The Ariadne Connection

Clang. A sudden blow against the metal hull. The jolt threw Ariadne against the side. Nereid shuddered and swung around, jolting again. Clang. The engines cut back, boat wallowing side to side.

Ariadne pulled herself upright and hurried up on deck, blinking in a bright, acrid haze.

“Damn it! I told you to watch off to port. Sonuvabitch!” Peter Mitchell was clambering down off the flying bridge to confront Leeza. “What are you on this time?”

“Fuck you, dickhead!” She shoved past him from the bow.

“What’s wrong?” Ariadne rubbed her eyes.

Leeza scowled. “Why don’t you ask Captain Bligh?” She slammed into the cabin.

Mitchell was up in the bow, leaning over the side. “Great! Just terrific.”

Ariadne peered under her hand over the sea. “Where are we?”

Craggy black outcrops pocked the waters. Two larger fragments of an islet, curving around them, formed a cauldron of jagged cliffs, streaked in irregular bands of color—pinkish, brown, purple—cut by flows of steaming black, solidifying lava. They closed in on both sides of the boat, passage narrowing ahead. Drifting with the breeze, a haze of ash, steam, and smoke. Over the low swells, all around the boat, washed a bobbing flotsam of pumice, carved in fantastic shapes.

“What is this? You’re taking us through the eruption zone?” Ariadne moved to the rail and leaned over. The channel shimmered an unhealthy acid-green color, steaming. Now and then a bubbling boil rose from the depths, bursting in bitter fumes. She straightened, staring at Mitchell, who’d come up beside her.

He wiped his sweaty face. “Caught a report, said that little eruption yesterday took the pressure off. I was trying to shave some time, cut through the channel where nobody would look for us and maybe make Tinos by nightfall. Hole up while everyone’s busy cleaning up after the storm.” He rubbed reddened eyes. “Radio cleared for a while—interference kicking up again now—but I caught something from Radio Med. You were killed in an explosion during the storm.”

Ariadne caught a quick breath.

“Could be your uncle just putting that out for the mercenaries, and the Sons. Hope they bite.” He blew out a breath. “But I picked up a fisherman’s distress call south of here, too. He was trying to hail a hydrofoil he’d spotted, maybe that mercenary boat. So we have to stay sharp.”

She nodded. “What happened here? Is the boat damaged? No one uses this passage now, with the renewed volcanic activity.”

He raked a hand through his hair. “Miss Congeniality was supposed to be spotting for shallow reef. One nailed us. I wasn’t going fast, so the hull just got dinged. But it looks like the port prop got bent, too, so I’ll have to compensate. We might not make Tinos before dark.”

Ariadne stared over the seething surface, the shifting chunks of pumice and wafting steam. She shuddered with foreboding.

“What a scene! Prime material.” Leeza, emerging from the cabin with her recording gear, shot them both a defiant look. She stalked to the bow and strapped on her camera goggles, facing the sea and the scorched cliffs closing in. “Subliminal.”

Mitchell rolled his eyes. “Better get underway.” He started for the bridge.

“Wait!” Ariadne’s hand shot out to stop him. “I. . . .” She shook her head and pulled her hand back.

“What is it, Despoina?” His voice was surprisingly gentle.

She met his gaze, and cleared her throat. “I . . . have a bad feeling about this place. Can we go back, go around the cindercone instead?”

“It’s farther back now, through the volcanic junk, than ahead. Better to push on. No safe place to anchor around here, come nightfall.”

“Yes. Of course.” Her gaze was drawn to the lifeless rock, gray ash dusting ragged ridges in the smoky haze. The sea heaved its grotesque carpet of floating pumice, bubbles splatting on the surface. She shuddered. “It looks like the end of the world.”

“Lighten up!” Leeza sauntered over, recorder at her hip, camera goggles like insect eyes. “It’s primeval.” She struck a pose and sang, “New world, planet vibes, it’s the evo-LU-tion. . . .”

Peter Mitchell snorted. “Either way, we’re all dinosaurs.” He climbed onto the bridge and started the engines. They roared, then settled to a lower pitch as the boat eased forward. The hull vibrated jarringly with the damaged prop.

“Up in the bow, you two!” Mitchell shouted down. “Fend off the bigger chunks with those boathooks. Sing out if you see any shallow reef.”

Ariadne started forward, but stopped short as uneasiness shivered through her again. Her ears were ringing. She closed her eyes, gripping her crystal pendant.

With a jolt, she felt it clearly now. That disturbance, the dread shuddering her bones. Pressure building on a quake fault. Close. Building to the critical point.

“Mr. Mitchell!” She hurried up beside him. “Hurry! We must get through that channel, into open water.”

“Look, I’m doing the best I—”

“You don’t understand. There’s a quake coming. Soon.”

“Quake? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“It’s coming. An earthquake. I can feel it.”

Clearly exasperated, he started to snap at her, then took a deep breath and looked into her eyes. He finally stepped back, lifted his palms, and groaned. “Okay, an earthquake. That could mean a tsunami, too. You know what a wave like that would do to us in here?” He jabbed a hand at the tight channel ahead, the floating pumice chunks. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Hurry, Mr. Mitchell.” She turned to climb down, but couldn’t resist returning his gibe during the storm: “And pray.”