VS Ch. 01

Sand. She gazed at the sea bottom, the sinuous inch-high dunes formed by the meandering currents. She looked at the ridge again. Could it be, after thousands of years...?

She unclasped her spade, and started digging into the hill of sand capping the ridge's end. After several minutes she encountered rocks, loose rocks, which she pulled out and maneuvered to the side. A small cavity opened up. Home for a moray eel? She dug carefully, prying out more rocks. The cave was larger, and as far as she could tell, empty. But she couldn't how far it extended.

There was now an opening large enough for her to squeeze through. She clicked on her dive torch. Its multiple LEDs bathed the cave in pale illumination. There appeared to be a tunnel. She carefully swam in.

She saw no life of any kind inside. The passage sloped gradually down over a few hundred yards. It would widen to about a school corridor, then narrow unnervingly to a crawlspace, encroaching on both sides. At least there were some places she could turn around.

She pressed on, grimacing when her leg scraped, just above the knee, on something sharp on the shallow floor. She maneuvered her knee up, shining the torch on it. In the white light, her skin looked ghoulish. From a ragged wound the size of a pinto bean, blood drifted like smoke.

I'll have to see a doctor, she thought. If the cut contained any coral cells, it would need particular attention. Wasn't there a diver who had cut his hand, really just a scratch, and had only treated it with soap and water? She tried to remember. The cut got infected; he ignored it and went to sleep. The next morning, he couldn't move his arm; the coral had colonized and calcified it, in its original position from the night before. His friends called the hospital as he screamed. In the ambulance, his arm snapped at the elbow. There was no blood. In the ER, the doctors amputated at the shoulder, but it was already too late...

Christ, Karla, get a hold of yourself, she thought. No such thing ever happened. This spooky place is getting to you.

The wound continued to bleed. She imagined a shark outside catching the scent and shivered.

Through another squeeze point, which she gingerly navigated, the ceiling sloped up sharply and she broke the surface.

For a moment she thought she was on another planet. The sky was full of distant green stars. It took a few moments to figure out where she actually was.

She had surfaced in a grotto, hard to tell how high, with glowworms dotting the ceiling. A slight breeze implied fresh air was circulating. She removed her regulator, took an experimental breath, and shut off her tank.

The rocky bottom had been filled in with silt. She climbed out of the water. It wasn't quite dry land; the surface felt like wet clay. An inch of mire, cool to the touch, oozed between her toes. She found a rocky shelf clear of the mud, and stripped off her tank, weight belt and other belongings. She kept the torch and surveyed the area.

Puddles dotted the clay like tide pools. She noticed movement, focused the torch at a spot ten feet distant and was repulsed to see something crawling along a miniature shore. Several inches long, with about thirty legs, it had no shell or exoskeleton. It was pale pink and probably blind. It made Karla think of a peeled centipede.

Unnerved, she played the light out over other pools, the walls, and the ceiling. The grotto had about twenty animals, all unnatural life. More wriggling things the size of insects but with pallid worm-skin. A bladder-thing the size of a handbag, extending bungee-like tendrils and slowly squelching itself across the muck. And climbing the walls, not one but two radial creatures, as wide as dinner plates, crawling on six symmetric arms connected to an eyeless pulpy mass in the center.

Karla shivered in revulsion and excitement. The biologists and natural historians will go crazy over this, she thought. Those six-armed things have bones. Does any animal except bugs and marine life have more than four limbs? Besides down here?

She stood absolutely still. The creatures seemed to be ignoring her. How extensive was this ecosystem? Were there larger predators?

Could she be prey?

She spotlighted the handbag creature, which seemed not to notice. Probably everything was blind, and had no need for pigmentation. If that were true, then why did the glowworms glow? There was a lot to figure out here. These animals as naked as I am, she mused, covered in pink skin. She cringed at the unpleasant comparison.

She saw no other caves or passageways, except a strange arched portal, clearly artificial, leading somewhere dark. There was only about two feet of clearance, which made her wonder about its purpose. She carefully trod forward, making sure her path was clear of little pink creatures. To step on one of them would be awful; she was sure of that.

At the portal, she crouched and shone the torch inside. She saw a room of some sort, maybe three feet floor to ceiling, straight walls, some sort of carving, and-

A woman, nude, skin nearly white, buried chest-deep in the floor.

Karla gasped.

A second look showed that the woman was a statue, marble or travertine or another light-colored stone, but dyed with eerily realistic features. She was on the opposite side of the shallow room, about 12 feet distant. Her eyes had an exaggerated slant, and the severe lids and lashes of Egyptian artwork. Her stylized hair was black and pulled straight back, hanging straight down.

Karla put the torch in her mouth, dropped to her knees and crawled in. The muck plastered her knees, hands and feet. No creatures were in the room. She reached the statue, which stared distantly at nothing, and knelt next to it.

"You look a little like the Bride of Frankenstein," she said. "Prettier, though. Since I can write your name, but don't know how to pronounce it --" (a common bugaboo of ancient written scripts) "-- why don't I just call you Elsa?"

The statue didn't respond; Karla took that as assent.

Elsa was beautiful, her face in modern proportions, and seeming a mix of different ethnic groups. She was the size of the Beethoven busts Schroeder used to keep in his closet. Karla tried moving and tilting the statue, but it held fast.

She traced a finger in the muck along its front, following the contours of the breasts. The stone continued into the mud. She dug with her fingers, exposing stone nipples the size of large gumdrops (an exaggeration for art's sake, surely), and realized that the statue might actually be full-height, extending to the real floor, which was four feet or so underneath eons of accumulated muck. The room would need to be excavated.

She returned to the rock shelf outside, found her ziplocked notes (still dry; good), and brought them back to the statue.

Karla sat crosslegged, gazing at the idol. Her notes were vague on exactly how the supplicants had to present themselves; she had been hoping to find an answer here.

"So, Elsa... now that I'm here, what do I do? What did the others do? Sacrifice? Dance? Fertility rite?"

Elsa gave no hints. Her eyes were slightly crossed and downcast. Her full lips were open just a bit, as if preparing to receive a kiss.

"A kiss..." Karla said. Would subjects have walked forward, pressed their lips to hers, as part of the ceremony? There still was much more to learn. If she could kiss Elsa now, seeing her as they did millions of years ago, she might gain more insight into the ceremonies.

From where she was, in a seated position as high as the woman's chest, a proper kiss would not be possible. She would have to wait until the muck was dug out, months or maybe years from now. Getting permission to excavate in another country was not the easiest task.

Curiosity got the better of her. She dropped to hands and knees and reluctantly lowered herself into the muck, propping up on her elbows. The chilly ooze clung to her thighs, tummy and breasts. She used her thumb to clean Elsa's lips; they seemed mainly dank instead of dirty. The idol seemed hardly worn at all; it had aged incredibly well.

Karla realized the vulnerable position her body was in, and hoped those creepy crawlies would not come sniffing around. She stretched forward to kiss.

She cried out, breaking contact. The lips were cold at first, but quickly thawed, no longer feeling like stone at all. As if the statue were coming to life. For a moment, her eyes swam with colors, as if she'd pressed her closed eyelids with her thumbs.

The idol hadn't moved, of course, but was staring directly forward. Karla touched her lip with a forefinger, tentatively. Still stone. "What are you all about, Elsa?" she said. "Let's try this again."

She kissed the idol again. The lips didn't move, but there was still the odd sensation of life, of warmth. Colors flooded her eyes, and she shut them. The visions coalesced less as things she could remember and describe afterward, but as bits of knowledge that implanted in her brain, nestling between the other facts she had learned since childhood.

Yes, people here had celebrated using the idol, millions of years ago. They were gone now, no relation to the strain of humans now originating in Africa. No, they did not build the idol.

The tribe had built a shrine around the idol, where they had found it.

There might have been more, but Karla had stopped understanding, and the knowledge did not take root. Other parts of her body were insistently reporting sensations that were quite familiar, but perhaps unexpected here. Elevated heart rate. Increased sensitivity in the nipples and clitoris. Increased wetness in the vagina. She was getting sexually aroused.

Her breasts seemed to swell, her nipples extending into the muck. She shuddered, but still kept her lips touching the idol's. Every sexual experience she'd had, and hundreds that she had not, played in her mind as euphoria flooded through her. The kiss was energizing her as well, in a way she couldn't explain but felt with certainty. Her arms ached with the burden of propping her up as she continued to kiss.

Finally Karla orgasmed, gasping, spasming as if electrocuted. Her strength gave away and she slipped back, head collapsing onto folded arms. The idol gazed indifferently forward. She lay motionless for about fifteen minutes, her heart racing.

She wearily got up on all fours and retrieved her flashlight. Muck clung to most of her front side like a bizarre wetsuit. "That's enough for today," she told the idol. "We'll come back tomorrow." She crawled back into the main grotto and stood up.

Relieved to see her equipment undisturbed, she stepped into the water to scrub herself off. She remembered the wound in her leg and cleaned the area, but couldn't find the wound.

"Wait a minute," she said. Wasn't it the left leg? There was a pretty good gash, a few inches above the kneecap. She examined the right leg; no wound there, either.

That was strange, she thought; but I probably shouldn't dwell on it. I've got that lovely boat ride to look forward to. My knees are fine; worry about why later.

She attached her tank and belt and slid into the water.

The boat was still there. Even though he had been paid in full, apparently the promise of another go-around with Karla had kept Christos from abandoning her there. Sometimes a man's greed could be played against itself. He even helped her climb back onboard.

He was still repellently naked, and gazed at her with prurient interest. "So what did you find down there, pretty girl? Treasure?"

"Didn't find anything," she said. "Hoping the place was there, but it wasn't."

"What kind of place?" Prospects of finders' fees or other arrangements brightened his grinning face.

She regarded him critically, feeling she could rebuff him on this issue. "Sorry, I'm not allowed to say anything."

His face fell. "All right. Since I have been waiting here a long time, before we go, you should-"

"No."

"I do not think you-"

"No," she said. "Bad idea. Why don't you start the engine and take us back to shore."

Christos stared for a moment, clearly feeling cheated somehow. Karla crossed her arms, glaring at him, saying nothing. He dropped his gaze and started the engine.

"And put your shorts back on. It's disgusting."

She leaned against the bow, arms on the hull, legs spread lewdly. This is what you can't have, she thought. What you shouldn't have had.

As they pulled toward the dock and the engine slowed, she gave him further instructions.

"I was very unsatisfied by this trip. You treated your passenger like shit. That's no way to run a business. So, I'll need the following," she said, and ticked off the rest on her fingers. "One, an apology. Two, a refund of what we paid. Three, money for a new swimsuit. Four, money to replace the cellphone." The total exceeded four hundred euros.

"That's more than I make in a month," he protested.

She doubted that was true, but it didn't matter. "You should have thought of that earlier." Geez, she thought, trying not to smile. I sound like my mom.

"Okay. I will do it."

Bernard could see them from the dock now, could see that she was naked, and was starting to freak out. "I'm all right," she yelled, waving. "I'll explain."

Christos docked the boat and helped her step out, then hurriedly unloaded her gear. "I'm very sorry, ma'am," he said, managing a bow. "I will return in a few minutes."

"What the hell happened?" Bernard said. "Did he hurt you?"

"No, no. Bernie, it's okay." She took his hands, which had curled into fists. "He's refunding the money, and we'll get a free trip tomorrow from his friend."

"What did he do to you?" Karla's swimsuit wasn't just off, it was gone.

"He made me take it off. He said he was going to throw me overboard-"

"I knew it! I should have never left you alone-"

"Bernie? Bernie. Look at me." She still held his hands, making sure she had his attention. "You saw him. He's completely guilt-ridden about what he was trying to do. He's not a problem anymore."

"What did you do to him?"

"I got to his conscience."

"Did he touch you?"

She laughed. "Don't you want to know if I found the site?"

"So you're OK?"

"Yeah, basically. I mean I'm tired, it was a bad experience at first, but yes, I found what we're looking for. We've both got a ride for tomorrow."

"Excellent!" He held out his arms, and, happily, Karla took the hug.

"Glad to be back, honey," she said, giving him a big wet kiss that ignited thrills inside him. But Christos was back, a reminder of the charade she had played for him that morning.

"It's all I have right now," Christos said, handing her an envelope stuffed with currency. "I'll have the rest from the bank tomorrow."

"Thank you, Christos. And we're set up with Demetrious tomorrow as well?"

"Of course, of course. Is it OK now?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Christos seemed relieved to be able to scurry away.

"What's that all about?" Bernard asked.

She finished counting the money. "He was a naughty boy. He threw my swimsuit overboard, and my cell phone. I simply insisted on replacement cost for both, as well as a refund of his fee."

He chuckled. "If this anthropology thing doesn't work out, I think you've got a future in civil law."

"Let's go home," she said. "Can you grab my tanks and stuff?"

Bernard loaded up and they returned to the cottage. Karla collapsed on the futon sofa. "I know you want the scoop on the site, but I just need to chill for a while. I'll be productive in a couple hours."

"No problem," Bernard said. He put their gear away and fetched bottled water from the fridge. He settled into a chair with the digital camera and opened its waterproof case. He powered it on and frowned. She hadn't taken any photos.

Any unsecured site they visited one day could be off-limits the next, or even forever: local military, bandits, vandals, storms and earthquakes could seal off or destroy it. Every visit was supposed to be conducted as if it could be the last. You always took as many photos as feasible.

"No pictures," he said.

She sighed, staring at the ceiling. "It was a really rough day. You weren't there."

"I know. I'm not saying you didn't..."

She looked up at him. "We'll get everything we need tomorrow. Both of us. Don't worry."

He recognized that developing this into a full argument had little point, and let it go. She piled both pillows beneath her head and stretched out lengthwise on her back. The futon was short enough that her feet extended off the other end. This was not enough of a nuisance to keep her awake for long.

He watched her sleep for a while, eternally fascinated by her body, gratified that she trusted him enough to willingly leave herself this vulnerable around him. Her chest rose and fell as she breathed, only noticeable if he watched closely. Otherwise, she was still.

More had happened with her today, more that she wasn't ready to talk about yet. She had always been self-centered to a degree, which aided in her postgraduate work; as long as she was appealing in other ways, most people would indulge her. Bernard knew enough to mark himself firmly in that group.

Yet now she was even more herself, somehow; distinctive traits had been distilled and then poured back in. More headstrong, at the very least. On the boat, she had done something to Christos that had cowed him, changed him from venal lecher to docile attendant. Bernard held no sympathy for the boatsman, but Christos did seem to return as a broken man.

For dinner, they walked "downtown": the three blocks of shops and restaurants near the waterfront. Karla's eveningwear was the same thing she usually wore to the village: the miniature green bikini bottom that spent most of the time drip-drying on the shower rack. Bernard stayed in his swim trunks, doubting his half-erection was going to stay a problem all evening.

At the cafe they enjoyed attentive service the islands weren't usually known for, all because the owner, chef and servers really enjoyed Karla's company. "You come back for lunch tomorrow?" the owner would ask, all too obviously staring at her bare breasts, and she'd say "no, the food is so good, I'm worried about my weight as it is": another opportunity for the men to look her up and down, remarking what a beautiful woman she was, and how groundless her concerns were.

After they ordered, Karla told him what she found at the site, including everything except her kissing the statue and the result. "I wish we could head out now," he said, still aware the sun would set in less than an hour.

"That was a good dinner," she said, leaning against him as they walked back. "I like you."

"We're a good team," he said, putting his arm around her. Wary, he was reluctant to admit more, part of his mind suggesting she was laying a trap best left unsprung. They walked the rest of the way in silence.

Inside the cottage, she asked for the time, and gave a charmingly profane apology. "Brent's going to call, and my phone is at the bottom of the sea. Is it OK if I borrowed your phone and gave him your number? I know it's a huge thing to ask. And I'll pay for all the charges. I feel bad about this, but I hope, you know..."

"Okay." He handed her his cell. Without her promise to pay the long distance, such a request, even from the winsomely naked Miss Denstrom, would have been no deal. Talking to the U.S. was over a dollar a minute.

"Thank you so much." She dialed, and retreated to her room while it connected.

Brent went to his room, changed into boxers, took a new paperback from his suitcase, and lay down to read. Back to normal, as far as Karla was concerned: a good show for him every day, but her heart with her boyfriend back in the U.S. Still calling him every day, and using his phone to boot. Fundamentally he knew this was the likely way things would shake out; against his scientific instincts he cultivated the same sort of hope that prodded even people conversant with statistics to drop five dollars a week on the lottery.