KULO LUNA INTRODUCTION

John Storm is obsessed with the search for his ancestors; the divine spark that separated humans as a species from his primate cousins. He has amassed a voluminous collection of DNA samples from dozens of archaeological digs, mostly around Tanzania in Africa. He's also fond of wreck diving, especially on the galleons of old looking for treasure. One day he inherits a unique boat from an eccentric English uncle - his uncle's life's work - which will change the course of John's life forever.

The boat is solar powered, artificially intelligent and advanced robotically, sleek and deadly fast. Storm decides to enter it in a world navigation race, which he is winning, when Steve Green, a reporter friend, tells him that a humpback whale is in trouble 2000 miles west of Hawaii ........ and our adventure begins ......

THE RELEASE DATE FOR THIS BOOK HAS HAD TO BE PUT BACK IN FAVOUR OF DEVELOPING A SCRIPT - WE APOLOGISE FOR THE DELAY

PROLOGUE

The twin-engine Shorts seaplane banked left, executing a graceful well practiced arc taking the craft parallel to an impressive sheer Arctic ice face some two hundred and fifty feet high. The pilot, Peter Shaw, motioned to his passengers pointing toward a frosted blue ice section the size of a small island, which had detached itself from the main body of compacted icecap, thousands of years old. They flew along the ice shelf two hundred and fifty feet above the sea.  

            “It takes your breath away,” Shaw said to the nearest of his two passengers, a reporter named Steve Green.       

            “Yeah,” replied Steve after a long delay. He was transfixed on the scenery. 

            Then after another long delay, the pilot continued, “Few people are not impressed.” 

            Before them was a panoramic expanse of white wilderness. Cold, clean and magnificent, yet in danger of slowly crumbling into the southern Arctic Ocean, its fragility revealed by man’s unrelenting transgressions against the delicate balance of nature: Global Warming.  

            In his youth, Peter Shaw had spent three months as a volunteer manning a so-called ice-station. Now, thirty years later he ferried grateful scientists and reporters to and from various landmarks. He’d grown to love the crisp Arctic air. Some might say an acquired taste, others, inevitable, with a degree of envy. Until now the flight had lacked communication, but the pilot kicked into travel guide mode when he saw his beloved stomping ground. 

            “The name ‘Arctic’ comes from the Greek for bear; ‘Arktos’ after the great white polar bear.”  

Steve nodded genuinely interested. “So the Arctic is the icy land with bears?” asked Steve. 

            “That’s right,” said Peter “the Antarctic in so named because it has no bears. From the Greek ‘Anti’ and ‘Arktos’ making Anti-Arktos, or Antarctic; the land without bears.” 

            “And now nobody knows where the name came from,” said Steve, “they just think of snow blizzards and sub zero temperatures when they hear ‘Arctic’.” 

            Peter and the passenger seated behind, Charley, said “Uh,huh” in unison then looked at each other. Steve turned to his trusty friend and long time camerawoman, ‘Charley’. “You are getting this?” referring to the visuals. Charley was concentrating on capturing the unfolding scenery as the long range seaplane got close enough for the camera to pick up melt detail, thanks to some quality flying. 

           “Sure thing, boss”, whispered Charley, suitably tinged with sarcasm, trying not to move too much as large blocks of ice face obligingly cascaded into the freezing Arctic waters. This fast disappearing ice mass is home to seals and polar bears, who have a starring role in the unfolding tragedy that is man’s folly; for it is man alone who holds the quill that writes history with his unique ability to understand and influence his environment.  

            The forty-ish reporter carried his 5’ 10” medium build well and liked his dark straight hair neatly cut in a modern style and medium length. He liked being middle aged, and was fortunate to be young looking and energetic beyond his years. He’s usually ready to travel anywhere in the world at the drop of a hat to cover the latest international incident. As some of his contemporaries wouldn’t let him forget, he is the Indiana Jones of reporting, an image reinforced by his liking for a well worn dark brown leather jacket, natural cotton chinos and denim shirt, while in the field. This is because they are practical clothes that he doesn’t have to fuss over and they help him blend in.  

         The young Steve Green graduated from Oxford University with a degree in the arts. He took a job with the well known London paper; the Evening Standard. After a year learning his craft, he moved upmarket to The Independent, when the editor spotted an out of place article by virtue of being rather better researched than necessary, about a large raft of ice breaking from the Arctic shelf. The block was bigger than the United Kingdom, hence, was big news at the time and he was head hunted, mainly because a number of scientific periodicals, notably the New Scientist, had reprinted the article verbatim with permission.  

            From that point on Green became listed with news agencies around the world, thereafter supplementing his journalism with video footage, which he shot himself in those early days. He became an expert in his field and thoroughly devoted to interesting scientific breaking stories. He liked being at the cutting edge, in this case the melt ledge.  

            “Well Charley, that’s good enough for me. Mr Shaw, thanks. Would you take us back now?” Another long silence followed. The seaplane swung away from the ice face and up, climbing moderately. The engine noise changed to a deep roar as it strained, then quietened as the plane leveled out. 

            “Did you know it was here the iceberg detached, which sunk the Titanic.” Steve and Charley looked at each other, bewildered.

            “No.” Said Charley.  

            “Yes, they put it down to unusual weather activity at the time – 1912 I think, Baffin Bay, the big ship sailed from Southampton.” The pilot introduced himself, “Peter’s the name.” 

             “It was April,” said Charley, who introduced herself, “I’m Charley. The night of the 14^th and 15^th, a bitterly cold evening in the North Atlantic.” 

             Peter turned round to look at Steve and Charley, he frowned. “How’d you know that missy?” 

            “Our family had a friend on board – a musician from Eastbourne,” Charley said in a low voice. “Never reached New York. 1,500 people drowned. They only found the wreck in 1985.” 

              Steve looked surprised, Charley had never mentioned this before. “Have we got a life-raft on board.” Steve joked, then wished he hadn’t. “Sorry.” ….. 

             “That’s okay.” They all laughed awkwardly, stopping quickly to check they had lifejackets. 

             Charley continued “It wasn’t just the lifeboats, the lookout had no binoculars and they’d used cast iron rivets instead of steel rivets to join the hull plates, so when the ship struck the iceberg, the heads snapped off allowing the plate seams to part easily. Apparently, the radio operator was too busy sending passenger messages to pass on a message about ice further south than normal and had been rude to the Carpathia’s radio operator, who then turned off their radio. Carpathia was less than two hours away at the time. For these reasons, the Titanic was fated and the passengers, who got off the ship, would have to wait four hours for rescue.”  

            They flew east heading over Greenland to the North Sea and then back to England, a journey of at least 3 hours in a slow turboprop plane, climbing to 4,000 feet. After a while the changing scenery held little interest and all Steve and Charley could think about was getting their story edited in time for inclusion on the first available news slot. Steve was sitting with his laptop clacking away on the keys. Charley was viewing the footage and making notes as to prime clips, when the radio crackled into life. “Control calling Echo, Four, Two, Delta, come in, over.” 

            After his usual long delay, Peter replied, “Hello control, Echo, Four, Two, Delta here. What can we do for you. Over.” 

           “We were wondering if your passengers managed to secure footage of the ice face? Over.” Steve had stopped working and was leaning over in anticipation, so Peter handed him the mike. 

           “Steve here control. Yes, we’ve got the package and just working on the narrative and sorting clips. ETA 80 minutes, over.” 

           “That’s what we wanted to hear Mr Green. Well done to both of you. We’re waiting for you. You have another assignment in Hawaii. You're gonna love this one - a solar boat race. Over and out.” 

            Steve handed back the mike and said to Peter, “Was that about right for time of arrival?” 

           “We’ll have to do our best,” came back the pilot, rather quicker than usual.  

            “What’s the story then?” asked Peter. "Do you know about the ODS?” 

           “The what?” said Steve, who's mind was now churning on the new story. 

           “The Orbiting Density Sensor,” said Charley. “I don’t know what that means, but I’ve heard of it.” 

           A smile cracked on Peter’s rugged features. “The ODS is a satellite which can measure the density of the earth’s surfaces. It’s a bloody useful little box of tricks if you’re a geologist prospecting for oil. But it’s also useful to the boffins trying to measure the rate of melt of the polar ice caps.” 

          “Now that is interesting, the story is the rapid melt….” 

          “Due to the albedo-feedback effect?” 

          “Yes,” said Steve. “In thirty years scientists estimate we’ve lost forty thousand square miles of Arctic ice.”  

            Peter jumped back in “In its frozen state Arctic ice will reflect up to ninety percent of sunlight; incoming solar radiation or insolation, to give it its technical name. But when melted the same area of seawater captures ninety percent of that energy. It’s that warming loop making Arctic temperatures rise at double the global rate.” 

           “We’re losing our natural insulation blanket,” Charley interjected. 

           “Quite right,” said Peter. Just look at the Northwest Passage. Before global warming only icebreakers and the occasional hardy explorer would dare to wrestle their way through the frozen passage, it’s now navigable for several months of the year.” 

            Canadian authorities were quick to claim the passage as Internal waters and demand a fee similar to that imposed at the Panama Canal as another lucrative commercial path for merchant fleets.  

            “Well will you look at that.” Steve and Charley scanned the scenery. Peter was pointing ahead to a small patch of white in the sea. They all strained to see more. Peter took the Shorts down to a thousand feet in a steep approach then leveled out. As they got closer Charley realised it was a group of whales swimming together. She let out a motherly sigh. 

           “It’s some Atlantic humpbacks. Not so many of those as Pacific humpbacks.” 

          “Take us closer please,” said Charley excitedly as she fitted a more powerful zoom lens to her camera. 

           “Typical,” said Steve, “one tail fluke and you go to pieces. Still, they are suffering too as their krill is thinning out from acid oceans.” 

           “Shhhhh,” said Charley, wanting to take in the moment.  

             Peter went lower still and Charley caught a full broach from a playful whale that was being chased by another. 

           “I got that full frame, she shouted triumphantly. I wish I knew what they were thinking.” 

           Steve and Peter tried to imagine Charley as a whale, which was difficult because she was so elegant. 

          “I’ve a mate who really loves these whales. He uses the SAA to listen to them singing. He claims you can track a family of whales from those old hydrophones. 

          “Really?” said Steve. “I thought they’d scrapped that cold war relic.” The SAA, or Suboceanic Acoustic Array consisted of around fifty deep sea hydrophones formerly used to track submarines in the 60s and 70s. Then submarine designers got smart and developed quiet propellers, and submarine captains learned to steer passages clear of the SAA grid. Steve and Peter explained all this to Charley.  

                  “What do you think about the illegal whaling?” Peter floated the question generally. 

                 “It’s not fair,” said Charley. “Poor things wouldn’t hurt a fly.”  

         “They are rather stunning, symbolic of all that’s good in nature – evolutionary genius.” 

All three sat silently for the remaining trip home, a warm feeling inside from seeing nature’s gentle giants in action, mixed with a feeling of guilt that it is humans who are destroying their habitat. It was not for them to be outspoken where politicians seemed to have missed the fact that continuous growth would eventually strip bare the earth leaving a barren planet as all the natural resources are consumed to feed an ever multiplying population.  As reporters, it was their job to collect solid data and report that information accurately. That was their unspoken mission.

KULO-LUNA   CHAPTERS $BILLION DOLLAR WHALE

KULO-LUNA  - THE CAST

Scene 34: Role reversal, Kulo Luna guides the damaged Solarnavigator through stormy seas. Artwork, acrylic on paper.

Extract of Kulo Luna - Copyright © Jameson Hunter 2006 and 2019. The right of Jameson Hunter to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.  In this work of fiction, the characters, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or they are used entirely fictitiously. Set in 10/11pt Palatino by Blueplanet Universal Productions & Electrick Publications, London, England.  ISBN:  0-953-7824-01

Papers used by Electrick’s Publishers are natural, recyclable products made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

PLASTIC MENACE - The Galapagos Islands are strewn with plastic that is invading fish stocks presenting a food security issues in the making.