King of the Seven Seas..... "The Game of Regents "
Aquaman #8 - August, Year One	by Mark "Puff" Anderson

The water reverberated. The vibration carried for miles in every direction. At the epicenter, two humanoid figures stood. Before them in all directions stretched a rotting corpse of the largest sea creature ever, the Leviathan.

This creature claimed to be the ancient Atlantean God Shallako. It was a dead thing whose soul refused to move on from this world. Its miles-wide corpse lay at the bottom of Devil’s Trench with tendrils and pseudopodia running everywhere beneath the ocean’s floor.

The cybernetic entity in control of the ship beneath Atlantis had been a kindred spirit and a foil for Leviathan’s mighty will. Over the millennia, the creature became almost an extension of the dead thing on the ocean’s floor, another piece of its massive body.

Through the cybernetic entity beneath the city, Leviathan enjoyed a direct line into Aquaman’s psyche and the psyche of every king and queen who had stood the throne of Atlantis, though few were ever aware of his presence. A line broken now, thanks to the actions of Neron’s agents, one more move in their long struggle that was finally nearing completion.

The dark god exuded one of its fleshy half-rotten pseudopodal eyes and glared at Ocean Master and Black Manta. These two were originally agents of Neron who through the right kind of manipulation had turned to his cause. They were his chess pieces in the coming conflict as Cutlass, Nemo, and Eeol were Neron’s. The Fisherman piece had been removed from the board for now.

Leviathan roared his anger out again shaking the seas. Without the cybernetic entity’s psionic connection to Aquaman, he couldn’t directly influence him as he had subtly for years now and more directly in the fight with the Fisherman. Orin had been a central piece of his strategy. Now, the man would be a hindrance instead of a pawn.

Still the murder of Atlan could be played to his advantage. If Aquaman and the Atlanteans could be turned to that course, they would less be able to interfere in the coming conflict.

Atlantis;

Aquaman thrashed in his sleep in the royal compartments of the Palace Atlantica. Opening his eyes, he sat up. He shook his head and looked about. “I could swear I heard a scream,” he thought. He could feel the Clear at the edge of his consciousness.

He raised his harpoon to flip his hair back from his forehead and winced as he remembered that it wasn’t there anymore. The heavily bandaged stump where the Fisherman had torn his harpoon from him scraped across his brow.

Before he drove Vulko and the Atlantean doctors out of his apartments, the physicians warned him that the amount of nerve damage in the limb would make the attachment of another cybernetic harpoon near impossible. They were willing to try but the prognosis for the same kind of functionality was slim.

Between that and the void where the ancient cybernetic entity had communed with him were enough to trouble his sleep. But this scream seemed very real, distant, but powerful.

He rubbed at his eyes and wished that Garth were here. Tomorrow, he needed to open up the passages in the lower city to see if he could access the ship that housed the entity. He had to know if the entity were dead or merely in a cybernetic sleep brought on by the Eeol’s attack.[1]

The three villains who attacked the city had done so apparently with the sole purpose of striking at the entity. The answer was there…somewhere.[2]

Atlantis;

Vulko sat in the regent’s position. The Council had gathered at the behest of the Priests of Shallako. It was the first such council in many, many years.

“Our King has returned to us,” the head priest intoned. “But he has returned before only to leave again.” He looked at Vulko. “He will always be forced to choose between us here in Atlantis and those above and beyond the waves. Too often, he chooses other than Atlantis. We cannot continue like this.”

“He has promised a regent to govern in his stead,” Vulko commented color rising to his cheeks.

The priest nodded. “This we have heard as well. The fear among the populace is that he will place the purple-eyed one above us. By the warnings of Shallako and Atlan, disaster that way awaits.”[3]

“We don’t know that he will choose Garth,” Vulko stated. “And if he should, we cannot allow racism to color our acceptance of the new regent.”

“We know your candidate for the regency was Koryak,” the priest continued with disdain. “And he is a half-breed. And missing. Where is he?”[4, 5]

“I don’t know,” Vulko admitted quietly.

The priest pursed his lips. “Orin’s rule is too haphazard. Atlantis cannot be an afterthought. The last instance of Orin’s rule lead to our being shackled by that bastard Iquila and made slaves to the rebuilding of Tritonis. These are the gifts of Orin’s reign,” the old cleric spat the words.[6]

“Though it meant hard times, there has only been one instance where order reigned on the streets of Atlantis. And that was during the regency of Karshon,” the priest said.

Gasps circled the room. Vulko stood angrily. “Karshon was the mutated humanoid beast known to the surface dwellers as the Shark. He was a plague upon Atlantis,” he yelled letting his anger overcome his diplomacy.[7]

“Have a care, Vulko. The people of Hy-Brasil could be called mutated humanoids as well. And the people of Tritonis. It would be untoward to call them such in the Chambers of State. Especially from the lips of one who may be named regent,” the priest stated slyly.

Vulko drew himself up as high as the short little man could. Vulko looked like nothing so much as a short Santa Claus. The dignity of this man who had been the most stable part of the Atlantean monarchy for many years now was undeniable as he pulled his tunic tight across his shoulders. “Karshon is a monster and should never be mentioned in the same breath with our brethren from the other city-states. You are trying to bend this and discredit me in the process. Priest, turn your tongue to the proper course lest you find it stricken from your being.”

The High Priest of Shallako’s eyes blazed brightly as he stood. His tall thin body towered over Vulko. “There are storm clouds on Atlantis’s horizons in all directions. Perhaps you should turn your thoughts to the future rather than to the preservation of the monarchy,” he fumed. He stood and with a gesture of his hand summoned all who followed him. Together they left the council chamber.

Vulko was surprised at how many rose and followed the priest out. “Storms seem to gather within Atlantis as well,” he said as the chamber doors clanked shut behind the retreating retinue.

He sat and pondered the words spoken in the chamber.

One of his few allies, Lord Brim said, “King Orin best choose wisely. This regency business could make or break the next period of his reign.”

Vulko could only nod sadly as he wondered at Orin’s preoccupation with the world beyond Atlantis.

Hy-Brasil;

Koryak writhed as green energy cascaded over him. He cried. Koryak hadn’t cried since he was a child. The energy drained at his soul. Every time they came for him he emerged weaker and weaker.

“Why?” He asked for the millionth time. “Why are you doing this to me?”

Two shadowy figures beyond his sight shuffled back and forth a bit. “Because,” a voice answered him, “it’s our way of making you into a man your father will respect.”

At this, the other figure cackled.

A staff reached out and stroked the side of Koryak’s face. He flinched away from the touch. The staff rapped against the side of Koryak’s head knocking him into unconsciousness.

The man walked to a nearby pull cord. He yanked the signal line. Moments later, a Hy-Brasilian servant appeared. “Take the Aqua-spawn away. Keep him locked in the dungeon. Tell me when he awakens,” he said to the servant as he turned to his companion.

The servant bowed and responded, “As you command, Ocean Master.”

The staff collared the servant pulling him back to the Ocean Master. Orm glared into the mottled blue and white-skinned, half-manta man’s face. “You will address me by my title,” he commanded.

“Of…of course, Lord Guardian of Hy-Brasil, as you command,” the frightened man said staring into the fish-like mask of the Ocean Master.

Orm glared at him a moment longer, then released him.

To his companion, Orm said, “I don’t understand why you didn’t ask Leviathan for Hy-Brasil. These people are a working type of your Manta Men after all.”

“I asked for my humanity back,” Manta growled. “I like the power that Neron granted me, but I have lost too much.” He splayed his fingers out showing razor sharp nails on the ends of each finger and the webbing spread between them. “And Aquaman dead.”

Orm smiled and nodded at the last comment.

Off the coast of Brazil;

“Transceiving is complete, sir,” a sailor said in Russian. He looked at the Cyrillic scribbles on the pad he had brought from the radio room. “Nothing special in the follow up. It’s in standard code.” The captain nodded his response to the young sailor.

“Retrieve and stow the trailed antenna. Helm ready to get back underway, the Executive Officer said from his position to the captain’s left.

“Make your depth 1500 feet, careful of cavitating the propeller. Steady as she goes,” the captain said as he scanned through the periscope. Even with the Cold War long over, the navies of the United States and Russia still stalked one another in the deeps.

“The American has to still be nearby. He wouldn’t just give up,” the Executive Officer said from his side.

Turning from the eyepiece on the periscope, the captain responded, “I tire of these incessant games. What is the use of having a blue water navy if we never use it? An uncoded transmission…to a submarine.” He shook his head. “I fear for the future of the Russian Navy.” He shook his head again as he slapped the handlebars back into place at the sides of the periscope platform. The platform dipped back into its well in the lower deck as the submarine fully submerged. In the old days under Communist rule, his having his say in public would have resulted in him being cashiered out of the service, if not shot.

Twenty minutes brought them to cruising depth, but no sign of the American sub that had dogged their every step for two days could be heard.

KA-THRONG! The Russian submarine staggered from an impact on its forward hull.

“Damage report!” The captain commanded the bridge crew as they all tried to hold or regain their feet.

“No major breaches. We have some minor leaks in the engine room and the torpedo room,” came the Exec’s reply a moment later.

Turning the captain called out, “Sonar, go active. Did we just scrape the American?”

PING! PING! The active sonar rang out.

“That’s impossible,” the sonar man said aghast. His hand held the earphones to his head as he watched the computer image build itself on the screen before him.

“What?” The captain said as he raced across the bridge to the sonar man’s side.

“I show three ships out there. One of them has blocked the American and it appears to be boarding him,” the sonar man said running his hand over the screen return. “The other ship is hovering directly over us forward along the missile deck.”

A distant sound came to them. The sonar man spun in his chair. “Captain, the American sub’s hull has been breached. She’s taking on water,” he said.

Then incredulously, he said, “The near attacker is extending some kind of grappling arm toward us.”

“Helm, crash dive now!” The captain yelled as images of his ship cracked open like an egg ran through his mind’s eye. The ship’s deck leaned toward the ocean’s floor as the dive pulled the sub away from her attacker.

“Engine room, engines to full. Give me everything the reactor has,” he commanded into the ship public address system.

“Captain,” the sonar man called for attention. “Sonar has the American falling toward the ocean’s floor,” the sonar man said. “She’ll reach crush depth in about twenty seconds.”

“Did anyone manage to get off of her?” He asked.

The sonar man met his eyes and slowly shook his head.

He puffed out a heavy breath. “Get us below 2500 feet and go quiet. The second the American implodes, we go quiet. The thermal layer should help hide us,” he commanded. The thermal layer between warm surface water and cold deep water effectively cut sonar reflection making it easier to hide.

The ship’s deck leveled out amid a short series of creaks and pops as the metal adjusted to the increased pressure of depth. The sounds of the ship quieted as they went to silent running. “All we can do is hope the bastard can’t find us,” the captain said to the bridge crew.

CRACK! CRACK! BOOM! The American submarine imploded as it exceeded its depth and damage tolerance.

“Now we wait,” the Russian captain sighed as he looked in the direction of the shattered American sub. He heard the sounds of his sub die away around him.

The sonar man handed a printout to the Exec, who in turn handed it to the captain. He looked at the page with shock growing on his face. The sonar image showed the attack on his and the American submersible. The picture showed two large manta-shaped submersibles attacking them. The one that struck the American could clearly be seen pulling missiles from the stricken submarine’s missile deck as the other tried to follow them into the deeper water.

“We stay deep. We stay quiet and when we get a chance we slip away and make for the nearest port that we can safely dock at,” he commanded. “I want Damage Control to keep an eye on the area where we brushed the…” he paused, not sure what to call the manta-shaped vessel, “…the hostile.”

The sonar man with is hand to his earphones. “The attackers seem to be turning away. They are going deep. Heading takes them north by northeast,” he said.

He looked at the Exec. “I’ll need to know as soon as we can safely rise to communication depth to trail the antenna out and make contact with St. Petersburg,” he said.

“Aye, sir,” the Exec responded.

Atlantis;

The Clear buzzed inside Orin’s head demanding his attention. He tried to sleep, but the Clear called to him until he surrendered to it.

His eyes fluttered shut briefly.

He found himself in a solid white landscape, a place that wasn’t a place. He expected his dolphin mother, Porm, to appear as his guide, as she had the first time he entered the Clear.

A shadow appeared in the distance walking toward him. He was shocked when his foster father, lighthouse keeper, Tom Curry walked up to him. The apparition stuffed its hands in its Naval great coat and smiled hugely at the grown man before him.

“Hello, old son,” Tom Curry said.

“Hi, dad,” Orin replied, his voice low and respectful. He was surprised. He had forgotten how much he respected this man. He was one of the handful of beings that Arthur really loved over the course of his life. This man had taken him in when the Atlanteans had abandoned him on Mercy Reef because he was born with the Mark of Kordax, all that blonde hair.

Old Tom Curry smiled. “I wish it was just a friendly family reunion that I was here for. I have news for you. A menace is growing. Atlantis is caught in the middle of an ancient conflict between two evil entities. It…”

Arthur interrupted him. “Let me guess…Leviathan and Neron,” he said.

Tom smiled again. “How did you know?” he said.

“I guessed that Neron had to be behind the new and improved Fisherman. And Leviathan was helping me against him,” he said.

Tom nodded. “Now that the entity beneath the city is dead, Leviathan will have a harder time influencing your mind. They both have agents loose in this unfolding crisis. The only advice that I can give you is to remember that Atlantis is more than the cities themselves. Atlantis is Atlantis because of her people. All of them, whether they are from Poseidonis or Tritonis or Hy-Brasil or Thierna-na-Oge. And they are going to need a full-time king if the sand runs full in eternity’s hourglass,” he said.

He clapped Arthur on the shoulder. “You will finally have to decide whether you can truly put aside all the aspects of your life and just be the King of Atlantis. Or if it would be better put in the hands of another. Whatever you decide, I want you to be true to yourself. A man needs an opportunity to be himself,” he said.

He raised his arm and rubbed the side of his temple. He briefly closed his eyes. “You must get to Hy-Brasil. Danger comes,” he said as he opened his eyes. “I will see you again my son.”

Tom Curry faded from sight…

Atlantis;

The doors slammed back as Orin came in.

Vulko sat at the conference table tapping his fingers in a slow cadence. He stared at his fingers. He looked up as the King entered. “Orin, we must talk,” he said.

“I don’t have time. I’ve been warned of a danger in Hy-Brasil. I must move quickly before whatever it is imperils all of Atlantis,” he answered.

Vulko shook his head. “So you will run off again, without having yet pronounced a regent,” he said.

Aquaman stopped and looked at his old friend. “I must do this,” he said.

“It’s always something,” Vulko responded.

“Choose who you will, Vulko,” Orin said turning away.

“Do you even realize that you are dressed in your old superhero uniform?” Vulko asked.

Orin looked down at himself. He had grabbed a tunic from his closet and tossed it on after his brief encounter with Tom Curry in the Clear. He slowly raised his face back to Vulko.

“The priests stand ready to welcome Karshon the Shark back among us,” Vulko said. He continued with disbelief coloring his voice, “Because he represents order.”

Stepping to the table, Orin asked, “And you, my friend, what do you want?”

“At first I wanted Koryak, but over the last few days he has been erratic. I thought that you would appoint Garth, but the priests would launch a civil war over his purple eyes,” Vulko explained.[8]

“They accepted me,” Orin stated. He gestured with his stump at his long flowing blonde hair. “And I bear the Mark of Kordax.”[9]

Vulko heaved a sigh. “It was a roundabout way to the throne,” he said.

Orin smiled at his most trusted advisor’s discomfiture. “Very well. I must leave. Nevertheless, I will tell you of my choice and you can carry on from there. Is that acceptable, mighty vizier of the throne of Atlantis?” He asked.

“Must you mock me so?” Vulko responded.

“Yes,” Orin countered with a smile lighting his face. It was the first time that he had smiled in months. “I choose Dolphin to serve as Regent Absentia of Atlantis. Anytime that I am beyond the city gates, she is in charge.”

Vulko smiled. “Does she know?”

“No and you get to tell her,” Orin said as he opened a balcony door and swam away toward Hy-Brasil.

Vulko stared after Orin for a moment. His elbows rested on the tabletop as he slowly cradled his head in his hands. “So,” he said staring at the table between his elbows, “now all I have to do is convince the people to accept Dolphin, who may or may not be Atlantean. She may be a surface mutant. She may be…,” he trailed off.

He sat back in his chair with a sigh. “Perhaps I should consider retirement,” he murmured.