It struck her as a one-of-a-kind creature. Nothing like this had ever been seen before, or if it had been seen, had never been caught and authenticated. If it had, people would know about it; her father would know about it. She’d heard of oarfish growing to enormous lengths and being reported as sea serpents, but there was no way an oarfish could grow to this size without being noticed. Besides, oarfish were silver.
She knew that it couldn’t truly be one of a kind, though. It just wasn’t possible. It could be old, for sure, but not unique. There had to be a whole slew of these creatures so that they could reproduce without genetic defects; but then why hadn’t they been seen before? If even a handful of these giants roamed the oceans, people would see them all the time.
But how could something be unique? How could a creature simply just form in the ocean?
Maybe it’s the mutated spawn of some whale, she thought.
But that seemed just as ridiculous as the other possibility, which harassed her thoughts, vying to be given credence. She’d ignored it long enough, and while she completely disagreed with the notion, it was time to consider whether or not the creature had been created unique. But by whom? A scientist? Not likely. Who else could create a living creature? God?
Giona shook her head. Nothing else made sense.
The problem with this theory is that Giona didn’t believe in God. She didn’t have a problem with people who did, and she didn’t embrace atheism. Nor was she agnostic. She simply hadn’t given the subject much attention. Her mind had been on other things and, admittedly, slightly distracted since her mother’s death. She simply didn’t have time to consider God.
Well I do now, Giona thought.
Not really knowing where to begin in forming her thoughts, Giona spoke aloud, addressing God as though he would respond, though she knew he wouldn’t. “So, if you made this… thing, why? Why create something unique? Why create a creature that can’t reproduce?
“Let’s just assume for a second that you did create it-that all the weirdness about this thing serves some kind of purpose. What is it? It seems to me that the only thing a creature like this would be good for, aside from eating lots of fish like any other predator would be to eat…and keep alive…”
Giona’s voice trailed off as she realized the truth. This chamber she was in. It was perfectly situated to keep a human being alive. The oxygen supply from the artery. The food supplied by the fish. Even the constricting walls that had kept her from being thrashed to death. But why keep her alive inside the beast? What possible reason could there be?
Continuing her dialogue with God, Giona raised her arms in frustration. “At least give me some kind of hint!”
Giona.
She froze.
Was that a voice?
She craned her neck, straining to listen. Perhaps her father had been eaten too and caged in another chamber like this one, shouting her name? She knew it wasn’t true. Her name sounded no more loudly than a whisper, but she’d felt nothing through her ears. The voice had come from within. It was like a thought, but crystal clear.
Yet, even with the clarity, she’d heard it wrong, twisted it so that it made sense, hearing it as her name. But the name didn’t belong to her…it belonged to someone else.
Jonah.
47
The Titan
Atticus hadn’t seen enough of the Titan to really know his way around, but his keen sense of direction and knowledge of which end was the bow allowed him to move inexorably toward the bridge. He moved forward and up at every opportunity, vaulting stairs and stalking through hallways until he found himself at a dead end.
Two heavy, oak doors blocked his path. They looked hand-carved, featuring designs of naked women and scenes from mythology. The door struck Atticus as new, probably commissioned to fit that very spot. Most of the treasures on the Titan had been taken from other cultures, but the image on the doors revealed the mind of the man behind it-Trevor. The lust-filled minotaur, scorpion men, and cyclopses chased down and captured nude woman who ran in fear. It reminded Atticus of a painting he’d once seen, Rape of the Sabine Women, but this was much more grotesque.
The room clearly served some personal function for Trevor and might be useful to scout for weapons and information. But the retinal scanner and handprint analyzer to the side of the door kept him at bay for a moment. Atticus smiled as he remembered that O’Shea had disabled the Titan ’s locking systems. Small holes in the ceiling made him wary of more poisoned darts, but he couldn’t stop. Not now. As Atticus moved toward the retinal scanner, he hoped whatever trap had been set there, wouldn’t be activated after a failed attempt. For all he knew, O’Shea’s handiwork might have already been undone.
Atticus placed his eye against the scanner. A line of red light slid across his eye and back again. The device beeped and displayed a green light, which promptly turned red. A slight buzz emanated from the system. Atticus jumped back, expecting to be struck down by any number of potential booby traps. When nothing happened, he relaxed slightly and noticed that a light over the handprint analyzer was also glowing red.
Biting his lip, Atticus approached the locking system again, but rather than try the retinal scanner again, he tried both at once. The system activated once more and as the red light scanned his eyes, a green one pulsed at his palm. The lights on both turned green and the doors slid open automatically.
Walking slowly, UMP at the ready, Atticus entered the room. It wasn’t any more extravagant than the rest of the rooms on the ship, which wasn’t much of a comparison-they were all extravagant in the extreme. The wall opposite the door curved around in a smooth arc and consisted of a single pane of glass, running from one side of the wedge-shaped room to the other, and framing the rising sun. Its vaulted ceilings held two skylights, one casting a square of light onto the hardwood floor, the other illuminating the king-size bed, framed by ivory tusks. The room was devoid of other furnishings. Atticus imagined that either drawers were cleverly concealed in the walls or that servants brought Trevor fresh clothing every day, which, knowing Trevor, seemed to be the more likely scenario.
As Atticus moved through the bedroom and into a small library, he realized he’d been wrong about Trevor’s quarters. They were very different from the other suites. While other rooms’ decors were spectacles of grandeur, his quarters reflected a more personal side of Trevor Manfred. The books that lined the shelves ranged in subject matter from history and mythology to science and technology. A dog-eared copy of Moby Dick, which appeared to be a first printing, lay on an end table next to a plush lounge chair. Reading glasses rested atop the book. Finding nothing of real interest, Atticus crept forward through the undistinguished, though pricey, living room and into a room that gave him pause.
It was an office of sorts, featuring normal office furniture-a desk, chairs, lamps, and small tables formed from petrified wood-but full-color security monitors coated the entire back wall. It was like being in some kind of freakish electronics store with an overzealous sales team. But these screens didn’t feature the same movie in slightly varying color tones; they displayed views of every room on the Titan. Atticus grew tense when he saw his own bedroom, and next to it, his bathroom.
“Pervert,” Atticus muttered.
An almost imperceptible flicker hit all the screens at once, then they continued on as before. Atticus realized that the blip was O’Shea’s fifteen-minute loop starting again. If anyone stood there long enough, or simply came by at the right moment as Atticus had, he’d know to restart the system. As Atticus began considering how best to destroy all the screens without alerting anyone, a nagging question took hold. Why, with the crew having full knowledge of their escape, was no one there to monitor the screens?