Kronos Rising: Kraken (vol.1): The battle for Earth's oceans has just begun.

by Max Hawthorne

  His eyes swept the calm surface of Tartarus’s artificial lake, and then the expectant throng outside of it. He angled his head to one side, giving Stacy a final glance. As he did, something bright and ephemeral caught his eye. He craned his head back until it hurt, his sharp eyes seeking the source of the unexpected movement.

  Dirk felt the equivalent of a fist burying itself in the pit of his stomach. What he’d spotted was a yard-long piece of red barricade tape. It was hanging from the section of broken railing outside his mother’s office, two hundred feet up, fluttering like a bloody kite’s tail in the breeze.

  His eyes lowered and he found himself focusing on the spot where Amara Braddock died, not two hundred feet away. On cue, the video of her awful demise began looping inside his head, a never-ending cycle of horror. He felt cold and he could hear his breath growing louder as a wave of nausea swept through him.

  “Dirk? Hey, Dirk . . . Earth to Dirk . . . Hello!”

  He cleared his throat noisily as Stacy’s voice continued to blare from his earpiece. He touched a hand to it, reducing the annoying device’s volume. “Yeah, I’m here,” he said, shivering.

  “And you were worried about me . . .”

  Dirk’s jaw muscles tightened as he watched her shake her head disapprovingly. He could do little to mask his irritation, but at least they were on a secure channel.

  “We can talk about it afterward,” Stacy offered.

  Dirk clamped down on his headshake. “I’m good,” he growled. His dark eyes intensified as he reached for the stadium microphone switch. “Let’s do this.”

  He exhaled and queued the mike.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, pausing to gauge the intensity of his magnified voice as it rebounded across the cavernous chamber. For some bizarre reason, he found himself wondering, if there was a “god,” whether his voice sounded like that. “Thank you for coming to today’s presentation.”

  Dirk’s gaze traversed the water’s surface beyond the podium, hurdled the ten-foot Celazole lip extending above it, and swept the faces of those in attendance, until he zeroed his mentor. When he espied Admiral Callahan, yakking away in the old man’s ear, he chuckled. The loquacious naval man and his newbies had no idea what they were in for.

  “On behalf of Dr. Grayson, myself, and the entire Board of Directors of Grayson Defense Technologies, I welcome you to Tartarus!”

  Dirk activated the background music, causing it to rumble from the stadium’s ten-foot speakers like an approaching thunderstorm. It was his personal favorite: a dramatic track, reminiscent of scores from the old “Jurassic Park” movies. It was certainly apropos, he thought. He touched another key, causing an exterior feed to merge with the music. This one was nothing but a deep, pulsing sound that cycled every two seconds.

  Boom . . . boom . . . boom . . .

  Dirk detached the wireless mike from the podium and held it as he walked to the water’s edge. As he gazed into its foreboding depths, he imagined that, with his neural-cranial skull cap on, he must have looked like some reject from “Flash Gordon.” He raised the microphone to his lips. “For those of you that have never been here before, or seen what you’re about to see, please keep two things in mind. The first is the non-disclosure agreement that every one of you signed. Any violation of your NDAs will result in stiff penalties.” He grinned like a game show host mugging for an unseen audience. “And if you think Uncle Sam is good at giving you the shaft, you don’t want to know what we’re capable of.”

  Boom . . . boom . . . boom . . .

  Dirk smiled, waiting for the nervous chuckling to die down. Despite the breeze, it was warm and he was dying to remove his lab coat and tie. “The second is to remain calm. Although this is a military demonstration and what you are about to see may be frightening, you are perfectly safe. Every possible precaution has been taken to ensure your safety.”

  As opposed to Stacy and me, who get to do the Texas two-step in the lion’s den.

  Dirk moved laterally along the beveled concrete edge of the platform, working his way back toward the podium. “I’m sure many of you know the name ‘Tartarus’ comes from Greek mythology. For the uninitiated, it was the Ancient Greeks’ version of purgatory or hell. Where the wicked were tormented for all eternity, and where the enemies of the gods of Olympus – in this case, the monstrous Titans – were imprisoned.”

  Boom . . . boom . . . boom . . .

  Judging by the eerie silence that ensued following any pause on his part, Dirk could tell he had his audience right where he wanted them. Mike in hand, he stood beside the podium. On its top was an illuminated red knob, like a panic button, covered by a clear acrylic shield. He reached up and flipped the cover open, taking care not to touch the knob.

  In an attempt at giving off an air of casualness, Dirk rested one elbow against the podium. “During your respective tours, you’ve seen some of our very own ‘Titans,’ the monstrous Kronosaurus imperators that wreaked havoc on the world’s oceans, and which we have incarcerated here. Unlike traditional prisons, where the inmates’ savage impulses are held in check by walls, guards, and barbed wire, we tolerate no ‘rage against the cage’ here. We keep our monsters on a tight leash, no matter how horrifying they may be.”

  Boom . . . boom . . . boom . . .

  As he shot a quick glance at Dr. Grayson, waiting for his nod of approval, Dirk noticed Security Chief Dwyer seated at the CEO’s right. It was hard to tell from his vantage point, but the young scientist got the unmistakable impression that the intimidating ex-con’s eyes were fixed on him.

  He shuddered. Dwyer really gave him the creeps.

  Dirk’s grip on his mike tightened. “You’ve seen some of our more impressive specimens, all successfully implanted with our latest technology and completely under our control. This includes Thanatos, whose name means ‘Death,’ as well as Surtr, Fafnir, and Romulus and Remus. A few of you have even been treated to a visit with our latest addition, the former murderess known as Goliath.” Dirk held up an emphasizing finger, “Goliath, along with a few of our other prized specimens, is slated to join the Navy’s burgeoning bio-weapons division.” He paused to give Admiral Callahan a perfunctory nod and received an enthusiastic thumbs-up in response.

  Boom . . . boom . . . boom . . .

  “But a few of you distinguished guests have been asking about something else. Something . . . more.” Dirk surveyed the bleachers, catching and holding quite a few pairs of eyes, a few of whom looked quickly away. “You’ve been listening to or spreading rumors of an entirely different class of predator that’s being housed here. Something bigger, something badder, something that cannot be controlled.”

  Dirk’s brother Garm popped into his head and he grinned. Just then, a glimmer of light caught his eye and he realized his image was emanating from one of the giant overhead monitors. One of the ceiling cameras was following his every move and he played to it. “You are correct,” he said. His grin broadened and he added. “At least about the bigger and badder part.”

  Boom . . . boom . . . boom . . .

  With a final check on Stacy, Dirk reached for the big, red button atop his podium and gave it a smack. The sound was picked up by his microphone and echoed across the coliseum. It dissipated quickly, absorbed and overpowered by a much louder rumbling as a pair of sixty-foot titanium-steel doors along the amphitheater pool’s rear wall began to split apart, exposing another body of water in an adjacent chamber. Sliding noisily into their stone housings, the yard-thick barriers separated foot by foot, until they vanished completely and locked in place with an audible thump.

  Forgetting about his audience for the moment, Dirk focused on the 120-foot seaway the twin portals had just created. He could see the aquarium’s surface swirling from the sudden influx of seawater. But when nothing beyond that happened, the spectators in the stands began conversing in hushed tones.

  Dirk slid his finger down the keyboard’s touchpad, causing the background music to fade. The deep, pulsing s
ound, however, remained, pumping ominously from the speakers and echoing across the stadium’s tepid waters. The people in the stands gradually took notice of the sound, with the more astute among them realizing what it was and excitedly telling those around them.

  It was a heartbeat.

  Boom . . . boom . . . boom . . .

  Dismissing the murmuring of the now-pensive crowd, as well as the pitter-patter of his own heart, Dirk focused his will through the cybernetic skull cap. There was an intense tingling sensation, followed by a moment of pain, and then he was through. It was impressive. The new cortical implant was far more advanced than its predecessors. It allowed a virtual bond between the host and controller.

  He felt her presence almost immediately – a dark and wrathful entity. He started to push, pinpointing her location. She was down deep and hugging the northern side of her enclosure, assumedly trying to put as much distance and as many walls between them as possible.

  You’re very smart, aren’t you, you bitch? Dirk sent. You think putting a few layers of stone and a couple hundred yards between us will shield you from me. But you’re wrong.

  Focusing hard, he exerted his willpower. He could feel the connection take place, the neural impulses from his controller pulsing like tiny lightning bolts inside his head. The barrage of stimuli he got back via her cranial implant was overwhelming. Soon, he was able to see through her eyes. It was surreal. He experienced the full spectrum of her vision, like a transparent hologram overlaying his own sight. Her amazing olfactory system was his as well. He could “smell” the brine, bovine entrails, and an assortment of other scents wafting through her paddock. His senses soared, as he experienced water flowing over the cracks and crevasses of her rough skin, and he could feel both her rugged heartbeat and the blood coursing powerfully through her veins.

  Suddenly, she started to resist. He could feel her primitive intellect lashing out at him. She was strong but clumsy. He bore down, mercilessly hammering at her, overwhelming her simple defenses. Within seconds, she was his. He had her subdued, like a monstrous dog on a leash and, like a dog, he made her turn in his direction and cruise docilely underwater, through the canal that separated her pool from the amphitheater. Despite the lethargy of her approach, her sheer size caused the waters at the far end of the stadium to boil, and those in the audience sat stock-still, their eyes riveted to the gate.

  Boom . . . Boom . . . Boom . . .

  Reaching down, Dirk switched off the feed from the underwater cameras, letting one of the giant monitors revert to static. He flipped the conversion switch and the screen shimmered. A moment later, a collective gasp escaped the crowd. The monitor’s viewpoint was no longer that of a camera. They were seeing things as he did, through her predator eyes. Despite the fact that she was still concealed within the furthest shadows of the pool, with her acute underwater vision she had a clear view of everything around her: the pool’s rough-hewn depths, the sturdy pilings supporting the dock and dais, and the heavy polycarbonate barrier that separated her from her audience.

  She was looking right through it. And she was looking at them.

  With interest.

  Dirk grinned at his viewers’ reactions as they began to realize they were the ones being studied. “Fifteen years ago,” he began, “GDT purchased the dilapidated remnants of what was once the world’s largest fallout shelter and converted it to the modern research facility you see before you. Shortly thereafter, and long before the military started their suppression exercise against aggressive pliosaurs, our scientists began capturing specimens with the intentions of discovering their weaknesses. She was one of the first to be taken alive, and with good reason. She was a Gen-1, but she was different than her brood brothers and sisters. She was a mutation so huge and lethal she could not be allowed to roam free. But she was also too valuable to be destroyed.”

  Dirk paused for effect. As he did, he sensed her desire to spout and willed her to the surface. Not wanting to ruin the surprise he had planned, he kept her in the shadows, allowing just her blowhole and the crown of her huge head to breach the surface. There was tremendous hiss as twin geysers of compressed water vapor exploded to a height of over forty feet. The sound resonated across the stone chamber and in an instant everyone in the stands except Dr. Grayson was on their tiptoes, striving for a better look.

  As he directed her away from the stone portion of the pool and her silhouette materialized beneath him, Dirk’s stomach tied itself up in knots. He swallowed a breath and fought to man up. He’d known her proximity was going to be psychologically problematic, and not just for him. Throughout the amphitheater, people began to yell and point as her shadow coalesced in the distance. The flashes from scores of camera phones went off, the bursts of light like white-hot bullets, ricocheting off the thick PBI walls.

  “We brought her here,” Dirk announced, raising his voice over the growing tumult. “Where she has continued to feed and grow.”

  BOOM . . . BOOM . . . BOOM . . .

  With the amplified sound of her enormous heart now so loud it was deafening, Dirk had no choice but to kill the feed. He peered down from his podium, watching as she reached the center of the pool, directly adjacent to the audience. He drew another breath deep in his chest and blew out the exhale through bowed lips.

  The time for buildup was past. The unveiling was at hand.

  With detached deliberation, Dirk directed her toward the stands, some four hundred feet away. Her fins rose and fell like monstrous wings, displacing hundreds of thousands of gallons of seawater as he aimed her straight for Admiral Callahan. He could see the Navy’s stocky Bio-Weapons Director clearly. He was on his feet, one hand shading his thick-jowled face as he peered through the dense thermoplastic.

  Dirk snorted in amusement. Callahan was familiar with pliosaurs. Just the other day, he’d seen Goliath up close and personal. Hell, any closer and he’d have been a meal. But he’d never seen anything like this.

  Like a living monolith, she emerged from the gloom, her flippers undulating as she crept stealthily forward. Dirk watched the admiral’s face as she hove into view and grew larger and larger. Intense curiosity give way to surprise, then to astonishment, and finally, to fear.

  When her scarred snout bumped thunderously against the tough Celazole barricade separating them, Dirk’s gawking spectators let out a collective yelp of fright. For a moment, he gave her free rein, just to see what she would do. With occasional flicks of her fins to stabilize her, she remained suspended, fifty feet below the surface, studying her audience of tiny primates like a god surveying insects.

  The comparison wasn’t far off, he thought. She was as long as the biggest blue whale that ever lived and nearly three times the weight. But she was no plankton-feeding cow. As her mini-bus-sized head swiveled from side to side, her thick-scaled lips curled back, revealing rows of ridged teeth the size of machetes. She gazed imperiously downward, her glittering orange eyes with their depthless black centers blazing like twin orbs of fire.

  Not willing to chance what might happen next, Dirk reasserted control. To his surprise, she came willingly. He directed her back toward the surface, one of her twenty-five-foot pelvic fins scraping noisily along the slick thermoplastic barrier as she turned on her tail. A second later, she breached, her nine-yard wide back streaming water. Her titanic head broke the surface and her wrinkled muzzle lifted up and over the edge of the pool wall as she gazed imperiously down at her jailers. The crowd fell back in their chairs and stared back in astonishment. Unlike most pliosaurs, with their typical bluish-gray or dark indigo hues, her rock-hard scales were as black as pitch.

  Suddenly, her twenty-four foot mandibles split apart, exposing her full arsenal of thick ivory fangs. A deep, vibrating hiss escaped her mouth, and her spellbound audience sucked in a collective breath.

  Despite his degree of control, Dirk could feel her muscles flexing like giant steel bands. A wave of what he interpreted as the Kronosaurus equivalent of satisfaction shimmied through
her and he realized she was reveling in her power. She was enjoying the fear she generated, but her “feelings” were jagged and disjointed; they formed an ever-thickening emotional wall he had to breach again and again to keep her at heel.

  His voice trembled as he spoke into the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the deadliest predator in the history of the planet. I give you our resident Queen of Pliosaurs . . . I give you . . . Tiamat!”

  Dripping a mixture of drool and brine, the queen’s armored snout arched upward, high above the astonished crowd, until her fearsome muzzle was nearly fifty feet above the pool’s churning surface and pointed toward the heavens. Dirk glanced toward Dr. Grayson and saw him smile in anticipation of what came next.

  A moment later, Dirk directed Tiamat to suck in a huge breath and spread her giant jaws wide.

  Then he had her roar.

  CHAPTER

  19

  “Oh my God, Nat!”

  As his powerful frame bucked and thrashed, riding out an orgasm so intense it would have incapacitated most men, Garm Braddock viewed the world through rose-hued lenses. By the time his powerful climax finally ebbed, the ex-fighter’s eyes were rolled up inside his head like a doll’s. He blinked repeatedly to bring them into focus and sucked down oxygen like an athlete who’d just completed a hyperbaric Ironman competition. As he gradually spiraled down to Earth, Garm raised his eyes toward the ceiling in a mixture of awe and gratitude. Atop him, Natalya Dragunova continued her gyrations.

  She had a sinful look on her sweat-streaked Valkyrie’s face and the muscles coating her lithe frame flexed as she rotated her hips in slow, counter-clockwise motions. Her gray eyes remained locked onto his, gauging the borderline-pained expression he wore as she continued to tease and titillate him.

  Garm’s teeth gritted from something other than his groin-centered sensory overload and he looked down. He realized, with some bemusement, that his lover had her fingernails embedded in the skin covering his thick pectoral muscles – almost to the point of drawing blood. He reached up to gently prize them out.