Chapter 6: (v.4) Chapter 6

April 29, 2049

Motor Vessel Wanderer

18.9N 179.5E

At seventeen knots, moving westward, the local clocks reset back by one hour when they crossed another fifteen-degrees of longitude. Most of Eileen’s crew were used to differing time zones, so they weren’t overly affected. Since it happened slowly, few gave a thought to the hour other than the mental adjustments for sleep and food.

On one evening, several hours after dinner had been served, the 1MC, popped on and gave a quick series of toots on a bosun’s pipe. The announcement followed, “At twelve-hundred tomorrow, all hands not actually on watch will muster on the foredeck. Civilians aboard are invited to attend the ceremony. That is all.” Then clicked off.

Eileen sat in her cabin, chatting with her Marine second-in-command Phillip Bowder, and her executive assistant, Mitzi Parsons, now promoted one pay grade higher when her boss moved up to being in charge. Conversation stopped. “Is this a special thing?” Eileen asked.

Captain Bowder answered, “I suspect the Navy is going to throw a ‘Crossing the Line’ ceremony. Should be fun. Not as vigorous as passing over the equator, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, speaking as a Shellback, one who’s already been across the Equator, I can’t let on any secrets of the deep, so I’ll have to just say it’s a larger evolution.”

Mitzi frowned. “So that means you won’t tell us, Mister Shellback?”

Phillip nodded and smiled, passing over Mitzi’s veiled question. “Yeah. We might do the equator, so I’ll just bide my time to get a chance at you pollywogs.”

“Pollywogs?” Mitzi parroted back. “As in baby Shellbacks?”

“You bet,” Phillip said, grinning and rubbing his hands together.

“Yikes,” Eileen said. “That sounds ominous.” She made eye contact with the rest of the group. “Anybody have anything else?”

The other two shook their heads and came to their feet, picking up their coffee cups and balling up napkins.

“I’ll see you both tomorrow, I guess.” She stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. “Oops. Sorry.”

Chucking, Bowder and Parsons left, closing the door after them.

* * *

The mess crew held lunch somewhat earlier than normal so they could attend the ceremony. Eileen and most of her associates, who were just as curious as her, met in the shade under the bridge overhang on the main deck. The temperatures were high, as well as the humidity, causing everyone to wear as little as decorum dictated. Shorts and halter tops for the women and tee shirts and Bermudas for the men.

A number of the ship’s crew lined the portside railing in three rows. The first two lines were kneeling on folded blankets and wearing an odd collection of clothing such as shorts and dungaree shirts, most of which were turned inside out. The men standing behind them were at attention.

“What the heck?” Eileen said sotto voce.

“This is a big deal for them,” Phillip said behind her. “Those on their knees are going to be inducted into the Court of King Neptune.”

With a crash of serving ladles on steel pots that made everyone watching jump, a three-horn set of trumpeters using huge funnels stepped out from the starboard side door, leading a grandly dressed Captain, Executive Officer, and Senior Chief into the cleared space.

“I call for my throne,” the captain yelled, stamping his trident, which was a shovel with two vertical gashes torched out of the working end. The metal deck resounded.

Four of the ship’s company jumped to their feet, ran aft, and returned carrying a huge wooden throne made of two-by-fours and plywood. They set it before the King, bowed, and backed away.

“Scribe!”

“Yes, sire,” the Master Chief replied.

“Those four are to be keelhauled. They were too slow.”

“It will be done, sire,” he said, backing away while King Neptune sat.

Not wanting to catch anyone’s attention, not the least of the self-proclaimed Keepers of the Peace, Mitzi bumped Eileen’s side with her elbow and whispered, “What’s keelhauling?”

“Got me. I’ll ask later.”

“Okay. Sounds awful, though.”

“Bring on the lubbers who wish to enter my domain,” the King demanded.

The Scribe waved a hand at the kneeling crew members. “There they be, Sire. Motley bunch as I’ve ever seen.”

“Entertain me. Have them dance to a lively tune.”

When the speakers erupted with a loud rendition of the Sailor’s Hornpipe, the men standing behind the kneeling crewmembers pulled long paddles made of fire hose hidden from view and began slapping them in their open palms.

“Dance, you lubbers!” a man dressed in full 18^th Century naval costume roared.

At once, everyone carrying paddles crashed them to the deck, startling those kneeling. No doubt frightened, they hopped to their feet and began gyrating.

Neptune leaned back and crossed his arms as he watched, frowning.

“This can’t be good,” Eileen said quietly, tipping her head in the King’s direction.

When the tune ended, the captain stood and addressed the once-again kneeling crewmembers. “You have all done passably. The four throne movers are spared from their keelhauling, although they were slow.” Then he spread his hands wide, smiled and added, “Everyone is invited to meet at the stern for a well-deserved steel picnic.”

Cheers rose as the group broke up and began wandering aft, sniffing the air at the smell of roasting beef.

“Phil?”

“Yeah, Eileen.”

“What’s keelhauling?”

“Used to be a punishment long ago. They’d tie a man’s hands to one end of a rope looped under the keel. Then fasten his feet to the other end. The crew would grip the rigged line and haul on it, dragging the man over the side and underwater along the ship’s hull before lifting him up to the other railing. The sides and bottoms of most ships back then were covered by barnacles.”

Mitzi shuddered. “Holy cow! That’s . . . frightening.”

“It was mostly a last measure used on incorrigible crewmen who wouldn’t maintain discipline. It’s outlawed now.”

“I would certainly hope so. Wow,” Mitzi said.

They arrived to find the party was in full swing. Everyone loaded paper plates with steaks or hamburgers, potato salad, baked beans, and individual bags of chips. Sodas, cooling in 55-gallon drums filled with ice, were available to drink. All hands had a good time.

* * *

The next morning, when Mitzi brought her computer to life, she noticed the date was off and tried to reset it. No matter how many times she changed it, the numbers reverted to the earlier value.

“Hey. Someone’s messed with my machine,” she said to the office at large.

“No,” Eileen said. “We’ve crossed the Date Line. Yesterday was Wednesday and now it’s Friday.”

“But…”

Eileen laughed. “Don’t worry, we’ll get it back when we go the other way.”

She could not know how wrong she was.

* * *

May 2, 2049

Aboard MV Wanderer

18.5N 154.5E

The rendezvous with the Motor Vessel Singh Hoy occurred on time. Both ships hove to in rolling seas within voice hailing distance. Their crews received orders and four RHIBs (Rigid Hull Inflatable Boats), two from each ship, dropped into the sea. Several individuals climbed into one from the Chinese ship and it cast off, headed to the Wanderer while those from Eileen’s ship crossed empty, but returned loaded with boxes and bags of sealed containers. Unloaded rapidly, they went back for the next load.

Two of the three people newly arriving were Kirby Peterson and an electronics technician as his aide. The third appeared to be a member of the Singh Hoy crew. Peterson and the tech climbed up the accommodation ladder, waved off the boat from the cargo vessel, and greeted Eileen, who waited in the shade of the starboard bridge wing.

Addressing a man four inches shorter than herself, with a thin but athletic frame, dressed in what she thought of as white “British Navy” shorts and a cerulean blue tee shirt advertising a band she didn’t know, Eileen said with a smile. “Mister Peterson, I presume.”

“That it is,” he replied. “You’d be Ms. Kemper, right?” They shook hands. “I’ve brought you some interesting gear to work with.”

“We’ll get to that. Is the bathyscaphe with you?”

He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Yup. They’re just now lowering it into the water.”

They both watched as an ungainly craft, suspended by cables from a tall crane on the stern of the Chinese ship, inched outboard and then eased into the sea. Two of the crew jumped aboard, detached the lifting gear, and entered the hatch in the small conning tower.

Minutes later, the craft began moving toward the Wanderer, wallowing in the slight chop between the larger vessels.

“Those guys are from the firm that built the bathyscaphe. I’ve been studying under them for two weeks. It’s a really cool boat. Much improved over the standard model.”

Eileen felt her curiosity rise. “Oh? How so?”

Kirby looked uncomfortable. “Some of it is classified and I can’t talk about it here, but the hull is a new alloy that can withstand greater depths then before. Smaller and thicker windows, and a larger set of underwater lights, mostly LEDs, uh, light-emitting diodes.”

“I’m familiar with them, Kirby,” Eileen said dryly.

“Sorry. Just don’t stand in front of any of them when they power up. Sunburn city. They’ll cook your skin at ten feet. They have some sort of filter over the lens that emits a blue-green light which aids the other stuff aboard.”

“Ah. The classified stuff?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

As they continued to watch, the submersible maneuvered itself near the stern of the Wanderer, where crewmembers lowered and attached lifting cables to the provided points on the bathyscaphe’s hull. After they finished, the hoist lifted the mini-submarine out of the water, swung it aboard, and nestled it into its pre-installed cradle on the afterdeck.

“There goes our barbecue spot,” Mitzi said, coming up behind them both. “The conference room is ready for you two.”

“Thanks, Mitzi. We’ll be there shortly.”

The two RHIBs launched from Wanderer returned laden with fresh vegetables and other perishables, which were rushed into belowdecks storage and freezer spaces near the galley.

On the bridge, the captains of the two ships exchanged radioed pleasantries. With a blast from her horn, the Singh Hoy fired up her engines and steamed slowly away.

The Captain turned to the Officer of the Deck. “Let’s get underway ourselves.”

“Aye, Aye, sir. Helm! Half power, standard right rudder, come to course one nine two.”

“Sir! Engines answer half power, my rudder is right, coming to course one nine two.”

“Very well.”

With that, MV Wanderer was underway once again, headed to their assigned zone of investigation.

In the conference room, Eileen stood and greeted everyone as they came through the door, took time to gather a few lunchtime edibles from the snack tray, pour a cup of juice, and take their seat. The heads of all her departments, minus their aids and assistants, were in attendance, making the compartment considerably crowded. Captain Bowder, Marine contingent, and Kirby Peterson, bathyscaphe pilot, attended as well.

After everybody took seats, Eileen sat. “Welcome everyone. To my left is Kirby Peterson. He’s joined us as the operator of our new bathyscaphe. Shortly, I’ll have him brief you on what his duties and tasks are, but first I’d like to give you a more detailed description of what we’re doing out here. I know most of you have a rough idea of the job, but there’s considerably more to it than probing the ocean, looking for anomalies and cataloging fish. Quite a bit more.”

Satisfied she held their interest, she continued.

“I was briefed by the President while in Washington. It appears there are a few strange things going on in the southern portion of the Pacific ocean. I’ve already mentioned those. What you weren’t told is that intelligence agencies, mostly acronyms if you know what I mean, are convinced something sinister is happening below us.”

She noted a knowing smile from several attendees.

“This may be true. It’s our job to find out for sure.” She gestured to Kirby. “Our new undersea craft is the most sophisticated submersible ever built. I’ll have Kirby describe it in greater detail in a moment. You will be astounded, just as I was in the Oval Office.” She introduced the sub driver and sat back.

Peterson stood. “Hello, everyone. I’ve been assigned to your exploratory group as another means of finding the solution to the mystery in the Magellan Seamounts. Despite locations being passed to us from several government agencies, most of them spread out over a significant portion of water, we, my agency and me, have been considering only a few suspect spots.”

A hand raised from across the table.

“Hold your questions, please, until I finish. I’m sure you’re going to have a lot of them.”

The hand dropped to the tabletop.

“I have a lengthy list of items input from assorted other agencies that Eileen alluded to earlier. I’ll touch on each one briefly. When we break up this meeting, I’ll come around to the various departments and go into detail. Now, questions?”

“Who do you work for?” asked a woman near the end of the table.

“My official title is simply that of one who drives the bathyscaphe wherever I’m told. Me and my single-man crew fall under the jurisdiction of Eileen. However, having said that, I can be tasked by any of your department heads, with her permission, that is.”

The woman nodded.

He took a drink of water, glancing around at the group as he did. “Good. No more. Then I’ll get started. Remember, this is just a very brief description. For the oceanic biologists, I have two items. Not only the whales being tracked avoid the target area, but inside it, deep-sea creatures are rising to the surface in noticeable numbers. Most of them dead or dying.”

Murmurs rumbled from the attendees.

“Those of you who are seismologists will find there are normal volcanic activities and others are slightly off-kilter. By that I mean they’ll appear on recording charts with additional peaks and valleys in the trace where there shouldn’t be any. That, coupled with audio sounds which one federal agency is convinced is mechanical, should interest you.”

A short buzz of subdued conversation ensued from around the table at that announcement.

“Continuing, oceanographers will also want to check into the rise in localized temperatures causing convection currents filled with particles of mud from the ocean floor.

“The US Navy’s classified deep sea listening service, named SOSUS, reported what they call ‘oddities’ which they cannot match to any known shipboard equipment or propulsion systems. I don’t have the clearance necessary for more details, so we’re on our own in that department.”

He turned to Eileen. “Do you have anything more to add?”

“No. I think you’ve covered the ground necessary to whet our appetites, Kirby.”

He sat and took another swallow of water.

Eileen remained seated. “Well, there it is. We have our orders to do some investigating, and I’m sure you’re all as curious as I am to discover what’s going on. Unless there are more questions, we’ll break up the meeting and do some preliminary equipment checks prior to reaching the first target area. Which, I am told by the XO, will be in two more days. Good hunting.”

She and Mitzi left, but as she expected, most everyone else remained in the conference room to chat with Kirby and his revelations.