James Axler – Watersleep

“None of us experienced the usual nightmares,” Krysty said. “I’d say our bodies must be getting used to the mat-trans process—except from the look on your face, I’d say you weren’t so lucky.”

“Guess my mind game was enough for all of us,” Ryan answered, and quickly sketched a verbal portrait of his unreal underwater experience for his friends.

“Gaia, but that’s a harsh way to die,” Krysty said in sympathy when Ryan had finished. “Perhaps your subconscious was trying to tell you something.”

“Yeah, roll over,” a new voice said with a snort. “Figure we’d all come through okay for a change, except for you,” J.B. noted dryly as he elbowed past Doc. “This was a smooth and easy jump. Hell of a way to die, though, drowning facedown in a gate­way.”

“Wasn’t my choice. Dying’s dying,” Ryan rasped back, the memory of his underwater vision fresh in his mind. “Once you’re chilled, doesn’t matter how or why.”

“Still a bastard way for a man to cash in.”

“I have to admit, I can think of better ways to go,” Ryan agreed.

“Indeed,” Doc stated. “A most ignoble end for such a brave sort as yourself, my dear fellow.”

‘ ‘I wonder…” Krysty began, then let her voice trail off.

“What?” Ryan asked.

“Well, last time we all came through a mat-trans jump without feeling real sick or having the night­mares was back in the Amazonian basin,” Krysty said. “You know, where the natives thought Jak was a god?”

“So? What’s your point?” Ryan prodded.

“So, I wonder if heat has anything to do with eas­ing the effects of the jump. There was no air-conditioning working there, either, and it was as hot as Hades inside the chamber. However, we all felt fine. Maybe heat at the destination site makes the mist less invasive.

“Oh, listen to me. I’m starting to sound like Mil­dred.” Krysty laughed, suddenly feeling like she was the center of everyone’s intent scrutiny. Her fair skin blushed as she turned her attention to the chiseled silver points on the toes of her dark blue Western boots. “I don’t know anything about these mat-trans units.”

“You know just as much as the rest of us,” Ryan said, “it’s a good theory. Even if it doesn’t help us out now, it might prove handy sometime down the trail.

“I wonder where we ended up this time?” Ryan said to no one in particular. He knew the Armorer wouldn’t have ventured outside the underground re­doubt as of yet.

J.B. lifted a hand and swiped at the speckled mold that covered the armaglass walls of the chamber, re­vealing the surface color underneath to Ryan. The leader of the group stared at the wall for a second, trying to place the color as J.B. said, “I won’t need my sextant this time. We’re in Florida swamp coun­try. Greenglades, if memory serves.”

“Yeah, I remember these blue-green walls from the last time, too. Give me a hand—I’m tired of sitting in this bastard water,” Ryan grumbled, and J.B. and Krysty helped him to his feet. His leg was still tin­gling as feeling returned. The one-eyed man was si­lent for a moment as he checked his weapons. The pistol seemed to be none the worse for wear and he had noticed earlier that Dean was holding the Steyr SSG bolt-action rifle.

“Here, Dad,” the youth said, extending the long-range blaster. “Didn’t want it to get wet.”

“Thanks,” Ryan replied, and smiled back at Dean as he carefully opened the gateway door and stepped out into the small anteroom beyond the chamber. The room appeared to have been untouched since last time except for the increase in mold and dampness. A baseball cap with a torn fastener that Ryan remem­bered from his previous visit was in one corner, half floating, half submerged in the brackish water on the floor.

“The colors of the armaglass in these gateways has always been different shades of the rainbow, no mat­ter where we’ve ended up,” Doc said thoughtfully. “There has been no duplication as of yet, for reasons lost to me. Our benefactors were indeed lovers of a wide variety when it came to gateway decoration.”

The same didn’t apply to the actual layout and fur­nishing of the redoubts themselves.