by Steve Alten
“Fortune favors the brave, is that it?”
“If your men can do it, so can I. Of course, I’m not in it for the money.”
“And you believe this is the reason my crew risk their lives, for money?”
“I just assumed so,” she said. “Most of them don’t appear to be scientists, so I’m guessing they’re well-paid hired hands.”
“Well-paid, yes, but what good is money if one is dead? You and I risk our lives because we believe in the humanity of our mission. These men are different, recruited for their talent, handpicked and trained by myself because their lives had long ago become meaningless, lacking all purpose and direction. They were lost souls, something you can’t even begin to relate to. They had forfeited everything in life, their miserable existence without meaning or value. I gave them what they desperately needed: a reason to live.” His eyes opened wide. “My presence now fills voids manifested through years of narcotics and alcohol and child abuse. I have shown them that an honorable death is better than a disgraceful life. In doing so, I became both their Devil and their God, for they fear me as much as they love me—and that, my dear, is true power.”
“So you prey on their fears, is that it?”
Benedict stroked his goatee, as if mulling it over. “Do I prey upon their fears? Perhaps. Man, after all, is predatory by nature. After two million years of existence, we continue to slaughter ourselves, be it in the name of conquest, or religion, or some other justification, all of which are rooted in the power of fear.”
“Don’t these men have families?”
“I am their family. They will remain in my employment and care until the day they die.”
“And Celeste?”
Benedict shot her a malicious grin. “Celeste is a different animal entirely.”
“What if these men wanted to leave?”
“They could go if they wished. Those that have done so in the past quickly return to drugs or booze or whatever personal problem gave me cause to recruit them in the first place. Try to understand. The tragedy that befell these men robbed them of their self-discipline. I’ve given each a new lease on life. In exchange, they’ve turned their free will over to a higher power.”
“Which is you?”
“Yes. I am like the spider. Having enticed the condemned fly into my web, I offer sweet salvation, but only within my web.”
“Flies have no salvation in a spiderweb, only fear and death. If you ask me, your organization sounds more like a cult, and you’re nothing more than another megalomaniac running it.”
“Please, if you wish to parley, then kindly shunt the emotional side of your brain so we may converse like intellectuals. Like all true leaders, I am first and foremost a student of human nature.”
Benedict moved toward the immense LEXAN window, staring into the abyss. “Have you ever wondered how certain men throughout history, despite every conceivable hardship, managed to rise above their peers to change the world? Genghis Khan, Napoleon, Lenin, Hitler, Pol Pot, Saddam Hussein—these men all understood fear, a state of mind so powerful that it can move mountains and land a man on the Moon just as easily as it can obliterate a person’s resistance with but a single negative thought.”
He turned to face her. “What is it that man truly fears? Poverty, criticism, ill health, loss of a loved one, old age . . . of course, let’s not forget the ultimate fear: death. Think about it, without fear, we’d have no need for religion or war. Then again, fear is the great motivator, isn’t it? Had early man never experienced fear, we would have never developed as a species.”
“Are you saying that you have no fear?”
Benedict shook his head. “I have mastered my fear, but it will never be absent. Courage and understanding, that is the key. Fear is nothing more than the dark side of thought, it has substance only in the mind. We create it, and we alone can destroy it. But because most men never master their fear, they spend their lives living in its thrall. My crew follows me into the depths of hell because they fear my wrath more than anything else they can imagine.”
What the hell did he do to instill such fear? Terry smiled nervously. “Look, I just came to ask you if it would be all right to spend my last day in the abyss aboard the Prometheus. If it’s a problem—”
“Fear makes us do things we might never agree to do, doesn’t it, my dear?”
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I think you do,” he said, drawing closer. “I can smell your fear. It paralyzes your thoughts, your ability to think, to reason.”
He stood over her, his penetrating gaze fracturing her will “You’re afraid, aren’t you? Afraid of what Sergei may do when he finds you alone.”
“Yes,” she confessed. “Can’t you keep him away from me?”
“Sergei is an animal. I’ve warned him, but he feeds off your fear—it intoxicates him as much as his alcohol. You must learn to focus your energy on solutions, not the problem itself.”
“Solutions? Give me a gun and I’ll blow his head off. How’s that for a solution?”
“And spend the rest of your life in prison? I think not. Sergei is not your true enemy, Terry, fear is. It will steal your willpower, diminish your strength, immobilize your defenses. To control it, you must first understand it, recognize its subtleties, and find its weakness.”
“I don’t understand.”
Benedict moved closer. He took her hand in his, rubbing the sweat along her open palm with his thumb. “Fear creates stress, which in turn causes a series of physiological changes to occur. Heart rate and breathing increase, raising the oxygen supply and pumping more blood to the muscles. Blood sugar rises, increasing energy. The pupils dilate, improving vision, while the flow of neurotransmitter secretions increases to improve the speed of reactions. Nature designed these physiological changes for primitive man to survive in the jungle, to fight back when challenged. But the evolution of our species only took place when we learned how to engage our mind.
“The challenges facing civilized man are more emotional than physical. When confronted with obstacles, our society of weaklings tends to choose flight over fight. Instead of focusing on solutions, modern man chooses to escape reality, and the battle is lost before it is ever begun. Flight becomes fright. Drugs and alcohol subdue the physiological changes of fear, but, in doing so, dull the thought process. Succumbing to our fears, we disarm ourselves of the one tool that can lead us to victory, the very process necessary for solutions and the one that brought our species out of the jungle in the first place.”
Benedict released her hand. “The true battle is here, in the mind,” he said, pointing to her temple. “Force your mind to create solutions. Face your fear—and defeat it.”
He started down the access tube, then stopped. “You and I both know the true reason you wish to join us this morning aboard the Prometheus. Choosing the lesser of two evils is not always the best way to live one’s life, but under the circumstances, it may be your best solution. Therefore, the invitation is extended. We depart in fifteen minutes.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, Terry descended to G deck, still uncertain whether she was intending to board the Prometheus or not. She followed the long white corridor toward the docking bay, then stopped.
Down the hall to her right, Sergei was swiping his magnetic pass card across the security lock of the vaultlike storage room. He saw her just as he was about to enter.
Face your fears. . . .
Terry forced herself to continue walking.
Sergei waited, leering at her.
“Wipe that shit-eating grin off your face,” she said. “Fuck with me, and you’re fucking with Benedict.”
Sergei stopped smiling.
Terry continued past him, exuding attitude, then entered the docking area, her heart racing wildly. Taking several deep breaths, she descended into the Prometheus.
Benedict looked up from his charts as she climbed down into the cabin. “Captain, o
ur last passenger has arrived. Take us out”
“Aye, sir. Rig ship for dive.”
Benedict continued leaning over the light table, his eyes glittering up at her. Perhaps it was the emerald eyes, or perhaps the mouth that hung open in a frozen smile, but for a moment, Benedict’s hairless face appeared like the head of a snake, poised to strike.
“Welcome to my web, said the spider to the fly.”
“I’m not here because I’m afraid,” she lied. “Since I’ll be returning topside tomorrow, this will be my last day in the abyss, my last chance to explore the Trench.”
“Of course. You’re here because you want to be here, even though death may arrive at a moment’s notice. Ah, but the madness of one person drives many mad.”
“Do you object?”
“Not in the least. As I stated earlier, your presence is welcome.” He flashed her a Cheshire-cat smile. “Morituri te salutamus—we who are about to die salute thee.”
Without asking, she took her place at the computer station. Moments later, the deep-sea submersible pulled away from its docking bay and glided into the Trench.
* * *
For the next four hours, the Prometheus moved through darkness, dropping to the seafloor every kilometer or so to extract a sample of sediment and rock.
“Each sample will be examined on board the Benthos by our geologists,” Benedict had explained. “Results of the tests help us map out the Trench while determining which terrains are best suited to support the next series of UNIS robots.”
Fighting drowsiness, Terry stretched, then made her way aft to the bathroom. She closed the door and stared at her reflection in the mirror.
“Hang in there, girl,” she said aloud. “By this time tomorrow, you’ll be back on board the Goliath, then on your way home to Jonas.”
She relieved herself, then washed her face.
Without warning, the submersible suddenly turned hard to starboard, tossing her sideways against the aluminum storage locker. Regaining her feet, she hurried from the bathroom as the vessel turned once more.
Standing between the radioman and sonar, Benedict had a tense look on his face. The other members of the crew were watching him.
“What’s happening?” she asked one of the men.
“The Goliath located the creatures. Instead of going after us, they’re heading for a location between us and the Benthos. Looks like they finally figured out how to isolate us.”
Terry took her seat, the news draining her of her strength.
Does Benedict fear death?
She stared at him, the expression on his face exuding annoyance.
“Four objects now on sonar, sir. Two kilometers and closing from the north.Benthos is still a good five kilometers behind them.” The seaman looked up. “They’ve got us, sir.”
“Stay focused, gentlemen,” Benedict said.
Minutes passed in silence. The cabin grew warm, the air heavy with the pungent scent of perspiration.
“Life-forms approaching seventy yards to starboard. Stand by. Sir, three of the four just broke from the pack, closing quickly. The fourth is circling behind us.”
“Intelligent creatures,” Benedict muttered. “Helm, stay on course.”
“Aye, sir.”
Terry’s eyes strained to penetrate the darkness. Unable to see ahead, she focused on the beam of light aimed at the passing seafloor. Seconds later, she was startled to witness a prodigious girth glide into view beneath the sub.
The flattened mud-brown dorsal surface of the immense head appeared first, the skull as large as the Prometheus’s bow. Two forefins, which were attached to a streamlined body, tapered back, ending with two paddling hind limbs and a short but muscular tail.
“It just passed under the sub!” she yelled.
The closest crewman turned. “You saw it? How big—”
“As wide as the sub, nearly as long. It moved through the water like a giant crocodile.”
Without warning, the Prometheus was slammed broadside. Terry was thrown sideways against the window, smashing her elbow hard against the titanium plating.
“Benthos now three kilometers to the south. ETA seven minutes.”
The sub lurched forward, jolted from behind.
“Captain, one of the creatures is attacking the screw. I’m losing helm control—”
An insane screech of metal filled the cabin. The sub began rolling to port, then shuddered, the interior lights flickering off. Enveloped in suffocating darkness, Terry covered her ears against the deafening shrill of the damaged screw.
The screeching ceased.
Terry felt the sub dropping. Grabbing the armrests of her seat, she nearly wrenched them off. Her breathing became labored, sweat pouring down her face, her skin crawling in the pitch-dark cabin as the Prometheus fell to the bottom of the world.
“Screws completely gone, sir,” a shaken crewman called out. “We’re dead in the water.”
“Release ballast plates—”
“Belay that, Captain,” Benedict yelled. “We’ll be safer on the bottom.”
Dropping between two black smokers, the sub plowed bow first into the seabed. The rest of the hull struck bottom seconds later.
Terry began hyperventilating as the vessel came to a complete stop, resting in silence and blackness on the floor of the seven-mile-deep Trench.
A backup generator switched on, bathing the cabin in red light.
Terry felt a prodigious force nudging the outer plates. She glanced out her window, stifling a scream—
An iridescent crimson eye the size of a grapefruit peered in at her.
“Mr. Singer, hull temperature exceeding two hundred eighty degrees and rising fast. These vents will cook us—”
“Here comes the Benthos!” sonar called out. “Sir, the creatures are scattering.”
Terry wiped tears from her eyes as she breathed a sigh of relief.
“Captain, inform the Benthos that we no longer have propulsion,” Benedict ordered. “Once they’ve aligned the docking bay over us, we’ll drop ballast and rise straight up into the docking clamps. Make sure the docking arms are stretched to full capacity. We’ll need all the leeway we can get for this maneuver, and we only get one shot at it.”
“Understood, sir.”
A few moments later, Terry felt the Prometheus ascend vertically from the seafloor. She whispered a prayer of thanks as the hydraulic docking arms of the Benthos guided the sub back into the safety of its bay.
Tigers of the Deep
Mariana Trench
“There’s nothing left to repair,” Captain Hoppe said, staring into the abyss from the observation deck. “Whatever attacked the Prometheus literally tore the screw right off the drive shaft.”
Benedict stroked his goatee, deep in thought. “Contact the Goliath. Inform them I want to complete the sub and crew exchanges twelve hours ahead of schedule. I expect the Epimetheus to be in the water and descending within the hour. Captain Warren, assemble your crew aboard the Prometheus, your shift is over. Lacking propulsion, you’ll have to allow your sub to drift free from the docking bay. Wait for the Benthos to clear, then drop your ballast and free float topside for repairs.”
“Aye, sir,” Captain Warren said. “What about the girl? She’s expecting to ascend.”
“For now, the girl will remain aboard the Benthos.”
“Benedict, what harm would it do to let her go?” Captain Hoppe asked. “She knows nothing—”
Benedict’s eyes seemed to sizzle. “Are you questioning me again, Captain Hoppe?”
“I only—” Benedict’s piercing gaze cut off the man’s objection. “No, sir.”
“Sir, what about these creatures?” Captain Warren asked.
“Where’s our paleo-biologist?”
“Williams should be in his lab,” Hoppe said quietly.
“That’s where I’ll be. Gentlemen, carry out your orders. Oh, and Captain Hoppe, have Sergei join me in the lab.”
* * *
“Going somewhere, Professor?” Benedict asked, entering the lab.
“Mr. Singer, you startled me. Yes, I heard the Prometheus was surfacing early. As I told you when you hired me, I have to be back at Scripps Institute this week for a series I’m hosting on the distribution and diversity of Cretaceous chelonoids. But I’ll be returning the following week. The section of fossilized skeleton you recovered—it’s absolutely incredible.”
“Is that so?’
“Yes. I left you a complete report detailing the species—”
“I detest reading reports, Professor. I prefer to hear verbal details directly from the source. So, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not, uh, if I have time. When will the Prometheus be leaving?”
“Not until you and I have completed our discussion, so take your time.”
Heath led him to the back room where the immense grayish-black object lay beneath surgical lights. Four steel tables had been positioned together to support the relic, which was over ten feet long and eight feet wide, rising upward of five feet at its highest point.
“What we’re looking at,” Heath said, “is a cross section of a skull from an extinct order of marine reptiles known as plesiosaurus. There were two major subspecies of plesiosaur, which differed in the lengths of their necks and in their feeding habits. This particular specimen is a member of the superfamily, pliosauroidea, a short-necked, carnivorous breed considered by paleo-biologists to have once been the tigers of the Mesozoic seas. As you can see, these monsters possessed extremely large heads with short necks, which streamlined their bodies for swimming. The jaw muscles were quite strong, the teeth were particularly hideous—needlelike cones, slightly curved and razor-sharp, protruding out of the jaw like those of our modern-day crocodile. Here, take a look for yourself.”
Heath pointed to the narrow end of the skull.
“It’s a little difficult to see, because the jaws themselves have been so severely crushed by the predator that killed it, but if you look here, you can still see fragments of four-inch teeth.”
