Currents of Will: Book Two of The Atlantis Chronicles Page 8

  Mer-An nodded. “You are right. No one is ever truly safe.” She sniffed and blinked her eyes. “So, we must embrace the moments when we feel that we are.”

  A rattling of wheels and the huffing of the saleslady interrupted their conversation as the woman returned with a cartful of product. She went to the register and rang up their purchase, then held out her hand. “It is not a small purchase.”

  Kyla carefully counted the money into the woman’s outstretched hand. The saleslady helped them put everything into bags and eyed them as they turned to leave. “I do not know who would require such an amount of makeup.” Jolted, Kyla almost broke into a run. “But, if you need more, please come back.”

  Perspiration tickled her hairline and Kyla pushed Mer-An out the door before they had to engage in any more conversation. Leading her back to the truck, she tried to take her friend’s mind off her first topside encounter. “You did well. You did not even let your emotions surface when she held your wrist.”

  Mer-An’s mood lifted and a shy smile played across her lips. “I replayed one of the night’s Aris and I were alone.” She laughed, “It took me to another place, but I had to halt that line of thinking as I could feel my temperature start to rise and I did not want to risk embarrassing myself.”

  Delighted, Kyla joined her gentle laughter. “We are going to be fine, just fine.” Arm in arm, they wound their way back to the truck. “Have you contacted Aris?”

  A curt nod. “He says that the compound is coming along nicely and the food supplies are rapidly being restocked. I am ready to be back there. I do not think I can take much more today.”

  “I agree. Let us hope Evan finds what he needs quickly.”

  They hoisted the bags over the side of the truck and placed them in the bed. Sliding into the cab, Kyla tried the ignition, and surprisingly, the truck roared to life. She turned on the radio and spun the dial so that it ran through the stations. When she found what she was looking for, she smiled at her friend, “Listen, Mer-An, topside music.”

  Mer-An scrunched her face and covered her ears. “It is just a terrible noise to me.”

  Good-naturedly, Kyla let her be, content to lose herself in the vibrant Greek music. Her foot tapped a beat and she sat back and crossed her arms. “Evan will be back soon. Try to enjoy yourself.”

  Mer-An made a sound that Kyla considered rude. She shook her head and let her mind take her where it would.

  Evan hurried back to the truck, a big smile on his face. He excitedly got behind the wheel and was amazed to find that, not only had Kyla been able to start the old relic, she was rocking out to some pretty fast music. He laughed out loud. “You are extraordinary! How did you figure all this out? And do you really like that noise?”

  Mer-An grumpily added, “Thank you; I am glad someone else agrees with me. Can we not have some peace and quiet?”

  Resigned, Kyla turned the radio off and hugged Evan as hard as she could. She looked into his eyes. “I love this music. I want you to teach me more of these Terran ways because I am finding everything to be quite wondrous!” Her eyes shone with a sense of adventure.

  Even through the talc covering, Evan could see the color striations that wound over her countenance indicating how happy she was at this particular moment. He lifted his hands to her face and planted a passionate kiss on her luscious lips.

  He sat back and put the truck in drive. “That should keep you until we get back to the compound. But I’m not sure it’ll keep me.”

  Mer-An snickered. “Ah, love! A tender moment enjoyed by … me! Evan, punish this truck and get us home. You make me long for my Aris!”

  Complying with a bit of difficulty, Evan ground the gears and took off.

  Kyla changed the subject. “How did your hunt for the equipment fare? Were you successful?”

  Evan glanced at her and nodded. “Easier than I thought. The man at the hardware store has supplies shipped in regularly. We’re going to need at least ten generators and probably twenty-odd filters and purifiers. He ordered the equipment and it’ll arrive on tomorrow’s ship. With those items secured in Atlantis, it should be enough to get the air and water supply working and will allow everybody a rest from their bioskins.”

  Kyla quirked her head. “How much more equipment do you think it will take?”

  “By the time we’ve finished rebuilding, we’ll probably have thirty units functioning around the clock. I’ll also order extras as backups in case one of the machines breaks down.”

  “That is a lot, love. How are these things supposed to work?”

  Evan concentrated on the road as he wound through traffic and considered the extent of the toxic air that had been dispelled during the attack. Given the two day shelf-life of the gas, and the time that had passed, he didn’t think the air was still contaminated. However, he was still worried about the safety of the salvage crew as well as the returning families. He wasn’t willing to gamble anyone’s health on the hope that the gas had been rendered inert.

  When he had cleared traffic and was headed back to the compound, he explained, “The generators run on gas. Travlor installed a huge storage tank on property so that the soldiers could keep their vehicles gassed. I’ll see that it’s filled up for our purposes. The generators and fuel bladders will ensure sufficient power. I think around twenty air purification systems will be enough to scrub any residual poison from the air and we’ll probably need the same amount for the water.”

  Mer-An was surprised at the amount of fuel needed to run one of the topside machines. “I do not think the Terrans have been very thoughtful about the way they power their machines. Do they not have alternative methods?”

  Evan rubbed his neck and tried to keep the old truck from swaying into the ruts. “For our needs, the generators provide a quick and easy way to get your home up and running. Since we’re racing the clock in trying to locate Daria, the sooner we can power your home, the better off everyone will be.”

  Kyla reached for the radio, “Cover your ears Mer-An, I’m pumping up the noise!”

  Evan shook his head, “I think you meant volume.”

  “No, I did not!” Kyla laughed to see Mer-An make a sour face and clapped her hands over her ears.

  After jouncing over uneven roads for what seemed like days, the trucks turned onto the dirt avenue that would bring their journey to an end. Daria was glad that it was finally over. She was sore, she was tired, and she was ready to be out of the malodorous truck.

  Their driver slowed his approach, giving Daria time to assess the complex in which Travlor had chosen to sequester them. Hacked from the stifling, endless green was a place that looked like an unassailable fortress. Towers that were more like machine gun turrets stood at every corner, manned by heavily armed guards. With their blackened faces and menacing looks, it seemed to Daria that the men were not only ready to fight off outside threats, they were hard-bitten enough to fight the jungle into submission. As if anyone could ever find this place, or would want to.

  She quavered. Hopes of Ni-Cio locating her vanished as surely as the sun sets in the west. “Looks like you’re prepared to face an invasion.”

  They stopped before an impressive iron gate on which was etched a very fancy coat of arms. Travlor stirred. “I am not unused to topside ways, but even if I were, I have myself as an example. Guard your back; if not, you are never prepared for any contingency.”

  The gate slowly swung open. As they drove through, Daria could see how thick the concrete block walls were. Expecting to see prison-like surroundings, she was astonished by the pure opulence spreading out before her eyes. “Oh my God! What is this place? Some drug lord’s refuge?”

  Travlor chuckled. “My, my; you are full of surprises. That’s exactly what this place was before I acquired it.”

  Daria took in the gaudy splendor of the estate and couldn’t help but think about the effort expended to
bring such a place into being. Reflecting pools were adorned with nymphs, naked and gleaming, looking as though they would spring from their pedestals in wicked abandon.

  The grounds, abundant with flowers, bushes and plants of every kind imaginable, crowded the eye with a profusion of colors and confusion. To Daria, there seemed no rhyme or reason. She muttered, “The landscaper must’ve used Alice’s walk through Wonderland as his guide.” She eyed Travlor, “Does this cacophonous landscape reflect the drugged-out dreams of the owner?”

  Travlor ignored her question although he tended to agree with her observation.

  The house, certainly a misnomer, came into view. Daria had been shocked by the grounds, but the building, a testament to crazed splendor, failed in its attempt at grandiosity. So huge that it extended out of sight, the architecture was a mishmash of Spanish Colonial, Mediterranean Revival and Beaux Arts. Arched corridors, columns, cornices and balconies, replete with random wrought iron, fought for attention. Rather than validating an exquisite eye for detail and design, the estate flaunted a voracious appetite. The place was soulless. It occurred to Daria that Travlor had probably picked it for that very reason. If he had, she didn’t want to dwell on that idea.

  The driver pulled up to the front entrance where two men waited. Dressed in camos, their faces dripped with sweat. Their dark green T-shirts were stained nearly black, so that it looked to Daria as if they had just stepped out of a shower.

  Travlor helped her out of the truck. Humidity slapped her in the face like a wet towel and it was hard to take a breath. As they closed the distance to the attendants, the men attempted to stand even straighter. They looked highly uncomfortable and Daria suspected that their anxiety was more from having to face Travlor than it was from the tropical heat and humidity.

  “Are the rooms prepared?”

  The taller of the two men stepped forward. “All is in readiness. Would you care for some refreshment or would you like to be shown to your quarters?”

  Travlor led Daria up the wide staircase and into the foyer. “I am certain the lady would like to be taken to her rooms.” He turned a questioning gaze to her and she nodded her consent. He directed one of the men and signaled for Daria to follow. “Make yourself comfortable, my dear. We will be here for quite some time. You will find clothing and all the toiletries you require. Should you need anything, then you must come to me. I have instructed my men not to engage you in any conversation.”

  “If I’m to be here, what about a doctor for my pregnancy?”

  Travlor crooked an eyebrow. “You are a healer as am I. Together we will keep the child safe and in perfect health. You need not fear for her.”

  Somehow Daria didn’t feel comforted by that statement, but she decided to let it pass. “Seems you’ve thought of everything.”

  “I have certainly tried. Now follow my man. Tidy up, then join me for supper.”

  Hot, sweaty, exhausted, and helpless, Daria glumly followed the attendant to her quarters.

  Gawking at the prior owner’s ideas of interior design, Daria kept banging into tables and chairs as she ogled a collection of art that ran the gamut from high-blown and overpriced to profane and overpriced. There were so many sitting areas, she lost count of the overstuffed leather and the tropical fabrics that clashed with the objects d’arte spread willy-nilly over, on, and around each room.

  The window walls, thrown wide, invited the outside in and opened onto an enormous tiled veranda that looked out over a vista to a vast garden area. Daria stopped and gaped. She actually rubbed her eyes and blinked hard.

  The backside of the estate rivaled an Olympic venue. Commanding the center section, an Olympic-sized pool, complete with three and ten meter boards, was surrounded by waterfalls, fire pits, loungers, tables, and chairs. Shady umbrellas sprang up like weeds to provide escape from the searing rays of the sun.

  Off to one side, men’s and women’s changing rooms contained showers, hot and dry saunas, lockers and god knew what else. On the opposite side, a cabana that looked like something from a Texas-sized hotel sheltered a fireplace big enough to cook a moose, a dining table that could have doubled as a runway for a small plane, and a fully loaded kitchen and bar.

  Beyond that over the top Busby Berkeleyesque setting, frenzied landscaping wound around and through a regulation beach volleyball court, a croquet lawn court, and tennis courts of every type of surface ever invented. It was an adulterated version of grandeur.

  The attendant grew restive as Daria tried to take it all in. She roused herself from the spectacle. “I’m ready to find my rooms, please.” She was overwhelmed. She didn’t want to see anymore.

  The man turned toward a sweeping staircase that spiraled through several stories. Luckily, her rooms were located on the second floor. The man walked down a wide hallway and signaled her door. Holding it open, he closed it gently behind her.

  Daria swiped at the sweat trickling down her neck. Before she could take stock of her surroundings, she had to find the bathroom, now.

  She spied a side door, hurried over, and as she barged through the door, she gasped. Tiled in travertine from floor to ceiling, a glass-enclosed shower big enough for ten people and friends adjoined a sunken tub that resembled someone’s chaotic idea of a garden pond.

  A walk-in closet concealed a wardrobe large enough to clothe a small village, and stretching the length of one wall, a fully loaded vanity glowed with gold his and her sinks. She sighed, “I just need a toilet.”

  Once, she had seen to her urgent needs, Daria walked back to her assigned set of rooms.

  The rampant pomposity was absent and whether the designer had taken a break or just run out of ideas, she was relieved to see a large, comfortable sitting area, table, and chairs for in-room dining, and a king-sized, recessed bed with built-in night stands. Throw rugs added touches of color to Mexican tile and a large set of shuttered windows looked out on the front grounds.

  Daria had an unobstructed view of the bricked drive and entry gate. The two visible towers were manned and active. Guards held their posts as if their lives depended on it. “Which they probably do,” she muttered.

  Daria shook her head and closed the shutters. She decided that if she had to be imprisoned somewhere, this was as good as any and probably a lot better than most.

  She saw another door, and upon investigating, found a much smaller room that had been readied as an office. A desk and chair stood adjacent to another set of widows and there was a duo of leather chairs, between which rested a dark wood table. “Not sure if I’ll need this room.” Feeling sticky, she backed out and closed the door. She needed a shower and a change into something less travel weary. Lifting the heavy hair from her neck, she rummaged through the closet. She found some light, loose clothing, and headed toward the bathroom. “Might as well settle in.”

  Rogert and his crew had moved most of the bodies from the Great Hall of Poseidon. He thought that another couple of hours would bring an end to their hideous undertaking. With a strong clamp on his emotions, he refused to think about the two beloved family members he had just placed inside the burial tunnel.

  However, his endurance and fortitude were slipping. His façade was crumbling and he didn’t think he could maintain a grip on his decorum much longer. Rather than leave, he determined that all his men needed time away from their grisly work. “That is enough for now. You have done well, but we must break … we need to reacquaint ourselves with our beloved ocean . . .”

  Cries of assent echoed through his mind and his men quickly gathered round. “A fifteen minute swim will help calm our spirits. Go wherever your body takes you . . .”

  They wound through the broken remains of their home and accessed the portal exit. Each man was lost in his own thoughts, his own grief, and each one of them needed time alone. Without looking at each other, the Atlanteans dove into the water and flew through the portal. Reaching the tunne
l mouth, they blasted off in all directions.

  Rogert started to race toward his favorite coral reef; however, the shadow of a large figure loomed into view. He knew who it was before he saw him. Every Atlantean considered the huge fish to be the guardian of this particular portal and the behemoth had been loved by all.

  “Gallendar, my old friend . . .” Rogert floated, arms crossed over his imposing chest and waited for the gentle leviathan.

  Gallendar flicked his massive tail and sailed effortlessly to Rogert’s side. His usual clicking and showing of teeth was absent, indicating his own sadness. “My heart hurts, Rogert, as does yours . . .”

  Though he had walled himself off from the enormity of his loss, that his friend had cared enough to seek him out disintegrated the barriers shielding his heart. A lump rose in his throat, and though he swallowed repeatedly, it refused to budge. His eyes prickled, then stung. With his next breath, the dam erupted and tears poured from his eyes.

  The bioskin prevented him from swiping his tears, and try as he might, Rogert was helpless to staunch the river that cascaded down his cheeks and over his chin. The stoic Atlantean cried so that shudders wracked his body and he could no longer hold himself upright.

  Gallendar moved next to him. Using his own rigid body, he supported his grief-stricken friend. The great fish didn’t waver and barely drew breath. Gallendar knew that the deaths of so many Atlanteans precluded Rogert from choosing another mate. For his friend, more than family had been lost; Rogert’s future had been lost as well.

  He waited as Rogert unleashed all of the anger and the hurt that he’d kept bottled inside.

  At last, Rogert’s emotional storm subsided, his tears lessened and as his sobs quieted, he slowly ran his hand over Gallendar’s smooth scales. Ripples of light followed his movements and Gallendar shimmered with glowing neon colors. Entranced, Rogert continued to stroke his friend’s body and as he did, a silent gift of love and caring flowed into his aching heart. His sorrow lessened and although his hurt remained, it seemed manageable. He no longer felt like he was being be ripped apart.