VTTBOTS, Hour of the Golden Doom
The pleasure yacht Golden Touch glided smoothly across the starlit surface of the Caribbean Sea, leaving a foamy phosphorescent wake to stern as she made her way back to Kingstown, Jamaica. Returning from the swimwear photoshoot of the century, her decks were packed with the top names in modeling and acting. The brainchild of media tycoon Rupert Murdoch, this was the largest collection of the worlds most beautiful women ever assembled, and a secret location had been chosen on a small island to avoid the media crush that would have resulted. No, this was all Rupert's baby, and his company alone would have the exclusive broadcast and distribution rights to history's greatest display of feminine pulchritude.
"Steady as she goes" Captain Charles Briton intoned to the helmsman.
"Aye sir, steady as she goes"
Captain Briton sighed inwardly. This was a far cry from his days as Exec on the Royal Navy's HMS Invincible, but he had to admit there were worse things to do in retirement. And looking out the port bridge door at the two young models sipping champagne in the moonlight, he had to admit there were some distinct advantages to captaining Golden Touch.
"Sir, contact, bearing 035, she's not showing standard running lights, unable to determine Angle On The Bow or range."
"Very Well." The Captain scooped up a pair Zeiss binoculars from the heavy leather case around his neck. "Always the best for Mr. Murdoch" he thought offhandedly, hefting the expensive German spyglasses to his eyes. There in the distance, his gaze stopped on a amorphous glow. "Radar, range to contact?"
"I'm sorry Sir, I have no contacts on my screen" replied the radarman.
"What resolution are you set at?"
"Maximum, Sir, and 20 mile range. I've dialed all the way in to the point of picking up surface clutter, but no contact." The radarman was also ex-Royal Navy, so the Captain had faith in his expertise.
"Very well, Quartermaster, maintain visual track, and get me a CPA."
Interesting, Briton mused. Probably a drug runner in a low slung fiberglass cigarette boat. He'd get a course and speed on it and pass along the information to the US Navy, who had a cruiser on drug op patrol somewhere in Caribbean or Gulf of Mexico. If the vessel wasn't showing running lights, it had to be up to no good.
"Sir, contact is making 20 knots, course 140 true. Closest Point of Approach 2450 yards, 090 relative." the Quartermaster reported after calculating over his charts for a few minutes.
"Very Well." Not too close, but worth keeping an eye on. Basically on a reciprocal course, the two would pass like, well, ships in the night.
"I wonder what he's carrying, weed or blow?" the young American helmsman joked, to the snickers of the rest of the bridge crew.
"Mind your helm, Mr. Jenkins". The captain reproached. Although no longer in the military, he liked to run a tight ship, and something about this contact made him nervous, something he couldn't put a finger on.
As the contact continued to approach, it became apparent that it was no speedboat, in fact, it appeared to be a large source of light below the surface. "What in the Hell is that thing?" Jenkins breathed.
"I don't know." was Briton's only answer. "Perhaps a large biologic?".
"Making 20 Knots, sir?" the Quartermaster replied.
"Hmm, odd. I don't like it. Lets put some distance between us. Helm, ahead Full, left standard rudder, come left to course 255." Briton barked. Orders were repeated back and acknowledged, and the ship shuddered slightly as her two massive General Electric gas turbines loaded up, the Golden Touch's screwblades angling out to "bite" deeper into the water.
"Sir, contact coming about! She's making right for us!" the lookout had a panicky edge to his voice.
"Increase speed to ahead Flank! Maximum RPMs!" Briton responded coolly. He had almost called 'Action Stations' in the excitement, before remembering he wasn't on Invincible. The Golden Touch surged ahead, gas turbines screaming, ship shuddering, and beautiful women clinging to rails and bulkheads in the now 32 Knot wind sweeping across her bow. "I hope to God no one falls overboard", Briton muttered to himself.
The contact resolved itself into two submerged light sources, just under the surface, with water sheeting up over the top of them, the surface of the ocean lifted up on the pressure wave sweeping ahead of the mysterious vessel. I've seen this before, Briton thought, but where?
"Holy Shit!" Jenkins bellowed, in an awed voice. "Just like 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea!"
Thatís it, thatís what it reminds of, thought Briton, too caught up in the moment to reprimand Jenkins. Was this vessel trying to ram them?
"Sir, she's over taking us!"
Briton grabbed the R/T, and began calling "Mayday, Mayday!", reporting their current position, but only an odd hissing answered on the receiver. Jamming? Suddenly, there was an odd tingling feeling in the hair at the back of his neck, and everything went dark.
"Whatís happened!" someone called. Absolutely no lights, instruments, nothing was working. Golden Touch coasted down, her engines dead.
" Take a torch, and get the ladies below deck. Wake up all the crew, if there not already awake, arm them as well as possible, and stand by to repel boarders." Briton ordered the Quartermaster.
"Aye sir!" the seaman gulped, and ran out.
Before he could exit the bridge wing, a flash erupted, and he went down unconscious. Men clad in wetsuits with Victorian , gold encrusted ornate helmets and SCUBA tanks, were swarming over the rails, firing rifles that made a compressed air "whoomp" and ejected a nerf like projectile. Shots were striking models and crew alike with an electric flash, rendering them unconscious. Three of the boarders entered the bridge, mowing down the crew. Briton was missed in the first barrage, and cracked one of the intruders in the head with a handy fire extinguisher, knocking the man's helmet half off, and dropping him like sack of wet cement A second intruder fired his air gun at point blank range, striking Briton in the leather binocular case around his neck, and the loud flash and impact of the soft ball knocked him back and over the side of the port wing, into the dark water below. The screams of hapless women tapered off, and soon only the strangely garbed divers were left standing.
"Alles klarre, Herr Kapitan" one of the men spoke into his helmet. The
men busied themselves hefting all the models carefully across the gap to
the now surfaced submarine raider, handling them gently like the precious
cargo they were. A lone silhouetted figure watched the operation from the
closest "eye", of the raider's pointed, riveted prow. Once the models were
all across, the men were unceremoniously dragged below deck on the Golden
Touch. The divers then departed to the mystery vessel, and it pulled
away, only to turn back swiftly and knife under the yacht like a hot blade
through butter, cutting it completely in two. It sank in seconds, like
a bathtub toy pushed under by a cruel child. The undersea leviathan dived
away, and there was only the moonlight and the dark water.
The USOS Seaview moved silently along at periscope depth, with only a slight hum in the water that belied the vast power of her twin 200 megawatt nuclear reactors, 30,0000 shaft horsepower steam turbines and pump jet propulsion. Built as both a research vessel and ballistic missile submarine, Seaview was the fastest, largest, deepest diving nuclear submarine ever built. Her SLBMs had been taken out after the Cold War was over, and she was fitted with missiles for a more benign, but no less strategically important purpose. Seaview could launch a series of small spy satellites, or hunter killer satellites, into orbit, making her an important asset in the ability to both get satellites up quickly over hot spots, and deny the enemy the same advantage. Also, unknown to the general public, she retained one Triton D-4 missile, with a single tactical warhead. For Seaview also tended to be sent on some the most sensitive, "oddball" missions the US Government undertook, and when you engage in the business of recovering crashed alien craft, putting out fires in the Van Allen Radiation Belt, or just ridding the ocean of deadly, giant sea life, you just never know when a thermonuclear warhead is going to come in handy.
So it was on this day then, that Admiral Harriman Nelson stared thoughtfully out of the large view windows in the bow of Seaview. Made of a polymer plastic called "Herculite X", that he himself had invented, they could withstand sea pressure to all but the deepest depths to which Seaview could dive, at which point titanium alloy shields could be closed, armoring them up to the strength of the hull itself.
"Have you ever read 20000 Leagues Under the Sea, Lee?"
Captain Lee Crane looked up from the coded dispatches he was reading, and looked at the Admiral with a slightly puzzled expression. Once considered the best CO in the Nuclear Navy, he had transferred over to Nelson's "Oceanographic Service" after the Admiral had given him the lowdown on the type of missions they'd be handling. At first there had been a little friction between the two, but now, years later, they were fast friends, an each would gladly give his life for each other, or Seaview and her crew, for that matter.
"Sure, about a hundred times, what budding young submariner didn't?"
The admiral chuckled softly. "True. If you are wondering why I'm asking, and I know you are, I just received a very interesting packet before we left, from Washington." Nelson passed over a message with EYES ONLY emblazoned across the top.
Crane scanned the message quickly, and looked up at the Admiral. "So this British Officer claims that's what happened to the Golden Touch!?" Of course, the disappearance of the Media Moguls' yacht, and one hundred of the worlds most beautiful women, had set off a media frenzy and an enormous rescue operation, which turned up the wrecked yacht, a few dead sailors and photocrew men, and no trace of the women. One survivor had been found, but the news reported he was suffering from amnesia.
"Yes, intriguing, isn't it? He claims that he was saved by a thick binocular case that absorbed the energy of the attackers electrical weapon."
" I think maybe he had a few too many Gin & Tonics in him."
"Well, read this, and tell me what you think." Crane took the thick Manila package that the Admiral proffered, and opened it to reveal a packet of musty yellow documents.
After a few minutes of reading, The Captain whistled appreciatively. "I just don't believe it." The documents, dating from the 1878, were the official Government report recounting the exploits of the Frigate USS Abraham Lincoln, and her encounter with and subsequent destruction of a submersible craft that had been raiding cargo ships in the South Pacific.
"Apparently, a French Professor of Zoology was on board, and blabbed too much too a certain colleague back home. Hence, with some embellishment, 20,000 Leagues was published." the Admiral suggested
"Yes, but it says here that the vessel was destroyed."
"Actually, it says the Lincoln sank it, with no trace. Since submarines are designed to sink, and Naval Officers of the time had no idea what they were really dealing with, it my have escaped."
"Only to show up a hundred and ten years later?" Crane countered.
"Maybe not, if they moved operations to the Caribbean, and maintained a low profile, it could go a long way towards explaining some of the mysterious ship disappearances in that area over the years. Perhaps generations of pirates continued the "tradition". In any case, Washington wants us to check it out.
"OK, I have my doubts, but I'll order the OOD to set course for the
last known position of the Golden Touch."
Tyra closed her arms around herself and shivered, even though the temperature was comfortably warm.
"What the hell is going on? Where are we?" she complained.
She was in a room with about five other girls, and it was decorated everywhere with opulent splendor, the predominant theme being gold. Gold ornaments, gilded frame mirrors, and even gold thread woven into wall hangings and throw rugs. And the statues. There were several golden statues of beautiful women on low pedestals around the room, and they were the most incredible artwork Tyra had ever seen. One was of a nude, Hispanic featured girl, standing with her hands caressing the sides of her ribcage and head tossed to one side. The statue's eyes were closed, and it had a look of pure erotic pleasure on its face, the mouth slightly open, as if emitting a moan. Others were different. One was a buxom girl in an old fashioned corset and stockings, hair piled high on top of her head Marie Antoinette style, with cleavage absolutely spilling over the corset's tightly bound top. She was on her knees, with a pleading expression on her face and wide open, blank golden eyes. She held both hands out in front of her as if in supplication. The most interesting one was a statue of a kneeling girl giving oral sex, left hand rubbing her left tit, and the other fist posed in front of her wide open, circular mouth, as if stroking an invisible penis. The statues cheeks were slightly dimpled in as if sucking. It was the most erotic thing Tyra had ever seen, and she found herself getting wet just looking at it.
"She looks like she's having a good time!" Chloe breathed heavily. The buxom blond playmate was looking at the statue with an almost animal hunger, her own hands held tightly on the sides of her bare, tanned thighs, causing her tight red latex minidress to crinkle upwards as she rubbed.
"Never mind, lets see if we can find a way out of here, and get word to the authorities." Tyra responded, tearing her eyes away from the statue.
"Hey, look at this." Elle had kicked off her heels, climbed up on the pedestal with the corseted statue, and was examining it closely. As she examined it, her black dress rode up on her hips, exposing the tops of her black satin-finish stockings and the clasp of a garter belt. "This is the most incredible thing I've ever seen! Even the stockings a have a fine silk texture to them." she said, while running a hand along the statues knee.
Tyra walked up, and examined it herself. Each individual strand of hair, and pore of the skin was depicted on the model. The fingernails even had some poorly trimmed cuticles. "Hmmm, she needs a new manicurist."
"Seriously, this has to be a life cast, nobody can sculpt like that. Remember that photoshoot of Naomi painted gold? She looked just like this in that close-up. I was painted gold once, but they did a crappy job, you could hardly even tell." she said, with a little wistful disappointment in her voice.
"Speaking of Naomi, I wonder where they took her." Petra piped up, while smoothing out the wrinkles in her sarong. She was dressed more for a pool party than a cocktail function, her massive chest barely restrained by a red bikini top.
"I dunno, maybe they split us up into small groups for a reason." Rebecca, who had until know been staring at the golden Hispanic statue, chimed in.
"Well, whoever owns this place must be absolutely loaded." Elle interjected, with a catty tone in her voice.
Before any one could reply, the door opened, and a guard entered. He was dressed in old fashioned, high collared red uniform, somewhat like a British Beefeater, without he big fuzzy hat. Accompanying him was a distinguished, some what swarthy, older gentleman in a much more ornate version of the same uniform, festooned with gold spangles, cords, and sashes .
"Lovely, isn't she? I sculpted her myself." said the ornately dressed man, beaming with pride while gesturing towards the corseted statue the girls were crowded around.
"Who are you?! Where are we?! What's going on?!" the girls all shouted at once.
"Quiet, please." the man said gently. "Ladies let me assure you there is no cause for alarm." he spoke with an unidentifiable accent.
"What about the boat, and those divers..?" Petra demanded
"I am baron Nemo, and you are under my protection. Some drug dealers had abducted you in hopes of a high ransom, but I was able to foil their plot, when they tried to use my private Island as their hideout unfortunately, their ship is not salvageable. I assure you, as soon as we can raise the mainland on radio, we will arrange for helicopters to come pick you up. Unfortunately, sunspot activity is blocking the radio, and the next boat isn't due for a month, so until we can make further arrangements, please enjoy my hospitality. Oh, and one word of caution, please do not wander outside of the grounds, I, ah, fancy myself somewhat the big game hunter, so the jungles are stocked with many dangerous animals."
"Humph. Naomi's not gonna like that." Tyra quipped. The other girls giggled.
"Just so, there is no accounting for politics. Anyhow, I am at your disposal. Please makes yourselves as comfortable as possible." As he said this, his gaze lingered on Trya's shiny, tan pantyhosed legs. She was wearing a shade lighter than her own skin tone, giving her caramel legs a translucent glazed gleam. She unconsciously tried to pull her shockingly short flowered dress lower.
"Ah, Baron, perhaps you could show me some more of your wonderful sculpture?" Elle spoke up.
"Why, I'd be honored , Miss MacPherson." he said, offering an arm. "Ladies, you'll find refreshments in the main hall."
Elle linked arms with him, and patted his shoulder. "Later, girls.", she laughed.
Chloe, Petra, and Rebecca all looked like they should have thought of
that themselves. Tyra looked unconvinced.
End Part 1