The cylinder weighed almost nothing, but they always set it down with both hands.
Gabriel Varenne had known that for so long that the gesture had lost all solemnity. He took the metal tube from the folding shelf, checked the number engraved beneath the flap, then handed it to Lieutenant Commander Le Bihan. Maël checked the same number on the receipt sheet and added his initials beside Gabriel’s.
In the commanding officer’s cabin, there was no room for grand gestures or sweeping movements. One man standing almost prevented another from opening the door. The ceiling seemed lower when the vessel descended, not because it actually moved but because the whole submarine changed its voice. The fans took on a deeper pitch. A pipe strained behind the bulkhead. Cold metal beneath the palm gave the illusion of a motionless world, while outside, thousands of tons of steel slipped beneath the North Atlantic.
“Routine,” Le Bihan said.
Gabriel nodded. The message received during the last communications window contained no change of mission. A reminder about a weather procedure, two changes to shore duty rosters, an administrative correction no one aboard would need before their return. Everything had been authenticated, logged, then reduced to its true nature: paper that demanded nothing.
He pushed the cylinder back toward its compartment.
The internal telephone rang before he had secured the latch.
“Captain.”
Marcoux’s voice from the operations room came without haste. That was precisely what made Gabriel listen more closely.
“New passive contact, weak. Bearing unstable. Unclassified.”
“How long?”
“Four minutes. Two acquisitions, then lost. Could be surface traffic distorted by the layer.”
End of excerpt. Discover the other stories in this universe.