Sea Station Umbra

Chapter 22. Tilt

“But he warned me that he was prone to paracusia on the trip down here,” Franklin argued. “I say what he heard was from his auditory hallucinations. He told me that he frequently experienced them under stress and if that wasn’t stress I don’t know what is. He had previously heard voices in his head and his coworkers reminded him that he often answered them with nobody there. Poor soul. May he rest in peace.”

“So you think he created that conversation in his mind?” Williams asked. “From what Marker and Briscoe said it was a cogent albeit bizarre interchange between him and another entity possibly from 4.2 light years away.”

She closed her eyes for seconds then opened them wide-eyed.

“What if that object is not a God-particle or Higgs boson from the Hadron Collider accident as we suspect but rather a speck of something like a visitor from another time or dimension that drifted into our atmosphere and impacted the Pacific near us? Ever think about that?”

“Hmmm,” Briscoe added. “It’s unfortunate that Dr. Bowman took this so hard. I wish he were here to add his observations.”

“He doesn’t have any experience with extraterrestrial visitors or particle physics,” Franklin said. “They wouldn’t help.”

“Does anyone?” I questioned. “I think we might as well be discussing his encounter as a paranormal experience.”

“Ghosts?” Briscoe scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Marker. That’s not even scientific.”

“Not so outlandish Chief if you consider the old Davy Jones legend… or the Bermuda Triangle mysteries. Things just mysteriously disappear into the ocean depths sometimes with warnings but most times without.”

“So what are you hinting at, Mr. Cross?” asked Admiral Franklin. “That this is just a figment of everyone’s imaginations? An exercise in mass hysteria? That’s preposterous!”

“No, Admiral I’m simply offering that we may never know what really happened especially with our inability to interact with it or understand its origin. It remains the enigma it is and will continue that way after we have to abandon this station and leave it buried under a two-hundred-ton debris field.”

“What?” Franklin barked, standing from his chair. “W-what do you mean abandon the station? Why would we do that?”

Looking over at Briscoe I said, “You tell him, Chief.”

With his eyes cast downward he began, “Admiral, the object that Silkwood called a black hole is eating away at the station, assimilating it. He described the process as ephemeral tendrils of blue plasma flowing from the wheels and even the crawler base into the object’s center, a core that he said was blacker that black. The structure of Discovery One will soon be so compromised that it will no longer hold back the pressure and we’ll have to evacuate.”

Appearing shocked the Admiral pried further.

“And when will that be in your estimation, Mr. Briscoe?”

“Hours, days, weeks? Who knows? We’re dealing with something beyond human experience or knowledge.”

He put his hand to his head and closed his eyes obviously in deep thought. Then, sitting down in his chair he said, “We need Bowman here. We need to move the station away for this thing as soon as possible.”

Supporting Briscoe’s warning, I spoke up.

“Given the damage I saw down there, I doubt that will be possible but it’s worth a try.”

“Williams, find Bowman and bring him down to the bridge,” Franklin ordered, checking his watch. “I’m heading there now and we’re moving the station to the CHUS cable as planned just a few hours early.”

“Aye, aye sir,” she answered standing and leaving the room.

Tracking behind the Admiral, the Chief and I had no idea where were going but he did. Rushing to keep up, we entered Quad 2 and paced through the racks of computers into the rear of the room. On the back wall, another down arrow noted BRIDGE with a red-lighted box around it resembling an exit sign.

Stooping he twisted the hatch lock and let it drop down into a dark musty vertical tunnel leading to a cavernous room far below. On his first step down the long ladder, the distant room illuminated with a muted red lighting. Briscoe glanced back at me waiting behind him and squinted down into the room.

“I hate that red lighting,” he said. “Makes me feel like my vision’s failing.”

“It’ll get better, Chief. Your eyes have to adapt. You know the drill.”

“Yeah, but I still hate it.”

At the bottom of the ladder, we stood by Franklin surveying our surroundings. Unlike a ship’s bridge, the room was more like an aircraft cockpit with a panoramic forward-looking thick window and a pair of side-by-side joysticks under them. Above and around the window were numerous video panels flickering to life, displaying lines and panels of moving data.

“Here’s the heart of our navigation system: the helm,” Franklin said fanning his hand across the windowed area. “Looks complex but it’s really like driving a zero-turn-radius riding lawnmower. The left joystick controls the ten port wheels while the right one controls the starboard’s wheel array of ten more. They all move in tandem under computer control with a five-hundred horsepower motor powering each wheel.”

“What about the three front missing wheels and the fourth decaying one. What will happen?” asked the Chief.

“We’ll have to see when we power them up,” he said matter-of-factly. “The tractor system’s redundancy should account for their loss. Although it has only been tested in the pre-commissioning trial runs it worked well when we removed or blocked several wheels simulating anticipated difficulties.”

Briscoe nodded and stepped over to the window’s right corner, then peered downward. “Where are the Pod Bays? I expected to see them below us.”

“Above us, Mr. Briscoe. A level up. That’s why the long ladder down. We’re on the lowest habitable level with the nuclear plant and other life-support systems behind us.”

“So we’re on the closest level to the monopole?”

“Yes that’s right but we never anticipated such a danger below us. Fortunately the bridge is still intact.”

“But not for long,” I said noticing a small puddle of water on the floor beside Briscoe. “There’s water seeping in over here.”

He rushed over and stared down at it then slowly raised his eyes to me. “My God you’re right, Mr. Cross. It’s happening.”

“What’s going on down here,” asked Bowman dropping down with Williams from the tunnel. Lieutenant Williams said you were anxious to leave. Why is that Admiral? First you said to hold off and now you’re rushing us to leave. Has that DOD meeting schedule changed?”

“No, Dr. Bowman, your station has changed. Look over there,” he said pointing to the small pool of seawater.

“Well, Admiral, I can get a towel and clean that up if it bothers you.”

“Don’t be such a fool, Bowman. That doesn’t bother me. It’s the billions and trillions of gallons of water pushing that puddle inward that bothers me. And according to the Deep Force team here we’ll be dodging water knives, if not flooding, all over the station pretty soon.”

“So how will moving solve that problem?”

“The thing down there is eating the station, Dave, and we’re beginning to see the results of that damage. The station is now listing several degrees and that puddle is directly over it. The more we list toward that monster the faster it will consume us. You have to pull away and save what we have left.”

Without argument, Bowman walked to an Ivy console on the rear wall.

“Ivy, Dave Bowman. Please notify the station to prepare for travel in ten minutes. Announce for the crew to close and seal all hatches then clear the mess and tie down loose items. Also secure the Pod Bays for travel. The usual stuff.”

“Yes, Dave Bowman. Shall I also lock the hard drive heads as usual or run computations through the move?”

No. No computations. And prepare to pull anchor on my command.”

“Understood. I will be standing by. Ivy out.”

“Lieutenant, are you needed elsewhere,” Bowman asked rejoining us at the helm.

She glanced back to the tunnel still lit by the overheads in Quad 2 and said, “Only to seal that hatch. I left it open thinking we’d just be a few minutes.”

“Well things have obviously changed. Please close and secure it. You’re staying with us until we’re moving.”

“Yes sir. Anything else I can do?”

“Pray.”

Ivy’s announcement on the PA system soon started.

“Attention staff and crew. Attention staff and crew. Prepare for station’s travel mode in ten minutes. Repeat, prepare for travel mode. Stow all movable objects, clear and close the mess hall, close and lock all watertight hatches then staff your travel stations. Motion will begin in ten minutes.”

As she ended her message, Dave sat down at the driver’s console and powered up the tractor controllers. A small bank of indicators illuminated one at a time starting with #5 and blinked green through #20. At the end of the sequencing process lights #1 through #4 flashed red.

“What’s that all mean, Dave,” I asked watching over his shoulder.

“Those red-flagged wheels failed the self-test but I can override them manually ̶ take them out of the loop. We’ll run on sixteen. Not a problem though: we can run with five on each side if we have to.”

Reaching up, he touched four buttons under the red indicators turning them dark.

“Done. No more problems.”

Scoffing, the Chief whispered in my ear, “Famous last words.”

On my other side, Lieutenant Williams also engrossed with Bowman’s start-up procedure flinched.

“Oh crap! The hatch. I forgot to close it.”

She turned back and rushed up the ladder. Seconds later, I heard the hatch slam closed with a solid clunk that echoed through the bridge.

“Fast work,” I said on her return. “That would have taken me twice as long and I’d be huffing and puffing. You? You’re not even winded. How do you do that?”

She backed off and looked me over.

“If you spent six months on this station rushing up and down these ladders all day long like I do, you’d be fast too. Just comes with the job I guess.”

Nodding in agreement then looking back at Bowman I saw he had activated the bridge’s forward floods and was studying a large map lying on the console.

“Got the CHUS intercept coordinates I sent down, Dr. Bowman?” asked Franklin.

“Yep, looking at them right now. Thanks.”

“See any problems?”

“Nothing unusual. The usual hills and valleys and a seamount we have to bypass. No canyons or abysses. Smooth riding all the way. I see no problem with the scheduled arrival ti—”

Interrupting him Ivy announced a message.

“Dave Bowman the ten-minute delay has expired, You may proceed when ready.”

He turned back to her panel and commanded her.

“Pull the anchor, Ivy. Inform me when it’s secure.”

The result of his command was a deep rumbling banging from below the floor at the rear of the bridge. It sounded like a slow motion clunk-clunk-clunk as the anchor’s chain rolled into its reel wherever that was. I expected something more elegant than a standard bulky anchor chain but then I realized they always worked. Then the sounds stopped.

“The anchor is secure. Start motion when ready. All systems, hatches, and decks show go,” Ivy said.

“May I ask a question before you start?” Franklin said placing his hand on Bowman’s shoulder.

“Sure Admiral. Shoot.” He dropped his hands from the joysticks and looked back at him.

“Which way do you plan to drive out? Forward or Reverse?”

“Well I normally drive out forward unless there’s an obstruction. See a problem with that? Anyone?”

Pointing down toward the ominous starboard glow, Franklin responded, “Only that you’re going to run six perfectly good wheels over the debris collecting around that monopole down there including what’s left of the old wheels and the ROV.”

“Good point Admiral. Reverse it shall be. Everyone please take a place in the surrounding seats and harness up. This may get tricky.”

I sat, then Briscoe and Williams, in a row of seating behind him. Finally, Franklin sat in the copilot’s seat beside him. Four harness clicks signaled him to start.

“Wish me luck,” he said firmly grasping the twin joysticks in his hands.

Loud vibrating harmonizing hums arose from the bridge’s exterior telling me that he was moving, activating the huge motors but with such precision I couldn’t see which direction. Then I felt a comforting backward lurch. The calming feeling lasted only a second until I felt something else like balancing on a teeter-totter nearing the tipping point. Then all at once, we tilted more. The front starboard side plunged at least five feet down to the surface throwing up silt and mud over the windows. The right edge of the forward window looked down into an eerie glowing blue-black bulls-eye.

“Holy shit!” Bowman yelled as pencils, clipboards, screwdrivers and other things flew down to the floor then scraped noisily across it into the corner and settled in the growing puddle of water under the window.

“What the hell just happened?” he shouted.

“We’ve tilted our starboard hull down on the monopole. It’s got a grasp on us. Can you move forward?” Franklin yelled.

Bowman shoved both joysticks forward creating a collection of sounds. Some motors were grinding some were growling and others were whining at full speed.

“We’re raised off the aft wheels off the surface like a tripod,” shouted Franklin. “Nothing’s going to gain traction with our tilt. Can you go back? Get all the wheels back on the ground?”

“Don’t know. I’ll try,” he panted.

From my seat behind him, I saw Dave was in trouble as he flashed his hands between the joysticks and his forehead wiping sweat from his eyes. I wanted to help but there was nothing I could do.

“C’mon, Dave, you’ve got this,” I said. “Take your time and think it out.”

Releasing the sticks, he silenced the motors. Then delicately he pulled the joysticks toward him starting different sounds: ones of distorted hums and growls but still creating no movement.. Then one-by-one the green lights over wheels #5 through #20 flickered and flashed to red.

“They’ve failed! The motors are gone,” he shouted lowering his head in obvious defeat.

Williams scanned the helm for damage and fixed her gaze on the objects floating in the puddle under the front window.

“Uh-oh,” she said, “We’ve got more problems. There’s now a blue glow under all that crap in the corner and the water’s starting to rise.”

Just as she completed her sentence, a tiny pencil-sized shaft of water flashed across the room striking the rear bulkhead wall and scattering into a thick freezing mist, spraying us with a shower of icy water.

Suddenly from the overhead speakers Ivy’s voice blared, “Condition Red. Condition Red. I am detecting a sudden pressure fluctuation in the bridge. Attempt repair or evacuate immediately! Please acknowledge.”

“Heard, Ivy.” Bowman released his harness and fell awkwardly to the floor.

“Watch the tilt,” he grumbled.

Righting himself, he ignored our new increased list and surveyed the damage.

“We have to leave now unless anyone has an idea how to repair that rupture.”

Feeling his eyes on me I said, “I got nothing, Dave. Sorry. Time to leave.”

Nodding, unbuckling his harness the Chief agreed, “We have to leave before that leak grows. It’s right over the monopole now and its force is more directed. That hull won’t last long.”

Horrifying seconds later, we were all standing together holding hands for stability clumsily trying to reach the ladder without slipping in the rising water.

Williams went up first opening then dropping down the hatch.

“All clear up here! Come on up. Hurry, the water’s rising!”

She was right. I felt the frigid liquid seeping into my socks and then looked down and saw it slowly rising up my boot.

“Need a hand Admiral,” I asked. Before I could finish he was at the top climbing through the hatch.

“You go now, Dave.”

“No, I’ll go last. You first, Matt. Then Briscoe. I’ll follow and close the hatch behind me.”

Rather than argue I sped up the ladder surprising even myself at my agility and turned to help the Chief. He face was right below me revealing a fear he seldom showed.

“Thanks, Marker,” he huffed grabbing my hand. “Not as young as I used to be. And I hope it continues past this. You still owe me Bear Lake.”

I smiled and pulled him up, suddenly realizing for the first time that we might not escape our imminent doom. “Oh, you’ll get it. I promise.”

Then breathing heavily Bowman poked his head through, climbed out, and spun around to seal the hatch. As he reached down and tugged it upward. it forcefully slammed closed almost injuring his hand. Squatting he twirled the hatch wheel until it locked and glanced up at us standing over him.

“That pressure’s building down there and it has a powerful force. Be very careful around it.”

He jumped up wiped his hands on his jumpsuit and frantically turned toward the Admiral.

“We have to start emergency scuttle procedures as soon as possible.” Then grabbing the Admiral’s arm he pulled him toward the door stumbling awkwardly into the core room.

“Come with us,” Briscoe said spinning toward Williams. “We’re cold wet and thirsty. Let’s see if there’s anything left of the mess and regroup there.”

Shivering she answered, “I’m right behind you.”