Alex Gore - The Cube

“Look, there are traces of shells and seaweed on it”, Michael observed, touching gently the surface.

“Well, I guess it is normal for a submarine”, Sergey replied and walked around to its opposite side.

Michael saw on the thick steel cover a thin layer of small crustaceous organisms, shells, seaweed and even small corals. Typical for a vessel that had stayed in sea water for a long time.

‘No, I mean, the seaweed is not dead yet, some of it is still wet even”, Alan said, picking with his nail the greenish layer over the metal.

“Look this shell is not entirely open”, Sergey said.

“It has definitely been floating in water”, Ivanov contemplated.

“And definitely it happened three days ago for the last time”, Hans added, gazing attentively at the submarine.

“This here is pure titanium”, Marcela announced, knocking on the metal with her knuckles.

Norman approached Hans and they started whispering.

Meanwhile Alan addressed the two Russians.

“Do you know, Ivanov, I used to serve on a submarine for four years and I find this one a little odd… No mini-submarine, nor openings for torpedoes. I bet there isn’t even one torpedo inside. And I’ve never seen such coating. Usually the metal on the corps is about six inches thick while this one here is about three feet…” Alan slammed hard the body of the submarine. “I wonder how this thing manages to keep on the surface.”

Ivanov and Sergey exchanged embarrassed glances.

“As we told you, this is an entirely new model, an improved one. There is no way you might have seen such a submarine”, Ivanov spoke slowly and tersely.

Only now Marcela and Michael saw the blood-red inscription, which was barely readable under the blown over sand. Even from a short distance the letters were hard to distinguish.

“People, let’s first go and have lunch and then we’ll enter the ship”. Norman turned back and beckoned for them to follow him back to the base. “I know you can’t wait to examine it on the inside, but we still have a bit more work to prepare the entering. Besides, we are waiting for a final confirmation from Washington.”

“You mean you have no idea what’s inside?”, Hans asked.

“No, like I said, we were waiting for you”, Norman replied.

“Oh, I’m definitely coming inside you, baby”, Alan said with a smile and slapped the metal body as if it were the backside of a plump girl.

The sun was scorching and they had not eaten since early morning.

The journey towards the unknown could be postponed until after lunch.

The room was smaller than the previous one but but just as well equipped. There were only a dozen seats, enough for the group.

They were in the central and largest dome of the base, which included also the main dormitories for the military staff. The rest were distributed in groups among the smaller domes. The Russians – in the one on the right to the central dome, Michael and Alan – right next to them. Marcela was in a separate dome in the left side of the base, where the medico-biological laboratory was situated. Next to it were the storage-rooms for munitions. Hans occupied the last smallest dome on the other side of the storage-rooms.

“Gentlemen… and ladies”, Norman nodded to Marcela, “we are starting this afternoon. The entry manhole on the upper side of the corps is cleared of the sand and accessible.

“Has really no one been inside?”, Alan asked, determined not to submit the first discovery to anybody.

“No, I told you already, we’ve been waiting for you”, Norman replied.

“What do the scanners show?”, Sergey wanted to know.

“Ordinary medium for a submarine, even though the model is unknown to us. We do not detect any movement or life forms. The exceptionally high values of carbon-containing stuff is what makes it remarkable.”

“I am not sure I want to go in there”. Michael had lost a bit of his good humor and was getting nervous now.

Sergey was speaking something in Ivanov’s ear, making involuntary gestures. Ivanov obviously disagreed and was shaking his head negatively. The young physicist was insistent, his face showed that he would like to shout while he was whispering to his boss. Ivanov slightly waived his hand and Sergey stood up.

“Allow me to speak, Sir.”

Norman nodded in agreement, not less amazed than the rest of the group. Sergey went to the multi-media and inserted a miniature memory stick in the computer.

He started hanging the slides while the rest were gazing in wonder at the blue screen.

“Like I said, the submarine is ours, Russian. Class ‘Shark’, which according to American classification means “Typhoon”. A crew of 200, length 300 yards…”

“Excuse me, Radlichenko, these are not manufactured now, Michael interrupted in a very serious manner.

“Well, yes, precisely… The most modern submarines today have characteristics well below these of ‘Ivanushka’, as they call him in Severodvinsk. There are no such models nowadays, but we started the project in 2015 and in the beginning of 2018 three units of this class are expected to be in the sea, complete and available to the navy commanders. Unfortunately, I have to admit that for financial reasons there is a certain delay… I guess they will be ready and on water by the beginning of 2019.”

“Ivan Semionovich, we have to talk! now!” Norman addressed the Colonel. For the first time he seemed enraged, obviously not liking surprises. Restraining his anger with an effort, he tried to keep the civil tone. “Why wasn’t I provided with this information earlier?”

Ivanov stood up and both of them took their conversation outside.

“Wait, do you mean that this is a nuclear submarine, manufactured in 2019?” Michael asked.

“It was planned for 2018 but in case of delay… yes, in 2019 I think… err… yes…” Sergey replied. Then he inhaled deeply and went on, clearly needing to go to the end. “The deadliest submarine today is the Russian ‘Shark’, carrying intercontinental ballistic missiles with a range of action of about 1000 miles, each equipped with ten nuclear heads, 1400 times more powerful than the bomb, dropped on Hiroshima. One submarine is capable of destroying with its missiles life on half the globe.”

“Impossible!”, Marcela exclaimed.

Just then Norman and Ivanov retuned to the room and Ivanov interfered:

“It is quite possible and even probable. In case of nuclear strike from the enemy the Russian people would avail of those submarines that actually saved the world from a nuclear war. They are designed to protect the Russian people and to ensure freedom and peace on Earth.”

“I just couldn’t figure, after you kill all the multicellular organisms on the planet, what will amoebas do with peace”, Marcela snapped indignantly.

“Your pacifist slogans cannot oppose a single nuclear strike. We have an obligation to protect ourselves. Besides, the class ‘Typhoon’ submarines are recognized as world peace-makers, because during the Cold war finally nobody pressed the button just because of the existence of such machines for mass destruction. We all knew that even if in a possible war the entire enemy state was destroyed with all its land facilities and human potential, only one such submarine, surviving under water, could annihilate on its part the entire planet in counterattack.”

“Blah-blah-blah”. Marcela could not resign to what was said but mumbled this in a hushed voice. She did not want this giant to hear her.

“Thank you, comrade Ivanov”, Norman spoke with irony, interrupting the ideological argument. “However, at this moment we have rather more important tasks than international comparative analysis of nuclear underwater force. Please, Sergey, go on.”