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Pitt nodded. “Okay, Stanley, let’s see what you’ve got” He set his elbows on the edge of the table and peered at the strange-looking contours that represented the floor of the Pacific Ocean. “What’s our position?”
“Right here, Major.” Stanley made a small fix on the chart. “32°10/ N, 151°17’ W.”
“That puts us over the Fullerton Fracture Zone,” said Pitt slowly.
“Sounds like a football injury.” Boland was also hunched over the table.
“No, a fracture zone is a crack in the earth, a seam that allows movement during ocean spreading. There are hundreds of them between here and the California coast”
“I see what you mean by the depth. According to the chart, the seabed should be over fifteen thousand feet deep hereabouts.” Stanley underlined the nearest depth reading to their position.
“It’s possible that we’re near a seamount,” Pitt said.
“The bottom is rising on our port side,” Boland said quietly. “Two hundred fifty feet in one mile. Nothing strange about that. One of the smaller seamounts might do it”
Pitt shook his head. “Except that none show on the chart.”
“Probably hasn’t been sounded and marked yet.”
“Yet, if the slope is still rising, the summit can’t be too far away. It’s your ship, Paul, but I think an investigation is in order. The Starbuck’s message capsule was sent by persons unknown after she disappeared. It stands to reason that she’s resting in a depth that’s within reach.”
Boland tiredly rubbed his eyes. “Sounds logical, but this can’t be the only uncharted seamount in the area. There might be fifty more.”
“We can’t afford to overlook even one.”
Boland looked thoughtful. Then he straightened and faced Stanley. “Lieutenant, program a course toward the high ground. Feed the sensor readings into the computer and place the helm on centralized control. Keep me informed of any sudden changes of depth. I’ll be in my cabin.” He turned to Pitt “Now then, how about that drink?”
The TV camera sled and sonar sensors were reeled out on tow lines, the centralized control system was engaged on the computer, and within ten minutes the Martha Ann was underway on a slow, wide swing to the east. The helmsman on the bridge stood idly smoking in the doorway of the wheelhouse, the spokes of the wheel slowly turning back and forth as if guided by an invisible hand. The ship pushed through the swells, her crew busy scanning and checking a paneled sea of wavering dials, colored lights, and monitors.
Pitt and Boland remained in the captain’s cabin through the midafternoon, the time passing with agonizing slowness as the sonar sensors reported an ever-rising seafloor. One hour, two, then three. Pitt kept himself buried in reports and data on the Starbuck, while Boland concerned himself with salvage plans if and when the Martha Ann got lucky.
Four-thirty in the afternoon. The idle conversation of the men on deck and down in the engine room turned inevitably to women; only the men in the detection room remained silent, intent on their monitors and instruments. Stanley’s occasional “bottom still rising” over the intercom, kept a degree of normalcy about the ship. There was no more tedious routine than searching for a shipwreck.
Suddenly at five o’clock, Stanley’s voice fairly burst from the speakers. “Bottom up nine hundred feet in the last half mile!”
Pitt stared at Boland. Without a word, they both jumped to their feet and hurried to the detection room. Stanley was bent over the chart table making notations. “It’s unbelievable, Skipper. I’ve never seen anything like it. Here we are hundreds of miles from nowhere, and the seafloor has suddenly risen to only twelve hundred feet from the surface. And it’s still coming.”
“That’s one hell of a steep rise,” Pitt said.
“Could be part of the Hawaiian Islands slope,” Boland ventured.
“We’re too far north. I doubt if there’s any connection. This baby stands all by herself.”
“Eleven hundred feet,” Stanley said loudly.
“Good Lord! It’s got a rising gradient of one foot in height for every two in length,” Pitt said softly.
Boland spoke barely above a whisper. “If it doesn’t level off soon, we’ll run aground.” He spun around to face Stanley. “Disengage the computer. Return to manual.”
Five seconds was all it took for Stanley to reply. “Running on manual, sir.”
Boland picked up the intercom mike. “Bridge? Boland here. What do you see eight hundred yards dead ahead?”
A metallic voice came back over the speaker. “Nothing, sir. Horizon’s clear.”
“Any sign of white water?”
“None, Commander.”
