Sea Station Umbra

by JOHN PAUL CATER

  Miraculously the door pivoted upward just in time revealing the welcoming bay lights.

  Carefully maneuvering my precious cargo toward the opening, I saw the Chief lean over against the whale-ship’s body and hug it trying to reduce the payload’s height.

  “Keep low, Chief. Don’t want to knock you off.”

  “Roger that, Marker. Get this damn fish docked.”

  Very slowly I slid the whale-ship into the bay and readied the arms for release.”

  “Hop off, Chief. I’m going to drop it.”

  I watched as he flooded his suit’s ballast and released his grip on the manipulators. Sliding gently off the ship he propelled himself past me out into the darkness and called back.

  “Clear of the bay, Marker. Drop it and let’s get back to Pod Bay 1.”

  “Ivy, please close the Pod Bay 2 door,” I said after releasing the cargo and backing out of the bay.

  Once I confirmed that it had closed, I joined the Chief still hovering in the distance well above the docking bay.

  “How’s your HUD clock running?” I asked.

  “Forward. That’s why I’m up here out of harm’s way.”

  “Good. Our fishing trip is over… and we caught a whopper. You ready for some wake-me-up juice?”

  “More like warm-me-up juice but yes I’d love a cup. My treat.”

  Chef Saunders welcomed us to his mess standing at the rear of the kitchen blocking us from the door to his pantry.

  “Welcome back, divers,” he said. “Thank you for not using my bay this time. I’m afraid those cookie crumbs on that pallet that were once perfectly formed cookies will turn back into flour with your next dive.

  “Got any coffee?” Briscoe laughed.

  “Sure, Trooper Briscoe. Always on tap. Grab your cups and partake please. Oh, and I made you a fresh batch of donuts too.”

  Dropping his eyebrows Briscoe darted his attention to Saunders.

  “How do you know that? I mean it’s true but how do you know?”

  “It’s simple really. I overheard you and Mr. Cross talking yesterday when you mentioned the CHP. I put that together with your love of donuts and took a wild guess. Then I made you more donuts as my appreciation for all the work you guys are doing around here. I already feel safer. Plus I needed to use those cookie crumbs for something so I made donuts.”

  The mess clock read 0330 hours as we wiped the sugar from our faces and finished our coffee.

  “What next?” the Chief asked leaning back in his chair looking over the empty mess hall.

  “Just wait something will come along. Soon I imagine.”

  Within seconds, Ivy’s voice boomed over the mess hall’s speakers, “ODF please report to Pod Bay 2.”

  “I knew it,” I said, “That’s us. Bowman must have found the whale-ship. I wonder what he thinks.”

  “Let’s go find out.”

  Chapter 16. The Dragon Returns

  Dropping down the ladder into Pod Bay 2, we saw Bowman, standing beside Williams and Yung Ching, looking into the whale-ship’s cockpit. They were abuzz about something but we couldn’t tell about what.

  Ignoring our intrusion, they continued their discussion as Williams spoke.

  “…but look at his Tang Zhuang jacket with that gold embroidered dragon. And he shaved his Fu-Manchu moustache. He looks less menacing, milder now in death than in life.”

  “Went incognito I guess,” replied Ching. “He used to resemble Christopher Lee but without that ‘stache he looks more like Bruce Lee.”

  “You’re right. In death he’s now the Dragon,” Williams interjected sorrowfully.

  I knew something was up seeing their familiarity with the dead pilots so I interrupted.

  “What’s going on guys? Who are you talking about?”

  “Lt. Commander Dan Li,” Bowman answered. “That’s him on the right. In the dragon jacket. He’s one of the pilots --- the interpreter that went missing when we found his empty Exosuit. Remember?”

  “Oh yeah, but what does that mean? He’s a mole?” I asked seeing the whole security scenario change before my eyes.

  “I’m afraid so, Matt,” Bowman answered. “Or at least that’s the way it appears until we get more information.” He turned back looking around the bay searching.

  “Can we get into its damn hatch with something? Anybody have a crowbar?”

  Williams knocked on the rubber hull returning a dull thud.

  “I don’t think so, Dr. Bowman. This ship’s sealed up tight. Probably take more than we have to open it. Might as well launch it out to sea and explode it.”

  “Wait a minute guys,” I said, “I have an idea.”

  Briscoe rolled his eyes.

  “Here we go again. Another one of Marker’s hair-brained ideas. Get ready folks.”

  Ignoring Briscoe’s sarcasm Bowman stared at me for moments before speaking.

  “What do you need, Matt? I’m game. I’ve always trusted your intuition.”

  “I assume the hull’s resistant to the pressures of this depth,” I said, “so it will take almost a ton per square inch to break it open. But… it’s a different story if we apply the pressure from the inside. Now I’m going MacGyver on you so listen closely. I need a half-inch threaded hollow pipe about four or five inches long, an electric drill with a long half-inch bit, a pair of vice grips and a high-pressure air tank and hose. That’s all.”

  Within fifteen minutes Bowman had gathered the parts for me awaiting my use. After chucking the bit into the drill I put a half-inch hole through the heavy Plexiglas bubble, which I estimated to be six-inches thick, threaded the pipe into the hole until it was tight, then attached the hose to it and opened the air tank’s valve. Everyone stood immobile, apprehensive as air hissed into the sealed cabin.

  “Stand back,” I said, “That front cap’s going to pop off at any minute.”

  In the middle of the Chief’s cynical laughing there was a loud boom when the bubble blew several feet across the floor and then rocked like a dropped salad bowl for minutes.

  “Wow!” Bowman exclaimed. “That was really thinking outside of the box, Matt. I’ll have to remember that. I always look at pressure as a foe but never thought of using it as a friend. Well done my friend.”

  “Well your hydraulic elevators made me think that way, Dave. You’re already using it as a friend you just don’t realize it.”

  Nodding, Bowman turned to the open cockpit, ducked, and cautiously entered avoiding the three dead pilots.

  “Somebody get these traitors out of here before I kill them again and get some damn mug shots. I want to send them to HQ to see if they’re listed as spies. I just can’t believe that Dan Li is in here. Fricking turncoat!”

  He continued toward the rear of the whale-ship and looked back.

  “Here’s how they did that horrible empty suit trick. It’s an airlock hatch into a small flood bay. Li in his Exosuit probably entered the flood bay from the ocean, took it off in the airlock and then dumped it back into the ocean as he stayed safely dry inside. That bastard!”

  Looking around on a nearby shelf, he grabbed a thick red marker and held it up for us to see. “And here’s the grease pencil he used to mark his suit and Edward’s SeaPod. Must have used that camouflaged Chinese ADS in the corner for that venture. With this whale-ship and that suit he could lead them all around the station without being seen but he never expected that the monopole would foul his plans.”

  From outside the whale-ship Williams and I watched the hall of horrors unfold before our eyes. We had discovered the boogey man’s lair complete with incriminating evidence supporting their illicit activities. There was no Davy Jones Locker mystery involved just ordinary criminal espionage and now we had the smoking gun.

  As he swiveled around to leave, still hunched over, he noticed a thick notebook, grabbed it, and brought it out with him. Across its cover were Chinese glyphs meaning nothing to him or us.

  “Where’s Yung Ching. This is probably their
logbook. I need an interpreter,” he said, scanning the bay.

  “Down at the end of the bay moving the bodies. Took Briscoe with him to move them but he seemed not to mind,” I said. “Ching said that he was going for a camera after that.”

  Bowman sighed and squatted by the open cockpit, put his elbows on his knees, and looked down resting his head between his hands.

  “You okay, Dr. Bowman?” Williams asked.

  He glanced up at her and went back into his position.

  “Yeah I’m fine, Lieutenant. Just trying to absorb everything that’s happened here and what it all means to our mission.”

  “Well I hate bring up the elephant in the room, Dave,” I said, “but that ship is just a small sub like our SeaPods. It probably has only a ten- or twenty-mile range. That means there is a larger mother ship somewhere around us within twenty miles waiting for its return. Either a big sub or surface vessel.”

  “Oh dear God, you’re right, Matt,” he said. “I have to get this information to Point Mugu. When Ching returns with the camera have him bring the shots to my office ASAP.”

  As he left the bay, Williams and I went back and found Briscoe arranging the bodies on the floor of the bay like a criminal line-up. After opening their eyes with his thumb and forefinger, he backed off and dusted his hands.

  “There. That should give some damn good mug shots,” he said. Then he looked back past us and yelled, “Where’s Ching? I need that camera.”

  From the back of the bay by the ladder came a winded voice.

  “I’m coming. I’m coming. Be right there.”

  He raced up to us and started to take a photograph for the line-up, standing over and straddling Li’s body.

  “Gimme that camera, Yung,” said the Chief, reaching out. “I’m taller. I’ll get a better angle.”

  He relinquished the camera as I noticed tears forming in his eyes.

  “Hey Yung,” I said grabbing his shoulder pulling him closer, “I know you lost a friend and I’m truly sorry for your loss but he was not who you thought he was.”

  “But seeing him again reminds me that he was such a good man and loyal friend to me. Everybody loved him,” he sniffled. “I just can’t imagine him doing this to us.”

  I knew his pain, having lost my brother and parents when I was younger. No matter what they had done, the memories always seemed to fall on the softer times of their lives. I hugged him tighter as he broke down and began to weep uncontrollably on my shoulder.

  “Hey now,” the Chief said putting a hand on his back. “He’s in a better place and probably at peace with his wayward ways. I never met him but I feel we’re all better off without his mischief.”

  Yung sniffled again, wiped his eyes, and looked back at Briscoe.

  “I guess you’re right, Mr. Briscoe, but it’s still hard to lose a buddy like that especially when you realize that he was really your enemy. I was duped so badly; I feel like a fool.”

  “Hey Yung, let’s take these photos to Bowman. He’s waiting for them,” Williams said, sliding her arm around his back pushing him toward the ladder.

  Williams, Ching, Briscoe, and I entered the vault noticing the open Z-room hatch door showing through to Bowman’s office.

  Approaching it, I knocked.

  “We have the mug shots.”

  “Come,” he said.

  As I opened his door, he looked up from a folder.

  “Close and lock all the doors behind you including the vault’s.”

  Williams turned back, rushed through the Z-room into the vault, and pulled the heavy door until it locked. Then as I watched, she closed the Z-room hatch door and pulled the locking lever. Finally, she reentered his office and closed the door behind her.

  “Done sir. We’re secure,” she said, out of breath. “What now?”

  “Good. I see you have the camera, Mr. Briscoe. May I have it please?”

  The Chief handed him the camera and waited.

  “Sit down please; you’re all making me nervous. This may take a while.”

  We sat as he attached a USB cable to the camera. Then out the corner of my eye, I saw Ching checking out the thick leather-covered notebook lying near him on the desk.

  “Mind if I look at that book, Dr. Bowman?” Ching asked. “Those glyphs on the cover are Mandarin. It says Log Book. Is that from the whale-ship?”

  “Oh yes, Lt. Ching. I want you to examine that book and summarize it for me. Found it on a shelf in that ship. Thought it might be a log. Help yourself.”

  Bowman resumed cabling the camera to his computer as Ching lifted the tome from the desk, opened the cover, and began flipping through pages.

  Williams leaned over and glanced at the pages.

  “Well what does it say, Yung? Anything interesting?”

  “Hmm, wait a minute. It’s pretty vague. No names so far. They are documenting their recent dives around the ‘dome’ as they call it.”

  Now intrigued by his translation I also leaned over into the book as if I could read anything. All I saw were pages filled with Chinese symbols and a few hand-drawn sketches.

  Suddenly he gasped, laid the book on his lap, and began to weep again.

  Bowman jerked up from his computer.

  “What’s wrong, Yung? What did you find?”

  Ching pulled up the book and pointed into a page. In between sobs, he gazed on the strange glyphs.

  “This entry dated June 11th, 2016 tells of a venture around the dome. It says, ‘We finally captured a diver in his strange suit. He was alone with another diver tending to sensor probes some distance away. Brought him in, marked his suit with YOU LOSE, and dumped it back through the water lock onto the ocean floor.’”

  He put his hands to his eyes wiped them and with a wavering voice admitted:

  “That other diver was me. But, I never saw them. The symbols I saw on his suit were a wrong dialect of Mandarin for me to understand probably northern. Seemed more like ancient glyphs.”

  He sniffled and referred back to the log.

  “It continues, ‘Diver claimed he didn’t know Mandarin only English and said his name was Fook Yoo nothing else. Will take him back to mother ship and question him further. Must leave the dome location now. Instruments acting very strange.’”

  Ching raised his reddened eyes and glared at Bowman.

  “See? I told you he couldn’t be a spy. He was a captive.”

  Bowman listened and closed his eyes for a few moments ignoring the three photographs loading on his computer’s screen.

  “I’m truly sorry I rushed to judgment, Yung, but it appeared he was in cahoots with the pilots. He still could be and those words may be meant to deceive us if found. Disinformation it’s called. We use it often in our communications with headquarters.”

  He glanced back at his screen typed some text into his keyboard and then emphatically hit a key.

  “There! We’ll see what their database says about these interlopers.”

  Directing his attention back to Ching he asked, “Anything else interesting. Does it mention the name of the mother ship?”

  Ching studied further turning rapidly through the pages. At a page near the front, he stopped and began to read.

  “Here’s something: ‘Left the ship from the submerged docking bay with Fook Yoo and headed back to the dome.’”

  He glanced up at us with drying eyes.

  “They must be talking about a moon pool or floodable bay.”

  Now less distraught he continued his translation.

  “‘Neared the dome with our echolocation simulator chirping and found a crashed empty mini-sub twisted in the wheels of the dome. Cut bubble loose with torch and tried to catch it before it drifted up and away with the current. Currents were too fast to capture. Retreated to home ship.’”

  Captivated with Ching’s interpretation Bowman scoffed, “Of course they wouldn’t name their home ship. Too risky if they got caught. But that explains a lot. Now we know what happened to Edwards’ SeaPo
d. Still don’t know what became of him though.”

  “As much as I hate to admit it, Dr. Bowman, he’s probably fish food,” Williams said factually. “We all know of the dangers out there and most of us don’t hot rod around by ourselves for that reason. He was just careless plus he encountered the monopole.”

  Ching flinched and looked up at her from the logbook.

  “I was told to avoid that when we retrieved the cable tap. What is it anyway? Sounds like the name of a theoretical object I once studied in a physics class. But it can’t exist in reality.”

  “You’re right, Yung, it can’t but that’s what Mr. Briscoe named it and it’s stuck for lack of a better name,” Bowman offered.

  “But a monopole can’t exist,” Ching argued, “like a Yin without a Yang; a shadow without light, it’s an impossibility.”

  I thought, rolling the dilemma over in my mind.

  “That’s just what we called it, Yung. It is an inexplicable object. Just PFM. Sucks energy out of everything near it. Almost seems as if it’s acting like a neutron star drawing in energy and growing into a black hole. A black hole seed. But it’s bright now and getting brighter.”

  Bowman squinted and shook off the notion.

  “Well, whatever it is I think I should report it to headquarters. Could be something that fell off a cargo or research ship. They’ll surely be looking for it with its unusual characteristics.”

  Ching continued to read through the logbook, apparently finding no other information related to the mysteries, but he did find and pause on their assessment of our mission.

  “Seems like they are convinced that we’re only measuring radiation,” he said. “They suspected that we might have tapped into a communications cable but found no evidence of that. From what it says here they’ve been tracking our actions for only a few weeks. That’s when all the weird things started happening around the station.”

  Bowman exhaled and smiled turning to Williams.

  “Well that’s comforting to know. I was afraid our operation had been compromised but your cable intercept divers, Lt. Williams, have been the best there are in your covert cable connection work. Thanks to you and your divers we’re still a radiation monitoring station in the eyes of the world.”