Breakthrough(8)

Lewis scooted forward slightly with genuine interest. “Let me ask you this, without knowing what level of translation might be possible, what at this stage are you hoping for? In other words what are you hoping to learn if all goes well, even if it takes years?”

Frank tilted his head momentarily considering the question. “Well, first and foremost we would want to know who they are as a species. And by we, I mean us humans, would want to know, as one sentient being to another, as one civilization to another.”

“Civilization?”

“Yes,” he continued. “We define a civilization as an advanced state of society. Obviously they have no technology or industry but government and culture are huge components of what we consider a civilization. Like humans, dolphins are social creatures. We know they live and operate in large groups, sometimes in the tens of thousands. But what is really exciting is the idea of culture. Again dolphins are extremely intelligent, compared to the rest of the animal kingdom. They even have a sense of humor.”

Alison watched the salesman emerge in Frank. This was how he got their funding year over year. He was a god.

“We know dolphins have a complex language. But imagine…if they have the ability to pass information, not just to each other, but from generation to generation. We could be talking about a lineage, about a progressive cognition. That is culture!”

The idea had not been lost on Lewis. He sat motionless for a moment before speaking. “Wow. That is really exciting.” He reached out his hand. “We wish you the best of luck and can’t wait to have you back.”

“Thank you.” Frank smiled and shook.

“Dr. Frank Dubois,” Lewis said closing, “Director at the Miami City Aquarium.”

“Alright!” Ken reached forward and turned the volume back down. “Maybe now we’ll get some real funding.”

Alison smiled, her fingernail still between her teeth. Not bad, she thought, not bad at all.





6





The Pathfinder was an oceanic research and survey ship. At just under three thousand tons she was capable of an impressive sixteen knots fully loaded. Commissioned in 1994, the Pathfinder, was one of the Navy’s most modern and capable science vessels, performing experiments throughout the Atlantic Ocean. Clay could see the ship’s unmistakable white hull from the window of the Sikorsky Seahawk helicopter, even at altitude, and at two hundred feet long the Pathfinder was large, though still one of the smaller ships in the research fleet. He knew landing a helicopter of this size was going to be tight.

The helicopter banked slightly and began a gradual descent. Clay relaxed and laid his head against the headrest. Next to him Steve Caesare slept soundly, almost in a catatonic state. A trick many learned in their early days of service was “sleep when you can”, and Caesare had taken the lesson to heart. Clay often joked that had he been there; Caesare would have slept through the bombing of Pearl Harbor.

Clay watched through the window as the helicopter dropped closer to sea level. After a few minutes, the pilot leveled off and skimmed the last mile at just under a hundred feet, low enough to see schools of colorful fish below the clear blue water. He slapped Caesare awake and fastened his seat belt.

The helicopter slowed and hovered as it positioned itself over the ship’s black landing pad. It floated close to the deck until the pilot could match the rising and falling of the ship on the ocean swells. Reaching the last few feet, the craft dropped suddenly and bounced onto the pad. An ensign trotted out beneath the slowing blades and pulled the door open. With a quick salute, he unfolded the small set of stairs outward and motioned for Clay and Caesare to follow him.

They grabbed their bags and made their way off the pad and across the deck. After climbing two flights of stairs, they opened a white steel door and stepped onto the bridge.

Captain Emerson looked up as the two men stepped inside and saluted.

Emerson flashed a salute and extended his hand to Clay. “Clay, how the hell are you?”

“Good Rudy, how are things in paradise?”

“Not bad. I don’t think I’ve worn long sleeves in two years,” he said smiling. He turned to Caesare. “And, who do we have here?”

“Rudy, this is Lieutenant Commander Steve Caesare, he’s in E&S too.”

Emerson shook Caesare’s hand and eyed the small trident pin on his collar. “Pleased to meet you. You were a SEAL too, were you?”

“A pleasure, sir. Yes, some time back. Was in Somalia in ’93. Got transferred out a year after that.”

“Somalia.” Emerson sighed. “That was a real mess.”

“Yes sir, it sure was. Lost some friends.”