[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
the throes of a crisis. Eight screens had been tuned to remotes showing dark
blotches of sea bottom strewn with torn bubbly and other Island debris.
Surface monitors scanned decrepit scatterings of small boats, all of them
overcrowded with survivors.
Panille took a moment trying to assess what he saw. The small craft bobbed
amidst a wide, oily expanse of flotsam. The few Islander faces he saw showed
dull shock and hopelessness. He could see many injured among the survivors.
Those able to move attempted to staunch blood flowing from jagged slashes in
flesh. Some of the injured twisted and writhed from the effects of high-
temperature burns. All of the small craft drifted nearly awash. One had been
piled with bodies and pieces of bodies. An older woman with gray hair and
stubby arms was being restrained in a long coracle, obviously to prevent her
from throwing herself into the sea. There was no sound with the transmission
but Panille could see that she was screaming.
"What happened?" Panille demanded. "An explosion?"
"It may have been their hydrogen plant, but we're not sure yet."
That was Lonson, Panille's daywatch number two, at the central console.
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Lonson spoke without turning.
Panille moved closer to the center of activity. "Which Island?"
"Guemes," Lonson said. "They're pretty far out, but we've alerted Rescue and
the pickup teams in their area. And as you can see we've lifted scanners from
the bottom."
"Guemes," Panille said, recalling the last watch report. Hours away even with
the fastest rescue subs. "What time are we estimating for arrival of the
first survivors?"
"Tomorrow morning at the earliest," Lonson said.
"Dammit! We need foils, not rescue subs!" Panille said. "Have you asked for
them?"
"First thing. Dispatcher said they couldn't be spared. Space Control has
priority." Lonson grimaced. "They would have!"
"Easy does it, Lonson. We'll be asked for a report, that's sure. Find out if
the first rescue team on the scene can spare people to interrogate the
survivors."
"You afraid Guemes may have bottomed out?" Lonson asked.
"No, it's got to be something else. Ship! What a mess!" Panille's straight
mouth drew into a tight line. He rubbed at the cleft in his chin. "Any
estimate yet on the number of survivors?"
A young woman at the computer-record center said, "It looks like fewer than a
thousand."
"Their last census was a little over ten thousand," Lonson said:
Nine thousand dead?
Panille shook his head, contemplating the monumental task of collecting and
disposing of that many bodies. The bodies would have to be removed. They
contaminated Merman space. And when they floated, they could only encourage
dashers and other predators to new heights of aggression. Panille shuddered.
Few things were more upsetting to Mermen than going out for a sledge job and
running into dead, bloated Islanders.
Lonson cleared his throat. "Our last survey says Guemes was poor and losing
bubbly around its rimline."
"That couldn't account for this," Panille said. He scanned the location
monitor for the coordinates of the tragedy and the approaching lines of rescue
craft.
"Much too deep for them to have bottomed out. It must've been an explosion."
Panille turned to his left and walked slowly down the line of displays,
peering over the shoulders of his operators. As he paused and asked for
special views, operators zoomed in or back.
"That Island didn't just fall apart," Panille said.
"It looks as though it was torn apart and burned," an operator said. "What in
Ship's teeth happened out there?"
"The survivors will be able to tell us," Panille said.
The main access behind Panille hissed open and Kareen Ale slipped through.
Panille scowled at her reflection in a dark screen. Of all the dirty turns of
fate! They had to send Ale for his first report! There had been a time when
.
. . Well, that was past.
She came to a stop beside Panille and swept her gaze along the display.
Panille saw the shock sweep over her features as the evidence on the screens
registered.
Before she could speak, he said, "Our first estimates say we'll have at least
nine thousand bodies to collect. And the current is setting them into one of
our oldest and largest kelp plantations. It'll be hell itself getting them
out of there."
"We had a sonde report from Space Control," she said.
Panille's lips shaped into a soundless ahhh-hah! Had she been notified as a
member of the diplomatic corps or as a new director of Merman Mercantile? And
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did it make any difference?
"We've been unable to tune in any sonde reports," Lonson said, speaking from
across the room.
"It's being withheld," Ale said.
"What does it show?" Panille asked.
"Guemes collapsed inward and sank."
"No explosion?" Panille was more startled by this than by the revelation that
the sonde report was being withheld. Sonde reports could be suppressed for
many reasons. But Islands as big as Guemes did not just collapse abruptly and
sink!
"No explosion," Ale said. "Just some kind of disturbance near the Island
center. Guemes broke up and most of it sank."
"It probably rotted apart," the operator in front of Panille said.
"No way," Panille said. He pointed to the screens showing the maimed
survivors.
"Could a sub have done that?" Ale asked.
Panille remained silent, shocked by the import of her question.
"Well?" Ale insisted.
"It could have," Panille said. "But how could such an accident . . ."
"Don't pursue it," Ale said. "For now, forget that I asked."
There was no mistaking the command in her voice. The grim expression on Ale's
face added a bitterness to the order. It sent a pulse of anger through
Panille.
What had that suppressed sonde view shown?
"When will we get the first survivors in here?" Ale asked.
"About daybreak tomorrow," Panille said. "But I've asked for the first rescue [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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the throes of a crisis. Eight screens had been tuned to remotes showing dark
blotches of sea bottom strewn with torn bubbly and other Island debris.
Surface monitors scanned decrepit scatterings of small boats, all of them
overcrowded with survivors.
Panille took a moment trying to assess what he saw. The small craft bobbed
amidst a wide, oily expanse of flotsam. The few Islander faces he saw showed
dull shock and hopelessness. He could see many injured among the survivors.
Those able to move attempted to staunch blood flowing from jagged slashes in
flesh. Some of the injured twisted and writhed from the effects of high-
temperature burns. All of the small craft drifted nearly awash. One had been
piled with bodies and pieces of bodies. An older woman with gray hair and
stubby arms was being restrained in a long coracle, obviously to prevent her
from throwing herself into the sea. There was no sound with the transmission
but Panille could see that she was screaming.
"What happened?" Panille demanded. "An explosion?"
"It may have been their hydrogen plant, but we're not sure yet."
That was Lonson, Panille's daywatch number two, at the central console.
Page 45
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Lonson spoke without turning.
Panille moved closer to the center of activity. "Which Island?"
"Guemes," Lonson said. "They're pretty far out, but we've alerted Rescue and
the pickup teams in their area. And as you can see we've lifted scanners from
the bottom."
"Guemes," Panille said, recalling the last watch report. Hours away even with
the fastest rescue subs. "What time are we estimating for arrival of the
first survivors?"
"Tomorrow morning at the earliest," Lonson said.
"Dammit! We need foils, not rescue subs!" Panille said. "Have you asked for
them?"
"First thing. Dispatcher said they couldn't be spared. Space Control has
priority." Lonson grimaced. "They would have!"
"Easy does it, Lonson. We'll be asked for a report, that's sure. Find out if
the first rescue team on the scene can spare people to interrogate the
survivors."
"You afraid Guemes may have bottomed out?" Lonson asked.
"No, it's got to be something else. Ship! What a mess!" Panille's straight
mouth drew into a tight line. He rubbed at the cleft in his chin. "Any
estimate yet on the number of survivors?"
A young woman at the computer-record center said, "It looks like fewer than a
thousand."
"Their last census was a little over ten thousand," Lonson said:
Nine thousand dead?
Panille shook his head, contemplating the monumental task of collecting and
disposing of that many bodies. The bodies would have to be removed. They
contaminated Merman space. And when they floated, they could only encourage
dashers and other predators to new heights of aggression. Panille shuddered.
Few things were more upsetting to Mermen than going out for a sledge job and
running into dead, bloated Islanders.
Lonson cleared his throat. "Our last survey says Guemes was poor and losing
bubbly around its rimline."
"That couldn't account for this," Panille said. He scanned the location
monitor for the coordinates of the tragedy and the approaching lines of rescue
craft.
"Much too deep for them to have bottomed out. It must've been an explosion."
Panille turned to his left and walked slowly down the line of displays,
peering over the shoulders of his operators. As he paused and asked for
special views, operators zoomed in or back.
"That Island didn't just fall apart," Panille said.
"It looks as though it was torn apart and burned," an operator said. "What in
Ship's teeth happened out there?"
"The survivors will be able to tell us," Panille said.
The main access behind Panille hissed open and Kareen Ale slipped through.
Panille scowled at her reflection in a dark screen. Of all the dirty turns of
fate! They had to send Ale for his first report! There had been a time when
.
. . Well, that was past.
She came to a stop beside Panille and swept her gaze along the display.
Panille saw the shock sweep over her features as the evidence on the screens
registered.
Before she could speak, he said, "Our first estimates say we'll have at least
nine thousand bodies to collect. And the current is setting them into one of
our oldest and largest kelp plantations. It'll be hell itself getting them
out of there."
"We had a sonde report from Space Control," she said.
Panille's lips shaped into a soundless ahhh-hah! Had she been notified as a
member of the diplomatic corps or as a new director of Merman Mercantile? And
Page 46
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
did it make any difference?
"We've been unable to tune in any sonde reports," Lonson said, speaking from
across the room.
"It's being withheld," Ale said.
"What does it show?" Panille asked.
"Guemes collapsed inward and sank."
"No explosion?" Panille was more startled by this than by the revelation that
the sonde report was being withheld. Sonde reports could be suppressed for
many reasons. But Islands as big as Guemes did not just collapse abruptly and
sink!
"No explosion," Ale said. "Just some kind of disturbance near the Island
center. Guemes broke up and most of it sank."
"It probably rotted apart," the operator in front of Panille said.
"No way," Panille said. He pointed to the screens showing the maimed
survivors.
"Could a sub have done that?" Ale asked.
Panille remained silent, shocked by the import of her question.
"Well?" Ale insisted.
"It could have," Panille said. "But how could such an accident . . ."
"Don't pursue it," Ale said. "For now, forget that I asked."
There was no mistaking the command in her voice. The grim expression on Ale's
face added a bitterness to the order. It sent a pulse of anger through
Panille.
What had that suppressed sonde view shown?
"When will we get the first survivors in here?" Ale asked.
"About daybreak tomorrow," Panille said. "But I've asked for the first rescue [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]