1.

August 23, 1884

The sea was unusually calm, perhaps calmer than Captain John Crowell had seen it in his twenty-three years at sea. There was certainly plenty of wind--his schooner's three large mainsails were taught and full, propelling the sturdy Sea Spray at a full twenty knots or more. But the sea itself was almost completely flat with just a hint of swell.
His first mate, a man named Shaw, came up on deck and surveyed the sea in front of the nimble ship. A pipe stuck between his yellow teeth, he turned to Crowell. "Flat-ass cam, Cap'n."
"Indeed," Crowell answered. "At this rate, we'll make Yarmouth by midday tomorrow."
The Sea Spray was on the return leg of a successful fishing trip to the Georges Banks, one of the most lucrative fishing grounds in North America. Her holds were full to the brim with cod and haddock, as well as three halibut and a small tuna. When the Sea Spray returned to its home port of Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, her tired crew would be well rewarded. Two days would be spent in port, and the ship would be off to the fishing grounds again.
"I've never seen the sea this calm," Shaw said between draws on the pipe. Even my wife wouldn't be sick with the water like this."
Crowell laughed at the wheel. Shaw's comment, while humorous, would never be tested. Crowell was an old salt in every sense of the word, and thus a firm believer in superstition. There was no way a woman would ever set foot aboard a ship under his command. And the superstition was that a woman on a sailing vessel was bad luck. When it came to luck, Crowell took no chances. His own wife had never been to sea, and had never stepped aboard any of Crowell's ships.
Superstition was a powerful force, Crowell reckoned. The sea was full of them, and Crowell knew and abided by them all. From the rule of no women on a ship to never ever spinning a knife on a table, to never whistling on the deck of a ship, Crowell kept to them all, as did any ship captain worth his salt.
"The men'll have a tear while in port," Shaw commented dryly. "And I'll bet I'll be lending Cushing a few dollars before we make to the Banks again."
Crowell laughed. "He's got to find himself a good wife, instead of visiting the Devlin house", he replied, referring to the local house of "ill-repute",
"Bah," Shaw scoffed. "They'll both drain your purse dry." He let out a hearty laugh, matched only by that of his captain's.
The two men stood in silence for a time, watching the sun as it settled just a little to port in relation to the ship. Almost instantly, the air grew crisp, the breeze dropped ever so slightly, and the swell grew a little--still prime sailing weather. Shaw drew on his pipe, and scowled at the fact it had gone out. He turned to go down onto the lower deck when a tremendous roar caught his and his captain's attention.
The sky was afire. The reddish hue that had engulfed the blue was vivid, the few clouds painted a bright orange with the light of the descending sun. But off to the east a huge fireball erupted in the sky, brightening the darkened sky.
Both men instantly recognized it as a fireball, an unusually bright meteor. The sight was not uncommon on any given night in the North Atlantic. Surprisingly, Crowell knew of no popular superstitions concerning meteors, though as a somewhat educated man he was aware that they were both omens of bad or good luck depending on a culture's belief.
This fireball was without a doubt the most spectacular either man had ever witnessed. It made a rumbling sound that Crowell likened to the sizzle produced by a pig roasting on a spit. "This one's some close, Cap'n," Shaw said quickly as the fireball passed almost directly over the Sea Spray
from starboard to port. It seemed so very low, in fact, that Crowell and his mate instinctively ducked.
Less than a mile to port the huge meteor hit the smooth sea, the view a true spectacle to the two seamen. An incredible plume of water erupted straight up from the point of impact, millions of gallons of water five hundred feet in the air. Each droplet was captured in the dying orange light of the setting sun, almost giving the water an appearance akin to a pillar of fire.
With a sickening certainty, Crowell knew what was about to happen. As the water from the impact fell back into the waiting sea, a huge wave was created in all directions radially from the impact point. It didn't take a master seaman to see the danger. And a master sailor couldn't have saved his ship from such an onslaught of water.
Within two minutes, the only evidence that the Sea Spray
had sailed the sea was flotsam. The ship, her catch--and her crew were gone forever.

th: Great Stuff, Foss!

Great stuff Foss.

Where have all these great writers come from? th:

The meteor was very well described th: You got talent, Foss!

Great intro Foss... It seems we have quite a lot of talent on this board

Thanks for the kind words, guys! This is the prelude to a Pitt story I've been coming up with in my head, actually.

2. Present Day

The small sub skirted the side of the sunken German submarine, a relic of a war that ended sixty years previously. Time had not been gentile to the old U-boat, the modern sub splashing it's lights across the German sub to reveal that it's hull was indented, compressed and crushed in several places. Coral growth covered what was once a smooth black surface. Small silver fish, the only creatures moving at this depth skirted about as the turquoise-colored modern submersible surveyed the scene.
The two underwater vehicles could not have been more different. The product of two technological eras, the German submarine was designed with one purpose--to kill. On the other hand, the new sub was fresh from the drawing boards, the result of millions of dollars in research and testing and the ingenuity and brilliant design of one man, the sub's pilot, Joe Zavala.
A brilliant marine engineer that bordered on genius, Zavala was world-renowned for his submersible designs. As part of the National Underwater Marine Agency, his talents were put to the best possible uses.
Next to him in the small but surprisingly comfortable cockpit sat Albert Giordino, a colleague in NUMA and brilliant mind in his own right. Al was manning the powerful camera's mounted on the outside of the sub. Named AMURV, or Advanced Mobile Underwater Research Vessel, the sub's first mission was to survey the wreck of the U-22Q, the German war submarine that had vanished with all hands in Nineteen Forty Five. Recently discovered in a deep trench in the North Atlantic by a French expedition, the U-22Q was a source of embarrassment to the German government and they wanted a possible explanation as to its fate.
It was the opportunity Zavala had been looking for, a chance to test the AMURV under real-world circumstances. And the small sub was making her designer proud. Every system was working exactly as planned, a testament to her design--and her designer.
With a delicate touch, Joe slowly guided the AMURV along the shattered length of the larger sub. Hovering a few meters above the sunken ship, it gave Giordino perfect photo opportunities. Every inch of the sub was captured by high-resolution digital cameras, as well as a video camera mounted on the starboard side of the AMURV.
Rounding out the research sub's crew was Alexandria Crosby, a specialist in the field of metal fatigue. She manned several pieces of sensitive electronic equipment that scanned the derelict and measured various readings, from sonar mapping of the site to an old-time magnetometer. Each reading she took gave the three more information on the sub and it’s fate.
“Slow it down some, Joe”, Al called as he studied a particularly interesting section of the sunken sub. There was a small sliver of hull that had hardly any marine growth on it as compared to the rest of the sub. As Zavala slowed the AMURV, it was clear that the suspect area was in fact a breach of the subs hull, a hole into the bowels of the ship.
“Now what do you suppose caused that?” Alex murmured from her position.
“You’ve got me,” Giordino answered as he focused a spotlight down into the hole. From the AMURV’s initial pass, the small breach had been nearly invisible, but the slow Passover that Zavala was conducting had made the tear visible.
“Can you get a map of it?” Zavala asked Crosby.
“Working on it now,” she said as a three-dimensional digitalized image appeared on a small screen to her left. It showed the hole as measuring approximately three feet long by a foot in width. “Jesus,” she whispered. “If this happened in forty-five, no wonder the sub sank.”
“Could it be part of damage sustained as the sub broke apart over the years?” Al asked as he continued to photograph the wreck.
“Probably not,” she answered. “Look at the shape of it. This is what sunk her.” She paused. “But what in the hell caused this?”
“Why the lack of growth on the hull there?” Zavala asked as he rotated the AMURV on its axis.
“Easy,” Al answered. “Current from water moving in and out of the hull over the years has prevented much from latching on. The hull must be mostly intact in this part if that’s the case.”
“Almost time to head up,” Joe said, checking his instruments. “We’ve got a two hour ascent ahead of us.”
“Oh boy”, Giordino said half-heartedly. “He snapped a few more pictures as the AMURV made one more pass over the wreck site and began its climb to the surface.
“Now,” Joe said, grinning as the ship began its slow voyage home, “Let’s take a look at Alexandria’s data, shall we?”

th: Great just superb!

Great Foss. Keep it up. I'm waiting for more.

WOW!!!!!!!!!!

WOW!!!! Is right t:

3.

Two and a half miles above the wreck of the German U-Boat, the NUMA vessel Excelsior sat waiting for the AMURV to surface, like a patient mother watching her child play hide-and-seek. The commander of the Excelsior was a wiry Japanese man by the name of Yev Makuta. In his early fifties and looking much younger with a cap of jet-black hair that showed no trace of grey, he surveyed the progress of the AMURV in a specially designed control room.
The Excelsior was a special ship, designed concurrently with the AMURV to be the ultimate support vessel. Even newer that the sub itself, Excelsior had been designed from the keel up to provide the most advanced technological and logistical support to the AMURV. And while the AMURV had spent the last several months in a Navy testing facility, the turquoise paint on the Excelsior's hull hadn't even fully dried before the run to the North Atlantic.
All of the data from the research sub was being transmitted in encrypted form to the Excelsior, where it's advanced computer systems sorted the information for record keeping. The control room amidships housed a row of flat-panel displays that broadcast the images from the AMURV's video and still cameras.
Makuta leaned down over the shoulder of Lieutenant Sean Kelly, a prematurely balding man with a rosy complexion and a nose so red one would think he was an alcoholic, tough, of course, he wasn't.
"There's what we think sank her," Kelly said, pointing at the hole captured on video as the AMURV had passed. He paused the playback to give Makuta a longer view. "We just don't know what caused it."
Makuta shook his head. "It looks too neat to be a torpedo hit. Collision with another vessel, perhaps."
The shrill whistle of the intercom startled the two men from their study. Makuta went to a control panel and completed the connection. "This is the Captain."
A voice filtered though a small speaker. "Bridge, Commander Hyatt sir. There's a chopper headed this way, Captain. It's one of ours."
"Understood," Makuta answered. "I'm on my way up to the bridge." He cut the comm link.
"What's up, Captain?" Lieutenant Kelly asked.
"I wish I knew, Mr. Kelly."
By the time Makuta returned to the Excelsior's bridge, the incoming helicopter was becoming visible on the horizon. The midday sun momentarily caught the chopper's windshield, dazzling those waiting on the Excelsior's foredeck, where the helicopter landing platform was mounted.
In a matter of minutes the helicopter, painted the traditional NUMA turquoise, was hovering directly over the landing pad. The ocean was cooperating; the lack of a swell meant the Excelsior's deck was even and nearly unmoving. With a practiced hand, the chopper's pilot set the whirlybird down as gentile as the touch of a newborn.
Makuta left his vantage point on the bridge and went out on deck, descending the stairs from the command tower to the foredeck. The pilot was just exiting the aircraft, and Makuta instantly recognized Rudi Gunn, the second in command of NUMA.
"Rudi, you old dog," Makuta grinned at the sight of his old friend. "It's actually good to see you." He pumped Gunn's hand enthusiastically as Gunn smiled, his eyes wrinkling and looking tiny behind his thin-framed eyeglasses.
"What about me, Captain?" came the voice of the man coming from the passenger side of the chopper. Tall, with wavy dark hair with traces of grey and steady opaline eyes, the man clasped Makuta's outstretched hand.
"Dirk Pitt. Or should I say, 'Boss'?
Pitt had recently taken the reigns of NUMA as its commander-in-chief. The agency's previous commander, Admiral James Sandecker, had retired months before, in a successful bid to become Vice President of the United States. Dirk Pitt, at the time Director of Special Projects, stepped up to the plate and filled the vacancy.
"Dirk is fine," Pitt laughed. "Though," he paused, "You may have a few other choice names you'll want to call me once I tell you we're leaving this site."
"Really?" Makuta asked as he led the two visitors from the foredeck to the bridge. Behind them, three of the Excelsior's crew secured the helicopter.
"Is the AMURVA up yet?" Pitt asked.
Makuta shook his head. "Not yet. She's due to surface in about twenty minutes."
"Good enough," Pitt replied. "I'll fill you in then."

th: Keep it coming Foss, keep it coming!

Yep, keep em' coming w:

Wow Foss you're good! :)

Thanks for the encouragement, folks. It's appreciated.

The afterdeck of the Excelsior was a busy spot as the AMURV broke the surface ten yards aft of the ship. As soon the submersable was visable, two divers dove in the cold Atlantic waters to secure lines to the sub. The trickiest part of any submarine operation was either a launch or a retrieval, fortunately the Excelsior's crew were amongst the very best in the buisness. Within fifteen minutes, the sub was safely stowed. Crosby climbed out of the sub first,
bubbling with excitement at the data collected and eager to pore over the video captured by the AMURV. Pitt, waiting on the wet afterdeck, waved at her, and let her know she would be needed in a few minutes for the meeting he had planned.
Joe Zavala was next out of the tight confines of the AMURV, and his stretching as soon as he hit the deck was proof that the ride was less than completely comfortable. He smiled when he caught sight of Rudi Gunn and Dirk Pitt.
"Looks like you should have developed a more cofortable ride," Pitt grinned as he watched Zavala's arobic workout.
"I may be forced to agree with you," Zavala replied with a wry smile.
"Hurry up, Giordino," Pitt hollered as he saw Al climbing out of the sub,"You're holding us up." Al broke a wide smile at the unexpected appearance of his lifelong friend.
Al and Dirk had met in elementary school well over four decades before. The two became fast friends, playing together on the playground, playing football together in high school, serving together in the U.S. Air Force and then being recruited by Admiral Sandecker at the same time for positions in the then-fledging NUMA. The two had a storied past in the organization, having had numerous adventures over the years and having saved each others' lives on uncountable occassions. Al was Dirk's best man when Pitt had married Senator Loren Smith a year ago, though Al himself had yet to 'settle down'.
Twenty minutes later, Pitt, Makuta, Gunn, Zavala, Crosby, Giordino and David Haulk, a mineralogist, were seated in a small but comfortable meeting room located directly off the bridge. Gunn had brought a LCD projector, from which he projected slides from his small PDA.
"As you all know by now," Pitt started, we've left our site for the time being and have set course west to Nova Scotia. The answer as to why is quite simple, really--we're going hunting for a shooting star."

b: Very Good!!!!!!

you've got me hooked Foss. Can't wait for more. I'm eager to see where this is going. th: th:

Most of the looks Pitt recieved were astonished. Gunn, who knew of the Excelsior's new expedition, had a smug smile on his face.
"A shoting star?" Makuta asked. "Do you mean a meteorite?"
"Or a bolide," Pitt nodded, "Depending on several factors. What we're hunting for is a meteorite, about sixty feet in diameter, that was witnessed by hundreds of people from southwestern Nova Scotia in early eighteen eighty-four. It hit the sea, but caused a considerable tidal wave that damaged several moored fishing boats east of Yarmouth."
"Do we know where this meteorite is?" Crosby asked, sipping at the glass of iced tea that Makuta's crew had thoughtfully provided each of them with for refreshment.
Gunn switched on the projector, which splashed the image of a map on the far wall. The southwestern tip of Nova Scotia and the surrounding waters were the map's focus, and a large red "X" two hundred kilometers south looked for all inte ts and purposes as the site of buried treasure on an ole-time treasure map.
"A scallop dragger caught its drag on a large, roughly spherical object here," Gunn supplied. "Soundings seem to indicate it could be exactly what we're looking for."
"But why are we looking for it. What's so special about a piece of rock?" Giordino asked.
"You've no doubt heard media reports in the last couple of years about several meteorites having originated from the planet Mars," Dirk said. "Apperently astronomers have thought for a couple of decades that the huge meteor seen in eighteen eighty-four likely came from Mars. Now that a physical remnant has perhaps been accidently discovered, NASA would like NUMA to investigate. And we owe NASA," he paused. "They did, after all, just launch Umar One into orbit for us." Umar One was NUMA's new multimillion dollar underwater mapping satellite that promised maps of the ocean seafloor in unprecidented detail.
"What's the plan when we get there?" Zavala asked.
"We'll first conduct a preliminary survey of the site and confirm that this is indeed the meteorite that the scallop dragger found." Pitt answered, scatching an itch on the side of his neck. "If it is, we'll determine the feasibility of a ship bringing the rock to the surface."
"A ship. Not this ship?" Makuta asked, up untill now quietly listening intently.
Pitt shook his head. "No. As advanced as the Excelsior may be, she's no salvage vessel. Another of our vessels, the Reliant, is standing by at Woods Hole if we figure out a way to get the rock up."

:o 10 days? you kept us waiting 10 days? Foss your killing me here!



th: doing great though ;)

Wow! worth waiting for Foss!!

Thanks for the kind words, everyone.
A little backround on how this story is being written. I have a Pocket PC, and whenever I get a spare chance at work I'll tap out a few lines on it's tiny screen. It's kinda tricky tapping it out on the small, on-screen keyboard, but it sure passes the dull moments!
I then have to sync my Pocket PC to my home computer, then edit the text before I can post it on the forum. Quite a little task! :lol:
And now to today's update...

It took a little over three days to get the Excelsior on site. The trip itself was routine and uneventful. Rudi and Dirk bunked together in a stateroom provided by Makuta. Dirk, as head of NUMA, could rightfully have requested a room of his own, but anyone who knew Pitt knew that that wasn't his style.
During the voyage, Dirk and Rudi took the time to review with Makuta's crew the logistics of the mission. Joe Zavala and several technicians went over each of the AMURV's systems one by one. The successful mission to the German U-Boat bolstered their confidence in the submersable, and they found that most of her systems had performed well over their expectations. Still, Zavala being the perfectionist he was, tweaked each individual component, until the Excelsior weighed anchor off the tip of Nova Scotia.
The weather was most cooperative, and the cool morning air was crisp and refreshing as the AMURV was prepped for dive. The sun was just peeking though some early morning haze as the AMURV sat suspended over the calm ocean.
Inside the cramped confines of the submersable, Giordino, Zavala and Crosby again made up the crew. Neither Zavala or Giordino were strangers to underwater salvage, and Crosby's speciallization in mineralogy would come in handy.
In the operations room, Pitt, Makuta and Rudi Gunn were studying readings taken by the sensitive instruments of the Excelsior. The sonar seemed to be detecting what was thought to be the meteorite, and the magnetometer's reading of iron was almost off the scale. The object lay in about a thousand feet of water, possibly half buried in the muck of the seafloor.
A whistle alerted the men that the AMURV was 'wet', or in the water. Video cameras pointed aft of the Excelsior showed the submersable bobbing in the waves as support divers swam lazily away. Seconds later, the white sub dissapeared below the gentile swell.
One thousand feet was a realitively shallow dive, and the AMURV was on bottom within half an hour. The sub touched down fifty yards south of the rocks position, and slowly crept towards the location under Zavala's carefull touch.
On the Excelsior, Gunn, Pitt and Makuta watched the sub's progress on the LCD video screens. A computerized three dimensional image representation of the AMURV on one screen showed an approximation of it's pitch and yaw as it skirted the ocean floor.

th: th:


Ok ok I'll forgive you, plus like Tonym5 said, it is worth the wait! :)

t: w:

Excellent!! th: Keep it coming.

Sean may have competition for best story.... ;)

I have a Palm m500, but I never thought of using it to write a story on. If you have keyboard (I don't) and a flat surface, its a lot easier to type.

There is definately a new king in the fan fiction department.


*All hail king Foss*


You win mate. :lol: :lol:

I wonder if i can change my vote :unsure:

Very Very good Foss. n:

There was no light filtering down from the surface, but the water was clear, and the AMURV's powerful spotlights blazed a brilliant trail in front of the sub. Almost immediately a dark, gloomy shape began to form in front of them.
"Target aquired," Crosby murmured as Zavala slowed the AMURV's forward momentum. The spotlights splashed across the huge rock's surface, indeed confirming it's identity as a meteorite.
Up in the control room, Pitt studied the images being sent up. "Looks like we've found our space rock."
Gunn nodded. "It looks to be huge. Do you think the Reliant will be able to lift it?"
Pitt shrugged. "If I know Clark Terrell," referring to the Reliant's commander, "he wouldn't give up until it was sitting in the Smithsonian with a big smiling picture of himself and the crew of the Reliant."
A thousand feet below them, the AMURV had almost entirely circled the meteorite. As before, Al Giordino was manning the cameras, and with each successive shot was becoming more perplexed. Finally, he broke his silence.
"Something doesn't look right."
Zavala looked over from his piloting controls. "What do you mean, Al?"
"I'm not sure yet," the burly Italian answered, continuing to snap his photographs. "Let's go up and over."
Zavala was quick to comply, the AMURV's engines creating an audiable whine as they propelled the ship.
Almost as soon as the sub began to rise, Al's odd feeling was collaberated. The top surface of the huge space rock was literally blasted apart, exposong the rock's inner details. "Dirk, this is Al", Giordino said wearily over the open commlink to the surface. "Looks like someone beat us down here...and they blew a chunk of our meteorite to smithereens."

th: once again Foss shows us how it's done!



beer:

For a long minute, no one in the Excelsior's mission control room spoke, Giordino's words heavy in the air. Sure enough, the images being broadcasted from three hundred plus meters below the surface showed a gaping hole where the meteorite had no doubt been subjected to an explosive detonation.
"What the hell?" Rudi said at last. "Why would--how could--someone do that?"
Pitt let out his breath slowly, unaware that he had subconcsiously been holding it in. "I have no idea. All of our reports said that the scallop dragger that found the rock didn't disturb it in any way."
"How could they?" Zavala said over the commlink from the AMURV. "A scallop drag would have no effect on a rock this size."
"This was caused by explosives," Giordino restated confidently. "The damage is exactly that of what I would expect with the changes a explosive blast altered by the water pressures at this depth."
"For what reason?" This from Makuta.
"I can't say," Al answered as the sub 'hovered' over the worst of the damage.
"And who else knew the space rock was here?" Crosby asked, up until now remaining silent. "And where did the technology come from to survey and then blow it up?"
"The fact that something like this was out here is common historical fact," Gunn said as he and the others watched the monitors as the AMURV continued to survey the scene. "But it was only a month ago that the scallop dragger found the rock. And it took us two weeks just to organize this operation."
"Joe, make sure to grab some samples," Dirk ordered. "Perhaps there's something rare in this rock NASA will want early." "You can tell the Reliant to head this way," Giordino said from the sub. "I'm pretty sure that they'll have no trouble raising this beast."
Pitt mumbled acknowlegement, but his mind was elsewhere.

Excellent. th: More!!

All hail King Foss Gly!!!!!!!!! <bows> ;)

I prefer to curtsey ;)

Wow! Now that's a surprise! But then again this is a NUMA tale :lol:

:lol:

yike: Let's see is it going to be some madman trying to take over the world or a giant multinational corporation trying to take over the world? Or both? <_<

:P
A little bit of both, of course!!

Hiram Yeager was perhaps the busiest and yet the most bored employee of NUMA. Busy, because he was adding code to his famous custom computer program, an almost sentient computer named Max. Bored, because the coding came as old hat to the computer technician--he could likely code Max's advanced programming in his sleep.
To anyone not affiliated with NUMA, Yeager looked like an aging hippie. Greying hair, grown out long and tied behind his head in a ponytail, his thick glasses made his eyes appear Larger than life. And while the description wasn't exactly wrong, one would be shocked to meet his stunning wife and wonderfull daughters.
The computer lab, Yeager's private domain, was quiet save for the sound of his fingers rapidly tapping his custom-built keyboard. Of course, the fact that it was 8 pm had a factor in the stillness, as most of the regular NUMA staff had retired for the night.
A shaft of light entered the darkened lab as the door opened and Dirk Pitt stepped in. Yeager smiled at the appearance of his frind and now-boss. "What's it this time?" Yeager chuckled.
Pitt feigned innocence. "Why, Mister Yeager, whatever could you mean? Can't I simply visit my favorite computer expert?"
"Of course you can. So what do you really want?"
Pitt laughed, clasping his friend's shoulder. "It seems you know me too well, Hiram."
"That, and the fact that you'd usually be home with that beautiful wife of yours by this hour. What have you got for us?" He tapped a few commands into the computer keyboard, and the holographic image that was Max appeared out of thin air in front of the two men.
"Good evening, Max." Pitt smiled at the attractive image of Yeager's wife. Yeager's 'personal touch', as he put it.
"Why, good evening, Mr. Pitt." Max replied in her delightful feminine voice. "What do you need from me tonight?"
"You know, I'm not entirely sure. First off, though, do you have an analysis of the meteorite fragment we brought back to NUMA from Nova Scotia?"
"Of course I do. Hiram was kind enough to supply them to me once your labs were done examining the meteorite." There was a pause as Max uploaded a summary of the lab's findings to the LCD monitor Yeager usually used to interface with Max.
"As you can see, the meteorite is mostly comprised of iron, with a bunch of nickel tossed in. Not to mention a bunch of other trace mineras and elements."
Pitt studied the screen. Most of the minerals were, of course, familiar to him, though some were very uncommon.
"Are any of the rock's remaining components excessively rare?" Yeager asked.
All the names on the list dissapeared save for two, both names long strings that Pitt or Yeager would be hard-pressed to properly pronounce. "Both of these are very rare," Max answered. "And as you can see, they make up very little of the meteorite. The second one on the list, dubbed by scientists as 'Catalyst', is especially rare. It has been described as an alteration of lithium, and has thus far only been found in meteorites."
"Interesting," Pitt murmured. "Are there any uses for this 'Catalyst'?"
"None as of yet." Max answered, as she brought up a diagram of 'Catalyst's' chemical formula. There was a pause as Max accessed more information, from any possible source. Hiram's computer creation had access to almost every computer network in the world, including a number of secue servers with data no one was supposed to have acess to. And thus far, Max had never been caught.
"The problem with 'Catalyst'", Max continued, "Is that there is very little on earth to actually test. Scientists at NASA believe that it could be a remarkable source of electric power if a large enough source could be located."
"Is it possible someone could have been looking for this 'Catalyst' compound on your meteorite?" Yeager asked Pitt.
"I suppose anything's possible," Dirk replied. "Somebody obviously went though a lot of trouble to get at that hunk of space rock."
The sound of Hiram's office phone broke the stillness of the evening, and he left the computer alcove to answer it. He came back with a frown upon his lips. "It's Rudi, for you."
Dirk picked up the reciever. "Pitt here. What's up, Rudi?"
"I just got a call from our mobile operations center. There's been no response from the salvage vessel Reliant for twelve hours. She's missing, Dirk."

:o Missing?? Oh noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!


th: th: th: Foss!

Most interesting!!!! t: