Kronos Rising: Kraken (vol.1): The battle for Earth's oceans has just begun.

by Max Hawthorne

  “Good,” Stacy moved to Dirk’s workstation, sitting her dried neoprene bodysuit in a neat bundle on his desk. She spotted his assortment of fossil teeth and whistled. “Wow, your collection’s getting better all the time. I love the Livyatan tooth.”

  “Thanks,” he said, pleased she’d noticed his latest acquisition.

  “Imagine one of them taking on an Imperator?” She clicked her tongue. “Now that would be a fight worth watching.”

  Dirk chortled. “Don’t let Callahan hear you say that. You’ll give him ideas. You should’ve seen how excited he got when I demonstrated Charybdis’s sneak attack. I swear, the gabby bastard had wood.”

  Stacy’s amused grin faltered as she ran one finger up the side of his big pliosaur fang, stopping when she reached the tip. “You know, it would be great if, one day, we’re finally able to mount an expedition to Diablo Caldera. Boots on the ground, so to speak. See where it all began.”

  Dirk nodded. “It could happen. I’ve spoken to a few people, and I know Grayson’s in ongoing negotiations with the Cuban government, trying to get approval.”

  “Negotiations?” She snorted amusedly. “C’mon, Dirk. We’ve been hearing that for years.”

  He shrugged. “Hey, with all the political turmoil they’ve got going on these days, who knows? Maybe if the old man greases the right palms at the right time, he’ll pull it off.”

  Stacy’s gaze swung upward, sweeping the neatly maintained shelves of a nearby bookcase. Suddenly, she espied the ornate samurai swords, sitting up top and resting in a black lacquered stand. “Wow, are those your dad’s?”

  “They were.” Dirk nodded. “After he died, my mom donated most of his stuff to the Smithsonian. She kept those. They’re her side of the family’s hereditary swords. Pretty much all that’s left from his collection,”

  “That and the giant meat cleaver we keep down by the surgical center.”

  Dirk shook his head and grinned. “Oh, yes. The Scottish Claymore. I forgot.”

  Stacy walked over and rested her forearms lightly on the bookcase’s top shelf, gazing in wonder at the antique weapons. “They’re gorgeous. Are they valuable?”

  “Incredibly. They’re almost a thousand years old,” Dirk advised. He indicated the ancient swords with a flourish. “The historical katana and wakizashi of the Nakamura clan. According to mom, ‘they claimed many lives on the field of battle.’ A few years ago, a big Japanese conglomerate offered her a couple million bucks for them, but she wouldn’t sell; not for that price, not for any price.”

  Stacy whistled. “I don’t blame her. It would be like pawning her family’s history.” She winked and gave him an exaggerated bow. “Your history, my young samurai.”

  “Imagine me dressed in armor and walking around with those in my belt?” Dirk chuckled. “That would make Grayson what, my warlord?”

  “He’d settle for nothing less than Shogun,” she giggled.

  They stopped talking as the North wall of his quarters let out a deep groan, like something heavy was pressing against it. There was a loud thump and the wall shuddered, jostling everything in Dirk’s apartment.

  “Jesus. Is that her?” Stacy asked, wide-eyed.

  “Yeah.” Dirk felt his stomach tighten as the wall was bumped again.

  Stacy studied the thick aluminum slab covering it. “Does she do that often?”

  “Only when she knows someone’s here.”

  “She can hear us?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Dirk said. “Dampeners or no.”

  Stacy’s eyes widened and she flushed. “Wait, so that means she heard us last night while we were . . .”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt it. She probably sat there eavesdropping all night, like some prehistoric voyeur.”

  Stacy started to approach the wall, but retreated as it shuddered again. She shook her head. “She shouldn’t be able to do that. Not with the new implant. She’s fighting her inhibitors, somehow. We need to put the demo on hold and report this display of aggressiveness.”

  “She’s not being aggressive, Stace,” Dirk said. “She’s being a bitch.”

  “Say what?”

  “This is a game. She’s not attacking her containment walls. She can’t and she knows it. If she was,” He indicated his wall clock and mirror. “Everything in here would go flying, us included. She’s just ‘accidentally’ brushing the edges of her paddock.”

  Stacy shot him a worried look. “But why?”

  “So I know she’s there,” Dirk surmised. “And to let me know she knows I’m here, too.”

  Stacy headed deliberately toward a keypad on the adjoining wall. “I’ve got to see this for myself.”

  “No, don’t!”

  She froze in midstep, caught off guard by the fear in Dirk’s voice. “God, how long has she been tormenting you?”

  “Six months.”

  “And you’ve kept your shield down all this time?”

  “Pretty much.”

  Stacy hesitated as the wall behind her groaned once more. A second later, there was a low whooshing sound and then silence. “Is she gone?”

  Dirk nodded, then headed toward his workstation with a bemused Stacy following close behind. He plopped down in his office chair, his thoughts on the flash drive he’d secreted in his desk. He considered showing it to her but dismissed the thought. There would be time for that later.

  “Wow, I’m sorry. I had no idea you were dealing with this. Maybe--”

  A chime emanated from Dirk’s monitor, interrupting Stacy and distracting him from his ponderings. It was a video call. He checked the ID and frowned. It was Dr. Bane – his newfound pain-in-the-ass.

  Dirk signaled Stacy to stay quiet and out of camera range before he keyed the call. “Good morning, Dr. Bane,” he said, reaching for his coffee mug and doing his best to appear nonchalant. “A little early, don’t you think?”

  Bane’s head looked huge on the big HD monitor. She looked pale and drawn and had dark circles under her eyes. She had to be exhausted, yet somehow she was alert, even excited. “I’m sorry,” she said, making it a point to glance offscreen as if checking the time. “I just pulled an all-nighter and didn’t realize the time.”

  “What can I do for you?” Dirk said, gingerly sipping his still-hot coffee.

  “I haven’t been able to get ahold of Dr. Grayson to show him my findings,” Bane said. She formed a steeple with her hands, her fingertips bouncing again and again off one another.

  From the look of things, Dirk figured she’d either had too much caffeine or she was highly agitated.

  “I’ve gone over all the epidemiological files in Tartarus’s data banks and drawn some fascinating conclusions in terms of methodology for both curtailing the spread of Cretaceous cancer and treating existing sufferers.” Bane’s eyes grew larger as she leaned closer to her webcam. “After our previous discussion, I figured you’d be interested. How soon can you come to the lab?”

  As he listened, Dirk’s spine went stud straight. The fact that Bane had reviewed all their lab reports and findings in the brief time she’d been there was, in itself, impressive. Of all the researchers he’d known, only his mother was capable of such a feat. But for her to have drawn up theories on containment and curative measures as well? Astounding.

  “I’m intrigued,” Dirk admitted. He blinked hard as a frightening image of his father’s corpse popped into his head. “We should meet.”

  “Kimberly, please.”

  Dirk cleared his throat, pretending not to notice the look Stacy was giving him over the top of his monitor. “Okay, Kimberly. I definitely want to review your findings. But I’ve got the military demo in an hour, with a follow-up shortly thereafter. Can we convene at, say . . . 1200 hours?”

  Bane nodded vigorously. “I’ll have everything prepped.”

  “Excellent.” Dirk studied the epidemiologist on his monitor, especially her eyes. “You look tired, Doc--Kimberly. Why don’t you rest for a few hours so you’re more refreshed? I’ll need
you firing on all cylinders; this is important stuff.”

  Bane’s brow crinkled up. “Yeah. I’m pretty stoked, but I can try. Thanks. I’ll see you at noon.”

  “Will do.”

  The inquisition started the moment he closed the video chat.

  “She has you calling her by her first name?” Stacy asked. “That’s rather informal.”

  Dirk’s look of incredulity needed no reinforcement. “Are you serious? Many researchers refer to one another by first names in a work environment.”

  “Yes, but you don’t”

  His jaw draped down. “Stace, the woman is old enough to be my mother. In fact, she knew my mother. Are you really going to go there?”

  Her lips formed a tight line then relaxed. “Sorry. I guess I’m still recovering from riding you like a stallion for an hour.”

  “It was forty minutes,” he chided. “Don’t exaggerate.”

  “Close enough.”

  Dirk checked the time as he stood up. His eyes turned pensive and he focused on his shoes, noting a lace that needed replacing. “Uh, we’ve got to get set up.” He finally began. “I just . . . uh, need to know if . . .”

  “If what?”

  “If you’re sure you can handle it.”

  Stacy’s eyebrows took the express elevator up her brow. “Of course I’m up to it. It’s my job, my life, in fact.”

  Dirk didn’t bother masking his dubiousness. “You’re forgetting; I was there for her post-implant testing. I saw what you went through. I know how terrifying it was. And I’ve seen your subsequent psych report.”

  “Derek, I’m fine,” she monotoned.

  “Are you?” he asked. “You wanted the shower curtain open last night, the bedroom door ajar while we slept, and you kept throwing off the covers in the middle of the night.”

  “I was hot!”

  “Hot?” Dirk scoffed. “It was freezing and you clung to me like a koala bear all night. Just a minute ago, you were dying to raise the shield wall, in my opinion not just to see what was going on, but to open things up in here.”

  “I do not have claustrophobia,” Stacy insisted. “I’ll admit I do have infrequent flashbacks of what happened. I just need to face my fears and conquer them, okay?”

  “Face your fears?” Dirk echoed. “By experiencing the same thing, only a hundred times worse?”

  “If that’s what it takes, yes.”

  Dirk’s eyes narrowed as he tried to gauge Stacy’s resolve. Any hint of nervousness had vanished and in its place was the steely determination that was one of her greatest assets. It was one of the things he loved . . . make that liked most about her.

  He looked her up and down. Even in lab garb, with that liquid caramel skin and those amber eyes, standing out like tiger-eye gems from beneath a mane of tight, blonde curls, she was stunning. Of course, he much preferred her in the figure-hugging neoprene wetsuits she typically wore. Which was good, he mused, because she’d be back in one shortly.

  Dirk sighed. “Well, as long as you’re confident . . .”

  “Don’t worry. We’re going to knock Callahan’s socks off.”

  “Oh, God. Please don’t. The guy stinks as is. Can you imagine what his feet smell like?”

  Stacy giggled then looked around. “Shall we get going? I’ve got to get geared up and you’ve got diagnostics to run.”

  “Yeah.” He looked around, his hands fidgeting inside his pockets. “Are you sure you had your booster shot?”

  “Absolutely.” She looked him in the eye. “Jesus, will you stop worrying? It’s like you’re afraid I’m going to die or something.”

  Dirk cleared his throat as they made for the door. “We’re all going to die, Stace. It’s one of those little certainties of life. I’d just prefer to have you not do so writhing and screaming in agony.”

  “You’re a hopeless romantic, Dirk Braddock.”

  He ginned as he activated the door’s release. “That’s what the ladies tell me.”

  Dirk’s cocky expression turned to dismay as the door whooshed open and he came face to face with black-clad Security Chief Angus Dwyer and his second in command, Jamal White. The two hulking ex-cons smirked and exchanged knowing glances. Then they looked Dirk and Stacy up and down, grinning.

  Great, we haven’t even made it out the door yet and we’re busted.

  “Well, well, well . . .” Dwyer said, staring down at them from his great height. “Doctor Grayson asked me to check on you both to make sure you were ready for the demonstration. I didn’t expect to find the two of you together. It’s fortuitous. Saves me a trip.”

  “Two fish on one hook!” White chortled.

  “Can it,” Dwyer snapped. His ape-like jaw tightened and the oval-shaped scar on his upper lip flushed as he gave his subordinate a nasty look. He turned to Dirk. “I apologize for my officer, Doctor Braddock,” he said, his red-rimmed eyes intense. “I’ll address the issue. In the interim, we’re here to escort you and Dr. Daniels to the amphitheater and to assist as needed in any preparatory work that’s to be done.”

  “Okay. That sounds good,” Dirk replied. He eyed the six-wheeled MarshCat the two security officers had waiting outside with trepidation. Dwyer’s words may have sounded professional, but there was something about the way he stared that made the young scientist uncomfortable. Still, there was nothing to be done about it. At least, not at the moment.

  Dirk waved the door closed behind him, slapped his palm on the biometric lock, and then guided Stacy toward the diesel-powered ATV. “We’ll sit in the back,” he announced, a little annoyed by the way Jamal White was unabashedly ogling her. He took Stacy’s hand, helping her in before seating himself.

  “That’ll work,” Dwyer said, signaling for White to drive. “I’ll take shotgun,” he said, hoisting his 6’5” frame into the front passenger seat, while his comparably-sized underling hopped behind the wheel.

  Dirk noticed the rugged MarshCat dipped markedly as the two guards got in, its shocks straining under an additional quarter-ton of weight. He made a mental note to look into the load rating of the facility’s vehicles to see if they needed upgrading.

  “Everyone ready?” White asked. He glanced back at Stacy and smiled, his pearly white teeth standing out in stark contrast to his mahogany-colored skin. “You good, sugar?”

  “We’re good,” Dirk replied.

  “Well then, I guess we’re off,” White said, putting the ATV in gear and gunning it. “Hang onto your drawers, folks. This ride could get bumpy!”

  White accelerated rapidly, weaving left and right and dodging an occasional, cart-toting technician as he sped through the concrete corridors of Tartarus. One glance at the speedometer inspired Dirk to fasten his lap belt and he motioned to Stacy to do the same. He had a feeling that, as close as the amphitheater was, with one of Grayson’s “Last Chancers” behind the wheel, they’d be lucky to get there alive.

  CHAPTER

  18

  Almost there . . . just a . . . bit . . . more!

  Leaning precariously over the edge of the bed, Sam Mot craned his neck so hard it hurt. He had his mouth open and his jaw jutting forward as he strived to clamp his teeth onto the padded edge of his neural interface headband. It was so close . . . inches away, sitting there in plain view on the gray-colored nightstand. But like most things in his life, it was just beyond reach.

  The former LifeGiver shifted position, wiggling his hips and pushing down on the mattress with his chin, in an effort to shift his center of gravity forward. It was infuriating; having no arms and legs made even the simplest of tasks physical and mental torture. Sam shook his head in exasperation. He was sweating like a pig, but he refused to quit. He needed that headband. It was his only means of controlling his high-tech wheelchair. Without it, he was just eighty pounds of meat being carted around in a wheelbarrow.

  Sam glanced sideways at the robotic chair. The LJ-3000 sat ten feet away, its gleaming mechanical arms hanging limply at its sides, the faceless countenance
of its cervical pad glaring mockingly at him. He stopped and stared longingly at the expensive contraption. Equipped with state-of-the art bionics, it helped make life bearable. But bereft of his neural-cranial headband, he may as well have been staring at a 20th century lawn mower and yelling at it to make him a sandwich.

  Sam took a couple of quick, yoga-style breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth, trying to dispel his frustration. He had no one but himself to blame for his debacle. Rather than keeping his headband on the mattress next to him, as was the norm, he’d left it on the nightstand to give himself room. He started to curse, but stifled himself as the impetus for his lack of foresight shifted in her sleep.

  He took a moment to admire the soft skin covering Mariela’s considerable curves, before refocusing on his task. His dalliance with the demure Dominican nurse had been the unexpected highlight of his day. He wasn’t sure if it was his charm, his association with some of Tartarus’s higher-ups, or just the fact that she was scared to death of sleeping alone in a place crawling with monsters that inspired her to spend the night with him. Whatever the case, he wasn’t about to complain.

  A frown creased Sam’s face. He considered waking the girl so she could hand him his controller, but stubborn male pride quickly relieved him of any such notion. Oh, it was the sensible thing to do, and would’ve taken all of three seconds, but one way or another, he was going to do it himself.

  Elongating his neck once more, Sam leaned further over the edge of the bed. Just a tiny bit more . . . When he stuck his tired tongue out, he realized he could just about reach it. He smiled. Now all he had to do was shift the neural band onto its side so he could bite down on the damn thing.

  Sam’s cry of alarm as he tumbled off the bed was cut short by the painful thump of him hitting the floor. He had plenty of experience with falls and instinctively bunched his shoulders and tucked his chin to his chest to protect his neck. He lay on his side, his eyes closed and cheeks flushed with shame, waiting for Mariela to peek down over the side of the bed wearing that all-too-familiar look of pity that made him want to vomit.