Sea Station Umbra

Chapter 9. Discovery One

Two hours into the flight, our pilot informed us we were nearing the drop point. Through turbulent winds, we had flown over black nothingness since our departure and Briscoe sitting in the jump seat next to me complained the whole way. He hated the instability of helicopters and their tendency to slide sideways bringing his stomach into his throat (which had happened more than a few times). Only thirty more minutes and the rescue drop-line crewman would open the side door and shove us out if we didn’t go willingly, he joked. No drop line for us though. The crewman explained that during the fast-drop procedure they were instructed to use the chopper would stop in mid-flight only ten feet above the waves, hover for five seconds while we jumped and then speed back to home port.

With only minutes to spare the Chief pulled what looked like a checklist from a sleeve pocket and read from it.

“Life vest?”

“Check,” I said.

He patted his.

“Sonar pinger clipped on belt?”

“Check.”

“Kitbag clipped on belt?”

“Check.”

“ID card in kitbag?”

“Check.”

“Watch? Time?”

“Check. 2325 hours.”

“I also have 2325 hours. Should be dropping soon,” he confirmed then wadded the list and threw it to the floor.

No sooner had he spoken those words than the crewman slid the side door open. The sound of the rotor’s roar with waves crashing a few meters below us was deafening. A cold humid wind rushed through the cabin telling me the time was now. Briscoe stood, approached the door, and grabbed a hanging hand strap.

“C’mon, Marker,” he screamed barely audible over the thunderous clamor.

The crewman nodded and motioned me over to join the Chief then mouthed my fate.

“Here’s your stop.”

Waiting for his signal, we stood hanging on the straps ready to jump. There were no lights under our fuselage; only a brief green or red flash reflecting from the waves when the navigation lights on the tail blinked. I can’t say I wasn’t scared.

The Chief had once said to me, “My life is under the surface of the ocean not on it,” and I agreed. I was not happy, about to jump feet first into a thousand-meter-deep unknown mystery. He had also said, “The first step is the hardest,” and I was feeling that now.

“Go! Go! Go!” yelled the crewman, curling his arm around us from the rear. I couldn’t have stopped if I wanted to. Leaving my side the Chief yelled, “Aw shiiiiit,” as he disappeared into the pitch-blackness of the waves.

I was right behind him and screamed something too but can’t remember what. Before I could close my mouth a wave filled it with salt water then tried to invade my nose. This is not supposed to happen I thought. That one-second free fall into the cold dark Pacific Ocean must have taken years from my life. I vowed never to do that again.

When I finally popped to the surface, over the receding helicopter’s flutter I heard Briscoe screaming from some distance away. “Are you okay, Marker?” I also heard a chill in his voice that reminded me how cold I was.

“Fine, Chief, over here,” I yelled hoping he could hear me. Then there was silence except for the clapping waves topping out over me. Worried looking around I saw nothing but darkness and a sky full of sparkling stars with not even a glimmer of moonlight to help my vision.

I flinched, startled at the nearby voice from the waves:

“Got your beacon on?”

“Yes I do but how the hell did you find me, Chief?”

“I just followed your whimpers when the waves crested over you. Simple.”

“I don’t whimper,” I argued.

“Well, how did I find you then? Sonar?”

I had to laugh at his strange logic then he began to laugh too. Suddenly the surrealism surrounding us hit me: we were two humans laughing, floating helplessly at sea, hundreds of miles from the closest shore. Two lost rudderless ships meeting in the dark. This was definitely not our normal mode of diving.

“Hey did you bring any shark repellant?” I asked fending off another wave.

Even through the darkness, I felt his face flush.

“No. That wasn’t on my checklist. Did you?”

“No but maybe they’re sleeping. They won’t bother us.”

“Right and I have some swampland in Florida I’ll sell you too.”

I can’t tell what it was maybe fear or brainless camaraderie but we laughed together for what seemed like hours waiting for our ride to show up. Neither of us had ever heard of a BenthiCraft mini-sub so we didn’t know what to expect other than a small sub with three seats: one for the pilot, one for me and one for him.

Then something appeared. A dim light from below illuminated the waves with an eerie blue cast. Gradually a huge lighted bubble pierced the waves like a UFO rising from the depths. As it surfaced not far from us I searched for a hatch and noticed a hatch cover, a sizable drain-plug-like object, a cork so to speak seated in a large hole at the top of its dome. Attached to it was a reinforced curved arm reaching down with some form of lifting hinge at the hull. The whole bubble couldn’t have been more than eight feet in diameter and the hatch looked only a few feet across.

“See that, Chief?” I asked pointing forward trying to stay upright in the waves. “There’s a hatch on top. Think you can fit through that with all the donuts you’ve eaten?”

“Hey easy, son. Don’t make me think about donuts right now I might throw up.”

As I watched, the hatch cover lifted mechanically and slowly pivoted back with the arm leaving a gaping hole for our entry in the thick dome.

“Yeah I can fit through that. Let’s go, Marker,” Briscoe said swimming toward the light struggling against the waves.

“Right behind you, Chief,” I called out.

Suddenly a motion in the sub, something standing from a seat preceded a body shape rising through the hatch. Expecting a male crewman, I heard a female voice greet us.

“Come on fellas can’t wait all night. We’ve got a hot date down below.”

As I bobbed paddling toward the craft, I had to look twice; I thought I was seeing Charlize Theron standing there smiling, a mirage of loveliness rocking with the waves motioning us toward her like a mermaid from the sea.

“See her there?” I asked rubbing water from my eyes trying to clear them.

“No way. They wouldn’t do that. Would they?” he said coughing almost choking.

“Looks like they did. Things just got more interesting.”

“Okay guys cut the small talk. Somebody climb on the hull and give your hand before I get sick. Let’s get underway,” ordered the voice.

I unclipped my kitbag and beacon from my belt pitched them in then slid through the hatch and sat. Seconds later Briscoe threw in his bag and beacon and followed still coughing. Although he claimed he was fit he struggled through the opening then slammed into a seat across the pilot’s from me with a loud grunt, panting and wheezing.

“Swallowed some saltwater,” he coughed.

She ducked down and sat between us then forcefully slapped him on the back.

“Cough it up,” she said. “By the way I’m Lt. JG Susan Williams at your service. Welcome aboard SeaPod 2.”

Situating himself in his seat the Chief stopped sputtering and stared at her, squinting.

“Does that mean you have pod bay doors on Discovery One? That’s pretty corny.”

“Oh yes of course Mr. — ? Sorry I didn’t catch your name but I was told the older one was Briscoe. Is that you?”

Briscoe had always been sensitive about his age. I knew that from way back when I had once called him an ‘old man’ in jest and he nearly took me down over my comment. His years had given him wisdom and smarts rather than age he told me and I almost agreed.

“Yes ma’am,” he answered. “But young for my age I assure you. I once was the Navy’s best diver.”

“Well as I was saying our architect, Chief Scientist and Station Manager, Dr. David Bowman is quite attached to the allegorical nature of his name and Kubrick’s 2001 if you know of that movie.”

“Certainly. Who doesn’t know of Hal?” he said.

“Well, we call her Ivy down there the same as back at HQ in Point Mugu. He tried to change her name to Hal but couldn’t override Ivy. He’s very egocentric. You’ll see.”

“Oh really?” I said, “I once knew him as a youth and he was my best friend. Of course we were only ten but he seemed like every other normal kid except he was obsessed with sandcastles.”

“He must have changed then,” she said, “Now he won’t even consider letting anyone else named Dave work in the station. He wants to be the only one. In time, you will learn from him as everyone has that he was a Navy brat and child prodigy. He designed and mentored the construction of a unique undersea missile storage facility for the Navy by the time he was fourteen. After that, his parents put him in Annapolis with a special dispensation at age fifteen. He graduated by seventeen, got his PhD by nineteen, then left the Navy and formed his own company by twenty, designing and building subterranean and submersible structures. Truly, a fast-track wonder. His most recent creation was Discovery One and he’s understandably quite proud of it.”

Hearing of his good fortune disturbed me. I should have been proud of him but I was jealous; I could have matched his achievements but my parents—.

“Hatch closing,” she called interrupting my thought.

Glancing around the cabin, she pulled a lever on the small streamlined control panel the likes of which I had never seen. Sleeker and simpler than the Canyon Glider’s it put the controls of my old mini-sub to shame: a Ferrari style sub compared to my militarized Jeep version.

Behind my seat, a motor whined as the hatch-cover arm dropped down over us and seated itself into the hatch with a loud clunk causing my ears to pop. Heated air began to wash through the cockpit bringing the first warmth I had felt in hours. What surprised me the most was the air had a ‘new car’ smell. I loved that smell.

Quickly she reached overhead and twirled the hatch wheel sealing us into the large Plexiglas bubble probably six inches thick and not more than eight feet across sitting on a sturdy yellow motorized propulsion hull. I could hardly wait to see and inspect it in full lighting and marvel at its beauty. Still as I looked around the interior with its subdued blue-white led lighting it impressed me; it was like a showroom ad: a simple and magnificent machine.

“Ready to dive?” she asked.

“Always,” said Briscoe looking behind his seat, “Especially in this chop. Git ‘er down, Lieutenant.”

I glanced back to see what he was looking at and saw meters, indicator lights and pressure gauges on a large panel. In front of her, small flat screen displays covered the space I expected to be the sub’s dashboard. Digital meters, status icons, and moving bar graphs glowed in sectioned regions filling the panes requesting her attention. As I watched mesmerized by the new science, she touched a few buttons and then propulsion motors rumbled and vibrated the cockpit. Then sounds of water rushing into ballasts roared below us. All familiar sounds I recognized from my sub; at least they weren’t changed by new technology.

Reaching forward with a gentle twisting pushing motion she moved the joystick and we headed downward.

“We’re diving at the SeaPod’s maximum speed of three knots,” she said. “The Discovery One currently rests on the floor below us at 985 meters. That puts our ETA roughly twenty-five minutes from now.”

As we dove, I tried to look out through the bubble but my efforts were futile. All I could see were our distorted reflections like those from a fun-house mirror.

“Does this have forward floods?” I asked.

“Of course Mr. Cross but they won’t activate until we’re ten meters down. Can’t see them from the surface then. Remember, visual stealth above all else.”

I had to keep reminding myself at these moments that we didn’t exist so any visual or physical cues to our presence were verboten. My introduction to the extreme secrecy of the black world was slowly sinking in.

I checked the second hand on my watch expecting the floods to illuminate in six seconds at our three-knot or 1.6 meter-per-second descent rate. We had a huge almost 360-degree view through the bubble but it was a bit disconcerting to see nothing out there but reflections.

Seven eight nine… ten.

The submarine environment blazed to life around us. Multi-hued fish wandered up toward us searching for food as we passed through them; plankton, anchovies and other tiny wiggling sea creatures reflected our lights: a moving living fog of existence in otherwise crystal-clear waters.

“Sure beats our tiny DSV viewports doesn’t it, Marker?” said Briscoe open-mouthed looking around.

“Uh yeah,” I said. “It’s like a 3D wraparound aquarium. Not at all what I would have expected.”

Lt. Williams diverted her attention from the controls to our surroundings.

“Yes, it is beautiful up here. Down where we live, not so much beauty except for a few benthic-zone species trying to thrive in the great pressures of the ocean floor. This is the ocean’s rainforest; we live in its desert.”

I had never thought of it that way before but she was right. The earth’s more or less constant-temperature oceans varying less than twenty degrees Centigrade from top to bottom could support most forms of sea life but depth rather than temperature was the defining obstacle for life. For example, an ocean’s pressure ranges from around 14.7 PSI at the surface to one hundred times that or 1,472 PSI at a thousand meters down.

We would be living and working in that. And, figuring an average human body’s surface area of 2,700 square inches at a pressure of 1,472 pounds per square inch, it meant that if we lost protection down there we would be subjected to 1,472 X 2,700 = 3,974,400 pounds, almost four million pounds of pressure, squeezing the life from us. I closed my eyes imagining a squished tube of screaming toothpaste with arms and legs. Not a pretty picture.

I was accustomed to working in those pressures oftentimes even greater but in a sturdy Abrams Tank of a military submarine rather than the comparatively flimsy but quite sporty SeaPod I was trusting with my life.

“Hey, Marker,” he said dragging me from my trance. “You’ve missed a lot. Are you asleep over there?”

I almost was and I was glad he roused me back just in time to see a huge dark bulbous structure looming below us growing larger looking exactly as Greenfield had described. No details were visible but the absence of the surrounding ocean floor gave it away since it was noticeably darker than its background in our floods. And as we moved deeper down past the top of the dome it disappeared against the deep-water environment. Then a small rectangular blue light appeared far away toward the bottom of the shape.

“There! That’s our docking port,” Lt. Williams said pointing forward.

We had veered onto a horizontal path approaching the station from the side so I expected to see the outline of something, anything other than a huge darkened mass ahead with a tiny light at its base, and a few specks of moving lights below us.

“What are those lights down there? They appear to be moving across the floor,” I asked out of curiosity.

“Oh those are a few of our divers in ADS Exosuits probably resetting our sensor probes. They foul with sea life excrement and silt on a regular basis. Isotope collectors are notoriously temperamental.”

“Here, let’s listen in,” she said touching another icon on her screen.

Nothing happened for a few seconds then voices crackled through the speaker behind us.

“… looking. Alvarado, here it is. It’s the strontium-90 probe. There’s silt caked over it. Looks like it took the fluke-wash from a sperm whale or big fish. Bring that vacuum over here and I’ll get it.”

“Hey, Norris, didn’t we just clean that sensor a few days ago? Something attractive about it?”

“Not that I can see but until I get the vacuum I can’t tell. Hurry up move that suit!”

“Running fast as I can but I’ve got a sticky joint. Got any WD-40?”

She clicked off the intercom and smiled.

“Wonderful divers, Alvarado and Norris. They keep us in stitches with their antics.”

Briscoe alerted by their conversation added, “I love those Exosuits. Used my first one a few months ago. Worked like a charm. At least until I damaged a joint on a coral reef but the techs fixed it right away. Nothing better that an atmospheric diving suit. No decompression, no worries. How are they working out for you guys? Like them?”

She hesitated before answering.

“They’re great until you find one empty, defaced and missing its diver. Then they’re just plain spooky.”

“Your divers all work in teams like those guys?” I asked.

“Always.”

Knowing that buddy system diving was usually observed by professional divers I couldn’t help but wonder how a single diver had made out without a partner. I put that on my mental list to check out later.

“Any new information on that incident, Lieutenant?”

“No, nothing more but we’ve had some rather eerie banging and scraping on the station’s outer shell in the past few days like someone’s trying to get in, but all personnel were accounted for; they were in the station.”

Quickly I realized this information was connected to our mission and possibly a clue for us to start working from.

“How many of the crew heard the noises?” I asked.

“All of them. The sounds echoed throughout the dome for seconds leaving some very terrified divers and staff including me. In fact the incident brought back the fear of the Davy Jones Locker superstition in some.”

Silently on Lt. William’s sonar screen a red blinking dot appeared growing larger as we neared the lighted rectangle but seeming no larger than a matchbox through the bubble.

Being a backseat diver (yes that’s what we called ourselves sometimes) I had to ask, “How big is that port? Looks too small. Does this thing really fit in there?”

Scoffing she glared at me.

“Now that truly is a man’s question but yes it does after I push the AutoDock function. Our breadth is twelve feet, our height is nine feet, and the bay is twenty feet wide by twelve feet high. Size does matter in this case. We have plenty of room even when our hatch opens inside the bay.”

Looking at the Chief I asked, “What do you think? Easy peasy docking?”

“AutoDock huh?” he said. “I’ll take that. But does it work?”

“Okay, watch,” she said touching a dimmed icon on her panel. As it brightened additional motor whines joined the main propulsion motors sounds. Assuming they were from horizontal and vertical thrusters, I must have been right because we began to slide sideways in the water centering ourselves on the growing matchbox.

I examined her face checking for any sign of stress, which would suggest something amiss but she stayed relaxed smiling enjoying the ride with us watching the docking port approach.

All of a sudden from a speaker behind our heads came a voice, a woman’s soft voice, crisp and slightly mechanical.

“SeaPod 2, you’re on course for a perfect docking into Pod Bay 2. Reduce speed to one-half knot.”

“That was Ivy over the SeaCom our sea intercom,” Lt. Williams said pulling the joystick slightly. “She functions as our control tower when we near the docking bay.”

“Does she control our approach remotely?” Briscoe asked.

“No, that can be too risky with random interference from whales in the area. She just advises us of our approach as an air traffic controller would. For example she just requested we drop our speed to less than a foot per second.”

“Are we still on AutoDock,” I asked noticing our course drifting downward off dead center.

“Uh huh, until I cancel after docking.”

“Then why are we drifting downward off course?” I asked suspecting otherwise.

She jerked her attention to the sonar display then looked forward and shouted.

“Holy shit! Something’s wrong. We’re going off course. This can’t be happening!”

“Pull up! Pull up!” Ivy squawked rattling the intercom speaker with her volume.

Wide eyed, Briscoe shouted, “Is there a manual override?”

She pushed the AutoDock icon turning it off. We still drifted off downward now only twenty meters from the docking bay with its bright xenon lights beaming through the water awaiting our entry. I quickly calculated we had about a minute to impact but at our foot-per-second speed, I didn’t expect a disaster.

“That didn’t help,” she screamed.

“Pull up! Pull up!” Ivy blasted.

“Guys? Ideas? I need help here,” Lt. Williams pleaded.

“Reverse thrust!” Briscoe shouted with a fear showing in his face I had never seen before.

She pulled back on the joystick.

“Not helping,” she screamed.

In my mind amid the chaos, I envisioned the control circuitry of the SeaPod and saw the answer. I’m not sure how I did it but suddenly the solution became clear to me.

“Where are the power breakers? The breaker panel?” I asked.

“Behind your seat near the floor. But don’t kill our power we’ll be helpless and blind as a bat out here without lights.”

Turning rotating in my seat, I reached for the panel. Looking down I opened the cover and felt for the largest breaker switch. The sub’s designers had neglected to put lighting in the panel so I was grasping in the dark. Then I found it.

“Here goes nothing,” I said switching off what I guessed to be the main breaker.

In total darkness with the SeaPod’s motors grinding to a halt I counted to ten, ignoring William’s warning and Briscoe’s cursing. Then I flipped it back on.

The SeaPod returned to life slowly as we drifted forward; our inside lights and exterior floods flickered then brightened to full on as the computer panel flashed with a BenthiCraft boot-up splash screen. Seconds later came the message: Restarting Please Wait.

Out the bubble with floods reactivated, I could see we were less than five meters from the station’s hull and still falling away from the docking bay.

“Ten seconds to impact,” I estimated.

Precious seconds passed as the blue ‘Loading’ bar crept across the screen. I wanted to push it faster.

“Wait!” Williams said. “I’ve got control back! Halleluiah!”

Breathing a sigh of relief, I saw Briscoe with his hands clasped in front of him whispering words. I thought it wise to whisper a few words of thanks myself so I did.

“Pull back now! Pull back now! Pull back now! Impact imminent!” Ivy announced her voice insistent.

The roar of the thruster motors and the backward push throwing me forward in my seat brought a lump to my throat. How could I have known to do that? Then I remembered my old maxim: When in doubt reboot. That’s all I did.

Briscoe opened his eyes at the reverse acceleration and looked at me. Then he raised his hand for a high-five.

“My God, Marker, that was pure genius,” he said. “You saved our lives.”

Backing us off from the station’s hull Lt. Williams glanced over and smiled.

“Yeah, Marker, if I can call you that, I agree. I thank you with all my heart. Now I know why you’re here… and Mr. Briscoe said he’s the Navy’s best diver. That makes you better than the best.”

“Well thank you both,” I told them. “And yes, Lieutenant, you’re on the short list of those who know my middle name. Use it wisely. And, as far as what I just did it’s just called self preservation and you happened to be with me when it happened.”

“Course corrected.” Ivy announced. “Docking expected in twenty seconds. Proceed at one-half meter per second.”

The Lieutenant back in control keeping her cool adjusted the joystick.

“That’s never happened to me before. I’m so sorry. I almost killed us. Wonder what went wrong.”

Chief Briscoe looking over her shoulder at the screen suggested, “Maybe someone doesn’t want us here. Ever thought of that, Marker?”

I had not and it sent chills up my spine. My mind was already reeling from being sent into what seemed like a deep-sea death trap and his words confirmed my fears. Only time would tell.

Nearing the pod bay, only a few meters out we saw the brilliantly lighted room come into focus, ready for our entry. As we slowly drifted inward, the docking chamber appeared as a cavernous swimming pool turned on its side with a ladder climbing the wall at the back. She pulled back on the joystick bringing us to a slow halt.

“You’re about to experience a sharp bump as we land on the docking pad and are gripped by a strong electromagnet locking us down. Then the pod bay door will close and seal behind us as we wait for pumps to force the water out and fill the bay with air. We’re basically in an open ballast tank with a sea-proof door called a pod docking bay. Once we’re in dry dock we’ll pressurize, open the hatch, and exit the SeaPod.”

It happened just as she described although it took almost ten minutes to pump the bay empty; it was a painfully slow process but then I had never been on the inside of a huge purging ballast before: it was quite a unique experience.

When the large indicator on the bay’s back wall changed from red to green an icon illuminated on the SeaPod’s control panel. Then my ears popped as a slight overpressure filled our cockpit from a pump below my feet. Williams reached up spun the hatch lock open and touched the icon starting the hatch cover into motion. Like compressed gas, escaping from a soda pop bottle air hissed past the cover as it drew back from the hatch.

“Now we wait,” she said.

“For what?” asked Briscoe, standing glancing around the empty bay.

“Well you can go now if you don’t mind risking a broken or sprained ankle jumping down from the hatch over a very slick sphere onto a wet very slippery floor. Otherwise we wait for one of our crew to roll that stairway up the hatch so we can exit gracefully… and safely.”

He sat back and sighed.

“Not knowing if you have a doctor on staff or even a sickbay I’ll just sit here be safe and wait.”

“Oh we have a lot of doctors on staff but none of them are MDs, just PhDs. And there is a sickbay but the best treatment you’ll get is from those of our crew who have served as wartime medics.”

As she spoke a ceiling hatch dropped down at the top of the rear ladder. Feet legs then the body of a crewman appeared in a blue jumpsuit. With his feet grasping the ladder’s rails he slid down to the floor walked to the stairway and unlatched it from the wall, then rolled it up to our bubble’s hatch. Soon a hand followed by a head dropped through the hatch welcoming us.

“Hi guys I’m Captain Bill Edwards U.S. Navy. Welcome aboard Discovery One. Can I give anyone a hand jumping ship? Take your bags?”

Laughing, Briscoe said, “Hi. I’m Mica Briscoe. After that wild ride I thought about it, Captain, but ladies first.”

Williams glared at him.

“We don’t do that here, Mr. Briscoe. I’m an equal to every crewman on board. No better no worse and I’ll be the last to leave my ship.”

Watching him blush I felt his embarrassment even though he was just being chivalrous: a trait appreciated in the civilian world in which he worked. Not every ex-Navy California Highway Patrolman would have even offered.

“I’ll go, Captain,” I said grabbing his hand as he helped me stand from my seat. Then dropping my bag out I wiggled through the hatch to a platform at the top of the steps large enough for several people to stand.

“Mr. Briscoe, you’re next.”

He stood through the hatch, dropped his bag on the platform, and took the Captain’s hand.

“Now Marker here says I’m a tight fit through there — too many donuts. Think I can make it, Captain?”

“Well if not, Mr. Briscoe, I’ll just have to get our hatch stretcher.” He grinned broadly after his comment and pulled.

Tugging his hand Edwards brought him easily through the hatch eliciting a quiet applause from Lt. Williams.

“Enough of that, Lieutenant,” Briscoe chided. “We’re equals remember? Except for a few inches around our waists, maybe.”

As Briscoe and I took our kitbags and stepped down to deck level Williams hopped through the hatch and quickstepped down the stairs with the Captain and joined us.

“Captain Edwards is the second team’s leader,” she said, turning to him saluting. “He’ll prep the SeaPod for the next dive. Now please follow me.”

She started off and then looked back.

“Oh, Captain, would you please check the AutoDock function on that SeaPod. It went off course and almost killed us. Mr. Cross had to reboot the system to regain control. Never happened before; hope it never happens again.”

He nodded and frowned back at the SeaPod then went about his prepping.

“Wait. I’m confused, Lieutenant,” I said stopping her. “I’ve heard the people on station called the crew in one sentence and staff in the next. Which one is it?”

“Both,” she said. “When I’m talking about us operating in the maritime environment we’re the crew. When I speak of us acting as scientists collecting and analyzing data we’re staff. Then we also have the support crew. Everyone wears two hats, some three, some four. That’s the way I see it.”

Briscoe shrugged his shoulders.

“Same difference to me. Six of one half dozen of the other but which hat do we wear?”

Smiling slyly, she said, “I guess you’re the MPs. Yet another hat.”

“I like peacekeepers better,” I said. “Maybe even investigators. MP just sounds too harsh and we’re not even military. Right Chief?”

“Just call me Chief… and when the Mess Hall opens. I’m here to solve problems nothing more.”

“Then let’s go do it,” she said. Then she smiled turned and raced up the ladder two rungs at a time through the hatch.

Briscoe followed her up easily matching her pace.

By this time of night, I was dragging a bit, but made it up as well.

Soon we stood in an engineering marvel. Williams had closed the pod bay hatch behind us as we topped the ladder and suggested a brief tour before she released us to our quarters. I reminded her it was approaching 0130 hours and it had been an exhausting day. Brief was the operative word.

The deck we entered, Deck 1 — Quad 2 from a large sign on the wall, reminded me of the entryway to one of Jeremy’s better sandcastles he and I created when we were kids. That design was a pie-shaped deck cut into four slices with a large circular center section accessible from each slice through one of four watertight bulkhead doors. I called that a submarine core because it resembled a sub hull turned on end.

I remember him telling me that it was a good idea. He said that the rounded convex bulkhead walls of the central core provided better protection against quadrant flooding pressures. It was all too complicated for me back then but I went along with him and pretended that he knew what he was talking about. Now looking back it all made pretty good sense.

The stark white surroundings reflecting the intense overhead lights blinded my eyes so I couldn’t see all the details but they were adjusting slowly. Briscoe standing beside me, must have been affected the same way he shielded his eyes waiting for them to adapt.

Several of the staff in blue jump suits walked hurriedly through the room ignoring us carrying empty coffee mugs to a coffee pot somewhere. Briscoe eyed them curiously until they disappeared behind a wall.

“Now this is the main level Deck 1. Decks 2, 3 and 4 are above us,” she said sweeping her hand across the room giving us a tour she’d obviously given before.

“We’re in quadrant two… Q2 with Q1 to our left, Q3 to our right and Q4 opposite the central core. Remember they increase going clockwise when looking down from above. Past that bulkhead door at the end of this room a central core chamber twenty feet in diameter, matching our deck height, joins all four quadrants through watertight bulkhead doors. Above it are more core rooms surrounding an elevator rising to the top of the dome. The top core room is called the panic room a safe haven for us. The last room to be flooded in a dire emergency. Attached—”

“Wait a minute,” I asked, “So if we have a pressure breach and water rushes in we race up the core trying to beat the rising water to the panic room at the top of the dome. Is that right?”

“Basically, yes.”

“Then what from there? We kiss our asses goodbye?”

Chuckling, she patiently explained:

“No, Mr. Cross, the panic room is attached to a thirty-man pressurized escape pod bathysphere we affectionately call the EPod. It can separate from the dome and float to the surface buoyantly: a lifeboat of absolute last resort. Why? If we ever use it, it will inundate the station with seawater leaving it forever unusable. That escape pod also serves as our scuttle mechanism if an enemy force ever commits an unauthorized entry. Then sixteen hundred pounds of strategically placed C4 explosives will obliterate the station. Does that answer your question?”

I gulped loudly.

“Er… yes, Lieutenant. Thank you. Please proceed.”

Walking us through the room toward the narrow end, she continued:

“Each of the quadrants on this deck has almost two-thousand square feet and only two passages in or out: the pod bay hatch we just used and the bulkhead core room door we’re approaching. If we ever have a dome rupture or docking bay accident, God forbid, then we can seal off each quadrant independently from the core for flood control.”

“Yes, God forbid. What’s behind that wall over there? I smell fresh coffee,” Briscoe added preoccupied looking over a bank of workstation consoles with several seated workers scrutinizing large video screens.

“Oh, that’s the coffee bar for this quadrant want some?” she replied. “I could use a cup myself.”

“Well does a whale poop in the ocean, Lieutenant? I thought you’d never ask.”

Fortunately, that broke our red-eye tour. I mean it was interesting and everything but I was so tired her words were bouncing off my brain; it was so overloaded with new information it couldn’t accept more. Besides, I had started worrying about Lindy wondering if she had been told of my disappearance, what her reaction would be and if she’d hate me forever for this.

When I finally voiced my concern to Lt. Williams as we sat with our coffee at a small reading table, she suggested, “Ask Ivy. She’ll know.”

“Really?”

Surveying the surrounding area filled with bookshelves and a black vault like the one that Greenfield opened at HQ, I asked, “Where is she? Where’s her eye on the wall?”

“She has four sensors in each quadrant one on each bulkhead wall. The closest one is right by the coffee pot over there. Many of our staff use her for retrieving information as they sip their caffeine trying to find answers to their problems. Ivy has a great scientific mind, is an expert educator and logician. and does pretty well at answering medical and psychological questions too. She can even send email for you but security filtered. Ever use Google?”

“Of course.” I answered.

“Well, since you have no laptop or smart phone down here you’ll still have unanswered questions for Googling and a need for external contacts as we all do. Just ask her. She’s your verbal link into that ginormous database they keep plus more from our station’s files.”

“Mind if I try?”

“No knock yourself out.”

Taking my cup to Ivy’s panel, I stood and read a few brief instructions.

“Ivy, Matt Cross here. I have a request.”

The dark reddish center brightened and began to pulsate with my heartbeat.

“I know who you are, Matt Cross. Welcome to Discovery One. What is your request?”

Her soft voice was eerie but soothing like a voice from my conscience, a guardian angel, a close friend. It drew my confidence and trust.

“Has my wife Lindy Cross been told of my sudden disappearance? Is she worried or mad?”

Her lens pulsed faster reading my anticipation of an answer. I didn’t notice my increased heart rate, but she did.

“One moment,” she said. A soft mechanical purring filled the silence for seconds before I heard the sound of a telephone line ringing.

“Hello this is Lindy.”

“Hello, Ms. Cross. I called your husband from Florida early this morning and spoke with him. Do you remember the call?”

“Yes sir, oh-dark-thirty about some new mission I believe.”

“That’s correct, Lindy. An emergency mission to save a U.S. deep-sea asset and its workers from their demise. We had no choice but to deploy him immediately.”

“Deploy him immediately? Oh my God! He won’t be coming home today?”

“No ma’am. Not today or tomorrow. I’m sorry. He’s working with us now. You can expect him to be gone up to a month.”

“Who’s us? Where is he?”

“Ma’am, I can’t tell you that but if you need more information please contact his boss Carlos Montoya at MBORC. Do you have that number?”

“Why yes of course b-b-but—“

“I’m sorry, Ms. Cross, but that is all I can say. Have a good day.”

A dial tone replaced the conversation over Ivy’s speaker.

“Yes, she has been notified, Matt Cross. Does that answer your concern?”

“Sure, but how did you do that? That was her voice.”

“You would be quite surprised at my intercept resources, Matt Cross.”

“Well thank you, Ivy. That comforted me somewhat,” I said worried at the trembling in Lindy’s voice at the end of her conversation.

“Oh, Matt Cross,” Ivy said as I turned to leave, “I previously printed an ID badge for you and Mica Briscoe. Please wear them at all times on station to insure your identity. I see that neither of you is wearing one.”

“Understood Ivy. Mine’s in my kitbag; I’ll put it on immediately. I’ll tell Briscoe to wear his too.”

“Thank you, Matt Cross. Ivy out.”

Back at the table I found the Lieutenant’s instruction continuing. I sat, pulled the ID from my kitbag and clipped it to my drying wetsuit’s collar, then nodded for Briscoe to do the same.

Although I was interested in learning everything about my new residence and its wonders, I could hardly keep my eyes open and my wetsuit was beginning to bother me. I needed sleep, dry clothes, and another cup of coffee. Luckily, I had just refilled it while talking with Ivy.

“The station operates in three eight-hour shifts,” she continued, “graveyard, early, and late. That’s 0000 hours to 0800 hours for graveyard, 0800 to 1600 hours for early, and 1600 to 2400 hours for late. Now since you’re both on non-essential duty and you need to interact with all the personnel you can work whenever you want. Because there’s no day or night down here we work around the clock but we keep the first and second team separated. And their shifts will vary depending on task urgency.”

She looked around lowered her voice and continued:

“The first team is concerned with the A-mission of radiation monitoring while the second’s concern is the signal intercept Z-mission. Got that? You can tell which team you’re interacting with by looking at their ID badges. The A-team has a small notch cut from the right corner of the badge while the Z team has a full top margin. Almost undetectable for the unknowing it’s there if you look closely. Now a crucial warning: never refer to anything Z unless you’re in the walk-in vault in Quadrant 4. I shouldn’t be telling you this here but I know this week’s graveyard shift includes only Z staff so we’re secure here. You’ll learn more about that over time but consider that information under your clearance Umbra Z.”

“What about Ivy? She can probably hear,” I asked remembering she was just over my shoulder.

“She’s cleared way above everything on this station so no worries. Just be careful because she can tell if you’re discussing Z-information with A-cleared staff. That’s a no-no and you’ll be quickly flagged with a security violation isn’t that right Ivy?”

From the wall, she answered:

“Correct, Susan Williams, and you’re correct there are no A staff in your vicinity at this time but you should be in the vault for this conversation. Minor violation but good test.”

She backed her chair from the table, stood and looked at us.

“You guys done with coffee?”

We nodded together and stood. I dreaded the thought of more touring and fortunately, she must have read my mind.

“Let’s save the rest of the tour for later today after you catch some Z’s. I know you both must be exhausted so why don’t you head off to your quarters and hit it. There’s no reveille in the station so don’t worry about being awakened by a bugle or ship’s 1MC or anything like that. Just tell Ivy your desired wake up time and she’ll awaken you pleasantly.”

Turning to leave with Briscoe, I spun back.

“Wait, where are our quarters?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I forgot. The time must be getting to me too. Follow me and I’ll show you.”

She wound us around unused workstations to the front of the room then through the convex bulkhead door into the core chamber. There a cylindrical elevator awaited us its curved door open.

“Please push Deck 2,” she said nodding to the Chief.

The door slid shut and swiftly we rose, sucked up like a money carrier in a bank’s pneumatic tube. The Deck 2 light illuminated immediately followed by the whishing of the opening door.

“Pneumatic elevator huh?” Briscoe said.

“No. Hydraulic elevator,” she answered, “Uses external water pressure to push it up and down. Another Bowman invention.”

“Of course,” I said rolling my eyes.

Through the elevator’s open door, she led us around a circular hallway I estimated to be ten feet wide, its inner wall surrounding the core chamber. Above each outer wall door (I counted seventeen) was a crewman’s name, his rank and military affiliation except for the last six. All affiliations were U.S. Navy except three: J. David Bowman — PhD, DV#1 and DV#2. Three more door titles extended down the hall beyond those: Head 1, Head 2 and Rec Hall. These last six must be suites I thought: they’re twice the width of the others. Must be my lucky day.

“Pick your poison,” she smiled returning us to the Distinguished Visitor rooms. Then pointing past them she added, “There are unisex heads down there so knock before entering and use the Rec Hall freely when you need a break, coffee, or snacks.”

I hated when the Chief and I had to choose between anything. I always deferred to him and he always threw it back to me usually winning.

“You take DV#1,” I said, “You’re older and wiser. Suits you better.”

Snickering he bantered, “No, Marker you just want to be nearer the bathrooms. If I am older and wiser as you said then I need to be closer to the bathrooms. Admit it.”

Agreeing I pushed open the door to DV#1 and glanced inside.

Briscoe did the same with DV#2 and exclaimed, “Wow there’s a lotta room in here, but it’s kinda like a wacky-house bowling alley.”

“You should see mine,” Williams said. “It’s not one of these suites but it’s really quite comfortable. They do take a little getting used to but they grow on you especially with the rocking of the deep-water currents at night.”

She turned to leave and looked back.

“Oh, you’ll find a dresser with a stock of one-size-fits-most jumpsuits, shirts, socks, underwear and as for shoes we recommend always wearing dive boots because the decks are often slippery. Ivy is on the wall at the head of your bunks; you can’t miss her glowing eye. So good night, gentlemen. See you around 1000 hours in the Mess on Deck 1. Okay?”

We both poked out our heads from our rooms and watched her walk to her room six doors down shaking her head.

As her door closed, I looked back at him. “I gotta hit the head before I bed down, Chief. See you in the morning.”

“Number one or number two?” he asked.

“Hey, Chief, that’s none of your business,” I answered, wondering why he’d even ask.

Snickering he answered, “No dummy I meant head number one or two. I’ll use the other one.”

“Oh,” I laughed, “I’ll take one you take two.”

“Roger that, Marker. Right behind you. Too much coffee. I’ll be rising around nine; still not comfortable with going back on military time.”

“But you’ll get used to it,” I added, chuckling down the hall.

Not long after that I returned and settled into my pie-slice of a room. It was eight feet across at the door thirty feet deep and the far wall, I stepped off at about twenty feet across. After confirming my measurements, Ivy assured me that everything was okay in the station and that the incident with Li was just an anomaly caused by human error. It appeared that we might be going home early.

Sleep soon overtook my curiosity ending my day… then from outside a loud booming thunderclap and rumbling shook me from my bunk.