Page 49 of Clive Cussler's Quantum Tempest
TheBaktun’s radar invisibility was assured by its AI-assisted cloaking system. Radar detection worked by sending out radar signals. When those signals struck hard targets, they bounced back to the radar receiver and thus provided target location.
But theBaktunhad engineered a unique way to defeat conventional radar detection. Every exposed surface of the ship was coated with a variety of metamaterials like split-ring resonators, each of which possessed negative refractive properties. Negative refractive metamaterials didn’t reflect radar waves so much as bend and curve them, much the same way rushing water flowed around smooth stones in a river. Of course, not all radar wavelengths were the same nor were they on the same platforms—land, sea, and air systems were all broadcast at different angles relative to their targets.
To compensate for the wide variety of wavelengths and angles, theBaktun’s metamaterials were dynamically adjusted by an AI-assisted program to match both the frequency and angle of incoming radar signals. It was therefore virtually impossible for any conventional broadband radar system to fix a location on theBaktun.
In order for theBaktunto remain entirely invisible beyond radar detection, it needed to keep all intruders at arm’s length—or more precisely, beyond visual range. Deploying theBaktun’s traditional kinetic weapons would easily destroy commercial vessels that entered into its visual range, but such weapons would also alert naval authorities.
Stokes’s orders were clear: draw no undue attention unless absolutely necessary—under penalty of death. Nothing short of the imminent sinking of theBaktunand its precious cargo would allow the deployment of his more lethal arsenal. The “spectral drone theater,” as Stokes derisively referred to it, had proven quite effective, and thus he would rely upon it yet again. There was no virtue in risking his neck for a load of dishwashers.
?
Twenty minutes later theBaktun’s holographic projection drones landed at various points around theAgua Linda’s decks.
Stokes retired to his captain’s chair with a tablet to review his systems logs, simultaneously bored and disgusted by the spectral charade unfolding on the monitors. His minions were perfectly capable of handling the whole affair. He knew that in moments a giant witchlike creature wielding a flaming broadsword would begin brandishing curses as it called out Captain Neves’s name in his native Portuguese. Other drone-borne demoniacs would dance and shriek in the wires. As if on cue, the cacophony of ghastly screams and spine-chilling expletives filled his command center’s audio speakers.
A few moments later, his first officer called out.
“Sir…there’s no response.”
Stokes didn’t bother looking up from his tablet.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, there’s nobody responding. There’s nobody even on deck. No one has come out of the bridge.”
“Put it on the big screen.”
Stokes finally glanced up from his tablet. His first officer was right. TheAgua Linda’s deck was devoid of a single crewman. Even at this late hour, that was impossible. At a minimum, there should have been at least a night watch on the bridge.
“Perhaps we’ve caught someone napping while on duty. Send a scout to check out the bridge.”
Moments later, a camera drone hovered near the cracked and dirtybridge windows, feeding a live image of the interior. Clearly nobody was inside.
“Maybe we found arealghost ship?” the first officer asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“What are we going to do?”
Captain Stokes darkened, lost in thought.
Strange, indeed.
?
TheOregonhad spent another fruitless twenty-four hours plying a mind-numbingly boring search grid in the remotest and least traveled patch of the Pacific. Operation Snipe Hunt felt like a bust.
Until things got very interesting.
Juan sat on the edge of the Kirk Chair, surrounded by a full complement of op center crew with Linda Ross occupying the weapons station in Mark Murphy’s absence. Most prior demon ship attacks had reportedly occurred at night or in the early-morning hours, which was why Cabrillo’s best team was on duty on the overnight watch.
“I don’t believe what I’m seeing,” Max said. A spectral, three-masted pirate ship sailed in the distance on one of the big wall monitors. But Hanley was referring to the howling twelve-foot-tall witch-monster and her flaming sword on the nearest crane’s platform.
“Hali, put our guest on the overheads,” Juan ordered.
“Aye, Chairman.” The comms officer hit a toggle. The witch’s eerie voice bellowed in Portuguese over the speakers.
“Hit the translator, Hali.”
