“Pretty much.”
“Is that as big as they get?”
Garm smacked his lips. “Normally.”
Moments later, the ATV’s driver stopped with a sudden squeal of brakes, parking alongside an enormous empty tank that stretched a full four hundred feet in length. Around them, dozens of technicians sat inside their vehicles, with a few sitting on the hoods. Overhead, a significantly larger version of the lift assemblies that transported food to the Kronosaurus tanks hung poised and waiting. Instead of one set of pincers, suspended from a series of cables, however, this larger unit had a suspended, platform-like base that measured seventy-five by thirty feet and had three separate, significantly larger, grippers protruding from it. Unlike the sharp-edged food transports, the twenty-foot metal jaws on the larger unit were rounded at the tips and encased in some sort of thick, black polymer.
As Garm thanked the driver and climbed out of the MarshCat, a petite redhead wearing a CDF uniform approached and gave him a sharp salute. “Lieutenant Lara McEwan, reporting for duty, sir,” she said, then indicated a small troop transport parked nearby. “My team and I have been assigned to assist Dr. Daniels with the specimen transfer.”
Garm recognized the girl as he saluted back. “It’s good to see you again, lieutenant. This is . . .” he stopped as he realized Bane had wandered off. “Well, at any rate, you’ve got quite the prize coming in.”
“Yes, sir.” Lieutenant McEwan’s eyes lit up. “We received a message from Antrodemus a few minutes ago. They should be hitting the dock any time now. They said they’ve got a huge Gen-1 female, is that correct?”
Garm nodded absentmindedly as he tracked Bane’s movements. The last thing he needed was for her to fall into one of the canals and get swallowed by a stray Xiphactinus. “She’s an evil bitch,” he said. “Possibly the biggest we’ve ever brought in.”
“Except for . . .” she hesitated, her startled blue eyes meeting Garm’s aquamarines. “I’m sorry, sir. I--”
“Focus, lieutenant,” he said. “Is everything prepped?”
“Yes, sir.” McEwan whipped a tablet out from under one arm and checked it. “Given the risk of the specimen emerging unexpectedly from imposed brumation, Dr. Daniels decided to forego the sling. She wants to get the cow sedated and into the holding tank as quickly as possible.”
Garm glanced up at the economy-sized lift and nodded. “Very good.”
“Yes, captain.” McEwan began worrying her lower lip with pearly-white incisors. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Always.”
“Well, um. Putting aside rank for the moment . . .” She swallowed her nervousness and then blurted it out. “Since you’re going to be at base for the next few days, I was wondering if you’re free for dinner tonight. I’ve got a portable grill in my quarters, if you’re hungry, that is. In which case, I’d love to heat something up for you.”
Garm’s eyes lit up at the obvious innuendo and he grinned. The girl was cute, he gave her that, and ballsy too – another plus. And it wasn’t like he was in what anyone would call a committed relationship. But a dalliance like that could be dangerous for both of them.
Besides, she was so tiny. He’d probably break her in half.
“Lieutenant . . .”
“Lara,” she insisted.
“That sounds wonderful, Lara,” Garm said, choosing his words thoughtfully. “And I’m not saying no. But given the specimen, the damage to Antrodemus, and something else we encountered that may require immediate action, I can’t commit to anything. I’m sorry.”
“Understood, sir,” she said, flushing.
“Call me Garm,” he said, winking. “As long as it’s just you and I.” He looked around then lowered his voice. “I’ll take a rain check.”
“Yes, sir,” McEwan said, beaming. She glanced at the Vault’s closed inner doors and then eyed her transport. “Dr. Daniels will be here any minute. I better get my team off their collective asses . . . Garm.”
He faked a grin as she walked away with a noticeable spring in her step. He hated leading someone on. But considering the job she had to do, he figured it was better she be alert and eager than sullen and dejected.
“Kids,” he chuckled. “Speaking of which . . .” He glanced around worriedly until he spotted Bane milling about, ten yards away.
By the time he walked over to her, she was gazing, wide-eyed, at the huge hydraulic lift suspended high above them. Then she started taking in the slew of trucks, men and gear spread out across the receiving dock. Finally, her eyes found the giant tank and swept its considerable length. “Wow, that is one serious fish tank,” she muttered. “Why is it so much bigger than the others?”
“Actually, they’re the same size,” Garm said. He folded his arms across his chest. “This is the holding tank. We use it as a triage pool to pen new arrivals while they’re screened and treated for injuries, parasites, and infections. The habitats you already saw for our indoctrinated ‘inmates’ are perpendicular to this one. They’re lined up lengthwise to conserve space.”
Bane approached the unoccupied tank and craned her head back. The water was crystal clear, with none of the algae and small fish present in the occupied paddocks. It was also only filled to the fifty-foot mark. As she turned sideways, her eyes focused on the tank’s massive, titanium-steel frame. Her head cocked to one side as she studied its shiny welds.
“How thick is the Celazole in these aquariums?” she asked.
“A little over eight feet, from what I’ve been told. Why?”
Bane took a knee by the corner of the holding tank and ran a hand over its cool metal corner. “This section looks different from the rest . . . newer.” She looked at Garm. “Was it repaired recently?”
He gave her an appreciative nod. “Very observant. Last year, in fact.”
“What happened?”
“The tank’s previous occupant got a little feisty and had to be moved to a more hardened facility.”
“More hardened than this?” Bane’s mouth formed a tiny circle. “I’d hate to see the creature that could do that kind of damage.”
“You would,” Garm affirmed.
“The water seems much cleaner than the other tanks. Are you having filtration problems?”
Garm chuckled. “You ask a lot of questions, doc.”
“An idle mind is the devil’s playground,” she responded. “And you’ve got enough devils here already.”
“Touché,” he said with a grin. “The tanks all have seven-stage filtration systems that keep them fairly sterile.” He gestured at the tanks across the way. “In addition, we pump in fresh seawater regularly and mimic marine conditions as much as possible, including sandy bottoms, cleaner fish, and even some phytoplankton.”
“So this one is kept barren to eliminate possible contagions?”
“The water’s also been treated with a heavy-duty, pliosaur friendly anti-biotic – not that they need it. Immune system-wise, the bastards are pretty much indestructible.”
“Sounds like a high level of care for prisoners.”
“They earn their keep,” Garm said.
Bane stood up as she finished her examination of the tank. She shielded her eyes and squinted at the far-off row of occupied aquariums. Even though they were two blocks away, the size of the enclosures and their restless inhabitants still stood out.
“They’re awfully quiet,” she wondered aloud. “I’m surprised you keep them lined up like that. I would think they’d try and get at one another. At least occasionally.”
“There are low-grade iridophores in the tank dividers that keep them from seeing one another, except when they’re supposed to,” Garm said. “But even if there weren’t, their behavior inhibitors usually keep them from getting frisky.”
Bane did a double-take. “You control them?”
“Did you see any of them ramming the glass or trying to attack the people on the other side?”
“That’s amazing. How?”
“You’ll see.”
“Wait a second . . .” Bane’s expression intensified and she started tapping her index finger rapidly against her chin. Garm grinned; he could practically see the wheels whirling around inside her head. A second later, her eyes grew as big as golf balls and her head shot up so hard it looked like it hurt.
“Holy crap!” she spouted. “These . . . these monsters . . . they’re the bio-weapons you were talking about!”
Garm turned to her wearing a Cheshire cat grin. “Bingo.”
* * *
Fourteen miles off Marathon Key, the Octopus giganteus pair floated like phantoms through the darkened depths of the Florida current. Drawing thousands of gallons of saltwater into their mantles and shooting it back out, they rose soundlessly, like lethal dirigibles. To the male’s relief, the giant female had chosen a deep crevasse nearly ten miles in length in which to establish her newfound hunting territory. Although the chilly, 2,000-foot depths of the Straits of Florida were hardly the icy abyss he was accustomed to, they were infinitely preferable to the sunlit layers they were currently heading toward. The two had no choice but to prowl the surface. With the squid-eaters they preyed upon on the brink of extinction, their kind was following suit. Fewer and fewer of the monstrous cephalopods prowled the extreme depths and those that remained eked out a pathetic existence, scavenging as much as hunting in a desperate attempt to stave off starvation.
The male’s horizontal pupils swiveled in their sockets as he changed direction and jetted ahead. In addition to possessing color vision and keen eyesight, his eyes possessed a feature unique among invertebrates. His vision was linked to a pair of mineralized organs in his brain called statocysts. In addition to functioning like ears, the hair-covered masses allowed him to sense the orientation of his body relative to horizontal at all times. It was nature’s compass; an autonomic response that kept his pupils parallel to the seafloor, regardless of lighting or any maneuvers he executed.
As they ascended past the three hundred-foot mark, the male’s eyes began to narrow, his pupils constricting against the painful daylight. The water was sickeningly warm high up in the water column, but it was also filled with inviting scents and flavors that meant one thing.
There was prey nearby.
Excitement began to build as he gazed hungrily about. Two hundred yards to his right, his colossal mate was also scanning the area. Her time would be upon her soon, and despite their previous feeding, she was once again ravenous. The male was fortunate. Cannibalism was common among their kind, and if it wasn’t for their many years together, the female might have turned on him already. Still, they had to find food soon. Sooner or later her patience would run out. And his luck with it.
They hunted in earnest now, jetting toward any possible meal with their mighty tendrils at the ready. For predators their size, however, the pickings were sparse. They encountered a school of tiny squid, but they were too small to grasp, let alone consume. Twice, they came upon pods of large pelagic fish, but the fleet predators proved to be fast and nimble and were impossible to catch. With their large eyes, the Xiphactinus’ spotted the great octopi from far off and scattered, long before the hungry cephalopods could close the distance.
The male ground his beak in frustration. Once, they sensed the appearance of a larger prey item: some sort of carnivorous, whale-sized reptile that emitted noisy clicks like the big cachalots they traditionally fed upon.
The male’s instinctive memories recognized the creature as a prehistoric rival from long ago. But it was the same as with the schools of fish. The short-necked plesiosaur sensed its enemies’ approach and vacated the area at an impressive velocity. The male and his mate were no slouches in the speed department. She was capable of jetting backwards at fifty miles an hour and him a bit more, but they were incapable of quick course changes and their accelerations were short-lived. They were built for power, not endurance.
Suddenly, a thrumming vibration in the water drew the attention of both octopi. An enormous floating object, as big as an iceberg, was approaching their position. Wary of a potential predator, the two froze where they were, their tentacles hanging limply down, their color and texture changing to match that of algae-coated driftwood. Only their glittering eyes gave them away.
As the mountainous object moved closer, the noise it gave off was deafening. It displaced a wall of water so big the monstrous cephalopods were tossed back and forth. The water’s surface overhead churned like a boiling cauldron and, from the back of the object, twin maelstroms roared with a sound like undersea geysers erupting.
Even without touching the colossal entity, the male octopus could taste it in the water. Its skin was constantly shedding tiny particles of rust, a metallic flavor that was immediately recognizable. The object was not alive. It was a mobile mountain of iron, somehow moving across the surface with a power that defied both wind and current.
As the object passed over their position, leaving them unmolested, the male relaxed. Filled with innate cephalopod curiosity, he began to study the giant thing as it moved steadily away. When the racket it gave off faded, his cool mind refocused on addressing the issue at hand – filling a pair of very empty stomachs.
A sudden change in water pressure alerted him to his mate’s approach and he turned to greet her. The huge female drifted closer, her bloated body trembling with ill-contained hunger. Their eyes met and the male octopus experienced a sudden twang of fear. He was already injured; the stump of his missing tentacle ached non-stop as it worked to regenerate itself. In his weakened state he would not survive a rush from her. Then, just as he was preparing to flee, she uttered a deep, gurgling summons. Above her mantle, a half-mile in the distance, the male sensed what she’d picked up on.
It was some sort of whale moving along on the surface. Based on its shape, it appeared to be an exceptionally large finback, an animal the giant octopi knew of, but rarely encountered. Finbacks were the fastest of the great whales. They lived in the light, high in the water column, where they fed on schools of plankton and krill. The only time they descended into the depths was at the end of their life cycle. And then, only as putrescent, shark-ravaged corpses.
The male studied the approaching leviathan. He could see its sleek lines as it scythed through the blue-green water. It was moving slowly, traveling in a straight line, and constantly hugging the surface. Its sound sight also seemed different than normal: weak and fragmented. To the huge cephalopod, it meant the finback was wounded or ill, a juicy prize, ripe for the taking. If they could get close enough before their presence was detected, they could bring it down.
The male’s eyes gleamed as he reached out and caressed his mate. Their communication was based on sight and touch, rather than sound, and nothing more was needed. They descended to six hundred feet, vanishing into the darkened depths before splitting up. Their plan was simple. The larger female would approach the whale head-on, while her mate closed from the rear. When the moment was right, they would rise from the deep with lethal speed and power, slamming the trap shut before the injured cetacean realized anything was amiss.
As he jetted silently down and then started to arc back up, the male octopus studied the finback’s pale belly as it passed directly overhead. He spotted the bow wave cast up by its tapered snout and, toward its tail region, the thick, keel-like caudal fin that helped stabilize the big whale as it maneuvered.
Suddenly, the male’s eighty-foot tentacles flared out to the sides. The thick webbing between them billowed like an enormous windsock, creating a braking effect that caused him to stop dead in the water, while quick bursts of seawater helped him hover in place.
The male’s eyes widened and he rose another one hundred feet to make sure. His color quickly shifted from a mottled sea-green to a bright reddish-orange, his frenzied chromatophores signaling his excitement.
The finback was more than just ill. Its tail was horribly injured. In fact, its flukes were completely gone. The reason for its slothful speed
was now apparent. With its flukes shorn away, the bullet-shaped whale could neither dive nor flee. It was completely helpless and easy to kill.
With an explosive burst, the male octopus lunged violently upward, his huge body displacing tens of thousands of gallons of seawater as he aimed for the maimed whale’s belly. Three hundred yards away, his mate surged forward with an urgency only insatiable hunger can bring out. Like a pair of monstrous torpedoes, they hurtled toward the unsuspecting whale, their lethal tentacles trailing behind them like bundled spears. As the distance between him and the finback vanished, the male felt the venomous saliva he secreted flood his mouth in anticipation of the blubber-rich meal to come.
It was time to feast.
CHAPTER
8
Like the leviathan she’d been named for, the 139-foot schooner Rorqual sliced her way through white-capped turquoise waters. She was a true queen of the seas, a tri-masted beauty whose snow-colored masts jutted over one hundred feet into the sky. Her broad sails bulged like canvas-coated breasts, swelling with the never-ending power of the wind, while her gleaming wooden decks rose and fell with the rhythm of the waves. She was one with Nature, her timeless design merging with the elements instead of defying them, and deep within her sturdy oaken bosom beat the undying heart of the ocean.
As he paused to bask in the bridge’s sunlit portside doorway and felt the breeze press his locks tight against his head, Billy Barnes realized he was having the time of his life. He couldn’t help but laugh. Initially, he’d railed against his mom and dad sending him on a seven-day “voyage” aboard the Rorqual. Especially after he found out visitors had to work as deckhands during the trip. Or, in his case, as a radio operator. Now, however, he wished he could spend the rest of his life here. The smell of the fresh ocean air, the exhilarating wave spray, watching billfish ride the big sailing ship’s cresting bow wave – what more could an eighteen-year-old ask for?
Kronos Rising: Kraken (vol.1): The battle for Earth's oceans has just begun. Page 14