Behind the Sea (alternate universe version) 2/4
Behind the Sea (alternate universe version)
Part One
South Pacific Ocean
“Dr. Urie,” Dr. Way says, smiling. It’s early enough in the morning that it takes a second for Brendon to figure out who he means.
“Oh hey,” he says, hands catching in the deep pockets of his lab coat when he fumbles to pull them out. “Brendon is fine. We’re pretty informal down here on the science deck.”
“Gerard,” Dr. Way agrees, skipping the handshake to go for a friendly arm squeeze. “I haven’t seen any autopsy reports, so I assume you were waiting for me to get here?”
“Oh,” Brendon says, stumbling a little. “We, um, I…don’t really like doing them. The killing part, I mean. It seems cruel.”
Gerard looks surprised. “It’s not dead?”
“It was swimming around the last time I saw it,” Brendon promises. “We’re keeping it in a torpedo tube.”
“I knew that part,” Gerard says. “I just assumed it was because you had it laid out or preserved or something.”
“No,” Brendon says, with a quick guilty glance in the direction of the moon pool. “I just didn’t want it to eat Dylan.”
Gerard and Dylan had become fast friends the previous evening, after Lugosi’s water had been changed out. He and Brendon exchange an understanding glance concerning the difficulties of keeping a dolphin and a carnivorous cephalopod in the same tank.
Brendon gestures in the direction of the corridor that will eventually lead them to the torpedo bay, but Gerard stops after only a few steps. “If it’s still alive,” he says, “We’re gonna need Ray.”
It’s convenient that Gerard travels with someone who kills things for him so he doesn’t have to do it himself. Brendon has Jon to do a lot of the stuff he doesn’t want to do himself, but luckily he doesn’t often have to do any killing. He’s fine with dissections once whatever it is has stopped breathing, but he can’t stand to be the one ending life, even in the name of science. Maybe especially in the name of science.
“How do you…? Oh, right, got it. Ray,” Gerard says loudly into the com speaker. “We need the scanner thing.”
“On my way,” the speaker acknowledges in Ray’s high-pitched voice. “Anything else?”
“No. Meet us in the torpedo bay, okay? We’re going down to take a look.” Gerard stops holding down the button and turns back to Brendon. “Right, we’re good. Lead the way.”
Brendon still gets lost sometimes on this boat, especially when his destination involves non-scientific things like engine rooms and torpedo bays. Luckily he’s been down here every day to check on their newest arrival, so he’s more confident of his direction than he would have been the week before.
“It’s cool that you managed to keep it alive,” Gerard comments as they walk. “From what I understand, it’s pretty big. It’s hard to capture them without causing serious injury.”
“Alex chased it with a robot,” Brendon explains. “He has a probe-thing.”
“That’s cool,” Gerard says. “Oh hey, Ray. You brought the scanner? Where’s Mikey?”
“Hiding from the parapsychologist,” Ray announces. His hair is still just as awesome as it had been yesterday. Brendon is impressed; he was half-convinced that he’d exaggerated it in his mind. “I think he went to go get breakfast.”
“William’s not that bad,” Brendon assures them. New people always get a little creeped out around William, but the worst he ever does, usually, is reply to things they haven’t said out loud and warn them not to eat the vegan crab cakes, much to Frank’s vocal dismay.
“Mikey kept dreaming about him,” Gerard explains, scratching behind his ear. “I think he’s a little wigged.”
Brendon blinks, but before he has a chance to respond, Ray says, “Hey, I’m going to need some help with this. I can set it up on my own, but integrating it into new systems is always kind of a bitch. The sensors don’t tend to like it.”
“Oh,” Brendon says, bewilderment over the technical jargon dissipating at the word ‘sensors’. “I’ll call Spencer.”
-
Spencer does not seem especially happy to have been called. “You know this isn’t my job, right?” he asks, hips cocked at an angle that Brendon is used to seeing whenever Jon is around. “Any engineer could do this. Call Ivarsson.”
“But you’re the best,” Brendon insists, widening his eyes just enough to communicate ‘earnest’ without Spencer catching him on it. “You’re the Sensor Chief.”
“I’m not…” Spencer begins, but the power of the eyes compels him, obviously, because he gives up and waves a hand even before Brendon has to resort to a slight - very slight - protrusion of his lower lip. “Fine. Whatever. Hand me that cable.”
“The best,” Brendon reiterates, already looking for cables.
“So what does this thing do?” Spencer asks, nodding his head slightly towards the stack of boxes Ray has set out on the deck.
“It’s like an x-ray,” Ray explains, hair bobbing enthusiastic agreement as he hooks things up. “For things that can’t usually be x-rayed. It records the relative density of biological material.”
“It’s really cool,” Gerard puts in. He’s busy at the torpedo tube, fishing around with what Brendon refers to as the ‘squid stick.’ “It tells me a lot about how healthy they are, and whether they have any unusual markers for their species.”
“Do you know what species it is?” Brendon asks, abandoning Spencer and his cables to join Gerard at the side of the makeshift tank.
“Alluroteuthis antarcticus,” Gerard answers. He has the squid interested in the stick now, somehow, probably a result of whatever the sticky-looking orange stuff is that he’s dabbed onto the end of it. “Possibly a juvenile, since…that’s it, open up…see the tooth? On larger individuals, that would be a hook. It’s hard to tell between the juveniles and sub-adults, though. The tentacle structure doesn’t really change.”
Brendon watches the squid clamp down on the end of the stick and wraps his arms around himself without thinking. “Nice. Hook.”
“This little beauty is the only known member of its genus,” Gerard says, towing the squid along slowly towards the scanner. “And should probably be considered Parateuthis tunicate, but there’s no conclusive proof. There you go, into the nice cave.”
Ray’s console lights up, which successfully distracts Brendon from the squid. There are pictures on the monitor, bright colors and swirls, and some of the lights are blinking. “Does this work on jellyfish?” he asks curiously, studying the sharp contrasts in color where he can’t see any real physical difference at all.
“Yes, but not as well,” Ray answers. His finger hovers over the largest button on the console, and then he taps it a few times, slowly, each keystroke resulting in a flash and frozen image on the screen.
“That’s interesting,” Gerard comments in Brendon’s ear, making him jump slightly. “You said that tag was already on when you found it, right?”
“Yeah,” Brendon answers. “Why?”
“Because if I didn’t know better, I’d say this specimen was domesticated,” Gerard explains. He nudges Ray out of the way, leaning in to look closer at the images as he clicks through them. “Look at the body fat ratio. And there are no marks or old scars from predators; these arms haven’t regenerated at all as far as I can tell. Can you go see if you can get that tag off for me?”
Brendon eyes the tube dubiously, but commandeers the squid stick and mentally rolls up his sleeves. “Here, squid,” he calls softly, trying not to think about the hook and all that stuff Gerard said about squid liking to bite the heads off of things.
He thinks he’s almost got it, braced against the wall of the tube and leaning somewhat precariously over the edge, when he feels something wet slither over the edge of his hand. He drops the stick with a shout and loses his balance, windmilling for a second over the water before he falls.
It takes him a few panicked seconds to realize that the reason he’s enveloped isn’t because he’s being eaten alive by a giant squid, but because Spencer’s caught him around the waist and is holding him tight to keep him upright until Brendon stops flailing.
“Okay?” Spencer asks after a few more seconds.
“Yeah,” Brendon replies as confidently as possible, although it’s entirely likely that Spencer can feel the way his heart is racing and the fact that he isn’t quite breathing normally yet. He’d really prefer not to go anywhere for a bit; Spencer has really strong, squid-repellent arms. “Um.”
“Brendon,” a familiar voice says behind them, and Spencer and Brendon both turn at the same time, an odd squeeze-twist that just seems to tangle them closer together instead of separating them.
Jon is standing at the top of the ladder leading down to the bay, arms crossed over his chest. He’s wearing a sour expression that probably has something to do with the fact that Brendon has yet to remove himself from Spencer’s unintentional embrace.
“Um,” Brendon says again.
“I’m supposed to tell you that you’re wanted on the science deck.” Jon pauses, and then when no one moves, adds, “Now.”
“Right,” Brendon says. “I’ll just…”
He tries to straighten up, but instead of pulling away, Spencer’s arms tighten, keeping him where he is. Brendon half-twists, confused, and sees Spencer engaged in a staring contest with Jon across the torpedo bay. Spencer’s eyes narrow just as his hand flattens across Brendon’s stomach, right above the waistband of his pants, and Jon’s lips thin.
“Um,” Brendon says yet again, and then sighs as Jon turns and stomps out. “Oh.”
-
“Frank,” Alex says cheerfully, pushing his glasses up onto his nose with one finger while the others keep a tight but wobbly hold on his coffee cup. “How did the tofu scramble turn out?”
“Try it and see,” Frank offers, lifting the lid off of the pan. There’s still some left, even with the early-morning crowd thinning as they head to their stations. The graveyard shift will be in soon for dinner.
Alex samples a little bit of everything, as usual, and clucks his tongue over the lack of anything resembling a sausage - also as usual. “They make soy sausage, you know,” he points out, mixing Tabasco sauce into his tofu scramble.
“Fake meat defeats the purpose of not eating meat,” Frank points out.
“Not all of us are voluntary vegans,” Alex counters, and then closes his eyes and hums appreciation for the first bite. “Mmm. Yeah. This is. Mmm.”
Alex is the only member of the crew who actually seems to care about food beyond what there is to eat and when. He and Frank sometimes trade recipes.
“I’ll keep it,” Frank agrees, and then gets distracted by the person coming down the line. “Bob, hey. Do you want to sleep with me yet?”
“I haven’t had my coffee yet, Iero,” Bob warns. He looks particularly menacing in the mornings, but Frank has always been immune. It’s one of many signs that they’re obviously made for each other.
“It’s okay, I can wait,” Frank assures him. Bob just grunts.
Frank waits until he’s swallowed the first sip before asking, “Tonight? I think it will be magical.”
Bob actually growls. Frank heaps an enormous spoonful of tofu scramble onto his plate and adds a muffin for good measure. Nothing says love like muffins.
“Bob,” Frank tries again, but there’s someone else standing in front of him waiting to be served, and they’re unfamiliar enough to give him pause. “Oh, hey. Mikey, right? The squid dude.”
Mikey blinks at him a few times but seems to decide he’s harmless. “That’s my brother,” he says. “I’m the assistant squid dude.”
“Oh, cool. I saw the guy with the hair in here earlier. Ray, right? What will it be? We have tofu scramble, toast and some nut spreads, muffins, and some green things that Walker claims are asparagus. I wouldn’t take his word for it, but I put a fuckload of seasoning on them, so you’re probably okay.”
Mikey blinks again. Frank is about to start serving him some of everything when William sidles up and smiles at both of them. “Hi,” he says to Frank, and then turns his attention to Mikey. “Are we playing hide and go seek?”
Mikey looks spooked and cornered. Frank is impressed; even William doesn’t usually work that fast. Most people only get that look when they’ve been forced into a counseling session.
“Usually avoiding me works better when you’re not thinking about it,” William explains. “Otherwise it’s like you’re standing in a room yelling, ‘Please don’t find me!’ and it’s kind of hard not to notice. Or hiding behind me and tapping me on the shoulder at the same time.”
Mikey clears his throat. “Yeah,” he says finally. “I guess so. I don’t know how that all works.”
“I see a lot of blue,” William says thoughtfully. He helps himself to a muffin and starts peeling back the paper, picking it free with his fingernails. “Sometimes other stuff, but mostly blue.”
“What does blue mean?” Mikey asks, looking as if he almost doesn’t want to know. “Like, sadness? Calm?”
William pauses mid-muffin-denuding and stares at him. “We’re in the middle of the ocean,” he says slowly.
Frank is seized by a sudden coughing fit and has to turn away so as not to be unsanitary near the food. When he finally gets control of himself again, William is staring thoughtfully at Mikey.
“Why, what do you usually see?” William asks, and Frank freezes in surprises. Mikey’s hunted look suddenly makes a lot more sense, and also multiplies by ten.
“Nothing,” he says, hunching over his plate. There’s still nothing on it; Frank hastily gives him some tofu out of pity.
“Hmm,” William comments. He steals another muffin and links his elbow through Mikey’s. “We should talk. Maybe I can help you explore your psychic potential.”
Mikey’s expression clears slightly into disbelieving. “Does that line ever actually work?” he asks.
“Yes,” William says. “I don’t want to talk about it. Come on, this way. Breakfast awaits.”
Mikey throws one last pleading look at Frank even as he’s towed off. Frank smiles and waves at him with the spatula.
-
Frank skulks around outside the science deck for a good fifteen minutes before he finally decides to go down. Brendon hadn’t shown up for breakfast or lunch, which isn’t all that unusual for him when he’s working on a project - usually Jon or someone takes him a tray - but the new squid guy hadn’t shown up either. Ray and Mikey had made it to both meals, but not Gerard. Frank’s only human; he’s curious.
He comes bearing a tray loaded with delicious and nutritious delicacies, so it’s not like they’ll throw him out. He doesn’t think Brendon would ever actually throw anyone out, anyway, but it never hurts to be prepared. He even has Swedish fish. Let it not be said that he doesn’t know his crew’s weaknesses.
He finds Brendon first and rocks on his toes for a few seconds before Brendon finally looks up and says, “Oh, Frank, hi. Is it lunch time already?”
“It’s dinner time,” Frank corrects, offering the tray. “You missed lunch.”
“Oh, really? Thanks. Hey, Swedish fish, awesome.” As per usual, Brendon completely forgoes the actual balanced meal Frank has prepared and goes straight for the sugar. He’s probably running low on caffeine, too; he seems to be vibrating a little less than usual.
“I just wanted to check in, since I didn’t see you,” Frank says casually. “I figured you and the squid guy were working late.”
“Gerard?” Brendon asks, already in the process of demolishing the fish. “Yeah, he’s around, we’re doing some tests and stuff.”
“Cool,” Frank says, and bounces on his toes some more. He tries to calculate exactly how long he can hang around without Brendon getting suspicious, and very subtly cranes his neck to peek around and see if he can catch a glimpse of Gerard.
Frank is uber-stealthy, but Brendon is sharper than they usually give him credit for. “We should go find him,” Brendon says, with a look that’s a shade too knowing for Frank’s peace of mind. But then…it’s Brendon. Frank doesn’t think he would ever use his knowledge for evil, unless perhaps it involved Ryan Ross. “He’ll be hungry too, and you probably haven’t been introduced properly.”
“I met him last night,” Frank says with a shrug, but Brendon is already heading across the deck, finishing the last of the Swedish fish in record time.
“Dr. Way,” Brendon calls, professional demeanor suddenly in place, swirling around him like the lab coat in spite of the fact that he’s still chewing gummy candy. “I’d like you to meet Dr. Iero. He’s the onboard nutritionist, and also our chef. He’s the only person I know who can make even seaweed spicy and exciting.”
Brendon tips him a wink after this. Frank doesn’t think Gerard notices, but it still makes him want to bang his head against a wall.
“Hi,” Gerard says, holding out his hand and smiling. He still has something of the mad scientist look going on, but it’s more of a mild-mannered, polite mad scientist. “Frank, right? We met last night; I remember your tattoos.”
“Yeah,” Frank says, grinning. “You offered to introduce me to your pet squid.”
Gerard looks briefly startled, then lights up a little. “You haven’t met Lugosi. He’s over here, although I don’t know how social he’s feeling…oh hey, are those little pizzas?”
“Bruschetta,” Frank corrects, but doesn’t mind all that much when Gerard stacks his to make a mini-pizza and crunches a bite. Personally, Frank thinks that’s the best way to eat bruschetta, no matter what Alex says.
“Mmmphnngh,” Gerard approves, waving the bruschetta and creating a minor shower of crumbs. “He might be hiding right now. Squid have the ability to change the color and texture of their bodies in order to camouflage themselves.”
“Awesome,” Frank replies. “How’s it going with the one we fished out off of Antarctica?”
Brendon looks as if he’s not certain they should go spreading results around yet, but Gerard clearly has no such compunctions. “We think it’s domesticated,” he says, earnestness overwhelming the ridiculousness of that statement. “It’s well-fed, and the tag could be a brand, like they used to use for livestock. It’s also much milder than most of its species. Alluroteuthis antarcticus aren’t as vicious as some others, but they’re not usually this docile. Squid are natural hunters; the really dangerous ones live off the coast of Peru. They’re like fucking piranhas, ripping their prey to shreds in seconds.”
“That’s so cool,” Frank breathes.
Gerard beams at him. “Hey, do you want to stay?” he asks. “I could use some help with the slides.”
Frank thinks perhaps the whole ‘Dr. Iero’ introduction was slightly misleading, since he has no idea what to do with slides, but he figures he’ll learn fast. “Yeah,” he says immediately. “Let’s do it.”
-
Drake Passage, near the South Shetland Group
“Stay away from Brendon,” Spencer growls.
“What the fuck?” Jon says, and also, “Jesus, don’t stop,” because Spencer’s at the perfect angle now to have Jon seeing stars every time his cock pushes inside.
“Leave. Him. Alone,” Spencer warns, and Jon’s not really in a position to argue, since every word is punctuated by a thrust sharp enough to have Jon’s eyes rolling back into his head. And all right, technically he’s the one who escalated things by not-so-subtly squeezing Brendon’s ass when Spencer dropped by the science deck, but it’s not like he started the whole thing intentionally.
Spencer is amazing in bed when he’s pissed off. Jon thinks maybe it has something to do with his deliberate rhythm and the fact that when he’s in this mood he obviously doesn’t care whether Jon gets off or not. That shouldn’t be as much of a turn-on as it actually is.
He hadn’t exactly meant to end up in bed with Spencer when he showed up here, but it’s not like he fought it, either. And the sex is turning out to be pretty fucking fantastic.
“I…” Jon starts, more words than that not really making themselves known in his head, and then he’s interrupted anyway by the com going off.
“Lieutenant Smith to the bridge,” the com barks, and seriously, Blackinton has got some fucking nerve.
Spencer stills almost entirely, breathing hard and looking down at Jon, their hips rocking together just the tiniest bit with the need to keep going. “Ignore it,” Jon says, and hopes that didn’t sound like a plea.
“It’s a call to the bridge,” Spencer replies disbelievingly.
Jon’s ankles try to lock around Spencer’s hips to keep him there, but they’re both too sweaty and his feet slip almost immediately. It changes their position just enough that Spencer drops his head and groans, thrusting forward involuntarily.
Jon wets his lips and tries to breathe. “Didn’t you just get off?” he asks.
“No,” Spencer says flatly, hips rolling again in a way that makes Jon’s hand scrabble at his back. “I really didn’t.”
“Fuck,” Jon says with feeling, and then, “Five minutes.”
Spencer hesitates, but he’s on the verge of breaking. Jon can tell by the way his cock starts rubbing against Jon’s prostate.
“Smith,” Gabe’s voice breaks in. “Where are you? I need you on the fucking bridge, now.”
Spencer’s cock is gone before Jon can even properly register the loss as more than a teeth-grinding slide and ache. “Seriously?” he says, blinking. “Seriously?”
“I’m in the fucking military, it’s not like this is a call from Brendon for you to come water your kelp,” Spencer snaps, yanking on his clothes. He has his pants on and his jacket zipped before Jon can do more than gape in disbelief.
“You’re not actually leaving right now,” Jon tries again. His cock bobs against his stomach in agreement.
Spencer scowls at him from where he’s tugging on his shoes and tosses the discarded tube of lube back onto the bed. “Use your hand.”
-
Jon’s not expecting to run into Ryan in the corridor five minutes later on the way back to his quarters, but it’s not like he doesn’t seize the opportunity. “Hey,” he says, stuffing his hands into his pockets and smiling. “Thought you’d be on the bridge.”
Ryan eyes him warily. “My shift ended half an hour ago,” he says, which Jon already knew.
“I was just wondering if there’d been a change,” he says, and keeps smiling. If anyone would know why Spencer’s just been called away, it’s Ryan.
“No,” Ryan says bluntly. He pauses for a second, and then his eyes narrow suspiciously. “Did you just have sex?”
“What?” Jon asks, and tries hastily for an expression that says ‘innocent.’
Ryan leans in and inhales deliberately. His expression doesn’t change, but his tone seems suddenly icier, even when it’s probably exactly the same as well. “Did you just have sex with Spencer?”
There’s no possible way Ryan could know that just by sniffing him. “Do you have any idea why he would have just left?” Jon asks. He feels silly for asking, but he really wants to know. It’s bugging him.
Ryan seems surprised, but then it’s hard to tell with Ryan. “I’m not talking about this with you,” he replies, and sounds almost apologetic when he says, “You’re the enemy.”
“I know,” Jon says, although he misses hanging out with Ryan. He’s kind of pissed that breaking up with Spencer was a two-for-one deal. Ryan’s a cool guy and a good friend. “I was just wondering if you’d gotten called to the bridge.”
“No,” Ryan says again, and then sharpens his focus. “Why, was Spencer?”
“A few minutes ago,” Jon admits, stuffing his hands back into his pockets and scuffing his foot against the deck. “We were, uh…”
“Don’t tell me,” Ryan orders. He turns around and starts walking back the way he came. “I have to go.”
“Wait,” Jon calls, foolish and a little desperate. “Do you think, uh…?”
“Jon,” Ryan says slowly, “Spencer did not invent an emergency call to the bridge just to get away from you.”
“Right,” Jon says, even though he’s not sure he believes it. “Thanks.”
“I have to go,” Ryan says again. Jon bobs his head, turns around and resumes walking back to his quarters.
That’s right about when the alarms start going off.
-
It’s an unspoken rule that whenever Spencer is on the bridge, Ryan is on the bridge. He kicks Siska off his station and flips on the com, catching Alex’s eye across the room so he knows about the change and hopefully volunteers some information.
“Something’s either wrong with the sensors or wrong with the boat,” Alex explains, just as Ryan had hoped. “They say we’re sinking.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my sensors,” Spencer snaps. He looks frazzled, or as frazzled as Spencer ever gets. He’s also sweaty and rumpled with sex hair, which confirms Ryan’s suspicions and means they’re having a talk as soon as the current crisis is over.
“Ballast?” Ryan asks.
“We tried that,” Alex replies. “It kept us up for about fifteen seconds, and then we started sinking again.”
“What the fuck?” Gabe asks rhetorically.
“I’ve got one WSKR going down with us, but the other two are fine,” Spencer reports. “Whatever’s affecting us, they’re out of range.”
“Um, bridge?” Brendon’s voice suddenly breaks in, sounding confused. “Why are my readings saying we’re in brackish water?”
“What?” Alex asks, pushing back from his station to listen in.
“I’m not getting anything like that,” Spencer contradicts, flipping switches and checking his monitors. “Nothing’s changed, we’re still in the middle of the ocean.”
“My sensors are more sensitive than yours,” Brendon argues. “They’re designed to register changes in salinity, even subtle ones. Right now they’re telling me we’re in an estuary.”
“Shit,” Gabe says. “We’re in a fucking sinkhole. Ryland, get us out of here.”
“Venting ballast,” Ryland replies immediately.
“Still at negative weight,” Spencer says tightly. “We’re about to drop beneath the ocean floor.”
“Vent auxiliary tanks,” Gabe orders. “Adjust the trim tanks, try to angle us up. Ryland, anything?”
“No change,” Ryland reports, at the same time Spencer says, “We’re not going to make it.”
“We’re going to hit bottom,” Gabe says. “Urie, get to quarters and hang onto something.”
“How far are we going to drop?” Alex asks, already at Spencer’s elbow looking over his shoulder.
“We’re sinking faster than the WSKRS,” Spencer says grimly. “I can’t tell yet.”
Ryan does a hydroacoustic sounding and listens for the echo, watching the blip on his screen travel and bounce. “I’ve got a reading,” he reports. “We’re at 200 feet and dropping.”
“Literally,” Alex mutters.
“Sound collision,” Gabe calls, and Ryland echoes it over the com, red lights blaring to life all around them.
“Screen,” Gabe says, snapping his fingers, and the bridge monitor is suddenly filled with the sight of rock wall rising past them, bubbles from the tanks drifting in their wake.
“Thirty seconds,” Ryan estimates.
“Down the rabbit hole,” Gabe muses quietly. “Here we go.”
-
Impact isn’t as bad as they expect it to be; it’s less of a collision and more of a slow, gravelly scrape, metal groaning as the boat settles. Gabe waits until the final shudder to call out, “Everyone okay?”
Ryan loosens his death-grip on the console and glances over to check on Spencer, who catches his eye. “Fine,” he says, echoing Ryland and Alex a second behind.
“Talk to me,” Gabe says.
“Sonar’s unreliable,” Ryan says reluctantly, after another sounding. “It’s calibrated for salt water.”
“I can tell you there’s a big fucking cave to starboard,” Spencer says grimly. “This sinkhole is huge.”
“It had to be, to swallow us,” Gabe points out. “How fucked are we?”
“Salinity is at three-point-five percent,” the com chirps. Ryan’s hand jerks back reflexively towards the switch before he even registers the voice.
“Urie, I thought I told you to get to quarters,” Gabe comments.
“You need me,” Brendon argues. “There’s no way we’re going to regain buoyancy, we’re at the mouth of an underground river. The entire landscape is karstified.”
“How deep are we under?” Gabe asks quietly. Everyone on the bridge hears it anyway; it’s silent except for the distant call of the alarms still sounding in the corridors.
“Too deep for a mini-sub to make it out,” Spencer answers, not even bothering to lower his voice. “Too cold for divers.”
Metal groans again, creaking ominously. Ryan shivers, and tries again to loosen his grip on the communications console. Watery grave, he thinks, and wonders why it doesn’t feel as poetical and romantic as he’d always believed.
“There’s more,” Brendon says. “We’re not just in an underground river, we’re in a hot spring of some sort. The water mixing around us isn’t exactly temperate, but it’s warmer than the Weddell Sea.”
“Warm enough for a diver?” Gabe asks, settling near Ryan’s shoulder to listen. “Warm enough for a dolphin?”
“Bottlenose aren’t a freshwater species,” Brendon answers. “The water would blister his skin, and we don’t even know that there’s anywhere beyond that cave for him to go.”
“We can find out,” Spencer says grimly. “WSKRS are fighting the same weight we are, but I can drag them across the bottom if I have to.”
“Do it,” Gabe orders immediately. “Find out if there’s any way out of here. Ross, release a buoy, maybe someone in the area will spot it. Distress signal on all channels.”
There’s no one in the area; Ryan has been monitoring communications since they headed back into open ocean. He does it anyway, flipping switches automatically that he’s almost never had to use outside of proficiency drills.
The banging makes him jump, and he berates himself for it at once, willing his heart to stop racing. Everyone else looks equally spooked, though, so at least he wasn’t the only one.
“What is that?” Brendon’s voice asks, tinny through the com.
“The hull warming up,” Alex answers, reaching out with one hand to touch a bulkhead. “It’s probably going to keep doing that for a while.”
“Shut the alarms off,” Gabe orders, swinging back down from Ryan’s station to the main deck. “We don’t need people having panic attacks. We’re fine for the time being.”
“Right until the air runs out,” Spencer says quietly, and it takes Ryan a second to realize that the sound came through his headset, for his ears alone.
“You had sex with Jon,” he says stupidly, because if they’re all going to die he might as well have this conversation now. It makes sense in his head, anyway, which is focused on not thinking about the fact that they’re trapped underwater in a giant metal coffin.
Spencer stares at him in disbelief, like that’s the most idiotic possible thing he could have chosen to say at this moment. Ryan just stares mutely back.
His com beeps.
It’s so unexpected that it takes him a while to figure out that the sound didn’t come from Spencer’s channel, or Brendon’s, or the emergency buoy, but from an outside source. Ryan stares at the blinking light on his console for several seconds before he clears his throat and says, “We’re being hailed.”
Gabe’s head whips around so fast Ryan thinks his neck might have cracked. “Who?” he asks.
Ryan shrugs and flips the switch to open up a channel. “This is a United Earth Oceans vessel, please identify yourself,” he says in English, pausing before he repeats the message in the most likely foreign languages.
“Hi,” a friendly voice says through the speakers. “Looks like you found our back door.”
-
Sinkhole, near Deception Island
The fact that they’re apparently not alone down here is not quite as reassuring as Gabe would have thought. Still, Smith hasn’t reported any torpedoes homing in on them yet, so Gabe’s optimistic.
“Knock knock,” he jokes, moving up behind Ross.
The voice on the other end of the com is still decidedly cheerful, but that doesn’t mean Gabe trusts it. “Yeah, we’ve seen you coming for a while. We were kind of hoping you wouldn’t be back, though.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” Gabe says, and types find them on one of Ross’ screens. “I don’t suppose you have a front door we could use.”
“Not from where you are,” the voice replies. “You bypassed that when you went straight for the sinkhole approach. We can get you out, though.”
“You don’t say?” Gabe says lightly. Ross is doing something with a descrambler, fingers flying but not fast enough yet to give Gabe any results. The signal is bouncing, ricocheting around the cavern they’re in and seemingly everywhere at once.
“Well, it depends. Do you have any air left, or have you blown through all your tanks?”
“Give me a second.” Gabe slashes a finger across his throat for Ross to cut the transmission, and twists to look at Ryland.
Ryland doesn’t look very happy about their situation, either. “We can redirect emergency life support tanks,” he reports. “Everything else is gone. But it won’t be enough to get us out of here, so if we blow them and this guy fucks us over, we’ll all die down here a lot faster.”
“It does sound suspiciously like a good plan on his part, doesn’t it?” Gabe comments, and motions for Ross to open the channel again. “Hey, turns out we have plenty of air left,” he says cheerfully. “What’s your suggestion?”
Ross murmurs something, and Gabe thinks it’s meant for him until he follows Ross’ line of sight and catches sight of Smith. Smith meets his eyes and jerks his chin, back towards Ross. Gabe looks down at the sensor input scrolling across Ross’ screen, a three-dimensional diagram of the tunnel leading from the mouth of the cave to what looks like a central land mass.
“We can flood the tube with enough salt water to let you coast,” the voice tells him, “but we’d need you to give us some bounce first, to get yourself off the bottom.”
It still sounds like a trap, but Gabe is feeling slightly better now about the odds. “You realize that if this is all big talk, we have a torpedo locked on your location,” he remarks, and swings a finger through the air at Alex to make it happen. “We won’t be going down alone.”
“That was fast,” comes the reply, not sounding particularly threatened. “Good work. It’s not a hoax, though. How about a gesture of good faith?”
“Sounds good,” Gabe answers, but before he can say more, Alex warns, “Incoming,” and the entire boat rocks. Gabe latches on to the back of Ross’ chair, staggering a step, but staying upright.
“High saline concentration,” Ryland says quietly. “They didn’t hit us with anything, they just lifted us a little.”
Gabe squeezes Ross’ shoulder to cut transmission again. “Enough to get us off the ground on our own without blowing the reserves if I ask for another one?” he asks.
Ryland shakes his head.
“Okay,” Gabe says, and squeezes again. Alex mouths ‘torpedo locked’ and holds up ten fingers for the arming countdown. Gabe talks slowly, watching the seconds tick down. “Hey, that works for me,” he says. “Must come in handy, when you have a pet sinkhole. You want to coordinate this over com?”
“Let’s call it in five,” the voice replies. “Head straight into the cave, full speed or you won’t make it. Three, two, one.”
“Go,” Gabe orders, and calls their communicant a cocksucker under his breath for good measure when Alex barely has time to reply, “Blowing tanks.”
“Smith, keep us on course,” Gabe calls, and thinks he hears something along the lines of ‘fucking easy for you to say,’ but nobly ignores it.
The boat rocks, and then there’s the buoyant feeling of being lifted up and cradled by water, adrift, before they start sinking again. “We’re going down,” Alex reports, just as Gabe thinks it. “Four, maybe five seconds.”
“Smith,” Gabe says.
“I’m trying,” Smith says through gritted teeth, and then they hit bottom and shudder, metal screeching in protest as they slide and shake along the rocky bottom. Gabe hangs on to Ross’ station and keeps his eyes glued on the sensor display, watching the tunnel grid shift as they skid through the last few yards. Then the boat tilts hard to starboard, and the grid blinks right before they’re lifted, rising slowly from the bottom and back into the embrace of the ocean.
“Nice trick,” Gabe says, blowing out a breath.
“Thanks,” the com replies smugly. “Welcome to Clandestine.”
-
“We have to make this fast,” Gabe warns when he walks into the conference room, “because there’s some nutcase with his own secret underwater outpost out there waiting for us to send over a welcoming party.”
“Shouldn’t they be the ones welcoming us?” Ryland asks, eyebrows arched.
“Yeah, no dice. We’ve been extended the invitation, they’re not boarding.”
“Sounds like a good set-up for hostage situation,” Alex points out, fingers splayed across the surface of the table.
“No,” Bob says. “No high-ranking officers leave the boat, I go along for protection, and everyone is armed.”
“Hey, woah,” Gabe argues. “I think I should be going over there, as the one in charge and all.”
Bob’s look is mostly impassive, but also states clearly that this isn’t going to happen. “No science personnel,” he continues. “Trained military only. Four-to-five people with proper equipment, and communications are monitored at all times.”
“Do we really think they’re that much of a threat?” Alex asks.
“No weapons systems located, and there’s definitely nothing targeting us,” Smith reports when Gabe raises an eyebrows at him. “But that doesn’t mean they can’t do any damage. They’ve got control over salinity in this cavern. It’s possible they have ways of affecting water pressure as well.”
“If they do, they could crush us like a tin can,” Ryland points out.
“The temperature of the water is being regulated as well,” Urie breaks in unexpectedly. “It’s warmer than it should be, even taking into account some sort of hot springs.”
“In Antarctica?” Smith asks disbelievingly. Urie just shrugs and looks down at the table.
“We treat them like a threat,” Gabe says. “Monitor everything, get me all the information you can and don’t take your eyes off of them for a second. I want to know the minute something happens out there. Bryar, put together an expedition, let’s go see who we’re dealing with.”
Bob nods. Gabe is about to dismiss them all when he’s struck by another thought. “Urie, how warm? If we slipped a diver out at the same time as the mini-sub, would they have any problems?”
Urie looks startled, but comes up with an answer quicker than expected. “Not with the proper equipment,” he replies.
“We could do that,” Alex says thoughtfully. “You want someone to get a closer look? Unobserved?”
Gabe grins at him. “That’s the plan,” he agrees. “Butcher, want to get wet?”
“I’m on it,” Butcher replies at once.
“Done,” Gabe says. “Let’s go. Everybody stay sharp.”
It’s not far to his quarters. As expected, Travis’ program is running, and William is curled up on Gabe’s bunk, waiting.
“Hey,” Travis greets him with a serene bob of his head. “I heard you sunk your boat.”
“I’m not dead yet,” Gabe replies. “Don’t go getting cocky.”
William frowns at him intently. “You should send the squid guy,” he says.
“No bio-geeks,” Gabe counters. “Bob’s rules.” He pauses, giving William his full attention. “Why, did you see something?”
William shrugs a little, uncharacteristically unforthcoming, and says, “Just a feeling.”
Gabe narrows his eyes. William isn’t usually this vague - unhelpful, yes, but shifty, no - when it comes to his visions, but Gabe still trusts his gut, and his gut trusts William. “I’ll tell Bob,” he says. “But he’s going to throw a shitfit.”
“I know,” William says, uncoiling from the bunk to stand. “I’ll go tell Gerard. He’s not going to like it very much either.”
“Then why…?” Gabe begins, but William doesn’t stick around. “What the fuck?” he asks as the door closes.
“Yeah, man,” Travis agrees knowingly. “I say that all the time.”
-
“So you think that the squid are somehow connected to this island?” Gerard asks. Brendon hovers behind him, listening and watching. He hasn’t figured out whether he’s relieved or disappointed that Gerard is the sole exception to the ‘No Scientists’ rule and not him.
“It’s a safe bet,” Alex agrees, fastening the last strap on Gerard’s vest and pulling it snug. “They used the name Clandestine when they contacted us. Also,” he adds, adjusting the harness across Gerard’s shoulders while Gerard holds both arms out obediently and looks mostly bewildered at the military trappings, “Spencer’s done readings. There are a fuck-ton of squid out there.”
“What if he needs help?” Brendon ventures. He still doesn’t think he wants to go, not really, but there’s a part of him that feels like he could be useful. Too useful to be left behind.
“No,” Bob says immediately. “You’re staying put.” Bob’s a big and intimidating guy, especially now with his arms crossed over his chest and a small armory strapped onto his weapons harness, so Brendon meekly subsides.
Jon wraps an arm around him comfortingly. “It will be exciting here, too,” he says. “Like in the movies. We get to monitor things for our top-notch commando team.”
Mostly what they’re going to be monitoring is saline and temperature levels while checking in regularly to make sure that Butcher doesn’t get nitrogen narcosis, but it’s something, at least. Brendon smiles gratefully at Jon and gets a wink in return.
“Just make sure you don’t get distracted eating popcorn,” Spencer says, and Brendon blinks in surprise, twisting around to see Spencer stepping down onto the launch bay platform, weapon holstered on his hip and vest snug over his chest.
“Spencer’s going?” he asks stupidly. Jon seems equally surprised, but then his arm tightens around Brendon’s shoulders, and fuck, here they go again.
Spencer doesn’t even bat an eyelash. “I have clearance, and I’m not a ranking officer,” he points out. Bob holds out a hand to check Spencer’s gear, and grunts approval while Brendon tries to come up with what to say.
“You’re not exactly military elite,” Jon comments, but Brendon thinks there’s more concern in his tone than sarcasm. He’s too distracted to remember that he was groping Brendon, and his fingers are digging in now out of tension.
Spencer’s eyes narrow. “I’m not a coddled civilian, either,” he retorts, and that would sting if Brendon didn’t know that it wasn’t meant for him. Also if he hadn’t heard this argument approximately fifty times before.
“All set,” Alex breaks in, and Gerard lets his arms settle gingerly at his sides, looking a bit spooked and awkward with the added weight of the vest and harness.
“The gun is for show,” Bob says flatly. “And for emergencies. For fuck’s sake, don’t try to shoot anything with it.”
“Bob,” a voice contributes breathlessly, and Brendon catches sight of Frank hanging halfway over the curved tail of the mini-sub. “Are you really going over there? Is it dangerous? Can I come?”
Bob glowers, but even his best glower doesn’t do much in the face of Frank’s enthusiasm. “No,” he says. “Stay here with Urie. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“You could die,” Frank remarks dramatically, and swings a few inches lower to mash his lips somewhere in the vicinity of Bob’s face. “For luck,” he explains, half-giggling. “In case you don’t return to me.”
Bob obviously tries for another glower, but this one seems mostly resigned. Frank’s been chasing Bob for ages now, but no one is at all sure whether he’s serious about it. He just keeps asking, and Bob keeps saying no.
“Of course I’m fucking returning to you,” Bob says, and seems to realize what he’s said only seconds too late, as Frank’s giggling breaks out at full-strength. “Jesus Christ,” Bob mutters, and then gestures at Gerard and Spencer. “Let’s go.”
Gerard shuffles forward and Frank catches sight of him, the gleeful look on his face replaced by surprise. Gerard doesn’t look up, too busy tugging ineffectually at the straps on his vest until Alex stops him. He glances up once then, meeting Frank’s eyes, and back down, ducking through the hatch.
“He’s going?” Frank asks, still staring in shock at the air where Gerard used to be.
“They need scientists,” Jon says, chin jutting stubbornly forward as Spencer pushes past them. “The military needs someone along with brains.”
Brendon is about to pipe up unhappily that this isn’t really a fight they should be having right now, but Spencer turns sharply on his heel, fast enough to startle the words right out of his mouth. He’s suddenly very close, and Brendon tries to rear back automatically, but Jon’s arm is still trapping him in place, hand clamped like an iron band around Brendon’s bicep.
Spencer leans in and his lips brush across the corner of Brendon’s mouth. “For luck,” he says, eyes glittering dangerously. Then he’s gone, and Jon is too, both of them slamming hatches in opposite directions.
Frank stares at Brendon with wide, surprised eyes. Brendon looks the same way, he’s pretty sure.
He can’t tell which is tingling more, his arm or his mouth.
-
Mikey and Ray are busy analyzing results and writing reports, and Gerard is on his way over to the island, so it falls to Brendon to feed their captive squid.
It’s not that he doesn’t know how to feed a squid, it’s just that he has a healthy appreciation for things like pointy beaks and tentacles, and Gerard has spent the past few days saying things like, “They have hundreds of suction cups on each arm, and each one has sharp rings of chitin, like a serrated knife, which they use to dig through the flesh of their prey.” Brendon also has a healthy appreciation for his own intact flesh.
Jon’s nowhere to be found, and he doesn’t want to look like a pussy in front of Victoria, so he does the next best thing: he calls William.
“I don’t know why you don’t like them,” William comments, dropping tiny fish into Lugosi’s tank one at a time.
“I like them just fine, I’m just busy,” Brendon argues, and at the moment it’s true, because he has his hands full with Dylan. He doesn’t know how Dylan knows it’s not freezing outside anymore, or if it’s just a good guess on his part, but either way, Brendon has an unhappy dolphin.
He falls back when Dylan pushes him, because dolphins are strong and it’s easier than fighting. “Later, I promise,” he soothes, trying to get his hands out of the water to sign. “It’s dangerous right now. Danger.”
“He’s not listening,” William comments, and then, “Oh wow, you should see what Lugosi just did to this fish.”
Brendon doesn’t want to think about it. “Open water,” he says, hands raised high enough to get Dylan’s attention. “Ocea-” and then he gets a mouthful of salt water, because Dylan’s idea of friendly headbutting is somewhat more forceful than Brendon’s.
When he comes to the surface, William is at the edge of the moon pool rubbing Dylan’s tongue. “Traitor,” Brendon mutters, shaking out his hair, but he doesn’t mind, really. He swims over to hang onto to the edge of the pool, rubbing a hand over his bruised stomach. “Do you think he’ll let you clean his teeth?”
“I think we can work something out,” William agrees generously, splashing water into Dylan’s open mouth as Dylan bobs his head and splashes back. “And while I’m here, we can talk about how Smith and Walker are using you as a pawn in their little game of lustful one-upmanship.”
“What?” Brendon says, and also, “No.”
“It’s certainly an original approach to a threesome,” William muses, clearly ignoring Brendon’s answer. “I guess direct doesn’t work for everyone.”
“No,” Brendon says again, in the tone he uses for when Dylan’s on particularly bad behavior. “It’s not like that.”
William is watching his hands with interest, which confuses Brendon until he realizes that he’s still signing. He drops his arms beneath the water, sinks in up to his neck, and says plaintively, “I’m not in a counseling session, you can’t make me talk about this.”
“What most intrigues me,” William continues blithely, “is whether you’re not stopping it because you don’t want to piss Smith off and fuck things up with Ross, or because you’re really secretly enjoying it.”
Brendon takes the noble way out and sinks underwater. He can hold his breath for a long time, and hopefully by the time he comes up William will have become bored with his stealth tactics and gone back to playing with the squid.
When he finally surfaces and slicks his hair back from his face, it turns out that William is nowhere in sight. Brendon gives himself a second to celebrate his success, and then he’s interrupted by the clank of boots on the metal deck.
Ryan looks around for a minute and then squints at Brendon in the moon pool. “Beckett said you wanted me,” he says.
Brendon almost says, ‘No,’ but he’s afraid that if he does, William will pop out of nowhere and say, ‘That’s a bald-faced lie, Urie,’ and Brendon doesn’t really have a good comeback for that.
“Maybe he got the day mixed up,” he says instead, somewhat lamely, and hopes he looks sexy and wet rather than like a half-drowned rat. “You could come back tomorrow just in case.”
Ryan doesn’t roll his eyes, but the sentiment comes across anyway. “You have a com,” he says. “It works.”
“Right,” Brendon agrees, bobbing his head earnestly. Ryan gives him a weird look and leaves, boots clanking back across the deck to the hatch.
Brendon falls backwards into the embrace of the water and floats into the gentle prod of Dylan’s inquisitive beak.
“Be glad you’re a dolphin,” Brendon tells him, one hand on Dylan’s flank to keep them both from submerging. “Seriously, you have no idea.”
Part Three
Part One
South Pacific Ocean
“Dr. Urie,” Dr. Way says, smiling. It’s early enough in the morning that it takes a second for Brendon to figure out who he means.
“Oh hey,” he says, hands catching in the deep pockets of his lab coat when he fumbles to pull them out. “Brendon is fine. We’re pretty informal down here on the science deck.”
“Gerard,” Dr. Way agrees, skipping the handshake to go for a friendly arm squeeze. “I haven’t seen any autopsy reports, so I assume you were waiting for me to get here?”
“Oh,” Brendon says, stumbling a little. “We, um, I…don’t really like doing them. The killing part, I mean. It seems cruel.”
Gerard looks surprised. “It’s not dead?”
“It was swimming around the last time I saw it,” Brendon promises. “We’re keeping it in a torpedo tube.”
“I knew that part,” Gerard says. “I just assumed it was because you had it laid out or preserved or something.”
“No,” Brendon says, with a quick guilty glance in the direction of the moon pool. “I just didn’t want it to eat Dylan.”
Gerard and Dylan had become fast friends the previous evening, after Lugosi’s water had been changed out. He and Brendon exchange an understanding glance concerning the difficulties of keeping a dolphin and a carnivorous cephalopod in the same tank.
Brendon gestures in the direction of the corridor that will eventually lead them to the torpedo bay, but Gerard stops after only a few steps. “If it’s still alive,” he says, “We’re gonna need Ray.”
It’s convenient that Gerard travels with someone who kills things for him so he doesn’t have to do it himself. Brendon has Jon to do a lot of the stuff he doesn’t want to do himself, but luckily he doesn’t often have to do any killing. He’s fine with dissections once whatever it is has stopped breathing, but he can’t stand to be the one ending life, even in the name of science. Maybe especially in the name of science.
“How do you…? Oh, right, got it. Ray,” Gerard says loudly into the com speaker. “We need the scanner thing.”
“On my way,” the speaker acknowledges in Ray’s high-pitched voice. “Anything else?”
“No. Meet us in the torpedo bay, okay? We’re going down to take a look.” Gerard stops holding down the button and turns back to Brendon. “Right, we’re good. Lead the way.”
Brendon still gets lost sometimes on this boat, especially when his destination involves non-scientific things like engine rooms and torpedo bays. Luckily he’s been down here every day to check on their newest arrival, so he’s more confident of his direction than he would have been the week before.
“It’s cool that you managed to keep it alive,” Gerard comments as they walk. “From what I understand, it’s pretty big. It’s hard to capture them without causing serious injury.”
“Alex chased it with a robot,” Brendon explains. “He has a probe-thing.”
“That’s cool,” Gerard says. “Oh hey, Ray. You brought the scanner? Where’s Mikey?”
“Hiding from the parapsychologist,” Ray announces. His hair is still just as awesome as it had been yesterday. Brendon is impressed; he was half-convinced that he’d exaggerated it in his mind. “I think he went to go get breakfast.”
“William’s not that bad,” Brendon assures them. New people always get a little creeped out around William, but the worst he ever does, usually, is reply to things they haven’t said out loud and warn them not to eat the vegan crab cakes, much to Frank’s vocal dismay.
“Mikey kept dreaming about him,” Gerard explains, scratching behind his ear. “I think he’s a little wigged.”
Brendon blinks, but before he has a chance to respond, Ray says, “Hey, I’m going to need some help with this. I can set it up on my own, but integrating it into new systems is always kind of a bitch. The sensors don’t tend to like it.”
“Oh,” Brendon says, bewilderment over the technical jargon dissipating at the word ‘sensors’. “I’ll call Spencer.”
-
Spencer does not seem especially happy to have been called. “You know this isn’t my job, right?” he asks, hips cocked at an angle that Brendon is used to seeing whenever Jon is around. “Any engineer could do this. Call Ivarsson.”
“But you’re the best,” Brendon insists, widening his eyes just enough to communicate ‘earnest’ without Spencer catching him on it. “You’re the Sensor Chief.”
“I’m not…” Spencer begins, but the power of the eyes compels him, obviously, because he gives up and waves a hand even before Brendon has to resort to a slight - very slight - protrusion of his lower lip. “Fine. Whatever. Hand me that cable.”
“The best,” Brendon reiterates, already looking for cables.
“So what does this thing do?” Spencer asks, nodding his head slightly towards the stack of boxes Ray has set out on the deck.
“It’s like an x-ray,” Ray explains, hair bobbing enthusiastic agreement as he hooks things up. “For things that can’t usually be x-rayed. It records the relative density of biological material.”
“It’s really cool,” Gerard puts in. He’s busy at the torpedo tube, fishing around with what Brendon refers to as the ‘squid stick.’ “It tells me a lot about how healthy they are, and whether they have any unusual markers for their species.”
“Do you know what species it is?” Brendon asks, abandoning Spencer and his cables to join Gerard at the side of the makeshift tank.
“Alluroteuthis antarcticus,” Gerard answers. He has the squid interested in the stick now, somehow, probably a result of whatever the sticky-looking orange stuff is that he’s dabbed onto the end of it. “Possibly a juvenile, since…that’s it, open up…see the tooth? On larger individuals, that would be a hook. It’s hard to tell between the juveniles and sub-adults, though. The tentacle structure doesn’t really change.”
Brendon watches the squid clamp down on the end of the stick and wraps his arms around himself without thinking. “Nice. Hook.”
“This little beauty is the only known member of its genus,” Gerard says, towing the squid along slowly towards the scanner. “And should probably be considered Parateuthis tunicate, but there’s no conclusive proof. There you go, into the nice cave.”
Ray’s console lights up, which successfully distracts Brendon from the squid. There are pictures on the monitor, bright colors and swirls, and some of the lights are blinking. “Does this work on jellyfish?” he asks curiously, studying the sharp contrasts in color where he can’t see any real physical difference at all.
“Yes, but not as well,” Ray answers. His finger hovers over the largest button on the console, and then he taps it a few times, slowly, each keystroke resulting in a flash and frozen image on the screen.
“That’s interesting,” Gerard comments in Brendon’s ear, making him jump slightly. “You said that tag was already on when you found it, right?”
“Yeah,” Brendon answers. “Why?”
“Because if I didn’t know better, I’d say this specimen was domesticated,” Gerard explains. He nudges Ray out of the way, leaning in to look closer at the images as he clicks through them. “Look at the body fat ratio. And there are no marks or old scars from predators; these arms haven’t regenerated at all as far as I can tell. Can you go see if you can get that tag off for me?”
Brendon eyes the tube dubiously, but commandeers the squid stick and mentally rolls up his sleeves. “Here, squid,” he calls softly, trying not to think about the hook and all that stuff Gerard said about squid liking to bite the heads off of things.
He thinks he’s almost got it, braced against the wall of the tube and leaning somewhat precariously over the edge, when he feels something wet slither over the edge of his hand. He drops the stick with a shout and loses his balance, windmilling for a second over the water before he falls.
It takes him a few panicked seconds to realize that the reason he’s enveloped isn’t because he’s being eaten alive by a giant squid, but because Spencer’s caught him around the waist and is holding him tight to keep him upright until Brendon stops flailing.
“Okay?” Spencer asks after a few more seconds.
“Yeah,” Brendon replies as confidently as possible, although it’s entirely likely that Spencer can feel the way his heart is racing and the fact that he isn’t quite breathing normally yet. He’d really prefer not to go anywhere for a bit; Spencer has really strong, squid-repellent arms. “Um.”
“Brendon,” a familiar voice says behind them, and Spencer and Brendon both turn at the same time, an odd squeeze-twist that just seems to tangle them closer together instead of separating them.
Jon is standing at the top of the ladder leading down to the bay, arms crossed over his chest. He’s wearing a sour expression that probably has something to do with the fact that Brendon has yet to remove himself from Spencer’s unintentional embrace.
“Um,” Brendon says again.
“I’m supposed to tell you that you’re wanted on the science deck.” Jon pauses, and then when no one moves, adds, “Now.”
“Right,” Brendon says. “I’ll just…”
He tries to straighten up, but instead of pulling away, Spencer’s arms tighten, keeping him where he is. Brendon half-twists, confused, and sees Spencer engaged in a staring contest with Jon across the torpedo bay. Spencer’s eyes narrow just as his hand flattens across Brendon’s stomach, right above the waistband of his pants, and Jon’s lips thin.
“Um,” Brendon says yet again, and then sighs as Jon turns and stomps out. “Oh.”
-
“Frank,” Alex says cheerfully, pushing his glasses up onto his nose with one finger while the others keep a tight but wobbly hold on his coffee cup. “How did the tofu scramble turn out?”
“Try it and see,” Frank offers, lifting the lid off of the pan. There’s still some left, even with the early-morning crowd thinning as they head to their stations. The graveyard shift will be in soon for dinner.
Alex samples a little bit of everything, as usual, and clucks his tongue over the lack of anything resembling a sausage - also as usual. “They make soy sausage, you know,” he points out, mixing Tabasco sauce into his tofu scramble.
“Fake meat defeats the purpose of not eating meat,” Frank points out.
“Not all of us are voluntary vegans,” Alex counters, and then closes his eyes and hums appreciation for the first bite. “Mmm. Yeah. This is. Mmm.”
Alex is the only member of the crew who actually seems to care about food beyond what there is to eat and when. He and Frank sometimes trade recipes.
“I’ll keep it,” Frank agrees, and then gets distracted by the person coming down the line. “Bob, hey. Do you want to sleep with me yet?”
“I haven’t had my coffee yet, Iero,” Bob warns. He looks particularly menacing in the mornings, but Frank has always been immune. It’s one of many signs that they’re obviously made for each other.
“It’s okay, I can wait,” Frank assures him. Bob just grunts.
Frank waits until he’s swallowed the first sip before asking, “Tonight? I think it will be magical.”
Bob actually growls. Frank heaps an enormous spoonful of tofu scramble onto his plate and adds a muffin for good measure. Nothing says love like muffins.
“Bob,” Frank tries again, but there’s someone else standing in front of him waiting to be served, and they’re unfamiliar enough to give him pause. “Oh, hey. Mikey, right? The squid dude.”
Mikey blinks at him a few times but seems to decide he’s harmless. “That’s my brother,” he says. “I’m the assistant squid dude.”
“Oh, cool. I saw the guy with the hair in here earlier. Ray, right? What will it be? We have tofu scramble, toast and some nut spreads, muffins, and some green things that Walker claims are asparagus. I wouldn’t take his word for it, but I put a fuckload of seasoning on them, so you’re probably okay.”
Mikey blinks again. Frank is about to start serving him some of everything when William sidles up and smiles at both of them. “Hi,” he says to Frank, and then turns his attention to Mikey. “Are we playing hide and go seek?”
Mikey looks spooked and cornered. Frank is impressed; even William doesn’t usually work that fast. Most people only get that look when they’ve been forced into a counseling session.
“Usually avoiding me works better when you’re not thinking about it,” William explains. “Otherwise it’s like you’re standing in a room yelling, ‘Please don’t find me!’ and it’s kind of hard not to notice. Or hiding behind me and tapping me on the shoulder at the same time.”
Mikey clears his throat. “Yeah,” he says finally. “I guess so. I don’t know how that all works.”
“I see a lot of blue,” William says thoughtfully. He helps himself to a muffin and starts peeling back the paper, picking it free with his fingernails. “Sometimes other stuff, but mostly blue.”
“What does blue mean?” Mikey asks, looking as if he almost doesn’t want to know. “Like, sadness? Calm?”
William pauses mid-muffin-denuding and stares at him. “We’re in the middle of the ocean,” he says slowly.
Frank is seized by a sudden coughing fit and has to turn away so as not to be unsanitary near the food. When he finally gets control of himself again, William is staring thoughtfully at Mikey.
“Why, what do you usually see?” William asks, and Frank freezes in surprises. Mikey’s hunted look suddenly makes a lot more sense, and also multiplies by ten.
“Nothing,” he says, hunching over his plate. There’s still nothing on it; Frank hastily gives him some tofu out of pity.
“Hmm,” William comments. He steals another muffin and links his elbow through Mikey’s. “We should talk. Maybe I can help you explore your psychic potential.”
Mikey’s expression clears slightly into disbelieving. “Does that line ever actually work?” he asks.
“Yes,” William says. “I don’t want to talk about it. Come on, this way. Breakfast awaits.”
Mikey throws one last pleading look at Frank even as he’s towed off. Frank smiles and waves at him with the spatula.
-
Frank skulks around outside the science deck for a good fifteen minutes before he finally decides to go down. Brendon hadn’t shown up for breakfast or lunch, which isn’t all that unusual for him when he’s working on a project - usually Jon or someone takes him a tray - but the new squid guy hadn’t shown up either. Ray and Mikey had made it to both meals, but not Gerard. Frank’s only human; he’s curious.
He comes bearing a tray loaded with delicious and nutritious delicacies, so it’s not like they’ll throw him out. He doesn’t think Brendon would ever actually throw anyone out, anyway, but it never hurts to be prepared. He even has Swedish fish. Let it not be said that he doesn’t know his crew’s weaknesses.
He finds Brendon first and rocks on his toes for a few seconds before Brendon finally looks up and says, “Oh, Frank, hi. Is it lunch time already?”
“It’s dinner time,” Frank corrects, offering the tray. “You missed lunch.”
“Oh, really? Thanks. Hey, Swedish fish, awesome.” As per usual, Brendon completely forgoes the actual balanced meal Frank has prepared and goes straight for the sugar. He’s probably running low on caffeine, too; he seems to be vibrating a little less than usual.
“I just wanted to check in, since I didn’t see you,” Frank says casually. “I figured you and the squid guy were working late.”
“Gerard?” Brendon asks, already in the process of demolishing the fish. “Yeah, he’s around, we’re doing some tests and stuff.”
“Cool,” Frank says, and bounces on his toes some more. He tries to calculate exactly how long he can hang around without Brendon getting suspicious, and very subtly cranes his neck to peek around and see if he can catch a glimpse of Gerard.
Frank is uber-stealthy, but Brendon is sharper than they usually give him credit for. “We should go find him,” Brendon says, with a look that’s a shade too knowing for Frank’s peace of mind. But then…it’s Brendon. Frank doesn’t think he would ever use his knowledge for evil, unless perhaps it involved Ryan Ross. “He’ll be hungry too, and you probably haven’t been introduced properly.”
“I met him last night,” Frank says with a shrug, but Brendon is already heading across the deck, finishing the last of the Swedish fish in record time.
“Dr. Way,” Brendon calls, professional demeanor suddenly in place, swirling around him like the lab coat in spite of the fact that he’s still chewing gummy candy. “I’d like you to meet Dr. Iero. He’s the onboard nutritionist, and also our chef. He’s the only person I know who can make even seaweed spicy and exciting.”
Brendon tips him a wink after this. Frank doesn’t think Gerard notices, but it still makes him want to bang his head against a wall.
“Hi,” Gerard says, holding out his hand and smiling. He still has something of the mad scientist look going on, but it’s more of a mild-mannered, polite mad scientist. “Frank, right? We met last night; I remember your tattoos.”
“Yeah,” Frank says, grinning. “You offered to introduce me to your pet squid.”
Gerard looks briefly startled, then lights up a little. “You haven’t met Lugosi. He’s over here, although I don’t know how social he’s feeling…oh hey, are those little pizzas?”
“Bruschetta,” Frank corrects, but doesn’t mind all that much when Gerard stacks his to make a mini-pizza and crunches a bite. Personally, Frank thinks that’s the best way to eat bruschetta, no matter what Alex says.
“Mmmphnngh,” Gerard approves, waving the bruschetta and creating a minor shower of crumbs. “He might be hiding right now. Squid have the ability to change the color and texture of their bodies in order to camouflage themselves.”
“Awesome,” Frank replies. “How’s it going with the one we fished out off of Antarctica?”
Brendon looks as if he’s not certain they should go spreading results around yet, but Gerard clearly has no such compunctions. “We think it’s domesticated,” he says, earnestness overwhelming the ridiculousness of that statement. “It’s well-fed, and the tag could be a brand, like they used to use for livestock. It’s also much milder than most of its species. Alluroteuthis antarcticus aren’t as vicious as some others, but they’re not usually this docile. Squid are natural hunters; the really dangerous ones live off the coast of Peru. They’re like fucking piranhas, ripping their prey to shreds in seconds.”
“That’s so cool,” Frank breathes.
Gerard beams at him. “Hey, do you want to stay?” he asks. “I could use some help with the slides.”
Frank thinks perhaps the whole ‘Dr. Iero’ introduction was slightly misleading, since he has no idea what to do with slides, but he figures he’ll learn fast. “Yeah,” he says immediately. “Let’s do it.”
-
Drake Passage, near the South Shetland Group
“Stay away from Brendon,” Spencer growls.
“What the fuck?” Jon says, and also, “Jesus, don’t stop,” because Spencer’s at the perfect angle now to have Jon seeing stars every time his cock pushes inside.
“Leave. Him. Alone,” Spencer warns, and Jon’s not really in a position to argue, since every word is punctuated by a thrust sharp enough to have Jon’s eyes rolling back into his head. And all right, technically he’s the one who escalated things by not-so-subtly squeezing Brendon’s ass when Spencer dropped by the science deck, but it’s not like he started the whole thing intentionally.
Spencer is amazing in bed when he’s pissed off. Jon thinks maybe it has something to do with his deliberate rhythm and the fact that when he’s in this mood he obviously doesn’t care whether Jon gets off or not. That shouldn’t be as much of a turn-on as it actually is.
He hadn’t exactly meant to end up in bed with Spencer when he showed up here, but it’s not like he fought it, either. And the sex is turning out to be pretty fucking fantastic.
“I…” Jon starts, more words than that not really making themselves known in his head, and then he’s interrupted anyway by the com going off.
“Lieutenant Smith to the bridge,” the com barks, and seriously, Blackinton has got some fucking nerve.
Spencer stills almost entirely, breathing hard and looking down at Jon, their hips rocking together just the tiniest bit with the need to keep going. “Ignore it,” Jon says, and hopes that didn’t sound like a plea.
“It’s a call to the bridge,” Spencer replies disbelievingly.
Jon’s ankles try to lock around Spencer’s hips to keep him there, but they’re both too sweaty and his feet slip almost immediately. It changes their position just enough that Spencer drops his head and groans, thrusting forward involuntarily.
Jon wets his lips and tries to breathe. “Didn’t you just get off?” he asks.
“No,” Spencer says flatly, hips rolling again in a way that makes Jon’s hand scrabble at his back. “I really didn’t.”
“Fuck,” Jon says with feeling, and then, “Five minutes.”
Spencer hesitates, but he’s on the verge of breaking. Jon can tell by the way his cock starts rubbing against Jon’s prostate.
“Smith,” Gabe’s voice breaks in. “Where are you? I need you on the fucking bridge, now.”
Spencer’s cock is gone before Jon can even properly register the loss as more than a teeth-grinding slide and ache. “Seriously?” he says, blinking. “Seriously?”
“I’m in the fucking military, it’s not like this is a call from Brendon for you to come water your kelp,” Spencer snaps, yanking on his clothes. He has his pants on and his jacket zipped before Jon can do more than gape in disbelief.
“You’re not actually leaving right now,” Jon tries again. His cock bobs against his stomach in agreement.
Spencer scowls at him from where he’s tugging on his shoes and tosses the discarded tube of lube back onto the bed. “Use your hand.”
-
Jon’s not expecting to run into Ryan in the corridor five minutes later on the way back to his quarters, but it’s not like he doesn’t seize the opportunity. “Hey,” he says, stuffing his hands into his pockets and smiling. “Thought you’d be on the bridge.”
Ryan eyes him warily. “My shift ended half an hour ago,” he says, which Jon already knew.
“I was just wondering if there’d been a change,” he says, and keeps smiling. If anyone would know why Spencer’s just been called away, it’s Ryan.
“No,” Ryan says bluntly. He pauses for a second, and then his eyes narrow suspiciously. “Did you just have sex?”
“What?” Jon asks, and tries hastily for an expression that says ‘innocent.’
Ryan leans in and inhales deliberately. His expression doesn’t change, but his tone seems suddenly icier, even when it’s probably exactly the same as well. “Did you just have sex with Spencer?”
There’s no possible way Ryan could know that just by sniffing him. “Do you have any idea why he would have just left?” Jon asks. He feels silly for asking, but he really wants to know. It’s bugging him.
Ryan seems surprised, but then it’s hard to tell with Ryan. “I’m not talking about this with you,” he replies, and sounds almost apologetic when he says, “You’re the enemy.”
“I know,” Jon says, although he misses hanging out with Ryan. He’s kind of pissed that breaking up with Spencer was a two-for-one deal. Ryan’s a cool guy and a good friend. “I was just wondering if you’d gotten called to the bridge.”
“No,” Ryan says again, and then sharpens his focus. “Why, was Spencer?”
“A few minutes ago,” Jon admits, stuffing his hands back into his pockets and scuffing his foot against the deck. “We were, uh…”
“Don’t tell me,” Ryan orders. He turns around and starts walking back the way he came. “I have to go.”
“Wait,” Jon calls, foolish and a little desperate. “Do you think, uh…?”
“Jon,” Ryan says slowly, “Spencer did not invent an emergency call to the bridge just to get away from you.”
“Right,” Jon says, even though he’s not sure he believes it. “Thanks.”
“I have to go,” Ryan says again. Jon bobs his head, turns around and resumes walking back to his quarters.
That’s right about when the alarms start going off.
-
It’s an unspoken rule that whenever Spencer is on the bridge, Ryan is on the bridge. He kicks Siska off his station and flips on the com, catching Alex’s eye across the room so he knows about the change and hopefully volunteers some information.
“Something’s either wrong with the sensors or wrong with the boat,” Alex explains, just as Ryan had hoped. “They say we’re sinking.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my sensors,” Spencer snaps. He looks frazzled, or as frazzled as Spencer ever gets. He’s also sweaty and rumpled with sex hair, which confirms Ryan’s suspicions and means they’re having a talk as soon as the current crisis is over.
“Ballast?” Ryan asks.
“We tried that,” Alex replies. “It kept us up for about fifteen seconds, and then we started sinking again.”
“What the fuck?” Gabe asks rhetorically.
“I’ve got one WSKR going down with us, but the other two are fine,” Spencer reports. “Whatever’s affecting us, they’re out of range.”
“Um, bridge?” Brendon’s voice suddenly breaks in, sounding confused. “Why are my readings saying we’re in brackish water?”
“What?” Alex asks, pushing back from his station to listen in.
“I’m not getting anything like that,” Spencer contradicts, flipping switches and checking his monitors. “Nothing’s changed, we’re still in the middle of the ocean.”
“My sensors are more sensitive than yours,” Brendon argues. “They’re designed to register changes in salinity, even subtle ones. Right now they’re telling me we’re in an estuary.”
“Shit,” Gabe says. “We’re in a fucking sinkhole. Ryland, get us out of here.”
“Venting ballast,” Ryland replies immediately.
“Still at negative weight,” Spencer says tightly. “We’re about to drop beneath the ocean floor.”
“Vent auxiliary tanks,” Gabe orders. “Adjust the trim tanks, try to angle us up. Ryland, anything?”
“No change,” Ryland reports, at the same time Spencer says, “We’re not going to make it.”
“We’re going to hit bottom,” Gabe says. “Urie, get to quarters and hang onto something.”
“How far are we going to drop?” Alex asks, already at Spencer’s elbow looking over his shoulder.
“We’re sinking faster than the WSKRS,” Spencer says grimly. “I can’t tell yet.”
Ryan does a hydroacoustic sounding and listens for the echo, watching the blip on his screen travel and bounce. “I’ve got a reading,” he reports. “We’re at 200 feet and dropping.”
“Literally,” Alex mutters.
“Sound collision,” Gabe calls, and Ryland echoes it over the com, red lights blaring to life all around them.
“Screen,” Gabe says, snapping his fingers, and the bridge monitor is suddenly filled with the sight of rock wall rising past them, bubbles from the tanks drifting in their wake.
“Thirty seconds,” Ryan estimates.
“Down the rabbit hole,” Gabe muses quietly. “Here we go.”
-
Impact isn’t as bad as they expect it to be; it’s less of a collision and more of a slow, gravelly scrape, metal groaning as the boat settles. Gabe waits until the final shudder to call out, “Everyone okay?”
Ryan loosens his death-grip on the console and glances over to check on Spencer, who catches his eye. “Fine,” he says, echoing Ryland and Alex a second behind.
“Talk to me,” Gabe says.
“Sonar’s unreliable,” Ryan says reluctantly, after another sounding. “It’s calibrated for salt water.”
“I can tell you there’s a big fucking cave to starboard,” Spencer says grimly. “This sinkhole is huge.”
“It had to be, to swallow us,” Gabe points out. “How fucked are we?”
“Salinity is at three-point-five percent,” the com chirps. Ryan’s hand jerks back reflexively towards the switch before he even registers the voice.
“Urie, I thought I told you to get to quarters,” Gabe comments.
“You need me,” Brendon argues. “There’s no way we’re going to regain buoyancy, we’re at the mouth of an underground river. The entire landscape is karstified.”
“How deep are we under?” Gabe asks quietly. Everyone on the bridge hears it anyway; it’s silent except for the distant call of the alarms still sounding in the corridors.
“Too deep for a mini-sub to make it out,” Spencer answers, not even bothering to lower his voice. “Too cold for divers.”
Metal groans again, creaking ominously. Ryan shivers, and tries again to loosen his grip on the communications console. Watery grave, he thinks, and wonders why it doesn’t feel as poetical and romantic as he’d always believed.
“There’s more,” Brendon says. “We’re not just in an underground river, we’re in a hot spring of some sort. The water mixing around us isn’t exactly temperate, but it’s warmer than the Weddell Sea.”
“Warm enough for a diver?” Gabe asks, settling near Ryan’s shoulder to listen. “Warm enough for a dolphin?”
“Bottlenose aren’t a freshwater species,” Brendon answers. “The water would blister his skin, and we don’t even know that there’s anywhere beyond that cave for him to go.”
“We can find out,” Spencer says grimly. “WSKRS are fighting the same weight we are, but I can drag them across the bottom if I have to.”
“Do it,” Gabe orders immediately. “Find out if there’s any way out of here. Ross, release a buoy, maybe someone in the area will spot it. Distress signal on all channels.”
There’s no one in the area; Ryan has been monitoring communications since they headed back into open ocean. He does it anyway, flipping switches automatically that he’s almost never had to use outside of proficiency drills.
The banging makes him jump, and he berates himself for it at once, willing his heart to stop racing. Everyone else looks equally spooked, though, so at least he wasn’t the only one.
“What is that?” Brendon’s voice asks, tinny through the com.
“The hull warming up,” Alex answers, reaching out with one hand to touch a bulkhead. “It’s probably going to keep doing that for a while.”
“Shut the alarms off,” Gabe orders, swinging back down from Ryan’s station to the main deck. “We don’t need people having panic attacks. We’re fine for the time being.”
“Right until the air runs out,” Spencer says quietly, and it takes Ryan a second to realize that the sound came through his headset, for his ears alone.
“You had sex with Jon,” he says stupidly, because if they’re all going to die he might as well have this conversation now. It makes sense in his head, anyway, which is focused on not thinking about the fact that they’re trapped underwater in a giant metal coffin.
Spencer stares at him in disbelief, like that’s the most idiotic possible thing he could have chosen to say at this moment. Ryan just stares mutely back.
His com beeps.
It’s so unexpected that it takes him a while to figure out that the sound didn’t come from Spencer’s channel, or Brendon’s, or the emergency buoy, but from an outside source. Ryan stares at the blinking light on his console for several seconds before he clears his throat and says, “We’re being hailed.”
Gabe’s head whips around so fast Ryan thinks his neck might have cracked. “Who?” he asks.
Ryan shrugs and flips the switch to open up a channel. “This is a United Earth Oceans vessel, please identify yourself,” he says in English, pausing before he repeats the message in the most likely foreign languages.
“Hi,” a friendly voice says through the speakers. “Looks like you found our back door.”
-
Sinkhole, near Deception Island
The fact that they’re apparently not alone down here is not quite as reassuring as Gabe would have thought. Still, Smith hasn’t reported any torpedoes homing in on them yet, so Gabe’s optimistic.
“Knock knock,” he jokes, moving up behind Ross.
The voice on the other end of the com is still decidedly cheerful, but that doesn’t mean Gabe trusts it. “Yeah, we’ve seen you coming for a while. We were kind of hoping you wouldn’t be back, though.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” Gabe says, and types find them on one of Ross’ screens. “I don’t suppose you have a front door we could use.”
“Not from where you are,” the voice replies. “You bypassed that when you went straight for the sinkhole approach. We can get you out, though.”
“You don’t say?” Gabe says lightly. Ross is doing something with a descrambler, fingers flying but not fast enough yet to give Gabe any results. The signal is bouncing, ricocheting around the cavern they’re in and seemingly everywhere at once.
“Well, it depends. Do you have any air left, or have you blown through all your tanks?”
“Give me a second.” Gabe slashes a finger across his throat for Ross to cut the transmission, and twists to look at Ryland.
Ryland doesn’t look very happy about their situation, either. “We can redirect emergency life support tanks,” he reports. “Everything else is gone. But it won’t be enough to get us out of here, so if we blow them and this guy fucks us over, we’ll all die down here a lot faster.”
“It does sound suspiciously like a good plan on his part, doesn’t it?” Gabe comments, and motions for Ross to open the channel again. “Hey, turns out we have plenty of air left,” he says cheerfully. “What’s your suggestion?”
Ross murmurs something, and Gabe thinks it’s meant for him until he follows Ross’ line of sight and catches sight of Smith. Smith meets his eyes and jerks his chin, back towards Ross. Gabe looks down at the sensor input scrolling across Ross’ screen, a three-dimensional diagram of the tunnel leading from the mouth of the cave to what looks like a central land mass.
“We can flood the tube with enough salt water to let you coast,” the voice tells him, “but we’d need you to give us some bounce first, to get yourself off the bottom.”
It still sounds like a trap, but Gabe is feeling slightly better now about the odds. “You realize that if this is all big talk, we have a torpedo locked on your location,” he remarks, and swings a finger through the air at Alex to make it happen. “We won’t be going down alone.”
“That was fast,” comes the reply, not sounding particularly threatened. “Good work. It’s not a hoax, though. How about a gesture of good faith?”
“Sounds good,” Gabe answers, but before he can say more, Alex warns, “Incoming,” and the entire boat rocks. Gabe latches on to the back of Ross’ chair, staggering a step, but staying upright.
“High saline concentration,” Ryland says quietly. “They didn’t hit us with anything, they just lifted us a little.”
Gabe squeezes Ross’ shoulder to cut transmission again. “Enough to get us off the ground on our own without blowing the reserves if I ask for another one?” he asks.
Ryland shakes his head.
“Okay,” Gabe says, and squeezes again. Alex mouths ‘torpedo locked’ and holds up ten fingers for the arming countdown. Gabe talks slowly, watching the seconds tick down. “Hey, that works for me,” he says. “Must come in handy, when you have a pet sinkhole. You want to coordinate this over com?”
“Let’s call it in five,” the voice replies. “Head straight into the cave, full speed or you won’t make it. Three, two, one.”
“Go,” Gabe orders, and calls their communicant a cocksucker under his breath for good measure when Alex barely has time to reply, “Blowing tanks.”
“Smith, keep us on course,” Gabe calls, and thinks he hears something along the lines of ‘fucking easy for you to say,’ but nobly ignores it.
The boat rocks, and then there’s the buoyant feeling of being lifted up and cradled by water, adrift, before they start sinking again. “We’re going down,” Alex reports, just as Gabe thinks it. “Four, maybe five seconds.”
“Smith,” Gabe says.
“I’m trying,” Smith says through gritted teeth, and then they hit bottom and shudder, metal screeching in protest as they slide and shake along the rocky bottom. Gabe hangs on to Ross’ station and keeps his eyes glued on the sensor display, watching the tunnel grid shift as they skid through the last few yards. Then the boat tilts hard to starboard, and the grid blinks right before they’re lifted, rising slowly from the bottom and back into the embrace of the ocean.
“Nice trick,” Gabe says, blowing out a breath.
“Thanks,” the com replies smugly. “Welcome to Clandestine.”
-
“We have to make this fast,” Gabe warns when he walks into the conference room, “because there’s some nutcase with his own secret underwater outpost out there waiting for us to send over a welcoming party.”
“Shouldn’t they be the ones welcoming us?” Ryland asks, eyebrows arched.
“Yeah, no dice. We’ve been extended the invitation, they’re not boarding.”
“Sounds like a good set-up for hostage situation,” Alex points out, fingers splayed across the surface of the table.
“No,” Bob says. “No high-ranking officers leave the boat, I go along for protection, and everyone is armed.”
“Hey, woah,” Gabe argues. “I think I should be going over there, as the one in charge and all.”
Bob’s look is mostly impassive, but also states clearly that this isn’t going to happen. “No science personnel,” he continues. “Trained military only. Four-to-five people with proper equipment, and communications are monitored at all times.”
“Do we really think they’re that much of a threat?” Alex asks.
“No weapons systems located, and there’s definitely nothing targeting us,” Smith reports when Gabe raises an eyebrows at him. “But that doesn’t mean they can’t do any damage. They’ve got control over salinity in this cavern. It’s possible they have ways of affecting water pressure as well.”
“If they do, they could crush us like a tin can,” Ryland points out.
“The temperature of the water is being regulated as well,” Urie breaks in unexpectedly. “It’s warmer than it should be, even taking into account some sort of hot springs.”
“In Antarctica?” Smith asks disbelievingly. Urie just shrugs and looks down at the table.
“We treat them like a threat,” Gabe says. “Monitor everything, get me all the information you can and don’t take your eyes off of them for a second. I want to know the minute something happens out there. Bryar, put together an expedition, let’s go see who we’re dealing with.”
Bob nods. Gabe is about to dismiss them all when he’s struck by another thought. “Urie, how warm? If we slipped a diver out at the same time as the mini-sub, would they have any problems?”
Urie looks startled, but comes up with an answer quicker than expected. “Not with the proper equipment,” he replies.
“We could do that,” Alex says thoughtfully. “You want someone to get a closer look? Unobserved?”
Gabe grins at him. “That’s the plan,” he agrees. “Butcher, want to get wet?”
“I’m on it,” Butcher replies at once.
“Done,” Gabe says. “Let’s go. Everybody stay sharp.”
It’s not far to his quarters. As expected, Travis’ program is running, and William is curled up on Gabe’s bunk, waiting.
“Hey,” Travis greets him with a serene bob of his head. “I heard you sunk your boat.”
“I’m not dead yet,” Gabe replies. “Don’t go getting cocky.”
William frowns at him intently. “You should send the squid guy,” he says.
“No bio-geeks,” Gabe counters. “Bob’s rules.” He pauses, giving William his full attention. “Why, did you see something?”
William shrugs a little, uncharacteristically unforthcoming, and says, “Just a feeling.”
Gabe narrows his eyes. William isn’t usually this vague - unhelpful, yes, but shifty, no - when it comes to his visions, but Gabe still trusts his gut, and his gut trusts William. “I’ll tell Bob,” he says. “But he’s going to throw a shitfit.”
“I know,” William says, uncoiling from the bunk to stand. “I’ll go tell Gerard. He’s not going to like it very much either.”
“Then why…?” Gabe begins, but William doesn’t stick around. “What the fuck?” he asks as the door closes.
“Yeah, man,” Travis agrees knowingly. “I say that all the time.”
-
“So you think that the squid are somehow connected to this island?” Gerard asks. Brendon hovers behind him, listening and watching. He hasn’t figured out whether he’s relieved or disappointed that Gerard is the sole exception to the ‘No Scientists’ rule and not him.
“It’s a safe bet,” Alex agrees, fastening the last strap on Gerard’s vest and pulling it snug. “They used the name Clandestine when they contacted us. Also,” he adds, adjusting the harness across Gerard’s shoulders while Gerard holds both arms out obediently and looks mostly bewildered at the military trappings, “Spencer’s done readings. There are a fuck-ton of squid out there.”
“What if he needs help?” Brendon ventures. He still doesn’t think he wants to go, not really, but there’s a part of him that feels like he could be useful. Too useful to be left behind.
“No,” Bob says immediately. “You’re staying put.” Bob’s a big and intimidating guy, especially now with his arms crossed over his chest and a small armory strapped onto his weapons harness, so Brendon meekly subsides.
Jon wraps an arm around him comfortingly. “It will be exciting here, too,” he says. “Like in the movies. We get to monitor things for our top-notch commando team.”
Mostly what they’re going to be monitoring is saline and temperature levels while checking in regularly to make sure that Butcher doesn’t get nitrogen narcosis, but it’s something, at least. Brendon smiles gratefully at Jon and gets a wink in return.
“Just make sure you don’t get distracted eating popcorn,” Spencer says, and Brendon blinks in surprise, twisting around to see Spencer stepping down onto the launch bay platform, weapon holstered on his hip and vest snug over his chest.
“Spencer’s going?” he asks stupidly. Jon seems equally surprised, but then his arm tightens around Brendon’s shoulders, and fuck, here they go again.
Spencer doesn’t even bat an eyelash. “I have clearance, and I’m not a ranking officer,” he points out. Bob holds out a hand to check Spencer’s gear, and grunts approval while Brendon tries to come up with what to say.
“You’re not exactly military elite,” Jon comments, but Brendon thinks there’s more concern in his tone than sarcasm. He’s too distracted to remember that he was groping Brendon, and his fingers are digging in now out of tension.
Spencer’s eyes narrow. “I’m not a coddled civilian, either,” he retorts, and that would sting if Brendon didn’t know that it wasn’t meant for him. Also if he hadn’t heard this argument approximately fifty times before.
“All set,” Alex breaks in, and Gerard lets his arms settle gingerly at his sides, looking a bit spooked and awkward with the added weight of the vest and harness.
“The gun is for show,” Bob says flatly. “And for emergencies. For fuck’s sake, don’t try to shoot anything with it.”
“Bob,” a voice contributes breathlessly, and Brendon catches sight of Frank hanging halfway over the curved tail of the mini-sub. “Are you really going over there? Is it dangerous? Can I come?”
Bob glowers, but even his best glower doesn’t do much in the face of Frank’s enthusiasm. “No,” he says. “Stay here with Urie. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“You could die,” Frank remarks dramatically, and swings a few inches lower to mash his lips somewhere in the vicinity of Bob’s face. “For luck,” he explains, half-giggling. “In case you don’t return to me.”
Bob obviously tries for another glower, but this one seems mostly resigned. Frank’s been chasing Bob for ages now, but no one is at all sure whether he’s serious about it. He just keeps asking, and Bob keeps saying no.
“Of course I’m fucking returning to you,” Bob says, and seems to realize what he’s said only seconds too late, as Frank’s giggling breaks out at full-strength. “Jesus Christ,” Bob mutters, and then gestures at Gerard and Spencer. “Let’s go.”
Gerard shuffles forward and Frank catches sight of him, the gleeful look on his face replaced by surprise. Gerard doesn’t look up, too busy tugging ineffectually at the straps on his vest until Alex stops him. He glances up once then, meeting Frank’s eyes, and back down, ducking through the hatch.
“He’s going?” Frank asks, still staring in shock at the air where Gerard used to be.
“They need scientists,” Jon says, chin jutting stubbornly forward as Spencer pushes past them. “The military needs someone along with brains.”
Brendon is about to pipe up unhappily that this isn’t really a fight they should be having right now, but Spencer turns sharply on his heel, fast enough to startle the words right out of his mouth. He’s suddenly very close, and Brendon tries to rear back automatically, but Jon’s arm is still trapping him in place, hand clamped like an iron band around Brendon’s bicep.
Spencer leans in and his lips brush across the corner of Brendon’s mouth. “For luck,” he says, eyes glittering dangerously. Then he’s gone, and Jon is too, both of them slamming hatches in opposite directions.
Frank stares at Brendon with wide, surprised eyes. Brendon looks the same way, he’s pretty sure.
He can’t tell which is tingling more, his arm or his mouth.
-
Mikey and Ray are busy analyzing results and writing reports, and Gerard is on his way over to the island, so it falls to Brendon to feed their captive squid.
It’s not that he doesn’t know how to feed a squid, it’s just that he has a healthy appreciation for things like pointy beaks and tentacles, and Gerard has spent the past few days saying things like, “They have hundreds of suction cups on each arm, and each one has sharp rings of chitin, like a serrated knife, which they use to dig through the flesh of their prey.” Brendon also has a healthy appreciation for his own intact flesh.
Jon’s nowhere to be found, and he doesn’t want to look like a pussy in front of Victoria, so he does the next best thing: he calls William.
“I don’t know why you don’t like them,” William comments, dropping tiny fish into Lugosi’s tank one at a time.
“I like them just fine, I’m just busy,” Brendon argues, and at the moment it’s true, because he has his hands full with Dylan. He doesn’t know how Dylan knows it’s not freezing outside anymore, or if it’s just a good guess on his part, but either way, Brendon has an unhappy dolphin.
He falls back when Dylan pushes him, because dolphins are strong and it’s easier than fighting. “Later, I promise,” he soothes, trying to get his hands out of the water to sign. “It’s dangerous right now. Danger.”
“He’s not listening,” William comments, and then, “Oh wow, you should see what Lugosi just did to this fish.”
Brendon doesn’t want to think about it. “Open water,” he says, hands raised high enough to get Dylan’s attention. “Ocea-” and then he gets a mouthful of salt water, because Dylan’s idea of friendly headbutting is somewhat more forceful than Brendon’s.
When he comes to the surface, William is at the edge of the moon pool rubbing Dylan’s tongue. “Traitor,” Brendon mutters, shaking out his hair, but he doesn’t mind, really. He swims over to hang onto to the edge of the pool, rubbing a hand over his bruised stomach. “Do you think he’ll let you clean his teeth?”
“I think we can work something out,” William agrees generously, splashing water into Dylan’s open mouth as Dylan bobs his head and splashes back. “And while I’m here, we can talk about how Smith and Walker are using you as a pawn in their little game of lustful one-upmanship.”
“What?” Brendon says, and also, “No.”
“It’s certainly an original approach to a threesome,” William muses, clearly ignoring Brendon’s answer. “I guess direct doesn’t work for everyone.”
“No,” Brendon says again, in the tone he uses for when Dylan’s on particularly bad behavior. “It’s not like that.”
William is watching his hands with interest, which confuses Brendon until he realizes that he’s still signing. He drops his arms beneath the water, sinks in up to his neck, and says plaintively, “I’m not in a counseling session, you can’t make me talk about this.”
“What most intrigues me,” William continues blithely, “is whether you’re not stopping it because you don’t want to piss Smith off and fuck things up with Ross, or because you’re really secretly enjoying it.”
Brendon takes the noble way out and sinks underwater. He can hold his breath for a long time, and hopefully by the time he comes up William will have become bored with his stealth tactics and gone back to playing with the squid.
When he finally surfaces and slicks his hair back from his face, it turns out that William is nowhere in sight. Brendon gives himself a second to celebrate his success, and then he’s interrupted by the clank of boots on the metal deck.
Ryan looks around for a minute and then squints at Brendon in the moon pool. “Beckett said you wanted me,” he says.
Brendon almost says, ‘No,’ but he’s afraid that if he does, William will pop out of nowhere and say, ‘That’s a bald-faced lie, Urie,’ and Brendon doesn’t really have a good comeback for that.
“Maybe he got the day mixed up,” he says instead, somewhat lamely, and hopes he looks sexy and wet rather than like a half-drowned rat. “You could come back tomorrow just in case.”
Ryan doesn’t roll his eyes, but the sentiment comes across anyway. “You have a com,” he says. “It works.”
“Right,” Brendon agrees, bobbing his head earnestly. Ryan gives him a weird look and leaves, boots clanking back across the deck to the hatch.
Brendon falls backwards into the embrace of the water and floats into the gentle prod of Dylan’s inquisitive beak.
“Be glad you’re a dolphin,” Brendon tells him, one hand on Dylan’s flank to keep them both from submerging. “Seriously, you have no idea.”
Part Three