The upper quadrant of the touch screen turned light orange, with a series of letters and numbers quickly resolving from top to bottom.

”... we are only getting the remission codes from the built-in safety net,” the Captain thought.

“Captain, contact bearing 190, speed 17, moving away from us,” the voice of the surface search officer came over the tiny super digital speaker at the bottom of the touch screen.

“Verify identity, give me tracking coordinates, give me computer solution” the Captain quietly said.

The leaden-colored seas were bursting over the bows in mountains of foam and smashing against the triple-layered, composite see-through observation portholes lining the forehead of the enclosed bridge.

“Captain, no signals, contact bearing 195, tracking coordinates one / five / nine, computer solution returns small vessel under five thousand, metal, speed 18,” the reply came.

We may be running into fellow humans .. at last?

“Prepare to fire flares, ready with a Morse scope.”

Irony: the Morse code!