Without waiting for an answer, he checked to make sure the ballast vents were shut. Then he reached toward the lower part of the port distribution panel and began to blow the aft and forward tanks. He continued to push the switches intermittently, shooting air into the tanks. Decker couldn’t feel a thing. “Nothing’s happening,” he shouted above the din.
Speers pointed at the computer console. “Alvin says it is,” he cried. “That’s a temperature-compensated quartz oscillator pressure transducer,” he added with a smile. “Try and say that fast three times! Look out your view port. You see that Bourdon dial embedded in the housing? No, over there,” he said and pointed. “That little tube on the right?”
The entire ship was vibrating. Decker glanced out of his view port and noticed an instrument just outside the Plexiglas. He had no idea how to read it, but he was comforted by the fact that it appeared to be moving. Very slowly.
Speers continued to push the VENT switch. “We’re ascending but it isn’t fast enough. I’ll have to jettison the manipulators and the batteries.”
“Don’t we need the batteries?” asked Decker.
“They won’t do us any good if we’re in a thousand pieces on the seafloor.” Speers began to fiddle with the red-bordered emergency release switches on the dump panel located at the top of the center console. First he de-energized the “A” main battery closest to Alvin’s center of gravity by pushing the 120-volt contactor switch. Then he unfastened his safety belt. He staggered aft and port, approaching the science rack.
“What are you doing?” Swenson cried. “Sit down, for Christ’s sake!”
Speers smiled. “Got to cut the safety wire.” He reached into the science rack and pulled out a pair of wire cutters.
The air seemed to explode. Decker felt himself pitch sideways as the DSV rolled over and over, and the emergency lights went out. He felt his stomach rise into his throat. Unmoored, Speers hurtled against the bulwark. He bounced like a ball inside a lottery cage as the ship tumbled out of control. Swenson screamed. It was a loud shrill sound that seemed to pierce his heart, followed by a sickening thwack.
The ship began to finally turn as the thrusters heaved against the torque. Decker felt a freezing liquid splash his face. The emergency lights flicked on. He looked over at Swenson. Her face was pale as snow. A thin mist of water was spraying from a hole in the hull. He looked at Speers who was curled up on the deck. His head flapped back and forth as the ship continued to right herself. His neck was clearly broken. His baby blue eyes stared blankly into space.
A moment later, the “heading hold” autopilot linked to the gyrocompass kicked in, and the vessel toggled upright. Decker looked out his view port. The DSV was descending once again.
“Emily,” shouted Decker. “We’re still going down!”
She glanced blankly at him, then continued to stare at Speers. A thin stream of blood was dripping from the pilot’s mouth.
“What happened?” Decker asked.
“The ballast tanks. Expanding air as we ascended.” Swenson shook her head. “I told him.”
Decker unfastened his seatbelt, reached out for her. He cradled her in his arms. “Are you alright?” he said. “Anything broken?” He began to pat her body.
Swenson didn’t answer. She didn’t respond at all. She had a nasty red welt on one cheek where Speers must have struck her as he bounced about the sphere. She was in shock.
“Oh, Emily,” he said. Decker pressed her against his chest. “Please, Emily, snap out of it.” He started to shake her but she barely seemed to respond. “Emily, wake up! I don’t know how to pilot this thing.”
“I told him,” she continued. Her voice was flat, robotic.
Decker continued to shake her. “We’re going to die, Emily, if you don’t help me. Do you hear me? I gave up my gun. For you, Emily, for you! I never thought I’d feel… ” The words caught in his throat.
She looked up at his face but her eyes remain unfocussed. They seemed to stare right through him. Then she said, “You never thought you’d what?”
“Don’t you get it?” His voice began to break. “I love you, Emily.” He started to laugh. “And I haven’t even kissed you yet,” he said. “Listen to me! I said I fucking love you.”
Swenson’s eyes began to focus. She looked at Decker, a quizzical expression on her face. She put a hand around her jaw and started to move it back and forth, opening her mouth. “What did you say? Ouch! That hurts.”
Decker smiled. “You heard me.” Then he winced and said, “You did, didn’t you? Didn’t you?”
“You said you’d love to fuck me, right?” she answered with a grin. “Ouch! Don’t make me smile. It hurts.”
He laughed and squeezed her in his arms. “Only if we live. Now get off your ass and drive this thing.”
Swenson unfastened her seatbelt and dropped into the pilot’s seat. “Where are those wire cutters?” she asked, cinching the seatbelt tight around her waist.
Decker spotted them on the deck. He handed them to her.
“Strap yourself in,” she said. “I don’t want to lose you too.”
Decker sat down and fastened his seatbelt as tight as it would go.
Swenson lifted the red cover on the emergency battery panel, cut the safety wire, placed the switch to the ON position, and flipped the switch on the dump panel. The ship lurched suddenly to port as the starboard manipulator fell away. Decker glimpsed it through the view port even though the outside lights no longer functioned. He could feel the DSV begin to rise.
Swenson flipped three other switches. The ship shuddered and the emergency lights went out. Decker was momentarily disorientated. Swenson turned on her flashlight. “The batteries,” she said. “Don’t worry. We don’t need the co2 scrubber anymore. There’s enough oxygen in here to get us to the surface. At least I hope so.”
The ship began to ascend more rapidly. “It’s going to be close,” she said, pointing at the computer screen. “Just one more thing to do.”
She unfastened her safety belt and got down on her hands and knees. There was a small metal plate in the deck. “Hand me that T-wrench,” she said. “It’s over there, in the science rack. Hurry.” Water sprayed across her face.
Decker unfastened his belt and brought her the wrench. “What are you doing?”
“Ever watch Star Trek?”
He nodded.
“You know how they sometimes separate the saucer from the thrusters? Same thing. I’m going to release the sphere from the forebody assembly. That’ll make us about three thousand pounds more buoyant.” She lifted the plate in the deck and removed the pin at the top of the release shaft. Then she replaced the plate and locked it in place with screws from the underside of the plate screw holes. When it was tightly secured, she inserted the T-wrench into the socket. “Okay,” she said, climbing to her feet. “We’re going to have to secure everything in the sphere. Once I release the forebody assembly, we’re going to shoot up like a bubble toward the surface.”
They began to stow their gear. Decker assumed the grisly task of lashing Speers into a seat. He had stopped bleeding. Decker closed the dead pilot’s eyes and turned his head away. Then he and Swenson sat down and buckled up.
“Are you ready?” she asked him, looking over. Swenson had reassumed the pilot’s chair. All her anxiety and fear seemed to have dissipated. Her face was flushed now, her eyes shiny and alert. “We have less than a minute before we hit the wall.”
“I’m ready,” he said.
She reached out and curled her hand around the T-wrench. “We may pass out,” she said, looking up at him. Then she smiled. “And by the way,” she added, “I love you too.”