Author: Joseph Nassise
Date: 2013-07-12 07:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Military Science Fiction; Lovecraft; Cthulhu; Horror; science fiction horror
Description: "You have to give him credit; Lovecraft got most of the facts correct. Cthulhu did lay dreaming in the vast alien city of R'lyeh, waiting for his opportunity to return to the sunlit world above. But there was one key piece of information that he got wrong. You see, R'lyeh wasn't on earth at all. Unfortunately for us, we learned the truth the hard way." Originally sold to the Cthulhu Singularity anthology, this short story by international bestseller Joseph Nassise combines the Cthulhu mythos with a tale of adventure and exploration millions of miles from home. "You have to give him credit; Lov
Publisher: Harbinger Books

Siren Call

"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn."

H. P. Lovecraft

“Cigarette?”

I turned away from the viewport and the great blue ball of Earth just beyond at the sound of his voice.

My latest visitor was dressed like a doctor in a white lab coat worn over a casual shirt and slacks.  The coat even had the Med symbol on his right sleeve, about an inch below the edge of his shoulder, right where it was supposed to be, but something about the guy screamed Intelligence to me.  Maybe it was his too-casual-air or his too-perfect-smile.  Whatever it was, I knew this was no ordinary psych tech come to give me another exam.  It seemed that they’d finally sent in the heavy guns.

‘Bout damn time, I thought.

“Thanks,” I said in response to his offer.

He slid the pack across the table to me and then took a seat on the other side.  The cigarettes were Dantaros, my brand of choice, and my respect and wariness for the investigator went up a notch.  The man had done his homework before coming to see me.  That put him in a class above all the other wannabes I’d been dealing with since they’d pulled me out of the remains of the Vengeance.

“They tell me that you’re ready to talk.”

I shrugged.  Really didn’t matter to me.  It was all going to be useless in the end anyway, once He got here.  Until then I was willing to go along with anything that kept me alive for even a bit longer.  Maybe by some miracle I’d find a way off this rat trap of a station.

Of course, being locked in a holding cell in the bowels of the station’s drunk tank decreased my chances somewhat, but a man’s got to have hope, right?

“So, why don’t we get started then?”

“Where do you want to begin?” I asked.

He smiled that patented smile and said, “How about at the beginning?  Tell me about the mission.”

I lifted my hands in indifference.  “Whatever.  It started with those ELF messages we began to receive back in ’08…”

*          *          *

SETI and a thousand other groups just like it had been searching the galaxy for signs of alien life for more than five decades and we find the ETs sitting practically in our own backyard.  Talk about freakin’ ironic.  The Extreme Low Frequency messages had been discovered by a team working the Parks Array out of Australia.  The sounds repeated themselves in a regular pattern and debate raged over whether they were of natural or intelligent design.  When their origin was finally pinpointed to be in the midst of Jovian space, the rough equivalent of being next door solar system wise, a groundswell of support from the international space community for a manned mission arose practically overnight.  Of course, the US Marine Corp, Space Command was the only group capable of making the long hike out.

Which is how yours truly ended up going to Europa.

I remember the first time I laid eyes on our ship, the MCSC Vengeance.  She looked like a giant tinker toy; from her bulbous water tank fitted prow to the ungainly engineering section in the rear.  In the center were two massive bulges that resembled nothing so much as two pregnant women standing back to back.  Habitation modules was what they were and they would spin throughout the flight, generating near Earth gravity at the beginning of the trip and gradually reducing that to match the much slighter gravity of Europa by the time were arrived.

In short, Vengeance was a far cry from what her name suggested about her and certainly no battleship.

Still, she could do the job; there was no question of that.

Vengeance used the new Continual Thrust Antimatter Engines, combing antimatter and matter to produce a tremendously efficient plasma wave that could carry the ship great distances in timeframes no one ever thought possible.  A CTAE ship, boosting at a steady 1 G for half the trip out and then turning and decelerating for the second half, could reach Jupiter space inside of a week.  But antimatter was extremely expensive to generate and doing so would use up the Space Command’s entire reserve, a reserve that had taken three years to build.  The alternative was to boost at 1 G for only the first twelve hours out of Earth orbit.  This put us into a sustainable velocity that would bring us into Jupiter space roughly 30 days later.  900 million kilometers in less than a month.  That was still pretty damn impressive, if you ask me.

Of course, being Marines, we bitched the entire ride out, but we would have done that anyway, no matter how long it took.

We began a systematic scan of the moon’s surface the minute we hit orbit.  It took less than three hours to pinpoint the location of the Beacon.  That’s what we had started calling it, the Beacon.  You could practically hear the capital B every time anyone mentioned it.  We’d come almost a billion kilometers to see this thing and it had begun to take on almost mythic proportions in everyone’s minds.  It was located about five miles beneath the ice, deep within the moon’s unexplored ocean.  Which meant we were going to have to get our hands dirty checking it out.  And there was only one way to do that.

Her official designation was the RNF876495.  We had another name for her, one more suited to her actual purpose; Icebreaker.  Unlike the Vengeance, Icebreaker was built around an aerodynamic hull so that she’d be able to withstand the stress of trips in and out of the atmosphere.  Her lower half was specifically reinforced to withstand the impact of colliding with a solid surface, too.  It was the pilot’s job to bring her down through the atmosphere and then use a controlled “crash” to put her on the moon’s surface hard enough to break through the outer layer of the icy crust.  Once hull down in the ice, special heating coils would be lowered through the dive well to create a fifteen kilometer access channel through which the Mantas might be launched.

Or so the theory went.

The reality was that neither the Mantas, nor Icebreaker herself, had ever been tested in the field.  They’d been specifically designed for this mission once we’d understood just where the ELF waves were coming from.  It was up to us to put them through their paces, see what they could do.

Some folks just get all the luck, ya know?

A skeleton crew was left behind in orbit on Vengeance and the rest of us settled into Icebreaker.  The pilot took her down through the thin atmosphere without mishap and brought her into position onto the pack ice close to the Beacon with barely a bump.

That’s when the Beacon got ugly.

We knew ahead of time that certain ELF waves could disrupt the human nervous system, cause seizures, erratic brain functions and all manner of other loveliness.  Both Vengeance and Icebreaker had been specially shielded against such waves, but whoever had done the calculations hadn’t figured on them being stronger after we left orbit.

Damned stupid oversight.

The Icebreaker’s hull was pounded by the waves once we were moonside.  We could feel the impact of the waves as a constant dull throb that pulsed in our heads and churned our stomachs.  Within hours of landing on the ice the majority of the crew was in their bunks trying to quell the nausea or suffering through hideous migraines.   I was one of the lucky ones.  I had a brief, violent reaction to the wave front and then settled back to normal.

It took four days after landing to get the majority of the crew back on their feet.  Some say we adapted to the proximity of the waves, that like a sailor who finds his sea-legs a few days out of port, we had acclimatized to the constant pulse of the ELF.  I’m not so sure.  After all that’s happened, I think He just backed off on the signal a bit in order to bring us closer.  Come on in, said the spider to the fly.

At any rate, once the pilot of Manta Two and I were up to speed and back on our feet, the decision was made to send out a squad to investigate the source of the Beacon.

I was the unlucky bastard who drew the assignment.

Unmanned probes had been moving through the cold, Europan sea around us ever since we had drilled through the ice.  No signs of life had been seen, which was a good sign in my view.  It meant I could relax a bit and not worry so much about some giant alien creature deciding everyone else inside the Manta would make a great little snack.

The incident with Wilkinson came shortly after the mission was given the green light by Command.

*          *          *

“Let’s talk about Wilkinson.  I understand you were there with him at the end?”

“Yeah, I was there…”

*          *          *

Man, what was there to say about Wilkinson?  Talk about a complete clusterfuck.  Craziest thing I’d ever seen.  It was third watch, somewhere in the neighborhood of 0300 hours. The Mantas were going down into the ditch sometime in the next forty-eight hours and I’d drawn last watch.   Typical Corps bullshit.  Make a guy stand watch over equipment that’s surrounded by a ship full of armed Marines stuck out in the ass end of the solar system all alone.  Like somebody’s gonna come along, hot wire the things and take ‘em for a joyride, for heaven’s sake. Right.

Anyway, Wilkinson was down there with me, prepping the HADS.  The Hardsuit Atmospheric Diving System had proven itself capable of withstanding anything from complete vacuum to the crushing pressures expected beneath the surface of Europa.  They had their own internal propulsion systems and came complete with eight hours of standard air capacity as well as another 2 hours of emergency reserve. The Chief had mandated that everyone would be wearing a HADS when the Mantas went operational for the first time.  That way, if the ship failed for some reason, the troops would at least have a chance to independently make their way back to the Icebreaker.

So I’m standing over by the hatch and Wilkinson’s fussing with the propulsion controls in one of the suits.  I can’t see him from where I’m standing, but I can hear him cussing up a blue streak as he fights with a faulty sensor panel.  Then everything goes quiet.  At first, I didn’t think anything of it.  Figured he’s managed to get the part fitted and had just quieted down, ya know?  But after a few minutes, when I don’t hear anything further from him, I start feeling like something’s wrong.  So I wander over to check.  Moving in Europa’s .13g was easy; a small step would “bounce” you across a room.  The hard part was stopping once you got going.

I’d had enough practice that I crossed the room in two short hops and was just in time to see the door to the dive chamber closing behind him.

Through the glass I could see him standing beside the dive well, staring down through the transparent doors into that weird purplish-green water.  He was dressed in his work clothes, which violated about ten different regulations.  No one was allowed inside the dive chamber without wearing a HADS.  But the cover was still on the well, the room was still pressurized to Earth normal, so I’m was thinking everything was okay, he was just taking a break. Until I discovered that he’d jammed the lock behind him.

That’s when I got nervous.

I started pounding on the door, calling his name.  He didn’t bother to turn.  Probably couldn’t even hear me through the six-inch thick pressure door.

Reason returned and I thumbed the intercom.

“Wilkinson?  What the fuck are you doin’, man?  Get your ass out of there before I report you to the Master Chief!”

I know the com was working.  I saw the panel lights go on each time I hit the switch.  But he didn’t acknowledge me in any way.

The control panel for the dive well doors was just to his left.  He reached out and tapped a few keys.  I watched in amazement as the inner door to the dive well began its slow slide open.  The interior lights went off and the red tinged dive lights cast the room in their bloody glow.

Right about then I panicked.

All thoughts of saving Wilkinson from a disciplinary hearing went out the door at the point.  I was on the horn to Operations in seconds.

“Ops, this is Daniels in Dive Control.  I’ve got an unauthorized access in the Dive Chamber.  Send security and an emergency medical squad down here ASAP!”

I clicked off the intercom, ignoring the rush of questions that came back at me, and returned to the window.  Wilkinson was still standing next to the control unit.  The inner dive well door was now fully open and the countdown for opening the outer had begun.  In twenty-six seconds, Wilkinson’s unprotected body would be exposed to the corrosive atmosphere and crushing pressure of the Europan sea just beyond.

Twenty-six seconds.

What the hell could I do in twenty-six seconds?

I gave it a shot anyway.

“Listen to me, Wilkinson!  You’ve got to stop the countdown. Use the override and shut it down.  Now!  You’re almost out of time!”

Twenty seconds.

This time he heard me.  He turned around and looked at me through the window.  His right hand reached out and tapped the control panel, opening the communication circuit.

Fifteen seconds.

“He’s calling me, Daniels.  Can’t you hear him?  So beautiful…”

His eyes wandered all over, never focusing on a single point for long, and I remember thinking he was high as a kite.  Then the ten seconds warning claxon went off, signaling the point of no return.  Nothing I or anyone else could do was going to stop that outer door from opening now.

The sound seemed to shatter his daze.  He shook his head several times, as if to clear it.  He looked around, seemingly confused, and then saw me staring at him through the window.

“Hey!  Open the door, Daniels.  Let me out!”

Five seconds.

“Daniels!  Open the damn door!”

He grabbed the control rig and began punching buttons, screaming all the while for me to let him out.

There was nothing I could do.

I turned away in the last few seconds.  I had a good idea what would happen to a human body exposed to pressures like that.

It wasn’t anything I needed to see.

The security team and medical squad showed up a few moments later.

Just in time to clean up the mess.

*          *          *

The investigator casually glanced at one of the files he had in front of him.  “You do know that the surveillance system in the Dive Well Ready Room was turned on just moments before Wilkinson’s death, correct?”

I nodded.  The video and the recordings of his last statements were what had me up on first degree murder charges.  From their limited viewpoint, it sure as hell seemed like he was blaming me for being trapped in there.

“Why do you think he was in the room in the first place?”

I glanced away, bored with the conversation suddenly.  I’d already explained this a dozen times.  “I think the ELF waves were screwin’ with his head.  Same thing that happened to the others.  I just think Wilkinson was more susceptible than the rest of us.  It got to him earlier.”

He nodded, though whether in agreement with my statement or just in simple acknowledgement of what I’d said, I didn’t know.

“Right.  The ELF.”  Another glance at his file.  “It’s your claim that the sound waves had changed.  Instead of making the crew sick they were now overpowering their ability to control themselves, forcing them to do things they didn’t want to do.  Is that correct?

I nodded.  “Considering what happened to the exploration team that went out in Manta One, I don’t see how you can come to any other conclusion.”

“Can you expand on that?”

*          *          *

It was 0900.  The rest of the squad was already loaded up in the back of Manta One when I reached the Ready Room.  I quickly donned my pressure suit, slipped through the hatch and rode the transport down through the ice to the ship itself.  Once inside, I moved through the HADS-equipped troopers toward the cockpit.

They made way for me even in the narrow confines of the Manta and I had a moment to wonder if it was out of fear over the incident with Wilkinson or respect that I was going to be making the journey unsuited, as a HADS would interfere with my neurological connection to the ship.

Even now, I like to think it was the latter.

Once I reached the cockpit I climbed into the pilot’s chair and waited a moment as the automated shock harness settled itself around me.  The harness was designed to keep me in place even in the midst of a major bombardment.  Too many of the early Interfaced ships were lost when the pilot was accidentally disconnected from the control rig, so I was in no hurry to skip through the process haphazardly.  Once it was secure, I yanked the interface cord out of its receptacle, closed my eyes, and inserted it into the port the Marines had been kind enough to burrow into my skull.

There was a brief moment full of ice and nausea as my nervous system became entwined with the ship’s artificial one.  When it passed, I open my eyes.  I could “see” the ocean in front of me as far as the Mantas sensors could penetrate.  I could “feel” the icy water flow across my skin, could sense the constant drum beat of the Beacon somewhere in the distance.  For all intents and purposes, I had become the Manta.

I quickly moved through the launch checklist, verifying that all was ready, and then used the internal intercom to inform the recon squad in back that we were go in thirty seconds.

Opening a channel to the Icebreaker, I said, “Manta One prepped and ready for launch.  Holding at T-minus ten.”

“Manta One, this is Icebreaker.  You are green for launch, I repeat, green for launch.”

“Roger that, Icebreaker.  Manta One resuming countdown.  Ten, nine…”

I fired the ship’s reaction engines with just a thought and felt the ship straining at its tethers, like a tigress eager for the hunt.  I brought up the tracking system and got a fix on the Beacon’s location, locking the ship’s navigation system onto the spot.  Then I sat back and waited.

“Four, three, two, and launch!”

The clamps holding us in place released with a jolt and the Manta jumped away from the Icebreaker under its own power.

“Manta One is clear of the tether and operating normally.”

“Roger that, Manta One.  Good hunting.  Icebreaker out.”

The ship handled neatly and the months of practice in the sims back on Earth had prepared me fairly well for the job ahead of me.  There was a noticeable current, something I hadn’t expected, but I quickly made adjustments and stabilized against its pull.   My neurological link to the ship’s systems let me view the sea in front of us through a wide variety of spectrums all at once – acoustic, thermal, you name it.  I flipped on the exterior lights, wanting to get a good look the old fashion way, with my own eyes, but the icy sludge that passed for water here on Europa kept visibility down to near zero and I quickly turned the lights off again.  I could see everything I needed to see “electronically” and that was good enough.  Let the boys in back do some sightseeing through the portholes in the cargo area if they wanted; I’d seen enough.  It was dark and lonely out there.  I didn’t need the visual reminder of just how far from home we really were.

It took about twenty minutes of incident-free driving before we reached the 500 meter mark ahead of the Beacon.  A twenty-meter high ridge rose in front of us from the bottom of the ocean floor.  On the other side was the source of our journey.

I made radio contact with Icebreaker.

“Manta One to Icebreaker.  We’re at the final marker.  Beginning our run into the target.”

“Roger, Manta One.”

I let the boys in back know what was happening, then powered the engines back up and glided smoothly over the ridgetop.

So unexpected were the readings that I was getting that I didn’t trust them.  I triggered the external lights and gazed through the viewscreen myself at the spectacle before me.

There, washed in the illumination from the spotlights mounted on the Mantas’ hull was a vast and silent city.

It was lit by a pale phosphorescence all its own, shining out between the colossal structures.  And colossal they were, great lurching towers of crystal and stone, made for creatures whose proportions would put mankind to shame.  The building twisted, bulged, and leaned in odd angles and with seemingly endless planes, so that it hurt my eyes to look at them for too long; like a giant optical illusion designed to mess with your mind.

A glance at the instruments confirmed what I was afraid of.

The Beacon was somewhere inside that maze of structures.

I keyed the intercom.

“Ah, Captain Marshall?  You might want to come take a look at this.”

The captain and his two squad leaders joined me in the cockpit a few moments later.

“Holy Shit!” he said, as he caught sight of what was beyond the viewscreen.

My feelings exactly.

Several minutes of intense discussion with the Major back aboard the Icebreaker followed and then we had our orders.  Advance with the ground team inside the buildings.  Locate the source of the Beacon.  Search for signs of life and collect any samples of same.  Return to the Icebreaker by 1600 hours.

“All right, boys.  You heard the Major.  Let’s go have a look for ourselves,” Marshall said.  He ordered me to stay on station and keep the relay channel open to Icebreaker, in case they made any important discoveries.

I was all too happy to comply.

*          *          *

“So you didn’t enter the city with them?”

I pulled another cigarette out of the pack, shoved it between my lips, and lit up.  “Not that time, no.  Like I said, I stayed on station, monitoring their progress over the comm lines and through their suit-mounted vidcams.  Everything was fine until they found the temple.”

*          *          *

Despite the fact that the proportions were all wrong, I knew as soon as I saw it that it was a temple.  Something about the way it stood out from all the rest of the buildings around it, how it glistened and shone with a brighter light than those around it, spoke volumes to me.  Marshall’s team moved up close and through the vidcams I could see clearly the strange flowery script that was etched across the doors.

Something about it made me nervous.

Before I could say anything, Marshall ordered a couple of his men to try the doors.  They’d found nothing of consequence so far, just a variety of empty corridors and abandoned buildings; no furnishings, no artwork, nothing to indicate just who or what had made these structures.  With three hours of exploration already behind them, this seemed like their best opportunity.

I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to appear scared to the rest of the troops.

The door swung open easily, almost as if it was on gimbals, and Marshall ordered his squad inside.

As soon as the last man had entered the structure, the door closed smoothly behind them.

I waited for one of them to reappear.

No one did.

To make matters worse, once they passed inside the strange monolith, I lost contact with them.  All communication was suddenly cut off.  The radio frequency was filled with static.  Their individual vital sign monitors went dark on the board in front of me.  Even the emergency channel didn’t work.  I know; I tried.

Figuring it had something to do with the material from which the city had been erected, I settled down to wait.

A half hour passed without contact.

An hour.

Then two.

I was getting a bit nervous by then.

Still I waited.

No one came out.

I tried contacting them by radio.

No luck.

My instruments suddenly picked up a new signal.  It was another ELF wave, mingling and merging with the first one to create an entirely sound.

It made the hair on the back of my arms and neck stand on end.

Four hours had passed and I was now officially worried.

No, it was worse than that.  I was freaked out.

I tried reporting in to Icebreaker, only to discover that all of my radio and network connections back to base had been severed.  Regardless of the channel I tried, all I got was static.

The strange new signal had begun to pulse with greater frequency.  I shut off my connection to the audio sensors through the ship’s hull, but even this had little effect.  I could still feel the pressure of the wave pressing against my flesh and bones, could feel its insistent whisper inside my heard.  I wondered, not for the first time, why I had a higher resistance to the sound than my brethren.

I paced around the cockpit for another fifteen or twenty minutes, trying to decide on a course of action.  In the end, I simply couldn’t leave them out there.  There was an extra HADS in back, as well as several supplemental canisters of 0_2.  The lighter gravity would allow me to carry at least two additional canisters strapped to the back of my suit.  If I got trapped inside, I’d be good for at least twenty-four hours, maybe more.  If I wasn’t back by then, chances were I wasn’t coming back anyway.

*          *          *

“Now you went out after them?”

I stubbed out my cigarette, rose from the table and began to pace.  Just thinking about what I’d seen caused me to break out into a cold sweat and I knew there was no way I could calmly sit there and go through it all again.

“Yeah, I went out after them.”

*          *          *

I spent hours wandering around that strange city.  Streets shifted.  Buildings changed.  It was as if the city itself understood what I was doing and actively worked against me.  I spent hours wandering that place, knowing with every step that time was running out for the rest of the squad.

Finally, I was forced to switch over to one of the reserve oxygen tanks and knew as I did so that I’d failed.  The squad had long since run out their own air, which meant the mission had now changed from a rescue to a retrieval.

It took another hour after that to find the temple.  The doors opened easily at my touch.  I used the empty air canister as a door stop, assuring my exit would not be cut off as had the others, then advanced into the interior.

I wandered around inside, following a twisted series of hallways, until at last I emerged into a giant amphitheater.

That’s where I found the rest of the squad.

They stood at the base of a huge dias, the throne on top filled with some imperfectly glimpsed thing.  To this day I can’t picture it clearly, though my dreams are haunted by quick images of something large and tentacled, with a pale glistening eye that seemed to watch over everything at once.

Their positions did not suggest the agony of suffocation, so for an instant I felt a small surge of hope.  I bounded over to where Marshall stood at the head of the group and put his faceplate close to mine, so that we could see each other’s expression.

He stared at me with the flat, empty face of the dead, his eyes barren and bereft of hope.

Yet he was not dead, that much was clear.  He stood there, his arms raised in silent supplication toward the slumbering thing on the throne before him, somehow caught between this world and the next.

He was not breathing, but he was aware.

I stumbled over to Grearson.

And then James.

Sullivan.

Masamori.

Little.

All of them, every single one.  The same blank stare.  The same listless expression.  The same unlife that wrapped them up in its passionate embrace.

There was nothing I could do.

I think it was the fear of it all that saved me.  I could feel the waves of pressure pushing against my mind as the horror on the throne above attempted to snare me in its grasp just like my comrades.  But the sheer horror and loathsome nature of what had been done to them helped me to keep my focus, helped me drown out the rising wail in my head.

I turned and stumbled away.

I don’t remember much about my retreat from the temple nor of my passage through the city.  I don’t remember returning to the Manta One, nor my frantic drive back through the ocean’s depths.

I do remember returning to the interior of the Icebreaker, only to find it deserted.  Manta Two’s cradle was empty.

I stumbled through the deserted ship until I reached command and control.  It was as empty as the rest of the ship, but the vidcams showed me what I was afraid to see.  The crew of the Manta Two was just entering the city, the lights from their HADS illuminating the enormous structures ahead of them.  I tried to reach them over the comm, but failed.  All I could do was sit back and watch it happen all over again.

I guess I lost consciousness after that.  It was several hours later that I stirred and stared at the screens once more.  The figures were gone now; all that remained was the edge of Manta Two’s wing and the open gate of that giant city, beckoning.

Radio calls to the Vengeance went unanswered as well.

The launch sequence took much longer with only one person carrying out the various tasks, but I managed.  Just before dawn I jacked into the controls of the Icebreaker and took her up away from the ice, back out of the atmosphere to the Vengeance.

*          *          *

“You abandoned your comrades?”

I felt anger for the first time since the interview started.  “I didn’t abandon anybody!  They were dead!”

The “doctor” cocked his head.  “How do you explain your own survival?

I sighed, the anger gone as swiftly as it had come.  I’d heard all the accusations; there wasn’t any sense in getting upset anymore.  “I don’t know.  I think it had something to do with the induction ports in my skull.  Somehow they disrupted the effect of the thing’s commands, allowed me to continue to think and act rationally when everyone else fell under their control.”

“And the skeleton crew left behind on the Vengeance?”

I knew where he was going, knew the tapes of the “discussion” would be used at my trial, but still I felt a need to answer it all fully, to get my story on the record, if only to help those who would be left behind to deal with His arrival.

“They were all dead when I docked the Icebreaker.  I’m not a trained investigator, but it looked like the ELF waves from the Beacon had caused them all to become violent.  I found their bodies all over the ship, each one the victim of violence.”

He stared at me for a long moment and then said, “So that’s your story?”

I didn’t bother to answer.

He got up from the table, left the room for a moment, and then returned with something in his hands.  As he got closer, I could see it was a book.  He tossed it onto the tabletop.

I looked down at the book, already knowing what I would see.  It was an ancient, battered copy of a lurid tale that had been popular almost a century ago.  I’d pulled the electronic text from the Vengeance’s library during my long trip back, had scoured it for any clue regarding what to do now that the sleeper had been awakened.  In the end it had proved useless.  Mr. Lovecraft, whoever he had been, hadn’t known any more than I.

The investigator grinned.  It wasn’t a nice grin, but rather more the kind of savage expression a hunter gets when finding his prey trapped and unable to escape.

“The records onboard the Vengeance show that you accessed this story forty-seven times while en-route from Europa.  If one were a suspicious man, which I am, one could almost imagine that you were trying to memorize the details, to use them to flush out your own ridiculous story, so that you’d have some kind of defense when you returned without the other thirty-nine members of your crew.”  He paused and looked at me with disdain.  “Well?  What do you think about that?”

I shrugged and reached out for another cigarette.  I took my time lighting it and then got around to answering his question.  “What do I think?  I think Mr. Lovecraft had it all right.  I think he knew exactly what was sleeping out there beneath the ice, in the depths of the sea.  He just got the location wrong, that’s all.”

The investigator laughed in my face.  For the first time since entering the room he let his true feelings show.  “You’re a nutcase, Daniels.  No doubt about it.  And I’m going to enjoy watching you hang.”

He moved to the door, opened it, and turned back to say one last, final comment.

That was when the ELF wave struck the station.  The one that had been propagating across space ever since I’d taken Vengeance out of orbit around Europa.

I felt it pulse against my mind and watched as he stopped in mid-sentence, his face going slack and his eyes glazing over.

Behind him, the open door beckoned.

I sat down at the table and reached for another cigarette.

There was no sense running.

There was nowhere to go.

About the Author

Joseph Nassise is the author of more than a twenty novels, including the internationally bestselling Templar Chronicles trilogy, the Jeremiah Hunt series, and the Great Undead War series.  He has also written several installments in the Rogue Angel action-adventure series from Harlequin/Gold Eagle.

He’s a former president of the Horror Writers Association, the world’s largest organization of professional horror writers, a two time Bram Stoker Award and International Horror Guild Award nominee, and a writing coach with an interesting in helping other writers achieve their dreams.

Connect with him online at:  www.josephnassise.com

Other Books by Joseph Nassise

EYES TO SEE

Book one of the Jeremiah Hunt Chronicles

In an urban fantasy that charts daring new territory in the field, Jeremiah Hunt has been broken by a malevolent force that has taken his young daughter and everything else of value in his life: his marriage, his career, his reputation. Desperate to reclaim what he has lost, Hunt finally turns to the supernatural for justice.

Abandoning all hope for a normal life, he enters the world of ghosts and even more dangerous entities from beyond the grave. Sacrificing his normal sight so that he can see the souls of the dead and the powers that stalk his worst nightmares, Hunt embarks upon a strange new career - a pariah among the living; a scourge among the dead; doomed to walk between the light of day and the deepest darkness beyond night.

His love for his departed daughter sustains him when all is most hopeless, but Hunt is cursed by something more evil than he can possibly imagine. As he descends into the maelstrom of his terrifying quest, he discovers that even his deepest fears are but prelude to yet darker deeds by a powerful entity from beyond the grave - that will not let him go until it has used him for its own nefarious purposes.

EYES TO SEE is now available in print, audio, and ebook editions:

Amazon

BY THE BLOOD OF HEROES

Book one of the Great Undead War

At the tail end of 1917, the Germans introduced a new type of gas to the battlefield, T-Leiche, or "corpse gas," and changed the face of the war by resurrecting the bodies of the dead, giving the enemy an almost unlimited source of fresh troops.

When the American ace Major Jack Freeman--poster boy for the war against the Kaiser's undead army of shamblers--is downed over enemy lines and taken captive, veteran Captain Michael "Madman" Burke is the only man brave and foolish enough to accept the mission to recover Freeman. Burke assembles a team of disparate members, from his right-hand man, Sergeant Moore, to big-game-hunter-turned-soldier Clayton Manning, who funds the mission for an opportunity to confront this most dangerous zombie game, to professor Dan Graves, one of Tesla's top men and the resident authority on all things supernatural. With the help of a highly advanced British dirigible war machine to infiltrate enemy territory, the team faces incredible danger as it struggles to reach the prison camp and strike at the heart of the enemy.

But they are pitted against the most deadly enemy of all: Manfred von Richthofen, the Red Baron. Having risen from the dead with his abilities enhanced but his mind on the brink of madness, Richthofen has plans for victory that give no quarter to soldiers or civilians.

BY THE BLOOD OF HEROES is now available in print, audio, and ebook editions.

Amazon

Table of Contents

Siren Call

About the Author

Other Books by Joseph Nassise