Pi Day Doomsday

MOVING DAY

They spent a restless, sleepless night, anticipating the morning’s dive. Reveille echoed down the hallway, irritating Briscoe. Out of his bunk in seconds, he was dressed, headed to Mess. The bunk, slamming the wall, alerted Cross to the time.

“I’m right behind you, Chief,” he said, crawling into on his jumpsuit.

Hands clapped, greeting his entry into the room. Officers rushing through breakfast recognized him, then applauded faster, louder with Cross’s entry. Word of their discovery had passed over the ship faster than the storm. Their final dive would allow the Captain to pull anchor and head the ship back to San Diego. They were the ticket home.

“Aren’t you having breakfast?” Cross asked.

“Just coffee. Too nervous for food. I’d hate to upchuck in the Exosuit.”

“I know where you’re coming from, Chief. I’ve done it in a rough DSV ride. No fun then, or later cleaning it up. Just cereal for me. Much easier to keep down.”

Briscoe sipped coffee, thinking back to their dive together in different vessels, him in a hard-shell, Cross in Dipsy. “So how are you going to handle me? Remember?”

“Like an egg: raw not hard-boiled. Yes, I remember your words exactly, like it was yesterday.”

“Precisely. And if I signal both arms up, touching over my head?”

“You’re okay.”

“One arm up, waving?”

“You’ve got a problem or are in trouble.”

“Good, Marker. And if I move my extended arm toward my chest?”

“Come toward you.”

“That’s how I’ll signal you when I have Adam ready to load.”

Cross held up his hand, stopping Briscoe’s lesson. “Chief, do you remember that the Exosuit has a baseband voice communicator built in? You can just talk to me, like a normal conversation. I’ll answer back using my external intercom. We shouldn’t need hand signals.”

“Remember that other cardinal rule I taught you? The most important one?”

“Redundancy?”

“Exactly. That’s why the hand signals. It’s impossible to be too careful a thousand feet down.”

“Chief, do not worry. I’ve got your back down there. Just remember you’re not as young as you were. Don’t overexert. Don’t twist or break anything. Take it easy. You have three days of air; I have the same. We’ll make it no matter what happens.”

Smiling, he commented, “I guess I better take my wheelchair down, too. Just in case.”

Cross spit his coffee at that, imagining Briscoe being carried down in an Exosuit wheelchair. “I didn’t mean that, Chief. It’s just that you’re no spring chicken any more. Too many donuts, too much time sitting in a cruiser.”

“Don’t judge me, Marker. I’ll whip your ass in a marathon, anytime.”

They chatted, still drinking coffee, until the room emptied. “Oh crap, it’s six-forty-five. I have to be on deck by seven for suit-up.” Briscoe chugged the last of his coffee, now lukewarm, stood and tugged Cross’s arm. “Let’s go, Marker. We’ve got a world to save.”

As they topped the stairs, the large deck cover was clanking, retracting into its roller. From the void below, the maintenance elevator appeared, lifting the futuristic diving suit, hanging from a large complicated rack, to deck level. Eighteen red swivel joints, gleaming polished metal, interrupted the smooth flow of the white metallic exterior. In the dawning light, it was an otherworldly scene. Four crewmen, adjusting fittings, connecting hoses and checking seals, surrounded it. “Hey Briscoe, want to come try this on?” yelled a crewman.

“Step very carefully into the legs, then slip the suspenders over your shoulders. That’ll hold them up while we secure the top. This is a three-step process, bottom, top, then helmet. After you’re in, we turn on your electronics, air scrubber and pressure control. From that time on, you’re self-contained, feeling and experiencing the same environment, whether you’re on this deck or a thousand feet down. Of course, underwater you’ll be lighter; the extra weight of the suit disappears. Got it?” He backed off, offering Briscoe a hand up a small ladder. Stepping into the bottom of the suit, one leg at a time, Briscoe was unhooked from the rack. “Now slide the suspenders over your shoulders. Ready for the top?”

Cross chuckled, watching from aside, thinking he looked like a rodeo clown wearing the big-waist, suspendered pants they always wear.

Realizing he was about to vanish into the suit, he walked over and held out a hand. “Good luck, Chief. I’ll be waiting in the Glider, prepping it for the dive.”

“Yeah, Marker. Good luck to you, too. When I’m done here I’ll waddle over and we can make a plan. Make sure the probe’s gone. Won’t be needing that anymore.”

He went back to the Glider, leaving Briscoe fighting the suit, wriggling into the arms, tucking himself in.

“Hey Mr. Cross, can you release the manipulators? You’ll need this probe off,” asked a crewman, appearing from nowhere, straining to loosen the cylinder.

“Sure, let me hop in. Tried to take it off yesterday. Too heavy. Just take a second.”

Clunking, whining, the claws opened, releasing their grip on the scintillation probe. It dropped, rolling loose over the upturned arms. “That’s got it. Thanks,” yelled the crewman. Three other crewmen ran up, grabbed the probe and carted it off.

“Hey, we added a suit rack on your bow. Bolted on tight. That way you can see out the viewport. When you get to depth, he can step off or just swim off using his swim fins.”

“Thanks, buddy. This is new to me: the Exosuit and all.”

“Just remember, it’s a swimmable suit; he can swim around the bottom in it. Surface at any time if he needs to; no decompression time needed. ”

“Wow. That’s a long way off from the old hard shells.”

“Don’t exceed one knot though, or he may blow off. Not very hydrodynamic, standing up in the rack.”

“Roger that. Thanks.”

With the scintillator heading off toward the cradles, he ran the manipulator arms through the range-of-motion tests, assuring himself they wouldn’t touch or affect the new suit fixture. They passed with no problem. He continued the predive check out, not thinking of the importance of the dive. To him every dive was as important as any other, since any simple slip-up could cost him his life.

Activating the external intercom, he heard deck sounds, voices yelling, cables straining, over the cabin’s speaker. He spoke “test” into the microphone; the speaker echoed back, confirming its operation.

Clomp. Clomp. Clomp. From the left side of the viewport, the white suit, ribbed in red swivel joints, appeared. Briscoe, a real life Buzz Lightyear, stepped awkwardly toward him. His head glistened with sweat behind the thick acrylic faceplate, miniaturizing his face. “I heard your ‘test’ loud and clear, Marker,” boomed the Exosuit’s transducer.

“I hear your voice and your pressure regulator hissing. I guess this thing works,” Cross spoke from the cabin. Both voices echoed over the deck, stopping the crew in their tracks, eavesdropping on the conversation.

“Step on the platform and attach yourself. There’s supposed to be a latch for your suit to the side of the viewport.”

“I see it. I just gained a few hundred pounds, so I’m moving a little slow. Bear with me.” He grunted, struggling onto the ramp; a loud click signaled his connection. “I’m on. Feels tight. Let’s go.”

Cross keyed the radio, “Ready for winching, bridge.”

Roaring and groaning, the crane swung over the Glider and grabbed the rail dock.

“Copy that, Glider. Winching. Good luck guys.”

The trip down to the warheads took a little over two hours. The squawker was weak, its battery nearly depleted, after the storm’s delay. Cross remembered the crewman telling him the battery would last about twenty-four hours, so he had switched from passive sonar to inertial navigation to complete the approach. Briscoe riding up front was enjoying the beauty of the ride.

“So you think I make a good hood ornament, Marker?”

Cross laughed. “Turn on your suit floods. Hold up one arm and you’ll be the Glider god, leading us onward.”

In the added floodlights, Briscoe shouted, “Adam sighted. Two o’clock, twenty meters ahead. Slow and steady, Marker.”

Cross pulled back the throttle, bringing the Glider to a halt a few meters over the pi-ball and Adam. With the ballasts balanced, the Glider hovered there, slowly drifting in the deep-water currents. “You’re good to go, Chief,” he said. “Look it over and see what we’re dealing with. Watch out for traps, too. If we suddenly see God, We’ll know it was rigged.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic, Marker. We’ll never feel it.”

The amplified click of the harness unlocking jolted Cross; light from the suit’s external floods adding to the Glider’s revealed a scene from Finding Nemo. His eyes adjusting, the ocean floor glowed in the artificial light, iridescent fish flickered above and below them, curiously watching. Adam was there, resting cone down, in a neon-colored coral growth.

“Such beauty with such destruction: beauty and the beast,” Briscoe said, drifting off the platform toward the warhead. The small fins on his feet propelled him forward. Catching his balance he narrowly avoided tripping over Adam. Wedging himself against the coral, he stood, bending over the warhead inspecting it.

“What do you see, Chief?”

“Looks like it’s been modified. The tip of the nose cone is gone, replaced with a thick metal cover. It’s secured with eight locking levers. Should I try to open it. I think I can.”

“Uh, I don’t recommend that, Chief. It may be the last thing you do. Do you hear anything? See any lights? Bubbles?”

“Shhh,” he said. “Let me listen.”

Through the viewport, Cross watched him bend over the warhead, frozen, listening.

“I hear a quiet beeping, about once per second. That means it’s still alive. Want me to load it into the manipulators?”

“Yeah. I need a few seconds first. Gotta talk to my Maker. Tell him it’s not time to meet him, yet. You know what I mean?”

“Me too.”

Briscoe signaled he was ready by standing upright, then motioning Cross to approach.

“Easy does it,” he said. The Glider moved closer. “Stop!” He reached down with his claws, grasped the narrow part of the cone and lifted it into the left manipulator arm. The added weight dropped the Glider to the floor, kicking up silt around them.

“Can you see to slide the other arm under it?” asked Briscoe.

“Not really, but I’ll try.”

“I’m going to lift the heavy end a few inches off the floor. When I do, slide the arm forward.”

“You sure, Chief? Talk me through it.”

“Ungh! Okay, go now. I can’t hold it long.” His voice was straining.

Cross nudged the joystick forward, moving the arm toward Briscoe.

“Stop! This ain’t going to work, Marker. It’s too angled and too heavy for me to lift with this suit.”

“What about your buoyancy, Chief? Can you blow some ballast and lift it that way?”

“I’ve got a heads-up display in my helmet. Let me see if I can do that. Just a moment.”

While he read the display, Cross began thinking of a contingency plan.

“Nope, I don’t think I can. There is something on blowing ballasts, but can’t read it with the sweat in my eyes.”

“Well. I’ve got a way, I think. Can you reach the cable loop below the rack?”

“What for?”

“It’s a tow cable for underwater emergencies. Just flip the levers holding it to the hull and pull it off. You might be able to loop it around the warhead, then over the manipulators and tie it on.”

“Let me try. I’ll give it a shot.”

Briscoe blocked the viewport removing the cable, then returned to the warhead, and began wrapping the cable around it, under and over it, until he bound it tightly to the arms.

“Try moving them up,” he said. Releasing his grip, he waited.

The arms budged, then with hydraulic pumps roaring, rose from the floor, holding the warhead tightly in place.

“I think that’s got it, Marker.”

“Okay, hop on the platform. We’re taking him back.”

Seconds passed, Briscoe straining but not moving. “My right leg is caught between two corals. Stuck. I can’t pull it free.” His voice was calm, yet anxious. He had been in the same position many times before. Coral reefs, outgrowths and cables seemed to have an affinity for legs.

“Can you pull yourself up on the manipulators?”

“Unh. Argh. No, apparently not.”

Cross could hear his heavy breathing as he struggled against the coral. “Okay, I’m going to turn the Glider into a bulldozer for a minute. Try to stand clear of the manipulators; I’ll push the coral away from your leg.”

“Watch the warhead. Don’t lose it.”

Inching forward, the manipulators dropped, contacting the coral. Cross pushed the throttle forward, the propulsion motors groaned, then the coral shifted, moving the slightest amount.

“I’m free,” Briscoe yelled. Excitedly, he pulled away and swam toward the Glider. In an instant, he was on the platform, attaching himself, ready to surface. “Let’s go home, Marker. Get this monster moved.” He stared at it, inches away, imagining the destruction it could cause.

“Hang on tight, Chief. This nightmare is nearly over.”

The two-and-a-half-hour trip back to the ship seemed like days. The added drag of Briscoe’s suit and the warhead, crosswise in the manipulators, slowed the Glider’s progress to a crawl. Even though Cross wanted to rush, his watch was nearing twelve, he kept it moving cautiously, slowly through the water until he saw the surface above them lighten. As if studio lights were turned up, the world around them came back to life, fish swimming around them, water glittering in the midday sun, the dark shadow of the ship looming over them. They were home.

“Trident bridge, can you drop the rail dock another meter or so. We’re riding lower in the water.”

The radio squawked, “Welcome home, Glider. Got a delivery for us?”

“Yep. Prepare the Osprey. It’ll be topside in a few minutes. Let’s get this thing out of here,”

“Roger, Glider. Winching you up.”

Back on deck, the Glider was surrounded by crewmen, rushing to remove Briscoe and unravel the cable holding Adam to the manipulators. Cross threw back the hatch and crawled up, gulping fresh sea air into his lungs. The Glider’s air scrubber had weakened with the added loads, but he hadn’t noticed. He jumped down to the deck, ran up to Briscoe and helped him down, off the platform.

“Doing okay, Chief?” he asked, glancing down at the mangled foot joint.

“I think so. Good to be back.”

As he helped him back to the suit rack, the crewmen moved Adam away from the Glider and slid a harness over him. A loop at the top awaited the Osprey’s hook. They waved back toward the helipad, signaling Harper. Spinning slowly at first, the rotors came to full speed, roaring and lifting the Osprey from the pad. White caps on the waves below blew off in all directions in the rotors’ downdrafts.

The aircraft made a small circle overhead, then came to a stop, hovering over the rail dock. Only fifty feet overhead, the rotors caused hurricane force winds over the deck.

Cabled to the deck, the crew of four grabbed the hook as it swung over their heads, pulled it down to the warhead’s harness and thrust it through, locking the safety catch over it tightly. The lead crewman looked up and gave a thumb’s up to the hook operator, standing in the open doorway above. The Osprey roared, rising skyward, lifting the warhead off the deck. Slowly it turned west and headed off toward the horizon.

It’s roar was quickly replaced by another one from the deck. The crew knew their task was complete. They could go home. Not caring where the warhead was going, they rejoiced as it disappeared.

Cross slapped Briscoe’s hand with a high-five. “Let’s go down to Mess. I’m buying lunch.”

“You’re on,” he said, heading toward the stairs.

Entering the Mess, they saw Broward sitting with the XO. “Come over here guys, I want to shake your hands. I’ve already notified Poole; she went crazy happy. She says to thank you, too.”

They obliged, accepted his congratulations, and turned toward the line. “Not so fast, fellows,” he said. “Before we return to San Diego, rewarding the completed mission, we’re giving the crew a week’s shore leave in Los Angeles, doing all the visitor things, eating at fine restaurants, seeing star’s homes, visiting Disneyland, all that stuff. We’ll stay anchored out here, sending them ashore in tenders. Are you interested?”

Cross, glancing at Briscoe, shook his head. “Think I’ll stay aboard, Captain, if that’s all right. I sleep really well with the waves. It’ll be nice to rest a while out here, away from the chaos onshore.”

“As I, Captain. I’ll be back there, patrolling the same roads soon enough. This is a vacation for me. I’d like to stay.”

“Well, if you don’t mind rattling around on an empty ship, then it’s yours. The XO and I, with a few other crucial crew members, will remain behind, tending the ship. No dives, nothing. We’re used to the solitude. It’s our break from the constant chaos aboard the ship. The tenders will leave tomorrow morning at 0700 hours. Be there if you change your minds.”

“Not much chance of that, but thank you anyway, Captain,” said Cross.

“Go have some chow. You both deserved it.”

Over steaming coffee, plates overflowing with eggs, bacon and pancakes, they relived the dive. Two hours later, still analyzing the dive and the new Exosuit’s performance, they sipped their third cup.

Shortly, Lieutenant Harper entered the room, poured a coffee and looked around, “Mind if I sit with you heroes?”

“Speaking of yourself, Lieutenant. How did it go?”

“Uneventful as a pallet drop. The ocean was beautifully blue, so clear we could see the first twenty meters of his dive. We cheered him onward, downward until he vanished into the depths. He should be sitting two miles down by now. After that we rotated and headed home.” Looking at his watch, he added, “Just touched down five minutes ago. Dusting his hands, he said, “Done with him. Now we wait for the fireworks. Should be a pretty show.”

“You going ashore with the crew?”

“What? Why?”

Cross answered, “The Captain just told us--.”

The 1MC interrupted, “Attention all hands. A week’s shore leave has been granted by the Captain for your service. Tenders load at 0700 in the morning, heading to Long Beach Harbor. Thank you for your diligence and persistence during our search mission. It has now ended, successfully. Congratulations.”

Cheers and whistles erupted throughout the ship. The crew had been waiting for the moment, but, until the announcement, was not aware of its arrival. Crewmen ran wildly through the hallways and quarters, visiting friends, making plans and packing their duffel bags.

Taps came early, preparing the crew for the early morning departures.