MEG: Nightstalkers

by Steve Alten

  As Jonas and Zachary watched, a burst of pink light ignited thirty feet overhead. Like a slow-moving nerve impulse, the bioluminescent flash raced down the limbs to cause the two objects with the sucker pads to illuminate underwater.

  “Is it a plant or an animal?” Jonas asked, circling the objects at what he hoped was a safe distance.

  “I have no idea, but I need tae observe what’s happening along the underside of the ice sheet. Is there any way ye can direct one of the sub’s exterior lights directly overhead?”

  “No, but I have something else that should do the job.” Unbuckling his harness, Jonas turned around in his seat and rummaged through a storage compartment, removing an aluminum lithium-powered flashlight. Ascending to the surface, he pressed the flashlight’s lens to the inside of the cockpit glass and turned on the beam, aiming it at the section of ice sheet located three stories above the sub.

  Instead of illuminating the bottom of the ice sheet, the flashlight’s beam revealed a dense root system, which fanned out from the center of a hole. There were dozens of these strange orifices—perhaps hundreds or even thousands of them—poised over the lake’s surface waters, each fifteen to twenty feet in diameter. Crawling in and out of these dark holes and across the root system were thousands of centipedes—each insect three to five feet long.

  Dangling from the perimeter of each hole were the two vine-like limbs, which reached beneath the surface waters to illuminate their two plant-like pods lurking underwater.

  “Zach, I thought you told me Lake Ellsworth was squeezed beneath a mile-thick ice sheet? This looks more like the underside of a bizarre rainforest. Those holes remind me of the inside of a rotting trunk.”

  “I agree it’s bizarre, and yet I’m not convinced this thing isn’t a living, breathing animal. Jonas, can I borrow that light a moment?”

  Zach aimed the beam at the center of the hole directly above their heads as a strobe of blue-green light ignited from within the orifice, traveling outward through the roots and down the dangling pair of limbs to the sucker pads.

  “My God … is it possible?”

  “Is what possible?” Jonas looked at his friend, who was using the light to count the number of thick roots originating from the perimeter of each hole.

  “Jonas, I dinnae think we’re looking at the underside of a tree. Each hole births eight long roots and these two strange appendages that dangle these big sucker pads underwater like bait. Doesn’t that sound vaguely familiar tae ye? It does tae me. I’ve encountered a modern-day relative of this species before … in the Sargasso Sea.”

  “Eight arms, two tentacles … you think those things are cephalopods?”

  “That would be my guess. Which means each hole is actually a mouth and the squid’s head is burrowed in the ice sheet. They’re using bioluminescent signals tae lure prey close enough for their two sucker pads tae grab hold so the beastie can feed itself.”

  “How can they survive out of the water?”

  “I don’t ken. I suppose it’s possible they evolved into ice creatures as a means of survival, especially if Livyatan melvillei is the dominant species in this lake. Keep us at a safe distance and let’s see what happens.”

  Jonas circled the sucker pads as he gradually submerged the Manta. In the distance he could see faint sparks of bioluminescent signals, a sight that reminded him of his submersible descents into the bathypelagic zone. Living in perpetual darkness, eighty percent of the sea creatures inhabiting the deep possessed light-emitting cells called photophores that were used to attract mates as well as prey.

  At least one of the species in Lake Ellsworth shared these same traits.

  “Zach, since you obviously seem to have more subglacial lake memories than me; how do you suggest we go about finding our way out of here to get back to the McFarland?”

  “I’m working on a few options.”

  “Anything you care to share while we’re sitting here, waiting for God knows what to show up and get eaten?”

  “The idea for our escape comes from the mission tae Lake Vostok.”

  “You mean the one that never happened?”

  Zach grinned. “Yeah, that one. To access Vostok our engineers designed a three-man torpedo-shaped submersible equipped with twin Valkyrie lasers. We literally melted our way through two and a half miles of ice tae reach the lake. Getting back tae the surface relied on a different strategy that jist might work for us.”

  Zach pointed to the Manta’s exterior pressure gauge, which read 3,281 psi. “The weight of the ice sheet causes tremendous pressure within these subglacial lakes—something the Russians discovered the hard way when they drilled their first borehole intae Vostok and unleashed a geyser. Our exit strategy took advantage of the lake’s internal pressure. We were instructed tae launch vertically out of the lake with the lasers powered on. Upon contact with the ice sheet our melt hole would unleash the lake’s internal pressure and literally propel us up tae the surface, riding a geyser of water.”

  “Did it work?”

  “We never got tae try it. Our targeted extraction point had the ice sheet within six feet of the lake’s surface; our actual immersion spot was way off course in an area where the ice sheet was more than a hundred feet overhead. But the theory still holds true.”

  “Thanks for sharing; now how are we going to leap thirty feet into the air in this weighed-down sub, when we can barely outrun a prehistoric sperm whale?”

  Zach pointed to his sonar monitor where a pair of blips had appeared. “Watch and learn.”

  Jonas stared at the objects which were rising slowly from the depths beneath them. “What are they?”

  “I don’t ken. Every subglacial lake has its own unique ecosystem. Twenty million years ago, Lake Ellsworth was covered by ocean. Fifteen million years ago an ice age deposited a dome of packed snow over the entire continent. The Ronne Ice Shelf cut off access tae the Weddell Sea, sealing off the lake while trapping whales and other sea creatures within its landlocked boundary. Food chains are only as stable as their microbial foundations. Lake Ellsworth receives deposits of organic materials from West Antarctica’s subglacial streams. Geothermal vents replaced photosynthesis with chemosynthesis, preserving the waterway’s microbial life forms. We ken Livyatan melvillei survived; whit else is on the food chain is jist a guess.”

  What had been two blips on sonar now numbered more than a dozen. From the circuitous manner in which the life forms rose, Jonas could tell they were not predatory by nature. This was confirmed moments later when the first creatures rose majestically into view, their massive wings flapping gently as they rode an upwelling of current to the surface.

  Within minutes the sub was surrounded by a ballet of giant manta rays, the graceful creatures dwarfing the sub, their focus on the bioluminescent mating calls that were being falsely generated by the strange creatures inhabiting the ice sheet.

  As Jonas watched, one of the mantas brushed its belly against a flashing sucker pad—foreplay to a primordial mating ritual.

  With a heart-stopping reflex, both sucker pads suddenly animated to grab the ray by its wings, the poison-tipped barbed suckers piercing the manta’s flesh. The tentacles flexed, lifting the stunned animal out of the water and high above the lake’s surface, its wings flapping wildly as it attempted to free itself from its captor’s grip.

  Jonas surfaced the sub. Zach aimed the flashlight’s beam into the dark orifice overhead, illuminating a hideous clawed beak inside the giant squid’s mouth.

  Two of the eight massive roots animated from beneath the ice sheet. Thick and powerful, these sucker-lined appendages aided the cephalopod’s tentacles in securing the three hundred pound manta ray. Gripping the captured animal by its two wings, it tore the creature’s torso in half, its bloody innards falling out of its body into the lake, splattering across the sub’s cockpit.

  Through the blotched Lexan glass, Jonas saw one of the squid’s thicker arms shove half its meal into its mouth, the giant squid’s bea
k tearing into the succulent meat.

  Hundreds of centipedes scrambled inside the feeding orifice, fighting over the scraps.

  Jonas felt queasy. He adjusted his air vent to blow on his face, then reached into the refrigerated compartment beneath his seat for a bottled water and bag of trail mix.

  “All right, professor? Did you see what you needed to see?” Jonas turned to Zach, who was staring at his sonar monitor. “What is it?”

  “I dinnae ken, but the manta rays are taking off like bats out of hell.”

  Zzzzzzzzzzt. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzt.

  The burst of echolocation rattled the sub’s cockpit, causing both pilots’ pulses to race.

  Jonas strapped himself back in his harness. “Where is he?”

  Zach traced the location of the whale on his sonar array. “He’s about a mile tae the southwest and he’s not alone—his acoustics painted three smaller adults and two juveniles.”

  “Sounds like Brutus has himself a harem. You think he knows it’s us?”

  Zzzzzzzzzzt. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzt.

  “I would say he kens. Follow the mantas. Maybe we can lose him in the crowd.”

  Jonas submerged, accelerating after the school of rays. “What happened to that brilliant plan of yours to escape through the ice sheet?”

  “Take a look around—haven’t ye noticed how dark it’s become? The ice squid, or whatever the hell those things are, retracted their tentacles the moment they registered Brutus’s echolocation.”

  Jonas looked around. Zachary was right; Lake Ellsworth had vanished into pitch darkness, the bioluminescent impulses gone.

  * * *

  At eighty-two feet and a hundred tons, the Miocene bull sperm whale remained the unchallenged authority of Lake Ellsworth. Over the last four decades it had sired twenty-three offspring with seven different cows in three subglacial lakes. Adhering to the lake’s population limits, it had forced itself into exile, spending the last few mating seasons wandering through subglacial rivers, awaiting death.

  The collapse of the Ronne Ice Shelf had opened a new world to the sixty-three-year-old predator. Endowed with the largest, most complex brain on Earth, it had adapted easily to open water and was progressively exploring the Weddell Sea. Sunlight did not affect its eyes—the sub-species of Livyatan melvillei that had survived the last ice age had borne their young blind for more than twelve million years, however the ultraviolet rays did irritate its hide, limiting its exposure to surface waters during the day. Having come across a pod of modern-day sperm whales, it had chased off a mature silver-headed bull and supplanted him as the dominant male. Twice in the last week it had returned to its adopted family, impregnating two of their cows.

  The Miocene sperm whale’s unexpected encounter with the strange life form during its return trip beneath the ice sheet had set the bull off. Instinctively, it had recognized the submersible as a threat. Now, its presence in its own roost was not only a direct challenge to the male’s authority, it placed the safety of its brood in question.

  Bearing down on the sub, the dominant bull would not allow it to escape.

  * * *

  “Jonas, the whale’s gaining on us; it’s closed tae within a hundred yards.”

  “Go active, ping the hell out of this place. Find me that river, some shallows … anything.”

  Zach hit the sonar array’s green button, causing three loud sonic pings to reverberate from beneath the sub’s prow. “There’s some kind of landmass up ahead. Maybe there’s a beach?”

  “I don’t want to beach, I want shallows.”

  Zach set off three more pings. “Forty yards tae starboard; can ye hear wave variations in your headset? It might be an inlet.”

  Jonas forced himself to focus in on the acoustics, catching a hollow echo of sound. “You might be right; hold on.”

  Powering on the sub’s exterior lights, Jonas veered hard to starboard, following the targeted area on his sonar screen.

  Appearing up ahead was a city block-long gauntlet of volcanic rock—no shallows, nothing resembling an inlet. And then he saw it—a dark crevasse that was either a natural split between two rock formations or the entrance to an underwater cave.

  Accelerating toward the fissure, he realized—too late—that the passage was less than half the width of his submersible.

  Zzzzzzzzzzt. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzt.

  The strength behind the acoustic barrage ended any internal debate. Rolling the Manta onto its port wing, Jonas shot the sub sideways through the rift, fully expecting to smash bow-first into rock.

  The starboard wing scraped basalt, the Manta jarred roughly as one of the pump-jet propulsors was sheared away from the sub’s undercarriage—and then night ignited into day as the ship’s exterior lights refracted off the walls and ceiling of an underwater grotto.

  Jonas pulled his feet away from the propulsor pedals and rolled the sub level again just in time to veer away from a cavern wall.

  Before he could steal a breath, a monstrous force struck the cave entrance, unleashing a thunderous reverberation that caused baseball-size rocks to rain inside their refuge.

  Jonas banked away from another wall, spinning the sub around so that it now faced the cave entrance—the narrow passage blocked by the Miocene whale’s enormous head.

  “Don’t move, Brutus, stay right where you are,” Jonas whispered, powering on the Valkyrie lasers.

  “J.T., whit are ye doing?”

  “Just teaching our friend a lesson on what happens when you mess with the wrong sailor.”

  Zachary grabbed his right hand as he reached for the joystick. “You’ll kill him.”

  “It’s him or us, now let go of my hand.”

  “Fine, jist tell me the truth so we can set the record straight—are ye a marine paleobiologist dedicated tae preserving extant life forms or are ye still a disgruntled navy submersible pilot with a thirty-five-year-old chip on yer shoulder? Because the Jonas Taylor I thought I ken would find any way he could tae avoid slaughtering a majestic creature like this.”

  Jonas shut down the lasers. “Listen. Do you hear that cavitating sound? That’s what’s left of our starboard propeller. Look at your life support gauges; we’re down to our last six hours of air. You like this cave? That whale may just end up burying us in here. You want to question my motives, start by questioning your own. Why are we here, Zachary? We’re here because you told me some crazy story about a mission to Lake Vostok that never happened. We’re here because you needed my help, warning me that my son’s life was in danger. If it’s between my son and that Miocene nightmare then—”

  “Try backing it off. Scorch its hide if ye must … give it a painful burn but don’t press the Valkyrie tae its flesh or ye’ll kill it. Trust me on this.”

  “Trust you? You’re a hypocrite, do you know that? Last week you were prepared to kill this animal in order to protect your little Vostok secret. What changed?”

  “Ye’re right. Having lived through it, I guess I forgot everything I learned.” Zachary laid his head back. “The last time we went through this together—ye ken, my crazy Vostok story—the bad guys ended up slaughtering an entire pod of these Miocene whales. Seeing what ye were about tae do, I realized that we’re supposed tae be better than this … not jist me and ye, but mankind … humanity. It’s a lesson I had learned before but forgot until this very moment; that at the end of the day our survival as a species may jist come down tae whether or not we respect the rights of other species tae live. God, listen tae me, I sound like a bloody Disney character.”

  Jonas weighed his friend’s words. “All right, Donald Duck, we’ll try it your way.” Restarting the Valkyires, Jonas rolled the sub onto its port wing and inched forward, guiding the Manta slowly out of the passage.

  The heat from the lasers set the water to boil, blistering the whale’s exposed hide.

  The creature retreated, allowing the sub to exit.

  Once outside the cave, Jonas righted his vessel, keeping the Manta’s prow ten feet
from the bull’s silver-gray head. Growing more agitated, but unable to devour its searing-hot prey, the whale swam from side to side like a caged tiger as it attempted to circumnavigate the lasers’ intense heat.

  Jonas waited it out, refusing to allow the creature to get around the sub’s prow even as he was forced to compensate for his damaged starboard propeller.

  After several minutes of cat and mouse maneuvers, the frustrated beast swam off.

  Zach breathed a sigh of relief. “See now? Dinnae that feel good?”

  “It’ll feel good when we’re back on board the McFarland, now stop yapping like a woman and find that river leading us out of here.”

  29

  Ross Sea

  A neon-green ribbon of light snaked across the midnight sky, the aurora reflecting off the Manta’s cockpit as it was hauled out of the dark sea onto the trawler’s stern ramp.

  David Taylor opened the Lexan hatch. For several minutes the twenty-one-year-old pilot simply breathed in the frigid Antarctic air, exhausted from having completed a nine-hour game of cat and mouse with the Liopleurodon and its offspring.

  He glanced over at Jackie, who was being lifted out of her side of the cockpit by two members of the Dubai Land crew. The marine biologist deserved credit for having learned how to operate the sub on short notice, but passing a crash course on a simulator and repeatedly being chased by a hundred-and-twenty-foot pliosaur as they attempted to herd it out from beneath the Ross Ice Shelf were two different things. For forty minutes Jackie had screamed and cursed-out David until she was hoarse; twice vomiting into a sea-sick container. After her third valium, she had mercifully passed out.

  The experience reminded David of one of his Uncle Mac’s funnier military stories. While stationed at the U.S. naval base in Guam, the brash chopper pilot was approached by the pretty aide of a visiting congressman, who was looking to boost her boss’s “tough guy” image for an upcoming election. Mac negotiated a date with the woman in exchange for a thirty minute helicopter flight for the politician and his film crew. But the congressman turned out to be a “chicken-hawk,” his brash pro-war stances in Washington conflicting with his wealthy family’s influence, which had exempted him from the draft. Nothing bothered Mac more than a hypocrite. In David’s godfather’s words, “on our first aerial maneuver the southern boy screamed, on the second he puked across the dashboard. By the time we landed he was passed out cold. Unfortunately, the aide turned out to be his niece so I didn’t get laid, but I did get it on with the Filipino nurse who treated him at the base hospital.”