‘It looks like 1929 all over again,’ said Bradley.
Back in the ISA lab, Dr. Zwicker shook his head.
‘No — much worse, I’m afraid.’
In Tokyo, at another node of the hastily arranged conference, Kato asked: ‘What happened in 1929?’
‘The Grand Banks earthquake. It triggered a turbidity current — call it an underwater avalanche. Snapped the telegraph cables one after the other, like cotton, as it raced across the seabed. That’s how its speed was calculated — sixty kilometers an hour. Perhaps more.’
‘Then it could reach us in — my God — three or four hours. What’s the likelihood of damage?’
‘Impossible to say at this stage. Best case — very little. The 1929 quake didn’t touch Titanic, though many people thought she’d been buried; luckily, it was a couple of hundred kilometers to the west. Most of the sediment was diverted into a canyon, and missed the wreck completely.’
‘Excuse me,’ interrupted Rupert Parkinson, from his London office. ‘We’ve just heard that one of our flotation modules has surfaced. Jumped twenty meters out of the water. And we’ve lost telemetry to the wreck. How about you, Kato?’
Kato hesitated only a moment; then he called out something in Japanese to an associate off-screen.
‘I’ll check with Peter and Maury. Dr. Zwicker — what’s your worst-case analysis?’
‘Our first quick look suggests a few meters of sediment. We’ll have a better computer modeling within the hour.’
‘A meter wouldn’t be too bad.’
‘It could wreck our schedule, dammit.’
‘A report from Maury, gentlemen,’ said Kato. ‘No problem — everything normal.’
‘But for how long? If that . . . avalanche . . . really is racing toward us, we should pull up whatever equipment we can. What do you advise, Dr. Zwicker?’
The scientist was just about to speak when Bradley whispered urgently in his ear. Zwicker looked startled, then glum — then nodded in reluctant agreement.
‘I don’t think I should say any more, gentlemen. Mr. Bradley is more experienced in this area than I am. Before I give any specific advice, I should consult our legal department.’
There was a shocked silence; then Rupert Parkinson said quickly: ‘We’re all men of the world; we can understand that ISA doesn’t want to get involved in lawsuits. So let’s not waste time. We’re pulling up what we can. And I advise you to do the same, Kato — just in case Dr. Zwicker’s worst case is merely the bad one.’
That was precisely what the scientist had feared. A submarine seaquake was impressive enough; but — as a fission bomb serves as detonator for a fusion one — it might merely act as a trigger to release even greater forces.
Millions of years of solar energy had been stored in the petrochemicals beneath the bed of the Atlantic; barely a century’s worth had been tapped by man.
The rest was still waiting.
39 PRODIGAL SON
On the bed of the Atlantic, a billion dollars’ worth of robots downed tools and started to float up to the surface. There was no great hurry; no lives were at stake, even though fortunes were. Titanic shares were already plunging on the world’s stock exchanges, giving media humorists an opportunity for all-too-obvious jokes.
The great offshore oil fields were also playing it safe. Although Hibernia and Avalon, in relatively shallow water, had little to fear from turbidity currents, they had suspended all operations, and were doubly and triply checking their emergency and backup systems. Now there was nothing to do but to wait — and to admire the superb auroral displays that had already made this sunspot cycle the most spectacular ever recorded.
Just before midnight — no one was getting much sleep — Bradley was standing on Explorer’s helicopter pad, watching the great curtains of ruby and emerald fire being drawn across the northern sky. He was not a member of the crew; if the skipper or anyone else wanted him, he would be available in seconds. Busy people, especially in emergencies, did not care to have observers standing behind their backs — however well intentioned or highly qualified they might be.
And the summons, when it did come, was not from the bridge, but the operations center.
‘Jason? Ops here. We have a problem. J.J. won’t acknowledge our recall signal.’
Bradley felt a curious mix of emotions. First there was concern at losing one of the lab’s most promising — and expensive — pieces of equipment. Then there was the inevitable mental question mark — ‘What could have gone wrong?’ — followed immediately by: ‘What can we do about it?’
But there was also something deeper. J.J. represented an enormous personal investment of time, effort, thought. . . even devotion. He recalled all those jokes about the robot’s paternity; there was some truth in them. Creating a real son (what had happened to the flesh-and-blood J.J.?) had required very much less energy. . . .
Hell, Jason told himself, it’s only a machine! It could be rebuilt; we still have all the programs. Nothing would be lost except the information collected on the present mission.
No — a great deal would be lost. It was even possible that the whole project might be abandoned; developing J.J. had stretched ISA’s funding and resources to the limit. At the very least, Operation NEPTUNE would be delayed for years — probably beyond Zwicker’s lifetime. The scientist was a prickly old S.O.B., but Jason liked and admired him. Losing J.J. would break his heart. . . .
Even as he hurried toward the ops center, Bradley was collecting and analyzing reports over his wristcom.
‘You’re sure J.J.’s operating normally?’
‘Yes — beacon’s working fine — last housekeeping report fifteen minutes ago said all systems nominal — continuing with search pattern. But it just won’t respond to the recall signal.’
‘Damn! The lab told me that algorithm had been fixed. Just keep trying. . . . Boost your power as much as you can. What’s the latest on the quake?’
‘Bad — Mount Pelée is rumbling — they’re evacuating Martinique. And tsunami warnings have been sent out all over, of course.’
‘But what about the Grand Banks? Any sign of that avalanche starting yet?’
‘The seismographs are all jangling — no one’s quite sure what the hell’s happening. Just a minute while I get an update —
‘ — ah, here’s something. The Navy antisubmarine network — didn’t know it was still running! — is getting chopped up. So are the Atlantic cables — just like ’29. . . . Yes — it’s heading this way.’
‘How long before it hits us?’
‘If it doesn’t run out of steam, a good three hours. Maybe four.’
Time enough, thought Bradley. He knew exactly what he had to do.
‘Moon pool?’ he called. ‘Open up Deep Jeep. I’m going down.’
I’m really enjoying this, Bradley told himself. For the first time, I have an ironclad excuse to take Deep Jeep down to the wreck, without having to make application through channels, in triplicate. There’ll be plenty of time later to do the paperwork — or to input the electronic memos. . . .
To speed the descent, Deep Jeep was heavily overweighted; this was no time to worry about littering the seabed with discarded ballast. Only twenty minutes after the brilliant auroral glow had faded in the waters above him, Bradley saw the first phosphorescent nimbus around Titanic’s prow. He did not need it, of course, because he knew his exact location, and the wreck was not even his target; but he was glad that the lights had been switched on again for his exclusive benefit.
J.J. was only half a kilometer away, going about its business with simpleminded concentration and devotion to duty. The monotonous ping . . . ping-ping call sign of its beacon filled Deep Jeep’s tiny bubble of air every ten seconds, and it was also clearly visible on the search sonar.
Without much hope, Bradley retransmitted the emergency recall sequence, and continued to do so as he approached the recalcitrant robot. He was not surprised, or disappointed, at the total lack of response. Not to worry, he told himself; I’ve lots of other tricks up my sleeve.
He saved the next one until they were only ten meters apart. Deep Jeep could easily outrun J.J., and Bradley had no difficulty in placing his vehicle athwart the robot’s precomputed track. Such underwater confrontations had often been arranged, to test J.J.’s obstacle avoidance algorithms — and these, at least, now operated exactly as planned.
J.J. came to a complete halt, and surveyed the situation. At this point-blank range Bradley could just detect, with his unaided ears, a piccololike subharmonic as the robot scanned the obstacle ahead, and tried to identify it.
He took this opportunity of sending out the recall command once more; no luck. It was pointless to try again; the problem must be in the software.
J.J. turned ninety degrees left, and headed off at right angles to its original course. It went only ten meters, then swung back to its old bearing, hoping to avoid the obstruction. But Bradley was there already.