She had talked to the psychic about her dreams of falling, and now, she was very embarrassed about the way in which she had been taken. Ninety-nine cents a minute added up quickly when one did not watch the clock.
Though she was embarrassed, she still worried about her dreams and her sensation of falling.
She shivered.
Svetlana Polodka was cold and falling, and she was uncomfortable.
Her assistant sat across the round table from her and waited while she went over the last geological analyses. Bert Conroy hummed a melody she didn’t know. He probably didn’t know it, either.
Penny Glenn made her decision from the data spread out before her.
“Skip the next test locale, what we were calling G, and go on to the following one. It’s now Test Hole G,” she said. Spinning around in her swivel chair, she pointed to the position on the computer screen map behind her.
Conroy asked, “It’s looking that good to you, Penny?”
She turned back to face him. “Absolutely. If we find what we’re looking for at G, we’ll start mining right away.”
Conroy, who was the head geologist for the station, was an old forty-ish. His hair had grayed prematurely, and combined with the heavy wrinkles in his forehead and at the corners of his eyes, had added five or six years to his chronological age. He was also very conservative.
“I know the signs are good, Penny. I’d even predict as much as a half million tons of manganese out of this site. Still, that’s only breakeven when we compare the cost of deploying the equipment.”
“Ah, Bert, you worry too much. This lode is going to expand, the farther north we go.”
“You’re relying on instinct, Penny.”
“My instincts are pretty good.”
“I know, I know. However, shouldn’t we suspend operations for a few days, until these other people have taken off?”
Glenn had recognized DepthFinder on the video camera when it circled the station. She had been amazed, quite simply, that Dane Brande had located them with such apparent ease.
Then she had been less amazed when she remembered meeting the man and recalled his record of exploration. He was indeed intriguing.
Still, at the time, she had elected to remain silent and not give him any indication that the station was inhabited, or by whom.
And they finally went away, though she was not sure how far away.
The station crew and the vehicle crews had been edgy since the encounter, though. It was disconcerting to find unexpected humans in this environment, much as if Neil Armstrong had lifted a rock on the moon and come face-to-face with a visiting Martian.
“Like us, Bert, Marine Visions has every right to explore where they want to explore. However, we have a schedule to follow.”
“You just skipped a step in the schedule.”
“Because I’m certain of the trend. Don’t argue with me over this.”
“All right, Penny. I’ll send Team Three to the site with a nuclear charge.”
Team Three, headed by Jim Dorsey, was assigned to floor crawler FC-9 and was composed of nuclear experts. They performed all of the drilling, setting of charges, and detonations. The slim, stainless steel canisters that contained the nuclear charges frightened her to some degree, and all twenty-five of the nuclear devices owned by AquaGeo were aboard FC-9. Until they were revamped, they had been 105 millimeter howitzer rounds. Glenn had obtained them from a penniless, ex-East German army officer who was no longer penniless.
“What’s the condition of the others?” she asked, looking up to the bulkhead mounted monitor that was labeled “Status Board.”
“We’ve got Team One on sleep schedule, and Two is still at Test Hole F. Four is enroute back from F.”
“And the subs?”
“B-7 is standing down. B-12 is charging batteries, and B-3 is supervising at Test Hole F.”
She knew them better by their names, Perth, Sydney, and Melbourne.
“Very well. Good. That’s all.”
Conroy went back to work, and Glenn spun around to her console. She flipped the switch for the buoy winch and heard it grinding above her as the cable reeled out and let the antennas rise to the surface. When the light turned green, she picked up the phone and dialed the number for Deride.
It wasn’t a long wait.
“Deride.” Said in the flat, positive tone with which he always answered phone calls. Glenn knew that she herself was a confident person, but she sometimes envied Deride’s super-assurance.
“Uncle Paul, where are you?”
“Hmmm, hello Penny. I guess we’re about a half-hour out of San Francisco. I’m meeting Anthony.”
“You were correct.”
He laughed. “About what.”
“Brande. They found us.”
“What! What do you mean?”
“I mean that DepthFinder paid a call on us.”
“Jesus! They found the station?’
“That’s right. Buzzed us a couple times and then took off. I don’t know where they are now. Our sonar doesn’t quite reach the surface.”
“That’s impossible.”
“If you say so, Uncle Paul.”
There was a long silence while Deride digested the information, then he said, “It doesn’t change a thing.”
“I didn’t think so, either,” she told him. “I’m proceeding with the test schedule. I want you to send me the start-up equipment.”
“I’ve got two diggers, two conveyers, and a separator enroute,” Deride said. “They’re only a couple days out. Two days behind them, we’ll have pumps. In two weeks, we should be transporting ore.”
“Good. We’re starting with Test Hole D. The concentrations are sufficient to assure us a pay-out.”
“Pay-out is my favorite word. One thing, though, Penny. With Brande hanging around, you tell your teams to make certain the area is clear before they detonate. Anthony assures me that our legal status is clear, but an accident might bring investigators.”
“I’ll do that, Uncle Paul,” she said, then broke the connection.
Switching to the scrambled acoustic circuit, she said, “McBride, AG-4.”
Mac McBride was piloting the submersible B-3, Melbourne. He responded immediately. “McBride.”
Because of the combination of acoustic transmission and scrambling, his voice sounded tinny and elevated, as if he had been inhaling helium.
Her voice would sound the same to him, and sometimes it was difficult to tell who was on the other end of a transmission.
“You’re aware of the presence of a Marine Visions submersible?”
“Yeah, Penny, I got that message. What’s going on?”
“I assume they’re interested in our activities, Mac.”
“What do we do about it?”
“Nothing,” she said. “We do what we came to do, and outsiders are to leave us alone.”
The guided missile cruiser California (CGN-36) was returning to her home port after a three-month patrol cruise when the message came in. The signal officer immediately carried the flimsy to the bridge and approached Captain Harris, who was sitting in his chair watching the mooring activity on deck.
“Excuse me, Captain. This seems to be a priority.”
Harris took the single page. “Thank you, Mister Evans.”
Harris reluctantly looked away from the satisfying sight of his crew performing their chores flawlessly and glanced at the message: