Seasick!
When Marina becomes ill, at first it doesn't strike so much as a threat as an inconvenience. But soon for Troy and Phones it's race against time to save not just her life but those of Atlanta, Fisher, Commander Shore perhaps the whole of Marienville!
Story ideas can never wait nicely in a orderly queue can they? Or wait till the morning? Or is it just me they hate? I own nothing as always, cannot promise regular updates, perfect spellimg or spot on info (details that I didn't know like knotts and names come via wiki and such) so feel feel to correct me on bits. My main gripe is that there is no Stingray category. Anyway hope you enjoy and please do leave us a comment. But no flaming. I'll set Oink on you if you say any thing bad unjustly but he'll do tricks for any other words :D
No matter you role in the organisation, to be a member of the World Aquanaut Security Patrol was an honour and there was no place better for a WASP member to be based then Marineville. Sure admittedly it wasn't the top or the best base in the world, run by a rather gruff commander and being on a deserted strip of the California coast with nothing much in a ten mile radius made it a bit tricky to get to for visitors; but for those with families, anyone who liked to have a good social life or who just wanted to be more hands on in work rather then stuck behind a desk, then Marineville was the place to be: Comfortable and spacious living quarters, short working hours, decent array of on site entertainment, gyms, good catering a school and college, a top grade hospital and if that wasn't enough, the whole damn base could descend on hydraulic jacks underground in nuclear bunkers so no security issues there.
But like everywhere else in the world it had its downside. Aside from the far to frequent stop checks at security gates and lack of original water and fishy themed jokes in the world; Marineville was one of those places where it could be a joy to work, but of only for so long.
It could drive you insane if you didn't get a spark of danger, a bit of excitement or a just break from routine orders once in a while. You'd see the same people every day both at work and off duty, take the same orders fill in the same paper work every day including weekends. Every day of eight and a half hour shifts were timetabled to the minute, while one third worked like bees, the another third where stood on standby all while the lucky ones relaxed as they wished; then vise versa in a rotation that altered every two and a half weeks so every one saw the sun or could make it to a late night movie once in a while.
Tonight those on night duty as always; (whether in the hive of the control tower, in their patrol craft deep in the ocean or poised in the stand by rooms,) topped up their coffee ahead of the night and counted down the hours till bed. They'd then half hearted cursing that next-door neighbour who'd either wake them leaving for the evening shift at quarter to four or nearly an hour later when retuning to their quarters before returning ever alert for some reason to sound the alarms or just momentarily interesting blip on the screen.
Underneath the radar however, trouble weakly reared its pretty little head. Someone in the night was awake out of hours and without the need of terianian coffee. Someone who'd curled up on the chaislounge just wanted just to rest their eyes against the afternoon sun yesterday, the twelve hours sleep leaving them drained. Someone who had get back to sleep because they knew they had work in less then five hours but couldn't. Too hot, too cold. The noise, the quiet. Too frightened. Too thirsty.
This poor sinking soul alone in the night, wincing as feet touched to cool floor, who was finding out that standing was difficult when the room spins and your stomach hurts. Really hurts. Bumping into things does too, you can't see in the dark but when you clumsily hammer the light switch, it dazzles you, blinds you at the other end of the spectrum. Disorientated and swaying, every step doggered and small steps are becoming desperate, first toward the bed then altered coarse using all everything to push further to the bath room.
Had she a voice she may have begged for mercy but for water first foremost. There was a thud as she swung her legs over the edge of the tub. Crawling to the taps she turns both full blast and there's a rattling of pipes that join the music of unnaturally channeled water. Still on her knees she stretches up to the shower controls, her possible savior. The jets of water like concentrated rainfall are heavenly stings against her skin. Still thirsty. It isn't enough.
Too pure to wash away her pain so the liters of water continue to run a new path; out the pipes then down the drain, mixing with the tears of the mermaid.