'Nice try,' he said. 'But that's enough now. Dr Anawak, please be so kind as to allow Mr. Anderson here to get up. He's only doing his job.'
Reluctantly Anawak let go of Anderson's hood. The first officer shot up. He didn't wait until his adversary was on his feet, but hoisted him into the air like a sack of coal. The next instant Anawak's body was flying towards the edge.
'No!' roared Johanson.
Anawak slammed down on to the deck then slid to the edge of the platform.
Anderson's head turned towards Johanson. One arm shot out, grabbed him, and a fist rammed into his stomach. Johanson gasped for air. A wave of pain spread through his guts. He folded like a penknife and fell to his knees.
The pain was almost unbearable.
He crouched there, retching, as the wind whipped through his hair, waiting for Anderson to punch him again.
PART FOUR
SINKING
Research shows that human beings are incapable of discerning intelligence beyond a certain micro or meta-threshold. For us to perceive intelligence, it has to fit within our behavioural framework. If we were to encounter intelligence operating outside that framework – on a micro-level, for instance – we would fail to see it. Similarly, if we were to come into contact with a far higher intelligence, a mind vastly superior to our own, we would see only chaos, as its reasoning would elude us. Decisions taken by a higher instance of intelligence would prove inscrutable to our intellect, having been made within parameters beyond the reach of human understanding. Imagine a dog's view of us. To the dog, a person appears not as a mind, but as a force to be obeyed. From its perspective, human behaviour is arbitrary: our actions are based on considerations that canine perception fails to grasp. It follows therefore that, should God exist, we would be incapable of recognising him or her as an intelligent being, since divine thought would encompass a totality of factors too complex for us to comprehend. Consequently, God would appear as a force of chaos, and therefore scarcely the entity that we would like to see governing the outcome of a football match, let alone a war. A being of that kind would exist beyond the limits of human perception. And that in turn prompts the question as to whether the meta-being God would be capable of perceiving intelligence on the sub-level of the human. Maybe we are an experiment in a petri-dish after all…
DEEPFLIGHT
Anderson's punch never came.
A few seconds earlier the crew of the Independence had been thrown into a state of red alert: the dolphins had reported an unknown object. Now the sonar systems detected it too. Something of unspecified size and shape was approaching at speed. It didn't sound like a torpedo, and there was nothing on the sonar to show what could have launched it. What made the crew on the bridge and at the consoles particularly nervous wasn't merely its silent and rapid ascent, but that it was coming at them vertically. They stared at the monitors and watched as a round, bluish patch emerged from the darkness. A rippling orb was rushing towards them, at least ten metres in diameter, gaining in size and detail on their screens.
By the time Buchanan had given the order to shoot it down, it was already too late.
The sphere exploded directly beneath the hull. Over the last few minutes of its journey, the gas inside it had continued to expand, accelerating its ascent. As it raced upwards, the cocoon's thin skin of jelly had stretched to bursting point, then ripped open from top to bottom. The scraps hung in the water. The gas continued upwards, surging towards the surface, carrying a large rectangular object.
Spinning on its axis, the lost Deepflight raced towards the Independence, striking it bow-first and ramming its torpedoes through the hull.
An eternity elapsed.
And then the explosion.
BRIDGE
The enormous vessel quaked.
Buchanan, who had seen the disaster coming, narrowly succeeded in staying upright by clinging to the chart table. Others weren't so lucky and crashed to the floor. In the control rooms beneath the island the vessel shook so violently that the monitors cracked and pieces of equipment flew through the air. In the CIC Crowe and Shankar were thrown from their chairs. In a matter of seconds chaos had broken out all over the ship. The harsh buzz of the alarm had kicked in, mixed with shouting, running footsteps, and jangling, droning, clunking noises, as the rumblings spread through the passageways, along the compartments and from level to level.
Seconds after impact the majority of the engine and boiler-room technicians were dead. A vast crater had been torn in the hull amidships, where the ammunition magazines and the engine room, with its two LM 2500 gas turbines, were located. The gaping tear was twenty metres long. Water blasted in with the force of a sledge-hammer, killing everyone who had survived the explosion. Anyone trying to escape was confronted by locked doors. The only way to save the Independence was to sacrifice those in the catacombs of the vessel, locking them in with the raging water to prevent the torrent swamping the vessel.
DECK ELEVATOR
The platform shuddered violently, then catapulted Floyd Anderson over Johanson's head. The first officer flung out his arms, fingers clutching at the air, then fell face down, flipped over and lay motionless, eyes open and empty.
Vanderbilt was almost knocked off his feet. He let go of the gun, which slid across the platform, stopping centimetres from the edge. He caught sight of Johanson trying to drag himself upright, darted over and kicked him in the ribs. The scientist toppled sideways with a muffled cry. Vanderbilt had no idea what had happened to the vessel, only that it must have been disastrous. But his brief was to eliminate Johanson and he intended to fulfill it. He was bending down to drag the groaning, bleeding man across the platform, intending to throw him over the nets, when someone cannoned into him from the side.
'Vanderbilt, you bastard!' screamed Anawak.
Suddenly he found himself under attack. Anawak's fists were battering him with frenzied violence. Vanderbilt retreated. He raised his arms to shield his head, ducked to the side and kicked his assailant in the kneecap.
Anawak swayed and his legs gave way. Vanderbilt transferred his weight to the other foot. Most people who met Jack Vanderbilt misjudged his strength and agility. They saw only his girth. But he was fully trained in self-defence and martial arts and, despite his hundred or so kilos, could still perform some serious moves. He ran forward, threw himself into the air and rammed his boot against Anawak's sternum. Anawak thumped on to his back. His mouth opened in an O, but no sound came out. Good, thought Vanderbilt. He'd winded him. Bending down, he pulled Anawak up by the hair and shoved his elbow into the man's solar plexus.
That should do it. Now back to Johanson. Once he'd got the Norwegian into the water, Anawak could follow.
As he straightened up, he saw Greywolf bearing down on him. Vanderbilt went on the attack. He spun round, kicked out his right leg, made contact with his opponent – and rebounded.
That's not right, he thought, confused. The kick had been enough to make anyone slump to the floor or double up with pain. But the man continued towards him. There was no mistaking the look in his eyes. Suddenly Vanderbilt realised that he had no choice but to win this fight if he wanted to survive. His arms whirled above his head as he prepared to land the next blow. He lunged forward and felt his arm brushed away casually. Then Greywolf s left hand had buried itself in his double chin. Vanderbilt kicked out. Without breaking stride Greywolf shoved him towards the edge, raised his fist and punched.