Children Of Fiends (8 page)

It was Vicar Wentworth who received the girl from the drone. He was far too fat to hold her, but Deacon Hoeg was at his side and lifted the girl with ease. The vicar offered soothing words as they stepped inside. Brandy looked at the receding drone with dread as its head swiveled to take her in, but felt comfort in the embrace of the man who held her. She had done it. She had escaped. She was with people who were not with The Chosen. Her relief brought new tears to her eyes and she sighed, giving the vicar and the deacon cause to smile warmly with reassurance.

In the command room, Plimpton and Hanson had watched the clergy collect the girl. Plimpton thought that despite a mask of fear, pain and confusion, she was nevertheless a pretty girl. Beckman, the shift’s driver, shook his head and wondered aloud, “What do you suppose is going on back there to make her want to do that?”

Plimpton had seen the girl’s eyes staring directly into the screen. They were big and brown and moist with emotion. He felt a sharp pain in his mouth as saliva burst forth and he found himself licking his teeth. Hanson caught the movement from the corner of his eye, and thought… No he is not. That’s just silly. His boss was not mad. Then he reconsidered; the girl was rather striking.

By the time Dean got out to the bow, Thompson, on the destroyer had brought the speed down considerably in order to take the pressure off the remaining towline. Dean’s crew was already prepping another line to be thrown. He spoke from the bow using a hand made hailer to the drone; the thing exposed on the deck, awaiting the new rope. “Is the girl okay?”

The drone’s speaker crackled for a moment, then Plimpton’s voice filled the void, “Miss St. James is doing fine. Some burns on her hands and bump to the head, but we have access to good first aid here."

"We can rig a rappelling device and come collect her."

There was a long pause. Then Plimpton said, "The girl prefers not the company of Devils you travel with. She wishes to stay with us."

Dean raised an eyebrow and asked, “Can we hear that from her?”

In the control room of the destroyer, Plimpton smiled at the girl who stood staring at the monitor. Brandy was nearly overwhelmed by the technology around her. She had learned a little of such things from books, but this... It was a cold place, dark, dimly lit by the blues and greens glowing off the machines. Plimpton placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and she shivered briefly from the unexpected contact. His grip remained gentle but suddenly firm across the back of her neck. He handed the mic to her. “Why don’t you tell them, my dear?” Brandy held the mic like it was living thing, away, as though it might bite. Plimpton slowly brought it toward her mouth and helped press her thumb on the actuator. “Just speak while holding this button.”

Hanson observed it all with growing heat in his face. He stood near the wall; his standard posting, awaiting the whims of the master. He swore to himself that this girl would go unharmed. It was enough that he had been yanked into this misadventure. He couldn’t help but note that the girl was beautiful. Such smooth skin. Such big brown eyes. Cheekbones that had almost fully shed the soft fat of childhood. He sympathized with his boss’s proclivity, but he would not allow another... another horror to happen.

Brandy whispered into the mic, “I want to stay.”

“You’ll need to speak up, dear,” said Plimpton.

She said louder, “I’m sorry. I want to stay here.”

Aboard the Delfshaven, Kelly burst out, "Can't do that!"

"She's her own person," said Dean.

"She a child, Cap."

Eliza came forward with Hansel and Gretel at her side. Dean said, "She doesn't want to come back." He gave the pucks a questioning look.

Eliza looked at the pucks and asked, "Did you bother the girl?"

"She spat at us," said Hansel.

"We did nothing, but she is full of fear," said Gretel. She caught both Dean and Eliza’s looks and followed with, “We left her mind be. Her fear rides on the waves that all of you send.”

Dean asked, “Why weren’t you here?”

“We had to pee,” said Hansel.

“I said one at a time.” Dean glanced at Green.

Kelly broke in, "We can't just leave her over there.”

Exasperated, Dean asked, "How do you propose we get her back?"

Before Kelly could answer, the drone ended the discussion by skittering back into the hanger, the doors closing behind it with heavy clang.

The voyage proved monotonous and uneventful after that. Both parties kept to themselves. Prudence dictated that they stay away from land until they could angle for the canal. A wide open ocean, only occasionally dappled with icebergs this far south, remained a constant state of gray with little in the way of waves to disturb it. At night it was the same; black replaced gray.
 

One morning the crew of the Delfshaven observed tuna on the hunt. A large school had rounded up a smaller school of prey. Like hundreds of missiles falling on a huge swirling ball of a city, the tuna darted about in a lightning fast feeding frenzy. They were accompanied by a screeching mix of competing sea birds that dove in for the shredded scraps of the kill only to in turn be summoned by Hansel and Gretel who drew scores of them to the deck for the sailors to net. Dean observed that it was the first time that his crew and the pucks had worked together. It had happened seamlessly and almost without discussion. It was also a painfully clear example of how very easily the pucks could survive: perfect control over the will of others. For an animal, any animal, to offer itself up as a meal without hesitation was... deeply disturbing.

They spotted land on the sixth evening. The sun had nearly set beyond the endless stratospheric clouds, leaving just enough light to make out the hard line of a shore on the horizon. Dean had made his own navigational calculations and was confident that they were indeed looking at the coast of Nicaragua. Every day that they had moved south they had gained a small rise in temperature and, as the land revealed itself, the air began to feel almost balmy. Everyone on both ships had been alive when temperatures like this were not only common, but much hotter, yet their skin had nearly forgotten the caress of warm moist air. Clothes were shed in near abandon and the deck of the Delfshaven appeared like a party during an unexpected thaw in winter. Jamesbonds had set the trend as he stripped down to his skivvies without a moment of shame; his memories of his youth fishing in the warm waters of Thailand making him homesick for a lost place and time. Soon enough, others were adopting the fashion and even Dean found himself reduced to a pair of pants and T-shirt. Only Sanders and Wen Blakely remained fully clothed, the conservative men choosing to keep their eyes averted and their noses pointed toward work - even when there was none. Hansel and Gretel were the most affected, and unless the crew was helmeted up, the puck’s thrill of feeling tropical air was pervasive. Their enthusiasm was infectious and led to everyone else’s general good cheer. The fact that a warship driven by an enemy was towing them was nearly driven from their minds as Dean allowed the crew to invent games to play on deck. The atmosphere was not unlike that of a cruiseship.
 

Dean agreed with the Shoremen that without benefit of light they should lay up at anchor for the night. They would stop a mile out.
 

At the edge of dawn, distant birdcalls filled the air while they pulled up anchor, and Dean found a tear growing in the corner of his eye. For a decade, only Virtutrips could approximate such an experience, and had been a poor replacement for the real thing. He caught Eliza gazing in his direction and noted the tears that fell smoothly down her flushed cheeks. She smiled and didn’t look away. As they approached the dark and shadowy landfall they marveled at the lush outlines of a jungle capped by low rain filled clouds. He moved to stand with her as they passed along a seemingly endless stretch of virgin Earth.

“Delicious,” she said.

“I guess we didn’t screw up the whole planet.”

They looked at the pucks who were taking in deep lungfuls of air and the humans found themselves riding on the high that poured from their minds like a heady perfume. With their senses nearly overwhelmed with smells, tastes and touch, most of the crew chose to go helmetless and the combined perceptions of everyone onboard melded into a thrill that was felt by all. This sensation held for miles until the two ships were within view of a short, cliff-laden peninsula covered in buildings. The entrance to the Great Nicaragua Canal was bordered on the South by the seawall that had been built to hold back a once relentlessly rising ocean. Beyond it, the dark volcanic sand of Brito Beach gave way to a long line of grand hotels that were slowly being reabsorbed by the jungle. Dean’s perspective suddenly skewed. For a moment he got the sensation that he was looking back at the two ships from the land and could even make himself out standing at the bow of the Delfshaven. It was utterly disorienting and the opiate of the crew’s shared experience was withdrawn like a needle, leaving everyone suddenly desperate to gain the sensation back. There were even some cries of annoyance and general disgruntlement, but this stopped quickly when they observed the pucks sitting down, their foreheads touching. Eliza slowly crouched next to them, not getting too close but speaking quietly. “What is it?” The pucks did not answer, instead keeping eyes closed, their foreheads together and then clasping hands.

Eliza looked at Dean in bewilderment. He knelt with them and asked, “Children, please tell me. Did I see what I thought I saw? Us, from the land?”

Rather than answer out loud, the answer came to his head with one simple word, Chosen.

Hanson was startled awake by a muffled cry. His first thought went instantly to the girl, his second that he had been so deeply asleep. He had taken to sleeping in the hallway outside Ms. St. James’ door. Each night he had pretended to bed down in the adjacent room next to his master and then moved to the hall and its hard floor. He would set a mental alarm to wake before Plimpton arose in need of coffee and help with dressing. The alarm was easy enough. He had been rising before the master in all the years of his employ. The floor of the hallway was linoleum laid over steel and therefore unforgiving, but he was getting used to sleeping in difficult conditions and he’d be damned if he’d let something happen to this young lady. For a decade, guilt over his complicity with the master’s crimes generally gave him little rest at night. He was surprised to have been so deeply asleep and therefore caught off guard when a hastily dressed Niles Plimpton opened his door to find his footman lying with blanket and pillow in the hall. They both heard it again. Someone was hailing from the Delfshaven. It sounded like the captain. Plimpton gave his servant a perplexed look that swiftly evolved into anger. He spoke not a word, but headed hastily down the hall toward the control room.

Brandy cracked her door open and peered out just as Hanson stood and put on his carefully folded jacket. He saw her from the corner of his eye and found himself at a loss. A sweet scent of youthful perspiration drifted to him and he kept his back to her until he felt the door begin to close, allowing the motion to give him an excuse to turn his head. He offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile and the girl paused.
 

“Good morning,” he offered.
 

She stared straight into his eyes. He found the observation extremely disquieting. Her big brown irises were simply beautiful and he silently shamed himself for noticing. His tongue became thick, yet he was able to manage, “Can I bring you some breakfast? There are cereal grains and milk from powder.”

The girl glanced at the blanket and pillow and at his wrinkled pants and loose tie and then back to his eyes; holding him with a steady look. “Thank you, yes. What is that yelling?”

“Someone is calling from the other ship. I know not what about. I shall investigate and bring you some food.” The girl was dressed only in a man’s extra large sleeveless T-shirt, the buds of her newly arriving breasts giving the garment some extra shape. Hanson offered a now quivering smile and said, “Best you put on your clothes in case the matter is urgent.”

The girl closed the door without another word. Hanson did up his tie and walked on unsteady legs toward Command. He didn’t know it of himself; rather, he would never admit it to himself, but he was deeply affected by the proclivities of his boss. With layers of gauzy denial, his mind would simply not allow him to acknowledge that he had received great pleasure as a passive observer of Councilor Plimpton’s liberties. Just hearing such events occur only a few feet away from where he would stand vigil had caused his heart and soul to vibrate. Yet there was just enough self-awareness in the man to know that such deeds were offensive to everything that was supposed to be good and decent. He paused at his room to lay his pillow and blanket on his bunk and a sudden sense memory offered her scent to him again. He turned, half expecting that she had followed, but her door remained closed, the hall empty. As he resumed his walk toward Command he was astonished, and then mortified, as his pace became awkward with a growing erection. He found himself cursing the appendage and shoving it to one side in an effort to gain some authority. He buttoned his jacket and slowed his stride, wishing the sensation away while biting his lip until drawing a small taste of blood. Then he paused to lean against the wall and breathed deeply to rebalance himself. What in God’s name had come over him? He was the girl’s protector, her defender. He would pray. He would seek out one of the deacons and pray.

Dean stood at the bow with Sanders at his side. Both men wore their helmets and were suited up for combat. Dean held the hailer at his side and waited expectantly. The hanger door slid open and the drone revealed itself, stopping at the edge of the threshold. The voice coming from its speaker was that of Major Thompson, “What can we do for you, Captain?”

“We have a situation. Our pucks... the children that travel with us… the ones you call dev… the children of the infected. They detect the presence of others like them. I myself experienced a brief moment of their telepathy.”