Kronos Rising_Kraken vol.1 Page 5

  He turned to his CSO. “Fire control status?”

  “REAPER at 73% and building, sir,” Cunningham said. “Estimated time to fire--”

  “Captain, we’ve got a problem,” Ramirez cut in. “Target is gravid.”

  All heads turned to Garm, their looks of wanton surprise matching his own.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, sir. Fathometer scan verifies,” Ramirez said. His eyes did the ping pong thing across his screens. As the Kronosaurus imperator turned sideways, he pointed at the viewer. “Man, you can tell just by looking. She’s about to burst!”

  Garm’s lips compressed as he sucked in a huge breath.

  “REAPER at 85% and building,” Cunningham advised.

  Bane cleared her throat. “Captain, Dr. Grayson’s orders are quite specific in this matter. In the event--”

  “I am well aware of what our mandate says, lieutenant,” Garm growled. His jaw muscles began to bunch up.

  “Captain, REAPER at 93% and building . . . we can’t wait much longer.”

  “Fuck!” Garm slammed one fist into the opposing palm. Loose objects on the bridge started to rattle. “Shut it down.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “You heard me, CSO. Do it now.”

  “Aye, sir,” Cunningham said. He hawked his gauges while flipping switches. “Reducing electromagnetic buildup . . . initiating thermal management system to compensate.”

  Son of a bitch! Garm stalked back and forth like a caged lion, angrily sucking air in through his nose and blowing it out his mouth as he fought to get his own energy buildup under control. After a few seconds, he pulled his shoulders back, uncomfortably aware of his crew – and Dr. Bane – all staring at him.

  “Rush, send a priority-one message to Captain Dragunova,” Garm began. “Tell her target is a pregnant Gen-1 and, per mandate, must be taken alive. We’re giving them the honor of bringing her in.”

  “W-what? We’re giving the commission to Antrodemus?” Ramirez asked.

  “Relax, ensign. You’ve done well on this patrol,” Garm stated. “We can afford to share the wealth.”

  “But that’s like ten--” Ramirez’s sea of whining ebbed in his throat as he clocked Garm’s cool expression.

  “Chill out, Ramirez,” Cunningham sniggered. “It’s still one less ugly mother running around giving people grief.” He let out an exaggerated sigh. “Now, if we could only do something about my wife’s mother . . . There’s a reaper you don’t wanna mess with.”

  Garm grinned humorlessly as the chuckles faded. “I’m glad you’re all in a good mood. Now, get ready; you’ve got another chance at a bonus.”

  Ho’s head turned like an owl’s. “A bonus for what, sir?”

  Garm peered over Ramirez’s shoulder, checking his screens. “The demon we’ve got coming at us in about five minutes.”

  * * *

  As the larger of the two sperm whales made good its escape, the male octopus renewed its assault. The bulbous lips covering its mouth peeled back, revealing its lethal jaws. Shaped like an inverted parrot’s beak, the four-foot, razor-edged mass of black chitin was as strong and hard as iron – capable of biting through steel cable.

  The octopus threw itself back onto the white whale’s carcass with a tremendous thud, its maw snapping like shears, ripping through what ribs remained. It began gouging out huge chunks of the cetacean’s internal organs. Each bite carved away over four hundred pounds of meat, which the great cephalopod greedily swallowed. The whale’s still-warm body and iron-rich blood, coupled with the delicious taste of blubber that flooded the chemoreceptors in the octopus’s vast array of suckers, maddened the already voracious beast and it began to savage its meal. Soon, the dark waters around it were glutted with scraps of skin and flesh, around which hundreds of tiny fish and squid swarmed, eager to partake in the grisly feast.

  The battle with the hapless sperm whales had been over before it began. The cetaceans had no chance; they were simply outmatched, both in size and speed. A true product of bathymetric gigantism, the coldwater-loving Octopus giganteus and its ilk were the largest mollusks in the history of the planet. They had haunted the ocean’s abysses since the Triassic – back when marine reptiles ruled the seas. In fact, they had evolved to prey upon them. The modern sperm whales were simply a substitute for the 70-foot Ichthyosaur Shastasaurus sikanniensis that was the preferred prey of the cephalopod’s distant ancestors. In many ways, the whales and Ichthyosaurs were alike; they were similarly-sized, cumbersome and slow-moving squid-eaters, with relatively weak jaws. Moreover, the whales possessed the same primary weakness the Ichthyosaurs had: they were air breathers.

  As the octopus tore another frenzied beakful of meat away and gulped it down, it tasted its own venom. The paralytic saliva it secreted was a weapon that, like the creature itself, had become specialized over the eons. Whereas it originally evolved to deal with struggling 80-ton reptiles, now it functioned to immobilize blubbery, warm-blooded cetaceans. The adaptation served the giant cephalopods well as they lurked in the deep submarine canyons, waiting for their unwitting victims to come to them.

  Lately, however, there was little prey to be had. Fewer and fewer sperm whales prowled the icy blackness of the abyss and the great octopi had been forced to rise up into shallower waters in search of them. They had no choice. They were on the verge of starvation.

  Feeding with increased urgency now, the male octopus glimpsed the missing half of one of its tentacles moving about on the nearby seafloor. The tendril writhed like a worm on a hook, blue blood oozed from its ruptured end. It was an autotomic response; the severed limb had a mind of its own and would continue to wiggle, attempting to lure whatever predator injured the octopus. The loss of the forty-foot piece was a minor annoyance. It would regenerate over the next few weeks.

  A sudden disturbance in the pitch-black water drew the male octopus’s attention. Moments later, the reason for its accelerated feeding emerged up the canyon wall.

  It was the female.

  As the male’s mate approached, his body began to change. Thousands of papillae that covered his thick skin sprang to life. In seconds, his relatively smooth hide became bark-like and rough. A series of spiky projections emerged like intimidating horns above his eyes and he swelled himself up, attempting to appear bigger and more imposing.

  The Octopus giganteus female was undaunted. She was a fourth again larger than her mate, and doubly as massive. With lethal fluidity, her one hundred-foot tentacles with their manhole-sized suckers carried her forward. As she spotted the partially-stripped whale carcass underneath the male she stopped. Her glittering eyes narrowed and her color turned from dullish gray to deepest black. She began to tremble with barely-contained rage. Then, with a bloop-like rumble, she rushed forward, her eight powerful arms a bristling nest of serpents, eager to destroy.

  Paling in the face of his enraged mate, the male jetted backwards, wisely relinquishing the meal. A second later, his ravenous mate impacted on the partially-consumed sperm whale and enveloped it. Her eyes glared at him like twin orbs of fire as she began noisily tearing what remained to pieces.

  Still hungry, but hardly foolish enough to risk the female’s wrath, the male scoured the area for something to nourish his 134-ton body. The yard-long squid and wormlike hagfish that lurked nearby were too small and swift to suffice, and a thirty-foot Architeuthis dux he spotted jetted away the moment it sensed him. Finally, he happened upon his own, amputated arm. Without hesitation, he pounced on the forty-foot tendril, seizing it with his tentacles and guiding it toward his waiting beak. The arm fought back, twisting and turning as he mercilessly shredded it. Nothing went to waste.

  The female, soon finished with her feast, sat like the engorged colossus she was atop the sperm whale’s gnawed skeleton. Her body heaved like an exhausted sprinter’s as she sucked copious amounts of seawater into her mantle and then expelled it. The male approached cautiously and extended one tentacle, ready to sacrifice it and
retreat if either her hunger or anger were unabated.

  The female remained calm and allowed her mate to run the tip of his arm across the rough skin of her mantle in a crude caress. A moment later, she hoisted herself off the pile of bones and began to drift upward. The male studied her possessively. Her magnificent body was immense and bloated to the point she looked like she might rupture.

  With surprising silence, the female expelled a powerful jet of seawater from her mantle’s muscular siphon and began to cruise up the slopes of Ophion’s Deep. The male was far faster and, after a moment’s hesitation, quickly caught up to her. Keeping pace, he followed, sensing the gradual changes in temperature and pressure as they rose in the water column. Far in the distance, his keen eyesight detected a grayness that he knew would eventually become daylight.

  The male octopus was uncomfortable outside his domain. Terrors of the deep that they were, his kind rarely came to the surface. Their natural abode was the frigid blackness of the abyss. But wherever the titanic female went he would follow. Only twice in their hundred-year lifespans had the pair ventured into the shallows, and only because, as now, the whales they fed upon had disappeared. During those occasions, they encountered objects on the surface, some of which dwarfed even them. The warm-blooded bipeds riding atop these objects rarely spotted them, however, and when they did, they gazed upon them with dread-filled eyes.

  They had borne many names over the centuries. The 18th century Swedish zoologist Carolus Linnaeus called them Singulare monstrum, and the French malacologist Pierre Dénys de Montfort, Poulpe colossal. But terrified Norwegian fishermen, who watched their boats ripped asunder and their comrades dragged screaming to their deaths, came up with a far simpler name for the ocean’s most horrific predator.

  They called them Kraken.

  CHAPTER

  3

  “Sonar, what’s our position relative to both the target and Antrodemus?” Garm asked. Around him, the bridge crew was on high alert. Still sitting rigidly upright in his spacious captain’s chair, Dr. Bane held her breath.

  “We’re holding position, 150 yards from target,” Ramirez responded. “Antrodemus is approaching at seven knots, on intercept course two-zero-zero. Distance to target, 300 yards and closing.”

  “And the depth here?”

  “Around 900 feet, sir.”

  Garm eyed the gorging maneater on their viewer, still furious the Kronosaurus imperator had to be taken alive. Its feeding had slowed, becoming noticeably less voracious. Soon, the beast would have its fill and abandon its kill to scavengers. They were rapidly running out of time.

  “Sonar, how’s our cloak holding up?”

  “Iridophores are holding firm; no instability detected, sir,” Ramirez replied. “We’re good, as long as we don’t exceed ten knots or make any sudden course alterations.”

  Garm folded his meaty arms across his chest. He glanced at their fathometer screens, his tactician’s eyes studying the surrounding terrain. “Helm, plot course two-five-four, maneuvering thrusters only. Move us 200 yards further from target, then take us to the bottom.”

  “The bottom, sir?”

  Garm moved to Ensign Ho’s station and pointed at the glittering 3-D hologram she shared with Ramirez. “You see that 500 yard-long, 50 yard-wide trough carving its way across the seafloor?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “We can fit in their lengthwise, correct?”

  “Piece of cake, sir.”

  “Good.” He patted her on the shoulder. “Lower us inside until we’re flush with the seafloor, and hold position.” He indicated the creature on their viewer. “Remember: maneuvering thrusters only. We’re invisible right now. Let’s keep it that way.”

  As Ho started her preparations, a loud clang on a nearby bulkhead caused Dr. Bane to jump.

  “What was that?” she asked, one hand clutching her heart.

  “Swordfish, ma’am,” Cunningham said with a snicker. “One of the few species fast enough to benefit from the pliosaurs. They’re everywhere. Stupid bastard thought he found himself a nice easy meal of anchovies and ran smack into the hull.”

  “At least we know our cloak’s working,” Ensign Rush offered.

  “Amen, girl,” Cunningham smiled back at her.

  Garm rested his hands on the back of Ho’s chair, watching their bow viewer as she maneuvered the sub. His stomach registered their rapid descent as the Gryphon dropped like a high-speed elevator, seven hundred feet straight down. Directly below, the jagged crack they’d targeted gaped across the rocks like a toothy grin from the seabed.

  “Lower us in,” he said. “And keep the primary target on our viewer.”

  As the sub eased into the Sears Tower-sized crevasse, it inexplicably started to wobble. A cloud of detritus obscured their viewer and the floor slanted steeply. There was a loud metallic groan as the boat angled hard to port. They were drifting sideways, heading straight toward the rocks.

  Ho’s head snapped up and she stabbed two buttons before grabbing the yoke with both hands. “There’s a powerful rip current running through the trough, sir,” she announced. Her teeth clenched as she held the controls and fought to bring them level. “I can compensate with maneuvering thrusters, but it’s going to require a lot of power.” The whirring sound of their hull thrusters fighting to hold them in place became noticeable.

  Garm cursed on an exhale. “Sonar, can you compensate for the disruption?”

  Ramirez shook his head. “Not enough, sir.”

  Garm chafed. “Helm, bring us up and hover directly over the trough. We’ll hold there. It’s still better than sitting out in the open.”

  As the sub rose through the detritus storm and their viewer cleared, Ramirez turned. “Captain, is this like what happened to the Titan?”

  Garm looked at him and the sonar tech licked his lips and turned back to his screens. With a newbie on the bridge, Ramirez knew his CO’s inclined chin was as close as he was going to get to a nod.

  “What’s going on?” Bane asked.

  “Watch,” Garm instructed. “The game’s afoot.”

  On Gryphon’s bridge-wide viewing apparatus, a school of foot-long sardines headed directly for the distracted Kronosaurus imperator. If the titanic reptile in any way noticed the approaching baitfish, it gave no indication.

  Bane said, “Is that the--”

  Garm held up a hand, then pointed at their viewer.

  Suddenly, a pair of dark objects with fins, each around eight feet in length, materialized from under the school of sardines. Like sleek phantoms, they began to move off, one to either side. They cruised purposefully through the gloom, silently circling the still-feeding pliosaur at a distance of forty yards.

  “Those are LOKI M22 Decoys,” Garm said quietly. “Impeller-driven AUVs.”

  “AUVs?”

  “Autonomous undersea vehicles.”

  “What are they doing?” Bane whispered back. She leaned forward, then reached for the buckle of her restraining harness.

  “Stay in your seat, doc,” Garm warned. “The decoys are emitting false acoustic signatures – probably appearing as hungry sharks waiting to scavenge what’s left of her kill, once she abandons it.”

  The bridge was pin-drop silent as they watched the pair of tiny craft inch closer to the giant predator. Soon, they were only fifty feet away. The pliosaur, shaking free a meaty morsel, glanced at the nearest LOKI. Her gleaming eyes crinkled up in obvious annoyance and a throaty rumble escaped her flesh-filled jaws, echoing across the seafloor like a distant thunderhead.

  Suddenly, a bright strobe light erupted from the other AUV. The Kronosaurus’s wedge-shaped head whipped toward it, her black pupils contracting into tiny pinpricks against the dazzling display. Then a strobe emanated from the first decoy, confusing the creature. She swelled up with anger and began to emit powerful sonar pulses, her huge jaws whipping from side to side as the annoying lightshow continued. Before she could make up her mind which decoy to destroy first, a disturban
ce in the water directly in front of the female garnered her full attention. The school of scavenging fish began to shimmer. A second later, they dissolved away and something far more formidable took their place.

  Antrodemus had revealed herself.

  Facing the monstrous reptile from less than a boat length away, the blood-red hunter-killer stared down its barrels at its prehistoric adversary. Active pinging resounded across the seafloor as the big sub zeroed its target.

  The pliosaur cow’s crimson eyes blazed with fury at the intrusion. Fragments of flesh spilt from her jaws as she uttered an underwater roar so powerful it caused Antrodemus to wobble on its axis. With a massive power-stroke from all four of her flippers, the cow threw herself at the sub.

  At that exact moment, the tiny AUVs found their openings and fired.

  A pair of yard-long, silvery bolts trailed bubbles as they zipped toward the pliosaur’s exposed neck. With barely detectable thuds they struck, burying themselves in its rock-hard scales. The impact, though negligible, had an immediate and profound effect on the behemoth. The moment the barbed projectiles slammed into it, it froze in place. Its eyes rolled wildly in their sockets and its cavernous jaws snapped left and right. Then its movements slowed and its muscles began to spasm. Its flippers drooped and its eyes rolled up inside its head. Like a giant rag doll, it sagged in the water.

  “Wow, that was fast,” Ho muttered.

  “As a good divorce should be,” Ramirez said, winking. He held out a hand, smirking as Ho grudgingly handed him a C-note. “I don’t suppose . . .”

  She smirked. “I’ll think about it.”

  Garm’s head swiveled from the viewer as Bane undid her restraining belt and moved next to him. “Is it over?”

  He nodded.

  “I thought you had to bring it back alive?”

  “It’s not dead,” he said, regretfully. “It’s been forced into brumation by 400 mgs of Cronavrol, shot into its spine.”

  “Cronavrol? I’ve never heard of it.”