Back In Blue

by G R Matthews

  "The number of times I've come close to dying is uncountable and I'd prefer not be reminded of them. However, I know some were my fault." The vision of a whiskey bottle floated up in my mind where it rotated for a moment before shattering, spraying the golden liquid within across my memories where it changed to a rich red and then a dry, flaky, dark brown. "And I know some weren't my fault. Thing is, shit happens, and you can either let it control you or you control it."

  "You know my tech is dead?" She broke the stare and looked down at the table. Gone was the angry woman and now a scared girl sat in front of me.

  "Yeah," I said. "They're looking into it."

  "Lieutenant Columbo?"

  "I've met him. Seems like a thorough man. They will find out who did it," I assured her.

  "He tried to kill me," she said in a little voice and I saw her shoulders shake for a moment.

  "Columbo?" I knew what she meant, who she meant, but sometimes being obtuse has a purpose.

  "Hayes, really?" She did glance up and her moth twitched into a half smile before fading away.

  "Sorry. He can't hurt you anymore," I said. "He's dead."

  "Did you..." She left the rest of question unsaid.

  "No," I answered. "Columbo ask you to record our conversation?"

  "No," she snapped and looked indignant.

  "Strange, he asked me."

  Her head snapped up and I saw the shock in her eyes.

  "I said no," I explained. "Well, I said more than that, but the general thrust of my argument was no."

  "He did?" There was a tremor in her voice, a little quaver at the back of her throat.

  "Yes. What did you say when he asked you?"

  "I respectfully declined," she said after a moment’s thought.

  "Respectfully?"

  "He outranks me, Lieutenant, I have to be respectful," she said.

  "So, we both said no. Good," I said.

  "What now?"

  "Now we go and find your suit, check it over and go out for a swim," I said pushing my chair back and standing.

  "You said it wouldn't be ready till later," she protested.

  "Doesn't mean we can't oversee the process," I said, beckoning her to stand up. "They've issued a brand new computer. Everything will be set back to default options and you know how useless those settings are. We can spend some time setting the suit back up to your specifications and checking the work the techs are doing."

  "Can't I just load a back-up into the computer?" She slid out of her seat and walked the few steps over to me. Even that short distance I could detect the resistance, the reluctance.

  Folks used to say, at least I've seen it on the ancient clip shows, that if you fell off a horse the best thing to do was climb straight back on. Having seen the size of horses I feel my first reaction would be to scream in pain and second to ask someone to provide a mode of transport that didn't have a mind of its own.

  "They've cleansed the back-ups," I said as began to walk towards the exit. "They didn't want to risk any of the code, programming, or problems that your old suit suffered to be carried over into the new one." I shrugged. "It's a sensible precaution."

  We wandered the hallways for a few moments, heading towards the engineering section. Naval personnel, uniforms neatly pressed, faces clean and hair tidy, walked past us without acknowledging our presence. Some of that would be due to our lowly rank, some to the patch above our chest pocket which denoted a special forces unit, and some because they didn't want to get involved in an ongoing investigation.

  Columbo hadn't succeeded in getting one of us to wear a wire and recording conversations in the canteens, public spaces and our own rooms was forbidden by Naval regulations. That didn't mean that it did not happen, just that they weren't really supposed to do it. In addition, the partial-AI which ran a lot of the systems on the base couldn't parse every conversation, everywhere, every minute. However, I'd bet that he was sat, no doubt in some comfortable office, tracking us on the video screens. Anyone stopping to talk to us was likely to find themselves dragged into a less comfortable office for a quick round of twenty questions.

  The sign for the engineering department came into view and I walked on five or so paces before I realised that Norah was not with me. I stopped and turned.

  "Hayes," she said, "I can't go in there."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  "Why not?"

  "I don't want to go out again," she said and under the lights I could see her face had drained of any colour. She looked much like she had when I'd stripped the helmet off her head in the airlock. Lifeless, frozen.

  "You have to." I took a few careful steps towards her.

  "I can't." She took a step back. "I'm scared. I died."

  "You're alive," I answered.

  "What if it happens again?"

  "It..." I'd been about to say that it wouldn't, but that would have been a lie. "Norah, things happen. Someone sabotaged your suit. They did it on purpose and we don't yet know why, but you're a valuable asset to the navy. You've been thoroughly trained and more than that you're one of the two percent, in a good year, who make it through the Fish-Suit course. You've overcome fear before. It is nothing new to you."

  "But this is the first time someone has actually tried to kill me, Hayes."

  "It won't be the last," I replied. "You joined the Navy and we are at war. There are folks out there who want to kill us both and, if we're honest, our job is to kill them."

  "What if they try again?" Her eyes were wide, and her hands fluttered at her side.

  "That's why we're going to check your suit out from top to bottom before we go out. We'll go through everything. Check the motors, the joints, seals, filters, computer, the lot. We won't go out until we are both satisfied. There are a few things we can do to make it more difficult to tamper with the suit."

  "You can?"

  "The navy doesn't teach you everything. I've had my suit longer that I want to remember and I've picked up a trick or two over the years. I've had to leave my suit in places I'd not have chosen and rely on it a few hours later. It's why we check and recheck before we go out. We can have a chat with your new computer and put it straight about a few things. Also, there are some tweaks and additions we can get from the net," I explained. "They'll help a lot."

  "I didn't think we are allowed to install other bits of software," she said, taking a step forward, intrigued. There is something about being a little rebellious, especially if you're part of an institution that expressly forbids creative thinking and problem solving. Teenagers learn to rebel, naval personnel have it down to a fine art.

  "Let's go and make the technicians day," I said with a broad smile. Without looking back, I turned and resumed my journey towards engineering. A moment later, I heard her soft footsteps following. Chalk one up to the Hayes charm.

  We bypassed the big engineering section, the dry dock where the subs were being built, dismantled or repaired, the clean rooms where the computers and electronics were being carefully constructed, and the canteen where oil smudged mechanics and engineers drank endless cups of tea and coffee. The specialist equipment was looked after in several secure rooms at the back of a long corridor. Every window was frosted and there were dire warning signs everywhere you looked.

  At the last door, I knocked and waited. A few moments later it swung open and familiar face looked out at us.

  "What do you want?" Liddle said.

  "We've come to see how Norah's suit is doing," I answered.

  The tech glared at me for a second and gave Norah a much softer look. "You know we'll check and double check it?"

  Norah nodded.

  "And we'll do the triple check," I said, stepping forward and pushing the door open. "Can't be too careful these days."

  Liddle did not move at first and I found myself almost nose to nose with the man. With a heavy sigh he moved aside.

  "Don't go getting in the technicians way, Hayes," he growled. "We know what we're doing."

/>   "I'm sure it will be instructive for the Ensign and I to see the techs at work," I said. "I know I will find it fascinating."

  Our presence in the garage-lab hybrid was welcomed with stares, grumbles, and not a few muttered words of discontent. I ignored them all, favouring the techs with a wave which said continue with your work, no need to salute, it said. They noted my largesse with studied indifference.

  "It's over here," Liddle said, pointing and walking past us.

  Norah and I followed the tech to a table near the back of the room. A Fish-suit was laid upon it and cables ran from various sections to a bank of machines close by. They beeped and flashed lights of varying colours. Text scrolled by on screens, some much too fast to follow and the rest unintelligible to me.

  "How is it going?" I asked, peering at the exposed innards of Norah's suit. I recognised the bits and pieces even if I wasn't sure precisely how they worked. The joy of a Fish-Suit was its ease of repair. You took one bit out and put a new bit in. It was like those buildings blocks children play with, everything goes together easily without a fuss. You didn't need to know what every bit was, just how to prise it out and replace it.

  "Pretty good, actually," Liddle allowed.

  "How long till it is ready?" Norah asked, a tiny catch in her voice.

  "We're almost done. These are just the last checks and then it'll be ready," Liddle said.

  "Great." I moved over to the screens and took a look, pretending I understood all the scrolling text. "Then Norah and I can take it out for a test run."

  "We'll need to do an airlock check first," Liddle answered.

  "Good idea," I said, turning to Norah. "Why don't you go and get into some skins?"

  "I..."

  "Liddle, you have any around in Norah's size? It's just a test, they don't need to be a perfect fit. And I'll need some breathing gear, plus a communicator we can tether to her suit." I looked around as if all that would be here on the shelves or in the copious cupboards and compartments. As long as we kept this moving along quickly, Norah wouldn't have the chance to slip back into her fear. It was slightly cruel, but sometimes that's the kindest thing you can do.

  Liddle pointed to a metal cupboard and guided Norah to the toilet door, grabbing a sealed package off of a crowded shelf. I watched him push the package into her arms before opening the door. The cupboard he'd pointed me too held a full-face mask and breathing apparatus, a backpack with hoses which connected to the mask.

  "You want skins?" He called to me.

  I shook my head. "I'll strip down."

  "No one needs to see that, Hayes," he said.

  "I'll keep my underwear on," I replied.

  "Small mercies," he said and began to disconnect the cables from Norah's suit.

  Sitting on the lab floor, I pulled off my soft soled shoes and tunic, throwing them into the corner. I had to stand to get out of my uniform trousers and they went into the same corner. The air in the lab was cool and goosebumps pimpled my arms and legs. They wouldn't last and once I entered the airlock the freezing ocean water would make mountains out of the pimples. Luckily, this was a simple suit check and I wouldn't be in the water long enough to develop hypothermia.

  The straps of the breathing apparatus dug into my shoulders and I settled the gills around my neck. These rings of specially grown algae would remove the oxygen from the water and add it to the reservoir in the tank. The technology was old, though we'd improved it over the years. Compressed air in the backpack and the gills increased the amount of time you could stay out in the ocean, and provided a backup if one went wrong. Life in the oceans was all about contingency planning.

  I plucked the mask with its inbuilt communicator off the shelf and waited for Norah to get changed. Less than a minute later she emerged from the toilets wearing the skins. They sagged and wrinkled around her in ways that her own set would never do. Her pink hair was tied up into a tight bun and the hood hung limp around her neck.

  "We'll help you get into the suit," Liddle said, waving me over, "and we can check it as we go."

  "I don't need help," Norah said.

  "This time, Ensign," I said, moving forward, "you do, and it is a much for our peace of mind as yours."

  She looked over at me. No doubt impressed by the sight of a middle-aged man in his underwear, a backpack and what looked like a dodgy Elizabethan ruff around his neck. A sight to send shivers through any hot-blooded man or woman.

  "You've got a lot of scars," was all she said.

  "Every single one was hard earned," I answered, dragging the lower half of her suit from the table.

  "You earned them?" She said, as she stepped into the suit and slipped the straps over her shoulders.

  "Well, some were accidents, some my own fault, and others were given as presents." Along with Liddle, I lifted the top of the suit over her head.

  She settled into the Fish-Suit, adjusting the clips and straps which kept it in place. The helmet was the last part to go on and I saw her glance at it several times as Liddle ran some basic checks.

  "Everything looks fine," the technician said.

  "Helmet," I said. "Once it's on, run a full diagnostic and then we'll get into the airlock."

  "Hayes," she said and faltered.

  "It'll be fine, Norah," I said, holding the helmet out towards her. "Easier than the first time you did this. You know what's coming this time."

  "I knew then," she protested. "I'd seen the training clips, had the safety briefings and all the old soldiers had told me their horror stories."

  It was hard to do anything but nod. The navy's way of preparing you for the experience is make you fully aware of just how horrible it was going to be. I suppose they hoped to scare you, to make the unsuitable ones quit before they even tried or to fail at the first hurdle. There was also the possibility that they just enjoyed scaring the shit out trainees. Naval personnel have a weird sense of humour sometimes.

  After a few moments she took the helmet and settled it over her head. There was a click and a slight hiss as the suit cut her off from our world.

  Through the visor I saw her face pale and her eyes widen. Fear was setting in and we needed to get this over with. I clipped the fibre cable from my mask onto her chest plate and with a wave of my hand led the way into the airlock.

  "Hayes," her voice, tinny and scratchy through the earphones in the mask was full of nerves. In one word I heard the terror, fear and horror of going through this again, going back into the place which had almost killed her.

  "We'll load up the QxyQuid. Run it through the suit for a minute or two," I said as the airlock door closed behind us. Once the suit filled up, she'd be able to hear me but only respond via text. "Believe me, Norah, I've no wish to be here for long. Cold water does absolutely nothing for a man's image."

  "It isn't that," she said, and there was half a giggle behind the fear. "We don't know that the suit works."

  I clicked the hoses into place on her suit and started the QxyQuid process. At the same moment, water began to seep in through the vents at the bottom of the walls. The moment it touched my bare feet I winced in pain. It was like being hammered by a million ice cubes all at once, and all on my feet. Once the water started climbing my legs, I would really get to know the cold. When it hit my groin, I'd be singing falsetto.

  "Serves you right," she said from the shelter of her suit.

  The QxyQuid outpaced the rising water and I saw it reach her chin. Now the panic kicked in. It was unavoidable and inevitable. Every time, no matter how many times you've done it, breathing in that QxyQuid is terrifying. Watching it from the outside, even as my testicles retreated into the warmth of my body, was, if anything, worse.

  I saw her gulp at the QxyQuid. Her eyes widened and her pupils dilated. Norah's arms flapped and her fingers clawed at my arms. I held onto her as best I could as her body convulsed, rejecting the oxygen rich gel, fighting to get away, to get to the surface to breathe. The whole process was drawn from our evolutionary past,
our desire and struggle to survive. All you could do was cling to the knowledge that you'd done it before and that you'd survived.

  This time, for Norah, it took a long, long time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The dull clunk of the explosive charge attaching itself magnetically to the hull was loud even through the dividing water, helmet and QxyQuid.

  Sound was like that. Under the ocean it travelled much further than light. The AIs in cities or on-board military subs could classify a sound, give a distance and direction in a microsecond. Of course, they were sometimes wrong. Often enough for human operators to have to check the results and relay them onward. A human filter and bottleneck.

  I still winced. Amongst all the noises coming from the city, the whirring of power fans, the factories, the subs going in and out, it would disappear quickly into the background. Even the best military AI on high alert would have a hard job picking out the magnet on the hull.

  A quick goose of the motors and I turned in place. Another kick of power and I started forward, towards Norah's location. The absolute dark of the ocean made light a valuable resource, and a beacon. My head torch was off, and I was navigating by the best reckoning my computer could offer. Experience played a part too.

  The hull skipped by and a few seconds later Norah's Fish-Suit came into view. Her arms were raised and she was nudging her explosive into place. I heard another thunk as she engaged the magnetics. She turned on the spot, raising her hand towards me, the threat of her weapon clear even in the dark.

  I held my hands up, surrendering. The suit would not have warned her of my approach. A Fish-Suit is stealth with a capital S, in plain font, in small type. When she lowered her arm, I moved closer, dragging the cable from my chest piece to hers. My HUD showed the start-up, handshake and security checks being carried out.

  ALL DONE? I sent via my menu of stock questions and responses.