Godzilla Returns (2 page)

He turned and stared into the eyes of First Mate Vossolov.

"Launch the distress beacon," Sterenko said calmly. Vossolov reached out and flipped a switch. Then the
Akula
shuddered for a third and final time as something huge grabbed hold of it and began to squeeze.

Sterenko was dashed against a console as sparks leaped from it. He tried to hold on, but the force of the impact was too much. Sterenko collapsed to the deck.

He lay still. There was nothing he could do. Something had reached out from the ocean and destroyed them. Not knowing what it was troubled Sterenko, but only vaguely. He listened helplessly to the death screams of a hundred men.

His men.

Then Captain Sterenko and the rest of the crew heard it - the terrible roar of an incredibly gigantic beast of prey.

Suddenly, the damaged hull of the
Akula
split in half. Millions of gallons of ocean water rushed into the superheated reactor core and instantly turned to steam.

The resulting explosion was horrible. The superheated steam ripped the submarine to pieces. Chunks of the vessel and its contents were scattered along the ocean floor for miles. A huge steam bubble erupted on the ocean's surface.

Even though the core of the submarine's reactor stayed intact through the explosion, radioactive material leaked from it and spilled into the water as it slowly sank.

Nearby, the mysterious creature that had destroyed the submarine fed on that radiation.

It fed and grew stronger.

* * *

May 3, 1996, 5:05 P.M.
The United States naval base
Naha Harbor; Okinawa

Around the American base at Okinawa, the sound of the dying Russian submarine was picked up by hundreds of sound-sensitive devices that lined the ocean floor. These instruments constantly monitored submarine activity in the waters around the military base. They were the first line of defense against secret attacks.

The Navy officers monitoring the area noticed an increase in radioactivity in the same area as the sound disturbance. Experts and intelligence officers later agreed that a nuclear submarine had died out there. Probably a Russian
Akula
-class vessel. Likely an accident - though one of the U.S. Navy sonar men who listened to the tape over and over again swore he could hear the sound of a collision.

Others weren't so sure.

But there was
another
sound that everyone who listened to the tape heard clearly. It was a strange sound, not so easily explained. It sounded like the roar of a huge beast.

But that was ridiculous, everyone decided.

Helicopters and U.S. Navy rescue ships were immediately dispatched to the area. They found some debris floating on the surface - clothing, bits of soggy paper, broken plastic and wood, a huge oil slick. They also found some evidence of residual radiation. Searchers even found a corpse or two that the sharks had not yet torn to pieces.

There were no survivors.

May 12, 1998, 7:16 P.M.
New Tokyo International Airport
Narita, Japan

Brian Shimura warily scanned the crowded glass-and-steel terminal building. After a moment, he sighed with relief.

Well, at least it looks like an airport
, he thought.

Arriving in Tokyo, Japan, for the first time, Brian wasn't sure just what to expect. He'd heard so much about the sprawling Japanese capital - the most modern city in the world - that a cityscape out of
The Jetsons
probably wouldn't have surprised him. So far, however, New Tokyo International Airport looked a lot like every other airport he'd ever been in.

And that's a relief
, he mused.

Brian had already gone through customs. A polite man wearing a spotless blue uniform and white gloves stamped his passport and welcomed him to Japan with a bow. Brian bowed back, but later thought that he probably shouldn't have. In Japan, bowing was a sign of respect to your social superior. Was the customs official his "superior"? Brian didn't know. The whole concept took some getting used to.

Slinging his carry-on bag over his shoulder, Brian set off in search of the baggage area. He spotted a sign with the international symbol - a picture of a suitcase - and an arrow pointing where to go. But as he stepped into the corridor, he smacked right into an old man heading rapidly in the opposite direction.

"I'm sorry," Brian quickly muttered in English. The old man smiled and bowed. Brian, remembering his orientation brochure, bowed too.

"
Sumi-masen
," he apologized again, this time in passable Japanese.

The old man smiled, bowed once more, and hurried off. Brian was about to step into the corridor again when he noticed that pedestrian traffic was moving in an orderly fashion - and he was walking the wrong way! Flustered, he halted, switched lanes, and headed in the opposite direction.

A group of Japanese girls in school uniforms watched him with amusement. When they realized he'd spotted them, they covered their mouths and giggled. Then they hurried away.

Brian was sure they were laughing at him.

He tried not to care. Instead, he forged ahead. Eventually he found the baggage claim area. The huge steel carousel was already moving, spilling out brown, black, green, and blue suitcases. As he searched for his belongings, another man in a trim uniform and spotless white gloves touched his shoulder. Brian smiled as the man checked his baggage claim ticket - then handed Brian his most precious possession.

Brian looked over his surfboard. No nicks or scratches. The wax was still shiny. He bowed to the airline official and thanked him. The man bowed back and hurried off.

In a few moments, Brian had gathered the rest of his luggage. It was too much to carry alone, but he saw no porters around. As he pondered his next move, he felt another tap on his shoulder.

He turned and faced a tall, skinny American teenager with wavy brown hair. The guy wore a sport jacket, tie, and blue jeans.

"You must be the Big Kahuna," the American said, smiling as he stuck out his hand. "I'm Nick Gordon, INN science correspondent in training."

"Hi," Brian said happily. "I'm -"

"Brian Shimura," Nick interrupted. "I know. I've been sent here by the boss man to pick you up."

"Oh," Brian said, shaking his hand. "I knew someone was meeting me, but I thought you would have gotten here sooner."

"I'm always late," Nick said, not offended. "As my roommate, you'll have to get used to that."

Roommate?
Brian thought with surprise. It hadn't occurred to him that he would have one - but then why should interning at Independent News Network be any different than college?

"Surf's up, Shimura," Nick said, breaking into his thoughts. "Let's go."

After grabbing some of Brian's luggage, Nick led him to the escalators. As they headed down two levels, Nick gave Brian his own unique orientation lecture.

"Do you speak Japanese?" Nick asked.

"Not very well yet," Brian replied sheepishly.

"Doesn't really matter," Nick told him. "The language in the newsroom is English. And we interns don't get to do much field work. But it's a shame you don't know the lingo better - there are places you can go that I can't."

"What do you mean?"

"Simple," Nick stated. "You look Japanese. I'm just a
gaijin
- a foreigner. People here in Japan would be more likely to trust you."

"I see," Brian said.

"How much money do you have?" Nick asked.

Brian was taken aback. "Well..."

"You'll need lots of it," Nick continued. "Tokyo ain't cheap. But the network provides a suite and three squares a day - American food, mostly - in the corporate cafeteria. That saves us some money."

Nick glanced down at his wristwatch. "We'll get back to headquarters too late to get dinner tonight, though. Hope you're not hungry!"

Nick continued to rattle on until Brian finally interrupted him. "Where are we going?" he asked.

"We're taking the train to downtown Tokyo," Nick informed him. "An INN van will meet us at Tokyo Station."

"Can't we just get a taxi?" Brian asked.

"My, we
are
spoiled," Nick replied.

"It's not that," Brian shot back. "It's just that I have all this luggage..."

"Which won't fit in an airport cab," Nick interrupted again. "And they
surely
aren't going to have enough room for your surfboard. Anyway, the trip downtown in a cab'll cost about three hundred U.S. dollars."

Brian's eyes widened in shock. "Three hundred bucks!"

"Still want that taxi?" Nick deadpanned. "I didn't think so," he said when Brian did not reply.

"So, are we taking a bullet train, a monorail, or what?" Brian asked, surrendering to Nick's obvious experience.

"Nah," Nick said, "just an ordinary train - the Narita Limited Express. Green Car! - that means first class. We'll be in the heart of Tokyo in under an hour."

* * *

By the time Brian reached Tokyo, his head was spinning. There was so much to learn, and his new roommate wasn't much help. Nick's rapid-fire delivery of detailed information only confused him. To slow down the pace of new data, Brian had tried to engage Nick in personal conversation.

"Time enough for that later, old chum," Nick had replied, before launching into another lecture about Tokyo architecture.

At Tokyo Station, a huge brick building with a giant, ultramodern department store at one end, Nick bundled Brian's suitcases onto a pushcart and led him to the exit. Outside, an INN van with a Japanese driver was waiting for them. In minutes, they had loaded the van and were negotiating Tokyo traffic.

"It's late, so rush hour is probably over. We'll take Expressway Number One, then switch to Two," Nick informed Brian. "In a little while we'll be in the Roppongi district - your home away from home for the next three months."

"I thought we were staying in Tokyo itself," Brian asked, momentarily confused.

"Roppongi is
part
of Tokyo, sort of like a suburb," Nick replied. "The city is divided into prefectures - there's Minato-ku, Meguro-ku, Setagaya-ku..."

Brian zoned out again. As Nick talked on, Brian stared out of the window at the sprawling, bustling, brightly lit city. He liked what he saw. Here he was, thousands of miles from his California home, in the land of his ancestors... in the city where his father had been born. But Tokyo wasn't anything like the city his father described. It was so much...
more!

Along the way, Nick showed him some places of interest. "There's the Imperial Palace Gardens," he said, pointing to a beautifully manicured area of parkland and stone walls. A little while later, Brian spotted a huge orange-red steel framework structure that looked like a knockoff of the Eiffel Tower in Paris.

"That's Tokyo Tower," Nick told him. "It's huge. You can see it from our balcony."

As they drove through increasingly thick traffic, Nick pointed out embassies, nightspots, and shrines. Brian was impressed by Tokyo's size, and by its busy sidewalks. Every street, every alley was jammed with people.

"Is Tokyo like this all the time?" Brian asked, gesturing to the crowds.

"We're lucky," Nick said. "Roppongi is an exclusive area - foreign dignitaries, corporate heads, fashionable entertainers, politicians, they all flock here. It's one of Tokyo's centers for nightlife, and we get to live there rent-free. After we get you home, we'll change clothes and go clubbing!"

The van turned the corner and Nick pointed to a huge communications facility topped by antennas, satellite dishes, and microwave towers.

"There's TV Asahi - sometimes we tape there. INN headquarters is right up the street," Nick said. A minute later, as the van pulled up to the curb, Nick pointed again. "Here we are!" he announced.

Brian climbed out of the van and looked up at his new home. The Independent News Network Building was a twenty-story ultramodern glass-and-steel office building. But Brian soon realized that Nick was pointing to the structure next to it - an older building that looked like a small apartment complex, complete with tiny balconies.

"Your new home," Nick said, beaming.

Brian stepped out of the van as the driver began to unload the luggage. Soon he was joined by another man in a security guards uniform. Everyone grabbed a suitcase. Brian carried his surfboard under one arm.

"Come on," Nick said to Brian. "I'll carry you across the threshold."

Nick made Brian take his shoes off before he entered their rooms. "Japanese custom," he said. The suite consisted of two tiny bedrooms connected to an equally small living room. There was a glass door leading to a tiny balcony, too. As promised, Brian could see the lights of Tokyo Tower shimmering in the distance.

Nick showed Brian around. There wasn't much to see beyond the shared bathroom. They hauled Brian's stuff into his bedroom. It barely fit.

"Look, Brian," Nick said at last. "I gotta go check on a story I filed this morning. It shouldn't take too long. Rest up, shower and change, and we'll check out the nightlife."

Alone at last, Brian leaned his surfboard against one wall and plopped down on the bed. The long flight, the harrowing trip from the airport, and the ceaseless banter from his new roommate had taken their toll. Brian soon fell into a deep, fitful sleep.

* * *

"Hey, wake up!"

Brian covered his eyes with his hand. No use. He could shut out the light, but Nick Gordon's voice was just too insistent.

"Come on, Shimura!" Nick said, shaking him. "It's ten P.M. - the night is young!"

Brian groaned. He straightened up in the bed and opened his eyes. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. His straight, raven black hair was a mess. There were deep shadows under his eyes. He blinked.

He saw Nick's reflection in the mirror, too. "Jet lag, huh?" Nick asked sympathetically. Brian nodded.

"There's a cure for that," Nick continued. "And it isn't sleeping the night away!"

"Oh?" Brian asked. "Then what
is
the cure?"

"Good food and good friends. Off your meat and on your feet, soldier. It's party time!"