Dead Space: Martyr by Brian Evenson Page A

‘Fish somewhere else,’ he said. I was going to argue, but Captain Jesús threw the boat in gear and took us out. When I asked him why, later, all he would say was ‘These are not good men.’
    “Which left me with three questions,” said Ramirez, concluding his vid-log. “First, what use would a freighter, if it really is a freighter, have for a submarine? Second, what makes them want to keep other boats at a distance? Third, what the hell is really going on?”
    What indeed? wondered Altman.
    The last report, from Skud, a laconic Swede, didn’t arrive for another hour. It was a document instead of a vid-log.
    So sorry, his report read. Had to double check. What followed was a series of charts with captions in Swedish, none of which Altman knew how to read. After them, Skud had written: Insufficient data for certainty.
    For certainty of what? wondered Altman. He tried to scroll down, but the report ended there.
    He checked the network and found that Skud was still logged in to the system. Skud, he typed, please clarify the conclusion of your report.
    By insufficient data I mean there is not enough data, he wrote. Without enough data, we cannot be certain.
    Altman sighed. Skud was a good scientist, but a little lacking in communication skills.
    What is your data concerning? he asked.
    Seismographic data, wrote Skud.
    And what were you trying to prove? Altman wrote.
    That the seismic disturbance was something generated by a machine rather by ordinary seismological activity.
    What kind of machine?
    As I said in my note, wrote Skud, and then there was a long moment where the screen remained blank. Very sorry, he finally wrote, I see now I left it off my note. A drill. I do not have enough data to prove it, and maybe it is only ordinary seismic activity. But I think maybe somebody has been drilling, and maybe in the center of the crater.
    Altman immediately disconnected from the system and went outside to call Skud. The man seemed startled, a little confused, but after a while, he started to fill in the details in a way that Altman understood. Skud was drawing his readings from multiple seismographs, some on land, some underwater, several very close to the center of the crater itself. Only those near the center had noticed anything. The reading, Skud said, was something that would normally be dismissed as insignificant, very minor seismic activity. But it was also possible, he claimed, that it could be from a heavy, industrial-scale drill. It was very regular, he said, which would not be typical of a seismic event.
    “But you’re not sure if it’s in the center of the crater.”
    “No,” said Skud. “Exactly, that is the problem.”
    “Where else would it be if not the center?”
    “It might be as far as fifty meters from the center,” said Skud. “I have done calculations but I am afraid they are inconclusive.”
    “But that might as well be the center!” said Altman, frustrated.
    “No, you see,” said Skud patiently. “As I said, it might be as far as fifty meters from the center. That is not the center.”
    Altman started to argue, then stopped, thanked him, and disconnected. He stayed there, looking out at the ocean awhile and then glanced inside to the window. Field was still keeping to his side of the room, talking on the telephone now, seeming no more and no less animated than earlier. Altman turned back to the ocean again.
    Slowly things were beginning to take shape in his mind. He wished that Hammond would get back in touch, since he’d been aware of it before anyone else. He might have a perspective that Altman and the others didn’t have yet. In the meantime, it was up to them.
    There was nothing to say for certain that the pulse, the freighter, and the seismic readings were all connected. But then again, there was nothing to suggest that they weren’t. And all three had something in common: the center of the crater. Something was going on down there. Maybe something had been discovered, maybe