Kitabı oku: «At depth», sayfa 4
7. DIVE
After completing the introductory briefing, the entire crew began to settle into the submarine. They slept, brushed their teeth, ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner, showered, did laundry, tested their work equipment, and familiarised themselves with their workstations in the central compartment. They spent three days inside the Amphibia without leaving the sub, which still remained on the surface with the hatch open. In turn, all crew members practiced operating the bathyscaphes, each making four dives. The control of the manipulator arm was assigned to Henry, as its operation was exceptionally complex.
Early in the morning, Captain De Bont took his place in the central compartment and spoke over the radio:
— Base, this is Amphibia. Over.
A crackling sound in the speakers was then replaced by a familiar male voice:
— Base is listening. Over.
It was the man everyone called Stanley.
— Requesting permission to dive. Over.
— Permission granted. Read back. Over.
— Base, read you loud and clear. Commencing dive. End communication.
Having disconnected the communication, the Captain began starting up the equipment and issuing orders to the First Officer:
— Unmoor the vessel. Secure all hatches.
Morgan swiftly detached the mooring lines along the entire perimeter that had been holding the submarine in place, then secured the entry hatch, followed by the one that sealed the opening between the central compartment and the conning tower. Returning to the central compartment, he reported the order executed and took his station at the instrument panel to the Captain’s right.
— Prepare for dive. Open the valves for the bow and stern ballast tanks.
— Valves for bow and stern ballast tanks, opened.
A vector image of the submarine appeared on the Captain’s screen. On the image, the hull was divided into three sections: stern, central, and bow. The bow and stern sections turned blue from the bottom up. The blue bar gradually rose as the ballast tanks filled with water. The numerical values on the bow and stern of the illustration gradually increased, reflecting the percentage of the volume filled with water. The value «0%” remained in the center of the image, reflecting the percentage of the central ballast filled with water.
Dr. Moore crossed herself, sincerely hoping for a safe return. Hector Cage fixed his gaze on a distant point, a smile on his face, unable to believe that after all this time, he was heading not just into an aquatic environment, but to a place his former upstart colleagues could never even dream of reaching. Like a child, he felt he was setting off on an adventure. Kayla recalled the sample cultured in her home lab, which was already the seventy-fifth one. She had placed the container in liquid nitrogen to ensure the material remained unchanged until her return. Tucker settled leisurely into his ergonomic chair, immersed in thoughts of descending to the bottom as quickly as possible and discovering the fossilized remains of something. Otherwise, he would deeply regret having voluntarily agreed to such a long abstinence from all the pleasures of life, and such sacrifices absolutely had to be justified. Henry did not take his eyes off the huge display located opposite the First Officer’s workstation. There, he closely monitored readings for temperature, pressure, trim, roll, diving speed, the status of open and closed compartments, the individual fill level of each ballast tank, and many other indicators. He ensured that everything was operating normally and without deviations. The adjacent screen was almost the same size. It was intended to display images from external cameras, night vision devices, and thermal imagers. This display could also be connected to any of the instruments to duplicate the information display for the entire crew to review.
As soon as the bow and stern ballast tanks were full, Captain De Bont gave a new command, simultaneously specifying the exact depth:
— Open the valves for the central ballast. Dive to ninety meters.
— Dive to ninety, executed — Morgan responded.
The submarine continued to descend.
The screen Henry was monitoring displayed a graphic representation of the vessel’s position and current depth. The hangar gates had been left closed. The Amphibia was exiting the bay via a vertical dive.
— Ninety meters, achieved — Morgan reported as the depth was reached.
The instruments showed a pressure level of nine atmospheres.
The Captain approached the large screen and ordered the engineer:
— Henry, bring up the images from cameras one through four.
— On screen now.
A few seconds later, the screen displayed a full 360-degree view of the space around the submarine, provided by the main cameras positioned on a single horizontal plane at the bow, stern, and both sides of the hull.
— Starboard main engine, full ahead.
Having acknowledged the commander, Morgan engaged the starboard propeller at full power. The Amphibia began to turn. The Captain, meanwhile, made sure that the vessel’s hull did not graze the support structure upon which the entire station rested. Shortly after successfully completing the manoeuvre to exit the base, and after examining the graphic map on which the Amphibia’s current location served as the central point, Captain De Bont issued his next order:
— Set course zero-seven-six.
Upon reaching the specified course, the First Officer stopped the starboard engine and reported this to the Captain.
— Dive to one thousand meters. Twenty degrees trim by the bow. Both main engines, half speed.
— Twenty degrees. Half speed, executed.
The dive continued. Pressure readings increased. Starting from the one-hundred-metre mark, Morgan announced the depth at fifty-meter intervals.
From this moment on, the Captain rarely sat in his chair. He constantly moved around the central compartment, checking his own screens, then the larger ones of the engineer and the First Officer.
At a depth of five hundred meters, the Captain gave the order:
— All stop.
— All stop, executed.
— Display three-dimensional chart.
The engineer and the Captain approached the holographic platform, which was located opposite the scientists on the other side of the walkway. Henry activated a three-dimensional image of the ocean, where the bottom relief was visible. A red marker, indicating the Amphibia’s position, also showed on the chart. After determining the distance from the submarine to the seabed at their current location, the Captain decided to make an adjustment:
— Vertical dive three hundred meters.
— Vertical dive three hundred, executed.
Having descended another three hundred meters, Captain De Bont gave a new command:
— Dive to two thousand meters. Twenty degrees trim.
— Dive to two thousand. Twenty degrees trim, executed.
— All four engines, half speed.
— Half speed, executed. Engaging auxiliary engines.
The two main and two auxiliary propellers easily propelled the Amphibia through the Atlantic’s depths. By staying closer to the seabed, the crew increased the chances of discovering any find that might have been lying there since time immemorial.
— Activate floodlights.
— Floodlights activated.
— Henry, display images from cameras five through ten on our scientists’ screens.
— Executing.
The cameras installed along the submarine’s bottom, now operating under powerful floodlight illumination, marked the beginning of Hector, Kayla, and Tucker’s observations of the ocean floor.
— Captain. Captain! — Morgan nervously exclaimed.
— What is it? — Luther de Bont asked calmly, approaching Morgan.
The First Officer pointed his finger at the sonar and said:
— An object is approaching. Bearing zero-eight-two. One thousand one hundred meters.
— All stop — the Captain firmly ordered, maintaining his iron composure.
— All stop, executed.
— Deactivate floodlights.
— Floodlights deactivated — the First Officer continued in the same agitated voice.
The screens that the scientists had been intently watching before the commotion plunged into darkness. Hector and Kayla were visibly frightened. Kayla sank as deep into her chair as possible, much like one does while watching a horror film. Hector watched the Captain’s actions as if distraught, fearing to hear something that would signal the beginning of a conflict. Tucker was barely concerned by the developments. The sudden emergency only prompted him to change his position: he removed his hand from the right armrest and leaned on the left.
— What’s the matter? — a voice called from the passageway. It was Dr. Moore.
— Nothing out of the ordinary, Miss Moore. It’s called deep-sea navigation — the Captain calmly assured her, moving toward the holographic platform. He addressed the engineer:
— Henry, identify the object.
— Already on it.
Observing Captain De Bont’s brisk, businesslike stride and his decisive tone, Kate Moore became even more anxious. She immediately began searching for something to lean against for support.
By manipulating the holographic platform, Henry projected an image of the object. The Captain scrutinized it.
— Well, well, well. Looks like the Americans.
— It is them? — Henry murmured.
— Yes, American subs have hulls like that. Most likely an Ohio-class. They’ve certainly gone deep. Must be a modernized generation. I hadn’t heard about this. The last Ohio model didn’t dive deeper than five hundred and fifty meters. And here they are, at a kilometer and a half already. Are they still moving? — the Captain said, raising his voice slightly as he turned to Morgan.
— They are moving. But not directly toward us. A nineteen-degree deviation to starboard. Distance one thousand fifty meters.
The Captain walked up to the sonar and, squinting at the screen, muttered:
— As if they would be heading straight for us.
— Don’t they see us? — Kayla asked puzzled.
— Otherwise, we wouldn’t have bothered designing the Amphibia — Henry replied.
Suddenly, the signals accompanying the flashing dot on the sonar rapidly accelerated:
PING! PING! PING!
— Morgan, set a course of zero-three-two. Bow plane down fifteen degrees. Main engines, slow ahead. Dead slow.
Tapping rapidly on different areas of the touch panel, the First Officer executed the commands precisely. Half a minute later, the distance between the Amphibia and the American sub began to gradually increase. The signal on the sonar started flashing slightly less often:
Ping… Ping…
— Captain? — Henry called out.
— Yes?
— They shifted the trim from bow to stern.
Smiling sarcastically, the Captain murmured:
— So that’s their crush depth limit. What is it?
— One thousand six hundred and fifty meters.
— Amateurs — the Captain declared proudly, then clapped his First Officer on the shoulders with both hands and commanded: — Course zero-eight-five. All engines, half ahead. Bow plane twenty degrees down.
— Aye, aye, sir.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, and Dr. Tucker Hughes leaned back onto his right arm again.
The Captain returned to his station and once again assessed the map with the planned route. After making a few measurements, he waited until the boat had traveled eight hundred metres, then gave the order:
— Course zero-seven-six.
— Zero-seven-six, aye, aye.
— What’s the sonar contact?
— Clear.
— Turn on the floodlights.
— Floodlights are on.
Captain De Bont stood up from his chair and straightened, addressing the scientists and Dr. Moore:
— Esteemed passengers, our vessel has left the turbulence zone. Thank you for your patience. You may unfasten your seat belts and proceed to the galley. Hot meals and cool beverages await you there.
8. THERMOCLINE
— Have you truly never considered starting a family? — Kayla asked the Captain during the meal, pouring grape juice for everyone.
— Well, like most people, I suppose those thoughts cropped up in my youth, back when I was still a rookie on the aircraft carrier.
— And what changed after that?
— After that, I went ashore — first in one port, then a second, a third, and so on endlessly. Believe it or not, Miss Fox, the red-light districts are home not only to the world’s oldest profession but also its most reliable. And where those districts were absent, the guys and I would head to a bar, and we’d play it by ear from there. If we got lucky, all the better — no need to pay. If not, we just had to hold out until the next port. What about you?
Kayla didn’t have to think long about her reply.
— As a friend of mine says, I’m married to my microscope.
— Oh, come on. — the Captain chuckled. — You should take what I’m about to say as a compliment. You are far too attractive not to be popular with the opposite sex. So, I don’t buy those stories of yours. You definitely had a grand romance, not just some fleeting fling. Right? Spill it.
— Alright then. Just promise not to laugh. And what I’m about to tell you must stay strictly between us.
— Did everyone hear that? — the Captain asked the crew at the table, a little more sternly. — If anyone here can’t restrain the urge to divulge other people’s secrets, I ask you to temporarily leave the galley.
The reply was only silence.
Acknowledging the eyes of the entire crew focused on her, Kayla made a sincere confession.
— Essentially, back in university, I was seeing a guy from a parallel course. We slept together maybe seven times. I started to feel drawn to him. I suspected he didn’t have serious plans for me, but I hoped that if I excelled in bed, he’d change his mind. But at our next meeting, he suggested we try a threesome. The third person was supposed to be a man. Naturally, I asked him the first thing that came to mind. He said no, he was strictly straight. Being intimate with him felt like more than just animalistic mating. There was a sort of emotional pull. So, I wasn’t keen on participating in that whole Freudian/Sacher-Masoch fantasy. But he eventually persuaded me. When the act was at its height, I felt a sensation as though my heart would stop from the sheer ecstasy of it… That experience corrupted me. The attraction I felt for the guy suddenly evaporated. Now I started viewing every potential partner as merely a tool to satisfy my primal urges. No attachment, no attempts to understand a person’s views, character, or life priorities. In short, I began to doubt I could ever remain faithful to my partner. And frankly, given my occupation, I prefer simple biology. Not just in my work, but in my personal life too.
— Ahem — Tucker rasped. — Since we’re doing this, I suppose I’ll try to pour out my soul too. Honestly, these sorts of conversations are exactly what we need to recall the most tumultuous moments of our youth.
— We’ll soon be going around in circles — the First Officer quipped sarcastically.
— Dibs on going next — said Henry.
— And that’s an order — the Captain added.
As the galley filled with the synchronous laughter of the entire crew, Dr. Moore immediately hid her face behind her glass, slowly sipping the grape juice in small gulps. Her eyes focused on the bottom of the glass, and her cheeks took on a slightly brighter shade of pink.
— No, seriously — the Captain continued. — Before this voyage is over, each of us must confess to some kind of shocking experience we’ve endured, if not an outright sin.
Everyone nodded in unison. There was no reaction from Dr. Moore.
— It happened in Los Angeles — the paleontologist began. — Or, rather, it started there. I went to visit my cousin for Christmas during my final year of university. He told me over the phone that he’d been invited to celebrate the holiday at the cottage of some film producer who lived in Beverly Hills, and that, supposedly, crowds of models, famous movie stars, and singers would be hanging around. So, I arrived at the airport on Christmas Eve. But right there, practically at the ramp, my cousin informed me that the plans had changed and no party with the Hollywood bigwig was going to happen. I figured he’d been taken off the invite list. But it turned out that my uncle, aunt, and their daughter had simply gone to celebrate Christmas with relatives in Vancouver, leaving their son on his own. So, my cousin, it turns out, had managed to gather five friends in just a few hours, tracked down an eight-seater van somewhere, and found the address of a first-class brothel not far from the Mexican border. Many people had heard about this establishment, but only a few knew its exact location. And my cousin paid seven hundred dollars for the intelligence about the brothel’s whereabouts.
— Just for the address? — Morgan asked, his tone suggesting he was sure it was some kind of scam.
— Believe me, my friend, that intelligence is better than any message for 007. Anyway, the whole company hit the road, driving east along the highway past San Diego. We twisted and turned through the area for half an hour until we found the street. Turns out it wasn’t on the map.
— Even MI6 would envy that level of secrecy — Captain De Bont commented.
— Exactly! And I was already having all sorts of thoughts creeping into my head. That area was populated almost entirely by Mexicans. I kept thinking, «I hope we don’t end up captured by some drug cartel.» That was all we needed. Though, rumour had it that the brothel did, in fact, belong to some drug lord. Anyway, we parked where the establishment was supposedly located. From the outside, it looked like a perfectly ordinary two-story house with a basement. The only thing that distinguished it from the others was its sheer size. Otherwise, nothing special. We walked in, and there was a two-meter bouncer at the entrance. I was surprised by how courteous he was, though. He asked what he could do to help, and, crucially, he was completely non-aggressive. My cousin gave him something that sounded like a password, and we were let through. The moment I stepped inside… I’m telling you, no nightclub could even come close. The lighting was a deep magenta hue. I don’t know how Viagra works, but that light got me going within the first few seconds. The whole place reeked of lust. The women were dressed in minimalist attire. Nothing superfluous. They looked as if they’d been sculpted. Lust in their eyes, debauchery on their tongues, and temptation beckoning from their necklines. The further down you looked, the deeper the vice. When the first one approached, I thought she was about to solicit. But she just asked me to buy her a drink. We went to the bar, where I ordered her a martini. And that’s when my cousin began to explain. It turns out that every woman in the establishment has her own minimum fee. But you don’t pay for an hour spent with the woman; you pay for the drink you buy her. If you want role-playing, you pay extra and ask for ice to be put in the glass. If you want the woman to service you in the most intimate way before the main event, you ask for a straw to be placed in the glass, and the cost of the drink increases by a specific sum. If you want the full package, the glass will contain not only the martini, ice, and straw, but also an umbrella, a slice of lemon, a lime, and much more. So, this is how it works: the patron pays for a drink. He’s even issued a receipt. Everything is documented. The price list details the prices for all drinks and for every possible garnish or additive. The sums are astronomical. But the clients didn’t mind. They pay for the drinks, and the sex is complimentary. And no one can prosecute them criminally. All revenue is recorded in the financial statements. Everything is official. What markup to place on the drinks is up to the owners. After all, mutual consensual intercourse is not prohibited. And the women there were formally employed as simple waitresses. So…
— Captain!
The startled crew members, whose attention had been elsewhere, snapped back to reality. Hector, who had been monitoring the screens, ran into the galley.
— Yes, Mr. Cage?
— Stop the sub immediately!
The entire crew rushed to the central compartment. Standing before the screens, Captain De Bont commanded:
— All stop.
— All stop, aye.
— There was something sticking out there — Hector excitedly reported, continually pointing at the section of the screen that displayed the view from the seventh camera.
— Alright, Morgan. Main engines, dead slow astern. Dead slow.
The Amphibia continued moving in the same attitude but in reverse along the ocean floor. Every single crew member’s gaze was fixed on the upper right corner of the large screen, where the ichthyologist had just been insistently pointing. The entire crew stood waiting for something to appear on the screen. The Amphibia moved so slowly that nothing could escape their notice. There was plenty of time to properly examine every square centimeter under the floodlights. The image drifted by unhurriedly. Only the Captain and the Engineer looked at the feed coming not from the seventh but from the fifth camera, which was located closer to the shaft seal. Eventually, under the powerful glow of the floodlights on the dark bottom, Captain De Bont noticed a bright spot.
— All stop.
— All stop, aye.
fter a couple of seconds of deliberation, the Captain added:
— Morgan, shift the hull a few more meters so that the airlock is directly over that thing. Set the trim to zero. Henry, you’re coming with me.
The Captain and the Engineer hurried to the access pool. The First Officer reversed another four meters, after which the Captain’s voice came over the intercom:
— Central, over.
— Central listening — Morgan replied.
— Continue reverse thrust.
— Understood.
Maintaining dead slow astern, Morgan shifted the Amphibia a little further and stopped the screws when he heard over the intercom:
— We have visual contact.
Morgan switched on the camera feed installed near the access pool. The screen showed Henry delicately operating the control panel and levers while seated on the manipulator arm. Among the available tools for gripping the object, he decided to use a scoop, similar to a grader’s blade. Submerging the seven-meter folding titanium arm underwater, Henry scraped the soil off the ocean floor along with the suspicious white object. As soon as the scoop was inside the sub’s cavity, the Captain pressed a button on the wall, and the airlock began to close. The Captain then walked up to the intercom panel and said:
— Morgan, activate the drainage system. Miss Fox, please take all the necessary tools from the lab and come down to retrieve the find.
Fourteen minutes later, the item recovered from the Atlantic Ocean floor lay on a table in the biological laboratory, surrounded by the entire crew, with the exception of Morgan, who remained at his post.
— Who has any initial thoughts? — Captain De Bont asked.
Dr. Tucker Hughes leaned closer to examine the object more carefully. It was shaped like a tube, four centimetres in diameter, with smooth walls and ragged ends. The object measured nine and a half centimetres in length.
Holding a magnifying glass to the object, the paleontologist began to speculate:
— It looks like a skeletal fragment. The condition of the ends is very peculiar. One might assume that the owner of this bone had their skeleton broken, and the edges of this fragment were worn down by the saltwater. Yet, the walls are in pristine condition. That is highly unusual. The ends are abraded, but the exterior tissues look almost fresh.
— Miss Fox?
— I’m surprised this fragment was found here, in the thermocline, where the coldest layers of the ocean are located.
— And what about the examination?
— I think I’ll start with radiocarbon dating. We need to determine how ancient this bone is. After that, I will attempt DNA identification. Let’s find out what this thing is, and then we’ll decide on the next steps.
— Excellent — Captain De Bont concluded. — The first specimen has been collected.
