The Crust of the Underworld

By Timothy Nies

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are either fictitious or used fictitiously -The Crust of the UnderworldCopyright 2012 by Timothy Nies Cover Art: -Godivaby Crystal Ben All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, of portions thereof, in any form. Published by Timothy Nies

ISBN:978-1-300-15742-7
Official website: www.theredorb.com Illustrators website:

www.crystalben.com
Author's Blog: timothynies.blogspot.com E-mail: timothynies@theredorb.com

Never tell people how to do things. Tell them what to do and they will surprise you with their ingenuity.

-George S. Patton

Dearest Godiva, My sincere apologies for not having the time to meet with you. I have heard so much about your adventures, from Tommy, that I feel we are already closely acquainted. I would have preferred to explain the details of this quest to you personally. However, as things stand now, the unforeseen is developing much quicker than expected. By now Tommy should have briefed you on the plan to find the entrance to The Crust. Along with this letter you will find your tickets for the cruise ship. In addition, Tommy asked that I include a few guidelines with this letter. More specifically he wanted me to outline rules of conduct for you, as I think he is not comfortable with you doing this without him). I have the utmost confidence in your ability and judgement and furthermore believe these rules to be redundant; if not slightly insulting. However, to appease our blonde headed comrade, please see the following three guidelines; which I hope will assist you with your task.

Rules: 1. Do not hurt anyone you do not have to. 2. Please keep as low a profile as possible; any attention you bring to yourself might alert the curiosity of undesired forces to our intentions. 3. At all cost get the Ruby Feather; it is vital. As a friend of Tommy Adams I am confident that you will be successful and that you are more than capable of taking on whatever challenges might come your way. If nothing else, know I am infinitely grateful for your assistance and your help with my cause. Good luck to you my dear. I know what I am asking of you is not trivial.

Yours truly, Otto Bear

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Godiva placed the letter beside the sink, leaving an oiled thumbprint on the back of the white paper. Irresponsible, she cursed, shifting her gaze to the faucet. She turned it on and lowered her hands into the stream of water. Soaping, then rinsing the lather from her fingers, she discovered that only the barest amount of the black grit had come off of her ceramic white skin. Godiva repeated the process, but with more vigor, to no avail. She flung the complimentary bar of cruise ship soap into the sink then leaned on the faux marble counter, letting out a sigh. Her eyes wandered back the letter. Breaking two. She scowled at the mirror, her lavender eyes turning darker. You should have used gloves, she told her reflection, then checked her hands again. There must be a way. Godiva grabbed a fluffy blue towel from the rack. Wrapping it around her right hand, she held it tight, then placed her left on the counter placing the towel against it. She scrubbed her skin with her right hand as hard as she
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could, attempting to rub the black stain off, until the fabric tore. She held her left hand to the light. The signs of her acts of sabotage would not be wiped clean so easily. Infinite conundrum, she grunted, tossing the towel into the tub behind her and pulling the hair band from her head; allowing her dense mass of lilac curls to dangle freely to her shoulders. She searched the room for something else and spotted a razor on the edge of the bathtub soap dish. She grabbed it. Holding it up, she caressed her finger tips against the strips of metal feeling the resistance. Dark specks flaked from where the blade touched. Promising, she pondered out loud. Then, without hesitation, she placed the shaver against the side of her left index finger. Holding the blade firm she started to shave the dirt. A strand of black muck curled from her skin, rolling into a ball before falling to the ground. Pressing harder she flattened her skin under the blade, slowly she moved it down, and when she reached the base of her finger she inspected her handy work. A white line glinted where the edge had passed. She smiled, eyes darting to the letter then back to her hand. She used the razor again, pressing even harder to scrape at more of her skin. Half way down, just in front of her second knuckle, the blade snapped. Ill-conceived piece of human junk, she cursed, and threw the shaver from her. The disposable grooming tool shattered to pieces against the tiled wall. She glowered at the oil stains on her hands, when a thought came to her. Oil. She considered with a hint of a smile forming at the corner of her mouth. The young woman moved fast, stripping off the black

turtleneck, then sliding out of her skin tight leggings. Stepping from the bathroom to the adjacent bedroom, she stood before a fresh set of clothes, laid out on the floral bedspread. She grabbed her purple jeans, the color a close match to her hair and put them on. Then picked up the silver shirt, made of a fine glittering metal. She held it before her allowing it to twinkle in the light. Youre all I have left, she said to it flipping it over, to put it on. She pulled it over her head, then tugged on the edges adjusting it to fit. The shirt hung an inch short from her waist, revealing a hint more muscular abdomen that she would have preferred. Dressed again, she hopped to the edge of the bed and pulled her black boots towards her by the laces. The steel tipped high tops were not as durable as the combat boots she had arrived on earth with, but the crocodile leather pattern, ascetically made up for some of the difference. She swiftly laced them up and was about to stand when the lights in her room flickered several times. Need to hurry, she told herself, and went from the bed back to the bathroom to grab the letter. She folded it four times and slid it into her back pocket. As she turned to leave she caught her reflection and smiled at it. Godiva was around six feet tall, and had a bulky yet slender build. Her face was wide and her almond shaped eyes were accented by the low profile of the bridge of her nose. She had full lips and her skin was flawless and smooth like milk. So human, she remarked. Flipping the light off she left a smudge of black oil on the switch. Godiva crossed the bedroom to the dresser and was about to open the top drawer when there was a knock on the door. She froze.

There was another louder one. Godiva looked at the space between with puzzlement, and when third thud struck she reacted. She placed her hand over her back pocket and narrowed her eyes. No one knows, she whispered, then went to the door and opened it with a hesitant sigh. Her cautious air shifted instantaneously to mild irritation when she saw the man on the other side. He was short, wearing a white uniform, and had dark hair parted to one side and large brown eyes. His sleeves were rolled up and on the left side of his chest he bore a golden name tag that informed all, who bothered to read it, that his name was Guillaume LaCroix. Tell me you didnt do this, he accused. Not you again. Godiva rolled her eyes, but the man was too busy looking up and down the hallway to notice. Leave me be, Godiva grumbled, and was about to slam the door shut. Non! He decreed, putting his hand against it to stop her. And yes, of course it is me again, Guillaume articulated, grabbing Godivas left hand, pulling it to him palm up.Aha look here. This is motor oil. It is as I suspect, you are responsible for what has happened in the engine room, arent you? How did you find me? Madame, do you take me for an idiot? How many purple haired women do you think we have on this ship? Clearly, less than I need there to be This is not funny, I am so in the serious shit now because of you. I should report you to the captain. He threatened with an accusatory finger pointed straight at her face. Godiva frowned at it, pulling her hand away from his grip and in a blur of movement sized the front of his coat, and yanked him into the room.

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That is not an option, she warned, slamming the door shut behind her. The man adjusted his collar and gave her a hurt look rubbing at his chest. Really? He retorted. Perhaps it has escaped you, the ship, she is sinking. The captain is in a frenzy, the first mate is considering evacuation, and everyone on the bridge has been asking about me. And do you know why? Godiva crossed her arms. Guillaume held up a square plastic card which was attached to the front of his belt with a retractable key chain. They know my security card was used to access the engine room. They know I have no business in there. The man ran a hand through his black hair. And when they find me they are going to have some very hard questions to ask about what I was doing down there. Questions I cant answer, because I have nothing to do with what happened. This is all your fault. Somehow you must have found a way back in without me. Then they dont suspect me? Godiva summarized. The mans face flushed red. Oh! but they will. Once I tell them about how you stole this from me. Guillaume ripped the card from his belt and threw it at Godiva. It bounced of her hand and fell to the floor. That would bring attention to me, Godiva explained. Then maybe you shouldt have made all those fucking holes in the hull when you sabotaged the engines. The man huffed using his hands to emphasize his point. That was unintentional, Godiva clarified. I may have let my temper get the best of me, I meant to slow us down, sinking the ship was accidental.

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I dont care about what you did or did not mean to do. I am not going to jail because of some purple haired terrorist. Guillaume paused to catch his breath. I came here to confirm what I suspected and now that I know it was you, I plan to tell everyone one what you have done. Godiva grabbed the man by the neck, slamming him back against the wall. Do you think that would be wise? She asked lifting him with her right hand. She slid him up the wall with about as much effort it would have taken for her to pick up a pillow. Guillaume clutched his hands around her wrist and tried to yell but her hold prevented him from forcing air over his vocal cords. Now that I have your full attention little man. I need you to listen, as you seem incapable of keeping your mouth shut for more than a second. No one can know about me, Godiva urged, her eyes darkening to deep purple orbs. Is that clear? The man managed a nod. Godiva tilted her head, looking to the mans rolled up sleeve where he had hid a pack of cigarettes. She grabbed it with her free hand, flipped the carton lid open with her thumb, her expression softened. She lowered him, releasing her grip on his throat. Guillaume sucked in a lung full of air, then bent over to cough it up again. You are crazy, he wheezed. The captain probably already has the whole crew looking for me. It is only a matter of time before they find me. The lights in the room flickered again and there was the smallest of shifts in the angle of the floor. I think they have more pressing matters to attend to, Godiva reasoned, pulling out the lighter that was stuffed in with the cigarettes. Guillaume watched as she struck the flint then held the fire to her left hand.

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What are you doing? Burning evidence, she said, holding the lighter to the stain of oil on her fingers. Are you mad? Guillaume gawked in horror as Godiva brushed flame over her fingers, the touch of the flame turning her stained porcelain skin jet back. After a moment she rubbed her fingers, now totally black, together feeling the grit of the oil residue still between them. Infinite conundrum, she swore through clenched teeth, tossing the lighter and pack of cigarettes at Guillaume. He caught the lighter in his right hand but before he closed his grip he dropped it. Hot! He gasped, shaking his hand before him. Godiva ignored the crewman and walked over to the dresser, pulling opened the top drawer. She took out a small device with a screen on it. Nom de dieu! You have put a bomb in the ship! Guillaume squealed; making to leap away, but tripped over himself instead and fell to the ground. The purple haired girl looked from the device to him. This is a GPS device, she explained, flipping it over so he could see the front of it. See. It tells me where I am. I know what GPS is, Guillaume snapped back, getting to his feet, his face turning pink. I work navigation on the bridge. Good, then you might be of use. Godiva called up the coordinates Otto had preset. A small red crosshair appeared next to a white tangle that showed her current position. She chucked the GPS to Guillaume. How long until we reach the red cross? She asked, closing the drawer.

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Guillaume turned the device around and analyzed the screen. What are these coordinates? There is nothing out here. Don't concern yourself with that, I need to know how much more time until we pass that point. Five minutes, if the back up motor is still running. Ten if we are drifting. Then I need to get the bow. Godiva proclaimed and snatched the GSP from Guillaumes hands, putting it in her front pocket. She paused and intently considered Guillaume. Placing her hand on her back pocket she came to a conclusion. You will need to come with me. She informed him. Ha, Guillaume barked back. There is no way you will be able smuggle me all they way up there. The hallways are full of people looking for... Godiva grabbed his arm and in a blink they were both standing on the bow of the ship, the night wind blowing against their faces.

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For more information about Godiva Suet or find out about more books by Timothy Nies visit www.theredorb.com

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