World of Water (8 page)

Hold on, you mean divert?

That’s exactly what I mean. It’s a rule of the sea. A mayday cannot be ignored, especially if you’re the nearest available ship, which we are. It’s our responsibility.

Do I get any say in the matter?

None at all. I’m telling you as a courtesy. We’re already changing tack. If you want to stick with us, then you can come along. Otherwise feel free to carry on on your own.

Dev looked to the right. The
Admiral Winterbrook
was veering away from its parallel course, trending westward. The gap between the boats was widening.

He was in a quandary. On the one hand, the sooner they got to the Tropics of Lei Gong, the better. The mission was, after all, time critical; they couldn’t afford to be sidetracked. On the other hand, he and Handler had gone to all the trouble of securing an escort of Marines, and now they were going to lose it? That would render the whole trip to Station Ares a waste of time.

There really seemed no choice but to stick with Sigursdottir and her squad.

Handler’s down below, snoozing, and we’re on autopilot. How do I alter course?

Log in to the navigation computer. The interface is pretty straightforward and self-explanatory. Just draw a vector line to the
Egersund
’s position. The computer will do the rest.

Roger that.

Don’t want to be separated from us, huh?

It’s a big ocean. It might be tricky to hook up again. Plus, we’ve only just got to know each other, you and me. It’d be a shame to lose this connection we’ve got.

Mr Harmer, sincerely, give it a rest.

Dev followed Sigursdottir’s instructions, synching his commplant with the navigation computer, and the
Reckless Abandon
was soon coming about to match bearings with the
Admiral Winterbrook
.

55:55:13

55:55:12

55:55:11

12

T
HE
E
GERSUND
WAS
enormous. Dev kept thinking the research ship couldn’t loom any bigger, but it kept growing.

It was like an oceangoing skyscraper. Its hull was solid and plain, unrelieved by portholes, a sheer metal cliff face. Its superstructure consisted of a bridge, an accommodation level, and a pair of towering derricks.

Licensed scientific research vessel
, Sigursdottir had called it, but Dev couldn’t help thinking it was a whole lot more than that. What need did scientists have for something this colossal?

More to the point, how come a ship so huge was sending out a mayday? What could conceivably pose a threat to a titan of such epic proportions?

Closer yet, he noticed that the
Egersund
was listing slightly. It was stationary but leaning at a drunken angle. He could only presume it had been holed below the waterline.

The
Admiral Winterbrook
dropped to dead slow, and Dev did the same, disengaging the autopilot and assuming manual control of the jetboat. The catamaran nosed warily around the bow of the
Egersund
, and Dev followed in its wake.

Still not getting anything on any of the regular radio frequencies. If someone’s aboard, they’re not answering. I’m going to try the loudhailer.

Aye-aye, lieutenant.

You’re not a sailor. Don’t say that.

“
Ahoy, the
Egersund.” Sigursdottir’s amplified voice rang out from the
Admiral Winterbrook
. “
Can anyone hear me? Signal somehow if you can. What is the problem? Are you taking on water? Do your crew need rescuing?
”

Nothing from the research vessel. No heads appeared atop the great promontory of its prow. No arms waved.

As they came round its far side, Dev saw that the sea was awash with blood. A great frothing patch of crimson spread out from the hull. It looked as though the
Egersund
was bleeding into the water from some mortal wound.

No, it wasn’t the
Egersund
.

Attached to the ship’s flank by cables was the carcass of a redback whale. The cetacean was floating underside up, quite dead, its pectoral fins raised towards the sky as though in supplication or valediction.

The cables were lashed around its tail, and one of the derricks had begun the process of drawing the beast aft but had halted for some reason, leaving the redback’s flukes suspended just above the waves.

The
Admiral Winterbrook
and the
Reckless Abandon
chuntered past the whale. The boats were dwarfed by the mound of the creature’s pink, barnacled belly, and the redback was in turn dwarfed by the
Egersund
.

The stern of the gigantic ship sported a U-shaped transom, inset with a ramp almost level with the water. The ramp was streaked with stains that could have been rust but could equally have been caked-on blood from the corpses of other cetaceans. This was where the derrick had been hauling the redback carcass before something interrupted the procedure. The ramp doubled as a means of getting the bodies aboard the ship and a chute for dumping bones, offal and other valueless parts.

Scientific research my butt.

My thoughts exactly. This is a whaler. A factory ship. I’d heard there were a couple of them operating on-planet, but I reckoned it was just a rumour.

They’re collecting whale meat?

There’s a market for it back home and in some Diasporan communities. A ship like this can catch, process and flash-freeze several thousand tonnes of redback and load the flesh aboard a goods freighter for distribution.

That’d cost a small fortune. The price per kilo at the restaurant table would be extortionate.

There’s people willing to pay it and rich enough to. Japanese tech tycoons, for one.

Nordic interstellar logistics magnates, for another.

Was that a dig, Harmer?

Not intended as such. But it’s the Nordic countries and Japan who used to consume whale meat the most and who whined the loudest when TerCon finally abolished it from the menu. Stands to reason they’d be the ones coughing up the cash to buy it from other sources when it’s no longer available on Earth. Pricey extraterrestrial whale meat’s better than no whale meat at all.

Well, yeah, can’t argue with that. Speaking as an ethnic Icelander, I’ve never had the urge to eat it myself, but I can remember my grandfather going on about how much he had loved
hval rengi
– that’s whale blubber soured with milk.

Seriously?

And
sur rengi
– pickled blubber.

Sounds delicious. I’m amazed you were never tempted to try it.

Grandpa used to bitch about TerCon outlawing whaling. But even he had to admit that if it hadn’t been banned outright, eventually there’d have been no whales left.

Luckily the gene pool wasn’t too depleted and the Comprehensive Repopulation Programme had a broad enough clone base to bring the species back from the brink of extinction.

Yeah, but nobody’s whaling anymore on Earth. Seems unfashionable these days. Uncool.

Whereas here, halfway across the galaxy, it’s still okay.

What the eye doesn’t see...

The two boats rounded the rear of the
Egersund
and completed their circuit of the ship. Other than the redback carcass, there had been no sign of life – or death. The
Egersund
appeared to have been abandoned while its crew were midway through gathering in their latest catch.

So what’s the plan, Sigursdottir?

We’re going to have to send men aboard. There may still be crewmembers somewhere, perhaps injured, unable to communicate. We can’t leave without checking.

Okay. I’ll come with.

What? Why?

Curiosity. I’m in intel-collecting mode. What’s happened on that ship may be relevant to my mission. It may
not
be, but I won’t know unless I take a look for myself.

I’m under orders from Captain Maddox to facilitate you in whatever way I can. I suppose this counts as that.

And you couldn’t sound more enthusiastic about it.

Too right. Just get yourself over here pronto.

Aye-aye, lieutenant. Sorry. I mean: yes, ma’am.

13

D
EV LEFT
H
ANDLER
a message explaining what he was doing. The ISS liaison would find it in his inbox when he woke up.

He then set the jetboat’s controls to maintain a steady position a safe distance from the
Egersund
and dived overboard. He surged along underwater, covering the couple of hundred metres to the
Admiral Winterbrook
in just over a minute, a time not even the fastest Pure Olympic swimmer would have been able to equal, although an enhanced Free Olympian might. He ascended the rope ladder that had been lowered over the catamaran’s side for him, and was assisted over the gunwale by a powerful hand that clamped over his wrist and pulled.

The hand belonged to a corporal – by far the tallest woman Dev had ever seen, and quite possibly the broadest too. Her grip had been like a bear trap, and he suspected she had been using only a small fraction of her full strength. Laced with augmentations and modifications, the corporal looked capable of pulverising rocks in her fists.

Her name tag said Milgrom, and she was accompanied by Private First Class Blunt and Private First Class Francis. These two women were small compared to her but both sizeable nonetheless, well above average. Bulked out with ceramic-tile body armour and bristling with ammo and ordnance, the three of them were a formidable proposition.

Sigursdottir appeared on deck, and Milgrom, Blunt and Francis all came smartly to attention. The sea-pattern camo on their battledress had been switched to active. Waves of colour, predominantly blue and grey, rippled across the fabric, moving even as the wearers of the battledress stood perfectly still.

“Just pulled this tiddler out of the water, sir,” said Milgrom. “Looks kind of shrimpy. Shall we throw him back?”

“Don’t tempt me,” said Sigursdottir. She gave Dev a once-over from head to toe as his clothing rapidly dripped dry. “You ready for this? You aren’t carrying any weaponry.”

“I thought this was a rescue expedition. I’ll take a gun if there’s one going begging.”

“Francis, lend him your sidearm. Don’t give me that look, private. You’ve got plenty else to use.”

PFC Francis grumblingly unbuckled her hip holster and passed it across to Dev. He fastened it on and drew the gun to inspect it. Could be worse: a Heckler & Koch hypervelocity pistol, which used a burst of piston-generated condensed hydrogen gas to propel sabot rounds at a speed of seven kilometres per second. The holster belt held an ample quantity of spare ammo clips.

“Don’t these things have a tendency to jam?” he said. “Fragments of rupture disc get stuck in the high pressure coupling.”

“Only on the old models,” said Francis. “That there is the HK HVP Mark Two. The rupture discs are programmable plastic now, rather than stainless steel. Under pressure they disperse into a cloud of particles that gets vented out of the muzzle behind the round.”

“I believe Mr Harmer knew that already,” said Sigursdottir. “He was just trying to show he’s not an amateur. He wants us to know he’s got game.”

“In a tactful way,” Dev said.

“Tact’s wasted on me,” said Francis.

“And me,” said Blunt. “Blunt by name, blunt by nature.”

“Well then, in the spirit of bluntness, I don’t suppose it’ll matter if I mention the words ‘all-woman team,’” said Dev.