R. Karl Largent
The Prometheus Project
PROLOGUE
It was a bad omen. Now there would be trouble — big trouble. Remo stared helplessly back into the shallows at the gargoyle-like stonefish and felt the sweat run down his back. When he had pushed himself up off the coral at that very spot, he had almost stepped on it.
It was a stonefish that had killed Brutan. Memories of Brutan flooded back — screaming, writhing in the bottom of the small boat, excruciating pain, finally begging for a merciful death.
Japal complied. The bolo knife arched up, then plummeted down without hesitation. The blow severed his brother's head, sending it spiraling into the blue-green water, polluting the water's crystal clarity with a sickening cloud of black-red crimson.
Then his father hefted his brother's lifeless body over the sideboard and dumped it in the water. Brutan's suddenly grotesque, still-twitching torso flailed convulsively, then slowly disappeared beneath the azure surface.
Young Remo, who had experienced all of seven summers at the time, sat in shocked silence. Just like that, his brother was gone. And Japal, his stoic-faced father, stared into the bloodstained waters, his heart silently breaking.
Remo Tayapal never forgot that day.
And he never forgot what he called the scorpion fish. It was for that reason he seldom fished Tiger Reef, even when Zercher was gone and he had a whole day to himself, and even though the fishing was best around the reef.
Sulan surfaced, his square cut ebony face chiseled into a beaming smile. He was up to something.
"Scorpion fish," Remo warned his friend, "there in the shallows, by the reef, near the outcropping."
Sulan ignored him, continuing instead to unveil his prank. He bobbed in the water, his arm suddenly thrusting up, his aim accurate, his catch tumbling into the boat. It was a small tiger shark, thrashing frantically, its oversized mouth hinging and unhinging as it blindly attacked the already dead fish in the bottom of Remo's battered old dory. It came perilously close to Remo, twice within inches of slicing its razorlike teeth through the fleshy part of his calf.
"You like my present, Remo?" Sulan giggled, his muscled body bobbing up and down like a cork in the undulating water.
Remo again shouted his warning. "Scorpion fish!" He pointed down into the depths of the color-crusted reef only inches below Sulan's feet. This time Sulan heeded the warning; he swam under the boat and emerged on the other side.
"Let's go," Remo shouted. "We have enough. Any more than this and Zercher will know that we did not work and came out to the reef." Even as he tried to explain to Sulan the logic for taking no more fish, he grabbed the small shark by the tail and, with one deft swipe of his bolo knife, gutted the creature's underside. "Get in. When Melton comes up, we must go."
Sulan shook his massive head. "I have to go back and help Melton. He has found something."
"Found what?" Remo glowered, becoming agitated. The sun had already settled low on the horizon. He had spotted three of the dreaded stonefish and had again relived his brother's terrible death. It was enough. He was in no mood to wait for the old man. "I will not wait on foolishness," he thundered. "Whatever Melton has, it can wait."
"No," Sulan protested. He gestured toward a small outcropping that jutted from the central part of the reef, cutting off Remo's view. "He is nearly finished."
Remo glanced up and caught sight of the old man, his graying head bobbing just above the surface.
"Over here! Hurry!" Melton ordered.
Disgusted, Remo fired up the ancient Sea Horse and sat down while the dugout lumbered sluggishly through the water. Sulan gripped the sideboard, his long, supple, black body trailing effortlessly through the water beside the weathered craft.
"Look," Melton gestured proudly. Below him, nestled in a crevice of submerged coral, lay a large, silver-colored cylinder.
"What is it?" Remo questioned.
Melton shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted, "but it should be worth many dollars when we load it on the salvage barge."
Remo's thoughts instantly turned to the grizzled old white man in the tattered shirt who came every two weeks and paid Zercher's men for the items they dredged up from the sea. Once, Remo recalled, he had made more money for the two crates of dishes he had found in the wreck of a scuttled yacht than Zercher had paid him for a whole week of work. Still, it was the boss man's boat, and if they had such a handsome item to barter with at the salvage ship, then Zercher would ask the questions. And Zercher would be angry because he did not want them fishing the reef.
"Leave it," Remo ordered.
But Sulan and Melton had already disappeared. Each of them had a grip on the metal object, and they were bringing it to the surface.
Sulan treaded water while he lifted his end of the bulky prize out of the water so Remo could grab it. Remo was surprised; it wasn't nearly as heavy as he had expected it to be. Still, it was cumbersome, and they struggled to get the object in their tiny boat.
Sulan threw his head back and laughed. ''Ah, my friends, this makes it a good day. Tonight we will feast on the sweet meat of the young shark, and tomorrow we will get plenty money from the salvage mon."
Remo pulled on a pair of oil stained shorts to cover his nakedness, fired up the Sea Horse, carefully steered the little craft through the treacherous outcropping and started for home. Everything, he decided, would be all right as long as Zercher didn't find out.
The dinner was a splendid affair. Caraal, Melton's wife of many years, cooked the young shark over glowing coals, and Sulan's sister baked gummy yams and plantain; there had even been an abundance of breadfruit and pudding. Remo had eaten his fill and was content now to lay back and listen to Melton retell the story of how he had found the strange metal object. Throughout the course of the evening, he and Japal speculated with the old man about both the purpose of their find and its value to the salvage man.
For the most part, they tended to listen to Remo. After all, he was the most educated, having spent two whole years in the Christian middle school in Kingston. Remo, in his wisdom, had declared that it was some sort of device left behind by the military. He speculated that the recent earthquake, though a minor one, had, no doubt, uncovered it.
The violent storms had followed — three days of them — and only because the big island had taken the brunt of the assault had their own Deechapal been saved from extensive damage.
Remo savored the last of his ganja and moved in closer to the fire pit for warmth.
Melton left the group momentarily with Caraal only to return and invite Japal to still another of their endless inspections of the curious artifact. The three men circled it, and from time to time each commented on some particular aspect of it.
Japal held his hands in a vertical position and moved them back and forth, lengthening then lessening the distance between them.
Remo understood. "It is perhaps all of eight foot, Father."
Japal nodded.
Melton knelt down in the sand, his gnarled black fingers tracing along the one discernible seam running laterally along the length of it. He looked up at Remo, smiling and revealing empty black spaces where healthy teeth had once resided.
"Does it open?" Japal inquired.
Remo circled it again, trailing his fingers along the same seam on the other side. He was looking for any hinges. He shook his head.
Japal displayed the logic of a typical elder. "It would not belch up out of the sea so shaped."
Remo knew his father was right. There was little doubt in his mind that the cylinder opened. He simply didn't know how to make it happen.
Melton took out his conch knife and inserted the finely honed tip into the seam. He tried again and again to find an opening.