Stranger Tides

by Jack Castle

  The Leftenant harrumphed and responded. “Well then, your racial-colloquialism aside, that does seem like the most prudent plan.”

  “See, like I said, It’s no big deal.”

  She turned back on him so abruptly, he spilled his coffee. “No. It is a big deal. I don’t make mistakes. I never make mistakes.”

  Rick brushed the coffee off his uniform shirt as best as he was able. Smiling beneath his mustache at her he said, “Huh, you’re right. The Leftenant made a mistake. Six years I’ve been waiting for that to happen.”

  The Leftenant stood up straight, held her nose in the air and said, “I hereby resign, effectively immediately. I am clearly no longer worthy of my post and shall confine myself to my quarters post haste. If that is not to your satisfaction, I shall report to the quartermaster and lock myself in the brig.”

  Rick, more amused by the situation than anything else, blew a cooling wind across the remnants of his coffee and said dryly, “Leftenant. We don’t have a brig. Sue turned it into a food pantry.”

  The Leftenant promptly stamped her foot, “Well then, perhaps we should.”

  “Leftenant, you made a mistake. It’s no big deal.”

  “That’s impossible, I don’t make mistakes.”

  Rick shrugged, took another sip. “Yeah, everybody thinks that, but the truth is, we all make mistakes and it’s okay. Part of being…” he hesitated for he wasn’t sure how she was going to take the word, “human. It’s what we do after we make mistakes that really counts.”

  The Leftenant tilted her head, narrowed her eyes at him and settled for saying, “Oh, I see.”

  “So instead of confining yourself to your quarters, or your box, or wherever it is you go when you disappear into never-never land, why don’t you help me find a decent place to land The Dauntless before that storm crashes down on top of us?”

  She studied the dampener gauge again. “There’s no way this could have happened on its own. There are too many redundant systems in place serving as a failsafe.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  “Of course they were.” Realizing that had come out a lot harsher than intended, she added softly, “Sorry. You do realize that if it didn’t break on its own, then…”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “One of us?”

  Rick shook his head. “I doubt it. Mainly because if it was one of us, they could have hurt us a lot worse before the rescue mission at The Factory.”

  “Then, through process of elimination, it must be one of the people we picked up at The Factory.”

  “That’d be my guess.”

  Still unconvinced, The Leftenant said, “I find it difficult to believe when one considers our pet gargoyle. Despite Cheeves’s annoying and repetitious requests for feline delicacies, he has proven most adept in the past at sniffing out potential enemies. Pun intended as I mean that most literally.”

  “Regardless, we’re going to have to land in unmapped territory…”

  The Leftenant stepped up beside him and began surveying the charts. “And, with a saboteur on board no less.”

  Chapter 9

  Leisure-Bot

  Can’t...breathe…

  George climbed out of the moon-pool and crawled across a concrete floor, slick with water. Lying in a puddle on his back, he spat out the depleted rebreather.

  I can’t believe I made it. I thought for certain that thing was going to devour me.

  He lay still, unless you counted him desperately trying to catch his breath. The room was metal and concrete, with lockers and dive gear lining the walls.

  Sitting up to breathe, he began to wonder if the others had made it too.

  What happened to the Russians? Where’s the Italian woman?

  It had all happened so fast. He vaguely remembered the leviathan attacking the sub and the bridge filling with water. He was fairly certain that when the kronosaurus thrashed about inside the ruined sub, he and a dozen other crewmembers had all bailed out of the sub and swum for the ladder-well.

  Am I the only one who made it?

  George rose slowly to his feet. He moved over to the circular moon pool at the center of the room. Hesitant at first, he glanced down into the ocean water and saw no one.

  I can’t be the only one.

  He turned in a slow circle. There wasn’t much more to the room other than a steel door on a distant wall. Now that he examined the floor more closely, he could see tracks of water where someone, possibly Sven, possibly more, had walked over to the door and exited the room.

  He was about to follow, but realized he was wearing only wet skivvies. Remembering the lockers against the far wall, he moved over to them checking for any clothes.

  He was about to open nearest locker, when he spied a familiar sight on one of the narrow-steel benches, like the kind you find in a gym locker room.

  His clothes!

  Moving over to them, he could see a pair of faded blue jeans, a t-shirt, and his favorite overshirt all folded up in a neat little pile. Even the light-brown work boots were his. Lying next to his clothes was a fluffy white towel. Shivering slightly from his swim, he immediately grabbed the towel and began to dry off.

  He sighed with pleasure at the towel’s fresh clean smell. He brought the towel down away from his face and noticed a note haphazardly taped to one of the lockers.

  Was that there before?

  He wasn’t really sure.

  Hi Georgie,

  Do try to keep your pants on this time.

  Your Pal,

  -L.M.

  L.M.? he wondered, and then it hit him, Lamppost Man. Oh, how he was really beginning to hate that guy. The last time they had seen each other, he had somehow placed Traxx’s multi-tool in his stomach. No, wait. Wasn’t he the one flying the bi-plane? An image crossed his mind of the imp tipping his hat at him as he flew past. George was bouncing on a small raft in the middle of nowhere at the time. These memories all ran together, no rhyme or reason. He crumpled up the note and tossed it to the floor.

  It took George a little while to get dressed, but he noticed his leg was moving better. It still felt like the shark was latched onto it, but at least he could run if he had too. After dressing, he got about halfway to the door when he stopped. He turned around, went back to the crumpled-up note and pitched it into a nearby trashcan. He felt stupid for being so tidy under the circumstances, but he couldn’t change who he was.

  George exited the concrete and steel moon-pool room through a heavy door. It was thick metal on one side but a lavish wall on the other. After stepping through it, the door silently closed behind him. If he didn’t just pass through it, he wouldn’t have even noticed the door was there.

  Before him lay a long ornate hallway adorned with lavish carpeting and leafy potted foliage in beautifully-carved ceramic Greek vases. The hallway appeared endless, which always seemed to be the scope of this world.

  There has to be an exit eventually.

  He didn’t see any more tracks in the floor. Instead, about every twenty feet or so, were futuristic looking-doors, like something you might find on a spaceship from a 1990’s television show. The only apparent difference between each room was the painting on each door. As George grew closer to them, he could see each painting was a different underwater scene, usually with a diver in the foreground, entering different locales, like a submerged pirate ship, or ancient ruins.

  As he walked further down the hallway, George passed another painting; this one was of a diver exploring Atlantean ruins. George was about to take his eyes away from the painting, but the image magically changed to an image of the same diver now entering the ruins. It stayed that way for another few seconds and then changed again to an image of the interior ruins. The point of view was always over and behind the diver as though the camera was documenting the journey. George began to wonder if the diver in each painting was the occupant of each room, so in essence he was watching a little home movie of their personal adventure under the sea.


  Pretty neat.

  George negotiated the hallway another fifty feet or so, but it still appeared endless. Turning around, he could no longer see where he had entered the corridor in the first place.

  Where’s the door I came out of? He couldn’t locate it anymore.

  Fighting panic, he decided to try opening one of the rooms. He knocked lightly, at first, “Hello?” When he didn’t receive an answer he knocked with more fervor, “Hello, is anybody in there?”

  Instinctively, he reached for the doorknob or lever, but there was none. Scanning the other doors, he saw none of them had handles. But now that he studied the door in front of him a bit more, he could see a small and square, raised press plate; the outlines barely visible.

  It’s probably dialed into fingerprints or facial recognition or something.

  George pressed on it anyway and to his surprise, he heard a bolt unlock and the heavy door creaked open. He suspected the door was so thick because if the corridor flooded, they could seal the occupants safely inside their rooms.

  George entered the room. “Hello,” he said again, cautiously. The single-bed room was pure luxury: thick shag carpet, king-size bed with extravagant down comforters, and beautiful furniture. Most exquisite of all, the walls and ceiling were made entirely of thick glass, offering amazing views of crystal-clear blue waters, multi-colored corals and vast arrays of dancing fish. The overall effect was that of being in a giant fishbowl; only in this case, the room’s occupants were the exhibit.

  Under other circumstances, George could certainly see himself enjoying the luxurious underwater resort. Gazing straight up, it seemed shallower here; the surface was maybe only forty feet above.

  Too far to swim without gear, but at least I’m not as deep as I thought.

  Passing a Greco-ceramic-tiled bathroom, George moved deeper into the room. He was shocked to find a woman sitting on the bed with her back to him. He’d been so overwhelmed by the fantastical room, he hadn’t even seen her. Even with her back to him, George could tell right away the woman was stunning: fit, lean athletic build and at least 5’9” in height. She was sitting with her bare feet drawn up and leaning on one arm as she stared into the tropical paradise beyond the glass.

  “Um, hello?”

  The runway model tilted her head in a way that reminded George of a bird tilting its head when it’s studying something.

  “Hello, Miss? Are you okay?”

  “You speak English.” The words were spoken in a very neutral accent, so there wasn’t anything indicative of her roots.

  “Yes ma’am. I’m an American.”

  I’m an American, that was dumb, George thought to himself. I’m an American, where do you think you are? Then it occurred to him. Who says we’re still in the United States, or even North America for that matter? The crew and submarine that had brought him here were obviously Russian.

  The woman tilted her head some more, as though she were contemplating something. George was about to ask her a question when she drew her feet from the bed, placed them firmly on the floor and stood up. Again, all with her back still to him, she said, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  George wasn’t sure why, but he took a step backwards and bumped into the wall behind him. Recovering quickly he asked, “Uhmmm… What’s your name, ma’am?”

  The head tilt again, “My last companion called me, Lotus-Blossom.”

  George wasn’t sure what unnerved him about this woman; she was tall and fit, but certainly not physically threatening. Of course, in this place, this Stranger World, size didn’t always mean less dangerous. He checked the door to see if it was still open. He was glad to see that it was, and he had an escape vector if he needed it. “Do you know where we are? Do you know what this place is? Who are you?”

  Head-tilt to the left. Head-tilt to the right. “I am your leisure-companion. I am here to serve.”

  Finally turning toward him, George could see where the flesh of the woman’s cheek and jawline had been torn away to reveal tiny gears and extremely-intricate and mechanized components underneath.

  “You’re a robot?”

  Head-tilt to the left. “Leisure-bot, to be more precise.”

  George gulped, and then stammered, “Uh, sorry, it looks like I got the wrong room.” He hiked a thumb over his shoulder toward the door and added, “You know what, I’m sorry to bother you, I’m just gonna leave.”

  In the amount of time it took him to turn around and take one step toward the open door, she leapt up to the ceiling, crawled across it and over him. Silently, the leisure-bot dropped down between him and his avenue of escape.

  “I am your leisure companion. I am here to serve.”

  George shook off his amazement. “Uh, ma’am. I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you, but I really need to be going.”

  As George moved to push past her, a single hand shot out and grabbed him by his shirt. Her grip was incredibly strong. Realizing he could be in mortal danger, he brought up his forearm and slammed it down on her wrist, trying to break her leisure-bot grip.

  (Head tilt to the right.)

  George saw a quick view of the glass ceiling rushing by as he flew across the room and slammed into the glass wall on the far side. He hit pretty hard and thought he heard glass breaking, or maybe that was his skull crunching.

  He got to his feet and immediately became dizzy and nauseous at the same time. He slid back down to the floor. He reached to the back of his head, and his probing fingers found sticky blood.

  The door slammed shut on its own accord.

  He didn’t remember doing it, but he must have stumbled to his feet because he found himself standing. Staring at the door, he wondered drunkenly, Did I do that? He had to put a hand on the glass wall to steady himself and when he did, he noticed the cracked glass beneath his palm. Any harder and the leisure-bot would’ve killed him instantly, or broken the glass wall and flooded the compartment. Either way, I’d be dead.

  Turning back toward the woman, George saw her purposefully walking toward him with fists clenched. Behind her, on the back of the door, he could now see blood-red scratch marks where someone had obviously tried to claw his way out.

  She moved in for the kill.

  Still stunned, George feebly raised his fists, ready to jab her in the throat, but she stopped just shy of his reach.

  “Let me go,” he heard himself say.

  She answered immediately, “You can never leave.”

  The leisure-bot, formerly known as “Lotus-Blossom,” opened her mouth. There was a slight clicking sound as her jaw unhinged and her mouth opened wider. At the back of her throat was a flickering light, like one of those antique movie projectors.

  The flickering light grew in intensity as it flashed him in the eyes, blinding him. He felt a point, like the tip of a spear, penetrating his brain and splitting it in half, so incredibly painful. The world slanted crazily. He must have fallen over because he heard the thump of his own body slapping the floor.

  The last thing he heard before he left this world was the sound of her voice, now gentle, soft and whispering in his ear…

  “I am here to serve.”

  Chapter 10

  Fishbowl

  George was dreaming.

  He was standing on the outside decks of The Dauntless. His wife was there, looking radiant, as she always did, pushing strands of hair behind one ear. She was smiling sweetly at him. No. She was smiling, but it was a sad smile. He then noticed she was standing near an edge with no railing.

  Get away from there! he screamed in his mind, You’ll fall!

  He tried to go over to her, but something in the dream was holding him back. Or, was it some things.

  George fought them. Whatever was holding him didn’t budge. But they would budge.

  Wait, is she falling? Alarm filled every fiber of his being. The Dauntless traveled at a minimum height of seventy feet. Even if there’s water down there, she’d never survive the fall!

  He knew he
attacked those holding him, but he couldn’t remember how. All he knew was that he was now free, running toward her, his hands outstretched in front of his face.

  Tessa fell backwards and away from him.

  NO! Did I push her?

  ‘Say, Georgie,’ his old pal, Jimmy Stewart, echoed in his head, ‘I hate to break this to you, but I think you just killed your wife.’

  “Tessa!” He awoke from the nightmare screaming her name.

  A soft, female voice called out to him, “George? George, are you okay?”

  His eyes were still blurry, but he recognized the voice immediately. It was Tessa.

  He was lying on a bed, a really soft comfy one, probably the most comfortable bed he had ever lain upon in his life. His head was on Tessa’s lap, and he felt her familiar fingertips running through his hair, just like she used to do back at the beach house in Pensacola. They would sit on the big swing on the front porch that overlooked the ocean and talk about their day.

  “Tessa?” he managed.

  “There you are George,” she said softly.

  George opened his eyes. His vision was still blurry, but he could see well enough to see that his beautiful wife was gazing down at him with that soft smile of hers and squinting lightly with her almond-shaped eyes.

  “Tessa, is that really you?”

  “Who else would it be, silly? You’ve been out for a long time. You must’ve really needed it.”

  The last thing he remembered was the leisure-bot walking toward him with the flickering light at the back of her throat.

  Tessa seemed to sense his thoughts and offered, “It’s alright now, George. You’re safe.”

  Tessa, and the others, they must have rescued me.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, his vision began to clear more. Beyond Tessa’s face he saw a school of fish swim overhead.

  Well that makes no sense.

  Focusing a bit more, he realized the fish were actually on the opposite side of a thick pane of glass ceiling.