“You’ve seen too many films, kid. Submarines there are mostly from the time of World War Two, that are quite different from this masterpiece of technology.
“Wow, it is like a real spaceship in here…”
“That’s right, contemporary submarines are in no way different from a large ship or from modern airplanes. The crew avails of sunbeds, a gym, a small swimming pool, even a sauna. You can stay underwater without ever going to the surface for more than eight months.”
“But how is it possible?”, Marcela, who was walking right behind them, asked. “Won’t air get exhausted?”
“No, the crew of this baby can produce electrical energy and even oxygen for breathing. As I said, they are surfacing every few months only to stock food supplies.”
“But how can you produce oxygen under water?” Michael wondered.
“Don’t forget that underwater there is mostly… water”, Sergey said, who stopped and waited for them in order to take part in the conversation. “And water, as we all know, is composed of oxygen and hydrogen.”
“Electrolysis of water to oxygen and hydrogen – and there you are, you’ve got energy for sailing and air for breathing. Moreover, in practically unlimited quantities”, Ivanov said walking on.
They reached the bridge, where the control room was situated – the heart of the ship. Michael decided to try one of the two periscopes. He struggled to open the handles and look inside, but without any success.
“Alan, have you any idea where the power switch is, if this gadget here still works?” Norman turned to the Russians. “Colonel Ivanov, how do you operate this? We need to find their archive.”
Before they could stop him, Alan pressed a couple of buttons and the lights over the main switchboard went on. Marcela timidly touched the metal of the control panel in front the monitors of the computers. Curiosity won, she bended over the keyboard and scratched it with a nail.
“This here explains the excess of carbon in the spectral analysis.”
“What do you mean?”, Norman asked.
“Well, every part in the interior of the submarine is covered with graphene. It is pure carbon.”
“Graphene?” Michael asked and touched the column before him. It felt smooth and soft as velvet.
“It is really not a common knowledge”, Marcela replied, “that graphene is the strongest and lightest material ever produced. It is stronger than diamond even, unique for its being 300 times more solid than steel and at the same time more flexible than the most yielding rubber. Colonel, may I ask you to break this here?”
Ivanov took out his gun and removed the cartridge-clip.
He then hit with all his force the fine appliance with the massive metal butt. The keys on the keyboard, the buttons and the working screens remained intact.
Marcela looked at the group and went on:
“It consists of a single layer of carbon atoms and could be given any shape. The material of the future, that’s how it is called by us, chemists. It is so thin, that a sheet with weight of 28 grams can cover an area as big as 28 football fields. The problem is that its production is highly unprofitable. Actually, it is quite cheap, but technologically…”
“Obviously the Russians have found a way to introduce it in the mass production of ships… from the future”, Alan interrupted her.
“Our problems”, Sergey started to reply, “boiled down to finding a way to separate a monomolecular layer, preserving at the same time the purity of the atom lattice. We needed only six atoms of carbon in its structure. With five or seven atoms in the lattice irregularities in the surface appeared. But if we could isolate a five-atom cell of pure graphene, that was the ideal material of the future.“
“I can see everything here is made of this graphene of yours. No wonder then that the values of carbon were so high.” Norman was closely inspecting the control panel.
“Do you mean that the ‘live analysis’ of the ship is due to this covering layer?” Michael asked.
“In a certain way this material can be integrated in biological systems like an implant in the human body for example”, Marcela answered.
“So, this thing can also be alive, can’t it?” Norman interfered. “I don’t like it one bit. We must discover the black box as soon as possible and find out what happened to this ship.”
“I just don’t know where exactly the black box stands with the Russians.”
“Alan, please, this is dangerous! Ivanov, will you cooperate?”
“Norman wanted the records from the archive. This is the most important issue for the moment.”
Ivanov just glanced at his compatriot, then lifted the metal bar from the floor and reluctantly started for the wall. He leaned and hit its lower part with force. A small hidden compartment was opened, containing a small orange cylinder.
“I’ve always known they are neither black, nor boxes”, Michael noted.
“It seems the batteries have enough charge and they are working”, Norman pointed out, after taking in his hands the ‘black box’, given to him by the Colonel.
“I can’t wait to understand what’s in the recordings”, Hans said, who had by now just watched from aside, deep in thought.
“I suggest we take a look at the back, Sir”, Alan suggested.
Ivanov remained at the bridge and Norman, being careful ordered the lieutenant to stay back and keep an eye on him. The rest of the group started towards the rear part of the submarine, where the engine room, the sailors’ cabins and the nuclear reactor had to be situated.
Norman was leading, followed by Alan and Sergey. Marcela and Hans were the last in the column.
“There is nothing in the fucking submarine”, said Alan, sounding terribly disappointed.
In the engine room nothing seemed to be touched. The four diesel engines looked brand new.
“Well, is it just me?”
“What is it, Alan?” Norman turned back to him.
“Can’t you see?!”
“See what?”
“The diesel engines, of course.”
“What about them. They seem normal enough. I guess if we start them they’ll be working even.” Norman put his hand on one of the units.
“They’ll be working, no doubt about that, but doesn’t it strike you? There are as many as four!”
“Alan, stop fucking with us and say what’s bothering you.”
“Nuclear submarines do not have diesel engines, Sir. They don’t need them.”
They went on to the cabins, that were separated from the passage with curtains. Norman lifted the first one and looked shocked.
Unlike the engine room, where everything looked new and unused, here the chaos was unbelievable. There were shoes and clothes in disarray on the floor. The bunks of the sailors were with cramped bedcovers, among which there were books, notebooks, packs of cigarettes, safety-razors, toothbrushes and miscellaneous stuff, used in everyday life. It looked as if someone evaporated people by magic and replaced them elsewhere, but not before a mortal combat. It seemed like the people left the cabins in real hurry and in a state of emergency. Or it might not be an emergency command, but they were in panic.
“I guess someone did not tidy up his room before getting out”, Alan observed.
“If this someone did get out of the room at all”, Hans said, having as usually his own version of events. He was crouching, almost kneeling on the floor, scrutinizing something with keen interest.
“Come on, Hans, there is nobody here, it is quite obvious that the crew evacuated in emergency because of something… They left the ship and that’s it. What is so strange about it?”
“Yeah, Alan, you are right as always”, said Hans ironically, “if you can just explain this.”
In a triumphant manner he held in front of Alan’s eyes a small black leather notebook with a cross on one cover, evidently a diary of one of the sailors. Alan took it and made a move to look through the pages, but there were no pages. All were torn out except the last one. He opened it and saw blurred but readable writing: Hell is here, now.