“Captain,” Seagraves baritone crackled in Vevera’s ear. “I’m on my way.” The captain must have heard Vevera’s frantic orders.
Back at the command console, Vevera looked down at the display from the periscope. Master One was alarmingly close. If they’d steamed on for too much longer, they would have driven right into his screws.
“Officer of the Deck, I’ve got a detect on a new sound signature,” Mercer said. “Sounds like small screws.”
Seagraves arrived, zipping up his coveralls, his hair wet from the shower. “That could be thrusters,” he said. “OOD, get a sounding, fast.”
“Nav-E.T., take a sounding,” Vevera shouted at the navigation electronics technician.
“Aye, sir, and sounding is one seven eight fathoms. One thousand seventy feet, sir.”
“Captain, are you thinking of taking us to the bottom?” Vevera asked.
Seagraves nodded, squinting at the periscope view, but it was too crude to determine the angle of the Omega. “If the Omega turns to look backwards at his past path, his under-ice sonar will be pointing straight at us, and depending on its resolution, he’s going to see us. I can’t have us be counterdetected.”
“Sir, that would take us slightly below test depth. We’re at two hundred feet now.”
“It should be fine, Mr. Vevera,” Seagraves said. “And if it’s not, McDermott Aerospace and Shipbuilding will get a very harsh letter. Take us down to the bottom as quietly as possible.”
“Bottom us out, aye, sir. Pilot, insert a negative twenty feet per second depth rate.”
“Faster than that, Officer of the Deck,” Seagraves said as Quinnivan entered the room.
“Pilot,” Vevera said, “negative depth rate four zero.”
“Trouble?” the XO asked Seagraves.
“Master One is turning to look around. He might see us,” Seagraves said.
“Oh, fuck,” Quinnivan muttered to himself, looking at the periscope display.
“Negative depth rate, forty feet per second,” the pilot announced. “Depth four eight zero feet, passing five hundred.”
The hull above groaned suddenly, then emitted several sharp pops like shotgun blasts as the increasing pressure of the deep caused the hull to compress. As if in sympathy, the ice above them joined the cacophony.
“Hopefully the ice noise masks our hull pops. OOD, ease your negative rate as you get closer to the bottom,” Seagraves said. “No sense slamming us down on the rocks. Could be bad for business. And make noise.”
“Aye, sir, understood. Pilot, mark depth!”
“Nine hundred feet, OOD.”
“Ease your depth rate to negative twenty,” Vevera ordered.
“Depth, eleven hundred.”
“Ease depth rate to negative five,” Vevera said.
There was complete silence in the control room as the watchstanders and senior officers waited for the hull to hit the bottom.
“Steady on three five zero, Watch Officer,” the boatswain called.
“What do we have?” Alexeyev asked, staring at the under-ice sonar display.
“Sir, the pressure ridge wall continues on, fairly straight,” Palinkova said. “I’m not seeing an opening in that wall.”
“Watch Officer,” Alexeyev said to Shvets, “spin us to the reciprocal bearing.”
“Boatswain, turn the ship to the right to bearing one seven zero,” Shvets ordered.
A slight vibration came through the deck as the thrusters engaged. The pressure ridge wall scrolled slowly by on the under-ice sonar as the ship turned. As it had on the other heading, the pressure ridge wall continued fairly straight but ended at a corner, where a second wall intersected with it.
“Captain, going south isn’t an option,” Sobol said to Alexeyev. “It’s just another wall.”
The shifting ice overhead picked that moment to shriek and groan, the noise continuing for a good thirty seconds.
“Fucking ice,” Alexeyev said, looking over and seeing that First Officer Ania Lebedev had joined them behind the under-ice console.
“I recommend we spin back to three five zero and follow the wall that way, Captain,” Lebedev said.
“I concur,” Alexeyev said. “Watch Officer, take us to three five zero and put on revolutions to take us dead slow, parallel to the wall.”
“Boatswain, twist the ship to the left and steady on heading three five zero,” Shvets ordered.
The central command post was quiet but for the low roar of the ventilation ducts and shrill whine of the electronics feeding the consoles.
“Watch Officer, turning past heading north, now heading three five zero.”
“All ahead one third,” Shvets commanded. “Make revolutions for two knots. Maintain present depth.”
The officers waited tensely, watching the wall of ice, looking for an opening that would allow them to continue northeastward.
“Sir, the wall continues,” Palinkova reported.
For endless minutes, the ship moved along the ice wall, the pressure ridge showing no openings.
After half an hour, Palinkova looked back to Alexeyev. “Captain, I have something to the left. I have thin ice.”
The deck jumped as
