Terminal Run

“Well, when are you going to connect it?” Krivak asked.

“You are connected, Victor, but the interface isn’t a display made for a human, it’s more of a view into a part of One Oh Seven’s thinking. You’ll need to be patient with this. You may see some strange things. But as soon as you become used to it, you will be satisfied.”

“Fine.”

“One,” Wang said, “this new entity is Mr. Krivak, the man I told you about.”

Hello, Mr. Krivak.

“Just call me Krivak, One.” Krivak felt an odd sensation, a cascade of sounds. “One, I can hear the sonar sets. Is this the same as what you hear?”

I have it set on background, Krivak. If you would like, I can connect us into the sonar module.

“I would appreciate that, One.”

Instantly Krivak was plunged into a different world, this one visual and aural. The surroundings, previously an unmarked white, suddenly became the blue and green of the deep Atlantic. He could see all the way to the distant bottom below and high above to the bottom of the thermal layer and far out in every direction at once. In addition to the visual spatial perception of the sea he could see the frequencies of every incoming sound, the frequencies seeming like so many added colors in the spectrum. For a time it seemed better than the undifferentiated white, but soon Krivak felt he was becoming exhausted by the wealth of sensations.

“Disconnect me from the sonar module, now, please, One.”

The world returned to being the way it was before.

“Where are we?”

The chart appeared in front of Krivak’s field of vision with their position flashing, now fifty miles south of Pico Island.

“Very well.” It was time to communicate with Admiral Chu and let him know the Snare had been hijacked.

“Officers, I have an announcement to make before the op brief,” Captain Catardi said. “Lieutenant Alameda, could you please stand up here?”

The wardroom was crowded with officers. Patch Pacino sat on the couch at the end of the table, his stomach suddenly churning when the captain called on Alameda. He looked up at her, but her eyes were on the captain.

She brushed the hair out of her eyes and tried to keep a sober expression on her face.

“Lieutenant Alameda,” Catardi announced in a projecting voice, his Boston accent even thicker than usual, “your dedication to the United States, the U.S. Navy, and the USS Piranha is a credit to the naval service and to this command. Based on my recommendation and on your outstanding performance, Commander Naval Personnel Command has deep-selected you for the rank of lieutenant commander, United States Navy, and authorized me to frock you to that rank as of today. XO, the envelope, please.”

Schultz handed him the manila envelope. Catardi pulled out the certificate and placed it on the table, then shook out the gold oak leaf collar devices. Alameda stood in front of him at attention, her face still crimson. Catardi reached over and removed the double silver bar on her collar and replaced it with a gold oak leaf.

“Hope this doesn’t stick me.” He grinned, pinning the device to the fabric. “Engineer’s revenge, eh, Commander?”

He pinned on the second oak leaf and stood back.

“Officers, I present to you Lieutenant Commander Carolyn Alameda, United States Navy.”

The wardroom broke into applause, Pacino clapping the loudest. Alameda smiled and bowed. Catardi shook her hand, pumping it and grinning. Lieutenant Phelps snapped a picture.

“Now, as with all promotions in the Navy,” Catardi said, “the performance of the individual comes long before the rank, which comes long before the paycheck. However, we all expect the first lieutenant commander paycheck to host one of the most memorable Piranha parties since this ship returned from the Japanese War.”

“Yes, sir,” Alameda stammered. “Thank you, sir. Thanks, all of you.” She made her way back to her seat. Catardi sat in the captain’s chair and looked over at the navigator.

“Let’s start the op brief, Nav,” he said.

Pacino tried to concentrate, but all he could think of was the new lieutenant commander.

14

“Diving Officer, man silent battle stations!”

Lieutenant Patrick Kingman’s order did not go out to the spaces on the 1ME announcing system, but on the JA phone circuit to each watch stander on each level of each compartment. That phone talker then walked through the spaces and informed the crew that battle stations had been manned. During a drill, a call to man battle stations required that the watches be turned over to the battle stations crew within three minutes, a tall order considering that some of the watch standers would be fast asleep and had to get dressed and relieve a watch station and that watch stander would relieve someone else, the sequence continuing until every watch was manned by the best watch stander for the station. A typical silent battle stations would take twice that long to man up, since the phone talker in the crew’s berthing areas would have to go to every coffin like rack and wake the crew members one by one.