MEG: Nightstalkers

by Steve Alten

  The sub’s cockpit was open. A crewman was seated in the starboard seat, his head concealed beneath the hood of his parka.

  David lowered himself into the vacant bucket seat and sealed the cockpit. “Yo dude, it’s frickin’ freezing in here; my nipples are hard.”

  “Mine, too.” Jacqueline Buchwald pulled the hood away from her strawberry-blond hair. “All systems are go, we’re ready for launch.”

  “No … no way, Jackie. This isn’t going to happen.”

  “Can I just explain?”

  “There’s nothing to explain. I’m not taking the sub out with you as my co-pilot.”

  “Because of what happened with Kaylie?”

  “Yes … no. Yes.”

  “Yes, meaning you still have feelings for me and refuse to risk my life? Or no, you don’t have any emotional ties; you just don’t trust me as a co-pilot?”

  “Yeah, that one.”

  “For your information, I’ve been practicing in the simulator all week. Commander Molony tested me; I graded out a ninety-one percent on sonar and passed all ten of the required maneuvers.”

  “A simulator’s nothing more than a video game, Jackie.”

  “Agreed. But I’m the only healthy option you have. So stop with the déjà vu. I’m not your old girlfriend and we’re not descending nine miles into the Panthalassa Sea. This is essentially a joy ride intended to fill forty-two minutes of a reality show episode. The chances of us coming within fifty miles of the Lio are slim to none, so crank up the heat before both our nipples fall off.”

  David cracked a smile. “A joy ride, huh? Okay Jackie, let’s take a joy ride.” He sealed the cockpit and then signaled for the crew to lower the sub down its launch ramp.

  “Wait … shouldn’t you go through a pre-launch checklist?”

  “Weren’t you just doing that?”

  “Yes, but I’d feel better about it if you confirmed everything.”

  “Nah, I trust you. Besides, it’s just a joy ride.”

  The crewmen pushed the sub prow-first into the sea.

  David powered up the twin propulsor engines and accelerated into a thirty-degree descent, the deep blue underworld rushing at them.

  Jackie’s eyes widened, a smile stretching across her face. “This is incredible—” She grabbed for the armrests as David rolled the Manta counterclockwise into a double wing over wing somersault.

  “Stop … I’m going to puke.”

  “Barf bags are in the glove box.” Pulling out of the roll, he accelerated to the north. After a minute a soft glow appeared, gradually becoming a wall of ice. Descending to six hundred feet, David soared beneath the frozen ceiling into darkness.

  A twist of a dial activated the night-vision glass, turning the sea an olive green.

  “Anytime you want to listen in on sonar would be fine by me.”

  “Sonar, right.” Jackie adjusted the headphones over her ears. “Active or passive?”

  “We’re not going to find the Lio by listening for its farts; go active.”

  “Right. Let’s see…” She flipped the toggle switch, then set the acoustic cycle to three standard pings per minute.

  The reverberations echoed in her ears, the waves of sound appearing on her sonar monitor. She closed her eyes and listened. “Nothing out there but the ice sheet. Wow, I can hear it crackling. David, are we following any particular heading?”

  “North on zero-zero-zero, keeping it simple. We’ll go straight in and come straight back out again on one-eight-zero. The last thing we need is to get lost under here.”

  “Agreed. So, aren’t you going to pull another macho maneuver? Try to make me lose my lunch?”

  “Lunch was bad enough going down. Want to drive?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Not much damage you can do. Strap your feet to the pedals. Remember, you can veer hard to port or starboard using just the foot pedals, but the joystick will feel more comfortable. Switching over to your starboard console in three … two … one.”

  “Got it!” The sub’s portside wing dipped, followed by its starboard wing before Jackie sent the Manta plunging on a steep descent. She leveled out at twelve hundred and sixty feet. “This is so cool.”

  “Easy, Maverick. You’re flying blind. Check our heading.”

  “Two-six-six. We’re heading west.”

  “Which means we’re off course, and that’s not a good thing. The ice is going to play havoc with our radio transmissions; God only knows how it will affect the Manta’s GPS. We need to rely on ourselves to find our way back to the trawler.”

  “Sorry. Returning to course zero-zero-zero. Any particular depth?”

  “You’ve got thirty-four hundred feet to play with and the Lio likes it dark. After nearly suffocating on the surface, I kinda doubt she’ll be going anywhere near the ice. Why don’t you descend to twenty-five hundred feet; that should give us a clear sonar reading topside and below.”

  Using the joystick, Jackie dove the sub, this time on a more gradual descent. “Was she a good pilot?”

  “Kaylie? Yeah, but her forte was sonar.”

  “How long were you two marooned in the Panthalassa Sea?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” Donning his headset, David closed his eyes and listened to the sea, the rumble of cavitating ice thundering softly in the distance.

  An electric charge jolted his eyes open as Jackie squeezed his inner thigh.

  “Don’t shut me out, David. Teach me how to be a better pilot. Sonar, for instance. How do I distinguish one life form from another?”

  “Not everything is a life form. Take the ice. When the ice shelf calves it can sound like a small splash or a distant explosion depending on your proximity. Sea ice whines. A passing iceberg can sound like a scream or cry. Storms tend to hiss, while ships have very mechanical sounds. The simulator has everything in its library.”

  She held up her palm. “Listen! Do you hear that chirping?”

  “That’s a Weddell seal. They sound different from Ross seals, which are more like those light sabers in Star Wars. Leopard seals tend to howl.”

  “What about whales?”

  “Whales broadcast over different frequencies. Blue whales register sounds around ten hertz while fin whales are at ninety-eight hertz. Minke whales generate pulse trains between one hundred and three hundred hertz. Orca clicks and whistles are the most sophisticated, coming in between two thousand and twenty thousand hertz.”

  “What about that gurgling sound?”

  David listened, then suddenly sat up. “Check the frequency.”

  “It’s low … about five hertz.”

  “See if you can pinpoint it.”

  “Hang on … okay, I think I have it. It’s seven and a half kilometers to the northeast on course zero-one-eight. I can’t be sure of its depth. Do you think it’s the Lio?”

  “I doubt it. Still, you’d better let me take over so you can focus on that sound. If it starts heading in our direction, I want to know about it.” David switched command of the sub back to his console, altering their course. He tried the radio. “Manta One to Tonga, do you copy?”

  The line returned nothing but static.

  “David, maybe we should stop pinging?”

  “Not yet. I don’t want to lose it in ambient sound. Do you have a depth yet?”

  “It’s close to the sea floor, just below three thousand feet. David, if it is the Lio, what’s the game plan?”

  “The game plan is to lead it to the Tonga and pray bin Rashidi’s men don’t have their thumbs up their asses. How close are we now?”

  “Just under three kilometers.”

  “Jackie, if you’re going to be my co-pilot you need to know I can’t think in the metric system.”

  “Sorry. It’s a little over a mile up ahead and a thousand feet below us.”

  David slowed the sub to five knots before executing a steep, spiraling descent. “Visibility’s pretty good. I’m going to approach it nice and slow fr
om the sea floor.”

  Jackie nodded, her limbs trembling noticeably.

  “You scared?”

  “Yes.”

  “Relax, it’s just a joy ride.”

  She smiled.

  “Just for the record, I didn’t have sex with one of the reality girls.”

  She looked at him. “Why did you—?”

  “Because you pissed me off. Quit staring at me and watch your screen.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The bottom came into view, its mud-like surface home to clusters of sea urchins and starfish. David flew the Manta close to the sea floor, his forward speed barely enough to keep the sub on course.

  Both pilots jumped as a seven-foot, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound Ross seal shot past them.

  “What’s his problem?”

  Jackie gripped his arm. “David!”

  David killed the sub’s engines.

  The dark silhouette appeared out of the haze, the Liopleurodon gliding silently along the bottom. Its four limbs hung limp, the tips of each fin stirring up the sea floor as the hundred-and-twenty-two-foot monster passed overhead like a landing Boeing 747. Looking up, they could see massive teeth protruding from the underside of the creature’s upper jaw, its lower jaw yielding to a thick neck and fluttering gills, its belly nearly scraping the top of the Manta. For several seconds the view was obscured behind the mud clouds churned by the Lio’s dragging fins, the view clearing in time for David and Jackie to witness the long, rigid tail pass by.

  Before either pilot could steal a breath, a miniature version of the behemoth smacked its mouth against the cockpit glass. The newborn Liopleurodon was eight feet long and lanky. Attracted to the consoles’ LED lights, the curious crocodilian creature refused to leave.

  Jackie whispered, “David, we have to get out of here!”

  “Shh!” He glanced down at his rear-view camera monitor just as Momma Lio faded into the murk and disappeared.

  David was about to power on the sub’s engines when Lio Junior opened its mouth and gagged out a crow-like gurgle, alerting its mother.

  The Liopleurodon immediately spun around, revealing the captured Ross seal held in the tip of the pliosaur’s jaws by its tail, the wounded sea mammal reeling in body convulsions.

  David didn’t hesitate. Powering up the Manta, he gunned both engines and ascended away from the bottom doing thirty knots.

  The Lio raced after the sub, all four limbs churning in sync. It closed the gap quickly—until its maternal instincts took over and it circled back to protect its three-day-old offspring.

  Biting off the Ross seal’s tail, the Lio released the crippled mammal to its young.

  One moment the creature was bearing down upon them, the next it was gone. When it was clear to David that the sub was no longer being chased he doubled back, circling four hundred feet above the hyperactive female.

  He looked over at Jackie, who was wiping cold sweat beads from her face. “You okay?”

  She nodded, fumbling to unscrew the cap on a bottle of water. “Maybe the simulator needs to add a charging sea monster to its program.”

  “At least we know now why the Lio headed for the Antarctic Circle. It needed the colder waters to birth its young. The question is, how long will it remain beneath the ice? Whales won’t venture beneath the shelf, and it certainly can’t survive on seals. I wonder if it’s lost?”

  “David, you do realize that everything’s changed. We don’t need the adult anymore, only the baby.”

  “I’m not sure Fiesal bin Rashidi would agree. Even if we could capture the infant, what makes you so sure it could survive the trip back to Dubai without its mother?”

  “Let me worry about that. You figure out a way to flush the Lio out from beneath the ice sheet.”

  “There’s only one option—we have to get it to chase us. Since we want it to head south, we should probably get it to chase us to the north.”

  Jackie capped her water bottle, her hands still trembling. “I’m not crazy about this whole cat and mouse thing. Maybe there’s another way?”

  “Let me know if you think of one.” David circled fifteen hundred feet above the Lio until the sub was hovering north of the creature. “Jackie, count down our distance, I want to know how close it’ll allow us to get to its pup before it attacks.”

  “David seriously, this is not a good idea.”

  Pressing the joystick forward, David dove the Manta at a thirty-degree angle, maintaining a speed of eight knots.

  “Twelve hundred feet … eleven hundred feet. David, please don’t do this.”

  The dark four-limbed creature with the white belly gradually became visible.

  “Nine hundred feet.”

  Sensing the approaching threat, the Lio arched its back in a defensive posture.

  “Eight hundred feet. David, that’s close enough.”

  Slowing his descent, David hovered the Manta seven hundred and sixty feet above the Liopleurodon and less than a quarter mile to the north.

  A wave of adrenaline sent his heart racing as the Lio suddenly rose from the sea floor. Stomping down on his starboard pedal and jamming the joystick to port, he banked into a sharp 180-degree turn and accelerated to the north, the creature rising fast in pursuit.

  “Five hundred feet … four hundred feet—can’t this thing go any faster?”

  “You tell me. You’re the one who was simulator-certified.”

  “Three hundred feet. Wait, it’s slowing.”

  The intense twenty second sprint wore down the fifty-ton pliosaur, which was still exhausted from having birthed its pup. Warily, it began its descent, its head turning every ten to fifteen seconds to check on the Manta.

  Returning to her young, the Liopleurodon nudged it with its snout, guiding it to the south.

  27

  Beneath the Ronne Ice Shelf

  Weddell Sea, Antarctica

  Jonas Taylor banked hard to starboard, sending the Manta submersible soaring through a dark fissure that appeared in the cockpit’s night-vision glass like a four-story-high olive-green birth canal. Shooting through the chasm, the sub was slowed by a sixteen-knot current, the Manta’s hydrodynamic design preventing the vessel from being pushed backwards.

  The Miocene whale followed them in, its fluke forced to work twice as hard just to maintain half its cruising speed.

  Zachary Wallace continued pinging, calling out the Livyatan melvillei’s proximity. “He jist entered the current. He’s definitely slowing down; ye’ve got about a kilometer on him.”

  “Zach, there’s something up ahead … I can’t see it, but I hear it. The current sounds different.”

  The passage dropped like a rollercoaster, an upwelling of current pinning the Manta against the ice ceiling.

  Jonas activated his exterior lights, the twin beams revealing a sixty-degree downward slope. Banking away from the ceiling, he accelerated down the shaft, the whale closing the distance.

  “Step on the gas, J.T.”

  “I can’t. The current will catch our wings like a kite if we start wobbling. How deep is this shaft?”

  “Maybe a mile. Sonar’s bouncing all over these walls; it’s hard tae get a fix. Exterior pressure jist passed sixty-five hundred psi. What can the sub handle?”

  “We’ll be fish food long before the pressure gets us. Where’s your whale?”

  “He was close, but he’s falling behind again in this current. And stop calling it my whale.”

  “You got me into this mess, that makes it your whale. As for this current, I think we may be in a bottleneck.”

  “Are ye sure?”

  “Look for yourself. The shaft is widening; our angle of descent is easing as well. Oh Christ, hold on!”

  Jonas pulled back on his joystick as the passage suddenly leveled out, opening to a vast chasm. The flat ceiling of ice above their heads spanned beyond the scope of their field of vision, the depths of this claustrophobic passage less than seventy feet.

  Zachary checked
a fluctuation on his salinity meter. “Jonas, this is meltwater. We’re no longer in the Weddell Sea.”

  “Then where are we?”

  “I can’t be sure, but I think we’re beneath the glacier that feeds intae the Ronne Ice Shelf. Glaciers float along subglacial rivers as they migrate tae the sea. The ice cap is above us, the geology of West Antarctica below us.”

  “In other words, we’re between a rock and a hard place. Now how do we get out of here?”

  “I assume we exit the same way we came in.”

  Jonas glanced at the blip chasing after them on sonar. “Somehow I doubt your whale’s going to allow us to double back.”

  For the next twenty minutes they trekked north through the subglacial river in silence, the blip on their sonar screens gradually closing the gap. To Jonas, it was like piloting through a dark, underground tunnel, the Manta’s headlights illuminating a brown vortex of emptiness, the only evidence of movement coming from the peripheral glow reflecting off the ceiling, which rolled past them like a conveyor belt.

  Several times Jonas caught himself drifting off.

  The third time his feet eased off the accelerators.

  His eyes flashed open as the sub was nudged from behind by the Livyatan melvillei. Stamping down on both pedals, he reopened the gap to thirty feet.

  “Damn it, Zach. What kind of co-pilot are you?”

  “Ye’re blaming me because ye fell asleep?”

  “I’m blaming you for being stuck two miles beneath the Antarctic ice, being chased by a fucking whale.”

  “If ye recall, I was the one who warned ye not tae ping these creatures.”

  “And if you recall, I came to this godforsaken continent to find my son, not to … ah, never mind. Start pinging again; see if you can find a way out of this river.”

  Zach pinged their new surroundings, watching the acoustic reflections ripple outward across his sonar monitor. “Jonas, don’t get yer boxers all in a knot, but this passage narrows significantly in less than three kilometers.”

  “Meaning what?”