Torment of Tantalus Read online

  The Aberration:

  Torment of Tantalus

  By Bard Constantine

  The Aberration Series

  The Aberration

  The Blurred Man (short story)

  The Blurred Man: Gestalt (short story)

  Nemesis (short story)

  Short stories also included in The Aberration: Special Edition

  The Aberration: Torment of Tantalus

  The Aberration: Memento Mori (upcoming)

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

  This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.

  Help stop piracy. If you believe this novel was made available by illegal means, please report it to the author at http://bardwritesbooks.com

  Copyright © 2018 Bard Constantine

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Covers by Christian (http://coversbychristian.com/)

  Φ

  Lonely seas see seizures of

  depression in our heads;

  demons take their chances,

  chance of living amongst the dead.

  Deadly consequences quenches

  thoughts of dirty deeds;

  weeping willows winnow mournful

  tears for the bereaved.

  Reaver’s whispered ruination, four winds

  carry out the call:

  Freedom is but promised, but not

  guaranteed to all.

  All will always herd together, gather

  targets for the cue;

  amass our mass destruction,

  fire magnifies the view.

  View of retribution

  spews across the blazing sky;

  sky-way to tomorrow, sorrow

  blinds immortal eyes…

  ~Immortal Musings

  Ώ

  Part I: Temblors

  Prelude: Abysm

  “We’re approaching the anomaly now.”

  Alexander Blackwell couldn’t help the quickening of his pulse, the slight rise of temperature that dampened his undershirt with a coat of uncontrolled perspiration. He clasped his hands behind his back to keep them from trembling from the rush of giddy adrenaline.

  Contracted scientists, personal aides, oceanographers, geologists, and other experts were on hand to witness the start of a new era for humanity. Dozens of monitors displayed feed from the Gorgon, the prototype deep-sea diving submarine that had already broken the world record for manned submersion. That was irrelevant in the face of the Gorgon’s true mission.

  Blackwell focused on the main screen, where imagery from the Gorgon’s forward camera was displayed. The submarine was only yards away from a massive fissure, a gash in the ocean floor that pulsed with violet light, peering at the submarine like the narrowed eye of some primeval sea monster. It was the reason for the Gorgon’s presence, the justification for an expedition costing Chimera Global hundreds of millions. The anomaly was potentially the greatest find in human history, a potential means to produce sustainable energy, ridding the world of glutting on fossil fuels and destructive mining. The projections were promising. Worth every risk if capable of producing even half of its potential.

  And fully capable of dragging his company into bankruptcy if it proved to be a fluke. It was an enormous gamble, but far too tantalizing to ignore. If he didn’t make the move first, someone else would have. And Blackwell could not have that.

  Dr. Rosen continued his deliberation from the Gorgon’s hub. “Directing the probe into range.”

  A small, rounded object was fired from the sub, streaking toward the fissure. In mere seconds it entered and vanished in the lavender glow.

  “Receiving readings now.”

  Blackwell watched as Dr. Rosen scanned the data. “My God.”

  “What is it?”

  Dr. Rosen looked up, staring directly at the camera with wide eyes. “I think…I’m sure what we’re looking at is proof of intelligence.”

  “Intelligence? From what?”

  The fissure pulsated, brightening in a brilliant flash of light. A rumbling noise vibrated over the speakers. The Gorgon visibly rocked in the wake of the disturbance.

  Blackwell tapped the speaker in his ear. “Dr. Rosen, what’s happening?”

  “Some kind of energy pulse from the anomaly. I don’t like it. I’m pulling back.”

  Blackwell hesitated, jaw clenching. “Very well. But not so far away that you lose connection with the probe. If what you’re saying is right, we need that data.”

  “Copy that.”

  The fissure pulsed again, rattling the speakers. Voltaic cords whipped from its center, flailing tentacles that seared the murky surroundings with flashes of violet light. The electric whips struck the Gorgon with a sizzling sound. The screens flickered, images blurred from the shockwave.

  “We’ve been hit!”

  The cameras showed the panicked crew recoiling as their operation controls exploded in showers of sparks and flame. The groan of buckling metal was clearly audible as the incredible pressure from the ocean bore down on the damaged submersible.

  Sweat beaded on Blackwell’s forehead. “Dr. Rosen?”

  Rosen helped one of his crew to their feet while scanning the damage with a critical eye. “Whatever that thing hit us with, it crippled the controls. We’re taking water. The sub is inoperable. We have to abandon ship. The escape pods are our only shot.”

  “Those pods aren’t meant to be deployed at your current depths. You’ll be crushed like soda cans.”

  Dr. Rosen’s terrified face filled the screen. “Are you deaf? The Gorgon is about to go. We don’t have a choice!”

  “Dr. Rosen. Wait, there had to be a—”

  The audio connection was lost in a blast of static.

  The consoles showed the rest. The crew of five scrambling, trying to get to the escape hatches. Water flooded in from everywhere, punishing their bodies with brutal efficiency. Their final moments were silent, observed by a room full of shocked witnesses as one by one they succumbed to a slow death by drowning. Their corpses floated by, staring at Blackwell as if blaming him for the disaster. The cameras went black as the Gorgon was completely destroyed.

  “Dr. Rosen.”

  Blackwell licked his lips, suddenly very thirsty. His breath shuddered in exhalation. “Dr. Rosen.” His fingers crept up to seize his shirt collar. The top button snapped, toppling down his chest on a long trip to the tiled floor.

  He stared at the crowd of onlookers. The stunned faces of the best minds in their fields looked back at him, incomprehension practically stamped on their foreheads.

  “What the hell just happened?”

  ∞Φ∞

  “The backlash appeared to be the result of a defense mechanism,” Dr. Stein said.

  Blackwell had retreated to his private office to lick his wounds. A glass of scotch sat on his desk, unattended while he tried to shake off the paralyzing shock that gripped him. His team ran frantic in the control room, trying to determine what went wrong. He knew finger pointing and blame assessment would follow as the individuals tried to distance themselves from the collective. While the team disintegrated, Blackwell had sent for the one man who might be able to shed light on the matter.

  Dr. Franklin Nicolas Stein was a rotund man with a normally jolly expression, like a stand-in f
or Santa Clause. But his eyes glimmered with intelligence and in this case, eagerness. He was considered avante garde in the scientific community, passionate about his theory. Yet he was ostracized by many of his peers because on his insistence on disregarding ethical constraints on research and testing.

  Blackwell’s eyebrows lifted. “Defense mechanism. We’re talking intelligence, like Dr. Rosen said.”

  “Just as I suggested from the start, if you remember. The anomaly might be an energy reservoir, but the energy is being directed from somewhere. The fact that it acted in self-defense only proves that.”

  “Directed from where?”

  “Impossible to say at the moment. I’ll need time to study, gather data from the source. Without direct interaction, it’s impossible to determine exactly what we’re dealing with.”

  “And the feedback from the probe?”

  “Very informing, in fact.” Stein flipped across pages on the screen of his tablet. “It appears the residue from the pulse is quite similar to energy signatures already on record.”

  “That’s impossible. We would have recognized it.”

  “Well, the records indicate a barely registerable signature, much weaker than what the Gorgon recorded. And these records weren’t hidden in some government archive as one might expect. But the findings are near exact when compared side by side.”

  “Who’s responsible for the findings?”

  “An old friend of yours, actually. Nathan Ryder. Recently published a blistering report on global intelligence agencies covering up the existence of an entity he calls the ‘Blurred Man.’ But what’s even more interesting is the most recent example of the energy disturbance was found at the site of the mill explosion a few months back in Birmingham, Alabama. I believe your biohazard teams were dispatched there when it happened.”

  “They were. Very strange circumstances with that incident. My team was sent in to investigate an outbreak of insanity nearby. It was believed some new chemical weapon was dispersed. Our findings didn’t unearth any proof of that. It completely baffled my team and the authorities.”

  “Ryder had an entirely different take on the incident. This might be hard to swallow, but he claims an interdimensional breach of some sort occurred there. He called it an Aberration. Says it directly links to the Blurred Man incidents he compiled.”

  “I remember scanning his report a while back. I thought it a desperate attempt to garner media attention and possible funding for his work.” Blackwell shook his head. “Nathan Ryder. It’s been a long time. I’ll have to make a point of paying a visit.”

  “And the anomaly?”

  Blackwell’s face sobered quickly. “We have to get on top of this immediately before the media or investigative agencies catch wind of it. The Tantalus mission is a go, Dr. Stein. You’re to leave right now.”

  “I can gather my team and be ready to depart for the Triangle in twenty-four hours.”

  “Good. I have some recruiting to do on my end before I join you. The Tantalus facility we’re shipping you to is self-sustainable for months without resupplying. You’ll be able to get a head start on collecting pertinent data on the anomaly from the source. All you have to do is stay alive until we get there.”

  Chapter 1: Psychasthenia

  It was the perfect day for Michael’s world to end. The temperature had dropped to below normal temperatures, and the previous night’s storm had temporarily shoved some of the Alabama humidity aside. Sunbeams streamed from the window, painting Cynthia’s face in golden light as she stared at the television with widened eyes. On the screen, a reporter in a revealing blouse related the suicide in an offhand manner, her mannequin expression detached as though she wished to move on to more trendy topics.

  Cynthia turned, fear etched on her face. A hand unconsciously drifted to her protruding belly, as if to protect their unborn child from the dire news.

  “Agent Lee was one of the first responders at the mill explosion, Michael. He’s the one who interviewed you, remember?”

  Michael held up his hands. “Don’t get carried away. It could be just—”

  “Coincidence?” Her hysterical laugh was practically a sob. “He’s dead, Michael. Self-inflicted, after losing his mind. Just like all the others. Everyone within a few miles of that explosion has gone insane. They’re trying to cover it up, but I’ve been looking online—”

  He gave her a wry grin. “The internet. Yeah, it has to be true, then.”

  “This isn’t a joke, Michael. Everyone’s gone crazy out there. This blogger, Nathan Ryder—he’s been following up on everything that’s happened since they pulled you out of that explosion. It’s like some insanity outbreak infected the entire area.”

  Her fingers flew across the screen of her phone. “There’s the woman that threw herself into a wood chipper. Her husband killed himself right afterward by setting the house on fire with him still in it.”

  “Probably from grief. His wife had just died…”

  Her upraised hand cut off his protest. “His neighbor’s wife overdosed on sleeping pills. Her husband never noticed. He lived with her corpse for a full week before authorities arrived. And Captain Forrester—dear God. He took an axe and killed three of his grandchildren at a family gathering before being subdued. He died later by throwing himself out of a ten-story hospital window. There’s more. Do you need me to go on?”

  He shook his head. “No. But Cynthia—”

  She seized his arm. “You were there, Michael. You were in the middle of it. The only one who survived it. And the things you say happened…” She stared at him helplessly.

  “It’s the truth. The truth, Cynthia.” He took a deep breath, placed his hands on her shoulders, and stared into her eyes. “Look at me. I’m not crazy. No hallucinations, no outbreaks of insanity. It’s been months since the explosion. I’m fine.”

  The muffled sounds of squealing tires and slamming doors were instantly ominous. Michael felt a prophetic sense of dread when he strode to the window and peered through the blinds.

  “No.”

  The sky was a vivid shade of blue, peppered by tiny scraps of cotton candy clouds that left wispy trails in their wake. But Michael’s attention was focused on the vans and SUVs which had curtailed the street in front of his house with military precision. Chimera Global was emblazoned on the vehicles in sinister red letters. Masked and heavily armed troopers leaped out, gesturing and shouting orders. They were followed by a train of figures in orange hazmat suits and reflective bubble helmets, who approached the driveway like menacing astronauts. The scene was so surreal that for a moment he could only stare as they marched toward his tiny slice of suburban comfort.

  His attention refocused when his door crumpled inward off the hinges. His Roll Tide banner fluttered slowly through the air as an armored avalanche stormed into the house.

  Everything blurred from that moment. He recalled Cynthia’s screams, piercing cries which fell on deaf ears as he was roughly slammed to the floor and shackled like a most-wanted terrorist. Brusque hands lifted him without regard; he was literally dragged out of his home despite his frantic protests. More than anything else he remembered trying to remain calm, telling Cynthia everything was going to be all right. It was just a mistake. It had to be.

  It had to be.

  Φ

  Six

  Months

  Later

  Ώ

  The world was a foggy haze and he was a pale, lonely stone beaded with condensation. The rain hissed as it fell—liquid sinners cast down from a spiteful heaven. The light from the setting sun was muted, but cast an angry red hue that transformed each raindrop into sparkling crimson gems. In the distance, a faceless figure staggered toward him, painted in streams of red.

  Not real. Not real.

  Michael opened his eyes. The hissing sound was the chrome showerhead; the fog was merely the surrounding steam. Warm water flowed down his face and neck; the droplets that fell from his eyelids took all the time in the wor
ld to hit the ceramic surface of the shower base.

  He cut the water off and slowly emerged from the shower. Cold air struck him, raising goosebumps across his skin. The tiled floor was clammy against the soles of his feet as he toweled himself dry. He shook his head. No more nightmares. It was important he not lose himself in the delusions, no matter how real they seemed. The doctors said he was getting better. He couldn’t afford to be seen relapsing. If he relapsed, he would never see Cynthia again.

  How long has it been? How long have they kept me trapped here?

  The mirror was obscured by a film of vapor, displaying only his murky, distorted silhouette. He used the towel to wipe away the haze and gaze into the reflective surface. His breath caught short at the thin red gash which had opened down the side of his face from his temple to his chin. He slowly raised his trembling fingers.

  When did this happen? Is it real? It can’t be real.

  The shock barely registered when the cut opened at the slightest touch. Somehow he knew it would happen. His fingers dug in and pulled. The skin peeled back with ease, exposing the red-stained layer underneath. There was no real pain, only a slight sting, like pulling dry glue from damp flesh.

  Red droplets spattered against the white surface of the sink in obscene patterns.

  He couldn’t stop. He yanked and tore at the skin mask, shredding it to ribbons until he could see what lay beneath. Another face stared from behind the mirror’s surface, a crimson-spattered visage with eyes the color of coal and features completely devoid of expression. Michael exhaled a shuddering breath.

  The face that stared at him was not his own.

  His familiar features were replaced by the most ordinary face he had ever seen. It was a face made to blend into crowds, features which would arouse neither suspicion nor interest even if staring directly at them. Yet it was a face he knew well, a face he feared more than any other.

  Because it only confirmed the nightmare was real.