Armen Gharabegian - Protocol 7

Twelve miles from the open water, deep in the dead-black tunnel of Fissure 9, the Spector pushed on until Max, terrified beyond thought, stopped dead.

“I can’t do it,” he said. “I can’t drive this thing blind.”

The bridge was lit only by the dim blue light of the instrumentation. They had doused all the other illumination, as well as the high-intensity external lights to avoid detection.

Max and Simon were both convinced they were being watched-or at the very least, being sought. Sonar and radar-active scanning of the outside world-would draw attention like moths to a flame. So they made themselves absolutely blank…and absolutely helpless. Without the external lights, even the front-facing flat-screen was useless. It just showed black on black on black.

“We have to figure something else out,” he said as he slowed Spector VI to a barely suspended state in the middle of the tunnel-or what he thought was the middle, based on what he had seen just before he slowed the vessel down. He had to keep the vessel moving. There was a hint of a current outside, and holding it in almost the same place would be virtually impossible without power. He just hoped it wouldn’t run into anything before they figured out what to do next.

No one could guess that a military force was already on its way, or that they were less than twenty minutes from the vast central dome of Fissure 9.

Hayden’s depth indicator, working from passive pressure readings, was still functional. That told him how deep they were, and Max could tell from that input alone that they had been traveling in a straight, level line for more than fourteen miles; but that was it. Otherwise: he was blind.

Hayden sighed deeply. “Okay,” he said, “enough with the ‘run silent, run deep’ game. We have to turn on the AIs. It’s our only chance of understanding what’s going on, or we might kill ourselves against the tunnel wall.”

“And if we do, we’ll bring UNED to us within hours,” Simon said.

Andrew was staring at the console, deep in thought. “Can’t we engage just a few of Spector’s outside components?” he asked. “Without turning on the AI module?”

“Like what?” Hayden asked.

“Like the intelligent skin that Simon here created. It ‘sees,’ doesn’t it? It gets a ton of optical, sonic, pressure-wave information over every centimeter of its surface, and uses that to make itself invisible. So if we activate just that, and channel the data through our captive processors here, we can see clear as day without so much as striking a match, or waking up the AIs.”

“And,” Simon added, suddenly realizing the possibilities of Andrew’s plan, “it will make the Spector closer to invisible at the same time. Almost impossible to detect.”

“Well, crap,” Andrew said. “Hit the switch!”

Hayden and Andrew exchanged looks. They had worked on this prototype together for months; they both knew every inch of it, including maintenance tunnels and access tubes.

“Oh, no,” Andrew said. “Please don’t say it.”

“I can’t do it,” Hayden said, “or you know that I would.”

Andrew seemed deflated. “Crap,” he said and lowered his head.

“What?” Simon asked.

Hayden sighed deeply and ran his fingers through his long silver hair. “There’s only one possible way to make the passive aspects of the smart-skin active without AIs,” he said. “It requires some gross rewiring right at the juncture of the dataflow and the skin itself.”

“It ‘requires,’” Andrew echoed, mimicking his boss’ words with a slightly corrosive edge, “crawling on your elbows and knees through an access tunnel about eighteen inches high for about sixty feet. Right under here.” He pointed at the deck’s floor plates and stomped down with the flat of his foot for emphasis. “Great fun.”

“Well, if the treads were out, you could walk through standing up!” Hayden said, sounding oddly defensive.

“Well, the treads aren’t out, are they? And can’t be if we don’t want detection.” He pulled himself up short, raised a hand to stop the response before it began. “No. Wait. Sorry. I just…I really don’t want to do this, mate. That’s all I’m saying.”

Hayden nodded and looked away. “It’s almost impossible to maneuver underneath the cabin while the treads are retracted,” he said. “In fact, we’ve never actually tried it with the treads pulled in and the ship underwater, so…”

“So, no time like the present,” Andrew said. He levered himself out of his seat at Navigation and moved into the ready room. A central floor plate had a ring set into it; it was the work of seconds to pull the ring up and open the plate like a trap door.

Simon saw that the two scientists hadn’t been exaggerating. The plastic-lined crawl-tube that ran the length of the room-and probably the length of the submersible itself-didn’t look wide enough to accommodate a ten-year-old boy, much less a man in his mid-twenties. But Andrew already knew that. He simply disengaged a small flashlight from a wall console, slung it around his neck by its halyard, and sat down on the edge of the access hatch.

Samantha, always concerned about other people’s safety, was the first to speak out, “Andrew,” she said, “are you sure you’re okay with this?”

He shrugged. “It won’t be so bad as long as I can maneuver my way through the madness down there.”

Simon knelt down next to him. “You’re sure?” he asked.

“I’m sure,” he said. “Besides, let’s get serious, we’re blind. We’re dead in the water. Our only chance of surviving this god-forsaken place is to get the sensors on the outside of the vessel working. Then we’ll be able to see miles into the ice.”

Simon forced a smile and stood up, watching carefully as Andrew slid into the access tunnel, turned over on his belly, and-just as he had described-crawled away on his elbows and knees. He waited until he was completely out of sight before he turned back to Hayden and asked, “Have you ever run the smart skin without an AI involved?”

When he heard no response he looked up and caught Hayden staring back at him.

“No!” Andrew called from under the floor. His voice sounded tinny, but otherwise he might as well have been in the ready room with them. “But it’s worth a try!”

They returned to the bridge, following the sounds of Andrew snaking his way under the floor. Max was still in the pilot’s seat, staring at the motionless console, ready to jump at a moment’s notice.

He glanced around as Simon and Hayden reappeared. “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “I think you should all put on your cold suits-those lovely outfits Nastasia brought for us, Simon. If we hit something or spring a leak before we get sensors back…well, it could get ugly.”

Samantha made a face, as if she had just tasted something very bitter. But then she took a deep breath and said, “I’ll help break out the gear.”

As she stood, Max turned to Nastasia. “You’re a scientist specializing in ice, right?”

“You know that I am,” she replied calmly. “Why?”

“Then maybe you can tell me why we are traveling in a tunnel miles under the ice shelf of Antarctica without it freezing over.”

She paused for a long moment and then said bluntly, “I’m honestly not sure.”

Max just stared back, his suspicion growing deeper.

Hayden made a surprised sound from his post at Engineering. “Huh,” he said. “What a good question. Wonder why I didn’t think of it.” He powered up a small sampling station to take a half-liter of seawater for analysis.

Sooner or later, Max told himself, I’m going to find out who you are, Nastasia.

Nastasia looked away from him. A moment later she got up and moved back to the ready room.