The Sheddings didn’t scream—they couldn’t—but they sizzled and popped as the moisture within their strange forms evaporated quickly. Parts burst from sudden pressure needing release.

  Another one of the unnatural monstrosities came at them from overhead.

  Mereque was ready. He grabbed a handful of delicate slime-coated tendrils and tore them free in an instant.

  The two Havenites looking on breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief.

  “Thanks friend. Fishburn, we’re headed to command. Cover the rear—let’s move!”

  Dammad ordered, gratitude clear in his voice for the timely assistance.

  The three hurried along.

  Fishburn released a jet stream of fire behind them whenever he sighted tendrils emerging from ceiling or walls. He yelled out a string of profanities each time.

  The corridor blurred. They reached a heavier closed hatch ahead.

  Jenker pressed a sequence of buttons on his bracelet. Locks released. The hatch opened and they stepped through.

  The Urchin Gull was hit hard to port, shaking the deck violently.

  The trio flew into the right wall before they’d all entered.

  Mereque caught Jenker’s arm mid-fall. They hit the bulkhead. Pain flared.

  The sub vibrated. Their fight was far from over.

  Inadvertently, Fishburn’s weapon triggered. The nozzle swung wildly and flames erupted toward the room.

  Mereque’s gauntlet-protected hand flashed out. Grabbed it. Pointed the nozzle back through the door, saving the command staff from the inferno.

  Fishburn gasped as he pulled himself to his feet. Face bloodied from the broken nose he’d just received against the doorframe.

  “Holy Old Father, th-thank you.”

  His voice shook with gratitude.

  With the torch turned off, the three entered command properly, closing and locking the hatch behind them.

  Armed officers surrounded them (ready to fire if hostiles followed). Eyes swept the room. They didn’t need to just watch the standard access points; there were pipes and ventilation openings all around them.

  All present wore uniforms of rank with light protective gear on top.

  The officers lowered their weapons in relief. But their eyes stayed wary. Vigilant.

  Mereque scanned their weapons. Mostly pistol-sized. Except for two, who carried impressively larger rifles.

  The smaller arms, he would later learn, were heavy caliber with short range. Great punch up close. Lost power quickly. It was a safety feature, designed to prevent hull breaches. Smart. A sensible precaution by a practical people, Mereque thought.

  The sub moaned, as if it was protesting.

  You and me both.

  These men spent their lives submerged at great depths for unusually long periods. It was a dangerous way of life.

  Not a single face failed to convey the gravity of the situation. No doubts in the spaceman’s mind—this situation was of the gravest concern to them.

  He took it as seriously as they did. And waited to see what would unfold. What they would do next.

  He was exceptional at reading people and analyzing situations. A talent that came naturally, even before diplomatic and behavioral training sharpened it.

  They were all on edge. Most looked at him with nervous, suspicion-filled eyes. It was understandable. He was the outsider.

  Workstations lined both walls. In the middle, a metal tactical table stood with multiple displays hanging from the ceiling in an oval formation. Information feeds available from any angle. The room hummed.

  On the far side of the room stood a lone captain’s chair. Empty now.

  Commander Esark had left it to arm himself and stand with the others, ready when they burst in.

  “Captain, are you injured?”

  Esark’s voice carried genuine concern.

  Loyal to a fault, Mereque thought.

  “I’m fine, Thom. Thank Fishburn and the big man here.”

  Jenker moved to his seat.

  “I’m taking the chair. Thanks for holding the tub while I was gone. Fine job.”

  He pressed a sequence on his wristband, reclaiming authority over the Urchin Gull.

  His actions were smooth. Natural. The sign of a man who had been leading his crew for a long time.

  “You can resume regular duties. Everyone back to stations. I need a sit-rep!”

  The crew scrambled, returning to their assigned posts. Sonar. Navigation. Logistics. Weapons—Mereque recognized those. Others he could only guess.

  The room hummed. Focused.

  Esark moved to the planning table. It was more tactical station than simple map. A holographic projector hummed to life displaying the Gull’s position.

  Their aquatic surroundings stretched out in all directions from the central point (the ship). At least a hundred-kilometer radius. No. He realized it was likely much more. It was just presently set at that distance.

  The topographical details were sharp. Concise. Despite being rather primitive to him.

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  Mereque leaned closer. They were closer to the bottom than he imagined.

  The marine terrain varied wildly, greater than anything he saw in his studies.

  A sudden realization hit him. The changes to the Earth were not just on the surface. Under this ocean, another realm now existed. Not just different from the one above it, but wholly different from what was in their archives.

  Entirely separate, it was its own space. He thought of his brief trip into the Fairlands. Worlds within worlds.

  The geography here was more robust, more diverse than their records had indicated. On a planet of mostly water, transformed as it was, it should have been obvious. But it wasn’t. The immediacy of survival overrode all. Until now.

  Their technology felt simplistic to him. And it was. Yet still, impressively sophisticated in a way. On par with advancements from the era when their forebearers planned the first colony missions, he thought.

  Esark manipulated controls along the table’s edge. Drew the view out. Almost twice the distance. Highlighting every trench, shelf drop, and island. Until capturing a larger section of the creature and beyond, upon which he slowed.

  This was Old Father Kraken? Its arm alone filled the display. The scale stole Mereque’s breath.

  Relatively close—thirty kilometers off starboard.

  Directly to their east, the appendage (if it could be called that) stretched farther than the hologram display was capturing.

  Running north-south. Curving sharply east at the northern end. Like a long slow undulating rubber hose (the size of a continental landmass) had just been dropped into the sea.

  Ventrullis watched it rise and fall. Mesmerized.

  The rhythmic cadence was matching the deep ocean currents.

  Esark motioned at the three-dimensional display and broke down the situation promptly.

  “Captain, Old Father came up without warning. We followed all protocols. Nothing instigating on our end. You’d think he’d been prodded.”

  His voice was steady, yet, laced with concerns.

  “Seismic event or volcanic activity, maybe.”

  He pointed.

  “We got west just far enough to avoid getting slapped by him. Ships intact. But Sheddings are thick everywhere. Never seen so many dropped at once.”

  Jenker leaned closer.

  “Me neither. They’re getting inside faster than usual.”

  He pointed to the Gull’s position.

  “Like I was saying, sir, Sheddings are thick everywhere. They’ve clotted our primary and auxiliary directional outflow ports.”

  Esark reported grimly.

  “We’re drifting?”

  “We’re drifting.”

  He highlighted six thruster openings along the starboard side. Well hidden within the organic-looking contours of the hull.

  Jenker sat forward in his elevated seat.

  “Both?”

  “Yessir. We’re nose down. Without ports cleared, we crash into the bottom or back into Old Father. No good choices.”

  Esark’s voice remained steady. Somber.

  “I was prepping a dive team for the auxiliaries when you arrived.”

  Mereque interrupted.

  “Why not the primaries?”

  Esark glanced at him (annoyed). Looked to Jenker.

  The captain nodded. Go ahead.

  Esark responded tersely.

  “Primaries are larger. Clearing them takes longer. We need to move before Old Father turns us to churn for the bottom feeders.”

  The hologram pulsed again.

  Satisfied with the answer, the Zaxvoyan stared at the holographic display.

  The enormity of this living thing boggled the mind. Where did it start? Where did it end? Where was the rest of it?

  Questions danced in his brain. He couldn’t see head or tail. Lost in those thoughts, he remarked offhandedly.

  “From ancient mythology, the Kraken was many-armed. Feared for sinking sailing barges. Taking men and goods to the bottom.”

  He paused.

  “You call this Old Father Kraken. But it looks more like an eel. Or serpent.”

  The two officers paused their conversation.

  Jenker turned to Esark.

  “All right, Thom. Let’s show our guest Old Father.”

  “If you say so, Captain. Panning out.”

  Esark acknowledged the request, gave Mereque another suspicious glare, then turned back to the table controls.

  A quick change to the holographic display revealed its true enormity.

  The creature filled the viewscreen. Endless. Alive.

  The room watched in silence (for the most part). Broken by a few whispered curses here and there.

  The scene zoomed out farther.

  Mereque guessed almost half the planet filled the projection now. What he thought was the long body, spanned the world from north to south, touching both polar circles.

  But it wasn’t the only one. Two more to the west of their position, and a third to the east was clearly visible.

  They all ended to the far south. There, gigantic spade heads were planted deep into the sea floor, penetrating muck and into the bedrock beneath.

  His eyes followed them back north, along the mountainous snaking mass, until they reached their point of origin.

  The impossible creature’s massive body.

  Mereque’s breath caught. Awe and dread in equal measure.

  The scale stole it. Old Father wasn’t a creature. He was the world’s unseen wardrobe. Draped from above and wrapping around it, like some sort of planetary garment in a cosmic joke (that he wasn’t privy to).

  Was it holding the world or strangling it slowly.? He wouldn’t even hazard a guess.

  The arms spanned the poles, like chains. The ends buried deep to the south, like anchors.

  Mereque felt small. Insignificant. His mission—find Earth. Reconnect.

  Now Earth held a god that could crush continents. Casually.

  The dread coiled in his gut. Not the fear of death. It was the fear of irrelevance.

  His people waited light-years away. For contact. For hope. This Earth had moved on and forgotten humanity. Evolved monsters and gods had taken their place.

  Monster gods. He stifled an urge to laugh. Not that he thought it was funny, but the situation was so insane he thought he might have already lost his mind.

  Its bulbous head was mountainous. Sitting in the largest underwater depression he had ever seen. The top had cracked the ice sheet above. Like a king upon a throne. But its throne was the world.

  Sunken far under the ocean, where it was impossible for normal people to reach.

  These Havenites were not normal. The technology they demonstrated was exceptional to their environment. They possessed machinery that could scan and display the world beneath waves; map the monster from pole to pole.

  Old Father had to be the largest cephalopod-type animal ever recorded. Preposterous in its dimensions. Mass equivalent to a large continental shelf, based on his observations. It didn’t seem real.

  Yet the evidence was undeniable. Before his eyes stood all the proof he needed. His mind struggled to keep up with what he witnessed.

  For a passing moment, he wondered if he might indeed be going mad. Dragons, fairies, and walking abominations had been one thing. Now he had to accept an octopus-like monster so massive its eight arms wrapped around the world.

  But reality reasserted itself and he turned to Dammad. Eyes sparkling with intent. Voice serious.

  “Lend me some equipment for buoyancy to counter my weight. I can lead your team to clear the auxiliaries.”

  Jenker raised a brow.

  “How? You’ll sink like a rock out there.”

  Mereque met his gaze.

  “I expect so. If I can offset it, I’ll have a lot more mobility out there.”

  The hologram pulsed. The arm drifted closer.

  Jenker knew Ventrullis couldn’t swim. He remembered the shore escape from the Blanched Lands where they hid underwater together. But he also knew the stranger who rescued him was one of the most capable men he had ever seen.

  Saved his life and got them away from that cursed place.

  “Wait, Captain. He’ll be crushed without a heavy suit. We don’t have anything his size.”

  Esark pointed out the practical truths, his concern clear.

  Jenker dismissed it.

  “He’s built for this, Thom. Tough as he looks. Pressure won’t break him. Believe me.”

  The men around them turned their heads to look on in disbelief at the stranger.

  He turned to Mereque.

  “Okay, but how are you going to deal with the currents?”

  Mereque looked between the officers.

  “It’s true I can’t swim. But your vessel is metal, correct?”

  Esark frowned.

  “Yes. Cast from mixed alloys. Why?”

  Mereque’s mind raced. Plan forming.

  Jenker leaned forward. Curious.

  “Because I can magnetize myself and stick to the hull. I won’t sink. But I need to counter my density for mobility. That’s why I need buoyancy.”

  The Zaxvoyan explained calmly.

  Esark paused before responding thoughtfully.

  “If that’s right, we could fit you with air tanks and floaters.”

  Jenker cut in.

  “Decided. He doesn’t need air—he holds his breath. Just get the floats. No heavy suit required.”

  He turned to Mereque with a smirk.

  “Alright. You’ll lead the team to clear auxiliaries.”

  Esark grumbled quietly.

  “Cheese! Who the hells are you?”

  More to himself.

  Jenker ignored it.

  “There’ll be time for questions later, Commander. Send him out.”

  He shot the order to Fishburn.

  “Escort our friend to pressure lock three!”

  Fishburn saluted sharply, then motioned for Mereque to follow him. He crossed the cabin to the opposite side, stopping to open the hatch.

  “Arm yourself. More Sheddings possible this side.”

  He held his weapon with both hands.

  Mereque checked his Pelter. Full clip. Ready to follow.

  The sub groaned as it drifted in the dark, while the shadow of Old Father Kraken slowly crept ever closer.