Kronos Rising_Kraken vol.1

by Max Hawthorne

  “Thalasso-what?” Callahan asked.

  “Thalassophoneans.” Stacy repeated. “It’s a term we use to refer to a select group of extinct and, of course, extant macropliosaurs. It means ‘Sea Slayer.’”

  “Gotcha.” Callahan’s confused frown curved up into a smile as Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run” began to radiate from the overheads. “Now that’s better! Love the classics!” He looked around and made a show of cracking his knuckles. “So, when’s the performance going to start?”

  Stacy nodded. “Ah, yes. I was told you’d be attending the procedure. We’ll be live in about forty-five minutes.”

  Dirk gestured at the sedated Gen-1. “Why is she already prepped? Shouldn’t you have waited for me?”

  Stacy gave him a look. “Because I needed to take care of Gretchen. I saved us time by setting everything up in advance. Is there a problem?”

  “Uh, no,” Dirk said, knowing he’d pay for that later. “I was just wondering who’s monitoring her anesthesia.” He indicated the ratcheted-down behemoth. “After what happened during the unloading, we don’t need any more complications.”

  Stacy sighed. “Relax, Doctor Braddock. I’ve got Lieutenant McEwan inside Colossus in case of emergencies, and the specimen’s anesthetics are being monitored by the new system.” She indicated a small monitor on her wrist and then pointed at a matching, 10-foot screen situated above the healing pool. The pliosaur’s vitals were clearly indicated on both. “If anything goes awry, I’ll know it before she does.” She gestured at the IVs running to and from the mammoth predator’s neck. “I can dose her remotely at any time.”

  Dirk gave a hesitant nod. “As long as you’ve got everything under control.”

  “Don’t I always?” Not bothering to wait for his reply, Stacy bent and picked up a long-handled scrub brush, then headed to a nearby push cart, loaded with ice and several five-foot tuna. “Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”

  “So, how’s she doing?” Dirk ventured.

  “Almost done shedding,” Stacy said. She grunted, her toned triceps popping out as she gave the heavy cart a push and started it rolling. “I’m going to hose her down and clean her up a bit. She’s been irritable lately. I think she might be going into estrus.”

  “Wow, her first cycle. That should be interesting,” Dirk said. He pondered for a moment, then moved to catch up with her. “Do you mind if we join you?” he asked, then added. “I mean, if you think she won’t mind.”

  Stacy hesitated, her lips pursing as she looked Callahan up and down. She pulled a spare controller from her belt and handed it to Dirk. “Put this on him and make sure yours is active.” She resumed rolling the cart away from the surgical pool, toward the larger, fenced-in one, two hundred feet away. “And no sudden movements.”

  Dirk carefully checked the settings on both controllers, then turned to Callahan and handed him one. “Keep this clipped on your belt at all times, and don’t muddle with the settings.”

  Callahan was befuddled. “What is it, some sort of pager?”

  “Life insurance,” Dirk said. “Come on.”

  Callahan slipped the palm-sized white device onto his belt and hurried after him. As they neared the big inground pool’s restrictive barrier, the concrete became noticeably wetter. Ahead, Stacy had reached the only gate and buzzed herself in. “Where are we going?” the admiral asked.

  Dirk looked back at him and winked. “You’ll see.”

  They had just made it through the gate and closed it behind them, when Garm Braddock and Natalya Dragunova pulled up in a solid black MarshCat, right beside the fence.

  “Hey, it’s Captains Courageous,” Callahan chuckled, elbowing Dirk good-naturedly.

  “What’s going on, little brother?” Garm asked as he and Dragunova exited their vehicle and approached the chain link barrier.

  “Shh!” Stacy hissed, casting them all a dour look. She parked her pushcart fifteen feet from the pool’s reinforced concrete edge and turned to Dirk. “Tell them to keep their voices low,” she said. “And unless they’ve got their own controllers, make sure they stay the hell behind the fence.”

  “Will do,” Dirk said. He turned to Garm, who signaled with his hands he understood.

  Stacy zippered up the front of her neoprene swimsuit and walked to the water’s edge. The inground pool was sizable, a full two-hundred feet in length. A fifty-foot wide canal was connected to one end, but was cordoned off by a heavy titanium steel barrier. The water inside the pool was quiet and clear, but it was deep and dimly lit. The poor lighting and shadows cast from nearby structures gave it a dark, foreboding look. Every so often, large bubbles would rise from its depths and make a loud “bloop” sound as they popped. The bubbles appeared to be traveling, coming closer.

  In the background, Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries played.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Callahan asked. The atmosphere was starting to get to him, and he gnawed his thumbnail as he gazed around. He looked frightened; as if he was worried some demon was going to lunge up from the pool’s darkened depths at any moment and spring for his throat.

  He wasn’t far off.

  Stacy leaned forward, her hands on her knees, and peered into the water. Then she straightened up and clapped her hands loudly together, before taking a quick step back. A second later, the water in the center of the pool frothed up as if a stick of dynamite had gone off.

  “Holy fucking shi--”

  Callahan’s curse died in his throat as Gretchen broke the surface. Loudly spouting twin, twenty-foot columns of compressed water vapor, she shook her massive head, her thick scales shedding seawater. Dirk shook his own head and whistled as he took in her mass. The mottled Gen-6 cow was even bigger than the last time he’d seen her – probably fifty feet from nose to tail now and weighing nearly as many tons.

  Without warning, Gretchen surged powerfully forward. One flick of her ten-foot flippers was all it took. She chose her target, angled her wedge-shaped head in its direction, and then rapidly closed the distance.

  She was aiming for Stacy.

  Dirk swallowed the growing lump in his throat. He could feel his own fear building, but he had the presence of mind to grab Callahan by one lapel and slap a hand over his mouth before the frightened admiral barked something that got someone killed. Pushing a yard-high wall of water before her, Gretchen loomed over Stacy. Her deadly jaws were parted, her banana-sized teeth bared. Dirk barely had time to mouth a prayer before the pliosaur made contact.

  To her credit, Stacy stood her ground as Gretchen’s wake slapped into her, inundating her from mid-thigh down and nearly knocking her over. A split-second later, the cow’s ten-foot jaws impacted on Stacy’s hip and thigh. The blow was surprisingly gentle, nudging the girl just enough to knock her off balance and forcing her to catch herself on the marine reptile’s armored skull.

  “There’s my good girl!” Stacy said, beaming as she ran her nails over the top of the whale-sized beast’s muzzle, her fingers deftly exploring and scratching at the tough folds of skin around one eye. “How’s my baby?” she cooed as if she was talking to her dog. “How’s my precious little angel?”

  Dirk had to blink as Gretchen uttered an elephant-like rumble of pleasure and angled her armored head so Stacy could reach a spot she’d missed. He’d witnessed scenes like this a few times over the past twelve months, but it never ceased to astonish him. Nowhere near as much as it did Callahan, of course. From the way he was clutching his chest, the red-faced admiral looked as if he was about to suffer a coronary.

  “You okay?” Dirk asked softly.

  “Are you fucking shitting me?” Callahan yelled. “Holy mother of--”

  GRRRRRRRRHHHHRRRRR!

  Dirk’s eyes opened so wide they hurt. At the sound of Callahan’s voice, Gretchen’s toothy muzzle ripped free from Stacy’s grasp and wheeled in their direction. Her scaly lips peeled back, revealing rows of razor sharp fangs, and a deep hiss spewed from her jaws. She studied the two men with
her soulless red eyes; first Dirk and then the admiral. The forearm-long nostrils on the top of her muzzle flared and she reared her head back, sucking in long, rasping breaths through the scoop-shaped openings in her palate.

  “No movements,” Stacy emphasized, one hand extending in warning.

  “Does a bowel movement count?” Callahan whimpered.

  Stacy snickered and resumed soothing Gretchen. “Easy girl . . . easy . . .” She waved her hand, drawing the adolescent cow’s eyes back to her. Gretchen uttered an affectionate grumble, deep in her throat, but seemed disinclined to turn away from Callahan. Dirk, she appeared to be fine with. He was a known entity. But the admiral was not. Her black pupils narrowed as she looked him up and down and she began to growl again.

  Dragunova wore a smug look as she pressed her face against the chain link fence. “Hey, admiral, I theenk she likes you!”

  Stacy shot her a “shut-up-bitch” look, while a disapproving Garm placed a hand on the tall Russian’s shoulder.

  “Now might be a good time to quit smoking,” Dirk offered. Based on past experience, he was pretty sure Gretchen wasn’t going to attack. But he wasn’t about to do an Irish jig to prove it.

  “Ya think?” Callahan said. Sweat streamed down his forehead and hung from his mustache, but he managed to remain still.

  “It’s okay, little girl,” Stacy said, reaching under Gretchen’s chin and tugging at the hard folds of skin. “Hey! Is my baby hungry? Is she hungry?”

  As Stacy smiled and enthusiastically slapped her thighs, Gretchen forgot all about Callahan. Her white tongue lolled from her mouth and she wagged her crocodile-like head back and forth. Water mixed with saliva streamed from her partially-open jaws, and the movements of her heavily muscled neck and body continued to cause the top portion of the pool to flow unchecked over its edge.

  Stacy went to her pushcart and extracted what must have been a 120-pound tuna. She grabbed it by the tail and half-carried, half-dragged it toward Gretchen. The pliosaur’s eyes gleamed with excitement. As she started to reach for the fish, Stacy waved an admonishing finger at her, stopping Gretchen cold, then put her palms together and made a motion similar to a mouth opening.

  Gretchen complied instantly, her ten-foot jaws yawning wide. With an impressive display of strength, Stacy heaved the yellowfin tuna over her shoulder like a sack of grain and walked the remainder of the way to the pliosaur’s beckoning maw. She paused two feet away, then glanced back and gave Dirk a calculated look.

  “Watch this,” she said. With a grunt, she heaved the big fish squarely atop Gretchen’s thick tongue. As the pliosaur’s taste buds sampled the tuna, her crimson eyes rolled back in their sockets. She was literally drooling. But to Dirk’s amazement, she didn’t close her mouth. Like a dog with a treat balanced on its nose, the giant marine reptile was waiting for her master to give her permission to eat.

  Stacy wiped her fish-slimed hands on her chest and stomach. She walked around Gretchen’s dripping jaws, with the bleeding tuna still sitting on her tongue. She leaned forward and stuck her head inside the pliosaur’s mouth, intently checking her charge’s ridged teeth, even tugging hard on one to see if it was loose. All the while, the great reptile remained motionless, watching Stacy with its glittering ruby orbs, but otherwise not moving a muscle.

  Dirk’s heart climbed into his throat as a mischievous look came over Stacy. He held out his hand. “Stace, no,” he hissed as loudly as he dared.

  Stacy looked Gretchen square in one eye and held up a stern finger. “Stay,” she commanded. Then she turned back to her audience, gave Dirk a wink and, using two of Gretchen’s thick fangs as handholds, climbed inside her mouth and lay down.

  “Fuck me . . .” Garm muttered from the fence.

  Dirk thought he was going to have a stroke. He could feel the blood pounding in his temples as Stacy made a show of getting comfortable, pushing the similar-sized tuna to one side, and then trying to move Gretchen’s heavy tongue as if it was a comforter. The marine reptile was so ravenous, three inches of saliva had collected in its mouth, but Stacy paid it no mind. After another ten seconds of splashing, she climbed back out, shook the drool from her arms and legs, and then bowed.

  As hesitant claps echoed around her, Stacy turned to Gretchen and put her hands in the same, open-mouthed pose. She counted down from three, and at one, loudly closed her hands. The snapping sound of Gretchen’s jaws slamming closed sent a tremor through the concrete under everyone’s feet, driving the point home like nothing else.

  “Sweet Mary’s virgin ass,” Callahan sputtered. Dirk could see he was dying to rush over to Stacy, but common sense and the crunching sounds Gretchen was making kept his feet firmly anchored. “That was absolutely amazing,” he said. “You’re the bravest woman – hell, you’re the bravest man I’ve seen in my life! It is an honor to know you!”

  “Thanks,” Stacy said. Her caramel complexion pinkened from the unexpected praise. “There’s nothing like emerging from the jaws of death to remind you you’re alive.” She gave Dirk her most winsome smile before grabbing a nearby pressure washer. She checked its settings, hit the start button, and then wheeled it towards Gretchen.

  “What’s that for?” Dirk asked.

  “I’ve been using it to keep her mouth clean!” Stacy yelled over the noisy compressor. She signaled Gretchen to open wide again and started blasting away at the insides of her gaping maw, her gum line and ridged teeth in particular. “It’s the Kronosaurus version of a water flosser!”

  “Does it help with her breath?”

  “What do you think?”

  Dirk couldn’t help but smile at the ingenuity as he watched Gretchen being put through the equivalent of a car wash. After Stacy finished cleaning hunks of meat from the marine reptile’s mouth, she had her point her wedge-shaped head toward the ceiling and started hosing down her chin and throat regions, stopping periodically to pull stubborn hunks of dead skin free by hand.

  Callahan wore a surprised look as Dirk moved closer. The admiral cleared his throat noisily, but remained where he was. “So, Dr. Daniels, how is it you’re able to interact with this beast without getting killed? Is this part of the ‘new tech’ I’ve been hearing about?”

  “One second,” Stacy said as she turned off the pressure washer and picked up a long-handled scrub brush. Using hand signals, she waved Gretchen forward until her head and neck extended over fifteen feet past the pool’s lip. She followed up with a palms-down gesture that resulted in the pliosaur lowering her mandibles gently onto the concrete. With quick sweeps of her brush, Stacy started scrubbing the reptile’s massive neck and shoulders. “I raised her from an egg,” she announced, breathing heavily from her exertions. “I was the first thing she saw when she hatched and, as a result, she imprinted on me. In her eyes, I’m her mother.”

  Callahan scratched the back of his neck. “But I thought these things never see their parents; don’t they just hatch and crawl down to the sea?”

  “Normally, but . . . I’m sorry, hold on,” Stacy said. Backed by a chorus of shocked inhalations, she hopped boldly onto Gretchen’s hard nose. Walking over the predator’s muzzle, head and neck, and then moving onto the exposed portions of her ten-foot wide back, she turned, her toned legs braced apart. “I think you’ll agree; the bonding instinct’s still there.” She indicated her charge’s relaxed state.

  “So it would seem.” Callahan worked up the nerve to take a step closer. “Tell me, has she ever come after you?”

  Stacy leaned forward at the waist, working the scrub brush like a push broom as she cleaned exposed scales. “Would I be here if she had?”

  “Not once?”

  Stacy straightened up and pushed her hair back from her face. For her part, Gretchen’s eyes were closed and her respiration noticeably slowed. She seemed content to lay still and wait for her spa treatment to resume.

  Stacy leaned on her long-handled brush. “Once, when she was three months old, she nipped me as I was feeding her.”
<
br />   “Nipped?” Callahan echoed. “What did you do?”

  Stacy shrugged. “I screamed at her and then hauled back and cold-cocked her as hard as I could.”

  “And that did it?”

  “Oh, yes. She’s never stepped out of line since.”

  Callahan turned to Dirk and indicated the white controller on his belt. “So what the hell are we wearing these for? Do they even work?”

  “Absolutely,” Dirk said. He pointed at the top of Gretchen’s thick skull. “See that Y-shaped scar? Every one of our resident pliosaurs has the same cybernetic implant. Besides the basic control features that allow you to program them as sentries, there’s a built-in failsafe.” He plucked his own unit free and held it between his thumb and index finger. “When this switch is flipped to blue, the wearer is designated off limits. The animal’s security protocols tell it you’re something unpalatable, so it doesn’t attack you.”

  “‘Something unpalatable?’ Like what?”

  Dirk hesitated. “Well, usually . . .”

  “Excrement,” Stacy interjected with a malicious grin. She finished her scrubbing and hopped nimbly off Gretchen’s shoulders, landing in a squat position on the hard pool deck.

  “Excrement?” Callahan shook his head. “So, she sees me as a piece of . . .”

  “Exactly,” Dirk said. Over the admiral’s shoulder, he saw Garm slap a hand over Dragunova’s mouth. The muscular Russian broke free and wheeled angrily on him, her teeth bared and eyes ablaze.

  “You’re shitting me,” Callahan said.

  “Technically, yes,” Dirk said with a smirk. In the background, he could see the two sub captains bickering, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. It was probably just as well. Dragunova had taken a serious dislike to Callahan and wasn’t exactly the type to hold back. He could only imagine what colorful expletives his brother kept from escaping that truck driver’s mouth of hers.