Chapter 157: Chapter 151

WHS Whalehunter floated a few dozen meters below the surface, moon pool bay doors open. Captain Omen was in the room, with his XO Thresher at his side, and a squad of his best Orkreshi marines at his back.

Each wore heavy armor and carried both ranged and melee weapons. They’d been briefed and stood ready to protect the officer core.

The moon pool was a large room, pressurized to keep the water at bay, but allowed access for vehicles in and out of the oversized submarine. Two of the three extraction vessels Captain Omen had sent out had returned, and he watched the careful retrieval of their target.

Molls, the Nah’Gh priestess of BuyMort and cardinal over Silken Sands, was their prisoner. 

At present she was both their prisoner, and unconscious. 

The grappling arm had been painted with a neurotoxin that knocked out the victim but did not harm them in any way. 

Nah’Gh were sensitive creatures, Captain Omen had discovered during his research, and he had carefully chosen the agent to be used.

The deployment sub carefully deposited her on deck with its mechanical arm, and a medical team rushed forward to cover her nudity and remove her from the room. Each of his teams had their orders, and Captain Omen nodded to see them perform well.

The third sub was on scopes, and due to arrive any second. Something had struck it from behind, damaging its propulsion systems. Whatever it was, the sub reported it was still latched onto the rear of the vehicle.

Bubbles roared from the deep as the craft clumsily surfaced. A man wearing wet silk boxer shorts and a gleaming chrome helmet stood and released the rear end of the vessel. He’d crammed one arm into the rear rotor-guard to hold on, which explained the damage to the submersible. Its propellers had been damaged on the man’s metal covered hands, which he raised defensively over his torso before his booming voice rang out across the moon pool room.

“Give her back or everyone on board dies,” Tyson said. The warlord of Arizona had arrived, sending a chill down Captain Omen’s spine.

Captain Omen’s marines all marched in front of him and XO Thresher, lifting guns and pointing them at the threat.

The man with the metal fists lurched suddenly and appeared to fall across the room toward them. He came to an ungraceful landing in the midst of the Orkreshi marines, sending them tumbling as if hit by a truck.

They rolled, bounced against the walls, and splashed into the nearby moon pool. Each of his marines got up, or laid in position, training their weapons on the warlord. Tyson clenched his metal plated fists.

“Stand down!” Captain Omen shouted. Thresher had a heavy revolver in his hands and was staring at the chrome-plated man. As he watched, short, pointed horns rose from the metal.

“Everyone stand down!” Captain Omen said again, with more force. He stepped forward and put a hand on the American’s broad chest, palm flat. “I said stand down,” he said, directly to the chrome face mask.

Tyson took another step forward, pushing Captain Omen back. “You bark orders like you think you’re in charge,” he growled.

Thresher stepped forward, but Captain Omen glared at him. The big man narrowed his eyes but stopped.

“I am Captain Jeonjo, of the WHS Whalehunter. Head of the Whale Hunter Salvage affiliate. You are Tyson Dawes, warlord of Arizona,” said Captain Omen.

Tyson’s metal head turned, following the medical team through nearby portals. They were wheeling Molls’ still form away, covered partially with a sheet. Two technicians followed behind, carrying portions of her long tail.

“Tell them to stop,” Tyson growled.

Captain Omen reached for his radio. “Medical team, halt!”

They did instantly, holding their position in the hallway.

Tyson turned back to stare at Captain Omen, the horns on his helmet gleaming in the overhead lights.

“She has not been harmed,” Captain Omen said. “Her mother, Maer Shevalanth, requested her daughter’s retrieval, from the grasp of a desperate and dangerous criminal. My crew was merely following my orders. Don’t hurt anyone, please,” he said.

The smaller man’s face was hard, inscrutable. Tyson nodded, and the moment of tension eased. Thresher holstered his revolver and the orc marines at their sides eased their stances.

“You kidnapped her on behalf of her mother?” Tyson asked.

“Yes, I can show you the bounty receipt if you like,” Captain Omen replied.

The man in silk boxers and a chrome helmet took a long, slow look around the moon pool room.

“No alarms,” he growled. “No troopers rushing in. No automated weapons.” Tyson reached a hand out to Captain Omen’s neck, lightly resting it on the man’s shoulder. “You’re expecting me, but you’re expecting me to behave.”

Thresher stepped up, but Captain Omen raised a hand and stopped the man dead in his tracks. Still, he glowered at Tyson, lip curled in anticipation of violence.

The shining, chrome horns turned to face him.

“No one but this Riker-wanna-be is taking me seriously,” Tyson said. “You should listen to him. I don’t like being threatened.”

“I do not threaten,” Captain Omen snapped. He still had his hand raised to stop Thresher and showed no change in expression in spite of the metal covered hand at his throat. “My ship and crew are not a threat to you.”

“I’m starting to get that picture, yes. Usually there’s more gunfire from threats,” Tyson said. He raised his chin at Thresher. “Even beardo the magnificent here hasn’t pulled a trigger yet, and you can tell he really wants to.”

“In fact, I pulled the trigger on you twice already,” Thresher said.

“XO,” Captain Omen said, staring blankly at his subordinate.

Thresher nodded and holstered his revolver, before clasping his hands behind himself and standing at attention.

Tyson removed his hand from Captain Omens neck, and his chrome helmet siphoned into his pores to reveal a cold smile.

Thresher bristled but said nothing.

“Her mother described her situation to us. Alone, unemployed, in the company of a warlord that danger consistently finds,” Captain Omen explained.

Tyson chuckled, the metal embedded in his chest glinting with the movement. “Sounds about right.”

“Before I took the contract, I researched you. Your affiliate. You are our primary competitor in the global food market. You make it very hard to turn a profit,” Captain Omen said. “And you rescue as many people from this world as you can, every time the possibility presents itself. Your restraint is not as famous as your violence, but it is undeniably part of your profile.”

“So you thought you could snatch away someone I cared about, and face no consequences because you became non-violent when I caught you?” Tyson asked.

“No,” Captain Omen immediately replied. “I have abandoned the mission upon its failure. Your hobbs were not harmed, merely rendered unconscious with sleeping darts, the same as Molls. I, of course, will provide both of you immediate transport back to land, in exchange for your word not to harm anyone or destroy anything while you are aboard.”

Tyson narrowed his eyes. “Just like that? Usually my enemies don’t give up so easily,” he growled.

“We are not your enemy,” Captain Omen said. “We are a military and civilian organization, and our military performs missions for morties. The risk to all involved seemed minimal, but the entirety of our plan was undone when you proved able to move unrestricted through water. That was not part of our intelligence, you were reported to be locked into traditional methods of transport, with no substantive naval capabilities.”

“Yeah. That’s new,” Tyson replied.

The man stood with a straight back and looked Tyson in the eye without flinching as he spoke. “We are aware of your combat capabilities and have no wish to engage you directly. The mission is off. She is yours, without threat or bargain,” Captain Omen said, gesturing to a nearby door.

His medical team had returned, and Molls lay unconscious on their wheeled cart. One of them had covered her with a heated blanket, which steamed lightly in the cool room.

“We’ve done as you asked,” Captain Omen said. “I’m giving her back. Immediately. Without any conflict or question. In exchange only for the safety of my people.”

Tyson stared at him for a long moment. Eventually, he said, “Okay. Show us our ride home.”

“You are in no danger. I will drive you myself, as a show of good faith, and hostage against potential retaliation from my fleet,” Captain Omen replied. He snapped his head around to the medical team and said, “Load her up, carefully.”

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The submersible nearest them leaned back, opened its front end like the petals of a flower, and extended a ramp to the edge of the moon pool. Captain Omen stepped in first, followed closely by Tyson, and finally the medical team. They carefully wheeled Molls up the ramp and deposited her in a secure seat in the front compartment, wrapped in the warm blanket.

Her head lolled down to her chest, and she snored lightly.

Tyson followed Captain Omen closely, stepping past the grappling equipment the ship had used to capture Molls. Beyond it, a short ladder led up to the controls, with two seats beside one another. Tyson sat down casually beside Captain Omen, as the smaller man flicked switches and got the submersible started again. The front doors sealed, and they began to descend. Thresher stood watching them, at the edge of the moon pool, vanishing from view as the water covered their portals.

The moon pool dropped them out into the open ocean, with the entire Whale Hunter Salvage fleet positioned between them and the shore. Tyson watched as they slid past the hulls of the various ships, particularly interested in the giant glowing forest.

Captain Omen sensed an opportunity when Tyson’s head craned to follow the large vessel. “The Arboretum. Our primary source of food, along with the whale-bugs.”

Tyson turned back to look at him. “I didn’t ask,” he said.

“Your interest is obvious,” Captain Omen replied, steering the craft closer to another large, submerged vessel. “Our fleet is fully self-sustaining, with a population of roughly fourteen thousand.”

“And a military capable of taking someone very important away from me,” Tyson replied. “Supposedly without using lethal force.”

“Against anyone but you personally, yes,” Captain Omen answered. “The mission required live capture, and I would rather not make enemies of someone so powerful by killing their people.”

“Maybe I hold a grudge for the missiles,” Tyson said.

An ad popped and he immediately shunted it to the corner of his vision, eyeing it even as he held dialog with the man. It honestly felt like a useful item to have in his increasingly growing arsenal.

Nu-Earth Military Surplus presents the AGM-114 Hellfire. Made by the toughest Nu-Earth military on the planet before BuyMort Ascension, these Air to Ground Missiles are 45kg of utter precision death without the collateral boom. 

Designed as an anti-armor weapon, it efficiently doubles as a safe and effective way to assassinate individuals. By deploying a series of ultra-sharp sword blades right before impact, the AGM-114 Hellfire shreds organic targets, and disassembles hard targets, with ease.

The AGM-114 Hellfire. So damn safe even your kids can use it.

1,500,000 morties, 4.6 stars.

“Perhaps. A calculated risk, but one that was necessary to incapacitate you without harming anyone else,” Captain Omen explained. “Ah, here is our desalination ship.”

Their submarine drove by the larger craft, and Captain Omen tilted the floodlights to illuminate it. Heavy armor plating covered most of the vessel’s bulk. Some of it showed deep scoring, both from weapon hits and what appeared to be claws. The worst damage had been patched or filled in.

“Seems like it’s a target,” Tyson said.

“Yes. Whale-bugs are attracted to fresh water. You’ll need to be careful with your Los Angeles plant, now that Dearth forces are not present to keep them at bay,” Captain Omen replied.

Tyson scowled at the man, then returned to looking out the view ports. The gathered fleet was fascinating, and they were traveling through the bulk of it, as if the armada of submersibles was on display.

“You gathered all these people?” Tyson finally asked.

“Yes,” Captain Omen replied. “As many as I can, for as long as I can.”

Tyson gazed, his face blankly thoughtful.

They passed the last of the ships, a strange, flat-topped vessel filled with strapped down equipment and a bent grappling hook launcher. Dappled light began to break through the gloom and illuminate the sandy sea floor. Within a few minutes, the ride was over, and Captain Omen opened the front of the vessel on the beach.

Tyson clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks for the ride, cap-e-tan.”

“Wait,” Captain Omen ordered. “You stopped the Pacific coast tsunami, correct?”

Tyson sighed heavily. “I don’t know how my team did it,” he said. “Don’t ask.”

“I don’t care how you did it. I care what caused it in the first place,” Captain Omen said. His eyes were hard and locked onto Tyson’s.

“Kraken?” Tyson asked, eyes narrowed.

“Yes, Kraken. The single largest threat you and I both face,” Captain Omen replied.

“Are you suggesting an alliance?” Tyson asked. He raised one eyebrow.

“A temporary alliance. First was the Marianas trench, that is how Kraken took most of Asia. Next is the Tonga trench, then Peru-Chili. You sit just north of the Middle America trench, your time will come soon. Kraken will kill your people and take your MortBlock by force,” Captain Omen explained.

“And you think I can kill this Kraken,” Tyson said. His expression was neutral, flat. “Well, Captain. It’s been nice knowing you, but you kidnapped my girlfriend. You’re lucky I’m letting you live.”

“You do not want that kind of death on your soul, Tyson Dawes. My people would die without me, as yours would die without you,” Captain Omen replied. He met the cold stare equally. “What will you do, when Kraken sets off an earthquake in your backyard?”

“Probably kill it,” Tyson immediately replied.

“Then help me kill it before it does that. This creature destroyed Victorian-Earth, and it is going to destroy this Earth as well,” Captain Omen said. “My fleet alone is not enough, the creature is too powerful. I need a specialist.”

Tyson nodded, thought for a long moment, then smiled. “Sorry, captain. You can’t afford me.” He tromped down the stairs, gathered Molls’ limp form in his arms, and exited the craft.

Captain Omen waited, staring at the man while he carried his serpentine girlfriend away across the Baja sands. As they crested a nearby hill, he grabbed the radio’s microphone and clicked it to external. “Call me when the whale bugs get too bad.”

Tyson stopped and looked back, but didn’t react, so Captain Omen closed the hatch and backed his submarine off the beach, to return to his fleet.

When the vehicle returned to the moon pool aboard the WHS Whalehunter, Thresher was the only officer waiting to debrief his captain.

 

“Well? Did he go for it?” the big man asked, hands on his hips.

 

Captain Omen stepped from the boarding hatch and nodded. “He will. The man is stubborn, and suspicious. We must be of use to him before he will tolerate being of use to us.”

 

“At least the intel on his restraint was valid,” Thresher said. “I’d have hated to clear out your cabin.”

 

Captain Omen scoffed. “Your disgusting taste in rugs would clash with my walls.”

 

Thresher offered him a hand up from the moon pool, a large smile on his face. “Your disgusting taste in wallpaper would clash with my beautiful rugs.”

 

 

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