The Atomic Sea: Part Three

by Jack Conner

  Hildra reached for a shot glass. “And hope that thing doesn’t follow.”

  * * *

  Sluggish mist drifted over the waves, and something large and oily breached the surface, clacked its mandibles, then sounded with a splash. Lazy lightning flickered up from the waters, and soft thunder rolled over the river, half muted by the mist. Sounds of music and revelry blared ahead.

  “Five dead boat-mates hasn’t slowed ‘em down any,” Janx said as he and Avery walked along the deck.

  “Maybe they’re celebrating to relieve tension,” Avery suggested.

  Janx’s shoulders rose and fell. “Long as they’re still servin’, makes no difference to me.”

  They reached the cantina at the stern, overlooking the wide, mist-shrouded river and the long, foaming wake of the riverboat. Occasional dark blotches in the mist hinted at other boats, and if Avery squinted he could see winking lights, coming and going in the fog.

  Mutants and normals congregated in the cantina, drinking, smoking, talking, even a few dancing on the scuffed-up floor to sounds from a jukebox that had seen better days. The jazzy music that emanated from it was tinny, scarred and strange—Octunggen—yet Avery couldn’t resist a lighter mood at the sounds. He did notice that most of the faces he could see through the smoke, gloom and frenzy of the cantina appeared tighter and more grim than otherwise, and many of the conversations seemed to be exchanged in terse, hard whispers. Surely they were talking about the murders.

  Avery and Janx took seats at the bar and the nearest barkeep, a large, dark-complected man from the south, perhaps the continent of Consur, furnished them with two mugs of foaming ale. It amazed Avery how many people from various nations were aboard the Surugal—all deep behind Octunggen lines. He would have thought Octung guarded its borders with an iron fist, but apparently it allowed trade to survive and thrive. A healthy, even intelligent view, if surprising. Not for the first time, Avery found himself encouraged. Perhaps Octung was not too far gone after all. A whispered conversation to his right caused him to rethink this.

  “... you sure?”

  “Yeah. Mazguirene’s wiped off the map. The Octs came in hard, aeroplanes dropping gas—some alchemical shit.”

  “Damn ...”

  “It ate the Mazzies up like acid. Just dissolved ‘em, right where they stood. When the Octs came in after the cloud had cleared off, they found only bones in puddles of melted flesh and organs. Whole families heaped together, where they must have been hiding, their skeletons all mangled together, their fleshes merged ... The Octs hosed the remains into the gutters. I heard the flesh congealed there. Got stuck. Began to stink bad by the next afternoon. The flies were so thick—”

  “Please! I had friends there.” A pause. “Can’t believe we’re actually here, in Octung. Sons of bitches. What’ll we do if ...”

  Avery didn’t hear the rest of the conversation, as Janx, sipping his ale noisily, said, “You sure we should be grabbing drinks, Doc? I mean, with the ... the terror runnin’ around out there?”

  Avery sipped his ale and wiped his upper lip, where foam tended to cling to his small, thick mustache. He licked it off. “We’re safe in the crowd, I believe. I don’t think it will attack us in the open.”

  “Still, a risk just for a pint.”

  Avery shrugged, smiled. Drank.

  Janx grunted, let a beat pass, then lifted his mug as well, looking faintly amused.

  Avery found it strange that he and Janx had become drinking companions of late. Sure, they’d shared plenty aboard the Maul over the years, but rarely just the two of them. Almost always they had been in some group, usually playing cards. Now, though, despite the nearness of Hildra, the whaler and the doctor sat together at the cantina. Avery knew he was no substitute for Muirblaag, Janx’s best mate, who had been lost to them in the Borghese, possessed by Uthua, but he still felt an odd closeness to the whaler.

  “How’d it find us, anyway?” Janx muttered.

  “The Collossum?” Avery frowned. “The Temple must have dispatched agents to hunt for us. The Collossum know we’re coming to them, and so they’ve got agents lying in wait. The river’s a natural place to watch. There’s probably other agents out here on other boats.”

  “You tell me now.”

  “Obviously I didn’t know. In retrospect, though ...” He drew his brows together. “Of course, that might not be it at all.”

  “No?”

  “Remember, Layanna said she’d been able to mask her presence. If that’s true, then this new Collossum has some means of finding her that the rest of the Collossum don’t. And he must have found her, otherwise why the urgent need to feed?”

  “Yeah.” Janx finished his ale and ordered another. “Also, you gotta wonder why this fella didn’t just call in his buddies in the Temple. Him killin’ all those people at the poker game means he wants to take Layanna on by himself. Why, when he doesn’t have to?”

  “That’s a troubling question.”

  A group of colorfully-dressed merchant-types approached. All were mutants. One cleared his mottled throat, looking embarrassed, and asked, “Are you Horax? Horax Marcly?”

  Janx downed a sip, wiped the foam off his lip, and stared at the merchant, making him wait for it. “Yeah. I’m him.”

  The merchants exchanged excited glances.

  “Is it true you were once a pirate in the Sevenfold Seas?”

  Janx smiled widely, revealing several false teeth. “Why, I wasn’t just a pirate, my friends, I was a pirate king!”

  “Excellent! Well, in that case, let us buy you a drink. We’d love to hear all about it.”

  Avery sighed. Drinking with Janx held its downsides.

  Janx patted Avery’s shoulder. “Ya haveta buy m’friend a pint, too.” Avery raised an eyebrow, and Janx winked. “They can afford it,” he whispered. The merchants eagerly paid up, and Janx swept an arm wide. “Well, let me tell you about a time ‘fore I became king, about the time I was captain of the Mary Ann and a bad bet lands me neck-deep. Well, I made the mistake of bettin’ against an alchemist from the Savach Cleft. Worse, when he ran out of honest money, I let him bet the Deep-Spear.”

  “The Deep-Spear?” a merchant asked eagerly.

  “Oh, yes.” Janx’s eyes went wide. “A thing o’ beauty it was, a great spear made all of gold, but light as a goose egg, some say it was fashioned by the Malechites after the Fall of Lere. Well, o’ course I won it, and the alchemist, he storms off in a rage, then later that night he steals a boat and sets off toward an uncharted island—though I didn’t know that at the time. All I knew was that I hear a knockin’ on me cabin door. I open it and lo! what appears but a beautiful woman, naked as the day she was born, wet as an eel, with seaweed for hair and eyes like the devil’s depths.”

  “A mermaid!” gasped one of the merchants.

  “So it was. But not any mermaid, my good man. She was a queen of the black cold sea, and she was on fire for the love of a man. And not just any man, but the man who wielded the Deep-Spear. Well, she was on me like a dog on a bone, and afore I knew it she was shovin’ me down on the bed, rippin’ at me clothes, and outside a great storm howled, and whirlpools spun off to our flanks. Weird fish hooted, and mutants sang dirges in their holds. Well, that sea-queen she rides me like lightnin’, and I never known such a lover. Her breasts were like coconuts, her lips like a brand. And in the morning, I woke up exhausted.”

  “Amazing!” The merchants exclaimed excitedly.

  “But that ain’t the end o’ it,” Janx said.

  “No?”

  Janx shook his head, all seriousness. “No. For when I woke in the morning, my men were a-callin’ to me, all exclaiming and carryin’ on. I go outside, pull on my environment suit, and ask what the hell’s goin’ on. And then they show me.”

  “What? What was it?”

  Janx peered each of them in the eye, letting the suspense build. “Fish-eggs. The sea-queen had laid fish-eggs all over the decks.”

  “Dear
Huantha!”

  Janx nodded gravely. “I’d knocked her up, and for kicks she’d left me little ones behind.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “Well, what could I do? I couldn’t very well take ‘em with me, now could I? And I couldn’t fry ‘em up for breakfast, much as my crew was callin’ for it. So I had ‘em thrown overboard, to hatch an’ live in the sea where they belonged.” He finished off his mug. “And did you know, to this day in that stretch of the Sevenfold, sailors still swear from time to time that they see little Horax-fish swimmin’ to their flanks, all bald and big-jawed, sometimes followin’ the ships for knots on end, jumping and jumping in the water, as if they know their father’s on a ship somewhere and they’re just waitin’ to find him. For what purpose, I don’t know, and it’s why I’ve never returned there.”

  The merchants loved it and clamored for more. Avery noted how perfectly timed Janx’s story was, to last just the exact amount of time it took him to finish off a pint. Fortunately Janx declined another tale, claiming exhaustion, and the merchants reluctantly let him go back to his drinking. Talking excitedly among themselves, they filed off.

  Avery just shook his head. “Was one word of that true?”

  Janx raised an eyebrow, seemingly wounded. “Why, Doc, every word. I’d swear on me honor. Why, don’t you remember the golden spear at my apartment?”

  Avery nearly swallowed down the wrong pipe. Gasping, he looked up to study Janx’s expression. As usual, he could tell nothing. But he did remember that spear, that long, ornate, golden spear, heaped among one of the many mounds of eclectic treasure that had consumed the whaler’s former home.

  It wasn’t for another long moment that Janx let one side of his mouth curl up, and Avery laughed and ordered another ale.

  For awhile they drank, talking sparingly, both enjoying the nighttime sounds, the revelry, the slap and slurp of water, horns calling through the fog. Avery watched the faces of the patrons, saw the tension there, and felt a like tension in his bones. He found himself starting at odd noises, and beads of sweat slowly, maddeningly worked their way from his pores. He tried not to let the nervousness affect him, but he began drinking faster than normal and slurring his words. He forced himself to go slower. He couldn’t afford to get drunk, not with the Collossum out there hunting them. He frequently patted the gun in his pocket.

  He became aware of Janx looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

  “What?” Avery asked.

  Janx seemed to be wrestling with something, as if afraid to bring up a sore subject.

  “What?” Avery pressed. “Just say it.”

  Janx frowned. “I saw you starin’ at the picture again yesterday.”

  Damn it all.

  “I thought you were gonna quit that,” Janx added.

  “I was. I am.”

  “It ain’t healthy, Doc. Listen. You had to do it. You didn’t have a choice.”

  Avery said nothing.

  Janx eyed him levelly. “You did what you had to do. If you’d done what that bitch Sheridan asked, we wouldn’t be here right now. Octung would be conducting victory parades in every city on the continent.”

  Avery knew he was right, but that didn’t make it any easier. I betrayed my own daughter. He allowed himself to take a sip. As he did, he saw that his hand was shaking.

  He started as Janx clapped a big hand on his shoulder. Janx squeezed, firmly but gently. “If it’s in our power, Doc, we’ll get your little girl back. Just keep it together a mite longer. I—”

  “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

  Avery broke off from him and pushed through the crowd. He found sanctuary in the cantina’s cramped restroom and locked the door behind him. He looked around, greeted by the sight of peeling walls, cracked mirror and the vague stench of vomit. The ship moved about him, the metal creaking, music flooding in from outside. He braced himself over the sink, gripping its grimy edges in his hands, and prepared to throw up. When it didn’t come, he stared at himself in the mirror. The sight made him flinch.

  His appearance, in a way, had actually improved over the past few months. He was still the somewhat short, balding forty-two-year-old he had been, complete with glasses, neatly trimmed black mustache and comb-over, but his skin was tanned, his muscles fitter, his belly reasonably flat. Just the same, he seemed to have aged five years. Gray hairs sprouted at his temples, and lines flowered from the corner of his eyes, which were rimmed in red. He looked haunted, desperate.

  He sagged back against the wall, forced himself to close his eyes and take deep breaths.

  When he opened them, he realized he was holding something. With a jolt, he looked down at the photograph of Mari and Ani, his wife and daughter. They stood outside their modest cabin in Benical, in front of the familiar potted plants and moss-covered stones, holding hands and looking content. Avery remembered that day. He had been the one taking the picture. He hadn’t known it then but it had been the happiest time of his life. How he wished he could get those days back! Mari and Ani, alive and well, before the Octunggen-engineered plague had struck, before it had all gone to hell.

  With a trembling hand, he pulled out the second picture from where he kept it, in a pocket over his heart. It was the picture Janx had warned about. It showed Ani, alive and well, looking frightened but whole, holding up a newspaper dated three months ago. Four years after she’d died. Sheridan had given Avery that photo. She had brought Ani back from oblivion and dangled her before Avery, promising her return if only he would deliver Layanna to Octung.

  I chose Layanna over my own daughter! In a rage, he slammed a fist against the wall, then choked back a gasp. Blood wept from his hand. He washed it off in the sink, averting his gaze from the man in the mirror.

  He told himself that Janx was right. He’d only done what he had to do. But his own daughter ...

  Where was Ani now? Had Sheridan sent her to be a test subject for Dr. Wasnair and his team as she’d promised if Avery refused her? Were they sticking needles in Ani even now, or doing something worse?

  Avery needed a drink. Suddenly wanting to be elsewhere, with sound and music and laughter, he left the bathroom and returned to the bar.

  Janx, lifting a mug to his lips, eyed him over the brim. “You’ve looked better.”

  Avery nodded to the bartender, who poured him a mug, then downed a long, healthy sip. “I’m fine,” Avery said.

  “You keep sayin’.” Then Janx grinned as if he’d thought of something that would cheer Avery up. “I met some fellows yesternight. Yep, some right good blokes they were. Heard ‘em talking about L’oh and Rausgin, the old Laric gods. History buffs, Doc, can you believe it? I told ‘em to look you up. You and them should get along like whores and crabs.”

  Avery smiled for Janx’s benefit. He wanted to say that he wasn’t interested in discussing history at the moment. It might be his hobby, but he couldn’t concentrate on it just now. Instead he said, “Thanks. I ... appreciate it.”

  “Well, good. I—”

  Commotion outside stopped him.

  Avery frowned, but when the noise grew louder he and Janx quit their conversation and left with the others to see what was happening on deck. When he saw it, Avery felt his flesh turn cold.

  “Gods below,” said Janx.

  It was an Octunggen patrol boat, and it was docking with the Surugal.

  Chapter 2

  “The captain must have alerted the authorities about the murders,” Avery reasoned, as he and Janx stared at the patrol ship. It was large, nearly twice the size of the riverboat, and its towers and guns blotted out the stars. It emitted few lights of its own, so it was visible mainly as a great, looming shadow silhouetted against the night, smelling vaguely of smoke and metal.

  As it docked, the captain of the Surugal and a group of officers gathered to receive whoever came across. The crew of the patrol ship kept them waiting for a time, then a phalanx of armed troopers emerged, their body armor glinting faintly by the li
ghts of ships and stars, led by a broad, weathered officer. Captain Sagrimund saluted him smartly, and they began to speak, though they were too far away to be heard.

  “This is bad,” Janx said.

  “We have to tell the others.”

  They found the women in the cabin that Hildra and Janx shared. Layanna, normally reserved, seemed to have joined Hildra in the drinking game—perhaps she needed to unwind after the recent news—and she had a gleaming shot glass halfway to her lips when Avery entered. She looked quite beautiful, her face somewhat flushed, her blue eyes sparkling, a blond strand falling across one.

  “Sober up, gals,” Janx said. “We got problems.”

  Quickly he and Avery told them what had happened.

  “Fuck,” said Hildra.

  “What can we do?” said Layanna.

  “We’ve gotta get off the ship,” Janx said. “Water or no water. Patrols or no patrols.”

  Avery agreed. “Stealing a lifeboat is now our only option. And if we’re going to do it, we’d better do it now.”

  “Yeah,” said Hildra. “It’s almost dawn. Better do it while it’s dark.”

  “Remember, we can’t be caught,” Layanna said. “I can’t. I still know the plans to the Device. If they wring that out of me, they could build one of their own but reverse its functions. They could increase their powers and make themselves unstoppable. Well, more unstoppable. If they catch me ... do what must be done.” She stared at Avery—grimly, soberly. The flush in her face was fading. “Francis, do you still have your extradimensional pistol?”

  He patted his side, indicating the weapon he’d acquired in Cuithril. “We won’t let it come to that,” he promised.