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“I like the hat,” she says, and I’m a little surprised by the confession. She’s never once mentioned it before. “It’s kind of iconic Jon Hudson.”

“You mean it hides the fact that my hair is receding?”

“Reced
ing
?”

I groan. “Receded.”

“Nah,” she says with a smile. “It just fits your personality. Screw the DHS. Everything we do is unconventional. Keep the hat.” And with that, she pulls my red beanie from her back pocket and hands it over.

Hello old friend,
I think and put it on. Strange that something like a hat can make me feel better, but it does. Everyone has their security blankets, I suppose.

“Are you two being gross?” Maigo asks from above. I look up. She’s halfway out the Crow’s Nest office window, looking down at us.

“Oh my god,” I say, laying on the sarcasm, “are you
not
reading my mind?”

She smiles. “I try not to. Makes me feel dirty.”

Despite our joking, she really has made an effort to control her connection to my mind. Not only are there privacy issues, but we have enough nightmares between the two of us that when we share them, neither of us sleep. She’s made controlling our connection a discipline, limiting it to Christmas morning conversations, which generally happen when her fear of becoming a monster gets the best of her and she doesn’t want anyone else to know.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Watson is connected to Hyperion.”

I sit up. Watson came up with the idea to interface with Hyperion, who, according to Maigo was able to monitor, decrypt, translate and filter communications worldwide. Military, television, radio, Internet, satellite. Hyperion has access to it all. But it wasn’t looking for State secrets or trying to uncover terror plots, it was scouring the world for signs of Gestorumque. Maigo maintained her connection to the robot, despite it being miles away, but that connection was more of a feeling than a direct flow of information. If Watson connects to the robot, we might have something close to a Kaiju early warning system. “Already? Doesn’t seem very secure for alien tech. How’d he pull it off?”

“I asked for him,” she says. “Come see.” She slides back inside.

I turn to Collins, who’s finishing her second pudding—my second pudding. “You ready, Pudding Monster?”

She makes a pouty face at me. “Aww. Did I make you sad?”

Before I can reply, she pulls out a third pudding cup from behind her leg and puts it down between us with a wink. “I wouldn’t do that to you, hubby. I know how much you like little balls, too.”

Still smiling, we head upstairs to the Crow’s Nest operations center. The large space is more crowded than ever, but it’s neat and organized thanks to Cooper, who’s seated at her desk, scrolling through computer documents.

“Cooper,” I whisper. “Go home. Doesn’t Spunky need to suckle or something?”

“Ted’s with his grandparents,” she says. “And I’m pumping. There’s enough in the freezer to last a few days.”

“Gross. You should try adopting. You get to skip the chapped nipples, and sometimes they come with super powers.”

“Ha, ha,” Maigo says. She’s standing behind Watson with Joliet, looking at the information displayed on his large, curved screen.

“We’ll see this through until it’s done,” Cooper says. “Chapped nipples or not.”

“It might not
get
done this time,” I say, earnestly wanting her to consider being with her son.

She turns to me, looking over her glasses. “Pretty sure the first priority of a mother is to make sure the world exists for her child.”

“Good point,” I say. “Morbid, but good point.”

Collins and I join Maigo and Joliet behind Watson, who’s working his keyboard like a flock of manic woodpeckers. Information scrolls over the screen. None of it means anything to me, but Watson’s eyes bounce back and forth, and he’s making quick grunts like he’s having a conversation.

He leans back, pulling his hands away from the keyboard and rubbing his face. After taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he says, “It’s too much to follow. We’re just going to have to trust that Hyperion’s systems work.”

“They do,” Maigo said, speaking from personal experience.

“And if he detects something?” I ask. “What then? He’s ten miles away, taking a catnap in the ocean.”

“He’ll come and get me,” she says.

“And then...poof, the Rift Engine whisks you away to engage a Kaiju in mortal combat. Are you ready for that? Have you even eaten anything yet?”

She takes the pudding from my hand and takes a bite.

Joliet pats my arm. “Look at you. Dad of the year.”

“God damn, did you all conspire to tease me and eat my pudding?”

“It’s tapioca,” Maigo says, talking with her mouth full.

“Hudson,” Watson says, and I miss the serious tone.

“Et tu, Watson?”

“Huh?” he says. “What? No. Look.” He points at the center of the curved screen where a transcript is scrolling.

This is oil rig Polar Explorer, operating in the Beaufort Sea. We’ve spotted the Kaiju known as Lovecraft heading due west.

“When did this happen?” I ask.

“This is a real time feed,” Watson says.

It is accompanied by the Kaiju known as Nemesis, also heading—hold on, oh shit!

Watson looks up at me. “This is happening right now.”

33

Jeff Lane lived a life on the fringe of the world, surrounded by roughnecks, roustabouts, engineers and the occasional scientist or company man. He didn’t interact with the outside world that much. Had no family. Preferred books to television. And any news he heard was filtered through his crew. Most often that news had to do with weather, which was generally the only outside force that had any kind of impact on his day-to-day life. Despite the sometimes odd length of the days and nights, he enjoyed the cold and the occasional storm. For an oil rig boss who spent most of his time on the ocean, rough seas were the spice of life. On a floating rig the size of
Polar Explorer
, there wasn’t much he had to worry about aside from finding oil, which he was very good at.

The day had been uneventful and the weather as boring as an after-school special, so he was surprised when the Rig Medic, John Calvin Scott, who went by Calvin, said, “Oh my god.” Not only was he not the kind of man to take the Lord’s name in vain, he was also hard to get worked up. He dealt with broken bones and blood on a fairly regular basis, and weathered the worst storms Mother Nature threw at the rig without raising an eyebrow. He’d come to the control room with coffee and a deck of cards. While most men were hitting the mess at the end of a long day drilling a test pit, the Captain, Chief Engineer, Rig Medic and Safety Man lost and made money over games of poker.

Calvin put his coffee down, nearly dropping it from his shaking hand.

“The hell has him so spooked?” Brandon Kent, the Chief Engineer, asked. He was a big man, with the build of a roughneck, but a mind made for structural engineering. He was also bluffing. Lane was sure of it.

“Cards face down,” Kent said.

Both men lay down their cards and Jim Tzeng, the Safety Man, complied as well, laying down his cards.

“What is it?” Lane asked before standing and grunting.

“I—I’m not sure,” Calvin said. “It’s pretty far off. Could be a rogue wave.”

Rogue waves didn’t happen frequently, but they also weren’t unheard of. Lane moved to the wide window and picked up a pair of binoculars. He raised them to his eyes and peered out over the ocean. He scanned up from the main deck and all the way to the horizon without seeing anything.

“I’m not seeing anything, Calvin.” Lane glanced back at Kent and Tzeng, positive he was being played, but neither man was looking at his cards. He turned back to the window feeling less apprehensive. A rogue wave would have been large enough to see. “Where is it?”

When Calvin pointed to the right and Lane saw movement, he raised the binoculars again. It took a moment, but he found the aberration. It looked like a hill moving through the water. “That’s not a rogue wave.”

“What else could it be?” Calvin asked.

“Rogue waves don’t come in lumps. No waves come in lumps. They’re long.”

Kent and Tzeng joined them at the window. The four men watched the strange wave rolling toward the rig. It looked harmless. Hardly big enough to shift the big rig. But it was an oddity.

Then Tzeng gasped, the sound coming out almost high-pitched. “It’s one of them.”

“One of what?” Kent asked.

Tzeng leaned forward, hands on the glass. He was clearly afraid, but not about to run away; there was nowhere to run. “Kaiju.”

“Nemesis?” Calvin said.

“Which one of the sonsabitches on board you think wronged someone?” Kent asked.

“Doesn’t matter much, does it?” Lane said, knowing that it could very well have been him. He hadn’t always been a good man. He wasn’t really a good man now.

“S’pose not,” Kent said.

“I don’t think that’s Nemesis,” Tzeng said.

Unlike the rest of them, Tzeng followed the news, especially in regard to the past Kaiju appearances and the government agency responsible for dealing with them: the FPC, or something. Lane had no time for monsters, and living in fear of them wasn’t his style. Up until this moment, they’d been a fantastical element of the world that had as little influence over his life as the monsters in movies.

“It’s the new one,” Tzeng said.

“The one that attacked Tokyo yesterday?” Kent asked.

Lane was surprised the big man knew about current events, but this one sounded significant enough that it would reach his ears. This was the first time Lane had heard of it. “What happened in Tokyo?”

“Kaiju,” Tzeng said. “The three from Washington, D.C. and a fourth.”

“Thought they died,” Lane said, referring to the creatures named Typhon, Scylla and Karkinos.

“They did,” Tzeng said. “But I don’t think it’s them, or the monster from Tokyo. It’s coming from the east.” He looked out at the wave, which had grown larger and a lighter blue color. In fact, the water appeared almost turquoise, like the ocean over a tropical white sand. “It’s
white
. This is the thing from Boston!”

“Lovecraft,” Kent said. “I saw a picture of it.”

Now they’re screwing with me,
Lane thought. “Lovecraft was a weird fiction author...”

Water lifted up and ruptured as a monstrous white head surged out of the three-hundred-foot deep water. Waves of shimmering blue and green slid through the skin, dramatically revealing black eyes and a mass of writhing tentacles.

“It’s real,” Lane whispered. “Holy hell, it’s real.” He looked back and forth for some imaginary means of retreat, but he knew there was no escape. The life rafts wouldn’t do them much good if the monster decided to start snacking, and no one was going to get a helicopter out to them in time.

“Look!” Tzeng shouted. “A second one!”

A pair of tall spikes carved through the water like massive dorsal fins. Then the water split and a monster Lane did recognize rose up.

Nemesis.

Lane sat down, feeling a bit stunned. He picked up the radio mic, set it to transmit on all frequencies and said, “This is oil rig Polar Explorer, operating in the Beaufort Sea. We’ve spotted the Kaiju known as Lovecraft heading due west. It is accompanied by the Kaiju known as Nemesis, also heading—hold on, oh shit!”

Lane dropped the mic, as he got back to his feet. Lovecraft had risen higher out of the water, lifting two massive arms tipped with two-fingered hands. Its back split open, and two bat-like wings spread out, the translucent membranes shimmering with colors. With its arms and wings unfurled, the creature absolutely dwarfed the rising Nemesis. It leaned forward and roared, tentacles warbling.

“I don’t think these boys are traveling buddies,” Kent said.

Nemesis plowed forward, undaunted by the threat display, shoving through the water, rising higher. The monster started gagging, lurching forward like a dog about to vomit. A luminous orange blob launched from the Kaiju’s mouth and sailed toward Lovecraft.

Lane knew what it was. He avoided the news, but everyone on the planet had seen footage from the destruction of Washington, D.C. Like the membranes on her body, if the orange globule ruptured, it would explode, taking out the rig and everyone on it.

Lovecraft lurched back in momentary surprise. But then a gland in its throat swelled up. A spray as black and viscous as the oil Lane spent his life seeking out burst forth. The geyser of liquid struck the orange bomb, coating it on all sides. But what could that do? Just as the black-coated blob reached Lovecraft, the monster knocked it from the air.

“It turned it solid,” Calvin said. “Thank God.”

But Nemesis was far from done. Moving fast for her size, she dived down into the waves, and disappeared. The ocean settled. Lovecraft, arms open, ready for action, turned in slow circles.

The ocean behind the white Kaiju flickered orange and then gave birth to an unholy spawn. Nemesis sprang onto Lovecraft’s back, landing between the wings. But the larger Kaiju had prepared.
Not prepared,
Lane thought,
trained.
The monster was fighting like a man. For that matter, so was Nemesis. Lovecraft leaned forward, pitching Nemesis over its shoulders.

As Nemesis flipped, head over heels, Lane grasped the intercom mic and shouted to the entire crew, who might not have been watching the epic battle. “Brace for impact! Brace for impact!”

Nemesis struck the water hard, sending up a massive wave that was still growing when it rolled through the
Polar Explorer
. Metal groaned. Warning lights blazed. The drill was torn free from the bottom, which wasn’t as bad as it could have been, since they had yet to strike oil. As the rig settled back down, Lane quickly confirmed they were still in one piece and not sinking, and then he turned his attention back to the action.

Instead of getting back to her feet, Nemesis remained underwater, until her tail rose out like a spear, piercing the large Kaiju’s gut. Lovecraft shrieked in pain, but caught the tail, preventing the trident tip from puncturing any deeper. And the tail was no match for the two massive arms, which pulled the blade free, unleashing a gout of purple blood that stained the white skin.