Vostok

by Steve Alten

  “Zach, there’s a communication panel by your right foot. Pop it open.”

  “Got it.”

  “You’ll see a series of toggle switches set in the OFF position. Is there one with a blinking blue light?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’ll be David’s sub. Flip it on. Hopefully he’s turned on his inter-sub comm link.

  “David?”

  “Dad? What took you so long? I’ve been hailing you since the Lio went after those whale pods.”

  “I didn’t know you were in the water. Thanks for saving our arses.”

  “Consider us even. But, Dad, seriously—stay back. I’ve been playing cat-and-mouse with this pregnant bitch for weeks. This time she won’t escape.”

  Escape? The crazy kid was trying to capture it!

  Our sonar array flickered back on as we continued to distance ourselves from the Tortuga. The monitor revealed the presence of two surface ships that were entering the bay from the north, and David was leading the Liopleurodon right for them.

  The two Dubai ships had converged upon the bay’s entrance the moment the creature had entered the shallows. Deck hands aboard the Tonga hustled to lower an immense trawl net over the tanker’s starboard side, while their counterparts on the Dubai-Land retrieved it from below, attaching cables to one side of the net’s loop. When everything was ready, the trawler gradually separated from the tanker, stretching the trap in place.

  From the bridge of the Dubai-Land, Fiesal bin Rashidi, first cousin to the crown prince of Dubai, ordered the two ships under his command to shut down their engines.

  Now it was up to the American daredevil.

  David Taylor was out in front of the creature, making his way toward the net. He knew the pregnant behemoth was nearing exhaustion. Every time she seemed ready to quit the chase, the twenty-one-year-old pilot would slow down and bank hard from side to side, succeeding in keeping the tiring pliosaur interested, while taking some of the fight out of her.

  Our sub surfaced south of the tanker. We watched on sonar as David led the Liopleurodon east toward the two motionless vessels.

  Jonas was tense, counting down the distance. “Two hundred yards… one fifty… a hundred yards. Come on, kid, you’re moving way too slow to jump that net. Throttle up!”

  Sweat poured down David Taylor’s face. Cruising at only eighteen knots, he knew the Manta could not generate enough lift to leap out of the sea to clear the net. Yet he also had to keep the creature close. He knew she was tiring, knew that if she sensed the net, she’d turn on a dime and flee.

  So he took a chance.

  Throttling back, he dropped his speed to thirteen knots, allowing the Liopleurodon to move in close enough for her nostrils to inhale his sub’s jet-pump propulsor bubbles.

  Reinvigorated, the creature opened its jaws to devour its prey as David slammed both feet to the floor and pulled back on his joystick, easing up on his starboard engine a few precious seconds before he reached the surface.

  Instead of attempting to clear the net, David launched the Manta sideways out of the sea. The submersible cleared the steel cables running from the trawler to the left side of the net—

  —And smashed nose-first into the Dubai-Land’s portside bow.

  Unaware that its prey was gone, the Liopleurodon swam into the trawl net, stopping only after its fore-flippers struck the unseen object. It attempted to turn and run, but the crew manning the Tonga’s starboard winch was already tightening the noose upon the unnerved colossus, whose reflexive maneuver only succeeded in gathering its lower torso into the closing net.

  And that’s when all hell broke loose.

  Before the hunters stationed behind their deck-mounted harpoon guns could aim their drug-filled steel lances below, the enraged pliosaur twisted its one hundred tons of fury beneath the starboard keel of the tanker.

  Having been refitted as a mobile aquarium, the Tonga lacked the ballast of an ocean-bound tanker filled with crude. The unstable ship was pulled hard to starboard, flinging its harpooners and winch crew seven stories into the bay. Anything not bolted down—equipment, crates, and humans—was hurtled across the tanker’s plunging deck.

  Aboard the Dubai-Land, the winch that had been holding the net open was bent sideways, making it impossible for the trawler’s crew to release control of the captured pliosaur over to the Tonga. Instead of being hauled out of the water, the Liopleurodon was left to twist and turn in the net, caught in a tug-of-war between both ships.

  Jonas tried to reach his son by our sub-comm link, but David didn’t reply. Accelerating to thirty knots, he raced for the tanker. “Zachary, start pinging. Find me David’s Manta.”

  I switched my headphones to sonar, my ears assaulted by a cacophony of sound.

  A minute later we arrived on the scene.

  Jonas slowed our approach, in order to sort through the chaos. On our right was the Tonga, its towering superstructure surreally swaying east to west and back again like a giant steel buoy. On our left was the trawler—at least what was left of it. The vessel had been flipped completely over, its barnacle-encrusted keel now an island of survival for its crew, who were hanging on for dear life, the inverted boat dropping and rising beneath them.

  Ahead of us was the center of the maelstrom.

  One hundred sixty million years ago, Liopleurodon had ruled the ocean as a carnivorous marine reptile, all except for the subspecies that had evolved gills to inhabit the Panthalassa Sea. Caught in the net, the creature before us couldn’t swim. And if it couldn’t swim, it couldn’t breathe.

  By swaying the two ships, the monster managed to channel just enough water into its mouth to keep from drowning. It had flipped the Dubai-Land, but the steel cables connecting the trawler to the net had remained in place, keeping the trap sealed.

  “Zach, where’s David’s sub?”

  “There… by the trawler’s bow. Those crewmen are using it as a flotation device.”

  The water was a frigid thirty-three degrees Fahrenheit. The paralyzing temperatures had already claimed at least a dozen lives. I was about to radio Mac to send the hopper-dredge when we heard the unmistakable snap of steel.

  It was the last cable connecting the trawler to the net.

  The Liopleurodon felt its bonds loosen. With renewed vigor, the trapped beast began to worm itself free.

  “Zach, it’s getting free!”

  “Kill it.”

  “How?”

  “Use the Valkyries. Aim for its neck.”

  Jonas dove the sub to avoid a swirl of lifeless bodies, moving us steadily toward the opening net, the lasers heating up. The inverted trawler appeared on our left, along with David’s Manta. The disabled vessel bobbed upright along the surface, surrounded by seven pairs of kicking legs.

  Jonas would not allow the creature to escape.

  “Its head is free. Here it comes!”

  The monster lurched forward, catching its left hind flipper in the net.

  That was all Jonas needed.

  I ducked as the Manta’s bow forcibly struck the Liopleurodon just above its chest cavity, the twin lasers burning matching holes three feet deep into the creature’s flesh. Blood spurted across our cockpit glass as the insane beast flung us to and fro until we were tossed free.

  Mortally wounded, the animal propelled itself away in obvious pain.

  The hopper-dredge arrived ten minutes later. Jonas maneuvered the sub into its berth, impatiently waiting for the chamber to drain and pressurize before he could open the cockpit and make his way up five flights of stairs to board a waiting lifeboat.

  Waiting inside the craft were Mac and the ship’s physician.

  I watched from the starboard rail as Jonas used a reach pole to pop open David’s hatch. The physician climbed inside the cockpit to work on him.

  After a few minutes Jonas climbed in.

  The captain of the hopper-dredge approached and handed me his radio.

  “Mac? How is he?”

  “The
impact broke his neck. David’s dead.”

  35

  When a loved one dies, we grieve. And through that process we are offered words of comfort. “They are out of pain. They are in a better place—the soul immortal, an eternal spark of perfection. One day we’ll be reunited in the ever-after.”

  There are no words of comfort for a parent who loses a child. Children are simply not supposed to die before their parents. It’s unnatural. It defies universal law. The loss of a child is a loss of innocence, a promised future stolen. Hopes and dreams shattered.

  A child’s passing affects a community. But from the parent, it takes a piece of the heart, and in its place it leaves a hole that can never be healed. A hole infected with depression and often filled with anger. Anger aimed at God. Anger that targets a spouse or a physician, a stranger at fault, a path crossed by evil… or oneself.

  When you play with fire, you risk getting burned. Skydiving, surfing big waves, cliff diving, drugs… That’s the problem with addictions: you never know when you’ve crossed the line until you cross it. Adrenaline junkies know the risks. They shrug them off. “Hey, everybody dies. You could die crossing the street. At least I have a choice in how I go.”

  That choice, that philosophy, that line of reasoning changes when you have children. And when your child dies participating in an activity that you taught him to do…

  Part of Jonas was in shock, the other part of him detached so he could function. He made sure his son’s remains and the remains of the other crewmen were placed in body bags and stored in a freezer. He spoke to the captain of the Tonga and saw to the survivors of the trawler. And when he was done, he went into his stateroom to speak by Skype to his wife, Terry.

  I gave him an hour and forty minutes before knocking on his door.

  Mac answered, red-eyed and more than a little inebriated. “Doctor E.T.?”

  “Mac, I need to speak with Jonas.”

  “Not now. Maybe tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow’s too late. I need to speak with him now.”

  “Yeah, well, that ain’t going to happen. Oh, and the mission you had planned? Forget about it.”

  “Mac, I’m geared up. The Manta’s being prepped—”

  “No more Mantas. No more missions. Boss’s orders.”

  “Then let the boss tell me himself.” I pushed past my fellow Scot and entered the cabin.

  Jonas was propped up in bed, a half-empty bottle of whiskey on his night table. He looked up at me with sullen eyes and shook his head. “He was such a good kid. As a father, you want your son to be better than you. He was better. A lot better.”

  His words made my eyes burn. “Jonas, back in the Manta, you asked me how returning to Vostok could save my son. The answer is complicated but—”

  “The answer is no. As my soon-to-be ex-wife so aptly pointed out, my choices have led to enough loss of life.”

  “As have mine. And I need that sub to rectify things.”

  Mac grabbed me by the biceps. “You heard the man.”

  “Let him go, Mac.” Jonas stood, staggering close enough for me to smell the alcohol on his breath. “All right, Dr. Wallace, I’m listening. Tell me how returning to Vostok gets your son outta whatever trouble he’s in.”

  “There’s more than just an alien ship down there. Inside is a portal, a junction that allows one to access the higher dimensions. Jonas, I can go back in time to a different point in my life and prevent these events from ever happening.”

  “A time machine? That’s what this is all about?”

  “Not exactly. How did the entity explain it? Every choice we make creates an infinite number of alternate universes. David, for instance, could have leapt the sub over the net or gone under it, or swerved around the tanker. The possibilities are endless, and each choice leads to a parallel existence. Consciousness is the variable that differentiates a potential outcome from reality. I died multiple times in Lake Vostok, but after each death the entity kept bringing me back, until I followed the path where I acquired the knowledge of zero-point energy it intended me to have. The portal allowed me to explore multiple existences until I found the one that led to my survival.”

  Jonas fought to dissect the information. “Say you go back and jump into another parallel universe… how can you be sure it’s one where David survives, where your son’s not kidnapped?”

  “The extraterrestrial that communicated with me definitely has an agenda, but it’s one that I sincerely believe is intended to help humanity. I’ll ask it to allow me to go back to a multiverse where I can change the events that took place in Washington, D.C. Before the congressional hearing takes place, I’ll use the media to expose MJ-12’s false flag event, preempting it while saving hundreds of lives. That will force the Colonel to cancel the attack, prevent the kidnapping, and remove me from today’s events.”

  Jonas stared at me, red-eyed. “There’s no guarantee your absence today will change a thing. David may still die.”

  “I won’t stop jumping multiverses until I find one where I can warn you.”

  Mac remained skeptical. “Were you able to warn yourself when you kept dying and reviving in Lake Vostok?”

  “No. But the entity can read my mind. It will know what I seek. One thing I do know: if Colonel Vacendak gets to the portal first, it gives the military access to a device that can alter our species’ evolution in the cosmos. And that makes us a threat to these E.T.s. Humanity’s already in timeout for detonating nuclear weapons; there’s no way MJ-12 will be allowed to access the higher dimensions. Our species will be annihilated before that happens.”

  Jonas turned to Mac. “Have Mr. Reed prepare one of the Mantas for launch. Get Dr. Wallace everything he needs, and pack my ECW gear as well. I’m going with him.”

  Mac looked shocked. “Jonas, you don’t honestly believe this nonsense?”

  “I’ve been drinking, so I’m not sure what I believe. All I know is that Zach was given information seven years ago that could have altered our planet’s future for the good. Maybe this was just a trial run to see if humanity was ready. Regardless, if there’s even a remote chance of altering what happened today and saving David, then I’m willing to take it.”

  The two men embraced.

  “Mac, see to it that my son is taken to Davis Base and shipped to Monterey for the funeral. If his mother calls again, tell her—”

  “Tell her nothing,” I said. “Mac, whether you believe this or not, no one can know. The people on board that research vessel, if they suspect I’m alive and chasing down their sub, they’ll go after your loved ones just like they went after mine.”

  Jonas sat down to think. “Zach’s right. We need to fly both of our families somewhere safe until we return.”

  “Terry’s in shock, Jonas. She won’t go anywhere until after the funeral, and there will be no convincing her otherwise.”

  “Contact bin Rashidi, tell him I need to speak with the crown prince. I’ll ask him to arrange a special ceremony at the Dubai aquarium, honoring David and all those who died today. You call Terry. Tell her David’s body was flown to the United Arab Emirates along with the other dead crewmen. Tell her I’m already en route. Then have your wife arrange a private jet to fly both our families to the Middle East as soon as possible. I’ll ask the crown prince to safeguard them and delay the ceremony until you and I arrive.

  “If this works”—Jonas looked hard at me—“there won’t be a funeral.”

  “And if it doesn’t… ? Never mind. C’mon, Zach, let’s get you what you need.”

  Angus and I loaded the Manta with climbing equipment, flashlights, and extreme weather gear for two, while Mac stocked the sub with food and water. He wanted to add a few guns, only I stopped him. Violence had already gotten our species into enough trouble with our extraterrestrial visitors. The last thing we needed was to end up in a shootout, fighting over an advanced technology we lacked the morality to use.

  Jonas had sobered up by his third cup of coffee. After
a final trip to the toilet, he climbed into the port cockpit, lowered the acrylic glass over our heads, and signaled to Cyel Reed to flood the chamber.

  Mac’s voice came over the radio. “Jonas, can you hear me okay on this frequency?”

  “Yes. Are you in place?”

  “We’re en route. What’s your ETA?”

  “Twenty minutes, using a biologic pattern.”

  “Roger that. Angus and I will be ready.”

  The keel doors opened, releasing the Manta into a sun-lit emerald sea. “Jonas, what about the Liopleurodon? Should I go active on sonar?”

  “It’s probably dead. If you start pinging, that research ship will know we’re down here.” Jonas kept the sub close to the sea floor, our movements and speed intended to mimic those of a giant manta ray.

  We were less than two miles from MJ-12’s surface ship when our sonar monitors began to flicker.

  “We’re being jammed. Zach, how close are we to that hole?”

  “Six thousand feet. And the Tortuga’s sitting over it like a mother hen.”

  “Then what we need is a fox. Mac, you ready to ruffle a few feathers?… Mac, can you hear me?”

  The radio spat back static, followed by an unnerving quiet that ended with a crunch as the sub’s belly settled upon the silt-covered sea floor.

  “Sonuva bitch, our engines just powered off.” Jonas fought the suddenly rigid controls. “Your pals aren’t playing around this time. Everything’s down—including our life-support system.”

  The supertanker Tonga pushed its way south through Prydz Bay at a steady eight knots, her starboard flank hugging the eastern face of the Amery Ice Shelf.

  Mac stood on her bridge next to my father, both men’s binoculars focused on the surface ship less than three nautical miles away. The Tortuga’s bow was pointed at the Loose Tooth Rift, her starboard flank exposed.