“Weird,” I echoed. “Well, at least it’s not a bad thing.”
Sweat beaded on the back of my neck, and the slight touch of her chest against mine sent tingles down my legs. Only Chelsea’s hands separated us now. My pulse thundered in my ears, made sounds feel like they had to wade through cotton balls to get to my brain. Her fingers played with the chest pocket of my uniform. Goosebumps road up my arms at her touch.
“No, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s not at all bad. It’s just weird. Like, I can’t feel Helen, despite the fact we’re supposedly both descended from Atlanteans. But you”—she tapped my chest once—“you’re different.”
Was it because I was Lemurian? Or because of that connection she and I supposedly shared? The words, “Well, I hope I feel good,” tumbled from my mouth.
Are you fucking kidding me?
A snort emitted from Chelsea’s nose, but she kept her face straight—for like a brief moment, before the corners of her mouth twisted up, and she laughed deep and loud. It was, hands down, the best sound I’d ever heard.
“God, I love you,” she said. “Hilarious, and you don’t even know it. Or mean it.”
She gave me a compliment in there somewhere, but my idiot brain repeated its idiot actions and focused in on one word, and one word only. Love.
She cocked her head to the side with narrowed eyes, lips quirking. She stumbled back on her words. “I mean, not like love, love, just like… love.” She punched my chest lightly. “Like, ‘oh you, love you and your craziness.’”
She paused and looked up at me, her eyes searching mine. For what, I wasn’t sure, but the light caught them just right, and, in a single second, I was mesmerized. Possibly for life. She’d never stop being this beautiful, and I never wanted her to stop being this close. Warmth bounced between us, piggybacking on the goose bumps I got every time she touched me.
I shoved my hands in my pockets, afraid of what I might do—not because I didn’t want to kiss her, touch her back. But because I wasn’t sure what signals just got the hell mixed up.
“Trevor?”
“Hmm?”
She snapped her fingers in front of my face. “You there?”
“Yeah.”
She licked her lips. “Don’t be mad.”
“Mad?” How could I possibly be mad? “I’m not. You, uh, you caught me off guard. Like you always seem to do.”
Her eyebrows rose playfully, her free hand moving to her hip. She still had one hand fisted in my shirt from the thwack she’d given me while retrieving her foot from her mouth. “Good thing?”
I scrunched my forehead, pretending to really give it a good, long thought. Her mouth opened, offended by my debate. Good. Give me the upper hand for once.
“I guess so,” I said, finally.
“You guess so?” she asked, biting her lip.
My eyes zeroed in on the action, like she was freaking daring me to kiss her rather than jump on it herself. Seriously? Dare it was, then.
“I mean, normal is pretty boring,” I said. “So is predictability.”
I leaned in closer to her, running the back of my knuckles lightly up her arm. Her breath came in quick puffs as my fingers trailed over her shoulder to her chin. I cupped her warm cheek and lowered my head toward hers, my pulse punching in my chest. This was it. The moment that’d change everything.
“I kind of like how you’re always three steps ahead of me.” I leaned in closer still, hovering just above her lips and said, “Not many can claim that title.”
Her fist tightened around my shirt and her eyes met mine. “Challenge accepted.”
She closed the gap between us. Her mouth on mine felt like the first breath after a deep dive. It lit a fire inside of me, released a pressure on my lungs I didn’t know existed. That freedom burning feeling I’d had the first time I saw her at the Franklin rushed me, washed me over with warmth and life. I cupped the back of her neck, adjusting the angle of the kiss. She slid her arms around me, pressing me to her, holding me there like she was afraid to let go.
So was I. I didn’t want to leave this moment. Time hung around us as her tongue caressed mine and she pressed her fingers into my back. She gripped the front of my shirt and walked me back against a shelf. Items tumbled to the ground but neither of us moved to pick them up.
My radio blared to life. I jumped as the screech echoed off the walls.
“Boncore, pick the hell up already.” Dave’s voice. I hadn’t even noticed it went off the first time.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I breathed. Asshole.
Chelsea snorted. A laugh exploded from her lips. I laughed right along with her.
“Seriously, Trevor. Pick up,” Dave said again.
I depressed the TALK button, reaching behind me for the door handle. “Yeah. I’m here.”
“Engineering. Now.”
Chelsea rolled her eyes as we stepped out of the supply closet with drooped shoulders.
“Yeah,” I said. “Literally here. Give me a minute.” I shut off the radio and reached for her arm. “Sorry about that.”
She shrugged, smiling. “It’s okay. Go save Engineering.”
I felt like that’s all I ever did.
Chelsea
ne month later.
y radio sprang to life, interrupting my amazing guitar riff. I tutted at the radio. It was hard enough writing new music while I was here, forget being constantly interrupted. The radio chirped again, demanding I answer.
“Danning,” I said, finally.
“This is Captain Marks,” he said on the other end, a slight hitch of something audible in his words. “We’ve found something I want you to look at. Could you please come to the Bridge?”
“Of course.”
What’d they find? I set the radio aside and placed my sapphire blue guitar on its stand. I tugged on the top half of my uniform and zipped it up. Butterflies dashed laps in my stomach as I departed the Lift on the Bridge’s Level. If what they’d found was something they wanted me to see, the find had to be big.
The Bridge doors opened. The Commander stood on the other side, his hands pressed behind his back. “Welcome back to the Bridge, Chelsea.”
I flashed him a grin and joined Captain Marks in the center of the Bridge. I hadn’t been up here since I met Christa. The Captain greeted me with a nod, then addressed an officer typing furiously at a station toward the front of the Bridge. “Ensign Olivarez, could you please put the structure on-screen for Ms. Danning?”
“Aye sir,” Ensign Olivarez said. The name wasn’t familiar, but I hadn’t met many of the senior staff.
“What is it?” I asked the Captain.
My eyes caught Trevor at his station and Lieutenant Weyland standing guard in a corner. Trevor smiled and waved, launching my heart into somersaults, churning the butterflies with giddy, erratic thoughts.
“I hoped to get your impression first so it’s an unbiased view. We’re currently in the Sargasso Sea, much to Helm’s dismay,” Captain Marks said, looking over to his helmsmen. “Even with a SeaSatellite’s design, it isn’t very safe for us to be here, but this find is large.”
“Why?” I asked.
“The Sargasso Sea is full of seaweed. It blocks up the engines and can hold us down for too long,” Ensign Olivarez explained as he placed the external camera’s view onto the center of the three main screens.
The reason they’d wanted an unbiased opinion became immediately apparent. Unfortunately, I didn’t think I could give it to them. The structure, or, rather, the remnants of one, stood out even in the clutches of seaweed. Writing covered the roof, like a banner or a sign, but I couldn’t make it out, much less translate it. I didn’t know what I was looking at or why they thought I, a recent graduate, would. But the name ‘Sargasso Sea’ did ring a bell, nagging and high-pitched.
“Huh,” I said.
The building was Greek, judging by the architecture. That’s all I could surmise, and, because of that, it being here didn’t ma
ke sense. Our depth and location in the mid-Atlantic didn’t correlate to Greece in any way.
“What are your thoughts?” Captain Marks asked.
“Honestly? I don’t know what to think. It looks Classical.” Even though that didn’t make sense. Then the bell regarding the Sargasso Sea chimed again, spilling its secrets. Oh, hell no. I turned away from the screen and met the Captain’s gaze. “What you’re thinking, it’s not right.”
“That’s why we wanted an unbiased opinion,” he said with a little nod, either to patronize me or suggest I’d be stupid not to accept his hypothesis.
Too bad I didn’t care.
“That’s not possible. You wanted me here because you know I’ve done research on Atlantis.” But that didn’t make this structure Atlantean. This was not Atlantis. Denial bloomed in my chest and hands, wringing them until it budded refusal. “No.”
“Plato’s story places the city here, or closer to North America,” Ensign Olivarez cut in.
I pivoted my feet and faced him. His brown eyes glinted with surety. He wanted so desperately to be right. Tough luck.
“If it even existed, which it didn’t,” I said. There’s no way in hell Atlantis was real. It’s supposed to be a story, nothing more. But Helen’s research…
“Then what are we looking at?” Captain Marks asked.
My eyes darted to the screen. What did they want me to tell them? “We’re looking at a building that shouldn’t be here.” It was the only conclusion to make.
Ensign Olivarez chimed in, saying, “Readings suggest the building has air in it, probably thanks to the way it fell into the ocean. If we bring oxygen tanks until we can confirm the air is safe to breathe, we could take a quick look inside, Captain.”
If only we could x-ray it to make sure an expedition like that would be worth it. “Who’s to say the structure’s even pressurized?” I asked.
Ensign Olivarez shrugged. “I can’t explain it, but everything here says the main chamber is, in fact, pressurized. Air tight.”
Captain Marks’s fist rose to his mouth as he thought it over. He turned to me. “Do you think you could get a better idea of what we found if we sent a party over?”
Well, hell, I didn’t know. This was so far above me. But I was hired to do exactly this, so how could I say no? And if he wanted to send people over, he must not think it was dangerous. In which case, I so wanted in. “Yes. But I want to go.”
“We’ll send over a party first to make sure it’s safe. Weyland, you’ll lead it. Take Lieutenant Commander Jackson, Ensign Olivarez, and a contingent with you. Secure the area and make sure it’s actually as pressurized as the Ensign believes.”
As Captain Marks spoke, officers stood and replacements took their seats. Everyone moved with a fluidity I hadn’t seen before. I had to keep moving an inch or two around in a tiny circle to stay out of their way.
Captain Marks regarded me. “If it’s safe, Dr. Gordon will go with you. Go meet with her, and she’ll go over our landing procedures. Trevor, you go, too.”
Trevor stood from his station with a nod and removed his headset. “Come on,” he said, slipping his hand into mine. “Let’s go.”
Dr. Gordon outfitted me with a wetsuit and a headset radio like the Bridge officers wore. We followed a science contingent to Shuttle Dock. I couldn’t keep still on the Lift ride over. I held onto a handhold instead of sitting, bouncing on the balls of my feet and throwing my shoulders into a tiny dance as a tune hummed its way passed my lips. This wasn’t Atlantis, couldn’t be Atlantis, but it was cool. More importantly, this find was everything I’d ever dreamed of doing—and it was nice to get away from practicing teleportation, for a change.
There was always the possibility we wouldn’t find a single thing—like with any archaeological site—but the prospect of it being a complete failure didn’t remove the thrill. Surprisingly, I missed being in the field almost as much as I missed playing on stage.
“You look like you’re going to explode with excitement,” Trevor said, grinning.
I beamed at him. My heart fluttered as his grin reached his eyes. His blue irises danced like ocean waves in sunlight. After too long for my antsy brain to handle, we paired up to leave the shuttle, mocked up in wetsuits and scuba gear.
Trevor came up beside me. “Have you been diving before?”
“A long time ago as a kid in a ten-foot-deep swimming pool.”
He exhaled a quick breath and smiled. “Right, so no.”
He went over the basics and tugged at my suit straps so the oxygen tank fit tighter—a good thing, as him being this close swept all the air out of my lungs. My arms prickled with goose bumps as his fingers brushed my neck.
“You don’t want your tank to go anywhere,” he said.
I didn’t want him to go anywhere. “Thanks.”
He smiled, his fingers lingering. “Anytime.”
My eyes fell to his lips, and I wet my own. Damn these people being around. I could sneak just one kiss, right?
Officers ushered us into the small dive pool before I could make a move, and we swam into the structure. I pulled myself out of the water, once we entered the room with the largest air pocket, and set the vest and tank aside. Not until I took off my goggles and pulled them down around my neck did I see the sheer splendor of the area. My breath caught in my throat, and my heart fluttered with butterflies of a whole new kind. I was so worried we wouldn’t find anything; I hadn’t given a single thought to the exact opposite.
Trevor nudged my arm with his elbow, smiling. Only he could make a wet scuba suit look this hot. It hugged his fit form, snug around his muscles. “You might want to shut your mouth sometime soon.”
Mouth closed, I stood up and got a better view.
I’d been wrong about the Greek-style architecture, but what I was looking at, I had no idea. Graceful, wide arches stood with detailed, decorated columns marked with script—the weirdest mix of ancient art styles I’d ever seen. My eyes danced over the artwork strewn along the walls, a colorful, confusing mixture of frescos, reliefs, and paintings from a myriad of different eras. I had no other choice but to believe them all real and oddly familiar.
The muscles in my fingers tensed like they did when a surge of inspiration lit up my body. It shone a light into my mind that marked the way home. It urged me to move, to act, to grab a hold of this feeling and use it now.
But nothing lessened the puzzle of this place. The only other time in history I could think of something on this level happening was the Library of Alexandria—but those were books, not art. I mean, books lined the walls here too, but the sheer amount of sculptures, statues, and other art pieces and artifacts vastly outnumbered them. And the smell—musty, humid, but somehow also clean.
This wasn’t possible. This was not possible at all. Moreover, a wave of nostalgia punched me in the gut, like when you walk into your childhood home you don’t remember having lived in, but know, from your parents, that you did. You walk in and, instantly, you just know.
I’d clearly never been here before, but something—some part of me—sure made it felt like I had.
The Captain started to say something along the lines of, “So what do you think?” for quite possibly the eighth time in the last hour. I stopped listening as my eyes found the one oddity in the room that stood out amongst the others.
“Chelsea?” Captain Marks asked.
The rectangular chunk of black, reflective rock resting ten feet away seized my attention, demanding every stare and breath. The light in the room bounced off the relief in shimmering echoes, like a mirage on a road in the summer. Like waves reflecting sunlight.
The relief depicted a set of malnourished Egyptian figures with elongated heads and frumpy bellies, and with the wrong Egyptian god as the center of attention. It was the most distinctive thing in the room, especially to this archaeologist who loved Ancient Egyptian history.
I unzipped my wetsuit, shrugged off the sleeves, and demanded gloves from the clos
est science personnel. Someone handed me a pair, and I ambled over to the artwork. I lifted the relief carving off the mantle it rested on and inspected it, still unconvinced this wasn’t a dream.
“One of these things is not like the others,” I sang. To the Egyptian art piece in my hands I said, “You shouldn’t be here.”
Trevor came up beside me and peered at the object.
Captain Marks asked the question first. “What is it?”
“An Amarna period Ancient Egyptian relief,” I whispered, not wanting to disturb the piece’s submerged slumber. “Captain, I don’t know what we’ve found, but in the interest of preserving this site until we do, I’d suggest we keep this a secret.”
“Meaning what exactly?”
“Don’t report this.” I ran a gloved finger over the glazed ridges. It seared warmth into my hands in a good way—wild, pure, and warm. A magnetic force glued my hands to the piece.
“Why?” Captain Marks asked.
“Because we’ve stumbled across something that shouldn’t exist,” I told him, holding up the Amarna period piece in my hands. I displayed the artifact for all to see and met the Captain’s eyes. “This clearly isn’t a hoax, and there are easily hundreds of priceless ancient artifacts in here. That alone is worth protecting. But this”—I moved the Amarna piece for emphasis—“this shouldn’t be here. When Akhenaten died, the Egyptians erased what they could of his effects on Ancient Egyptian history because of all the things he’d done. Amarna, the city he’d founded, was abandoned, his statues destroyed. Obviously some of it survived since we know about it, but this…”
I looked down at the relief. “Everything, to my knowledge, that we have from this period is… not this pretty, for lack of a better word. Nothing we have is this well taken care of or created in such a rich stone. If this piece sat here throughout the Amarna period, it would’ve been destroyed. And even if the Egyptians hadn’t destroyed it, this wouldn’t have been displayed on a mantle like a prize.”
“What’s the bottom line?” he asked.
“I don’t have one. At least not yet.” Like I’d said before, the sheer number of artifacts here demanded we lock the site down. Preserve and protect it. Beyond that… I didn’t know. “Look, Captain, if we were closer to the Mediterranean and in the right area, I’d say this was a section of the Library of Alexandria. But even that wouldn’t make sense. And, we’re in the middle of the Atlantic, inside the Sargasso Sea, way too far away from Egypt to—”
Gyre (Atlas Link Series Book 1) Page 13