Broward retracted Jason from the wreckage and returned it to its cradle. Graham backed the Benthic Ranger off the wreckage and turned toward the Watch Station.
Within minutes the Benthic Ranger was hovering over the entrance lock of the transfer module of Watch Station Three. Repeatedly, Graham pushed the hailing button in an attempt to turn on the homing beacon that would enable him to lock on to the station. There was no response.
“Shit.” muttered Graham. “Mr. Bell, activate the standby on-board homing beacon.”
The standby on-board homing beacon was an active sonar with a narrowly focused beam. It was designed to find a small parabolic echo enhancing receiver located on the center of the hatchway on the transfer lock. A clumsy, Stone Age means of finding the target, it was the Benthic Ranger’s last chance to lock on to the station.
Bell also turned on the television camera and mercury vapor lamp located in the Benthic Ranger’s transfer lock. As Bell switched on the television camera, the video monitor located on the instrument panel of the Benthic Ranger came to life. Graham used the combination of the video and the locking sonar to position the Benthic Ranger over the entrance lock.
Listening to the increasingly accelerating pings of the locking sonar, Graham was able to slowly lower the Benthic Ranger on to the lock. The soft metallic clang of Benthic Ranger’s landing echoed through the deserted interior of Watch Station Three. He engaged the latching dogs and seated the O-ring seals with a soft hissing of the seals’ pressure mounting system. Afterward, Graham blew out the sea water in the transfer lock and adjusted the pressure inside the lock to atmospheric.
Bell hurried over to the hatchway and opened the hatch to the transfer lock. He lowered himself into the lock and started to manually unlock the hatch to the Watch Station.
“Hold on a minute,” said Dr. Fleming. “We don’t know what’s down there. Is there any way to check the atmosphere in the Watch Station before we open the hatch?”
Graham came over to the hatchway. “Wait a minute, John. Let me get the gas analyzer and some wrenches. One of the through hull-instrumentation ports might serve that purpose.”
In a second, Graham was back with a socket wrench, a crescent wrench, a small handheld gas analyzer, and an emergency oxygen mask. He handed the apparatus to Bell and then closed the Benthic Ranger’s hatch, sealing Bell in the entrance lock, which was roughly the height of a 55-gallon barrel and about one and one-half times the diameter.
With the mercury vapor lamp of the Benthic Ranger still on, Bell had ample light to work with in the cramped space. Bell put on the emergency oxygen breathing unit and went to work loosening one of the through hull penetration lines with the crescent wrench. He then used the socket wrench to remove the actual through hull penetration nut.
Once he had gained access to the atmosphere of the Watch Station, he inserted the gas analyzer probe, a thin stainless steel needle into the port. He tested for carbon monoxide, oxygen, carbon dioxide, poisonous gases, neurotoxins, and radioactivity. The instrument indicated no radioactivity and an otherwise normal atmosphere. Bell removed the probe and replaced the through-hull penetration nut. He did not bother to reconnect the instrumentation wires.
“Captain, everything seems normal,” said Bell as he emerged from the transfer lock.
“Okay.”
“I think that Captain Mannington and I should go first,” Mike said. “Then Dr. Fleming and Seaman Broward can follow. I think that Graham and Bell should remain on board the Benthic Ranger and keep everything operating in case we have to get out of here in a hurry.” He checked his Walther and then re-holstered it. Mannington and Broward also carried firearms, although actually firing any gun at this depth could have catastrophic results.
Mike crawled into the transfer lock and opened the hatch to the station. The rush of air from the station was foul, a mixture of metallic and rubber smells intermingled with lubricating oil smells, epoxy resin smell, staleness, reeking excrement smells and rotting organic matter. Mike gagged, but continued to climb down into the dark interior of the transfer module, the sound of his boots on the metal ladder echoed through the darkness.
The only light in the darkened interior was the beam from Mike’s flashlight. Mannington was the next member of the team to reach the deck of the transfer module.
“We should try to get the electricity on, Mike.”
“I’m not sure we should do that. If Messinger followed procedures, this station could be rigged to explode.”
“Let me get some light from the Benthic Ranger then,” said Mannington.
Calling up to the Benthic Ranger, Mannington shouted, “Hey, John could you toss down some electric cord and a light?” The sound of Mannington’s voice bounced around the still chamber and echoed throughout the Watch Station.
The added light helped Mike and Mannington make a thorough inspection of the transfer module, firearms at the ready. Completing that inspection, Mike and Mannington found enough electric cord to extend their range to the command module and to several other modules as well. Dr. Fleming and Broward joined Mike and Mannington after the two CSAC staffers had cleared the transfer module.
The station had been abruptly abandoned. It looked as if the crew had just gotten up and walked away to come back again after lunch. In one of the crew quarters, magazines sat open to the last page viewed. In the wet analysis laboratory, a chemical titration stood in mid-experiment. A mortar and pestle silently sat waiting for the chemist’s mate to continue his grinding. A laboratory scale waited for a final adjustment. There just weren’t any people.
And through it all was the silence that bore witness to some unknown tragedy.
The four-person boarding party gathered in the command module.
“What do you make of it, Mike?” said Dr. Fleming.
“It looks as if Messinger gave the orders to abandon the station in quick order,” said Mike as he looked around the command module, itself as orderly as if waiting for Captain Messinger to return momentarily.
“Mike, here’s something of interest,” said Mannington holding the station log. “The last log entry was a day ago, but it’s in code.”
“Well, guys, there isn’t anything more we can do here. Let’s get back to the Ranger. Don’t forget the log, Joe,” said Mike.
The team climbed up the ladder through the transfer lock and into the Benthic Ranger. Bell secured the Watch Station and locked the hatch for the Benthic Ranger. As Graham flooded the transfer lock, the crew of the Benthic Ranger could hear the hissing sound of the escaping air.
Inside the Watch Station, the stillness was broken by the soft metallic clang as the Benthic Ranger broke free of the locking plate. The echoes of the clang hung for an eternity in the stillness of the station, interrupted only by a strange scraping sound.
1993: Martha
“Herb, we should get the data today,” said Martha into the telephone. There was a knock on Martha’s door. “Can you hold for a minute, Herb?”
“Ms. Thomas?”
“Yes, Janey,” said Martha. “Herb, can I call you back?” Martha returned the handset to its cradle. “What’s up, Janey?”
“We got that report on Grayson’s family, Ms. Thomas,” said Janey Smith, the computer analyst in Information Services, who had been helping Martha run the background checks.
“It seems your hunch was right. Grayson’s mother is a native of the United States, okay. But his father turned up with the same false identification as I’ve seen with the others,” said Janey as she handed the computer printout to Martha.