"How fast can this thing go?"
Barney smiled. "Based on tonnage, mass, cross-section, and everything else that goes into the equations of determining speed at various depths, we should have a top speed of about forty or fifty knots."
"Our nuclear killer subs could do that in my time," Buck noted.
"Sure they could. But they didn't weigh seventy thousand tons, and they didn't carry six negs that could be deployed any time we want to whip along at nearly two hundred knots. And notice I said what her top speed should be, not what it is. Just under one hundred knots, fella. In an emergency, half again as fast."
Buck whistled. "That's getting up there with a lot of planes at long-range cruise speeds."
"Well, put this in your thinking cap. With the way Captain Valmar modified the MHD system, lo can operate at maximum power for three years without fuel replenishment because the main drive fuel is the ocean itself"
"I'd like to meet our captain," Buck told Barney. The admiral switched off the hologram. "Oh, you will. She's scanned your dossier and everything else about you. She's studied our holos of you talking, walking, and flying. According to her, you were born four or five hundred years too soon."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Barney laughed. "That you were made for the twenty-fifth century. Your cross-training, your skills in so many fields, the fact that you're a maniac in an airplane—a maniac who knows how to win —all these are the things she considers. I told you her mind was like a computer. She mixes and matches everything."
Buck remained quiet for a while. Finally Barney closed off their compartment and energized the maximum security screening. "Might as well get the rest of it out in the open now," he said.
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"That sounds ominous."
"It could be. You're in a closed environment within lo. Wilma Deering is your almost constant companion. Her orders are to bring you up to snuff about our present time. But let's face reality, Buck. Wilma is a dynamite looker. When she was younger and had time for that sort of thing, she walked away as the winner in every beauty contest she entered. Add to that her experience and skills and qualifications and you've got pure nitro in each hand." Barney shrugged. "But don't sweat it. Wilma's sweet on you."
"Now, wait a minute—"
"Just hold on, Ace. That's a fact of life. Wilma is what we call a sensitive when it comes to ferreting out other people's emotions, but she can't hide her own worth a damn. The problem isn't Wilma—and don't tell me you're not heavy on her as well— the problem is Ardala. In the past, she and Wilma have been in a running contest as to who's the fastest, the best fighter, the best woman—you name it and they're on each other about it."
"And I'm caught in the middle?"
"Yep."
"But I haven't even met Captain Valmar!"
"I know that. Wilma knows that. But when she wants to be, our captain can be quite a—what is that blasted word?"
"Vamp?"
"That'll do. I'm telling you all this so you'll be ready and won't be caught off guard."
"I'm still not sure I get it, Barney."
'You know Wilma picks up on emotions and feelings. She can read other people as easily as you and I scan a holo. And from the way she's looked at Ardala, she's convinced our captain has designs on you. You're a magnet, Buck. Full of life and vinegar. So watch yourself Both those women can be deadly."
Barney grinned foolishly and added, 'You lucky dog, you."
So why don't I think all this is great? Buck wondered.
He didn't meet Ardala Valmar until their voyage was well under way. Buck didn't expect the captain to be anywhere but at the helm of the giant submarine. Threading through the coastal
A Life in the Future
waters was a nasty job. The sea bottom was an enormous junkyard of sunken ships, rusting hulls jutting up from the bottom like great knives waiting to scour the bottom of any ship passing nearby.
Buck piped the bridge. A lieutenant commander answered. "Permission to come to the bridge for observation. Colonel Rogers on the pipe. Security clearance activated."
He heard, "Stand by, please." Moments later a small electronic chip surgically implanted in his neck glowed dimly; Buck knew the security system was activating the chip, running its data through the security banks.
"Colonel Rogers, kindly come to the bridge. This is Lieutenant Commander Sally Cortez. I'll meet you on your arrival. The green deck flashers will lead you directly here. Cortez out."
Glowing green lights appeared almost magically as Buck moved toward the command center of/o. At another security checkpoint, Cortez met him personally. She was a brown-skinned, trim woman with flashing eyes and obvious high intelligence. "You can see we're on a tight watch right now," Cortez explained. She handed Buck a flyweight earpiece. "Wear this. You'll be able to listen to everything that's going on as we move out to sea."
"Thank you. Commander. I'll try not to be in anyone's way."
She flashed him a warm smile. "Anything special before I return to my station?"
"Yes, if you have a moment." She nodded and he continued. "We're heading for the lower Pacific coastal regions off Chile," he said, noticing a slightest widening of her eyes. Clearly she was surprised to discover he knew what most of the crew still did not know: their ultimate destination.
"I'm wondering if we'll go through the Panama Canal or if we'll make an end run around the bottom of South America, through the Drake Passage and around Cape Horn."
His question caught her by surprise. After several seconds, she smiled. "I forget. Colonel Rogers. Excuse me."
"I don't understand. Commander."
"There isn't any Panama Canal anymore. That entire area was melted down in the Mongol strikes. They used a kind of bomb that sustained an unusually high temperature for several hours after it detonated. It burned everything. It also melted the
Buck Rogers
locks. The entire area is landlocked again and still highly radioactive. So you're half right, Colonel. It's around Cape Horn. We'll stay clear of the Falkland Islands and other such places because they have listening posts all through the area. We'll swing wide, go well out into the Pacific, and then do our end run up the coastline along the western edge of Chile. That would seem to be the last place they'd anticipate something as big as /o." She glanced at the bridge crew. "Excuse me, Colonel. I'm on duty," she said and departed quickly.
An hour later, Buck was seated in a padded lounge chair in the forward observation deck of/o, awaiting the arrival of Captain Ardala Valmar. He had been introduced to her in a brief, rather stiff meeting on the bridge. Running the giant submarine through the obstacles off the port of Philadelphia left little time for social niceties. He'd shaken hands with her, taking note of the worksuit she wore, stained with hydraulic fluid. Obviously she wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty working with her crew in any area where her expertise might be needed. The more he heard about Ardala, the more he realized how highly the crew regarded her. To them, she was captain, saint, medical doctor, engineer, scientist, and a gifted undersea combat veteran.
That certainly wasn't the woman Buck watched now as she came into the observation deck. Buck found himself glued to her every motion as she stood close to the glassite, looking out. Finally she nodded to herself as if meeting some personal requirement. She turned and stood before Wilma's lounge chair, then quietly, as though shrouding her power in warm greeting, she spoke in husky, feminine tones to Wilma.
"I haven't had time to take you personally through lo, but I will at the first opportunity. Allow me to welcome you aboard. Major Deering." Silhouetted against the ocean background through the glassite, she was startling in her presence. The Ardala he had seen briefly with the work gangs of the submarine was gone. In her place was a superbly conditioned woman whose best features were accentuated by nothing more than a skin-tight gold lame jumpsuit plus a small touch here and there of jewelry, including the communicator, which looked
A Life in the Future
more cosmetic than utilitarian, against the bone behind her ear. Long jet-black hair, previously concealed beneath a work cap, now flowed freely to her waist in stark contrast to her jumpsuit.
She never gave Wilma an opportunity to reply to her warm greeting. Instead, she eased closer to Buck with silky motion and came to a stop before his chair. She looked down at him and smiled. "Have you enjoyed your cruise so far. Colonel Rogers?" Buck saw a flash of white, perfect teeth.
"You're a far better sight to the eyes than Captain Nemo," Buck said with mock seriousness.
A shadow seemed to flow across her face. "I'm not sure I understand. . . ."
"Forgive me," Buck said quickly. "A literary reference from antiquity. Captain Nemo was the master of the submarine Nautilus, a creation of one of the master science fiction writers of my time—actually somewhat before my time, to be perfectly accurate."
She smiled again. "I am rarely caught by surprise. I remember now. This country's first submarine was christened Nautilus, was it not?"
Buck nodded. "In honor of the writer, Jules Verne."
"Our age has an unfortunate dearth of fairy tales. Colonel," she said quietly.
Buck gestured to take in the enormous vessel about them. "This boat is a fairy tale to me. Captain Valmar. It's truly astounding. I understand you were the main engineer, the architect of 7o."
"Certain people are quite free in their praise," she demurred. "There were many of us who helped create this marvelous boat."
Buck laughed. "I'm pleased to see that our undersea language has prevailed. No true submariner would be caught dead describing his submersible as a ship. They were always boats."
"From the Germanic?" she asked, knowing the answer even as she asked the question.
She's testing me. Buck realized. "Of course," he answered. "From the Untersea Boot —the infamous U-boat of both our world wars."
"The deadliest peril of the high seas," Ardala said, now on certain ground from her knowledge of submarine history.
"Not quite," Buck replied. He could have remained silent, letting
Buck Rogers
her slip of history slide by, but long ago he had recognized the necessity of meeting strength with strength.
"Would you explain that, please? And we may dispense with formal titles except when they are necessary? My name is Ardala. I know yours is Anthony, but your friends have always called you Buck. And I hope we will be friends."
"We will," Buck said with confidence. He glanced at Wilma, who sat silently, seething at the smoothness with which Ardala had cut her completely out of their conversation.
"Most people believe the German undersea fleet sank more shipping than anjrthing or anyone else," Buck said. "But for the record, the deadliest submarines of the Second World War were American. Eighty percent of all the merchant and combat ships lost by the Japanese, from 1941 to the middle of 1945, were sunk by our subs. They finally choked off Japan, isolating her from imports, and hampering the flow of reinforcements from the home islands to Japanese forces spread out across the Pacific."
"I will remember that." She flicked a thumbnail; flame appeared magically to relight her cigar. Microminiaturization was a handy thing. Buck thought. A lighter completely covered by her nail.
Buck turned as several other people entered the lounge. The prime crew—Gold—ran the great submarine at this point, and it was a rule of the crews who prowled the depths in boats that when you had the chance to relax, you never passed it up. Buck nodded to Black Barney. He was surprised by the appearance of identical twins. Barney made the introductions. Ricardo Sanchez and Ricki Chavez were two of the most sinister men Buck had ever seen, with pointed beards, neatly trimmed sideburns and brows, the eyes of hawks, and sharp noses. Obviously they were of Spanish extraction. Barney had briefed him on these two but had never said a word about their being twins. Their different surnames were no doubt to avoid familial association unless they were known personally. "Those two operate through the underworld of South America," Barney had explained. Cocaine kingpins for global trade in the stuff."
Buck had been amazed. "Running cocaine today? In a world where everything that flies is suspicious? Without free trade or unencumbered shipping? And you know they're running coke and you still allow it? Good God, Blacky, that stuff almost
A Life en the Future
destroyed this country hundreds of years ago!"
Barney nodded. "Right on every count." He paused. "Except one, that is. First, we know how rough coke is. In fact, the stuff that's grown today is much rougher than anything you knew— genetic modifications, that sort of thing. And before it gets shipped, it's blended with some very esoteric chemicals. The addict is hooked as if a spear had been thrown right through his heart."
"Then how can you allow this stuff to be sold?" Sudden anger surged through Buck.
Barney laughed. "You don't get it, do you? You think we're crazy to allow that stuff anywhere in Amerigo. Buck, dealing, shipping, selling, or distributing cocaine in Amerigo carries a death sentence if you're caught. No long trials, no appeals. Immediate appearance in court, and you get trial by three judges, no jury. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred its execution by firing squad that same day."
Other possibilities came to mind. Buck looked carefully at Barney. "You mean . . . ?"
"Don't stop. Figure it out yourself."
"The Mongols. You've got a supply line right into the Mongols!"
"In both Amerigo and their home territory, my friend. And I'll tell you something else. They're hooked. By the millions. The stuff we add to the powder, after about six months, begins to eat away at their brains. It doesn't kill them, but they begin to think like carrots and cabbage. If we can keep it up long enough and they don't cotton to what's going on, there'll be a Mongol empire of vegetables. It beats slinging hydrogen bombs at each other."
Looking forward through the glassite bow introduced Buck to a world that had always been about him—the hydroworld of Earth—but about which distressingly little was known. His journey southward in lo was a revelation in many ways.
Now, as he stared into the stygian darkness, he suddenly saw bands of light and color far ahead of/o.
His startled exclamation brought Ardala to rest her hand on his arm to assure him that no danger threatened the gi'eat sub-
Buck Rogers
marine. "The lights are from autoprobes," she explained. "There are three robot probes twenty miles ahead of us, another three at ten miles, three more at five, and another three at one mile. The video from the probes, which are controlled by computer, allows us to see well ahead of our position. Each probe is equipped with detectors for changing temperatures, salinity, radiations, sound pulses, and anything else that goes on in the ocean. If it doesn't fit within the parameters programmed into the computer, alarms notify us immediately, we go to condition red, and we assume battle stations. lo could take out an entire fleet."
"Perhaps you'll explain something to me," Buck prompted.
Ardala nodded. Others on the observation deck heard Buck; they all turned to hear his question and the captain's answer.
"We're going down pretty deep," Buck said slowly. "How deep I don't know yet, but it must be on the order of twenty thousand feet. That's enough pressure to crush the best boat we ever built in my time as flat as a pancake. How can lo take that kind of pressure on her hull and still maintain performance?"
Ardala smiled. "You are aware this boat is named after the volcanic moon of Jupiter, 7o."
"Yes. And well named, too. lo has the same kind of power."
"Well said. Colonel. The secret is in the hull design. Simply stated, we're overbuilt by a factor of nearly thirty. You see, lo was never intended to be a submersible operating in the hydroworld of Earth."
"That means . . ." Buck let his words fade away as Ardala smiled.
"You're quick at putting pieces together. I can tell by your reaction you must understand."
"Let me try," Buck said. '
You have main antigrav power generators. They're large, inefficient, and they consume enormous amounts of power. You'd need that to lift lo, or whatever she was called before you changed her mission, well above Earth. It would be essentially a beam-generated antigrav."
"Correct."
"And then a main drive would cut in. If I figure this right, a nuclear booster would have been added on as a power stage to accelerate to orbital speed. That also means more g-forces than a man can handle. But as soon as you have orbital velocity, the booster cuts off and you're in free-fall. Than you bring up the
A Life in the Future
crew in personnel carriers."
"Exactly. And did you determine the original mission of/o?"
"You were going to take this boat into the atmosphere of Jupiter and Saturn."
"Excellent!"
"The pressures in those atmospheres, to say nothing of the contents, would be enough to rip apart any space vessel. So you built it like a submarine to drive through the atmosphere of two worlds where the atmosphere is even denser than the oceans of Earth."
"That's why we have a triple hull," Ardala explained. "Jupiter is especially deadly. Its atmosphere is terribly corrosive, made up of hydrogen, helium, ammonia ice, methane, ethane, acetylene, phosphine, germanium tetrahydride—with temperatures ranging from hundreds of degrees below zero to fourteen hundred degrees above zero. To say nothing of lightning bolts a half-mile or more in width. The point is, lo is built to handle all that. But finding Atlantis is our priority now."
"So you think there is an Atlantis off the coast of Chile."
"I'm not paid to speculate on matters I couldn't possibly know about. I—" She became silent as a gong sounded. By her silence. Buck knew she was receiving a message from the bridge.
She rose to her feet. "We're going down to the bottom. The roboprobes have detected several hunter boats well ahead of us, and they're not ours. We could take them out easily enough— we've got the firepower—but that would only give our presence away, and I'd rather keep whoever is out there guessing. My guess is they're Chilean boats on a wide sweep, but they're not expecting any company like us. However, we'll dive well beneath them. I'm afraid I must return to the bridge. You and Wilma enjoy the ride." Without another word, she was gone.
Buck Rogers- A Life in the Future Page 17