Andy McBean 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea: The Amazing Adventures of Andy McBean

Published by Salmon Bay Books

Copyright © 2014 by Dale Kutzera

All rights reserved.

Illustrations by Joemel Requeza

Vignettes by Dale Kutzera

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. This book is available in print from most online retailers.

In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author at info@DaleKutzera.com.

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www.AndyMcBean.com

To Jules Verne

The Father of Science Fiction

Contents

A Monster from the Deep

The Boy Who Saved the World

With Friends Like These

Home

Leftovers

Invincible

No Way Out

Punished

Taken Away

A Secret Mission

The Ends of the Earth

Icebreaker

On the Ice

Deceived

The Ocean Floor

The Grip of Death

The Nautilus

Nemo

Prisoners

The Scrap Yard

The Real Thordahl

Wolves

A Scar

The Shortcut

The Ice Chasm

Trapped in the Ice

Open Water

Escape

The Minisub

Squid

The Darkness

The Argo

The Beacon

The Battle of Iceberg Alley

The Rescue

Redemption

The Way Home

About the Author

Jules Verne

He saw the lights again off the starboard bow,

glowing like the eyes of a raging monster.

Prologue

A Monster from the Deep

AKIYO TAMASHITA WAS sick, sicker than he’d ever been in his eighteen years. The ship rolled and swayed beneath his feet. The whole ocean tilted and tipped one direction, then another, then back again. He hadn’t eaten a full meal since the Nishun Maru had left the Port of Shimonoseki in Yamaguchi Prefecture for the whale-rich waters of the Bering Sea. Nothing would stay down. Everything was coming up.

He staggered to the rail in the milky light of dawn and held tight to the cold metal. The hunting had been good and the tails of half a dozen Fin Whales were lashed to the ship, their sleek bodies dragging in the water. The factory ship would make quick work of them, processing meat and blubber that would be sold to the best restaurants in Tokyo.

The thought of eating made Akiyo sick again. He leaned into the salty spray of the ocean and retched what little remained in his stomach, careful to face downwind. He had learned the lesson of puking into the wind the hard way.

Looking over the rail, he saw a dim glow just beneath the black waves. Was he hallucinating? The ocean can do that sometimes, at least that’s what the veteran deck hands had told him. In the ship’s tiny mess room, where they ate heartily while Akiyo clutched a cup of tea, they would smile and tell stories of strange creatures, rogue waves, and lights glimmering in the ocean depths.

Akiyo felt another retch swell inside him. He opened his mouth, but nothing came. He had puked himself dry, but puking was the only thing that relieved the sickness. He would gladly barf up a lung or a kidney to feel better, but nothing came.

The yellow glow, however, returned, now traveling in the opposite direction.

It might be a school of fish, Akiyo thought. He knew some fish possessed the power of self-illumination. Squid were particularly colorful, setting their luminescent skin aglow in ripples more brilliant than the famed neon signs of Shibuya. Or, it might be an algae plume glowing under the churning surf. He’d seen such clouds of phosphorescence swirl in the harbor as they had left port.

The memory of home gave him a pang of regret. How many weeks until the fleet returned and he could kiss solid ground again? He vowed that he would listen to his father, study harder, and learn a trade, any trade, as long as it was on dry land. The speaker mounted on the upper deck squealed to life, interrupting his thoughts.

Whale ho! Captain Yamato yelled.

The loud noise made Akiyo’s head throb, but he straightened himself and wiped the filth from his mouth with the sleeve of his coat. He didn’t want the veterans to see how sick he was. He could hear their boots on the steel plates of the ship as they burst from the gangway, shouting and slapping their hands, ready for the hunt. Kino, the harpooner, led the way. He had the sharpest eyes on the ship and ran to the bow where the canon rose like a weapon of war.

And this was war.

Their foe was strong and clever and had taken many lives in a struggle that had lasted hundreds of years, maybe thousands. Of course, the balance of power had shifted. The Japanese no longer hunted whales from sows and junks no larger than the Nishun Maru’s lifeboat. Sails and oars had been replaced with ten thousand horsepower diesel engines. Harpoons once thrown by the strongest sailors were now fired from a canon and carried impact grenades.

The whales didn’t stand a chance.

Three points off the port bow! shouted Kino.

Akiyo pulled himself along the rail to scan the churning waves. Half a kilometer away, a jet of mist glistened in the morning light. Then another, and another. The veterans smiled and clapped each other on the back. They were not thinking of the whales, but the hefty bonus they would earn for filling the factory ship with meat and blubber. Akiyo smiled for a different reason; the sooner they made their quota, the sooner they would go home.

The crew removed the cover from the harpoon canon. Kino leaped into the seat and worked the controls skillfully, raising the barrel and turning the base. The gun’s targeting mechanism was a remarkable achievement of technology, able to factor the range, trajectory, wind speed, and even the swell of the boat rising and falling. The whales might as well give up, Akiyo mused, follow the Nishun Maru to the factory ship, and swim right up its processing ramp.

Kino shouted a battle cry. The other veterans cheered, their fists raised in solidarity. Akiyo added his own weak voice but kept both hands clamped to the rail of the ship. As the others trained their gaze ahead, he saw something in the opposite direction.

The lights again. Glowing yellow. Racing toward them.

He had just a moment to brace himself before the Nishun Maru was slammed with a shocking scream of twisting metal. The veterans cried out and sprawled across the deck. Kino fell from the seat of the harpoon gun. Only Akiyo remained standing as the ship listed, the familiar hum of the engines now silent. The door to the bridge flew open and Captain Yamato ran out, clambering down the stairs. Shouts flew between him and the men.

Is everyone all right?

What happened?

Did we hit something?

No, Akiyo thought. Something hit us. And it’s coming right back at us.

He saw the lights again off the starboard bow, glowing like the eyes of a raging monster. But this was no mythical beast from the deep. It was a submarine with a metal hull and jagged prow. He pointed and yelled, but the veterans ignored him. Akiyo wrapped his arms around the rail as the submarine gained speed, water surging over the bow, then dipped just beneath the waves.

Metal ripped and squealed again. Crewmen fell across the decks. Kino toppled over the rail, clutched it with one hand, then fell into the surf. Shouts and screams sparked Akiyo to quick action. He threw a flotation device overboard. They only had minutes to rescue Kino before hypothermia set in. They would not have to pull far. The deck that once stood a reassuring ten meters above the waves had descended to half that height. The ship was sinking. Groans rattled the vessel like a gored animal. Akiyo felt the deck plates twist and shudder. The hull tilted and anything or anyone not tied down slid to the lowest corner.

The door to the lower decks burst open. The cook and engineer staggered out, enveloped in acrid black smoke. Gasping and coughing, they shouted to the Captain. The only word Akiyo could make out was lifeboat. Everyone stared at Yamato, waiting breathlessly for his command as black smoke billowed around them and a wave splashed over the bow.

Abandon ship! he yelled.

Within minutes, the lifeboat was lowered from the stern of the Nishun Maru, swaying on guy lines and finally splashing into the surf. Akiyo clutched his way toward it. Someone grabbed him and threw him onto the smaller boat. Another figure landed beside him. It was Kino, drenched in water, his face pale and painted with fear. The other crew jumped on board and Captain Yamato counted heads.

Reassured that every man was present, the Captain made one last trip to the bridge. Akiyo wondered if he would observe the old tradition of going down with his vessel, but he returned a moment later, coughing through billowing smoke, clutching the ship’s logbook. He jumped aboard the lifeboat and ordered the men to cast off. The lifeboat’s engines growled to life, and each man prepared for the grim fate ahead. They were stuck on the cramped boat until their distress signal alerted another ship in the fleet to their location. If this horrible situation ended well, they would only be on the lifeboat a few hours, maybe a day.

By now the Nishun Maru listed heavily and Akiyo’s mind tilted right along with it. That such a large ship could sink so quickly had never occurred to him. It had been the only stable thing on an unstable ocean. The crew watched their home at sea sink. The bow dipped first, and in doing so raised the stern above the waves, revealing the mangled rudder and propeller. Something had clawed through the hull with savage precision.

In an instant everything had changed. Gone were the whales they were poised to kill. Gone was the bonus they would earn from the bounty of prized meat. Gone was the speedy return to port where Akiyo would kiss the shore and vow never to leave it. Gone was their ship and everything in it. With a last mournful groan, the whaler slipped quickly beneath the surf, as though late for an important meeting.

Its descent revealed the submarine in the distance. It was enormous, twice the size of the recently departed whaler, and that only counted for the part rising above the dark waves like a man-made island. Metal plates swept up to a conning tower barbed with weapons. A saw-toothed beam, like the spine of a prehistoric animal, arched from the unseen bow to the top of the conning tower. There stood a tall man, his jacket rippling in the wind. Akiyo couldn’t make out his features, other than a dark beard and the military style cap on his head. The man raised a bullhorn and spoke in crisp Japanese with a slight Yokohama accent.

All hands safe? the man yelled.

The men just stared. Even Captain Yamato looked confused. He cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled in reply, Who are you?

The man repeated his question, All hands safe?

Yes, yes, Yamato shouted. All hands are safe. Who are you? Why have you attacked us?

The speaker’s voice drifted over the rolling surf. Tell Thordahl that I’m waiting for him.

Who is Thordahl? Yamato yelled.

There was no reply. The bearded man on the submarine lowered his bullhorn and climbed down into the body of the ship. The vessel advanced quietly, then slipped beneath the waves. Once again, Akiyo noted the luminous yellow lights as they descended into the depths. He would never forget their animal glow or the name written in English on the conning tower.

Nautilus.

Chapter One

The Boy Who Saved the World

HEY, ANDY!

Hi, Andy!

Andeeeee!

Andy-man!

McBeanster!

Andy in the house!

The greetings came from every direction as Andy McBean strolled down the main corridor of West Bend Middle School. Andy was the man. He was the bomb. He was all that and then some.

Andy wasn’t the best athlete or the smartest student. He was short and skinny for his age. His blue eyes were hidden beneath a tight nest of black hair that shot out from his forehead like a hood ornament. But he was also the biggest celebrity the small town of West Bend had seen since Founder Ezra Taggert wrestled a moose to a draw in 1906.

Andy McBean had saved the planet.

Two months ago, he had foiled the alien invasion to steal the earth’s water. He had evaded capture by the giant tripods, liberated his friends and neighbors from alien cages, and helped destroy the giant evaporation machine. Since then, hardly a day went by without someone pinning a ribbon to his chest or draping a medal around his neck. The honors and awards had become so numerous that his parents now turned them all down, even an appearance before the Congressional Select Committee on Alien Relations.

Andy-meister!

You the man, McBean!

Rock-on, Andy!

Andy waved, high-fived, fist-bumped, and fired finger-pistols at his fellow students. He traded intricate handshakes with the members of the football team and hugs with members of the varsity cheerleading squad. The class clowns performed comical impersonations of alien tripods and their screaming ray guns. Even eighth-grade girls sang his name, their eyes flashing signals he couldn’t quite interpret.

It was the last day of the school year and chaos had erupted the moment the final bell rang. Students had spilled out of classrooms, flung open lockers, and scattered books, papers, pencils, and the other now-irrelevant tools of learning across the floor.

Andy had already cleaned out his locker, turned in his textbooks, and stored any papers worth keeping in the backpack slung over his shoulders. In his left hand, he carried his trombone home for the last time.

Is it always like this? asked Maria Taleri, who walked just behind him.

It’s the last day of school, Andy enthused. The start of summer!

Maria was older, in her twenties, and supposedly one of the hottest writers in the movie business. Andy wasn’t sure about how hot she was, but she was loud. Everything about her screamed, from her high-pitched voice, to her flaming orange hair, and neon-purple coat. In one hand, she carried a large satchel made of crazy-quilt fabrics. In the other, she held a digital recorder to take notes for the screenplay she was writing about Andy’s alien adventure.

She activated the recorder. Scene note: last day of school. Andy hailed as hero. Possible denouement.

What’s a day-new-mah? Andy asked.

That’s the end of the story. Where the hero is rewarded for all the heroic stuff he did. It wraps up the adventure and gives the audience some assurance that everything will be all right. Like after you defeated the aliens in Port Cascade and became this huge hero.

Andy shrugged. Hero. The word still sounded crazy when attached to his name, but he was getting used to it.

McBean! someone shouted.

Andy knew the voice. Scott Driscoll was the kind of kid grownups love. With sparkling eyes, a dimpled grin, and wavy blond hair, he had a face that belonged on a cereal box. His fellow students, however, knew Scott’s charm was only skin deep and had recently voted him Most Likely to Go Into Politics. Before Andy had saved the planet, Scott Driscoll was the big man on their small campus, but now he was just a good-looking kid that others pushed aside to shake Andy’s hand.

He jabbed a finger into Andy’s chest, "You think you’re so hot now, don’t you, McBean? Big alien fighter. But you’re still Cancer Boy to me. That’s all. Just Cancer Boy."

Andy grimaced. No one called him Cancer Boy anymore. His battle with leukemia had defined him. Everyone in the valley knew about it. There had been school fundraisers and church bake sales. The Grandmothers League had knitted hats to cover his bald head. He had spent months in the hospital, and when he emerged, weak and skinny, he found the world hadn’t changed so much as his place in it. The adults were grateful for his recovery, but his fellow students kept their distance. The name Cancer Boy had stuck and it had taken an alien invasion to pry it loose.

Andy ignored the taunts and rolled his eyes. Scott hadn’t noticed Reggie Grant, Lance Walker, and Ben Hickman step up behind him. There was a time when Andy would have run at the first sign of Reggie and his Goth crew, with their black clothes, pale faces, and dark eyeliner. Reggie had expanded his collection of piercings to include a nose ring. Lance’s greasy hair still fell over half of his face. Ben now wore a Mohawk with purple highlights. Their scent of sweat and cigarettes once filled Andy with dread, but since he had freed them from an alien cage, the big eighth-graders were his biggest fans. Ben and Lance grabbed Scott’s arms.

Hey, knock it off, Scott yelped.

This poser giving you trouble, Andy? Reggie asked.

No more than usual guys, Andy replied.

C’mon, Scott, Reggie said. We need to have a conversation about manners.

Scott croaked as Ben and Lance dragged him into a nearby bathroom. Andy knew their conversation would likely involve a toilet, but he shrugged it off. He was, after all, Andy McBean, alien fighter and world saver, while Scott was...well...just a kid. When it came down to it, all of Andy’s fellow students were just kids, and it was fitting that they cleared a path for