by Fiona Jayde
Chassaks - porcupine/snake-like species, a war-mongering species who have been attempting to overthrow Elysiums and eradicate their species for the last twenty years.
Churtnas - a bottom feeding worm on the ocean floors of Elysius. Also used as the vilest of insults.
Abreeza - a strong metal only found on Elysius, used for building weapons.
Rivas- a measurement comparable to twelve inches.
Mawksha - a large fish, good for eating.
Charksis - slug-like creature that sucks refuse. Also used as an insult.
Furxsa - a winged insect.
Durksis - comparable to a decade.
Rurkshas - a sharp-toothed carnivore that looks like a hippo but moves like a lion.
Chuktah - shells that resemble clams and hold valuable currency within their bodies.
Krees - similar to five dollars in US currency.
Creeva - increments of ten dollar bills.
Svak - ointment, pain-killer,
Shavek -organism that heals wounds.
Rezzah - device to splint and heal broken bones.
Vernex - an animal used for its fur.
Amgomoliths - grazing species.
Gorgrineck - massive animal with large jaws.
This is Dr. Ada Charles, captain of the submarine vessel Deep Thought. We are conducting final checks before submerging our ship and launching our probe into the newly discovered Nadir Deep Trench.”
I hit the off button and survey our equipment.
The deep sea probe dangles over the ocean on a small crane. The crane is old and temperamental, its chains rattling in the wind. I don’t want to take any chances with the probe before we drop it in the trench, but I have to complete all the checks and finish recording my captain’s log before we can complete this part of the mission.
Still, I can see the chains shaking, and I’m starting to worry about our safety. A couple more minutes to secure it, and we’ll go below deck. I click the recorder on again. “I’m going to turn the recorder over to Dr. Albert Smith now to provide a history of the trench.”
I hand it to Bert, and he gives me a wide grin as he takes it from me. I shake my head, grateful for his companionship and support. He knows exactly when my stress levels are spiking, and he’s dubbed himself the plucky comic relief whenever he thinks I’m getting too intense. I can’t help it. We’ve got a lot riding on this particular voyage.
I turn back to the probe as Bert’s stocky frame hunches over the side railing and he starts recording the history of the Nadir. He begins his history further back than I would have, but I don’t have time to micromanage him if I’m going to get this probe launched.
“In the last few years, we’ve seen a massive uptick in the strength of storms off both the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. These storms, combined with recent seismic activity off the coast of California, have created conditions we’ve never seen before. Recently, we learned that an ocean trench has ripped open to new depths. This event may provide considerable insight into the changes on our planet. We cannot venture to the bottom due to the pressure in the trench, but our little probe here, designed to withstand higher pressure, will explore and bring the data back to us.”
He continues speaking as I consider the ramifications of trenches opening up all over the ocean floors. It’s not the first trench to be discovered, but it is the first one that’s continued to show signs of seismic activity within its depths. We’re here to grab more readings and discover what exactly is happening within this particular trench. If we have more natural disasters headed our way, California residents need to be prepared.
A blast of icy wind stings my nose, while goosebumps rise along my skin. My cotton shirt doesn’t offer me much protection against the elements, but I feel better with minimal clothing during these excursions. I’m always getting drenched in one way or another. A quick change of clothing tends to be necessary. It’s not comfortable, but I wouldn’t change my job for anything. The briny scents of the ocean waft over me, reminding me of happier excursions, happier days, and far less stress. I pull my thoughts in order before they can spiral out of control.
Best not to think about the last several months—messed up months—of my life. I may be twenty-eight years old, but I can’t say I have too much to show for it.
John, another member of my crew, is currently securing one length of chain as I check on the other. I lean closer and inspect the rust around the bolt secured to the crane. Damn budget cuts. This is by far the ricketiest submarine pod I’ve ever been assigned to captain. I’ll have to report these conditions to my boss once we get back to the dock. My harried musings are interrupted by a rumble of thunder. Bert stops his recording as we all lift our eyes to the sky. Dark clouds, bloated with rain, close in overhead with a speed and intensity that’s alarming.
“Did you hear that?” he asks.
“Shit,” I say under my breath. Storms are always a danger at sea, but in the last few years, they’ve become a major problem. A rumble of thunder is often the only warning a crew will get before they’re slammed by something truly deadly. “I thought the wind was picking up, but I was hoping we’d have more time. Looks like this storm is coming in fast. Everyone below deck! We’ll finish our prep after it passes.”
I’m cursing myself and my own negligence, when a bolt of lightning flashes through the air. I can feel the hairs on my arms rise as fiery sparks shoot in every direction. I cry out in alarm, barking for Bert and John to get below. Before anyone can move, a rogue wave slams into our probe. The giant hunk of metal swings around and whacks into the railing of the submarine with an ear-shattering screech. The rusted bolt shatters, and the probe swings around again, gaining momentum. I watch in horror as it careens toward Bert. I stumble across the deck, attempting to get to his side and push him out of the way, but it’s already too late. The probe smashes against his head, knocking him over the railing and into the water.
“Bert!” My words come out as a choked screech while all hell breaks loose on deck. I run for a man-overboard kit as John dashes to the hatch and starts shouting down into the submarine for Thomasina. I clutch the kit to my chest and try to keep my balance as another wave smashes against the ship, drenching me from head to toe. I barely notice the cold, so intent on reaching Bert and saving him as quickly as possible.
I can’t lose him. I just can’t. He’s one of the few friends I’ve made in recent months. I don’t have any brothers, but if I could choose one for myself, Bert would be it.
I reach the handrail, searching for any sign of him. A hollow feeling settles in the pit of my stomach as I see him limply floating face down in the water. Kicking my leg over the railing, I try to get to him when another huge wave crashes down upon him, sending Bert smacking against the side of the ship.
Fearing the worst, I reach back and grab for the shepherd’s crook attached to the kit—an extended pole with a hook on the end. I kick my other leg over the railing and anchor myself to the rail with one hand as I use the other to grip the pole. Spreading my legs far apart to brace myself against the increasingly violent rolling of the waves, I lower the long, metal pole below the surface of the choppy water—just under Bert’s waist—and give it a tug, hoping to bring him closer.
His body is uncooperative, fighting against my desperate movements, bobbing in the churning sea. The hook misses, but I just manage to snag it around his arm and pull him toward me. I’m within inches of grabbing him by the shirt, when a wave far larger than any we’ve had before pummels the sub-pod, washing me backwar
d over the rail. I quickly recover, spitting salty water from my mouth and wiping the matted hair from my face. My eyes sting as I blink away the freezing drops of water. Crawling back to the railing, I pull myself to my feet and lean over, frantically searching the choppy waves for him.
I recoil immediately. I’d been hoping against hope that Bert was just unconscious, that I could save him, give him CPR, if I could just get him on the ship.
My hopes are dashed when I see him floating face up, his body slapping against the side of the submarine. Half his face is gone. He was dead as soon as the probe hit him. I bite down hard on my fist to keep myself from screaming out my pain and horror. Bile claws its way up my throat, and only my years of training prevent me from completely losing it as I watch his body rock in the waves for a few moments.
This can’t be happening. It just can’t be happening. The submarine lists to the side, jerking me out of my panicked thoughts. I shake myself, realizing I don’t have time to freak out. I can’t freak out. I’m the captain. I’m in charge, and two other lives depend on me.
I turn my back to the railing only to see John near the hatch, gripping the sides, waiting for news.
“He’s gone,” I mouth.
He closes his eyes, his shoulders shaking.
My mouth is dry, and it feels like something is stuck in my throat. I try to compartmentalize the influx of emotion. I crawl on my hands and knees as quickly as I can, reaching the hatch where John grabs me by the back of my shirt and helps me to my feet.
“Come on,” I shout, my voice cracking. “We have to get below. This storm is already getting intense.”
John doesn’t even attempt to stay calm. Sobbing loudly, he takes my hand and tries to get me down the ladder and into the submarine. I gesture for him to go first and follow behind, securing the hatch as I go.
Thomasina is inside, running the ship’s controls. From the look on her face, I can tell she’s been listening to John sob his way down the ladder, so I know I don’t need to say anything. She looks up at us briefly, her bright blue eyes filled with unshed tears. My heart sinks as I remember her attraction to Bert.
Shit.
They had been getting close, and not in a brotherly/sisterly sort of way. I shake my head and watch her olive skin pale with that single movement from me. She tucks a frizzy lock of her jet-black hair behind her ear before facing her computer screens again.
“No chance, Cap?” she asks me quietly.
“No.” I swallow hard. It’s not easy for me to admit defeat like this. We won’t even have a body to return to Bert’s extended family members. I feel like a complete and utter failure. I should have argued a hell of a lot harder when my boss refused upgrades and maintenance on the pod, budget cuts be damned. “Are we ready to dive?” My words sound cold, I know, but I can’t stop to think now. If I do, I’ll never resurface from the utter desolation I feel at the loss of our crew member.
Thomasina shakes her head. “Need one more minute, ma’am.”
I nod and stand next to her, waiting for the okay. Listening to John cry like a baby makes my heart ache within my chest. I feel my failure acutely. Bert was a smart man and a decent scientist, too, but mostly, he’d become my family.
We’d been out on the water for a few weeks now, working our way toward the trench, and Bert had always made sure we were fed and happy, leading sing-alongs at night and clapping his hand on our shoulder when the stress and tension became too great. Claustrophobia could be a killer in this little tin can. One late night after too many shots of bourbon, I’d even talked to him about Carl, my ex-boyfriend, a man I could hardly think about without feeling the overwhelming urge to curl up in the fetal position.
Bert had listened with such patience and compassion and never once said a word to the others about my emotional breakdown. I’m having trouble imagining this crew without him.
Shaking my head, I turn my attention to the screens. Later, I will obsess over decisions I made and wonder how I could have saved Bert. For now, I have to focus on the task at hand. This mission is far too important, and we can’t turn back due to this casualty. If we fail to predict another natural disaster, more lives than Bert’s will be lost.
“Ready yet?”
“Actually, Cap, I think we might have a problem,” Thom says in a shaky voice, sounding a bit confused. “Unless I’m missing something…” She keeps pressing buttons in a frantic attempt to gain control of steering. I climb up the ladder to double-check that I properly secured the hatch and then move back to my post. John is still in the corner, rocking back and forth, his face covered in tears.
It’s a lot of emotion for a still-perilous situation, but his job isn’t really about running the ship. He’s a seismologist; his position is all about the discovery, so I decide to let him cry awhile. My thoughts circle back to Bert. He’d been so excited to learn more about the tectonic plates. He was a geologist, on loan from the University of London.
We’d all been thrilled to garner his expertise. We were going to make strides in predicting earthquakes, hurricanes, and possibly prevent them due to massive research, pollution clean-ups on a global level, and the slow disestablishment of corporations and companies hell-bent on destroying our planet. We’d finally taken charge of our mistakes, and clean-up had been fierce, but the planet continued to weaken, with Mother Nature wreaking vengeance on Earth’s inhabitants.
Fifty years after the first initial meeting by the world’s governments to get our planet back on track, and the outcomes we had hoped to avoid were starting to manifest regardless. It was too little, too late. The damage humans had wrought for so many years had already set forth a chain of events we simply couldn’t get a handle on.
Between my doctorate in oceanography and Bert and John’s expertise, not to mention Thomasina’s degree in marine biology, we’d started out with a solid team for this expedition.
An expedition that had now gone to hell.
I shove my thoughts aside again and try to focus. The storm has rolled in at full strength, and the submarine begins to list from side to side. If we can get deeper, we can avoid the worst of it, but Thomasina can’t get our sub-pod diving. I hold tight to a bar above my head, feeling determined. I cannot let Thom and John see fear or doubt.
In my head, I’m calculating our timing. We have to dive to a certain depth to launch the probe since the damn thing only has just enough gas to get down to the bottom and back again on its own. Again, budget cuts. So ludicrous. Considering the importance of this mission, I think the astronomical cost of an extra round of fuel would have been worth it.
If the storm throws us too far off course, we might have trouble launching the probe from the correct location. To be perfectly honest, I’m not even sure we can launch it. I have no way of knowing how much damage the crane sustained.
“Thom?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Thomasina says in a subdued tone filled with a tension I’ve never heard from her before. “We’re ready to dive, only…I can’t seem to get a read on our comms instruments.”
I curse in frustration. “I wonder if something was damaged in this storm.”
She nods. “That would do it. We can dive now, and I can steer the ship blind, but I want to make sure we’re secured—”
Her words are interrupted by the screech of metal against metal. We look at each other. “The probe!”
“We can’t lose it,” I say. “Stand-by.”
“Don’t go up there,” John cries out from his corner. “It’s not worth it.”
“That probe is worth millions,” I say as I scale the ladder for the hatch door. “And we need the data or this mission will be a complete waste.”
And Bert will have died for nothing.
I quickly scale the ladder and open the hatch. In the space of a few minutes, we’ve gone from turbulent waters to a serious storm. In the last few years, this has become the new normal. Where once storms like these were rare, the Earth has become a volatile thing. Almost as if i
t wants to rid itself of us.
And who could blame it?
The waves crash against the sides of our submarine. I try to shield myself from the frothing water and move toward the probe. The crane is useless now—mangled. The probe swings wildly on the end of its tether. I move toward the crane, hoping to fix the lock mechanism at least, but as I approach, the probe swings back around. I duck at the last second and narrowly avoid the same fate Bert suffered. This time, though, when the probe smashes against the side of the ship, it breaks off its tethering from the crane. I watch as it follows its victim into the ocean.
“Fuck,” I say through clenched teeth. I hustle back to the hatch and climb down, slamming it behind me, securing it, and yelling as I go. “Thom, the probe is loose. We have to dive now so we can track it. I know you’re steering blind, but do your best.”
“Aye, cap. Confirm that the hatch is secured, please, and we are set.”
“Confirmed,” I say. “Dive now.”
We dive.
I breathe deep as I listen to the familiar sounds of a submarine sinking beneath the waves. The tink tink tink of water dripping through loose bolts and the pop pop pop of metal as the outside pressure increases doesn’t soothe me the way these sounds used to. The new sounds of sniffling from John in the corner makes this moment damn unnerving. I walk to him and lay my hand on his shoulder for a moment. He’s shaking with the aftermath of those heaving sobs, but it seems that his weeping has slowed down to a sad, choked whimper here and there. I pat him on the back and return to my post, steeling myself since all I want to do is sit in a weeping mess of sadness next to him.
But I don’t. I have to keep the rest of my crew safe and ensure this mission is a success. That means we find the probe.
I’m about to ask for an update when the lights flicker. Never a good sign.“Status report, Thom.”
“Cap, we’re in trouble here,” she says, her voice strained. “It seems like we’re being pulled downward. I can’t figure out what’s happening. It’s like there’s an underwater whirlpool and we’re being forced into it. I’ve done everything I can, but the engine keeps stalling.”