The Atlantis Plague(36)

The short, fat man scurried over to join Dorian at the window. “Sir?”

“Who’s that woman?”

Kosta peered down. “Which…”

Dorian pointed. “There, with the blond hair, and… striking features.”

Kosta hesitated. “I… I don’t know, sir. Is she underperforming? I can have her reassigned—”

“No, no. Just, find out who she is.”

“Yes, sir.” Kosta lingered. “The rest of the ships are almost here. We’re still trying to round up more cold weather gear—”

“We won’t need it.”

“Sir?”

“We’re not going to Antarctica. We’re sailing north. Our fight is in Europe.”





PART II:

TRUTH, LIES & TRAITORS





CHAPTER 33


Immari Fleet

Off the coast of Angola


Dorian ran his finger down the length of Johanna’s bare back, across her behind, and down her leg. Beautiful. Sublime.

When he lifted his finger from her, she rustled, then lifted her head and brushed her golden hair out of her eyes. “Was I snoring?” she asked sheepishly.

Dorian loved her accent. Dutch, he thought. Had her parents been first-generation South African settlers? Asking her would show personal interest. Weakness. He had tried to tell himself that she was dull and shallow, that she didn’t warrant his interest, that she was one of any number of girls on this ship or another in his fleet. But… there was something about her. It wasn’t the conversation. She had spent most of her time in his cabin lying there naked, flipping through old gossip magazines, sleeping, or pleasuring him.

He rolled away from her. “You wouldn’t be here if you had snored.”

Her tone changed. “You want to…”

“When I want sex, you’ll know it.”

As if on cue, a soft knock echoed from the iron door to his cabin.

“Enter,” Dorian called loudly.

The door cracked open, and Kosta stepped in. Upon seeing Dorian and the woman on the bed, he spun and made for the door.

“For God’s sake, Kosta, haven’t you ever seen two naked humans? Stop. What the hell do you want?”

“They’ll be ready for the broadcast to the Spanish captives in an hour, sir,” Kosta said, still facing away from Dorian. “The communications teams would like to review some talking points.”

Dorian stood and pulled his pants on, not bothering with underwear. The girl hopped up and found his sweater. She smiled and handed it to him, like a wife handing her husband his lunch as she saw him off to work. Dorian didn’t make eye contact with her. He threw the sweater over the chair in front of the desk.

“I write my own talking points, Kosta. Come get me when it’s time.”





Dorian could hear Johanna rolling around in the bed, trying to get his attention. He ignored her. He had to focus, had to find the right message. This address was important—it would set the tone for the subsequent push into Europe, for everything that came after.

He needed to make their cause about more than survival, more than self-interest. He needed to sell the choice to join the Immari as something more—the choice to join a movement. A declaration of independence, a new beginning. Freedom—from Orchid… and what? What is the Spanish zeitgeist? The issues? What was their “plague” before the Atlantis Plague? What would the world respond to?

He scribbled on the page:

Plague = Global Capitalism: a Darwinian force that cannot be stopped; it seeps into every nation, discarding the weak, selecting the strong.

Orchid = Central Bank stimulus: easy money, a false cure that never solves the root causes, only suppresses symptoms, prolonging the agony.

Current outbreak = Like another Global Financial Crisis: uncontainable, incurable, irreversible. Inevitable.

It could work. He decided he would tone it down a bit though.

Ares is right, Dorian thought. The plague was the ultimate opportunity to remake humanity. A single human society with no classes, no friction. An army, working as one toward a common goal: safety.

Johanna threw the sheet off, exposing her spectacular body to him. “I’ve changed my mind.”

Changed your mind? Dorian thought. He was surprised that she had made it up about something in the first place. And now she had reconsidered this “thought.” He imagined what was next. Perhaps another comment about a potential breakup of “stars” Dorian had never heard of, or “do you think this dress would look good on me?” As if that dress were on sale down in the ship’s commissary.

“Fascinating…” Dorian mumbled as he turned back to his work.

“I’ve realized that I liked you better when all you did was sleep, drink, and screw me.”