The Rising Sea (NUMA Files 15)

Kurt felt a little guilty for forcing Paul’s hand, but Paul was a perfectionist. Given the chance, he’d run a hundred test scenarios before he put forth a novel theory.

“It’s just an idea,” Paul said. “I’ll start by saying I know it’s crazy.”

“Can’t be any worse than Joe’s swarm of comets.”

“Hey!” Joe said, feigning serious injury. “No judgment in brainstorming.”

“You’re right,” Kurt said. “So what does all this mean? Start with the bird. I’m curious.”

Paul took a deep breath. “‘The Crow and the Pitcher,’” he said. “It’s one of Aesop’s fables.”

With just those words, Kurt saw the brilliance in Paul’s idea.

“In the fable,” Paul said, “a thirsty crow lands beside a pitcher of water and attempts to dip its beak in it for a drink. But the neck of the jug is so narrow and the level of the water so low that the crow can’t reach the water. So the crow flies away and returns with a stone in its mouth, which it drops into the jug. The stone displaces some of the water and the water level rises. Doing this over and over, the crow eventually raises the water level far enough that it can drink from the pitcher.

“The point is,” Paul continued, “if the ice caps aren’t melting and we’re not passing through swarms of micro comets, then perhaps we’re looking at this the wrong way. Maybe there’s no additional water going into the oceans but something displacing the existing water that’s already present.”

Everyone remained silent, considering the possibility.

Paul looked around the room. “You know, like running a bath and then getting in and having it overflow.”

Kurt laughed. “I’m pretty sure we all get the idea.”

“Everyone’s so quiet, I wasn’t sure,” Paul said.

“Just marveling at your brilliance, my friend. It’s a fantastic bit of thinking.”

“Absolutely,” Joe insisted.

Gamay smiled. “You keep coming up with stuff like that, I’m going to start losing arguments at home.”

“Is there any precedent for it?” Kurt asked.

“Not in the ocean,” Paul admitted, “but it’s common in smaller bodies of water. A few years back, Yellowstone Lake was spilling onto new ground, but it wasn’t from rainfall or runoff. The rise was linked to a bulge in the ground underneath it. An upwelling of magma deeper down was pushing the surface layers of rock higher. That displaced the water, causing the lake to rise and spread out even though the total volume of water was unchanged. At the time, geologists thought the volcano under Yellowstone might have been building toward an eruption. Fortunately, over the next few years the bulge subsided and the lake returned to its original confines. It’s possible that a similar scenario is

happening right now in some remote part of the world’s oceans.”

“Rule out the impossible and whatever remains . . .” Gamay suggested.

“My thinking exactly,” Paul said.

“Surely, someone would notice a rise of that magnitude in the ocean floor.”

“Only if they were looking for it,” Paul said. “But I can’t think of any organization, including NUMA, that spends time conducting regular deepwater scans of the ocean bottom.” He gestured to a topographic map mounted on the far wall. “The only charts that are updated with any consistency are those plotting shallow areas around harbors and the shipping lanes. Our maps of the deep are pieced together from onetime scans and widely scattered depth soundings. Everything in between is extrapolated data. But if you measured the elevation of North America by taking one reading in Orlando and another in Santa Monica, you’d conclude it was a very flat place, never taking into account the mountains in the middle.”

Joe chimed in. “Most deepwater data is often decades old. A lot can change in a year, let alone several.”

“How much of an upheaval would it take?” Kurt asked.

“A new seamount the size of Hawaii would do the trick,” Paul said, “even if it didn’t pierce the surface.”

“New volcanoes aren’t unheard of,” Gamay pointed out. “Krakatoa blew itself off the map in 1883 and by 1930 a new volcanic peak emerged in its place: Anak Krakatoa.”

“And they grow quickly,” Paul said. “Anak Krakatoa is a thousand feet high now. It continues to grow and widen at an astonishing rate.”

“There’s also a new peak forming in the Emperor seamount chain off of Hawaii,” Joe said. “They call it Lo‘ihi. We did a survey of it last year. Been growing more rapidly since 1996.”

“Those are two small islands,” Kurt noted. “And it’s taken millions of years for Lo‘ihi to form. I find it hard to believe something that large could come into existence in six months.”