Ray Gun Revival magazine, Issue 53

kins coughed and cocked an eyebrow
at him.
“Now, we wait.” Melkins slid back
in his seat and sighed.
Veedle huffed and tried to test his
safety harnesses. “Never was much
of a poker player, Melkins. Don’t
have much time for patience. Just
how long you think we’re going to
be waiting here?”
“Until they come for us,” Melkins
replied softly. “It could be minutes.
It might be hours.”
“Any chance I can get these restraints
off, now? I mean, we are out
of the rough waters and all.”
Melkins sighed again. “You know
the rules as well as I do, sir.” Veedle
noted how Melkins seemed to inch
away as he said this.
With a chuckle, Veedle stretched
within the confines of his bonds, and
the tiny compartment. He leaned
back and rested his eyes, recalling
each detail that had been pounded
into his head by the bureaucrats in
the fancy suits. It was a rather simple
plan, actually. He smiled.
It was going to be a hell of a good
time.
At some point, Melkins had dozed
off, because he was awoken by forceful
jerking movements of the ship.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Veedle
said. “I think they found us.”
“So it would seem,” Melkins said.
A bead of sweat had formed on his
brow. “Can you hear anything?”
“Nothing but running water,” Veedle
said. “Say, do you think it might
be a good time to make away with
these, now?” Veedle nodded toward
his restrained arms and legs.
“Almost,” Melkins said. He unstrapped
himself and stood up. The
ceiling only cleared his head by an
inch. The blue luminescence now
highlighted his growing sweat stains.
Melkins approached the keyhole
and peered downward. The faint
glow given off by their craft lit up
the water in a five foot radius. Nothing
was visible in the water beneath
the viewing window but silt particles.
As had been expected, their
conveyance was being pulled manually
toward the docking station.
Melkins’ hands began to shake a
little at the thought of what he knew
was coming next. But thoughts of
his family hardened his fears and
pummeled them away.
“Visual status,” Melkins stated.
“Doctor Emmanuel Melkins: voice
identification accepted.”
“Please give me a visual record,”
Melkins said. In an instant the circular
walls became invisible. Veedle
jerked in his chair, having been
unprepared for the sight of being
completely surrounded by glowing
water. Veedle had the immedi-
ate impression that he was floating
within a large soap bubble.
“Pressure status,” Melkins said.
“Pressure is within acceptable parameters,
Dr. Melkins.”
“Can they see us?” Veedle asked.
He was referring to the transport
vessel that was hauling them in tow
to Damascus City. It was a large, rugged-looking
metal ship that coasted
through the water without creating
any disturbance. It had very few
windows.
“No,” Melkins said. “Their vision
cannot penetrate these walls. If all is
as it should be, they should be completely
baffled as to the appearance
of this vehicle. After all, it has been
nearly a decade since any form of
communication was attempted by
the topworld.”
“And we all know how well that
went,” Veedle spat. Melkins rubbed
at his chest blankly.
“Locate Damascus and give arrival
estimation,” Melkins said.
“Eight-hundred meters distance.
Estimated time to arrival at current
trajectory: two minutes.”
“Maybe I’m just an ignorant asshole
for asking, Melkins,” Veedle said,
“but why didn’t they just blow us all
to hell when they found our ship?”
Melkins considered this with
growing mental distance. “It was
all up to chance. There was no way
ISSUE 53
to calculate the expected odds of
just such an occurrence. But ultimately,
I knew they wouldn’t. They
are too curious. I knew that they
would want to know how anything
had happened to find their means
of transport to access the city. The
process is really quite genius, exploiting
the natural undercurrents
of the ocean to create an underwater
highway. Fitting that one of their
crowning achievements will serve
to bring about their own downfall.”
“Sounds like someone took the
Rains of November a little personally,”
Veedle said.
Melkins coughed and pumped his
fists. “When nineteen-million lives
are extinguished from the face of
the planet, Mr. Veedle, there is not
a single person still alive who should
not take it personally.”
And then Damascus City came
into view as they floated over an
immense cliff and into an oceanic
valley.
“Wow,” Veedle said. “I never
imagined so much...light.” Spires of
shining rock stood out amongst the
layout of the vast city, which was
composed of innumerable smaller
structures that were unmistakably
dwellings. Glowing blue light radiated
from the very core of the city,
all the way to a barrier that, without
the light’s reflection, would have
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