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“A panel to measure sound velocity and pressure, recording the parameters with time in digital format on magnetic tape. A proton-precision magnetic sensor to pick up any iron on the seafloor. Monitors for the underwater TV cameras.” Boland pointed at four monitors embedded in the equipment. “That’s why we heaved to, so we can release the sensors and cameras behind the ship on the glide sled and begin scanning.”
Pitt studied the screens. The cameras were just being lowered in the water; he could see the swells slap at the lenses as they slipped under the surface and entered the silent void of sun-sparkled, restless liquid. Two of the cameras recorded color, making the blue-green shadows seemingly drift off into infinity.
“The next instrument is an advanced sonar system,” Boland continued. “It takes detailed ‘sound’ pictures of the ocean floor and anything on it. We also have a side-scanning system that takes in half a mile on either side of the hull. Their sensors will also be towed behind the ship.”
“A mile-wide detection belt,” Pitt said. That should cut an impressive swath through the search sector.”
Pitt noted that Boland made no conscious effort to introduce him to any of the crew manning the equipment. If there was one thing Boland sadly lacked, it was the barest hint of social courtesy. Pitt found himself wondering how Boland ever made lieutenant commander.
“And this little sweetheart over here,” Boland said proudly, “is the real brain of the outfit. A Selco-Ramsey 8300 computer system.” He nodded at a tall, narrow panel of lights and knobs standing atop a wide-set keyboard. “Latitude-longitude, velocity and heading, complete on-board capability. In short, it hooks into the centralized control system, and from this point in time until we discover the Starbuck, this inhuman
mass of transistors will run the ship.”
“Makes it sanitary,” Pitt murmured.
“How’s that?”
“Untouched by human hands.”
Boland’s brow furrowed. “Yeah, you might say that”
Pitt leaned over the keyboard operator’s shoulder and studied the printout tapes. “A neat arrangement The Selco-Ramsey 8300 can be overridden and re-programmed from a master control. In this case, probably the operations bunker back at Pearl Harbor. Makes it handy for Admiral Hunter in the event we go the same way as the people on the Lillie Marlene. At the first sign of trouble, he and Denver can override our system, turn the ship around, and bring it back to port. He may lose the crew, but the 101st Fleet gets its super salvage ship home intact. A neat arrangement indeed.”
“You know your electronics,” Boland said slowly. His face had a strange mixture of suspicion and respect.
“You might say I have a passing acquaintance with most of the equipment you have on board.”
“You’ve seen all this before?”
“On at least three of NUMA’s oceanographic research ships. Your capability is a bit more specialized since your primary objective is salvage. But our state-of-the-art is slightly ahead of yours due to the scientific nature of our explorations.”
“My apologies,” Boland forced a smile. “I’ve been underestimating your talents.” He wheeled, walked across to the detection room officer, spoke a few words to him, and returned. “Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.”
“Do Navy regulations cover that?” Pitt grinned, somewhat taken by Boland’s sudden display of friendliness.
Boland’s return grin had a touch of shrewdness to it. “You forget. Technically, this is a civilian ship.”
“I’m all for technicalities.”
They had just started for the door when the detection room officer announced: “Television cameras and sonar sensors in position, Skipper.”
Boland nodded. “Fast work, Lieutenant We’ll get underway immediately...”
“One moment,” Pitt interrupted. “Just out of curiosity, what’s our depth reading?”
Boland looked at him questioningly and then turned. “Lieutenant?”
The detection room officer was already bent over the sonar sensor, staring intently at the jagged shading that crawled across the readout paper.
“Five thousand, six hundred seventy feet, sir.”
“Anything unusual in that?” Boland queried.
“Should be deeper,” Pitt answered. “Can we have a look at your ocean floor charts?”
“Here, sir.” The lieutenant moved to a large chart table with a frosted glass top and switched on the overhead illuminator. He unrolled a large chart and clipped it to the edge of the table. “North Pacific sea-floor. Not very detailed, I’m afraid. Very few depth-sounding expeditions in this part of the world.”
Manners suddenly struck Boland. “Dirk Pitt, this is lieutenant Stanley.”
