Panic pooled in the mercenary’s eyes, sweat poured off him in waves, and he struggled to breathe. “I will kill you right now unless you keep your mouth shut. Understood?” The deliberate blink of a heavy lid signified compliance.
Evan’s hurried thought found Kyla, “Grab the sheets, wet them down and spread them out on the floor …”
The sound of footsteps disconnected from anybody sent a new wave of terror through the mercenary. Evan could feel his muscles bunch, so he pressed the nozzle of the gun into his cheek. “Don’t even.”
Kyla returned with the dripping sheets and she worked to flatten them across the floor. Evan dug the gun in harder. “I’m going to lift my weight off you. When I do, I want you to crawl over to the edge of that first sheet and lie down on top of it, arms at your sides. Got it?”
Again, the slow blink of a lid. Carefully, Evan pushed off the man and moved away. The soldier, shaking like he was hypothermic, crawled across the floor and collapsed onto the sheet. He whimpered, but held his arms tight to his sides and clamped his eyes shut.
“Roll him up tight in that first sheet.”
She rolled him up until he was securely cocooned inside, then Evan set the gun aside and helped her roll him into the next set of sheets. When the man was secured, Evan unmasked himself, keeping Kyla hidden.
He kicked a chair over to the prone figure and hoisted the man to the seat, then peeled the sheets from around his head. Shock clouded his beady little eyes, but when the soldier eventually recognized Evan, his eyes bugged and he struggled to get the words out. “Wh—where’d you come from?”
Evan took in the room and eyed the computer. “Not your concern.” He approached the laptop and saw the white powder laid out in nice even lines. He touched the keypad and turned back to the mercenary before the screen jumped to life. “I need to know where Travlor went.”
The man frowned and anger bubbled up in a snarl. “How’d I know? In case you didn’t notice, I got left behind. And the bastard still owes me money.”
“That doesn’t concern me.” Evan glanced over his shoulder and what he saw glowing on the screen almost made him retch. He clamped down on a violent urge to kill the son of a bitch and closed the lid, hoping Kyla hadn’t seen anything. He faced the immobilized man and saturated his words with an intense compulsion. “Tell me where Travlor went.”
The man’s expression blanked and his voice fell to a flat monotone. “Travlor never told us anything. It was a need-to-know basis. I was left behind to take care of you. When I woke up after you Tasered me, I was the last one in the compound.”
“Where did you go after that?”
“Down to the beach to see if anyone was waiting for me.”
“Was the freighter in sight?”
“There was a ship on the horizon, but when I looked again, it was gone.”
“Course heading?”
“Due west.”
Evan thought for a moment. “You had no indication of any plans following the attack on Atlantis?”
“No.”
“All right, what kind of gas was used?”
“Nerve agent GD.”
“Lasting affects?”
“Breaks down after two days.”
Evan glanced at Kyla. “Can you think of anything else?” She shook her head.
Evan batted the soldier on his head and left him with a Travlor-worthy compulsion. “You will tell the authorities everything they need to know regarding the drugs and your … website, but not until after several hours of very heavy persuasion.” Evan knew that the Greek authorities never took it easy on a monster with his type of perversion.
Evan picked up the handset to an antiquated black phone and signaled Kyla to take the receiver. He scribbled the address on the back of a piece of paper. “What little Greek I know leans toward the food industry, since you’re fluent, ask to be connected to the local authorities. When you get an officer, tell him the man at this address is dealing drugs and that more specifically, the proclivities exhibited on his website will warrant a full scale investigation.”
Kyla reached for the phone while Evan dialed “0” for her.
“That is not much to go on.” Ni-Cio shook his head. He lifted the goggles from his face and threw them towards the pile that had grown as Atlanteans acclimated to the Terran environment. He rubbed his eyes and blinked from the harsh glare of the overhead lights. He sighed and concentrated on Evan. “There is no doubt that Travlor is moving toward a prearranged destination, but the world is almost limitless. Without any other information …” He shrugged, there was no need to state the obvious.
Although the evening meal had been cleared, most everyone remained. Kyla, Rogert, Aris, Mer-An and Evan sat at the table with Ni-Cio.
Aris thumped a fist on the table and leveled his gaze at Evan. “I don’t understand. Can we not locate this ship through some kind of recordkeeping? Surely you have the ownership papers?”
“Of course I have the registration, but I never filed with the port authority. Even if I had, it wouldn’t matter because Travlor masked the ship once they were underway. Radar won’t even be able to pick them up. Believe me when I say that no one—and I mean absolutely no one—will know that ship is out there.”
Mer-An touched the back of Aris’s hand. “Once he reaches his destination, will he not have to unmask in order to make port?”
Evan regarded Mer-An and shook his head. “Assuming he doesn’t scuttle the ship. Even so, there are how many ports? Once through the Straits of Gibraltar, there are four continents that are easily accessible.” His gaze took in the others. “I doubt he would need the ship if he chooses Africa or Europe, but that still leaves the entire eastern seaboard of North and South America.”
A brooding silence settled over the gathering; Ni-Cio studied his topside friend then pushed his chair back and stood. “It is not within the man’s nature to remain hidden, especially since you have indicated that his sole ambition is to dominate the Terran world.”
Ni-Cio looked around the table and shrugged, “We can almost understand his need for revenge against Atlantis, but why the Terran world? His wealth is beyond imagination, so what could he possibly gain?”
Evan couldn’t keep from wincing. Travlor’s maniacal ambition was so vast that he wasn’t sure he even understood what drove his father. He tried to explain. “His thoughts have always been blocked from me and he’s never shared anything. So, his history’s hidden. It’s just a theory but I think he suffered the loss of a deep love before my mother, but again, it’s nothing I really know—more like a feeling.”
Evan slowly rose from his chair and went to Kyla, gently placing his hand on her shoulder. “About the only thing I’m sure of is that the love he had for my mother was as immense as the love you have for Daria, or the feelings that bind me to your sister.” He stroked the back of Kyla’s neck, “When my mother died, what remained of Travlor’s heart died, too.”
Evan gazed around the table, “The years spent imprisoned in Atlantis caused his wrath to morph until it spiraled out of control. Because of an insatiable desire for power, his bitterness has been honed to a fine edge. For the misery he believes he has suffered, he will extract vengeance upon the entire world.
Aris turned red as fire and jumped up, toppling his chair. “That is just crazy!”
A derisive laugh escaped Evan. “What do you think I’ve been trying to tell you?”
“But, we cannot just sit here and wait! We have to find him!”
Ni-Cio walked over to Aris and motioned for him to take his seat. Aris grumbled under his breath, eyeing Evan as he righted his chair. Ni-Cio looked at his friends. “We have reached a dead end and as much as I had hoped for a quick resolution, I cannot waste any more time pondering Travlor’s whereabouts. Sooner or later, he will make his presence known and when he does, I swear before all of you—as long as I hav
e breath in my body—I will hunt him down! I will bring Daria back!”
Ni-Cio closed his eyes, taking a moment to regain his equilibrium. When his anger diffused somewhat, he looked at his friends. “Until other information is forthcoming, we will refocus our efforts. Our underwater home must be made habitable again. I will lead a recovery team and once we have seen to the bodies, the entirety of Atlantis must be scrubbed and the debris cleared.”
Rogert spread his big hands out on the table, he looked glum. “I would remind everyone that we are without an energy source.”
Ni-Cio felt the high bronze coloring of his skin fade.
Evan straightened in his chair. “Generators, air, and water filters will work until we can think of something else, but … why would Atlantis be without power?”
Ni-Cio couldn’t speak and motioned for Rogert to explain. The unflappable Atlantean looked wretched. “Poseidon created Atlantis to receive and reproduce energy from transcendence. Na-Kai’s transcendence was not enough to overcome the energy that was expended defending our home.”
Evan looked baffled. “I still don’t follow.”
Rogert cleared his throat, his voice unsettled. “When an Atlantean reaches the age of four hundred and eight, the physical aspect transitions into spirit. At that precise moment, a tremendous amount of energy is released. That singular release powers all of our energy requirements until the next transcendence occurs.”
Rogert leaned across the table and stared at Evan. “The premature deaths brought about by your father have precluded anyone from transcending. Of those left, no one is near the age of that event. However, when someone does come of age, it will be impossible for the energy from that one transcendence to restart Atlantis.” He lowered his head to within inches of Evan’s face. “It will take nothing short of a miracle to recreate the energy necessary to sustain our lives.”
That bleak statement hung between them like an iron curtain and Evan felt his heart squeeze. He turned to Ni-Cio. “I … I don’t know what to say. It seems the hurt I’ve caused has no end.”
Kyla slid from her chair, gently brushed Rogert aside, and knelt before Evan. She took his face in both hands and smoothed his hair. “You must hear me: the sins of the father are not yours. If not for you, none of us would have survived! And now, you are the only one who can help us.” She glanced around the room and then back at Evan. “My love, look upon these faces; do you not know that you are among people who count you as family?”
When Evan refused to look at her, she rose to stand over him and shook his shoulders. He didn’t respond, just kept staring into space. Exasperated, Kyla threw her hands in the air. “Guilt is such a useless emotion! It can render one incapable of action. Your refusal to forgive yourself becomes a burden. One that we can do without.”
Her bluntness caught Evan by surprise. Different emotions chased each other across his handsome features and Kyla playfully tagged his shoulder. “I believe topsiders say it best and so I would encourage you as well … ‘Get under it!’”
A grin split Evan’s face. “I think you mean ‘Get over it?’”
“Exactly!” Kyla beamed and wrapped him in such a bear hug that the air leaving his lungs sounded like a bellows.
Everybody chuckled and the atmosphere lightened considerably. Everyone scooted their chairs back and made ready to return to their cabins. Ni-Cio concluded the meeting. “All right, we will utilize the equipment Evan spoke of until the time we can think of a way for Atlantis to be restarted under her own power.
“Aris, I am counting on you and Mer-An to get me those disguises.”
Aris managed a terse nod before Mer-An shoved him toward the door. She looked over her shoulder. “Tomorrow, Ni-Cio. Time enough tomorrow.”
“Well said, Mer-An.” Ni-Cio winked at Aris. “Enjoy your rest.”
Aris shrugged in an overblown display of helplessness and raised his arms in surrender. He grinned at Ni-Cio and allowed himself to be ushered through the door.
The hardened men on Travlor’s ship were accustomed to performing the duties requisite to an accepted assignment. But, as mercenaries, their motivation was always and only about the monetary reward waiting at the completion of a successful mission. They focused on their jobs with a single-minded, almost fanatical, determination: watch your back, stay alive, collect the money. It was never about making friends or influencing people.
However, there was not a soul on board who didn’t realize the young cook should have died from his grievous burns, and the comportment of everyone had undergone a radical transformation. The miracle they had witnessed went far beyond their immediate comprehension and was credited to a man they had bound themselves to in a fervid religious awe.
In their minds, God and Travlor had merged to become one and the same. So much so, that some of the men no longer dared look upon the man that commanded their ship. Men who had only ever spoken God’s name in vain now offered up quiet prayers. Uttered in the privacy of cramped bunks, darkened corners, or under night skies, their lips moved in worshipful wonder and always their supplications ceased in a flurry of devoted amen’s to the Almighty Travlor.
Because the rapid spread of his religious crusade needed an inciting incident, Travlor had no compunction about creating one. The unsuspecting cook had provided the perfect opportunity and now his overall plan was proceeding even faster than he had originally forecast.
As God-In-The-Making, Travlor no longer needed to underscore his orders with a compulsion. Like starving children fighting for a scrap of bread, the men clamored for the smallest chance to carry out his will. And as the fever of their maniacal worship grew, Travlor greedily hoarded the reserves of his precious energy. But, upon waking and through every single second of every hour, an excruciating, anticipatory anguish never left him. It was an irrefutable fact, known only Travlor, that the energy he guarded with such miserly care continued to leach away in slow, frightening degrees.
And so, in tyrannical desperation, he drove his men mercilessly. He knew that once they docked it would be easier, for word of “his” healing would spread like wildfire. And the country he had chosen as his staging area was rife with the poor, the downtrodden and the sublimely ignorant.
Indeed, it was a country full of dark dealings, ancient superstitions, and frantic prayers for divine intervention. A savior would be hailed with such messianic devotion that the ambitions Travlor had set forth would bear orchards of fruit in no time at all.
Meanwhile, as the Atlantean protracted every ounce of speed from his men and thus from his ship, Daria was free to move about. After the healing, her strength had returned quickly and she took that as a sign that she was managing the energy transfers more proficiently. She knew that there was much she could learn from Travlor, but his earlier garrulity had been replaced with a furtive reclusion. And she had neither seen nor heard from him since the healing. However, he still maintained the iron vise blocking telepathic communication, for there was not the slightest indication that her thoughts had traveled anywhere but through her own mind.
Walking on deck, she savored the sharp tang of salt air and reveled in the whipping caress of stiff trade winds. It was the only time her thoughts quieted. Because of that she was able to derive some small shred of enjoyment from her confinement.
She rounded a corner and nearly ran into one of the older sailors. He had been leaning on the rails and in his hands he held what looked to Daria like prayer beads. His grizzled, sun-creased face cracked into the semblance of a rusty smile and his whiskey voice, heavy with years of hard living, labored to reach her. “What a time to be alive!”
His eyes glittered with the fevered light of fanaticism. “My old man used to recite scripture while he beat me. He’d scream that on the final, fateful day, the righteous sword of the risen Lord would smite all sinners!” His remembrance brought a grimace. “I guess by not sparing the rod he believed he was sav
ing me from hellfire and eternal damnation.”
His expression was confounded before he turned back to the sea.
“Humph, who’d’ve believed the old man was right?”
Daria shivered and quietly backtracked until the old seaman was out of sight. Her thoughts churned. He’s going to do it! I never thought it would work, but God help me, he’s going to succeed. Killing him is out of the question, but there has to be something I can do!
She took the nearest set of stairs and wound her way to the upper portion of the ship. She stepped onto the bridge and was glad to see that the portly captain was alone. She approached him, eyed the barrage of instrumentation, and gave a nervous laugh. “How long did it take for you to learn to use all this?”
The man’s dark, suspicious eyes raked over her with the intensity of an x-ray. She felt like he could see right through her, but Daria saw a slight shift of facial muscles, and underneath a bristling black mustache, the corner of his upper lip twitched into a derisive grin of masculine superiority. “I have worked ships since before you were born.” His eyes scoured the horizon as if another vessel would suddenly appear off their port bow.
“I’m sure you have, but boats didn’t always have such advanced technology.”
The surly captain actually puffed his chest with pride and it took a great deal of control for Daria to keep from smiling.
“First, this is not a boat, it is a ship. Second, I worked my way up. I learned through hard work.” His thick accent conjured up visions of migrant workers struggling to adapt their musical tongues to a difficult and harsh language.
“Where are you from?”
The question, innocuous in itself, set the man on edge and he quickly grabbed a set of binoculars and turned to the watch windows. He adjusted the glasses and did a silent sweep of the horizon. Daria realized that she would not receive an answer. So, she tried again. “What are you looking for?”
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