“Sure,” he said. “But there used to be an A-Ganger onboard here that everybody said looked like me, except he was about six inches shorter. They all called him ‘minivan,’ and he fucking hated it.”
“Damn. I like that,” said Jabo. He wandered to sonar.
The watchsection was wide awake, and, true to stereotype, the small space smelled like soap and scented shampoo, the fresh watchsection well scrubbed and showered.
“Fuck, is that cologne?” he said.
“Sir who would wear cologne at sea?” said the supervisor. “That would be really gay.”
“I don’t know,” said Jabo. “It smells like lilacs in here or some shit.” The watchsection was alert and in a good mood — they knew they were the tip of the spear in their search, and now that they had slowed, they could peer into the ocean with the full complement of the ship’s tools. Every man in sonar, and every device they controlled, was looking for the
Jabo leaned into a broadband display for a better look. “What’s that?” he said, pointing to a slight white trace on the waterfall display.
“That’s a Dick-4,” said the supervisor.
“What’s a Dick-4?” asked Jabo with a completely straight face.
“You’ve heard that one before, haven’t you sir?”
“About a million times,” said Jabo. “You guys need to come up with some new material.”
V-12 appeared at the door. “Good morning sonar!”
“What are you doing here?” said Jabo.
“You’re my UI watch,” he said. “I should be asking you that. The standing orders say you’re never supposed to me more than an arm’s length away from me, so I can prevent you from harming yourself or others.”
“Good one,” said Jabo.
V-12 wedged himself further into the small space. He clearly had a hunger to participate in the search, even if he was delegated to the back of the ship. Jabo sympathized.
V-12 pointed to the same trace that Jabo had noticed. “What’s that? A Dick-4?”
“It’s a merchant,” replied the supervisor. “About fifteen miles out. Loud as shit.”
“I guess so,” said Jabo. He stared at the sonar display, turned a switch to shift it to relative bearings, so he could easily see which way was forward, and visualize their sonic picture not as a map, but as the water around them. That’s where
“You guys all listen to the tape?” he asked. “The signal we heard yesterday?”
“Yes sir,” they all replied in unison.
“It never did comp out,” said the supervisor. “Doesn’t match anything we have in the system. But it’s obviously manmade. And it sure as hell sounds like active sonar to me.”
“Ok if I listen?” said V-12. “I haven’t heard it yet. That’s really why I came up here.”
“Sure,” said the supervisor. He took off his headphones and handed them to V-12. As he put them on, the supe started turning switches, recalling the recorded beeping from the day before.
“I think I hear it,” said V-12.
The supervisor looked up from his console with a grin. “What?”
“I hear it,” said V-12. “I think I hear the pinging.”
“I haven’t turned on the tape yet,” he said. “You’re still listening to the sphere.”
V-12’s face became dead serious. “I hear it,” he said. “Listen.”
The supervisor turned the switch so that the whole room could hear it. And there it was: the same faint, regular pinging they’d heard the day before.
“Oh, shit,” said the supervisor.
“Tell the OOD,” said Jabo. “Now.”
The supervisor grabbed the 27-MC microphone, and then hesitated. The pinging faded, then disappeared.
“Fuck,” he said. “She’s gone. Again.”
“Goddamit,” said Jabo. “Keep listening.”
“It just disappeared,” said the supervisor. “If anything, she was louder than yesterday. But then it just evaporated.” He looked at his watch to make a note in the logs, and Jabo instinctively looked at his watch too: exactly 0630.
It occurred to him suddenly that the last time he’d felt this adrenalin surge, he had also smelled bacon in the air.
“Let me see the logs from two days ago,” he said.
The supervisor pulled a binder from a small cabinet. Jabo flipped back to 0630 from two days before, then three days before. Nothing. He couldn’t call it a pattern: just two data points. But it was all he had.
“He waved his hands at V-12. “Move,” he said. “Let me out. I need to go talk to the captain.” V-12 backed out so they could both leave.
The XO and captain were both in the control room, smiling, chatting with the watchstanders, both holding standard navy issue coffee mugs made from indestructible green plastic. Everyone looked up as Jabo stormed into the room with V-12 trailing behind him.
“Captain, I think we heard her again.”
He raised his eyebrow. “No shit? Why aren’t we at battle stations?”
“She disappeared again. But: I think I know when we’ll hear her again.”
“Oh really?” said the XO with a smirk. “You’ve got some intel you’d like to share?”
“Twenty-four hours from now,” said Jabo. “I’m not sure why, but we seem to be picking up active emissions from her between 0600 and 0630. And I’ll bet we will again tomorrow.”
