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Earth belonged to the Ferox, but had not yet been assimilated into the fleet.

There was still time to reach the planet first, and eradicate its population, in all dimensions, ensuring that the species would never be a threat. And if the citadel defended by Artuke still stood, it would finally be populated. The Aeros would colonize Earth, and the arena would see the world’s few surviving inhabitants battling a variety of species from around the cosmos. Earth would become another one of millions of planets used for its resources and later discarded.

But if the Ferox arrived first, supplying humanity with advanced weapons, technology and the knowledge to use them against the Aeros, it could shift the course of this unceasing war.

The recent destruction of an advance probe did not bode well, but action would come swiftly enough. As the fleet gathered, a weapon was being sent in advance. Two of them, actually. Both Gerstorumque. Both instilled with a righteous hatred for not just the Ferox and the Atlantide, but also for humanity.

The great purge would begin before the Aeros arrived, and it would not end until every human being was dead or enslaved.

Pentuke, father of Artuke and head of the war council, watched as the chrysalises containing the Gerstorumque slipped through the fabric of reality, destination: Earth, dimension 204,091.0008932. That specific plane of existence would be the first to meet the Gerstorumque, who would redirect their sister’s course. That plane would also be the first to be conquered.

1

“I’m telling you, boss, ain’t nothing out here but water and what looks like a spill of waterlogged tampons.”

I laugh and sit up, the bands of my lounge chair bending beneath my shifting weight. “Woodstock, you realize this is not a phone call, right? Collins can hear you.” While we’re lounging about, we’re all wearing comms, if only to maintain Woodstock’s belief that we’re hard at work while he flies about.

“So can I,” Maigo says.

“Well...” Woodstock says. I smile at the approaching punch line, fueled by his insensitivity to women’s issues. “Are they
your
tampons?”

There’s a click, and I know that Maigo, now a full-fledged young woman embarrassed at even the very hint of such things, even with me, is likely beaming red. When it comes to ovaries and all the things that come with them, only Collins has her ear. Not Joliet. Not Lilly, who has her own set of unique issues, thanks to being a hybrid of human, panther and who knows what else—her webbed feet and gills suggest a little amphibian and fish are in the mix. She laid eggs after all, from which hatched ‘the girls,’ three big, black cats that now guard the FC-P’s Maine property. In comparison to Lilly, Maigo has it easy. Even though her strength, her speed and her ability to feel my emotions and sometimes thoughts all make her equally unique, she’s just more human than Lilly...on the outside. On the inside? Who knows. And who cares. I only think of her as my daughter now.

I have a daughter and a wife...

It was just a few years ago that I was a slacker agent at the ass end of the Department of Homeland Security: Jon Hudson, director of Jack and Shit, otherwise known as Fusion Center–Paranormal. FC-P for short. Lead investigator into the ‘threats’ against the United States that included everything from Sasquatch to Chupacabra.

Now, in the wake of multiple Kaiju events resulting in the destruction of several major cities inside and outside the U.S., I’m the director of the world’s most cosplayed agency. I’m also filthy rich and the owner of Zoomb, Google’s only real competitor in the search engine and future tech industry, thanks to the surprising generosity of my frienemy, Katsu Endo, who may or may not be alive inside the Kaiju known as Nemesis. And she hasn’t been seen since returning to the Pacific Ocean.

I’m also married to Ashley Collins, the tougher-than-me ex-sheriff who kept her maiden name...which I’m
totally
okay about...not insecure
at all...
Ahem
.
I have an adopted kid, previously Maigo Tilley, now Maigo Hudson. She was murdered by her biological father and very dead, until her DNA was used to spawn an ancient goddess of vengeance, Nemesis, who gave ‘birth’ to Maigo after saving Washington, D.C. from a horde of her own genetic brethren. It’s a mouthful, but that’s the short version. The long version would take something like, what, three books?

That Maigo’s current issues aren’t much more severe than those of other teens is a relief. And says a lot about her character. So what if she’s quiet most of the time? Who wouldn’t be after being the conscience for a monster that destroyed cities and consumed thousands of people? She remembers every kill. What people
tasted
like. I’d get in line for a padded cell after that. She just wants to be treated like everyone else.

And no one excels at that better than Woodstock. The old pilot, grinning behind his bushy mustache, irks the girl something fierce. But while she storms away, groaning from whatever uncomfortable subject he’s brought up, I always see a hint of a smile. So I don’t chastise Woodstock for the tampon comment.

That’s my wife’s job.

“
Woodstock...
” she says, and that’s all the threat that’s needed.

“As long as I’m up here and you’re way the hell down there...” Woodstock starts, his ‘here’ sounding like ‘he-ah,’ and his ‘there’ sounding like ‘they-ah,’ thanks to his thick Maine accent, but Collins cuts him short.

“I have a long memory,” Collins says, “and I know how you old timers need your sleep.”

Woodstock’s only reply is indistinct grumbling.

“Finish your sweep and call it a day,” I say. “Holler if you see something.”

The ‘something’ this time around is the Great New England Sea Serpent. There are more than two hundred separate reported appearances of the creature, seen by more than two thousand people, since the first settlers arrived at the Gulf of Maine in the 1600s. On some occasions, hundreds of people lining the beach witnessed it swim past. In Gloucester, which is just North of the FC-P headquarters in Beverly, Massachusetts, two of the serpents hung out in the harbor for days on end.

While reports of strange creatures have skyrocketed in the past few years—there’s even an entire DHS department tasked with weeding out illegitimate claims—creatures with mounds of historical evidence jump to the top of our growing list of cases. With two recent sightings of a sea serpent-like creature in the Gulf of Maine, we had to take a look. In part, because of the history, but also because Nemesis, and several other Kaiju, have all surfaced in this part of the world on multiple occasions.

But I’m also realistic about our odds. It’s August. There are boats everywhere, buzzing, sailing and weighing anchor around the gulf while pods of whales swim all around. The odds of finding a sea serpent amidst all this activity—if it’s even here—are slimmer than Mary Kate Olsen’s waistline.

So I’m channeling my old self and taking a moment to bask in the sun, and in the good fortune that allowed this DHS director to buy his own yacht,
Penny
, named for my third grade sweetheart. Unlike Betty, whose name graced my old pick-up truck and now the FC-P’s helicopter, not to mention our stolen future-tech X-35 aircraft, I have fond memories of Penny. She was funny. And chubby. Swam like a seal. A fitting name for a ship. I had wanted to use the name
EndoSucksBalls
, but Collins put the kibosh on that. And it’s probably a good idea since if we see Nemesis again, his consciousness might be part of the mix. But how funny would that have been? I grin at the thought, imagining Endo’s face as Nemesis leaned over to eat me and read the ship’s name.

“What are you grinning about?” Collins asks, stepping out of the cabin. She’s got that ‘I’m a badass’ wrinkle between her eyes, but I’m distracted by the flowing white skirt and bikini top. The smell of suntan lotion, salty sea air and the sight of Collins’s red curls blowing in the wind make me forget that we’re officially on the clock. “You know she hates...feminine topics.”

I shrug. “Well, she’s homeschooling, so someone has to tease her. Might as well be the guy closest to the grave already.”

She sits down beside me and takes a deep breath. We’ve been so busy the last year that a day like today is a rarity. So what if it’s a Monday? We worked all weekend. We work every weekend. Luckily, our team is our family and our HQ is our home, but that doesn’t mean we can’t get burned out.

“And besides,” I say, “he thinks we’re actually out here searching a grid, not working on our tans.”

She opens the cooler, picks up a beer bottle and pops the cap...with her teeth. She spits the bent cap back in the cooler and takes a swig. “Your turn to drive, lazy bones.” She leans back in the lounge chair and nudges me with her knee.

“Can’t argue with a girl who has a jaw PSI like that. Geez.”

“No. You cannot.” She smiles. Fiendish. “No telling what might get bitten off.”

I put my hand on her knee. “Maybe you can—”

A clearing throat snaps us out of our dirty flirtations.

I flinch and nearly fall out of the chair. “Oh, godamnit!”

Maigo stands just a few feet away, hands on her hips. She’s dressed in red shorts and a black heavy metal t-shirt, her long, straight black hair tied back in a pony tail that reveals her normally hair-hidden face. She’s half Caucasian, half Japanese, and one hundred percent trying not to bust out laughing.

“You and your silent ninja-like ways!” I shout, trying to mask my very own personal tampon moment. “I told you not to sneak up on me.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” she says.

“Just...stomp your feet when you walk. But not too hard. Liable to put a hole in the deck. It’s bad enough that you can get inside my head.”

“Or you guys could just try to stop being pervs,” she counters.

“You can take the perv out of the man, but not the man out of... Wait. You can take the man out of the... No. That doesn’t work. But you get it.”

“I’m not the only one who gets it,” she says, snickering. “Right, mom?”

“Oh, snap,” Collins says. She holds out her fist to Maigo, and the girl taps it with her own. They both raise their hands, wiggling them in the air.

“Oh, sweet baby Buddha. Did you two just blow up a fist bump?” I ask.

They’re laughing now, enjoying my discomfort.

“You do realize the implications of your joke? Assuming the ‘get it’ about your mother relates to sexual intercourse?” And just like that, Jon Hudson turns the tables. I fist bump myself and make a ‘kaboosh’ sound effect. “Now who’s uncomfortable?”

“I would just like to go on record,” Woodstock’s voice says in my earpiece, “and say two things. One, you all left your comms on. Two, you’re all fuckin’ bat-shit crazy.”

We’re all laughing now, but quickly stop when Woodstock’s voice grows uncommonly serious. “Uhh, boss.”

I stand from the lounge chair, trying to spot Woodstock somewhere in the distant sky. He’s too far away. “Remember those, ahh, feminine products?”

“Yeah...”

“They’re not tampons. They’re fish. A shit ton of dead fish.”

2

“Yeah, those are dead fish, all right,” Maigo says, leaning over the port rail, where an oily slick of decomposing fish floats in the waves. Their tubular white bodies lack fins and scales, and on some a lot of flesh is missing, too. The scent is...unimaginable. Rotted fish and something tangy.

I throw a DHS T-shirt on, like it makes me somehow more official and back on the job, despite the fact that the only other people here are Collins and Maigo. “We should get a sample,” I say, glancing at the other two.

“Yup,” Collins says, looking down at the scattered dead.

“Uh-huh.” Maigo looks at me and offers a phony grin. “Go for it, Director Hudson.”

“Damnit,” I say, thinking about how to do that. I hadn’t really expected to find anything today, let alone need to collect fish sludge. “Be right back.”

My journey through the yacht’s air conditioned interior makes me shiver. Goose bumps rise on my arms. I blame the physical change on the temperature, and on Maigo, who likes to keep things cold. But if I’m honest, I’m feeling a little bit unnerved. Those fish haven’t just been killed. They’ve been digested.

Whether they were a snack for a whale, a shark, a sea serpent...or something larger, I have no idea. And that’s what bugs me. The average depth in the Gulf of Maine, one of the most biologically productive ecosystems anywhere on Earth, is just 500 feet. That means Nemesis could be standing directly below us, and we’d have no idea. On the other hand, the Gulf is 36,000 square miles of open ocean. So the odds of that are... Who am I kidding? Nemesis has emerged from these waters twice before, both times arriving at my doorstep. If she’s here, she’ll find me.

And now I’ve scared myself. Why did I want to come out on the ocean today? Why did I even want a yacht? I should be living in a mountain fortress in the middle of nowhere with a freakin’ TARDIS ready to sweep me away.

Note to self, have the Zoomb techie nerds work on a TARDIS.