The Ocean Dark

by Christopher Golden

  White, eyeless spiders without webs chased their prey with deadly speed. Leeches ate worms through mouths they were not supposed to have. Water scorpions darted in the murk, bearing poison deadly to the tiny blind toads with which they shared the stagnant pools, both so white that observers could see the blood running through them. The level of carbon dioxide in the cave reached ten times the norm, so the team inside the cave had to keep their O2 tanks on while working.

  Remarkable.

  Alena had spent most of her life pursuing the remarkable, and had seen things that people with ordinary lives simply would not have believed. Yet the wonder of it all never completely vanished, and the amazing never became mundane. Radioactive crystal formations in Utah caverns and giant rats in Indonesia; ancient toxins trapped in Antarctic ice and warring species of poisonous frogs; lost worlds and cryptozoology; arcane artifacts and genetic anomalies. They were all her job, and had been for more than forty-five years.

  Turning toward the rock face, she angled toward the surface and came up only a dozen feet from the metal platform that the joint EU bio-science team had bolted into place. Officially, the people in charge of unlocking and studying the secrets of the Donika Cave were part of an independent organization called Alliance Européenne pour l'Exploration Scientifique, but in reality they answered to the current president of the European Union. Upon her arrival in the nearby town of Rovinj, it had been obvious that the Croatians resented what they naturally considered interference by the EU, but with Croatia still awaiting approval to join the European Union, they had to play ball.

  The resentment of the Croatian biologists and geologists worked significantly in Alena’s favor. She was the lone American on the scene, there as an official observer and representative of the U.S. government, and the Alliance Européenne pour l'Exploration Scientifique hated her with a fiery passion. It was adorable, really, the snits they got in whenever she showed up at a dig or discovery. But since both the Croatian government and the leaders of the EU had issued an invitation—under pressure from the U.S. State Department—they really had no choice.

  Alena didn’t mind. She’d transcended any need to be loved decades ago. That wasn’t to say she couldn’t enjoy fondness and affection, but she never troubled herself searching for them.

  Reaching up, she grabbed hold of the ladder and emerged from the Adriatic Sea, water sluicing off of her skinsuit as she climbed to the platform. Half a dozen techs and assistants were camped there, monitoring transmissions from the cave. The team medic, an attractive Austrian man, watched Alena as she pulled off her goggles and slid them onto her arm. She pulled off her gloves, tucked them into the belt on her suit, then tugged back the headpiece and shook out her shoulder-length silver hair.

  From the corner of her eye she caught the medic watching the show and it made her smile. She figured the guy for mid-forties, handsome and fit. Alena’s daughter Marie had turned forty-seven in February—she herself had celebrated her seventieth birthday only a week ago—and the Austrian studied her with an appreciation that might embarrass him if he knew her age.

  Alena pushed her fingers through her hair and shook it out again, then bent to remove her flippers. She carried them, hooked on her fingers, over to the metal walkway that led to the top of the cliff. As she passed the medic, she tipped him a smile and a wink and he grinned happily, knowing he’d been caught.

  “Fresh air and red wine. The secret of eternal youth,” she said.

  “I must drink more wine,” he replied, his accent thick.

  His eyes were alight with mischief--a come-on. Sex with older women had come into vogue in recent years—thank you, Helen Mirren—but still men often seemed astonished to learn her age. Even Alena herself was a bit astonished. Seventy, my God.

  She considered flirting further, even suggesting some wine later on, but she had been traveling too much lately and knew she would not have the patience for a dalliance during this trip. It would be a brief visit. For all of their arrogance, the EU team was doing a perfectly competent job of cataloging the new species discovered in the cave. There were other things that interested her about the microcosmic ecosystem there that had nothing to do with bugs and worms.

  As she walked up the metal stairs that made up the last dozen steps to the top, Alena didn’t bother looking back to see if the Austrian might still be watching her. If she caught him studying her ass, she might be tempted to go back. A bottle of red wine would go well with dinner tonight.

  Then she saw Martin Jungling hurrying toward her from the hastily arranged camp headquarters—a series of box trailers arranged in rows to provide lab space and sleeping quarters for the EU team and their Croatian counterparts.

  “Ah, Dr. Boudreau. I feared you might never return,” Jungling said, with a faux-pleasant smile. Tall and painfully thin, the Belgian had an aspect of the reaper about him, with sunken cheeks and humorless eyes.

  “Feared, or hoped?” Alena asked, arching an eyebrow.

  “You wound me,” Jungling replied. He had perfected the face of diplomacy, the one that said I’m just being polite and I don’t care if you know it.

  Alena smiled. “You’ll be happy to know that I expect to return to the States tomorrow. If you’ll keep me apprised of any new developments, I and my superiors will be grateful, but otherwise I suspect I’ve got what I need to make my report.”

  Jungling’s face twitched. “We’ll be sorry to see you go.”

  They fell into step side by side, walking back toward the camp’s central lab.

  “It’s quite a remarkable thing, isn’t it?” he said.

  “It is. Over the years I have been called in to examine or investigate dozens of claims of supposed ‘lost world’ discoveries, but this is among the most unique. Do you really think the five million year estimate is accurate?”

  To her surprise, the question did not seem to offend him. Jungling must have been even happier at the prospect of her departure than she had expected.

  “There is room for error, of course,” Jungling admitted, “but if we’re off a few hundred thousand years in either direction, what difference does it make? An ecosystem closed off from the rest of the world, evolving on its own over the course of millions of years. There’s never been anything like it.”

  Alena cocked her head. “Surely that’s not true. There must be others. Now that this one has been discovered, we must allow for the probability that there could be an untold number of such caverns that remain undetected in the planet’s womb, each with its own unique properties.”

  Jungling nodded in contemplation. “Of course.”

  Silence followed for half a dozen steps as they both considered the implications. The walls of the cave were covered by gray-white mats of fungi, which in turn were home to a unique bacteria that processed water, carbon dioxide, and hydrogen sulfide to produce food for many of the cave’s troglobite species. Granted, the venom of the water scorpion—a deadly poison that had cost two members of the initial Croatian exploratory team their lives—could be of interest to her employers, but Alena felt the cave’s bacteria presented far more avenues for inquiry. Crossbred to exist elsewhere, what else might be engineered to survive on the sustenance provided by that bacteria?

  She wondered if her employers would want the secrets of the cave explored, or destroyed. Fortunately, the latter was not often a part of her job.

  “I’m afraid we must part ways here,” Jungling said, though he did not seem at all regretful. “I have a meeting.”

  “Of course,” she said, holding out a hand. They shook. “Until next time.”

  One corner of Jungling’s mouth rose in the ghost of a smile as he shook her hand, but he did not release his grip.

  “Dr. Boudreau…Alena…who do you really work for?”

  She squeezed his hand a little, gave it a shake. “Is your memory failing, Martin? The National Science Foundation—“

  Jungling released her hand. “I have friends at the NSF. They’ve all heard of y
ou, but none of them have ever met you.”

  “I’m not in the office much. Anyway, you’ve seen my credentials.”

  “American government credentials—“

  “And the NSF is part of the government.”

  “Yes. It’s just that I’m not sure it is the part you work for.”

  Alena gave a light shake of her head. “You’re a strange man. Au revoir, Martin.”

  She strode away, following the path that would take her to the main lab. There were files she wanted copies of before she could return home. As she walked, she knew that Jungling watched her go, his attention entirely different than that of the Austrian medic. The Austrian had been intrigued by her, and the Belgian intimidated.

  Alena could not decide which reaction pleased her more.

  ~21~

  Angie stood on the embarkation deck, one hand on the curved arm of a small crane to keep herself from falling as she bent to look down into the water. The lifeboat rocked and bobbed on the waves. She watched the chief mate and the cook grab hold of the cables and get them hooked up, ready to haul the lifeboat back on board. In the moonlight, Rogan’s red hair looked like rust with hints of gold. While they’d been gone, Angie had had the unsettling realization that she had grown quite attached to Rogan. It pissed her off.

  “You bend over any further, I’ll consider it an invitation,” Hank Boggs murmured, much too close to her ear. His breath felt warm.

  “Back off before I chuck you overboard.”

  Boggs’ chuffing laughter made her want to puke. There were four other guys on the embarkation deck—two assistant engineers and a pair of able-bodied seamen. They were more loyal to the Rio brothers than to the chief engineer, but one of the engineers, an eternal sidekick named Tupper, smirked knowingly every time Boggs made a piggish comment or tried brushing against her tits while they were working. They were cut from the same cloth, those two, except that Tupper didn’t have the balls to make a move on her.

  “Maybe we should just leave Rogan down there, huh?” Boggs murmured, still in close. She caught of whiff of whiskey on his breath before the Caribbean breeze swirled it away. “Drag him behind the ship, a kiddie ride for your little boy.”

  Angie sighed, closing her eyes.

  Boggs misinterpreted. “You know you’re gonna give it up eventually.”

  It was the laugh that pushed her over the edge, a soft, suggestive chuckle, like they were already lovers. Like he knew her.

  Angie turned, right hand already whipping up. She backhanded him across the face, knuckles slapping his flesh with a satisfying whack. Boggs jerked back, face screwing up in fury, bald pate flushing, but Angie wasn’t done. She followed through, matching his step back with her own forward motion, and jabbed his throat with her outstretched fingers.

  His eyes went wide and he staggered back.

  “Hey!” Tupper shouted, starting for her.

  Angie spun on him, pointed a finger. “Just try. Go on.”

  Tupper hesitated, glancing around at the other three guys but getting no support. The two deckhands weren’t going to even pretend they were interested, and the other engineer—Valente—just gave Tupper a disgusted look.

  “He had it coming,” Angie said.

  Boggs had both hands on his throat. His eyes were full of rage but he kept a wary distance. “You fucking bitch. I’ll have you off this boat.”

  “Answer to my prayers,” Angie said. “But we’ll see who goes first.”

  Then the chief mate started shouting from below. They were all set to come aboard. Boggs gave her a last, dangerous glance, then gestured to Tupper and Valente, who checked the cables that ran down the side of the ship from the twin cranes. The lines clear, Valente toggled the control and the cranes started to whine as the cables were reeled in, lifting the lifeboat out of the water.

  “Captain on deck!” one of the hands snapped.

  Angie turned to see Captain Rio striding toward them out of the darker shadows of the accommodation block. They were at the rearmost lifeboat on the starboard side, but other members of the crew could easily have seen them working if they happened to be out on the metal walkways on the starboard side of the tower. This late at night, the only people still up and around were likely to be the men on watch, one of whom would be up in the wheelhouse, and the other of whom was one of the deckhands down here with them.

  Not that it really mattered. Nobody on this tub really believed they had clean hands. They might not know what the special cargo would be, but nearly every journey included at least one unscheduled stop. Most of the crew knew better than to ask questions. If they didn’t ask, they wouldn’t have to get answers they really didn’t want to hear.

  “How’s it coming, Chief?” the captain asked.

  Angie caught something in his tone, an edge that she didn’t like. Anger simmered there, and though his brown eyes were kind, she understood that if pushed, the captain might turn out to be a dangerous man.

  “All’s well, Captain.”

  Gabe gave Boggs a curious look. “Just the three of them?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The captain nodded, then stood by quietly as the cranes whined and the cables retracted and the lifeboat rose. As the deckhands stepped forward to help guide the lifeboat onto the deck by hand, Captain Rio took up a position just beside Boggs, nearly out of Angie’s earshot.

  He spoke softly, so that she barely heard.

  “Angie’s liable to hurt you pretty badly if you keep pushing her, Hank,” the captain said, dark eyes stormy. “And I wouldn’t blame her.”

  Boggs turned angrily toward the captain as though he might argue, but then he remembered his place, took a deep breath, and only glowered like a petulant child. When the captain looked over at Angie, his expression remained grim, but he nodded once, to let her know he understood, and the conflict was over. For now.

  Tupper helped Miguel out of the lifeboat, the chief mate slinging a heavy canvas bag over one shoulder. Angie didn’t have to guess what was in that bag. She’d seen it before, and seen what came out of it. Guns.

  Josh, the cook, stumbled out of the lifeboat on his own, glancing around as though expecting someone to be there to greet him. Angie stepped up to give Rogan a hand. He smiled at her, let his fingers caress her wrist and arm, but didn’t kiss her or take her into his arms. Out here on deck, they were part of the Antoinette’s crew. What happened back in their quarters was another story. That was their time.

  As the Rio brothers met on the deck, whispering to one another, backs to the others gathered there, motion from the accommodation block caught Angie’s attention. She glanced up to see a flash of white, then Tori emerged from the shadows of the stairs. In the moonlight, the woman looked pale, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her sweatshirt hid the curves of her body.

  Angie studied her as she approached, assuming Tori had come down to meet Josh, but then she noticed the chill Tori gave off, and saw that she was purposely ignoring the cook. It seemed weird, given the intimacy Angie had witnessed between them earlier.

  Tori went straight to Captain Rio and pulled him aside. Gabe bent to let her whisper to him, nodding. He gripped Tori’s upper arm in thanks or comfort, Angie couldn’t decide which, and the two of them gazed at each other for a moment.

  What the hell? Angie thought. Is she making a play for him?

  Gabe lowered his head, shoulders bunched, and sighed. Angie had spent enough time with the Rio brothers to recognize the danger of that pose, that sigh. It was a moment of hesitation the brothers shared, a moment while they tried to muster their calm, to contain their anger.

  “Captain?” Rogan asked, worriedly. This might be his first journey aboard the Antoinette, but he knew that pose as well.

  Miguel looked alarmed. The other crewmen had stepped back, waiting for orders. Josh glanced around, vaguely mystified.

  Gabe Rio moved with a swift assurance that belied his size. In three strides he crossed the space that separated him from Jos
h, gathering up the front of the cook’s shirt, his right fist driving forward. Josh tried to twist away, to fall back from the blow, but the captain had an iron grip.

  The first blow took Josh in the temple, staggering him. The second hammered his nose, blood squirting from both nostrils.

  “Holy shit,” someone said. Angie wasn’t sure who.

  The third time Gabe’s fist swung, he hit Josh so hard he couldn’t keep his grip on the cook’s shirt, and finally Josh fell backward, sprawling onto the deck, arms and legs akimbo. He managed to get himself up on his elbows, but couldn’t rise any further.

  “Mister Boggs, take this man to the rec room on level three, lock him in, and set a watch on both doors,” Captain Rio said.

  “Yes, sir,” Boggs replied.

  “The rest of you return to your duty or your quarters,” Gabe continued, before turning to his brother and Rogan. “We need to talk.”

  Angie watched all of this with astonishment, mouth slightly open. While the captain had been beating the shit out of Josh, Tori had stood by and watched, eyes dark with grim acceptance, perhaps even approval.

  Now, as Angie walked away, she glanced over her shoulder. The captain had dismissed everyone except for Rogan and Miguel, but Tori hadn’t left. She stood with the three men, talking low, hands gesturing. She looked worried. If it had just been her, Angie wouldn’t have been troubled, but all four of them wore anxious expressions.

  If the Rio brothers were worried, Angie figured they were all pretty much screwed.

  ~22~

  Tori had her arms crossed, tight to her body, afraid if she let go she might fall apart. Skin flushed, heart racing, she felt wired in a way she had only ever experienced once before—down in the bowels of Penn Station, picking herself up off the ground after the train exploded. Gooseflesh rose on her arms, not from the night wind, but from the anticipation of the unknown.