As he utilized Travlor’s advice, Evan scanned the convoluted interior sections of his mind. He located a quiet offshoot that fit the description and willed the continual thought-form into position. When he was certain the chain would remain unbroken, he directed his attention to the wind driven clouds that scuttled past in haphazard formations. He whistled in atonal spurts until the suspense became too much. He sent an apprehensive glance toward the compound. The old winery, unwavering in its image, stared back.
Travlor nodded with obvious satisfaction and clasped his hands behind his back. He started the descent, and as Evan watched his father’s figure recede, Travlor’s thought touched him with more approval than he ever remembered, “You will soon surpass my own abilities…it is just as well…”
Shocked, Evan realized he had never considered that one day his abilities would outstrip Travlor’s. He also recognized that he and Travlor had been standing in the precise spot that had provided cover for himself, Daria and the Atlanteans. It seemed ironic that the first civil exchange between them should take place on the exact site that Evan had inaugurated his betrayal. For some reason, that thought made him surprisingly uncomfortable.
The buildup of arms increased daily. It alarmed Evan to witness the amount of weaponry at their disposal and the skill with which Travlor’s mercenaries wielded the armament.
He kept a close eye on the training drills that occurred at odd intervals of the day and night, but he learned nothing. The grueling exercises honed a deadly proficiency into a cohesive fighting unit. His repeated attempts to discuss the assault strategy were met with stony silence as Travlor zealously guarded any details of his master plan. His father did allude to a time in the near future when he would reveal the entire layout.
Nevertheless, Evan was religious about the pretense of his single-minded involvement. His ability to shield the compound no longer required even the least effort, it had become as much a part of his being as his arm or leg. Because of the visual deception he created, there was not one person on Santorini who suspected anything out of the ordinary even though Travlor’s entire fighting force was present and accounted for.
Evan was judicious in his attempts to augment his evolving skills. He studied every scrap of tutelage that Travlor offered, and under his father’s watchful eye, his ability to compel people excelled. Supplies arrived by the truckload, and as soon as the unloading was complete, the drivers who reported to Evan were sent away with no memory of having been in the vicinity.
Although Evan focused on gleaning the facts of the invasion, in the deeper recesses of his mind, an alternate plan had been conceived the day he had met Kyla. Before one topsider set foot on Atlantean soil, Evan had made the decision to kill Travlor.
Prior to acting on that idea, he had to uncover as much information as possible. Should his attempted patricide fail, the Atlanteans needed whatever data he could gather to have even a marginal chance of staving off the incredible army that flourished under Travlor’s command.
Evan bided his time. A careful and consistent communication between himself and Ni-Cio occurred on a priority basis. Evan reported every development relevant to the Atlantean defense effort. Though he relayed only cold, hard facts, he knew that his anxiety was clear to Ni-Cio. Evan was unable to hide the degree to which he felt Travlor had the advantage. In one of their exchanges, Ni-Cio had tried to bolster his flagging spirits by sharing his hope for the realization of one of Daria’s ideas. But Evan wasn’t comforted. In his mind, Travlor’s army was just about invincible.
As a testament to Travlor’s meticulous plotting and his and Evan’s vast financial reserves, preparations continued like clockwork. Three weeks into the regimen, a huge freighter hove into sight and moored off the coastal access to their encampment. Equipment necessary to the underwater phase of Travlor’s operation was housed on or around the ship. And with the commencement of their ocean training, a flotilla of Zodiac boats was purchased in order to ferry the men to the freighter.
Travlor and Evan accompanied the soldiers on one of their first open water exercises. They boarded the large ship and Evan and Travlor made the rounds to view their newest acquisitions. Astounded to see two refitted transport submarines, an armada of OceanusVI submersibles and two drilling subs complete with extensive underwater drilling equipment, Evan confronted his father. “I don’t understand the necessity of this type of equipment. The people you have described have never exhibited any signs of aggression, and if you’re to be believed, they don’t even have weapons. If you’re unable or unwilling to give me the salient details at this point, I can only surmise it’s because of your distrust. That being the case, I don’t see any reason to continue our association. I know where Atlantis is and I’m quite ready to take my chances in an attempt to get Daria out of there on my own.” He jabbed a finger at the submarines, “This is ridiculous. It’s what we topsiders call overkill, and to be honest, I’m tired of financing this madness!”
He turned to leave, and managed four determined steps, before the gruff command reached his ears, “Hold!”
Travlor shortened the distance, “You are quite right. It is time to disclose the general details. Follow me.”
Evan had known that sooner or later Travlor would placate his need to know. He guessed that now was as good a time as any. Without waiting to see whether he complied or not, Travlor ducked through a nearby doorway and proceeded down a long, narrow passage. He stopped before a closed metal door and turned the handle. Travlor stepped over the bulkhead into a small room. Having followed him in, Evan was startled to see a superb lunch, artfully arranged on a table draped in white linen. Polished silver gleamed in the dim lighting and bubbles of icy champagne created a sheen of condensation on crystal flutes. Evan’s guard moved to high alert, “I’m not sure what to make of this.”
Travlor indicated a chair. As he seated himself, Evan could see that his father relished the sight of such a sumptuous meal. Travlor pointedly ignored the fact that Evan had not yet taken a chair. He slid a napkin to his lap and sampled the expensive beverage. Evan heard the noisy smack of his father’s lips as he lifted the glass to the light.
He twisted the flute one way and then the other, “Ah, one of the true pleasures of topside living!”
Evan couldn’t understand why the scarred sounds of Travlor’s voice, a blatant juxtaposition to the beautiful crystal, didn’t crack the glass.
He hesitated. When he had played his trump card and threatened to pull the plug on the financing, he had not been certain Travlor would accede. He truly had been ready to go to Atlantis to offer help in whatever capacity they needed. He had been prepared for anything but this.
“Try not to look quite so shocked. Terros offers many wonderful comforts. I felt it time to enjoy some of the smaller luxuries. You have more than earned this splendid lunch,” Travlor hoisted his glass and drank.
Evan slid into the designated seat, but he was leery of the sudden turn in behavior and his mind burned with suspicion. He eyed the cold lobster as if it might spring from his plate and seek recompense for its demise. He doubted he could eat anything. His entire attention was focused on the person seated opposite him.
The hallucinogenic nature of the episode took on even more surrealistic proportions when the ghost of a smile flitted hauntingly across Travlor’s narrow lips. “Eat. There will be time enough, once we are done, to discuss the overall plan of our operation.”
Evan called upon every particle of his heightened awareness, but he could not detect a hidden agenda. For all intents and purposes it was what it appeared, a shared lunch between father and son. Something stirred in Evan’s heart that he was desperate to avoid. He needed to despise the person on the other side of the table. Any slide toward compassion for his father had to be staunched at once. He surveyed the table, and as he could offer no significant reason for abstinence, he lifted his glass of champagne and tilted it toward Travlor, “Bon appetit, regardless of consequences.”
Trav
lor offered a curt nod and the lunch proceeded in strained silence. It was evident to Evan that the meal was Travlor’s attempt to recognize his efforts.
When he finished his coffee, Travlor lowered his cup with a daintiness that was somehow comically incongruent with the character that Evan had come to know. With a soft clink, the cup found its place on the saucer and signaled the end of the meal. Travlor pushed away from the table and extended his long legs. He crossed his ankles and looked at Evan. “You had some pressing concerns that I am now prepared to address.”
Evan wiped his mouth and tossed the napkin aside. Leaving the table, he walked to a leather couch and settled himself on the arm. He leaned forward, hands on knees. “Daria’s safe return is my primary focus. But my next problem is the amount of equipment we have purchased, followed by the number of men we have employed. If Atlantis is as defenseless as you have indicated, why this buildup?”
Travlor quirked an eyebrow, “I never said they had ‘no weapons.’ If memory serves, I merely stated they had never used any weapons. There is a difference.”
Evan thought it a perfectly evasive lie, so he tapped his foot and waited.
Travlor uncrossed his ankles, pulled his legs back and sat up. “The topsider is surrounded by one thousand Atlanteans. Four hundred men, four hundred women and two hundred children of various ages. The children and two hundred older Atlanteans, can be discounted. Of the roughly four hundred men and women left, it will be they who will provide an impressive resistance. I can assure you there will be nothing easy about freeing the topsider.”
Evan was astonished to see the lines in Travlor’s face deepen.
“Make no mistake. Because of an excessive, terror-driven fear of discovery and the necessity of retaining the topsider’s healing abilities, the men and women of Atlantis will fight to the death.”
Evan took a deep breath and let the air out in a gentle exhalation as though digesting the new information. “All right, then, what is the plan? How are we to rescue Daria? And what weapons do we need to be aware of?”
Travlor pushed himself from the chair and went to a set of cabinetry secured against the opposite wall. He pulled out one of the drawers, and from his viewpoint, Evan saw several tight rolls of paper. Travlor grasped one of the rolls, closed the drawer and joined Evan on the couch. He unrolled a blueprint on the coffee table and used various books and ashtrays to hold the curled ends. Evan slid down the armrest to sit beside his father. The blueprint was a diagram of the inside of Atlantis.
Travlor went through a quick synopsis of the layout and oriented him to the design of the underground city. He spoke while he highlighted the exits. “As you can see, there are fifty exits. The Atlanteans will not fight in water. It is impossible to use their fighting skills while inside the biospheres. They will make their stand in Atlantis, probably in the Great Hall. Therefore, it is of no importance whether they know of our coming or not.
“However, to distract them from the force of our invasion, we will blow all but one exit in a timed maneuver, utilizing the personal submersibles. That action will sever any chance of escape. At the same time the men are sealing off forty-nine departure routes, one of the smaller subs will be deployed to drill an opening through the remaining exit for an all-out frontal assault.”
Travlor threw the highlighter to the table. Evan watched it roll across the blueprint to teeter on the edge of the table.
“You have asked what weapons they have,” Travlor pinned Evan with a look. “You need to understand the danger that awaits our invasion. For as long as I can remember, the people of Atlantis have trained in what would now be called The Cabala of Ares. Taught by the god of war himself, the children of Poseidon were instructed in this arcane and secret fighting art. Along with an entire series of moves designed to defend against an attacker, Ares introduced a technique that loosely translates as Last Strike. The application of Last Strike was always strictly monitored. It was to be used only as a last resort, and even then, only if the threat of death was imminent. Poseidon still questioned the wisdom of allowing anyone knowledge of this deadly skill.”
Travlor picked up the highlighter. He rolled the stubby, yellow marker slowly back and forth between his fingers. “This method of combat is more ancient and far more deadly than the martial arts employed by topsiders. Mastery of this technique is requisite to reaching our fiftieth year. The execution of this particular maneuver makes a lethal weapon out of absolutely anything.”
In one fluid motion Travlor turned and hurled the blunt marker. The force was such that Evan heard the whining objection of air molecules being viciously thrust aside. Wood splinters peppered the floor and the highlighter shuddered to a stop. The marker was imbedded inside the thick cabinet door by more than half its length.
Evan jumped up and spanned the room in two rapid strides. He examined the highlighter, even trying to pull it from its lodged position. The effort needed to extricate the marker was impressive. Evan spun around and held the highlighter as though it had assumed the properties of a highly venomous snake. He couldn’t utter a sound.
Travlor took his cue, “Though they may not have actual projectile weaponry, you can now comprehend when I tell you that in their hands, everything becomes an instrument capable of inflicting a swift and certain death.”
Dazed, Evan walked to the dining table and sank to a chair. He placed the highlighter in his shirt pocket and shook his head. “I would never have believed this if you had not shown me.”
Dryly, Travlor concluded, “Hence the build-up.”
“I am writing this log as a testament to my people’s fortitude. If we do not survive, by the grace of Poseidon, it is my fervent hope that this record will.
“The briefing ended with my signature affixed to the log. Our community is now separated into designated groups and there has been a whirlwind of preparations. With only one month in which to set the groundwork, increments of time have ceased to exist. Days melt into nights, back into days, until the incessant activity is now a controlled frenzy. We snatch sleep in broken fragments.
“Different groups of men and women make their way to the gymnasium. In hours of grueling exercises, their weary bodies have been pushed to the edge of endurance. The Cabala of Ares demands and has exacted the utmost precision in all their movements. Everyone has trained and retrained in this most lethal discipline. With the reemergence of the fatal Last Strike, I no longer see the peace-loving character of my people. They have diverged into a second nature, so deadly as to be unrecognizable.
“Those not involved in combat training have helped in other critical areas. The construction of the tunnel access leading from the Great Hall to the Council chambers was completed in a matter of only two weeks. From the surrounding seas, food supplies have been culled and brought in to be processed. Enormous quantities of food and water are packed in the kitchens and the Great Hall. Fortifications proceed as every portal into the Great Hall has metamorphosed into a battlement from which a desperate last stand can be waged.
“Ylno reshaped the Council Hall into a viable hospital. Children too young to fight are engaged in making and rolling bandages. They make beds and secure the instruments necessary for simple surgeries. They have also been given a critical yet simple task from our Healer, creating shaded eye coverings and earplugs for every person in Atlantis.
“The older members of Ylno’s team are tasked with inventing the more complicated medical equipment and they garner blood supplies. Even though Daria has the responsibility of healing the worst cases, we know that her talents will be stretched to their limits. Alternate plans for medical aid is integral to the survival rate of the wounded.
“Rogert has designated the lookout stations, and after the massive reorganization, teams are now dispatched to every interior pool access and every exterior exit. An ocean watch utilizing the biospheres is even now underway along with sweeps of the outer perimeters of Atlantis, which occur with growing frequency.
“The tremendo
us swing into battle readiness is exacting a toll on our overworked population. Nevertheless, swatches of time are set aside for the most crucial element of our defense. Every Atlantean to hold the designation of Warrior of Ares is standing by to learn how to turn their thoughts into weapons. With preparations well underway, I have sent the injunction for our Most Sovereign Healer to begin her instruction.
“May Poseidon’s blessings be with us all.” End
Attested to this day: Marik evaw Mneseus
Council Leader to the High Council of Ten
Atlantis
Seated as if in repose with her eyes closed, Daria had been joined by her first set of pupils. Ni-Cio, Aris, Mer-An, Rogert and the rest of their tactical study group awaited her tutelage. The members of the High Council were in attendance and Kyla and Ylno rounded out the gathering.
The new group had been instructed to relax in whatever position felt most comfortable. Some reclined, others sat cross-legged on piles of pillows, while a few leaned into the quiet corners of the darkened room.
One by one, Daria let her thoughts flow into their minds. She guided each of them as she located the fundamental position from which the physical reality of a thought-form could be generated. After she had shown the last person, she was prepared to continue. Her modulated tone circulated through hopeful minds, “Now that you know from which region you originate the thought-form, focus every particle of energy into that tiny space. Let it flow into your mind like water filling a capped jar.”
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