by Michael Rigg
Hedging between fear and curiosity, but knowing I couldn't go back, I tucked the stun gun into the pocket of my trousers and wrapped my hands around the cold metal of the ladder, then I climbed up into Atlantis.
It was dark enough where the submarine was docked that I was well hidden in the shadows, but there was enough light to take in everything inside the cavernous room. The submarine, a twisted squid-looking nautilus out of a Jules Verne nightmare, had broken surface into an airtight underwater cave carved with ornate patterns of trees and flowers, all culminating in a cluster of icicles and stalactites high above me. Sailors on the deck of the submarine were standing aboard ship looking down a boarding ramp they had extended to an icy-looking shelf near the rear of the sub. The shelf extended to the enormous doors I knew were there. I don't remember how I got here originally, but I remembered clearly being here... with Raymond Simcoe and a small group of black-clad armed insertion specialists.
But insertion into what? Ice cold hell were the words that came to mind.
Above the arch of the enormous doors were letters in an unfamiliar language. But... I remembered what they said. I remember a man with shaggy brown hair and glasses reading from a computer tablet. I remember him saying, "Entrance of the Gods," his breath coming out then like mine was now, a plume of soft steam.
"Atlantis," I whispered allowed. This was it. It was really here.
A small group of Thorne's men stood around the door. Only one of them appeared armed with some kind of rifle. My eyes widened and I silently gasped when I noticed Bradford Thorne among them. He wore a long red coat over his clothes and his black hair was twisted and as wild as his black beady eyes. He had lost the glass helmet, probably figuring he was where he needed to be: far ahead of the ghoul and out of reach. He also had a wad of tissue crammed up one nostril, it flared out from his face like a blooming carnation. I could tell, even from this distance, that he was drunk on the awe and marvel of his discovery and that I had fallen to a secondary concern in his mind. He knew I couldn't very well swim out of here, and he also knew the only other place I could go was here, to follow him in. If I dared.
Which I knew I had to do. I had to find out more. But how?
I didn't have to wait long to get an answer to my question. Thorne rather loudly ordered the man with the gun—which was actually some kind of steam-hissing cutting device—to step up and cut open the bolts on the enormous doors. As I watched, the cavern glinted with light from the white sparks thrown by the cutter, casting a ghostly illumination on the faces of the men gathered around, their eyes as wide as their mouths.
The historic occasion drew the men from the gangway closer. Each one moved down the ramp toward the rest of their comrades leaving no one to guard it. That's when I made my move. I climbed out of my hatch and ran in a crouch along the far side of the sub until I reached the opening with the gangway. Then I moved down the ramp into the lighted area of the icy landing and quickly darted into an alcove formed by trees carved from rock and ice. By the time I got to my hiding place, the doors of Atlantis had been forced opened.
I peered around a corner and watched as Thorne led the way inside the green-glowing interior of the ancient city. I could make out enormous statues and dark side corridors, but no people. There were no “Atlantians” to greet them or accuse them of trespassing. They wouldn't show up until Thorne and his group reached the main chamber, the source of Atlantis's power and energy, the place where the gods lived. It was where the black room was, and the white room, and the Clockwork Carpenters with their branding forks and smarmy faces. I shuddered. I also wondered how I knew that, but somehow it all made sense. They didn't want me here. They had chased me from here before—and they probably killed Ray Simcoe and the shaggy-haired translator. This place was somehow linked to everything. It was as equal to where and when I came from as it was to this reality now, connecting my Ray Simcoe life with my Bryce Landry life.
Knowing I'd have no choice, I waited until the last pair of men disappeared inside before stepping out into the open and following at a distance.
As I got closer to the open doorway I could see how truly massive it was. The arch stretched twenty feet in the air, the alien letters of the portcullis were at least five feet high above that. I reached out and touched the open door and felt a jolt pass through me as I remembered its cold smoothness. In fact, I knew I had touched this same spot as I slowly entered the ancient tomb-like city miles below the ocean's surface. Thorne's voice echoed back from far in front of me and I realized I was letting them get too far ahead. He was telling his men not to touch anything and loudly proclaiming that it was all his in the name of the Thorne Corporation.
Drawing a deep breath, I continued forward. Thorne and his men were two wide corridors ahead of me, but I could easily follow them without seeing. His voice echoed through the enormous corridors like a loud radio.
The next gargantuan room was a hexagonal antechamber lined with statues and altars. Artifacts were spread neatly on each altar's surface, strange twisted shapes of metal and other materials were spread before tall carved statues of kings and queens, princes, dukes, I don't know. This was all so familiar, all just beyond the periphery of my mind, but it hadn't quite clicked yet. On one of the altar tables I recognized a dagger-shaped shard of wood festooned with ornate carvings. That brought a memory flash of one of the men in my group of raiders taking this very artifact and tucking it into the pack on his back. He had said, “Nobody's gonna miss it.” It came to my memory as clear as day, and as black as night. He took it. He stole it from this place.
Yet here it was. Then I remembered I was in a different reality, a different time. There never was a man in black collecting souvenirs while the rest of us chuckled and shrugged. Then why was this all so familiar? My thoughts were milky, green and misty like the caverns around me. Which was the dream and which was the reality? The here and now, with Bryce and airships and airships seemed more real to me than my returning memories of combat boots and creaking black leather, computers and assault rifles.
I had to get to the main chamber. There, I knew, I would find the link to my past. There I would find all my answers.
As blinded by the awe as Bradford Thorne appeared to be, but for vastly different reasons, I pressed forward. I tore my eyes away from the majesty of the room, and the grandeur of the next corridor which was carved from the rock and ice (though now more rock than ice) to appear like a forest much like outside the entrance. The only difference here was that each tree contained such exquisite detail that it was hard to tell them from the real thing. Even each frozen leaf appeared as real as anything on the surface, its veins and thin stems carved from the stone with an impossible technology. There was no way a hand could reach between the narrow openings around the clusters of stone leaves. It was as if trees grew here and petrified, frozen in time with every color and detail. Maybe they had.
I don't know how, but I suddenly knew it wasn't the case. I knew Ray and I had thought the same thing when the man with the glasses spoke up and reported what he'd seen on his tablet, that these trees—this entire forest of painstaking detail—was carved from the rock around it. I remembered Ray had been incredulous, awed, but disbelieving. Even laser cutters couldn't twist and bend to reach the areas of detailed leaves beyond the other detailed leaves deep within the canopy of the frozen trees overhead.
I stood for a long time in the silent grandeur of the cold petrified forest before I realized I could no longer hear Thorne's voice. When I realized I was alone, I quickly made my way out of the forest corridor and to the next junction. I stood there for awhile straining to hear Thorne's echoing voice, but it was no use. They were too far ahead of me.
It was then that I heard the footsteps. One man. Moving quickly. From behind. The Clockwork Carpenters always seemed to move
silently, so it must have been someone from Thorne's ship.
Gasping, I pulled the Colt from my belt and ran. I let my veiled memories guide me and chose to dart down the corridor to the left. The footfalls echoed faster as my pursuer broke into a run and chased me.
I rounded a corner, then another, then ran into the darkness of the city where the phosphorescent algae didn't grow. Unfortunately, where the algae stopped the ice started. My feet slipped out from under me and I fell backwards, the Colt flying from my grasp as my leg twisted under me and I fell hard on my rump. I grunted in pain but didn't cry out. It didn't matter because my pursuer was closing in.
As I scrambled in the darkness, looking for the dim silver outline of the pistol, the man rushed up behind me, slid on the ice but caught himself before he fell, and pounced on me. He grabbed me by the arm and shoulder and pulled me back and to my feet. Instinctively, I cocked my arm and was prepared to twirl around, locking his arm with mine and flipping him onto his back.
Then he spoke in a harsh whisper so no one would hear the echoes of his voice.
"Alice! Alice, it's me, Bryce!"
CHAPTER 36, “The Final Battle”
The guards stationed in the rear access hatch of the Victory had been instructed by the admiral, who had in-turn been instructed by Mr. Hearse, that the woman attempting to gain access to the ship be allowed in. They weren't told much about her, but based on the way word traveled through the ship about the single kite that buzzed them after winging its way through the fleet, they figured she was someone special.
"Probably a dignitary or something," one of them said as they heard the kite clank into place below them.
"Oh, I'm sure. But a lady? Traveling alone? She can't be a pilot."
"Why can't she be a pilot? Ladies can fly planes."
"Oh, you're crazy. Women can no more fly planes than dogs can ride horses."
The laughter of the two men lasted only two seconds before the hatch exploded upward. There was no fire, no smoke, no sparks. It was as though a tremendous blast of air pressure alone twisted the metal and pried the rivets from their steel seats.
Pandora climbed up through the ruined access and peered down at the crumpled bodies of the two guards. Her eyes fell upon the small bolt guns that had fallen from their grasps, but she decided against arming herself. She didn't need a weapon.
She was a weapon.
~~~~~~~
Teivel Hearse paced the bridge of the Victory with his eyes glued to the aft door. The sailors stationed on the bridge tried not to pay attention to the "civilized ghoul” as he periodically huffed and blew air from his nose like a horse preparing for a race. Admiral Terrace interrupted Hearse's stomping by clearing his throat. "Mr. Hearse, sir?"
"What is it?" the King of Ghouls hissed as he kept his eyes on the door.
"The woman has boarded sir. She's killed two of my men." Admiral Terrace knew about ghouls, and he knew what this one was capable of. Still, his glare reminded Hearse that this was his ship and these were his men.
The other sailors on the bridge reacted to the news by shifting their weight uncomfortably where they stood, glancing to one another, or even risking a glance back to Hearse himself.
"I am aware of that fact, Admiral," Hearse said coolly.
Terrace looked to his first officer, the man who notified him moments before the ghoul took over the bridge that Hearse had killed the purser. The first officer lowered his hand to the pistol on his belt, but the admiral shook his head slightly.
"Well," Terrace continued, "If she's here looking for you, sir, she'll be making her way to the bridge."
"Your point?"
"The point is that there are over one hundred souls manning this vessel, Mr. Hearse."
Hearse turned and drilled into the admiral's skull with his burning red eyes. "Point!?"
Terrace stammered slightly, but managed, "I'd prefer to continue commanding them... sir."
Taking the hint, and grumbling like a child told to go to his room, Hearse barked an exasperated huff before storming to the rear of the bridge, pulling open the heavy hatch and stepping out.
The first officer, risking his voice only after hearing Hearse's receding footfalls, said, "That monster's gonna be the death of us, suh."
Clearing his throat, the admiral turned his eyes front and said aloud, "Back to work, gents. We have a fleet to lead."
It was only a moment later that the rear hatch to the bridge opened again and a young blond sailor with large headphones stepped in. The lad seemed none the worse for wear following his own fearful encounter with the ghoul as he waved a piece of telegraph paper toward the admiral. "Admiral! Admiral Terrace, sir!"
"What is it, Sparks?"
Sparks stepped up and saluted smartly with one hand as he handed the paper to the first officer. "Sir, our lookout point at General Gehrel's station informs us that there is a large Confederate fleet heading this way."
The admiral and first officer exchanged glances before both turned to the wireless operator. "You're sure?" Sparks nodded between gulps of air.
The first officer said, "Not possible. There's no way the graycoats could cross the Mason-Dixon without us knowing."
Terrace sneered. "Yes there is. The entire Imperial fleet has been mobilized to this site on orders of Thorne and Hearse."
The first officer said, "It's the perfect opportunity for the grays to strike." Then he turned to the wireless operator. "Sparks, notify the captain of every ship and airship that the Confederates are launching an attack. Have them put all fighters in the air and prepare countermeasures. Then get word to Mr. Thorne... if you can."
"What about the senate?" The first officer interrupted. "They'll need to clear an act for war, sir. We can't simply attack, even if they are the enemy."
Terrace raised his voice. "This is a corporate endeavor, number one. The entire fleet of the almighty Empire has been privatized. We're merely defending Imperial Corporate Interests." To the wireless operator, Terrace barked, "Go!" As Sparks hurried back to the radio room, Terrace and his first officer turned their attention to the Victory's crew. Both started relaying orders to ready the guns and launch all available ships.
~~~~~~~
Fueled by anger, hurt, frustration and rage, Pandora left a trail of bodies in her wake. A few of the sailors aboard the Victory attempted to shoot her, but she responded with a wave of unseen pressure that bent the barrels of their guns and exploded them in their surprised faces.
She reached the long open catwalk that married the launch hooks and engine room with the rest of the ship. She looked down and saw that the ocean-faring vessels were now churning wakes to break their ring. They were far enough down that she could only make them out by their running lights and the glint of moonlight off their fish-shaped hulls. Even at this altitude, she could hear the echo of the whoop-whoop-whoop that sounded an alarm throughout the fleet.
Her first thought was that the entire fleet was mobilizing because of her. Then, fingers still crossed, she closed her eyes and reached out with her mind to see what was on the minds of those around her. Many of the men stationed aboard the Victory were hiding from her advance, having given up on defending themselves against her, but they were all engaged in other activities as they prepared to defend themselves. Then her mind touched others and she felt Alice and Bradford Thorne, both of them thousands of feet below the ocean's surface. They weren't the source of the fleet's alert, either. And then she felt Bryce nearby.
"Bryce, no."
Captain Landry and Lucien, along with the whole of the Confederate Air Force, were on their way here. They were supposed to be on their way safely back to Seven Orchards. This was supposed to be her fight, not theirs. Pandora wanted to take down the Empire herself, starting with
Bradford Thorne's trained monster, Hearse. A battle on sea and in the air would provide a distraction, but she didn't want a stray detonation to take out Teivel Hearse. She wanted to do it with her own bare hands.
Her eyes still closed, she sent a mental projection to Bryce, warning him of the Imperial Fleet and telling him to order the others to keep away from the USS Victory, and that she was aboard.
"Oh, dear."
The sudden voice made Pandora's eyes snap open. Across the open gangway on the narrow catwalk stood Teivel Hearse. The ghoul who had hypnotized her, stolen her mind, then raped her, stood on the far side of the catwalk. His finely pressed suit and ascot were a contrast to his pale gray face and red glowing eyes, tangles of hair and long nailed fingers. He held a cane in one hand brandishing it like a sword at rest.
Pandora tempered her fear and her anger, remembered her soldier's training and planted her feet as she drew a quick breath. "I'm here to kill you, monster."
Hearse tilted his head and made a tisking sound with his tongue and gray pointed teeth. "You can't do that, my dear Dorothea. I'm your husband. It is your duty to obey me." He let his face drop slightly and lowered his voice. “And obey me you will.” It was obvious that he was attempting to control her mind again, that the ghoul called out her real name to possess her. There was only one thing he hadn't counted on.
Pandora said, "You love stories, Teivel. Would you like to hear one of mine?" She took a step closer.
"Please." He too stepped closer.
"It's the story of the man who discovered an ancient lamp buried in the sand, an Arabian Knight whose luck was about to change," she said as she took another step toward him. He continued his approach as well, tilting his head curiously as he tried to puzzle out how she wasn't cowering before his mental power. "I think I know this one. He cleans the lamp and a djinn appears."