8
A little over seven hundred kilometers from Beijing,
three hundred and fifteen feet below the surface of the Yellow Sea,
lie the remains of the Korean cruiser Shimoni.
A hypothetical diver, approaching the wreck from the north, would see the Shimoni's aft hull, visible above a ridge. As the diver slid over the ridge, and was dwarfed by the massive propellers, he would see that the ship had been pinned at an angle – a large, spherical object had crushed the fore quarter of the hull and forced the cruiser up at an angle. Looking from the shattered, broken ship to the sphere, one would see that it was constructed of a silver-grey metal, obviously once meticulously polished and cared for. But the proud hull was now pitted, and had buckled against the Korean ship. Extending behind the sphere, a sharp-eyed diver might have made out further shapes – from his angle, looking like the great trident of Poseidon.
If this hypothetical diver were not sufficiently anxious at the ease with which such a powerful sea vessel as the Shimoni had been crushed, and not sufficiently fearful at the prospect of an ancient sea god's wrath, then the fish might, hypothetically, put the diver over the edge. For as the diver began to come parallel to the Shimoni's hull, they would begin to see fish. Dead fish, floating quietly, upside down, and drifting slowly toward the distant light of the surface. First only a few, then, more, and finally many, many fish – all dead. But if this diver were not prone to panic, they would simply – sensibly – have thanked their hypothetical God that they couldn't smell dead fish underwater.
Furthermore, if this hypothetical diver had continued to swim to the very bottom of the sphere, to the buckling in the hull, just above the ocean's floor, they would, with some judicious gyration, have been able to gain access to a flooded, dark corridor. Should this diver then swim forward to the third intersection on the left, and then down the passage aft, they would come upon a set of doors that had been forced open. If they had proceeded through these doors, they would have been in a large shaft bisecting this part of the sphere. Had they then floated up several floors, they would have reached the entered the air still trapped within the sphere. The water's surface was near a doorway that had also been forced open. If this diver had, cared to make his or her way as quickly as possible five meters up the corridor, to the left, where the water was no longer more than six inches deep, they would have seen, if they had had arrived at just the right time, three figures removing standard U.S. Navy SCUBA gear, and wetsuits, inscribed not only with the identification of the U.S. Navy, but also of the submarine U.S.S. Hawthorne.
They wandered the dark vessel, prying open doors and discussing politics – Sora was convinced that someone, somewhere, would realize everything had been a mistake and calm things down. Matt didn't say out loud that things would end in an apocalyptic nuclear winter, but had a deeply buried certainty of the impending end of days that, back at the Olympics, had led two separate people to assume he was a native Utahn. Tai asked if maybe they should be more concerned with being eaten by alien spiders than with politics, and Matt could find no way to argue with that. He was going to give it a shot anyway when they found the alien.
She was in a room that was obviously the command center. It physically looked nothing like the bridge of the Starship Enterprise, but tasted like a duplicate, and there was even a captain's chair. Tai didn't hesitate before approaching it; Matt and Sora were only a step behind, and all of them stopped when they saw the captain.
She had clearly been remarkable – and also remarkably human. Her face was long, her eyes large and expressive. Her long, red hair had been tied into a bun, but was now loose and hanging about her forehead. Silken strands stuck slightly to an aqua colored patch of blood. Her eyes were also the color of the sea, but glassy and blind.
"Colath..." she weakly whispered, "Is the crew all right?"
Sora leaned in, "We're fine, sir."
The captain smiled, but said, "Don't lie to me, See'lah. This ship wasn't built to land."
Tai was mouthing the word 'stop,' thinking that no good deed would go unpunished. But Matt was blindly compassionate, and told her that the some of her people were badly hurt, but that the natives of the planet had doctors, and had already begun the rescue.
"We need to send someone on to the Admiralty, to let them know what happened," the captain told them.
"We're already on it. We should get word back within the hour," Matt assured her.
"No, no, no – we'll send someone in person." She reached forward for a console in the arm rest, read from a strange display. "There's enough power to send three of us – but it will drain the batteries completely. You will have to take a copy of my logs with you."
"Umm, we really--" Tai started, but she cut him off.
"Don't try and get me off the ship. There's still a SuQ battleship in orbit. We can't let them get any technology, so tell the Admiralty that I'm activating the self-destruct charges. I hope the natives can defend against the SuQ, but we can't take any chances."
The captain was moving her fingers across the console, quickly now. Her eyes were radiant, taking in everything around them, but she still saw her first officer where Matt stood. Her crew protested, but she knew this was her time, and their refusal to leave her only strengthened her resolve. She had no time for a long speech, so she only wished them luck, and then they were gone.
She smiled as she activated the explosives – her crew would help the natives hold off the SuQ, and the Admiralty would send a dozen ships to make a rescue, to help the natives. As the counter approached zero, she was at peace.