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.