(In the previous post I titled it as being Ch.9. but it was actually Ch.11. Please forgive me, I will now delete this entire series. (Just kidding about the deletion, obviously)).
Previous Session:
https://www.reddit.com/stormkingsthundecomments/k353q3/music_and_political_malevolence_in_maelstrom_ch_9/After leveraging diplomacy and caution in Maelstrom our heroes gained a measure of Serissa's trust, much to Iymrith's dismay. The Queen Regent of the Storm Giants gave the tiny adventurers a clue found at the scene of her mother's murder, and teleported them to Everlund to begin their investigation. In Everlund they finally figured out how Iymrith has been so easily spying on them and had Krowen remove the Divination magic on Zep's sword. Now they head to Yartar to seek the connections between The Golden Goose coins, The Grand Dame river barge, and the Kraken Society. They hope to back to Everlund in time to meet back up with Klauth's airship by tomorrow.
.
Cast: Level 9
- Zep: Kenku Rogue/Warlock.
- Zdravko: Human Monk (Barbarian mechanics, rage re-flavored as a disciplined focus)(Now featuring a Fighter multiclass as he hones his skills).
- Lyra: Winged Tiefling Cleric/Druid.
- Jormo: Tortle Wizard/Artificer (thematically full wizard).
- Beau: Tabaxi SorcereWarlock.
.
As they're teleported from Everlund to Yartar they find themselves standing in a greenhouse with glass fogged from the humidity. Out back in what appears to be a lush garden they can just barely make out the form of a man moving around before they hear an ominous, almost sentient sounding howl of wind. They head into the garden and Lyra notices it's not lush at all, but in fact the plants are withered and tangled with weeds and in desperate need of water and a trim. The Hallucinatory Terrain spell fades and she sees the unkept landscaping for what it is. The man they find in the garden introduces himself as Kolbaz, the groundskeeper and attendant mage responsible for keeping the teleportation circle a secret. He explains that he has to spend so much of his time keeping neighborhood kids away that he can't care for the garden.
The party asks him about The Grand Dame river barge and casino but he doesn't have enough free time to know anything about such leisurely activities. When asked about the Kraken Society he explains that they definitely have a presence in the city, as Harper agents will come through the teleportation circle from time to time to investigate. He knows the local theives' guild has a beef with the Kraken Soc. but not how to get in contact with them. Kolbaz suggests the adventurers check into the local temple dedicated to Tymora as her priests and followers spend a lot of time in gambling halls.
As they leave the villa attached to the scraggly garden Zdravko shouts at some children to flee and Beau uses 'Disguise Self' to look like a skeleton before giving mock-chase towards them for a few paces to help Kolbaz out a little.
.
Tymora's Temple in Yartar is a building called "Happy Hall of Fortuitous Happenings" but was converted from an old, ominous-looking keep of black stone built into the side of the small mountain at the heart of the small city. The interior is much more befitting of the name - there are lush rugs and colorful tapestries and games of chance which count as offerings for the faithful.
Jormo greets a spirited, handsome young priest whose swoop of hair bobs as he talks expressively. He introduces himself as Kismet Nodarn. When asked about the Grand Dame he enthusiastically talks about how he frequented the Riverboat casino often; he's stopped going in recent days because his immense luck brought him under suspicion of the boat's Security officer. He was proven innocent, but doesn't like those bad vibes following him so he goes to different venues. He tells the group The Grand Dame is owned by a nobleman named Khaspere Drylund who also lives aboard the vessel.
The party has some time to kill and asks Kismet what he recommends to do around Yartar. He tells them that while it isn't much to look at, he enjoys frequenting a dive tavern called 'Karletta's Table' just on the edge of "the bad part of town." He says the food is great and the ownehost - whom the establishment is named after - takes great care of all her patrons.
.
Karletta's Table is a single story flat-roofed building sandwiched between a three and a four story tenement apartment buildings. Street Urchins sit on the streets outside; a couple run out from behind the tavern with fistfuls of bread while a couple more climb stacked crates to play on the roof.
Zdravko strides through the saloon-style doors with the rest of the party close behind. Inside they see a couple rough-looking patrons seated and talking quietly amongst themselves. Beau is searching carefully for any Kraken Tattoos but sees none. Behind the bar is a long order window that gives full view of the kitchen. A woman in leather armor is giving instructions to the chefs before turning her attention to the newcomers, "Find a seat; someone will be with you in a moment!"
The group sits at one of the tables for six, partitioned to provide some privacy and discuss how they should go about things. They agree that maybe having less discretion than usual would be a good strategy: if the Kraken Society catches wind of them poking around, maybe the fight comes to them -or- maybe asking more openly just gets them answers more quickly. A win either way, right?
The armored woman from the kitchen - a Half-Elf, possibly with Drow Ancestry but deep blue-dye masks the white locks of hair that would give it away - comes to the table and introduces herself as Karletta, "Don't tell me nobody's come to take your order yet?" and mutters to herself, "Just can't find good help..."
Beau orders the special: Floundering Flouder, and a Tuna Pate for her Tressym. Karletta is very amused by the flying cat, and by Zdravko's strange way of speaking. The party offers to buy Karletta a drink in exchange for her trove of rumors as she claims "Oh, I've got rumors up the wazoo!"
Karletta goes back to the kitchen to place the orders and they can hear her yelling at the staff that they'd better get their butts in gear because she's taking a break and they need to learn to function without her hovering over their shoulders.
She returns to the party's table with food, and a smile, "Now, let's have that drink!"
They ask her about the Kraken Society and she hesitates in thought for a moment, "Oh, they're some sort of gang, right? My friend Kestrel Hedgehopper hates them for some reason." Beau tries to get a read on Karletta who seems to be genuine.
Karletta goes on, "Y'know, I've got a good feeling about y'all. I'm going to send you - a bunch of strangers - to my friend Kestrel's house. Don't prove my trust to be foolishness, alright?"
.
They go to Kestrel's house, a fine two-story dwelling that suggests a comfortable middle-class lifestyle. Despite there being no bell to ring, Zep uses his Kenku mimicry to produce the sound of a loud medium-sized bell. After some time it becomes apparent that nobody is answering. Karletta did mention that Kestrel spends most of her day traveling from place to place within Yartar so they leave a note saying they have mutual business to discuss.
.
They make their way towards 'The Fishyard' - Yartar's open-air market - in hopes of finding some guards with whom they can leverage a meeting with the town's Waterbaron. Zep tries to peel off from the group to find someone connected with the thieves guild but Lyra notices and suggests they all stick together.
Lucky for Zep, the thieves guild finds him first... as they pass an alley they hear the sound of a loud medium-sized bell, nearly identical in tone and volume to the one Zep made by Kestrel's house. They turn and hear a small voice add, "Back here, c'mon!"
Our heroes turn down the alley to find a single middle-aged halfling woman who motions for them to follow before running further down the alley and turning a corner. When they too reach the corner they don't see her but see a crate with a loose board; they hear her voice from inside, "Quick, in here."
They enter the crate and realize it has a false back that enters into a dusty, unused warehouse. There the small halfling woman turns towards them with her hands on her hips and with a smirk says, "Heard y'all were poking around my house
and that we may have a common enemy."
Kestrel Hedgehopper goes on to tell the adventurers that the Kraken Society is much like the Zhentarim, except that individuals have less freedom, and that it functions more like a cult. It's an old organization whose core tenets always revolve around Krakens or the idea of attaining Godhood much as Krakens do. The current iteration of the Kraken Society seems to be in a phase of attempting to amass wealth and power and this has put them at odds with her own organization.
Using the Thieves Cant he learned from his Flock, Zep confirms that she belongs to the local thieves guild.
Kestrel informs the group that the Grand Dame plays an important role in the Kraken Society's local operations, that the ship's owner is undoubtedly a member of the Kraken Society, and that none of her organization has been able to gain access to the river barge which leads her to believe they've been infiltrated and why she's eager to let outsiders have a go at her enemies.
The party asks if she knows of the missing nobles, and she says she knows of them, but it doesn't impact her business so her organization really doesn't care. Kestrel does know for a fact that one of the missing nobles was on the Grand Dame the night he went missing.
The adventurers part ways with Kestrel who leaves a different way she entered through. They head back to the market to look for some guards, still hoping to access the Waterbaron.
.
Before they can reach any guards they feel a rumble in the earth. The crowds around them all look around in a collective, "that was weird" manner. Another rumble and one of the nearby vendor stalls is swallowed up by a sinkhole! As everyone begins to scatter, 4 humanoids resembling carp with arms and legs leap up out of the sinkhole. They raise shields and 2-pronged, spiked spears above their heads as they burble a chant in an unrecognizable language. Then a writhing, slithering mound of mud slides up out of the hole as it congeals into the shape of something resembling a bizarre, mutated catfish which slides forward towards Zdravko!
The sentient mudfish slashes long muddy whisker-tentacles at the Monk of Bahamut before he gets a chance to release and hone his inner energy. The mud-tentacles seem to be saturated in a foul poison which the hearty Zdravko resists.
Zdravko's counter attacks land hard and the mud rumbles in something akin to a language which Beau understands.
Beau slings Eldritch Blasts at the mud-fish while shouting in Primordial, "Why are attacking us?"
One of the fishy humanoids tries to sling a net over Zdravko but misses. Another casts the Bane spell at Zep, Beau, and Jormo immediately after Lyra Blesses them but only Zep fails to resist it. A 3rd fish man runs up to attack Zdravko, while a 4th does nothing because just then Jormo weaves a spell that causes tons of shadowy black tentacles to writhe up from the ground to ensnare it, the net-thrower, and the mud-fish.
Responding to Beau's question, the now restrained mud rumbles, "Why aren't you worshipping me?"
Lyra discerns there to be a high likelihood of Thunder damage being particularly effective against this muddy foe as she flies over to catch it, and a couple fish-men in a Thunderwave.
Beau sees the effectiveness and runs in to Booming-Blade the mud-fish calling out to it, "I don't even know who you are, why aren't
you worshipping ME??"
Jormo finishes off a fish-man with an elemental sphere as Zep leaps out from having hidden himself in the fleeing crowd to ambush the fish-guy that cursed him.
As Zdravko continues hammering away at the tentacled mud with his staff, the creature rumbles back to Beau in anger and indignation, "Because you are not a GOD!!" and it whips the Tabaxi with its tentacle. Jormo extends his Arcane Ward to absorb all the damage.
Beau sheathes his blade in thunderous energy once again and stabs the tentacled mud-fish and mocks, "Oooh, you're a god? Which one??"
Zep gets grappled by one of the fish-men's pincer staffs, but Jormo's ward absorbs the damage and the Tortle wizard finishes off the humanoid with another elemental blast.
Lyra flies over the not very impressive god-mud and blasts it with a second Thunderwave, weakening it significantly. In the final throws of combat, it tells Beau a name that sounds as much like gibberish as anything else, "Thisooletherkrals."
Zep runs in and thrusts his Kenku Blade right into the mud's largest "eye" to finish it off.
.
As the guards arrive out of breathe from sprinting to "control the situation" the party asks if they can meet with Waterbaron Nestra Ruthiol, adding that they know about the missing nobles situation as well.
They are granted a 10 minute audience with Nestra, a shrewd and discerning middle aged woman.
She thanks them for their service and uses the mystery of the "mud-fish" as an excuse to send the scribe out to fetch an old tome on the matter. Once alone with the party she cuts to the chase about the missing nobles, inquiring how the party knows of this. Beau won't reveal their source, which the Waterbaron respects. She admits that Khaspere Drylund is her political adversary but assures them that he is no good, and likely involved in any unsavory business aboard the Grand Dame - he is definitely who they want.
Nestra recommends that whatever they plan on doing aboard the Grand Dame, they do it after it leaves Yartar for its all-night gambling cruise down river. She clarifies that despite whatever malfeasance is involved with Khaspere Drylund, his casino is a legitimate and registered business in Yartar and she would have to act on its behalf if there were any laws broken by the adventurers.
.
Continued:
https://www.reddit.com/stormkingsthundecomments/kuawle/zdravko_swims_home_from_the_grand_dame_ch11/ Previous Session:
https://www.reddit.com/dndstories/comments/k352ti/music_and_political_malevolence_in_maelstrom_skt/After leveraging diplomacy and caution in Maelstrom our heroes gained a measure of Serissa's trust, much to Iymrith's dismay. The Queen Regent of the Storm Giants gave the tiny adventurers a clue found at the scene of her mother's murder, and teleported them to Everlund to begin their investigation. In Everlund they finally figured out how Iymrith has been so easily spying on them and had Krowen remove the Divination magic on Zep's sword. Now they head to Yartar to seek the connections between The Golden Goose coins, The Grand Dame river barge, and the Kraken Society. They hope to back to Everlund in time to meet back up with Klauth's airship by tomorrow.
.
Cast: Level 9
- Zep: Kenku Rogue/Warlock.
- Zdravko: Human Monk (Barbarian mechanics, rage re-flavored as a disciplined focus)(Now featuring a Fighter multiclass as he hones his skills).
- Lyra: Winged Tiefling Cleric/Druid.
- Jormo: Tortle Wizard/Artificer (thematically full wizard).
- Beau: Tabaxi SorcereWarlock.
.
As they're teleported from Everlund to Yartar they find themselves standing in a greenhouse with glass fogged from the humidity. Out back in what appears to be a lush garden they can just barely make out the form of a man moving around before they hear an ominous, almost sentient sounding howl of wind. They head into the garden and Lyra notices it's not lush at all, but in fact the plants are withered and tangled with weeds and in desperate need of water and a trim. The Hallucinatory Terrain spell fades and she sees the unkept landscaping for what it is. The man they find in the garden introduces himself as Kolbaz, the groundskeeper and attendant mage responsible for keeping the teleportation circle a secret. He explains that he has to spend so much of his time keeping neighborhood kids away that he can't care for the garden.
The party asks him about The Grand Dame river barge and casino but he doesn't have enough free time to know anything about such leisurely activities. When asked about the Kraken Society he explains that they definitely have a presence in the city, as Harper agents will come through the teleportation circle from time to time to investigate. He knows the local theives' guild has a beef with the Kraken Soc. but not how to get in contact with them. Kolbaz suggests the adventurers check into the local temple dedicated to Tymora as her priests and followers spend a lot of time in gambling halls.
As they leave the villa attached to the scraggly garden Zdravko shouts at some children to flee and Beau uses 'Disguise Self' to look like a skeleton before giving mock-chase towards them for a few paces to help Kolbaz out a little.
.
Tymora's Temple in Yartar is a building called "Happy Hall of Fortuitous Happenings" but was converted from an old, ominous-looking keep of black stone built into the side of the small mountain at the heart of the small city. The interior is much more befitting of the name - there are lush rugs and colorful tapestries and games of chance which count as offerings for the faithful.
Jormo greets a spirited, handsome young priest whose swoop of hair bobs as he talks expressively. He introduces himself as Kismet Nodarn. When asked about the Grand Dame he enthusiastically talks about how he frequented the Riverboat casino often; he's stopped going in recent days because his immense luck brought him under suspicion of the boat's Security officer. He was proven innocent, but doesn't like those bad vibes following him so he goes to different venues. He tells the group The Grand Dame is owned by a nobleman named Khaspere Drylund who also lives aboard the vessel.
The party has some time to kill and asks Kismet what he recommends to do around Yartar. He tells them that while it isn't much to look at, he enjoys frequenting a dive tavern called 'Karletta's Table' just on the edge of "the bad part of town." He says the food is great and the ownehost - whom the establishment is named after - takes great care of all her patrons.
.
Karletta's Table is a single story flat-roofed building sandwiched between a three and a four story tenement apartment buildings. Street Urchins sit on the streets outside; a couple run out from behind the tavern with fistfuls of bread while a couple more climb stacked crates to play on the roof.
Zdravko strides through the saloon-style doors with the rest of the party close behind. Inside they see a couple rough-looking patrons seated and talking quietly amongst themselves. Beau is searching carefully for any Kraken Tattoos but sees none. Behind the bar is a long order window that gives full view of the kitchen. A woman in leather armor is giving instructions to the chefs before turning her attention to the newcomers, "Find a seat; someone will be with you in a moment!"
The group sits at one of the tables for six, partitioned to provide some privacy and discuss how they should go about things. They agree that maybe having less discretion than usual would be a good strategy: if the Kraken Society catches wind of them poking around, maybe the fight comes to them -or- maybe asking more openly just gets them answers more quickly. A win either way, right?
The armored woman from the kitchen - a Half-Elf, possibly with Drow Ancestry but deep blue-dye masks the white locks of hair that would give it away - comes to the table and introduces herself as Karletta, "Don't tell me nobody's come to take your order yet?" and mutters to herself, "Just can't find good help..."
Beau orders the special: Floundering Flouder, and a Tuna Pate for her Tressym. Karletta is very amused by the flying cat, and by Zdravko's strange way of speaking. The party offers to buy Karletta a drink in exchange for her trove of rumors as she claims "Oh, I've got rumors up the wazoo!"
Karletta goes back to the kitchen to place the orders and they can hear her yelling at the staff that they'd better get their butts in gear because she's taking a break and they need to learn to function without her hovering over their shoulders.
She returns to the party's table with food, and a smile, "Now, let's have that drink!"
They ask her about the Kraken Society and she hesitates in thought for a moment, "Oh, they're some sort of gang, right? My friend Kestrel Hedgehopper hates them for some reason." Beau tries to get a read on Karletta who seems to be genuine.
Karletta goes on, "Y'know, I've got a good feeling about y'all. I'm going to send you - a bunch of strangers - to my friend Kestrel's house. Don't prove my trust to be foolishness, alright?"
.
They go to Kestrel's house, a fine two-story dwelling that suggests a comfortable middle-class lifestyle. Despite there being no bell to ring, Zep uses his Kenku mimicry to produce the sound of a loud medium-sized bell. After some time it becomes apparent that nobody is answering. Karletta did mention that Kestrel spends most of her day traveling from place to place within Yartar so they leave a note saying they have mutual business to discuss.
.
They make their way towards 'The Fishyard' - Yartar's open-air market - in hopes of finding some guards with whom they can leverage a meeting with the town's Waterbaron. Zep tries to peel off from the group to find someone connected with the thieves guild but Lyra notices and suggests they all stick together.
Lucky for Zep, the thieves guild finds him first... as they pass an alley they hear the sound of a loud medium-sized bell, nearly identical in tone and volume to the one Zep made by Kestrel's house. They turn and hear a small voice add, "Back here, c'mon!"
Our heroes turn down the alley to find a single middle-aged halfling woman who motions for them to follow before running further down the alley and turning a corner. When they too reach the corner they don't see her but see a crate with a loose board; they hear her voice from inside, "Quick, in here."
They enter the crate and realize it has a false back that enters into a dusty, unused warehouse. There the small halfling woman turns towards them with her hands on her hips and with a smirk says, "Heard y'all were poking around my house
and that we may have a common enemy."
Kestrel Hedgehopper goes on to tell the adventurers that the Kraken Society is much like the Zhentarim, except that individuals have less freedom, and that it functions more like a cult. It's an old organization whose core tenets always revolve around Krakens or the idea of attaining Godhood much as Krakens do. The current iteration of the Kraken Society seems to be in a phase of attempting to amass wealth and power and this has put them at odds with her own organization.
Using the Thieves Cant he learned from his Flock, Zep confirms that she belongs to the local thieves guild.
Kestrel informs the group that the Grand Dame plays an important role in the Kraken Society's local operations, that the ship's owner is undoubtedly a member of the Kraken Society, and that none of her organization has been able to gain access to the river barge which leads her to believe they've been infiltrated and why she's eager to let outsiders have a go at her enemies.
The party asks if she knows of the missing nobles, and she says she knows of them, but it doesn't impact her business so her organization really doesn't care. Kestrel does know for a fact that one of the missing nobles was on the Grand Dame the night he went missing.
The adventurers part ways with Kestrel who leaves a different way she entered through. They head back to the market to look for some guards, still hoping to access the Waterbaron.
.
Before they can reach any guards they feel a rumble in the earth. The crowds around them all look around in a collective, "that was weird" manner. Another rumble and one of the nearby vendor stalls is swallowed up by a sinkhole! As everyone begins to scatter, 4 humanoids resembling carp with arms and legs leap up out of the sinkhole. They raise shields and 2-pronged, spiked spears above their heads as they burble a chant in an unrecognizable language. Then a writhing, slithering mound of mud slides up out of the hole as it congeals into the shape of something resembling a bizarre, mutated catfish which slides forward towards Zdravko!
The sentient mudfish slashes long muddy whisker-tentacles at the Monk of Bahamut before he gets a chance to release and hone his inner energy. The mud-tentacles seem to be saturated in a foul poison which the hearty Zdravko resists.
Zdravko's counter attacks land hard and the mud rumbles in something akin to a language which Beau understands.
Beau slings Eldritch Blasts at the mud-fish while shouting in Primordial, "Why are attacking us?"
One of the fishy humanoids tries to sling a net over Zdravko but misses. Another casts the Bane spell at Zep, Beau, and Jormo immediately after Lyra Blesses them but only Zep fails to resist it. A 3rd fish man runs up to attack Zdravko, while a 4th does nothing because just then Jormo weaves a spell that causes tons of shadowy black tentacles to writhe up from the ground to ensnare it, the net-thrower, and the mud-fish.
Responding to Beau's question, the now restrained mud rumbles, "Why aren't you worshipping me?"
Lyra discerns there to be a high likelihood of Thunder damage being particularly effective against this muddy foe as she flies over to catch it, and a couple fish-men in a Thunderwave.
Beau sees the effectiveness and runs in to Booming-Blade the mud-fish calling out to it, "I don't even know who you are, why aren't
you worshipping ME??"
Jormo finishes off a fish-man with an elemental sphere as Zep leaps out from having hidden himself in the fleeing crowd to ambush the fish-guy that cursed him.
As Zdravko continues hammering away at the tentacled mud with his staff, the creature rumbles back to Beau in anger and indignation, "Because you are not a GOD!!" and it whips the Tabaxi with its tentacle. Jormo extends his Arcane Ward to absorb all the damage.
Beau sheathes his blade in thunderous energy once again and stabs the tentacled mud-fish and mocks, "Oooh, you're a god? Which one??"
Zep gets grappled by one of the fish-men's pincer staffs, but Jormo's ward absorbs the damage and the Tortle wizard finishes off the humanoid with another elemental blast.
Lyra flies over the not very impressive god-mud and blasts it with a second Thunderwave, weakening it significantly. In the final throws of combat, it tells Beau a name that sounds as much like gibberish as anything else, "Thisooletherkrals."
Zep runs in and thrusts his Kenku Blade right into the mud's largest "eye" to finish it off.
.
As the guards arrive out of breathe from sprinting to "control the situation" the party asks if they can meet with Waterbaron Nestra Ruthiol, adding that they know about the missing nobles situation as well.
They are granted a 10 minute audience with Nestra, a shrewd and discerning middle aged woman.
She thanks them for their service and uses the mystery of the "mud-fish" as an excuse to send the scribe out to fetch an old tome on the matter. Once alone with the party she cuts to the chase about the missing nobles, inquiring how the party knows of this. Beau won't reveal their source, which the Waterbaron respects. She admits that Khaspere Drylund is her political adversary but assures them that he is no good, and likely involved in any unsavory business aboard the Grand Dame - he is definitely who they want.
Nestra recommends that whatever they plan on doing aboard the Grand Dame, they do it after it leaves Yartar for its all-night gambling cruise down river. She clarifies that despite whatever malfeasance is involved with Khaspere Drylund, his casino is a legitimate and registered business in Yartar and she would have to act on its behalf if there were any laws broken by the adventurers.
.
Continued :
https://www.reddit.com/dndstories/comments/kuave4/zdravko_swims_home_from_the_grand_dame_skt/ submitted by Continuing Well, when the props fouled the third time, I suggested we call it a day, as we’d already made some 32 sea-kilometers. We were out on the fringes of the worst of the kelp forest beds, and after a good night’s sleep, we’d be ready to deploy bright and early and get some seismic data acquired and recorded.
But, first, there was the first night aboard ship. In a rusty old tin-can with few creature comforts, as the annual winter monsoon winds wane and the seas actually begin to settle slightly.
I took that as both good omens. The bitching and kvetching I head from the locals about the ‘abominable weather they had to endure’, even from the Coast Guard types, really struck me as uproariously funny.
I just chalked it up to being sequestered from the rest of the world for so long. Put these characters in the path of a Midwestern tornado, East Indian summer monsoon, or Siberian blizzard, and they’d shit themselves blind. I didn’t really think too much of it, although it became somewhat of a game when the imperialistic foreigners tried to one-up each other with horror stories from excursions past.
“No shit”, Dax said, “We were snowed in for a full fortnight.”
“No!” several of us recoiled in mock horror.
“Oh, yah, hey.” Dax continued, “It’s just great when blizzards snap the power lines, and all the toilets freeze. The house cat didn't die until we burned up all our wood. Considering we ate her raw, she tasted pretty good…”
Several of our handlers, a few in the Coast Guard and most of the Korean scientists reacted rather badly to Dax’s story; especially when it had been gorily translated.
Seeing this, Dax stood up, got the soju bottle, and asked if anyone needed a top-up. I asked while puffing away on a large Jamaican cigar if anyone needed a smoke.
At this point, Dax was winning. He had seven of the assembled crowd run to the rail to relieve themselves of our canned Chinese dinner.
Not ever one to shrink from a challenge, I related my second-hand story of my Brother-in-law, who was in the US Coast Guard for years and years. I waited for the green crowd to re-join us and regain what remained of their composure. I figured the quasi-military national Coast Guarders here would appreciate the tale.
Mine wasn’t a gory or shocking tale, just one of the incredible water conditions off the coast of California.
I waited until everyone was settled, drink in hand, and smokin’ ‘em if you got ‘em.
“Well”, I said, “It was on board a ship much like the one we’re currently on,” I said as a rascal wave broke over the railing in counterpoint. “About the same size as this vessel, but with smaller wheels. You know these Coast Guard shallow-water boys”, I chuckled. Always meaning to jab one group or another in the place where I know it stings.
Yeah, I’m a real bastard that way sometimes.
The Korean Coast Guarders sneered hardly at me; but not too hard. They liked my cigars, cigarettes, and open disbursement policy too much.
“Yeah, anyways”, I continued, “He was offshore California in one of the US Coast Guard cutters. It was a boat about 26 meters or so in length. They were out doing search and rescue after a mega-nasty storm blew in from the west and scuttled a sailing regatta race.”
I was drawing them in with my ‘just so’ story, nice and easy, until…
“Yeah, there were several capsized monohulls, catamarans and trimarans. Damn, these things were fucking yachts. Owned by rich idiots that almost knew how to sail but didn’t know enough to get out of the way of a fucking severe storm…”
I really had their attention with ‘soaking the rich’.
“Well, the waves grew and grew, but my Brother-in-laws's boat was built to handle severe weather. These patrol and rescue boat has the capability to roll over 360 degrees and self-right within 30 seconds. Like right now, you’d never even notice this degree rock and roll”, I said as I demonstrated with my cigar, tracing out tighter and tighter rolls, and higher degrees of rocking and rolling.
“They were approaching a capsized trimaran, but the waves kept growing and growing…” I said, leading by example and having them watch me with unblinking attention.
“The waves grew and grew, and normally you’d take these head-on. But that was impossible, because when afternoon came it was slashin' rain, in the face of a hurricane west wind. The boat rolled to the left, heeled, almost keeled, a then rolled the other way just as quickly.” I noted.
They followed me as I timed it with the heavings of our own boat, to the left…to the right…
“Then, just as they were about to reach upon the trimaran, a rogue wave! Out of nowhere”, I said, rocking and rolling along with our own little boat, “
BAM! Hit amidships! It didn’t roll once, it rolled twice!” I made great and magniloquent gestures of a tiny boat being savaged by a monstrous rogue sea wave.
I stood up, blew a great blue cloud of smoke towards the poop deck, and said, loudly, “Rolled over once. A full 360! Then rolled right over again. A full 720 degrees!” as I demonstrated what happened with my cigar and drink.
The eyes following me rolled and rolled as well. Some straight back into the owner’s head and some to the left, some to the right…it was like ‘Loose Slots’ night in Vegas, they were rolling and rolling.
And then racing for the rails. Topside to deliver the remains of their hearty canned dinners.
“Beat you, Dax!” I smiled as I sat back down, “I got nine with that at one. And two of them were Coasties!”
“Did that really happen?” Ivan asked.
“According to my Brother-in-law. But he’s an engineer if you know what I mean…” I smiled.
We concluded story night as we had drifted free of the kelp forest and the Captain of the boat decided he’d risk an anchorage for the night. The weather was ameliorating, the seas calming themselves down, and the wind dropping a couple of notches on the Beaufort Scale.
“Well, gents”, I said, “I need some air. The aroma down here of Chinese Aplo™ for dinner, those who didn’t make it to the rails, and the solitary head for the entire crew has lost its charm. If you’ll excuse me”, I said as I grabbed a bottle of ersatz vodka, and several cans of Taedonggang beer, “I’ll be on the aft deck; in my comfy chair and contemplating the wonder of it all.”
With that, I ventured up the stairs and out onto the aft deck.
Dax naturally followed and he found his own not-bolted-down deck chair. We had a constant flow of visitors, foreign and nationals alike. It was shaping up to be a fine night for being out under the stars, there was no light pollution at all. We sat in our chairs, drank our drinks, smoked our smokes, and argued the finer points of astronomy as seen from this part of the world.
I had several side chats with the scientists and academicians from the Korean side. They all had one thing on their minds. Well, one thing after cigars and cigarettes. They wanted Western scientific journals. They were actually trying to bribe me to get those copies, any age, any subject; of Science, AAPG Explorer, and SEPM Proceedings, anything of Western science as it is today. I said they were welcome to a couple of copies of Science and SPE journals I had brought with as an afterthought, for free. With 900 won to the dollar, they needed every won they could get. I wasn’t about to take anything for the free dissemination of knowledge.
However, if they saw it fit to buy me a drink or seven, I wouldn’t object.
In reality, I’d buy those as well.
We made secret pacts to meet at the hotel-casino the night before we left, whenever the fuck that would be. We had a lot of work before us as it stands. It won’t be for a few weeks, I reminded them.
They had no problem. If I could ask the other in the team if they’d do likewise, the appreciation would be palpable.
Great. Now I have to go get my field notebooks and make some more new entries.
Dax cratered around 0100. I elected to stay the night and sleep under the stars as the boat slowly rocked one way and rolled the other. It was quiet, dark as a tomb, and brilliantly lit up by the stellar backbone of the night once the clouds fumbled out. Tomorrow looked as if it were to be bright and sunny if the gentle westerlies had anything to say about the next day’s conditions.
The next day dawned early, bright, and ridiculously sunny as it usually does when the monsoons have departed and it had stopped raining.
“OK.”, I thought, “Time for a hearty breakfast. For someone else. I wonder what’s available here.”
I ventured down to the cold galley and there were several boxes of dry Chinese breakfast cereal, “Shredded Tweet” and the like, some sort of obviously aged bakery, and a case of Taedonggang beer.
“Hmmm”, I mused out loud, “Beer and rice crispies. Breakfast of champions.”
Dax walks in, rubbing his eyes. He sees me drowning my rice cereal in foamy ersatz milk.
“Reminds me of field camp!” I smiled as I chowed on the morning’s offerings.
After our ‘hearty’ breakfast, all the scientific parties gathered in the main stateroom. It was cramped, but the walls were magnetic and we could hang maps, well, charts actually since we’re well offshore now, and plots the day’s course.
Out in the Yellow Sea, we were supposedly over a subsurface, and by dint of being offshore, submarine, dome. Salt dome? Unlikely. Probably more of a
shale dome, which isn’t a bad thing when hunting for oil and gas.
Looking at the charts, I ask the locals what our current position was relative to the domal uplift.
After several long moments of silence, I asked again.
“Umm, guys”, I said, “If you’re not going to be forthcoming with something as simple as positional data, then turn this boat 180
0’s and take us back to shore. I am fed up, as are my team, with this tight-holing of the simplest of data when you are the knotheads that asked us here for help. We get paid either way, and I for one wouldn’t mind being paid triple to sit in the hotel’s basement and drink”
After telling the translator to translate that last part literally, I sat back, pulled out a really nasty cigar, and went through all the threatening moves of firing it up in the enclosed cabin.
“You will have to excuse us”, came the reply from one of the elders, “We are not used to dealing with
oegugseon [foreigners].”
“Are you used to following orders?” I asked brusquely.
“Of course!” came the near-unanimous reply.
“Great. Then consider this an order: You will relay the appropriate information when asked by any Westerner on this cruise. Consider it as coming from the Supreme Leader of this expedition.” I noted.
Using the term ‘Supreme Leader’ was both a bow to their current bad-hair-cut in charge and my desire to let them know I was serious as a kick to the scrotum about the whole fucking deal.
There were a couple of gasps and some consternatious talk, but eventually, one brave soul got up, walked over to the chart, and pointed to our relative location.
“There”, I added, “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Didn’t hurt in the least, did it?”
There were a few chuckles amongst our national colleagues, so I figured that was at least a little progress.
“OK, then”, I continued, “Volna? Ack? You’re up to bat.”
I turned the proceedings over to the geophysicists. They would devise the configuration of the towed array, our speed, direction, charge size, which was based on depth, and all the other geophysical flips and twists one has to do in order to acquire the best data.
This shit doesn’t come cheap. The Mesozoic-Paleozoic marine residual basin in the South Yellow Sea where these domes live is a potentially significant deep potential hydrocarbon reservoir. However, the imaging of the deep prospecting target is quite challenging due to the specific seismic-geological conditions. In the Central and Wunansha Uplifts, the penetration of the seismic wavefield is limited by the shallow high-velocity layers (HVLs) and the weak reflections in the deep carbonate rocks. With the conventional marine seismic acquisition technique, the deep weak reflection is difficult to image and identify. We confirm through numerical simulation that the combination of multi-level impulse source (i.e., explosive) array and extended cable used in the seismic acquisition is crucial for improving the imaging quality.
With that, we’re going to be recording a minimum of four stacks, with a receiver interval of 25 meters. The array will have a shot interval of 50 meters, with a 25 meter near offset, and a 2500 meter far offset. We will attempt to record 180 channels, off-end, with a sampling period of 0.5 seconds, and a record length of 5 seconds. We’ll sail the same course 4 times to verify previous records and attempt to add ‘fold’, i.e., extra data from the same point, to the overall records.
That’s the plan, at least.
Loads of preparation, logistics, and execution.
After a half an hour or so, both Volna and Ack are finished with the national scientists.
They set down their notebooks, pens, notes, and pointers; walk out of the meeting room and directly over to the galley.
“Hungry, fellas?” I inquire.
“Rock?”, Ack asks, “You have explosives here, right? Sink us. Just fucking sink us right now.” As he pours himself and Volna a stiff shot of real vodka.
“Uh, oh. Problems in Dreamland?” I ask, utilizing the derogatory name for the geophysical domain of exploration data.
“Un-be-fucking-believable.”, Volna adds.
“Your colloquial American is coming along well, Volna.” I snickered a bit.
“I learn from you”, he spat, “Cannot believe this. They don’t record while underway. They tow single array and stop. Then drop dynamite over side. They record. Then they do it again. Claim this gives them good fold. This is bullshit. You said devise program. HA! Take us to shore and let me teach them the fucking basics of geophysical acquisition. Then in a few years, we come back and do it right.”
“Oh, fuck”, I reply, wincing, “That bad?”
“Oh, no”, Ack continues, “It’s worse.” As he down 100 milliliters of booze in one draught and pours another for Volna and is own self, “No on-board demultiplexing. No on-board pre-processing. No-onboard QA/QC. No on-board anything. It’s fucking hopeless. Sink us, I’d rather take my chances with the sharks.”
“They
can’t do all that stuff or they
won’t do all that stuff,” I asked, expecting the worst.
“Oh, it
might be possible, with this museum-grade crap they call a computer they have on-board. It’s just time-consuming, tricky, and will need constant attention. But with this raft of sad-sacks, flub-a-dubs and third rate hobbyists?” Ack and Volna agree as one.
“Consider it job security”, I replied, “How about this? One test loop and we use that data to do what’s necessary; just once. Then we can say we’ve shown them the way. After that, I’ll leave it up to the National scientists.”
“Good thing we have 2 full days, Rock”, Volna said, “Because we do a single AC (acquisition) run, it’ll take the rest of the time to show these buggers how it’s done.”
“Ack? You agree?” I asked.
Ack agreed, in spades.
“OK, gentlemen”, I said, “Let’s make it so. About time, too. I haven’t blown anything up in a couple of weeks. I’m getting antsy. Let’s go tell them the good news.”
“NO! WE REFUSE!” was the cheery response from the nationals when Ack, Volna, and I laid out the rather lengthy program for the next couple of days.
“OK. Someone tell the Captain to head for home. We’re done here.” I calmly told our handlers and the translators.
Panic in Pyongyang.
Immediately, there is this hue and cry about how this was not supposed to be how this trip was going to work. This was to be an acquisition trip only. This was to be a one-off to show Best Korea geophysical prowess. This was supposed to be data gathering trip
on the Western scientists…
Oops.
That last one was a bit of a mistake.
I turn to one of the translators and ask them to re-translate that last part, just in case I was hearing imaginary things.
“Oh, yes”, he replied, “He said they were here to gather data on the Western Scientists as well as offshore data.”
“Is that a fact?” I reacted. “Please tell them I need to see all my team members on the fantail immediately if you would. Sorry, translators and nationals not included in this little meeting.”
We reconvene on the fantail a few minutes later. I walk in on this little conclave with cigar and drink in hand.
“OK, gents”, I say, puffing a huge blue cloud, swigging a tot, “Here’s what I think we, as responsible international scientists, should do in this regrettable situation. We were asked to come here, with provisions that we would not be under cynosure, observation, or surveillance. Given ‘Open and Free Access’, no questions asked. We were to be treated as “esteemed guests”. This is obviously a load of dingo’s kidneys. I think we need to get as creative as possible and do whatever we can to provide as much deliberate misinformation to these characters to annoy, amaze, or disgust them as much as possible. Comments?”
There’s a general buzz, but no real dissention. After a few moment's discussion, Dax suggests we get a load of XXXXL condoms, and leave them around packaged as “Texas Medium”.
“That’s the spirit”, I reply. “Anyone one else up for a little Psychological Operations on our not-so-clever-nor-truthful hosts?”
We all agree that we will, in our own little way, start a campaign of deliberate misinformation, misdirection, and general petty bullshit nastiness for our hosts to discover and by which be dismayed.
Everyone’s in agreement. This trip has been a rotund bale of jeers from the get-go.
Promises made, promises broken. Itineraries approved then inexplicably disapproved. We make requests, they accede; and then nothing ever happens. It’s most frustrating.
We’re tolerating a lot of horse, bull, cow, and assorted other farmyard excrements; all in the name of international harmony and scientific goodwill. This has been an outgoing one-way street for too long. We’re mad as hell and we’re not going to take it anymore.
“Hellfire and Dalmatians!” I growl, growing angrier every minute I think about the subject, “We need to take the high, low, and middle ground on this offensive. Nothing too overt or obvious; however we need to jank these bastards good. But they can’t realize they’re being janked…!”
Ack cuts in.
“The esteemed Dr. Rock is right. Psychotic...but absolutely right. We got to take these bastards. We could fight them with conventional weapons. That could take years...cost millions of lives. In this case... I think we have to go all out. I think this situation absolutely requires...a really futile and stupid gesture... be done on somebody's part.”
There’s a general buzz among the assembled.
“And we're just the guys to do it.”
Shouts and catcalls of deep agreement.
“Operation ‘Confound-a-Korean’” is now enacted.
“About fucking time!”
“Let’s do it!”
“Dissen gonna be bery messy! Me no watchin!”
“OK, I think, “Who’s the prequel-series wiseass?”
“OK, gentlemen”, I continue, “We continue with our scientific duties. No fucking around there. But, when it comes to…interpretation…opinion…or personal viewpoint; let’s go full impede. Dazzle them with brilliance or baffle them with bullshit.”
We all agree and after a couple of quick rounds of old thought provoker, we realize this trip has just taken a hard left into Wackyland. We will have to let our comrades onshore know of this, but that can wait until we return. Right now, we all have jobs to do. Real jobs, serious jobs, covert and sneaky jobs…
So, it’s back to the recording shack as we lay out the plans for the next couple of days.
Volna begins: “OK, listen up you primitive screwheads. We’re going to assemble and layout a recording array that’s called a Meisenheimer Triplet. You do know what a simple Meisenheimer Triplet is, don’t you?”
There’s a slight murmur from our national friends, but in the end, they all plead ignorance.
“Right. Thought so. A Meisenheimer Triplet is a central towed array flanked by two shorter, subparallel flanking sub-frammitz arrays. We will assemble this array on-board, even though it’s probably going to take every ounce of silver solder and electrician’s tape you’ve got. The amount of data received is orders of magnitude greater than any single Sheriff-sonde array, like the ones you been using.”
Suddenly, there are nods and murmurs of agreement.
“Right”, Volna smiles sinisterly to me, “With that, we’ll need to devise an explosive package, well, actually, a series of explosive packages based on the harmonia of the pre-bottom fore-sets, water depth, tow vehicle velocity, water column density, and decomposition coefficients of the said water column. Oh, yeah. Fish too.”
Volna is really getting into the spirit of the affair.
“Who is your explosives engineer?” Ack asks, “He’s going to have to do some serious number-crunching with all the pre-blast data we’ll need to supply. “
One quick translation and there’s nothing but long faces and querulous looks from our national crowd.
“We have no explosives engineer”, the head Best Korean geophysicist laments. “Explosives are very, very heavily regulated by the government. That’s why we have several Government Observers on board. They handle the explosives.”
“Oh?” Ack remarks, “Are they fully up to speed on the Barnard-Reichmann equations for hydro-displacement of serial charges? Which subset of the marine rarefication coefficients do they employ?”
“Ummm, don’t know.” was the answer.
“Don’t know? Well”, Volna continues, “Then, they must be pretty good with the Langefors-Kihlström formulae, right?”
“No. Not as such.” Came the response.
“I see”, Ack sighs, “Well, then, I guess they must utilize the Il’yushin algorithms then. OK, it’s a bit old school, but they should still work.”
“Ah. Well. No.” was the rejoinder they offered.
“Well, then what the fuck do they use?” Volna explodes, “A modified Ambraseys-Hendorn model? Ghosh-Damen 1? Ghosh-Damen 2? Indian Fargin Standard? Prejaculated Rai-Singh protocols, fer’ chrissake? Which?”
Nothing but shaking heads and wringing hands.
“They take a case of dynamite, wire it up, and throw it overboard with a long fuse.” Was the eventual answer. “That’s why we stop to record.”
Long, exasperated sigh later, “Jesus Q. Tapdancing Christ on a crème cracker. No wonder you never get anything done.” Volna continues, “You characters are in luck. You just happen to be so lucky to have an internationally-renowned Master Blaster right here on board ship today.”
Volna turns the crowd over to me, “Doctor? Do your damnedest. And good luck.”
“Thanks, Volna”, I say, cigar in one hand, stalwart drink in the other, “OK, guys. Here’s the deal. When it comes to explosives and explosive design, I’m the hookin’ bull.
No one has authority over me. Not the Captain. Not the boson’s mate. Not the Captain’s Consort even. Nor the guys in the cheap shiny suits. What I say, goes. No exceptions. No hesitation. We
green or are we going back to shore?”
“
Cholog?” they ask.
“Yes. ‘
Cholog’. Green. Are we understanding one another? Are we all in agreement?
Are you fuckin’ diggin’ me, Beaumont?”
There’s some quick back and forth in Korean, a lot of seeming bad noise. Even the shiny suit squad and Coasties join in the fun.
“Grudgingly, we agree.
Green as you say, Doctor Rock. You are the one in charge.” Came the head national’s reply.
“Splendid. I’m in charge of the charges.” I chuckle, puffing an enormous cloud of expensive Oscuro smoke, “Volna, Ack; please get me the required parameters. I’ll be in the ordnance locker to see what we’re working with here. C’mon fellas, chop-chop!”
Volna and Ack take their select set of geophysical wishers and wannabes while I get the rest of the locals, the shiny suit squad in reserve, but in tow.
I head off to the ordinance locker.
Dax runs behind “Hey! Wait for me.”
“We have to”, I snigger a reply, “We’re going to need a drinks runner.”
“Marvelous…” was the one-word response.
We get to the locked ordinance locker. It’s one of the few original structures remaining on the ship. The boat was torn down almost to the waterline and re-built for seismic acquisition, but they had enough brains to realize that the source of the seismic signals was usually explosive in nature. Dinoseis and Mini-Sossie were closed books to them.
Therefore, the locker remained intact, however grudgingly.
“Whew! And what a locker.” I whewed. “And what a lock. OK, who’s got the keys?”
There are general hemming and hawing and no one seems to know where the keys for the ordinance locker are kept.
“Well, gents”, I say, pointedly, “I would suggest that one or more of you toddle off and fucking find the goddamn keys or this will turn out to be a very short and unproductive trip, indeed.”
A while later, a bit longer than I personally care for, the boat’s Captain wanders up, all a-scowl and generally pissed-off looking.
“Who here needs the key to the explosives locker?” He asks in his Captainly, no-nonsense manner.
There’s more muttering and murmuring, but eventually, all fingers point toward me.
The Captain looks at me.
“Hello.”
He’s giving me the once over with a LASER stink eye. I don’t know which irritated him the most; the lit cigar, the drink, the Stetson, Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts, Scottish knee socks or field boots.
“And who the hell are you”? He asks, oh, so wrongly, through an interpreter.
I stand up, fully puffed to full mammalian threat posture and say in a loud steady voice;
“I’m THE Doctor Rocknocker, the
MOTHERFUCKING PRO FROM DOVER!, that’s who.”
Since I had a good 6 inches and way too many kilos on him; my loud, American and very un-oriental answer took him completely by surprise.
His eyes got as big as dinner plates and he shakily held out the ring of keys for the explosives locker.
“Why thank you very much”, I said, bowing in his direction ever so slightly. Wasn’t his fault he wasn’t totally clued in on
all the recent goings-on aboard his vessel.
I toss the keys to Dax, “Here, earn your keep.” I snickered.
Dax deftly fields the keys, chuckles back, and begins the game of ‘which key for which lock’?
I thank the Captain and explain that I’m the
de facto leader of this special education class, and make some pointed, mild epitaphs about landlubbers, national scientists, and the cargo of the totally clueless on board.
He sees I’m not a total boor and relaxes some. We haven’t really had a real introduction, so I grab a translator and engage the Captain in a short, though insightful conversation.
Cigars were exchanged. Handshakes were as well.
Seems he’s just as aggravated by these know-it-alls who really know-fuck-all. We see eye to eye and part friends once Dax finally figures out the combination to the weapons locker.
“Holy fuck!” I exclaim, “Now
that’s a door.” I say looking at the slowly-opening covering of the weapon’s portico. Fully five solid inches of solid steel. Triple reinforced hinges. Deadman's latches. Bringles-jams and solid, non-decabulated cast-steel cross-members.
Just the thing to contain an errant blast and send all that excess energy skyward instead of into the bowels of the boat.
OK, bonus points for that design feature.
I look inside, but it’s dark and fragrant as the inside of an irritated oyster in the bottom of the Tonga-Kermadec Trench.
Dax fumbles around and finds the light switch.
FLIP
“Hmmm.” I hmmed. “Well, we’re all set for dynamite, I see.”
Case after case after case of leaking, cheap-ass Chinese knock-off sort-of Du Pont-style 50% dynamite. Box after box of Pseudo-Dyno-Nobel blasting caps. Delaminating, unwinding spools after spool of “PrimUcord”. Sticky “Korea” brand silk-woven coated Demolition Wire.
“Gads.” I sigh. “What a nightmare. Either this stuff goes off when you give it a dirty look or it doesn’t go off at all.”
Dax looks to me, “So, the trip’s a bust. Is that what you’re saying?”
“If we don’t find something that’ll work, probably,” I reply. “This shit’s worthless.”
We continue to search after I shoo everyone but Dax out of the locker. It’s damp and musty in here, smelling disconcertingly of kerosene, gherkins, and old sardines. That’s one sure sign of dynamite going bad. I warn Dax to be extra careful, that this stuff hasn’t had the best of handling. We could be in for an unexpected surprise.
So, we redouble our efforts and are much more circumspect.
Knock-off this and fake-ass that.
All Chinese in origin. It might have worked one day; but after sitting in here, unattended, unturned, and uncared for? I’m ready to both literally and figuratively pull the plug on this whole fiasco.
Dax is all smiles.
“Doctor?” Dax asks, “What is it that would make you happy?”
“A nice fishing boat, a huge never-emptying bank account, endless cigars, and a comfy chair back in the north of Baja Canada in a tavern on a good fishing lake,” I replied.
“Well”, Dax smiles, “I can’t do that, but how about this?” as he opens a cleverly hidden door.
I look in, let my eyes adjust to the low-light scenario to see no lakes, no huge bank accounts, nor fishing boats; but what I do see makes me smile wide.
It’s a sub-locker full of familiar Made-in-the-USA, True Blue, American-manufacture
cyclo-trimethylene-tri-nitramine, or Good Ol’ C-4 explosive. Block after lovely hexahedral block of the stuff.
“Dax”, I say, “Take a gold star out of petty cash. You’ve just saved the mission.”
“I’ll settle for a tall vodka and one of your cigars”, Dax smiles.
“Later”, I say, “We now have a little job which to attend.”
With C-4, designing the impulse charges is seriously a walk in the park. They’re already waterproof, so all I need is water depth and the number of seconds to which they want to record data. I can bundle a series of blocks of the stuff, charge them with a couple-three or four, just in case, blasting caps, and connect them with stout lengths of demolition wire. These will be dragged, with a ‘Herring Dodger’, to control depth, behind the boat as
we are underway.
It’s a novel idea, I know. One that’s only been in use in the west for about 60 years.
We’ll drag a daisy chain of C-4 packets. One after another, individual charges in the packets will detonate milliseconds apart. I can bundle the packets so that we can run a charge string of up to 12 discrete packets which will attenuate the amplification of the arrhythmic flux, I tell one of my Korean onlookers.
With this set-up, we can record data for literally sea-miles.
First, we will
moosh the C-4 into a flattened, semi-hydrodynamically stable pancake or airfoil, OK, hydrofoil, shape; wire three or five of them together, charge them, then repeat.
Depending on what parameters Volna and Ack supply, the chain will just be a number of similar packets, trailing one after the other, detonating from back to front; down below the hydrophones, but well above the seafloor.
We know that the hydrophones will be at or very near the surface, but we need to know, explicitly, the basal bathymetry of the area we're about to shoot. Wouldn’t do anyone any good if we drove over a seafloor hump and dragged the C-4 over it to have it detonate prematurely.
Or not at all.
So, we need to plot our course and sail it today while we get the hydrophone arrays built and we image the seafloor where we’re going to do some blasting. After that, it’ll probably be an all-nighter to create the blasting strings so we can spend the next day recording, and then head for home as we’re nearly out of victuals and potables.
At least, that’s the plan.
I convene a quick meeting and we plot a course on the latest charts. 30 kilometers of recording.
Shit, that’s going to be a lot of explosives. Doable, but a pain.
Remembering the quality of the recording equipment, I suggest we do a test run in the morning of just 5 kilometers. If that works, and we can up it in increments.
Dax, Sagong the head Korean geophysicist, and I go to visit the Captain.
We visit the Captain and lay out our plans. He has no objections, as were in Best Korean waters and there are no obstacles out here like sunken wrecks, kelp forests, American aircraft carriers, or other impediments.
With that, we tell him to align the ship and let us know when he can begin doing the recon sortie.
He says that he can do that immediately, and before we're out of the pilothouse, we’re recording bathymetric, i.e., depth, data. The technology’s not much different, nor advanced, than a standard Lake Winnebago fish finder, so that’s one disaster sorted.
We are sailing along in a series of parallel straight lines, which when the data are played back and deconvoluted, will give us a good idea of the bathymetry which we’ve been motoring over. It’ll basically give us both a depth map and a surface, ok, bottom, map of the seafloor above which we’re sailing. A little basic submarine hyperbolic quantum trigonometry and well, we have the data we need to plug into the various equations to see what we’ll require when we want to record seismic data to 5000 milliseconds.
With that, there’s not much else to do until we have the survey map. I dragoon Dax and Cliff into helping me inventory the explosives bunker.
“The hell with the dynamite, PrimUcord, and other Oriental-Knockoff Horseshit”, I instruct my helpers, “Let’s just count up the C-4, and see what our tally is. Oh, yeah, give me a tally of the blasting caps. Gotta use those ratty bastards, they’re the only actuators here I sort of, kind of, trust.”
With Dax, myself, and Cliff, we’re done in less than an hour. I decide that I’ll be the keeper of the keys and take them back to the Captain my own self. Rules of engagements, chain of command and all that hogwash.
I hand the keys over to the Captain and instruct the co-pilot to make an entry in the logbook that I returned the key to the Captain, this date, this time.
“By the book. It’s not just a good idea, it’s the law.” I muse.
To be continued…
submitted by Trouvez les Daniel Cruise images et les photos d’actualités parfaites sur Getty Images. Choisissez parmi des contenus premium Daniel Cruise de la plus haute qualité. When it comes to cruising, gambling in the ship's casino is one of the most popular activities. In fact, in the late evening it can be the busiest spot on the cruise ship. In many ways the casinos on a cruise are very similar to what you'll find on land -- just on a smaller scale. If you're someone who loves gaming, then you'll feel right at home in a cruise casino. That said, there are still ... Big "M" Casino Ship II. Smoking is permitted only on the outside decks. Day Cruises: Tuesday - Sunday 11am - 4:00pm $20 per person* *Includes boarding fee & taxes Book a Reservation Now Cruise Information. Reservations are REQUIRED. Masks must be worn at all times. Passengers are required to get their temperature taken before entry. The parking lots and ticket offices close 5 minutes prior ... Casino Credit is available to players for gaming on Norwegian Cruise Line. The application process is easy, there is no fee to apply and differed payment terms can be arranged. The minimum application amount is $5,000.00. A personal check is required onboard to activate the credit line. Markers or counter checks can be paid by your winnings, personal check or bank wire. MSC Fantasia Casino. Signaler. Vidéos à découvrir. À suivre. 6:25 . Croisière MSC Fantasia méditerrannée gopro - Croisière Méditerrannée MSC FANTASIA. GoPro & Mavic Pro. 4:35. Msc Splendida e Msc Fantasia si salutano a Barcellona. Katherina Kahn. 2:13. vue du MSC Fantasia à bord du MSC Splendida. gabriel QUARTINO. 1:37. Das Beste der MSC Fantasia Reisebüro Fella MSC kreuzfahrten ... DUBAI - APRIL 18: casino on cruise ship Costa Deliziosa - the newest Costa cruise ship, 18 April 2010 in Dubai, UAE. Costa. Venice, Italy - 14.10.2018: Modern empty casino hall with game machines in cruise ship Norwegian Star. Italy. Casino on cruise ship. INSIDE PASSAGE, ALASKA 27 Jun 2008 - The Casino with slot machines, roulette and card games lures gamblers after dinner on a cruise ship ... When on a cruise, you can play at the onboard casino and overcome the limitations by playing a live casino online when in your cabin or other areas of the ship. Online casinos are a convenient way ... Ever wonder why the casino is located where it is on a cruise ship? Nearly always you'll find it near the center of the ship with an entrance from the main promenade walkway. That's because making the casino inviting -- and easy to get to -- rakes in more cash for the cruise lines. But if you're a casual gambler, then you might not realize there is something more that the cruise lines often do ... Casino Cruise also does not have a mobile casino application, but this does not mean that you cannot play here from your phone or tablet. To access Casino Cruise mobile from a mobile device, you need to use your browser, after which the site will adjust itself to your diagonal. The only drawback of such a game is due to the fact that not all slot machines that are on the site will be available ... Passengers must be age 21 to purchase or consume alcohol and age 18 to gamble on the ship. "This from Princess cruise line: "in line with domestic age limits, as well as Princess' company policy, the casino is reserved for passengers 21 years and older. Additionally, only those passengers 21 years and older will be allowed to purchase or ...
