Chapter 32

“We’re moving,” Paul said, sensing the vibration in the deck. “We’re underway.”

Gamay and Chantel could feel it as well. Forward motion replacing the slow rocking of a ship at rest.

“That’s a good sign,” Gamay said.

A long blast sounded on the ship’s horn.

“A warning signal?” Paul suggested.

“Six short blasts followed by one long blast would be a call for muster stations,” Chantel said.

Paul knew that; he was just guessing at the reasoning behind the signal. “I’m guessing muster stations are not the best place to be right now.”

As the ship picked up speed, it leaned into a turn, rolling significantly.

“Rudder must be hard over,” Paul said.

The deck remained pitched as the moments passed by. It soon became obvious that they weren’t coming out of the turn.

“We’re moving in circles,” Chantel said.

Paul wondered at the reason for such a maneuver, but couldn’t come up with anything. If they were stuck in a sea filled with hatching orbs, the best way out would be a direct path in any single direction; it didn’t really matter which. Going around in circles was the worst idea. It would keep them right in the middle of the problem.

The ship rocked as it dropped over the peak of a swell.

“Maybe they’re trying to shake the insects off,” Gamay suggested.

“Do you think the whole ship is being attacked?” Chantel asked.

“That’s how it looked when I was out there,” Paul said.

As the ship picked up speed and tightened its turn, the strange insects began dropping from the air vents in twos and threes.

Paul and Gamay stomped and smacked the intruders while Chantel went back to the intercom and tried to find anyone on duty who could help. Neither the bridge nor the engine room answered. She reached a pair of crewmen in the mess hall at the center of the ship. They were trapped, with doors shut and vents blocked by anything they could find. They reported that the captain was missing, that he’d gone forward to the bridge and never returned.

Another crewman reported a similar situation from his quarters: trapped and not interested in opening the door.

“Sounds like no one’s at the wheel,” Gamay noted.

Paul tensed as he thought through the scenario. “It’s a cool night. Whoever was on watch probably had the windows and doors open to let some fresh air in. Maybe they didn’t get a chance to close them.”

“Same for the engine room and the stern compartments,” Chantel added. “It gets hot back there. The guys do everything they can to cool things off.” She looked at Gamay. “Do you think those insects can kill? With enough bites, I mean.”

“They killed whales and sharks,” Gamay replied. “No reason to think humans would be a problem.”

Paul examined the welts on his arms and touched one on the side of his neck. He found a half dozen bites painful enough; he couldn’t imagine hundreds. “But why are they landing on the ship? It’s not exactly edible.”

“Some things are,” Gamay said. “Anything with an organic content. Ropes, rubberized containers, power cords.”

“Not the glass and steel walls,” Paul replied, pointing to the window, which was covered several inches deep in the creatures.

“Heat,” Chantel offered. “The ship’s hull is radiating heat from the day in the sun. It’s a place for them to warm up and dry off. The grub we accidentally hatched in the lab went straight for a place to rest and pump up its wings like a newly emerged butterfly. It then flew directly toward one of the lights.”

“So they might leave once they’re warm and dry?” Paul asked.

“It’s a reasonable guess,” Gamay said. “But, considering the night is still cooling down, they might cling to the ship until morning.”

Paul put a hand on the wall as the ship rolled over another swell in its circling path. The idea of waiting until the insects left in the morning had appeal, but the ship’s movements concerned him.

“We’re not going to make it till morning,” he said. “The ship is oscillating. Every time we crest a wave, the bow corkscrews into the next trough. Sooner or later we’re going to catch it wrong and break something, flounder, or capsize completely.”

“This ship has always been a little top-heavy,” Chantel added. “It got worse after they installed the crane for the ROVs and the submersible. I’m not sure of the details, but I know we’re supposed to avoid storms and rough seas.”

“And now we’re covered by a million insects,” Gamay said. “Even if they’re just a few ounces each, that’s a couple thousand pounds of weight, way up high, where we don’t want it.”

“Can that really tip us over?” Chantel asked.

“I’ve seen fishing boats with ice coating them roll in moderate seas,” Paul told her. “The rescue teams off Cape Cod respond to a couple Mayday calls like that every winter.”

“How do they prevent it from happening?” Chantel asked.

Paul offered a less than enthusiastic response. “Usually someone climbs up into the rigging with a hammer and knocks the ice off by hand.”

“Killing insects with a hammer doesn’t sound like it has a high return on investment,” Chantel said.

“Especially considering that others would land back on the ship a few minutes later,” Gamay added. She turned to Paul. “We need to shut down the engine or get that rudder centered.”

Paul was in full agreement, but that still meant someone had to go back outside.