Chapter 7
Derrick Thrasher was probably one of the least sociable members
of the twelfth precinct police department. He was perpetually
grumpy, did not bathe as often as he should, wore old and shoddy
clothing, and generally was not the type of person the chief had
speak to the press. This could not have suited Thrasher better.
He wanted to be out on the streets, locking people up as his
twisted remains of boyish morals indicated was the good and right
thing for a police detective to be doing.
The microphones jammed into his face were unpleasant, the
reporters holding them were worse, and the cameras simply
infuriated him. As a result, instead of giving the rudimentary
details about the Conholm Park bombing to the media as he had
previously intended, he told them where they could go and what to
do when they got there. This was usually accompanied by
appropriate, though very offensive, gestures.
The media hated him. He felt the exact same way about them.
However, he was the only one making any headway on the bombing at
all. Thus the media hounded him, desperate for information. He
continued to give them the metaphorical finger, as well as the
literal one occasionally.
As he eased his considerable weight through the door to his
small office, he grumbled. There was nothing he hated more than
reporters. Except maybe criminals. And getting the wrong order at
a pizza place. and the IRS. And the Democratic National Party.
And the Republican one too, while he was at it.
Further mental preponderance of his hate list was prevented by
his partner offering him a paper. He read the article about him
and his work, grunted, and dropped the damn thing on his desk.
"You're quite the famous person. With your own picture taking up
that much of the very front page, you're well on your way to
being elected to office."
Thrasher made a gesture he had just used frequently with the
reporters not five minutes previously.
Peter Walk laughed. He smiled that warm, friendly smile women
seemed to love so much in response. Long ago he had learned not
to actually pay attention to any of the offense his partner aimed
at him.
"Wish the bastards would leave me alone," Thrasher commented
through fat lips. He rubbed his rapidly balding scalp a few times
before ruffling through the dossier on his desk.
"Well, stop solving cases. You'll stop being assigned high level
ones, and then you can sink gracefully into obscurity."
The response was a non-comical grunt.
At that moment there was a knock on the door. It opened before
either of the room's occupants could rise or respond.
A man walked through first, black suit, black pants, black tie,
black sunglasses. He was followed by a woman in similarly dark
clothing.
"I'm Sammarco, and she's Moody. We're special agents from the
CIA. You two Thrasher and Walker?" It was a question, but there
was no uncertainty in it.
"Yes. I'm Walker, that's Thrasher." The tall blonde detective
responded and shook the outstretched hand. Thrasher looked at
them for a moment before accepting the hand himself.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"We're here to relieve you of the Conholm Park matter."
"CIA? What do you spooks want with a private bombing?" Thrasher
responded, somewhat belligerently.
If the tone had any effect on either of the two, it did not
show. Moody's answer was direct and to the point.
"We think there is a connection to matters of national security
in the Asian conflict. Our directors spoke with yours, and this
exchange of responsibility was agreed to. We'll try to answer any
questions you have."
"With as many lies as possible?" This earned him a look from
Walker but no response from either of the other two.
"If there will be no questions, we have prepared press
statements for the two of you. Nothing you know except this
meeting itself is considered classified. The press statements
should cover any questions the media asks. We appreciate your
assistance." Sammarco handed each of the two police officers a
type covered sheet as he spoke. "If anything further turns up, we
can be reached at the number on the top."
"Very well. We'll be sure to call you if we come across anything
you need to know." Walker smiled. The other nodded, politely
excused themselves, and left.
"MIB in their purest state. They probably work at Area 51 on the
weekends."
Walker turned to his partner and sighed. "Do you always have to
act like that? They weren't impolite."
"They come in here, no prior warning, take all our information
from us, and leave. That's it. Just boom, out of our hands."
"What information? We had acquired four names and a D. Even the
lists of what debris was present is in the main database."
"Feh."
Walker just sighed the sigh of the long suffering. His innate
good cheer refused to allow him to take Thrasher's dour
personality too seriously, though.
===
Carin Wellsferd woke up with a gasp and opened her eyes. Point:
She was still alive. Point: She was over the ocean. Point: She
was not in a plane. Point: She was now a whole lot closer to the
ocean.
She screamed.
The sound was whipped away by the wind. Memory came back to her
in a flash. Someone yelling something, Kyle kicking open the
sealed pressure door of the plane, Damion throwing her out, the
fireball, loosing conscious in the ultrathin air, looking down as
she blacked out, seeing the void below her as nothing but six
miles of empty air did not even attempt to keep her from falling
to the ocean. She was going to die. Now she awake and still going
to die.
She screamed again.
Someone smacked her.
The next cry caught itself in a gurgle in her throat, and she
opened her eyes again, not remembering when she had closed them.
Kyle's smiling face was mere inches from her own, looking into
her eyes. His hair was being pulled straight up over his head by
the surging wind as the skin on his face rippled with the moving
air.
She stared back at him, her mind refusing to accept what stimuli
it received.
Kyle turned to someone outside her field of vision and made a
gesture. Apparently he received an answering one as he turned
back to her. He smiled again, trying to be reassuring while he
kissed her lightly on the cheek. Then he pulled a string on her
left shoulder.
Carin was jerked from his hands as the parachute opened. His
gaze tracked her, and he smiled as it appeared that she would be
all right. For a moment a hint of pride for her entered his
heart.
Then two arms wrapped around him, pulling him out of his
thoughts. He seized their owner in his tightest grip and pulled
his own ripcord.
Kyle had not done a parachute jump in over fifty years. He had
done many of them when he was younger, though, and knew the
procedure very well. This was, however, the first time he had
leapt from a plane at forty thousand feet without pressure gear.
When Damion had screamed the barely comprehensible command, he
had taken a deep breath even as he kicked the door open, and
everyone had disembarked the plane. He wondered if they covered
that in the modern commercial preflight briefing.
Neither of the women had been able to take a good breath, and
Nadia had lapsed unconscious in a few heartbeats. Carin had
lasted almost ten seconds, staring down at the vast gulf below
her, before also blacking out. Strapping a parachute onto someone
who was unconscious was one of the most bizarre experiences in
Kyle's life.
Surprisingly, Sagawa had had the fewest problems. Kyle had been
able to see him mouth, "Not this again," or something similar.
Damion tapped Kyle and gestured that this was low enough. They
were now no more than a hundred feet from the surface of the
ocean and were falling much faster than the parachute was
designed for. It was an old, ratty one and looked about to break.
Kyle let go, and his friend fell. He watched him twist in midair
to land in the water with a tight, graceful dive.
After Damion's weight was gone Kyle felt his fall slow, and he
hit the water a moment later. He did not land very well,
unfortunately, and several cords tangled themselves around his
body. After a moment fumbling with them, he simply supercharged
his strength and broke everything which impaired his movement.
A moment later, he dragged himself to the surface and looked
around. Damion was nowhere to be seen, but the three who were
still in the air were only a few hundred feet up. Two were fairly
close together and were coming down nearby. The third was a good
distance away. He did not have time to look for his errant
friend.
Kyle began swimming toward where he guessed the others would
land. He was correct and moments later, they hit the water.
Sagawa entered the water with the ease of long practice. Carin
knew only vaguely what to do but was lucky enough that she hit
the water unharmed.
Sagawa had disengaged himself from the harness a moment before
landing, and it floated on the water some twenty feet away. Carin
had managed to pull herself out of the restraints with a little
help. The other member of their group had come down far to the
right, and of her there was no sign.
Ten feet below the waves, Nadia was sinking fast. The cords had
wrapped around her limbs, and she couldn't move. Lacking the
preternatural strength Kyle had used to free himself from a
similar predicament, she wiggled ineffectually as the light got
dimmer. Vaguely, strands of Beethoven's Ode to Joy began to run
through her head.
She was sinking faster now as the pockets of air in her clothes
emptied themselves. A flurry of thought yielded a couple of
possible reasons she might be going down, but no way to solve any
of them.
Then a ripping noise filled the water around her. Louder than it
would be in the air above, the noise of someone slashing their
way through the cords and fabric around her came to her ears. Her
lungs were beginning to burn now, and she guessed that she
couldn't hold her breath much longer.
Abruptly she felt hands move across the gear she was wearing,
dexterously unfastening and unhooking her. It was too dark to
make out any details, but she could see the delineation of her
rescuer. It was Damion, or possibly Kyle, by the figure.
As the last buckle fell away, she realized that she was almost
at the end of her breath. Panic hit her again, a fear of drowning
with so much left to do. Here, so far underwater even the light
of the surface seemed removed, she realized there was no way she
would be able to hold her breath long enough.
Then someone clutched her. Whoever was saving her placed one
hand on her lower back and the other just below and between her
breasts. He squeezed. She tried to resist for a moment, but the
air was forced from her lungs. Before she could shut her mouth,
his lips covered hers as his hands held her nose shut. Air came
flooding into her, enough to refill her empty lungs enough to
keep her alive for a moment more.
Pulling his face away, whoever it was patted her once and tugged
her lightly up. Then he broke away, swimming hard and fast for
the surface. She struggled after him.
Damion's head broke the surface, followed by more than half his
upper body. His lungs were empty, what little breath that had
remained after giving Nadia her lease had been forced out to make
room for an inhalation. While still in the air, he sucked another
breath down. Not wasting a moment, he curled and surface dove
again.
Second hand breathing was something he learned long ago, so very
far into his past that anything about it other than the
techniques was lost to his recent memory. He did remember one
thing very clearly, that the saved person could only survive for
thirty seconds at most on used air. As he dove again, arms and
legs pushing him downwards ever faster, he focused and slowed his
own respiration. He needed to use as little of the oxygen he
carried as possible.
Nadia was slowly drifting up, still almost a hundred feet below
the surface when he reached her. He could tell by her movements
that she was barely staying conscious. Wasting no time, he
repeated the procedure, this time with a more willing and
understanding recipient.
A third repetition of the breathing technique later, she
surfaced. Nadia almost began to hyperventilate, so starved was
she for free breathing. Damion emerged a moment after her and
also pulled in another gasp. He forced it out a second later in a
growl of anguish.
He darted to her side, and immediately Nadia could feel his
hands moving over her. For a heartbeat she wondered what he was
doing as wild and very unlikely sexual possibilities ran through
her mind. Then he pulled his prize from one of her pockets. It
was a small, plastic makeup kit.
He ripped the contents from it without pause and shook the water
out. Then, after having been on the surface for less than five
seconds, he clenched it tightly closed and dove again.
For while, Nadia slowly treaded water on the surface, wondering
where he was. As the time wore on, Nadia checked her watch. She
was startled to realize he had been underwater for almost five
minutes and no sign of him was visible.
She waited longer, and her worry grew greater and greater. He
had been down for almost ten minutes now. She wondered what he
could have possibly needed her compact for. It was one of the
larger, modern size, designed to fit into pockets which style had
only recently begun to enlarge. Still, it was not exactly any use
without the contents and especially not underwater. And why would
he need a compact to begin with? It was downright peculiar.
Almost twenty minutes later he emerged. He pulled himself slowly
into the air and breathed a deep sigh. Moving his arms back and
forth in a stable pattern designed to keep him relatively still
and afloat, he breathed deeply.
"What was that?" Nadia asked, curious but worried.
"Bends."
Recognition hit her all at once. She had thought it only applied
to those breathing pressurized air, but Damion was not entirely
human. He had swam up and down so quickly to get her air that the
pressure changes must have been enough. She looked at him with
new respect. For him to be able to think and function so clearly
while that was happening spoke of remarkable mental fortitude.
When she commented as much, he just shrugged. "Endurance of the
ages and all that. When you're ready, we'll swim back to where I
saw the others go down."
"I just need a few minutes. What was the compact for?"
"Air. It was waterproof, which means it's probably airtight. I
needed it to stay down long enough to resurface gradually."
"Oh." Nadia felt vaguely insulted by not having thought of that
earlier.
After a few minutes, they swam off to rejoin the others, Nadia
discarding any non-essential clothing as being too much weight.
===
"Someone used an extreme long range missile. They also must have
very special equipment to launch one of those. They knew we were
coming," Damion announced. His lean body seemed to be constantly
in motion. For him, everything was a full body affair, and
swimming was no exception. In his entirety, nothing was still as
he kept himself afloat. Some distance behind him, along the path
he and Nadia had swam, a dead shark was slowly drifting away.
"Well what do we do now?" Nadia asked as she treaded water. A
surge in the water lifted the five up and rolled them around for
a few seconds. The following valley was deep and shadowed.
The first thing done by everyone was shedding shoes, socks, and
any other dropable article of clothing. Carin had been wearing a
white blouse and skirt combination, and most of it was given over
to the watery depths. She retained just enough to prevent her
sense of decency from rebelling, but even that just barely.
Seawater had a way of making white silk translucent.
Nadia was fortunate in that she had a pant suit on. After
previously discarding jewelry, shoes, and any other accessory,
the material which remained was dark enough to prevent anyone for
getting to good a glimpse of her.
The men just stripped to the waist. Many were the envious looks
they received for having such an easier time.
"Congratulations. You just survived a HALO jump without
protective gear or any training. You're incredibly lucky to be
alive." Sagawa seemed to barely move as he treaded water. Each
wave lifted him high into the air, and he settled slowly
afterwards.
"I hope it lasts," Nadia replied.
"If we were incredibly lucky, our plane wouldn't have just
exploded," Carin said at the same time.
"Listen up. We're swimming to where the plane crashed. You can
still see some of the smoke rising." Damion indicated the
direction with one hand. "It shouldn't be more than a few miles
away."
"I can't swim a few miles." Nadia has having some difficulty
keeping her head above the waves. The constant rise and fall of
the water and the energy she needed to expend to keep her head up
was rapidly draining her reserves.
"Hmm. You?" Damion turned to the other woman.
"I should be able to make it. I can swim the distance, not very
fast though."
Damion scowled again. "Very well, change of plan. Sagawa, you go
ahead. Find anything you can that floats and see what can be
done. We'll follow."
"Right." The Asian turned and began to pull himself through the
water, moving rapidly out of sight. Almost immediately, a tall
wave obscured him from view, and he was gone.
The other four turned back to each other. "Either of you two
ever been a lifeguard?" Damion asked. He knew Kyle had not, but
there was hope one of the other two had served a term as one.
Neither gave an affirmative.
"Well, I don't know the holds they use for long distance
swimming so we'll have to make one up if it becomes necessary.
Let's move."
For a while, they swam in silence. They moved in a rough line,
careful not to let anyone slip behind. Carin moved slowly through
the water, using a breast stroke. Nadia dog paddled, and Kyle
crawled. Damion literally swam circles around them.
As time wore on, their pace slowed until it was easily apparent
that Nadia was almost at the edge of her endurance. She swam
without complaining, pushing herself through the water as best
she could, but keeping her head above water became harder and
harder. They also noticed now that there was a slight current
they were fighting and were no longer making significant
progress. Damion called the others to a stop again.
"Time for a change. You two, float on your backs. We need to
move a little faster, and there's only one way to do it."
A few moments later, they set out again. This time, Kyle started
using his Gift to speed himself up in addition to bolstering his
endurance as he had been. He had Carin in a loose hold, keeping
her head above water as he went over and under waves. Both hands
were needed to help her, but his legs proved up to the task of
propulsion. As he cut through the water on his side, he held
Carin against him, trying to keep her warm. A few feet away,
Damion did the same.
"Not just a burden?" Carin spat out. They were moving much
faster now.
"Well, swimming isn't your thing. Don't worry, not many people
can move through the deep ocean for miles on end."
"You three can."
Kyle was silent for a bit. He was fairly sure his girlfriend
would not accept anything he had to say anyway. He just
concentrated on keeping both of their heads above water.
"At least I outlasted Nadia. I know it's juvenile, but I just
wanted to beat her." Carin was getting colder now and so tired.
Her muscles seemed lined with weights, and she just wanted to
rest in Kyle's arms.
Kyle did not know what to make of that statement and just kept
swimming.
About ten feet away, a similar scene with different players was
taking place. Damion had wrapped one hand around Nadia's neck and
had his arm braced under her back. He used his other arm and legs
to push them through the water. His swimming was clean and fast,
but he put a surprising amount of effort into it.
This did not go unnoticed. "Why is it so arduous for you?
Swimming, I mean. You're very fast, but you have to work so
hard."
Damion did not answer immediately. "I don't float. I sink.
Keeping us both up and moving requires a lot of energy."
"You sink?"
Again he did not answer immediately. He stroked the waves a
couple more times. Nadia took advantage of the break to snuggle a
little closer his chest.
"Yes. I do weigh over three hundred pounds."
Nadia came out of the warm glow his presence caused and shook
herself. "What?" Her eyes roved over him. In his barely clad
state, she could see his musculature well. Almost rail thin, he
lacked strong definition in his body. In fact, the bulges and
relaxation of tightening muscles seemed strange and out of place.
Nadia had taken a couple of anatomy courses in college; she had
flirted briefly with the idea of going through med school. Now
that she thought about it, she realized that Damion's muscle
system was wrong. He was corded, as opposed to smooth, and
nothing seemed quite as her memory dictated it should be.
"Happens after about three or four centuries of exercise. We
stop bulking up and start losing muscle size. I'm not sure if
it's just the Eldritch or would happen to humans if they lived
long enough." Damion paused for a bit as he pulled them over a
unusually high series of swells. After realigning himself with
the others he resumed, "We keep getting mass, but the more we
gain, the smaller it gets. Eventually there's an end point. That
happened to me about two hundred years ago. Now I'm very slowly
beginning to bulk up again, only with the ultra dense muscle
instead."
Nadia allowed herself to rest against him again. She had not
noticed previously, but she was shivering. Without any
reluctance, she moved closer to Damion. He would protect her.
After all, he was always there.
Kyle frowned. Carin was far drowsier than she should be, and it
was only the occasional wave that broke over her head that kept
her awake. He looked over and saw that Nadia was also almost
asleep. He made eye contact with Damion for a moment and raised
an eyebrow. Damion just frowned and looked back. They both
accelerated, now moving through the water far faster than men had
any right too. Adopting a one handed hold, Kyle threw as much as
his Gift into his efforts as he could. Behind him, Damion kept to
his wake, allowing Kyle the harder part.
Carin sank rapidly into a dazed torpor, not responding to him.
Her shivering was worse now. Kyle looked up at the cloud of
smoke. It was much closer, probably no more than a mile or two
away at most. Already he had been forced to deflect large pieces
of floating wreckage around them twice. Carin stopped shivering.
Realizing this was probably very bad, he was beginning to panic
when salvation arrived. Salvation in this case was a large ship
that pulled up next to them. He wasted no time in pulling himself
up and onto the deck, making use of a series of hand holds
emplaced into the rear of the craft. He sank to the deck himself
with a sigh.
Then the strangeness of the situation hit his brain. No one had
helped him, though there were other people on the deck. In fact,
no one had even hailed them as they climbed up. Fear sank its
claws into his heart. Then a white flash exploded at the base of
his skull, and he slept.
Damion looked with cold eyes at the eight men on the deck. He
knew the moment he saw the ship what it was. He had no choice
though; Nadia was already in the throes of hypothermia, and she
needed to be out of the water now. He had climbed aboard knowing
what welcome he was going to get.
The dirty and ill shaven crew smirked at him. There were way too
many guns in his face to allow him to come to Kyle's aid when he
had been clubbed. Exhausted, he had been an easy mark.
"Take the women below. We'll tell Cane they died. We can, amuse,
ourselves with them later." A man who appeared to be the captain
stepped forward and indicated the two unconscious ladies. With
snickers and jeers, four men picked up the two prizes. Carin's
clothes were far too waterlogged to keep anything hidden and
several of the hands that lifted her went places best left
untouched. Nadia's shirt protected her for a moment before being
accidentally dropped overboard. They were both carried through a
small doorway and gone from his sight.
"You do know, we're going to kill all of you."
The captain laughed again, even louder, and his voice sleazed
through the air. A pair of men wide as ax handles and half as
bright stood on either side of Damion, brandishing pistols
against his head. The old one ignored them and watched the
captain.
"We? You and the pussy? Your friends are down. No, man. You are
going to die. You have no more friends."
"Look over to port."
The captain stopped mid-laugh and looked at Damion oddly. He
nodded to two thugs, and they both checked their guns. They
nodded back.
"Whatever. You're going to die no matter what."
He screamed rather shrilly when the first gunshot broke his
shoulder. The second dropped him by the leg. Two men on either
side of Damion died in silence. Before either could fall, two of
the remaining men on deck also violently met their end.
The captain was holding the gushing stump of his leg and
shrieking. The only other able bodied men above decks exchanged
one panicked glance. Both of them dove apart from each other,
reaching for sheathed weaponry. One landed dead, rolling under a
pile of sludge. The other landed on his shoulder, rolled, and
went over the side. The gun spoke as he fell.
Damion turned and focused on the captain. The bullet had cut
through his right arm, hitting the bone. He was trying to grab
his weapon with his other hand, but got no farther. Two quick
jabs and he fell unconscious.
Off to the side of the boat, a figure walked upon the water.
Striding calmly across the waves, one gun still held at the
ready, Sagawa came towards the vessel. His bare feet slapped on
the surface of the water and were held firm.
At that point, two men came up from below decks, coming to see
what they had assumed would be the prisoner's dead body. Instead,
bullets roared across the intervening space and killed them
instantly. Damion had not even looked up from where he was
lifting a pistol from the deck.
A minute later, Sagawa leapt from a high wave and landed on the
metal deck. He looked at the bodies lying askew there.
"How'd you like the shooting?"
"Good. You saved me."
"The captain's still alive?" He looked up curiously.
"We need answers. Find the rest of the crew. Search the ship."
Sagawa did not ask what to do when he found them, he just
stepped through the doorway and went below decks. Damion turned
to begin a search himself.
Over the next four minutes, a series of gunshots were heard. The
everything was silent.
===
"Are either of the women awake yet?"
"No. I bundled them in blankets and put them in the room across
from the engine. Kyle's watching them as his head heals. Why do
you think they knocked him out instead of just killing him?
That's something I don't understand."
"I'm not sure. I'll ask the captain when we interrogate him. How
many members of the crew did you find?"
"Four."
"I found three. You searched a second time?"
"Of course."
"As did I. That gives us a crew of fifteen and a captain. Quite
a few for a ship this small."
"I dumped the bodies overboard as per usual. I also took care
that they'd sink."
"Good. Let's go speak to the captive. I really want to know why
they knocked Kyle out instead of simply executing him."
The two men nodded to each other and walking into the store room
which had been turned to a brig. They both looked at the grisly
sight therein for a moment before leaving.
Sagawa was slightly green when he exited the small cell. He put
a hand against a wall for a moment and calmed himself. "Well,
questioning him isn't going to yield much."
"Maybe. You remain here. I'll go do a quick autopsy." Damion
returned to the room and shut the door behind him.
Sagawa did not envy his compatriot. He had seen some brutal
suicides in his life but never managed to control his disgust. He
felt sick.
Some time later, the two sat down on the deck. Damion still had
the detached, clinical look in his eyes. He stared at the wind
and waves without moving.
"Even after what they did, I wouldn't wish that upon him.
Everyone deserves a quick death at least."
"He decided to do it. Dead is dead so I'm not too concerned.
Besides, international pirates shouldn't be allowed to live."
Damion pulled the shirt he had found aboard over himself. It had
a tendency to stick to his wet skin and but was better than
remaining topless.
Sagawa leaned against a barrel and stretched. He never liked the
sea much. He had always been sure that it hated him and tolerated
his presence only because the it had not managed to kill him yet.
Still, it was quite lovely. The waves, foam, and sky met in a
perfect line, different shades of blue and white mingling
together. Looking out, he wondered if there was any truth to the
ocean being the source of all life.
===
It was several hours later that Nadia came back to
consciousness. She stretched slowly and sat up.
She was in a small, poorly lit and none too clean room. The bed
she was on was caked in grime, but it looked much better than the
floor. The walls were covered in sludge and moisture. A single
light bulb tried to light the room, but its feeble attempts were
not nearly capable of doing more than strengthening the shadows.
A porthole above her head let in no light and did nothing to
improve the smell.
The smell was the type of thing men write home about. Dank,
rich, putrescence mingled with sweat, dirt, and what suspiciously
resembled human excrement. It rose from the green metal plates
which composed the bulkheads and floor. It poured from the large
mounds of semi-solidified brown and red goo that lay, potent and
ripe, in the corners. The aroma was so strong it was almost
visible.
"I'm going to be sick." Nadia was about to step out of her bed
and flee the room when she realized she was barefoot. There was
no way in heaven, hell, or earth she intended to let her bare
feet touch the floor. "Well, these blankets are disgusting
anyway. They'll do for a rug."
This conclusion was no sooner reached then the door opened, and
Damion stepped through. He had apparently found clothes aboard as
he was dressed differently and everything was dry.
"Good morning, or goodnight depending on how you look at it. How
do you feel?"
"Pretty good. Where are we?"
"Aboard the pirate ship which shot our plane out of the air to
begin with." He tossed a bundle of clothes to her. "When you've
got those on, come up to the main deck."
Damion turned and shut the door behind him as he left. Nadia
released the blanket from around her neck where she had pulled it
the moment he had come in.
"Wonderful guy, but I don't think anyone told him when knocking
was invented," she muttered as she began to pull her clothes on.
===
After Nadia had emerged, fully dressed, from her room, she went
in search of the others. She eventually found them on what passed
for a bridge.
The ship was roughly eighty feet long by her guess and looked
like it had started its life as a recreational yacht. Three masts
had once stood upon its decks, and the hull looked to be made of
pleated metals. There was a single level below the decks which
consisted of a hallway with rooms on either side. While nothing
looked like it was cleaned regularly, the single room which had
both radar and fire control systems looked like it received
attention more then once a month.
Mounted on the removed mast stub was a large and very clean
missile launching system. A cursory inspection revealed that it
had been bolted on without first removing the grime. Nadia
guessed it was not more than a few days old.
The command center of the ship had been a mostly enclosed alcove
towards the rear. Aft, she mentally corrected herself. 'At least,
I think the back is aft.' The enclosure was open to the elements
above and to the sides, though there was a loosely rolled tarp
tied down nearby. It was here that the other four were speaking.
"Good evening." Kyle was sitting upon one of the few counters
not laden with dials and switches. His legs were rested against
an exposed pipe, one that looked like it had been installed long
after the ship had first met the water.
"What time is it?" she responded.
"About ten PM. You've been asleep for a while," Damion responded
instead. He was leaning over the main console and familiarizing
himself with the controls.
"Hi." Sagawa was sitting in a folding deck chair. Its
cleanliness made it look unfitting on the dirty ship.
"Hello. Take a seat." Carin indicated a available chair. She was
leaning against the side of the counter Kyle sat upon. Her back
was against his side, and he had placed an arm around her waist
without realizing it.
"As we were saying before you arrived, it seems that this is a
ship of dubious legality. It appears to make a profit off the war
in Asia. Because of the general condition of the ship and the
wildly contrasting state of the surface-to-air missile system
that was used to knock our plane out of the air, it would appear
that this was specially tailored for us." Damion spoke while
looking up from the controls.
"So we've stolen a pirate ship?" Nadia inquired.
"Basically, though technical ownership is fairly dubious at this
level."
"And it looks like we're going to use it get to China. We'll
just need to be very careful to avoid any navies," Sagawa added.
"Else we're sunk on sight?"
"Literally, most likely." Kyle responded.
"Joy."
"That's not our main concern actually. We've been moving along
at a fairly good clip, but we're still much too close to the
wreckage. I think its a fairly safe bet that the Dynasty will
show up again, most likely to make sure we died when our plane
went down." Damion did not turn from his inspection of the
navigational equipment. "While both Nadia and I have some
experience with both sailing, ocean navigation, and such, we're
not skilled enough to get away if the pursuit comes in full.
"Moreover, I doubt that we'll be able to keep this craft for
long once we get closer to more populated waters. We have an
array of SAMs, and below decks, if you looked, there is a very
interesting torpedo system. The captain didn't keep a log, but
due to the records I was able to find, this craft was a very
successful modern buccaneer."
"How did they work? You can't swing from yard arm to yard arm
anymore, a dagger clenched in your teeth." Carin asked.
"Usual system is you pull up next to a recreational boat and
have ten or so of your men on the deck with submachineguns. Then
you simply hose the other deck down, killing everyone
indiscriminately," Sagawa responded. "Then, well, you go aboard,
steal everything of value and sink the ship. Or you can tow it
away and sell it, but that's riskier."
"How do you know?" Nadia asked.
"A couple of years ago, I was employed by a rich movie producer
in California. He had this huge sailing yacht, bigger than this
one, and he'd sail down to Tijuana every now and then. He heard
about the pirates that operate off the coast of Mexico and got
scared, though. I went with him a few times as a bodyguard. I'll
tell you about it sometime."
After that the conversation drifted off into less important
matters. Sagawa went below to find anything he could to eat, and
Nadia went with him. Carin decided to watch the moon on the waves
and dragged Kyle off to the prow. He had a marked lack of
objections. Damion simply continued to captain the small craft.
In the galley, Nadia pressed Sagawa for the full story. He
agreed and said he would be happy to share all the details she
wanted after he ate something. She countered by offering to cook
if he started immediately. The deal was struck.
"It was probably the second time I worked with Mr. White. He was
using a different name then, called himself Caleb something. Um,
Frith, yeah. Caleb Frith. Where he got that one I haven't a clue.
This was a few years before he saved my life in 'Nam."
"Wait, wait, wait. You were in Vietnam?" Nadia stopped pulling
boxes from cupboards and stared at him.
"Uh, yeah."
"You mean to tell me you're immortal too!?" she yelled.
"Huh?"
"You and him were in the Vietnam war, right?"
Sagawa stared at her blankly for a moment before realization
kicked in. "Oh, that. No, this was about two years ago. I got
drunk and stumbled in front of a bus. He pulled me back before I
got plastered." He paused for a moment. "Well, I was already
plastered, but the bus would have plastered me differently. I
wasn't plastered plastered, but I would have been if, I, um, wait
a minute. Oh, you know what I mean."
"Oh." Properly mortified at her outburst, Nadia devoted her full
attention to cooking, trying to keep the blush from her cheeks
without much success.
"Anyway, we were on this yacht going southward with two dozen of
Hollywood's elite. The champagne was flowing, everyone was tipsy,
all was good. For whatever reason, Mr. Zucker invited Damion
along as one of the guests, but he actually spent most of the
trip with me. He had accepted the invitation out of politeness I
guess. Even back then he didn't seem like the carefree partying
type. Um, oh yeah.
"So we were just south of the border one night when me 'n him
are sitting on the main deck, watching the night sky and talking
shop. He didn't pretend to sleep more then about four hours a
night and usually did that between dawn and noon. Everyone else
on the boat was on Dymeran anyway so when he said he was too, no
one even blinked.
"Now Frith and I were discussing the different parts of being a
mercenary. His cover was that he was a foreigner from southern
Asia, and no one looked too deeply into his past. I don't know
how he got himself inserted so deeply into the jet set then, or
even why. But I recognized he was a fighter right off, and we
would kill a few hours each night while everyone else was doing
whatever."
===
"Are you freelance or part of a crew? When I met you back in New
York, I never did find out." Frith was sitting on the edge of the
deck, his legs hanging over the side. Dressed in a tuxedo shirt,
pants, and shoes, he definitely put me to shame dress wise. Seems
someone else had picked out his wardrobe and managed to make him
look halfway decent.
"Freelance. I've been around long enough and had some high
enough profile jobs in the mid east that I'm known well enough to
get positions on name recognition in the business." I was lying
down, not too worried about getting myself dirty. Zucker had a
three man clean up crew aboard and they swept and mopped
everything with a fanaticism that amazed be. Besides, the clothes
I was wearing were of that modern, high quality plastic weave.
"Zucker's nephew was someone I looked out for a few times when he
toured the world a couple of years ago. He recommended me."
"This is something of a cushy job, eh? Live on a sailing yacht
for two weeks, eating like a king and enjoying the southern
comforts."
"Basically. Better then the gig I pulled China. Sloughing
through swamps, rice fields, and such. I swear, that place gets
ten times the rain it needs."
Frith laughed. He always thought it was hilarious that even
after my life, I wasn't a cynical old fart.
At this point, a fog was begining to creep up around the ship,
and I could tell that before the night was over, we were going to
be in the depths of a pea soup. Behind me, the revelries were
just getting started, and I could tell that this night was going
to be another one of the big ones.
Frith hated events like that, the small but really wild nights.
He would go in for about an hour, make small talk, and leave once
he felt he had done his duty. I'd usually take that opportunity
to hit the kitchen and grab some leftovers.
As I was watching the night, I decided that this would be a good
time to check in with the skipperly captain type guy. Frith was
sighing as he went to his room to get dressed for the affair.
I walked across the deck and enjoyed the night breeze. We were
pretty far south and even with the slight wind, the night was
very warm. I was only wearing light clothing, much it covered by
holsters and such. For some reason, I was never very welcome when
the celebs were having their high society bits.
I spent probably half an hour in the little radar room, talking
with the captain. After I left, I had this weird tingling feeling
on the back of my neck. While I'm not a very superstitious
individual, I do not let these things slide. I walked below and
requested of my employer that the night's events be quieter then
they usually were. Sound travels really well over water, even
through fog, and I did not want anyone to know where we were who
shouldn't. He agreed, but I knew that once the wine started
flowing, all bets were off.
I spent the next three hours on the deck, laying down as far
from the sounds below as I could. The fog kept rolling in,
thicker and thicker, and very quickly visibility dropped to nil.
We knew our position and had the latest in depth measuring
equipment, so we weren't worried about running aground.
Still, I was getting very nervous and the feeling got worse and
worse as the night wore on. A few hours before midnight, Frith
came out and joined me. We took one look at each other and knew
that the feeling was shared. He had changed from the formal garb
to some of his casual wear.
Looked hideous. I mean, it was downright nasty, his taste. This
was back in the rebellion against classical fashion though, so I
think everyone else just thought he was making a statement.
Personally, I thought Caleb looked like he lost a bet, then eight
double or nothings in a row.
As the night was dragging on we both got more and more tense.
The fog was so thick I bet I could have walked on it, and we
couldn't see the water from the deck. Even sounds were muffled
now, the distant party atmosphere seemed removed and empty. Even
our voices, on the few times we spoke, sounded hollow.
I spent most of the time lying on my stomach at the very front
of the ship. Every one of my instincts was screaming at me, and I
knew something was going to happen. I didn't know what. Frith
spent his time perched like a vulture high in one of the masts,
completely indistinguishable from the rest of the foggy darkness
around him.
I think it was about midnight that someone decided to let the
fireworks fly. I never found out who's brainchild that was, and
if I had, I would have smacked them unconscious. I was lying
down, ready for anything, and all the sudden noise and light
starts exploding behind me as colored flare after flare flies
into the sky, bursting above. I couldn't see the actual
explosions, but the light did filter down. I had been so tightly
strung by that point I nearly killed the three people setting
them off. Accidentally mind you, it was a shock, and I was
already very tense.
That must have been the final stroke though. They were out
there, looking for us, and never would have found us except for
those blasted fireworks. Less then ten minutes after they -the
people setting of the fireworks- stopped firing the damn things
into the air, I very faintly heard a motor coming from way off to
my right.
I did what I was paid to do and hit the panic signal. Sure, I
didn't know for certain that it was not some other recreational
craft, but I trust my instincts. They probably had a sonar fix on
us and were coming in as quietly as they could.
The panic signal was completely ignored by those drunken bums,
and they all kept right on having their party night. When the
ship was no more than twenty feet away, I was finally able to
hear it clearly. They were running without lights, and I decided
to launch a preemptive.
I didn't have a chance. Right as I was drawing, they opened up.
Bullets sprayed everywhere, perforating everything that was on
deck, chairs, walls, everything. I was saved because I was lying
down and everything went over my head.
Frith and I returned fire before they had finished their initial
salvo. Normally in situations like this, you can get a fix on the
other guys by the muzzle flashes, but the fog just glowed,
spreading the light around. I started firing back but wasn't
doing more than making them keep their heads down.
Then Frith did something that takes everyone by surprise. He's
up in the crow's nest, remember. He got out onto one of the
masts, ran the length of it, jumped off the edge, and fell where
his guess told him their boat wasn't. He's right and slashes down
behind them.
They startled in surprise, and I ran over closer, hoping they'll
become clearer targets. This is also when the celebs behind me
start screaming in fear. Of course, hearing James Woods crying
for help like a little girl almost made it all worthwhile.
Sure enough, their boat moved closer. They were only seven or
eight feet away now, and I was beginning to make out vague
figures. I started taking the shots I was sure I could make.
Half of them were dropped before they knew what hit them. I was
aiming for anything which moves and not too picky on what. In
blind panic they started returning fire, but I was huddled behind
a water barrel. I got drenched, but they didn't manage to score.
Then Frith climbed out of the water onto their boat and went
nuts. He's got some kind of wild blind fighting skill that made
the fog not slow him down at all. He had a knife and a gun, and
he starts ripping through these guys like they're so much paper.
Someone below hits the running lights now; I never did find out
who did that either. In the light I could see their boat is only
about five feet from ours and blood was everywhere. It looks like
someone threw the lot of them into a blender. Outlines were still
really hazy though.
I started shooting everything but the guy in yellow and pea
green. He didn't miss a step, and we cut through these guys like
wheat at a thresher. This wasn't exactly a nice, clean fight, but
this wasn't a movie either, despite the star power twenty feet
behind me.
After that, well, everything pretty much ended. All eighteen of
the crew of the bad guys were on deck, and we took them out. We
left the ship adrift and reported the incident to the authorities
the next day. They had a couple thousand dollars in drugs aboard
so our story was accepted without question.
===
Nadia nodded, digesting this. She finished pouring the rice onto
two plates and shoveled the stir fry on top. As she placed the
plates on the table, Sagawa grunted and sat down. After he
thanked her, he dug in.
===
They had been on the water for about two days before the first
storm hit. It had been a night of howling winds, high waves, and
rain. In the dark, only Damion and Kyle had remained above the
deck; everyone else had retreated to the slightly safer cabins.
The storm had sustained itself with an unnatural strength,
lasting from early in the evening to late the next morning before
blowing itself out.
When, in the slowly strengthening afternoon of the next day, it
had been judged dead, the remaining three had ascended to the
surface timorously. There had been a slight hesitation by those
below, as if simply walking in the open air could call a storm
back. Unsurprisingly however, no vengeful zephyrs appeared when
they emerged, bringing more of the ocean's wrath.
Since it had been the unanimous decision of those aboard that
they should remain radio silent, several of the ship's occupants
had wondered idly what would transpire if they were broken by the
storm. Would they sink, slowly into the waves, to be eaten by
well submerged denizens of the depths? It was a subject Nadia
gave quite a bit of thought, after her previous close call with
drowning.
To the two men who positioned themselves behind the steering
controls, that was not the most important of events though. Kyle
and Damion concerned themselves with courses and plotting a
direction.
Damion had been imperative they find shore as soon as possible.
He cared little as for where, though he preferred something on
the continent. When Kyle had asked why it was so important,
Damion just said on the water was not a good place to be. The
shorter man had shrugged and accepted.
After some investigation of maps, Siberia stood out as the
closest part of Asia they could reach. That was almost two weeks
away, and they did not have nearly enough fuel. Damion had
frowned but assented that it was not possible.
The next best hope was a small island nation to the south, which
would hopefully contain an airport where they could charter a
plane. That looked like it would be no more than a few days
sailing.
"It's not good, but its the best we have. Change course," he had
declared.
That had been yesterday. Now, as the sea gradually calmed
itself, Damion's expression became grimmer. If the previous
night's gale had surprised him, he had showed no sign. In the
quiet, when the sun shown down brightly through empty skies, he
appeared expectant. He waited like someone aware of the future.
His mood had gradually affected Kyle until, without truly
knowing why, he had gone below to check the condition of
something, anything. In the sickly red light of the bilge, he
idly set to work on a hand pump to relieve tension.
"How are we doing?" Carin had taken a seat by the overflowing
table and was looking at the spread of charts and graphs. They
had been haphazardly removed from the waterproof cabinets after
the storm. As she idly pulled her hair behind her, intending to
put it back, she looked over the marked course.
"We should arrive by the twenty seventh. That's still far more
time on the water than I would like, but it can't be helped."
Damion never took attention from the steerage.
"Why is it such a big thing for us not to be on the water?
You're like this now, and Sagawa is worse." She looked at him
while she asked, trying to decipher what he was thinking. Like
always when she tried to read his emotions, she failed. With most
other people she could read them like a book, never Damion.
"It's bad. Very bad. And I'm not the one to speak to about it,"
he replied.
"Sagawa?"
The radar binged. Damion walked over and checked it without
responding.
"A small ship, possibly a fisher, on an intercept course. This
is also very, very bad." Damion hissed in thought. "I'd say an
ETA of a few hours."
"What? Who?"
"Dynasty. They always do checkups in situations like this. I can
only assume the squall yesterday held them off. Now they are on
their way." Damion returned to piloting, thinking hard.
"What's that big mass to the north?" Carin asked.
"A storm we're racing."
"But storms don't come this far south from that direction. We
get the ones coming up from the tropics." She looked at him,
slightly confused. Weather had been a hobby of hers.
"That one was yesterday's. If you don't believe this new one's
there, wait here a few hours," Damion replied.
"Couldn't we hide in or on the other side of the storm? Use it
as a cover?"
"No. We don't want to be anywhere near that storm when it hits."
Damion spoke with absolute certainty.
Carin nodded without really understanding why. She gazed at the
chart for a bit longer. After a moment, she frowned and checked
the map's date.
"Hey, this was made in the twenties."
"Go on." Damion turned to face her.
"About five years ago, a hot spot popped up not far from here.
Built an island that had previously been trying to get out of the
water. If you have a map of the ocean's bottom, I could probably
find out where."
"Find out if we do." Nodding, Damion smiled.
Carin began rifling through the unorganized pile of charts.
After a few minutes she found what she was looking for. Nadia
emerged a moment later.
"Hi Damion! Hey Carin. What are you two up to?"
"Trying find an island to weather that storm in. You remember
where that new island that showed up a few years ago is?" Carin
gesticulated towards the chart.
Nadia looked at her and blinked. Then she rattled of a string of
coordinates. "Why don't we just keep going south?"
"We want to evade the Dynasty ship that's coming up from the
south." Carin absently motioned towards the radar display while
she continued to leaf through the assembled cartography.
"What ship? It's not on the radar."
Damion froze. Very, very slowly, he turned and watched the blue
screen for several minutes. Sure enough, the blip to the south of
them was definitely absent.
"That's good right?" Carin asked. It was something of an outside
chance, though. Damion's face had become a stiff mask as he
watched the radar.
"That, was very, very bad."
End
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