179: Chapter 179 Melody on the Shore

The research fishing boat sailed steadily through the night sea, the hum of its engine and the splash of the hull breaking through the waves forming a monotonous background sound. Alex was in the cabin assigned to him, checking his equipment for the last time. The specially designed perception-assisting instrument had been fully charged, and the connection test with his personal terminal (which had undergone multiple encryptions and physical isolation) was complete. The Nagra open-reel tape recorder lay quietly in its shockproof case, next to several rolls of specially made, moisture- and pressure-resistant blank tapes.

Old Chen knocked and entered at midnight, bringing simple hot food and the final briefing.

"We will arrive at the designated sea area A1 around 4:00 AM," he said, spreading out an electronic nautical chart marked with several points. "According to the plan, we will conduct a twelve-hour anchoring operation at point A1, deploying a set of deep-water hydrophone arrays and your 'special equipment.' What you need to do is continuous, passive listening and perception recording. Focus on the low-frequency band (1-100 Hz) and below, as well as any abnormal signals with 'non-biological, non-geological' characteristics. The ship's acoustic monitoring system will simultaneously record conventional data."

"Environmental risks?" Alex asked.

"The water depth in this area is about 1,800 meters, and sea conditions are expected to be calm. The main risks are equipment failure or interference from rare deep-sea creatures. We have backup plans and recovery measures," Old Chen replied rigidly. "During the operation, keep cabin communications open. If you have any... 'special feelings' or discoveries, let us know immediately."

At dawn, the ship arrived at the designated location and dropped anchor. The engine noise ceased, and the world was suddenly plunged into a profound silence, broken only by the waves gently lapping against the hull. Alex went to the aft deck work area. The crew skillfully operated the winch, slowly lowering a string of spherical hydrophones into the pitch-black seawater. He himself connected the main sensor of the specially made instrument—a streamlined black metal sphere—to a dedicated cable and carefully deployed it. When the instrument started, it emitted an almost inaudible, steady low-frequency hum. Through [Energy Perception], he could feel the sphere emitting a regular, gentle active detection field, interacting subtly with the surrounding seawater energy.

Back in the cabin, the monitoring screen lit up, displaying real-time spectrograms from hydrophones at different depths, as well as more complex energy field gradient data transmitted back by the special instrument. Alex put on noise-canceling headphones and focused his [Energy Perception] entirely on the "tentacles" extending out through the instrument.

The first few hours were a tapestry of the deep-sea sound world. The long, drawn-out calls of whales from the extreme distance, like the sighs of giants; the dense "rustling" sounds produced by schools of fish swimming in the mid-to-upper layers; closer by, the subtle scratching of some crustaceans; and the eternal background sound—the faint groaning of seawater under its own pressure, the lingering echoes of distant seismic waves... Under the dual analysis of professional instruments and extraordinary perception, these sounds presented an incredibly rich layering and detail. Alex, like a patient auscultator, listened to the beating of the ocean's giant heart.

He paid special attention to those low-frequency bands. That was usually the domain of marine geological activities (such as seamount vibrations, fault creep) and the communication of certain large creatures (such as baleen whales). With the help of [Energy Perception], he could link the physical properties of the sound with the energy "texture" it contained. For example, a continuous low-frequency hum might come from seamount resonance, its energy field usually stable and carrying a specific geological "texture"; while the initial part of a whale song often carried an obvious "peak" of emotional intent in its energy.

Around 10:00 AM, on the monitoring screen, a channel from the deepest hydrophone (about 1,500 meters) began to show a set of extremely faint but unusually regular "peaks" on the spectrogram. They did not appear continuously, but rather a short (about two seconds) burst occurred every fifteen minutes or so, with the frequency concentrated around 7Hz, a range that was almost "infrasound" for human hearing. Even stranger was its decay pattern, which was very rapid, unlike the propagation of natural sound sources in water.

Almost simultaneously, Alex's [Energy Perception] captured the corresponding energy disturbance. It was not a violent burst, but an extremely sharp, fleeting "prickling sensation," as if something deep in the ocean had "poked" the surrounding water medium with extremely high precision and energy density. In his perception, the "lingering echo" left by this disturbance carried a cold, non-biological quality, faintly echoing the "family resemblance" he had felt in the ice field pulses and the samples provided by K, but it was more "introverted" and "directional."

"Recorded," Alex notified Old Chen via the internal channel. "Point A1, depth about 1,500, intermittent low-frequency pulses, abnormal characteristics. The intensity is very weak, but the pattern is clear."

"Received. Continue monitoring, record the complete cycle. Other sensors have not detected any associated geological or biological activity," Old Chen's voice came from the cockpit.

Alex adjusted the parameters of the special instrument, trying to capture the energy profile of that "prickling sensation" more precisely, and started the Nagra open-reel recorder to make an analog recording backup—in handling such extremely weak signals, analog media can sometimes retain subtle harmonics that digital filtering might lose.

Over the next few hours, the regular "prickling" signal continued to appear, with a stable interval of about fifteen minutes, lasting about two seconds each time. Alex was fully focused, trying to trace its source direction in his perception. The signal seemed to come from deeper and further east, but due to the influence of complex currents and seabed topography, the positioning was extremely vague.

He packed his perceptual findings (sense of direction, energy "prickling" texture, premonition of non-biological characteristics) together with the data recorded by the instrument and sent it back to the rear (K's team) via a secure link. He knew that this alone might not reveal the essence of the signal source, but it was undoubtedly extremely valuable first-hand information.

(Miami)

Taylor lay under the parasol on the hotel beach, wearing sunglasses, but had no mood to appreciate the blue sea and sky before her. She held a voice recorder in her hand, aimlessly recording the sounds of children playing on the beach, waves washing the shore, and the wind blowing through palm leaves, but she could not concentrate. She glanced at her phone from time to time; eight hours had passed since Alex last sent a security signal (a simple "all is normal" code).

She knew he was doing something important and potentially dangerous. Trust was trust, but worry could not be completely suppressed. She simply sat up, opened the portable keyboard she carried with her, connected her headphones, and began to play aimlessly. At first, it was just a pile of irritable notes, but gradually, as her fingertips repeatedly pressed a few low chords on the keys, an emotion filled with anxiety and waiting, yet seeking tranquility, began to flow out.

She thought of those tapes at the New York exhibition that carried the noise of time, the eternal patience of the boulders in Joshua Tree National Park, and the familiar, explorer-like calm light in Alex's eyes when they said goodbye last night. Her playing slowly became directional, turning her worry into a long, low-bass foundation, turning her waiting into rising melodic fragments that repeated constantly but with subtle changes each time, and turning that trust and support into clear and firm high-pitched embellishments interspersed throughout.

An untitled, improvised piano piece gradually took shape. It was incomplete, but it truly recorded her mood at this moment. After finishing, she felt much better. She saved the recording and named it "deep blue waiting."

(Deep Sea)

Around 4:00 PM, just as the twelve-hour operation window was about to end, a subtle change occurred.

The regular "prickling" signal suddenly stopped. For a full thirty minutes, the monitoring was completely calm. Just when Alex thought the signal source had temporarily gone silent, the energy field gradient reading of the special instrument showed abnormal fluctuations. It was not the sharp "prickling" from before, but a slow, diffuse "disturbance," like ink dripping into clear water, slowly spreading in a certain depth area (about 1,700 meters).

At the same time, the conventional hydrophone received an extremely strange, broadband noise similar to a mix of "friction" and "bubbles," which lasted for about ten seconds and then disappeared completely. The sound did not resemble any known marine creature or geological phenomenon.

Alex's [Energy Perception] captured a clearer picture: at the core of that diffuse energy disturbance, there seemed to be an extremely tiny but unusually "dense" point, and it was this point that was slowly "releasing" the disturbance, like a miniature, energy-state "ink sac" leaking. Wherever the disturbance passed, the originally stable energy background of the seawater underwent an extremely subtle but definitely existing "polarization" phenomenon, as if it had been briefly "marked" or "interfered with."

He immediately recorded all the data and sent back a detailed description of the relative position of the "dense point" he perceived and the "energy leakage" pattern. Less than two minutes after he finished sending, the diffuse disturbance, just as it had appeared, silently dissipated into the vast energy background of the seawater. The regular "prickling" signal did not appear again.

"Operation time at point A1 is up," Old Chen's voice sounded. "Start recovering the equipment. According to preliminary feedback from the rear, valuable data has been obtained. It is recommended to proceed to the designated backup point A2 for comparative monitoring as planned, but the time will be shortened to six hours."

The equipment recovery went smoothly. The fishing boat weighed anchor and sailed toward another preset coordinate point to the northeast. Alex remained in the cabin, organizing the massive amount of data from the first operation, especially the perception record of the "energy leakage." He had a faint feeling in his heart: what they had listened to might not be a fixed "device" or "creature" making sounds, but more like a "by-product" leaked during some kind of... periodic "activity" or "state switching" process. Just like a precision machine in a specific working mode, it would inevitably emit specific electromagnetic noise or vibrations.

If that was the case, then the signal source might be far more complex and "hidden" than imagined.

During the voyage, he sent a new security signal to Taylor: "First phase went smoothly. Have new discoveries. All is well. Miss you."

Almost instantly, he received a reply: "The sunset in Miami is very noisy (there are many sounds). I found a piano. Waiting for you to come back and listen. Peace."

The short words made his tense nerves relax instantly, and the corners of his mouth lifted involuntarily. He cast his gaze outside the porthole. The sunset was burning on the horizon, dyeing the sky and the sea a magnificent orange-red. The fishing boat was cutting through the waves, sailing toward the next stretch of deep blue that needed to be listened to.