bright and functional as a modern surgical theatre, or a futuristic
kitchen layout.
The primary control console stretched the full width of the bridge,
beneath the huge armoured windows. The oldfashioned wheel was replaced
by a single steel lever, and the remote control could be carried out on
to the wings of the bridge on its long extension cable, like the remote
on a television set, so that the helmsman could con the ship from any
position he chose.
Illuminated digital displays informed the master instantly of every
condition of his ship: speed across the bottom at bows and stern, speed
through the water at bows and stern, wind direction and strength,
together with all the other technical information of function and
mulffunction. Nick had built the ship with Christy money, and stinted
not at all.
The rear of the bridge was the navigational area, and the chart-table
divided it neatly with its overhead racks containing the 106 big blue
volumes of the Global Pilot and as many other volumes of maritime
publications.
Below the table were the multiple drawers, wide and flat to contain the
spread Admiralty charts that covered every corner of navigable water on
the globe.
Against the rear bulkhead stood the battery of electronic navigational
aids, like a row of fruit machines in a Vegas gambling hall.
Nick switched the big Decca Satellite Navaid into its computer mode and
the display lights flashed and faded and relit in scarlet.
He fed it the six-figure control, numbers governed by the moon phase and
date of dispatch. The computer digested this instantaneously, and Nick
gave it the last arithmetical proportion known to him. The Decca was
ready to decode and Nick gave it the block of garbled transmission - and
waited for it to throw back gibberish at him. Duncan must have altered
the code. He stared at the printout.
Christy Marine from Master of Adventurer. 2216 GMT.
72 16 S. 32 05 W. Underwater ice damage sustained Midships starboard.
Precautionary shutdown mains.
Auxiliary generators activated during damage survey.
Stand by.
So Duncan had let the code stand then. Nick groped for the croc-skin
case of cheroots, and his hand was steady and firm as he held the flame
to the top of the thin black tube.
He felt the intense desire to shout aloud, but instead, he drew the
fragrant smoke into his lungs.
Plotted/ said David Allen from behind him. Already on the spread chart
of the Antarctic he had marked in the reported position. The
transformation was complete, the First Officer had become a grimly
competent professional.
There remained no trace of the high-coloured undergraduate.
Nick glanced at the plot, saw the dotted ice line far above the
Adventurer's position, saw the outline of the forbidding continent of
Antarctica groping for the ship with merciless fingers of ice and rock.
The Decca printed out the reply:
