“Williams… opinion?”
Preoccupied she jerked at his question.
“I’m sorry sir, what did you ask?”
“The object Briscoe found. Do you believe it’s supranormal as they say?”
“Well I can’t really say sir but I do know when I drifted over that area in two different SeaPods their navigation systems failed. And they’ve never acted up before this.”
“Why didn’t you dig it up and bring it back? I need to see this thing.”
In our defense, I ventured an answer.
“Our suit’s power supplies were failing as was the SeaPod’s. Time was going backwards. Our only option for survival was to mark its location and retreat. Otherwise, you might be looking at even more accidents. I’m the one who suggested we return immediately as everything began to go south.”
“Well, I’m sending divers out later today to pull in the isotope sensors and cable sheath. I’ll just have them dig it up while they’re out. How close is this—”
“Sir,” the Lieutenant interrupted, “I’ve tried to remain neutral in my opinion of their discovery, but I have to say that damn thing put the fear of God in me. It’s a feeling I’ve never had before in my years of diving. Almost brings the eerie Davy Jones Locker legend to life. I do not recommend sending more divers out after that. It could kill them.”
“Hmm. That’s rather daunting. What do you recommend, Lieutenant? What are our options?”
“Use our ROV. It’s been gathering dust since we’ve been down here.”
Finally, he showed a hint of a smile.
“Excellent suggestion, Williams. I’ve been needing a reason to fire up the robot and that seems a perfect use for it.”
Ten minutes later, we arrived at the ROV’s control station: a bank of video screens around a console nestled behind the computer racks in Quad 1. It had numerous joysticks and levers resembling the control panel of a mini-sub and on the wall over the workstation a sign: SEA ROVER. Bowman offered us a seat around him and began to operate the controls.
Gradually a screen flickered and cleared into focus showing the remotely operated vehicle resting in the corner of Pod Bay 1. As the image sharpened, I saw the ROV sitting on a platform near the Exosuits.
I remembered seeing it there during our recent dive and wondered if they had ever used it. It was not a unique design as I expected but a standard ROV I had piloted before in the SeaCrawler squadron at Point Mugu. I knew it welclass="underline" a sturdy metal cage weighing in at 500 pounds, four feet wide by eight feet long with two massive manipulator arms tucked into its bow. From the aft a length of optical fiber and copper cable, its umbilical, wound around a large spool ready for deployment.
Another screen flashed to life as his hands switched more controls. It showed the filled Exosuit racks taken from a lower vantage point I assumed to be the ROV’s forward camera. In the frame surrounding the image were numerous data windows showing depth, pressure, time of dive, a manipulator-arm-image inset frame and water temperature.
“Here we go,” he said. Then picking up a nearby hand microphone he alerted, “Flooding Pod Bay 1 in ten seconds. Stand and be seen if you’re in there.”
Twelve seconds passed according to my watch and his hand hit a switch labeled MAGNETIC LOCKS ON. Then he flipped a safety cover and tripped the FLOOD BAY switch.
Instantly, flooding overhead ribbons of seawater gushed into the bay raising the level over the racked Exosuits’ boots. Then as the water rose slowly passing over the ROV’s camera, I held my breath again. I hated that instinct but blamed it on my childhood. My mind drifted back…
I had thought everyone was born with a deep fear of water but my mom once told me it was from an accident, a horrible accident, I witnessed at the beach. She always cried when she talked about it. I was just turning four when it happened she told me. It was a sunny day with dark storm clouds gathering on the westward horizon. Surfers yelling with joy off in the distance were riding monster waves. She said that dad had gone to the concession stand to get snow cones as my three-year old brother Mikey splashed through the waves screaming with joy as he ran. I wasn’t far behind but stayed closer to land. As she watched us, a big cresting wave suddenly swept him screeching and scrambling feet first into deep dark water. The azure water under him had gone brown with sand. A vicious suction like that from an unplugged drain dragged him out with such tremendous force he couldn’t catch a breath; he just disappeared. Then she said that she saw me turn and run into the roiling water after him. The same wave took me as I dug in his wake trying to save him. In thinking back, I do seem to recall my frenzied digging but nothing more.
The next day, a white sterile room invaded my blurry vision. Hissing machines and clicking pumps surrounded me all synchronized with a green blinking light on the wall. My first recollection after a lengthy coughing spell was the smell of a bit of fresh air seeping through my facemask. A doctor staring into my eyes through a small, lighted funnel he called an ophthalmoscope, welcomed me to Mission General Hospital then said without emotion that I had died but through the miracle of science, he brought me back.
Then he told me the most horrible news my young ears had ever heard. My little brother Michael could not be saved. I must have cried for hours knowing my best friend was gone forever. All to a ferocious riptide that had somehow swallowed us both then kept my brother and spit me out. My mom tried to calm me by saying that God needed only one little angel that day; the doctor said that riptides or undertows in that area were notoriously unpredictable. I didn’t understand either of their explanations but I knew that I would never go near the ocean again. It was far too dangerous.
“Bay’s full,” Bowman yelled interrupting my unpleasant reverie. “Pod Bay door’s opening.”
Seconds later the ROV headed out into the darkness shining its floods forward, illuminating fogs of moving organisms.
“Go toward starboard,” Williams said.
Nudging the joystick to the right Bowman directed the ROV toward Pod Bay 2. Even though it was still thirty feet from the bay’s entrance its video return began to distort with interfering lines running through and across the image.
“There it is!” barked Williams pointing at a spot on the screen. “That’s the cutting torch pack I dropped down. Kill the floods.”
As Bowman switched off the forward floods, the screen went black for a moment. Then the glow appeared, blossoming amid severe cross-hatching of the incoming image.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said moving his eyes closer to the image.
“See it, Dr. Bowman?” she asked.
“Hell yes… and I see the time clock up in the corner ticking backward too.”
He looked to his side past Williams.
“Holy shit Briscoe! What in God’s name have you found?”
As we watched, the glow brightened to the point that it saturated the camera leaving a flared video screen: white with no details of anything. Only the status panels surrounding the image showed through.
“Uh Dave?” I asked scanning the panels, “Is the water temperature supposed to be minus forty-eight degrees Fahrenheit down there? That’s way below freezing. An impossible situation for liquid water. There should be ice forming.”
He jerked his attention to the TEMP display, reading -48°F then put his hand to his forehead. Seconds passed before he looked back at the screen.
“There is no earthly reason why that temp should be below freezing. At that temperature it’s not even liquid, it’s in another phase. However considering our display’s malfunction it may be a fault in the temperature sensor.”