Into the Weird: The Collected Stories of James Palmer

by James Palmer

  "So you really got the idea for this rig from an old science fiction story?"

  "Uh huh," Jack said. "Roger Zelazny's "The Doors of his Face, the Lamps of His Mouth." It's about people hunting sea monsters on Venus from the decks of what are basically giant drilling platforms."

  Pamela smiled. "Sounds elegant."

  "It sounds crazy," said Jack. "And you can print that in your article as a direct quote from me. It took quite a few years and convincing to get enough military brass and engineers to think it was a good idea, let alone doable."

  "So now that you have your big boat, what do you want to do?"

  They entered a small mess. “I just want to study one of these monsters. I need to really see them in the wild, up close. Monsters in captivity just aren’t the same. They’ve been fettered and tortured and tamed. I need to see them in their full, primal glory, see how they live and fight.”

  Pamela smiled as Jack poured her some coffee into a Styrofoam cup. “You sound like a little boy, playing with his toys.”

  Jack smiled. “I did plenty of that too, believe me. I have all the Johnson figures that Mattel made in the seventies. But my favorites were the Japanese figures. Anyway, we’re hardly sailing on a toy, are we?”

  Pamela poured enough creamer in her coffee to make it the desired color. “No, I suppose not. And Titanicus isn’t some figure made of plastic. You think the Searcher can hold her?”

  “Or him,” Jack corrected. “I think so. We won’t have to tow it all the way back to civilization while it struggles. Once our fish is on the line we’ll drug it and cable it back to Anchorage. Or stick in the hold if it happens to be shorter than we estimated.”

  "So you're certain we'll catch him. Or her."

  Jack nodded, sipping his coffee. "Maybe not this trip, but yes. We'll get her. Or him. We've got to."

  Pamela sighed. “I just keep thinking about that poor whale.”

  “There are other fish in the sea,” said Jack. Pamela groaned at his bad joke.

  *

  Titanicus was a particular nasty example of genus monstrum. It had attacked several ships, seemingly for no reason, and no country had stepped up to claim responsibility. That meant a rogue beast, and the Behemoth Corps dispatched Jack and his new ship immediately. They couldn't have something like that roaming their shipping lanes, unless of course they were the ones controlling it. A beast this size, patrolling the oceans, would assure the United States' dominance of the seas for decades to come. But a monster roaming unchecked…the Behemoth Corps didn't couldn't accept those consequences.

  “How long do you think we’ll have to wait?”

  Captain Pierce stared out the port observation window, his grey eyes keeping watch for any movement. The afternoon had turned grey as clouds crowded out the sun.

  Jack shrugged. “We don’t know how often a creature that size gets hungry. But a dead whale will be too big a meal to pass up. I don’t suspect it’ll take longer than a couple of days.”

  Captain Pierce nodded. “It’s not like we have anywhere else to be. We just can't stay here until winter, and the Commander in Chief isn’t a patient man.”

  “I’m well aware of that, captain,” said Jack. He had been the government’s de facto “monster czar” since Carter, advising the past two administrations on the latest science as it relates to the country’s various multi-ton killing machines. He glanced at Pamela, who was still holding her coffee cup, her hands curled around as if the retreating warmth of the liquid would soak into her fingers. Jack wished they were chasing the beast through warmer climes. He wanted to go out on deck to smoke and pretend he wasn’t on a vessel built by defense contractors and full of soldiers. He was glad Pamela was here. Having a photojournalist from National Geographic onboard would hopefully keep things…honest. Jack's work was usually so top secret that his wife Sarah, before she left him, referred to these little excursions as his classified vacations. It wasn’t so funny anymore.

  “I want you to make sure your team is ready as soon as we snare this thing,” said Captain Pierce.

  “We’re on it,” said Jack. He hated being ordered around like a sailor, but he took it in stride. He left the bridge, motioning for Pamela to follow.

  “You took that well,” she said when the hatch was closed behind them.

  “I’m used to it," he lied. "I’ve been around military types most of my career. Now let’s go somewhere much more interesting: My office.”

  Jack’s “office” was anything but. A converted crew quarters that held a metal bunk bolted to one wall, and another foldout bunk on the opposite wall that Jack had turned into a desk, piled high with charts, maps, and books—most of them written by Jack himself—on monster biology.

  Dave Westbrook was waiting for them when they arrived. Dr. Westbrook was not only a well-respected marine biologist, but the best large animal vet on the planet. Jack had him on loan from SeaWorld. The two were old friends, having gone to grad school together. Pamela hadn’t seen him in years.

  “This better be good, Jack,” said Westbrook as soon as they entered the tiny room. “Please tell me I’m not freezing my balls off for another one of your wild goose chases.”

  “Cool it, pal,” said Jack, smiling. “You’re gonna love it.”

  “I’d love it if it was Tahiti,” said Westbrook. “For now, I merely tolerate it. Hi, Pam.”

  “Hi, Dave,” giving the tall man a hug. “I haven’t seen much of you since you came onboard. How was your flight from Anchorage?”

  “Horrible,” Dave said, scowling. “That rickety little puddle-jumper. I felt as if I was going to die any minute. Is this how Uncle Sam treats all its consultants?”

  “Just you, you old complainer,” said Jack, smiling, and he shook Westbrook’s hand vigorously.

  Dave was roughly the same age as Jack, with frown lines making furrows in his pockmarked face. He had a head full of dirty blond hair shot through with gray at the temples, and watery blue eyes.

  "You promised me a big find, and all I've seen so far are ice floes and Eskimos."

  "You sound like the politicians who are footing the bill for this trip."

  Westbrook nodded. “Can you draw out Leviathan with a hook, or snare his tongue with a line which you lower?”

  Jack and Pamela eyed him strangely. "The Book of Job?" said Jack. "Why Dave, I never figured you for a religious man."

  Westbrook grinned. "I'm not. But there are times."

  He laughed and clapped Jack hard on the left shoulder. "I know you're good as your word. Besides, this is one hell of a boat. Old Noah's got nothing on you."

  "As long as it works," said Jack. "If not, I might have to get a job as one of your tank scrubbers down in Florida."

  They all had a good chuckle about that. Their laughter stopped when the entire ship shuddered.

  "What was that?" said Pam.

  Jack looked at Westbrook. "The line!"

  The three of them ran to the platform above, zipping their parkas as they went. Pamela stopped off at her quarters to grab her camera gear. Up on deck things were humming. Men ran around shouting orders, while the metal cable dangling in the water was moving.

  Jack grabbed a walkie-talkie from a metal cabinet bolted to the hull of the observation tower. "Easy on that line!"

  He looked up to see someone sitting at the crane's controls, waving at him.

  "Sonar's picking up something big, Dr. Davis," said the captain's voice over the walkie-talkie.

  "That's what we like to hear," said Jack. He looked to his right, where Pamela was already snapping pictures, heedless of the frigid cold which assaulted them.

  The line moved again, shooting out at almost a forty-five degree angle and striking one wall of the ship with a loud clang.

  "There's something big thrashing out there!" said Westbrook, pointing. The ocean in front of them was churning, shattering the disturbed sea ice that had floated upon the surface peacefully only moments before. They watched in amazement as somethi
ng broke the surface hundreds of feet from the vessel, a fin or a tail, heavy and dark against the blue of the freezing water. In a second it was gone.

  "We've got him!" said Jack into the walkie-talkie. "We've got him all right! Now let's reel him in. Slowly."

  The crane started up, the line reeling in inch by inch.

  "That's it," said Jack. "Nice and slow. We don't want him to know something's up until it's too late."

  Westbrook asked, "How do we know Titanicus won't swallow that whale like a cracker, and then do the same to us?"

  "He isn't that big," said Jack. "Current estimates put him at around eight hundred feet long. A whale should be what amounts to a decent sized meal for him."

  Westbrook nodded. "I just hope he hasn't developed a taste for boat."

  *

  "How long is this going to take?" asked Pamela after they had retreated back inside the ship.

  "Could take hours," said Jack, watching the crane nervously through a window.

  "Fishing is a waiting game as much as anything," said Westbrook as he watched the ocean through a pair of binoculars, hoping Titanicus would once more breach the surface. "You have to tire the beast out first."

  "That could take weeks," Pamela said.

  Jack nodded. "Maybe."

  "I don't have anything planned," said Westbrook. They were both in their elements now, which made Pamela feel like an outsider. She brushed an unruly strand of dark hair from her face and watched the activity outside the window. She was used to eccentrics, explorers, scientists, and anyone else who “lived their lives dialed up to ninety” as her college roommate once said. She had made her living chronicling their exploits. But she had spent more time with Jack Davis than any of those other stories. He was different, she had decided. At least she thought he was, once upon a time. They had been an item for about six months, after Sarah had left him. On the outside, Pamela thought she and Jack were the perfect pair. They were both married to their work, both had to suddenly leave at odd hours to go halfway around the globe; Jack to identify a giant bone or a huge claw found in some fisherman’s net, Pamela to take pictures of some previously lost tribe or new archaeological find.

  The truth was it was a huge wear and tear on both of them. But that was something else they had in common too. Neither of them was any good at relationships. But Jack Davis, B.S. M.S. Ph.D, was the only man who made her feel like they could try again.

  Pamela watched and listened as Jack and Dr. Westbrook talked excitedly about the giant beast they had flopping around on the end of a giant hook, and wondered if he would ever let her in. Right now she felt like an outsider, the one girl ever to be allowed into the boys only tree house. But there was one more barrier she still had to pass through. Jack’s impenetrable heart, tough as the hide of the monsters he chased around the world.

  There was another mighty lurch as Titanicus pulled against the line.

  “I’ll bet that set the hook,” said Jack. “Now we’ll see a show.”

  The grey water surrounding the ship began to churn and froth as Titanicus thrashed wildly. The Searcher listed in the direction the creature was tugging.

  “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” said Pamela.

  “Don’t worry,” said Jack. “The Searcher can hold her. The Searcher can hold anything.” Raising the walkie-talkie to his lips, he said, “Start reeling her in. Slowly.”

  The Searcher bobbed atop the frothing water like a cork, but never threatened to go under. A perfect, square, each side the length of an aircraft carrier, Jack’s crazy ship seemed to pass muster. If there were giant monsters swimming the oceans, the Searcher would find them and catch them all. Jack laughed at the thought, like mad Ahab after sighting Moby Dick. He wondered what Melville would have thought of his monster, who would make his white whale look like a minnow.

  Less than a thousand yards out, a black shape heaved out of the water, sending cold salt spray and floating ice hundreds of feet in the air. Jack was glad it was spring, otherwise the ice would have become too thick, making navigating the gigantic vessel impossible.

  "I think we cheesed him off," said Westbrook. The enormous tail, if that's what it was, a long chitinous limb of scalloped, razor-keen fins, fell back in the water with a mighty slap whose wake rocked the Searcher.

  "Steady!" Jack yelled into his radio.

  "If I think for one second that beast is going to capsize us, I'll turn it loose!" said the captain over the radio.

  "I'm aware of that, Captain," Jack said. He knew the protocol. After all, he had written it. The winch atop the crane was fitted with a small amount of radio-controlled explosives set to a special frequency. One push of a button from the captain, and the line would be severed. They would have to wait hours while the crane was repaired before they could try again.

  "Do you think that cable will hold her?" Pamela asked she rapidly took more photos.

  "It's got to," said Jack. "We need that monster."

  "You want to start trying frequencies now?" asked Westbrook.

  Jack looked at his friend and nodded. In his excitement, he had almost forgotten.

  "What frequencies?" Pamela asked.

  "C'mon," said Westbrook. "We'll show you."

  They walked down a labyrinthine passageway until they came to an elevator and climbed aboard. Jack thumbed the Up button.

  "In the past, a lot of these beasties have been controlled by radio waves. Johnson and Jr., Thunderbird… even, we believe, the Japanese and Chinese monsters. I suspect we might also be able to find a tone that will calm down Titanicus out there. At least make him calm enough to finish reeling in."

  "Sounds like a bit of a long shot," said Pam, smiling.

  "Finding the right tone could take years," said Westbrook. "But there's no harm done in giving it the old college try now. Sound doesn't carry through water the same way it does on land."

  The elevator stopped, and the three of them got out. They grabbed the walls as the vessel lurched again.

  "Keep reeling," Jack called into the walkie-talkie. "Slow and steady."

  They went to a small room full of radio equipment. Jack and Dr. Westbrook sat down, donning headphones. Westbrook twisted dials and flipped switches furiously.

  "This stuff is connected to loudspeakers all around the outside of the ship," said Jack to Pamela. "Even beneath the waterline. I just hope we can sing Titanicus a lullaby."

  "Sounds like fornicating bats," Pamela said as Jack cranked up the volume. He and Westbrook turned and looked at her as if she had suddenly sprouted a second head.

  Pamela smiled. "What? Dave here gets to be the only jokester in the bunch?"

  "I like this one, Jack," said Dave, giving Pamela a playful wink. "Never let her go."

  They all had an uncomfortable laugh at that and started cycling through frequencies again.

  "These lower frequencies aren't having any affect, good or bad," said Westbrook. "Let's turn up the gain and head for the higher frequency range."

  Jack nodded. He turned and looked though a tiny observation bubble at the frothing ocean below. He could sense Titanicus, just below the waves, a darker black shape against the dark grey water. He was here. He was real. And soon Jack would get the chance to look the beast right in the eye.

  "Let's hope we don't find out which frequencies piss him off before we find the one that calms him down," said Pamela, snapping a picture of Jack and Westbrook working the radio transmitter.

  "Back off, woman," said Westbrook. "This is science!"

  "Enough, you two," said Jack. "Something's happening."

  The beast suddenly stopped thrashing. "Speed up the winch," Jack said into the walkie-talkie. "Just a bit."

  The cable began moving faster, the dark shape beneath the water pulling closer and closer to the ship.

  "I think we found his sweet spot," said Westbrook. "Holding at nine point two oh five megahertz."

  "Works for me," said Jack. "We'll have plenty of time to learn his taste in music once
we've got him in an enclosure. I’m partial to The Who, myself."

  "By the way," said Pamela. "Where will he be housed once you bring him back to the U.S.?"

  "I'm sorry Ma'am. That's classified." Jack turned to her, winking. "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

  "You two are just silly boys with fishing poles, aren't you?" Pamela smirked, hitting Jack on the left shoulder.

  "She's on to us, Jack," said Westbrook. "There goes our Nobel Prize."

  "Look!" said Jack. "He's surfacing!"

  *

  They saw the creature for the first time. It was huge, megalithic, titanic, like its name. Jack had imagined this moment many times, but the reality of it was much bigger.

  The enormous crane pulled the monster out of the water almost effortlessly, water dripping down its black armor hide. He felt infinitesimally small next to this gargantuan killing machine.

  Jack smiled. Could it be this easy? The years he had spent learning about and tracking this beast, the lengths he had gone creating this new identity and getting an assignment on the vessel designed to capture Titanicus. After all this time, was his journey almost over?

  *

  "That was easier than I thought it would be," said Jack. "But there he is. Look at him."

  "Or her," Pamela corrected, snapping photos. "Let's go out on deck. I need a closer look at this thing."

  As they climbed into the elevator, Jack and Dr. Westbrook were talking excitedly. "Did you see that jaw line?" said Jack. "It's like an allosaurus."

  "And the fore and hind limbs," added Westbrook. "Little more than clawed flippers. Great for swimming, but he wouldn’t be a slouch out of the water."

  Pamela chewed her lower lip. All she could think about was that a large, mostly unknown and completely untamed monster was now on the ship with them.

  *

  “Think of it,” said Westbrook proudly. “The world’s first known fully aquatic monster in captivity. It’ll make the U.S. the best navy in the world!”