Jeanette leaned over the chart table on the bridge of the Arctic Sunrise, trying to make sense of the cuttlefish swarm. As she inspected hydrographic maps, everyone else had their eyes on a frigate that was fast approaching on an opposite course.
When its colors became visible, Captain Arnot took the radio. “New Zealand warship to the port side, this is the Arctic Sunrise. Good morning.”
“Good morning Sunrise,” the answer crackled back. “This is the HMNZ frigate Te Kaha responding.”
“Te Kaha, this is the Arctic Sunrise reporting a near collision last night,” Captain Arnot continued. “A submarine breached within a hundred yards of us. It dived again without making radio contact.”
“Te Kaha reporting to Arctic Sunrise. There is an international sonographic exercise underway. We encountered a Russian Borei last night. There are more submarines in the area.”
“Thank you, Te Kaha,” Arnot answered. “Would this sonographic exercise impact sea life? Could it drive cuttlefish to the surface?”
“Arctic Sunrise, could you repeat?”
“We observed a cuttlefish swarm last night,” the captain said, loud and clear. “Thousands of cuttlefish were on the surface. We urgently call for you to cease your sonographic experiments and assess their impact on sea life.”
Jeanette crossed the bridge to stand with the captain and listen more closely.
“Arctic Sunrise, this is the Te Kaha. We have a biologist on board. Standby.”
“Jeanette.” Arnot pressed the radio into her hand. “Talk to them.”
“Arctic Sunrise, this is Dr. Hatarei, biology professor. What did you see?”
“This is Dr. Jeanette Goff, marine biologist. The cuttlefish swarm was massive, at least one kilometer wide, incredibly dense. The location and surface activity were extremely unusual.”
“Which way were they going?”
“They matched our course for several minutes and vanished when a submarine breached alongside us,” she answered. “I can give you our heading, but they weren’t with us long.”
“I’ll take every scrap of information available,” Harry answered. “Jeanette Goff, are you from the University of Oregon?”
“Yes,” she said. “I don’t work for the university. I studied there.”
“Jeanette, I think we have a mutual friend. Can I speak to your captain?”
“He’s listening.”
“Captain, the Te Kaha is returning to Auckland. I would like to continue on the north-easterly course you are holding. I’d like to jump ship, sir. Permission to board?”
The captain took the microphone. “You’re a biologist?”
“Professor of Biology at Victoria University of Wellington.”
“Do you know him?” Arnot asked Jeanette.
“No,” she answered.
Arnot shrugged and toggled the radio. “Permission granted.”
* * *
The Waes explored the ceiling, their hands and feet finding easy purchase on the exposed piping. Estlin knew they were watching him. They didn’t approach him directly, instead, they followed the paths offered by the ceiling, moving successively closer and further away.
“Subjects remain in Ready Room 3,” Sergeant Malone informed the Combat Direction Center, “but Hume indicates they know where our critical systems are — power generation and propulsion.” Malone waved at Estlin and covered the mouthpiece of the phone. “Did they make any stops on the way here? Did they visit other levels of the ship?”
Estlin looked at the Waes and painted their paths back across the ceiling to the door through which they’d entered. He imagined a fragment of gray corridor beyond the door and offered them the colors. The response filled the room, somehow existing in two scales at once, being both the size of the ship and small enough to fit in a single field of view. The Waes traced their path from the hangar.
“They came directly,” Estlin answered.
Waewae was traversing the pipes of the sprinkler system. It arrived at a sprinkler head and curled its fingers around it. Estlin thought this was a bad idea and imagined spraying water. Waewae was intrigued.
“Don’t!” he shouted as Waewae dropped from the ceiling, swinging its weight onto the single hand clutching the sprinkler head. The plumbing gave way and water poured into the briefing room. “Malone?”
Malone waved for silence. “They’ve damaged the sprinkler system. No, they are climbing on it.” He hung up the phone. “Is this deliberate?” he asked. “A distraction?”
“An accident, sort of. I tried to warn it.”
“I’ll watch them,” Malone said calmly. “Find the shut off valve.”
“Right.” Estlin tracked the pipes to the valve, and considered how to get to it without getting wet. Wae dropped from the ceiling. It skipped along the backs of chairs, leaping to the catch the valve and pull it.
“That was interesting,” said Malone as the shower of water dwindled. “Can you tell them not to touch anything else, anywhere on the ship?”
“Uh…” Estlin tried to think of a way to do that without first thinking about touching the ship.
“Tell them to stay here and sit on their hands.”
Estlin did his best. The waetapu were in a particularly responsive mood. They jumped onto an adjacent armchair, folding their fingers together and curling their toes.
“That’s better.” Malone positioned himself between Waes and the main doors. “You said they would get out.”
“Did you think they were contained?” Estlin asked.
The door behind them clanged open. A marine entered, latching the door behind him. He wore a black protective vest, but the holster on his belt was empty. He stepped around the puddle on the deck, stopping once he had a clear view of the seated aliens. “Did they tamper with the ship?”
“No,” Estlin answered. Wae’s posture and facial markings gave it an innocent appearance. It was resting one hand on the arm of the chair. “Though that one’s eating the furniture.”
“Mr. Hume, you’re looking better.”
“You’ve met Major Forester,” Malone said.
“No,” Estlin answered.
“I was one of your rescuers,” Forester responded. “Sergeant Malone, what part of the containment strategy did you not understand?”
“He couldn’t stay in the hangar,” Malone answered. “He was seeing things.”
“Isn’t that your job?” Forester asked Estlin. “If they touched any of our critical systems, if they even walked past them, I need to know.”
“They didn’t,” Estlin said.
“You sound certain.”
“I asked them,” Estlin said. “That’s their answer.”
“They came straight here, looking for you?”
“Yes.”
“How’d they get out?” Sergeant Malone asked.
“A mistake,” Forester answered. “The hangar wall was retracted, damaging the enclosure. They vanished while repairs where underway. Command learned they were gone when one of the repair team asked if the wood pile needed to be moved.”
“Hume suggested they could be that effective,” Malone replied.
“You should have listened.” Major Forester regarded Malone coldly. “Mr. Hume, can you tell me why they are here?”
“No,” Estlin answered. “Here or here?” While he was asking Forester, he was visually struck by Wae’s local sense of here, starting with a grid of open boxes, linked by gray channels. The boxes closed and fine red lines crept up the hallways, wiring the boxes shut. “You’re securing this section of the ship, placing alarms on the doors and ducts.”
“Are you guessing or do you know?” Forester asked.
“You know, so they know.”
“The alarms will be relayed directly to the flag bridge, beyond their local manipulations.” Major Forester was confident.
Estlin wondered whether the crew beyond the door could install and arm the alarms without making critical mistakes. How many doors Yeoman Heron and others had unknowingly left open to facilitate the Waes movements earlier?
“I want the bigger picture,” Forester said. “Speculation is that they chose the South Pacific because it is a safe landing site — unpopulated and undefended.”
Estlin envisioned the expanse of water and the waetapu answered. The water bloomed small rings of land, the land bloomed fire, the fires receded and left a faint glow. He saw this over and over again. He saw the bloom of red from Yidge’s back. He stood, barely keeping his balance as he backed away from the waetapu. “You’re wrong,” he said. “They think this is our place of war.”
“Why?” Malone asked.
“The Pacific atolls were nuked over and over again, by you, by the French, hundreds of bomb tests. The residues of war are here.”
“Why would they land in a battlefield?” Forester’s question was interrupted by the phone. He answered it.
“It doesn’t make sense.” Malone looked at the waetapu, who were lounging in their chair like a pair of contented dogs. “If they’re here for reconnaissance, they are capable of complete stealth.”
Estlin considered the last two days of his life. “If you aren’t from here, you don’t know whether our military assets are on land or on the water. You don’t know if we paint our warships white or gray. Complete stealth doesn’t get you invited to a carrier for a tour.”
Major Forester hung up the phone. “The admiral wants them off. I agree with his assessment that they present a risk to the ship. A Greyhound will ferry them to Tutuila. Do you think they can handle a four-hour flight?”
“What’s a Greyhound?” Estlin asked.
“Twin engine turboprop logistical support aircraft,” Forester answered. “They transport passengers and critical cargo. I need to know that your friends can handle the catapult launch forces.”
This was a straightforward concept to project, and it seemed that, during their arrival, the waetapu had observed the runways of the carrier in action. As far as Estlin could tell, the waetapu loved the idea of being shot off the deck. “Best translation,” he said. “It is their joy to travel.”
“Do they want seats?” Malone asked. “We could modify the cargo pod.”
“Will the seats be made of food?” Estlin asked.
“I’ll pass the request along,” Forester said.
“Where’s my team?” Sergeant Malone asked.
“They’re en route to Tutuila. They’ll secure the airport before you get there. You’ll land, transfer the subjects to the C-17 and continue with them stateside.” Major Forester checked his watch. “You launch in forty minutes. That gives us time for conversation.”
* * *
Harry put his trust in the single steel cable, let the harness take his weight, and leaned out into the hot wind driven by the rotor blades of the Seasprite. The harness pinched, and the metal platform below him was rising on the ocean’s surge. This was nothing like descending into a forest clearing — a long disused skill that reversed the captain’s initial refusal of the ship-to-ship transfer.
The Greenpeace crew had offered to send a Zodiac for Harry, but the Te Kaha had been ordered to port without delay. The Arctic Sunrise had a green hull decorated with a rainbow rising from the waterline to support a white dove. Dangling from the winch, Harry glanced down at the welcoming yellow “H” painted on the green deck beneath him. The landing pad should have made this adventure unnecessary, but the pilot had vehemently informed him that the platform was not rated for helicopters the size of the Seasprite.
Harry’s feet touched the deck, and he crouched, settled and released the cable. He stayed low as the free cable swung above him. His wave to the Seasprite was acknowledged and the cable was winched in as the helicopter rose and turned back toward the Te Kaha. The noise and blasting wind from the rotor blades receded, and Harry found himself sitting on the deck with no desire to stand.
Jeanette Goff offered him a hand. Her long red hair was buffeted by the wind, and Harry recognized the smile dimpling her freckled cheeks from a photo that had slipped from one of Estlin’s books. She had curves enough to show through all-weather gear, strong hands and enough gumption to be on a ship in the South Pacific.
“Jeanette,” he said, keeping her hand longer than needed. “Glad to meet you.”
“You said we had a mutual friend,” she said.
“Estlin,” Harry answered.
“I saw the missing person’s report,” she said.
“I brought him down to Wellington,” Harry said. “We know he was taken by ship. I hope you’ll help me find him.”
“Captain Arnot wants to meet you straight away.”
“Lead on,” he said, but found himself touching her shoulder, stopping her. “Jeanette?”
“Yes?”
“I’m glad to meet you.”
She nodded and led the way forward up two flights of steep metal stairs to the bridge. The Norwegian captain welcomed Harry and introduced the core of his diverse crew, whose names Harry failed to retain even as they were spoken.
“Thank you for having me, Captain Arnot,” he responded.
“I think you have a story for us,” Arnot said.
“Yes,” Harry answered. “Could we speak privately?”
Harry felt the collective chill in the crew that had just congenially welcomed him. The captain considered his request. He gave brief instructions to the crew and directed Harry to an adjacent room with a “We Brake for Whales” poster pinned to the door. Jeanette came with them, and Arnot allowed it, holding the door to a small ready room open and latching it closed behind them.
“Now tell me,” he said. “What kind of trouble has a carrier battle group running flat out for home?”
“I can’t say,” Harry responded. “But I am trying to catch up to the Washington. I think it’s going to pass through the Samoan Islands on its way to Hawaii.”
“You’ve made a mistake,” Arnot answered bluntly. “The Sunrise cannot achieve half the speed of your frigate. We won’t catch the carrier unless it stops.”
“The NZRAF is scrambling aircraft out of Ohakea,” Harry explained. “They’ll be on Apia within hours. If there’s a speck of dirt with a landing strip out here, they’ll pick me up.”
“What the hell is going on?”
“I can’t say.” Harry caught the captain’s anger and quickly continued. “In Wellington, we were — we are — sharing information. But it was decided — I was part of a decision that we not share the information with six billion people, until we could answer the basic questions that those people would ask.”
“There are two people in this room,” Captain Arnot replied.
“I gave my word,” Harry said. “I signed legal agreements. And I believe this is the best course of action. Everything I know will become public knowledge soon, but it’s not my call to make.”
Arnot struck him with an unaccepting gaze. “This kindness — where you clutch a secret so we don’t know the weight of the truth — it’s obscene. Ignorance is a crushing burden. It is the divider between poverty and wealth. The true motive for every restriction of knowledge to the few is greed.”
Harry looked out the porthole at the expanse of water surrounding them. “What did you see in Wellington?”
“Destroyers in the harbor,” Jeanette answered. “Frigates. Breakers. Trawlers. Freighters. Yachts. The American carrier launched helicopters and fighters as it left the strait. They went after something.”
“Did they get what they went after?” Harry asked.
“Yes,” Jeanette answered. “The helicopters returned in formation, followed by the planes. That’s when the race began. What happened to Estlin? Do you think they have him?”
“It seems likely,” Harry said. “I need to get to Apia. Ideally, ahead of the Washington.”
“And what will you do then?” Arnot asked.
“I know where I need to be,” Harry said. “If you can get me to an airstrip, I’ll have a ride.”
“That would take a day and half at best.”
“I was hoping for sooner.”
“I can’t do better,” Arnot answered. “And I have no reason to help you. Tell us something. Start with the cuttlefish if you must.”
The door sounded with an urgent knock.
At the captain’s nod, Jeanette rose and unlocked the door. “Yes, Nia?”
“There’s news breaking—” Nia paused to look at Harry, taking a quick breath. “It’s not just the web. News networks have picked it up. They say the flash was a space ship — a stealth ship — and that little blue aliens landed in Wellington.” She delivered the news with an apologetic gesture.
Arnot and Jeanette looked to Harry for a denial. He let the silence hang, then finally answered. “I can’t confirm that.”
Nia exhaled audibly. “There was a riot at Stone Street,” she said. “Someone died.”
“Nia, gather the reports.” The captain pointed at the door.
Nia’s expression clouded, but she obeyed.
Arnot closed the door after her. “You were part of an international response in Wellington,” he said. “And you need to get to Apia because the world’s dominant industrial military complex decided it should be running first contact?”
“That’s a solid hypothesis,” Harry answered.
“If I get you as far as I can, will you take Jeanette and keep her with you as a non-governmental observer?”
“I can do that.” Harry nodded slowly. “What are you thinking?”
“The naval activity has been so intense Greenpeace dispatched the MV Esperanza from Hawaii to investigate. It has been underway for a week, and now it is here.” Arnot tapped the map. “It is south of Samoa, but north of the carrier.”
“They have a helicopter,” Jeanette broke into the conversation.
“What’s its range?” Harry asked.
“I’ll find out,” Arnot answered. “I’ll find out if we can get it here, refuel it, hop you ahead of the carrier and set the Esperanza on course for Apia.”
“Could it fly by the carrier on the way?” Harry asked. “Get a look at it?”
“Unlikely,” Arnot answered, his interest obvious. “I’ll check the charts.”