Dark Tales Of Lost Civilizations (34 page)

After three minutes of unrestrained ardor, he released me, whereupon I seized his hands and led him to my cabin. Alas, my Lifestyle prevents me from revealing too much of what happened next. It is enough for me to say that even though my radar man might not be a gentleman in the conventional sense of the word, Henry’s skill as a lover combines the best aspects of a tradesman’s physical power with the judiciously applied regulation of a naval officer.

And so, like entangled krakens, Henry and I pulled each other down into an abyss of passion.

Chapter Four: Embassy Island

When Henry and I finally emerged from my cabin, I accompanied my radar man into the bowels of our submersible.

Squeezing my skirts between the banks of brass-encased computers that all emitted picturesque jets of steam, I leaned over a console, cupped my chin in hands, and watched Henry moved amidst the machinery. With practiced ease, he stripped each crewbot of its blue and white striped sailor’s jersey, flipped open its chest panel, and fiddled with its innards.

“They’re basic models, not designed for original solutions,” grumbled Henry.

“We’re purists. I was loath to even include clockwork servants on this expedition, but someone has to wash the dishes,” I said.

“Sounds like a job for Geoffrey,” said Henry.

I sighed. “He is foolish and ineffective, I know, but his father is a World Governor. We were eager to be underway, and Geoffrey Senior granted ERNIURC a Rapid Departure Lifestyle License on the condition that Geoffrey Junior joined our expedition.”

“Power corrupts,” said Henry in that practical way I would soon come to know so well. He slapped the nearest automaton. “I’ve done what I can with these.”

Since it was well past noon, we rejoined our compatriots on the bridge for afternoon tea, and discovered that countless dolphins were probing the exterior of our captured vessel. According to Catherine, they were searching for a way to breach our submersible, and she reported that they were arguing about ‘calling in the bulwark busters’.

Henry and I pondered that phrase as we sipped our Earl Grey. Our fears that it had a decidedly ominous ring were soon confirmed when
Nautilus Revisited
began to thrash about. Maritime equipment and the paraphernalia of high tea flew about the bridge. A sandwich platter hit Geoffrey on the head and he instantly crumpled to the floor. There was a resounding boom and more shaking, then finally a blessed stillness.

“They’ve lifted us from the water,” whispered Henry.

Through the observation window, I saw a stretch of silver sand broken by an eruption of mauve vegetation, beyond which purple palm trees swayed to the rhythms of an underworld breeze. I knew it was a subterranean scene because of the rocky vault I spied between the palm fronds.

Suddenly, the purple bushes parted and a group of tentacle-waving monsters stepped into view. I joined Catherine in a perfunctory scream before leaping to my feet.

“Where are you going?” cried Henry.

There was no time to explain. I hurried to my cabin and gathered a few necessities: my science journal, a sketching pad, a set of pencils, a box of paints, my needlework, my personal diary, and a fountain pen. I secreted these items into a pouch, hoisted my bustle, and hid the bundle within its folds.

I met Henry on my way back to the bridge, and he demanded an explanation for my odd behavior. He was, and remains to this day, impressed by my cool-headed foresight. I, on the other hand, even though I felt him fondle my bustle, was yet to appreciate his equally prescient precautions.

Back on the bridge, a strange sight awaited us.

Three outlandish creatures stood pointing bulbous objects which, since everyone but Geoffrey had their hands above their heads, I surmised must be weapons. Scientifically driven to categorize, I instantly labeled the artillery ‘conch-guns’, and, even though they were obviously amphibious, I thought of our captors as ‘fishmen’. To my trained eye they were clearly hybrid beings created by technical intervention, for I could not imagine the natural environment that would encourage the evolution of such a muddled assembly of scales and fins, limbs and webbing, tails and hands, and oddly placed tentacles.

“Come,” said the tallest of the fishmen.

“Oh, you speak our language,” said Catherine, visibly disappointed.

“Of course. What cultured creature does not?” said the tall fishman. He twitched his conch-gun. “Please, climb the ladder.”

Captain Lightfoot bore the still unconscious Geoffrey from the submersible. St. John and Henry helped us ladies haul our wieldy attire up the ladder and through the hatch, and then to negotiate the climb downwards to the glittering beach. I noted the curve of the silver sand, measured the sapphire water stretching in three directions, and peered at the stony vault far, far overhead. With the artist in me satisfied, the scientific side of my character began her investigations.

“This is an underworld sea?” I asked.

“It is the Lower Kingdom, an ocean that circumvents the entire globe,” confirmed the head fishman, whom I shall henceforth call Tallfish. “And this is Embassy Island, which was built millions of years ago to foster relations between The Lower Kingdom and Atlantis.”

“Not for meetings with humans!” retorted the next tallest, whom I instantly baptized Snapper.

“This island is for parlaying with all land-walking species, humans included, or guests from another planet with special requirements,” corrected Tallfish.

“Were the Atlanteans native to this planet, or extra-terrestrial visitors?” I queried, noting how my UG companions seemed cowed by events. I was particularly disappointed by the Professor’s silence, for I had anticipated his support in matters scientific, but I knew in my heart that I could rely upon Henry, who, I saw, was even then studying our surroundings with a military man’s methodical eye.

“All dead anyway,” said the third fishman, whom I had already dubbed Shorty.

“Hopefully humans soon too, and riddance,” said Snapper, laughing in an unpleasant manner.

Henry flinched. His hands balled into fists. I reached out and gently stroked his arm. When Henry glanced at me, I shook my head. He nodded. I resumed my research.

“Are you taking us to the leaders of the Lower Kingdom?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Tallfish. “You will meet with the Cetacean Council.”

His words surprised me. There were only fourteen resurrected whales in the world, and I then knew each one of them personally. They were uncomplicated creatures, somewhat bland and bovine of character, and had not, I knew for certain, ever formed any kind of political alliance. This left me with only one logical conclusion.

“You are, I take it, referring to unlicensed whales?” I said.

Snapper lunged at me, but Henry stepped in and blocked the attack. The belligerent fishman then whipped a tentacle at Henry, but my radar man was too burly a specimen to be felled by such a paltry blow. Henry grinned defiantly, even making encouraging gestures with his hands to signify that he was eager to do battle, and Snapper was about to oblige when Tallfish ordered the fishman to desist.

“They must show more respect for the Great Ones,” insisted Snapper.

“Is that how should we address them?” I asked, “As the Great Ones?”

“For you, it is Powerful Lords Who Will Feed Us to Sharks,” said Snapper, and he and Shorty chortled at the trifling joke.

“Great Ones will suffice,” said Tallfish. “We have arrived.”

The colorful jungle gave way to a clearing, and our team of adventurers stepped into a dramatic vista that reminded me of an Incan city I had once visited as part of a Lifestyle exchange program. There, in the centre of a tract paved with tiles of gleaming gold studded with fist-sized pearls, rose a gigantic ziggurat made of a nacreous substance that subtly shifted colors like a shell that is held up to the light and tipped this way and that.

“Welcome to the Plenipotentiary Embassy of the Lower Kingdom,” said Tallfish.

Monsters gathered to watch us pass. We endured the angry gazes and garbled insults of many bizarre beasts which, like the fishmen, seemed to have been concocted in a laboratory, until finally, our tiny band of weary humans passed through the many columned portico of the mother-of-pearl ziggurat.

Chapter Five: The Crystal Shaft

The Plenipotentiary Embassy was so richly appointed with all manner of treasures from the oceans of the world, and the proportions were so vast, that the overwhelming effect was such that we felt like ants traversing an Oriental sultan’s palace.

Tallfish guided us into an enormous, circular room, the wall of which was decorated with images of underwater creatures cavorting through detailed seascapes.

“This is most interesting,” said the Professor, peering at the artwork. “The style is Minoan, though the inclusion of this fleet of merchant vessels, the so-called Ships of Tharsis, suggests a Phoenician influence.”

“I’m glad to hear you finally speak, Professor,” I said. “I’d begun to think we might have to review your membership.”

The Professor had the good grace to look ashamed. “My apologies, dear lady.”

The fishmen herded us into the center of the round chamber. Once we were in position, the floor jolted and began to descend. Catherine and I clutched our respective gentlemen. Captain Lightfoot carefully put down the still- unconscious Geoffrey. A colossal tube rose around us and soared overhead, an awe-inspiring sight that robbed us of our collective breath, and just when it seemed it was our fate to be swallowed by darkness, the floor began to glow. The illuminated slab at our feet dropped at what seemed a steady pace, but when I measured the shrinking disc of brightness at the top of the conduit, I calculated that we were moving at an astounding speed. The hydraulics required for the swift transfer of so much floor space suggested the possession of a technology far more advanced than what I would have typically ascribed to whales.

The descent halted. At that moment, Geoffrey awoke whimpering, saw the fishmen, and screamed. Captain Lightfoot helped the youth to his feet and held a steadying hand on his shoulder. In fearful silence, our team watched the obsidian wall around us change. A soft glow from beyond steadily suffused it and then intensified, the dark stone growing lighter and clearer, until finally the once substantial barrier became so lucent as to be technically a cylindrical window.

The scene beyond exerted as much pressure upon our psyches as no doubt the surrounding water exerted upon the transparent tube which was our only protection from the ocean’s crushing embrace. The shock of what we saw pushed our little band closer together as we instinctively sought the companionship of our own kind.

For there, arranged in countless tiers around the tube, floated hundreds of whales, each and every one of them focused upon our tiny shapes, their combined intelligence a palpable force bearing down upon us. Despite my fear, I automatically began to catalogue all manner of extinct and extant cetacean types until the sheer number and diversity overwhelmed me.

“I wonder if they speak English,” whispered Catherine.

“Welcome, despoilers of the Upper Kingdom,” boomed a voice.

“Drats,” said our superfluous translator.

Chapter Six: The Cetacean Council

The conference began.

Anticipating accusations about humankind’s myriad of failings, I was surprised when the proceedings commenced in an unexpectedly personal manner.

“Which of you is Dr. Rothbilden-Vandershaft of ERNIURC?” boomed a voice.

I looked around, not knowing which of the leviathans to address.

Tallfish cleared the matter up for me. “The Great Ones speak in a collective voice.”

“I’m Dr. Matilde Mayflower Rothbilden-Vandershaft,” I said.

“Does this belong to you?”

Again I was confused, and again Tallfish helped me, this time by pointing at a large globe whizzing through the water accompanied by a school of shimmering fish. The silver mass tumbled and twirled between the whales, the thing in their midst heading straight for us. At the last moment, the fish veered off, abandoning the mysterious object.

“It’s going to crash into us!” shouted Commander Chatham-Smythe.

Henry turned to Tallfish. “Can this shaft withstand such a collision?”

The fishman merely indicated that we should watch. Helpless to resort to any alternative action, Henry and I joined hands as the torpedo hurtled toward us.

“Ah, see there,” said the Professor, pointing outwards, “That disturbance in the waters is caused by some kind of an energy field.”

The globe slowed and gently bumped against the shaft. Then, to our amazement, the object pushed against the glass and eased through that seemingly impenetrable barrier. The wall closed behind the entrance point without a single drop of water entering the shaft, the orb fell to the floor and rolled. It stopped but half a meter away from me.

“Is this your property, Dr. Rothbilden-Vandershaft?” asked the collective voice.

I wondered why he asked since the letters ERNIURC were prominently stamped upon the surface. “Yes. It’s a probe, one of seven AI prototypes launched nine years ago by my late father to explore the depths of our planet.”

“We have five more like it,” said the Cetacean Council. “Each of them discovered a secret gateway to the Lower Kingdom and was seized by guardians.”

“Which explains their mysterious vanishing,” I responded.

“We initially possessed all seven of your probes, but one of them escaped two months ago,” said the Cetacean Council.

I frowned. “It hasn’t returned to our institute.”

“We know. After years of captivity, the probe is most likely paranoid. However, bound as it is by its programming, it must eventually present itself to ERNIURC.”

“Which explains our abduction,” interposed Henry. “This was no random seizure. We’re hostages to be exchanged for the escaped AI and its cargo of information.”

“Our agents in the Upper Kingdom have already initiated a dialogue with your institute,” agreed the Cetacean Council.

“And did they also organize ERNIURC’s Rapid Departure License by manipulating Geoffrey’s father?” said Henry.