She’d heard of a ship in a bottle.
But a ship caught in a storm and trapped in a bottle—that one was new.
Sitting at the counter, Deidra studied the strange bottle—more of a jar, really—and the little storm thundering and pouring down rain above it. Frantic men the size of ants
The jungle island loomed ahead, a silhouette against the rising sun. I hurtled across the tips of the waves in my best tuxedo. Six of the most accomplished and highly trained Navy SEALs to ever swim for Uncle Sam followed close behind.
We made for a cave hidden at the back of a narrow cove,
“Don’t you want to solve the mystery?” My friend Tina had a travel bag thrown over one shoulder.
“No,” I replied, laying my long neck back down and relaxing in my bed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Humans are a myth.” We had stories, sure, but they were just that—stories.
“I’m gonna find them.”
“Another raid has been reported, Your Majesty. We lost the Orion.”
I nodded, narrowing my eyes and bracing my feet against the floor’s slight rocking motion. Hopefully I looked as calm as I needed to.
“Sunken or captured?”
“Captured, sire.”
“Thank you, general. Dismissed.”
The water sparkled green at the far end of the Northwest Coast, a beautifully masked death trap. At least it was a break from the witch hunt playing on all the holocubes in town.
Toby kicked a rock and made sure to stay high on the jetty, well away from the water.
Through the mist, a faint glow hung over the water. I shifted my hydro-scooter into neutral and flicked the light off. The glow wasn’t Samuel’s spotlight. Besides, hadn’t he mentioned that the constables’ fuel allowance had been cut?
My scooter bobbed in the waves, a bit of salt spray dampening my boots.
The spaceship rattled again, the second violent vibration in as many minutes. Leaves fell from the trees above, and water from the large koi pond splashed my spacesuit. Vibrant colors danced and pulsed in the transparent dome of the garden’s ceiling, which offered a view of nearby space.
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A torrential downpour flooded the grassy clifftop. The octopus turned the key yet again, but all the engine produced was a pathetic cough. The fuel gauge lay well below E, and no amount of glaring on the octopus’s part would make it rise.
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