Page 47 of Clive Cussler Ghost Soldier

“Is theSpook Fishprepped?”

“Prepped and ready.”

Juan stood. “Good. Then let’s see what your little deuce coupe can do.”

25

Aboard theSpook Fish

In the Gulf of Oman

“Approaching maximum test depth. Estimated time: thirty seconds.”

A soft chime accompanied the automated feminine voice as it repeated the message. The warning display panel flashed4,000 feettheSpook Fish’s maximum test depth, an engineering euphemism for crush depth.

Callie silenced the alarm.

TheSpook Fish’s cockpit was incredibly quiet in part because it was well insulated against the frigid temperatures and hull-crushing pressure of the sea. The low hum of the electrical motors was barely noticeable even when the thrusters spun up their revolutions for small maneuvers. Comms weren’t necessary. The cabin was so small and quiet that passengers only whispered to be heard. The intense quiet magnified the startling creaks and thuds of the pressurized hull equalizing itself as theSpook Fishdescended into the depths.

Their only communication with the surface was through short text messages via low-frequency acoustic modems and a buoy relay.

“Isn’t the name of your boat theSpook Fish 5000?” Linda asked.

“Yep.”

“I assumed the ‘5000’ stood for a five-thousand-foot operational depth. But we just alarmed at four thousand feet.”

“Yep.”

“So why is it named theSpook Fish 5000?”

Callie shrugged. “TheSpook Fish 4000just didn’t sound as good in the marketing materials.”

“Next time bring your marketing department down here. They might rethink that.”

“I am the marketing department,” Callie said. She shot a wink at Juan just as a thundering “pop” hit the hull.

Juan chuckled. “Reminds me ofDas Boot, but without the depth charges.”

Linda and Juan weren’t terribly bothered by the descent into the stygian dark, though neither of them had even been close to this depth. Both of them were expert sub handlers. TheNomadwas capable of diving to one thousand feet, though they rarely took her down that far.

They had, however, exchanged a couple of sidelong glances along the way down. Their mutual unspoken concern during the descent was Callie’s complete reliance on her AI-powered piloting and navigation system.

To Callie’s credit, the AI navigation worked perfectly. Its specialized sensors instantly acquired and honed in on the flight data recorder’s underwater locator beacon pinging at 37.5 kHz once per second. The beacon had thirty days of battery life, so there was no danger in losing the signal anytime soon.

So far, so good.

Juan’s fingers twitched occasionally, his subconscious mind craving the security of human hands on a yoke. He knew that numerous studies had shown that humans were far more dangerous behind the wheel of a car than any self-driven system. He also knew that the most common reason for airplane crashes was pilot error.

But Cabrillo was old-school. As impressed as he was with the performance of Callie’s automated vehicle, he felt more human in the analogue world. It seemed as if machines were taking over nearly every human activity, and in so doing were taking control of human destiny.

Callie sat in the middle seat between Juan and Linda in front of the pilot’s touchscreen station, her primary interface with theSpook Fish. For backup there was also a pilot’s yoke and throttles. There was also a pair of joystick controls for the drone.

All three had a front-row seat to the view outside—not that there was much to see. No sunlight penetrated down this far. They had passed into the lightless bathypelagic zone some eighteen minutes earlier. Linda thought it looked like they were driving through a midnight blizzard in Montana. TheSpook Fish’s bright, high-intensity LED lights illuminated a wall of constantly falling “marine snow” comprised of clumps of dead microscopic organisms, sand particles, and even fish feces originating in the water layers above.

Linda noted the digital clock. They had been descending for an hour and three minutes. TheSpook Fishwas zeroing in on both the sonar imagery of the tail section and the underwater location beacon signal. Callie used their descent for training time for Linda, who would be the submersible’s primary operator when it was eventually turned over to theOregon, though Juan was paying close attention. They had trained on the simulator software Callie provided several days before her arrival, but in truth the navigational computer did all of the work. The only role a human pilot had was to set up the mission parameters, communicate with the surface, and provide emergency backup if needed.

The softly thrumming engine motors ceased their operations just as the computer voice announced, “Warning. You are at maximum test depth of four thousand feet. Do not proceed further. Do not proceed further.”