1
“IS THIS WHERE it was?” Gabriel Nemo slid out of the captain’s chair and stepped toward the curved wall before him. The viewscreen took up almost a third of the wall of the experimental Nemoship Kekada’s bridge or command center. The bridge was smaller than Gabriel was used to—about fifteen feet across, circular, with railings for equipment sweeping all the way around, and numerous handles for swivel-out chairs if they were needed. His chair, the captain’s chair, sat permanently in the center, with two crew stations behind him. Gabriel ran his fingers through his short black hair and looked back to his left for his friend and helmsman, Peter. “Like, it was right here?”
But Peter wasn’t there. Gabriel winced. On the ship he knew and loved, the Obscure, the helmsman would be behind him to his left, but aboard this ship, Peter was on Gabriel’s right. I am going to get this. He spun to the other side and said, “Are we sure?”
“Yep,” Peter said, shrugging. The lights of the viewscreen and the rest of the bridge reflected in Peter’s glasses below his tousled blond hair. Peter wore the Nemo uniform of long blue pants and a jacket, although Peter’s jacket was open to reveal a DANGANRONPA T-shirt underneath. “The sound that was captured and uploaded came from these coordinates.” He pointed at the screen. “Right below the pier.”
The viewscreen showed what was directly outside: green water lit up by the Kekada’s bright floodlights as they swept over the tall iron columns below Penarth Pier on the coast of Wales. The pier was more than a hundred years old, and the iron was black and rusted, encrusted with barnacles and swarming with fish that flickered colorfully in and out of the floodlights. They were investigating a strange report, one that Gabriel thought might help solve a mystery that kept him up at night. A report that had come from near Tiger Bay, which Gabriel hoped would prove a theory he alone believed.
“And it wasn’t just the sound,” Peter said.
“Right,” Gabriel agreed. “Misty…”
He started to turn right. No, left. Left for Misty. He would get it. He looked left to see a tall girl with mountains of thick brown curls, loose strands of them spilling over her face. “What did they say?”
Misty lifted a tablet from a slot before her and flicked it with her hand. “Okay, it’s from three weeks ago.” She was looking at social media posts from a woman who taught scuba diving near Penarth Pier and around the Bristol Channel, the large body of water ships used to reach Cardiff, Wales. Misty cleared her throat. “Here, uh, blah blah blah … ‘You won’t believe it but I’m writing it here anyway. When Greg—’ that’s a scuba student, a tourist ‘—got stuck on the pilings below the pier, we were running out of options. And then something like a boat or even like a plane, I don’t know which, came out of nowhere and broke the mass of barnacles his gear was stuck on. They did it with a cable and a sort of grabber claw. Maybe the navy? I’m asking around. The claw grabbed on to the barnacles and pulled. I could hear an engine whining and a fierce crack, and the cable broke, and as soon as it did another cable came and took its place and started pulling. Finally the barnacles broke, and Greg was free—and they disappeared. I didn’t get a good look at them. Mostly just the cable and claw, and the vessel itself was back about twenty feet, and hard to see in the murky water.’”
Gabriel pointed at the mass of barnacles. “I can totally see how you could get your gear stuck on that if you weren’t careful. That would be pretty scary for a beginner.” He pictured it. A guy goes on a dive, he comes in close to the iron poles to take a picture, and one of the straps of his gear gets snagged on the spiny rocks. And then he can’t come up and starts to panic. Gabriel could almost feel the man’s fear. “So a mysterious rescuer shows up. Out of the sea and into it again.”
“And not for the first time,” Misty said. Ever since the crew had started looking into the Bristol Channel, they had found many such mysterious rescues up and down the coast.
“But this time we have the video the lady posted,” Peter said. “I mean, it’s black and doesn’t show anything, but it has the sound and the location marker, which is here.”
“Let’s hear the sound again,” Gabriel said.
Peter nodded and tapped a button.
“Here you go.”
A strange sound emanated from the speakers, distant and crackling. It whined like a high-pitched song, almost like a whale. It bleated and popped, whee-oooo-pop-pop-pop. Beyond that was a distinct engine whine unlike any craft Gabriel had ever heard.
Peter sat back, staring at the ceiling as he listened. “I hear something like a … like a gurgle in there, like water running through machinery. It’s pretty strange.”
“Definitely not navy,” Misty said.
“Totally not,” agreed Peter.
The Kekada rumbled, its stabilizers steadying them.
“I think it’s them,” Gabriel said. The hair on the back of his neck prickled.
“It’s Maelstrom,” Peter said. Maelstrom was an organi- zation that used a whole navy of private submarines all over the world. They were criminals, though.
“Rescuers coming from the sea. Here, at Tiger Bay. With this mysterious equipment.”
Peter leaned back his head and sang, “Maaaaaeeell-strommm.” He sat forward. “Just because you have this crazy theory…”
“I don’t know about crazy,” Misty offered. “Maybe a little…”
Gabriel wondered what Misty was about to say. Over-hopeful? Naive?
“He doesn’t need you to defend him,” Peter said with a grin, and looked back at Gabriel. “… this crazy theory, let’s say it out loud, that the survivors of the actual Nemoship Nautilus are now running around Great Britain playing underwater Batman. Which I guess is Aquaman, but you get me.”
Gabriel held up his hands. “I know.”
“It’s like Bigfoot with you,” Peter said. “And I’m into it. I am. But you know, most of the time when someone sees Bigfoot? It’s a gorilla.”
“Well it’s not a gorilla and it’s not any navy,” Gabriel said. “And it’s not us.”
Peter looked at Misty. “So it’s Maelstrom, am I right?”
Misty shrugged. “A gang like Maelstrom doing anonymous rescues? Aliens would be more likely.”
Copyright © 2021 by Jason Henderson
