“I’m good; I’m good,” grunted Jonah as he used the corridor wall to steady himself. “Got any stronger pain meds? Like maybe something meant for horses?”
“Yes — but not if you want to stay on your feet.”
Jonah frowned and muttered his annoyance. He looked into the command compartment and picked out the empty chair at the communications console. With one final burst of energy, he limped towards it and flopped down, letting out a long, slow wheeze of relief as he leaned his head back to rest.
Vitaly barely looked up from his computer. “Your solution always crash,” complained the Russian, waving his hands in the air with open frustration. “Crash submarine into door, crash truck into ocean, crash big ship into big island, now crash car into Scorpion.”
“I can’t take credit for that,” said Jonah as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs over the low desk. “Alexis was driving. I wasn’t even conscious.”
“You bad influence. Still your fault.”
“I’m going to go forward, get some antibiotics,” said Hassan, excusing himself with an amused smile.
Jonah heard the heavy thump of steel-toed boots as Alexis approached from the engine compartment. “Nice driving, Tex,” said Jonah over his shoulder. “I always wanted to die in my sleep.”
“You’d better not be making fun of me,” said Alexis, crossing her arms. “I should have listened to my mom and gone to law school. Lawyers don’t shoot at people, or get chased around the whole goddamn ocean by the Japanese navy. Lawyers don’t crash stolen cars onto submarines on purpose to flee the cops.”
“It was borrowed, not stolen.”
“Law school maybe not better,” said Vitaly. “Too many lawyer in America. Drive down salary. But smuggling is growth market.”
“See?” said Jonah. “You’re in a growth market. Even Vitaly says so.”
Vitaly didn’t laugh. He instead swiveled from his console and grabbed submarine’s control yoke with one hand, using the other to furiously type a systems diagnostic command into his keyboard.
“What’s wrong?”
“I feel resistance,” he said. “Unusual vibration, drag on yoke.”
“Did we pick up some debris in the harbor?” asked Alexis. “Maybe some floating rope or a commercial fishing net?”
“I do not know,” said Vitaly. He reset the system, nodding pensively as he experimentally tugged at the control yoke again. The Scorpion responded easily to his touch. “I think maybe fixed?”
Then the submarine began to abruptly tilt, a little shift at first, but was quickly followed by a sharp lurch. “We’re yawing,” said Alexis. “I can feel it, too. We need to re-trim.”
“Trim is within usual parameter,” said Vitaly. The yoke began to buck and jerk in his hands. “This should not happen. Something wrong.”
The yoke suddenly ripped itself out of Vitaly’s grasp, moving on its own as it slammed into the metal guard welded to the deck. The submarine teetered into a lazy, descending corkscrew, nosing down sharply. Jonah tumbled out of his chair and onto the deck as the other two struggled to hold onto anything they could grab.
“I have lost control!” said Vitaly, straining against the yoke with both hands, ass on the deck, feet splayed. Jonah crawled up beside him and shoved his shoulder into the metal stalk, trying to force the yoke upright. The command compartment running lights flickered and died, leaving them in darkness until the emergency lighting erupted in red. Alarm klaxons began to blare, only adding to the chaos.
Alexis stared at the rebooted navigation console in horror. “The conning tower hatch release has been triggered!” she shouted. “The computer is trying to open it!”
Jonah’s mind reeled. “Flood the ballast tanks!” he ordered, his shoulder still underneath the yoke. “Take us deeper!”
“Are you insane?” screamed Alexis. “Deeper?”
“Do it now!” said Jonah. “The only thing keeping those hatches closed is water pressure. We need as much as possible to work against the hydraulics — we get too close to the surface and we’re fucking dead!”
Swearing in disbelief, Alexis entered the commands. The submarine’s nose lurched downwards once more, sending Jonah’s stomach into his throat as the Scorpion spun ever deeper into the harbor, hull moaning like a wounded animal.
“Passing four hundred feet! Four hundred fifty!” shouted Vitaly.
Alexis grabbed her monitor in fury, shaking it violently. “I’m locked out — I can’t override the hatch command!”
Jonah looked up the conning tower shaft to see the hatch. It flexed, hydraulics straining against the increasing exterior pressure. A single jet of aerosolized water hissed from the rim, condensing into a steady trickle of foamy seawater. The stream flowed down the interior ladder, dripping salty water onto Jonah’s forehead from above.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM. One after another, the internal bulkhead doors began to slam shut on their own, metal hinges squealing as they sealed themselves automatically.
“Internal communications are offline!” Alexis typed ineffectually at the console keypad before smashing at it with balled fists. “We can’t talk with any other compartment.”
“What the fuck is happening to my sub?” demanded Jonah.
A massive whooshing sound erupted from all around, shaking every inch of the Scorpion. “Tanks have blown! We’re going up again!” shouted Vitaly.
PIIING-PIIING-PIIING-PIIING-PIIIING—a non-stop gong of sonar pulses reverberated and echoed throughout the sealed compartments, drowning out the blaring klaxons and howling system failure alarms. Jonah cupped his hands to protect his hearing. His eardrums felt like they were about to implode. The navigation computer picked up the ricocheting acoustic signals, painting a vivid green 3D wireframe model of the rock-strewn harbor seafloor and gathering naval fleet above. The sub suddenly jolted from its corkscrew, turning to lock laser-like on a massive, bulbous fuel ship. The Scorpion’s diesel engines roared to life, supplementing the power of her electric drive. Jonah’s ears popped as the thirsty diesels inhaled cabin air, belching exhaust through an emergency shunt into the submarine’s interior. Coal-black smoke poured from every ventilation duct, filling the compartment with choking, sulfuric gas.
“I’ve lost all control!” shouted Vitaly, trying in vain to shove the control yoke over and somehow alter their course as they raced towards the surface.
Jonah heard the sound of protesting metal as the bulkhead door behind him began to open. Through sheer force of will and muscle, Freya wrenched the heavy steel against frozen hydraulics. She wedged herself halfway through before Jonah and Alexis scrambled to her aid, holding it open so she could slip through.
“Help me!” Vitaly shouted from beneath his own console. Freya sprinted across the room and slammed her shoulders into the control yoke beside him, trying to somehow push the submarine off its suicidal course. Her added strength forced a wobble into the rudder, slowing the submarine to a violent shake.
“I’ve seen this before!” she shouted, one eye locked on the looming fleet above, muscles straining against the yoke. “Your computer network is fucked — disconnect it now!”
“We cannot do this — the server run everything!” protested Vitaly. “Let me re-set system!”
“It won’t work! Disconnect before it’s too late!” shouted Freya.
Jonah ripped a hand-held radio out of the nearest desk, depressing the talk button. “Any crew near the engine compartment, disconnect the central server!” he shouted. Only hissing static answered him. He shot a worried glance at the communications console — the Scorpion’s radio transmitter had autonomously matched his frequency, drowning it out in white noise. He began to cough, barely able to see through the thick, choking diesel exhaust pouring from the vents, clutching the plastic valve Hassan had dug into his chest. “Alexis, you’re with me — engine room, now!”