by M. C. Norris
“We estimate the original population of Kaiju to be somewhere in the thousands,” Skyler said. “That’s the number we calculate survived the first few seconds of exposure to the new environment. In two years, we can’t rule out the possibility that some of them have found each other out there, and might already have been breeding.”
“There’s a lovely thought,” J.J. said.
“Some species don’t even need a partner to reproduce. Budding, cloning … it gets a little biological in a hurry, but my point is that the original population may have doubled, or even tripled by now. The truth is that we really don’t know. We’re just beginning to see their first wave of emergence, as the oldest and largest of these creatures are making landfall. While the world is just starting to get an idea of what we’re up against, believe me, we haven’t seen anything yet. The worst species have yet to even show themselves.”
“What about a test subject?” Collin asked, gesturing to the collection of living specimens in the tanks. “Are you planning on growing our hosts here in the lab, or …?”
“Yes and no,” Skyler replied. “As you can see, they’re relatively easy to rear in a laboratory environment for research purposes, but even under ideal conditions, a test tube titan remains two years of growth behind the original invaders. If we wait two years until we’ve reared one big enough to stand up to its older brothers and sisters, there’s not going to be much of a world left to defend. A counterattack needs to happen now.”
“So,” Takashi said, clearing his throat, “are we wrangling wild ones to pilot?”
“Something like that,” Captain Roswell replied.
“It’s freezing in here,” Jill whispered. She rubbed at the goosebumps prickling the flesh of her upper arms.
“It’s below freezing, actually,” Skyler replied. “The freezing point of saltwater is a few degrees lower than freshwater. Temperature and ultraviolet radiation are critical variables for encouraging or inhibiting the rate of Kaiju growth, and we want to keep the growth rates of these guys maintained, for obvious reasons.”
Skyler approached one of the tanks, and she tapped on the glass with a fingernail. The spiked thing inside extended a set of eyestalks, and responded to her stimulus with a dull flicker of lavender light. “This is one of my favorites, as well as one of the species on our Naughty List. We call them longhorns. They’re simple life forms, but they have a pretty complex system of communication through bioluminescence. Very pretty, when they’re feeling talkative.” Skyler turned from the tank, and the creature inside settled back to the bottom. “Unfortunately for us, and for them, the longhorns are highly territorial, and they tend to be aggressive toward any source of artificial light.”
“That’s what hit Tokyo,” J.J. said.
“UV light is measured by a photoreceptor that seems to be a common feature in almost every Kaiju brain. Comparable to the pineal gland, it’s the power plant of the Kaiju endocrine system. It’s the place where regulation of hormone production and release is determined, based on what the photoreceptors interpret as subtle changes in favorability in a given environment. It was obviously an unfavorable environment, back home on Europa, so their growth rates were inhibited. The UV light that penetrates the miles of ice on Europa’s surface is just a fraction of a fraction of what we receive here, on Earth. To the photoreceptors in Kaiju brains, the change in environment was totally off the scale. Earthly UV and temperature sent their endocrine systems into metabolic overdrive, dumping growth hormones just as fast as they could be produced. Their alien biology demands that they take advantage of favorable growth conditions by seizing and utilizing those resources before they disappear. However, we can’t explain to their photoreceptor glands that the UV light on Earth isn’t ever going to disappear. So long as they’re exposed to it, these creatures will never stop growing.”
“What temperature range is most favorable?” Collin asked.
“All earthly temperatures are within a very favorable range for growth. Temperature regulates how efficiently their growth hormones are metabolized. Back on frozen Europa, large doses of hormones released in response to favorable conditions might’ve taken years to fully metabolize. Here, in temperate and tropical waters, they’re absorbed in a matter of hours. Biologically speaking, it’s a perfect storm.”
“What do they eat?” Takashi asked.
“The longhorns? They’re scavengers. Bottom feeders. Part of the cleaning crew on the ocean floor.”
“I meant, like, all of the different types. Are they all bottom feeders?”
“No-no. Just as you’d find in any ecosystem, anywhere in the universe, you’re going to find a diversity of predators and prey. You’ll find your autotrophs, heterotrophs, and chemotrophs. Europa is no exception. So far, in the single canister that I managed to preserve, I’ve documented more than seventy species of Kaiju.”
Collin heard his own expletive join the murmur of stunned voices. The enormous scope of the problem was just beginning to come into focus, as well as the monumental challenge of correcting it, if the problem could be corrected at all. The alien zoo in which they all stood shivering, impressive as it was to behold, was a microcosm of the situation at large. The planet itself had been transformed into a world zoo without cages, and they were being appointed as its zookeepers.
“Whoa-whoa-whoa,” J.J. said, waving his hands in the air. A head taller than most men, the former boxer was always the first to step forward. With his imposing size and physique, he might’ve found success in any number of physical paths, including a career in the Navy. However, despite his family legacy with the armed services, it was J.J.’s pride that had always prevented him from muscling his way down what he perceived as a lazy shortcut through life. Instead, he pushed his way upstream through more cerebral challenges. “You’re talking thousands of Kaiju in the seas, maybe even millions, and there are four of us standing here. One-two-three-four.”
“Five,” Skyler replied, raising her hand to wiggle her fingertips.
“Okay, five. If we worked night and day for the rest of our lives, we might not even begin to make a dent in this population, and like you said, they could be breeding like rabbits. What’s being asked of us is …”
“Impossible?” Skyler cocked her head.
Captain Roswell cleared his throat. “Ms. Hale, if I may?”
Skyler nodded.
“Our vision for the road ahead does not account for a plan for total extermination, at least not at this juncture. Rather, we’re looking for a firm policy of monster management.” Captain Roswell strode up to another glass cylinder, and frowned at the rippling folds of amber gel imprisoned within. “One week ago, up in New York City, we nearly lost Ms. Hale to one of these nasty things. She was giving a talk in the Synerdyne Tower, just before it came crashing down. Thirty-thousand lives was the estimated death toll, and it took this creature less than five minutes to accomplish it.” Roswell lowered his head, turned, and paced before the aquariums. “Forty-thousand in London. Sixty-thousand in Seattle.” He stopped, and swiveled his head in the direction of the longhorn tank. “Almost a million, in Tokyo. Guys, this is only the beginning.”
Collin’s gaze traveled from one end of the unearthly menagerie to the other, studying the collection with increasing dread, and wondering if this first wave of emergence marked the beginning of the end of humankind. He placed his hand atop Hotspot’s head, and scratched the dog gently behind its ear. The animal was shivering.
“Sir?” Takashi raised his hand tentatively, and then brought it back down when Captain Roswell’s eyes rolled in his direction. “How exactly do you go about injecting nanobots into a fully-grown and wild test subject?”
“I don’t. But you do. That’s why you’re here.”
Takashi furrowed his brow at the captain, and blinked.
“Harpoon syringes were an obvious starting point.” Roswell sighed, and smeared his hands across his face. “We tried for the better part of a year to dart one of those thin
gs from high-speed watercraft, aircraft, even submarine deployment. No success. These things are fast, elusive, and fiercely territorial. You can’t get anything larger than a gunboat anywhere near them without provoking an attack, and trust me, you don’t even want to know how many lives we’ve already lost, trying.”
“Maybe go with a smaller, stealthier watercraft,” Collin said, “like a one-man submersible.”
“Not fast enough. That’s the catch twenty-two. These things are out in open water, way out of range of smaller watercraft. Once you’ve pinpointed their location, you’ve got minutes to get the jump on them. Basically, our failures have taught is that you’ve got to be there to begin with, before one ever appears.”
“Drone submersibles then, cooperating with drone choppers.”
“Negative. Even slower. They’re not designed for pursuit.”
“So, out of everything you’ve tried, what’s been the most effective?” J.J. asked.
“We’re currently monitoring the coastlines with military drones equipped with sonar, and armed with depth charges. You could call it a safety net. When one of those things gets too close to making landfall, we do our best to turn it back out to sea. We’ve had some success with that method, but it’s not enough. When we encounter more persistent individuals that decide to breach our net, it never seems to happen in a location where a weapon of mass destruction is a practical backup. We need something smarter than a big boom. We need you.” Captain Roswell’s dark gaze tracked across each of their faces.
“You inquired about a test subject,” Skyler said, “and how we might successfully engage one in the wild for a nanobot injection.” She strode over to one of the tanks, where a frilled serpentine creature resembling a Chinese dragon writhed against the glass walls of its enclosure. When Skyler placed her palm against the tank, the little monster hoisted a crimson fin along its spine, and flared its jaws. “The region of the Yellow Sea where the pirate attack took place still harbors the highest Kaiju density. These particular creatures, the bloodfins, are so territorial that they’ve all but shut down the world’s busiest trade route, off the coast of Shanghai. Out of all the Kaiju, the bloodfins in this region are perhaps the most predictable, in the sense that they will attack any ship that passes through their hunting grounds. It’s not much, but a predictable behavior pattern is something to exploit. In my estimation, it’s the best place to start. China’s Yellow Sea will be ground zero in our war against the titans.”
J.J. pinched at his nose, chuckled, and shot a sardonic glance at his team.
“Is something funny?” Skyler asked.
“No,” J.J. replied. “I’m just hearing a lot of dramatic monologue, but I haven’t heard a single straight answer to any question we’ve asked.” J.J. threw up his hands. “You said you’ve already tried everything, and nothing works. How do you expect us to do any better than the Allied Navy?”
Skyler cocked her head and smiled. “You’re dolphin pilots, right? How about we deploy some dolphins?”
Chapter Five
Mr. Krupin leapt from the mail drone, and sailed into the stormy skies over Jiangsu. He spread his arms and legs, drawing the flaps of his black wingsuit taut against his limbs, and he harnessed the battering winds. The sensation of electricity fishing through his flesh and bones made his skin prickle. Fairy lights flitted along the wire manifold that peeled back his pierced lips, and flitted from his teeth as sparks of light. Wind filled his cheeks to resonate with a mournful howl. With each flash of lightning, he could see the other members of Team Beta. Red Brothers tumbled from mail containers clamped beneath the drones to spread their wings and soar through the Plum Rains. Cloaked by a tempest so violent that even the Chinese airlines were grounded, it was unlikely that they would be detected. The timing was perfect, and the storm felt amazing.
Mr. Krupin hefted his right arm to bank sharply around a jag of lightning that lanced through the clouds to send an unluckier Red Brother plummeting in flames like a hawk-struck pigeon. The wing suits were highly flammable. They were designed as such, for the purpose of being disposable upon landing with the aid of a small incendiary device, but that feature of their commando gear had one obvious drawback.
Gaping his wired mouth, Krupin bellowed into the maelstrom. He felt so grateful, so filled with joy that it overflowed as tears of ecstasy that melded at once into the rain. It was one of those poignant moments that sometimes caught Mr. Krupin by surprise, when he was reminded of how blessed he was to have been born at exactly the right time and place to find himself in the servitude of a man like Maxim Volkov. Tonight, he would make his employer proud.
Below, at the heart of the Jiangsu province, the sprawling port of Nantong bejeweled the banks of the Yangtze, a river so black that it swallowed all light cast upon it, denying even the electric bolts that arched over its impenetrable darkness. The contrast was stark between the vast and glittering brilliance of a civilization that raced from the river’s banks to sparkling horizons as far as the eye could see.
Nantong was the last Mongol foothold in the Chinese mainland, and it was slipping, month by month, and year by year. Hidden amongst those twenty million Chinese lives down there in that field of gems was another insidious presence. It was one that ran deeper and darker than even the river that flowed through it. Relics of the End War who refused to give up the fight, the Chinese insurgents had been slaughtering foreigners in the Yangtze Delta for the last twenty years in bloody protest against their conqueror’s military presence in Shanghai. It was an underground militia of deranged patriots who called themselves the Jaw-long. They were down there. They were everywhere, and they were always waiting.
Battered by some new elemental layer, he fought against bullying torrents intent on blasting him back up into the sky. Krupin growled at the resistance, struggling to keep the great bulge on his stomach from shifting, and throwing him into deadly imbalance. The cumbersome piece of cargo was the only aspect of this operation that Mr. Krupin found detestable. Although it was key to their mission, the thing was bulky, and cold as the grave against his guts. He was proud to have been selected to bear the burden, and to lead the Beta Team, but there was a part of Mr. Krupin that wished another Red Brother had been strapped to the severed dolphin’s head.
A web of electric brilliance flashed below him like a lethal net. Streamlining himself by clasping his legs, and slapping his arms to his sides, he transformed himself into a living dart that whizzed unscathed through the gauntlet. He shielded his face as he rocketed through a cloud of burning debris where a less fortunate comrade had just been incinerated. Once past the warring elements, the city of Nantong erupted into stunning detail.
The rectangular shape of an ancient moat formed by the Haohe River was the landmark he’d planned to use to train his descent in the direction of a darkened stadium situated at the heart of Nantong Medical University. Krupin flapped his arms and barked. The Red Brothers obeyed, converging into a tighter formation. They were coming in fast. Details flowered into view as they plummeted toward campus. Between semesters, the university was dark and lifeless. Only a few cars were scattered throughout the empty parking lots beyond the ranks of college halls that rose lightless and abandoned.
The Brothers were looking to him for leadership, awaiting his signal. Through the corners of his eyes, he could see their heads flicking in his direction, eager hands ready to snatch for the ripcords of their parachutes. Not yet. He’d make them wait until the last possible second, because those moments when an underling’s loyalty could be tested came few and far between, and he intended to make good use of this opportunity.
With a great flap of expanding fabric, one Brother was jerked skyward from the squadron by the cords of a prematurely released parachute. Mr. Krupin flinched as the coward’s boots swung past his face. He looked to the other Brothers, the loyal ones who’d earned his favor, and he clenched both fists in a gesture that permitted deployment. Billowing flumes of black fabric and straightening cordage yank
ed them all back from their deadly trajectory.
Together, they floated down to the stadium turf. Mr. Krupin glanced over his shoulder, taking a moment to identify the man who’d released his chute early. It was Baichu, the slab-faced troll from Ulan Bator who’d made a business of selling turns with his sister, in exchange for chocolate.
“Don’t touch him.”
Krupin turned toward the veiled threat to find Jochi glowering down at him, hands balled into fists. Tall for a Mongolian, and proportionately broad across the shoulders, Jochi was built to be intimidating. No other calling would’ve suited the ham-fisted brute quite as well as pummeling other men into a bloody pulp.
Grinning up at the big ape, Krupin unfastened the clips on his harness, sloughed his parachute and cordage, and then unzipped his wingsuit. The stench from within was more than a little bit distracting. The reeking bundle strapped to his belly had begun to thaw. No sense starting a fight with Jochi too quickly, he guessed, not when Baichu should first be deprived of some dignity. Krupin loosened the straps of the bag that contained the dolphin’s head, and with much indignation, he slung the sodden stinking burden at Baichu. It bounced and tumbled end over end until it came to rest at Baichu’s feet. The boy seemed to understand. He clasped his hands and bowed, before snatching up the satchel with evident relief, and throwing the straps over his shoulders. He smiled at Mr. Krupin, nodded, and bowed again. Appeased, the giant Jochi turned and lumbered away.