Carol smiled. That was the final test. Caesar was designed to sense human beings in any section of the ship, and a fail-safe mechanism halted diving preparations as long as anyone remained on the bridge. Snow’s voice came through another speaker: “Carol, we’ve stopped the countdown for diving… or rather your friendly computer has. Would you care to join us?”
She depressed a button on the console. “I’m on the way.“ Another button dropped a waterproof shield over the console. She turned just as the elevator door slid open. Caesar had ordered the elevator to the bridge.
Stepping out into the control room two decks below, Carol was immediately fascinated by the passivity that existed before Imperator’s first dive. Though the submarine had been tested interminably through every possible simulation, never before had she actually dipped her wide nose below the waves. While the computer was programmed to coordinate the entire evolution, Snow’s early decision was to take her down himself for the first time — to satisfy his own ego if nothing else.
Snow grinned at her from the diving officer’s position. “Now that your monster has concluded that everything is safe, can we override it and begin the dive?” More times than she cared to remember, he reminded her how difficult it was for him to have an inanimate object considered more capable.
“Go ahead. You do it. Maybe Caesar ought to get used to you punching in the override. I can’t imagine that I’ll be in control that often.”
Tentatively, Snow punched in his code name, then the override code, and took command of the dive. “Hatch secured?” he inquired of her caustically.
“Sorry.” She should have known he’d be following the old system. “Last man down, sir. The hatch is secured.”
“Very well.” He was waiting.
“Captain…” She hesitated, then continued, remembering the status on the bridge console. “The ship is ready to submerge — sounding is four hundred thirty fathoms.”
“Very well. Submerge the ship,” he called out. Tradition had been upheld. His orders were really no different than they would have been in an attack submarine.
Situated more than two thirds of the way back from the bow, the angle of incline in the control room was unnoticeable. High speed pumps whirred away with hardly a murmur inside the ship as the ballast tanks flooded. Nothing would be heard outside. There was a slight vibration from the increasing weight. Though many of the joints had been muffled in the fishbowl during sea trials, the computer was now busy locating and recording the noisiest for additional silencing once they reached depth.
Carol closed her eyes. To imagine Imperator’s first dive, she pictured an aircraft carrier steaming with its flight deck right at the water’s edge. Only the island superstructure rose above the surface. Then, the image to the observer would be of the flight deck slowly sinking below the surface, the water washing rapidly from bow to stem as the ballast tanks filled, until the stern disappeared. Then, quite rapidly, the island structure, leaving an eddy of white water behind, would quickly submerge until only the antennae remained in view. Finally, with a rush of foam, the entire ship would be gone.
With the keel at 120 feet, the final trace of Imperator became invisible to the naked eye. The only evidence that she continued to exist would be an evaporating trail of white water and foam. Then, for as long as her forward motion affected the surface, a satellite recording sea surface temperature alterations might detect her location. Soon, even that would be lost.
Snow was visibly excited now. His enthusiasm radiated throughout the control rooms as he leveled off at 250 feet and called for a systems check. Nothing was out of sync.
Increasing speed at five knot increments, Snow and his crew developed a feeling for their vessel. More than twice as large as any submarine any of them had ever sailed, Imperator responded in much the same manner as one of her smaller sisters, and her reactions were equally fast. Nothing so large should expect to dive, surface, accelerate, or reverse like an attack submarine, but Imperator adapted to her element like an immense fish. Snow took her down to a thousand feet, not as deep as she’d tested in the fishbowl, but enough to make her creak as she sped on her northwesterly course.
“How about trying out the computer?” Carol asked more than an hour later. “Let’s see if Caesar can compete with you.”
“I think I’ll let my officer of the deck handle that.”
Almost to himself, he added, “No need to let the computer know I’ve developed any trust. Mr. Lyford,” he called to a younger man sipping at a mug of coffee, “She’s all yours now. Give the computer control.”
After punching the identifying codes into the machine, Lyford settled before a console next to Snow’s diving station. The screen glowed green as a message appeared before him: “I have assumed control. Depth, four eight zero feet; speed, two eight knots; course, two niner two degrees true.”
“Take her up to four hundred feet, Mr. Lyford, and add three knots.”
The OOD poked at the keyboard before him, checking as his orders appeared on the screen. Satisfied, he waited.
“Sir!” A startled cry came from one of the men on the bow planes. “I’ve lost control…” He turned toward Snow, who simply shook his head.
It was hard. The planesman had retired from the navy, too. But now he put his hands in his pockets as he’d been taught in the fishbowl. The computer had control and was responding to the OOD’s orders, and the results came within the allotted time Snow would have given himself. Imperator reached the exact depth and speed indicated, with no sensation of change. It had simply happened as if Snow were still at the diving station. Propeller revolutions had increased just enough to bring the submarine up to thirty-one knots. The dials on the control console showed that the planes had been used. The trim pumps had activated. They were at four hundred feet, the pumps still adjusting for a perfect trim. And all with no human being involved. Imperator’s computer had reacted instantaneously to the orders of the OOD. A confirming report appeared on the screen before him when they had been carried out.
Training in the fishbowl had been exacting, and now, as the night turned to dawn above them, the crew adjusted to the consistency that had been simulated until that time. No flaws appeared in either the submarine or her people. When Hal Snow fell into his bunk fully clothed, he napped with a feeling of security. Everything had fallen into place — just as the consortium had intended.
Perhaps his senses reacted to someone’s presence, or it might have been the faint perfume, still so alien to a submarine. Snow came awake automatically. Without ever touching him, Carol Petersen drew her hand back in surprise. Snow rose instantly on an elbow, shading his eyes against the overhead light.
“I’m sorry.” She stepped back involuntarily. “I didn’t mean to startle you like that.”
“Old habits are tough to shake,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his eyes, then smoothing his hair. “What is it?”
“Nothing special. I noticed you had a call in for now…”
“What time is it?”
“A little after zero eight hundred. You’ve been sleeping for three hours.”
Snow sat on the edge of his bunk, blinking his eyes against the light. “I don’t usually do that at sea. Of course, I don’t ever remember a woman waking me up in a submarine before, either.”
There was no expression on his face and she stepped back another pace, involuntarily. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I hate to destroy habits.”