Torment of Tantalus

by Bard Constantine

  Michael glowered. “That’s not what I—”

  Nathan shook his head. “Snap back to reality. Your old girlfriend is engaged to a man who checks out as genuinely caring and supportive, not just to her but also to her newborn daughter. You’re a man with a noose around your neck, someone who can wreck their lives beyond comprehension. There’s something you still have to do, remember? Chimera won’t let you get within a visible mile of Cynthia until you do what you promised. Don’t forget who you’re dealing with. Chimera isn’t just the House, they’re the whole damn casino. They have all the cards, and they have all the chips. We only get to play what we have our hand. And right now that means doing what they want. And if by some miraculous stroke of luck we get dealt a solid hand, then we get a chance to cash out. Only then. Understand?”

  Michael stared at the townhouse. Only a doorway separated him from reuniting with Cynthia. He wanted to shatter the glass, scream at the top of his lungs. He’d dreamed of the moment, played it over and over in his mind. He was within a few feet of reaching her. A dozen steps, maybe.

  It may as well have been a thousand miles.

  He exhaled a shuddering breath. “You’re right. Damn it, you’re right. What could I say? I don’t know what she’s been through. I don’t even know if she wants to see me.” His teeth bit into his bottom lip, drawing blood. “If she even cares about me anymore.”

  “You can find out.” Nathan’s voice was unexpectantly sympathetic. “You can get that chance. But take care of one thing at a time. You make it back alive, you’ll have all the time in the world to mend fences.”

  “Make it back alive.” Michael snorted a laugh. “Yeah, should be simple.”

  Nathan’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “You think you’re a fool to go? We’ll be fools together, my man. Whatever happens, I’ll be right beside you.”

  Michael shook his head in weary resignation. “If you have a death wish, you’ll be in the right place. When do we leave?”

  Nathan pressed the intercom button again. “Niles. To the airport.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Michael stared at Nathan as the vehicle glided back onto the street again. “What, we’re leaving now? Don’t we need to pack or something?”

  “Everything was packed two weeks ago. Chimera is very good at preemptive planning. All we need to do is show up.”

  “Well, can you at least tell me where we’re going?”

  “Miami.”

  “What? There’s an Aberration in South Beach? You gotta be kidding me.”

  “No. It’s just the jump-off point.” Nathan’s gaze grew distant. “The Aberration in somewhere deep in the Bermuda Triangle.”

  Michael felt as if skeletal fingers brushed the nape of his neck. “Where all those planes and ships just disappear?”

  “Most of that is urban legend. But yes, bizarre instances have occurred in the region. Unexplained phenomena. And now this.” Nathan’s smile was grim.

  “We have front row seats for the great unknown.”

  Chapter 6: Icarus Syndrome

  Nathan couldn’t help but feel guilty over his part in convincing Michael to come along. He glanced over at him. Michael was slumped in his seat, a silent and depressed companion after the ordeal. He was resigned to his fate because of the improbable chance he’d see Cynthia again. It was that kind of emotional obliviousness that made Nathan avoid relationships at all costs. The messy, tangled attachment robbed people of their intellects and reduced them to mindless, overemotional halfwits.

  At least that was what he told himself on the plane trip to Miami. It was better than admitting he had been snared just as easily by the same sentimental line of reasoning. When Sid Damon casually related he was placing Elena on the front lines of the Aberration infiltration, Nathan shouldn’t have cared. She was a spy, someone who reported on his every move to her superiors.

  Can’t blame her for doing her job. And you didn’t have to be an ass and bring her father into it.

  He felt a stab of regret. He recalled the pain and anger in her eyes when he casually insulted her terrorist father. He’d become so used to verbal fencing that he hadn’t thought about the personal sting of such a personal attack.

  You apologized. That should be it. You don’t owe her anything.

  But he had taken the flight all the same, on Damon’s word that Elena would be held back, placed with him and Michael instead of on the infiltration team. Nonstop via a Chimera private jet from San Francisco to Miami with Michael, Damon, and Alexander Blackwell himself, along with the regular crew of nameless aides that accompanied Blackwell. It had been a mostly silent flight with Michael in a depressed stupor, Damon sleeping, and Blackwell constantly in conference with his diabolical subordinates. The Chimera elite treated Michael and Nathan like a pair of spare luggage bags, only with more disregard.

  Nathan was left trying to ignore the distractingly grimy smudge outside the window and avoiding thoughts of a certain Elena Ruiz. He couldn’t think of a single reason why he had let Damon twist his arm like that. It wasn’t like Elena was his type. She was too tomboyish for his taste, and they certainly didn’t have anything in common. It really didn’t make sense for him to be bothered by any asinine feelings of attraction to her.

  Except the universal law of opposites.

  He sighed in frustration. Elena would probably be sorely disappointed to learn the only reason she was selected was to babysit him again. It was a waste of time to entertain notions of romantic interest from someone who more than likely despised him.

  A petite waitress smiled as she rolled a service tray over. “Dinner, as requested.”

  Nathan leaned forward. “Requested by who?”

  Alexander Blackwell strode over, dressed in casual comfort—all-black from his V-neck Henley and khakis to the Oxfords on his feet. He gestured like a symphony director. “Just leave it there, Darlene. And if you could, bring a bottle of Chateau Lafite for our enjoyment.”

  “Right away, Mr. Blackwell.”

  Blackwell took a seat opposite Nathan and Michael. “You two look like doomsday twins. Defeated before we even embark on our little expedition. Cheer up. It’s not the end of world. Not yet, at least.”

  Nathan barked a laugh. “I haven’t seen you since you barged in my hotel room, and you think I should greet you like an old friend? I guess you had nothing to do with your people spying on my every move and keeping me sequestered like a prisoner, right?”

  “Prisoners hardly live with such extravagance, Nate. I told my people to give you every courtesy. But you’re working for a corporation that deals in a lot of private security matters, so I’m sure you understand the need for vigilance when it comes to the access of outside consultants like yourself. As for me, I’ve been very busy. Preparing for the apocalypse leaves little chance for catching up on old times, I’m afraid.”

  “We don’t have old times to catch up on.”

  Blackwell laughed. “Lighten up, Nathan. Try some filet mignon. Chef Morimoto prepared an absolute divine dish for us. Would be terrible to waste.”

  Nathan lifted the cover from the plate nearest to him. Steam wafted, along with the scent of the tenderloin drizzled with balsamic glaze, complimented by steamed asparagus and crisped baby red potatoes. His stomach rumbled in appreciative response. A quick appraisal of the silverware turned out positive, gleaming without a trace of grime specks or leftover soap scum.

  Michael seemed to find the effort of turning his head to be strenuous. He stared at the tray with hooded, red-rimmed eyes. “Not hungry.”

  Blackwell smiled around a forkful of potato. “You know, food is a funny thing. To this day, many condemned prisoners are allowed a last meal of their preference. Imagine, dying with the taste of suckling pig and basmati rice pilaf on your palate. And the gladiators of Rome, their last meal was called a coena libera. It was a massive banquet, whereupon the gladiators selected to fight would gorge themselves for hours. And why not? ‘Eat, drink, and be merry’, i
sn’t that the saying?”

  Michael nodded with a grim smile. “For tomorrow we die.”

  Blackwell laughed. “That’s the spirit. Join us, will you? This filet mignon is heavenly. I’d say it’s to die for, but that would be a bit morbid in view of our upcoming venture.”

  Nathan found it hard to disagree. The meat practically melted in his mouth, and the potatoes were crisp on the outside, but soft and piping hot inside. He accepted the offered glass of wine as well when the waitress returned. Glancing over, he noticed Michael had silently joined the meal as well, chewing as if determination alone kept him going.

  Nathan sipped the wine. “Speaking of our upcoming venture, what exactly is it you’re trying to accomplish? And please don’t insult my intelligence by sticking to that ‘rescue mission’ story. You and I both know your personal supervision makes this a mission of utmost import to both you and Chimera Global. Something is on that facility that you desperately want. I’d like to know what it is.”

  Blackwell’s expression changed from jovial to solemn as Nathan deliberated. He set his fork down with a sigh. “I keep forgetting how keen your deduction ability is, Nathan. Of course, that’s the reason I recruited you, so I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “You shouldn’t.”

  Blackwell didn’t appear to notice the retort. “Do you know what Dr. Stein’s area of expertise is?”

  “Bioengineering. Pioneering regenerative methods to combat cell deterioration and potentially extend the human lifespan. What of it?”

  Blackwell tapped his fingertips together, gaze still lost in space. “Let’s just say he recently experienced a breakthrough. I’m talking the kind that will change the world we live in. Bigger than electricity, bigger than the Internet. Only Prometheus with his gift of fire can compare to the impact Dr. Stein’s discovery will have on humanity. Everything we know, everything we have come to accept as normal…will be irrevocably altered.”

  Michael narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, still chewing.

  Nathan felt as though an invisible dagger stabbed him right in the heart. “What did you do?”

  Blackwell shrugged. “I did nothing. I’m neither a chemist nor a biological engineer. I simply fund cutting-edge research. Dr. Franklin Nicholas Stein was a dark horse, an eccentric who managed to turn off the most avant-garde of sponsors. But when he came to me with bona-fide results, I knew the gamble had to be taken.”

  “And this breakthrough has something to do with the energy from these Aberrations?”

  “Yes. Your discovery of using extrasensory instrumentation to read aberrant signatures was a stroke of genius, but admittedly crude and rudimentary. We recruited Mary Jane Kelley, a brilliant thermodynamic physicist to take your discovery to the next level, allowing us to properly gauge and study aberrant energy. She worked with Dr. Stein on deciphering the new field of study. What they discovered was startling.”

  “And that is?”

  “Our models and projections based on the study of aberrant signatures suggest that they are closely related to, or may in fact be offshoots of dark energy.”

  Michael’s expression was almost comical in its confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  Nathan felt his heart sink somewhere in the direction of his stomach. “Long story short, it’s the stuff the universe is made of.”

  Blackwell raised an eyebrow. “Theoretically. As I said, I’m no scientist. But I do know subjects like dark matter and dark energy are still hotly debated by better minds than my own.”

  “Exactly. You’re talking about something we still don’t understand, and certainly don’t know what close-contact exposure will do to this planet or the human body, but you want to somehow use it? To do what?”

  “To live forever.”

  Nathan shook his head. “Wait—what?”

  “After we located an energy anomaly where aberrant disturbances originated, I invested in building a habitat we dubbed the Tantalus, which upon completion was towed out to the origin source with Dr. Stein and all of his research team aboard. Stein had engineered a fusion generator that could harness residual aberrant energy and use it as a source of combustion that powered the entire habitat. He and his team then began a series of tests on samples of infected and non-infected blood and tissue. In short time, he reported back with staggering results.”

  Michael’s gaze sharpened. “Where did those samples come from?”

  For the first time, Blackwell appeared slightly uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat before meeting Michael’s gaze.

  “From the bodies of your coworkers at the mill.”

  Michael squeezed his eyes shut and groaned like a dying man.

  Blackwell nodded as though attempting to empathize. “I can understand how that looks from your perspective. But advancement is never made without tiptoeing outside of lines that might be considered…unethical. The point is, the infected tissue samples experienced what can only be considered a state of reanimation when in the proximity of the strongest aberrant source.”

  Despite himself, Nathan felt a wave of curiosity clash with his revulsion. “Reanimation?”

  Blackwell rubbed his hands together, eradicating any of his earlier discomfort. “Yes. Complete cellular regeneration as though taken from a living, breathing person instead of a ravaged corpse. And here’s the kicker: those resurrected cells would spread to any necrotic tissue they came in contact with, reanimating those as well.”

  Nathan slowly nodded. “A discovery that potentially could advance modern medicine ahead by leap years. Cure cancer. AIDS. Maybe even regenerate missing limbs.”

  “Not to mention mortality itself.” Blackwell’s pupils quivered when he stared beyond as though at the face of the future. “Make no mistake. With time, money and research, the possibilities are endless. Think about it, Nathan. Isn’t even the probability worth risking everything to recover that research?”

  Nathan lifted the bottle of Chateau Lafite and frowned, surprised to find it empty. “You mean everything like our sanity and our lives?”

  “Precisely.” Blackwell sat back with a smile. “Sometimes you have to bet everything, and damn the risk.”

  “And sometimes you fly too close to the sun and melt your wings.”

  “Icarus.” Blackwell nodded. “A warning example of over-ambition. Though inapplicable in this case, I appreciate the metaphor.”

  “I thought you might. You mentioned Prometheus earlier, and named your artificial island Tantalus, who was cursed by the gods to suffer in Tartarus knee deep in water with fruit hanging over his head. The water receded whenever he tried to drink, and the fruit was always just out of his reach. No matter how quickly he moved, no matter how he struggled, he could only desire and suffer. It’s where the word tantalize comes from. Just like this obsession you have for Stein’s research. You seem to have a thing for Greek tragedy. Ironic, and one might say ill-omened for a venture as uncertain as this one.”

  Blackwell shrugged. “The Greeks loved their tragedy. Men vs the gods, with humanity usually the loser. But it’s really no different than reality in a way, isn’t it?”

  Nathan couldn’t help the sneer that twisted his mouth. “I’d agree a hundred percent. Your type certainly behaves like the gods of the Greeks. Drunk with power and money. Amoral. Decadent. Greedy.”

  “Celebrated,” Blackwell said. “And powerful. Yet not invulnerable to falling from the heights to the grisliest of humiliating hells. The gods simply reflected the mindsets of the people, Nathan. What was in their gods was what was in themselves. It’s no different today. Those with nothing worship those with everything, yet secretly envy and despise them as well. That’s why a fall from grace is so celebrated. It’s as if a god was pulled from the heavens and subjected to the judgment of mere men.”

  “You never know when it’s your time,” Nathan said.

  “Not at all. But you should see that your contempt is wasted. We’re both self-made men. The difference between us is I un
derstand how the world works, while you trudge in the muck of self-righteousness and shake your fist at those who sail above you. Icarus or not, I have to tell you that the view is much better from above.”

  “Until those wings start to unravel.”

  Blackwell clapped his hands together. “That’s what makes it so exciting. We are carving new legends now, gentlemen. Sailing into uncharted waters and unknown perils, determined to capture our own Golden Fleece.” He raised his glass. “And to the victor go the spoils.”

  Michael’s answer was a dry, humorless laugh.

  Blackwell raised a bemused eyebrow. “You don’t seem too enthused, Michael.”

  “About what?” Michael spoke in between ripples of mirth. “You rich pricks think every problem in the world can be solved by throwing money at it. You have no idea what you’re heading into. What your people are headed into. We’re all going to die out there. We’re going to die, and my only consolation is that you’ll be right there along with the rest of us when it happens.” Tears streamed down his cheeks as he broke off in an eruption of hysterical laughter.

  “That’s the spirit, Michael.” Blackwell motioned to the waiting stewardess. “Darlene, another bottle. We simply must celebrate. It’s time to eat, drink and be merry. For as the man so pointedly noted, tomorrow we die.”

  As Michael continued to laugh like a madman, Nathan glanced outside the window, straining to not stare at the grimy smudge, which appeared to have enlarged in that short period of time. The clouds dissipated, allowing a view of glittering buildings, canals, and crisp tides on white sand. The sun scattered rays across the entire view, transforming it into shades of crimson and blood orange.

  They were descending.

  Chapter 7: Conspectus

  US Coast Guard District 7 was right off the coast of Miami, positioned where South Beach ended and the Keys began. Elena sat to the rear rows of the conference room, watching the group of hardened Special Forces soldiers more than feeling a part of them. They were a pack of wolves rabid for slaughter, prone to rowdy laughter every time something mind-bogglingly deadly was mentioned.