Riptide: Book Three of the Atlas Link Series Read online

  A laugh pulled me from my thoughts, causing me to jump an inch out of my chair. I’d been alone in Engineering for hours now. I took a peek around the office space, but no one was here to have made that sound. Maybe I’d imagined it?

  Fantastic. Going crazy due to sleep deprivation. Good going, Boncore.

  I reached for my mouse to begin shutting down both computers, giving up for the night. As soon as I’d shut down my main computer, the laughing sounded again. Deep, a belly laugh, that hung in the room like a blanket.

  “Hello?” I asked. “Anybody there?”

  A man laughed again, closer now. I turned to see who the laugh belonged to and—

  Michael sat at his old desk area, throwing his head back in laughter as if I’d told the funniest joke in the world. Michael, who should be dead. Who died on SeaSatellite5 years ago.

  I blinked, trying to clear the visage and drown out the shocked pain stabbing my chest at the sight of Michael. At the sound of his laugh. When I opened my eyes, Michael was still there. But now he had a box clutched between both hands and he was standing, offering it to me.

  “What is it?” I asked, stepping closer to him despite every nerve in my body begging me not to. In the very least, this was some kind of awful, horrendous joke. Maybe someone from Engineering had made a hologram or something. Or, even stranger, maybe this was Michael’s ghost.

  But the box he held in his hands, the image painted on to it in terracotta and black ink, the Greek writing covering every surface, stilled my breath. Froze me straight to my core. It took a few minutes to recognize it, but I’d seen this image a thousand times before. A young woman, crying, with a box of her own in her hands. She had one thumb slipped under the lid and lines ran out from the inside as if they were rays of sun escaping a black hole.

  Pandora. Mythology might have been Chelsea’s domain, but everyone who went to school knew the basics. Still, I thought Michael was showing me something more than a pretty picture.

  I gulped. “Is that what you’ve got there, Pandora’s Box?”

  I almost didn’t want him to answer. He didn’t, as though mute and lifeless. Much like he should be despite laughing earlier.

  My chest clenched, breathing coming shallow. Pandora’s Box was supposedly filled with all sorts of dark, dreadful things. Had it also at one point been a weapon used by Atlantis or Lemuria? Is that why Michael was showing it to me?

  My tablet beeped a string of success notes. It’d picked up something about General Allen. I turned back to it for a single moment, just long enough to get a glimpse of the file that had loaded. My gaze wandered the screen and zeroed in on the clock in the tiny corner. Almost an hour had gone by since I had stood up, scared by Michael’s sudden presence. A whole hour. My stomach churned, dizziness sweeping across my mind, making the world spin.

  What the hell? “Michael—”

  When I looked back, Michael was gone.

  And so was Pandora’s Box.

  I paced the short space between the lab’s door to Chelsea’s desk, and back again. “I’m telling you, it was Pandora’s Box he held.”

  “Michael,” she said, one eyebrow lifted. She didn’t believe me. “Why would he have that? Why would his ghost have that? Not that ghosts exist or anything.” She shook her head and her expression softened. “I think you need to get some sleep, Trevor. Ask the Captain for a day off or something.”

  I stopped pacing in front of her desk and threw out my arms. “I’m telling you the truth!”

  She lifted her hands. “Okay, fine. Say you are. Say that actually happened, although it doesn’t make sense because Michael is dead. He physically can’t be here.”

  “You know, I was thinking about that on my way here,” I said. “It’s Machu Picchu.”

  Her face scrunched up. “Excuse me?”

  I pointed at her. “You, on the outpost not long ago. You said you somehow had a Link Piece but didn’t have one, and saw the Waterstar map while simultaneously being in both the past and present. That’s what this was like.”

  “Except you can’t time travel without me or another Atlantean super soldier,” she said dryly. “Please, Trevor. Go get some sleep.”

  I shook my head. How could she not see the dots I’d connected for her? “It’s happening, Chelsea. All those times my parents and the other Lemurians warned that their war with Atlantis was destroying Earth at its core, its very being, because of time travel… it must be true.”

  Chelsea’s face hardened. “Because of one ghost?”

  Except I hadn’t seen a ghost. It’d taken me a bit to find it. I had to search through a number of photo files on my tablet and then print it off—a hard copy I couldn’t doctor. I dug the photo out of my pocket and slipped it on to Chelsea’s desk. “There. That’s your proof I saw the past before my eyes.”

  Chelsea picked the photograph off her desk and glanced down at it. Her face paled, mouth dropped open, and she looked up at me. “Trevor?”

  “That’s from right after SeaSat5 first set sail, months before you even thought about stepping aboard,” I said. “I threw a party to celebrate the start of our first tour, right there in Engineering. It was a stupid little get-together for the engineers. We’re not really a fun bunch of people. But Michael became the life of the party. And he had this box he’d brought with him onto the station, full of party favors and hats and kazoos.”

  And in the picture, he was holding the box of party supplies just as his ghost had held Pandora’s Box an hour ago.

  The photo slipped from Chelsea’s fingers to her desk. She didn’t move to pick it up. “It’s happening.”

  I nodded slowly, fear creeping into my chest. “The war my parents feared, the one they sent Valerie and I here to stop… It’s here, bending time around SeaSatellite5. Whatever they’re doing, the battles they’re fighting somewhere in time, they’re escalating. The Atlantean-Lemurian war is coming to an end.”

  One way or another.

  13

  Chelsea

  Weeks of work and upping security had led SeaSat5 from Thanksgiving to Christmastime. In one week, I would celebrate my second major holiday aboard the station. Apparently one tradition I’d previously missed out on was station-wide Secret Santa. But before I got to dive into that “fun,” I had to get through training with Dr. Gordon.

  Dr. Gordon met my eyes. “I trust you, Chelsea. This is the next step.”

  I think I’d rather try lifting an eighteen-wheeler with my abilities instead. “Okay. Here we go.”

  I put my hands palm-up in front of me and felt around the air with my powers for her body—that was the only way I could describe it. It wasn’t like the movies. I had to move her, not the air around her. Which made things… difficult. I thought of Dr. Gordon, of how she’d helped me learned my powers over the years, of what it was like to see her alive and well when we’d rescued the station. Of how she’d reached out to me when I hadn’t wanted her help.

  I felt her body, her presence, in the room with me, different from everything else. I latched on to that feeling until it became tangible. Then I lifted my hands. She was heavy—not in a weight sense, but in that gravity really didn’t enjoy this unnatural event. It pulled back hard against me, tugging taut the chord between Dr. Gordon and me. I broke through it and Dr. Gordon rose, inch by inch, off the ground.

  “Holy crap,” she said under her breath. “Good job, Chelsea.”

  “Mhm,” I mumbled, teeth gritted. I kept thinking of her, of defying gravity, and held her for a long moment like a tough plank.

  “That’s good,” Dr. Gordon said. “You can put me down now if you want.”

  I nodded and complied. She landed gracefully and looked up to me with shining eyes.

  “That was amazing,” Dr. Gordon said.

  “Gravity’s not a fan.” Sweat beaded at my brow. I wiped it off with the back of my hand.

  “Maybe not, but the control you’re displaying while not tapping into emotional extremes is amazing. You’v
e come quite the distance.” She smiled and placed a hand on my shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”

  Hearing those words from her, especially her, made my heart clench. I tried not to let the stinging in my eyes become tears on my cheeks.

  At least I’d done something right.

  I made my way down to the Dining Decks to pick a name for Secret Santa right after my training session with Dr. Gordon. Freddy—somehow the designated Secret Santa Coordinator—sat at a table near the entrance, handing out Secret Santa assignments. A massive plastic bin had been placed in front of him, housing slips of paper with everyone’s name on it.

  “Evening,” he said as I approached, tipping his Santa hat as though he were a cowboy. If only.

  “Hey. How’s this work?” I asked.

  He pointed to the plastic bin, now half empty. “Pick a name. If you draw your own, put it back. The Captain’s given everyone various amounts of shore leave this weekend to get gifts. We’ll have something set up when people come back on Sunday and we’ll open them next week.”

  “Sounds good,” I said, reaching into bin. “Wish me luck.”

  “If you get Trevor, you have to put it back,” Freddy teased.

  My cheeks flushed. “Yeah, and if you get that chemist you’ve been chasing for the last two weeks, you have to put yours back.”

  Freddy cocked an eyebrow. “Not fair.”

  I chuckled as I fished out a slip of paper. I opened it and took a quick glance. Captain Mason Marks.

  You’ve gotta be kidding me.

  “Not Trevor, right?” Freddy asked.

  “No,” I said. “Thanks. Have fun with this.” I gestured to the table at large. “If you need help setting up next week, let me know.”

  He nodded and crossed my name off the list on the clipboard in front of him. “Will do.”

  I walked away, mind spinning, trying—and failing—to come up with ideas. What the heck did you buy a Navy Captain for Secret Santa on a small budget?

  I browsed the Internet for what felt like hours and could not find a single idea on what to get Captain Marks for Secret Santa. Nothing felt appropriate. Everything I’d come up with was too silly, too stupid, too serious, or way too freaking sentimental. Without him, his kindness and understanding on that fateful day I’d first teleported to the station, I’d be lost. I might still be lost. But right now, amidst the war and everything else, I was at home on SeaSat5. That had never been in question.

  Lost.

  I grinned and brought up a search page. Someone still had to sell these things. They absolutely had to.

  I disembarked SeaSatellite5 like everyone else, only instead going with a group to shop and dine at restaurants, I ventured off by myself. Luckily, there was a store nearby that sold what I was looking for. So, I rented a car and drove four hours north, jamming out to early 2000s punk rock music, the kind that soothed the soul with awesome beats and nostalgia.

  Finally, after endless miles of highway and very few cars, I reached my destination. I climbed out of the rental sedan and approached a squat brick-covered shop squeezed between two taller buildings in a small coastal town. Every review had claimed this was the place to go if you wanted antique nautical stuff—exactly what I needed.

  I pushed open the door, setting off a bell overhead. The shop smelled of wood burning from a pellet stove in the corner. The whole old-time atmosphere, dimmed lights, and tables filled with antiques made the shop feel like home, like a shop in Cape Cod or Maine and not the West Coast.

  “Good morning,” said the shopkeeper, coming out from the backroom. She was a small, middle-aged woman with thick glasses and short, dark hair.

  “Morning,” I replied with a smile. I’d left early enough that it was still morning, funnily enough. I’d wanted to get a head start in case this shop didn’t have what I needed. I had the ability to pretty much get anywhere fairly quickly, so why limit myself?

  “Anything I can help you find?” the woman asked. I looked at her nametag. Gertrude.

  “Sure,” I said. “I’m interested in buying a sextant, if you have one?”

  A fond smile captured her mouth, lighting up her face. “Absolutely,” she said. “Come.”

  I followed her to a second counter and, protected under a glass display case, was exactly what I’d envisioned. I couldn’t have had any better luck.

  “That’s perfect,” I said before Gertrude could comment. “I’ll take it.”

  “Do you want to see it first?” she asked. She pulled it out, placing it on top of a cloth on the counter.

  The thing was bulky, I’d give it that, and it weighed more than I thought, but I fell in love with the navigation device as I ran my fingers over the old, dark wood. A sextant was a sailor’s way of navigating the seas and finding home, much like Captain Marks hand been to me. The edges of the base had been carefully engraved by hand and painted a lighter color, and an old nautical compass had been stamped on one side.

  “This is exactly what I was looking for,” I said to Gertrude, meeting her eyes with a smile. “I couldn’t have pictured anything better.”

  She grinned. “I’m glad it’s finally found a good home.”

  My brow furrowed. “No one’s wanted to buy this beautiful thing?”

  Shrugging, Gertrude said, “Not many know what a sextant is anymore, much less what they’re for. And I’ll admit the price is a bit much.” She offered an apologetic smile at her last words.

  That didn’t matter to me. There were things I owed Captain Marks and the rest of the crew for that I’d never be able to repay. If I could do this much, if I could succeed at Secret Santa, I’d call it okay for now, no matter how much it cost me financially.

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I’d still love to buy it.”

  Gertrude smiled. “I’m glad.”

  She walked the sextant back over to the counter with a register and rang me up for it. As she moved to wrap it up, she asked, “Is this a gift?”

  I nodded. “Yes, ma’am, it is. Do you have something I can wrap it in?”

  “Absolutely,” Gertrude said. She bent down, retrieving a box of the perfect size and paper to wrap the sextant in. We got it all covered and taken care of, then she handed it to me. “Who may I ask is it for?”

  “It’s for someone who helped me find my way home,” I said. “He’s a Navy Captain. I figured it fit.”

  Gertrude smiled. “No better place.”

  14

  Trevor

  “What am I supposed to get Chelsea?” I asked Freddy as we walked through the downtown area of the city. We had three days of shore leave and somehow within that time I was supposed to find the perfect Secret Santa gift. It’d never be a secret. Even if I could mask my thoughts, anything I could come up with would give me away.

  “You weren’t supposed to get her, period, so I’m not helping you, buddy,” Freddy said. He was miffed that I’d somehow inadvertently broken that rule. He said he’d made sure Chelsea hadn’t drawn my name, but by the time I’d finally gotten to the Dining Decks to pick my own gift assignment, there was only one paper left.

  Chelsea’s.

  “I don’t know what’s too much and what’s not appropriate,” I said. I’d begun to realize—no, actually, the feelings had never gone away—that the love I’d felt for her years ago still existed. I just didn’t know what to do about it, if I should do anything at all.

  “Please, you two dated for years,” Freddy huffed, tucking his nose and chin into the front of his jacket. Compared to the controlled atmosphere on SeaSat5, the city’s air was freezing. “You can come up with something.”

  “You realize we’ve only dated for like a year out of the last three, right?” Sleeping with each other while not in a defined relationship did not equal dating. And the last of that type of encounter had now been over a year ago.

  “You still know her better than anyone. I don’t want to hear any complaints.” Freddy stopped all of a sudden and thumbed toward a storefront. “Let’s
stop here.”

  “Who’d you get?” I asked him, peering up at the sign for a music store. The only person I knew played music was Chelsea, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.

  “That’d be defeating the purpose of Secret Santa,” Freddy said with a smirk. “A friend, that’s all.”

  His genuine smile didn’t betray his eyes. He hadn’t gotten the girl he was interested in, but he was still happy with his choice. Good for him. We stopped in and picked up some CDs and sheet music before heading out again.

  What do I get Chelsea? Jewelry tapped into things I didn’t want to deal with. Clothes were a stupid idea. Music seemed too easy a way out, given the whole band thing. Besides, she owned all the music she liked, and I didn’t know enough about bands to pick out music she hadn’t heard. Why was this so difficult for the one person I really knew and understood?

  I was about to give up all hope an hour later when I still hadn’t found anything remotely appealing. Then Freddy pointed to a store window. “What about that?” he asked, finger pressed against the glass.

  The first thing I noticed were the price tags, but I put them out of my mind as I appraised Freddy’s suggestion. It was perfect. Well, it would be if I found one Chelsea might like.

  “Yes,” I said, already walking through the door.

  The atmosphere inside was clean, elegant, and shiny, and all the products gave off this expensive-looking aura. I didn’t care. The man behind the counter watched us as we entered and scouted the shelves and glass cases, searching for the right thing.

  “Can I help you?” he asked after we’d been in the store for almost five minutes.

  “I think we got it,” Freddy said. “Trevor, look. Tell me that’s not perfect.”

  I knelt down in front of the case, peering closely at eye level. “It’s more than perfect.”

  “We’ll take this one,” Freddy said. He clapped me on the shoulder. “Even if she figures out it’s from you, it doesn’t matter.”