Not the End of the World by Christopher Brookmyre Page B

conducting a study of the sub‐
oceanic topography. Undersea landscapes, in layman’s terms. There’s mountain ranges bigger than the Himalayas down there, and trenches deeper than the Grand Canyon.’
    ‘The Gazes Also, huh? Cute name for that sort of work.’
    Janie squinted against the sun and turned to look at Larry, who had moved further along the walkway.
    ‘I hadn’t thought about it,’ she said. ‘We come across so many dumb names for boats, you stop wondering what they’re referring to. Most of the time it’s probably someone’s wife. Or their dog. What’s cute about this one?’
    ‘It’s Nietzsche,’ Larry told her, turning away again to stare at the vessel, the name etched on the bows and the life‐
savers. ‘“When you gaze into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”’
    ‘Jesus, they got cops quoting Nietzsche now?’ Janie said with a wry smile, nudging up the peak of her cap with her Coke can. ‘What, you gotta answer on philosophy for the sergeant’s exam these days?’
    ‘No, I read it on my cereal box this morning. It’s a thought for the day deal. If I’d had Cheerios instead of corn flakes I’d never have known – Cheerios are still running their Gems of Kierkegaard series.’
    ‘Of course.’
    Larry thought the boat looked somehow humbled tied up in dock. Manacled here, where it didn’t belong, balefully lifeless, humiliated by its captivity.
    Janie finished her soda and arced it practisedly into a trashcan nearby.
    ‘Okay, here’s the scene,’ she said. ‘The Gazes Also failed to respond to radio contact from CalORI last Monday morning.’
    ‘The research institute?’
    ‘That’s right. So they reported it to us. It’s no blue‐
light thing. Happens now and again – maybe a power problem or damage to transmission equipment. So first of all we tried a relay off vessels in the area of its last reported co‐
ordinates. Still incommunicado. Then we got in touch with a trawler that was pretty close by and requested from the captain that he make a detour and check it out. He radioed back Monday evening sounding real spooked. The boat’s there, all right, it’s drifted a little, but he’s found it. First he tries to radio again, but still no reply. When he gets close enough he calls over his loud‐
hailer. Still nada. Eventually his boat ties up alongside and he boards.’
    ‘And nobody’s home?’
    ‘Yeah, but that ain’t what spooked him. Come on, I’ll show you.’
    Janie led Larry down a gangway to the boardwalk that skirted the water. She traded greetings with two guys tying up a launch as they walked past. They wore the same get‐
up, even the baseball caps. Larry understood what Bannon meant about the shorts. One of those guys really should have been told he didn’t have the knees for joining the Coast Guard.
    There were official tapes across the rails either side of the gang plank that led on to the Gazes Also. Janie ducked under, catching her cap on the yellow plastic strips as she did so. She pulled her ponytail free of the hat and gripped it by the skip. Larry stepped wide‐
legged over the tapes and climbed aboard. She beckoned him to follow her down some steps into the cabins below deck. He folded up his sunglasses into his shirt pocket and descended.
    ‘This is pretty much as was,’ she said, indicating the galley. ‘The trawler captain swears he touched nothing and I believe him. These guys can get very superstitious and I think he wanted off this boat as fast as his legs would carry him.’
    Larry looked around him. The stale smell and the sound of flies had made his stomach go rigid as he came down those stairs, a reflex conditioned by years of forced entries into locked buildings where the occupants were in no condition for greeting visitors, and frequently in no condition for open‐
casket funerals either. But there were no such unfortunates here. The stale smell came from the sink, where dinner plates and cutlery lay submerged under