against him, I wondered if the dock wouldn’t have been a softer landing.
Everything hiding under his shirt was solid, hard, planed. I tried to convince
myself that the heat ripping through me was just from embarrassment. But
myself didn’t believe it.
Gentler than I expected given the circumstances, he pried me from his chest
and peered down at me, his deep brown eyes smoldering in what looked like
disbelief. You’d think he’d be used to women throwing themselves into his arms. He cleared his throat. “What is your name, cadet?”
That’s a great question. Pretty Princess leaned closer, now more curious than ever. The abused ranks behind us grew statuesque. Too bad concentration
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couldn’t be corralled—I would have borrowed enough from our audience to at
least remember my name. So far though, only four-letter words came to mind.
Then I understood the problem—he never let go of me. His hands on my
shoulders, holding me close enough to count his eyelashes, were robbing me of
sense. That, and the way his intense gaze seemed to be questioning me, asking
for more than my name.
Taking my chances with the dock, I stepped away from him and reclaimed
my shoulders, tucking my laptop behind me. Even the tropical breeze felt cool
where he’d touched. He blinked, as if realizing where he was—and who he was.
I wasn’t naïve enough to believe I’d had the same stupefying effect on him. He
was probably perplexed that the UN would recruit someone clumsier than an ox
on stilts.
As the heat from his touch seeped away, my memory seeped back, like a
magic potion was wearing off. “Elyse Morgan,” I said, as if I hadn’t been about to assault the lieutenant with a barrage of obscenities. As if I didn’t just leave part of my DNA on Captain’s uniform. As if I had known my name the whole time.
Enlightenment softened Captain’s face as he cleared his throat again. I
remembered that Ralph had said he was aware I’d be boarding. Finally, a reprieve from the lunacy. But my reprieve seemed to slither from my grasp as Captain frowned, all traces of disorientation vanishing like a doused fire.
“Well, Cadet Morgan, I am Captain Nicoli Marek. I’m sure Lt. Frank Horan
has already made his introductions.” He was polite, but nothing more. Well, he
was irritated. “And you have interrupted the peace and unity of my vessel
without even stepping foot on it.”
I’m sure my mouth gaped open, but I couldn’t bring myself to close it once it
came unhinged at the corners.
“I cannot tolerate insubordination on my ship,” he continued.
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The rage rekindled in my stomach and my eyes narrowed at the exquisite
being that was Captain Marek. “Perhaps I should leave,” I offered, acid
saturating my tone.
His eyes narrowed too. “That will not be necessary. Lt. Horan is capable of
administering appropriate discipline.”
Lt. Horan smiled. I stifled a reflexive urge to choke him.
“I was told to ask for Dr. Folsom as soon as I arrived,” I ground out.
“Dr. Folsom has not yet boarded the ship. We’ll be picking her up soon.”
“I was also told you knew I was coming.”
“I am aware of all new cadets boarding the Bellator.”
I was going to scalp Geoffrey, I decided. After I strangled the life from Lt.
Horan. But I needed to check his blood pressure first, because medically, that
was a concern.
“Lieutenant, continue as you see fit,” Captain Marek ordered. He turned his
gaze to me, and despite my intense dislike for this man, my heart fluttered a tiny bit when I glanced at his mouth on accident. “Cadet Morgan, you report to Lt.
Horan. You are to obey him, unconditionally.”
He turned and walked away amid a line of saluting cadets. I wished I had
something to throw. I was almost mad enough for a hand gesture—maybe two.
I whirled around, back to Lt. Horan’s unmistakably triumphant grin. He
ripped the laptop from my grasp, handing it to Little-Man. “See you on board,
twerp.” He winked at me. “I have a special treat for you.” Turning to the line of obedient cadets, he shouted, “Man the pods and move out.”
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Chapter Three
What I thought was the end of the line was actually the front.
I peered over the edge of the dock at the transport pod. It was a small round
vessel, painted black—of course—in stark contrast to the glistening emerald
crests keeping it afloat. The open top revealed three rows of bench seats big
enough for at least nine passengers.
The lump in my throat grew exponentially as the conductor jumped in and
held out his hand to lower me into the craft. Struggling to establish footing in the pod, I realized it wasn’t actually moving with the tumult of the sea. It must have some sort of complex technology keeping it immobile, even in the onslaught of
morning tide. Then I wondered if it was advanced indeed, or just further
evidence of my ignorance.
The lump was now choking size.
Ebony tossed me a charitable smile as I made quick work of strapping in,
cinching the belt to a life-saving tight. These pods must have been for short-
distance travel only. Any length of time spent on this hard rubber bench would
numb my lower extremities into uselessness.
Ebony waited until I could breathe again before she spoke. “Is this your first
time in a pod?” she asked.
I nodded.
“It’ll be okay.” She patted my hand.
After our pod reached full capacity, the conductor took his seat in front of a
buffet of buttons spanning a wide touch screen. He let his finger wander over the Anna Scarlett
control panel as if it were a menu and he were choosing the best wine to
accompany the meal. His selection started the craft, its loud thrumming
overtaking the peaceful slosh of the waves.
“The shield will come over us next,” Ebony said.
As though her voice commanded it, the glass shield eased over our heads
and hissed, locking into place in the front of the pod, enclosing us into a bubble.
The vehicle’s hum grew high-pitched, and we began our descent into the ocean.
I watched in terror as the water crept higher, and unreasonable panic played
havoc with my breathing. As the pod submerged, the high-pitch thrumming all
but disappeared, and we took in the view in silence. The glass made the water
even clearer, revealing an established, thriving marine community. To the left
and right, as far as the eye could see, the underwater coastline played host to its masses. Schools of fish darted around in an array of color, and crabs, large and
tiny, skirmished around in pursuit of them. A small, lone shark regarded us with
curiosity, pacing back and forth along the bottom, but keeping his distance. I
wondered if we’d interrupted his morning hunt.
The pod crept deeper and deeper into the vastness following the slant of the
sea floor, and as the brilliance of the sun faded, the inside of the vessel grew
darker. Fewer and larger fish dominated the scenery now, and the dim light
shimmered silver on their bodies. The mud floor seemed bereft of life, with the
exception of an occasional crab or bottom-feeding fish.
In the distance, the outline of something large and unmoving sat on the
bottom, and I wondered with a flush of excitement if it was an old shipwreck. I
imagined where the mast would have been, and thought I saw the silhouette of
centuries’-old cannons. Although it was my imagination running wild, this was a
welcome diversion.
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A soft light beneath our benches illuminated the cabin, and the conductor
enlisted a spotlight to help him navigate the sea floor. The light wandered to and fro in careful vigilance in front of us.
I glanced around the cabin, gauging each person’s expression against my
own inner turmoil. There were five men and three women, and none of them
appeared to be as mortified as me. Of course, none of them had sassed the
captain of the ship—or head-butted him, for that matter. And probably none of
them had Lt. Horan and his “special treat” waiting for them when they boarded.
If I had to guess, I’d estimate a good hundred percent of them had breakfast too.
Which explained why they all seemed content to be traveling toward a warship.
Two men up front conversed too low for me to hear. Two women pointed
out to sea, chattering to each other in a language I didn’t understand. I looked
past them into the blackness but saw nothing of interest.
Ebony stared ahead completely engrossed, so I studied her without fear of
being noticed. Her straight, almost-white hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her bangs pointed down to her large blue eyes. The dark of the cabin accentuated her
pale skin.
Mid assessment, she turned in my direction, startling and embarrassing me.
Eyeballing me like a watchful mother, she seemed to ascertain I’d calmed
down—somewhat. “My name is Ebony,” she said.
It seemed like a moot point to tell her I already knew her name, that it was
partly the reason a certain cleft-chinned princess had my father’s laptop. But
apparently not everyone present knew her name. The conversation up front
stopped short as the tension of eavesdropping saturated the air.
She shrugged in either oblivion or apathy—I couldn’t tell which. “My
mother was mistaken as to the time of conception and had already signed the birth certificate before the cesarean section. She was as surprised as anyone.”
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I heard a few hushed snickers but kept my eyes focused on hers—it was my
duty not to laugh, since it was me she’d addressed. Then she laughed. “I thought for sure that’d get a rise out of you. But you’re all somber and serious, like
you’ve been kidnapped.”
I sighed with the irony.
“Are—are you okay?” she asked. I realized I hadn’t spoken a solitary word
since I’d left the dock. Judging by the amount of trouble I was already in, it
seemed like a good game plan.
“Yes,” I answered.
“You’re nervous, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Are you a new recruit?”
“Yes.”
Ebony had a gift for asking redundant questions. She’d witnessed my
confrontation with Captain Marek firsthand—she could already see that protocol
wasn’t my specialty.
“Do you want me to stop asking you questions?”
“No.” Yes.
“What’s your name?”
“Elyse.” No doubt she knew this already. No doubt all these eavesdroppers
knew it. Scrambling for a subject other than me, I took a stab at redundant
questions myself. “So, you weren’t kidding then? Ebony is your real name?”
“Yes it really is.” She laughed. “And that’s the real story. It’s fun to make up
different explanations, though. You’d be surprised what people will believe. The
albino story is my favorite.”
I liked Ebony Grace. Even if her first name defined irony, her last name
defined her personality. Composed, hospitable, pleasant—qualities I wished
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were contagious. Hopefully I’d have the opportunity to get to know her better
once we boarded the Bellator. The Bellator. The lump returned to my throat when I thought of the name of my new home.
Ebony was distracted again, struggling to sit straighter to see over the heads
in front of us. “I think we’re almost there.”
I tried to peer ahead as well, but I’d secured my seat belt a little more
responsibly and couldn’t rise up at all. I leaned to the side, looking past the
conductor to the illuminated, muddy bottom. The sea floor ahead disappeared,
This is just a shelf on the ocean floor, I told myself as we approached the precipice. We’ll just keep moving through the water, that’s all. Still, I held my breath, letting it out in a gust when we left the shallow water. A small, ridiculous part of me felt the cliff was symbolic.
As we descended farther, the pit of my stomach experienced the sensation of
falling, real or imagined. And then I saw it. The massive Bellator illuminated the deep waters of the ocean, its tiny, lighted windows punctuating the multilevel
vessel, creating an outline of this enormous submerged liner. It was shaped liked a giant fish without a tail, the front of it large and rounded, the body tapering down to the tailless tip. What I assumed was the control center glowed at the
front, representing the open and well-lit eye of the fish. The physics of such a
design were sound, a perfect imitation of nature. The Bellator displayed the same capability to remain immobile amid the ocean currents, its form so still it looked like a permanent resident here instead of an alien presence.
“There it is,” Ebony breathed in awe, her expression echoing my own
sentiments.
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The immense size of the thing left me breathless, diminishing what little
confidence I’d accumulated since parting with sunlight—and with Captain
Marek. But I didn’t actually part with him, did I? After all, this was his ship, his territory. And it looked every bit as powerful, every bit as intimidating, as the man who directed it. Lucky for me, that meant the mighty Bellator was big enough that I’d probably never have to face him again, never have to look him in
the eyes and know that I could recite all the bones in the human body, spout off
the element chart, but I couldn’t remember my own name when I found myself
in his capable arms. What if I started to forget my training too? I was supposed
to be part of the medical staff on the ship. Could he be so distracting that I’d
amputate the wrong leg or attempt a hysterectomy on a man? Worse than that, would my research suffer?
I shook my head. Let it go, idiot. You didn’t get much sleep and even less breakfast.
Who would function normally under those circumstances? I cringed at the answer: Any good doctor would. It was part of the job to focus no matter the
circumstances, to shut out the rest of the world and concentrate on the task at
hand.
But this wasn’t about being a good physician. I reacted to Captain Marek as a
woman, not as a doctor, which had never happe
ned before. For all his charm and
effort, Blue Eyes couldn’t knock off my doctor hat, not even when he offered me
his best deal-sealing smile and asked me on a date. But I was in my natural
element—a medical emergency on my island. Captain Marek made me forget my
name by catching me when I fell—at a time when I was emotional, vulnerable,
kidnapped, for God’s sake. It didn’t mean he could undermine my ability as a doctor. Besides, I didn’t even like the man. He was about as compassionate as the flu. And like the flu, I’d get over him and his feverish touch. Right?
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Doubt churned in my stomach as I remembered how I felt pressed against
him. I was thankful the dark masked my blush as Ebony nudged me to look
ahead of us.
Grateful for a distraction, I complied. The flu, compassion and feverish
touches lost my attention as we drew closer. I realized the windows I’d just
deemed tiny were in fact as big as the transport pod propelling me toward
them—we were like a minnow flanking a whale. We gravitated toward the belly
of the huge fish where an illuminated line of pods formed at its center,
presumably to drop off its precious, foolish cargo.
We waited in line as pod after pod disappeared up into the belly, each
reappearing after dispensing its passengers. We moved closer to the
undercarriage of the Bellator, awaiting our turn to be devoured. Many times I glanced around our pod to see if any of my peers had come to their senses, but
they all seemed eager for their fate. I knew I couldn’t escape to the crushing
pressure of ocean around us, but maybe if one or more of them would help me
overthrow the conductor…
Too soon, the pod in front of ours moved next in line. I watched in terrified
curiosity as a door above it opened, spilling white light into the surrounding
darkness. All heads in the victim pod’s cabin looked up in expectation. Without
warning, they were sucked up into the belly of the beast, light disappearing with them. More frantic now, I darted glances around the cabin, looking for a willing
accomplice. And found none.
After several torturous minutes, the pod re-entered the water without its
passengers, as if the Bellator had eaten them and spit out the pod as bones. I tried to swallow and—good grief, had I grown an Adam’s apple? I clutched my neck