Robert Walker - Titanic 2012

Forbes stopped in his study of the charts long enough to look Ingles over. He saw a powerful young man with piercing steel-grey eyes. “It’s excellent that you have such an interest.” On the one hand, Forbes would have liked to sit down with the diver and discuss their mutual fascination with Titanic , but on the other, he must be guarded.

Secretly, Forbes wondered why Ingles was here, snooping; he wondered if Ingles might be the spy, Warren Kane’s plant aboard Scorpio —his eyes and ears to report back to Kane as the expedition goes. He had no doubt someone aboard was being paid by Warren on the side to keep a close eye on their progress. Kane was all about power and control. Had he gotten to Ingles; everyone had his price, and Ingles here had had his last dive come apart at the seams.

“Forgive me, Mr. Ingles, but I have a great deal to do so that we can, as you sailors say, stay on course.”

Ingles half-smiled at this, realizing what the professor-turned-captain really meant was for him to ‘shove off’. He watched Captain Forbes turn back to the hologram.

“Sorry to’ve gotten in the way, sir; just wanted to say that if ever I’m needed, I spent six years as a navigator in the Navy myself….”

“That’s kind of you, David. I saw that in your record, and we’ll call on you should it become necessary, of course.”

“Yes, sir.” David lingered.

Forbes looked again at Ingles. “What is it, Mr. Ingles?”

“I read your remarks on why this expedition is so important, sir, and I totally agree with what you’ve said—the whole purpose being to bring up this buried, underwater museum to the surface and to place it on display for any and all to see. You know, what has been buried within her, untouched by human hands for a hundred years, and perhaps some additional clues to the long-standing mystery surrounding her demise, sir.”

“You naval chaps may be interested in her scars, what precisely brought Titanic to her knees, Mr. Ingles, what the death blow was; not me. My only concern is the operation dealing with her interior and the recovery of priceless treasures we can only imagine.”

Ingles nodded and smiled. “Treasures just waiting for us, and since we’re uniquely equipped to convey them to the surface without the slightest damage… treasures the size of statues and ‘motor cars’ of the day, who better to relieve that sad old ship of her burdens?”

“Indeed. She’s just waited so patiently and for so long for you aquanauts—the new spacemen of the deep, David.”

“I’m just proud to be one of the team, sir.”

“Good, then you don’t hold with Dr. Robert Ballard’s sentimental ahh… diarrhea about the site being a fitting memorial to those who died aboard the ship the night of April 12 th1912?”

“Ballard’s sat idly by while foreign expeditions have gone to Titanic to prove one pet theory or another; suppose they’d had our technology and a war chest like Lucifer’s or Kane’s? Americans must do this first, not just to be the first-for-first sake, but to ensure the treasures we do find will end up in the hands of the American people.”

“There’s far more inside Titanic than Ballard had the vision to realize, but again he didn’t have liquid air technology, now did he? Curious what he might’ve done had he the wherewithal we have today at his disposal in September 1985?”

“Would he have gone inside Titanic ’s corridors and holds?” David shook his head and snorted at the thought. “I’m no expert on human nature, sir, but I trust you are. I know there’s good reason to salvage Titanic as you would any shipwreck before another country gets its hands on our technology and goes for it.”

“Even as we rape and pillage her, as the press says, we’ll do it with a great deal more reverence and respect than say the French?” He laughed and stormed off, saying he was needed on the bridge—his destination, leaving Ingles to study their course via the hologram that Forbes had returned to three dimensions and present headings.

Captain Juris Forbes had been careful to time his reentry into his state-of-the-art control room aboard Scorpio so as to not run into any cameras or Craig Powers. A green hue coming off the electronic screens colored the command room and bridge. Every gauge on every panel, every gadget and gizmo must be checked and rechecked, which is what the bridge crew had been doing while he had been before the television cameras back at Woods Hole, three and a half hours ago now. Each officer in turn was asked to report, and one by one a positive ‘all systems go’ response came rolling off their tongues. “Music to my ears, gentlemen.”

“Any problems near shore, will be tenfold out on the high seas,” he felt compelled to caution his men, although he respected them and knew if the slightest blip showed up anywhere on their screens, they’d notify him at once. They’d wake him if necessary as Captain Edward Smith’s men had done the night Titanic struck that infamous iceberg, a thing impossible to do nowadays thanks to the Air National Coast Guard up to the minute reports on ice in the region even now as late as April—the same month as saw the Titanic go down due to a mountain of ice.

Everyone aboard knew that it had been mechanical failures, human error, and weather that had turned back Forbes’ last expedition in the Grand Caymans in search of a priceless shipwreck stuffed with gold and silver. That had been four years ago; it had taken that many years to regain his reputation and gain his command aboard the Woods Hole owned Scorpio IV —a ship built on donations, largely from silent partners.

He needn’t literally take the helm, but Forbes liked the feel of her under his guiding hand, and so he would on occasion, like now, replace the man at the wheel—in this case Walker who’d stood in for him to fend off Powers. He thanked his officer and took the wheel. It relaxed him to hold the powerful wheel in hand. The ship’s gleaming, brass wheel may look like something out of the past, but it acted as an electronic sensor; the least touch or lack of touch and Scorpio could go off course and time would be lost. Juris imagined himself the sort of captain that Bly was in terms of his navigational abilities, that if necessary he could sail a lifeboat back to safe harbor from anywhere on the ocean’s surface. But he was hardly the whip-cracking, bullying sort. Still, he demanded discipline, for without strict discipline and protocols at sea, an entire crew could pay such a debt in blood.

“Mr. Walker!” he called out.

“Yes, sir!”

“It appears one of Captain Swigart’s divers is in the map room; would you please be so kind as to escort him off the bridge,” Forbes calmly said, staring out at the sea, the power of Scorpio beneath his fingertips.

After having been escorted from the map room and off the bridge by Second Officer Walker, David Ingles kicked about the deck for awhile before he returned to his room, chatted with Bowman about the upcoming dive, napped restlessly, read portions of an intriguing international thriller entitled Silver by the author who’d replaced Dan Brown, returned to the galley for what passed as meatloaf with potatoes and greens, and finally found himself standing under the star-filled sky. He studied Orion and other configurations in the firmament until bored with the exercise. He then leaned on the railing to stare down at the churning wake of Scorpio going at top speed toward her destination when a sudden light hit him, and he realized he could see his shadow bobbing and weaving in the whipping seawater down there. The moon had come from behind high stratus clouds, shedding its pale light over him. “Blue moon,” he said, quoting an old song, “you saw me standin’ all alone… without a dream in my heart… without a love of my own…”