Kingdom of Monsters by John Schneider (latest novels to read .TXT) 📕

Everything was working, as if there had never been a single glitch.

The EITS had interfaced with the ISS mainframe when it had taken over its duties, pending repairs – could some virus have infiltrated at that point?

If so, why was the random haywire only on his end?

Now he realized a number of the surrounding screens were also images from the EITS – a security video log of his own chair – live footage of where he'd sat for the last year-and-a-half.

As if he'd been being monitored.

Tom frowned.

There were several other active screens as well – global maps, highlighting specific geographical areas.  These views continued to rotate, reconfiguring moment to moment.

He realized he was not looking at a remote system continuing to operate – this was an active workstation.

Was someone on the ISS?

He tapped the console, bringing up the security screens from each compartment on the station one after the other.

After successive views of three empty corridors, the screen from the module right next door popped up – the Tranquility living-quarters.

Tom felt his blood run cold.

The image on-screen was all bug-eyes, teeth, and claws, jabbering at the camera.

He pulled the image back and found himself looking at a little two-legged lizard.

It was a little beast he knew all too well.

When KT-day had hit, and before his system had melted down, Tom still had access to all the least-hackable information in the world, and he knew all about Nolan Hinkle – about Monster Island – and Otto.

“Oh no,” he breathed.

Suddenly everything made sense – every malfunction, every glitch.  The interface with the ISS had overridden his own system on the EITS.

Behind him, there was the electric hum as the compartment door slid open.

Three of the little beasts, as weightless as butterflies, sprang into the room, claws out, jaws wide and hissing.

Attached to the console beside him was a coffee mug, adapted for zero-gravity with a sealed-top and a metal straw.  Tom grabbed it up, and turned to smack the first of the little clawed bastards as they came for his eyes and throat.

The scaly little creature ricocheted with the impact, bouncing off the walls.  Bracing against the console, Tom took a second, wide swing, catching the other two almost simultaneously, sending them spinning.  One of them tumbled back out the door, but the other caught hold of the chamber wall.

Sealing his grip, Tom lunged forward with his foot, kicking the clinging lizard out after the other, and sealed the airlock shut.  Then he turned to the third, which was perched along the rafters, claws extended and hissing.  Tom wielded the coffee cup, straw-end first.  He also grabbed a sharpened pencil.

The Otto hissed again, balefully.  Then it pushed off the wall, making a dash for the door at the opposite end of the compartment.  Tom hit the switch.  There was a satisfying crunch as the scaly rat didn't quite make it through before the airlock sealed.

Tom shivered.  He hated those little bastards.

He put a hand to his shoulder where a slashing claw had snagged his arm, sending droplets of blood floating like little red balloons.

Then he turned back to the screens, taking a closer look at the maps.

It was actually quite helpful that Otto used the military's own coding.  It made things perfectly clear.

Tom glanced back where Kristie's face still waited on-screen – just a touch of a button away.

Instead, he tuned into the military bandwidths that had been so mysteriously blocked for the last year.

“Mayday,” he said into the speaker, “this is Major Tom Corbett, aboard the International Space Station.  Mayday.  I have urgent communications for General Nathan Rhodes. “

Chapter 13

Mark was ready to get the hell out of these mountains.  Besides Junior, he was pretty sure that big ape he'd shot was tailing him.

The last thing he needed was another giant beast with a grudge.  A little one with a grudge was bad enough.

There was no amount of self-interest to be served by forging forward on this ill-advised rescue mission, and Mark wanted more than anything to just start putting miles between all of it.

Unfortunately, he had a pretty good fix on the crashed chopper's postilion, marked by a steady plume of smoke, putting them right at the top of the highest available peak – and why the hell not?

He was also pretty sure there were survivors.  He'd seen pterosaurs circling and heard the retort of several gunshots.  Someone was a pretty good shot, dropping one of the winged dragons with each pop.

Mark guessed at least two miles from his position.  Uphill, mountain miles.

And this was clearly no ordinary mountain.  It reminded Mark of nothing so much as the tropical brush that had bordered the beach when the lifeboats of the Pacific Princess had made shore.  More of that invasive shrubbery, much of it latching parasitically onto the giant timber.

He'd already seen the wildlife.

So far, it was giant gorillas, hatchling T. rex, and the trees were flush with nasty pterosaurs – some of the real ugly ones with teeth.

He'd also seen something had left a pile of shit the size of a minivan.

Mark chose not to even speculate, beyond the affirmation that the area was set to bloom – maybe even a trigger-point.

It was fortunate, at least, that he was coming in from the east.  The southwest side of the mountain was a sheer drop, peaking at the ridge, before dropping into a series of forested canyons and valleys – a winding fissure of lowlands that trailed out from the surrounding mountains.

The terrain from his direction was at least hike-able.  The brush, however, was either thick undergrowth, or giant trees.  And while the slant wasn't vertical, it was certainly stair-stepped.  You wouldn't want to lose footing and go rolling, or you might find yourself bouncing down a quarter-mile before you hit a tree big enough to stop you.

And Mark was a little nervous just about putting his hands in the thick brush.

He was even more nervous when he heard the heavy break of foliage in the brush behind him