Roddy checked the weapon and unleashed the safety. “When I count to three, Wesley, jump away from the shark.”
“Is that after you say three or when you are about to—?”
“Just jump when you’re ready!” Roddy snapped. He nudged closer, and the sphere, ever mindful, floated close enough that he could nearly touch the bucking machine of teeth and death.
Wesley gathered what strength remained and propelled himself away.
Roddy fired. The echo from the loud report filled the sphere’s cabin.
The shark staggered. Blood poured from its head.
But it wasn’t dead.
The eyes turned on Roddy.
It hurtled toward him, covering the few feet separating them in a near instant, jaws opening wide, its foul breath nearly as frightening as the rows of huge, razor sharp teeth coming at him.
Roddy pointed and fired.
Blood and gore erupted from the shark’s head, and it landed upon him, limp and lifeless.
Several of the teeth caught his outstretched shooting arm, and he screamed out in pain.
He heard a splash, and a moment later, as he was pushing the dead sea hunter off, John pulled a soaked and unconscious Wesley past him into the main cabin.
Roddy sat up and stared back and forth between the shark and the man who’d saved them all, wondering how he’d ever repay him.
John knelt down. “Mind if I borrow that gun?”
Roddy handed it over. John moved toward the edge of the ramp and waited.
When the second shark flew out of the water, John calmly put four high caliber bullets into the beast, which landed on the ramp next to the other.
“Too much blood in the water,” John murmured. “We didn’t have time to get the first one out before the second showed up.” He safetied the weapon and stuffed it into the waistband of his pants. “You up to helping get these things out of here?”
It took ten minutes, but they finally managed to roll the carcasses out, mostly because they finally asked the sphere to rise above the surface a few feet and tilt in just the right way. The bodies of the sharks splashed and they sank below the surface, where other oceanic predators would feast upon the gift from the heavens.
The sphere ramp closed, and the twins triaged their healing powers, first to get Wesley stabilized, then to help their father close the gaping gouges in his skin, then more time for Roddy. They’d help with scrapes and cuts and general fatigue later on. But for now, they rested.
Roddy, there are several messages waiting for you. Micah Jamison hopes you can contact him soon. Your parents, Jeffrey and Desdemona Wiley, also ask that you reach out via video call as soon as possible so that they can, in their words, see their beautiful grandchildren and amazing daughter-in-law, and you as well.
“Oh.” Roddy nodded. “Good point. Surviving an exploding yacht and a shark attack did make me forget that I’d need to check in.”
“We have a more urgent matter,” Wesley murmured. At Roddy’s blank look, he pointed up at the sky. “Our, ah, friends have of late been sending explosive projectiles at us. We’re still pretty close to the same spot.”
“Right,” Roddy said, nodding. “Ship, get us up in the air a bit more and head… south. Stay as far from large land masses as possible.” He shrugged as the ship began moving. “I’d guess the missiles are housed on land, so the further from land we stay, the safer we’d be from potential future attacks.”
“How did they know where to shoot the missiles?” Mary asked. “Can they track the ship that well?”
“No reason to think they can’t,” Roddy said. “Which is another reason we need to get away from it. It’s an impressive structure; I have to think they’d want to know where it is at all times. They can probably use the same system we used to find us. Probably have tracking chips all over that ship.”
They all realized it at the same time. Mary turned to the children. “I need your communicators.”
The children, baffled, handed them over.
Roddy ordered the rising ship to open the ramp.
The adults dumped all of the communicators into the frothing ocean waters below, and explained to the horrified children that the devices helped Phoenix monitor their locations. Once they figured out which signals tracked to the people aboard the stolen yacht…
“It’s possibly how they knew to launch that Ravager attack,” Wesley murmured. “There’s nobody living in the area where we landed. No reason to level everything… unless they had specific targets in mind.”
John rubbed his chin. “That’s… frighteningly plausible.”
Jack watched the water below. “So they might shoot more missiles at our communicators even though they’re down in the water?” He laughed.
“Why are you laughing?” Jill smacked her brother. “Think about the poor fish that might die!”
“Oh. Um… apologies in advance to any fish killed because we threw our communicators into the water.”
“Except for the sharks,” Jill said.
“Yeah, we’re not apologizing to sharks,” Wesley quipped, and the group laughed in agreement.
Roddy told the ship to turn invisible and to cloak itself from any efforts to track its progress or signals it might send or receive, then realized he’d have to make a couple of transmissions and amended his command to exclude blocking their outbound communications. He worked with the ship to make sure that Mary and the children were in the view of the camera and directed the ship to begin the video call to his parents.
Moments later, he heard Jeffrey’s voice. “Son! Is that you? Did you find them?”
“Yes! We’re all here, all safe. We had a few… bumps in the road. But nothing we couldn’t handle.”
“That’s wonderful! Give everyone hugs from us until we can do it ourselves.”
“Will do.” He paused. “We’re trying to figure out our next stop. Our two likely choices are your place or the commander. We’re thinking the latter, at least as a first stop, and meeting up with you after that. What do you think?”
“I think… that’s a wise idea, son.” Desdemona’s voice seemed… slow, measured, calculating. “The… commander is wise, and will have plans to proceed forward in a manner that maximizes your safety.”
“It’s agreed, then. We’ll head there first.” He paused again. “How are things there?”
“Never better. Everyone here is excited to meet our newest residents.”
“Glad to hear it. It was good talking to both of you.”
“And you as well, son.”
He ended the communication and turned to the group, frowning. “Something’s wrong.”
“Other than running from Ravagers, getting dumped into the ocean because our boat exploded, and surviving a shark attack?” Wesley asked.
“Yes, other than that,” Roddy murmured. “My parents… I’m pretty sure Phoenix has descended upon New Venice, and my parents’ lives are now very much in danger. And so are ours if we try to go there.”
He didn’t add the rest of the thought.
If Phoenix sent people to New Venice to monitor for clandestine activities, they were undoubtedly monitoring communications.
And what would look more clandestine during this time than an audio call to an unknown-to-Phoenix location outside New Venice?
Chapter 8
Old Timers’ Fortress
Deirdre felt consciousness return, vaguely aware that she was lying down on something soft, softer than the sofa she’d slept on after her unconscious entry into the hidden fortress of Miriam and her friends. She didn’t know if they had some sort of group name. Hell, she didn’t know at this point if anyone but Miriam had a name for themselves, either.
The room, her latest prison cell, had cream-colored walls and thick, plush carpeting that looked like grass. It seemed an odd color combination, but she suspected they didn’t spend much time decorating guest rooms that might not get used. Nothing in their previous conversations suggested her hosts ro
utinely invited in outsiders, so outside growing their numbers through internal reproductive efforts, they’d probably see a gradual reduction in the number of rooms used.
Deirdre sat up and looked about. A single door, no windows. Just the bed she’d slept in, a small wooden desk and chair, and a massive freestanding wardrobe that looked like it might house hundreds of outfits or even a small kingdom inside. She put her hand on the wardrobe door, then pulled it away, deciding that there were too many unknowns as yet about her hosts to feel comfortable snooping around the room.
Her eyes fell upon the desk. Well, maybe not everything.
She opened the drawers of the desk, finding only a couple of paper books with crinkled, fading pages. The interior of the desk smelled musty, which added to her theory that this room had been abandoned for some time, and further confirmed her decision to leave the wardrobe closed. She moved to the room’s door and tested the handle, confirming what she’d already known through a series of efforts to turn the handle, and then returned to sit on the bed. She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair, annoyed at finding a sticky residue there. It was concentrated in the area where the original blindfold reached and thicker where the second—applied in the aftermath of their most recent conversation—was applied against her will. Perhaps the substance they used to knock her unconscious changed slowly from an invisible liquid into a sticky, solid substance over time.
Just so long as she didn’t spontaneously lose consciousness.
And ideally could take a shower to wash the mess away.
She scrubbed the goo off her fingertips against the rough surface of the boots she wore as she heard a key being inserted into the door from the outside.
Miriam walked in, eyes hard, and shut the door behind her. She came in alone, though Deirdre wasn’t fooled. There would be others waiting outside the door, listening for any signs of struggle, ready to inflict violence upon Deirdre should she do the same to Miriam.
Deirdre wouldn’t give them that opportunity.
She’d managed, during her bout of unconsciousness, to understand the situation from their perspective. Yes, she’d wandered into an area suggestive of a pre-emptive strike effort by Phoenix, had the name and background to suggest she’d be part of such an effort, had balked at the idea of fighting their enemies after she’d learned enough about them to provide at least some useful new information. They’d hidden themselves from the world with great success and wanted nothing but to be left alone.
She could respect that. She could respect their treatment toward her, their reactions to her words. It didn’t mean she had to like it. But she couldn’t condone attempts to injure any of them in her efforts to escape.
Then again, she might be rationalizing her thoughts, since she had no idea where her “borrowed” ground car might be, or any illusions about whether she’d manage to stunt drive her way to freedom yet again.
Miriam watched Deirdre for a moment, as Deirdre sat, patient, looking Miriam in the eye without staring, letting herself blink naturally. She finally spoke. “I thought you were on our side.”
“I am.”
“Yet you show resistance to—”
“I am in agreement with the root cause of the problems in this world being due to the actions of a very well hidden, very well protected elite that claims among its number my parents.” Deirdre leaned in close. “And I am in agreement that true peace will not come to the rest of the people of this world—however few that now might be—until those causing all of the ills are gone.” She folded her arms. “I am a human being, Miriam. And as a human being, I am instinctively resistant to the idea of executing my parents.” She let her head tilt to one side. “Would you kill your parents?”
“Perhaps.”
Deirdre snorted. “I am not asking if you’d vote for a candidate running against your father in an election, or to invest in a company that would serve as a major competitor to one your mother runs, Miriam. I am asking if you would look your parents in the eye, point a gun at them, and pull the trigger. And to do that again until you were certain they were dead by your hand, lifeless eyes staring up at you with nothing at all behind them.”
Miriam remained silent for a moment. She finally nodded, allowing a slight smile to crease her face. “I concede your point.”
“Thank you.”
“However…” Miriam held up her hand. “I do want to ask some questions to clarify the sentiments you’ve expressed.”
Deirdre frowned. “Sentiments?”
“Yes. You see, there are many… tasks to be completed in the upcoming war. Most involved in the battles to come will be limited in some fashion as to what they can do. In general, it’s a limitation stemming from a lack of ability, rather than… personal feelings. If you have limitation in relation to two of our thirty targets, but are able and willing to help with any of the others… well, that’s useful.”
“I am willing to—”
“However, if you will work to sabotage others’ efforts to, shall we say, complete what you are unable to start… that’s different. And not in a good way.”
“I don’t understand.”
“If you come across one of our people preparing to execute your parents, Deirdre… would you try to stop them? Would you shout out a warning, telling your father to hide or your mother to run?”
She felt her blood chill inside, almost felt her veins crackle. “I…I’m not…”
“What if you’re in the process of executing one of your targets… and one of your parents shows up? Could you continue? What if they plead with you to stop what you’re doing? What if they command you, as a parent to their child, to halt the execution? What then, Deirdre?”
“I’m not… I don’t…”
“You see our predicament, then. You are uncertain as to how you would behave in those scenarios. That hesitation, in actual battle, could mean the difference between victory and total defeat. I will not allow your indecision to lead to the deaths of my friends, Deirdre. Directly or indirectly.”
Deirdre opened her mouth, shut it, bit her lip, thinking. Trying to picture the scenarios Miriam had offered. She could come up with only one answer, and realized that she couldn’t lie well enough to convince this woman of anything but the truth. “I know what you want to hear. I can only tell you that I don’t know how I would react in those situations. I know I can’t do everything in this fight, but I am eager and willing to do what I can do. So… if I may, I would suggest we do everything possible to keep me away from where my parents might go, so as to minimize the chances of one of those scenarios occurring.” She paused, opened her mouth to say more, then decided better of it, opting instead to return Miriam’s emotionless stare.
Miriam watched Deirdre for an uncomfortably long moment. “Strategically, I agree with you. But strategy only works with perfect information and perfect foresight, something we lack in this scenario. We can send you somewhere we reasonably believe your father wouldn’t visit, and he might still appear.”
Deirdre frowned. “So… I’m not able to help?”
“Of course you are. You are as passionate about winning this war as anyone here, recent though your conversion to our side might be. You simply have mental blocks to specific sets of actions the rest of us lack. It is not for lack of trust in your intentions that I pose these questions, Deirdre, but to prepare you for what may come despite our best efforts.”
Deirdre tilted her head. “You… trust me?”
“I have every confidence that you will act in our best interest. But—”
“Wait.” Deirdre held up her hand. “I’ve been knocked out twice because you didn’t know my intentions, or because I said things that led you to believe I was a threat, or because you just didn’t want me to be able to find this place from the outside. Why are you now so… trusting?”
She caught Miriam’s eyes flicking to the side, away from the center of her face and eyes toward… her ears? “I am an excellent judge of character, Deirdre.”
Deirdre’s hand went to her hair, to the sticky substance caking the normally silky locks, and her mind made the connection between the sudden trust and the recent appearance of the gel-like material. Did that gel somehow let them read her mind? Judge her character? Assess her intent and motivations. She shivered. “I… see.”
Miriam chuckled. “Your skepticism is wise, but you have nothing to fear from us now, Deirdre. No more than we have to fear anything from you.” The serious face returned. “But good though your intentions are, we have identified a weakness, and in my ample experience, it’s best to ask the hard questions now to prepare the mind for what may happen, in the hopes that you’ll be prepared to act—rather than fail to act—in the future when chaos, not order, will rule the day.”
Deirdre considered this. They trusted her—what exactly was that hair gel, anyway?—and thus the questions now were meant, not to trap her in a lie, but to prepare her for an uncertain future. She met Miriam’s eyes and nodded. “I understand.”
“So I will continue asking questions that might make you uncomfortable now in order to prepare you to act and react in a manner in all of our best interests in the future.”
Deirdre nodded her understanding an assent.
“Would you act in a way that makes your parents unhappy with you?”
Deirdre snorted. “Welcome to the last several years of my life, where so much of my time was spent doing things I knew would displease him, anger him.” She paused. “Or, at least, doing things that I knew would make him mad if he found out.”
“I return to a previous question, then. You were acting, or so you probably thought, without your father’s knowledge, and I suspect without knowing your mother remained alive to be aware of your doings. You were comfortable acting in that circumstance. But what if your father shows up and scolds you, forbids you from carrying out your assignment? What if your mother shows up and puts herself between your weapon and your intended target? Will you still shoot? Or will you opt for the tearful reunion?”
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