THE FOREVER GENE (THE SCIONS OF EARTH Book 1)

by Dean, Warren

  "Molly, I'm coming up," he said. He took a lingering look at the ship he had found, and then began rising slowly. He would have to make at least two decompression stops on the way up to avoid the bends. He rose up past the gallery, marvelling again at its faded grandeur. When he got to the top of the stern he braced himself for the onslaught of the current, and prepared to kick strongly to clear it. But as he was about to launch himself upwards, a sinuous shadow passed over his head. It came from over the top of the stern castle, heading southwards down the trench.

  The tiger shark was as big as any he had ever seen. It passed by him so closely that he could see the sharp scales all over its belly. He froze in place and waited to see what the monster would do. Hopefully it wouldn't notice he was there. But tiger sharks were voracious hunters with sharp eyes and an even sharper sense of smell. And they were notorious man-eaters.

  At first, the tiger continued on its path, swimming lazily away from him. Then, just as it reached the edge of his visibility, it gave a sudden flick of its tail, which kicked it into a wide, slow curve to the right. Wide eyed, Patrick watched its ethereal outline circling back towards him, until he lost it in the shadow of the reef. It was coming back for him, he had no doubt. Quickly warning Molly of the danger he was in, he swam back down to the gallery, thinking he could hide under the balcony. But when he got there he could see that the stubby protrusion offered very little cover.

  He tried to lie flat behind the intact part of the railing in the hope that the shark wouldn't see him. But his buoyancy made it very difficult to stay flat, and the noise from his regulator pinpointed his position like a beacon. He glanced back towards the reef, seeing nothing but dark shadows. Then he realised that one of the shadows was moving, growing rapidly larger as it sped towards him. No longer swimming lazily, the sea predator headed straight towards his hiding place. It attacked without hesitation, not bothering to try to avoid the wooden railing.

  Patrick ducked and threw himself back against the hull of the ship, even though he knew it wouldn't be enough to save him. He felt the heavy concussion reverberate through the water as the shark hit the balcony, not a yard away from him. Part of the railing splintered but, incredibly, the balcony held and the beast bounced away. Blinking in astonishment, his adrenaline-charged brain suddenly recalled the window cavities he had seen earlier. He knew that the shark would be back in seconds. Twisting around, he scrambled desperately towards the nearest one and pulled himself head first through it. Moments after his feet cleared the opening, he felt another concussion as the tiger hit the hull. He half expected it to come crashing through the ancient timbers, but they also held firm.

  His body shaking with reaction, he quickly assured the frantic Molly that he was alright. "Don't worry; the shark is too big to get through the window. See if you can pick it up on sonar and let me know when it has moved away," he said, sounding a lot calmer than he felt. "I'll stay in here for a while."

  He shone his spots around. He was in a low-ceilinged cabin which extended the whole breadth of the narrow ship. It was relatively spacious, given the size of the ship, and must have been the captain's cabin. It had the remains of a raised wooden platform against the bulkhead on one side, which was probably where the captain had slept, and the rusted skeletons of a couple of iron-bound chests on the other.

  "I might as well take a look around," he said. "I think I am in the captain's cabin. I am going to unhitch the tether cable and come back for it later. If you don't hear from me in twenty minutes, call in the marines."

  "There aren't any marines," she growled crossly. "And you don't want me to come down after you."

  He grinned. Despite the grumbling, Molly would move Heaven and Earth to save him if she had to.

  He unclipped the cable and hooked it onto a small ledge which ran underneath the window cavities. Then he shone his spots around again, taking a closer look at his surroundings. There was a small opening in the hull on the port side of the cabin, which probably led onto the balcony. He ignored it and headed for the main doorway opposite the windows.

  Swimming through the doorway a lot more cautiously than he had entered through the window, he found himself in a cramped ante-room. This was where the captain and his officers would have dined and held councils of war. It was empty, and he didn't waste any time in there. He went through another doorway on the opposite side of the ante-room, and found himself on the gun deck. A narrow flight of wooden stairs, only some of which had broken away, led up onto the weather deck. Not wanting to risk being taken by the current, or the shark, he decided that exploring it would have to wait for another day.

  Instead, he swam the length of the gun deck, keeping a wary eye on the low ceiling. Anyone over five foot tall would have had a hard time working in this space. He marvelled at the heavy Culverins which lay scattered haphazardly across the deck. Their supports had rotted away long ago. These cannon were bigger than the Demi-Culverin he had seen on the island. He counted them, twenty-four in all, which matched the number of port-holes he could see in the hull. There were twelve on each side of the ship.

  For a moment he wondered whether the cannon on the island had come from somewhere else; all of the cannon on the gun deck were present and accounted for. Then he remembered that galleons often carried lighter cannon on the weather deck; the idea being that they could be manoeuvred around to repel boarders. That must be where the Demi-Culverin had come from. It had probably fallen overboard, or been pushed overboard by the crew, as the ship was sinking. It must have settled on the reef, which was where the massive surge of the tsunami picked it up.

  At the other end of the gun deck were the crew's quarters. Situated underneath the forecastle, they were dank and dreary; a misshapen space which would have been criss-crossed by hammocks attached to every available bulkhead. It was as empty as the rest of the deck. On its floor was a hatch leading into the hold below.

  He knew he should head back to the stern to find out from Molly whether it was safe to re-surface but, disappointed at not having found so much as a piece of eight, he decided to make a quick pass through the hold. Somersaulting through the open hatch, he shone his spots downwards into the bilges. Once again, he swam the length of the ship, carefully weaving his way between the spars and beams supporting the decks above. He saw nothing but the rusted hoops of casks and chests which had rotted away. When he reached the stern, he saw another hatch opening up onto the gun deck. At least he wouldn't have to swim all the way back to the forecastle. Disappointed again, he turned to give the hold one more sweep of his spots. Other than a few fish swimming lazily about, there was nothing much to see.

  What was peculiar was the state of the ship itself. How was it possible for a four hundred year old wooden ship to remain so well preserved? Perhaps it had something to do with the temperature of the water, or perhaps there was a chemical substance in the reef which kept the wood intact. But he had never heard of such a thing.

  And what was the galleon doing so far from the mainland? If she had come from the coast of Venezuela, her natural course would have been to follow the coastline around the horn of Brazil. It would not have been necessary to stray more than two hundred miles away from the shore. Perhaps she had been running from the Portuguese, or from pirates. But then why would she head out into the Atlantic? Surely it would have been more logical for her to run back to the Caribbean, where she would have had a chance of finding support from other Spanish ships.

  It was as if the captain had visited the coast of Brazil, and then set course directly for Spain. But that made no sense either. If he had found something valuable, it would have been much safer to re-join the treasure fleet and enjoy the protection of its warships. Unless he had found something that was so valuable that it justified the risk of crossing the Atlantic alone. But the ship was empty as far as Patrick could see. There was no sign of any treasure; no sign of any cargo at all.

  That was not all that was odd. He had seen no significant damage to the Christina's
hull or superstructure. There was no sign of the damage that cannon fire or a violent storm would have caused. So, what had caused her to sink? She had almost certainly not been scuttled; most of the crew of these vessels couldn't swim. And if she had been taken by boarders, they would have had no cause to scuttle their newly won prize either.

  He floated up through the hatch and found himself outside the door to the ante-room again. He decided to take a sample of the wood of the ship up with him. He could send it away to be analysed. Perhaps that would turn out to be the real value of the wreck. Imagine the profits to be made from a chemical which kept wood intact for hundreds of years.

  He drew his knife and swam over to the remains of the stairs. He looked for a piece he should be able to chip off easily and dug the blade of the knife into it. The wood was as hard as rock and the blade slid off without making so much as a dent. He tried again, bringing more force to bear, but met with the same result. Puzzled, he tried to take a chip out of the wooden doorway, and then out of the hull, but he could not make any impression. He went back into the captain's cabin and hammered on the internal ledge with the handle of the knife. He hammered on the deck too. They were both as hard as rock.

  If he didn't know any better, he would think that the entire ship was made of stone. Then again, if she was, it would certainly explain a few things. A wooden ship wouldn't survive intact for hundreds of years, but a stone ship would. If the balcony was made of stone, it would explain how it had withstood the attack of the tiger shark. And it would explain what had caused the Christina to sink. A stone ship would sink... well, like a stone.

  It was a ridiculous idea, of course. Who on Earth would construct a stone ship? And how would it get so far from shore before going down? He decided that it was time to get back to the surface. His theories were beginning to sound like the effects of nitrogen narcosis, even to him. He reconnected the tether cable and called Molly. The relief in her voice was palpable.

  "Thank god, I was beginning to think something had happened to you. Did you find anything in there?"

  "Nothing tangible, just a lot of unanswered questions. I'll tell you about it once I get topside."

  Okay. Don't worry about that tiger, after it attacked you it swam off down the trench and I haven't seen it again."

  "Good, I'm squeezing out through the window now. I'll make my first decompression stop when I get to about sixty feet."

  "I'll keep scanning for sharks." She paused. "You know, it's funny, but the sonar shows that the whale we saw earlier hasn't moved."

  "It must be dead."

  "Yes, but the tiger swam right by it without stopping to feed. And surely a dead whale would attract plenty of sharks? There aren't any that I can see."

  "How far away is it from where I am now?"

  "About fifty yards, I think."

  "You know, the current is going to push me halfway there anyway. I'll let it take me all the way so that I can see what is down there."

  "I shouldn't have told you," she grumbled.

  "Don't worry, as soon as I've had a look, you can start winching me up. I'll let you know when."

  He rose above the stern and felt the current barrel into him, pushing him down the trench. The Christina disappeared into the murk behind him. After he had travelled about fifty yards, the current weakened. It would be easier for him to ascend, at least.

  He kept his spots trained on the floor of the trench, while keeping a cautious eye on the reef. He didn't want to collide with any part of it which might be jutting out. He had gone about sixty yards when he saw the dim outline of what looked like the head of a sperm whale. But as he drifted closer, he could see that it had no mouth, or eyes, and was far too symmetrical to be a sea creature.

  Then he saw its conning tower, and knew what it was. Lying below him on the sandy floor of the trench was a submarine. It was lying at a forty-five degree angle, the conning tower pointed towards him. Kicking his legs, he swam closer to the tower, noting that the bridge hatch was open. He gripped the railing around its edge and pulled himself over to the starboard side of the vessel. There he shone his spots onto the side of the tower. The first thing he saw was the faded but unmistakable outline of a Nazi swastika. Next to it was the vessel's moniker; U-857.

  It was the wreck of a World War Two German u-boat.

  U-boats were not uncommon in the waters of the eastern seaboard of North America. Hitler sent them across the Atlantic to try to stop American ships from supplying the Allies during the war. What this one was doing so far south was a mystery.

  When Molly saw what he had found, she gasped. "What on Earth is that doing there?"

  "I have no idea," he replied.

  "It isn't on the charts either," she said after a pause. "It's time to call in some help," she said. "Now we have two undiscovered wrecks to explore."

  "I think you're right."

  "I'll start the winch and bring you up to sixty feet."

  "Hold on a minute," he said.

  What made him do it, he couldn't say. He drew his knife again and dug it into the side of the conning tower, trying to scrape off a few flakes of paint. Then he tried part of the hull and a section of the outer deck. They were all as hard as rock and he was unable to even scratch the surface. Unbelievably, the u-boat also seemed to be made of stone.

  He hung in the water, his mind racing. The crew of the Christina would have gone down with the ship; they would not have been able to swim as far as the nearby island. The crew of the u-boat couldn't have survived either. If they had, the position of the wreck would have been reported. It would have been found long ago and would appear on the charts.

  A shiver ran up his spine which had nothing to do with the cold. He couldn't help glancing around nervously, but all he could see was a curtain of murky water.

  Two vessels separated by over three hundred years had sunk within yards of each other. The cause of their doom appeared to be the same; they had both been turned to stone. The crew of neither vessel had survived.

  Something strange had happened here; something he didn't understand. Something deadly.

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