Кейт Форсит - Relics, Wrecks and Ruins - Anthology of Speculative Fiction Short Works

The sub creaked under another tumble of debris.

Or, the Tartarus might just be one more in a litany of ships lost to the stygian depths. Kennedy folded the notes and left them on her desk.

On the third day, Rafferty passed away.

Kennedy wrote another letter, then put in another call. “Sir, you do realize that very soon my crew is going to be sucking rubber.” Already, the air in the sub was dangerously thin. Kennedy struggled to concentrate, her head fuggy with headaches—although that might also be sleep deprivation.

“I’m sorry, Captain.”

“The weather’s still too dangerous?”

“Yes.” His tone was guarded.

“We’re talking hours, not days.”

“I understand.”

Kennedy’s skin prickled. This was ridiculous. “Sir, exactly how far away is the rescue ship? Assuming the weather abates, how long before you can get a submersible down here? Because ten minutes or two hours too late, the result for us is going to be the same.”

The commodore said nothing.

Her heart skipped. The reality was as blinding as the ocean was dark. “There is no rescue attempt,” she whispered.

The commodore sighed. “Captain Jones, I’m so sorry. The Tartarus is state-of-the-art, the culmination of decades of investment in submarine tech. My people said the only way to get the Tartarus up fast enough was to hire outside help. Imagine if a tech company like MobyCorp, or Poseidon Industries were to get hold of the blueprint. They’d reengineer it and sell it on to the foreign power with the deepest pockets. The White House can’t allow it. There’s too much at stake.”

Kennedy shivered. So, there it was. After days of fobbing her off, here was the truth at last. “You’re sacrificing my crew.”

“For the safety of the American people, yes.”

“What of the forty-six American people on the Tartarus ? What about them? What about us ?” Her voice was shrill.

The commander clucked his tongue. “When we bring Tartarus up later—when we can do it in-house, quietly—your crew and your families will be… looked after.”

“Cold comfort, sir.”

“Executive Officer Cohen would have understood. He knew his orders…”

This time Kennedy cut the connection, blood thundering in her veins. Cohen! Dependable, solid Cohen, her executive officer, had been planted to countermand her orders in the event the little lady stepped out of line. Kennedy clenched her teeth so hard she risked cracking the enamel. What would his single mother have made of that ?

But her anger wasn’t going to help things. She needed to think. Again, she focused her mind on the ebb of the tide, breathing in slow waves, dampening her fear. “Masterton—John—would you ask Scotty to join us, please?”

“Fuck!” Scotty cursed when he heard the news. “Fuckity-fuck-fuck!”

Masterton closed his eyes, his lips quivering. When he opened them, he said, “What about other countries? The Russians. The Chinese. South Korea. They all have subs. There might be someone out there. We could send out an SOS.”

“Fat chance,” Scotty said.

He wasn’t wrong. The Atlantic Ocean was massive. Depending on where their rescuers were, getting to them could take days.

Scotty shrugged. “But I’m not against giving it a go. I wouldn’t mind seeing Central Park again.”

“Ensign Hurst.” Kennedy turned to her comms officer.

Hurst lifted her earphones off one ear. “Yes, ma’am?”

“If there are any other subs within shouting distance, I want you to raise them, please. Anyone at all.”

Hurst’s eyes widened, but she bent her head and fiddled with her dials.

Kennedy looked at Scotty and Masterton. “For the record, this is on me,” she said firmly. Masterton opened his mouth, but Kennedy held up her hand. “No. If we come through this, my report will say you did your best to dissuade me, but I refused to listen.”

Her shipmates nodded. What they were suggesting was treason; if they succeeded, there would be hell to pay. Still, rescue, even by a foreign power, was better than being dead. Kennedy prayed there was someone out there.

At last, Hurst turned to her. “Someone’s scrambling our communications, ma’am. Flooding the frequency,” she said. “If there is a sub in the vicinity, they’re not going to hear us over the noise.”

Masterton’s shoulders slumped.

“Fuck,” Scotty said again. “They’re killing us.”

Kennedy glanced at her screen. “We’ve still got 12 percent. We could have a go at powering up and seeing if we can blast ourselves off this ledge. There’s a small chance we could get clear of the rock, make it to the surface.”

“And we throw open a window when we get there,” Scotty said glibly.

“We’ve got to try something,” said Masterton.

“Tell the crew to strap in,” Kennedy said.

“Ma’am,” Hurst interrupted, before they’d had a chance to move. “I’m getting something. It sounds like… like a craft.”

“Another sub?” The commodore had made it clear there was no help coming, still Kennedy’s hope flared.

Hurst frowned. “Maybe. Except… so strange… and it’s as if it’s coming from below us.”

That wasn’t possible; it must be some kind of echo caused by their position in the trench. Either that or Hurst and Kennedy were suffering from the same debilitating headaches.

Still, Kennedy rushed to her screens, punching buttons to illuminate built-in eyes on the Tartarus ’s hull. She almost knocked skulls with Masterton as they searched the screens for their rescuers.

Something was definitely out there. Just nothing Kennedy had ever seen before.

Above them, near the escape hatch, hovered a lozenge-shaped object which looked to be about half the length of the Tartarus . Running along either side of the creature were a pair of frilled appendages that rippled in unison.

Kennedy squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again.

“What is that? A kraken?” Masterton breathed.

So, it wasn’t just the effects of sleep deprivation and hypoxia; Masterton could see the floating centipede, too.

“That’s mechanical , not organic,” Scotty said excitedly. He poked the screen with a finger. “See the Greek lettering on the side? That says Phaedra .”

Kennedy squinted for a better look. At this eleventh hour, the news seemed too good to be true—like a mirage, or a hallucination. A submersible like no other, and from such an unlikely source. “Last I heard, all the Greek Navy still operates is a couple of archaic diesel electrics,” Kennedy said. “How do they have something this advanced? And what is the Greek Navy doing in the Atlantic?”

“Rescuing us, I hope,” Masterton said. “Maybe they intercepted some intelligence about us and came to see for themselves. Who cares so long as they’re here?”

He had a point. Kennedy glanced at the battery readout: 11.8 percent.

“Look!” Masterton said.

Outside, in the gloomy depths of the ocean, a hatch opened on the hovering craft, and two shadowy figures emerged.

“What? They have suits to withstand pressures this deep? That’s not… that’s not…” Masterton trailed off.

He was right. It simply wasn’t possible. At these depths, the tremendous pressure of the ocean would crush a diver in seconds.

“What are they? Gods?”

“Fairy godmothers more like,” Scotty said. “Let’s get to the escape hatch.”

“Hurst. You’d better come,” Kennedy told her communications officer. “And bring your translator. My Greek is a little rusty.”

They hurried to the base of the ladder. “Let them in, Scotty.”