Schroeder blinked the sweat out of his eyes and squinted into the darkness. There was a paleness ahead that was only one shade removed from complete blackness. He was confused. Maybe he had been wrong about their direction and the wall murals had actually led them out of the mountain.

They kept on moving, and the floor sloped down in a long ramp. The tunnel fed into a vast cavern. The space was filled as far as the eye could see with two-story, flat-roofed buildings. The structures were built of material that glowed with a silvery green that cast the scene in a dusky light.

Rough voices came from behind and jerked them out of their trance. With a mixture of awe and apprehension, they began to descend the long ramp into the crystal city.

NUMA 6 - Polar Shift

28

HOUSED ON THE TENTH floor of NUMA headquarters is the modern-day equivalent of the famed Alexandria Library. The glass-enclosed computer center that takes up the entire level contains a vast digital library that includes every book and article, every scientific fact and record on the world's oceans, all connected to a highspeed computer network with the capacity to transfer enormous amounts of data in a blink of the eye.

The center is the brainchild of NUMA's computer genius, Hiram Yeager, who dubbed the artificial intelligence entity he created “Max.” It was Yeager's idea to give Max a feminine human face represented by a three-dimensional holographic image with auburn hair, topaz eyes and a soft, feminine voice.

Paul Trout had decided to forgo the flirtatious holographic image. Rather than use Max's central control panel, where Yeager communicated with the computer by voice, Trout had taken over a meeting room in the corner of the data center. He had set up a simple keyboard to tap into Max's vast store of knowledge. The keyboard communicated with an oversize monitor that took up most of one wall. Seated with Trout at a mahogany table where they faced the screen were Gamay; Dr. Adler, the wave scientist; and Al Hibbet, the NUMA expert on electromagnetism.

Trout thanked everyone for coming and explained that Austin and Zavala had been called away. Then he tapped the keyboard. A photo of a thin-faced man with dark hair and soulful gray eyes appeared on the screen.

“I'd like you to meet the gentleman whose genius brought us here today,” Trout said. “Here you see Lazlo Kovacs, the brilliant Hungarian electrical engineer. This photo was taken in the late thirties, about the time he was working on his revolutionary electromagnetism theories. And this is what can happen when scientific brilliance is perverted.”

Trout changed the picture to a split screen that displayed two satellite photos. On the left was the photo of the freak waves that sank the Southern Belle. The other side showed the giant whirlpool, as viewed from space.

He let the significance of the pictures sink in.