The Beast of Cretacea
Read The Beast of Cretacea Online
Authors: Todd Strasser
Contents
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Abdul
• Chase-boat skipper
Ahab
• Ship’s captain
Archie
• Ishmael’s foster brother
Bartleby
• Special adviser, United North America Trust
Ben
• Friend of Ishmael’s foster family
Mr. Bildad
• High-ranking executive, United North America Trust
Blank
• Pirate
Dr. Bunger
• Ship’s surgeon
Bunta
• Lineman and brute
Charity
• Ship’s stasis tech
Daggoo
• Yellow-haired chase-boat skipper
Diana
• Islander
Fayaway
• Islander; daughter of Gabriel
Fedallah
• Harpooner
Flask
• Third mate
Fleece
• Ship’s cook
Gabriel
• Informal leader of the islanders; father of Fayaway and Thistle
Glock
• Pirate
Grace
• Trawler captain
Ms. Hussey
• In charge of foundling home
Joachim
• Ishmael and Archie’s foster father
Kalashnikov
• Pirate leader
Marion
• Green-haired chase-boat lineman
Mikal
• Islander
Nazik
• Medic
Perth
• Ship’s engineer
Petra
• Ishmael and Archie’s foster mother
Starbuck
• First mate
Stubb
• Second mate
Tarnmoor
• Blind old sailor
Tashtego
• Harpooner
Thistle
• Fayaway’s younger sister
Valente
• Chief compliance officer, United North America Trust
Wesson
• Pirate
Winchester
• Pirate
“Wake up.”
It’s dark and gelatinous. Ishmael floats in a breathable syrup.
Is this a dream?
he wonders before soft, warm tendrils reach out and draw him back into a black, foamy haze.
“Come on, everyone. Rise and shine.”
Ishmael makes a fist; the gel is gone. He opens his eyes and sees hues: a woman’s copper face with an unusual sheen accentuated with serpentine tattoos. Dark-brown hair, blue eyes, a gentle smile.
“Are we there?” he asks. He is lying on his back. The foamy haze has lifted, but he’s still woozy and surprised by how tight his jaw feels. As if it’s rusty, in need of oil. He starts to push himself up.
“Easy, honey.” The woman places her fingertips on his collarbone to keep him from rising. “You’re here, but you’ve been in deep stasis. Take it slow.” She gently pushes him back into the molded foam. “I’ll tell you when.”
Ishmael allows himself to be eased down into the soft cushioning, but when the woman moves to the next pod, he peeks over the edge and watches while she tells the person inside it the same thing she told him. In this dimly lit chamber, there are five green oval pods, each containing a new arrival. Ishmael saw some of them the day they left Earth. Strangely, right now, that and his name are the only things he remembers.
Moments later, having awakened all of them, the woman steps into the middle of the chamber. She is wearing blue shorts and a blue shirt with the sleeves torn off, exposing arms covered with tattoos. “Listen up. My name is Charity, and I’m going to guide you through reentry. I know you’re eager to get out and look around, but unless you want to do serious damage to yourselves, I recommend that you do exactly as I say. Raise your right hands.”
Ishmael does as he’s told. Like his jaw, his elbow and shoulder feel tight and stiff.
“That’s your left hand, Billy.”
A high-pitched voice flutters. “S-sorry, ma’am.”
“
Now
raise your left hands.”
Charity leads them through the process of moving their limbs and flexing their joints. Ishmael has never felt so stiff or feeble. Just lifting one leg leaves him momentarily breathless.
“Don’t worry about feeling weak or tired,” she tells them. “Just before destasis, you were infused with a biologic that’ll help you regain your strength and balance. We’re going to start the process of getting vertical. Most of you won’t succeed on your first attempt. That’s expected. When you start to feel light-headed, let yourself fall back into the pod. That’s why it’s got all that nice soft cushioning. What you don’t want to do is fall forward and crack your skulls on the floor. Everyone got that?”
Muted affirmative replies.
“Okay, try to sit up.”
Slowly propping himself up on his elbows, Ishmael feels his heart begin to pump harder. From this angle he can see into some of the other pods. He doesn’t remember putting on the stiff brown uniform he and the other new arrivals are wearing. Across from him, a girl with a tangle of unkempt red hair manages to sit partway up before her eyes roll and she flops back with a soft thump.
Once his heartbeat feels steady, Ishmael lifts his torso more. Someone else tries to sit straight, loses consciousness, and falls back. Ishmael waits until his heartbeat feels normal again, then inches up.
Charity glances his way and nods approvingly.
The others adopt the gradual approach. Still in the pods, they eye one another curiously. Next to the girl with the red hair is a tall fellow with broad shoulders, and a frail-looking kid with short, curly blond hair who Ishmael suspects is the one named Billy. They are all thin and bony and have dull, ashen skin.
The next step will be to get out of the pods and stand. “Make sure you hold on to the handrail,” Charity tells them. “Don’t try to walk. If you straighten up gradually, you shouldn’t feel dizzy, but if you do, bend your knees and lower yourself to the floor.”
The pods slowly tilt forward. Grasping handrails, Ishmael and the other new arrivals place their feet unsteadily on the floor. The tall fellow is the first to stand, but then he starts to sway. As his knees begin to buckle, Charity scoots behind him, sliding her arms under his shoulders and easing him down.
“Don’t anyone else faint, please. There’s only one of me to catch you.” She squats before the tall fellow, who is now sitting on the floor with his head between his knees. “You okay, Queequeg?”
He places his hands flat on the floor. “Yeah, I think so. Thanks.”
“That was a little too fast,” she says, helping him up. “Let’s try it more slowly this time.”
By now, Ishmael and the others are standing unsteadily, still gripping the handrails. The floor gradually tilts beneath them.
“Feels like a ship,” says a boy Ishmael hadn’t noticed before. He is short and chubby with neatly cut black hair and evenly trimmed fingernails. For a moment, Ishmael stares, unable to remember the last time he saw anyone with so much as an extra ounce on them.
“That’s because this
is
a ship, Mr. Lopez-Makarova,” Charity replies.
“You may address me as Pip,” the boy says.
“W-where are we?” asks the frail-looking blond kid, his high-pitched voice quavering.
“You’ll hear about that later, Billy. If I told you now, you’d just forget. Memory loss is a side effect of deep stasis, but it will pass. Right now just concentrate on keeping your balance. Oh, and one more piece of business. Hold out your left wrists.”
