Nautilus
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Durante meses no conoc铆an la luz del sol, la tripulaci贸n del submarino Nautilus hab铆a estado encerrada esperando alguna se帽al sobre el fin de la guerra. Solo quedaban 8 tripulantes de la docena que parti贸 en un inicio desde las costas de un pa铆s triste y marchito, con m谩s escombros que habitantes vivos. El 煤nico contacto con el exterior era aquella peque帽a escotilla que dejaba divisar peces y criaturas marinas poco conocidas.
En la oscuridad de la noche, cuando el mar golpeaba el submarino como un animal atrapado, se recibi贸 una se帽al en el viejo radiotel茅fono que apenas funcionaba. Era un barco, o eso parec铆a, pero la comunicaci贸n era tan d茅bil y distorsionada que solo alcanz贸 a descifrar unas pocas palabras:
-No estamos solos... hay algo en el agua...
El mensaje se cort贸 y el capit谩n corri贸 hasta la escotilla, encendiendo las luces y mirando hacia el mar. No vio ning煤n barco, pero s铆 algo que le hel贸 la sangre: una luz en la distancia, una luz que no parpadeaba como las boyas ni se mov铆a como los barcos. Era una luz fija, quieta, como un ojo abierto en la oscuridad. Era como un c铆clope gigante que los segu铆a con la mirada, una mirada que helaba los huesos.
Dentro del Nautilus los ocho tripulantes comenzaron a aterrarse, en todo este tiempo nunca hab铆an sentido tal temor. Las historias sobre monstruos y sobre la ira de Poseid贸n comenz贸 a recorrer de punta a punta la nave. Primero como un susurro, luego en voz alta.
-Capit谩n, va a impactar contra el casco, no sobreviviremos a un impacto de ese tama帽o. 驴Qu茅 hacemos capit谩n!
-No hay otra opci贸n, enciendan todas las luces- grit贸 el capit谩n
-Gastaremos toda la energ铆a, nos mandar谩s al fondo del mar-grit贸 el encargado de navegaci贸n
-Es una orden-dijo firme el capit谩n
Entonces lo vio: no era un barco hundido, no era otro submarino, era algo que se mov铆a bajo la superficie, algo enorme que se deslizaba como una sombra. Era un enorme pez abisal. Y la luz que hab铆a visto no era un ojo, era una trampa.
La luz del submarino hizo retroceder al monstruo solo para divisar su verdadera presa, un barco comercial flotaba directo a la luz confundido con un faro.
-Los hemos salvado, los hemos salvado -susurr贸 el capit谩n mientras el submarino se hund铆a.- 隆A la superficie!
-隆Nos ver谩n, capit谩n!
-No importa
Pero aquella noche estaba llena de milagros o de acontecimientos fortuitos al menos, el barco sigui贸 y el Nautilus esper贸 al amanecer para recargar su energ铆a con los rayos del sol. Pero sin nunca saber que la guerra ya hab铆a acabado, que ya hab铆a paz, que esconderse no era necesario. Y mucho menos se enteraron que un d铆a despu茅s fueron noticia en todos los diarios: Criatura marina salva barco comercial.
Nautilus
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For months, the crew of the submarine Nautilus had seen no sunlight, confined within the vessel while awaiting word on the war's end. Only eight crew members remained of the dozen who had originally set sail from the shores of a sad, withered land, a place with more rubble than living inhabitants. Their only link to the outside world was a small hatch that offered glimpses of fish and obscure marine creatures.
In the dead of night, as the sea battered the submarine like a trapped animal, a signal came through on the old, barely functional radiotelephone. It was a ship -or so it seemed- but the transmission was so weak and distorted that only a few words could be deciphered:
"We aren't alone... there's something in the water..."
The message cut off, and the captain rushed to the hatch, switching on the lights and peering out at the sea. He saw no ship, but he did see something that made his blood run cold: a light in the distance a light that neither blinked like a buoy nor moved like a vessel. It was a fixed, motionless light, like an eye open in the darkness. It was like a giant Cyclops tracking them with its gaze, a gaze that chilled them to the bone.
Inside the Nautilus, the eight crew members began to panic; never before had they felt such terror. Stories of monsters and the wrath of Poseidon began to sweep through the ship, first as whispers, then in loud, fearful voices.
"Captain, it鈥檚 going to ram the hull; we won't survive an impact of that magnitude. What do we do, Captain?" "There is no other option; turn on all the lights," the captain shouted.
"We鈥檒l use up all our power, you鈥檒l send us to the bottom of the sea," the navigator cried out.
"That鈥檚 an order," the captain said firmly.
Then he saw it: it wasn't a sunken ship, nor another submarine; it was something moving beneath the surface, something enormous gliding like a shadow. It was a massive deep-sea fish. And the light he had seen wasn't an eye; it was a lure.
The submarine鈥檚 light drove the monster back, only to reveal its true prey: a merchant ship drifting straight toward the glow, mistaking it for a lighthouse.
"We鈥檝e saved them... we鈥檝e saved them," the captain whispered as the submarine sank. "Surface!"
"They鈥檒l see us, Captain!"
"It doesn't matter."
But that night was full of miracles, or at least fortuitous events; the ship sailed on, and the Nautilus waited for dawn to recharge its energy using the sun's rays. Yet they never knew the war had ended, that peace had come, and that hiding was no longer necessary. Nor did they ever learn that, a day later, they made headlines in every newspaper: "Sea Creature Saves Merchant Ship."