Rather than argue I sped up the ladder surprising even myself at my agility and turned to help the Chief. He face was right below me revealing a fear he seldom showed.
“Thanks, Marker,” he huffed grabbing my hand. “Not as young as I used to be. And I hope it continues past this. You still owe me Bear Lake.”
I smiled and pulled him up, suddenly realizing for the first time that we might not escape our imminent doom. “Oh, you’ll get it. I promise.”
Then breathing heavily Bowman poked his head through, climbed out, and spun around to seal the hatch. As he reached down and tugged it upward. it forcefully slammed closed almost injuring his hand. Squatting he twirled the hatch wheel until it locked and glanced up at us standing over him.
“That pressure’s building down there and it has a powerful force. Be very careful around it.”
He jumped up wiped his hands on his jumpsuit and frantically turned toward the Admiral.
“We have to start emergency scuttle procedures as soon as possible.” Then grabbing the Admiral’s arm he pulled him toward the door stumbling awkwardly into the core room.
“Come with us,” Briscoe said spinning toward Williams. “We’re cold wet and thirsty. Let’s see if there’s anything left of the mess and regroup there.”
Shivering she answered, “I’m right behind you.”
Chapter 23. Mayday
With Bowman rushing off somewhere to call Mayday, we found ourselves in a tilted wacky-world station forced to manhandle our way around the deck grabbing the nearest object to pull our bodies along without falling and sliding to the front starboard corner of the room. Disoriented, we struggled into Quad 3 and found the mess hall cluttered with tables and chairs piled against the starboard wall rising almost to the ceiling.
Briscoe looked around curiously sniffing the air.
“Is that coffee I smell, Chef Saunders?” he called out.
“You bet! Just perked it,” said his voice from the pantry. “It’s such a damn mess back there I don’t know how I’m gonna feed my next meal,” he said stepping carefully, slanting to port, back into the kitchen.
He side-stepped through to the jumbled wall grabbed a four-top table from the pile and dragged it over for us. Then from a roll of tape he was carrying, he taped down the legs and went back for the chairs.
Briscoe, Williams, and I smiled at each other, watching his resourcefulness ignoring the disaster we faced.
“In a world gone sideways there has to be sanity,” he said finishing the last chair’s taping. “And I’m making it right here. Seat yourselves, please. I’ll bring us coffee. Two sugars for Mr. Cross and none for the Lieutenant and Mr. Briscoe, right?”
“Correct,” we answered in unison.
With the cup carrier carefully balanced in his hands he slant-walked back to the table and handed us coffees, keeping one.
“We’re doomed aren’t we?” he asked sliding into his seat. “I heard Ivy’s announcement about the bridge. How bad is it down there?”
Ready to answer I glanced at Williams, noticed teardrops forming in her eyes, and deferred to her.
“It’s bad Bill,” she said. “It’s sealed off from the station never to be entered again. Fully compromised with the pressure.”
“So we can’t be leveled?”
“No I’m sorry. Unless a miracle occurs we’re not going anywhere… or leveling the station.”
“But-but I can’t cook or serve like this. How can I provide meals in this mess?”
“I’m afraid you won’t have to. We’ll be scuttling Discovery One before your next meal.”
With his eyes and mouth agape, he stared back.
“What?” His lips began to tremble and a sorrow fell over his face.
“But why? There are no alarms. There’s no panic. We’re just tilting. I love it here. This is my family. This is my home.”
Briscoe put a hand on his shoulder.
“But there soon will be, Chef. This station is an engineering marvel of safety but there’s a cancer eating away at its base. It can only sustain the damage for a few days before the dome’s final involvement. Then it’s too late. We have to evacuate now while there’s still time.”
From the ceiling Ivy spoke, startling us.
“All station personnel please assemble in the mess for evacuation instructions. Please report to the mess hall for evacuation instructions.”
Ivy’s announcement jolted Saunders into action. He stumbled around grabbing tables and chairs and hurriedly began taping them down. Empathizing with his motivation, Briscoe and I helped him by holding them for taping. Then he backed off and counted.
“Four long tables with twenty-one chairs should seat everyone including me. Thank you guys for your help. Gotta go make more coffee.”
As I talked plans with the Chief and Williams waiting for Dave to arrive, members of the station’s crew began to file in and sit around the tables hooting and cheering. At first that confused me: revelry in this time of extreme danger seemed frivolous but then the Lieutenant explained to me that it was for Chef Saunders’ thoughtfulness. Suddenly I realized that all the crew, not just us, loved him as family. She told me that he had always gone out of his way to please them and they were just showing their appreciation in the final hours of the station’s existence.
“Fresh coffee!” he yelled from behind the tilted serving line. “It’s on me today. Come and get it.” Another cheer arose from the small crowd as they filed up to the urn and filled their cups then returned to their seats awaiting the exit briefing.
Soon Bowman entered the mess with Franklin, looked over our table and nodded then headed for the coffee. I could see from his resigned expression that this was not going to be an easy meeting for him.
Sitting down at our table squirming into his seat to keep his balance he glanced around the room and sighed.
“Mayday has been sent and acknowledged. Rescue vessels are on their way and should be hovering over us within the hour.”
Then he put his head into his hands and closed his eyes.
“So it’s come down to this. My hopes and dreams dashed by a physical impossibility from hell. Why did it have to land here? I just wanted this station to work and demonstrate the feasibility of deep-sea habitats. I guess I must have happened on one of its hidden gotchas.”
Williams put her hand on his.
“Dr. Bowman you have already proved it to me and everyone else in here. I’ve heard them talk. All of their experiences have far exceeded their expectations. You have nothing to regret and it’s certainly not your fau—”
A loud gasp came from the crew with the jolt as the starboard side dropped again, further increasing the tilt.
Bowman’s eyes widened when he realized what was happening.
“Goddammit!” he cursed, “It’s going too fast. We have to go.”
Rising from his seat, he turned to the anxious crew.
“That’s our signal. We must leave now for the panic room and board the EPod. Is everyone here?”
Several of the support crew lifted from their seats and scanned the room looking from table to table.
“Broyles and Simon aren’t here,” said one. “They may be trapped on the third deck. The elevator doesn’t seem to be working.”
With veins in his neck rising he yelled, “What? The elevator’s not working? Are you kidding?”
The crewman hesitated before answering.
“No sir, it won’t rise above the first deck. Just bumps up and down a few inches like it’s stuck on something.”
“Oh shit,” Bowman said. “It’s the tilt. It’s binding with side friction against the tube. I never designed it to be used this far off vertical.”
“Then how do we get them down from Deck 3?” he asked. “We can’t just leave them there. Is there an emergency stairway? Ladder?”