by Conner, Jack
“I tol’ ya before, Doc. I’m gonna call Garvis Main.”
“A fight promoter? Surely—”
“’e’s the best man for the job. He’s tight with some of the cabinet. Tried to sign me on a time or two. He’ll talk to me.”
“Would he help us?”
“He might. With some incentive.”
“Fine, then. Promise him all the money he wants. We can get it later from one of your cash drops, if you don’t mind, assuming any are still there. Are any of your cash drops still around, do you think?”
Janx’s broad shoulders rose up and down. He had finished his bottle and opened a new one. His brief excursion on deck had evidently been the only levity he would allow himself. As he sipped, his eyes returned to their thousand yard stare, and Avery knew he would get no more out of the whaler tonight.
Too keyed up to sleep, Avery ventured to the officer’s mess two levels up, a small private mess hall complete with a bar in the corner, and ordered a glass of bourbon.
“Whatcha doin’?” said a voice from the shadows, and he glanced over to see Hildra nursing a beer. Hildebrand hunched on the table before her eating salted nuts.
Avery sat down across from her. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Don’t you normally drink with the whalers?”
“That’s where Janx drinks, and I normally drink with him. When I can keep up. But Barkeep—” she nodded to the man behind the bar, who nodded back—“was kind enough to let me sit and mope here, so here I am. Sometimes I like to drink alone.”
“I know the feeling.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Do you?” After a beat, she added, “I thought those days were over for you.”
“So did I.” He downed a sip and grimaced. In his mind’s eye, he saw the burning fires of Ethali. But he saw something else, too, something he was loathe to admit: Sheridan naked by candlelight, swishing her sword through the air.
“I’m worried about Janx,” he said.
“Changing the subject?”
He smiled. “I am worried about him.”
She scratched Hildebrand on the head, her fingernails scraping the fish scales where fur had been not long ago. “He and Mu were like brothers,” she said, her voice soft. “They went through a lot of shit together. I think ... I think Janx was still hopin’ that somehow Mu could be saved, that that bastard Uthua could be taken out somehow. But now, after putting a lance through him, even if Uthua could be taken out there’s no way Mu could survive, not with a hole in his heart.” She sighed and drained her beer. “Anyway. Life sucks. He’s lost friends before. He’ll come out of it.”
“Will he?”
She raised her hook, signaling the barkeep for another drink. “He better,” she said, and Avery could hear the emotion in her voice. It may have been his imagination, but he thought he saw something glisten in her eyes. When the drink arrived, she knocked back a long gulp, then belched. “Till then, though—well, sometimes he’s a bit much.”
Avery lifted his glass. “To Janx getting better.”
They clinked and drank.
“So,” she said, “back to you. Why’re you drinking alone? I know you used to do that a lot, but you’d come out of it, I thought. No more lush life for Doctor Francis Xavier Avery.”
He killed his drink, waved at the barman, and was soon served another.
“Maybe not,” he said, somewhat rueful.
“Fuck, bones, you saved the world. Well, helped.”
“Did I? Or did I damn it?”
“Bullshit. That’s not why. Oh, maybe that’s part of it, but there’s another reason you’re here, too, and it’s between the legs of a certain bitch whore of hell a couple levels down.” With sudden fire in her voice, she said, “You’re either tryin’ to drown that thought out or gearin’ yourself up to do somethin’ about it. Which is it, bones?”
He blinked. “I ...”
“Well?”
Slowly, he sat his glass down. His fingers were trembling. He wanted to defend himself, even tell her to mind her own damn business, but he held his tongue.
“Well?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe it’s time I found out.” He laid some bills down on the counter and stood.
“Holy shit,” she said, looking up at him. “You’re really going to do it? I take it back.”
“Well, if it’s a choice between that or hearing myself psychoanalyzed some more, I think I’ll take the first one.”
A dark look crossed Hildra’s face. “If you’re gearin’ up to do anything, bones, it better be to strangle that bitch.”
“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”
Five minutes later, he paused outside that certain door, the guard just outside it looking at him questioningly, and summoned his courage to knock. Sheridan didn’t respond, and at first he thought he’d missed her, or that she’d gone to sleep already, or was simply ignoring him, but then the door opened, revealing Sheridan with her auburn hair and slightly squared chin, the scar over her eyebrow.
She eyed him for a moment, and he felt the hairs rise on his arms. Does she really have that much power over me?
“Come in,” she said, and he did, closing the hatch behind him.
“Thank you,” he replied, for lack of anything better to say. Sheridan was dressed only in undershirt and panties, and the confines of her cabin seemed suddenly very small. He could smell her, all canvas and sweat and shampoo. She must have recently taken a shower, though her hair was dry. There was still that smell of soap and clean skin.
She reclined on her bed and patted the spot next to her. In one hand she held a glass of wine. Ignoring the offer, he perched on the opposite bunk.
“Would you like a drink?” she said. He studied the nearby bottle. “Given to me by the captain himself,” she elaborated, “in gratitude for the squid. He even offered me a cut of the proceeds. I declined.”
“How altruistic of you.”
“I think I have another glass around here somewhere.”
“I’ve had enough.”
“Afraid of losing your inhibitions, Doctor?” She gave a slow smile and lay back, propping herself up with one elbow. “Or have you already lost them? Is that why you’re here?”
Sweat popped out on his brow. “Don’t,” he said.
She seemed to let her mask down, just a bit, watching him with a strange vulnerability. “Why else would you be here?”
“How’s your wound? I haven’t checked it in days.”
She pulled back her thin white shirt, revealing a smooth flat belly with a bandage just under her ribs. The bandage was much smaller now than it had been. As she moved the shirt, it cupped one of her breasts so perfectly that he could see the nipple.
He swallowed.
“Don’t you want to check it?” she said. She sat the glass on her nightstand and reclined all the way. Her legs looked very long, muscular and shapely.
“No,” he said, “I don’t want to check your bloody wound.”
She replaced the shirt. “Then why did you come?”
Drown it out, Avery heard Hildra say. Drown that fucker out!
“What do you know about the Starfish?” he said.
“Why should I know anything?”
“You refused to come to port that day.”
She shrugged. “I felt ill.”
“You looked just fine.”
She crossed her legs, slowly. “How do I look now?”
“Jessryl.”
“It’s ‘Sheridan’ now, I thought.”
“Damn you, just tell me what you know. You’re going into custody—”
“As are you.”
“—and the truth will come out.” He forced himself to take a breath. “Please, Jess ... Sheridan ... the Starfish has destroyed three islands already. Hundreds of thousands must have died.”
“Millions.”
Gods. “Perhaps. So you see—”
“Because you activated the Device.”
“Jess—Sherid
an—”
“Even after I told you what would happen if you did.” Anger flashed across her face. “You did this. The Starfish—all of it—you did it. All those millions, you may as well have killed them yourself.”
Though her words only confirmed his own thoughts, for some reason he found himself denying them:
“That’s absurd.”
“Then why else are you here, unless it’s because you feel so guilty about what you’ve done that you would even brave the bedchamber of the notorious Admiral Jessryl Sheridan—”
“That’s not why—”
“Then why?”
They glared at each other, and Avery felt his face grow hot.
“Well?” she demanded, a challenge—though to do what he didn’t know. Did she want him to take her in his arms and ravage her? Slap her? Spank her? What did he want?
“What are you waiting for?” she asked.
“That is an excellent question.”
He left her, having to restrain himself from slamming the hatch closed behind him. He lingered in the hall for a minute, catching his breath, half expecting her to come after him, not because he wanted her to but because he didn’t know where else to go. He’d feel idiotic returning to the bar, but he didn’t know if he could sleep, and he had had enough of the outdoors for one evening. With no other option appealing, he returned to his and Janx’s cabin, readied himself for bed and, finally, slept.
Some hours later, screaming woke him.
Chapter 4
Avery sat up blearily, confused and nauseous with the stink of stale cigarette smoke. Somewhere Janx snored in the dark. A bottle clinked, rolled off the bed and clattered to the floor.
More sounds spilled in from outside. Voices. Running feet.
Blinking, Avery sat up and flipped on the light. Janx didn’t so much as twitch. Avery threw on clothes and stepped outside. Sailors pounded down the hall and around a bend, and he moved after them. Around the corner a group had formed around something, and people were calling for a doctor.
They parted for Avery, and when he saw what it was they’d gathered around his breath caught in his throat. The body of a man lay on the floor, throat slashed, blood pooling around him. His legs still kicked, and his eyes rolled in their sockets, but Avery instantly saw there was nothing that could be done for him. Well, almost nothing.
He knelt beside the man and held his hand. The man squeezed back, but, gradually, as blood pulsed from his wound, the pressure slackened until at last the hand dropped away, and, by the time the paramedics arrived with a cot to take him to the infirmary, he was gone. It wasn’t until the body was almost out of sight that Avery realized something.
“Wait.” He rushed back to the dead man for a closer look.
“What is it?” one of the paramedics asked.
Turning to two nearby officers, Avery explained, and they agreed. Sheridan’s room was searched, yielding the results Avery had expected.
“The captain,” he said. “Take me to him quickly.”
The officers escorted him to the bridge, where Avery breathlessly told Captain Greggory what had happened.
“Are you sure?” Glowing screens blinked in the dark room behind the captain. The sea heaved and crashed through the great windows, and lightning flickered up from the waters to the east.
“I’m sure,” Avery said. “These men will confirm it.”
“It’s true, sir,” one of the officers said. “It was Melvins, the one tasked with watching that—woman.”
“Sheridan,” Avery said. “He was Sheridan’s keeper. He was different from the one on duty a few hours ago—they must have switched shifts—and at first I didn’t recognize him.”
“We searched her room,” the second officer said. “She’s gone.”
A sailor burst in, panting against his face-plate. Water dripped from his environment suit from where he’d just sprayed himself off in the buffer chamber. “Captain, there’s a boat missing. Someone’s abandoned ship.”
Avery swore. But I just saw her hours ago. In fucking panties!
“It’s her,” he said. “She’s slipped the net.”
The captain made a fist of one gloved hand. He wore most of an environment suit, but without the helmet, to enable him to move outside at an instant’s notice. Avery had entered the command deck through interior routes and didn't wear an environment suit, and he admired the captain for being able to tolerate one of the hot, bulky things for hours at a time. Greggory may not keep the neatest ship, but he was dutiful.
“Radar,” the captain said, addressing those tasked with monitoring the radar screens. “Report. There should be a boat making away.”
They analyzed their readings tensely.
“She’s mad,” the captain said, while the rest of them waited. “Out there on a night like this! She’ll die if she’s lucky.”
Thunder erupted from port, along with a flash of lightning so bright Avery had to mash his eyes against it.
“Sir,” said one of the radar operators, “we’re reading her. She’s bearing east by northeast.” He read off the bearing.
To the helmsman, the captain said, “Make it so.” To Avery: “Any idea what her game is?”
Before Avery could answer, another sailor entered. “Major Rowlings is dead, sir. He was just found in the crow’s nest. Throat opened ear to ear.”
“Shit!” The captain slammed his hand against a wall, then wheeled to Avery. “I never should have taken you lot aboard.”
To the newly arrived sailor, Avery said, “What’s in the crow’s nest? Radio equipment?” Duplicate radio equipment was often kept high so that the signals would not be drowned out by interference from the sea. When the sailor confirmed it, he said, “So she sent off a message before she left.”
“To whom?” Greggory said.
Avery had no answer. Greggory dismissed the sailor and frowned thoughtfully, staring out at the dark vastness of the ocean. Red-glowing jellies swept in a school over the waves, and something in the waters leapt up in a spray of water—Avery saw what looked like a giant centipede-like being, gills pulsing, snatch one of the jellies and submerge as quickly as it had come. He squinted, searching for the tiny figure of Sheridan on her stolen boat, but saw nothing.
“Does the boat have a motor?”
“Aye,” the captain said. “They all do.” He snorted. “Some of ‘em work better’n others, though. Mayhaps she picked the wrong one.”
The image of Sheridan’s motor dying entertained Avery, but also, annoyingly, caused a hitch of worry in his chest.
“Distance?” Greggory said.
“Five knots, sir,” one operator said. “And closing.”
The captain grinned tightly, and Avery saw several thick wooden teeth. One had cracked halfway down, and another looked rotten. “We’ll run the bitch down, see if we don’t.”
Something white drifted against the stars, visible through the windows, and Avery let out a breath. So.
“Squid,” he said softly. The specimen was particularly giant.
Some of the others had seen it, too, and called out their readings to the captain.
Greggory scoffed. “We killed one already today. We’ll have no worries from the likes of this one.”
Minutes later a radar operator announced, “Picking up another big ceph, sir.”
“And another,” said a second, voice tight.
The first one Avery had seen through the forward windows had vanished for the moment, but every now and then it would reappear, and Avery noticed it had seemed closer with every pass. As if to confirm his fears, one of the operators said, “They’re circling, sir. Three of them.”
“Four,” said another.
“Their circles are getting tighter ...”
Strangle the bitch, indeed. “Hang on to something,” Avery said.
The first squid struck. It hit the whaling ship hard, and the whole vessel rocked to starboard as if a god had belted it with a fist. Avery, who had already been reaching
for an overhead pipe, almost missed his grip, but he seized one at the last moment and held on tight while the others in the cabin tottered, stumbled or fell. The captain swore as he braced himself against a console.
“What the fucking—?”
The second squid struck. Then the third launched its assault. The ship rocked violently with each impact, and Avery’s grip was loosened so that he was flung hard against a bulkhead, cracking his head. Sparks danced before his eyes. Strength ebbed from his arms, and it was all he could do to remain upright. He was just stretching out his hand for a grip on a nearby console when the fourth animal hit.
The impact dashed Avery to the floor. He bit his lip and tasted blood on his tongue. From all over the ship came screaming. Spitting, Avery rose to his feet and grabbed a handhold on another pipe.
The captain was slamming on a helmet and grabbing a harpoon from a rack near the closest hatch.
“You’re going outside?” Avery said.
“I’ll kill every last damned one of these fucking cephs and then I’ll run that bitch down, see if I don’t.” Gregory stormed out, banging the hatch closed behind him.
Avery watched him go, then turned to the helmsman. “He’s mad,” Avery said, and the helmsman’s face tightened.
“Watch what you say about the captain, mutie.”
Avery narrowed his eyes. Sucking it up, he crossed to the wall and grabbed an environment suit of his own.
As always, the might of the Atomic Sea shocked him. Lightning blasted up from all sides, and the sea pitched and flung itself against the ship, then dashed it, threatening the vessel with every heave and swell. Thunder boomed, and deadly bubbles burst from the valleys between crests. Strange beings stirred in the waters, agitated by the chaotic night. Sheridan was truly crazy to be out there in this—crazy or desperate.
Whalers and regular sailors alike swarmed the decks, clutching harpoons or shotguns. Avery fought to maintain his feet, lurching to the gunwale to clip his safety line into place. Around him others did the same.
Not thirty feet down the deck, the first squid’s tentacles squirmed and coiled, clutching up sailors who ventured too close and squeezing them to paste or flinging them overboard, where their lines snapped them up and dashed them against the hull of the ship, probably breaking their spines. Sailors and whalers both stabbed it with harpoons or blasted it with shotguns. One tall officer aimed carefully with what looked like a pistol and very deliberately fired. A bright, burning red light shot out from the gun—a flare—and embedded in the squid’s right eye.