Kronos Rising_Kraken vol.1

by Max Hawthorne

  “Nice chair,” Griffith remarked.

  “Thanks, your mom likes it,” Sam replied seamlessly.

  Garm shot the security guard an icy look. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to excuse our security personnel. They weren’t hired for their manners.” As he realized Sam was accompanied by a pensive-looking medical technician, loitering in the background, he gave the nurse a smile and a nod.

  “Hey, she’s with me,” Sam said, chuckling. His chair did a quarter-turn toward the nervous brunette, “Sorry, doll. This guy’s the biggest pussy hound I’ve ever met. He never quits.”

  Garm winced and cast the girl a sympathetic look. “I apologize, miss. Mr. Mot caught one venereal disease too many, back in the day, and his brain’s never been the same.”

  Sam cackled. “Hey, do you remember those twins? The tall cheerleaders, the blondes with the boobs – the sister, she gave you a dose of--”

  “So, you were saying something about a Kraken?” Garm interjected. “And what are you doing here?”

  “The ship’s captain was German,” Sam said. “The word ‘Krake’ was probably just slang for a big Kronosaurus imperator. Maybe there was more than one of them.”

  “Pliosaurs aren’t pack hunters,” Garm said. His gaze swiveled to Romulus and Remus, cruising slowly back and forth inside their shared tank. “Well, not normally . . .” He pulled the missive from his pocket and turned to Smirnov and Griffith. “Where’s Captain Dragunova?” he asked. “Has she seen this?”

  “Last I saw, she was een the gym, punching holes een the heavy bag,” Smirnov said. “But Dr. Grayson said the information was for you alone.”

  Garm nodded. Antrodemus would be out of commission for three days, minimum. If they did, indeed, have another rogue pliosaur on their hands, Gryphon would handle it. He hoped, however, that the schooner sinking turned out to be the result of an unfortunate accident. He and his crew were exhausted and in desperate need of some R&R.

  “So, seriously, what brings you to Tartarus?” Garm asked, turning his back on Smirnov and Griffith as he walked with Sam. He guided the wheelchair-bound amputee and his nurse beside Proteus’s tank and away from the guards. Once they were out of earshot, he paused. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see you, I just don’t get it.”

  Sam made a face and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, twisting his neck from side to side. Frustration set in, and he willed one of his chair’s bionic arms to reach up and adjust the neural interface headband that allowed him to control the unit.

  “There, that’s better,” he said. “Sorry, damn thing was itching the shit outta me,” he said, grinning. “They didn’t tell you I signed on?”

  Garm blinked. “Wait . . . what? You joined the CDF?”

  “You got it, old friend. Can’t let you have all the fun.”

  “I-I don’t get it.” Garm indicated Sam’s chair. “I mean--”

  Sam smirked. “I know . . . I’m half the man I used to be.”

  “What?” Garm’s face dropped. “No, that’s not what I meant. You know--”

  “I found a way to fit in, big guy,” Sam said, cocking his head to one side. “I just needed a niche. And I got one.”

  Garm felt a chill that had nothing to do with the facility’s reduced evening temperature. “Oh, Sam, you didn’t . . .”

  “Hey, wasn’t it you who requested one of the new AWES suits in place of your old Remora mini-sub?”

  “Jesus . . .”

  Sam flashed him a Cheshire cat smile. “You need a pilot who can ‘fit the bill,’ as they say, and I’m your man!” His chair’s arms sprang to life and struck a bodybuilder’s double-biceps pose.

  Garm rubbed his eyes. He felt a headache coming on. “I wish you’d reached out to me before you did that. Except for the proving grounds, those suits have never been tested. Anything could go wrong. It’s insanely dangerous.”

  “More dangerous than my last job?” Sam cocked an eyebrow.

  Garm hesitated. “Uh . . . good point.”

  “Hey, cheer up.” Sam winked. “It’s going to be a blast, just like old times.”

  “Right . . .”

  Sam nodded as his nurse noisily cleared her throat. “Sorry, brother. I just flew in. Let me get checked out and settled and I’ll come find you.”

  “That’ll work,” Garm said. He turned to the nurse. “You’ll take good care of him, right?”

  “Excuse me?” Sam cut in. “I think you mean I’ll be taking good care of her. Let’s go.”

  The nurse shook her head as she trailed Sam toward the nearest elevator. Garm stood there, listening to his old friend talk the girl’s head off until the hum of the wheelchair’s servos was cut off by the closing doors.

  “So, who’s the doorstop?” Griffith asked, moving to stand beside him.

  As his words sank in, Garm’s eyes narrowed into icy slits. He felt the killer inside him awaken and start rattling the bars of the psychological prison keeping him in check. He decided to let him peek outside.

  “You know, there are fourteen bones in the human face, Griffith . . .” He turned and locked gazes with the gap-toothed zoosexual. “And if you ever say anything like that ever again, I’m going to break every one of yours.”

  Griffith’s eyes peeled wide and he choked on a cocktail of rage and fear. His neck muscles twitched as he resisted the urge to turn and see where his partner was. Garm was unconcerned. He’d already clocked Smirnov, standing twenty feet away. Judging by his stance and the way he was hanging back, the husky Ukrainian had no desire to get involved.

  No honor amongst thieves . . .

  “Do I make myself clear?” Garm asked, his big hands twitching.

  Griffith paled and his lips trembled. After a tense moment, his eyes drooped and he nodded.

  “Good.” Garm walked to his MarshCat and climbed inside. He gave the brutish guard a disdainful look. “I’m glad we had this conversation.”

  Then he put it in gear and drove off.

  CHAPTER

  14

  A groan escaped Dirk Braddock’s lips as he moved through his quarters. He paused, rolling out stiff shoulders one by one, before heading for his desk. Halfway there, he decided he needed a pick-me-up and detoured into the kitchen. Programming an insta-mug of coffee, he tossed in a splash of half-and-half and two tablespoons of sugar as he watched it brew.

  With the steaming mug sitting on a coaster of petrified wood, he eased himself into his ergonomic chair and glanced at the clock. His expression turned to disgust when he realized it was past midnight. He flipped on his intranet, took a long draught of Kona and sighed. A hot shower and the chance to change into a clean t-shirt and sleep trousers had helped, but the stress of the last few days would not be denied its due.

  Dirk ordered his quarters’ overheads to full and grimaced as the combination of the potent illumination and the glare from his five-foot monitor forced him to squint. As his eyes adapted, he scanned his fastidious workstation. Everything was neat, clean, and organized, including his expensive set of marine predator teeth.

  He had acquired an enviable collection of museum pieces over the years – an easy thing to do, once money was no longer an object. He had a Mosasaurus fang measuring eight inches, a Megalodon tooth pushing nine, a ten-inch Deinosuchus tooth, a similar-sized Spinosaurus fang, a thirteen-inch Physeter tooth, a fifteen-inch Livyatan canine, a sixteen-inch Liopleurodon canine, and his biggest tooth to date, a seventeen-inch impact tooth from a cow Kronosaurus imperator. It was a gift from Garm, pulled from the still-twitching remains of one of the biggest Gen-1s ever killed.

  Of course, most of the valuable pieces of dentition were fossilized. Only the sperm whale and Imperator teeth were recent, and the Physeter was pre-ban ivory, cracked and yellowed with age. But that came with the territory. He was thinking about getting a nice Tyrannosaurus tooth to round out his set. It wasn’t a marine predator, of course. But no carnivore collection would be complete without a curved, serrated fang from a huge bull Rex.
>
  Dirk reached for the massive Kronosaurus tooth, hoisting it from its wooden stand and hefting it. It was razor-sharp and heavy, over eight pounds, and he examined it respectfully before replacing it. The tooth fragment from his mother’s office popped into his head, along with the sample of pliosaur skin someone moved.

  The same someone who left footprints behind . . .

  Dirk opened his desk drawer and eyed the flash drive he’d copied his mom’s last journal entry onto. He’d watched it on a secure line earlier. The contents were disturbing. He considered telling Grayson, but worried the recording might prove upsetting for the old man. He slid the drawer closed. He had to think about that. The other things he found in his mother’s office, however, needed to be addressed as soon as--

  Dirk’s eyes bugged out as he saw Eric Grayson’s incoming video chat. It was amazing; the guy must have ESP or something.

  “Good evening, Dr. Grayson,” he said as he accepted the call.

  “Derek, I’m surprised you’re still awake,” Grayson stated, his head dominating most of the big HD monitor. He loomed closer, his face a Gulliver-sized mask of concern. “I got your report about the incident with the Vermitus. My God, the parasite’s size was shocking. And what happened . . . are you okay?”

  Dirk nodded into his coffee mug. “Yes. Garm was there.” He tapped a key, reducing his mentor’s window and image size to reasonable proportions.

  “Thank the Lord.” Grayson nodded gravely. “I saw the surveillance footage of him doing his Conan thing with your dad’s antique sword. Even when he’s not in command of a warship, he’s quite the warrior; a veritable godsend.”

  “It’s not the first time he’s pulled my bacon out of the fire,” Dirk acknowledged. “And I’m sure it won’t be the last.”

  “By the way, I’ve been checking around. I haven’t been able to find your brother or Captain Dragunova, for that matter.”

  Dirk shrugged. He knew it irked Grayson both of his ORION-Class AB-submarine captains had refused to be implanted with locators.

  “Beats me, sir,” he said. “I haven’t seen Dragunova since this afternoon, and Garm looked pretty beat when he dropped me off. I assume they’ve both crashed, along with their respective crews. They’ve certainly earned a break. They were all on extended patrols, working nonstop. Remember?”

  “Yes. Well, I’m afraid they may have to go back out.”

  “What? Why?”

  “You’ve seen the genome mapping. Typhon’s definitely in the area. This may be our chance to finally capture him.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dirk acknowledged. He pulled up a map window on his monitor and traced a line around the Florida Keys with his index finger. “Based on our, admittedly scattered, reports, he makes repeat appearances in this region. Given how shallow the water is, I don’t understand why; it’s perplexing.”

  “He’s a nomad and doesn’t hold down a set territory.” Grayson replied. “That’s why he’s so hard to pin down. He’s a smart, big lizard.” His eyes dropped as he surveyed something on his desk. “There’s something else. I sent your brother a private message. A big schooner went down with all hands off Marathon, a few miles past the twelve-mile limit. It’s within our patrol range.”

  Dirk sat his coffee down. “You think Typhon sank it? It doesn’t fit his profile. He usually avoids ships.”

  “I’m not sure. All we’ve got is a confusing distress call.” Grayson said. “There have been no satellite hits yet, but we have to get both subs prepped. Once we get a confirmed sonar signature, they’ll need to launch at a moment’s notice.”

  Dirk licked his lips. “But Dr. Grayson, even if we discount the fact that both sub crews are exhausted--”

  “Their secondary crews can hold down the fort while the captains and primaries rest en route.”

  “Yes, sir.” Dirk exhaled. “But Antrodemus is still damaged. The hull plates should be repaired within twenty-four hours, but the photonics assembly will take two more days at least.”

  Grayson frowned. “That’s right . . . damn. Can they sail without it?”

  Dirk was alarmed that his mentor had forgotten about the damage sustained by one of his ORIONs. “I wouldn’t recommend it. Antrodemus’s recent upgrades included ANCILE’s sonar arrays being partially integrated into the optronics assembly.”

  “Yes, but isn’t everything else functional?”

  “OMNI ADCAP and POSEIDON are, sir,” Dirk said. “But without ANCILE’s obstacle avoidance pinging and acoustic intercept, they’re vulnerable. Typhon’s destroyed one anti-biologic submarine that we know of and crippled this one. We can’t risk losing Antrodemus, not to mention Dragunova and her crew.”

  “No, of course not,” Grayson concurred. He blew out an exhale and ran a hand through his silvery hair. “Maybe we should increase the repair crew shifts?”

  “Already done, sir,” Dirk said. “They’re working round-the-clock.”

  “Of course. Good boy . . .” Grayson looked down, checking his notes. “So, how did today’s implant procedure go?”

  “Excellent,” Dirk said. “I was about to send you the files.”

  “Good. And the patient?”

  Dirk touched a key and opened up a window he shared with Grayson. A dockside video feed opened and an overhead camera zoomed in on the receiving dock’s huge holding tank. Inside, the eighty-foot Gen-1 christened Goliath rested quietly on the surface, breathing easily through her blowholes. On the opposite side of the eight-foot Celazole barrier, Admiral Callahan and his aide, along with a black-clad member of Tartarus’s security, kept vigil over the dark-colored marine reptile.

  “Her hyper-regenerative abilities have kicked in and she’s recovering nicely,” Dirk said, directing the camera with his finger as it panned across the immobile predator. He stopped when he reached its wedge-shaped head and moved in close. The pale, Y-shaped scar on the top of the Gen-1’s skull was plainly visible. “As you can see, her incision is nearly healed. As anticipated, there is no sign of tissue rejection.”

  Grayson nodded. “And her readings?”

  “Her pressure is normal.” Dirk scanned his tablet before continuing. “Brainwave readings via the implant are excellent with no sign of neuron interference. She’s exhibiting increased alpha activity, as expected. Her hormone and neurotransmitter levels are good and, despite the trauma she’s been through, her norepinephrine and dopamine levels are currently stable. Her beta-endorphin levels are . . . within acceptable norms.”

  “Excellent.” Grayson eyes shifted sideways as he studied the video feed on his end. “What about Callahan, how’s he looking?”

  Dirk pulled tight on the admiral. Based on his facial expressions and body language, the stocky naval man appeared to be in a terrific mood. He was gesturing excitedly to his aide, clapping him on the shoulder repeatedly while rambling non-stop.

  “I’d say he’s a wee bit excited about his pending purchases,” Dirk observed, grinning as he spotted the exasperated look Gibbons wore when his superior turned his back. “Sales-wise, I don’t anticipate any problems. In fact, after tomorrow, I’m betting we’ll be getting purchase orders out the yin yang.”

  “That’s wonderful, Derek,” Grayson said. “Is everything prepped for the demo? I don’t want any snafus. We’ve got billions riding on this.”

  Dirk felt his stomach muscles start to tighten and he mentally forced himself to relax. “I’ve been over every aspect of the presentation, sir, down to the minutest detail. And Dr. Daniels and I rehearsed it on the simulator a dozen times. It should be a cakewalk.”

  “Good to hear. Are you going to be okay, handling things?”

  Dirk’s chin lowered to his chest. “I’m fine, sir.”

  Grayson pressed on. “You’re going to be close to her. If you want someone else to do it, it’s perfectly--”

  “I said I’m fine, sir,” Dirk said curtly.

  “I see.” Grayson’s expression turned clinical and he focused those implacable eyes on his youthful pro
tégé. “What about Dr. Daniels, is she mentally prepared for this? I’ve seen her psych reports. They’re not convinced she’s fully recovered from last month’s post-implant incident. They say she’s developed chronic claustrophobia, among other things.”

  Dirk hesitated. “Stacy’s fine, sir. It was an understandably traumatic experience. But if anyone can shrug it off, it’s her.”

  “Are you sure? Look . . . I know how much she means to you.”

  “Sir?”

  Grayson snorted irritably. “Derek J. Braddock, do you regard me as some doddering old fool?”

  Dirk was horrified. “Of course not! You’ve been like a father to me. I--”

  “Then, as a father, let me say that, despite all these wrinkles, I was a young man once,” Grayson said, “And I understand how it is. But as your CEO, I’m also very much aware of everything that goes on within this facility. You’re my pride and joy, and I cut you more slack than anyone, but don’t ever assume that I’m ignorant. Do I make myself clear?”

  Dirk swallowed. “Yes. And thank you for your tact.”

  “She’s a good woman, Derek. I hope it works out for you.”

  “I, uh, don’t know about that, sir,” Dirk said, trying to recover his poise. “But I believe Stacy is fully capable of doing her job.”

  “Very well. I trust you,” Grayson said. He shifted his head from side to side, grimacing as he sought to loosen stiff muscles. He popped a pill and chased it down with a sip of water. When he looked back, his eyes softened. “I don’t think we can afford another personal loss – you more than anyone.”

  “I agree, sir.” Dirk said. His lips compressed. “Dr. Grayson?

  “Yes, Derek . . .”

  “There’s another matter we need to speak about.” Dirk sat up straight, knowing his sudden rigidity would be picked up on. As expected, Grayson’s demeanor shifted on the monitor, his expression concerned, almost paternal.

  “This sounds serious, Derek. What is it?”

  “I found something in my mother’s office.”

  Grayson’s brow furrowed up. “What kind of ‘something’?”