Piranha: Firing Point

It was absolutely huge. Huge and beautiful and open, designed by a master craftsman and submariner. In the center of the room was a raised periscope stand not entirely different from the one on the Annapolis, except that it was twice the size. In fact, the room could house four 688-sized control rooms, it was that big. At the aft end of the periscope stand was the captain’s command station, a console covered with displays, phones, cameras, and keypads. Aft of the console were the two side-by-side navigation plotter tables, but there all resemblance to his 688-class ended. On the port forward control-room corner was a ship-control station, but instead of a cockpit panel with four men, there was a deep leather seat where one man alone drove the ship, the console surrounding him with displays, a joystick between his knees, a throttle lever at his left.

Next to the ship controller, more toward the centerline, was a console for the ship systems, taking the place of the old ballast-control panel. On the port wall were a series of consoles, navigation aft, radio equipment just forward of that, then the repeater equipment for electronic countermeasures, then a sonar panel, then the weapons-control panel leading up to the ship control station.

The starboard bulkhead was the strangest part. Lined along it were five stations unlike any Patton had seen on a nuclear submarine before. They were five-foot-diameter eggs that one stepped into, and the canopy over head was made of a black substance that formed a hemisphere above the person’s head. A leather-lined structure was inside, not truly a seat but a sort of padded rail to lean against. On the rail were a helmet and gloves.

“What are these stations?” Patton asked the admiral.

“Battlecontrol stations,” Pacino said. “You’ll get inside one — the forward one is VR zero, which is yours.

Once you’re in, you lean against the rail and put on the helmet and gloves. The canopy comes down around your head. What you’ll see is a three-dimensional environment surrounding you, with a spatial relationship to your contacts. When we come to periscope depth, the computer makes your world look like your head is above water and the ships are all around you. This models the universe around the ship, and is linked to a computer called the Cyclops, a new Dynacorp wonder subsidiary.

The VP of Cyclops is aboard now. I’ll introduce you to her.”

“Her?”

“Right, Colleen O’Shaughnessy.”

“O’Shaughnessy — any relation to Big Boss?”

“The old man’s daughter. Sharp cookie too.”

“Can you show me this battlecontrol system in action?”

“No. It doesn’t work, not even in demonstration mode.”

Patton’s breath caught. He didn’t want to sound stupid in front of the admiral, but he was astounded that the ship was on an operational mission without a fire-control system.

“Excuse me, sir? It doesn’t work? How are we going to fight these subs?”

“We don’t, not until Colleen finishes her coding. The system is down hard until she does.” “Okay,” Patton said doubtfully.

Pacino had already shown him the aft spaces of the forward compartment middle level, the staterooms of officers’ country and the wardroom. They had started in the upper level, where the crew’s berthing spaces were, and the galley. The control room had been the first tactical space Patton had seen. Pacino took him forward into sonar, on the starboard forward exit to control, where five seats were placed behind an L-shaped line of consoles.

The room was empty of watchstanders.

“Shouldn’t there be someone here?” Patton asked.

“They will be.”

“Let me guess, sir. Sonar doesn’t work.”

“Correct, it’s tied into Cyclops. If the Cyclops computer is down, so is sonar.”

On the other side of a central passageway were radio and electronic countermeasures. Located forward, the computer room spanned the full width of the ship, a bite taken from the port side by the stairway and the electronic-countermeasures room. Sitting at a console with a deep seat and a number of displays was a crewman typing furiously into the keyboard. He paused to look at it, then cursed, then more typing, another look, another curse. The crewman had normal underway coveralls on, but a long black-haired ponytail.

“Colleen? We have a visitor,” Pacino said.

A woman stood from the console, not a tall woman, but beautiful and very well built. She stood, an annoyed look on her face, and extended her hand to Patton.

“Captain Patton, I assume,” she said with a quick smile, her voice unexpectedly deep.

“Colleen, I’ve heard you’re working on the Cyclops. Any prediction on when you’ll be done?”

O’Shaughnessy turned to Pacino, smiling at him.

“He’s worse than you said he’d be Admiral. Not only did he get the’when’ll it be fixed’ question out in the first minute, but it was his first question. Jesus, did they separate you two at birth. Captain? Admiral Pacino comes in here no less than once an hour to ask that same question. Now, please forgive my rudeness, but this sub is a hunk of scrap metal unless I can get this working.