Not the kind of place you'd choose to visit.
Men in brightly coloured shirts and protective headphones ran back and forth. A white shirt headed towards her. Crowe racked her brains. White was the colour for safety personnel. The men in yellow directed the helicopters in to land, and the red shirts were responsible for fuel and ammunition. Weren't there brown shirts too? And maybe purple. What were the brown shirts for?
'Follow me,' the man bellowed over the noise of the slowing rotor. He gestured towards the superstructure. It rose up on the starboard side of the deck like a high-rise apartment block, crowned with oversized antennae and sensors. Crowe's right hand reached down automatically to her pocket. Then she remembered that her cigarettes were stashed beneath her overalls. She hadn't been able to smoke in the helicopter either. Flying to the Arctic in high winds hadn't bothered her, but holding out without nicotine for hours on end was no laughing matter.
The man opened a hatch and Crowe stepped into the superstructure, or the island, as the sailors called it. Once they'd passed through another door into the interior, they were greeted by a wave of clean air. In Crowe's view, the island looked more like a cave. It was incredibly cramped inside. The white shirt delivered her into the care of a tall black man in uniform, who introduced himself as Major Salomon Peak. As they shook hands, Peak seemed rather formal, as though he had little experience of dealing with civilians. Crowe had spoken to him several times over the past few weeks, but only ever by phone. They strode along a winding corridor and clambered down a series of steep companionways deep into the bowels of the ship. The soldiers followed with her bags. On one of the bulkheads, a sign proclaimed, in big letters, '02 LEVEL'.
'I expect you'll want to freshen up,' said Peak. He opened one among many identical doors lining both sides of the passageway. It led into a surprisingly spacious and pleasantly decorated cabin, more a suite than a room. Crowe had read somewhere that living space on helicopter-carriers was kept to a minimum and that the troops slept in dormitories. Peak raised his eyebrows when she commented.
'We'd hardly make you sleep with the marines,' he said. The hint of a smile played on his lips. 'The navy knows how to look after its guests. This is flag accommodation.'
'Flag?'
'Our very own Hilton. Living-quarters for admirals and their staff. We're not at full capacity, so we've got all the space in the world. We've given the flag accommodation to women and the men have been housed in officer berthing. May I?' He walked ahead of her and opened another door. 'Bathroom.'
'I'm impressed.'
The soldiers brought in her bags.
'There's a minibar under the TV,' said Peak. 'Soft drinks only. I was thinking I'd come back in thirty minutes so we can start the tour. Will that be sufficient?'
'Absolutely.'
Crowe waited until the door had closed behind him, then hunted for an ashtray. She found one in a sideboard, peeled off her overalls and rummaged through her jacket pockets. It wasn't until she'd opened the crumpled packet, lit the cigarette and taken a drag that she started to feel properly alive.
She sat on the edge of her bed. Two packs a day. She couldn't give up. She'd tried twice and failed.
Maybe her heart wasn't in it.
After a second cigarette, she showered, then pulled on some jeans, sneakers and a sweater. She smoked a third cigarette, and opened all the cupboards and drawers. By the time she heard a knock at the door, she'd already inspected the inside of her cabin so thoroughly that she could have drawn up an inventory from memory. She liked to know how things stood.
It wasn't Peak in the passageway, but Leon Anawak.
'I told you we'd meet again,' he grinned.
Crowe laughed. 'And I told you that you'd find your whales. Good to see you, Leon. I hear you're the one I need to thank for being here.'
'Who told you that?'
'Li.'
'Oh, I reckon you'd he here anyway. I had a dream about you.'
'Oh, my.'
'Don't worry – you were a kind of friendly spirit. How was the flight?'
'A bit humpy. Am I the last to arrive?'
'The rest of us boarded in Norfolk.'
'I couldn't get away from Arecibo. You wouldn't believe how much effort it takes to stop working on a project. We had to close down SETI. No one's got the cash to look for little green men at the moment.'
'There's a good chance you'll find more of them than you bargained for,' said Anawak. 'Are you ready? Peak will be here in a moment. He'll show you what the Independence has to offer and then it's your turn. Everyone's really excited. You've already got a nickname, by the way.'
'A nickname? What are they calling me?'
'Ms Alien.'
'Oh, heavens. For a while everyone called me Miss Foster, after Jodie played me in that film.' Crowe shook her head. 'Well, why not? So long as I've got a pen for signing autographs. Let's go.'
PEAK SHOWED HER ROUND 02 LEVEL. They'd started their tour in the bow and were making their way amidships. Crowe had admired the gym, crammed with treadmills and weight machines. It was practically deserted. 'Under normal circumstances you can't move in here for people,' said Peak. 'The Independence can accommodate three thousand men. Right now there are barely two hundred of us aboard.'
They walked through the junior officers' berths – dormitories for between four and six people with comfortable bunks, plenty of storage space and foldaway tables and chairs.
'Cosy,' said Crowe.
'Depends on how you look at it. There's not much chance of falling asleep when things get busy on the roof. Those helicopters and jump-jets are roaring up and down the flight deck, only metres above your head. It's hardest on the new recruits. They're exhausted at first.'
'How long does it take to get used to it?'
'You don't. You get used to being woken up, though. I've served on flat-tops before, and you're always away for months at a time. After a while it seems normal to be lying there on stand-by. You forget what it's like to sleep soundly. The first night at home is hell. You're listening out for the roar of engines, aircraft landing and helicopters docking, people running in the passageways, constant announcements – but instead there's just the ticking of your clock.'
They walked past the enormous messroom and came to a watertight door protected by a combination lock. They went into a large, darkened room. For the first time Crowe saw people at work. Lights flashed from consoles as men and women stared at the bank of wide-screen monitors that lined the walls.
'02 LEVEL is where you'll find most of the control and command rooms,' explained Peak. 'In the past they'd have been housed in the island, but that's too risky. Enemy missiles are programmed to strike large heat-emitting structures so the island's an obvious target. They'd only have to score a few hits, and we'd be like a body with its head blown off. That's why most of the control rooms are located under the roof.'
'The roof?'
'Navy jargon. I meant the flight deck.'
'And what's your role on board?'
Peak ignored her.
'This room is the CIC…'
'Ah. The Combat Information Center.'
The eyes in the narrow ebony-sculpted face flashed with irritation. Crowe resolved to keep her mouth shut.
'The CIC is the nerve-centre of the vessel,' said Peak. 'All the information that comes into or goes out of the ship passes through here – data from the ship's sensors, satellites, missile detection, surface-search radar, damage-control, communication – all in real time, of course … It gets pretty darned busy when we're under attack. See those empty desks? I imagine you'll be spending a good deal of time there, Dr Crowe.'
'Samantha. Or Sam.'
'Those systems are our underwater eyes and ears,' Peak continued, as though he hadn't heard. 'Antisub surveillance, SOSUS sonar and Surtass LFA, to name a few. Nothing approaches the Independence without us knowing about it.' Peak pointed at a screen mounted at the head of the room, showing a patchwork of diagrams and charts. '
The big picture. An integrated overview of all the information received by the CIC. A smaller version appears on the screens in the bridge.'
Peak led the way through the adjoining rooms. Almost all were shrouded in half-light, illuminated only by screens, monitors and displays. Next to the CIC was the Landing Force Operations Center. 'It's the command centre for the Marine Expeditionary Units. Each unit has its own console. During a landing operation, satellite images and recon planes are used to detect the position of enemy troops.' There was an unmistakable note of pride in Peak's voice. "The LFOC allows us to shift troops and develop strategies in an instant. The central computer links the commander to his units in a ship-to-shore system.'
Crowe recognised pictures of the flight deck on some of the screens. She knew Peak probably wouldn't appreciate the question, but she couldn't help asking, 'How will that help us, Major? Our enemy's at the bottom of the sea.'
'Sure. So we'll use our capabilities for a deep-sea operation. I don't see the problem.'
'Sorry. I guess that's what comes from spending too much time in space.'
Anawak grinned. So far he hadn't said a word, but Crowe found his presence reassuring. Peak continued the tour. The Joint Intelligence Center came next. 'All the data from the recon systems is decoded and interpreted here,' said Peak. 'If anything gets too close to the Independence, we take a good look at it, and if the boys don't like it, they shoot it down.'
'That's a pretty big responsibility,' murmured Crowe.
'The computer does some of the work for them,' said Peak. 'But you're right, of course.' He gestured towards the other rooms. 'Most of what goes on in the CIC and JIC is pretty technical stuff, but we also keep an eye on the news from all over the world. We've always got CNN and NBC on screen, plus a dozen or so other key channels. You'll have access to all the information you need, including the databases of the Defense Mapping Agency. The navy's maps are far more detailed than anything available in the public domain, and you'll have the privilege of using them.'
They carried on down. After the on-board store came empty dormitories and living-quarters, then the hospital on 03 LEVEL, a vast antiseptic expanse with six hundred beds, six operating theatres and a gigantic intensive-care unit. It was deserted. Crowe imagined the scene during an attack: people screaming, blood flowing, doctors and nurses rushing from bed to bed. The more she saw of the Independence, the more it seemed to resemble a ghost ship – or a ghost city. They began the ascent up to 02 LEVEL and continued aft, until they reached a ramp wide enough for vehicles to drive down.
'The tunnel starts in the bowels of the vessel and zigzags all the way up to the island,' said Peak. 'The layout of the Independence allows all the strategically relevant areas to be accessed by jeep. In an assault situation, the marines would use the tunnel too. Let's head down.'
The steel bulkheads resonated with their footsteps. For a moment Crowe was reminded of a multi-storey car park, but then the enclosed ramp opened on to a hangar bay. Crowe had read that it covered a third of the ship's total length, with a height of two entire decks. There was a strong draught. On either side a colossal open gate led out on to a platform. Pale yellow lighting combined with the sunshine seeping through the gates to bathe the area in hazy light. Glass booths and control points were housed between the ribs. Hooks hung from above, attached to some kind of monorail. Crowe spotted large forklift trucks and two Hummers.
'Usually the hangar bay would be full of aircraft,' said Peak, 'but for this operation we'll only be needing the six Super Stallions that are docked on the roof. In the event of an emergency, we'll be able to evacuate fifty people per craft. We've also got two Super Cobra attack helicopters aboard, in case we need something with a bit more zip.' He pointed to the two gate-like openings. "The external platforms are elevators for transporting aircraft from the hangar bay to the roof. Each deck elevator has a capacity of over thirty tonnes.'
Crowe walked towards the starboard gate. The steely grey sea stretched towards an empty horizon. Few icebergs found their way into these waters. The East Greenland Current transported them along the coast, three hundred kilometres away. The Independence would only encounter occasional patches of slushy drift ice.
Anawak joined her. 'One of many possible worlds, right?'
Crowe nodded.
'Did any of your scenarios provide for an underwater alien civilisation?'
'We've got the full repertoire, Leon. It sounds ludicrous, I know, but whenever I'm thinking about alien life, the first place that occurs to me is planet Earth – the oceans, beneath the Earth's crust, the poles, the air. If you don't know your own planet, how can you get to grips with other worlds?'
'That's exactly our problem.'
They followed Peak further down the ramp. It linked the various levels like an enormous stairwell. The tunnel levelled out and turned into a passageway that led towards the stern. They were now at the heart of the Independence. A side-door had been left open, bathing the corridor in artificial light. As they walked in, Crowe recognised the biologist she'd spoken to via video link-up over the past few weeks. Sue Oliviera was standing beside one of a multitude of lab benches, talking to two men, who introduced themselves as Sigur Johanson and Mick Rubin.
The entire deck seemed to have been converted into a laboratory. Benches and equipment were grouped together like islands. Crowe noticed chest freezers and barrels of liquid. Two large containers had been joined together and were marked with biohazard signs; presumably the containment facility. In the middle was a structure the size of a small house, surrounded by a walkway. Steel ladders led up to the top. Thick pipes and bundles of cable connected the walls to box-shaped machinery. A large oval window revealed the diffusely lit interior. It seemed to be filled with water.
'You've got an aquarium on board?' said Crowe.
'A deep-sea simulation chamber,' explained Oliviera. 'The original's in Kiel. It's much bigger than this – but ours comes with a port-hole made of armoured glass. The pressure inside would kill you, but other organisms need it to survive. At the moment it's populated with several hundred white crabs that were caught in Washington and loaded into pressurised containers to be flown out here. It's the first time we've succeeded in keeping the jelly alive – at least, we think we have. We haven't caught sight of it yet, but we're sure it's lurking inside those crabs and controlling their movements.'
'Fascinating,' said Crowe. 'But I don't suppose the chamber's only here for the crabs, is it?'
Johanson flashed her an enigmatic smile. 'Who knows what'll turn up next in our nets?'
'So it's a kind of PoW camp.'
Rubin laughed. 'That's a good one.'
Crowe glanced around. With the exception of the door, the laboratory was sealed. 'Isn't this usually a vehicle deck?' she asked.
'Yes,' Peak told her. 'On the other side of this bulkhead is the stern half of the vessel with the hangar bay above us. You've read up on it, haven't you?'
I'm inquisitive, that's all,' Crowe said modestly.
'Well, let's hope your inquisitiveness translates into results.'
'What a grouch,' Crowe whispered to Anawak, as they left the lab.
'Oh, Sal's a decent enough guy. He's just not accustomed to know-it-all civilians.'
THE PASSAGEWAY ENDED in a hall, whose height and length exceeded the dimensions of even the hangar bay. They walked over an artificial embankment that sloped down towards a basin whose inset floor was lined with wooden planking. It looked like a vast empty swimming-pool. At its centre, the planks had been cut away to make room for an inverted glass structure made of two square flaps that sloped downwards, coming together to form an upside-down turret jutting out beneath the deck. Next to that was an enormous raised tank filled with water. Its rippling surface reflected the beam of the overhead lighting. Crowe saw slim, torpedo-shaped bodies gliding beneath the waves. 'Dolphins!' she exclaimed.
'Yes.' Peak nodded. 'Our marine mammal fleet.'
Her eyes shifted upwards. The mo
norail system covered the ceiling here too, the track branching off in several directions. Futuristic vehicles were suspended from above, like giant sports cars bred from submersibles and planes. On either side of the basin the embankment continued in the form of jetty-like walkways. Boxes of equipment and other goods were stacked along the walls. Crowe noticed probes, gauges and diving-suits hanging up in lockers. Ladders led down into the basin at regular intervals.
Four Zodiacs were resting on the wooden planking at the near edge of the basin.
'Someone pulled the plug, huh?'
'Yesterday evening. It's down there, by the way.' Peak pointed to the glass structure. Crowe tried to gauge its size – it had to measure at least eight by ten metres. 'That's our sluice gate, the entrance to the ocean – with a twin set of locks: glass flaps at the base of the pool and steel flaps in the hull. There's a three-metre vertical shaft between them. It's foolproof – the gates never open simultaneously. As soon as a submersible has been released into the shaft, we close the glass flaps and open the steel ones. When the sub returns, the same thing happens in reverse. The submersible enters the shaft, the steel flaps close, and we can peer through the glass to make sure there's nothing down there that shouldn't be. In the meantime, the water's being checked for chemicals – the shaft is lined with sensors that test it for impurities and toxins. The results appear on two displays, one near the glass flaps and the other on the control panel. The sub stays in the shaft for about a minute. The glass flaps won't open until we've received the all-clear, then it's released into the basin. We use the same procedure for the dolphins. Follow me.'
They walked along the starboard jetty. A console towered up from the decking, positioned at the edge of the pool and equipped with monitors and other gadgets. A bony man with piercing eyes and a handlebar moustache left the group of soldiers and came towards them. 'Commander Luther Roscovitz,' Peak introduced him. 'He's in charge of the dive station.'
'You're Ms Alien, right?' Roscovitz flashed his long, yellowed teeth in a grin. 'Welcome aboard for the cruise. What took you so long?'
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