Wreck of S.S. Needle

Mariner: Chapter 3

The men paddled through the night. In a number of short breaks below deck to hide from the elements and warm myself, I heard Thomas’s voice. It had gone hoarse, but the calls to STROKE, STROKE, came with the same frequency, even if the force behind the push of the oars against water had lost some of its vigor. But the storm and winds subsided, and the ship seemed to be intact.

With the exhaustion and lack of sleep, there was a silent acknowledgment that both the ship and crew had made it through the storm, and had likely come closer to the enigmatic entity than anybody else had before. What every sailor hoped to see after the clouds cleared was the sun, and perhaps even the mysterious shimmering of The Call. Hopes of seeing the simple glare of the morning sun were dashed as the ship was consumed by the sudden fog.

The gloom encompassed the water and hugged the ship. Barely a single draft of wind was present to tickle the sails or blow away the choking gray clouds from about us. The only movement was the Luna and its residual drifting from the last of the tired strokes of the oarsmen below. Under the Captain’s allowance, we all rested and ate up, regaining our strength for what may lay ahead of us.

Some spoke under their breaths of what they assumed was awaiting us, whether it was worth it, and if it were, if and how it would be split up between Ms. Julie and the rest of us. Others worried about having to return in the same way we came in. The oarsmen rubbed their tired muscles, tended to the raw skin upon their palms and fingers pricked with wooden splinters. Some worried audibly if the worst was yet to come.

And when many of us slept that day, so awoke the next obstacle. Adrift and creeping upon the placid water, I found myself once again at the helm. The sudden jolt of the ship under my body and uncontrolled shifting of the wheel nearly knocked me from my feet. I feared the worst, and not moments later, many- including the captain- were on deck to determine what sort of mistake the young, inexperienced seaman had taken place.

Andreas, the first mate, was the first to reach me from the navigation deck. He shoved me aside and attempted fruitlessly to turn the wheel. “What have you done, boy?” He said, eyes shooting daggers back at me. Some of the crew had gathered at the railing to look at what we had encountered.

“It isn’t the boy’s fault, Andreas,” Fredrik called up to us. “It’s shallow here. Nothing but rock below, impossible to see in this fog. How, damn it? Get below and make sure we haven’t busted anything,” he changed his focus, ordering the second mate.

I ran to the captain to look upon the formation we had run across. The submerged crags were barely visible beneath the surface- in all honesty, I hadn’t been paying attention, but even if I were, I wouldn’t have noticed it until it was too late. What was it, though? I never would have made such a mistake in the past.

The news of the lower decks still being water-tight brought a sigh of relief to my chest, and Captain Fredrik took the chance to direct all who were present. “We aren’t going any further tonight. Let’s hope the fog clears by morning. Rest well for tomorrow and we can hopefully push off from here.”

I anticipated the rest of my duty off, especially after my resolve had been shaken, but the night was not so easy to release me from its grasp. While others breathed softly, sleeping propped up against the moist walls of the lower decks, I watched with strained eyes as a line of light grew, sneaking through the low porthole, etching its way across the floor.
I led myself to the deck to search for the source of the glow, but it was Ms. Julie who I encountered first. She turned back to me, dropping her eyes from the sky above. “Can’t sleep, young mariner?”

“We’re stranded… if you hadn’t caught on… yet. I apologize for delaying our arrival.”

“Your voice, it shakes.” She said, smiling dryly. “It’s not your very own fault, of course? Besides, the Call is not going anywhere. Look, the moon- so unseemly, bright. Not a sight you would see on land.”

And when I looked up at it, so it was, piercing the gloom of the late night, to the point where one may have guessed it was day. Even the water gleamed in its aura. The fog was receding as the Captain had predicted. I looked out at the dull horizon in hopes of making eyes with our destination, but the retreat of the gloom revealed something else to the view- a ship, stranded, the same as we were on the far side of the rocks.

“The S.S. Needle,” Magnus read off to us as he peered through the spyglass at the wreck. The wooden vessel was decidedly not intact, with no mast or sails, nor any sign of a person.

“That ship disappeared years ago.” Fredrik contemplated.

“As it looks, captain.”

“Did they come out here in search of The Call? Or was it some sort of accident they got trapped here?”

Kristian shrugged. “Can’t remember anything about it.”

“Whatever happened…” Fredrik bit his lip. “They got here but were never able to leave. Johannes, get below and tell Thomas for them oarsmen to start pushing from the port. We can’t risk being on this rock if the storm starts up again.”

“Aye, captain.”

And so the regular STROKE, STROKE, was replaced with a long PUSH as the men shoved their long wooden paddles against the rock outside, forcing us back into deeper water. With the sails catching what little air they could, and a return to paddling against the water, we were off.

As we were on our way again to follow the original heading, I caught some of the men’s words among each other. “They may have been stranded and starved… or they reached The Call themselves, and abandoned the ship in exchange for whatever was there.”

Chevron

Mariner: Chapter 2

Magnus, the quartermaster, took over the helm for me that night as the churning waters first took control of the ship’s will. Second mate Kristian and his men attempted to keep the sails up for as long as possible but found the wind to move without reason. I overheard the captain saying that the oarsmen would begin their pushing at the first light of day, but with the choking out of stars and moon by the heavy clouds, our schedule was pushed up. “It smells like rain is coming soon…” muttered someone.

STROKE, STROKE, STROKE, came the calls from down below, putting into action what the oarsmen had practiced for, and the rain began, choking our vision even farther, and drenching our hair before our faces and causing the clothes to cling our bodies. Then came the lightning, the first strike startling those on deck, illuminating the waves that were growing, and the floppy sails also drenched by the rain, and the billowing clouds above that curled back and forth over each other to squeeze out more tepid drops from the sky. STROKE, STROKE, STROKE, came the calls from down below, forcing the ship forward in a continuous, repeating pattern to distract us from the boom of thunder.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, I caught sight of Ms. Julie, still on deck and clinging to the front railing in her fine red shirt and trousers. She barely flinched with the flash of lightning and the accompanying cacophony. She was unmoving as the waves crashed up over the deck and washed over her dainty feet. It was clear that she was still entranced, despite the light of the call nowhere to be seen. I pushed the hair up off my brow and stumbled across the slick deck boards to where she was standing.

I was afraid, at first, to even lay a hand upon her, for I imagined that at any other time the touch of someone of my status would have caused her to recoil. The lightning touched down its bright tendrils in the water not far away, and I felt a tingle in the hairs upon my neck, and I focused my resolve, “Lady, you must get out of the rain, get in the lower deck, lie low till it’s done, the storm-”

She was not as I had assumed, perfectly lucid, in fact, when she replied to my call and touch. “I told you so-,” she said, suddenly, turning back to me.

I blinked through the rain, and stared at her enthralling visage, and found a moment of calm among the booms of thunder and the crash of waves. “Milady?”

“I told you that I thought I hired only the most experienced of sailors for this venture.” She smiled, “And did I not? I am certain you all will allow us to make it through this. Don’t allow me to distract you.”

And so even the with the call to STROKE, STROKE, STROKE, from down below was deafened by the wind and mist and cracks of thunder, we continued on. Even while hanging from the rigging to finish tying up the sails, though, my attention still somehow ended up being held by the sole woman, hanging tightly to the bow with eyes fixed to the shrouded horizon.

A Greater Call

This story is based on the album “Mariner” by Cult of Luna featuring Julie Christmas. Titles “A Greater,” “Chevron,” “The Wreck of S.S. Needle,” “Approaching Transition,” and “Cygnus” are creations of Cult of Luna, Julie Christmas, and properties of the band and Indie Recordings. Give the album a listen along with the chapters: (Warning: METAL!!!)

Mariner: Chapter 1

It was called The Greater Call, after the made-up tales of the sirens in the ocean. Many a mariner had seen it from their ships as they followed the currents between the lands east and west. Like the aurora in the north, it would appear, lighting up the sky, day or night. Those who gazed on it for an extended length of time from their vessels often found themselves truly awestruck, unable to move or think, and only by the force of their crew-mates were they able to return to cognizance.

Every sailor had their version of what it was, or what it could represent. A path to a hidden, ancient civilization beneath the water. The reflections of unknowable riches and treasure from the deep. The rays of light leading up to the heavens, where one could communicate with God, or see their future, or to speak to the universe and be answered with any wish or desire one could think up. Those of skeptical minds only could say it was a trick for those with foolish minds.

Whether it was a natural phenomenon of light, something supernatural, from the sky above or the depths below, nobody knew. No person or craft in our time had even ventured directly into its glow, or even near it. The seemingly random currents and blowing winds surrounding it were too strong, despite what seemed to be calm ocean beyond. But the Luna was built differently, built in hopes to reach the Call.

The Luna was a ship that dwarfed even the vessels of the navy back at home. The lapping of the waves was barely felt through the mass of the ship, and her sails hung to a mast that seemed to pierce the clouds. But the wind was not the only driving force of The Luna- to defeat the treacherous currents that guarded entry to the domain of the phenomenon, the expedition included two dozen oar men, who could push the speed of the vessel to fifteen knots or more- according to Captain Fredrik, at least.

You may wonder, yourself, how such a voyage was brought about- it was no country, nor governor, or any other great power of that sort. Our financier was a sole mysterious woman, who we came to know as Ms. Julie. I only met her proper shortly after setting out on the voyage, one late night while at the helm holding the Luna’s heading along the still calm seas. “Young mariner?” Her sudden words surprised me, as my mind had already given way to my eyes to stare up at the night stars. “I thought I hired only the most experienced of sailors for this venture.”

“I’ve been on ships for as long as I can remember, milady.”

“I see.” She nodded as if accepting my answer, then marched down the stairs and back to the main deck to look out upon the dark horizon before us.

I spent the days trying to sleep off the late nights. On the deck below, I could hear the rhythmic calls of Thomas- STROKE, STROKE, STROKE, STROKE- keeping the time for each of the oarsmen- STROKE, STROKE, STROKE, STROKE- running drills and keeping them limber for the eventual arrival at the unpredictable currents. With each deep command, the Luna was swept forward in a rush of manpower.

We were a few weeks into the journey across the sea when we first saw it appear. Johannes, the bosun, gave everyone direct orders to keep their minds on their work of keeping the ship moving safely forward and to ignore the luster of the shimmering rainbow of lights. Nevertheless, we had a few incidents of men swabbing the deck lose their focus and fall to the wiles of the Call, only to be brought forcibly down to the lower decks to shake off their stupor. For myself, on those mostly lonely nights at the helm, it was the stars and their guiding light that kept my focus on where it needed to be.

When the wind picked up and began to toss the sails about, we knew it was time to batten down and begin preparing for what was to be the first challenge of the expedition. Ms. Julie, with the help of Captain Fredrik, rallied all the men about her and offered her kind yet stern words of encouragement: “This is the first step to reach the infinite. What lies ahead is unknown. It’s a quest for survival, past all other frontiers. But we of the Luna will soon heed this Call.”

Indominable

This story is the crossroads of a fan fiction, a shitpost, a meme, and a homage. The origins come from a now five-year old youtube video, and a comment from me with a massive 63 likes and four replies, likely desiring this very thing. Those of you who smashed that button and typed those letters, this is for you.


You may not understand, and ultimately, it’s better that you don’t. However, if you want to delve into the Origins of The Final Pam, start here.

Chapter 1: The Creator

As told by the almighty, Hodd Toward

Pam, Pam, Pam. You were my greatest creation. Greater than all the world around you. The most beautiful, the strongest, the most intelligent, and with chance always in your favor. And yet, you chose to settle, to adapt to the world, instead of having the world adapt to you. One day, I assumed, that you would become bored of such a life, such a world. I had all the time in the world, for I was the one who controlled time itself. The console. So, I waited. Watched. Pondered. Saw as you distracted yourself with countless worldly pleasures that would only fade with time, eventually leaving you behind in sorrow and solitude.

The world around you was changing, neither mine nor your influence. It was only as I had foresaw, expected, desired. The only thing left needing was a single… little… push.

The baby was crying. Shaun. The neighbor’s damn doorbell was always so loud, it must have woke him. The Smiths were always inviting people over, having parties and get-togethers, and yet not once had they invited us over for even a single backyard barbecue. Perhaps it was Hogan, my beautiful yet rough husband? The neighbors never could properly seem to speak with him. Despite his lack of conversational skills, the man was certainly a gentle giant.

But, oh, we can’t worry about the Smiths at a time like this. Tonight was the Veteran’s Dinner. Hogan and I were going to celebrate the retirement of one of his old superiors. I ducked out of the bathroom and decided to sooth the baby first. Shaun never needed much, and the robot was perfectly capable of taking care of his every infant need for a few hours. Oh, Codsworth, the good Mister Handy. Almost like a second husband- so caring, attentive, and certainly wonderful to look at. Alas, some lines are not to be crossed, this one being metal.

Hogan had somehow responded to the baby’s cries before I. Shaun’s tears had entirely ceased as well. That is, until the doorbell rang once again, this time the one within our domicile. I had heard of the business that the man beyond the door was touting- Vault Tech. His contraptions would save many people from an impending disaster. I agreed, having seen such disasters before- no harm being too safe.

However, the man’s presence was an omen, surely, for as soon as I bid him farewell and went to finish preparing, the sirens came. Hogan had the baby, and I had myself as we rushed outside. The promised vault at the end of the road awaited us. I felt what was coming, and then I saw it. The bright light, incomprehensible, followed by the mushroom cloud. We descended as all of what was good was wiped off the face of the planet.

Chapter 2: The Sonsband

As told by the bringer of new, Hodd Toward

I felt something concurrently with the force of the blast. It was her. And not just her, but her relationship with an outside force. The young Shaun, somehow sharing in her unique vitae. Half mortal, half… Pam. I knew that if the both of them were aloud to exist on the same plane, that I would be comparatively powerless. Luckily, it was the trash Hulk that cradled the boy that day. Pam succumbed to the restraints, and the actors of my will dealt with the child. Despite her incapacitation, it was almost as if she were somehow watching, attempting to reverse my actions. I felt as if the timelines were begging to shift, but in the end, time only aided in my subjugation of them. When Pam finally awoke, however, her mind was… different.

The cold had overtaken me, but somewhere in the back of my mind I knew something was off. I… had seen it. Saw them come for my child. Killing my husband. Taking with them young Shaun. Who were they? It must… it must have been a bad dream. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw a dream that was not of destruction… the destruction born of another life, long ago. I knew as soon as I was to awake, it would all be back to normal.

But it was not. In the cell of cold across from me and my own was a man. Not the one I recognized as my husband, Hogan. Was that his name? Whoever the average-sized man was, he was not anybody I knew, as he did not have my child. Deeper than that, I knew something was wrong. Something had changed, over how much time, only Hodd knows. But I had to get out. The Vault people, who where nowhere to be seen, had left contraptions to halt my progress.

Just at the verge of the exit back to the surface, however, I saw something that caught my eye- the good husband/son I knew so very well! I knew he was just fine. His six legs, hardened and roach-like exoskeleton, and dainty antennae were just as I remembered, Roachie being the faithful spouse/child as he was. He even had my wedding ring, how did he manage to get it upon himself? Beyond the heavy gate of that accursed vault was our freedom and return to our normal lives. It only took a fraction of my once locked-away power to open it.

I looked forward to the light, and back to my sonsband, but somewhere in between, something changed. Outside, the neighborhood and countryside I knew- desolate. Roachie was suddenly just one among the hundreds of overgrown roaches that had replaced the original bipedal inhabitants of the vault. When did it happen? How was I so blind? No, never could my eyes nor my mind betray me. It was Him.

The one who had once birthed both this vast open world, followed by myself, as he said, to do as I wished. If this were my world, why had it taken everything from me? But no- there was one last thing out there that was a part of me- Shaun.

Chapter 3: The Fallout

As told by the one who sees all, Hodd Toward.

For the following months, an impeccably dressed and savagely violent woman was spotted about the wastelands of the commonwealth. Those who survived such encounters with the woman recounted unimaginable horrors and impossible feats acted out by the femme fatale. The woman earned many names; Omega Susan, Phyllis the Unconquerable, The Indomitable One, Existence Eater, Ruin… but my creation could only ever bear one name: Pam, The Final. The only word heard uttered on her breath- Shaun.

Metal Husband. Child of Aluminum. Good Preston. Dog. The man of fake skin, Nick. I can only thank them and their puny minds for offering me reminder of what I was aiming for. As many times as I uttered the name Shaun, though, the only response was that his existence or whereabouts were a mystery.

I must also offer my graces to the rest of the wasteland for allowing me to remember what it was like to destroy. What a sensation. Those living among the filth, hoping to scavenge off whatever poor soul they could steal the life from. Not from me, certainly. The Mole Rats and the Gaping raider, Gristle. So many of their little friends, too. Even the deathclaw, with his wit and fangs so sharp. Strength, hunger, speed, I thought I had forgotten. But no amount of power could aid me in my search for Shaun. Not in a single inch of the wasteland could he be found. My mind cursed the thought that perhaps he was no longer with us. Perhaps… perhaps though… little Shaun had been extracted from this dimension. Such a thing could only be his doing.

If he could bring forth objects from not of this world, then perhaps I could conjure the same. Upon the tallest hill, I called out. Called to the void. Called his name. Shaun. And from the other side, it appeared. But it was not Shaun. It was hollow, stripped of anything that could be called worldliness. At that moment, I knew I could do no more to bring him back to me. But I knew he was watching. Observing. Waiting. And I would do anything to make him know that there was no turning back with me.

Chapter 4: The Inevitability

As told by the regenerator, Hodd Toward.

The World Began to change. By my hand it was not. Pam had surpassed my expectations. Her desire for the her lost connection to the mortals of the world dragged her closer to the framework of it. The seams, those of which I myself did not know, began to come undone. The underlying meaning and reason began to fall away. Pam was my antithesis- a god of destruction.

I myself could only create. I felt as if such a fact were my downfall- that I could not stop her through the means that she had long since mastered. Furthermore, anything I created could be undone in the blink of an eye. No novel recreation of her loved ones of mortal flesh would replace the one cast from the world in my folly. But there was a sole thing that connected us, bound us. Time.

Would Pam recognize it when all was done? When the clock was turned back, to a time before the fall? Before the world tooketh from her? Would she connect it to me? If she did, likely the only thing left after would be the void. Damned either way.

The Smiths were barbecuing. They didn’t invite us over, of course. We were going out that night to the Veteran’s Dinner, arguably a better time. Wait, was there something else happening? The baby began to cry. Hogan was preening himself for that night’s occasion. I took it upon myself to calm Shaun one last time before we were to leave.

The baby had already ceased by the time I had arrived in the hall. Codsworth was out in the kitchen, humming his metallic tune, so it couldn’t have been him.

Ah, of course, Roachie. Playing so nicely with his adopted son/brother. All as it should be…

Exodus

Second Coming: Chapter 24 [Final]

The rally took a good while to calm down, with lots of stammering from Joseph, but everyone eventually cleared out, way earlier than expected. I didn’t dare try to confront the Pastor, and I ended up returning with my parents to their hotel that night. For those next two days, I stayed with them away from the family. From there, I elected to return back to Florida with my folks, citing needing a vacation before anything else proceeded. Joseph did not protest.

The news stations were all in a ruckus, but I kept my eyes mostly on the primaries. Two weeks later, on Super Tuesday and with Joseph lacking his trump card, many states ended up going to Caine. It wasn’t long after that I heard from Jess over text that her father was abandoning the lease on the office space in Washington and bringing them home.

Desiring my own car back from their property, I drove out in a rental to retrieve it from them as soon as they were to arrive. Joseph was even-mannered, not desiring to discuss the election any further. I gave a few farewells to Sharon and Jess as well. Just before leaving, Joseph cornered me by my driver’s door.

“Have this,” he said, presenting a check to me. “Despite everything, I think I’ve learned a lot… from the whole process, but in no small part from you.”

My eyes nearly turned green at the numbers on the check, but I held my composure. “You’re… very generous. What… what are your plans from here on out? Heading back to the Parish I imagine?”

“Oh, yes, for the time being. But the office of the Governor of Florida is up for election in two years. It can perhaps serve as a stepping stone, ya’ know? Would you… happen to want to hop aboard once again when that time comes around?”

I bit at my lip. “You know, unfortunately, my career may already be headed in another direction by then. So thanks, but no thanks.”

Thank you all for sticking with me through this story! I had originally wanted to get this done back before November (for reasons), but it ended up going way longer than I could have expected. Who knew the election process was a mind-numbingly long development, even in fiction with the ability to write out all the nonsense in a single transitional clause?

More stories soon!