the nearest head?” the VM asked. “I get so damned turned around when I’m in these tubes.”
Ballard licked his dry lips. “This way, sir. I’ll show you.” He quickly led the VM around a couple of turns and then pointed, trying to keep his face angled away from the VM. “Third door on your left, sir.”
“Thank you, Private. I’ll let you return to your duties, now.” The VM clapped Ballard’s shoulder, and Ballard didn’t bother correcting the VM—it was Sergeant, not Private.
The VM started to step by, and then angled his gaze to look Ballard square in the face. Ballard’s heart seized in his chest. After a second, the VM glanced down at the fire extinguisher in Ballard’s hand. “Don’t let the place burn down, now.” He turned toward the head and guffawed loudly at his own joke.
As soon as the Vice Minister disappeared inside the head, Ballard turned and hustled away, nearly sick with relief that the VM hadn’t seemed to recognize him. His mouth twisted as he recalled what he’d overheard, and that it had been Vice Minister Casta talking the entire time. One thing was now obvious: the VM was definitely not part of Ballard’s mission. Ballard had assumed the Trench Colony Minister knew about the mission, but perhaps the VM had been kept in the dark. Ballard could only hope so. After what he’d overhead, Pierre Casta certainly didn’t seem like the type of man Ballard’s superiors would involve in this mission. The man had absolutely no regard for the First Tenet, and apparently very little for women—from Above or Below. Ballard wasn’t sure which discovery turned his stomach more.
Legends of the Damned: A Collection of Edgy Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels Page 114
