PART 2 Perils

Chapter No. 7 The Red Horse

The gunmetal gray vessel gliding effortlessly through the depths appears more like a large whale than a submarine. This svelte craft has a metallic shark-like skin with no rivets or welded seams, which blesses it with reduced hydraulic drag. Displacing over ten thousand tons, it measures 125 meters in length and 15 meters in diameter. Propelled by twin nuclear reactor powered 40000 horsepower turbines, this marvelous vessel can move. In fact, the Sea Nautilus has a top speed of thirty-five knots when submerged, and, because of its triple hull of hardened titanium steel alloy with a reinforced concentric-ringed frame, it can dive to a depth of over 900 meters. This is performance more fitting of a military attack sub than the flagship research submersible of the Pacific Institute of Oceanography.

However, in the interests of safety, the Sea Nautilus lacks weapons and its sonar signature is familiar to the world's military establishments. On the other hand, in the interests of scientific pursuit, the Nautilus is stealthy and well equipped with modern sonar and infrared sensing instruments.

And inside the vessel's belly, two seasoned scientists sit at instrument stations attempting to find relevancy in side-scan sonar charts of the sea bottom passing beneath them.

"I can't make out anything on these damn charts." Eric slammed printouts down on a control console. "There's no way we can trace any volcanic shafts without actually going out there."

"What's the matter, dear? Can't deal with the latest advanced technology?"

Eric made a scolding face at her. "This isn't advanced technology, Its just an expensive collection of electronic nonsense."

"Now, now, dear, don't get your blood pressure up."

"My blood pressure is just fine." He held one of the charts up and stabbed his finger at it. "See here. The images are too blurry. How am I supposed to see any detail in this?"

"Go to the Image menu and choose 'Restore.' Click on the Fourier Transforms. Try the Cepstrum Transform. It works well on Gaussian-degraded images."

He followed his wife's advice, but he got lost. "Ok smarty-pants, what do I enter for the amplitude level of the edge points?"

"You'll have to experiment. If you set it too high, you'll lose detail. If you set it too low, you'll get more noise. Try around thirty-five percent."

After contemplating the resulting chart, Eric looked up at his wife with a wrinkled brow. "Oh, great. Now I can't make out the edges of these images."

"Try applying the Variable-Scale Gaussian-Smoothing Filter. You'll find it in the same menu. You'll have to perform a parabolic interpolation to the appropriate scale of each pixel."

"How do you know so damn much about this?"

She grinned. "I read the manual, dear."

He made a face at her.

She laughed.

Several minutes of silence passed.

While he examined a chart slowly emerging from a recording head, his wife crumpled up one of his discarded charts and threw it at him, hitting him on top of his head.

He looked up at her with a puzzled expression.

Giggling, she tossed another that hit him square on the forehead. He smiled, picked up one of her missiles and tossed it back at her. She ducked, but when she straightened up, she tossed her own back, hitting him on the chest. He took the hit so that he could aim one right at her head.

George Stevens passed the open hatch but backed up when an errant wad of paper sailed out the door amidst giggling and laughter. When he looked in the entrance, his eyes briefly widened with surprise before they narrowed with disgust.

"What the hell are you two doing?"

They stopped and looked at him. Margaret continued to giggle. Eric sniggered.

That earned them a scolding scowl. "You two are behaving like adolescents. Why don't you grow up?" He continued on his way.

Margaret made a face at him but he never saw it.

Eric wagged his finger at her. "You had better be careful. Old George will report you for behavior unbecoming of an Institute scientist."

"Ha! You're in the same boat . . . literally." She tossed another wad at him, just missing his head.

The intercom buzzed, interrupting their little game. Eric reached over to press the talk button, but he paused to regain his composure. "Eric Hauptman." His voice still had a hint of playful amusement in it.

His wife's grinning face didn't help.

"This is the control room," a much more serious German-accented voice proclaimed from the speaker. "We will be on station in approximately fifteen minutes."

"Thank you, Captain. We'll be right up."

He looked at his wife, who was seated on the opposite side of the instrument cluster, and grinned back at her. "Well, Love, it's Showtime."

Margaret's grin faded and she slowly shook her head not so much from anxiety, but from a growing pessimism. "I just hope we can find them."

"We'll find them, Love. I can feel it in my bones."

"You always were the optimist. What I feel in my bones is that this will be our last expedition. If we don't deliver, they'll more than likely force us to retire."

Eric swallowed hard. He knew the fate that his wife suggested was not only possible but also inevitable, but he didn't want the love-of-his-life to sense any despondency on his part.

"Cheer up, Love. Think of all the fun we'll have looking for them. Very few scientists are lucky enough to chance upon a great discovery, and this one may turn out to be the greatest."

"Or, it will be the death of us," Margaret said in a voice that was anything but cheerful.

Her husband sighed. "Well, if I have to go, I can think of no better place I'd rather be."
That didn't help her anxiety one bit.

He punched a key on the sonar console to place the instrument into sleep mode and then stood up. "We may as well get on with it. The mysteries of the sea wait for no one."

The control room of the Sea Nautilus is cramped, if not actually claustrophobic. Complex electronic gear is crammed into almost every available space, making it nearly impossible to tell where one instrument station ends and the next one begins. As they made their way through the narrow deck, Eric and his wife had to bend and duck to avoid hitting the bulkhead-mounted instrument clusters and the arrays of pipes and valves that snaked throughout the deck.

With his six-foot-four lanky frame draped over the main navigational station, Captain Hans Stubens ignored the newly arrived scientists. They didn't mind. The Captain had a real-man's face, with deep penetrating eyes beneath bushy eyebrows and a squared jaw, the kind of face that commands respect.

After a few uneasy moments, he turned and aimed his penetrating eyes at them while keeping his hands propped on the instrument panel. "We're about a hundred fifty meters above the bottom. We'll hold position at thirty meters below the surface and four kilometers from shore."

"What kind of a day can we expect?" Eric asked, shifting his gaze between the main view screen and the Captain.

Stubens turned to the navigator, Henry Harris, who was seated at the guidance instrument station busily switching various displays on several auxiliary-viewing screens. "Give us a weather readout, Henry."

Henry stroked his bushy handlebar moustache as he reached over to the next station and flipped several switches. Readouts soon flashed on an auxiliary screen.

"Partly cloudy. Wind: west-by-south-west at five knots. Air temperature is twenty degrees Celsius. Barometric pressure at thirty-point-zero-one." Henry turned his narrow bony face to Eric. "The waves should be no greater than half a meter. Not bad for this time of year."

"Sounds good to me," Eric said. "The Misses and I will break out the mini-sub and get to it."

"Good hunting," said Stubens, sounding more like a World War II U-boat commander than the captain of a research vessel.

Eric gave him a half-salute, along with a half-smile, before he and his wife began a torturous journey to the docking bay deep in the innards of the Nautilus. After negotiating narrow passageways and climbing down vertical ladders through excruciatingly small hatches, he and his wife finally arrived at their destination.

Unfortunately, they still faced an hour of donning wet suits and scuba gear, checking equipment, and cramming their bodies into their mini-sub, a machine that looked more like a small jet plane when compared to the large, complicated deep water submersibles that occupied most of the space in the docking bay.

They prefer their small craft because it gives them the range to explore much larger areas of the sea close to shore. The deep diving submersibles have limited range and are more suited to dives below 500 meters. They have thick plastic observation spheres held in cage-like structure fitted with grappling instruments and specimen containers, which give them an ungainly machine-like appearance. Their mini-sub, on the other hand, is hydraulically shaped for speed and maneuverability. The bad news is that they have to sit in the sub wearing scuba gear, not a very comfortable prospect when faced with a long day of exploring--a run as they call it.

###

Diffuse, dark blue luminescent light glows around the observation bubble canopy of the mini-sub as it plows laboriously through the murky depths of the waters off Fernandina. Large schools of garishly colored fish flash into view and move in unison, their scaly silver skin refracting the running lights of the sub into rainbow patterns that glisten and shimmer with a mesmerizing fascination. As if choreographed, the schools change direction with unpredictable suddenness, often acting as if they were bunched up in rush hour traffic.

Many species of strange looking fish inhabit the Galapagos region. The King Angelfish has vertical white stripes on a black body that contrasts with their orange-yellow tails. There's many species of Wrasses, including the spectacular rainbow Wrasses and the bizarre streamer hogfish with their bump headed "supermales." Extreme color is the rule here, and there's none better than the Yellow-Bellied Triggerfish. An ichthyologist could easily become distracted here.

All sorts of tiny living creatures scintillate in the sub's lights, swirling around in a cacophony of agitated motion, their prodigious presence a product of massive upwelling in the Humboldt Currents flowing from Antarctica. Above the sub, hundreds of Hammerheads meander aimlessly, undulating and wiggling to follow scents that only sharks can smell.

"Hope we don't have to get out," Margaret said.

Eric turned to look at her. "Why's that, Love?"

"Too many sharks."

He turned back to his instruments. "They're only Hammerheads. They usually don't bother humans."

"You hope."

"Don't worry. I have no intentions of getting out here."

"Well, in that case, dear, why don't we see what's upside."

"Aye, Captain." Eric gave her a mock salute before he blew ballast, causing the little two-man vessel to rise to the surface in an explosion of bubbles. The sub bounced around in the waves as Eric and his wife scanned the volcanic slag infested beach with binoculars.
What they saw was a page out of a nature special: hordes of dirty black-colored marine iguanas claw clumsily over the dirty-brown rocks, occasionally slipping from the seething colonies into the depths, diving to graze on algae on the ocean floor. Some sneeze and spit, expelling salt from glands in their noses. Most just bask in the morning sun, waiting on the warming rays to increase their metabolisms. Small lava lizards, with flaming red throats contrasting with their gray and black hides, craw among the iguanas, often perching on top of their much larger cousins. Charcoal colored Lava Gills mill about the shore scavenging for crustaceans. Flightless black Cormorants, their atrophied wings having been traded for better swimming ability, waddle along the shoreline searching for seafood in the shallow depths. Great Blue Herons hunt for fish in the tide pools below the rocks while California bull Seals lazily bask in the morning sun and swim near shore for their breakfast.

This primordial scene was repeated over and over as Eric maneuvered the mini-sub around the island's western section far enough out from the shore to remain undetected.

"Not much cooking today, Love," Eric said without turning around to look at his wife.

"We'll never see them again. I'm beginning to think they were just an apparition."

"Apparitions don't register on tape."

"I know. I know."

After enduring her silence for several minutes, Eric finally turned around.

"What?" She tilted her quizzically twisted face.

"Just checking to see how you're doing."

"I'm doing just fine," she said with a hint of annoyance.

"Do you want to go back in?"

"I said I'm ok, damn it."

"Ok! I won't ask you again."

He tried to remain calm, but he knew that this process of searching and waiting was not going to be pleasant. Normally, they accept the boring task as part of this sort of fieldwork, but the situation was tense because of the time factor. If they didn't strike pay dirt soon, the window of opportunity would vanish along with their careers. He didn't care for that scenario.

Eric turned around again. "Maybe we should try looking for them at some of the other islands."

"Oh, right! We couldn't live long enough to search all the other islands in the Galapagos group. Besides, this is where we saw them the last time. Fernandina is the only logical possibility for a new sighting."

"What if they moved to one of the other islands when they realized that we spotted them?"

She shook her head. "If that's the case, we'll never see them again."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. It's too early to give up. We've only been out here for three hours."

"I realize that, but this is boring."

Eric flashed a brief smile at her. "I know. Believe me, I know."

That seemed to calm her, but he was not looking forward to coming out here day after day and just sitting and watching.

And waiting.

###

One hour later: Eric turned to look at his wife. He tried not to smile but he failed miserably.

"Well, Love, we have to go back. The batteries are running low."

"We should do something about that," she said with an accompanying frown. "We're lucky to get five hours out of the batteries, especially if we have to fight the tides. Even worse, it takes nearly seventeen hours to recharge them. At this rate, we'll be lucky to spend more than a few mornings or afternoons out here."

"You're right, Love. But there's nothing we can do about the laws of physics."

Margaret was not amused. "Yeah, I know."

Eric flooded ballast just enough to run at ten meters below the surface. The ambient light was bright enough to obviate wasting battery power on the running lamps.

Margaret activated the homing scope. A blip appeared indicating the direction to the Nautilus. "It's too bad that we have to travel four kilometers to the Nautilus. That takes at least twenty percent of our battery power."

"They always keep the Nautilus out further from shore so that the deep submersibles don't have far to go to reach their search areas. They have much less mobility than we do."

"That shows how much they value our work," she said with a scowl. "I don't know why we bother. Nobody gives a damn what we do."

"I don't really buy that. Our work stands on its own merits. We have nothing to prove to anyone. If they didn't value our work we wouldn't be employed."

She bowed her head. "I suppose you're right." She stared out of the observation canopy with weary eyes. "I just feel uneasy about this so-called discovery."

"I can appreciate that," he said with a reassuring nod. "We're out on a very long limb. There's no doubt about that."

A swiftly moving shadow flashed by the sub's canopy.

"What the hell was that?" Eric said in an excited voice.

"I think it was a large squid," Margaret said, straining to see into the darkness below.

"A squid? What the hell's a squid that large doing up at this level?"

"Maybe it thinks we're a large fish."

Eric pointed to their video unit. "Get the camera ready, Love, just in case it comes back."

She inserted the camera into a mount near the back of the compartment and adjusted its lens to a wide-angle setting.

Her eyes widened. "Oh my god! It's coming back." She instinctively held her arms up.

Eric gasped.

Two long rubbery tentacles with spatulated tips flashed out with eye-blinking speed and entwined around their little sub. Suckers encircled by rings of chitinous hooks squished down on the Lexan observation canopy with a vengeance, grabbing, pulling, distorting, and undulating. Eight arms, each lined with two rows of suckers, joined the tentacles in their death grip, lurching the sub downward as the giant cephalopod attempted to pull its prey into the depths.

"God damn it! Why does this shit always happen when we're low on battery power?" Eric blew ballast to make the effort of pulling them down more difficult.

It slowed their descent, but they were still falling.

"Turn the lights on!" his wife yelled. "It may startle it long enough for us to escape."

Eric flicked all of the running lamp switches. The sea erupted with brilliant light, but it had a drawback: The true nature of their predator was revealed in all its gruesome glory. The skin was blood red and shimmering, changing hue and shading with amazing rapidity. The arms squirmed along the sub's sides like constrictors, and on those arms were suckers as large as toilet plungers.

What better to maintain grip on you.

And what big eyes it had, dark and uncaring, the huge pupils constricting from the brightness but still staring intently at the two morsels inside the plastic shell of its prey.
Despite the fact that both scientists had studied cephalopods most of their professional lives, discovered many new members of the class, investigated their behaviors in the wild, they were not prepared for this. Seeing the parrot-like beak, with its sharp, horny cutting blades, shocked them. They knew that this behemoth was capable of biting through the plastic sides of the observation canopy, capable of sucking their bodies into its ravenous mouth like an anteater vacuuming ants from an anthill.

The hard beak clicked on the plastic canopy with a heart-rending violence.

Margaret screamed and Eric yelled.

Worse yet, they we're still being drawn down. If the mini-sub is pulled too far down into the dark abyss, it will implode, killing them instantly.

Thank God.

Eric was not ready to give up yet. He advanced the throttles to full position. The sudden whine and associated vibration was just enough to make the giant squid release their craft.

But the excitement was not over.

The mini-sub literally flew to the surface. The two occupants yelled continuously as their stomachs were left down in the depths and the rest of their bodies rose to the surface.
Eric pulled the throttles back and tried to flood ballast, but it was impossible to stop the high-gee ascent. The sub broke through the surface like a cork, bouncing and bobbing before it descended again. Eric struggled to gain control, but the sub's controls were not responding. The two occupants found themselves twirling around like clothes in a dryer.
Even though his stomach was ready to relieve itself, Eric desperately fought the controls.
Margaret hung on for dear life, desperately fighting to remain conscious, her mind torn between contemplating her death and marveling at the amazing animal she had just seen.
The mini-sub suddenly leveled out at a depth of thirty meters. Eric backed the throttles and adjusted ballast to ply a level course, but he had no idea what course
.
"Is the location sonar still working, Love?"

Margaret flicked switches and adjusted a knob. "Yes. Change course to two-seven-five degrees."

He did so.

For several minutes they remained quiet, trying to regain composure, taking deep breaths, coughing, allowing the whine of the motors to have a calming effect.

"Well," Eric finally said, "that was exciting."

"Exciting?" his partner yelled. "We damn near got eaten by a giant squid and you think it was merely exciting."

He turned to look at her. "You think it was an Architeuthis?"

"It sure as hell was big enough. We'll have to wait until we can examine the tape before final judgment."

He turned back to his controls. "Indeed."

###

When he passed the instrument lab, George Stevens' attention was captured by flickering light. He slid to a stop and returned to the entrance. His eyes narrowed and he developed a frown.

"Another blurry tape of your stupid creatures?"

Eric turned slowly from a monitor station with a wry smile on his lips. "Not this time, George. This is something more in our expertise."

Stevens entered and moved to a position behind the Hauptman's.

His eyes widened. "Good grief! What the hell is that?"

"My wife, here, thinks it's an Architeuthis, but I don't know." He rubbed his beard. "I'm more inclined toward a Moroteuthis."

"You think it's a giant squid?"

"It sure as hell's big enough," Margaret said without looking up from the monitor.

"But, I thought that giant squids stay below two hundred meters."

"They do, George. Maybe it thought our mini-sub was a meal enticing enough to lure it out of its normal trolling depths. Who knows?"

Stevens shook his head. "You two are nuts fooling around with something like that."

"That's the risk you take when you go out there in their environment," Eric said. "Besides, cephalopods are within our specialty. Discovering something like this close to the Galapagos area is very exciting."

"Well," Stevens said, "at least it's something real, not those ridiculous creatures you claim to have seen."

Eric gave him a mocking smile. "Let's face it, George, we'll be lucky if we ever see those creatures again."

Stevens stared blankly at him for several seconds before he turned and walked away.

Eric shook his head. "What old George doesn't realize is that a tape of a living Architeuthis is a first, something that'll make this expedition go down in history."

"Old George is distracted by our obsession with the creatures."

Eric frowned. "Are we obsessed?"

Margaret smiled. "I'd like to think that we're extremely curious."

He returned her smile. "I vote for that."