Ghost Ship (NUMA Files 12)
“Cap’n went to check with the chief,” the helmsman said. “Main electrical bus went out. Followed by the backup. All systems are dead.”
Paul was about to turn and head for engineering when he felt a subtle vibration travel through the hull. The engines and auxiliary power unit were coming back on. “Thank goodness for small favors,” he muttered.
He went to the intercom. It was still out. So was the radio. He flicked the light switch. Nothing.
As Paul wondered why, he noticed the Condor was beginning to move. Not just holding station in the current but accelerating. He stepped to the command console. There was power for the display, but as the helmsman tapped various icons on the screen nothing happened.
The ship began to turn, healing over as if the rudder had been deflected all the way to the stops.
“It’s not me,” the helmsman insisted. He was holding the small wheel that controlled the rudder dead center.
The ship continued to accelerate, straightening out and heading due south. They continued to pick up speed. In a moment the ship was running flat out, racing across the glassy sea and cutting a white swath away from the two submersibles and the wreck below.
A warning light on the console showed the propeller rpm’s reaching maximum and going beyond. “You have to reduce speed,” Paul urged.
“I’m trying,” the helmsman said. “Nothing’s working.”
The rpm’s were already three percent beyond the red line. “Why isn’t the limiter cutting in?”
Another crewman joined them on the bridge and went to the circuit breaker panel.
“Hit the override,” Paul shouted. “Emergency stop.”
The helmsman did as Paul ordered. He slammed his palm onto the yellow-and-red emergency stop button that acted as the override. The ship continued to charge south.
It dawned on Paul that the override was just another button to tell the computer to stop doing whatever it was doing. But if the system was faulty or had been corrupted, there was no reason to expect the override to be working correctly.
With the rpm’s still climbing, a shaft failure was possible, or even bearing failure in the engines themselves.
“Keep trying,” Paul said. “I’m headed to the engine room.” From her seat in the cockpit of Scarab One, Gamay continued transmitting to the Condor. “Paul, do you read me? Come in, Condor?”
With no luck, she tried contacting Duke in Scarab Two. “Duke, how’s your radio?”
There was no response. But, seconds later, Scarab Two appeared, rising over the far side of the wreck like the sun coming up. Gamay saw the thrusters align with the body, and the yellow submersible began to come their way. It moved slowly, its lights aimed oddly downward toward the wreck instead of forward.
“The radio must be out,” Gamay said to Elena.
“I’ll flash him,” Elena said.
“I bet he’s been dreaming about that,” Gamay joked.
Elena smiled and began to toggle the lights, tapping out a quick message in Morse code: Radio out. Scarab Two continued their way. It eased over the superstructure of the sunken yacht and began descending toward them. The lights finally came up and focused on them, but there was no flashed message in response.
Elena shielded her eyes. “Thanks for blinding us, Duke.”
“He’s coming in awfully fast,” Gamay said.
“Too fast,” Elena said. With a flick of her wrist, she put the thrusters in reverse and tried to back out of the way, but Duke’s sub bore down on them at full speed and rammed them, cockpit to cockpit. It was a glancing blow, but they were knocked sideways just the same. Gamay felt herself thrown about in the seat.
“What is wrong with him?” Elena blurted out, struggling to get control.
Gamay looked around. There were no leaks that she could see. No cracks. The Scarabs were certified to depths of two thousand feet—their hulls were immensely strong—but the bumper car experience was one she’d rather have on dry ground in an amusement park.
She looked out through the clear dome of the cockpit. Scarab Two was turning around and coming back their way, moving even faster this time.
“Something’s not right,” she said.
“What is it?”