Colony by Benjamin Cross (ready player one ebook .TXT) 📗

“So says the Hawaiian surfer,” Callum replied, following the flip-flopping of sandals down the stairs.

“Texan, actually. Grew up on Galveston Island on the Gulf Coast. There’s plenty of good surfing off Galveston, and diving. It’s where I first fell in love with the ocean.”

A doorway emerged up ahead. Peterson entered the authorisation code, pushed through it and hit the lights. Holding it open for Callum, he extended his arm out towards the centre of the room in a dramatic gesture. “Et voila!”

The room was extensive and largely empty of furnishings, giving it the appearance of a vast car body repair shop. Around the edges were a few collapsible tables bearing a scattering of mechanical components. More parts were stacked up in boxes in the far corners and against the walls, alongside compressed gas canisters, lengths of corrugated hose and racks of scuba gear.

In the centre of the room stood Peterson’s baby.

“Let me introduce you to the Sea Centaur,” he beamed, adding, “Sea Centaur, allow me to introduce Callum ‘Indiana’ McJones.”

It was a marine research submersible, state of the art by the looks of it. Oval in shape, the craft appeared to be about eight metres long from the tip of its nose to the end of its rear-mounted propeller cage. It was perhaps half that across, including the lateral projections, like pectoral fins, on either side. Several panes were set within the vessel’s grey upper body, with its surmounting dorsal fin, and the underbelly was lined with pipes and set with numerous hatches. ‘SEA CENTAUR’ was written in bold letters along either flank, while ‘NOAA’ was printed in a smaller font towards the tail.

“NOAA’s short for the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration,” Peterson said. “That’s who I work for. If it’d been up to me I would’ve christened this baby NOAA’s ARK. But I guess I’m just too far ahead of my time.” He gave Callum an enthusiastic slap on the back. “So what do you think?”

“I think it looks like a mechanical shark,” Callum replied.

Peterson’s eyes lit up. “That’s exactly what it is! The designers tried to combine the capacity and manoeuvrability of Mir-class and other modern research subs with the aerodynamics of a Seabreacher.”

“What’s a Seabreacher?”

“A play-thing for the rich and famous. They’re quite a recent innovation, personal watercraft that can skim around on the surface like a regular motorboat, submerge a short distance, maybe five or ten feet, and leap out of the water as well. Their body form simulates that of a dolphin or shark.”

Callum re-examined what was obviously a very heavy, very complicated, undoubtedly very expensive contraption. “Are you telling me this thing can leap out of the water?”

“Hell no!” Peterson answered. “Not unless the operator has a hankering for a free lobotomy, which I can tell you he doesn’t. But it is a good deal faster and more manoeuvrable than most other research subs, and it can operate fine on the surface as well.”

He paused to gauge his audience’s reaction. “Technologies are advancing rapidly to allow us access to the Arctic safely and affordably. The enhanced speed of this baby means that in ice-locked conditions the host vessel can drop us off at a distance from destination without having to muscle its way through to drop us exactly in position. If the water’s a sufficient depth, the Sea Centaur can be deployed somewhere more accessible and then travel quickly underneath the ice sheets. And if she meets with obstacles or the ice becomes too thick then we can retract the fins and try to circumnavigate whatever’s in the way. If it gets too messy or shallow down below then we can even breach the surface, travel across fissures and polynyas if need be. It’s like survival here. It’s all about versatility.”

“What sort of speeds are we talking?”

“Oh, she can shift,” Peterson said. “She’ll push eighty or ninety knots sweet enough.”

Having wheeled over a moveable staircase, he heaved open the access hatch on the roof and allowed Callum a look at the interior.

“It’s designed for two, operable by one, but you could fit four, maybe even five people inside of her without much trouble. The instrumentation can be isolated so that nothing gets activated by accident.” He hoisted himself up onto the rim, dropped down into the cabin and seated himself in front of the control panel. “Otherwise it’s pretty much like driving any other vehicle. Here’s your steering, brakes, acceleration, which can be switched to foot-pedal operation.” He took Callum through the operating procedures as if he were teaching him to drive the thing. Then he indicated the mass of switches, levers and dials to the right of the steering wheel. “It looks a bit busy on here, but really most of these controls relate to the operation of the mechanical arms. Why don’t you hop down front and I’ll show you?”

Apprehensive, Callum descended the staircase and walked to the front of the craft. Next thing, there was a loud whirring and various lights flashed as Peterson powered up the sub. The craft rested on its rails, elevated about half a metre off the floor. Her nose sat just above Callum’s head. He watched as inlets opened up on either side and two large mechanical arms tipped with tripartite metal pincers inched towards him.

The pincers began to open and clench rhythmically, and Callum took a step backwards, out of range. Peterson’s voice boomed out over a PA. “Step back where you were, would you? I wanna show you what this baby can do.”

Callum hesitated. The Sea Centaur was impressive and everything, but he didn’t fancy losing an eye to it. Against his better judgement, he stepped back forward.

“Good man. Now keep perfectly still. I’m gonna do you a favour.”

Callum watched as one of the arms extended nearer and nearer to the top of his head, until it was only a fraction above his hairline. At this point the pincer opened with a barely audible squeak and reclosed.

The form of the demonstration suddenly became clear,