SUB-ZERO Page 2

  It attacked him! Donovan thought, smiling. This one will be a treat to exam…

  “Fire harpoon!” Donovan shouted

  He was happy to see the ROV pilot react immediately and depress the trigger of his fighter jet-like flight stick without skipping a beat. The controls were connected to the sub’s net-loaded, hull-mounted harpoon gun. Instantly, both the diver and the creature were incased in the inescapable snare.

  Inbetween flashes of light, cheers of joy, and the diver’s frightened shrieks, Donovan turned to the closest technician. “Bring them up—now!”

  SUB-ZERO

  Matt James

  1

  The Southern Ocean contains some of the coldest water on Earth. Also known as the Antarctic Ocean, its sea temperatures range from fifty degrees Fahrenheit to an astonishingly low thirty degrees Fahrenheit. Not only is the ocean itself deadly, but so are the winds that steer it. Antarctica carries with it the strongest average wind speed of any place on the planet.

  And the Endeavor research vessel has been sailing those very waters for almost three months now.

  Retrofitted back into service from a decommissioned tanker and named after renowned explorer Captain Cook’s ship—just not spelled the same—the Endeavor was deployed by two factions with a long history of working together within the United States military. The Navy and DARPA.

  DARPA was responsible for the latest and greatest technologies in use by every branch of the military, and with their partnership here, they hoped to supply the soldiers fighting on the front lines with a newfound gift: Invulnerability of pain. To extend a soldier’s effectiveness in combat, they intended to block the debilitating effects of pain.

  Expensive pain blockers, the captain thought, rolling his eyes.

  He thought the very idea of hiding someone’s pain was ludicrous. How on God’s green Earth could someone learn from their mistakes without pain in their lives? He believed that people were being babied enough as it was, even within the military.

  Now, they’re taking away, not only mental pain, but physical pain as well.

  Yet, here he was, back on a naval ship. While, technically, it belonged to both the Navy and DARPA, he still would’ve never thought, not in a million years, that he’d be back at sea with an American flag on his shoulder.

  Captain Sebastian House had been a sailor under Uncle Sam for twenty-five years before his beloved wife, Karen, was killed in a traffic accident at the hands of an intoxicated driver five years earlier. While his wife’s death was hard on him, it was even harder on their only child, their daughter, Gianna.

  Like her mother, “G” was a looker. Not only was she beautiful with skin that was a mix from her parents, black and white, she also possessed a genius-level IQ. It, like her father’s intimidating demeanor, turned most people off, especially the men that she had dated. They were terrified of her brain…and of her dad’s brawn.

  Being a good bit smarter than your boyfriend didn’t sit well with them. The constant rejection, combined with the emotional trauma sustained by her mother’s death, drove Gianna to rely on something other than her father’s unwavering love and support.

  It drove her to habitual drug use.

  One night, House got the phone call every parent dreaded to receive. His twenty-two-year-old daughter had been arrested for theft and assault. And worse yet, her arrest led to losing her high paying job with DARPA. She had been the youngest woman hired by DARPA in decades and accomplished the feat without any help from her father’s friends within the organization.

  At the time of her hire, House couldn’t have been prouder of his little girl.

  Three years later, and one lengthy stay in rehab for Gianna, they were both on board the Endeavor. She served as the ship’s electronics guru, while House acted as the vessel’s overseer, its captain, and she was his responsibility, per his contract with DARPA. No one, not even the one person that House answered to aboard his boat wanted her. She had burned one too many bridges—especially inside the company that had fired her.

  And now I owe Damon a lifetime of favors, he thought, sighing.

  Damon Becker was the onboard liaison for both the Navy and DARPA, serving as a direct line of communication to each within the Endeavor. He reported back to the states every two days, precisely, to update the chain of command with any and all details.

  I’d have rather shot myself than taken that gig, House thought, shaking his head.

  While House ran everything physically related to the tanker, another man—a dictator of sorts—had his fingers in all that pertained to the work they did in the name of scientific advancement.

  Dr. Seth Donovan.

  What an egotistical brat.

  House was an old-school seadog. He believed that you earned your keep with hard work and the right attitude—which in today’s world didn’t include respect for your elders.

  Donovan was twenty-six years younger than House, and it drove him mad to think that such a pompous asshat had already been given the position he had at twenty-eight. Theoretically, he and Donovan were equals while aboard the Endeavor, but House knew all he had to do was breathe differently and he could force the little shit into whatever he wanted.

  Donovan was as spineless as the creature they sought.

  House couldn’t care less about the squid, as the men called it. The only reason they continued to call it a squid was because of how Donovan reacted to the name. But House wasn’t going to force his will on any of his men, Donovan included. He’d been in his men’s shoes before—for over two decades. Each and every person House ever served under had come off as a bureaucratic fuckfish.

  He grinned. Yes, that’s what they called the over-the-top, by-the-book commanders when he was enlisted, a fuckfish.

  House wasn’t what you would call a “typical Navy man.” He didn’t think or speak like most seafarers. Originally from Albany, Georgia, he thought and talked like those from the same area. Simple and without bullshit. Purely put, House got straight to the point and didn’t hold back.

  Gianna was the same way too. No one would’ve guessed that she was as smart as she was if you were judging by her looks and slight southern drawl. Plus, they both had issues in specific social circles because of their darker skin color. Gianna had it worse, though, because she was often referred to as a “half-breed.”

  House hated that they were both judged by their skin color. It was the twenty-first century, and people still gave them funny looks when they found out who they were, and what they did for a living. Whenever he told people he was going to be the captain of a state-of-the-art Naval research vessel, the person’s reaction was always the same—it was like clockwork.

  They were surprised.

  Being in his fifties, House was accustomed to it.

  Only being in her twenties, Gianna was still getting used to it.

  “Neanderthals,” he said when she was younger.

  “All of them?” she asked with tears in her eyes.

  He shrugged. “Not all of them… Those are the ones you don’t let go. Be nice to everyone, and the people who are friendly back… They’re the keepers.”

  House smiled at the memory until one of his men rushed forward with the incoming weather report. The nasty storm they were expecting had shifted…and sped up. Now, it would hit them even sooner. The current trip down to the bottom of the Southern Ocean was to be their last, but they were supposed to have at least another twelve hours.

  House’s eyes opened wide, calculating their time frame.

  It’ll be close, he told himself. But he knew better. House always leaned toward the side of caution. No one would ever berate him for looking out for his people’s lives ahead of the mission. He shook his head. Can’t chance it.

  His verbal threat to Donovan, while genuine, meant very little if the man took it up with Becker. House held no real power over the scientist, just the ability to spook him into submission. Like most people who wielded power without earning it, Donovan rolle
d over every single time he sniffed a fight. Men like that had never fought for what they received and would gladly give it up to preserve themselves.

  House would’ve gone down swinging if it were him.

  In his prior stint aboard a military vessel, back with the Navy, House was the Executive Officer aboard the USS Harry S. Truman. His only regret before retiring was never commanding his own boat.

  Being in charge was second nature for House. It was easy for him because of the way he saw his job. If he respected the people around him, they, in turn, would return the favor. If they didn’t respect him back, they weren’t going to be on his ship for long.

  It made House smile when he recalled the “boys” that thought it would be wise to cross him. Usually, it only took him a few days to get them to see things more clearly. Sanitizing toilets for days on end could change someone’s perspective in a hurry.

  Lifting his left hand, House activated his comms unit via his new WiMP system, overriding and interrupting Donovan’s own system below deck. The Wrist-Mounted Personal Computer was more of a mobile command console than anything else. It could literally do anything. The screen was four inches wide by two inches tall and had an incredibly responsive touchscreen. Those who held their own command aboard the Endeavor, including House’s number two aboard the ship, was recently given one to test for DARPA.

  He tapped the “All Call” button, knowing full well that Donovan was going to go nuts because of it. The man was a creature of habit and precision. House lived his life by flying by the seat of his pants, living life like every day was his last. That didn’t mean he was reckless, though.

  House was quite the opposite, actually.

  When he was younger, House had been “advised” to look into the SEAL program. An on-leave admiral once witnessed him take down three drunkards at a local watering hole and was impressed when House came away from the kerfuffle completely unscathed. He should’ve gotten in trouble that night as well, but the high-ranking officer had vouched for him.

  House loved being one of the guys, a sailor of the seven seas. There was something about it that he couldn’t quite explain. He had lived the life of an average sailor for a few years already, so he thanked the admiral for his suggestions and ultimately refused to give it up. And he never became a SEAL, however, if he had, he probably would have been on a carrier, like the Truman, at some point.

  House wasn’t the “average sailor” either.

  He was cunning and had the knack to see a situation unfold in advance of it happening. He was also dangerous and finished most of the SEAL training on his own. He was particularly skilled in hand-to-hand combat.

  Growing up where he did, had its benefits.

  House grew up a brawler, fending for himself on the streets of a town most people had never heard of. A good kid, for the most part, he never went around looking for fights, they just always seemed to find him. Then again, his fuse was as short as they came. Anything could set him off when he was in his younger years. Now, he channeled that energy into his mentoring of others and his workout regime.

  He was what you would call a “workout warrior.”

  If House had a phone to throw, he would’ve after getting off the line with Donovan. Like the Special Forces units out in the field, the crew above the Endeavor had some pretty neat toys at their disposal.

  Connected to his WiMP unit was a sub-vocal throat mic. The only thing House didn’t appreciate was the computer-chipped sticker he had to wear on his neck. The only other piece of hardware within the crew’s usual comms unit was a non-descript earpiece tethered to the back of their shirt collar. Everything else was run in house by the ship’s Communications Team.

  Including his daughter.

  Gianna had her fingers in every high-tech system aboard his boat, which meant he knew he was about to get a call from her any second.

  His earpiece chimed.

  Speak of the Devil…

  “Dad?”

  “Not now, G,” House replied, quickly ending the call.

  The only reason she was calling was because of the diver in the ADS. He, Cole Triplett, had taken a liking to Gianna on their second day at sea. Typically, House would’ve ended the fraternization, but with his daughter’s history of depression, he wanted her to be at her best mentally—for everyone’s sake.

  Plus, House and Gianna didn’t work for the Navy. They were employed by DARPA. If he wanted an excuse, that was the one he’d use. There were no such rules for not dating another co-worker, at least, not that he knew of.

  But if things ended poorly with “Trip” while still on the water, the incoming storm wasn’t the only thing the crew of the Endeavor would have to endure. They’d be forced to weather another violent maelstrom.

  Hell hath no fury like Gianna scorned.

  2

  Gianna tried to call him three separate times while he was en route to the ship’s launch bay to confront Donovan and make sure he followed his orders. At first, he was going to stay in the bridge but didn’t trust the scientist to promptly follow through.

  Each time his daughter tried to reach him, he declined her call. House was the only person aboard the Endeavor that wielded such power during work hours. The other crew members could deny each other, but no one could block House from calling them.

  Not even Donovan.

  That made House smile the most. It was one of only a handful of things that he had over the man. Because he was officially in charge of everyone’s wellbeing aboard the boat, House thought it a good idea to have the ability to contact anyone at any time.

  Donovan saw it as a way to “control” people.

  House shook his head and placed his hand on the air-tight door. Beyond it was the launch bay, consisting of a sealable pool down into the frigid waters of the Antarctic. The thick sleeves of his winter jacket felt cumbersome, especially inside of the comfortable, temperature-controlled ship. But with the extreme cold invading the boat on the other side of the hatch, House agreed that it was for the best.

  It really was that cold.

  With a hiss and a whoosh of icy air, House stepped into mayhem. Of the eight people stationed inside the launch bay, every single one of them was panicked, frantically running around and shouting at one another. But House could barely see any of them. Something at the center of the room was blinding him with a blue, pulsating light.

  One of the boys’ new toys?

  The DARPA engineers aboard his boat were always coming up with new tech to try out on the open ocean. Without being able to see the light’s origin, House assumed it was one of their inventions gone awry. He figured that someone had gotten over their skis and triggered God-knows-what.

  But then he heard Trip’s voice hollering through the bay’s loudspeaker and realized that it wasn’t something DARPA was responsible for. Something had definitely gone wrong, and it was no laughing matter.

  His suit?

  Shielding his face against the intense light, House descended the stairs in the room, carefully taking them one at a time. He wanted nothing more than to rush inside with his fists and his jaw clenched tight. Plus, Trip was a good sailor, incredibly well-disciplined while under duress—even more so when he was underwater and in trouble. The fact that the man was screaming like he was worried House immensely.

  The stairs switchbacked to the left and then headed back in the other direction. When House got to the landing between sets, he snuck a quick peek at the scene before him amid the flashes.

  Trip was, as he thought, still inside the ADS. Everyone who wasn’t manning a terminal or rushing for a piece of random equipment had gathered around the launch pool at the floor of the Endeavor. Whatever was happening, it was occurring in, or around, the pool.

  The pool itself had two heated, retractable sets of doors. The inner doors give the diver access into the ship. When the outer doors opened, the ocean swarmed in. The space in between was what they called Purgatory.

  The Endeavor was Heaven.

&
nbsp; The ocean was Hell.

  Until he knew for sure what was going on, House needed to treat the situation before him as if it were life-threatening. So, he vaulted the last four steps and sprinted straight for the center of the room. Just as he was about to shout an order, one of the men jabbed at Trip’s helmet with a long, metal pole.

  What the hell? House thought, still not being able to take in the entire scene. But as soon as the pole touched the light’s origin, it immediately began to dim, and once it did, House finally got a look at their catch.

  “You’re kidding me, right?” he asked, glancing at the sailor with the pole. “Did you just tranquilize an octopus?”

  The man, a crew member he knew as Seaman Jordan, responded with just a shrug. Like House, he was obviously confused and couldn’t formulate a proper answer. As far as the creature was concerned, it let loose a final series of rhythmic pulsations before falling harmlessly to the bay floor.

  For a moment, no one moved.

  Not until a voice, that House dreaded hearing in person, spoke up from the room’s hatch above and behind him.

  “Contain the specimen and transport it to my examination lab above decks, immediately!”

  Seth Donovan.

  House stepped aside as people from Donovan’s team came rushing in with a bevy of gear. They seemed to be carrying some type of mobile fish tank. One guy dropped a hose into the water to House’s left, while a woman flipped a handful of switches before depressing a large red button.

  It seemed that whatever sedative they gave the octopus wasn’t meant to last very long. The tank resembled an upside-down fishbowl with three tubes protruding from its crown. The base was straightforward and rectangular and locked into place once the creature was moved into position. When secure, freezing Antarctic water instantly started to pour inside of it.

  House heard a hiss, and then…

  “What the hell was that, sir?”