James Axler – Watersleep

“You might think about doing the same,” Ryan said.

“Me?” Poseidon laughed. “I’ve spent more time under water than above.”

“I think he meant the part about questioning your sanity,” Shauna offered.

Poseidon chose to ignore the insult. “As time passed, others contributed, but it took a true military mind to seize the opportunities a submarine offered. A Dutch physicist, Cornelus Drebbel, actually built a working submersible with the design specifically cre­ated to destroy his opponents. But it took an Ameri­can to actually make the concept workable.”

“Yeah, the good ol’ U.S. of A. has done right by me,” Ryan said. “Done right by all of us. One hell of a legacy, purple mountains majesty and all.”

“Don’t bash America, Cawdor, especially if your opinion has no research to back it up.”

“America—love it or leave it, right?” Ryan said, recalling Mildred’s sarcastic take on being an Amer­ican, and since she got to live the experience, he trusted her opinion a lot more than Poseidon’s.

Poseidon laughed. “That’s one way of looking at this great land of ours, yes. Now, where was I? Oh, right. In the eventful year of 1776, a Yale University student named David Bushnell designed the Turtle, a simple one-man submersible boat with the ability to sneak under a ship, plant a waterproof time bomb onto the bottom of the hull and escape before the explosion. Sheer genius.”

“I’m sure it worked out fine,” Ryan agreed, rolling his eye.

“Not exactly. The sub didn’t function as planned in combat. Still, the germ of the idea was there, and American inventors continued to work toward creat­ing a submarine that could actually sink an enemy vessel. Two world wars later, with the added bonus of the discovery of nuclear fuels and weapons, and the submarine became the most powerful part of any modern fleet.”

“As I understand it, they also ushered in the nukecaust,” Ryan said.

“Quite right. In fact, your presence here has en­abled me to accelerate my own timetable to test the capabilities of the Raleigh.”

“You’ve got nukes?” Shauna breathed.

“A nuke. A single Tomahawk missile, but I’m ne­gotiating for more. I’m hoping Mr. Cawdor will be able to assist in that quest.”

“You go to hell,” Ryan said as he got to his feet. “I don’t know if anyone has bothered to point this out to you, Admiral, but the last war ended the need for submarines. I’m skipping out on the rest of the presentation about the good old days. You can save it for the starry-eyed recruits and sec men you’ve got running this dump.”

“Sit down, Cawdor,” Poseidon said, nodding to the guard behind Ryan. The guard lashed out with the butt of his blaster, catching the standing man above the kidneys. Ryan gasped from the blow, and reluctantly took the Admiral’s advice as he shakily sat back in the chair.

“Sit down and tell me why you show such ani­mosity for me. I admit, my reputation is marred with innuendo and lies—”

“I never even heard of you until I put in at Shauna’s place,” Ryan interrupted, shaking off the pain in his lower back.

Poseidon looked offended. “I find that hard to be­lieve.”

“Believe it,” Ryan said. “Your rep must need some extra promoting. Hire yourself a storyteller, plop him into one of your wags and let him travel around Deathlands singing your praises.”

“If you want to hold back even the barest whiff of a compliment, that’s your business. I’m above such petty role playing,” Poseidon said, still maintaining the air of civility.

“Bullshit. Role playing is what gets you off,” Shauna said. “I’m sure you’re waving a giant hardon over having me tied to a chair. A helpless woman is the classic male power fantasy.”

Poseidon approached the woman. Ryan noted as he got a better look at his opponent’s build that the man was big but not fat. Poseidon had never been small, even as a child. Ryan knew the man would have been noticed in any ordinary group for his height and girth. He looked to be nearly six and a half feet tall, and the man’s weight had to be around three hundred pounds of solid bulk.