Back In Blue

by G R Matthews

  Her eyes flickered open and one focused on me. The other wandered for a moment, before it too came to rest on my face.

  "Hi, Norah," I said.

  "Head," she slurred.

  "You took a knock when we hit the seafloor," I said, not pointing out the fact she'd not tightened her seatbelt properly. Kids, they never listen. "I've stopped the bleeding."

  "Hurts," she said and her eyes lost focus once more.

  "Stay with me for a bit," I said, brushing her pink hair out of her face. "I can give you something for the pain, but I'd like to get you into bed."

  "Hayes," she said, and there was half a strangled chuckle.

  "Funny," I replied. "Not like that. You need to lay down. This sub should have a medical bed."

  Most did. Even if it was a normal bunk with a few more sensors and the set up for an IV drip. I used the torch to find the patch of painkillers and stripping the backing from it pressed it to her neck where her artery would be.

  "You should feel better in a minute," I said as her eyes fluttered closed once more. "Do you think you can help me get you to bed?"

  "Thought... never..." she said, her words slurring more as the drugs hit her system, "ask."

  "It's your lucky day," I said, with a smile. Making jokes was a good sign, I thought, I hoped. "Come on, let's get you moving."

  "No flowers," she giggled.

  I released her seatbelt and drew the straps away. Kicking the chair back upright, I slipped an arm under her and lifted. She wasn't quite a dead weight, but her help was minimal and shuffling down the short corridor behind the bridge was something of a struggle. I almost dropped her twice and once she pulled away claiming she'd forgotten the flowers.

  In the small sleeping area, two bunks only, I let her sag onto the bottom one. Lifting her feet up and swinging them onto the bed I made sure she was comfortable.

  "Stay there," I said and retrieved the first aid kit from the bridge. I stopped by my console to check the readouts and there were none. The computer hadn't come back online and I had to hold my breath, cutting out all sound, to hear the gentle thrum of the power plant. One problem at a time.

  There was a needle in the first aid kit and a clear tube. I broke the seal on the sterile packaging and pushed the connector of the tube and syringe together. Elementary first aid was taught as part of the Special Forces curriculum. It was the one bit I'd really listened to. I didn't want anyone to die or me to be killed for a lack of knowledge. Pushing the other end of the tube into the tiny first aid console on the bed, a small screen about seven centimetres by three, which came to life with a flash of checks and warnings.

  Selecting the IV menu, the screen showed me how to clean Norah's arm with an alcohol wipe, how to find the right vein and insert the cannula. I read the instructions twice, explained them to Norah who had thankfully fallen into a doze, and carried them out. My hands have never shaken so much as sticking that sharp needle in the injured woman's arm. For a second or two I was sure I'd got it all wrong, but a reassuring beep from the self-contained first aid computer reassured me.

  From the compartment next to the screen I drew out the thin sensor wires and placed them where it told me to. One on her neck, another on her forehead and a third around her second finger. All the symbols and wiggly lines which indicated her vital signs appeared on the screen.

  The first aid screen allowed to me select 'head wound' and I ticked off the steps I'd taken to get her hooked up. It looked, for once, that I'd done everything correct and that now there was, gallingly, nothing more I could do. The last message on the screen said, 'Seek Medical Attention.' Which seemed like a good idea.

  I had an hour, maybe two, till the city sent out search parties to look for the wreckage. In that time I had to get the sub restarted and as far from here as I could.

  "Then you'd better get a move on, Hayes," I told myself.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Cramming myself into the engineering cubby hole, I examined the critical systems. There was no room to stand and I had to settle for crawling between the components, their diagnostic screens and the exposed pipes and valves which would release pressure or seal off vital areas. Accessing the power plant was an exercise in certain death. Everything seemed to be in working order yet on the bridge no screens displayed any information and the sub wouldn't answer to the helm.

  With the time taken to look after Norah, which I'd not begrudge, I reckoned we had about thirty minutes before a search party arrived to sift through the wreckage for our bodies. I pressed a variety of buttons, first in a considered pattern and then at random with furious impatience. Nothing made any difference and time was ticking by.

  With no other options left, I did what I should have done first, but you never do because really you should be able to fix it without resorting to this step. I turned the computer off, waited ten seconds, and back on again.

  Peering through the hatch to the corridor and beyond that to the bridge, I saw every screen flicker and light up with information. The power plant's hum rose in pitch and I felt the fans start to move the air around again. I'd barely noticed the rising heat in the room.

  Pulling myself through the hatch and locking it closed, I shuffled down the short corridor and flopped into the pilot seat. There were still smudges of Norah's blood on the screen but they dried and turned a flaky brown. I brushed it aside with the sleeve of my prison issue jumpsuit and the little flakes fluttered to the decking.

  The map I'd uploaded was still there and the waypoints I'd calculated were highlighted. I cleared them from the screen. Another idea had popped into my head. Inspiration had struck and I hoped, as I did all the time, that it was a good idea and I wasn't about to lead us both into oblivion.

  All those explosions and detonations would affect the sensitivity of the sensors in this sector for a little while longer. The more delicate, more sensitive an instrument was the easier it was to knock out of tune, alignment, or whatever the correct phrase was. When they didn't find the sub, they'd start along the track back towards NOAH territory and they'd be able to go a lot faster than me.

  I brought the motors online and with the most delicate feathering of power I backed the sub’s nose out from the seabed. Bringing the sub onto an even plane, I gave the propellers a little more power and it began to move against the current.

  It was a balancing act. Too much power and I'd signal every enemy submarine and sensor around that there was something moving out here. Too little and I'd be going nowhere against the current. Progress was slow, but the closer I got to the city the less the sensors and the officers sat at them would care about me and I could increase the speed a little. They'd be looking at threats coming from outside the sensor net.

  Altering my course, keeping far from the military facility, I headed for the civilian docks. The sounds of the ocean were filtered through the sub systems and painted on my screen as best guesses. A worker sub here, another over there, a biological in that direction and an almost constant stream of submarines entering and leaving the civilian docks. Even in war time people needed to move around the corporation, heading home, going to meetings, business trips, tourists, not to mention all the commercial traffic which kept trade flowing. Everything followed defined and constrained lanes in and out of the city.

  I had a simple plan, all the best ones are. Wait for a big sub to leave and merge my signal with it. It wouldn't be too hard to place my sub under and near the propellers of a larger one. The city would note the change in pitch, but that could be put down to a simple malfunction or a change in the water salinity. The large sub would be told to check in with maintenance when it next docked.

  Much more difficult was to match its movements. Each lane in and out wasn't a straight line, it was an ever-changing slalom course between the sensors. From the city, they'd issue a sub with a course which its AI would follow without fail. All along the way the sensors would be turned off and back on after the subs passage. To make it much more difficult for enemy
infiltrators, like me, the lanes would be individual to each submarine. It made for a confusing and stressful time for the controllers, but it effectively prevented NOAH using the lanes as a point of ingress. We'd considered it for a good three seconds before moving onto the plan we'd used.

  Approaching the docks from between the boxes and factory complexes I hung in the water column, using the minimum of power, and stared at the screen. One submarine entered the docks and another. After ten minutes, seven submarines had entered the docks and none had left. They were obviously making sure that I, or someone else, hadn't stowed aboard a submarine to make their escape. At last, the sensors picked up the opening of the hanger doors and the nose of a submarine edged its slow way out of the docks.

  Pushing more power to the motors, I set a curving path towards the dock doors, timing my arrival with the expected exit of the submarine. I wanted to be under those big propellers once they emerged into the ocean.

  The image of the sub grew larger on my screen and though I could see nothing in reality, I let my imagination fill in the gaps. A tubular steel grey hull emerging from the docks. Navigation lights blinking in their preprogramed pattern. The captain giving orders to the crew and communicating with the controllers in the city. Ship's computer receiving the shipping lane from the city and the crew double-checking it. The passengers or cargo settling down for a long, boring journey.

  When my imagination showed me the propellers were leaving the docks, I goosed the motor and slipped underneath it. A check of my readouts showed me I'd timed it well if not perfectly. There'd be a glitch, a judder on the screens in the city controller’s office. Perhaps whoever was sat at the screen would give it a second glance, a thump on the side of the screen, and all would be fine again. I crossed my fingers and focused on matching speed and course with the sub.

  From now until I was sure of a safe distance, I would be the pilot fish to the shark which swam above me. Mirroring and following every move it made. Safe in its shadow.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  I stuck with the large submarine for three tense hours of sweating and worrying. The navigation console was smeared with my fingerprints as I copied every move it made on the shipping lane out of the sensors. After that, I stayed with it for another two hours until I was sure I was a good distance from the city. My protector and camouflage had kept to a steady ten knots once it was out of the city's jurisdiction and a mostly constant heading of due north.

  Occasionally, usually when I just about to relax it changed course to the west or east for a time before heading back to its original course. This was, I'm sure, standard practice for VKYN captains in a time of war. Get to your destination as quick and quietly as was possible, but make sure you didn't follow a straight path. You'd be easy pickings for any wandering enemy sub. There's been an old clips I'd seen years ago of pilots duelling in the sky in some war or another where the sage advice had never been to fly straight and level for more than thirty seconds. The VKYN Captain had probably seen the same clips.

  Forty kilometres from the VKYN city I cut power to my engines and let friction slow my forward progress. The deep bass thrum of the large submarine passed overhead and continued on its way none the wiser to my presence. Setting the sub to neutral buoyancy I let it hang in the water and slipped out of my seat.

  There was a small galley, really a microwave oven and some cupboards, and I set to making a cup of coffee. When the oven bleeped, I opened the door and retrieved the steaming cup of wakefulness. I'd set the heat to melt rock and the comforting, not quite painful, heat of the cup in my hand helped to ease the ache of my tendons.

  In the sleep area I checked on Norah. Her face was peaceful and her breathing was easier. The screens still advised medical attention and I noted the dosage of painkillers which were continually fed to her through the IV. It was better she stayed under and out of pain. I took the bandage off her forehead, wiped the wound with an antiseptic cloth and applied a new pad. The cut looked red and the skin around it had turned blotchy purple. There was nothing else I could do and it galled me, but at least she was alive and we had a chance.

  Setting the covered cup in the handy holder on the side of the navigation console, I brought up the maps of the area and started plotting my route home.

  If all you do is live in a city, or travel between them on commercial submarine, you really have no idea how big the ocean is. It is huge, wide and deep, and probably some more adjectives added to that list. Most of the earth is covered in water. Rising sea levels had already flooded the lowland before we fled below the water to survive and that process had continued unabated down the years. So now it was even bigger than before.

  My stolen sub was a mote of dust floating in a space which would dwarf all the cities across the globe all stuffed together in one great conurbation. Even then, the image didn't do the immensity of the ocean’s justice.

  It was quite possible to get lost out here and over the years many, many submarines had been. However, just as many had been found again by plotting soundscapes, using sonar, magnetometry and chemical trails in the currents. You could hide in the depths if you really wanted to, but they would find you, given enough time. The thought of spending a few hundred years in an out of the way trench, valley, atoll or other subsurface feature wasn't one I enjoyed.

  Instead I had to plot a course that took me back to a NOAH city, any one would do, and avoided the shipping lanes and VKYN cities. Plus there would be listening posts and sensors dotted across the frontiers.

  In the past, a long time ago, pre-flood, there'd been a government who used listening posts. They'd heard the implosion of an enemy's secret submarine which they suspected of carrying some pretty nasty weapons. The enemy country, the corporations hadn't yet taken control, had lost the vessel and had no idea where it was. Ears under the water gave you knowledge and that granted control. An operation was enacted to retrieve the enemy submarine, but the ocean was too deep for the technology of the age. Today, should you wish, and there wasn't a war going on, you could take a tour of the shipwrecks on the ocean floor and the submarine was included on the itinerary.

  My job now was to move fast and quiet, hug the shadows of sound, flit between areas of dark and light, keep a wary eye out for listening posts and make it back safe and sound. Do that in a submarine whose sound profile, its unique noise which would identify to any listener with that key, was no doubt being spread far and wide amongst the VKYN stations even now. And, as an extra wrinkle, any NOAH forces would likely blow me out of the water before asking questions.

  I was on my own. As normal. Apart from Norah, but she was going to be no help.

  It took me almost an hour of plotting, redrawing and cursing to get a course sorted which gave me, in my humble opinion, the best chance of getting back. Before I could second, third and fourth guess myself I set the autopilot to track that course. The motors spun up and the sub got moving once more, dropping to the sea floor and hugging its crests and dips as much as the passive sensors would allow.

  Sat in the pilot’s chair, I sipped my coffee and watched the screen. The little arrow of my submarine ate up the distance the way Tyler used to eat, slowly, morsel by morsel and with a look of distaste on her face. It was a constant temptation to push the speed a little further, another knot or two, to get the journey over more quickly, but each knot was another notch of volume. Someone out there would hear me and either identify the sub straight away or come to investigate. Neither outcome was to be wished for.

  Five hours into the journey, threading my way through the canyons and around the mountains which rose from the sea floor, my eyes were bleary and a headache was forming between them. I wasn't quite at the frontier yet and crossing that would be the greater challenge. Every listening post and sensor would have some officer sat behind it, filtering the noise and looking for anything that shouldn't be there. I certainly shouldn't be there.

  I could drop to the ocean floor and get some sleep, which I sorely needed, or
drive on through the headache and tiredness to reach the relative safety of NOAH territory. Either way, I decided, I needed pills. The first aid kit provided the relief I needed and I swilled them down with the last of the cold coffee from my third cup.

  The wail of the alarm speared through my brain with a sharp edge no pills could dull and I even heard Norah grunt through her medically induced somnolence. Throwing the empty cup into the trash bag, I stumbled along the short corridor and dropped into the seat I'd vacated only moments before.

  A Jackson Pollock of blobs and swirls made the screen almost impossible to read, but I could see that the autopilot had lifted us from the latest canyon onto the plain which stretched out for over a hundred kilometres ahead. If it hadn’t, we'd have smashed into the cliff at the end so I could hardly blame the course I'd programmed in. However, I'd failed to account for the eruption of submersible conflict and violence which we'd stumbled into.

  The great joy of hiding and staying in the shadows of sound on the ocean floor, or further down in canyons, is that you also miss out a lot of information that might be important. Here, the computer hadn't noted the quiet approach of two great forces, and the sudden eruption of noise had caught it, and me, by surprise.

  I had no idea which set of blobs were NOAH and which were VKYN, but it didn't matter. A stray torpedo or small combat sub which caught me out in the open wouldn't hesitate to blow my up. My luck was running true to form.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Though I knew it already, I did a quick check of the subs combat systems. None. Defensive systems were still there, but in the midst of a battle anything this sub could do would have little effect. Much better to hide and wait it out.

  Stabbing the console, I threw the sub into a steep dive towards the sea floor much as Norah had done what seemed like days ago. The subs on both sides would have already detected my vessel just as mine had found them. The fact that I had seen them at all meant they had already engaged each other in combat and torpedoes would be whizzing between them.