Project Maigo(11)

She nearly lost her cool on live TV. If there was one thing she hated more than anything else, it was being interrupted. She had a boyfriend once. Stunningly handsome. Smart. Wealthy. But he interrupted her constantly, even if they weren’t fighting. The man had ears only for his internal monologue, and he would express whatever fresh insight he’d just delighted himself with, regardless of what she was saying. He almost didn’t hear her breaking up with him.

Now, she forced a professional smile, and said, “Yes, Chuck, what is it?”

Chuck was a prick, but he was dashing and attracted a younger, more female demographic, which the advertisers loved. He would be untouchable at the network until he started to wrinkle. There was a time when she was the nightly news’ sex appeal, but two children and time had conspired against her. She’d be lucky to have two more years on the air. Then they’d move her to the news room, or if she was lucky, to a morning show where the audience was primarily more geriatric.

“It looks like some kind of light show might be starting before the concert.”

Olivia glanced at her camera man, squinting in confusion. He pointed behind her. “Over the water.”

Olivia spun around. The giant white ‘sails’ of the Opera House filled most of her view. Next to Uluru, it was the most recognizable site in all of Australia. The giant arching sails reminded her more of a pod of whales, rising to the surface while feeding on schools of small fish, but like most people, she thought the design was stunning.

The Opera House was surrounded by ocean harbor on three sides. From where she stood, Olivia could see the water leading inland beneath the massive steel arch of the Sydney Harbor Bridge. It was a view she’d seen on a number of occasions as the city’s nightlife correspondent, but this time, it was different.

A pulsing orange light, just above the water, glided toward the Opera House. The wavering glow was beautiful. Mesmerizing. If this is part of the show, she thought, I might actually be impressed.

The orchestra began tuning up—a melodic mix of instruments, rising and falling as the musicians tightened strings and loosened lungs. The show was about to begin.

Olivia felt her attention tugged back toward the orchestra—she’d spent too much time not talking already—but the orange glow was just fifty feet from shore now, illuminating the audience with a calming radiance. Like one of those orange salt crystals, she thought.

The camera man was the first to question the light’s beauty, primarily because he turned his lens away from Olivia and zoomed in on the light. The triangular swatch of color no longer appeared as a solid light source. It was liquid. Molten.

Alive.

“Oh bloody hell,” Jim whispered, pulling the shot back to reveal a massive, black form sliding out of the night.

Chuck, who could see the shot on a monitor in the studio, reacted next. His gasp was loud enough to make Olivia wince. On camera. Then he shouted, actually shouted, in her ear. “Olivia!”

She responded by taking a deep breath and rolling her neck. She didn’t want to lose her cool on television, but Chuck was—

“Olivia!” his voice was shrill this time. Full of fear.

Olivia didn’t hear the tone of his voice until after she’d shouted, “Get stuffed, ya fuck-wit!”

And just like that, all of Olivia’s childhood in bush country with four older brothers seeped through her defenses and ruined her career. But the strange part was, no one noticed. Not Chuck. Not Jim. The producers would have normally cut the live feed and started chewing her out already.

When something stepped into the light of the Opera House, providing Olivia, the orchestra and the seated guests a clear view, she understood that her language and demeanor would be forgotten or later considered justified. The next word out of her mouth was all the excuse she’d ever need.

“Nemesis.”

But it wasn’t Nemesis.

Although she hadn’t ever seen the creature in person, she had studied photos of it, just like nearly every other living soul on the planet. This...thing…shared some of the same features as Nemesis—thick and dark gray flesh, obsidian claws, bony protuberances and the orange, glowing membranes, but its body shape was all wrong. Nemesis stood three-hundred-feet tall. This creature stood no more than a hundred feet—nearly fifty of which must have been still underwater. It had no tail. None of the giant spikes on its back, nor the wing-hiding carapace. It was a smaller, sleeker model, but the look in its luminous yellow eyes was somehow worse than the brown-eyed glare of Nemesis. She didn’t see vengeance in these eyes.

Only hunger.

Presented with the journalistic opportunity of a lifetime, Olivia composed herself and stepped into the picture’s frame, aligning herself to the right so the monster could still be seen, rising out of the ocean, to her left.