“These people don’t scare me.”
“Nor me, Paul. However, our revenues could be drastically affected if Justice convinces the Environmental Protection Agency or the Bureau of Land Management or some other agency to suspend our permits pending hearings.”
“We’re getting to trade-off time,” Deride said.
“I think so, yes.”
“I’ll talk to Penny.”
Glenn had concerned herself with logistics for most of the day. From the mining operation at Test Hole D, she had diverted two subs — the Brisbane and the Canberra — and three floor crawlers to the sea station. The sub maintenance ship was now in position and had hoisted the Melbourne aboard, though the technicians said it would require two to three weeks to make the repairs required. They were going to have to ship a new motor out of Sydney, as well as fabricate a new housing. The damaged floor crawler, FC-6, was still being towed back.
Deride had wanted to talk to her earlier, but she had put him off for awhile. She had too much to do.
Hitting the transmit switch, she said, “FC-9, AG-4.”
“Dorsey here, Penny.”
“What’s your status?”
“Joey and I got us a couple hours’ worth of nap,” he said. “But the drilling’s done, and next, we’ll place the charge. Maybe another hour.”
“And your power supplies?”
“Oh, another seventy hours, easy.”
“Good. You go straight through with it, Jim, then set out for Test Hole K.”
“You don’t want us to collect samples?” he asked.
“No. I’m sending McBride with Canberra and one of the new crawlers.”
“Roger, then. We’re off.”
She closed the circuit and updated her status board which was actually on the computer. Discounting two crawlers — the tower and the towee — for the time being, she had four crawlers available. She would keep one here, and send the others out after briefing the crews on Brande’s imaginative use of a cutting torch. That wouldn’t happen again. One of the new subs should be sent to cover Dorsey’s Team Three. Team Three was composed of her two nuclear experts, and she didn’t want Brande getting near them.
The fact that Brande was alive had thrilled her. There was still a future beyond the immediate future. But she had been busy enough that she hadn’t had time to consider all of the implications.
Something would work out. Give it a week, when it was all over, and she would devote some time to R&R and planning in some warm place like Acapulco.
But now, the goal was in sight, and she couldn’t afford to lose her concentration.
“Penny, we’ve got to talk.”
“Sure, Uncle Paul. Sit down.”
He pulled up one of the chairs and sat close to her for privacy. The sea station was currently overflowing with fresh bodies, the crews who would man the vehicles coming down from the freighter. They milled around the lounge and the control room, simultaneously nervous and excited. There were four women among them.
“I talked to Anthony a little while ago.”
“How is Anthony?”
He told her about the siege of the American offices and the FBI investigations.
That alarmed her a little. “How did that happen?”
“Brande spilled it all to the press. We’re being crucified. Anthony says he’s been contacted about an appearance on Nightline. He declined.”
“Are we going to let a bunch of environmental zealots dictate how we conduct business, Uncle Paul? We never have in the past.”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about, Penny. What if we’d suspend operations further north until this all settles down?”
“We’ve got four more locations to go,” she said. “If we suspend for a month or so, then start up again, they’ll be all over us for breaking our word. Wouldn’t it be better to press forward, to stonewall them for another four — now three — days, then quit entirely?”
He thought about it for a few seconds. “That’s all there is? Four more?”
“That’s it. But if you’re worried about a bunch of tree freaks, why we can….”
“No. Let’s just get it over with.”
“I knew you’d come up with the best decision, Uncle Paul.”
She had counted on it, in fact.
His decision.
Connie Alvarez-Sorenson, who was on the bridge, had altered course several hours before at Brande’s direction.
He wanted Harris on the California to be reassured that the RV Orion wasn’t seeking out the surface ships above the sea station. He was, in fact, certain that Harris didn’t know the exact coordinates of the sea station. As far as the local navy knew, only the surface ships were worrisome.
Or worrisome, if the Orion approached them. Therefore, she would not.
In the lounge with Thomas, Emry, Otsuka, Dokey, Sorenson, and Mayberry, Brande wolfed down egg-and-sausage sandwiches that Fred Boberg had concocted. He was facing forward, and in the failing light of day, he could see a sea that was becoming almost as angry as he was. Waves were running at fifteen feet, and a darkly slanting rain obscured the lights of the Mighty Moose; she was now running ahead of them.
On the starboard, the Arienne was still present, and Brande had turned down two additional interview requests from Wilson Overton. The man was ecstatic about the stateside reaction to his articles.
The navy ships were still with them, also. Harris had reported earlier that several boats operated by marine activists were closing to within a hundred miles of their position. By morning, it was going to get crowded, and the Navy captain wasn’t happy about the prospects.
Emry had dumped the sausage and eggs out of his sandwich and was eating them with a fork, as he claimed that civilized people did. “You sure I can’t go along, Chief?”
“Need you on the command console, Larry. Without encouraging your ego, I want someone level-headed there.”
“You don’t think I’m level-headed?” Otsuka asked, holding her chin out, to level her head.
“Of course. You’re Larry’s backup. Let’s not argue this anymore, huh? It’s Okey and Rae and me.”
And he wasn’t happy at all about Rae, but she had prevailed in their private argument. By way of blackmail. She had insisted, and he had believed her, that she would call Captain Harris in and spill the plot if she wasn’t allowed to go along with them.
DepthFinder had been moved out of the laboratory and to her customary position on the fantail, primarily to reassure the watchers aboard the California. She was in relatively good shape, with most of her electronic components changed out for fresh units. Ninety-eight per cent pure, Dokey said, downgraded only to A-1c.
Atlas, with a long series of electronic problems, had been removed from the submersible’s parking sheath.
In the growing dusk, and with the deck lights extinguished, she would slowly disappear from observation into the gloom and the rain.
Dokey took a gargantuan bite out of his sandwich and chewed mightily and happily. He was wearing a recent creation, a sweatshirt with a piranha eyeing a barracuda, and captioned, “Who’s your dentist?”
With his mouth full, Dokey said, “The best part about this location is that we don’t have to wear the damned radiation suits. Everybody gets to wear ten Dokey sweatshirts.”
Brande had one of his on already, and he had decided against the protective suits on the assumption that AquaGeo wouldn’t store, much less detonate, one of their nukes in the region where they were headed.
“Mel,” he said, “any questions?”