Deep Fathom

“Miyuki! Oh, thank God!”

Before her friend could respond, a new voice came on. It was the ship’s geologist, his Jamaican accent giving him away. “Professor Grace, time is of the essence. Have you heard from Dr. Cortez? What is going on?”

Karen gave him a summary as she initiated the docking bay pressurization. The two quickly compared notes. She learned the support ships topside were all leaving, steaming under full power away from the site and abandoning the Fathom. Once they were gone, communications had reopened.

“Why are they leaving?” she asked.

“Gabriel picked up a coded transmission. He was able to decrypt it. Apparently some fail-safe command was initiated. To wipe out the area. It seems they’re not taking any chances on losing whatever resources lie down there to a foreign power. The place has been targeted for a missile strike.”

“When?”

“Gabriel is still trying to work that out.”

Karen suddenly felt faint, light-headed. From how many different directions could death aim their way?

“What about Jack?” Charlie asked.

Karen focused back on the monitors. “I’m trying to get him on board, but I don’t know. The robot can’t lift his sub into the bay. Jack has to do that himself, and I think he’s out of power.”

“I’ll have Gabriel patch you over to the sub. See if you can wake him.”

“I’ll try.”

As she waited, Karen leaned over and peered through the observation window. The bay was flooded and the doors were gliding open.

“Dr. Grace, you are hooked up to the deep-water radio of the Nautilus.”

Karen spoke into the microphone. “Jack, if you can hear me, wake up!” She kept an eye on the monitor, focusing Huey’s camera on the glass dome. She used the robot’s arms to shake the sub. “Wake up, damn it!”

10:42 A.M., Nautilus

Jack swam through darkness, chasing a whisper. A familiar voice. He followed it up toward a bright light. The voice of an angel…

“Goddamn it, Jack! Wake your ass up!”

He jolted in his seat, groggy and blinded. He threw his head back. Lights shone all around him. He couldn’t see.

“Jack, it’s Karen!”

“Karen…?” He wasn’t sure if he spoke or if it was all in his head. The world swam with light.

“Jack, you have to raise your sub fifteen feet. I need you to enter the bay over your head.”

Jack craned his head up. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw a large open hatch above his head. Understanding seeped through to him. “Can’t,” he mumbled. “No power.”

“There must be a way. You’re so close.”

Jack stared up, remembering Spangler’s death. Maybe there was a way.

Karen spoke, desperate. “Jack, I’ll see if the ROV robot’s arms are strong enough to push you inside.”

“No…” His tongue felt thick and slow. He searched between his legs. His fingers found the release brake for jettisoning the external sub frame. He yanked on it. It was stuck, or he was too weak.

“Jack…”

Taking a deep breath, he grabbed it again with numb fingers. Bracing his feet, he used both his arms and his upper back to crank the lever up between his legs. He heard the muffled pop of the manual pyrotechnics. The external frame locks blew off, freeing the inner pilot’s chamber.

Buoyant, the chamber rose from its shell, like an insect shedding its old carapace. Pressures thrust it upward through the open hatch.

Jack saw none of it, passing out again.

10:43 A.M., Neptune base

On the screen, Karen saw the sub appear to crack in half. She gasped with fright until she saw the inner chamber shoot upward—right through the open hatch. She hit a button on the controls, initiating repressurization.

She stepped to the observation window. Jack’s escape pod bounced and rolled along the ceiling. Under it, the bay doors closed. The thump of the pumps began to sound.

Karen watched, holding her breath. Jack hung slack in his harness.

The five minutes to drain and equalize the pressure was interminable. She briefly contacted the Fathom, updating them. She learned that Charlie was working on some plan of his own with Gabriel.

Karen, afraid for Jack, barely listened.

At last the green light flashed above the door to the bay. She twirled the lock and hauled the hatch open. The pilot pod, half acrylic, half titanium, lay on its side. Karen had already been instructed over the radio by Robert on how to open it. Snatching an emergency oxygen bottle from beside the bay door, she ducked through the hatch.

She ran over to the pod, grabbed the manual screw pull, and began winding it around like a car’s jack handle. She stared inside. Jack’s face was blue. She cranked harder, pumping her arms. The seals peeled open with a hiss of escaping air. Karen smelled the foulness to it—stale, dead.

She reached to the loosened dome top and kicked it open. Kneeling down, she freed Jack’s harness and hauled out his limp body. His skin was cold and clammy. She was sure he was dead.

Sprawled on the bay floor, Karen checked for a pulse in his neck. Faint and thready. His breathing was shallow. She slid on her knees and collected the small oxygen bottle, unhooking the tiny mask. She twisted the flow valve and placed the mask over his mouth and nose.

Leaning near his ear, she whispered, “Breathe, Jack.”

Somewhere deep inside, he must have heard her. His chest rose and fell more deeply. She turned and zippered down his neoprene dive suit, freeing his rib cage.

As she did so, a hand rose and weakly took her wrist.

She looked down at Jack’s face and found him staring at her.

He spoke through the mask. His voice was hoarse. “Karen…?”

She began to cry, and hugged him gently around the neck. For a moment neither one tried to move.

Finally, Jack struggled to sit up. Karen helped him. He shoved aside the oxygen mask and minitank. His color was already improving. “Tell me what’s happening,” he asked, teeth chattering.

She did.

Jack rolled to his knees and coughed thickly. “What’s this plan of Charlie’s?”

“He wouldn’t exactly say.”

“That sounds like Charlie.” Jack stood with her help, rubbing his arms. “How much time do we have left?”

“One hour.”

20

Nick of Time

August 9, 11:05 A.M.

Neptune base, Central Pacific

Jack sat buried in warm towels. He was finally starting to feel his toes. Charlie’s image flickered on the computer screen in front of him. “First tell me about this missile strike. What’s that all about?”