The Seas of Time (A Love Across Stars Series Novel)

by Christine Castle

  At a corner, he watched as half a dozen men gathered at the base of a ladder and stood laughing and talking loudly. They all wore dark hoods that covered their heads and faces, and shirts made of the same fabric. One of them pulled his hood down his chin a bit so he could poke the mouth of a bottle through the mask’s opening to take a swig of amber liquid.

  “How much you think we’ll get for each of ‘em?” the shortest of the group asked.

  “The men or the women?” another said, and they all guffawed.

  Ballard’s heart lurched. Women? He told himself they couldn’t have taken the Alpha women. Talia and the others wouldn’t have let these men into their barracks.

  Another man swiped the bottle from the one who’d been drinking, sending an arc of booze spraying onto the floor, and tipped it to his own mouth. He finished it off and tossed it to the floor, where it bounced to the wall next to a few other empty bottles. Ballard squinted. The bottles looked familiar.

  The men disappeared up the ladder, and Ballard ran forward to retrieve a bottle, and then retreated back around the corner. The label on the bottle had no words, just the silhouette of a leaping marlin, its tail curled and its long pointed nose aimed at the sky.

  Black Marlin.

  The stuff was a potent mix of alcohol and other substances, tailored to be extremely addictive based on his people’s physiology. It lowered inhibitions and caused extreme aggression, and after years of abuse, it eventually led to muscular tremors and madness. A dangerous—and very illegal—liquid drug.

  The identity of the group behind Black Marlin had been the stuff of colony legends for decades. Just because these men were drinking it didn’t mean they were associated with the dealers who made and sold it. If they were, though, they were backed by a drug empire’s wealth. And even if they weren’t, they’d be very violent under the influence of the amber liquid.

  Ballard backtracked a couple of turns and headed toward the Echo women’s barracks. He rounded a corner and stopped, his stomach contracting into a ball of ice. The door was wide open and the light inside spilled out into the corridor. He was too late. He pressed his mouth into a grim line, holding in the string of curses running through his head.

  He left the rifles tipped against the wall and went to make sure the barracks were empty. One glance inside the disheveled room told him the women were gone. He cursed under his breath and slammed one palm against the doorway. Then he turned, grabbed the rifles, and ran back the way he’d come. If he could make it to the Alpha women’s barracks, he could hide Talia and the others somewhere else. It might buy some time, at least.

  When he neared the Alpha barracks, the sound of voices forced him to slow down and then stop. His heart jumped into his throat. The raiders were already there. Leaving the two rifles on the floor along the wall, he took a pistol from his belt, flattened himself to the floor, and crept forward to look. Five masked men stood there, each of them well-armed.

  “Give me that, you idiot.” One of them snatched a key from another and boxed the guy in the ear with his open palm. He waved the key in front of the lock pad. The mechanism made a soft click, but the door wouldn’t open. Talia and the other women must have figured out how to bar it from the inside. Ballard couldn’t assume that the barricade would hold up to a beating, though, and the men looked burly enough to break through the hull if they put their minds to it.

  If he could shoot quickly, he might be able to take out at least a couple of the raiders before they realized what was going on. While Black Marlin ramped up aggression, it also worsened coordination and slowed reflexes, so at least he had that working in his favor.

  He reached back for one of the rifles and checked to see that it was loaded. Slowing his breath, he aimed through the sight. In quick succession, he hit three of the raiders with a single shot to each masked head. His fourth shot went wide, and before he could fire a fifth, the others were charging his direction.

  Ballard dropped the rifle and sprang to his feet, reaching for one of his pistols. He fired and hit the lead raider in the gut. When he collapsed, the other one started to hurdle over his buddy’s body. Midway, he tripped and went down too, and Ballard’s shot flew over the man’s masked head. He stayed down and pulled out his own gun.

  Ballard fired another shot, but then the pistol clicked ineffectually—jammed. He dove around the corner and pulled another pistol from his belt, then tipped his head around for a quick glance so he’d know where to aim. Sighting down the pistol, he moved out into the corridor.

  But the fifth raider was nowhere in sight. The first three Ballard had shot were still on the floor, and the fourth was curled around his stomach, groaning. When he realized Ballard was standing only a few yards away, the man grabbed his own pistol and aimed. Ballard’s hand moved reflexively, taking aim and firing, and he finished off the injured raider with a two quick shots.

  Ballard went back for his two harpoon rifles, and then went to the door of the Alpha women’s barracks. “Talia, it’s Ballard! You need to get out of there.” The door swung open to reveal Talia’s tense face and several of the other women huddled behind her. “One of the raiders got away. They know you’re here, and now they know I’m here too.”

  “What about the Echo women?” Talia asked as she began to lead the others out.

  Ballard shook his head, his chest tightening. “The raiders had already found them.” The look on Talia’s face made him feel even worse, though she tried to quickly mask her reaction.

  She came to stand by him while the rest of the women filed out of the barracks. She touched his arm and looked up with wide, sincere eyes. “I know you tried. We will get them back home.”

  He nodded once, appreciating her determination, but couldn’t help wondering what atrocities the Echo women would suffer at the hands of the raiders.

  He spoke quickly to the Alpha women. “We need to move fast, but stay very quiet. If we come upon anyone, take cover if you can.” He didn’t wait for responses but turned and set off at a fast pace.

  He’d been mentally running through the layout of the sub, considering where the women should hide, and thought he knew the spot. The torpedo room was on a lower level and far from the Alpha barracks. The raiders had no reason to go there unless they were searching for someone. And if the raiders had to search the entire sub, it would take some time to get to the torpedo room.

  He knew it would be colder in the torpedo room than in the stuffy barracks, so he took the women past the “laundry”—actually just a storage area with some old crew uniforms—and quickly piled jumpsuits into the arms of Talia and two other women.

  When Ballard rounded a corner and came face-to-face with two masked raiders, a couple of the women screamed as he fired before the raiders could fumble their weapons into position. He paused only long enough to pull a mask and a short-sleeved black shirt off one of the raiders. The mask and shirt hid a man’s two most identifying characteristics: his face and his torso tattoos. They might come in handy later.

  He picked up speed, going as fast as the women could keep up. Ideally, they’d stop for canteens and food. But there was no time for small luxuries right now. The women had been supplied with water in the barracks, so they should be able to last at least a few hours. It was more important to conceal themselves before any more raiders surprised them.

  Along the way, Ballard swiped the keys over random lock pads. If the raiders were split up into smaller groups, Ballard was banking on the guess that most of them wouldn’t have a key and therefore wouldn’t be able to open the locked doors. Lots of locked doors should slow down their search for him and the Alpha women.

  When they finally reached the torpedo room, Ballard hurried the women inside. Talia found a light switch and they began searching for objects to bar the door, which didn’t have any kind of locking mechanism on the inside. The torpedo room had been converted to storage, and the empty torpedo stows were made up to be used as extra bunks.

  Ballard found an old me
tal trunk and tipped it on its end. It fit under the door handle, the end of the trunk preventing the handle from swinging down and unlatching the door. He spotted a stack of extra torpedo tracks in one of the torpedo cradles and grabbed two of them. It took several seconds of maneuvering to work them around in the narrow space. Talia helped him brace the tracks across the trunk, with the tracks held in place by two more trunks that were propped against the ends of the torpedo racks.

  It would take a battering ram to get through the door.

  He caught her eye and she pushed her hair behind her ears, stretching her lips in a small smile. She’d taken her hair out of its braid, and her locks now cascaded in loose waves around her shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed a pretty pink, and she was panting a little from exertion. How she could look this lovely at this point was beyond him, but he allowed himself a second to admire her.

  And they were safe for the moment. He answered her smile with a grin.

  She’d dropped her jumpsuit to help him with the door. He picked it up and handed it to her, noticing that she was already shivering. “I’ve got to go back out there. There’s another sub coming, the one with the crews from the rest of the ascent ships.”

  She nodded. “That’s right. We were all supposed to be together on this one. You’ve got to warn them about the pirates.”

  His mouth quirked at the word she’d chosen. “Exactly.” He swept up the mask and t-shirt from the floor and held them up. “These might buy me some time if I run into more of the, uh, pirates. I’m going to head for the control and communications room and try to contact the other sub. Then I’ll come back here.”

  She was already turning her attention to the door, examining the setup they’d created. He gave a small nod of approval, realizing she was memorizing it so she’d be able to put it back exactly the way it was after he exited.

  She glanced at the rest of the women, who were pulling on their jumpsuits and exploring the narrow space, and then turned back to him. “I’ll stay close to the door,” she said. “When you come back, tap the door once and say my name.”

  Say my name . . . He’d gladly say her name over and over. He drew a sharp breath in through his nose and blinked hard a couple of times, trying to rein in his focus. He’d been almost three cycles with hardly any sleep, and his mind was starting to fog. If he didn’t get some shut-eye soon, he’d be useless.

  “Tell them they need to stay very quiet,” he said. “On my way back I’ll try to find some water and food. If they want to sleep, there should be more bunk mats in here somewhere that fit into the torpedo stows.”

  She’d pulled her lower lip in between her teeth while he was talking, and warmth sparkled in her eyes. “I suppose it would be inappropriate for me to kiss you before you go?” She blushed and breathed a soft laugh.

  He allowed himself a broad grin. “Probably.”

  “Damn,” she muttered, and returned his grin before she turned to move farther into the torpedo room.

  He watched her gather the other women around her, and then he shook out the less-than-fresh-smelling black garments. She quickly told them about Ballard’s plan. Then she and her friend—Janelle—joined him, and the three of them began dismantling the makeshift lock while Ballard pulled the shirt on over his head.

  Before they moved the trunk out from under the door handle, he pressed his ear against the cold metal. The mechanical sounds of the submarine’s systems reverberated through the door, but nothing else cut through the background hums and chugs. He faced the women and put his index finger to his lips to signal quiet, then slipped on the mask, adjusting it so he could see through the eye holes. Janelle hovered close by, ready to shove the trunk back under the door handle as soon as he stepped out, and Talia stood at the light switch.

  Ballard nodded at Talia, and she killed the lights. He quietly pulled the trunk back a couple of feet, pushed the door handle down, and cracked the door open. The corridor was empty.

  He had to leave the harpoon rifles behind—he hadn’t seen the raiders carry such weapons and wanted to look like one of them—but kept two of his pistols holstered to his belt. The belt could give him away, too, if any of the raiders were really paying attention, but the shirt covered most of it.

  He slipped out into the corridor and pulled the door closed behind him. He waited only long enough to hear the trunk bump against the door and then began navigating his way toward the control room. Wearing the mask made him edgy—it seemed to amplify the sound of his own breath in his ears, and it obscured some of his peripheral vision—but if he ran into a band of raiders, the shirt and mask were his best protection.

  When he came upon a couple of discarded bottles of Black Marlin, he scooped one up. Another piece to add to his disguise.

  The sub was like a sleeping beast, quiet except for the mechanical hums and vibrations and dark in many of the corridors where the lights had burned out.

  When he finally heard the sounds of raiders ahead, it was almost a relief from the silence and anticipation. Luckily, they were loud enough to give him plenty of warning. He paused, listening to the grunts and hollers and the sounds of bodies hitting the floor or banging into walls. He chanced a look around the corner and quickly counted about a dozen of them. It was impossible to get an accurate tally at a glance because the men were a writhing, brawling mass, swinging at each other or wrestling on the ground. More than one was bleeding, and a few had their masks torn off. They were probably all in a tanked-up Black Marlin fugue. Maybe some of the raiders were now off duty and wouldn’t be looking for him or the Alpha women. Or maybe they’d just gotten too plastered to continue carrying out any sort of organized assignment. He couldn’t imagine trying to coordinate and command a bunch of Black Marlin addicts.

  It was a good sign for the safety of the Alpha women. The only problem was, the con-comm room was just around the corner. Ballard needed to get down the corridor the raiders were using as their brawling ring, and there was no alternative route.

  He took a deep breath and pulled out one of his daggers, then pitched around the corner, walking unsteadily and waving the Black Marlin bottle around as if fighting to keep his balance.

  One of the men looked up from pummeling a guy and noticed Ballard. “You get lost, you stupid piece of waterlogged wreckage?”

  A few of the others paused what they were doing and turned to stare, too.

  “Aw, you missed me, isn’t that sweet.” Ballard slurred gruffly. He tipped the bottle to his mouth and pretended to drink the last of its contents, then tossed it over his shoulder. He let out a belch and then spread his arms wide and pitched unsteadily. “Look at this pile of festering whale turds!”

  Several of the men let out loud drunken laughs.

  “Hey, no blades!” one of the men hollered plaintively. “This is a civilized fight, you foul waste of air!”

  Ballard flipped the dagger over his shoulder too, hoping they wouldn’t notice the other weapons holstered to his belt. Only half the lights in this corridor were working, and the others were flickering intermittently. Between the poor lighting and the Black Marlin, the raiders shouldn’t be too attuned to details. He hoped so, anyway.

  He drew a deep breath, and then lunged forward a few steps and dove into the brawl, kicking one man in the chest and swinging at another. The men cheered and went back to socking each other. He threw a couple of sloppy punches that missed their marks in an attempt to blend in. Trying not to be obvious about it, he slowly made his way through the knot of smelly, sweating, moving bodies.

  Someone kicked him in the hip, and he grunted and pitched toward the edge of the group. By the time he’d reached the other end of the brawl, he’d been punched in the head and the ribs, had a raider jump on him and pull him over backward, and he’d been kicked and scratched too many other places to list. Many of the men seemed to be starting to lose their energy for the fight, and a couple were already sprawled on the floor, passed out.

  Now Ballard needed to break away. He pu
lled the nearest man up by the shirt and reeled back several steps, sidling toward the turn in the corridor that would be an escape to the con-comm room. Ballard wrestled with the guy, taking a few more steps back. When Ballard was within arm’s reach of the corner, he pulled back and socked the raider in the jaw with all of his strength. The man’s knees buckled, and Ballard twisted the man’s mask around on his head to obscure his line of vision. Ballard let the man fall to the floor and then darted around the corner.

  Ballard sprinted to the con-comm room, fumbling for the keys. He waved the keys at the lock pad, jerked the door open, and used the keys on the interior pad to lock himself in.

  He stood with his back against the door, breathing hard. Sweat dripped down his temples from the exertion of fighting his way through the raiders. He was a little banged up, but he’d made it. He pulled off his mask and sat down at one of the consoles.

  He had only the most basic training on the communication system, but so many things on the modified sub were automated, he just had to find the right protocols. He tapped the screen, scanning for protocols and instructions for contacting another sub. Finally, he found the emergency communication protocol. He punched at it.

  Clearance Code Required to Proceed

  He stared at the screen, completely blanking.

  Balling his hands into fists, he let out a frustrated growl. “What good is an emergency protocol if you need a secret code to use it?” he muttered.

  He propped his elbows on the console and puffed his cheeks with a long exhale, trying to think. The keys? He picked them up and waved them at the screen. Nothing. He tried again, pressing the keys against the screen and then passing them over all the surfaces of the console, but the monitor didn’t change.

  He gripped and turned the keys around in his hands. There was something on the inside of one of the rings. He held it up near the light of the screen.