“Sir, we don’t know what—”
He waved away their protests and suggestions, pushing his way forward until he saw it. He had to know. Know if it was real.
The end of the world.
The sizzling cord of unknown energy was miles away, but appeared impossibly large, the circumference of a small city if his hasty guess was anywhere near accurate. The violet-white stream rose from the ocean all the way to the sky, where clouds roiled like froth from boiling water. The sky darkened, a purplish-black blanket smothered the entire horizon. Lighting glimmered, striking the waters in continuous flashes of blistering light.
My God, Alexander. What have you done?
There was no guessing what the effects would be. The ultimate range of the phenomenon. The damage to the atmosphere. The effects on biological life.
Biological life.
His breath exploded from his lungs as the urgency hit. The imminent danger. He turned to his commanders.
“Everyone inside. We all need to protect ourselves from exposure. Diving suits, hazmat, biohazard — whatever uses stored air. Get moving!”
They rushed to obey, nerves breaking from the nearness of the phenomenon. The energy beam tinted the entire horizon purplish-blue. Jack heard it over the wind — a trembling chord that reverberated over the waters like the world’s most portentous musical note. As his men hustled him inside, he took a last look over his shoulder.
And saw something even more impossible.
Harsh breathing from the inside of his biohazard helmet. The glass wasn’t supposed to fog up, but it did. He swiped his hand across the outer surface for the third time, realizing again that it was the interior that was fogged. Nothing he could do. It was his current situation in a microcosm.
Complete helplessness.
He wondered if anyone else had seen what he had. No one mentioned it. Everyone had been running, rushing to get inside. In a way he regretted that final look. If he hadn’t turned around, he wouldn’t be paralyzed by terror. Terror of what he had witnessed. Terror of a completely new world.
The battered remains of a submarine was sprawled across the deck of the carrier. Tiny and insignificant against the massive space of the carrier strip. But it was the most important thing in the world. His son was inside, along with two other survivors. That should have been his focus, his world. A miracle had occurred. Against all odds, his son’s submarine had been washed aboard his father’s carrier. Everyone talked about it, their voices marked with awe and disbelief. To them it was impossible happenstance, divine intervention, perhaps.
Divine intervention.
Jack had seen a man appear in the sky. Clear and distinct against the lightning-scarred backdrop, it had definitely been human in form. Too far away to see any distinguishable features, and only visible for a moment. The submarine had followed the man, as if a toy towed by some invisible string. The figure flew by, depositing the sub on the deck before darting away in a blurring streak of rain. Faster than a supersonic jet, he vanished from sight in mere seconds.
And in the distance, the beam of light continued to destroy the sky.
Jack had stopped going to church save for special occasions. He considered himself too rich to go regularly, not the way the bloodsuckers behind the pulpit demanded their pound of financial flesh. He didn’t think much of it. He believed in God in his own way, and figured trying to live a good life was the whole point anyhow. Now he considered the subjects he’d only glossed over, the terror and doom of Revelations with its prophecies of fearful sights in the skies and monsters rising from the deep.
Because what he had just witnessed could only be described as biblical.
He shook his head. It was impossible to figure out, or even fully comprehend at the moment. He’d have to study the video feed from the hundreds of cameras positioned all over the carrier. Dissect the information, shuttle it to the top minds in their respective fields. In a few seconds, the world had irrevocably changed. Maybe it was the start of Armageddon, or maybe it was an attack from hostile invaders. He had spent the trip catching up on the Gorgon and Tantalus missions, and didn’t like what he’d learned. He’d have to move quickly. Alter every plan, initiate new strategy, innovate contingencies to combat the coming invasion.
But first, his son.
Alexander had just been extracted from the damaged sub. He looked up as Jack approached. His face was bloody and bruised, but a smile touched his cracked and swollen lips. It was as if he wasn’t at all surprised to see Jack there. As if he had counted on it. A metal case was in his hands, clutched protectively against his chest as if it were the most important thing in the world. His eyes were striking, glimmering with purple flecks.
“Hello, father,” he said. “I did it.”
“I hope things aren’t too confining.” Dr. Crestor spoke quietly, peering over his thin-framed spectacles.
“It’s not so bad.” Nathan glanced over the decontamination room he was confined in. The size of a small office, it was equipped with a full bathroom, an exercise machine, king-sized bed, television, and a corner desk with computer and internet access. The wide window panels could be clouded at the push of a button for instant privacy. Everything was sleek, composed of white and aluminum. Everything was clean.
“I can get used to it. It’s a lot better than being out there.”
“Do you mean the Aberration, or here on the carrier?”
“Of course I mean the Aberration.” Nathan’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t trust psychiatrists. They were trained to classify, reducing people into personality types, afflicted with issues that needed a greater mind to solve. Shrinks tended to peer down their noses at everyone else, convinced they were the smartest people in the room.
Crestor was as stereotypical as they came. Salt and pepper hair, clean-shaven, gym fit. A condescending smile came complete with the package. He was separated from Nathan by a thick sheet of acrylic glass. Nathan glanced up at the duct in the ceiling where clean, sterile air was fanned in. He was grateful. He didn’t want to breathe the same air as Crestor. Something about the way the man continually sniffed made Nathan’s hairs stand on edge.
“The decontamination is only a precaution, of course. You can expect to be released as soon as you’re cleared by the doctors on the mainland.”
Nathan barked a wry laugh. “The scientists, you mean. Poking and prodding like we’re some damned monkeys in a research lab. I’ve already contacted my lawyers. I’m not going to stand for being involuntarily detained like you did to Michael.”
Crestor paused. “I didn’t detain Michael.”
“You’re working for the Blackwells. For Chimera. Same organization, same thing.”
“I’m an independent contractor hired to—”
“An independent contractor that just so happens to be engaged to the former girlfriend of Michael McDaniel. You don’t think I recognize you? I knew Chimera was ruthless, but employing you to systematically take Michael’s girlfriend out of his life? That’s a new level of cold. I guess you must be relieved Michael won’t be coming back.”
“I was hired to supply psychiatric and emotional support to Cynthia Graham, who was on the verge of a complete breakdown. The ensuing romance was entirely incidental, however. And I’m actually sorry about Michael, especially in the case of his daughter. No child should grow up without her father.” Crestor leaned back, giving one of those expert knowing gazes psychiatrists kept in their arsenal. “You don’t like me, do you?”
“I don’t even know you.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I think the idea of psychiatric evaluation is a complete waste of time. There’s nothing wrong with me.”