Dream Thing

“Some cephalopods are thought to be intelligent,” Mark said at last. “It’s difficult to measure. I guess you can’t test a squid like a dolphin or a chimpanzee. It would follow that the bigger-brained squid could be more intelligent—nobody’s ever seen a giant squid alive, let alone a colossal squid. Maybe they’re much more intelligent than anybody expects.”

“The message speaks of humanity,” Chiun declared. “It is the brains of humans that he needs. Sarah, you have provided us the key.”

“People? Eating smart people makes Sa Mangsang smarter?” Remo asked.

“Say not the name,” Chiun chided. “It is not the intelligent minds of this age that are drawn to him—it is the sensitive of mind. The powerful seers have always been the most highly tuned to him, and now it is they who spur the worshipers to take themselves into his realm. His siren song goes out to the world and the people come to him and are devoured by him. This increases his power of mind, and his siren call grows louder. Thus it shall continue to escalate.”

Smith nodded. “The creature grows in physical strength as he grows in mental reach. Eventually he’ll have the strength to do whatever it is he wishes to do.”

“What he wishes to do is end the world,” Chiun insisted.

“Master Chiun, I can’t accept that. Regardless of the nature of this creature, it must have a goal that is selfish—all goals are selfish. It wouldn’t take these steps without a reason.”

“Perhaps it will have the physical growth to launch itself from the earth,” Mark Howard said.

“You guys still on the space-alien kick?” Remo complained. “Maybe it’s just the opposite. Maybe he’s going to use his hyper-special-ESP to summon more things like him to Earth.”

“Under the circumstances, it makes more sense,” Dr. Smith admitted.

“A planet full of Sa Mangsangs,” Remo said. “There wouldn’t be room for people.”

“Remo, you bring his attention closer to you every time you use his name,” Chiun said. “Emperor Smith, there is nothing we can do to halt the flow of sea creatures that are being swept into the maw of the beast, but we must halt the flood of human beings who go to him and sacrifice themselves to him.”

Smith nodded. “I agree. Even if I can convince the President to commit the resources—and I don’t know that I can—I’m not sure if it can be done logistically. The area that will need patrolling is huge. The number of people converging on the vortex is growing each day.”

“It is?” Remo asked. “What kind of numbers are we talking about here?”

“Unknown,” Smith said. “Many ships, every day.”

“How many?”

Chapter 34

Henry Lagrasse couldn’t count the number of powered ships coming onto the shore every day, but it was easy to count survivors: Zero here, two here, four here.

They were more headstrong with every passing day, too. They crashed, picked themselves out the wreckage and almost immediately began their trek into the interior of the city.

The small and nonpowered watercraft had a better survival rate, and the South Seas natives were flowing in to the island in ever increasing numbers. Yesterday there was thirty-four. Today the count was a hundred and it wasn’t even noon.

Not one of the arrivals, from yesterday or today, was alive. Every last one of them had become food for the thing with the tentacles in the pyramid.

Henry Lagrasse, on the other hand, was still very much alive and having a great time. Life was one rollicking entertainment after another. His head hurt, sure, but the hurt came and went. Right now the pain was ebbing and he was watching the arrival of a sweet-looking yacht with some kick-ass power plants.

“Check it out!” he shouted. “Impact in two, one—now!”

The rushing yacht bottomed out on the stony incline of rock, still in two feet of water, but the friction was so great the hull still let out a screech and shot out a blaze of sparks. Once it cleared the sea it made twin twenty-foot feathers of white friction sparks.

“Look at them go! This is gonna set a record!” Lagrasse shouted.

He had been counting the skid grooves of all the vessels that slammed into the rocky island and knew the record was four hundred paces, set by a fiberglass pleasure yacht. This yacht was big, with a metallic hull, but it had come in fast and straight. The pilot looked as if he was steering into the current of the vortex, which meant he sailed neatly up the incline and across the stone beach.

“Oh, no, come on, baby!” Lagrasse shouted as the speeding yacht homed in on another pile of wreckage. It was speeding right at the mass of metal. Lagrasse desperately hoped it would miss and he leaned bodily to the right to help the new arrival.

“Yes!” he cried as the yacht slipped past the wreckage with inches to spare—a marvelous stroke of luck. The yacht’s inertia finally ran out and it ground to a halt.

Lagrasse was sitting down again. A wave of pain in his head made him want to throw up, but it went away. Shouting made the pain come. He really should try not to shout. But what about that yacht?