by Gene Stiles
“Take the helm, First Mate,” Captain Thalassa commanded. “Keep her slightly to starboard, making as much headway as prudent. We do not wish to draw too much attention.”
“Yes, Sir,” Shuk responded, sliding into her place, one hand still on the wheel.
Thalassa climbed down to the main deck, checking on each crewman she met. Even in the dim glow of the deck lights, she could see the lines of worry, tinged by a mix of sadness and determination on their faces. She paused to give praise, thanks and words of encouragement to each man or woman aboard.
Thalassa was so very proud of the one hundred crewmen under her command. The crew was almost perfectly split in thirds of men, women and Izon. After discrete vetting, she learned that three quarters of her original crew were solidly on the side of the Izon and would do whatever was necessary. Of the rest, she had slowly replaced them with former Aam that wished to join her. Each one of them knew what dangers faced them…and what they were leaving behind forever.
After completing her rounds, the Captain made her way sternward to her quarters beneath the quarterdeck. Thalassa did not go in for luxury or frills. Everything in her cabin served a necessary function. Surveys and charts made by flights over the continent soon after the People had awakened, covered every wall. A deep cabinet comprised of individual bins stowed more charts to be accessed as needed. A seating area constituting of a long, lightly cushioned couch encircled by a scattering of matching chairs was near the tinted stern windows. Each were covered by cured, treated and dyed, pitch-black leather, a process and name recently created by the People. The treatment took animal hide, removed the fur, soaked it in a chemical bath and stretched it to dry. Once completed, it was cut and micro-stitched into the desired shape. The major advantage to leather was that it was warm and waterproof, making it ideal for ship use.
To the port side of the cabin was a small room, screened only by a sliding black leather curtain, was the Captain’s bedroom. Her bed was her only luxury. It was large enough for two, though she always slept alone, soft and covered with thick, warm blankets. Two large, soft pillows lay at the top. The only other thing in the room was a dark brown dresser holding her clothing changes.
A massive table took up the majority of the cabin, made of a single slab of dark brown wood, the top polished to a smooth, shiny finish. A huge column of the same polished wood, stained ebony, held the table up and, like all the furniture in the room, bolted solidly to the floor. Atop the table, maps spread out, held firmly in place by the gravity technology used by the People. The only remaining piece in the room, on the starboard wall, was a long, wide, wooden desk that took up the most of the remaining space.
Thalassa brewed a small pot of the sweet tea cultivated by the People then dropped heavily onto the couch, stretching out her long, muscled legs. The import of what they were doing weighed her down like a giant stone. Part of her would greatly miss Atlantis and the company of her People, yet, the city was not the place she knew anymore. Cronus and his Black Guard filled the city like an evil fog. Every citizen felt terrified that a misspoken word, overheard by their neighbor or a passerby would make them vanish from sight. Many had suffered that fate, never to be seen or heard from again. They moved silently about the streets shoulders hunched and eyes on the pavement under their feet or constantly watching those around them. The hope and promise of the Awakening was like a lost dream of the past, replace by mistrust and fear.
Their treatment of and attitude toward the Izon was beyond intolerable. Most, but not all by a long shot, looked down on the Clan, seeing them as mere useful, but smelly animals. They were to be barely tolerated and used in any task the People deemed necessary, a sentiment fostered and spread by Cronus and his ilk. Thalassa was so very glad so many had escaped.
Thalassa stared out of the wide aft windows, looking up at the starry night, seeking answers or wisdom she did not have. The Captain knew she was missing something important, something that would explain the horrible prejudice, injustice and burning hatred Cronus had toward the Izon. It was not at all like the man she once thought she knew. That man was kind, loving and just. He had a deep, abiding respect for all life and for all creatures great and small. What could have changed such a man so very much? No answers came out of the glittering night. She sighed deeply, wishing only for the quiet, peaceful, ocean waters to reach her bow as quickly as possible.
Her tumulus meditation was thankfully interrupted by Shuk’s gravelly voice over the com calling to her, “Captain, we are coming within sight of the outpost near the bay.”
“On my way,” Thalassa replied, pulling herself off the couch, heading for the bridge. She took a last sip at her warm tea then slipped out of her cabin.
Taking the helm, but leaving the ship’s wheel in hand of her First Mate. This was the last, most dangerous part of their journey. If an alarm had been raised in Atlantis, the plasma cannons in the fortifications in the settlement would cut them to pieces. If not, the Midnight Star would soon join the rest of the Star Fleet hidden in the vastness of the sea.
“Station men along the bulwarks to port. Have them keep a careful watch for overmuch activity,” Captain Thalassa ordered, her sharp, blue eyes sporadically shifting from her flickering screens to the outpost on their port side.
“Yes, Captain,” Shuk nodded, taking one massive paw from the wheel to relay the orders.
Thalassa could hear the tension in his voice. She felt the intense waves of tautness rolling over her from the deck crew like those of a roiling ocean. All would be won or lost in the next few moments. She left the throttles as Shuk had left them, the Midnight Star moving as quickly as prudent. The Captain wanted nothing more than to drive them forward, racing her ship past the menacing, formidable Aam out there to the welcoming arms of the deep-sea just beyond.
In what seemed like an endless crawl, the Midnight Star slowly passed the silent city. The Captain held her breath, trying to pierce the dark night for signs of overt, hostile activity. Minutes seemed like hours, dragging time and tensions out like the longest stretch of corded rope ever created. Yet the small city remained at rest, few lights glowing in the darkness of night. Her own ship was silent and chilling as a ghost brushing past your shoulder in a light breeze. ‘Maybe, just maybe,’ the Captain thought, her hand clenched on her levers, ready to slam them forward at a seconds notice.
No reaction came from that outpost when the ship passed into the waters of the sea. All stayed quiet and safe. Once past, the Captain eased the throttles forward ever so slowly, hurrying her beloved vessel and crew far out into the cold, but loving ocean waters.
“We have made it,” Captain Thalassa breathed aloud. Smiling for the first time since leaving the harbor. She flicked on her com and announced ship wide. “Stand down, my incredible crew. Thank you all. Please take five minutes to relax then report to your duty stations. We raise the sails.”
“We are safe,” she sighed. “Finally.”
She was never so very wrong.
Chapter XI
Cronus paced his office, restless from lack of sleep. Each night, his dreams filled with terrifying demons, open-mouthed, teeth dripping dark red blood, chasing him through endless forests of dead and withered trees, their limbs twisted as if in horrible agony. The demons had names, terrifying names that cut deep, liquid crimson gashes into his soul.
They were the names of his children.
Every day, Cronus tumbled deeper down a dark, rocky chasm permeated with fear and despair. His mind, slashed and torn, misted his every thought, making it hard to concentrate, difficult to see clearly. He desperately needed an outlet for the agony within, something to drive it away so he could think…and he had one.
Hate. Hate for anyone who opposed him. Hate for the People cowering in their homes instead of joining him. Growing hatred for all of the People who felt no gratitude for all he had given, all he had sacrificed for them. But, most of all, he hated the Izon, those filthy, malodorous beasts, which reminded him daily of w
hat the People became and what they could become again. Each time he re-read the Book, his agony, fear and hatred seethed and boiled within him. They must be eradicated from the face of the world, swept away as if they never existed, so the earth could be cleansed of their malady! His People would remain pure, free to repopulate the land only with those created in their own image.
To do that there must be children. Cronus felt tendrils, black and foreboding, tickling the corners of his mind, reaching out to contaminate his every thought. He struggled to push them back into the recesses from which they came. For the sake of the People, he must procreate, which meant he must bed Rhea at least once a month. She was his wife, no matter how many other women made flirtatious or sometimes graphic, straight out offers. Somewhere, buried beneath layers of malignant, cancerous terror and burning flames of hatred lay a gem of golden love cocooned safely away by a tiny, but brilliant blue light.
Rhea, his once greatest love, bequeathed him with three beautiful daughters. Hestia, so quiet and shy, her auburn hair fiery and wild, her emerald green eyes sparking in the sunlight, once filled him with joy never ending. That joy, now replaced with fear, gripped his heart like a frozen giant glove. Demeter, growing into a soft beauty, flowing flaxen tresses, as fair as ripened grain, cascaded down her back, swept away by the slightest breeze, once healed something inside him. Her sparkling blue eyes gleaming with love and humor, was so much like Rhea it made his heart ache. Hera, her little face angular and sharp, more handsome than beautiful, had tiny, thin lips that seemed always quirked with mischief and appeared most like him and it scared him to look upon her. Reddish yellow hair, rolling in waves over her shoulders, only seemed to highlight amber eyes that looked constantly around with intense intelligence. How Cronus hated those eyes. When she looked upon him, he could feel the distain and a cold reflection of his own hate burning just beneath.
Now there was another on the way. Would it be a girl child filled with even more hatred of him? If a boy, would he grow up to join him in his crusade or rise up to battle against him as Cronus had done with his own father? Would they find themselves locked in a golden-suited, deadly embrace, each striving mightily to kill the other? The mere question tortured him, awaking him with rivulets of lava covering his body, a vice of clammy, cold borithium tightening slowly around his soul.
“Cronus.” Iapetus stood just inside his doorway, massive arms crossed over his giant chest. “Forgive me the interruption. It is vital.”
For the briefest of moments, Iapetus felt a shiver of fear trickle down the length of his spine. Cronus glared at him like a feral murcat, teeth bared in a vicious snarl, about to rip into him with long, sharp claws. He held firm, not allowing the emotion to touch his face.
“Well?” Cronus demanded, piercing Iapetus with thunderbolt eyes. “What is it? Speak!”
Keeping his voice calm and measured, he replied, “The squad guarding the east side of the river have been found dead. It seems as if they died in a fight some hours ago.”
“What?” Cronus roared, striding toward him, fists clenched as if to strike. “Why was I not notified sooner?”
Mighty Iapetus nearly staggered at the fierceness of the words spat at him. With tremendous effort, he stood steadfast against the verbal assault, hoping beyond hope it would remain verbal. “Their relief arrived at dawn and found them as they were. They reported in immediately. The word was passed to me just seconds ago.”
“Was it the Izon?” Cronus bit the words out through gnashed teeth, lips twisted with fury. “Those vicious animals still roam freely within the valley. How is it you have yet to hunt them all down?”
“It was not the Clan.” Iapetus silently noted the use of ‘you’. “Those creatures could not have overwhelmed the Black Guard and there were none of their bodies found. This took great speed and efficiency. They were taken out by Aam.”
“Morpheus and his bitch, Haleah!” Cronus screamed back, eyes blazing like a proto-sun, resuming his pacing. “Why would he do this? Why?”
“Obviously he and the Izon are attempting escape down the boulevard. It is impossible. It is a long walk, even a fast one, to the outpost and the forest behind it. The Clan, caught in the brightness of day, would be spotted and picked off before they got halfway.”
“Then what?” Cronus stomped back and forth, fists clamped behind his back. His brow furrowed, icy eyes glared at the stone under his boots, expecting answers with each clomping step.
Iapetus knew the question was rhetorical so stood unmoving and quiet, awaiting the asking of his own opinion. He knew far better than to interrupt again while Cronus was in this state. He had seen it before. With each passing day, he watched with deep concern as his commander grew darker, driven by seething anger almost to the point of madness. He could not understand the torturous fear or the deep well of despair which sometimes slipped around the armor of his friend. With each child he sired, instead of being instilled with love, his daughters only seemed to trample Cronus down and down. Despite that, Iapetus stood steadfastly at his side. They were brothers in battle on Atlan. Cronus, at incredible personal expense, defeated his own father, Uranus, to free his people from the death of their world. He had brought all the People to this earth and breathed air into their lungs. Iapetus owed him his life…and his unwavering loyalty.
“Ships!” Cronus shouted, stopping dead in his tracks, fist slamming in palm. “Ships!” He spun around, stopped nearly chest to chest with Iapetus, yelling into his face. “What ships have left port during the night? Find out how many and which direction they took on the river. Where were they going? Cargo? Everything! Find out now! Now!”
“As you command,” Iapetus responded curtly, fighting the urge to sprint from the room, so glad he was to put as much distance as possible from Cronus. “Now!” was the scream at his back, propelling him forward, seeking safety beyond door slammed behind him.
Iapetus rushed through the halls of the Great Pyramid, toward the tall golden doors, his long, straight, pitch-black hair flying untethered behind him. Once in the brightness of day, he jumped on a sled stationed at the base of the stairs. Even though built for two men, the sled almost touched ground under weight of its passenger. Iapetus was one of very few of the People who could toss aside their Polaris-Belts and walk smoothly in the heavy gravity of this earth. Even at over seven foot tall, his shoulders were wider than two of most men. His colossal legs likened to tree trunks, his arms so massive he could lift two grown men, one in each hand.
In truth, Iapetus was using the gravity of Terra to increase his strength even more. He knew he was punishing his body, dropping into his bed each night, grateful he used a Polaris unit to keep it at Atlan normal. He did this not out of concern of the strain he experienced by end of day, but to let his muscles Heal overnight, to grow ever stronger the next day. He luxuriated in the pain, the growth of new power, as if defeating a new nemesis each day. Iapetus would never bow to his own weaknesses. Ever.
He rocketed through the city streets, bowling over anything in his path, parting crowds as if burning a swath with a Plasma-cannon. He ignored the screams, curses and carnage behind him, aiming straight for the Harbormaster’s offices. He would attend personally to this matter. There would be no miscommunications, no lag time in information. It also gave him time away from the Great Halls…and distance from Cronus.
Iapetus swung his sled to a stop on the soggy planks of the busy docks, scattering boxes and workers like leafs in a windstorm. He dismounted, his bulk slamming down, sending a surge through the wet wood as if a small earthquake had pulsed tremors underfoot. Moving swiftly down the main dock, he arrived shortly at the two-story structure at the end that housed the Harbormaster offices. The boards of the ladder to the upper floor groaned and a few cracked as he made his way to the lighted rooms above. He reached the top, shoving the door open with such force it bounced off a wall and slammed behind him.
“The Harbormaster!” Iapetus shouted. “Bring him to me at once!”
/> The dozen men at the consoles and coms, bolted upright, clicking their heels while snapping to attention. Two scurried down the back stairs, rushing to retrieve Pleistos.
The Harbormaster had heard the commotion above and was already on the move when they arrived. Pleistos nodded when his men arrived and hurried up the stairs, moving swiftly toward the Second of Cronus. Though the Harbormaster was tall, burly and well muscled from his time on ships and the docks, he felt small before the block of obsidian that stood before him. Still, he kept his voice calm, his back steady, stopping just a few feet in front of Iapetus.
“How may I help you, Second?” he replied.
“What ships left port last night? Where were they going and what were they carrying?” Iapetus commanded, muscles rippling, eyes black as midnight, glaring down at the Harbormaster. “Get the information and get it now!”
“At your command, Sir!” The Harbormaster spun, shouting orders to download names and manifests to storage immediately. A shiver ran down his spine, yet Pleistos moved with professional purpose, his ocean-green eyes glistening like gemstones in the glow of the screens in the control room. He pretended to search for information in the data displayed, waiting as the documents were transmitted to storage. When they arrived, he returned to Iapetus, placing a small, silver pyramid into the palm of Iapetus.
“Here is the list, Sir,” Pleistos stammered, handing the pyramid to Iapetus. He took a step back, locking his hands behind his back, his feet spread slightly and his head held high. Chipped jade eyes met flat ebony eyes and did not flinch.
Iapetus did not even glance at the pyramid, simply tucking it into his pocket. The deep, black pits beneath his brow glared at the Harbormaster, taking in the man’s stance and measure, noting the man’s unfaltering gaze. The Second beheld no fear or deception, yet he sensed more than saw a disquiet in the Harbormaster, something he could not put to rest.