Sep
Half Pint
Cyberlad
mickilennial
Alfhedil
Ezekiel
Eviledd1984
Guardian Angel Haruki
Supermaxx
The royal kitchens were alive with activity, even before the two boys swam into the proverbial storm.
Gliding over the top of a platter, a scallop disappeared into the violet-eyed youth’s mouth even as he led his co-conspirator toward a table in one corner of the kitchens that was often where the prince received his meals whenever his parents were away. Or busy, as was often the case.
The two boys jerked backward as their path to the table was cut off by an imposing figure.
“I’m afraid there’s no fish nuggets in the kitchen tonight,” Vulko conveyed simply, motioning instead toward the door that led out to the royal dining room. “The king and queen request you join them for dinner.”
Garth’s face immediately betrayed his surprise. “Mom and dad are back from Tritonis?”
Vulko gave a bow of his head in reply. “They were originally going to go to Crastinus. Queen Berra is speaking there tomorrow, but decided they wanted to spend the evening with you.”
“Oh,” the young prince uttered in reply, before exchanging a look with the other boy. “Do they know Quisp is here?” he asked, looking back at the steward.
“Yes,” Vulko assured them both, before looking over at the green-haired boy. “They’re looking forward to speaking with you as well.”
That statement didn’t seem to reassure the other boy. “You think this is about that hydro-ball thing?” Quisp asked, looking directly at the prince. Who, for his part, was staring daggers back at the boy.
Clearing his throat, Vulko stated, “I won’t inquire. But, you’ll need to get dressed for dinner. Quisp should be able to fit into your clothes.”
With that, the steward began to usher the young pair toward the royal apartments.
“This is great!” Quisp remarked as the pair started up the stairs.
“This is terrible,” Garth uttered, adding, “Mom’ll make sure we eat our seaweed salads.”
Gliding over the top of a platter, a scallop disappeared into the violet-eyed youth’s mouth even as he led his co-conspirator toward a table in one corner of the kitchens that was often where the prince received his meals whenever his parents were away. Or busy, as was often the case.
The two boys jerked backward as their path to the table was cut off by an imposing figure.
“I’m afraid there’s no fish nuggets in the kitchen tonight,” Vulko conveyed simply, motioning instead toward the door that led out to the royal dining room. “The king and queen request you join them for dinner.”
Garth’s face immediately betrayed his surprise. “Mom and dad are back from Tritonis?”
Vulko gave a bow of his head in reply. “They were originally going to go to Crastinus. Queen Berra is speaking there tomorrow, but decided they wanted to spend the evening with you.”
“Oh,” the young prince uttered in reply, before exchanging a look with the other boy. “Do they know Quisp is here?” he asked, looking back at the steward.
“Yes,” Vulko assured them both, before looking over at the green-haired boy. “They’re looking forward to speaking with you as well.”
That statement didn’t seem to reassure the other boy. “You think this is about that hydro-ball thing?” Quisp asked, looking directly at the prince. Who, for his part, was staring daggers back at the boy.
Clearing his throat, Vulko stated, “I won’t inquire. But, you’ll need to get dressed for dinner. Quisp should be able to fit into your clothes.”
With that, the steward began to usher the young pair toward the royal apartments.
“This is great!” Quisp remarked as the pair started up the stairs.
“This is terrible,” Garth uttered, adding, “Mom’ll make sure we eat our seaweed salads.”
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NORTH AMERICA
Naval Station Norfolk
Sailors and Marines lined the rails of the ship. The USS Gerald R. Ford was another aircraft carrier that carried the flag of the United States, this one launched in the current decade and the holder of the current title of supercarrier. Decorated in ceremonial livery, it seemed as though the ship was preparing for an inspection or parade, not ready to head to sea.
Eight bells rang out throughout the ship.
“Commander, Atlantic Fleet, arriving!”
Ascending to the top of the brow, Admiral Oliver David Strom gave a sharp salute toward the flag, then another to the waiting entourage of the ship’s captain and officers that were waiting for him there.
On the horizon, the silhouette of the USS Trafalgar could be seen. Its first time at sea in three decades, lashed to tug boats that were guiding the rusting relic of the Cold War past the Norfolk Sound.
A gathering of veterans who had served aboard Trafalgar during its many tours of duty had assembled along the pier, paying their respects to the sailors and ships that had gone down, even as they mourned their former ship as it was towed out to sea for one last cruise.
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
"Underway. Shift colors!"
As the admiral was shown to his visiting quarters aboard the ship, the captain tried to make conversation. “You ever serve on her, sir?”
“Christ, Bob, I’m not that old,” Strom fired back dryly. Then, softened slightly, as he added, “Knew guys who served on her. I think my first skipper had done his ensign tour as her Aux Officer. Or maybe the DCA. I just remember him talking about her last cruise in the Med.”
Hands clasped behind his back, the captain merely gave a respectful nod of acknowledgement before jumping to business. “We’ve got an OPLAN briefing scheduled for this evening, but in brief, we’ll escort the Trafalgar here,” he began, motioning to a nautical chart that had been left on the table in the admiral’s cabin.
As the two men peered over the map, the captain continued by pointing to an area off the Carolina coast. “Now, the ridge sits just over 200 miles off the coast, and for this half-assed idea to work, we’ll have to tow Trafalgar into a pretty tight box in order for the ship to dive with the profile they want.”
Strom gave a quiet grunt before he looked up at the man. “You don’t think it’ll work?”
“Too many variables,” the captain supplied neatly. “Sea state, currents. Nevermind their charges need to go off as planned. It’s a concept on paper, sir. I’ll eat crow if it actually survives contact with the real world.”
Strom gave the slightest hint of a smile at the man’s candor. It was a refreshing change from Washington. “To be honest, I think the boys in D.C. just wanted the PR of turning her into a reef,” the man offered gruffly.
“One way or the other, she’s going to the ocean floor. Who gives a damn if she lands in the right place or not?”
Eight bells rang out throughout the ship.
“Commander, Atlantic Fleet, arriving!”
Ascending to the top of the brow, Admiral Oliver David Strom gave a sharp salute toward the flag, then another to the waiting entourage of the ship’s captain and officers that were waiting for him there.
On the horizon, the silhouette of the USS Trafalgar could be seen. Its first time at sea in three decades, lashed to tug boats that were guiding the rusting relic of the Cold War past the Norfolk Sound.
A gathering of veterans who had served aboard Trafalgar during its many tours of duty had assembled along the pier, paying their respects to the sailors and ships that had gone down, even as they mourned their former ship as it was towed out to sea for one last cruise.
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
"Underway. Shift colors!"
As the admiral was shown to his visiting quarters aboard the ship, the captain tried to make conversation. “You ever serve on her, sir?”
“Christ, Bob, I’m not that old,” Strom fired back dryly. Then, softened slightly, as he added, “Knew guys who served on her. I think my first skipper had done his ensign tour as her Aux Officer. Or maybe the DCA. I just remember him talking about her last cruise in the Med.”
Hands clasped behind his back, the captain merely gave a respectful nod of acknowledgement before jumping to business. “We’ve got an OPLAN briefing scheduled for this evening, but in brief, we’ll escort the Trafalgar here,” he began, motioning to a nautical chart that had been left on the table in the admiral’s cabin.
As the two men peered over the map, the captain continued by pointing to an area off the Carolina coast. “Now, the ridge sits just over 200 miles off the coast, and for this half-assed idea to work, we’ll have to tow Trafalgar into a pretty tight box in order for the ship to dive with the profile they want.”
Strom gave a quiet grunt before he looked up at the man. “You don’t think it’ll work?”
“Too many variables,” the captain supplied neatly. “Sea state, currents. Nevermind their charges need to go off as planned. It’s a concept on paper, sir. I’ll eat crow if it actually survives contact with the real world.”
Strom gave the slightest hint of a smile at the man’s candor. It was a refreshing change from Washington. “To be honest, I think the boys in D.C. just wanted the PR of turning her into a reef,” the man offered gruffly.
“One way or the other, she’s going to the ocean floor. Who gives a damn if she lands in the right place or not?”
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SHAYERIS
3,600 feet below sea level
The fork stabbed at the salad in front of him, moving the piece of seaweed around as Garth viewed it with no small amount of skepticism.
The boy was attired in his Sunday best. A fact that revealed itself in how both Garth and Quist shuffled restlessly in the formal suits that made them both look the part of royal pages. But dressing formally for dinner was royal custom.
"Garth tells me that your class is studying the Third Circle of Arcana," King Thar remarked, glancing over at the green-eyed youth at the table. Pausing to swallow a scallop, the king took a moment before he asked, "Tell me, what do you think of the Perse Paradox..."
The man trailed off, all eyes moving to the far end of the room as the doors to the dining room opened to reveal Vulko there.
Wordlessly bowing his apologies at the interruption, the steward straightened up and announced, “Your Grace, King Tha-Korr requests an audience.”
The king and queen exchanged a brief look, before Thar announced, “Inform His Majesty that I will attend him shortly.”
Vulko cleared his throat. “With respect, the request was for you both, my liege.”
Garth couldn’t help but feel as though the tone in the room changed in that moment.
“He said to inform you that the western sharks are massing.”
Another look shared between the king and queen. This time, it was Queen Berra who answered. “Very well,” the woman remarked, as the pair pushed back from the table.
“My son, I’m afraid our duty calls,” King Thar stated flatly, as the duo swam over to Vulko.
Turning to regard her son before departing the room, the Queen stated, “No more than the usual nonsense. I expect you to bed at the usual hour.”
As the trio made their way to the communications room, a holographic likeness of the Atlantean ruler was waiting for them. Bowing their respects, King Thar offered, “My king.”
“Get up, we’ve work to do,” Tha-Korr snapped, skipping the pleasantries as he stated, “Our spies in Venturia all report the same. Conscriptions. On a scale we’ve not seen since the Lemuria invasion.”
The king and queen of Shayeris said nothing at first, mulling over that announcement.
It was Thar who finally spoke. “Why now?”
“A question that we have no answer for,” Tha-Korr snapped gruffly. “But his purpose would seem clear. He will attack.”
“Attuma is a coward. His ego can’t suffer the idea of defeat,” Queen Berra observed in a matter-of-fact tone. “Lemuria has held them in a deadlock for more than a decade. He can’t possibly make gains before our reinforcements would intervene.”
Thar nodded his agreement. “He wouldn’t move unless he was assured that he had the advantage. Which suggests that there’s something we’re missing.”
Berra inclined her head to one side. “Another actor, perhaps. R’llyah’s in the Pacific. Could they have formed an alliance?”
As the queen was speaking, Vulko turned his head. His eyes narrowed as his grip tightened on the staff that he carried.
“All indications remain that R’llyah is completely isolated,” the illusionary figure of Tha-Korr stated. ”However, there are reports that Attuma has a new advisor. But details on who this figure is remain elusive. All we have is that he’s reported to have purple eyes.”
”A Shayaran?” Thar remarked, his voice betraying his surprise.
”There’s been no sight of Slizzath since the insurrection. Could he had found refuge in Venturia?” Berra asked.
”Venturia has always taken a poor view of magic. Attuma’s father would have had anyone with purple eyes executed,” Tha-Korr noted.
”Let’s not get distracted by theories for which we have no facts,” Thar countered. ”What we know is that Venturia appears to be preparing to go on the offensive, and we have some unknown mage accompanying Attuma.”
Turning back to the others in the room, Vulko spoke up. “Queen Berra, weren’t you scheduled to make an appearance at a new hospital opening in Crastinus tomorrow?”
The queen was startled by the question. After a moment, she answered, “Yes, though I suppose we’ll need to cancel now,” she offered dismissively, turning back toward Tha-Korr.
The steward pressed the issue. “Why not have Garth handle that for you?”
The queen’s head turned. “Garth?”
Tha-Korr’s voice echoed in the chamber as he asked, “What is it Vulko?”
The steward started to speak, but seemed to hesitate. “I’m not sure, my king,” the aging sorcerer stated. “A feeling.”
“You think Garth should be moved elsewhere?” King Thar surmised.
Nodding, Vulko answered, “My instinct tells me there is a danger.”
“I would trust that instinct,” Tha-Korr advised.
“As would I,” Berra announced, before nodding to the steward, “Vulko..."
“I’ll see to it, my queen.”
The boy was attired in his Sunday best. A fact that revealed itself in how both Garth and Quist shuffled restlessly in the formal suits that made them both look the part of royal pages. But dressing formally for dinner was royal custom.
"Garth tells me that your class is studying the Third Circle of Arcana," King Thar remarked, glancing over at the green-eyed youth at the table. Pausing to swallow a scallop, the king took a moment before he asked, "Tell me, what do you think of the Perse Paradox..."
The man trailed off, all eyes moving to the far end of the room as the doors to the dining room opened to reveal Vulko there.
Wordlessly bowing his apologies at the interruption, the steward straightened up and announced, “Your Grace, King Tha-Korr requests an audience.”
The king and queen exchanged a brief look, before Thar announced, “Inform His Majesty that I will attend him shortly.”
Vulko cleared his throat. “With respect, the request was for you both, my liege.”
Garth couldn’t help but feel as though the tone in the room changed in that moment.
“He said to inform you that the western sharks are massing.”
Another look shared between the king and queen. This time, it was Queen Berra who answered. “Very well,” the woman remarked, as the pair pushed back from the table.
“My son, I’m afraid our duty calls,” King Thar stated flatly, as the duo swam over to Vulko.
Turning to regard her son before departing the room, the Queen stated, “No more than the usual nonsense. I expect you to bed at the usual hour.”
As the trio made their way to the communications room, a holographic likeness of the Atlantean ruler was waiting for them. Bowing their respects, King Thar offered, “My king.”
“Get up, we’ve work to do,” Tha-Korr snapped, skipping the pleasantries as he stated, “Our spies in Venturia all report the same. Conscriptions. On a scale we’ve not seen since the Lemuria invasion.”
The king and queen of Shayeris said nothing at first, mulling over that announcement.
It was Thar who finally spoke. “Why now?”
“A question that we have no answer for,” Tha-Korr snapped gruffly. “But his purpose would seem clear. He will attack.”
“Attuma is a coward. His ego can’t suffer the idea of defeat,” Queen Berra observed in a matter-of-fact tone. “Lemuria has held them in a deadlock for more than a decade. He can’t possibly make gains before our reinforcements would intervene.”
Thar nodded his agreement. “He wouldn’t move unless he was assured that he had the advantage. Which suggests that there’s something we’re missing.”
Berra inclined her head to one side. “Another actor, perhaps. R’llyah’s in the Pacific. Could they have formed an alliance?”
As the queen was speaking, Vulko turned his head. His eyes narrowed as his grip tightened on the staff that he carried.
“All indications remain that R’llyah is completely isolated,” the illusionary figure of Tha-Korr stated. ”However, there are reports that Attuma has a new advisor. But details on who this figure is remain elusive. All we have is that he’s reported to have purple eyes.”
”A Shayaran?” Thar remarked, his voice betraying his surprise.
”There’s been no sight of Slizzath since the insurrection. Could he had found refuge in Venturia?” Berra asked.
”Venturia has always taken a poor view of magic. Attuma’s father would have had anyone with purple eyes executed,” Tha-Korr noted.
”Let’s not get distracted by theories for which we have no facts,” Thar countered. ”What we know is that Venturia appears to be preparing to go on the offensive, and we have some unknown mage accompanying Attuma.”
Turning back to the others in the room, Vulko spoke up. “Queen Berra, weren’t you scheduled to make an appearance at a new hospital opening in Crastinus tomorrow?”
The queen was startled by the question. After a moment, she answered, “Yes, though I suppose we’ll need to cancel now,” she offered dismissively, turning back toward Tha-Korr.
The steward pressed the issue. “Why not have Garth handle that for you?”
The queen’s head turned. “Garth?”
Tha-Korr’s voice echoed in the chamber as he asked, “What is it Vulko?”
The steward started to speak, but seemed to hesitate. “I’m not sure, my king,” the aging sorcerer stated. “A feeling.”
“You think Garth should be moved elsewhere?” King Thar surmised.
Nodding, Vulko answered, “My instinct tells me there is a danger.”
“I would trust that instinct,” Tha-Korr advised.
“As would I,” Berra announced, before nodding to the steward, “Vulko..."
“I’ll see to it, my queen.”
