The Beast of Cretacea (37 page)

“But he’s —”

Starbuck clamps a hand over Ishmael’s mouth. “Listen carefully, boy. Even if Grace had somehow survived that thrashing, the big-tooths got her for sure. There’s nothing left to be done, understand?”

Ishmael breathes heavily against the first mate’s palm. Starbuck gradually loosens his grip, not sure whether to trust him. But Ishmael doesn’t move.

Starbuck drops his hand and studies him. “You okay?”

No, I’m not okay. I’m never going to be “okay” as long as I’m on this insane ship.
Ishmael looks at the crowd of sailors who are slowly returning to their regular chores. “Where’s the boy?”

“Charity took him down to the stasis lab.”

By the time Ishmael gets down to the lab, Charity has already closed the pod and sealed the chamber. She and Gwen are in the control room behind the clear metallic-alloy window. Tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth, Charity is concentrating on a screen displaying bars of different colors.

“He just watched his mother die, and you’re sending him away?” Ishmael asks, incredulous.

“Got a better suggestion?” Charity says. “Keep him here on this ship while that madman chases his terrafin? At least on Earth, there are people who’ll take care of him.” She moves her finger over the screen. In the chamber, the pod begins to glow. Watching through the window, Ishmael feels a deep sense of helplessness. Benjamin is going to Earth to grow into a miserable, decrepit old man. And now he feels responsible for destroying not one, but two, lives — the boy’s and Grace’s.

“You’re sure you sent him to the right place?” Ishmael asks. Maybe it’s not too late to correct the mistakes of the past.

“I’m sending him to Earth, honey. Hard to get that one wrong.”

“But I mean, you’re sure about
where
on Earth . . .”

Charity swivels around to look at him. “What’s your concern?”

“I —” He catches himself. If he tells her what he knows about the future, she’ll think he’s crazy. Just like Grace did.

“No worries, honey. The science might not be perfect, but I’m pretty good at hitting my targets. Anyway, too late to fret about it. The flyer’s in the fryer, as they say.”

The three of them stare through the window into the stasis chamber, where the pod continues to grow brighter. The control room goes quiet until Ishmael’s eyes meet Gwen’s.

“How did you make it here after the pirates attacked us?” he asks. “I thought Ahab never goes back for men overboard.”

Gwen smirks. “He does if your name’s Pippin Lopez-Makarova. They sent the tender to look for him and found me instead.”

“Starbuck told me Pip never came back to the ship,” Ishmael says. “Any idea what happened to him?”

“We assumed he was with you all this time.” Charity slides her finger across the screen. Ishmael wonders if, now that Pip’s had a taste of the perils of life on Cretacea, he’s been whisked off to someplace safer.

“What about Queek?” Gwen asks.

A hum comes from the chamber where the pod shimmers and then fades into nothingness. Ishmael explains what happened with the pirates, and how he had no choice but to leave Queequeg behind. “I’m going back for him.”

Charity looks up from the screen. “How?”

“In a chase boat.”

Gwen shakes her head. “You’ll never get permission.”

“I don’t plan to ask for it.”

The control room goes silent. Both women give him dubious looks.

“Even if you’re somehow able to steal a chase boat”— Gwen’s tone implies how unlikely she thinks that is —“do you realize what you’ll be giving up? If they get the Great Terrafin and you’re AWOL, you won’t get to share the bounty. You’ll be left with nothing.”

Charity gazes up at him with a strange expression that reminds him of the day he arrived on this ship and she scanned his registry. And suddenly it hits him that all along she’s known something about him that until recently he never suspected . . .
that he’s of the Gilded.
Is she wondering why he cares so much — and is willing to risk so much — for someone who doesn’t even
have
a registry?

“No, Gwen, he’ll get something, all right,” Charity says. “He’ll get to spend the rest of the voyage in the brig. That is, if the pirates don’t kill him first.”

Ishmael turns to Gwen. “Look, I know I owe you a lot of money, and once I go back for Queequeg, the chances of me paying you back will be . . . well, not exactly promising. But think about it, Gwen. With the money you gave me . . . er,
lent
me . . . you may have saved two lives. Thanks to you, my foster parents could be going somewhere safe.”

“You really think I care about your foster parents?” Gwen snaps. “I don’t even know them.”

The control room goes so quiet, they could hear the tiniest terrafin skiver drop.

Gwen’s face softens. “It’s
you
I care about, stupid. If I need more money, I’ll figure out how to make it. But right now my biggest problem is understanding how you think you can steal a chase boat and save Queequeg. Frankly, I don’t think there’s enough brains in that skull to do it alone.”

When Ishmael realizes what she’s implying, he shakes his head. “You’re not coming with me. It may already be too late. Who knows what they did to Queek when they found out I escaped? You’re right, this could be a suicide mission.”

“Gee, you’ve made it sound so appealing, I guess I’ll have to go, too, honey.” Charity shuts down the screen.

“Seriously, both of you. I’m not looking for a crew.”

Charity’s countenance becomes grave. “Okay, you want to be serious? I’ve got a score to settle with those barbarians myself. Even if you don’t take me with you, I’d probably find another way to get them.”

“Didn’t you say a minute ago that the pirates will kill me if I go back?” Ishmael argues. “What makes you think they won’t kill you, too?”

“Not sure my chances are much better staying on this ship and going after that monster,” Charity says. “But getting my hands on those pirates would be a
lot
more satisfying.”

“She’s got a point,” Gwen agrees.

Ishmael studies them both, knowing that while the chances of saving Queequeg are slim, they’re certainly better with Charity and Gwen coming along than if he goes alone.

He leans close and tells them his plan.

Charity’s persuaded Starbuck to assign her temporarily as a lineman on Chase Boat Four, replacing Pip. Their new stickman is Flask, who did some harpooning in his earlier years. Ishmael has no doubt that the man with the viper tattoos on his face has been quietly ordered to keep an eye on him. The third mate’s presence is an inconvenience, but it won’t stop Ishmael from going ahead with his plan.

Within a few hours of being launched, Chase Boat Four is far enough from the
Pequod
to be out of two-way range. The drones are even farther off, scanning the ocean for the Great Terrafin.

Ishmael cuts the RTG, and the chase boat drifts silently. Flask, behind the harpoon gun in the bow, gives Ishmael a puzzled look.

“We’re going to get Queequeg.” From under the console, Ishmael pulls out a duffel he’d hidden earlier.

Flask blinks with surprise. “Are ya mad, boy? The captain’ll keelhaul ya — assuming ya make it back in one piece.” He shifts his sights to Charity. “And you, who barely survived yer first run-in with the pirates. Ya really think you’ll be so lucky a second time?”

“I was on my own last time,” Charity replies defiantly. “This time I’ve got backup.”

Ishmael passes the duffel to Flask. Inside it is a survival suit that’s been treated with big-tooth repellent. “The
Pequod
will pass by here in a couple of hours. They’ll send a tender to get you.”

Flask starts to pull the suit on. “I guess there’s no convincing the three of ya that yer mad. But probably no madder than anyone else on that Earth-forsaken ship.”

“Can I ask you a favor?” Ishmael says.

The third mate raises his eyebrows. “Funny time to ask fer a favor, but ya did save me considerable coin on the repairs fer this boat, so go on, tell me what ya want.”

“When they pick you up and Starbuck asks what happened, tell him I forced Gwen and Charity to stay onboard. If we ever make it back to the
Pequod,
I don’t want them punished.”

Flask chuckles. “Sure. That’ll be easy, since it’s guaranteed none a’ you’ll be comin’ back.” He sits on the gunwale and activates the survival suit’s rescue beacon. “Anyway, I appreciate the suit. Someone else might’ve just thrown me overboard in my undies. Been nice knowing ya.”

He goes over the side with a splash.

A day and a half later, when Ishmael noses the chase boat through the gap in the island reef, he sees children playing on the beach and outriggers searching for scurry. A weight lifts from his chest: The pirates haven’t yet attacked.

“So this is the island.” Charity sounds awestruck.

An outrigger leaves shore and starts toward them, Gabriel in the bow. When the two boats meet, he reaches out and gives Ishmael’s hand a welcoming grasp.

“Tis good t’see ye again,” he says warmly but with a hint of caution. “Come.” He signals the outrigger to turn around and head for shore. The chase boat follows.

On the beach, Fayaway, Thistle, and Billy wait. Billy’s skin is the dark copper of the islanders’, his body lean and wiry. His sun-bleached curly blond hair hangs in ringlets over his ears.

Charity’s mouth falls open with disbelief.
“Billy?”

He grins broadly. “Art ye surprised?”

“Shocked,” Charity replies. “You’re alive! And you look completely different.”

Billy beams. Ishmael wonders if he even realizes he speaks like an islander now.

Gwen gives him an uncharacteristic hug. “It’s good to see you again. And you, too,” she adds to Fayaway.

Thistle joyfully wraps her arms around Gwen’s waist. Fayaway steps close to Ishmael and touches his cheek. “Never thought we’d see ye again,” she whispers.

“Neither did I.”

With her finger, she traces his mustache and the patch beneath his lip. “Ye art handsome.”

Ishmael feels blood rush to his face. He turns to Gabriel, expecting him to ask why they’ve come, but instead Fayaway’s father says, “’Tis almost dinner. Will ye stay?”

When they start up the beach, Billy asks, “Where’s Queek?”

Ishmael looks down at the sand. “The pirates have him.”

“How?” Billy’s face is chiseled with concern.

“There’s a lot I need to tell you. All of you.”

They leave the beach and walk along the path through the trees. Ishmael notices platforms high in the branches. “Are those new?”

Billy’s expression grows pinched, and he explains that they’re for the islanders to fire arrows and darts at an approaching enemy. “Diana’s convinced we must prepare for the worst. She can’t believe that ye shall never tell another soul about our terrafins.”

Ishmael cringes. In a little while, Diana will discover that she was right not to trust him. Not that it’s his fault the pirates know about the terrafins, but had the islanders followed Diana’s wishes that he and his crew not leave the island, they would be much safer right now. He hates to think that they were smart to build those platforms and prepare to defend themselves.

Still, he’s not prepared for what awaits them just outside the village: A tall barricade made of sharp wooden spikes pointing outward. It is a formidable barrier, and a horrible eyesore in such a beautiful and harmonious setting.

While they wait outside the closed gate for someone to let them in, Ishmael notices something else: “There’s no music.”

Billy nods somberly. “Diana says there’s no place for music when we must constantly be listening for the enemy.”

There are fewer islanders at dinner than Ishmael recalls. Fayaway says it’s because some are always posted now as lookouts in case of attack. The atmosphere at the evening meal is no longer festive. The islanders eat quietly and speak in whispers.

Still, to Charity it must seem blissful. She takes in the trees and night-blooming flowers and puts her arm around Billy’s shoulder. “No wonder you decided to stay here. I feel like I’m in paradise.”

“’Tis nothing compared with the way ’twas,” Billy whispers glumly. “Fear of attack ’tis like an invisible shroud always over us.”