Atlantis and the Game of Time

By K.M Alford

Their goal is a single culture, a single history, threatening to obliterate all others, with peace forged only through oppression.

From the dingy annals of human prehistory, a new culture emerges. Like the Atlantians, they too can travel through time, but these are no passive, desk-soft anthropologists, and they will not be satisfied with coexistence. They desire to absorb, to assimilate, and will crush any civilisation that stands against them. The Atlantians know the price of complicity is too high; they will not risk the annihilation of human advancement, culture, art, and freedom. Instead, they send their overworked operative, Professor Lokyne, and a select group of book-loving, academic activists to face this new enemy. Atlantis’s only hope is that they can employ their research and cultural integration skills to study their new enemy, find a weakness, and then strike from within. Only then can they hope to bring down this parasitic new civilisation and return the flow of time to its normal course.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kristell Ink
• Release date: Aug 29, 2014
• ISBN: 9781909845619

K.M Alford

Katie was born in London and raised in Bristol. After a number of years in Middlesbrough, where she gained three degrees in 3d modelling and digital art subjects, she moved back to London, where she currently resides. She loves playing computer games, watching anime and art and writing. She is a member of both the Kingswood Writers Group and the Greenacre Writers Group, who run the annual Finchley Literary Festival. She is really good at starting novels but not so good at finishing them, with her in progress works now into double figures. As a day job, she works as an admin assistant which gives her many boring hours to contemplate her evening’s writing. She has won a number of short story competitions but recently realised it was taking precious time away from her novel writing and so stopped entering them, but she does now sometimes judge them instead. The current genres she has written works in include fantasy, sci fi, steampunk, dark fantasy, folklore and detective and she has recently dabbled a bit in poetry, she is not intending to take that any further, it just seemed a good idea at the time.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Pope’s Private Chamber of Prayer, the Vatican

29th May, 1830 CE

Head bowed and hands together in prayer, the pope knelt in silent reverence on a golden cushion before the altar of God. Around him glittered signs of God’s wealth on earth. The chamber walls were decorated with golden pillars and arches. An intricate mosaic floor stretched below while the finest and most biblical of frescoes were painted into the many arched recesses housing sideboards of religious relics and jewel encrusted artefacts. The pope reflected on the benevolence of God, of his all-encompassing will and love of all mankind, but then something distracted him from his prayers, a strange humming whirring noise. Opening his eyes, the pope gazed up above the glittering altar to his Maker at the golden statue of Jesus Christ on a wooden cross. As his heart filled with admiration for the selfless perfection of the Son of God, the statue’s head moved, its eye line turning from the distant door to fall directly on the pope himself.

The pope knelt breathlessly. Here was a true miracle, one worthy of eternal remembrance. The Son of God was looking upon him through his image on earth. His head buzzed and swam. The emotional impact nearly overwhelming his senses, and then, the true miracle happened. The Son of God spoke unto the pope.

Faithful servant of the Lord, the Son of God began, in a strangely tinny sounding voice which nevertheless carried great command and decorum. Hear the words of thy Maker!

The pope opened his ears and heart, ready to receive these holiest of words. The great Father takes all mankind to his bosom in love and eternal salvation. Henceforth, every seventh day is to be a true celebration of his benevolence. Free ale for all!

The pope blinked. F . . . Free ale . . . He didn’t dare question the word of God but . . . 

Free ale! the voice proclaimed again. And free bar snacks, too. For drinking on an empty stomach is the work of the devil!

The pope stared at the Son of God, exploding with disbelief. A sacred command! He, dutiful servant of God, had been gifted a holy command. His head span and his breathing became sharp as the love of his Lord and God overwhelmed his senses.

Private Residence, Outskirts of Pompeii

June 8th, 57 CE.

Steam billowed up from the floor, obscuring the ceiling and hitting Lokyne’s skin with a warm, almost scalding, glow. Relaxing his head against the cushion on the bronze bench, he sighed, his body melting with contentment. There was nothing better on earth than a steam treatment in an authentic Roman bath complex. He needed it, too. His students had been running him wild. If only they could focus all that energy and ingenuity into their studies instead of endless pranks and pub crawls, which takes on a whole new meaning when you have the run of every bar and tavern throughout history. He remembered his student days with fondness and a desolate sigh. Chronologically they weren’t too far distant, yet it felt like a century ago. If only he could recapture the vigour of his youth. He could relive the many histories of the world, and yet, his own remained forever out of reach. Years were passing, and while he could relive the events, his perception and form remained forever changed by each passing year.

Ready, Professor? a familiar voice asked respectfully.

The professor nodded. Then a splash of cold hit his back to ooze over his skin. A pair of hands smoothed the oil out and then pressed down between his shoulder blades, working deep into the knot of tension held there. With another sigh, the professor relaxed again against the cushion.

You are a godsend, Paeon.

The servant didn’t reply, instead just nodding respectfully his acceptance of the compliment. After working to loosen the tension in Lokyne’s shoulders, Paeon’s hands moved down to the small of the professor’s back, finding another knot of tension.

I wish I could come here more often. Lokyne sighed.

You are welcome any time, Master.

But Lokyne knew being welcome wasn’t the issue. Finding the time was the issue. It was rare he gained the luxury of a day off, like today. Despite this, just as he was on the verge of forgetting all his problems and finally floating into a relaxed haze, a cry broke out in the adjoining chamber.

Professor Iberis! Professor Iberis! The voice was panicked and also familiar, but this time it gave him a sinking feeling. It was more than two decades too early for the Mount Vesuvius eruption. Although, Lokyne had the feeling that in a few moments he would be wishing for the simplicity of such a direct problem as an erupting volcano.

Shall I cut it short again, Master?

Lokyne groaned. Yes. I fear so. And a moment later a fully clothed man burst through the door and into the caldarium next to them.

Professor! It is a disaster of epic proportions! the newcomer cried.

It usually is. Lokyne felt the swift hard edge of the wooden paddle scraping the oil from his skin. When is the disturbance, this time?

The 19th century, Professor. The Vatican, in Rome.

Lokyne suppressed another groan. The Pope, again? Perhaps his students didn’t show much ingenuity in their pranks, after all. This was the twelfth attack on a pope in as many months. What was done this time?

The professor’s assistant took out a book. Inadvisable, usually, in damp, steamy conditions, but this was no ordinary book. There were only three copies of this book. One, the master copy, in the eternal library at the very centre of Atlantis, another in the headquarters of the Department of Time Conservation (DTC) and then there was the one in the assistant’s hands, the field copy.

The master copy, when altered, changed the contents of both the other copies in kind, no matter when, or where, in history they were. The headquarters and field copy, when altered, only changed each other, as the master copy was impervious to any external change while in the confines of the eternal library. The books were used to communicate quickly across space and time.

I’ll read you the latest entry. Jon flipped through the pages.

"Excerpt from the private diary of His Holiness Pious VIII, of the 29th May in the year of our Lord 1830:A miracle! Today the Son of God spoke, bestowing on me a most sacred command.

‘And on every seventh day I decree free ale for all! And bar snacks, lest we fall foul of the devil and be forced to drink on empty stomachs.’

This holiest of commands I intend to pass with all haste, so all subjects of God may feel his benevolent touch."

That had to be the most blatant and unassuming prank any student had ever played. Perhaps, at one time, Lokyne would have found it immeasurably amusing. He had been quite the trickster himself during his youth and education, but those days had flown. Now it was his job to dash back and forth through time, putting out the fires the student body, and any other time travelling mischief-maker, decided to start. All of a sudden, he repented the hassle he’d caused as a student, clearly the idea behind his appointment of this task by his superiors.

Lokyne felt the final stroke of the wooden paddle before it drew back.

Done, Master.

The professor sat, his gaze passing to his assistant’s tense expression, so tense that even the man’s short, slightly greying hair seemed unnaturally stiff. With a final sigh, Lokyne dragged himself to his feet. First order of business is to apprehend the culprit, then, with his input, we can fix the mess caused.

He said ‘his’ as this held all the hallmarks of his most mischievous student, Hayden Edward Lywen, known by his friends as Hel. A rather apt name in Lokyne’s opinion.

That’s all well and good, but when and where do we search? The assistant flicked through the pages of his book, as if expecting to find the answer there.

Well, Jon, if you had just succeeded in gaining free ale for the masses every seventh day, where would you celebrate your triumph?

Again Jon looked cluelessly at the book in his hands.

Antica Pesa, Rome

6th June, 1830 CE

Lokyne slipped through the rowdy, overly crowded tavern, wary of drunken, flailing limbs and sloshing ale jugs. Already, society had fallen apart with drunks filling the streets, vandalising historical monuments and buildings, and then hurling up over the nearest bridge, wall, or person if the need was too great, and it was barely mid-afternoon. This had to be the most disruptive prank to date.

It hadn’t been hard to narrow the field of search to this one tavern. It was famous throughout Rome, both now and for centuries to come. However, finding one student among the dirty, heaving mass soon seemed a daunting task. Behaviour was boisterous and the clientele, less than refined. Lokyne and his now terrified assistant nearly became the unwitting victims of half a dozen low-key brawls, narrowly missed by flying furniture and the occasional fist and blade.

One particular situation had Lokyne’s life flashing before his eyes, as when one fellow moved from his path, he found a knife heading straight for his face. Instinct saved him, as dodging without thinking he raised his right arm, deflecting the knife’s path harmlessly to one side. The man behind the knife just blinked, unfocused, his face bright red through over consumption. Then, he sort of tottered to one side and tripping on an overturned chair hit the floor, the knife flying from his hand beneath a dozen patrons’ feet.

Then, above the babble of native Italian came the age-old student chant, Drink! Drink! Drink! Accompanied by clapping hands until it ended in a roar as the individual clearly finished downing their drink to raucous applause. Lokyne cracked a grin. Got you. Ducking a flying ale mug, he made his way towards the chant’s origin, in a distant corner of the bar. Finally, his target came into view. He could recognise at least a dozen of his students packed around a battered wooden table, laughing and cheering as the next one took to the stage, foaming ale mug in hand. But Lokyne’s attention was on just one of them, the one with short, black hair, who had his back to them as they approached.

That’s enough fun. Back to Atlantis, the lot of you! Lokyne barked in a gruff voice, clamping his hand tightly around his target’s shoulder. I need a private word with your leader. The merriment crashed into the ground.

With a few dejected grumbles and a lot of scraping chairs, his students rose.

Professor! Hayden tipped his head back to peer up at him. Great timing, have a drink! He held up a foaming mug, at which Lokyne frowned.

While he could certainly use a drink after all the running about, the temptation wasn’t nearly enough to pacify him. You bring society to the edge of ruin and all you can think about is drink?

Oh, come on! he implored. Free booze! What civilisation wouldn’t want that?

What people want isn’t always what’s best for them.

Seriously, what damp squib trod on your beer mug? Hayden took a deep swig while swinging back on his chair, still with an air of indifference.

Just put the ale down and get to your feet! You’re taking us back to the start of this mess so we can straighten it out.

And what if I don’t want to? he met the professor’s gaze with a steel of challenge.

Then I hope you enjoy doing your end of year dissertation on the great stink of 1858. And as it only lasted for a week and your placement is for two weeks, you would have to live through it on both sides of the Thames.

You wouldn’t! Hayden looked horrified.

The professor hardened his gaze, a clear, yes I would.

Draining his cup with a sigh, Hayden dropped the empty mug to the table and stood.

Well, it was fun while it lasted, he lamented, then, after sending a final look of regret at the nearby keg, he accompanied Lokyne from the tavern.

A Disused Quarry Outside of Rome

6th June, 1830 CE

Keeping a firm grip on the captive student’s reins in one hand and controlling his own beast with the other, Lokyne led them down a narrow crevasse to the quarry floor. The quarry had once been wide and open and heavily worked, supplying the city of Rome with tons of building material. But the easy sources had soon run out leading to the opening of new quarries, elsewhere. The area was now wooded and weathered, leaving only a deep rounded pit, like a giant’s footprint. It provided the perfect place for a secret docking port, one of thousands scattered across the world and through time, ready for Atlantean use.

Waiting at the bottom of the pit, its engines whirling and steam vents hissing sat the Sleipnir, a one hundred foot rigid airship painted bow to stern with reflective paint leaving it a shimmering mirage in almost any environment. At the back, two giant flywheels spun furiously, but their power seemed to be waning, with the twin engines sapping their power. They had an hour, at most, to wrap this up before the Sleipnir would have to return to Atlantis and recharge. That was the down side of rotational energy as a source. It might be cheap and clean to store, but it drained quickly and could only be recharged at the main Atlantis dock power plant.

As they rode towards the right side, a large hatch flipped down, forming a ramp into the ship’s only storage area. Emerging from the dark hold into the dappled, leaf broken sunlight, stepped the luminous form of Sigyn. Her pale, delicate skin glowed between grease smears, her blue eyes sparkled and her light brown hair shimmered, even the heavy tool belt, always present above her work torn trousers, seemed to add charm, nipping her in at the waist and accentuating her curves. In his distraction, Lokyne would have ridden into a tree had his mount not had the sense to dodge of its own accord. A smile brushed Sigyn’s lips at the sight.

I hope you didn’t sneak a drink while you were there. We don’t want you to forget what century you’re in. Following it with a giggle, she reached out her hands ready for the reins.

Riding up the ramp towards her Lokyne averted his gaze, flushing. Was dazzled by the light, he muttered, handing her the reins and sliding from his mount. Every time he was around her, he seemed left short, his usual wit abandoning him. He really needed to learn to focus or she’d take him as nothing but a common idiot.

Well, lucky you made it in time. She’s getting low. Sigyn patted the thin bulkhead fondly. Do you know where you need dropping off?

I will in a moment. Lokyne directed a look at his student.

Turning, Hayden made a final frantic bid for escape, only to collide head first with Jon’s mount, guarding the rear. The man probably wouldn’t have stopped him, but the angry snort of his mount had Hayden backing away, right into Lokyne’s grasp.

Are you ready to share or shall we prepare the scenic seat for your return trip? he motioned towards a rope dangling down the ship’s exterior with only a small plank at the end for support. They’d never, actually, put anyone on it. It was just for scare, and it never failed.

F . . . Fine, Hayden stammered. The Vatican roof, midnight, May 29th, 1830. That’s when I snuck inside and switched the head.

Good lad. He patted Hayden on the shoulder, beaming antagonistically.

Keep him in the detention chamber until the timeline straightens, will you? He nudged the lad towards Sigyn.

Sure, as usual. We should put his name on it, the amount of times he’s been in there.

Hayden looked quizzical for a moment then the realisation hit and his face fell. I’m not going to remember any of this, am I?

Lokyne just grinned. Had he been able to remember, he would never have been able to use the same threats dozens of times to bring him into line. Life was certainly simpler this way. Once the timeline was fixed any anomalies vanished including the Hayden, who had succeeded in his pranks. In his perspective, all his previous attempts had failed. It was a wonder he hadn’t given up yet. You had to at least admire his determination.

As Hayden was led off looking dejected, Lokyne led the horses into the hold and tied their reins to the waiting hoops, down one side. The hold was quite small, only thirty feet long by twenty wide. The Sleipnir was weighted down already by the aether drive and flywheels and couldn’t bear much more weight. She wasn’t built for goods transportation and was more a time travelling, field headquarters. And she certainly served well in that respect.

Climbing up the metal staircase, Lokyne and his assistant started off down the central corridor towards the bridge.

He’ll just do it again, you know, Jon commented resignedly as they walked.

Lokyne just shrugged. If he didn’t, you would soon be out of a job. No other culture has the technology to alter the timeline. Monitoring it would be pointless but for the disturbances by our own personnel. Not that I’m saying it’s a good thing we can’t control our own students. We should look at further restricting the use of the research vessels. I can’t imagine how he got hold of one this time. I put a ban on his record months ago.

He probably had a fellow student sign one out on his behalf.

Lokyne groaned. They could hardly ban the whole student body for the actions of one troublemaker. They could only hope this would prove one defeat too many for trouble master Hel.

Roof of the Vatican, Rome

Just before midnight, May 29th, 1830

The sky was clear as the Sleipnir drifted cautiously towards the expanse of decorative rooftops. The clement weather was both a curse and a godsend. It made landing an easy job, but with the visibility good and the fact they were about to land on, arguably, the most famous building in Rome, there was a chance they could be spotted by more than one resident. However, if they were, it wouldn’t be a first. Their crafts had been spotted numerous times through history. People always seemed to find less grounded reasons than a time travelling airship from the future, mainly fairies, gods, or demonic beings. They didn’t even need to bother fabricating an explanation most of the time, and when they did, they made it free of angry gods or spiritual beings.

From the windows of the small bridge cabin, containing the various pressure instruments and control wheels, Lokyne watched the building approach. With barely a bump, the wheels touched down and the engines’ hum dimmed slightly as the steam pressure dropped to conserve energy.

Turning from the wheel, the pilot gave the all-clear signal with one hand, indicating it was safe to disembark. Answering with a nod, Lokyne turned, making hastily for the hold and the ramp. It had taken less than two hours, so far. If he hurried he might still be able to make that play, and end his so-called day off on a high.

Sigyn and Jonathan awaited him in the hold; Jon still with the ever present book in his hands.

We’ll have to return to Atlantis and recharge, but send us a scribble when you’re done and we’ll pick you up as soon as we can. Sigyn sent him a smile, her fingers brushing over her immaculately polished wrenches.

It was strange how she spent time keeping her tools spotless but not her clothes. Not that he minded. The grease smudges added to her charm, in his view. As her gaze fell on him, he swallowed uncomfortably.

That will not be necessary. We’ll be taking Hayden’s craft when we catch him.

I see. Her expression tightened a little. Well, go carefully. Those religious types can be a bit fanatical if they feel their religion is under threat. We don’t want an operative getting killed over a student prank.

He smiled, grateful for her concern. He had to try and ask her out for a meal sometime if he could ever manage to go a few minutes without making a fool of himself.

You should really take a weapon. She turned to gaze at the arms storage, which had in it a number of revolvers and shotguns. But he shook his head.

I have all the weapons I need up here. He tapped his temple. If all goes right we won’t even need to step inside the Vatican. I intend to catch our Master Hel before he even enters.

Well, good luck. Gripping his shoulder, she sent him a smile that went right to his heart and then his head, forcing him to take a deep breath. Even then, he stumbled as he disembarked.

Come on man! He berated himself.

Sigyn was still in view as the ramp was pulled shut and the Sleipnir lifted off again, leaving him and Jon on the roof, bracing themselves against the back draft of the ship’s propellers.

In silence they waited, until a slight reflective shimmer appeared in the sky above. Motioning urgently to one of the numerous chimneys dotting the rooftops, Lokyne took cover, followed by Jon. If Hayden saw them while landing, he might take off again and play his prank somewhere or sometime else, then all their hard work would be ruined.

The craft landed not more that fifty feet from them, which made sense, as this was the largest roof, and, therefore, the most likely target for a student with only basic flight training.

For a few minutes nothing happened, then the door opened and, after a wary glance, Hayden stepped out, a large canvas bag in his hands, no doubt containing the mechanical head and speaker system. Then he started off at quite a speed down the rooftop.

Wait here, Lokyne hissed urgently before taking off after his student.

Keeping low, Lokyne followed his student, trying to keep out of sight as much as possible. He was too far off to catch him at the moment, with at least twenty feet between them, and if he picked up his pace to catch up, his footsteps would be heard. The job was by no means over. Hayden could still give him the slip if he wasn’t careful. He had to take him by surprise.

Following Hayden all the way to the rooftop door, frustration almost got the better of Lokyne and led him into reckless action, but then Hayden stopped, bent over and opened his bag, groping around inside.

He was checking he had everything. Now was his chance! Breaking cover, Lokyne tore across the ground separating them. Hayden barely had time to turn in shock before he was tackled to the ground.

You again! Hayden burst out. Don’t you brain boxes have better things to do than chase after students?

Yes, I do! Lokyne growled dangerously, thinking of his ruined day.

I was just doing research on the changing architecture of the Vatican. Hayden’s expression turned sickeningly innocent. Had Lokyne not known him better, he might have been taken in by it, but he’d seen the boy turn on his charm far too many times now.

Sure you were. Grabbing Hayden’s hands, he drew a piece of rope from his pocket and bound the lad’s hands behind his back. And I suppose the mechanical statue head in that bag is for research, too?

Hayden’s face went white. H . . . How do you know about that?

Magic, Lokyne grated, dragging Hayden to his feet. Back to Atlantis with you, you have some explaining to do.

As he dragged Hayden back to the small research craft, Jon emerged from his hiding place.

Mission complete, I see. He looked relieved.

I’ll entrust you with escorting our devoted student here back to Atlantis. Lokyne shoved the lad in Jon’s direction. And before you do, you can drop me off in ancient Greece. I have a play to watch.

Chapter 2

Amphitheatre Athens

8th June, 382 BCE

Under the warmth of the midsummer sun, Lokyne relaxed back on the wide stone bench, looking out across the polished, white marble amphitheatre before him. It was packed with Greece’s elite, already arguing over politics and gossip, like all cultures did when the heat frayed tempers.

Being a professor of time and culture, Lokyne could speak all dialects, past and present. Some more fluently than others, perhaps, but being such a large civilisation, his ancient Greek was almost of native standard and so he could listen in to the well dressed senator in front of him, moaning about his suspicions that his wife was getting it on with one of his slaves. And a disgruntled wife a few tiers behind him, moaning that her husband would never get it on and that she suspected he was gambling their wealth away.

It never failed to amaze him, how despite the drastic advances in technology, the core of society barely changed from one civilisation to the next. It always seemed to revolve around sex and money and, occasionally, social standing. Some things never changed, it seemed, which left a strangely homely feel wherever or whenever he went.

As music started on the stage, a ripple of silence struck the crowd as all attention turned from the mundane to the theatrical. The play, about to start, was Platus a political comedy. Lokyne felt he needed a comedy after his disastrous day off.

What an unhappy fate, great gods, to be the slave of a fool! the robed and sandaled actor called, trailing the actor playing his master across the stage.

The play was about the indiscriminate distribution of wealth by neither need nor justification and about the chaos that would ensue should it only go to the good and worthy. It had long been Lokyne’s favourite, combining philosophical reasoning with humour. He’d always admired the ancient Greeks their ability to mix deep meaningful reflection with light-hearted tales. It was refreshing.

By halfway through the play, Lokyne was finally starting to relax and forget the rigour of his day. Unfortunately, it seemed disaster wasn’t finished with him yet. As soon a familiar voice rang out across the auditorium.

Professor!

Turning, he saw his assistant stumbling hastily down the marble steps, a number of disapproving glances following him. With a groan, Lokyne resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands. Don’t tell me he’d let the lad escape, after all that? The thought of having to go through the whole fiasco again sapped the last of Lokyne’s strength and he slumped back on the bench. If wealth only went to the worthy, he should be a god by now. But fate wasn’t that considerate.

It didn’t take Jon long to find him, Lokyne’s short modern-groomed hair was quite distinctive among the masses even if he had, otherwise, dressed to match his environment. Wearing a wig was the one thing he refused to do when dressing up for backwards travel. No native had ever called him up on it, anyway.

Professor! Jon exclaimed, again, collapsing onto the bench next to Lokyne. A disaster of epic proportions!

Jon’s expression held all the theatrics suited to such a location, but Lokyne didn’t panic. To his assistant, losing a pen on an excursion constituted a disaster. Losing a student, it seemed, rated even higher. Although, in Lokyne’s mind, students were more likely to find their way home of their own accord, and, therefore, losing one hardly constituted a disaster, more a temporary inconvenience.

The eternal library has picked up a massive time disruption, back near the end of the pre-historic era, before any known civilisation.

That’s not possible! Lokyne gasped, the play forgotten.

No student would go back that far, and even if they could, with no cultures or personalities known from that period by later history, it would never leave an impression on what was to come. That period was almost a blank sheet. Only the revealing of later technology or cultural structure would affect the timeline from that point, and no student, even Hayden would risk that for entertainment.

Could this be the first ever-encountered external time interference? And if so, who or what was responsible? The implications drained Lokyne’s face. A rival culture could have discovered time travel. Such an event could send known history spinning into chaos.

Please, Professor. We must return to Atlantis, at once. A full investigation is being launched as we speak.

Still stunned, Lokyne nodded his agreement, unable to find words beneath the clamouring thoughts churning through his mind.

The Ocean Surface, Above the City of Atlantis

Atlantean Present Time (APT)

Gently does it, the pilot called, as the Sleipnir sank slowly towards the ocean surface. A moment later they hit it with a light slap, and the ship settled into a bobbing motion, following the ocean’s waves.

All right. Open the sink holes and flood the ballast compartments. At his order a crank was turned, opening the metal covers over the holes dappling the lower hull of the ship.

This was another reason why the Sleipnir could hold little cargo, as the whole of the lower half of the ship had to be kept aside for flooding every time they wanted to go underwater. The necessity certainly wasn’t convenient, but it was either that or vent the gas every time they docked. Helium gas was hard to come by, so compared to that flooding the ship was considered the easy option.

With a few eerie groans, water began to creep up around the bridge cabin until, after a few minutes, they were completely submerged. It was now