T
Warnings: none
Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.
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Sea Cruise
The Queen Mary the Second is the largest cruise ship in the world and one of the newest. It sails the trans-Atlantic route from New York to Southampton a large part of the year and is considered, by the more sophisticated traveling public, to be the only civilized way to get from one continent to another.
Bruce Wayne usually traveled on one of the corporate jets, but this time he had been persuaded by both Alfred and Dick that if he didn't take a small break he would likely implode, go insane and take them with him. Preferring to avoid that, they had insisted on the time off and so, unable or unwilling to fight the both of them, he was sitting on his private balcony, impatiently ignoring the view.
They'd been at sea two days, the fax machine was down and his computer wasn't able to connect for some reason. Dick was along, mostly to make sure that he actually made a stab at relaxing, but had his own luxury suite down the hall and made it clear last night that he would be spending the evening entertaining and expected to sleep in until at least noon. Bruce was in hell.
Bored—a feeling he loathed with every cell in his body, he opted for a stroll to explore the ship, getting only a hundred yards before he was accosted by a woman and her daughter. They were intent on having dinner with him and promised the possibility of a threesome or even a four-way later. Pleading a seasick stomach, he dodged that one, but barely.
Three more days to go until they docked. God. He settled back on his balcony with his favorite Proust.
Around two that afternoon, with still no appearance by Dick, he was browsing through the ship's library, hoping for something light to read—maybe Plato would be fun, when he felt something odd in the movement of the ship. It wasn't anything obvious, but there was definitely something. It was a small hitch in the movement, almost as if a large car had run over an already dead squirrel in the road, just a slight bump. In moments he felt the vibration of the engines change as the ship slowed. Clearly something was up.
The ship was stopping. No ship stops in the middle of the ocean on a clear and sunny day unless there's a reason and those reasons usually mean something's wrong. Mechanical trouble, man overboard, collision—something was up and not in a good way.
He heard some commotion near the port bow, down by the waterline, saw a lifeboat being lowered and ambled his way forward to find out what was going on but was stopped by a ship's steward. "I'm sorry, Mr. Wayne, but we're asking the passengers not to go past this point for a few minutes. Captain's orders."
Nodding, Bruce paused and looked over the side where he saw one of the ship's lifeboats and what seemed to be some kind of a ship maybe a sub of some kind, clearly in trouble—Christ, had they run over the thing? How could something like this happen? Hadn't the ship line installed radar, sonar and radios? And how many people were injured? A ship the size of the Queen would make a twisted hulk out of almost anything afloat, for God's sake.
Bruce saw an old golf partner about twenty yards ahead and carefully pressed his way past the steward, the man not having further nerve to oppose him. Didn't Mr. Wayne own thirty percent of the company? He knew the Captain was in charge, but didn't owner trump captain? He wasn't about to risk his retirement on it.
"George, old man, what's the word? Captain forget to signal a turn or something?"
"Seems that way. There's some kind of ship caught under the bow; they're lowering lifeboats and I heard one of the officers calling for every member of the medical staff they have. This isn't looking good for us getting back home on time and I have meetings all day Tuesday. Bollocks if they're delayed."
Bruce nodded. Bollocks, indeed. Looking down he thought he recognized the design of the damaged vessel—double bollocks, in fact.
"Bruce, have you heard anything?" Dick was finally there, his hair still wet from a shower or swim.
"It looks like we hit another boat, but that's all I have so far, that and there may be injuries."
"Anything we can do?"
"'Doubt it, the crew seems to have it under control."
Dick looked over the side of the ship, the wreckage was clearly visible jammed under the bow. "Holy crap." It was said under his breath but loud enough for Bruce to hear.
"What?"
"That's an Atlantean ship."
Just as Bruce had suspected.
* * *
"I don't see any reason for us to show up in uniform, Bruce. It would raise more problems than it would solve."
"Agreed, but let's stick around here." Bruce and Dick were as close to the ship's bridge as they could get—being Bruce Wayne had its advantages. "Captain? Forgive me for interrupting, but that's an odd looking boat down there—I mean odd, even accounting for it being under our hull, don't you think? I saw the Atlantean flag once over at the UN and I'd swear that's what's painted on the side down there—goodness gracious! An Atlantean boat and I'll bet it's filled with mermen and mermaids—wouldn't that be something? No one was hurt, were they? I thought I saw some doctors on their way over there, or was I mistaken? Goodness, that would be just awful."
The Captain, way too busy for this sort of thing, barely managed to be polite and that only because this was Wayne standing here and he happened to own over twenty percent of the company. "I'm afraid that they have requested some medical aid, so yes, I'm assuming they may have some injuries."
"Oh, my lord. Maybe you should move the injured to one of the swimming pools—do you think that may help?"
The Captain paused, momentarily stunned. "Perhaps…" Even Dick gave Bruce a look for that remark—ditz Playboy was one thing, moron was another.
One of the ship's officers appeared beside them, slightly out of breath. "Captain? The initial reports are at least four dead and another dozen injured on the other ship; but those numbers may go up. A couple of their people are on the way up here to speak with you, should be here in just a moment."
"No injuries to any of our people? Good. Do these fellows even speak English?" The man only had time to nod when the men were on the bridge, blood from a minor looking head wound dripping down the side of the lead man's face. He appeared to be in his early to mid twenties, tall, well-built and dark haired. He had one of his own people with him and both men were clearly angry, though they were holding it in check, at least for now.
"Captain, an explanation?" The voice was soft spoken and accented, but easily understandable.
"You have my deepest apologies but your ship didn't register on either our radar or our sonar, sir. I know this doesn't begin to make up for your losses but you have to believe that we never…"
"What I understand is that your ship was running at flank speed, that you failed to respond to radio hails and that you ran over our vessel in broad daylight while it was running in clear view on the surface. So far four…" The other man touched his arm and whispered something in his ear, causing his face to harden. "Five of our crew are dead and more than a dozen are in immediate need of medical assistance—unfortunately, this includes our ship's surgeon."
The captain was taken aback by the men; Atlanteans were still pretty unknown but were usually considered little more than oddities. They were treated, when they were treated at all, like children and assumed to be little higher on the intelligence scale than seals—harmless, uneducated and probably spent most of their time surfing, sunbathing or singing on seaside rocks while luring lonely sailors to their deaths. To have them standing on his deck, articulate and intelligent, reading him the riot act wasn't something he was prepared for. "Sir, I assure you we're trying to give you all the help we can."
The men looked unimpressed. "As you've managed to destroy our radio, perhaps you'd be so good as to allow us the use of yours?" The words were polite, the manner frosty.
"Of course, we'll make anything aboard our ship available to you. Mr. Smythe will show you where the radio room is."
As they left, Dick pulled Bruce aside, "Why didn't Garth acknowledge us?"
Bruce raised an eye-brow and shook his head, wondering the same thing; he didn't know either, but this wasn't good no matter how you looked at it. Below them the rescue work continued, while the ship's passengers stood at the rail taking pictures both with cameras and cell phones. There was no way to contain this, none at all. The story was already being flashed around the world.
They watched as several crew members of the badly damaged ship were brought aboard on stretchers, wheeled to the sick bay with other, presumably armed, Atlanteans following and keeping a close eye while others guarded their ship, making sure no one went aboard uninvited. Ten minutes later, still on the deck near the bridge. Bruce and Dick saw Garth approach the Captain again.
"We've contacted our people and help will be here in a few hours. In the meanwhile I'd like to check on our injured myself." His manner was that of barely contained fury behind a veneer of professionalism. Nonchalantly and without warning he nodded at Bruce. "Mr. Wayne, a surprise to see you here and this is…?" He indicated Dick, pretending he didn't know him for the benefit of onlookers.
"My former ward, Richard Grayson. I'm sorry we're meeting again under these circumstances, Your Majesty." Bruce explained, in answer to the Captain's questioning look, "This is King Garth of Shayeris, one of the—what term do you use?"
"It's one of our city-states, Mr. Wayne."
"Yes, of course. I knew that. Captain, pretty exciting to have real, live royalty aboard, isn't it? I've had the pleasure of meeting the King before and he's a swell fellow; did you know he's almost single-handedly responsible for opening trade between Atlantis and the surface? Goodness, just last week he was talking with our President and the Prime Minister over in England about us all signing contracts and treaties—imagine that! I'm sure you two will get along like a barn on fire!" It seemed like a good idea to let the captain know just whom he was dealing with here.
The Captain was taking this in, becoming more and more aware of the size of the problem now squarely in his lap, despite Wayne's bizarre reaction of this being an unexpected pool party of some kind. "Indeed. Your Majesty, please, if there's anything further we can do to help you or any members of your crew, I'll see to it personally that it's done, I assure you. If you need anything, anything at all, please just ask." They'd not only run over a vessel running on he surface on a clear and sunny day, but it was a foreign ship with almost half a dozen fatalities and was containing a diplomat King, no less. This was, without doubt, the worse thing he could conceive happening, short of the loss of his ship.
"Clearly there's little to be done for the crew members who've been killed and the rest of our injured will have to be entrusted to the care of your medical staff until our own assistance arrives. I'd like to have the remainder of our crew checked by your medical personnel for injuries and shock. In addition, perhaps arrangements can be made for our people to be fed—our ship's galley was destroyed, along with our food supplies and our last meal was almost twenty-four hours ago."
"Of course; I'll have our Master Chef prepare whatever you wish."
Garth—the King—turned to his assistant and quietly gave orders in their own language, one almost no one on the surface could begin to translate. With a nod, the man turned to do whatever he'd been charged with. "Mr. Wayne, I'm sorry that we're meeting again under these circumstances, but perhaps we might take a few minutes together once I'm satisfied with the condition of my crew."
Startled, Bruce recovered quickly. "Of course, whenever you're ready. My cabin would be private, if that would be all right with you." Bruce turned to the Captain; "My company and the Atlantean government are discussing a trade agreement; that's why we know each other, you see. It's almost ready, in fact." Bruce looked like he'd just told his parents that the puppy was finally house broken and wanted approval. The Captain nodded.
"I'm anxious to see my crew—if someone could show me to your sick-bay?" An Atlantean, obviously a guard, was at Garth's side and not likely to stray too far from his charge.
"Of course. My first officer tells me that your ship has been stabilized on the surface and that our medical staff have begun checking your remaining crew for any other injuries. Our food staff are at your disposal as well as several empty cabins which have been allocated for your use. May I accompany you down to make sure that everything is being done to your standards for your injured, sir?"
With some reluctance Garth nodded. "Mr. Wayne, if it's all right with you, I'll meet with you as soon as I've checked on our people." Garth rolled his right shoulder as if trying to work a out kink or something.
"Sure, sounds good to me. Are you all right, Your Majesty?"
"Fine, thank you for asking. Captain, the sick bay?"
As they left Dick leaned close to Bruce and semi-whispered, "I'm betting this is more than just an accident at sea; what do you think's really going on here?"
"I think we'll find out as soon as Garth gets to the cabin to discuss that trade contract."
"What trade contract?"
"Exactly."
Almost an hour later Bruce and Dick were waiting in their bi-level suite when Garth arrived, fresh from visiting the sick bay and clearly sobered by the experience, his guard stationed outside the closed door. He accepted a bottled water and sat down, obviously stressed. "Please turn that music up; I don't know who's listening. Two more men have died since they've been brought on board. Another three may not survive." He shook his head, upset, furious.
The three men sat around a small coffee table, the music loud and having to lean in to understand one another. "Garth, what were you doing here? Why were you running on the surface like that?"
"Arthur's guards were trailing us, we thought it would be best to have witnesses if they attacked but they ran as soon as the collision happened."
Bruce glanced out the large picture windows out to the private balcony. "You think this ship was actively involved in the accident—you think it may have been on purpose?"
"It's too early to say, but I'd hardly rule it out."
"But why didn't the bridge pick you up on radar or sonar?"
"We have shielding which blocks both. And we didn't see this thing because we've had sabotage aboard our ship in the last few days. We were lucky we were able to run at flank, let alone see what was around us."
A simple statement with tremendous consequences both for the surface military and governments. It meant the Atlanteans could come and go at will, without detection.
Dick broke the brief silence as they digested the possibilities. "But—what's going on?"
"Intercity war' Poseidonis and Shayeris declared open hostilities almost a month ago."
"You think Arthur may have something to do with this?"
Garth almost smiled. "You don't think this ship really missed us running on the surface, do you? Our ship is over fifty fathoms long—over three hundred feet. It's mid-afternoon on a sunny day and the ocean is almost flat calm—a ten year old in a row boat could have avoided us."
"Meaning?"
"The Captain or one of the officers was likely paid off, or that would be my guess, at any rate."
"But why?" This sounded like a stretch to Bruce. He'd known, hell—everyone in the hero community knew that Garth and Arthur weren't close, to understate the case, but Arthur resorting to what amounted to attempted murder? It seemed unlikely.
"Because he needs me dead so that he put one of his own operatives on my throne, removing any threat from Shayeris. It's obvious."
"This mess is the result of Atlantis' internal politics?" Bruce couldn't believe this. Incredible.
"Essentially, yes, but it's complicated because there are over three dozen surface nations which are trying to either buy or steal out technology, form alliances, start trade...legally or otherwise. Any of them could have a hand in this."
Dick was equally incredulous. "So what are you going to do? You said that there are some ships on their way here to help you—is that true?"
Garth sat in one of the easy chairs. "Yes and no. There are a couple of ships coming but the message was indistinct so I'm not sure who they are or what their alliance is."
"So this could be a trap for you."
"Or not, but yes, the possibility exists."
Bruce let out a sigh. "Do you want help? The JLA is always on call, you know that."
"I need to know the situation better before I commit to something like that. I have some of my people finding out what they can and I should have more information shortly. I also point out that Arthur is a JLA member and I'm not. I'd question what side they'd be on, to be honest."
"…That depends on the facts. We'd have to see for ourselves what the situation is… I'm not completely clear here—is this just a power play or is there some other agenda? Is Arthur trying to usurp your throne? Is he trying to eliminate a possible rival or is he just nuts?"
Garth gave a mirthless smile which didn't reach anywhere near his eyes. "That's part of what we need to find out but I assume that it's some sort of power grab and money equals power. Whomever can sell our technology first, gets the best deal and the most return. I'm in active negotiations; kill me and Shayeris is set back at least by months, possibly longer."
Dick opened another bottle of water and handed it to Garth. "Did you have any warning?"
"Some hints, but nothing concrete. I suspected he might try something but we didn't know where or when or what form it might take. Luckily some of my best men are with me. Unluckily, some of them are dead."
There was a discrete knock at the door. Opening it, Bruce saw that Atlantean guard or assistant or whatever he was who was staying close, "It's for you." Garth went over to the man, speaking quickly in their own language, nodding as the man closed the door behind him, off on some mission or other.
"Two more injured were finally extracted from the wreckage, one more of our men have died." He sat down heavily, clearly upset. "You do realize that this means internal war between cities for Atlantis and could potentially expand the surface."
Dick stared, though he wasn't all that surprised. This could be construed as an attack, if they wanted to believe it was premeditated. It might even be true. "Find out what's happening first, okay?"
"Of course, but at this point I assume nothing." He sipped his water. "The men who've been killed aren't just standard crewmen—they were scientists and specialists, the top people in their fields who were taking part in the negotiations with me, their loss was designed to hurt my city—to hurt me. This wasn't an accident."
"Garth, you don't know that."
He gave Dick a hard look. "Bruce, this might be a good time to contact Diana; she has influence at the UN, I suspect that may become important in the next few hours."
There was another knock at the door, the Captain came in, nodding at the men already seated. "Excuse me, Your Majesty,"—he hesitated over the tile, likely unsure if it were proper or not and not wanting to cause any further insult or problem. "We've had messages from both the US Navy and NATO, asking if any help is needed."
Atlantis didn't have any official diplomatic relations with any surface nations; their resources, trade and inventions were a source of intense speculation and probably represented huge fortunes to be made with the right timing and planning if deals could be struck. Of course surface nations wanted to help them if they were in need; the possibility of new technologies and the money to be made from them was too good to let pass.
"Thank you, perhaps a naval ship or two might be able to stand by, that would be helpful while we wait for our own people." And to make sure that whatever Atlantean ship was supposed to be coming to their aid really was there to help and not cause more trouble. Outside witnesses might be useful if anything happened once Arthur's ships got here and Garth was sure that they were also on their way.
"If you'd like to rest, the suites have been prepared for you and your crew, Sir."
"Thank you, Captain, but I believe I may be of more use on my own ship and I'm also anxious to get check back with your sick bay. Few of my people speak English and I fear that may be a hindrance to your personnel. If you'll excuse me?" The other men in the cabin nodded, Garth left, followed by the Captain.
Dick met Bruce's eyes. "Holy crap."
"I'd say that's an understatement."
TBC