During our discussion, the flared-out image screen had changed to what looked like a troubleshooting window. Along the top margin in the panel’s frame was SOURCE CODE.
At first a few characters appeared 95HH32G9FZWXM. Then lines below that began to fill with numbers and letters at an ever increasing pace scrolling down the screen faster than I could read. It made no difference though; they were still gibberish.
“Good Lord, now what is that?” Bowman asked pushing back from the monitor.
“Looks like code,” Williams said.
“But how is it getting into the ROV system? Suggestions?”
“I hate to venture a guess,” I said, “but with its extreme brilliance the light from the monopole may be seeping into the ROV’s fiber optic control cable. Your controller sees the returning light as feedback. But who am I to know; I’m not a computer geek.”
“You may just be geek enough, Matt. That actually sounds like a reasonable cause for this data string. But, did you see it flashing when you were near it? Only that would simulate data.”
“Yes. It was flickering colors so rapidly it appeared to be white until I blinked and caught a few dominant hues.”
He stared at the screen still scrolling.
“Hmm. Wonder if it’s trying to tell us something?”
“It’s not an undersea cable, Dr. Bowman,” Williams scoffed, “Just a flickering light on the ocean floor. Probably some bioluminescent creature gone astray.”
He pointed to the ROV’s clock panel still ticking backward.
“Then how do explain that, Lieutenant? A time-warping anglerfish?”
Suddenly, from overhead speakers a klaxon horn blared, vibrating the room. I had to cover my ears at the intensity of the alarm. As Bowman jumped to his feet, Ivy’s urgent voice interrupted the obnoxious buzzing sound.
“Station Alert! Station Alert! Power in the station is failing. Power in the station is failing. All support-crew nukes report below to the power plant. Malfunction suspected. Repeat, malfunction suspected. Preparing the EPod for detachment and ascent. Scuttle plan activates in twenty minutes.”
I checked my watch; it read 3:40 p.m. At four o’clock according to Ivy, the station would disintegrate.
“Bowman, pull the ROV back from the monopole,” Williams screamed her face white with terror.
He sat back at the console and yanked the joystick toward him and waited for something to happen. The klaxon continued to wail as the screen rolled with unending code.
“Somebody do something,” Bowman pleaded. “It’s not responding.”
“C’mon, Marker. Wanna take a dive?”
I first looked at him as if he was crazy then realized it was our responsibility to fix the problem. That’s what we were being paid for.
“Sure, Chief. SeaPod or Exosuit?”
Bowman watched our exchange through saucer eyes.
“You can’t be serious,” he said. “You’ll be trapped out there.”
“Dead serious, Dr. Bowman,” Briscoe said. “How else are we going to pull that ROV off the monopole? The umbilical is sourcing it power, draining the station.”
”Well, the Exosuits are all in the flooded Pod Bay 1 except for two emergency suits in Pod Bay 3 under the mess hall. Use them if you must; they’re close to the action so just head left when you exit the bay. I’m going to settle the crew. They must be ready to mutiny by now.”
Chapter 14. Starboard Side Out
Five minutes later, we entered the mess hall and raced through searching for the ladder leading to the docking bay. Seeing no arrow pointing downward, we panicked.
“Chef Saunders? You in here?” I yelled.
A faint voice from behind the kitchen answered.
“Yep, back in the pantry kissing my ass goodbye.”
We followed his voice to a door behind the kitchen leading into a large dimly lit room. Pallets of large plastic containers covered the floor throughout the area. Above one tall pallet stack, a stenciled down arrow partially obscured by boxes showed through.
“We need down into the bay, Chef. Now!” the Chief yelled.
Heeding our urgency, he grabbed a corner of the blocking pallet and lifted it, sending boxes flying across the pantry but freeing the hatch.
Within minutes, we were suited up ready to dive.
I turned to the Chief and asked, “How do we get out of here?”
He walked to a wall panel labeled EMERGENCY FLOOD and pushed a button, then rushed back to the stirrups to lock himself in. The emergency flood process was faster but much rougher that the one I was accustomed to. Fortunately, only a minute later the bay door opened to the ocean inviting us outward. As I kicked out of my stirrups, I noticed a row of small tools lining a rack on the wall. Quickly I snagged a hacksaw in my pincer and followed the Chief out of the bay.
“Don’t forget to go left, Chief,” I said, “This is a starboard side out.”
Remembering the station layout in my mind, I knew the monopole should be below us about fifty feet to our left. Only a few yards in front of me the Chief propelled over and down to where the monopole should be.
“There’s the ROV Marker. Looks dead in the water. Think we can move it in time?”
I checked the time display in my HUD. We weren’t close enough for it to be ticking backward but I panicked when I read the time 15:56:00, only four minutes until all hell broke loose.
“Don’t want to chance it, Chief. I’ve got to do something now.”
“W-What are you gonna do Marker? Don’t do anything foolish.”
“Chief, hide and watch a master at work,” I yelled.
I propelled ten feet over and beyond the ROV until I was upon its umbilical but safely beyond the effects of the monopole. With the hacksaw firmly in my pincer, I began to chew through the thick cable one stroke at a time. Although sparks were flying, I knew my aluminum exoskeleton suit would route the electricity harmlessly around my body. I kept pulling and pushing on the hacksaw until the blade finally broke through and the umbilical fell free dangling in two loose ends. My helmet HUD clock read 15:59:30 as I dropped the hacksaw and turned back to Briscoe with only seconds to spare.
I could hear him laughing through his intercom.
“Hope Bowman didn’t count on that ROV coming back, Marker,” he said. “You know, you’re a mad genius in a diving suit but I think you just saved us. Thank you.”
Awkwardly, he held up an arm and I slapped it down creating a loud clang through my suit.
We floated for minutes above the ROV waiting to confirm its disconnect.
“Hey, Marker, my HUD clock says it’s 1602 hours and we’re still alive. Let’s go home and get some sleep.”
“I’m not sure if I remember what that is but I’m willing to give it a try.”
After purging the bay, we racked our suits and began to climb the ladder into the pantry. Before I could reach up to open the hatch, it unlocked and dropped down missing my head by only inches.
Bowman reached through and gave us a hand into the pantry room now lit with brilliant fluorescents.
“Hey guys you saved the station. Thank you. I’ll never be able to repay you for that.”
“Merci beaucoup,” said Saunders, standing behind him grinning from ear to ear.
Looking confused, the Chief tilted his head.
“Is Saunders really a French name, Chef?”
“No,” he snickered, “not really. But I was once a French Chef and I used that a lot.”
Their interchange of humor signaled to me a relief of tension in the station. Even Bowman was changed: he laughed off the loss of the Sea Rover as unavoidable and then excused himself to start preparations for the cable transfer trip. I did notice though that our discovery of the monopole weighed heavily in his mind. He didn’t want to leave it unattended for fear of more accidents on future missions. In addition being a scientist, he felt it was a great find: an extant theoretical entity worthy of further investigation. I even heard him mention that it exhibited black-hole properties and its physical proximity really bothered him.