Matt Hlinak - DoG

Culann came to in his bunk. His clothes were soaked through with sweat. He felt something hard pressing into his side. He reached down and found a heavy metal ball.

“My granddad’s cannonball,” Worner said as he snatched it back up. “I told you it was lucky.”

“You were having some crazy dreams,” Frank said. “You were howling like a wolf.”

Culann sat up and saw a dozen men crowded around his bunk. Almost tenderly, Gus told Culann to get his candyass back to work, assuring him that he would not be paid for the two days he’d spent dozing on the job. Having survived his trial of blood, the rest of the crew stopped laughing at Culann and hitting him in the head with fish when his back was turned. He was one of them.

Now the hours flew by. Culann learned to shut off his brain and follow the pulses of the ship. He went where he was needed without the aid of Gus’s boot. His muscles hardened, his hands calloused, he slept like a corpse each night, untroubled by bad memories. This adventure was proving to be everything he’d hoped it would be. He was becoming a man, at the tender age of thirty-three.

While sorting through a churning mass of halibut, Culann spotted something not native to these waters. The sturdy and close-knit net had dredged up an object, perfectly spherical and the size of a shot put. It was made of metal, but so smooth it was impossible to tell what kind of metal. It was as black as the ocean bottom with strange silver lettering etched onto the surface.

“Looks Russian or something,” Frank said.

“No,” Worner said, “it’s Greek, ancient Greek. It looks just like the letters on a frat house.”

“Those ain’t any letters I’ve ever seen,” McGillicuddy said. “This thing came from outer space. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

A crowd formed around them. As the only educated man on board, Culann was asked to render a verdict on the origin of these symbols. He didn’t know what to think.

He wasn’t familiar enough with the Cyrillic alphabet or ancient Greek to judge the first two hypotheses, and of course he had no way of knowing what extraterrestrial writing might look like. He scanned the symbols again, trying to discern their meaning. No two symbols were exactly alike. They resembled familiar geometric shapes, but only partly so. There were right angles and acute angles, but they never connected with one another to form triangles. They often intersected with the arc of an unfinished circle. Sometimes the fractional shapes stood alone, sometimes they connected with one another. The spacing between symbols was haphazard, with no visible rows or columns. Yet taken as a whole, the symbols projected a sense of uniformity. It seemed to emit a kind of cold heat; it was cool to the touch, but his hand warmed as he held it.

“I have no idea,” he replied.

They passed the orb around. Every member of the crew examined it, and all came away puzzled. The debate continued.

“I bet it’s some Russian superweapon left over from the Cold War,” Frank said.

“You think the Cold War’s over?” Worner asked. “That’s exactly what they want you to think. If this thing’s a Russian superweapon, my money’s on something brand new. Those bastards have just been waiting for us to let our guard down.”

Worner paused for a moment to allow the crew to consider the implications of Russkie revanchism, before he continued.

“But it’s not a Russian superweapon. Where are the wires and circuits and stuff?

This thing is old. Not Cold War old, but ancient. That explains the Greek letters.”

“But what the hell are ancient Greek letters doing in the Bering Sea?” Frank challenged.

“You ever hear of Atlantis?” Worner shot back. “Most advanced civilization the world has ever known. Maybe this is some kind of Atlantis technology that’s been roving across the seabed for three thousand years.”

“What a steaming pile of horseshit,” McGillicuddy countered. “If anybody has advanced technology it’s the aliens. This is probably some space probe sending signals across the galaxy. Some ET is listening to us right now and laughing at what a couple of dumbasses you guys are.”

Debate continued as they hauled the next load out of the water. Culann didn’t believe in aliens or Atlantis, and was certainly skeptical of claims of secret Soviet superweapons. He leaned back and enjoyed the more elaborate conspiracies, mythologies and cosmologies the sailors developed to explain this thing. McGillicuddy and Worner advocated their positions so zealously it looked like they might come to blows. Many heads nodded in agreement as Frank staved off violence by diplomatically hypothesizing alien technology lent to the Atlanteans before disappearing for centuries to be later uncovered by the Russians.

“Quit dicking around,” Gus chimed in before confiscating the orb and heading to the bridge.

The men stood around as McGillicuddy prepared the drum to cast the nets back out. They continued to chatter about the odd object they’d plucked from the ocean.

Culann leaned against the rail. Thunder growled in the distance. Dark clouds from the south crawled across the water towards the ship. He didn’t look forward to the rough seas they undoubtedly dragged with them.

Culann turned to see Gus slam the door to the bridge and stalk across the deck, muttering profanely the whole way. He clenched his teeth and fists, and blood flooded his face. Crew members hopped out of his way as he stomped over to the net drum.

“That’s it,” he growled.

Worner was the only man brave enough to ask, “What’s it?”

Gus raked his fingers through the short beard he’d grown over his days at sea.

“That’s it,” he repeated. “We’re done.”

“We’re done for the day already?” Worner asked.

“Not for the day,” Gus replied. “We’re going home.”

The men howled.

“We’ve only been gone two-and-a-half weeks,” Frank said with palms upturned.

“You’re stealing money from my pocket.”

“I’m not stealing nothing,” Gus said. “It’s the Captain’s call. And besides, you all get your share of what we caught so far.”

“Yeah, but that’s only half of what we got coming to us,” Worner said, clenching his weathered hands into fists. “Is the Captain going to pay us the difference?”

“What do you think?” Gus replied.

“I think he can go fuck himself, and so can you.” McGillicuddy pressed up against Gus, towering over him. Culann thought for a moment that the first mate was going to get tossed into the sea. “He can’t jew us out of our shares. I’m gonna set him straight.”

McGillicuddy shoved Gus aside with a brush of his broad arm. Gus grabbed the arm and yanked McGillicuddy back. He shoved his face into that of the larger man, causing Culann to now worry that McGillicuddy was about to get thrown over the side.

“You go fuck your self, you dumb Mick,” Gus said “The Captain said that anyone who gives him any shit about this is not going with us next year. And you know damn well that your lazy ass doesn’t have any other worked lined up this summer.”

McGillicuddy turned away from Gus and headed over to the rail to spit into the ocean.

“What the hell else are we supposed to do?” Worner asked. “Sell insurance?”

“That’s not my problem,” Gus replied. “All I know is that if you want to ever work on this ship again, you better leave the Captain alone.”

“Why’s he doing this?” Frank asked.

“You think he tells me?” Gus replied. “He just said, ‘Tell them we’re going home.’ I tried arguing, but he told me I’d be out for next year if I didn’t shut up, same as you guys.”