Faster and faster he descended, ignoring the steadily increasing water pressure, his eyes glittering garnets as daylight’s grip inevitably failed. Within seconds, he reached the seafloor, one thousand feet down. There in the darkness, draped across a coral-coated outcropping, was the wreck of a large wooden ship.
The old bull studied what remained of the once proud vessel. Its hull was broken amidships. The gunnels were mashed down and the deck boards cracked and split, as was the ship’s oaken spine. Her masts were all but gone. Only two-thirds of one remained: a splintered spire, grasping in vain at the lingering daylight far above.
As the Ancient scanned the wreck with his sound sight, his glittering orbs narrowed. He remembered something from many seasons past, back when there were many such ships. Back when . . .
Suddenly, the water around him seemed to waver and the great creature snorted loudly in alarm. His vision began to blur and he blinked repeatedly, scrunching his deepset eyes tightly closed in an effort to bring things back into focus.
When he reopened them it was two centuries ago, shortly after the escape that nearly cost him his life and left him scarred for what remained of it. He was a young bull, traversing a stretch of sea between the coast of Africa and some tiny island. He’d been smaller then – perhaps two-thirds the size he was now – but still an apex predator with few natural enemies.
A thousand yards away, he detected the presence of a large life form traversing his newly-claimed territory and moved to investigate. As he drew near, he scanned the intruder to determine whether it was potential prey or a rival carnivore.
The adolescent bull grew perplexed. The newcomer was quite large, at least twice his size, yet despite moving ponderously along the surface, it had no visible means of propelling itself. It wasn’t a gigantic turtle, as he’d assumed at first, nor was it one of his kind; in fact, it had no flippers at all. It also had no tailfin or flukes, just a small ventral fin set far back, so it wasn’t a shark or one of the big warm-bloods he’d recently hunted. Still, it changed direction under its own power, and from the constant thrumming and creaking calls it gave off, it was definitely alive.
Filled with curiosity, the bull sounded and cruised directly under the mysterious intruder, scanning it repeatedly with echolocation clicks and scenting the water around it. His lips wrinkled up and he snorted irritably. The creature had a large, hardened belly and gave off a repulsive odor. If it was edible, it would undoubtedly make for a distasteful meal.
Eventually, the young bull decided to examine the intruder from above. Surfacing a hundred yards away, he stuck his scaly head up out of the water and eyed it. It was enormous – even bigger above the surface than below. Its hide was a dull brown color, with a large white band running along its length, and black pock marks marring its flanks. Along its dorsal was a series of tall, spike-like fins that soared straight up and extending behind them were billowing white membranes, like the sails of gigantic billfish.
The bull moved closer, circling the entity like a hungry shark as he waited to see what it would do. As he drew to within forty yards, it made no move against him, either defensively or offensively, but rather maintained its speed and direction.
After nearly twenty minutes of the game, the pliosaur began to grow bored. He was about to submerge when he noticed something strange about the creaking entity. It was apparently suffering from some sort of parasitic infestation. Atop its dorsal he spotted dozens of small bipedal creatures, covered with loose-fitting skin. They skittered about it with impunity, their actions so brazen the bull would have assumed they were its offspring, were it not for the obvious differences between them.
Finally, the young bull wearied of the intruder and prepared to sound. As he filled his lungs, there was a bright orange flash and a sound reminiscent of thunder. A moment later, the water thirty feet to his right exploded and a powerful concussive force washed over him. He was uninjured, but recoiled in alarm. More thunderclaps followed and the sea around him began to erupt as dark-colored objects crashed into it. One eventually came so close it grazed him, and the bull realized what was happening. The two-legged leeches scurrying atop the creature’s broad back were hurling its rock-hard feces at him.
Infuriated, he spread his huge jaws wide, baring his lethal fangs and hissing menacingly at both the intruder and the bipeds it hosted. A second later, he sounded. Using great sweeps of his four flippers, he departed as quickly as he’d come.
The Ancient’s gnarled head shook violently as he chased away the unpleasant memory and returned to the present. He studied the nearby shipwreck, his eyes narrowing. What piqued his reptilian curiosity was that, despite the floating log they rode upon having been completely and utterly destroyed, and all the blood diffused into the water, there were no survivors huddled together on the surface. Nor were there any bodies below it.
The old bull rose several hundred feet in the water column, his sound sight scanning the shattered remains of the sailing ship one last time. Still unsatisfied, he swung his gnarled head and swept the surrounding area, his powerful sonar bursts punching away at the rocky ravines that gave the seafloor its unique topography and bouncing back. Other than the resident sea life and the yawning blackness of the barren crevasse to his left, there was nothing.
It was time to depart.
Suddenly, the Ancient paused, his barnacle-tipped fins undulating against the current as he hovered in place. His nostrils flared and he sucked more water into his mouth. There was another scent mixed in with the intoxicating flavor of diluted mammal blood. It was something even he was unfamiliar with. Whatever it was, the scent was strong. It seemed to trigger some instinctive memory in the remote recesses of his brain. It represented something very old, something primeval . . .
The old bull grunted in annoyance when the deeply submerged recollection refused to reveal itself. He felt the need to surface and, with a final shake of his limousine-sized head, ascended, the rhythmic strokes of his flippers powering him toward the waiting air.
Far below, clumped together in the eternal darkness, the ghosts of the Rorqual watched him go.
* * *
“Here she comes!” someone shouted excitedly. As Dirk looked around at the adrenalized faces of the Tartarus receiving crew, he realized the rush brought on by bringing in a rogue pliosaur never waned. Especially if you were intrigued by morbidity, he mused. After all, statistically-speaking, nearly 30% of their captures resulted in at least one dockside fatality.
Five hundred feet ahead, the dark waters between the Vault’s wide-open doors and the waiting channel churned violently. There was a watery explosion, accompanied by a chorus of gasps, as Antrodemus broke the surface of the canal. Rising up like some scarlet-skinned behemoth, the 132-foot, 440-ton war machine streamed torrents of seawater that gushed down her armored sides and spattered the nearby edges of the receiving dock. She was a mighty warrior, wounded in battle, but returning home triumphant.
And adorning her nose was Death.
Dirk’s chest rose and fell as he took in the sight of the slumbering behemoth chained across the ORION-Class sub’s prow. Even from this distance, he could make out the beads of brine that formed like salty dewdrops on the exposed portions of the Gen-1’s armored skin. Coated with heavily overlapped, iron-hard scales, her hide was a deep azure in color with pale stripes, fading to an off-white underside. Her massive, wedge-shaped head was positioned portside, and by Dirk’s estimate, measured nearly seventeen feet in length. Even more impressive were her razor-sharp teeth: a gleaming arsenal of ivory, protruding out from under her thick-scaled lips.
One more maneater to deal with, Dirk thought, shaking his head. He sighed. It also meant one less swimming around out there.
To his right, he saw Stacy Daniels and Lieutenant McEwan on their radios, communicating with the technicians that controlled the winch assembly poised one hundred feet overhead. A team of inspectors wearing hazmat suits waited at the dock’s edge, while Tartarus’s private securit
y worked to keep everyone else at a respectable distance.
“She’s a beauty,” Dr. Grayson announced to no one in particular. He and Admiral Callahan had taken up position a few feet to Dirk’s left. Garm, vigilant as always, remained close by. Dirk wondered if his big brother ever got tired of watching his back.
“She is indeed, sir,” Dirk replied. “Definitely a healthy, robust Gen-1 female.” He turned to Callahan. “What do you think?”
“Hell, yeah,” the stocky naval man snorted. “She’ll do nicely. But in case you’ve forgotten, I need two.”
“Relax, Ward,” Grayson said. “Have I let you down yet?”
“No, Eric. You have not.”
Dirk took a step forward, gesturing for Stacy to join him. Together, they watched as Antrodemus chugged steadily forward, then veered left before entering the receiving dock proper. As she reduced speed, a chorus of loud grunts and splashes began emanating from the pliosaur tanks across the way. The aquarium occupants had all gathered against their Celazole walls and were eyeing the unconscious new arrival. A few had their heads pressed against the clear polycarbonate, while others spouted noisily. As the sub moved closer, two of the largest breached and then rolled on their sides. They started smacking the surface of the water with their huge pectoral and pelvic fins, sending prodigious splashes of water spraying up and over the sides of their enclosures and making a thunderous racket that echoed throughout the cavernous, dome-shaped chamber.
“What’s with them?” Callahan inquired.
“It’s a social thing,” Stacy said, waving off the pliosaur’s antics. “Sort of like what humpbacks do, except instead of ‘hello’ it’s their way of saying, ‘I’m big and dangerous and this is my territory so don’t fuck with me.’”
“Dr. Daniels . . . language, please.” Grayson admonished.
Stacy pursed her lips and glanced at the floor. “Sorry, sir.”
All of a sudden, the concrete under everyone’s feet began to vibrate and there was a tremendous gurgling sound, punctuated by a watery rumble as Antrodemus’s maneuvering thrusters fired hard in reverse and brought the sub to a stop. They fired several more bubbling bursts, stabilizing her. Then a loud hum resonated across the dock, as the sub’s hydraulic gangplanks extended out from her sides like thick metal oars, mating her to the landing and locking the big pliosaur killer in place. Ten-foot geysers of steam shot out noisily from several points on her hull. Then she went silent.
“Okay, people,” Stacy yelled through cupped hands. “Security, please keep everyone back, including the inspection team. Let’s make sure this little lady’s still in dreamland before anyone gets close.”
“You heard the doctor,” Dirk directed. He moved toward the creature’s scar-streaked snout with Grayson, Callahan and Garm at his heels, and Dwyer and one of the admiral’s aides not far behind. “Keep your distance, people,” Dirk warned. As he got to within ten feet, he gestured for Stacy to join him and everyone else to stay put.
Like church mice, they approached the sleeping Kronosaurus. Its immense head was suspended a few feet above the dock. It was cocked at a forty-five degree angle, and every bit as big as an old-fashioned Cadillac. As they got close enough to touch it, Dirk could feel his heart attempting to crawl up his throat. It was terrifying, being this close to one of the world’s deadliest predators. Exhilarating, but terrifying.
“Holy fucking shit,” Callahan muttered. “Man, never been this close to one before. And a wild, unwired one at that.” He took a couple of sniffs. “Jesus, what’s that stench? Smells like a crocodile farm mixed with rotting meat.”
“Probably food particles stuck between her teeth,” Dirk said. “We’ll deal with that.” He glanced at Stacy as she moved beside him. “Well, what do you think?”
“Oh, yeah . . .” she said, whistling excitedly. She held her arms far apart and eyed the unconscious behemoth’s immense girth. “She’s a big, fat preggo. The test results should be very revealing.”
Grayson cleared his throat. “Is the lift ready?”
Stacy touched her earpiece and then signaled to McEwan. “Just about, sir.” She eyed the huge hydraulic assembly suspended overhead. Its motor was already running, a powerful system of turbines and hydraulics that, given time, could raise a Union Pacific Big Boy locomotive.
Callahan whistled as he continued eying their prize. “Man, look at the battle scars on her . . . and the teeth! That is one wicked-looking bitch.”
In Dirk’s head, the term “wicked-looking bitch” brought something altogether different to mind. Or rather, someone altogether different.
With a loud slamming of Antrodemus’s heavy sail door, Captain Natalya Dragunova emerged with her crew. She mouthed a curse as she took in the damage to her sub and an irritable look came over her. A moment later, her booted feet hit the landing and she forced her way past the assorted accountants attempting to shove tablets in her direction.
Dismissing her weary crew with the wave of a hand, Dragunova headed straight toward Dirk.
Make that stalked toward him.
If Dirk thought being close to a wild Kronosaurus imperator had his heart racing before, it was in overdrive now. Standing six-foot-two and packing 195 pounds of toned muscle on her voluptuous frame, the tawny-haired Amazon heading his way looked more like a hungry lioness than a human being.
“Easy, there, big boy . . .” Stacy whispered in his ear.
Dirk blinked as if he’d come out of a trance. “W-what?”
Before he could say another word, Dragunova was right on top of him.
“Captain Natalya Dragunova, reporting,” she said to Grayson. Her cantaloupe-sized breasts strained her uniform shirt as she pulled her shoulders back and shot the CEO a salute. “Meeshun accomplished, sir.”
“Well done, captain,” Grayson replied. He looked up at her and smiled.
“Full meeshun report,” Dragunova said, handing him a tablet. She gave Garm a nod of professional courtesy, then turned to Dirk as if just noticing him. Her gray eyes seemed to betray some sort of inner amusement and she grinned. “Hello, Doctor Derek Braddock. Ees good to see you again.”
Dirk worked hard at remembering how to breathe. For some reason, the way his name rolled off Dragunova’s tongue, in that thick Russian accent of hers, made it seem everyone else had been saying it wrong his whole life.
“It’s good to see you too, Captain,” Dirk said, inhaling slowly. It was amazing; even with 100+ tons of foul-smelling reptile ten feet away, all his nose could detect was her. It was damn weird, since as far as he knew the woman never wore perfume. “I’ve got a repair crew ready to analyze the damage to Antrodemus. Just as soon as we’ve gotten the specimen quarantined.”
Dragunova gave the captive pliosaur a sympathetic look. “Da, da. Poor theeng. She ees exhausted.” Before anyone could stop her, she rested her hand on the tip of the sleeping beast’s snout. There was a collective gasp and even Garm looked shocked. Dirk felt like he was going to faint.
Is she crazy? Why not just poke a sleeping dragon with a stick?
“Careful there, little lady,” Callahan advised. “That’s Navy property. Wouldn’t want to get sued if that big evil bitch wakes up and makes a meal outta you.”
“‘Little lady,’ eh?” Dragunova’s lips pulled back from her teeth in what resembled a smile, but her eyes looked like storm clouds. She bent at the waist and ran her fingertips over the wet scales coating the pliosaur’s colossal head. “You know, admiral, you’re right. She ees a beeg, evil beetch, and I should know. But, like most of us beeg, evil beetches, when we sleep we look like angels, da?”
Callahan looked confused. “Uh, right.”
“Mudаk.” Dragunova teased the downturned tip of one of the Kronosaurus’s bowie-sized fangs with her finger before straightening up. She flashed Callahan a smile. “Oh, and admiral; kees my beeg Russian ass.”
Dirk’s eyes became ostrich eggs and he couldn’t move, let alone speak.
For his part, Callahan turn
ed stroke-red and looked like he was about to explode.
“As outspoken as ever, Captain Dragunova,” Grayson said, grinning and putting a hand on the admiral’s forearm before things got out of hand. He leaned toward Dirk and whispered. “‘Woman was God’s second mistake,’ my boy.”
“Beyond Good and Evil?” Dirk hazarded.
“Gotcha.” Grayson winked. “The Antichrist.”
Dirk smirked. “Captain Dragunova, if you wouldn’t mind?” he indicated the waiting Hazmat team.
“Of course not,” she replied, sauntering a few steps back.
The four-man Hazmat crew tiptoed forward as if they were traversing a minefield. Once they were in position, three of them began sweeping their noisy scanning wands over whatever portions of the Kronosaurus imperator they could reach, while the fourth ran a laser scanner over its exposed surfaces.
Once the scanning was complete, the first three members moved back, while the fourth approached the slumbering creature with a pair of bolt cutters. Leaning cautiously over the edge of the dock, he reached down and cut the shiny cable holding it to the sub’s labium with a series of loud snips.
As soon as the cable was removed, the Hazmat team’s leader approached Dirk, Stacy, and Grayson, and removed his cumbersome headgear. He was middle-aged and stocky, his shaved head and face coated with a fine sheen of sweat.
“No radiation,” he said, shaking off his gloves and wiping away some of the perspiration. “Some bruising and scrapes, but no serious external injuries that I can detect. There are a few of those skin parasites we’ve been seeing lately, so watch yourselves.” He winked and signaled his team. Gathering their gear, they trudged off.
Kronos Rising: Kraken (vol.1): The battle for Earth's oceans has just begun. Page 17
