CHAPTER 9
Matthew returned to the main deck cradling a cup of coffee, as much for the warmth as for sustenance. This first day of June was a little cool. The sea was still choppy, but had already come down a notch. The weather forecast called for milder days with calm seas by tomorrow, which should last at least a week.
Penny and Thorssen had obviously wanted to talk by themselves for a while, and they hadn’t protested when he left them to ‘check on some things.’
He felt glad to be at sea again, glad to be on board the Valentina, and after waiting years for this moment, looked forward to checking her over stem to stern. But this was not the time. Instead he brought all his attention to the whales heading north. They were swimming a little ahead but well off the port bow. Maybe Thorssen did not want the grays to feel threatened and was keeping well away and to their inland side. In any case, from this distance, it was hard to see anything of significance.
Only a few others were on deck, but that made sense. The Valentina was crewed almost entirely by students, and many would be below, in the labs or doing the work of the crew. The policy was unusual, as research ships ordinarily had professionals do the manual work while the scientists just did science. It was also controversial. He had heard grumblings from some graduate students at the Point who felt that having to learn engine maintenance cut too much into their study time. Others, however, believe it was one of the best reasons to be part of the program, as it gave them a total immersion into the whole process of fieldwork. In any case, it was a policy Bell and Thorssen had insisted on, and no one was willing to argue the point with two living legends.
From his fishing days, Matthew had learned that he couldn’t just find a place on a ship, he had to make his own place. Although the Valentina was a research ship, it wouldn’t be any different this time. Time to introduce himself.
Two students on the aft deck were assembling a large holding tank for marine mammals. He recognized one of them as the operator of the Zodiac that had brought him here, Dirk. The other was a large man with a heavy beard who somehow still managed to look more like an overgrown child. They seemed annoyed about something, maybe how their construction project was going. Another pair sat stationed behind the array of monitoring controls and screens on the fo’c’sle. They’d make a better beginning.
As he approached their observation station, the young man looked up from his console and gave a friendly, if crisp, welcome.
“I’m Jack. Jack Ripler. And this is Becka.”
Matthew recognized him from the Point. It was Ripler who had sat next to him in the cafeteria and let his opinion known: Matthew Amati had only made it into the best marine science program in the western hemisphere because of accidentally being in the right place at a time and the closest at hand.
Ripler still sounded sure of himself, yet sitting there dressed so fastidiously, he looked more like some yacht clubbing day-sailor than a research student at the Point.
“Good to meet you, Jack…Becka. I’m Matthew Amati.”
“We know,” Ripler said smiling.
“I met you before, at the Point.”
“Yes, the ‘Canadian quota,’” Ripler said in a slightly bored voice. “You’ve held on like a lamprey, so I give you credit for that.”
Matthew was preparing an answer when Ripler glanced at the display and suddenly held his hand up saying, “Excuse me for a moment. I have to adjust the auto-tracking.”
Becka had kept watching her monitor the whole time, but did finally manage to wave a few fingers in his direction. Her dark frizzy hair bounced every time she jerked her head from one readout to another. With her aquiline nose and intense eyes, she resembled a bird of prey. Her lean, muscular body told of someone dedicated enough to workout somehow even on a cramped research ship.
The large binocular video setup was in continuous movement, always realigning with the whales.
“With the rolling of the ship,” Becka said, “we’ve had a hell of a time keeping the array pointing in the right direction, even with new tracking algorithms. Still some bugs in this thing. The sea’s supposed to calm down later, which will make it easier. Try looking through here.”
She had not pointed to the binocular array, but to another set of eyepieces extending out from the console on an arm with swivels.
“Doesn’t matter which way they’re pointed,” she said.
“Essentially,” Ripler added, “you will be reviewing the high resolution video feed from those binoculars on the tripod. What we see on the screen, but in stereo. New technology. Just try it, and we won’t have to bore you with complex explanations.”
Matthew bent over, peered into the eyepieces and saw an amazingly clear video image of the lead whales, with a complete sense of depth and life.
“It’s so sharp!” Matthew said. “I’ve heard of these systems. Didn’t know you could get them yet.”
“We got lucky,” Ripler said. “This one’s a new test model. And as Becka mentioned, it’s still far from perfected. Not as automatic as the specs would lead one to believe. Becka keeps it on course, and on this screen I make sure all the readouts are functioning properly and the perimeters stay optimized. It’s supposed to do all that automatically, but we’ve found it still needs some shepherding. It does a good job of staying on target by itself in light seas, but needs considerable manual finesse on a day like this. In a year or so, they tell us, the system will be able to operate completely unaided.”
“Great, I guess.”
“This is a game-changer, but don’t worry, we’ll still have lots to do. Notice that it also tracks the target’s exact location, water depth, and time of day.”
“Plus air and ocean temperatures,” Becka said. “Water constituents from plankton counts, pollutants as well as the potential to analyze just about any data, on demand.”
Ripler nodded. “And anytime we do or test anything, anywhere, the data all go back into a central system. Every instrument reading on the ship, including this video feed, does that now. All the real time data is available whenever we play back the video, because all the timing data are digitally encoded and coordinated. Or maybe the term is ‘embedded.’ I’m not as much of a techno-geek as I probably sound.”
Denials notwithstanding, the glee in Ripler’s voice as he gushed over the hardware was plain. There was still much of the boy in him—he looked so unused. Matthew’s lab partner at school had told him that Ripler had finished college early and entered the graduate program at the Point when he was only nineteen. Now, he couldn’t be much over twenty-one.
“It’s all wonderful,” Matthew said, “but don’t you find, at least at times, that the technology gets in between you and what you’re observing? I mean, you lose the immediacy.”
Ripler glanced up then back down, but not fast enough to hide a slight sneer.
“I see you’ve been listening to ‘Captain Nemo.’ Or Doctor Martin Bell, to you and the world. But to answer your question: not at all. The data we’re able to gather and instantly cross-reference is, quite frankly, way beyond anything done before. Knowledge accretion will accelerate to the point where almost any question can be answered quickly. We’ll be able to build incredibly complex models from a mass of accurate data.”
Ripler gave a little laugh. “And it doesn’t hurt a bit that we get some grants from the company who makes this gear.”
“Jack was the main force behind getting this equipment for us,” Becka said.
“With strings, I’m sure,” Matthew could not stop from adding.
Ripler shook his head and laughed again. “Using their stuff is a de facto endorsement, which means everyone else will have to have it, and that obviously benefits the company that makes it. Marine science does not come cheap. With this gear, we are light-years ahead of where we were even two years ago. This is the future, not standing on a pitching deck, squinting at the horizon. Even after we’re long gone, anybody will be able to use the data we’re gathering right now, and go on a virtual field tri
p. And this data may not be available much longer, after all.” He looked at the whales on his screen. “They’ll all be gone before the end of the century.”
Ripler’s face clouded over for a moment. His concern seemed genuine, and his pessimism was not unfounded.
“We’d be crazy not to use it,” he said, gesturing toward the array. “So get used to it or get out of the way.”
“Don’t forget yesterday,” Becka said.
“I’d rather like to forget, if you don’t mind.”
Matthew looked at Ripler, who had again become absorbed in making fine adjustments to the array. It was not the time to press him on whatever had happened yesterday, but he noted the point for later.
“If you’d like to view anything since we got here,” Ripler said, “the files are down in the lab. Use the backups, please. Everything we have is there and as good as we could make it. Can’t update with anything on shore, however, as Doctor Bell doesn’t want Internet access on the ship, for some unfathomable reason.”
“Well, the cost,” Matthew said.
“Even a fool should know by now it is the future. We could have a satellite downlink for a tiny fraction of the money that goes into the mini-sub, his favorite toy, but he’s afraid we won’t get enough exposure to the raw elements or something. Foolish.”
Ripler suddenly smiled. “I’m sure you’ll see the whole picture, with time. Check the files we made yesterday.”
“For now, I’d like to follow in real time, but I’ll definitely take a look later. That holding tank they’re putting together: are you planning to make some captures this trip?”
“Certainly not! Those days, thank God, are over. Our good Captain Thorssen used to do that, by the way. Before he saw the error of his ways, I’m sure. You know, bring ’em back alive, man against nature. Capturing dolphins and small whales for the amusement of tourists. You didn’t know?”
“No.”
“Back when he was much younger and before he had some kind of ‘encounter’ that supposedly changed his life. Part of his myth, anyway.”
Ripler glanced over to the tank. “Sometimes we come across the orphaned or the injured: whales, seals, and further up north, walruses. We save a few, learn something from the others. Many die. That tank is a new one, bigger. Perhaps that will help…”
His voice trailed off and he stared at his screen. The muscles in Ripler’s face pulsed. As much to break the spell as anything, Matthew asked, “Do you ever get a break?”
“What? Oh, yes, but we only have four teams, and it’s fairly tiring, especially with everything else we’re made to do. Matthew…”
His voice trailed off again, but he was smiling.
“Yes?”
“Could we talk, later when I’m off?”
“Sure. That would be great. Anytime.”
Matthew spent the rest of the afternoon on the decks, watching the whales. Sometimes he checked the video tracking system, but he relied mainly on his own eyes and binoculars. The rhythmic swimming pattern of the whales was hypnotic. Despite their enormous size, they moved like a school of fingerlings, totally in tune with each other. This was completely without precedent. Gray whales did not behave this way.
Yet, the lack of purple coloring on the lead whale had put doubt in his mind. Wouldn’t that fact put doubt into the minds of the others leading them to conclude that was out of his depth at the Point? With that fear-tinged thought settling like mud to the bottom of his own sea of doubt, he walked every centimeter of the decks, as if scanning the whales from different viewpoints would somehow let him see what he was missing.
He glanced at his watch. It was almost four, so he headed down a passageway to the galley for coffee. As he was halfway through a huge mug, Jack Ripler strolled in.
“I just got off, Matthew. This a good time to talk?”
“Sure. Have a seat.”
“It would be better topside.”
“Lead the way, then.”
They climbed the narrow stairway, the sounds of their feet clanging out of synch on the metal treads. Ripler headed for the aft deck on the port side and leaned on the railing before abruptly starting to speak. “I’ll get right to the point, Matthew. I don’t believe your story.”
“How much of it have you heard?”
“Not the whole thing, but I was told about this supposed instantaneous travel. I don’t believe a word of it.”
Matthew did not want to lose his temper, and forced his attention into his breath in an attempt to steady himself. His face, however, burned.
Ripler smiled and shook his head. “Calm down, I’m not saying you’re lying.”
“No one is saying they definitely moved, either,” Matthew replied, “but the transceiver coordinates of the tagged whale out there—I’m talking about Lefty—appeared to shift about a hundred kilometers in a minute. The shift is supported by before and after sightings and by data from the satellite tracking system. No one has found any way to explain this.”
“I have.”
“Then let’s hear it.”
“Okay,” Ripler said with a mild look of amusement on his face. “One unchallenged assumption has been that the transceiver, whose signal we picked up before and after the event, was always the same one transmitting. I mean, that it was the same specific piece of hardware.”
“The ID signature was the same. They all have unique codes.”
“You mean, they are supposed to have unique codes.”
“Wouldn’t it have been obvious if they didn’t?”
“Not if the first one had been deactivated just before another was started up for the first time with that very same code.”
Matthew shook his head. “What is the chance of one transceiver going dead, while another somehow goes on a short time later, with the same codes?”
“That’s just the point! I don’t think it was an accident.”
Matthew paused. So, this is where Ripler was heading.
“You’re trying to tell me that someone arranged to have two transceivers, one that would be turned off while, almost simultaneously, the other was turned on?”
“Exactly. Doing this is, by the way, technically possible. I checked.”
Matthew turned and walked to the other side of the deck, with Ripler following him.
“Not you, of course, Matthew. I don’t believe you’d get involved in something like this, and it doesn’t surprise me that you’re incredulous. To come to the point, I think you’re being used and, I must add, used in the most cynical and underhanded way.”
Matthew could see the whales now, and he looked out at them as if hoping he would find an answer for Ripler. Their flukes, rising and falling in unison, seemed to be waving goodbye and taking their secrets with them.
“But just look at them!” Matthew said. “If their instant change of location was the only anomaly, you might have a case, but their behavior—”
“By my calculations, these whales could have reached the point where we first sighted them simply by swimming in their usual way.”
“No way.”
“Oh, it’s within their established cruising speed. Remember, over fifty-two hours elapsed between your sighting and ours. Did Thorssen tell you that after the whales supposedly ‘transported,’ according the transceiver on Lefty, they just shuffled around for two days in the same general area? Waiting conveniently for us to show, I suppose. Yet when we got here, we found them on the move again.”
“I haven’t really had all that much of an opportunity to speak with him.”
“I’m sure he has a lot on his mind, but just think about it. Why would they loiter here until we got here? That’s something grays never do while migrating. Well, the answer is they didn’t! They simply kept going until they caught up to the place they supposedly moved to. If you look at it like that, it would definitely be possible for them to cover the distance, without recourse to hocus-pocus. Do the math, as they say.”
“Well, it still doesn’t add up for me, a
nd we saw the whales disappear from the Eva Shay.”
“The rest of your crew agree on that? Not from what I’ve heard.”
“From who?”
“Doesn’t matter, you know it’s true. The whales sounded, and your captain wanted to get back to port before a storm. As gray whales can easily stay under for twenty minutes, makes perfect sense to me.”
Matthew took a breath to speak, then let it out. Ripler waited in apparent satisfaction, having scored his points.
“Okay,” Matthew admitted, “there is still confusion on that. It was a confusing event, so let’s stick with what we can verify now.”
“I’ve no problem with that at all.
“All right. First, we have the completely unprecedented behavior of these whales. This pod—”
“Grays don’t operate in pods, Matthew.”
“That’s just it!” Matthew almost shouted. “These whales are exhibiting the same unusual behavior as the ones I saw. And it is like a pod, and more tight and coordinated than any I’ve ever seen. You cannot deny the extraordinary behavior we are witnessing, they’re right in front of you.”
Matthew gestured toward the whales, but Ripler did not even give them a glance.
“Yes, it’s fascinating,” Ripler said. “A point for you and fairly earned. Grays do not form extended family units, but they do seem to be mimicking something like that. Happy? Again, I completely agree that this phenomenon is fascinating. I am eager to study what is really going on here, but grays have exhibited behavior changes before. For instance, the ‘friendly whale’ phenomenon in Baja.”
“It’s more than just fascinating. Look at them! Look how close together they are, look at the rhythmic way they’re swimming! No one has ever reported anything like this in grays. This is the cetological event of the century, and that’s a verifiable fact, even if you don’t take the unexplained displacement into account. How could someone have known about this behavior enough in advance to set up some kind of hoax?”
“I can think of several explanations. One is that they took on this seeming pod aspect at some time well before you saw them. The hoaxers used it simply by planning around it.”
“Why would anyone go to all that trouble?”
“Listen. For you, this pod behavior alone might be the ‘event of the century,’ but not for most. Not even for the people who control the purse strings at the Point these days. Some new faces on the Board in particular are far more interested in the future of the fishing industry and the allocation of resources, than in the pursuit of pure knowledge.”
“It would still get plenty of attention.”
“Don’t count on it. Maybe a mention on page five of the Seattle Times. It just doesn’t have the sizzle.”
“I don’t agree.”
“The people whose decisions we rely on could be here looking, and they’d be yawning in five minutes. They don’t care. Have you heard about the cuts?”
“What cuts?”
“Next year, our budget is being reduced by thirty percent. Do you have any idea how much it costs just to keep the Valentina in the water?”
Matthew did not know what to say. Ripler pushed on.
“Think about it. Whale behavior that wouldn’t look all that strange to most people is not really news. Not juicy enough, but transmigrating whales would be page one. Especially with some reputable names behind the report. Big money would soon follow, or so they hope. Stupid, of course. When the truth comes out, it will certainly have the opposite effect.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Some old fools saw what they imagined to be an opportunity in the admittedly strange behavior of these grays, and they concocted this ridiculous scheme to get funding. Attention equals funding. Sizzle equals funding. That’s how the game is played, but they must be entering their dotage, if they thought this lunacy could fool anyone.”
“That’s slander.”
“It’s been done before, you know.”
“When?”
“I was speaking of the world of research as a whole. You take a real truth and connect it with a falsehood. People can verify the first part and then they swallow the other half. The baited hook. It’s the oldest trick in the world. If you insist, I can find you dozens of examples, more than a few as incredible in their own way as this one.”
Matthew tried to think, but the buzz of confusion in the back of his mind was getting louder. Ripler, however, was completely on top of his arguments and was thoroughly enjoying himself.
“Matthew,” he said, “just follow it through. You’ll find plenty of places where they could fiddle things. My explanation, or something very close to it, being rational and consistent with the basic laws of physics, is the right one.”
“You don’t have any real proof of what you’re saying.”
“Don’t worry. I will. There is already strong circumstantial evidence.”
“Like what?”
“It’s not the right time, but actions have been set in motion that will prove me right. For now, I simply want to let you know that you have been misled. You are the fall guy. Whatever future you might have had is now at risk, yet it’s not too late. If you’re willing to let the scales fall from your eyes, there will be a place for you somewhere. I’ll even help. Listen to me, please. I’m doing you a favor.”
Matthew did not know what to say. Ripler was good at presenting his case, even if he could not resist being patronizing. Matthew felt bricked in, but the hope of finding a chink in Ripler’s logic kept him going.
“Thanks for your concern for my welfare, but how about a plausible scenario that would explain how anyone could have possibly managed this.”
“Sure. They changed the signature of the original transceiver so it would temporarily not be tracked. By anyone else but them, of course. Minutes later, they switched on a second transceiver, reprogrammed to have the first transceiver’s signature. The thing is, the second transceiver was not attached to a whale. It was in a boat, ‘a hundred kilometers further north,’ as you pointed out. The tags can be turned on and off and even reprogrammed, remotely.”
“Go on.”
“With pleasure,” Ripler said. “After switching transceiver signals, they waited for the whales to catch up, secretly tracking them with the new code from the original transceiver. The equipment needed isn’t that hard to come by, and there are plenty of places along this coast where a small boat can slip in and out. All the tracking equipment they would need can be carried in a briefcase. It would then be easy for whoever did this to be at the right place, waiting for the whales to arrive. Then they just reprogrammed the original transceiver with the old code, creating the illusion that the whales were already there.”
“How could they have switched signals the second time without being noticed?”
“As I mentioned, the transceivers can be switched on and off remotely if you have the right equipment and the codes. That’s how they did it the first time, that was the ‘anomaly’ that Harold Conlan picked up.”
“You’re forgetting about the second switch? I doubt if anyone could manage that without being detected.”
“Ah, but they were!” Ripler smiled as he slowly shook his head. “Oh, didn’t they tell you? There was another ‘displacement,’ or I’d rather say at this point, a loss of contact, just before we found the whales. Just before you arrived.”
Ripler shrugged his shoulders almost as if he were apologizing for making his case so effectively.
“And of course,” he went on, “that’s when they were making the switch. It would be hard to do it without some time lag, you’re absolutely right. I happened to be standing behind Emory, who was sitting at the tracking station down below when it occurred. The dropout lasted about a minute, and then—just like magic—the signal comes back on. A couple of hours later, we make our first sighting of the same whales we’re trailing now. You can check it easily enough. It’s in the log.”
Matthew was shocked.
Why h
adn’t Thorssen mentioned this?
He didn’t want to let Ripler know about his recent conversation with Thorssen, but he had to counter with something.
“The Captain told me he had an experience this morning with the lead whale that was in some ways similar to the one I had on my fishing boat. The point is, there’s more to this incident than just the displacement, and I know that because I experienced it firsthand.”
“Oh, and what was that, exactly?”
“I’m going to wait until I have the opportunity to talk to everyone together.”
“Fine,” Ripler said, as he smiled indulgently. “Except whatever your ‘experience’ was, Thorssen could have just fed your account back to you, thereby adding weight to this charade and keeping you hooked.” Then Ripler laughed. “Those poor old fools!”
Matthew took a step toward him, but Ripler just leaned back on the railing, his contempt barely disguised.
“At least what I am suggesting is possible,” Ripler said, “supported by the facts, and in accordance with the known laws of science. This magic whale with a warp drive is completely ridiculous, and you know it. If it were up to me, Thorssen would be out of a job already. I’m convinced that he has a hand in this fraud, and we’ll find Bell’s in there as well.”
“To say something like that about a captain while at sea is close to mutiny, you know.”
Ripler laughed again. “Excuse me, but this is not the Bounty. I will still do my job and do it impeccably, but ‘no thanks’ to The Twilight Zone. When all this unravels—and it will—they’ll take you down with them. I thought you might have some sense. Now it looks like the only work you might ever get at the Point would be janitorial. No, that’s too harsh, sorry. Maintenance, as I heard you’re good with a screwdriver.”
Ripler walked away, then turned on his heel. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to hear your ‘Moby Pink’ story. Oh that’s right, it was purple. Which reminds me. I had a friend check up on something I remembered reading about. Heard back from him last night. There’s an immersion compound used in the undersea mining industry to keep clouds of silt down. Stick to anything it settles on even underwater. Or anything that swims through it. One kind happens to be florescent pink so they can layout areas clearly. A gray whale covered partly in this stuff might well seem purple. That’s how they did it, Matthew, only it wore off.”
Without a smile, he turned and disappeared around the bulkhead.
Matthew stood frozen for a moment, utterly frustrated. Then he yanked off his hat and threw it spinning away into the air. A breeze caught it and whirled it back toward him like a boomerang, but gave out too soon. The hat settled into the receding wake of the Valentina, and was now, like them all, at the mercy of an unfathomable sea.
Far From The Sea We Know Page 9
