Behind the Sea (alternate universe version) 1/4
Title: Behind the Sea (alternate universe version)
Pairings: Gabe/William, Frank/Gerard, Panic at the Disco.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 33,850
Disclaimer: This is a complete work of fiction.
Notes: Universe based on the television series seaQuest DSV. While I did my best to research for this story, it is not my field of study and I do expect there to be some scientific inaccuracies. I apologize in advance for any errors. Thanks to maleyka for being with me every step of the way, zarah5 for her advice and expertise, disarm_d for clearing my head, and ignipes for the excellent and thorough beta.
Summary: “Heads up,” Gabe announces when he steps onto the bridge. “William saw an octopus.”
“What kind of octopus?” Alex asks, already leaning over his console to do a search.
Gabe doesn’t actually know, come to think of it, but he’s fairly certain William wouldn’t either. “Eight legs, big head,” he says instead, coming over to where his XO Ryland is already drawing up an info sheet on their location and status.
“That helps,” Ryland tells him, swiveling the screen in his direction. “We’ll get that narrowed right down for you.”
Weddell Sea, off the coast of the Antarctic Peninsula
Gabe is used to finding William in his private quarters. The military code of conduct doesn’t seem to apply to him, so he’s in the habit of letting himself in whenever he has something to report, and waiting for Gabe to return.
Also, he’s very fond of Travis.
“Captain McCoy,” Gabe greets the hologram holding court in the center of his tactical table.
“Captain Saporta,” Travis answers, with a bob of his head that passes for a salute between equals.
William rolls over on Gabe’s bunk and beams at him. “I saw an octopus,” he announces. “In my cereal.”
“Does that mean anything, or is it just an octopus?” Gabe asks. William probably doesn’t know the answer to that, but it never hurts to ask anyway.
As expected, William shrugs one lanky shoulder and shakes the hair back from his eyes. “What does an octopus mean, really?” he asks. “It’s not particularly symbolic.”
“Entrapment, maybe?” Gabe suggests, although he doesn’t know what an octopus would signify either. “Danger?”
“Octopussy,” Travis muses, stroking his chin. “James Bond.”
William makes a face at that, because he doesn’t approve of the way women are portrayed in classic film even though Gabe knows for a fact that he thinks James Bond is really fucking cool. Travis can get away with more than the rest of them, though, being a hologram and all.
“Octopus, right,” Gabe says, getting them back on track. “I’ll tell the bridge crew.”
William smiles and rolls out of Gabe’s bunk, which leads to a brief pang of desire for Gabe to roll him right back into it. He doesn’t let himself dwell on that, though, because you can’t be too careful with parapsychologists. William in particular seems tuned into the sex shit.
“I’ll tell you if I see anything else,” William says, pushing his hair back. He waves, says, “Bye Travie,” and lets himself out.
Gabe doesn’t exactly watch his ass when he goes, but he’s not looking anywhere else, either.
Travis hoots as soon as the door closes, and Gabe snaps his gaze up towards the table. “Shut the fuck up, you’re dead.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a nice piece of ass,” Travis says serenely.
“Yeah,” Gabe agrees, and debates for the hundredth time whether the possible court martial for sexual harassment would be worth it.
-
William has been assigned to them since Gabe first took command. He’s a trained parapsychologist with a strong psi factor, but his visions are largely unreliable and his gift is sporadic at best. He tends to show up in Gabe’s quarters every week or so, and half the time he’s only there to talk to Travis.
Privately, the United Earth Oceans had let Gabe know that they were assigning William to his boat because they thought a psychic might come in handy, but they couldn’t spare one of the really good ones, who are always in demand for diplomatic missions and negotiations. Gabe doesn’t mind. He’s met the scary ones, the melon-heads who can see right through your brain and tell you what you’re thinking before you know it. He’s fine with having William instead.
Technically William’s on board as the ship’s counselor, but he’s terrible at it. William believes in telling the truth, and this is not always the best quality for a counselor to have. His method of counseling involves explaining to people earnestly and at great length exactly what’s wrong with them, so most of the crew try to avoid counseling whenever possible.
“Heads up,” Gabe announces when he steps onto the bridge. “William saw an octopus.”
“What kind of octopus?” Alex asks, already leaning over his console to do a search.
Gabe doesn’t actually know, come to think of it, but he’s fairly certain William wouldn’t either. “Eight legs, big head,” he says instead, coming over to where his XO Ryland is already drawing up an info sheet on their location and status.
“That helps,” Ryland tells him, swiveling the screen in his direction. “We’ll get that narrowed right down for you.”
“Find me a bio-geek,” Gabe tells Alex. “Get Walk-- Asher. Get me Asher. She’s got better legs.”
“They hate when you call them that,” Ryland reminds him, but it’s not as if Ryland cares, so Gabe just grins.
He might have to call Walker anyway, since Victoria is more into fish, but Smith is on duty at his station, and Gabe has learned to avoid having them in the same room together lately. He’d rather not have to put in a requisition order for any more expensive and unfortunately breakable equipment.
“Victoria,” he says when she steps through the door. “You look lovely as ever. Talk to me about octopuses.”
Victoria stuffs her hands into the pockets of her white lab coat and raises an uninterested eyebrow. “Around here? There are several species. They live in shallow water and the deep sea, so it wouldn’t be unusual to come across one. They’re very shy and don’t grow more than 55 feet across, so it’s not likely they’d pose any sort of threat to us.”
Gabe scoffs a little. He tries not to do that to members of the science team, but he’s proud of his boat. There’s nothing on the planet that could pose any sort of threat as far as he’s concerned. “Do they mean anything that you know of? Any particular reason we might come across one?”
Victoria looks confused by his train of logic, but she’s also cool as a cucumber and completely unfazed. “If we hit a rich feeding ground,” she suggests. “Or if one of the WSKRS gets too close to one’s lair.”
Gabe turns immediately to Sensor Chief Smith, whose job it is to keep track of the Wireless Sea Knowledge Retrieval Satellites, and who’s already scowling at him. “I think I’d have noticed a fifty-foot octopus, thanks,” Smith informs him. “WSKRS haven’t turned up anything unusual.”
“Keep your eyes open,” Gabe says, because William’s visions might not be particularly reliable, but they almost always mean something when he has them. “Let’s find this octopus.”
-
Jon’s late for his afternoon shift, but it’s fine, because Brendon is in the pool arguing with their dolphin.
“No,” Brendon says again, trying to keep his hands high enough out of the water to sign while fending off inquisitive jabs from a pointy dolphin beak. It’s not like Dylan is watching his hands anyway.
“What’s up?” Jon asks, perching on the side of the pool and letting his legs dangle into the water. Brendon starts backing towards him, moving through the water in little hops while still signing and defending.
“He wants to go outside,” Brendon explains, bouncing up on his toes when Dylan goes for his stomach. “Dylan, no. Cold. Cold water. Antarc-” He pauses halfway through spelling. “Jon, is there a sign for Antarctica?”
Jon scratches his chin, rough from a few days’ growth. “Probably, but he won’t know it. Frozen water?”
Brendon rubs Dylan with one hand until he rolls onto his side, then makes the signs. “Frozen water, Dylan. Cold. Froz- hard water. Hard water.”
Dylan looks unimpressed, but rolls further for more rubbing. Brendon counts that as a compromise he can live with.
“He might be able to go out for a while,” Jon says thoughtfully, kicking his legs lazily in the pool. “As long as he comes back in when we call him. One of us could suit up and swim with him.”
“Jon Walker,” Brendon scolds, splashing over to the rim of the pool and pulling himself out. “I’ve been arguing with him for the past twenty minutes. Don’t undo all of my hard work with your lenience.”
“Spare the rod, spoil the dolphin,” Jon agrees solemnly, then reaches down to rub Dylan’s head when it butts up against his leg.
“I’ll talk to Spencer, see what the temperatures are like tomorrow,” Brendon sighs. “Maybe he can go out for a while. He hates being cooped up, even on a thousand-foot long submarine.”
One of the best things about Spencer is that he knows when and where they are at all times, even off-duty and half-asleep. Brendon’s woken him up before to ask, and Spencer always answers, even if he is a lot grumpier about sharing that information in the middle of the night. Spencer will know the second they cross into dolphin-safe water.
Jon twitches a little, but Brendon doesn’t regret mentioning Spencer. He’s sympathetic, but the standoff can’t last forever. A submarine, even one this size, is smaller than you might think when you’re trying to avoid someone.
“Want me to feed him?” Jon asks, smoothly changing the subject.
“Would you?” Brendon asks plaintively. “I have a staff meeting.”
Technically, because Brendon is the highest-ranking marine mammologist and head of the science team, Dylan is Brendon’s and has been ever since he came on board. Jon named him, though, and he spends a lot of time with Dylan in the pool, playing volleyball and tossing rings.
Lately, Jon has spent even more time in the pool than usual. Brendon pretends not to notice.
“Sure thing,” Jon says, already sliding into the water. “We have fish in the catch?”
“More than enough,” Brendon confirms, already stripping out of his wetsuit. “Just open the grate and let him chase them.” He kneels at the edge of the pool when Dylan surfaces, rubbing his hand over the smooth melon. “See? At least I never feed you dead fish.”
-
During the staff meeting, Brendon has an idea so brilliant that even he’s impressed by it. This isn’t all that unusual; Brendon does most of his best thinking in staff meetings. He generally takes five minutes to report on what the science department is doing, and then spends the rest of the hour pretending to listen and doodling whales.
He’s gotten really good at drawing whales. His favorites are the Orcas.
The staff meeting is almost over, so Brendon doesn’t have a lot of room left on his paper. He’s too excited to wait, though, so he scribbles his idea over the dorsal fin of a particularly lovely cetacean specimen and passes it to Ryan. Or tries to, anyway, but Ryan is unfortunately one of those people who don’t believe in passing notes during staff meetings. Brendon’s tried before.
Ryan ignores the paper Brendon is trying desperately to push under his arm and focuses stubbornly on Spencer, who is busy telling everyone that there’s absolutely nothing of interest off the coast of Antarctica. He makes special note of the fact that he hasn’t seen an octopus. Brendon doesn’t know what the octopus has to do with anything; it’s possible he missed something earlier in the meeting while he was drawing whales.
Brendon spends a few minutes pouting at Ryan’s profile. It doesn’t actually do any good, but he’s enjoying the view. Ryan has gorgeous eyelashes, and hair that probably doesn’t meet military specifications, and little pointy ears kind of like a pixie. His nose is pretty cute as well.
When he’s not drawing seascapes, Brendon also tends to spend a good amount of the staff meeting looking at Ryan. He’s glad William never bothers to show up to these things.
Bob finally finishes reporting on security stuff, blah blah blah, and they’re released. Brendon doesn’t wait to pounce.
“Ross,” he says excitedly. “Ross, I have a brilliant idea. I need your help.”
“I have to go to the bridge,” Ryan says, but he’s at least pausing, so Brendon barrels ahead.
“I want to rig a set of speakers underwater,” Brendon explains. He sketches a quick tank for emphasis, with little boxes inside and wavy lines of sound coming out of them, all heading towards a somewhat lumpy but obviously happy Dylan. “To play music in the moon pool. For Dylan. We’re too far south for him to go out, he’s going crazy. This would give him something new to do.”
Ryan looks at Brendon like he’s a crazy person. “You want to put speakers underwater?” he asks, and even without inflection his tone sounds dubious. “You realize speakers are run with electricity. Electricity and water don’t really mix.”
“We could wrap the cables,” Brendon insists hopefully. “Or rewire them, make them run on batteries or something.”
“Batteries and water don’t really mix either,” Spencer puts in from the other side of Ryan, where he’s lingering so they can do that BFF thing and go everywhere together. Brendon turns his pleading look on Spencer instead. Spencer is a lot more susceptible to Brendon’s pouting than Ryan is.
“Spence,” he says. “Tell him. We could find a way. Dylan is so bored; we can’t play with him all the time. This way he could listen to whale song, or our voices, or prerecorded music. We could teach him the classics, Spencer. Music appreciation.”
“He’s a dolphin,” Ryan says.
“Dolphins are very intelligent mammals,” Brendon explains patiently, for probably the ninety-millionth time since he started dealing with military personnel. “He’ll be able to process it. Sound travels through water differently, though, so we’d have to get special speakers or something.”
“I don’t think we have that kind of equipment,” Ryan tells him. Spencer just cocks a hip thoughtfully, arms folded loosely over his chest. Brendon thinks Spencer is probably his best hope.
“I could do it myself,” he pleads, although he has a pretty full schedule and very little idea of what to do with electronics. He’ll probably electrocute himself in the moon pool by accident or something, but at least he could try. “Just give me some spare parts or something, whatever you have.”
“You’re not doing it yourself,” Spencer cuts in before Ryan can answer. Brendon turns his focus back to Ryan with the best hopeful eyes he can muster.
Ryan pauses for a long time, but he finally says, “I’ll see what I can do. After my shift.”
Brendon beams at him. “Ryan Ross, you’re my absolute favorite.”
-
“He’s going to make a huge mess of everything,” Ryan complains, on a private channel because Spencer’s station is halfway across the bridge and it’s easier to have conversations over the com. There are definite advantages to being the communications officer.
“So do it yourself,” Spencer returns evenly. Ryan makes a face and flips switches at random.
“Who would think playing music for a dolphin is a good idea anyway?” Ryan asks. Someone needs to be the voice of reason around here.
“He’s a scientist,” Spencer points out. “They do all sorts of weird things.”
Ryan refrains from answering with ‘You should know,’ because the whole Jon thing is still a little raw. The whole crew is basically on one side or the other, with the sole exception of Brendon, who has somehow managed to stay neutral and remain close friends with both of them. Ryan has no idea how he does it.
Ryan likes Jon a lot, and did even before he began his bumbling, ridiculous, moon-eyed courtship of Spencer, but Ryan is Spencer’s best friend and always has been, so the lines are pretty clearly drawn. He doesn’t approve of Brendon playing both sides. Spencer might be fine with Jon and Brendon staying buddies, but Ryan is not. Spencer’s too much of a pushover.
“Speaking of scientists, any sign of an octopus yet?” Alex’s voice cuts in through his headset, and Ryan starts guiltily, jerking his head up. Alex smiles at him, and Ryan curses silently. He’ll have to find another frequency. Alex was a communications officer on another sub before he became their Mission Specialist, though, so he’d probably just find them again.
Spencer doesn’t seem all that put off by it. “Nothing,” he sighs. “Why am I looking for octopuses again?”
“Octopodes,” Ryan corrects automatically. He speaks eight languages fluently and can roughly translate three more; it doesn’t seem like a lot to ask that people learn their own native tongue.
“Because William had a vision,” Alex answers dutifully, and then snorts. “Gabe and Beckett, it’s like the blind leading the blindfolded.”
“Captain on the bridge,” Spencer warns, and all three of them click off their coms.
“Smith, William just asked me if we were heading north yet,” Gabe says as he enters, heading over to the navigation console.
Spencer looks bewildered, but to his credit, he only blinks once. “Well, we’re heading towards Antarctica,” he says slowly. “So…no.”
“Exactly,” Gabe says with satisfaction. “Let’s change course.”
Spencer throws Ryan a confused look, and Ryan shrugs. He’s been here for a year now, he’s gotten used to taking orders from Gabe that don’t make a lot of sense.
“Straight north is Deception Island,” Ryland reports from where he’s leaning over the navigation readout. “Do you want to head towards it or go around?”
“Good question,” Gabe acknowledges, just as Spencer says, “Oh, wow.”
They all turn to look, and Spencer stares intently at his monitor for a few seconds before asking, “When Beckett said he saw an octopus, did he maybe mean a squid?”
“What have you got?” Alex asks, coming over to join Spencer. They both stare at the screen for a moment, and then Alex says, “Holy shit.”
“Main screen,” Gabe orders, already moving to look. The camera switches over to a WSKRS view, and all of them squint for a minute before the writhing mass of organisms becomes clear.
“Jesus,” Ryland says in surprise.
“Yeah,” Gabe agrees. “That’s a fucking lot of squid.”
-
“No,” Brendon says decisively. “No way. Absolutely not.”
“What?” Gabe asks. Ryan thinks he still hasn’t gotten used to the fact that Brendon constantly forgets he’s on a military submarine and that his opinions don’t necessarily matter.
“First,” Brendon begins, “we are in the Weddell Sea. If you open up the sea doors long enough to get a squid inside the boat, you will drop the temperature of the water inside significantly, possibly rapidly enough to cause damage. Second, squid are carnivorous, and I don’t care what size it is, you’re not putting it into the same tank as a bottlenose dolphin.”
Brendon crosses his arms. In his white lab coat and girl jeans, he looks tiny and ridiculous standing up to Gabe, but Ryan is fairly sure that if he doesn’t get his way on this, his entire team will throw a massive scientific shitfit.
Gabe scratches the hinge of his jaw for a second. “We could trap it somewhere,” he suggests.
“What about one of the ballasts?” Ryland asks, pulling up a schematic.
“Torpedo tube,” Ryan says, almost without thinking. He shrugs uncomfortably when they all turn to look at him. “Lots of room, isolated from the main tank, unaffected by water temperature.”
“Genius,” Gabe decides. “Let’s do it. Suarez, work me some hyper-reality magic.”
“Aye sir,” Alex replies, carefully pulling on the gloves covered in wires and sensors responsible for navigating the Hyper-Reality Probe. He flexes his fingers, and onscreen the robotic probe echoes the movement by kicking its mechanical legs.
“Which tube?” Ryland asks, fingers already poised over the controls.
“All of them. We’re not especially likely to come under attack off the coast of Antarctica, although Ross, keep your ears open anyway, just in case.”
“Aye sir,” Ryan responds automatically, tuning into the external communications and turning up his microphone volume. He sees Spencer swing around to his console at the same time, tapping into WSKRS controls to do sonar scans of the immediate area.
“Just one squid,” Gabe says, voice low as if trying to hypnotize the squid into coming aboard. “All we need is one.”
“Tubes flooded,” Ryland reports.
“All clear on sonar,” Spencer reports, and Ryan nods agreement. All he can hear is ambient bridge noise, and the faint whirring of the Hyper-Reality Probe moving through the water outside.
“What’s taking so long?” Gabe asks after a while. Ryan cranes his neck to look, but from this angle all he can see is Alex’s face, tight with concentration, and his hands upraised to maneuver the probe.
“I’m trying to herd a squid into a torpedo tube underwater using a remote-controlled robotic dog,” Alex points out, teeth gritted as he tilts his left hand slowly to one side, fingers splayed.
“You have a point,” Gabe acknowledges.
“Ryland,” Alex calls, both hands tilting up slowly.
“I’ve got it,” Ryland answers, fingers flying over the keys. “Get clear, the doors are closing.”
“I’m out,” Alex confirms, wrists curving in the graceful swimming motion he uses to bring the probe back to the boat.
“Doors are sealed, torpedo tube five still flooded,” Ryland reports, looking up at Gabe. “Sir, I do believe you’ve got yourself a squid.”
-
Sometimes Brendon thinks Gabe confuses ‘scientist’ with ‘omnipotent all-knowing godlike being.’ He’s flattered by the comparison, but that still doesn’t mean he can work miracles.
“What do you mean, tell you everything?” Brendon asks, trying to hide his confusion. “It’s a squid.”
“There has to be a reason William saw this,” Gabe says. “Is it unusual in any way? Strange for a squid? Are there supposed to be ten thousand of them all swimming around in the same area?”
“Not to cast aspersions,” Ryland says mildly, “but there have been times - and again, I’m not blaming anyone here - when we’ve spent several days tracking down a specific coral reef just because William saw a tropical fish, or a week tailing a private fishing vessel because William’s subconscious decided it wanted a tuna sandwich.”
“The New Sydney Aquarium was thrilled about those fish, though,” Jon reflects. “Apparently they were rare.”
“The point is,” Gabe resumes, “I want to know everything there is to know about that squid.” He looks at Brendon expectantly. Brendon feels like perhaps he’s supposed to wave a wand and pull a rabbit out of a hat.
“I’m a marine mammologist,” he says finally. “That’s a cephalopod. I could probably tell you species if I had a reference database, but that’s about it.”
“You’re the head of the science team,” Gabe says, frowning.
Brendon spreads his hands helplessly. “Mammologist. Mammals. Cetaceans.”
“I don’t know what any of that means,” Gabe says.
“Don’t look at me,” Jon says immediately. “I’m marine hydroponics.”
“You’re probably going to need a specialist,” Vicky remarks, coming down the ladder to join them in the torpedo bay. “We don’t have anyone on staff who studies cephalopods, and from the number of them you have swarming around out there, I’m guessing you want a professional opinion.”
“California,” someone says from above them, and Brendon looks up to see William peering over the railing. “I came to have a look; someone told me it wasn’t an octopus after all. It looks like one, though, doesn’t it?”
“Not really,” Brendon says honestly.
“What do you mean, California?” Gabe asks, raising a hand to help William jump down from the ladder. Brendon doesn’t miss the way Vicky rolls her eyes, but he thinks Gabe would have helped her, too, so she shouldn’t be that upset. Gabe loves Vicky.
“We’re going there. I saw surfers,” William explains, leaning warily over the side of the torpedo tube. “Really, that doesn’t look like an octopus to you?”
“We could be going to Hawai’i,” Gabe suggests, looking down at the squid, which isn’t doing a lot at the moment beyond letting one arm drift lazily near the surface.
William shakes his head. “I see hula girls when we visit Hawai’i. What’s that thing on its tentacle?”
“They’re called arms,” Brendon corrects automatically, already leaning closer to look.
Gabe eyes him skeptically. “I thought you didn’t know anything about squid?”
“I don’t,” Brendon says immediately. “Hey Jon, Jon, hand me that pipe thing.”
He nudges William out of the way when he sticks the pipe in, keeping his hand carefully out of reach. It takes a couple of tries, but eventually the squid wraps the arm in question around the pipe securely enough for Brendon to ease it out of the water. He squints at it for a moment, perplexed.
“What is it?” Jon asks, close to his ear.
“It’s a tag,” Brendon says, turning the pipe slightly to show him. “A marker. Hey, so. Does the name Clandestine mean anything to anyone?”
-
The Beatles sound different underwater. Brendon holds his breath for as long as he can, trying to identify the strain of melody woven through the instrumentals.
When he surfaces, the song booms loud and clear from the speaker Brendon wheedled Ryan into mounting over the poolside lab station. He’d claimed it would assist in research if they knew what Dylan was listening to so they could monitor his responses, and whether Dylan registered the change in and out of the water.
In truth, he really just wants to spend a few hours singing along.
“With a little help from my friends…” joins the chorus from behind him, and Brendon twists to see Jon and Butcher with their arms around each other, stumbling through the doorway performing karaoke into an invisible microphone.
“How does it sound?” Jon asks, stripping off his t-shirt and zipping up the front of his wetsuit.
“Better out of the water. I don’t know if Ryan did it right.” Brendon leans back, drifting a little. “Maybe it’s just set for dolphin ears.”
Butcher slides into the water like he belongs there, leaving barely a ripple in his wake. He swims a few feet out and treads water, taking a deep breath before going under.
Jon flops into the moon pool the same way Brendon does, with a crash-splash that sends water slopping up over the sides and choppy waves through the tank, sending a signal to wherever Dylan is on the boat that there’s someone in the water.
Jon tilts his head until one ear is resting flat against the surface of the water, listening to both speakers. Brendon is impressed; this is why Jon is always handy to have around.
“I think it might need some tweaking,” Jon says finally, lifting his head. “Right now it sounds more like there’s a party going on in the neighbor’s backyard.”
“Distortion,” Brendon agrees wisely, just as Butcher surfaces noisily a few feet away.
“Have Ryan fuck with the bass,” Butcher advises. “And try some different albums. You might get better quality with a string quartet.”
“I was trying to start with the classics,” Brendon explains. “Give him a feel for modern music.”
“The Rolling Stones,” Jon says.
“Blink 182,” Brendon says.
“I’ll bring down some Alicia,” Butcher offers. He backstrokes out a bit further, then stops as Dylan’s dorsal fin breaks the surface of the water, gliding in until Butcher can hold on and allow himself to be pulled along.
“Hey, no fair,” Jon complains, sinking in up to his neck. “I want dolphin rides.”
“I want Jon rides,” Brendon announces, throwing his arms around Jon’s neck when he laughs.
“It’s a good thing you’re so light,” Jon says, wading around the edge of the moon pool. “I’m only here on entertainment duty, technically I should be the one getting towed around.”
Brendon doesn’t ask whether Jon is here for Dylan-entertainment or Brendon-entertainment. He suspects the answer would be somewhere in the middle.
“You can ride me later,” he lies, wrapping his legs around Jon’s waist to cling tighter as Jon pushes deeper into the water. “Take me for a swim first.”
The sound of a throat clearing catches both of their attentions, and Brendon hastily lets go as Jon flounders suddenly.
Spencer crosses his arms, and looks for a moment as if he doesn’t know what to say. “Ryan sent me to ask how it’s working,” he says finally, with a distinctly unhappy expression.
Brendon tries to answer and realizes he’s too far out to get his feet on solid ground. Jon catches his elbow a second later, one arm around Dylan’s floaty-ball and the other hooking around Brendon so that he doesn’t have to keep treading water.
“Butcher said maybe something different with the bass?” Brendon suggests hopefully. It’s taking a lot of effort not to twitch; Jon’s arm is wrapped solid and steadying across his chest, and Spencer is burning a hole through Brendon’s wetsuit with his eyes.
Spencer shifts his weight to the other side. “Something different,” he says eventually. “Right.”
“Only if he has time,” Brendon adds hastily. “This is great, really. Thank you. Him. Thanks to him.”
Spencer’s expression doesn’t even flicker. “Right,” he says again, and then turns around and walks out. Brendon tries not to wince.
Jon starts towing them both back towards the edge of the pool. Brendon drops his head back onto Jon’s shoulder and exhales heavily. “Fuck.”
-
Monterey Bay, California
“I don’t know what to wear to meet this kooky squid guy,” Gabe complains.
“Hey man, that’s what I’m here for,” Travis replies. “The dispensing of advice pertaining to captainly matters.”
Gabe gives him a skeptical look. “You sunk your fucking boat,” he points out. He doesn’t consider that too harsh; Travis always agrees with him, usually shaking his head regretfully at the follies of his youth.
After his untimely death, Captain McCoy’s knowledge and experience had been transferred into a computer program designed to give aid to future captains when needed. He’s meant to offer opinions and serve as an ethical conscience, although a lot of his personality came through along with the technical stuff, so most of the time Gabe just hangs out with him, shooting the shit and discussing the soap opera dramas of his crew. Every once in a while, though, usually when Gabe is in a jam, he makes a good sounding board.
Gabe feels guilty turning Travis off, so he mostly just leaves him running. He never knows when William is going to drop by, anyway. William knows how to run Travis’ program, but Gabe likes to have him up anyway, just to make the place more alluring.
Speaking of William. “Why do you think he’s kooky?” comes from the hatch behind him, and Gabe zips up his uniform jacket just as William slides his hand through Travis - their version of a greeting - and drops onto Gabe’s bunk. “Is it because of the hair?”
“The what?” Gabe asks, confused. “It’s because he spends his life studying squid. No one who chooses to do that can be normal. That’s even worse than studying dolphins or whatever shit Urie does.” He pauses, trying to remember if the UEO had sent any sort of personnel dossier on their pet specialist. “Why, does he have kooky hair?”
“It’s kind of…” William explains, gesturing around his head vaguely. Since William’s hair isn’t exactly regulation by any means, Gabe has to bite his tongue to keep from making a joke about definitions of kookiness.
“Is he like a mad scientist?” Travis asks, sounding interested.
William shakes his head. “He just doesn’t really like water, he’s afraid of drowning. His brother is worse, though. They nearly died once, on a boat.”
Gabe pauses in the middle of combing through his hair. “He does realize he’s coming on a submarine, right?” he asks. “Underwater in the middle of the ocean?”
“Yeah,” William says distractedly. “He’s not too happy about it.”
“You got anything more for me on that squid?” Gabe asks. Sometimes when William is off doing his psychic things, he knows more than when you ask him at other times.
“A cow?” William says, sounding confused even as he says it, brow furrowed. They all wait for a minute, and then he shrugs a little and says, “That’s all I’ve got. A cow. Maybe.”
“A squid-cow,” Gabe says, trying it out. He looks at Travis, but only gets another shrug in reply. “Okay. I’ll keep that in mind. Hey, are you coming to meet the delegation?”
“Maybe,” William replies. “I have something to do first.” He gets up and does the hand-thing with Travis again, trying to touch even though there’s nothing but particles of light and air.
“Wait, was that it?” Gabe asks. “You just came by to tell me that kooky squid guy has kooky hair?”
William frowns for a second. “No, I came by to tell you…oh, not to wear your white dress uniform.”
“No?” Gabe says, turning to face the mirror and frowning. “I couldn’t decide.”
“Don’t wear it,” William repeats, and then pauses halfway out the door to smile. “You look good in it, though.”
“Yeah?” Gabe says, grinning back at him. William just smiles wider and ducks out.
“You’re going to wear it now, aren’t you?” Travis asks wisely.
“Of course not,” Gabe scoffs, and then checks his reflection one more time. He really does look good in white.
“Captain, we’re approaching Monterey Harbor,” Ryland’s voice announces from the speakers. “Your presence is requested on the bridge.”
-
“What the fuck?” Gabe asks, mostly rhetorically.
Smith bangs his station in frustration. “I can’t get any readings, they’re all over the WSKRS. And the sensor array, too.”
Alex peers up at the screen and the dozens of fleshy bodies pressed up against the camera. “That is a fucking lot of squid,” he comments.
“We can’t get the docking hatch open,” Ryland reports. “They’re all over it. Same for the Sea Crabs in the launch bay.”
“And I thought we had a lot of them down in Antarctica,” Gabe says, whistling as Spencer patches through the WSKRS views, one at a time, with the same results.
“Captain, I have a call for you from the harbor,” Ross says suddenly. “It’s the science team.”
“Oh hey, I definitely want to talk to them,” Gabe answers. “Big screen, take away some of the freaky squids.”
“Squid,” Ross emphasizes dourly, but he patches the call through anyway.
There’s a guy with crazy hair leaning far too close to the camera and smiling so wide it almost takes up the entire screen. “Hi,” he says in a weirdly nasal voice, and waves for good measure. “Welcome to Monterey Bay.”
“Thanks,” Gabe replies. “Dr. Way?”
“Yeah, that’s me,” their contact says. “Could be Mikey too, but he won’t go to grad school. He could, though, he’s fuckin’ brilliant. Hey, he’s coming aboard with me, that’s okay, right? I have two other people on my team. Did they tell you?”
“That’s fine,” Gabe says, because he can’t remember whether they told him or not, but it’s not as if the boat isn’t big enough to hold two more. “We might have a little problem getting you aboard, though. Your squid are very friendly.”
“Oh yeah, they love the light, and you’re right in the middle of a seasonal mass migration. Just turn off your lights for a while, they should lose interest. Can you do that?”
“We should be able to do that,” Gabe allows, signaling to Ryland. He hears the all-hands announcement faintly echoing over the com, and then the bridge goes black.
He hears Smith sigh in relief before he even gets the report. “They’re backing off. Launch bay is clear. Docking hatch clearing now.”
“Let’s get the bio-geeks aboard before they change their mind,” Gabe orders, crooking a finger at Alex.
“Ha,” Dr. Way snorts from the screen, a little surprised cough of a laugh. “Bio-geeks. That’s funny.”
-
“Ow,” Bob complains when Frank launches himself onto Bob’s back. “Jesus Christ.”
“I’m keeping you sharp,” Frank explains, stealing Bob’s awesome Security Chief hat and putting it on his own head, keeping his other arm locked tight around Bob’s throat to keep from slipping down. “In tip-top Security Chief shape.”
“I’m already in shape,” Bob says, but he hitches Frank up higher, so it doesn’t even really count as an argument. “And I’m working.”
“Where are we going?” Frank asks, tugging the brim of the hat back so he can see.
“You’re going back to the galley,” Bob says, although he keeps walking in the opposite direction, so again, it’s not much of a threat. “I’m going to meet and escort the new science team.”
“We have a new science team?” Frank asks, interested. He doesn’t get to learn a lot beyond general scuttlebutt, working in the galley. That’s part of why he hangs out with Bob.
“Some specialists,” Bob answers, not especially helpfully. “They’re going back to Antarctica with us.”
“We’re going back to Antarctica?” Frank says. “Man, that sucks. There’s nothing to eat in Antarctica. I always have to cook stuff from the hydroponics bay, and no one eats that shit if they can help it.”
“Everything you cook tastes the same anyway,” Bob says, which is an absolute lie. Frank kicks him in protest for the slander.
“I made amazing grilled mushrooms last week,” Frank says triumphantly. They were from the hydroponics bay, actually. Whatever. It’s not like Bob knows.
“You could cook some steak once in a while,” Bob says, only grunting a little from the kick. Bob knows how Frank feels about steak, so he kicks harder this time.
“Steak is restricted,” Frank points out, swinging his legs with every step.
“Ow. Stop it,” Bob says. “And stop burning everything, maybe then it would taste better.”
“I don’t have to listen to this,” Frank reminds him. “I could leave you right now.”
“Be my guest,” Bob replies. Frank huffs and stops kicking, because he’s enjoying the ride.
“Bob,” he says. “Bob. Have you decided to hook up with me yet?”
“No,” Bob answers bluntly. “And stop asking.”
“We’re meant to be,” Frank argues. It’s a persuasive argument. “I have my heart set on you. Bob. You’re the one for me. It’s written in the sea. Ow, hey.”
Bob tugs his jacket back down, impervious to Frank’s scowl at being brusquely deposited in the middle of the corridor. “I have to go get the science people,” he says. “You know how they are.”
Bob is of the impression that science people couldn’t survive on their own if their lives depended on it. Frank thinks his opinion has probably been formed largely by prolonged exposure to Dr. Urie.
“Yeah, I should get back,” he admits. “See you around.”
Bob nods and starts off down the corridor again. Not, however, before relieving Frank of his hat.
-
There are three people Frank doesn’t know wandering around in the galley. Since he lives on a submarine and everyone has to come through his territory at least twice every day for meals, this is something of an unusual occurrence.
“Oh hey,” one of the guys says when he sees Frank. “Do you know where the torpedo tubes are?”
Thanks to Bob, Frank is much less alarmed by this statement than he would otherwise be. “You must be the new science team,” he says, holding out his hand. “Bob’s looking for you. I’m Frank.”
“Cool ink,” the same guy says. He’s around the same height as Frank, with flyaway dark hair and a pale, round face. “I’m Gerard. I think we met Bob, actually. He told us to sit tight, but, uh, Mikey had to go to the bathroom, so we kind of got lost.”
“It’s all the water,” one of the other guys complains, hunched over with his toes turned in so far his knees are practically knocking. “It’s everywhere, I can’t help it.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much a big thing around here,” Frank says. The main tank has tunnels running through the bulkheads on nearly every deck so Dylan and the divers have access, and most of the decks have viewports, looking out into the ocean. No matter where you go, chances are that at least one of the walls will be blue.
“Are you part of the resident science contingent?” the third guy asks. He has a mop of red hair that Frank is instantly impressed by and more muscles than the other two combined. He doesn’t really look all that much like a scientist, in Frank’s opinion.
“No,” Frank answers, stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets. “I’m, uh, the cook.”
“Oh, that’s cool,” Gerard says, with much less disappointment and condescension than Frank had honestly expected. It’s not that the scientists on board treat him badly, but Frank is well aware that he isn’t in the same league. A marine research scientist is a lot higher up on the food chain than a nutritionist.
“I’m starving, actually,” Ray admits, looking around as if anticipating that food will magically appear. “What’s for dinner?”
“Well, we seem to have an abundance of squid outside,” Frank jokes. “I was thinking about frying up some calamari.”
He doesn’t realize he’s said the wrong thing for a minute, because Gerard is so pale that it’s hard to tell when he goes paler. The look on Ray’s face gives it away, though. Mikey just looks resigned.
“Kidding,” Frank hastens to reassure them, raising both hands in apology. “Really. I’m…oh shit, you’re like, pro-squid people, aren’t you? I was totally joking, I didn’t mean it. I’m a vegan, honestly, the most I ever do is put all-vegetable seafood seasoning on tofu strips. It’s really good, actually, you should try it sometime. Um, the tofu, not the squid. Obviously.”
Gerard seems uncertain, so Frank adds his best earnest eyes and a hopeful smile until he caves.
“It’s just, squid are so intelligent,” Gerard says, with some pretty damn good earnest eyes of his own. Mikey sighs a little and shuffles around, like he’s getting ready to be here for a while. “They’re related to octopus, which have been known to not only solve problems, but to teach and learn from each other as well. They can figure out how to open a sealed jar just by watching another octopus in a neighboring tank.”
“That’s cool,” Frank says, because it is, really. Also because he’s still worried that Gerard thinks he’s some kind of monster squid-eater. “That’s really creative.”
“They have a huge capacity for learning,” Gerard continues, gesturing now to emphasize his points. “We can’t even begin to measure their creativity or adaptive capabilities. In some species…”
“Hey, Gee,” the guy with the awesome hair interrupts gently. “I think they’re probably going to be looking for us, and we shouldn’t leave Lugosi alone for too long.”
“Oh right,” Gerard agrees, thankfully distracted from his passionate lecture on the merits of squid and squid relatives. “Do you know how to get back to the science deck?”
“Turn right, end of the hallway, down one deck,” Frank answers promptly. “There’s a sign.”
“Cool, thanks,” Gerard says. “Hey, you should meet my squid sometime,” he offers suddenly, turning back to look at Frank. “You both have neat ink.”
“Thanks,” Frank says, because he’s fairly sure that was intended as a compliment, even if it was a weird one. “I’ll remember.”
“Bye,” Gerard says with a smile, wiggling his fingers. His pinkie sticks out a little, at an angle. Frank holds up his own hand before he even realizes he’s doing it.
“Thanks for the directions,” the other guy says. “Have a nice day.”
“No problem,” Frank answers. He watches as they leave, then calls Bob. He’s fairly sure they aren’t secretly stowaway bioterrorists, but, you know. It never hurts to be sure.
-
“Where are our scientists?” Gabe asks. There’s a large tank sitting in the middle of the area Dr. Urie usually reserves for experiments, and a small crowd of his people hanging out near the moon pool, but no sign of their visitors.
“They wandered off,” Ryland answers. “Bob’s getting them now.”
“Bob let a group of complete strangers wander off on a high-security submarine?” Gabe asks incredulously. Bob usually isn’t the kind of guy to let that happen.
“They were slippery,” Ryland explains. “And they docked in the wrong place. What is this thing?”
“It’s a vampire squid,” someone says from above them, and Gabe looks up to see Dr. Way and company descending the ladder to the science deck. Bob is close behind them, glowering and keeping all of them under watchful eye like he expects them to run off again if he blinks.
“Dr. Way,” Gabe says affably, making some attempt at military protocol. “Welcome aboard.”
“Thanks,” Dr. Way says. “I’m Gerard, by the way. This is Ray, he’s in charge of all the technical analysis stuff. Oh, and this is Mikey.”
Mikey blinks. Gabe grins at him, then shakes hands with Ray when Mikey just toes the floor and looks out over the moon pool.
“So what were you saying about the squid?” Gabe asks, gesturing to the tank.
Gerard brightens visibly. “Oh, right. This is Lugosi, he’s my vampire squid. You said there was some confusion at first about whether the species you found was a squid or an octopus. Vampire squid are more closely related to the octopus family than they are to any other species of squid. It’s the only known living member of its order, Vampyroteuthis infernalis. The vampire squid from hell.”
“Huh,” Gabe says, eyeing the tank with slightly more interest. A vampire squid from hell sounds kind of cool.
“You said you were near Antarctica, though, and vampire squid are only found in temperate, tropical waters. I thought maybe you found a new Vampyromorphida species.” Gerard looks giddy at the prospect. Gabe almost feels disappointed letting him down.
“Actually,” he admits, “I’m pretty sure William just didn’t know the difference between a squid and an octopus.”
“Hey,” William objects from where he’s lurking near the tank, communing with Gerard’s pet squid. Gabe is starting to wonder whether he should be worried about William’s newfound fascination with things that have eight legs and tentacles.
“I just think they’re cool,” William says, shrugging one bony shoulder.
“Stop reading my mind,” Gabe says immediately. “You owe me a drink now.”
“I can’t help it,” William replies absently, leaning down until he’s eye-level with the tank. “You’re thinking too loud.”
Gabe supposes neither of them can really be blamed for that. And he knows William picks up on shit at the most random times, so it’s not like he isn’t used to it anyway. It’s why he tries never to let himself spend too long blatantly checking out William’s ass. It’s hard, though, especially when he bends over to look at things in tanks. Gabe notices a lot, obviously, but he tries not to actively think about it, because…
He drags his eyes up just in time to see William smile slowly, and changes the subject hastily, cursing himself so thoroughly that he’s sure parapsychologists in China probably pick up on it.
“So this thing is like, half-octopus and half-squid?” he asks, heading over to the tank. The thing has fucking unsettling eyes, bright red and dramatic against its black skin.
“Not exactly,” Gerard says, obviously happy to talk about his pet. “He’s a cephalopod, but…”
Gabe realizes he should have thought better of poking at the thing in the tank when it suddenly lets loose a stream of glowing gook, squirting some over the edge of the tank and all over the front of Gabe’s white dress uniform.
He can’t look at William, so he settles for saying, “Shit.”
“Sorry,” Gerard says apologetically, looking genuinely abashed. “It’s a natural defense mechanism. Squid and octopus species release ink to confuse their predators, and also their prey, so they can sneak up behind it while it’s disoriented. Vampire squid lack ink sacs, so they release bioluminescent mucus instead.” His eyes have that funny, excited gleam in them that Gabe recognizes warily from when Brendon gets rolling on dolphins. “Loligo squid create a cloud of ink, stun their prey with nerve venom to paralyze it, and then bite off its head.” He smiles. “It’s amazing, really.”
“Yeah,” Gabe agrees, drawing it out to convey something between agreement and sarcasm. He’s not sure which one is more appropriate, really.
“We should change the water in the tank,” Mikey says suddenly. All of them startle at the same time, so Gabe’s fairly certain he’s not the only one who forgot Mikey was standing right there.
“Right,” Gabe agrees. “You go do that, and I’m just going to change. If you’d care to get settled in tonight, I can have someone show you to the galley and your guest quarters. There’s no rush; our people can show you the mystery squid whenever you’re ready.”
William is suddenly watching Mikey with keen interest. Gabe tries not to dwell on it. William is sometimes keenly interested in things for completely bizarre reasons, and Gabe has other things to deal with. His chest is covered in hundreds of tiny shining blue specks amidst the rest of the weird glowing shit, and it’s wet and gross. He’s wearing squid snot.
He gets a lot of funny looks on the way back to his quarters, but he supposes he’d stare as well. At least they don’t snicker until he’s out of earshot.
Travis doesn’t give him the same courtesy.
“Don’t say it,” Gabe warns, stripping off his disgusting uniform jacket and pitching it straight into the garbage chute.
Travis grins, wide and white. “Man, I wasn’t going to say a thing.”
-
William shows up in the middle of executive officers’ poker night, which isn’t all that unusual, except that it’s not his night. Gabe had offered, but William had declined, saying he wanted to get sleep, so they’d brought in Ross as their fourth instead. He’s holding his own so far, mostly by virtue of having the best poker face Gabe has ever seen.
William is wearing a loose t-shirt and soft, low-slung pants, which is nice but somewhat distracting. His hair is also a complete mess and it’s nearing two in the morning, so Gabe’s guessing the ‘sleep’ part of his plans didn’t go so well.
“What’s up?” Gabe asks, tilting his cards down because Ryland is on his right, and Ryland is a sneaky poker-playing bastard.
“I need to talk to you,” William says, trying to push his hair back and getting caught on a tangle. He tugs ineffectually at it for a few seconds, looking confused as to how it got there.
“Sure thing,” Gabe agrees easily. He surveys his cards, mentally tallies the amount in the pot, and adds, “Right after this hand.”
“Now,” William contradicts, finally giving up on the bird’s nest caught in his hair. “You’re going to lose anyway.”
Gabe narrows his eyes across the table. “Blackinton’s got nothing.”
William says, “Ross.”
All three of them turn to stare at Ross, who goes slowly pink. “See if you get invited to the executive officers’ game anymore, Ross,” Gabe warns, dropping his cards and pushing back from the table. He leads William out into the corridor with a hand at his elbow, and as soon as the door is shut he says, “Ross, really?”
William tugs at his hair again, distracted. “No,” he says absently. “I just felt bad about making you lose to Ryland. Don’t worry, he folded.”
Once again, Gabe feels a swell of admiration for William’s hidden genius streak of evil. “You should play with us more often,” he says honestly. William’s occasional flashes of insight tend to cancel out against his sheer atrociousness at card playing of any sort, so it’s always more or less a fair game.
“I wanted to sleep,” William says, expression somewhere between plaintive and cranky. “But then I had a vision. While I was asleep.”
“Yeah?” Gabe asks, interested. From what he understands, William generally has to be conscious and aware in order to have any control over his psi factor. It makes sense that an unconscious mind would be more receptive or whatever, but this is the first time William’s come to him in the middle of the night.
“It was Alice in Wonderland,” William says seriously. “Except you were Alice. Which really means the boat, because you represent the boat.”
“Was I wearing a cute dress?” Gabe jokes. He’s not sure he’s crazy about the fact that William apparently only dreams about him as a figurehead for his submarine, and then as a blonde chick from a kids’ movie. He could think of a lot more exciting dreams featuring himself than that.
“You fell down the rabbit hole,” William says. “Which should have been more ominous, I should have felt danger. I don’t know why I didn’t.”
“Alice found Wonderland when she fell down the rabbit hole,” Gabe points out. “Maybe I’m heading for something magical and exciting. Plus, she found those mushrooms. I saw the movie.”
“I read the book,” William says, frowning slightly. “It’s a political satire commenting on the state of England at the time. It’s not about mushrooms.”
“Hey, hey,” Gabe soothes, because William is agitated now, yanking at his hair in fierce, quick tugs. He steps forward and wraps his arms loosely around William, pulling his hand away before he causes any permanent damage. This probably violates the military code of conduct, but William’s the counselor, so he’d know best and can object if he feels like it.
He doesn’t, just slumps forward and drops his head onto Gabe’s shoulder. “I hate seeing things when I’m asleep,” he mumbles, barely intelligible. “I like dreaming because I know it doesn’t mean anything.”
“Hey,” Gabe says again, rubbing William’s back a little in small circles. “I’ll think about it, okay? I’ll watch out for rabbit holes. Why don’t you come in and hang out with us for a while?”
William shakes his head, pulling back so Gabe has to reluctantly drop his arms. “I’m going to try to go back to sleep,” he says, and when he rubs at his cheek, he looks fucking tired. “I’ll tell you if I see anything else.”
“Yeah, okay,” Gabe agrees immediately. “You know you can come to me with anything, right? Anytime.”
“Yeah,” William says, and a faint smile flickers over his face. “Thanks.”
Part Two
Pairings: Gabe/William, Frank/Gerard, Panic at the Disco.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 33,850
Disclaimer: This is a complete work of fiction.
Notes: Universe based on the television series seaQuest DSV. While I did my best to research for this story, it is not my field of study and I do expect there to be some scientific inaccuracies. I apologize in advance for any errors. Thanks to maleyka for being with me every step of the way, zarah5 for her advice and expertise, disarm_d for clearing my head, and ignipes for the excellent and thorough beta.
Summary: “Heads up,” Gabe announces when he steps onto the bridge. “William saw an octopus.”
“What kind of octopus?” Alex asks, already leaning over his console to do a search.
Gabe doesn’t actually know, come to think of it, but he’s fairly certain William wouldn’t either. “Eight legs, big head,” he says instead, coming over to where his XO Ryland is already drawing up an info sheet on their location and status.
“That helps,” Ryland tells him, swiveling the screen in his direction. “We’ll get that narrowed right down for you.”
Weddell Sea, off the coast of the Antarctic Peninsula
Gabe is used to finding William in his private quarters. The military code of conduct doesn’t seem to apply to him, so he’s in the habit of letting himself in whenever he has something to report, and waiting for Gabe to return.
Also, he’s very fond of Travis.
“Captain McCoy,” Gabe greets the hologram holding court in the center of his tactical table.
“Captain Saporta,” Travis answers, with a bob of his head that passes for a salute between equals.
William rolls over on Gabe’s bunk and beams at him. “I saw an octopus,” he announces. “In my cereal.”
“Does that mean anything, or is it just an octopus?” Gabe asks. William probably doesn’t know the answer to that, but it never hurts to ask anyway.
As expected, William shrugs one lanky shoulder and shakes the hair back from his eyes. “What does an octopus mean, really?” he asks. “It’s not particularly symbolic.”
“Entrapment, maybe?” Gabe suggests, although he doesn’t know what an octopus would signify either. “Danger?”
“Octopussy,” Travis muses, stroking his chin. “James Bond.”
William makes a face at that, because he doesn’t approve of the way women are portrayed in classic film even though Gabe knows for a fact that he thinks James Bond is really fucking cool. Travis can get away with more than the rest of them, though, being a hologram and all.
“Octopus, right,” Gabe says, getting them back on track. “I’ll tell the bridge crew.”
William smiles and rolls out of Gabe’s bunk, which leads to a brief pang of desire for Gabe to roll him right back into it. He doesn’t let himself dwell on that, though, because you can’t be too careful with parapsychologists. William in particular seems tuned into the sex shit.
“I’ll tell you if I see anything else,” William says, pushing his hair back. He waves, says, “Bye Travie,” and lets himself out.
Gabe doesn’t exactly watch his ass when he goes, but he’s not looking anywhere else, either.
Travis hoots as soon as the door closes, and Gabe snaps his gaze up towards the table. “Shut the fuck up, you’re dead.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a nice piece of ass,” Travis says serenely.
“Yeah,” Gabe agrees, and debates for the hundredth time whether the possible court martial for sexual harassment would be worth it.
-
William has been assigned to them since Gabe first took command. He’s a trained parapsychologist with a strong psi factor, but his visions are largely unreliable and his gift is sporadic at best. He tends to show up in Gabe’s quarters every week or so, and half the time he’s only there to talk to Travis.
Privately, the United Earth Oceans had let Gabe know that they were assigning William to his boat because they thought a psychic might come in handy, but they couldn’t spare one of the really good ones, who are always in demand for diplomatic missions and negotiations. Gabe doesn’t mind. He’s met the scary ones, the melon-heads who can see right through your brain and tell you what you’re thinking before you know it. He’s fine with having William instead.
Technically William’s on board as the ship’s counselor, but he’s terrible at it. William believes in telling the truth, and this is not always the best quality for a counselor to have. His method of counseling involves explaining to people earnestly and at great length exactly what’s wrong with them, so most of the crew try to avoid counseling whenever possible.
“Heads up,” Gabe announces when he steps onto the bridge. “William saw an octopus.”
“What kind of octopus?” Alex asks, already leaning over his console to do a search.
Gabe doesn’t actually know, come to think of it, but he’s fairly certain William wouldn’t either. “Eight legs, big head,” he says instead, coming over to where his XO Ryland is already drawing up an info sheet on their location and status.
“That helps,” Ryland tells him, swiveling the screen in his direction. “We’ll get that narrowed right down for you.”
“Find me a bio-geek,” Gabe tells Alex. “Get Walk-- Asher. Get me Asher. She’s got better legs.”
“They hate when you call them that,” Ryland reminds him, but it’s not as if Ryland cares, so Gabe just grins.
He might have to call Walker anyway, since Victoria is more into fish, but Smith is on duty at his station, and Gabe has learned to avoid having them in the same room together lately. He’d rather not have to put in a requisition order for any more expensive and unfortunately breakable equipment.
“Victoria,” he says when she steps through the door. “You look lovely as ever. Talk to me about octopuses.”
Victoria stuffs her hands into the pockets of her white lab coat and raises an uninterested eyebrow. “Around here? There are several species. They live in shallow water and the deep sea, so it wouldn’t be unusual to come across one. They’re very shy and don’t grow more than 55 feet across, so it’s not likely they’d pose any sort of threat to us.”
Gabe scoffs a little. He tries not to do that to members of the science team, but he’s proud of his boat. There’s nothing on the planet that could pose any sort of threat as far as he’s concerned. “Do they mean anything that you know of? Any particular reason we might come across one?”
Victoria looks confused by his train of logic, but she’s also cool as a cucumber and completely unfazed. “If we hit a rich feeding ground,” she suggests. “Or if one of the WSKRS gets too close to one’s lair.”
Gabe turns immediately to Sensor Chief Smith, whose job it is to keep track of the Wireless Sea Knowledge Retrieval Satellites, and who’s already scowling at him. “I think I’d have noticed a fifty-foot octopus, thanks,” Smith informs him. “WSKRS haven’t turned up anything unusual.”
“Keep your eyes open,” Gabe says, because William’s visions might not be particularly reliable, but they almost always mean something when he has them. “Let’s find this octopus.”
-
Jon’s late for his afternoon shift, but it’s fine, because Brendon is in the pool arguing with their dolphin.
“No,” Brendon says again, trying to keep his hands high enough out of the water to sign while fending off inquisitive jabs from a pointy dolphin beak. It’s not like Dylan is watching his hands anyway.
“What’s up?” Jon asks, perching on the side of the pool and letting his legs dangle into the water. Brendon starts backing towards him, moving through the water in little hops while still signing and defending.
“He wants to go outside,” Brendon explains, bouncing up on his toes when Dylan goes for his stomach. “Dylan, no. Cold. Cold water. Antarc-” He pauses halfway through spelling. “Jon, is there a sign for Antarctica?”
Jon scratches his chin, rough from a few days’ growth. “Probably, but he won’t know it. Frozen water?”
Brendon rubs Dylan with one hand until he rolls onto his side, then makes the signs. “Frozen water, Dylan. Cold. Froz- hard water. Hard water.”
Dylan looks unimpressed, but rolls further for more rubbing. Brendon counts that as a compromise he can live with.
“He might be able to go out for a while,” Jon says thoughtfully, kicking his legs lazily in the pool. “As long as he comes back in when we call him. One of us could suit up and swim with him.”
“Jon Walker,” Brendon scolds, splashing over to the rim of the pool and pulling himself out. “I’ve been arguing with him for the past twenty minutes. Don’t undo all of my hard work with your lenience.”
“Spare the rod, spoil the dolphin,” Jon agrees solemnly, then reaches down to rub Dylan’s head when it butts up against his leg.
“I’ll talk to Spencer, see what the temperatures are like tomorrow,” Brendon sighs. “Maybe he can go out for a while. He hates being cooped up, even on a thousand-foot long submarine.”
One of the best things about Spencer is that he knows when and where they are at all times, even off-duty and half-asleep. Brendon’s woken him up before to ask, and Spencer always answers, even if he is a lot grumpier about sharing that information in the middle of the night. Spencer will know the second they cross into dolphin-safe water.
Jon twitches a little, but Brendon doesn’t regret mentioning Spencer. He’s sympathetic, but the standoff can’t last forever. A submarine, even one this size, is smaller than you might think when you’re trying to avoid someone.
“Want me to feed him?” Jon asks, smoothly changing the subject.
“Would you?” Brendon asks plaintively. “I have a staff meeting.”
Technically, because Brendon is the highest-ranking marine mammologist and head of the science team, Dylan is Brendon’s and has been ever since he came on board. Jon named him, though, and he spends a lot of time with Dylan in the pool, playing volleyball and tossing rings.
Lately, Jon has spent even more time in the pool than usual. Brendon pretends not to notice.
“Sure thing,” Jon says, already sliding into the water. “We have fish in the catch?”
“More than enough,” Brendon confirms, already stripping out of his wetsuit. “Just open the grate and let him chase them.” He kneels at the edge of the pool when Dylan surfaces, rubbing his hand over the smooth melon. “See? At least I never feed you dead fish.”
-
During the staff meeting, Brendon has an idea so brilliant that even he’s impressed by it. This isn’t all that unusual; Brendon does most of his best thinking in staff meetings. He generally takes five minutes to report on what the science department is doing, and then spends the rest of the hour pretending to listen and doodling whales.
He’s gotten really good at drawing whales. His favorites are the Orcas.
The staff meeting is almost over, so Brendon doesn’t have a lot of room left on his paper. He’s too excited to wait, though, so he scribbles his idea over the dorsal fin of a particularly lovely cetacean specimen and passes it to Ryan. Or tries to, anyway, but Ryan is unfortunately one of those people who don’t believe in passing notes during staff meetings. Brendon’s tried before.
Ryan ignores the paper Brendon is trying desperately to push under his arm and focuses stubbornly on Spencer, who is busy telling everyone that there’s absolutely nothing of interest off the coast of Antarctica. He makes special note of the fact that he hasn’t seen an octopus. Brendon doesn’t know what the octopus has to do with anything; it’s possible he missed something earlier in the meeting while he was drawing whales.
Brendon spends a few minutes pouting at Ryan’s profile. It doesn’t actually do any good, but he’s enjoying the view. Ryan has gorgeous eyelashes, and hair that probably doesn’t meet military specifications, and little pointy ears kind of like a pixie. His nose is pretty cute as well.
When he’s not drawing seascapes, Brendon also tends to spend a good amount of the staff meeting looking at Ryan. He’s glad William never bothers to show up to these things.
Bob finally finishes reporting on security stuff, blah blah blah, and they’re released. Brendon doesn’t wait to pounce.
“Ross,” he says excitedly. “Ross, I have a brilliant idea. I need your help.”
“I have to go to the bridge,” Ryan says, but he’s at least pausing, so Brendon barrels ahead.
“I want to rig a set of speakers underwater,” Brendon explains. He sketches a quick tank for emphasis, with little boxes inside and wavy lines of sound coming out of them, all heading towards a somewhat lumpy but obviously happy Dylan. “To play music in the moon pool. For Dylan. We’re too far south for him to go out, he’s going crazy. This would give him something new to do.”
Ryan looks at Brendon like he’s a crazy person. “You want to put speakers underwater?” he asks, and even without inflection his tone sounds dubious. “You realize speakers are run with electricity. Electricity and water don’t really mix.”
“We could wrap the cables,” Brendon insists hopefully. “Or rewire them, make them run on batteries or something.”
“Batteries and water don’t really mix either,” Spencer puts in from the other side of Ryan, where he’s lingering so they can do that BFF thing and go everywhere together. Brendon turns his pleading look on Spencer instead. Spencer is a lot more susceptible to Brendon’s pouting than Ryan is.
“Spence,” he says. “Tell him. We could find a way. Dylan is so bored; we can’t play with him all the time. This way he could listen to whale song, or our voices, or prerecorded music. We could teach him the classics, Spencer. Music appreciation.”
“He’s a dolphin,” Ryan says.
“Dolphins are very intelligent mammals,” Brendon explains patiently, for probably the ninety-millionth time since he started dealing with military personnel. “He’ll be able to process it. Sound travels through water differently, though, so we’d have to get special speakers or something.”
“I don’t think we have that kind of equipment,” Ryan tells him. Spencer just cocks a hip thoughtfully, arms folded loosely over his chest. Brendon thinks Spencer is probably his best hope.
“I could do it myself,” he pleads, although he has a pretty full schedule and very little idea of what to do with electronics. He’ll probably electrocute himself in the moon pool by accident or something, but at least he could try. “Just give me some spare parts or something, whatever you have.”
“You’re not doing it yourself,” Spencer cuts in before Ryan can answer. Brendon turns his focus back to Ryan with the best hopeful eyes he can muster.
Ryan pauses for a long time, but he finally says, “I’ll see what I can do. After my shift.”
Brendon beams at him. “Ryan Ross, you’re my absolute favorite.”
-
“He’s going to make a huge mess of everything,” Ryan complains, on a private channel because Spencer’s station is halfway across the bridge and it’s easier to have conversations over the com. There are definite advantages to being the communications officer.
“So do it yourself,” Spencer returns evenly. Ryan makes a face and flips switches at random.
“Who would think playing music for a dolphin is a good idea anyway?” Ryan asks. Someone needs to be the voice of reason around here.
“He’s a scientist,” Spencer points out. “They do all sorts of weird things.”
Ryan refrains from answering with ‘You should know,’ because the whole Jon thing is still a little raw. The whole crew is basically on one side or the other, with the sole exception of Brendon, who has somehow managed to stay neutral and remain close friends with both of them. Ryan has no idea how he does it.
Ryan likes Jon a lot, and did even before he began his bumbling, ridiculous, moon-eyed courtship of Spencer, but Ryan is Spencer’s best friend and always has been, so the lines are pretty clearly drawn. He doesn’t approve of Brendon playing both sides. Spencer might be fine with Jon and Brendon staying buddies, but Ryan is not. Spencer’s too much of a pushover.
“Speaking of scientists, any sign of an octopus yet?” Alex’s voice cuts in through his headset, and Ryan starts guiltily, jerking his head up. Alex smiles at him, and Ryan curses silently. He’ll have to find another frequency. Alex was a communications officer on another sub before he became their Mission Specialist, though, so he’d probably just find them again.
Spencer doesn’t seem all that put off by it. “Nothing,” he sighs. “Why am I looking for octopuses again?”
“Octopodes,” Ryan corrects automatically. He speaks eight languages fluently and can roughly translate three more; it doesn’t seem like a lot to ask that people learn their own native tongue.
“Because William had a vision,” Alex answers dutifully, and then snorts. “Gabe and Beckett, it’s like the blind leading the blindfolded.”
“Captain on the bridge,” Spencer warns, and all three of them click off their coms.
“Smith, William just asked me if we were heading north yet,” Gabe says as he enters, heading over to the navigation console.
Spencer looks bewildered, but to his credit, he only blinks once. “Well, we’re heading towards Antarctica,” he says slowly. “So…no.”
“Exactly,” Gabe says with satisfaction. “Let’s change course.”
Spencer throws Ryan a confused look, and Ryan shrugs. He’s been here for a year now, he’s gotten used to taking orders from Gabe that don’t make a lot of sense.
“Straight north is Deception Island,” Ryland reports from where he’s leaning over the navigation readout. “Do you want to head towards it or go around?”
“Good question,” Gabe acknowledges, just as Spencer says, “Oh, wow.”
They all turn to look, and Spencer stares intently at his monitor for a few seconds before asking, “When Beckett said he saw an octopus, did he maybe mean a squid?”
“What have you got?” Alex asks, coming over to join Spencer. They both stare at the screen for a moment, and then Alex says, “Holy shit.”
“Main screen,” Gabe orders, already moving to look. The camera switches over to a WSKRS view, and all of them squint for a minute before the writhing mass of organisms becomes clear.
“Jesus,” Ryland says in surprise.
“Yeah,” Gabe agrees. “That’s a fucking lot of squid.”
-
“No,” Brendon says decisively. “No way. Absolutely not.”
“What?” Gabe asks. Ryan thinks he still hasn’t gotten used to the fact that Brendon constantly forgets he’s on a military submarine and that his opinions don’t necessarily matter.
“First,” Brendon begins, “we are in the Weddell Sea. If you open up the sea doors long enough to get a squid inside the boat, you will drop the temperature of the water inside significantly, possibly rapidly enough to cause damage. Second, squid are carnivorous, and I don’t care what size it is, you’re not putting it into the same tank as a bottlenose dolphin.”
Brendon crosses his arms. In his white lab coat and girl jeans, he looks tiny and ridiculous standing up to Gabe, but Ryan is fairly sure that if he doesn’t get his way on this, his entire team will throw a massive scientific shitfit.
Gabe scratches the hinge of his jaw for a second. “We could trap it somewhere,” he suggests.
“What about one of the ballasts?” Ryland asks, pulling up a schematic.
“Torpedo tube,” Ryan says, almost without thinking. He shrugs uncomfortably when they all turn to look at him. “Lots of room, isolated from the main tank, unaffected by water temperature.”
“Genius,” Gabe decides. “Let’s do it. Suarez, work me some hyper-reality magic.”
“Aye sir,” Alex replies, carefully pulling on the gloves covered in wires and sensors responsible for navigating the Hyper-Reality Probe. He flexes his fingers, and onscreen the robotic probe echoes the movement by kicking its mechanical legs.
“Which tube?” Ryland asks, fingers already poised over the controls.
“All of them. We’re not especially likely to come under attack off the coast of Antarctica, although Ross, keep your ears open anyway, just in case.”
“Aye sir,” Ryan responds automatically, tuning into the external communications and turning up his microphone volume. He sees Spencer swing around to his console at the same time, tapping into WSKRS controls to do sonar scans of the immediate area.
“Just one squid,” Gabe says, voice low as if trying to hypnotize the squid into coming aboard. “All we need is one.”
“Tubes flooded,” Ryland reports.
“All clear on sonar,” Spencer reports, and Ryan nods agreement. All he can hear is ambient bridge noise, and the faint whirring of the Hyper-Reality Probe moving through the water outside.
“What’s taking so long?” Gabe asks after a while. Ryan cranes his neck to look, but from this angle all he can see is Alex’s face, tight with concentration, and his hands upraised to maneuver the probe.
“I’m trying to herd a squid into a torpedo tube underwater using a remote-controlled robotic dog,” Alex points out, teeth gritted as he tilts his left hand slowly to one side, fingers splayed.
“You have a point,” Gabe acknowledges.
“Ryland,” Alex calls, both hands tilting up slowly.
“I’ve got it,” Ryland answers, fingers flying over the keys. “Get clear, the doors are closing.”
“I’m out,” Alex confirms, wrists curving in the graceful swimming motion he uses to bring the probe back to the boat.
“Doors are sealed, torpedo tube five still flooded,” Ryland reports, looking up at Gabe. “Sir, I do believe you’ve got yourself a squid.”
-
Sometimes Brendon thinks Gabe confuses ‘scientist’ with ‘omnipotent all-knowing godlike being.’ He’s flattered by the comparison, but that still doesn’t mean he can work miracles.
“What do you mean, tell you everything?” Brendon asks, trying to hide his confusion. “It’s a squid.”
“There has to be a reason William saw this,” Gabe says. “Is it unusual in any way? Strange for a squid? Are there supposed to be ten thousand of them all swimming around in the same area?”
“Not to cast aspersions,” Ryland says mildly, “but there have been times - and again, I’m not blaming anyone here - when we’ve spent several days tracking down a specific coral reef just because William saw a tropical fish, or a week tailing a private fishing vessel because William’s subconscious decided it wanted a tuna sandwich.”
“The New Sydney Aquarium was thrilled about those fish, though,” Jon reflects. “Apparently they were rare.”
“The point is,” Gabe resumes, “I want to know everything there is to know about that squid.” He looks at Brendon expectantly. Brendon feels like perhaps he’s supposed to wave a wand and pull a rabbit out of a hat.
“I’m a marine mammologist,” he says finally. “That’s a cephalopod. I could probably tell you species if I had a reference database, but that’s about it.”
“You’re the head of the science team,” Gabe says, frowning.
Brendon spreads his hands helplessly. “Mammologist. Mammals. Cetaceans.”
“I don’t know what any of that means,” Gabe says.
“Don’t look at me,” Jon says immediately. “I’m marine hydroponics.”
“You’re probably going to need a specialist,” Vicky remarks, coming down the ladder to join them in the torpedo bay. “We don’t have anyone on staff who studies cephalopods, and from the number of them you have swarming around out there, I’m guessing you want a professional opinion.”
“California,” someone says from above them, and Brendon looks up to see William peering over the railing. “I came to have a look; someone told me it wasn’t an octopus after all. It looks like one, though, doesn’t it?”
“Not really,” Brendon says honestly.
“What do you mean, California?” Gabe asks, raising a hand to help William jump down from the ladder. Brendon doesn’t miss the way Vicky rolls her eyes, but he thinks Gabe would have helped her, too, so she shouldn’t be that upset. Gabe loves Vicky.
“We’re going there. I saw surfers,” William explains, leaning warily over the side of the torpedo tube. “Really, that doesn’t look like an octopus to you?”
“We could be going to Hawai’i,” Gabe suggests, looking down at the squid, which isn’t doing a lot at the moment beyond letting one arm drift lazily near the surface.
William shakes his head. “I see hula girls when we visit Hawai’i. What’s that thing on its tentacle?”
“They’re called arms,” Brendon corrects automatically, already leaning closer to look.
Gabe eyes him skeptically. “I thought you didn’t know anything about squid?”
“I don’t,” Brendon says immediately. “Hey Jon, Jon, hand me that pipe thing.”
He nudges William out of the way when he sticks the pipe in, keeping his hand carefully out of reach. It takes a couple of tries, but eventually the squid wraps the arm in question around the pipe securely enough for Brendon to ease it out of the water. He squints at it for a moment, perplexed.
“What is it?” Jon asks, close to his ear.
“It’s a tag,” Brendon says, turning the pipe slightly to show him. “A marker. Hey, so. Does the name Clandestine mean anything to anyone?”
-
The Beatles sound different underwater. Brendon holds his breath for as long as he can, trying to identify the strain of melody woven through the instrumentals.
When he surfaces, the song booms loud and clear from the speaker Brendon wheedled Ryan into mounting over the poolside lab station. He’d claimed it would assist in research if they knew what Dylan was listening to so they could monitor his responses, and whether Dylan registered the change in and out of the water.
In truth, he really just wants to spend a few hours singing along.
“With a little help from my friends…” joins the chorus from behind him, and Brendon twists to see Jon and Butcher with their arms around each other, stumbling through the doorway performing karaoke into an invisible microphone.
“How does it sound?” Jon asks, stripping off his t-shirt and zipping up the front of his wetsuit.
“Better out of the water. I don’t know if Ryan did it right.” Brendon leans back, drifting a little. “Maybe it’s just set for dolphin ears.”
Butcher slides into the water like he belongs there, leaving barely a ripple in his wake. He swims a few feet out and treads water, taking a deep breath before going under.
Jon flops into the moon pool the same way Brendon does, with a crash-splash that sends water slopping up over the sides and choppy waves through the tank, sending a signal to wherever Dylan is on the boat that there’s someone in the water.
Jon tilts his head until one ear is resting flat against the surface of the water, listening to both speakers. Brendon is impressed; this is why Jon is always handy to have around.
“I think it might need some tweaking,” Jon says finally, lifting his head. “Right now it sounds more like there’s a party going on in the neighbor’s backyard.”
“Distortion,” Brendon agrees wisely, just as Butcher surfaces noisily a few feet away.
“Have Ryan fuck with the bass,” Butcher advises. “And try some different albums. You might get better quality with a string quartet.”
“I was trying to start with the classics,” Brendon explains. “Give him a feel for modern music.”
“The Rolling Stones,” Jon says.
“Blink 182,” Brendon says.
“I’ll bring down some Alicia,” Butcher offers. He backstrokes out a bit further, then stops as Dylan’s dorsal fin breaks the surface of the water, gliding in until Butcher can hold on and allow himself to be pulled along.
“Hey, no fair,” Jon complains, sinking in up to his neck. “I want dolphin rides.”
“I want Jon rides,” Brendon announces, throwing his arms around Jon’s neck when he laughs.
“It’s a good thing you’re so light,” Jon says, wading around the edge of the moon pool. “I’m only here on entertainment duty, technically I should be the one getting towed around.”
Brendon doesn’t ask whether Jon is here for Dylan-entertainment or Brendon-entertainment. He suspects the answer would be somewhere in the middle.
“You can ride me later,” he lies, wrapping his legs around Jon’s waist to cling tighter as Jon pushes deeper into the water. “Take me for a swim first.”
The sound of a throat clearing catches both of their attentions, and Brendon hastily lets go as Jon flounders suddenly.
Spencer crosses his arms, and looks for a moment as if he doesn’t know what to say. “Ryan sent me to ask how it’s working,” he says finally, with a distinctly unhappy expression.
Brendon tries to answer and realizes he’s too far out to get his feet on solid ground. Jon catches his elbow a second later, one arm around Dylan’s floaty-ball and the other hooking around Brendon so that he doesn’t have to keep treading water.
“Butcher said maybe something different with the bass?” Brendon suggests hopefully. It’s taking a lot of effort not to twitch; Jon’s arm is wrapped solid and steadying across his chest, and Spencer is burning a hole through Brendon’s wetsuit with his eyes.
Spencer shifts his weight to the other side. “Something different,” he says eventually. “Right.”
“Only if he has time,” Brendon adds hastily. “This is great, really. Thank you. Him. Thanks to him.”
Spencer’s expression doesn’t even flicker. “Right,” he says again, and then turns around and walks out. Brendon tries not to wince.
Jon starts towing them both back towards the edge of the pool. Brendon drops his head back onto Jon’s shoulder and exhales heavily. “Fuck.”
-
Monterey Bay, California
“I don’t know what to wear to meet this kooky squid guy,” Gabe complains.
“Hey man, that’s what I’m here for,” Travis replies. “The dispensing of advice pertaining to captainly matters.”
Gabe gives him a skeptical look. “You sunk your fucking boat,” he points out. He doesn’t consider that too harsh; Travis always agrees with him, usually shaking his head regretfully at the follies of his youth.
After his untimely death, Captain McCoy’s knowledge and experience had been transferred into a computer program designed to give aid to future captains when needed. He’s meant to offer opinions and serve as an ethical conscience, although a lot of his personality came through along with the technical stuff, so most of the time Gabe just hangs out with him, shooting the shit and discussing the soap opera dramas of his crew. Every once in a while, though, usually when Gabe is in a jam, he makes a good sounding board.
Gabe feels guilty turning Travis off, so he mostly just leaves him running. He never knows when William is going to drop by, anyway. William knows how to run Travis’ program, but Gabe likes to have him up anyway, just to make the place more alluring.
Speaking of William. “Why do you think he’s kooky?” comes from the hatch behind him, and Gabe zips up his uniform jacket just as William slides his hand through Travis - their version of a greeting - and drops onto Gabe’s bunk. “Is it because of the hair?”
“The what?” Gabe asks, confused. “It’s because he spends his life studying squid. No one who chooses to do that can be normal. That’s even worse than studying dolphins or whatever shit Urie does.” He pauses, trying to remember if the UEO had sent any sort of personnel dossier on their pet specialist. “Why, does he have kooky hair?”
“It’s kind of…” William explains, gesturing around his head vaguely. Since William’s hair isn’t exactly regulation by any means, Gabe has to bite his tongue to keep from making a joke about definitions of kookiness.
“Is he like a mad scientist?” Travis asks, sounding interested.
William shakes his head. “He just doesn’t really like water, he’s afraid of drowning. His brother is worse, though. They nearly died once, on a boat.”
Gabe pauses in the middle of combing through his hair. “He does realize he’s coming on a submarine, right?” he asks. “Underwater in the middle of the ocean?”
“Yeah,” William says distractedly. “He’s not too happy about it.”
“You got anything more for me on that squid?” Gabe asks. Sometimes when William is off doing his psychic things, he knows more than when you ask him at other times.
“A cow?” William says, sounding confused even as he says it, brow furrowed. They all wait for a minute, and then he shrugs a little and says, “That’s all I’ve got. A cow. Maybe.”
“A squid-cow,” Gabe says, trying it out. He looks at Travis, but only gets another shrug in reply. “Okay. I’ll keep that in mind. Hey, are you coming to meet the delegation?”
“Maybe,” William replies. “I have something to do first.” He gets up and does the hand-thing with Travis again, trying to touch even though there’s nothing but particles of light and air.
“Wait, was that it?” Gabe asks. “You just came by to tell me that kooky squid guy has kooky hair?”
William frowns for a second. “No, I came by to tell you…oh, not to wear your white dress uniform.”
“No?” Gabe says, turning to face the mirror and frowning. “I couldn’t decide.”
“Don’t wear it,” William repeats, and then pauses halfway out the door to smile. “You look good in it, though.”
“Yeah?” Gabe says, grinning back at him. William just smiles wider and ducks out.
“You’re going to wear it now, aren’t you?” Travis asks wisely.
“Of course not,” Gabe scoffs, and then checks his reflection one more time. He really does look good in white.
“Captain, we’re approaching Monterey Harbor,” Ryland’s voice announces from the speakers. “Your presence is requested on the bridge.”
-
“What the fuck?” Gabe asks, mostly rhetorically.
Smith bangs his station in frustration. “I can’t get any readings, they’re all over the WSKRS. And the sensor array, too.”
Alex peers up at the screen and the dozens of fleshy bodies pressed up against the camera. “That is a fucking lot of squid,” he comments.
“We can’t get the docking hatch open,” Ryland reports. “They’re all over it. Same for the Sea Crabs in the launch bay.”
“And I thought we had a lot of them down in Antarctica,” Gabe says, whistling as Spencer patches through the WSKRS views, one at a time, with the same results.
“Captain, I have a call for you from the harbor,” Ross says suddenly. “It’s the science team.”
“Oh hey, I definitely want to talk to them,” Gabe answers. “Big screen, take away some of the freaky squids.”
“Squid,” Ross emphasizes dourly, but he patches the call through anyway.
There’s a guy with crazy hair leaning far too close to the camera and smiling so wide it almost takes up the entire screen. “Hi,” he says in a weirdly nasal voice, and waves for good measure. “Welcome to Monterey Bay.”
“Thanks,” Gabe replies. “Dr. Way?”
“Yeah, that’s me,” their contact says. “Could be Mikey too, but he won’t go to grad school. He could, though, he’s fuckin’ brilliant. Hey, he’s coming aboard with me, that’s okay, right? I have two other people on my team. Did they tell you?”
“That’s fine,” Gabe says, because he can’t remember whether they told him or not, but it’s not as if the boat isn’t big enough to hold two more. “We might have a little problem getting you aboard, though. Your squid are very friendly.”
“Oh yeah, they love the light, and you’re right in the middle of a seasonal mass migration. Just turn off your lights for a while, they should lose interest. Can you do that?”
“We should be able to do that,” Gabe allows, signaling to Ryland. He hears the all-hands announcement faintly echoing over the com, and then the bridge goes black.
He hears Smith sigh in relief before he even gets the report. “They’re backing off. Launch bay is clear. Docking hatch clearing now.”
“Let’s get the bio-geeks aboard before they change their mind,” Gabe orders, crooking a finger at Alex.
“Ha,” Dr. Way snorts from the screen, a little surprised cough of a laugh. “Bio-geeks. That’s funny.”
-
“Ow,” Bob complains when Frank launches himself onto Bob’s back. “Jesus Christ.”
“I’m keeping you sharp,” Frank explains, stealing Bob’s awesome Security Chief hat and putting it on his own head, keeping his other arm locked tight around Bob’s throat to keep from slipping down. “In tip-top Security Chief shape.”
“I’m already in shape,” Bob says, but he hitches Frank up higher, so it doesn’t even really count as an argument. “And I’m working.”
“Where are we going?” Frank asks, tugging the brim of the hat back so he can see.
“You’re going back to the galley,” Bob says, although he keeps walking in the opposite direction, so again, it’s not much of a threat. “I’m going to meet and escort the new science team.”
“We have a new science team?” Frank asks, interested. He doesn’t get to learn a lot beyond general scuttlebutt, working in the galley. That’s part of why he hangs out with Bob.
“Some specialists,” Bob answers, not especially helpfully. “They’re going back to Antarctica with us.”
“We’re going back to Antarctica?” Frank says. “Man, that sucks. There’s nothing to eat in Antarctica. I always have to cook stuff from the hydroponics bay, and no one eats that shit if they can help it.”
“Everything you cook tastes the same anyway,” Bob says, which is an absolute lie. Frank kicks him in protest for the slander.
“I made amazing grilled mushrooms last week,” Frank says triumphantly. They were from the hydroponics bay, actually. Whatever. It’s not like Bob knows.
“You could cook some steak once in a while,” Bob says, only grunting a little from the kick. Bob knows how Frank feels about steak, so he kicks harder this time.
“Steak is restricted,” Frank points out, swinging his legs with every step.
“Ow. Stop it,” Bob says. “And stop burning everything, maybe then it would taste better.”
“I don’t have to listen to this,” Frank reminds him. “I could leave you right now.”
“Be my guest,” Bob replies. Frank huffs and stops kicking, because he’s enjoying the ride.
“Bob,” he says. “Bob. Have you decided to hook up with me yet?”
“No,” Bob answers bluntly. “And stop asking.”
“We’re meant to be,” Frank argues. It’s a persuasive argument. “I have my heart set on you. Bob. You’re the one for me. It’s written in the sea. Ow, hey.”
Bob tugs his jacket back down, impervious to Frank’s scowl at being brusquely deposited in the middle of the corridor. “I have to go get the science people,” he says. “You know how they are.”
Bob is of the impression that science people couldn’t survive on their own if their lives depended on it. Frank thinks his opinion has probably been formed largely by prolonged exposure to Dr. Urie.
“Yeah, I should get back,” he admits. “See you around.”
Bob nods and starts off down the corridor again. Not, however, before relieving Frank of his hat.
-
There are three people Frank doesn’t know wandering around in the galley. Since he lives on a submarine and everyone has to come through his territory at least twice every day for meals, this is something of an unusual occurrence.
“Oh hey,” one of the guys says when he sees Frank. “Do you know where the torpedo tubes are?”
Thanks to Bob, Frank is much less alarmed by this statement than he would otherwise be. “You must be the new science team,” he says, holding out his hand. “Bob’s looking for you. I’m Frank.”
“Cool ink,” the same guy says. He’s around the same height as Frank, with flyaway dark hair and a pale, round face. “I’m Gerard. I think we met Bob, actually. He told us to sit tight, but, uh, Mikey had to go to the bathroom, so we kind of got lost.”
“It’s all the water,” one of the other guys complains, hunched over with his toes turned in so far his knees are practically knocking. “It’s everywhere, I can’t help it.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much a big thing around here,” Frank says. The main tank has tunnels running through the bulkheads on nearly every deck so Dylan and the divers have access, and most of the decks have viewports, looking out into the ocean. No matter where you go, chances are that at least one of the walls will be blue.
“Are you part of the resident science contingent?” the third guy asks. He has a mop of red hair that Frank is instantly impressed by and more muscles than the other two combined. He doesn’t really look all that much like a scientist, in Frank’s opinion.
“No,” Frank answers, stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets. “I’m, uh, the cook.”
“Oh, that’s cool,” Gerard says, with much less disappointment and condescension than Frank had honestly expected. It’s not that the scientists on board treat him badly, but Frank is well aware that he isn’t in the same league. A marine research scientist is a lot higher up on the food chain than a nutritionist.
“I’m starving, actually,” Ray admits, looking around as if anticipating that food will magically appear. “What’s for dinner?”
“Well, we seem to have an abundance of squid outside,” Frank jokes. “I was thinking about frying up some calamari.”
He doesn’t realize he’s said the wrong thing for a minute, because Gerard is so pale that it’s hard to tell when he goes paler. The look on Ray’s face gives it away, though. Mikey just looks resigned.
“Kidding,” Frank hastens to reassure them, raising both hands in apology. “Really. I’m…oh shit, you’re like, pro-squid people, aren’t you? I was totally joking, I didn’t mean it. I’m a vegan, honestly, the most I ever do is put all-vegetable seafood seasoning on tofu strips. It’s really good, actually, you should try it sometime. Um, the tofu, not the squid. Obviously.”
Gerard seems uncertain, so Frank adds his best earnest eyes and a hopeful smile until he caves.
“It’s just, squid are so intelligent,” Gerard says, with some pretty damn good earnest eyes of his own. Mikey sighs a little and shuffles around, like he’s getting ready to be here for a while. “They’re related to octopus, which have been known to not only solve problems, but to teach and learn from each other as well. They can figure out how to open a sealed jar just by watching another octopus in a neighboring tank.”
“That’s cool,” Frank says, because it is, really. Also because he’s still worried that Gerard thinks he’s some kind of monster squid-eater. “That’s really creative.”
“They have a huge capacity for learning,” Gerard continues, gesturing now to emphasize his points. “We can’t even begin to measure their creativity or adaptive capabilities. In some species…”
“Hey, Gee,” the guy with the awesome hair interrupts gently. “I think they’re probably going to be looking for us, and we shouldn’t leave Lugosi alone for too long.”
“Oh right,” Gerard agrees, thankfully distracted from his passionate lecture on the merits of squid and squid relatives. “Do you know how to get back to the science deck?”
“Turn right, end of the hallway, down one deck,” Frank answers promptly. “There’s a sign.”
“Cool, thanks,” Gerard says. “Hey, you should meet my squid sometime,” he offers suddenly, turning back to look at Frank. “You both have neat ink.”
“Thanks,” Frank says, because he’s fairly sure that was intended as a compliment, even if it was a weird one. “I’ll remember.”
“Bye,” Gerard says with a smile, wiggling his fingers. His pinkie sticks out a little, at an angle. Frank holds up his own hand before he even realizes he’s doing it.
“Thanks for the directions,” the other guy says. “Have a nice day.”
“No problem,” Frank answers. He watches as they leave, then calls Bob. He’s fairly sure they aren’t secretly stowaway bioterrorists, but, you know. It never hurts to be sure.
-
“Where are our scientists?” Gabe asks. There’s a large tank sitting in the middle of the area Dr. Urie usually reserves for experiments, and a small crowd of his people hanging out near the moon pool, but no sign of their visitors.
“They wandered off,” Ryland answers. “Bob’s getting them now.”
“Bob let a group of complete strangers wander off on a high-security submarine?” Gabe asks incredulously. Bob usually isn’t the kind of guy to let that happen.
“They were slippery,” Ryland explains. “And they docked in the wrong place. What is this thing?”
“It’s a vampire squid,” someone says from above them, and Gabe looks up to see Dr. Way and company descending the ladder to the science deck. Bob is close behind them, glowering and keeping all of them under watchful eye like he expects them to run off again if he blinks.
“Dr. Way,” Gabe says affably, making some attempt at military protocol. “Welcome aboard.”
“Thanks,” Dr. Way says. “I’m Gerard, by the way. This is Ray, he’s in charge of all the technical analysis stuff. Oh, and this is Mikey.”
Mikey blinks. Gabe grins at him, then shakes hands with Ray when Mikey just toes the floor and looks out over the moon pool.
“So what were you saying about the squid?” Gabe asks, gesturing to the tank.
Gerard brightens visibly. “Oh, right. This is Lugosi, he’s my vampire squid. You said there was some confusion at first about whether the species you found was a squid or an octopus. Vampire squid are more closely related to the octopus family than they are to any other species of squid. It’s the only known living member of its order, Vampyroteuthis infernalis. The vampire squid from hell.”
“Huh,” Gabe says, eyeing the tank with slightly more interest. A vampire squid from hell sounds kind of cool.
“You said you were near Antarctica, though, and vampire squid are only found in temperate, tropical waters. I thought maybe you found a new Vampyromorphida species.” Gerard looks giddy at the prospect. Gabe almost feels disappointed letting him down.
“Actually,” he admits, “I’m pretty sure William just didn’t know the difference between a squid and an octopus.”
“Hey,” William objects from where he’s lurking near the tank, communing with Gerard’s pet squid. Gabe is starting to wonder whether he should be worried about William’s newfound fascination with things that have eight legs and tentacles.
“I just think they’re cool,” William says, shrugging one bony shoulder.
“Stop reading my mind,” Gabe says immediately. “You owe me a drink now.”
“I can’t help it,” William replies absently, leaning down until he’s eye-level with the tank. “You’re thinking too loud.”
Gabe supposes neither of them can really be blamed for that. And he knows William picks up on shit at the most random times, so it’s not like he isn’t used to it anyway. It’s why he tries never to let himself spend too long blatantly checking out William’s ass. It’s hard, though, especially when he bends over to look at things in tanks. Gabe notices a lot, obviously, but he tries not to actively think about it, because…
He drags his eyes up just in time to see William smile slowly, and changes the subject hastily, cursing himself so thoroughly that he’s sure parapsychologists in China probably pick up on it.
“So this thing is like, half-octopus and half-squid?” he asks, heading over to the tank. The thing has fucking unsettling eyes, bright red and dramatic against its black skin.
“Not exactly,” Gerard says, obviously happy to talk about his pet. “He’s a cephalopod, but…”
Gabe realizes he should have thought better of poking at the thing in the tank when it suddenly lets loose a stream of glowing gook, squirting some over the edge of the tank and all over the front of Gabe’s white dress uniform.
He can’t look at William, so he settles for saying, “Shit.”
“Sorry,” Gerard says apologetically, looking genuinely abashed. “It’s a natural defense mechanism. Squid and octopus species release ink to confuse their predators, and also their prey, so they can sneak up behind it while it’s disoriented. Vampire squid lack ink sacs, so they release bioluminescent mucus instead.” His eyes have that funny, excited gleam in them that Gabe recognizes warily from when Brendon gets rolling on dolphins. “Loligo squid create a cloud of ink, stun their prey with nerve venom to paralyze it, and then bite off its head.” He smiles. “It’s amazing, really.”
“Yeah,” Gabe agrees, drawing it out to convey something between agreement and sarcasm. He’s not sure which one is more appropriate, really.
“We should change the water in the tank,” Mikey says suddenly. All of them startle at the same time, so Gabe’s fairly certain he’s not the only one who forgot Mikey was standing right there.
“Right,” Gabe agrees. “You go do that, and I’m just going to change. If you’d care to get settled in tonight, I can have someone show you to the galley and your guest quarters. There’s no rush; our people can show you the mystery squid whenever you’re ready.”
William is suddenly watching Mikey with keen interest. Gabe tries not to dwell on it. William is sometimes keenly interested in things for completely bizarre reasons, and Gabe has other things to deal with. His chest is covered in hundreds of tiny shining blue specks amidst the rest of the weird glowing shit, and it’s wet and gross. He’s wearing squid snot.
He gets a lot of funny looks on the way back to his quarters, but he supposes he’d stare as well. At least they don’t snicker until he’s out of earshot.
Travis doesn’t give him the same courtesy.
“Don’t say it,” Gabe warns, stripping off his disgusting uniform jacket and pitching it straight into the garbage chute.
Travis grins, wide and white. “Man, I wasn’t going to say a thing.”
-
William shows up in the middle of executive officers’ poker night, which isn’t all that unusual, except that it’s not his night. Gabe had offered, but William had declined, saying he wanted to get sleep, so they’d brought in Ross as their fourth instead. He’s holding his own so far, mostly by virtue of having the best poker face Gabe has ever seen.
William is wearing a loose t-shirt and soft, low-slung pants, which is nice but somewhat distracting. His hair is also a complete mess and it’s nearing two in the morning, so Gabe’s guessing the ‘sleep’ part of his plans didn’t go so well.
“What’s up?” Gabe asks, tilting his cards down because Ryland is on his right, and Ryland is a sneaky poker-playing bastard.
“I need to talk to you,” William says, trying to push his hair back and getting caught on a tangle. He tugs ineffectually at it for a few seconds, looking confused as to how it got there.
“Sure thing,” Gabe agrees easily. He surveys his cards, mentally tallies the amount in the pot, and adds, “Right after this hand.”
“Now,” William contradicts, finally giving up on the bird’s nest caught in his hair. “You’re going to lose anyway.”
Gabe narrows his eyes across the table. “Blackinton’s got nothing.”
William says, “Ross.”
All three of them turn to stare at Ross, who goes slowly pink. “See if you get invited to the executive officers’ game anymore, Ross,” Gabe warns, dropping his cards and pushing back from the table. He leads William out into the corridor with a hand at his elbow, and as soon as the door is shut he says, “Ross, really?”
William tugs at his hair again, distracted. “No,” he says absently. “I just felt bad about making you lose to Ryland. Don’t worry, he folded.”
Once again, Gabe feels a swell of admiration for William’s hidden genius streak of evil. “You should play with us more often,” he says honestly. William’s occasional flashes of insight tend to cancel out against his sheer atrociousness at card playing of any sort, so it’s always more or less a fair game.
“I wanted to sleep,” William says, expression somewhere between plaintive and cranky. “But then I had a vision. While I was asleep.”
“Yeah?” Gabe asks, interested. From what he understands, William generally has to be conscious and aware in order to have any control over his psi factor. It makes sense that an unconscious mind would be more receptive or whatever, but this is the first time William’s come to him in the middle of the night.
“It was Alice in Wonderland,” William says seriously. “Except you were Alice. Which really means the boat, because you represent the boat.”
“Was I wearing a cute dress?” Gabe jokes. He’s not sure he’s crazy about the fact that William apparently only dreams about him as a figurehead for his submarine, and then as a blonde chick from a kids’ movie. He could think of a lot more exciting dreams featuring himself than that.
“You fell down the rabbit hole,” William says. “Which should have been more ominous, I should have felt danger. I don’t know why I didn’t.”
“Alice found Wonderland when she fell down the rabbit hole,” Gabe points out. “Maybe I’m heading for something magical and exciting. Plus, she found those mushrooms. I saw the movie.”
“I read the book,” William says, frowning slightly. “It’s a political satire commenting on the state of England at the time. It’s not about mushrooms.”
“Hey, hey,” Gabe soothes, because William is agitated now, yanking at his hair in fierce, quick tugs. He steps forward and wraps his arms loosely around William, pulling his hand away before he causes any permanent damage. This probably violates the military code of conduct, but William’s the counselor, so he’d know best and can object if he feels like it.
He doesn’t, just slumps forward and drops his head onto Gabe’s shoulder. “I hate seeing things when I’m asleep,” he mumbles, barely intelligible. “I like dreaming because I know it doesn’t mean anything.”
“Hey,” Gabe says again, rubbing William’s back a little in small circles. “I’ll think about it, okay? I’ll watch out for rabbit holes. Why don’t you come in and hang out with us for a while?”
William shakes his head, pulling back so Gabe has to reluctantly drop his arms. “I’m going to try to go back to sleep,” he says, and when he rubs at his cheek, he looks fucking tired. “I’ll tell you if I see anything else.”
“Yeah, okay,” Gabe agrees immediately. “You know you can come to me with anything, right? Anytime.”
“Yeah,” William says, and a faint smile flickers over his face. “Thanks.”
Part Two