Fluency

24

Bergen was paddling his ass off toward shore, building speed. He glanced back and could see the swell rising over his shoulder. He’d missed the last one. It broke sooner than he’d anticipated, but this one was his.

Today, the wave trains weren’t tremendous, but a good solid five feet, shoulder high, and perfect glass. He was starting to tire; he’d been at it for a while, and he should be heading back into the lab to get started on his day, but it was hard to say no to just one more wave.

Surfing was like a drug.

He huffed at that thought and paddled harder. Almost there.

Nope. Not a drug—it was like sex. You spend a lot of time working up to doing it, it’s mind-blowingly awesome for a few moments, then it’s over and you want to do it again. And again. Always good. Even if it wasn’t perfect. Still good.

He felt the wave catch his board and fought the urge to rush to his feet. He let the board match the momentum of the cresting wave, and pushed up slowly, keeping the board well-balanced as he got his feet under him and corrected his course.

Such a fucking rush. Nothing else like it. He knew intellectually that the energy pushing his board had been transmitted from wind to water, that the water molecules rotated in that energy, passing it on from molecule to molecule, forming the waves, moving relentlessly for thousands of miles before reaching shore, the energy slowly dissipating as it went.

A different kind of energy surged in him. Everything was right and good in this moment: the warm sun, the fine spray of the water on his exposed skin, the sounds of breaking waves and the raucous calls of gulls—the amazing feeling of disbelief that he was actually doing it—flying, skimming the sea, walking on water.

This was a pretty popular beach. Normally by now he’d be annoyed with the other people in the surf and on the beach, getting in his way when he’d caught the perfect wave, truncating the experience, spoiling it with buffoonery or ignorance. But today he was alone. It struck him as a rare pleasure. He didn’t dwell on his luck. He just savored it.

He scanned ahead. The wave was starting to break up. Something moved in his peripheral vision and he turned slightly to see what it was. It was probably just a gull, but something told him it was larger.

There it was again.

The thrust from the wave destabilized. He lost his balance and plunged into the water. Just before he went under, he got a decent look at it. It was long and thin, like an arm or a tentacle. An octopus this close to shore would be unusual on this beach and he was pretty sure the local octopi were supposed to be small and reddish.

He stayed under for a moment, orienting himself to catch a glimpse of the creature from beneath the surface. He bobbed as the sea churned around him, the tether from his forgotten board tugging on his leg. That leg ached, and for a moment he felt deja vu or like he needed to remember something important.

He forgot all that when he finally caught sight of it. Oh, fuck. It was way bigger and way closer than he’d realized. He’d heard news stories of Humboldt squid attacking divers near San Diego—plucking at masks, ripping hoses, tearing skin—but those were supposed to be around five feet long and confined to deeper waters. This thing was easily ten times that size. And it…holy shit…it was watching him. One of its tentacles snaked out and came within inches of his arm.

He reacted instinctively, lungs burning for air, kicking like hell for the surface and his board, every bit of the zen he’d gained during the last hour of surfing obliterated. He gasped for air and didn’t bother to look around. He knew he was alone. There was no help for him out here if this freaky, misplaced kraken decided it wanted to have him for breakfast. His only recourse was to get to shore as fast as possible.

He busted his ass to get there, just aiming for sand, half expecting to be pulled under any second. His thoughts raced with the legends he’d heard of ships being destroyed by sea monsters—legends he’d once thought were embellished, but now he wasn’t so sure.

As soon as he could get his feet under him, he trotted onto the sand, dropped his board, and collapsed. He sat there, panting, and scanned for signs of the creature in the surf. He was so absorbed that when he heard someone softly clearing their throat beside him, he leapt to his feet, whirling.

It was Jane.

She smiled sheepishly and gestured at the sea. “I’m sorry, Alan. I should have told him not to do that. He’s thrilled to finally meet you and when he saw you were dreaming of the ocean, well, that only fueled his excitement. He didn’t realize how his greeting might affect you. It’s a cultural thing. The Sectilius are not as easily ruffled when they encounter something out of the ordinary.”

He looked from her to the pounding surf, confused. “What?” He reached out a hand to her arm. “Jane, what are you doing here? What’s going on?”

“You’re dreaming. You’re in a Regeneration Basin, recovering. You remember the ship, the slugs, the nepatrox?”

He took a step back, letting his hand fall away from her. He couldn’t stop himself from looking down at his leg. Suddenly he felt very silly and very unsure.

He nodded slowly. “I’m dreaming. Of course, of course. That makes sense. Gotta pass the time somehow.”

He turned back to her. All her attention was on him. He liked that. He felt his lips turn up into a libidinous smile. She looked stunning. Her hair glowed in the early-morning sun, whipping around her face in the breeze coming off the water. She wore some kind of long tunic that was pressed against her body by the wind, revealing every wayward curve.

This was going to be a dream to remember.

She held up a hand, her lips twitching. “That’s not where this is going, Alan.”

Damn it. His subconscious mind was a real bastard. Why would he fuck with himself this way?

“Hey,” he said out loud to himself as much as to Jane as he wrapped his arms around her, “This is my goddamn dream. It’ll go wherever the hell I please.” Her face was turned down. He reached into her hair, tugging gently and lowered his lips to her temple, her cheek, hungrily seeking her mouth.

“Um, no. It’s not as simple as that.” Her hand came up to cover his lips. “Listen to me, Alan. You were dreaming. But you aren’t precisely dreaming anymore. I’m actually here. We are here.” She removed her hand from his mouth and put some space between them, gesturing at the sea again. A tentacle raised out of the water again and made a limp gesture.

“What the fuck…is going on here?” He felt queasy and tense.

She led him to the waters edge. “Dr. Alan Bergen, meet Ei’Brai, Gubernaviti of the Speroancora.”

“Greetings. It is an unbearable pleasure to finally interact with you, Dr. Alan Bergen.”

The voice was deep. And it was inside his head.

Water lapped at his ankles. The white tentacle remained visible on the surface, rolling with each heave and swell of the sea.

He felt nothing but disbelief. His thoughts spun in place, stuck in the wrong gear. “I…ah….”

The voice continued, “We approach now, Dr. Alan Bergen, because Qua’dux Jane Holloway insists upon your input. It strikes me as a futile effort, however I am bound to comply with every caprice of the Quasador Dux.”

Bergen turned back to Jane, blinking.

She had an intense look on her face, gazing out to sea. “What we need are ideas and you don’t have any, Ei’Brai.” The tentacle withdrew from the surface with a splash and he could faintly hear some kind of disgruntled, crackling grumbling deep in his ear.

Jane’s eyes narrowed and she turned back to him. “Alan, you have some knowledge of nanotechnology, don’t you?”

He shook his head. “Wait a minute. What did he just call you?”

Her lips drew together in a thin line. “That’s not important right now. I want to show you some things, see if you can make sense of them.”

“No. I think it is important. What did you do, Jane? Are you in danger?” He grabbed her arm, harder than he should have.

She shrugged him off. “I’m fine. He called me the Quasador Dux because I’ve taken control of this ship. I’m in command now. He works for me.”

The deep voice rumbled again, inside his head. “I do, indeed. I could not have envisaged a more propitious commanding officer. It is my honor to serve the honorable Qua’dux Jane Holloway. We are here to consult. Are you prepared to begin?”

He ignored the gnarly beast for the moment. “You command this ship? What? How?”

“It’s complicated, Alan. I will explain, I promise. But right now we have a more pressing issue. This ship is swarming with nanites—I’ve already told you that—they perform many repair functions throughout the ship. They were programed by the Sectilius to perform those functions, coordinated through Ei’Brai. What the Sectilius didn’t know is that a portion of those nanites were hijacked and re-programed to attack the central nervous system of every living thing on board in a synchronized strike.”

Bergen’s eyebrows drew together. “That’s what happened to the crew of this ship?”

“Yes. And it’s what’s happening to Compton, right now. He’s fighting for his life in the tank next to you. It could be happening to Walsh, Ajaya, and Gibbs too, out there in the capsule. We need to find a way to turn these things off or reprogram them. I have no way of knowing if the damage is irreparable. I hope not. But there’s no way to know for sure.”

Bergen opened his hand and gestured toward the sea. “Shouldn’t your buddy out there be the expert on this shit? Why do you need me?”

Disgruntlement rumbled in his head again. He ignored it.

“He’s been trying to solve it since 1947, Alan.”

Alan put a hand to the back of his neck. “Okay. What makes you think I’ll succeed where Cthulhu has failed?”

She smiled. “You’re not him. You don’t think like he does.”