Authors: Stel Pavlou
Decipher (3 page)
“No, man! No way they could hear us. You did good.”
“I did good? I did
good
? I did a goddamn miracle, Charlie. Next to loaves and fishes, bringing this project forward six months was a goddamn, honest to goodness miracle. How do you
know
they can't hear us?” Matheson was working himself into a sweat.
good
? I did a goddamn miracle, Charlie. Next to loaves and fishes, bringing this project forward six months was a goddamn, honest to goodness miracle. How do you
know
they can't hear us?” Matheson was working himself into a sweat.
“I know they can't hear us, coz I've been listenin' to
them
on the radio for a half hour. Man, they too busy partying to be bothered snooping around for us. They've been hanging around all morning watching our guys over at McMurdo preparing a new landing strip. They're too distracted. Shit, I can hear somebody over there singin' Abbaâin Chinese.”
them
on the radio for a half hour. Man, they too busy partying to be bothered snooping around for us. They've been hanging around all morning watching our guys over at McMurdo preparing a new landing strip. They're too distracted. Shit, I can hear somebody over there singin' Abbaâin Chinese.”
Matheson frowned in surprise.
“What can I say?” Charlie shrugged. “The node's got great ears.”
“What song?”
“âSupertrooper.'”
If
Red Osprey
were discovered it would blow the whole situation. They'd already had one close encounter with a wing of Chinese fighters out on patrol. They hadn't been discovered, but with Chinese and U.S. forces facing off over mineral rights, in a world where dwindling fossil fuels were sending prices skyward,
Red Osprey
's surreptitious oil tapping could spark a war.
Red Osprey
were discovered it would blow the whole situation. They'd already had one close encounter with a wing of Chinese fighters out on patrol. They hadn't been discovered, but with Chinese and U.S. forces facing off over mineral rights, in a world where dwindling fossil fuels were sending prices skyward,
Red Osprey
's surreptitious oil tapping could spark a war.
Bulger had been bugging him about friction vibration for weeks. It was what they had been most concerned about. Screw whether it actually worked. Just make sure the damn thing didn't make any noise.
The “damn thing” was the heart of Matheson's design, a device called the Depth Node. It had been transported out to the Ross Sea under cover of darkness last winter and dumped directly beneath them. Then, controlled remotely, it
had dug in on the sea floor. It was the main point for capping the well and heating the buried pipe-work. The node was what made polar oil exploration possible and the company intended to set up nodes all over the Antarctic coast. Drill, strike oil, then cap off, only returning to a node when they wanted to fill a tanker. Refining was done aboard ship. The node would take care of everything else. Its power unit ran on hydrogen and oxygenâessentially waterâand was designed to last twenty years. But the prototype had only been in the ground for nine months. It was supposed to run silently. What if it
had
failed?
had dug in on the sea floor. It was the main point for capping the well and heating the buried pipe-work. The node was what made polar oil exploration possible and the company intended to set up nodes all over the Antarctic coast. Drill, strike oil, then cap off, only returning to a node when they wanted to fill a tanker. Refining was done aboard ship. The node would take care of everything else. Its power unit ran on hydrogen and oxygenâessentially waterâand was designed to last twenty years. But the prototype had only been in the ground for nine months. It was supposed to run silently. What if it
had
failed?
Water power was a new technology which Rola Corp. had acquired the patent to about fifteen years previously and sat on. So far, the rival water-powered generators that had emerged onto the market were so extremely expensive only western nations could afford them. Which was good because it meant it would be decades before the Third World could scrape together enough cash to buy the technology. Until then, they would need oil. The problem was, there had been no mass testing of this new technology. What if there was a problem with the water-powered section of the node, something beyond Matheson's predicting capabilities, and the Chinese had detected this? They were a sitting duck.
Charlie handed Matheson a mug of coffee as he watched the screens. Absorbed, as if he were playing a game. “What's that?” Matheson asked, pointing to a series of blips.
“That red one's the Chinese sub. The other's a U.S. carrier. And that there, see that blue one? That's a plane on its way from Chile to Pirrit Hills, in the Chilean sector. And I can tell you right now, they's up shit creek without a paddle.”
“What's happening?”
“It's a small aircraft,” Charlie explained. “That storm we got moving in just fucked up their day. They're past the point of no return. They're going to have to find somewhere to land and refuel if they're going to get back. And between you and me, I don't think they're even gonna make it to their fuel dump.”
“What do we do? Charlie, we can't just let them crash! What if it was us out there?”
“We can't just get on a radio, either. We're not supposed to be here, Ralph.”
“I know, butâlook, see? The two closest research stations to Pirrit Hills are both American. Siple, and Sky-Hiây'know, Eights Station. They're both manned. Charlie, you gotta send out an emergency messageâon the Internet at least. Just make sure they're anonymous.”
“If I send out
any
message, they'll know somebody's out here,” Charlie said defensively.
any
message, they'll know somebody's out here,” Charlie said defensively.
“You gotta do something,” Matheson argued, distressed.
“I'm sorry, but they're on their own.”
Matheson watched the scope. Watched the plane head off into oblivion.
“What's that?” He gestured at a red blip about twelve miles off their port bow and sipped his coffee. It was bitter. Shittiest coffee he'd ever tasted.
“That's our carrier I was tellin' ya about. Been doin' maneuvers or something. They're too busy worryin' about each other to give a damn about us. But hey, fuck 'em. So Frankie ran a simulation test on a dump. We can be outta here before they get close enough to sniff around.”
Matheson nodded and had more coffee. On his computer screen a graphic cut-away view showed the drill in progress. A string of steel-alloy pipe extended down from
Red Osprey
to the node. The node then ran its own length of pipe vertically down a further 500 meters. The pipeline then changed direction dramatically and had been steered around difficult strata of rock. It was approaching the estimated site of the oil field at a gentle downward sloping angle.
Red Osprey
to the node. The node then ran its own length of pipe vertically down a further 500 meters. The pipeline then changed direction dramatically and had been steered around difficult strata of rock. It was approaching the estimated site of the oil field at a gentle downward sloping angle.
Directional drilling had been pioneered by the Norwegian National Oil Company in the early 1990s when they sank a well nearly 24,000 feet horizontally from a starting point 9,000 feet under the North Sea. It was so successful there was a rush to adopt the technology since it allowed for more oil drainage than conventional means.
“Thorne was on the sat again,” Charlie dropped in casually.
Matheson almost choked on his coffee. “What did he want?”
“Test results. Come on, Ralph, he wants to know how your baby's holding up. Just thank God he's not on a plane out here.”
Matheson gulped more coffee. Tried not to taste it, just
enjoy its warmth. But his hands were shaking and this time it had nothing to do with seasickness.
enjoy its warmth. But his hands were shaking and this time it had nothing to do with seasickness.
Rip Thorne, President of Rola Corp. Exploration. Asshole. Just a mention of the guy's name was enough to give Matheson the willies. Thorne was the one who had caused his ulcer in the first place. Rip Thorne and Bulger. Between them, they were responsible for him winding up out here. Six whole months. How the hell could Thorne expect to bring this project forward by six whole months and expect it to work? And what was with Bulger anyway? Thorne's personal little rottweiler. He'd already overruled the first test drill site, said he wanted to drill someplace else. Someplace he'd personally picked out.
Matheson checked the data. “Charlie, please tell me you didn't give him an answer.”
Charlie glared at his friend. “Without checking with you first? Are you shittin' me? Of course not! I told him he'd have to wait for your damn report.”
Matheson nodded. Tried to shake off his mood. He checked the data again. “Remote drill-bit's operating fine,” he relayed warily. “Geosteering sensor ⦠Hmm. Interesting rock composition ⦠crystalline? Huh ⦠MWD, MWD, where are you? Uh, got it.” He clicked on the Measurement-While-Drilling icon and checked the torque and forward force on the drill-bit. It was high. Within operating limits, but still high.
They had hit a tough strata of rock earlier in the day and were trying to break through, so the order had been given to go to full power. It would wear the drill-bit out at twice the rate, but since this drill-bit had been going for a day and it wasn't unusual to change the bit every twenty-four to forty-eight hours, they might as well just let it burn itself out.
Geology was a funny business though. No one was quite sure what kind of rock they had encountered. And in the past six hours they had only advanced enough to attach one more nine-foot section of drilling pipe. So just in case the drill broke through to an underground cavern or soft, particulate matter, like sand, a clamp harness had been attached to the pipe at their end to stop the bit running off with the entire pipe-line if there was a sudden lurch forward. It would scupper the whole job if that happened and nobody wanted that,
since retrieving miles of pipe from the ocean floor just wasn't an option. They would be forced to start again from scratch.
since retrieving miles of pipe from the ocean floor just wasn't an option. They would be forced to start again from scratch.
Glancing at the secondary monitor, Matheson hesitated over the three data icons. One meant a remote data dump via satellite to his workstation back home. A second meant an immediate digital download onto the ship's system core. And the third oneâwas yellow.
Yellow
? What did that mean?
Yellow
? What did that mean?
“This is my ship! What did you think you were doing?”
He turned from the screen as the door flew open and the captain of
Red Osprey
stormed in. Jaffna was a small man with Indian features and a western temper. He flipped the lights on and everyone screwed up their eyes for a second. Abuse was hurled, but he didn't give a damn. He zeroed in on Bulger.
Red Osprey
stormed in. Jaffna was a small man with Indian features and a western temper. He flipped the lights on and everyone screwed up their eyes for a second. Abuse was hurled, but he didn't give a damn. He zeroed in on Bulger.
Bulger was on his feet. “You're a fucking idiot!”
“I gave direct orders and you overrode them. Try it again and I'll take your head off!”
“Are you an idiot, Jaffna? Is that it?” Bulger met him center-stage. Everyone else knew better, and got out of the way. “What kind of a fucking idiot displays the signal? Anyone with a good pair of fucking glasses could see it, goddamnit!”
Matheson leaned in quick and whispered, “What signal?”
“Jaffna turned the lights on,” Charlie explained quickly and quietly. “Flew the signal that we're doing sub-aqua work to passing traffic. Bulger told a deckhand to switch 'em off.”
Matheson shook his head in surprise. “Well, by international law he's supposed to.” He grimaced and sat back. Watched the two men go at it and was even enjoying the entertainment until suddenly it hit him.
Yellow meant block resistance. Recoil forces and internal pumping pressure.
Matheson spun around fast. “Shit!” He grabbed the mouse, clicked on the yellow icon, called up the data. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” He spun back around. The recoil was massive. It hadn't struck oil at all. “Who's on forward resistance?”
As Bulger and Jaffna stuck at it, Jaffna screaming something about not wanting to lose his license and planning on captaining another ship someday, Matheson scrambled to
his feet. Screw them. Screw the Chinese navy. This was more serious. The shit had already hit the fan and none of them knew it.
his feet. Screw them. Screw the Chinese navy. This was more serious. The shit had already hit the fan and none of them knew it.
He scanned the room fast. Jabbed a finger at Frankie, a fat, young, nervous-looking guy. “You!” he growled. “You were monitoring forward resistance. Why didn't you pick up on it!”
“IâI went for a piss,” Frankie stuttered.
Matheson shoved him out of the way, dived for his monitor. “The bit's broken through. It's pumping pressurized seawater!” This was unprecedented. He wheeled around and bellowed at everyone in the room. “Dump the pipe now! We got a Code Zero!”
Everyone knew what that meant. There was a terrified silence. Code Zero was a theoretical situation they'd computer simulated back in the States. They had broken through to an underwater sinkhole. At this temperature the water should have been solid ice, but the pressures exerted from the sheer weight of the glacier ice shelves above meant the water was under extreme pressure and remained liquid. Give it a means of escape and of course it was going to take the path of least resistance. Recoil effects would be buckling the pipe. In this cold, the pipe should have snapped, but it couldn't because it was a steel alloy designed to remain elastic. For the node to work, the pipe-line was a pipe within a pipe. It was the central-core pipe that was going haywire, and it was the core pipe that
Red Osprey
was directly connected to. The recoil would be speeding up the pipe in waves. At some point it was going to reach the ship. In calm weather they'd clear decks until all the fun was over. But in this stormâit could sink them.
Red Osprey
was directly connected to. The recoil would be speeding up the pipe in waves. At some point it was going to reach the ship. In calm weather they'd clear decks until all the fun was over. But in this stormâit could sink them.
Â
Everyone dived for the controls. Bulger hit the alarm and was on the intercom in a blink. Klaxons whirred. Hazard lights flashed. “This is an emergency! Everyone below decks, now! Get off deck! Leave everything! This is not a drill! Go! Go! Go!”
No one stuck around to ask questions. But it was already too late. The first buckle hit
Red Osprey
when it was already in the throes of another thirty-foot icy wave. The roughnecks all lurched in one direction as they started to unclip safety-lines
and transfer over to the main deck-rails. But the pipe whiplashed with such force that it righted the ship on the crest of the wave, and when
Red Osprey
finally lurched to port, three roughnecks were catapulted into the ocean. They were dead inside a minute.
Red Osprey
when it was already in the throes of another thirty-foot icy wave. The roughnecks all lurched in one direction as they started to unclip safety-lines
and transfer over to the main deck-rails. But the pipe whiplashed with such force that it righted the ship on the crest of the wave, and when
Red Osprey
finally lurched to port, three roughnecks were catapulted into the ocean. They were dead inside a minute.
Â
Matheson watched the monitors when he should have been concentrating on his readings. He watched Ilana climb down from the crane as a brace from the derrick sheered off and shot straight through her abdomen. It blasted out her back and took her guts with it. Blood sprayed red across the sky like lightning and was gone in the crash of another wave. Her body clung to the ladder for a momentâthen broke away. She never had time to change her expression.
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