Undersea

by Geoffrey Morrison

  “No, sir.”

  “Pilot, do you still have control?” There was a moment of silence, then:

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Get us back to the fight, ensign.”

  “Sir?”

  “We can be dead here or dead there. We haven’t won just because we took a beating.”

  “Yes, sir.” He could feel everyone on the bridge calming down as training again took hold.

  “I want damage control teams on Decks 1 and 2 to fix anything they can shore up.”

  “Medbay is reporting being overrun with injuries.”

  “Tell them that if they were good enough to walk there, they’re good enough to walk back to their stations.”

  “Relayed, sir.”

  “They can hate me later,” he said, barely able to hear himself say it. He could have yelled it for all he knew.

  Thom could feel the Reap start to accelerate. Worrying creaks and groans echoed through the ship loud enough to hear even through damaged ears. Worse was the grinding. It sounded like one of the prop shafts had dislodged and was trying to abrade itself to nothing. It was causing a harsh and disquieting trembling in the deck. The ship was dying around them, but it limped along, as if knowing it had one final mission.

  Minutes passed. Around him the bridge crew continued to relay information and assistance to damage parties around the ship. Thom stepped off the bridge to look down the corridor. Lights winked on and off as electricity arced somewhere, making a short-lived connection and supplying power to some other area of the ship. The shadows held bodies. He stepped back onto the bridge.

  There was no way to tell how long the sensor officer had been calling him, but the urgency in his voice made Thom’s blood run cold.

  “Commander, look!”

  On the sensor screen, Thom saw his worst fears: the Population was undeterred, still on a direct course to the Fountain. Racing alongside but losing ground was the Universalis. It had started to turn to starboard, into the path of the other sub. It was impossible to see what untold amount of damage had been done in the short time the Reap had been away. All that could be seen was the Uni, more than half of its bulk still forward of the Pop, sacrificing itself in a terminal attempt to stop the unrelenting enemy citysub.

  The scene unfolded in slow motion, the Uni turning and slightly rolling almost leisurely it seemed into the path of the Pop. There were no sudden moves with such mass. No last-minute saves. But the mangled Reap charged towards them both like a child rushing to come between fighting parents.

  In the green, brackish gloom, the contours of the titans became just visible as the two ships finally met. Thom heard gasps as they helplessly watched the collision.

  The impact was agonizingly slow at first, the bow of the Pop piercing the upper hull of the Uni, the latter’s angle odd due to the severity of its turn. The Pop slid upwards, ripping away hull plating with an ease and savagery no weapon could duplicate. Light burst forth around the wound as the gash became deep enough to penetrate the inner hull. Colossal bubbles of air leapt from the edges between the two subs as water rushed in, killing everyone and everything in the Yard with cold unrelenting pressure. The laceration continued, tearing more and more hull away from the wounded ship. The bow of the Pop, like a knife, continued to rend the spine of the Uni. The gaping wound progressed aft past the Yard, and despite a desperate “No!” from one of Thom’s crew, opened up the long roof of the Garden. The bow of the once mighty Universalis sank rapidly. The deluge continued as air and water struggled to get past each other.

  Then, with a final shudder, the ships separated. One seemed unharmed, the other mortally wounded, plummeting towards the sea floor. As they pulled apart, the extent of the damage was revealed to the helpless crew of the Reap. The breach torn in the Uni’s hull was twice the width of the Reap, and ran the length of the Yard and about a third of the Garden. As it continued its mortal tilt downwards, the Reap crew could see in, down the cliff-like walls and hanging gardens of the Garden and Yard for the few moments the lights remained on. Then, after a few flickers, the lights across the entire ship winked out and it sank, pitch black, into the darkness.

  No one said a word. The Population loomed ahead of them. Its pace had slowed considerably, but it was inexorable.

  “Are weapons back up?” Thom said, trying not to let the shock of what he had seen overwhelm him.

  “Negative.”

  Thom knew immediately what must be done, but it took him a moment to be able to say it.

  “Abandon ship.” There was no response. “I said abandon ship!”

  “Sir? Yes, sir. Yes, sir!” came the delayed response. There was shuffling in the dim light as the bridge crew freed themselves from their chairs. Thom reached forward to the central table, its internal lighting dark, never to be lit again. On the side, underneath a protective cover, was a button only he was allowed to press. It clicked precisely under the weight of his finger. Triple redundant and isolated wires became excited with electrons for the first, and last, time. Every room and corridor on the Reappropriation simultaneously erupted in a noise no crewmember had ever heard in action, yet still knew by heart: the rapid double blat alarm to abandon ship. They’d been trained from childhood to recognize the sound and act immediately and decisively. All knew intuitively where the nearest escape hatch or lifeboat was, and what to do when they got there. The well trained and weary, battle-hardened crew of the Reap feverishly but adeptly made their way past the dead bodies, picking up and carrying the live ones to the lifeboats all around the ship.

  The bridge crew was the last to leave. Ahead, the Population’s torn-up bow looked like menacing razor-sharp teeth filling the viewscreen, ready to devour them. As his bridge crew filed towards the door, Thom made his way forward to the pilot’s chair. They seemed reluctant to leave without him. To the dissonant tune of the earsplitting siren he saluted them, and they him, in a silent showing of mutual respect. Thom pulled back on the controls, tilting the Reappropriation up towards the gaping maw of the Population.

  IX

  There was nothing else to do. The controls were set, the lifeboats were away. It was likely there were wounded crewmembers still onboard, but nothing could be done for them now. There was no time.

  He patted the table gently and told it “Thank you.”

  Then he was off. Normally, he could have made it to the rear lock in under three minutes at a good run. He knew he had less than two. He did it in one. The upward angle of the ship aided his movements down it, despite the treacherous leaps of faith over collapsed girders and bulging bulkheads.

  Everything in the rear lock was in disarray, having slid back against the exterior doors. Dollies, racks, gear, and drysuits piled against the one thing he needed: a scout sub. Thom slid down the deck, joining the detritus, shoving aside containers of food lying on the lid of the cockpit. He looked around for any weapons, but saw none.

  The escort sub had a remote connection to the lock door, and as soon as the cockpit was sealed, he enabled it. Despite all the damage to the ship, the pressure was holding enough that the water didn’t rush in as the door slid open. He fell back, though, in a stomach-churning drop out the back of the sub. The Reap seemed to climb away from him, up towards the black cloud that was the Population.

  Thom guessed at the time of impact and counted down silently in his head. He got to nine before his comparatively little Reap embedded itself into the front of the Pop, looking like a piece of errant food stuck in the gaping maw of some massive beast. Disappointingly, there was no explosion. Three of the four propellers still churned and the sub wasn’t moving, so he hoped at the very least his beloved ship had bought him some time by slightly slowing the Pop. At best, he figured he’d have twenty minutes before it ran down the Fountain.

  Thom throttled up and dove down and away from the ship. As he reached maximum speed, he pulled back up again. His aim was perfect.

  It had taken Ralla far too long to fight her way down to the ship
yard. Door after door had been sealed shut, perhaps in an attempt to keep her occupied, or perhaps as a precaution against the battle being waged outside. Getting knocked off her feet every few moments as torpedoes impacted the hull didn’t help. She knew no one torpedo would cripple the ship, but each one still caused her heart to jump a little. By the time she made it down to the floor, nothing was where it was when she had seen it from above. The constant barrage, and one tremendous jolt that felt like a collision, had rearranged, dislodged, or broken anything that wasn’t an integral part of the ship itself. The jolt had worried her, but the ship hadn’t slowed or turned, so she figured they hadn’t run down the Fountain. There was still time.

  She had found her rockets. As she figured, only two fit in her coveralls, and her hands were full with a pistol and the rifle she taken from the soldier two decks above.

  She had made her way up some scaffolding to the next level, the doors on her level blocked with debris. Another jolt knocked her to the deck, which was the only reason she was looking back towards the bay where she noticed something moving through the open lock in the floor. It was a light. It quickly grew brighter, then it was there. Only in the moment before it hit the surface did she realize what it was.

  A dart-like escort sub, travelling at full speed and at a steep angle, broke the plane of the water, bursting forth like an explosion, momentarily airborne. It sailed through the air, passing over the edge of the lock before gravity took hold and smashed it down to the deck. It ground to a halt, water cascading from the hull and vaporizing as it hit a floor hot from abrasion. The canopy popped open, and Ralla was equally surprised and unsurprised to see Thom crawl out, bearded, bloodied, and furious.

  Ralla shouted to him, but he didn’t hear. She scampered down the scaffolding, nearly breaking her leg as she slipped towards the bottom. Maybe that got his attention, maybe it was her awkward limp, or maybe it was the sheer volume of her screaming. He turned, and she could see the caked blood on his ears. The look on his face when he saw Ralla told her everything she needed to know, had wanted to know, had hoped to know for months. She jumped into his arms and they kissed.

  Ralla let herself slide back into reality, and slide down from his arms to stand on the deck. He refused to let her go. Thom looked down onto the top of her head, eyeing the blond, fuzzy lack of hair. Her eyes looked up at him and she shrugged. In turn, Ralla tugged on his ratty beard, and he shrugged. They shared a smile, but it faded from his face as his eyes focused on their surroundings.

  “We need to get to the engine room,” she said. He looked confused and touched his ear with his finger. “We need to get to the engine room,” she shouted, and held up one of the rockets. He nodded and looked around. They found four more rockets and climbed their way out of the shipyard.

  Sprinting, they made it to the rear of the ship, down some elevators, and to the corridors that led to the engine bays in little time. They came tearing around the corner only to skid to a stop half a dozen paces away from two guards. Somehow, the men had stayed at their posts during the fight. Thom could hear Ralla talking, but couldn’t make it out. Finally she raised the pistol at them, and Thom took that as his cue to raise the rockets up over his head and howl with an animalistic rage bordering on insanity.

  The guards scattered.

  “There are six engines,” she shouted at him, pointing. “You take the first three, I’ll take the other three. That last one is personal.”

  Thom nodded as she ran off. He made it to the first door and realized they had a problem. It was sealed, and the door commands did nothing. They were locked out. He looked down the corridor and saw that Ralla had come to the same realization. She jogged over to him.

  “Think these things will blow open one of the doors?” she yelled, holding up one of the rockets.

  “It’s worth a try,” he tried not to yell.

  Ralla placed a rocket against the lock’s small window and ran to the other end of the corridor. Sighting down the rifle, Ralla nailed the rocket after two shots. The resulting explosion wasn’t huge, but it was loud even to Thom. What mattered, though, was that it had blown the window open, and they were able to reach in and open the lock using the emergency release.

  Ralla entered to detonate the engine while Thom set up their next two charges on the remaining starboard-side engine room doors. As he placed the rockets, he couldn’t help but notice that the last engine room on the far end of the corridor had a full lock for some reason.

  What was obvious was their now diminished capacity to inflict harm on the engines. There was little chance of making back to the shipyard for more explosives. They’d have to get to the bridge and try to get control of the ship. Or more likely, die trying. It was odd, but under the fear and the panic there was comfort being here with her. Whether they died or not, at least he was here with her, and they were in this together. The thought shook him, though. Here they were, potentially minutes away from the end of the species, and he couldn’t get his mind off this girl. He forced himself to focus, and felt the explosion of her rocket more than heard it.

  Ralla came out of the engine room followed by a billow of smoke. She handed him the pistol, then pointed towards the farthest engine room, the one with the full, and rather haphazard, lock. He nodded more in acknowledgement than understanding and watched her jog down the corridor.

  As Ralla entered the farthest lock, Thom detonated his two rockets with six shots. After getting the first door open, he wedged a rocket under the round engine bell and stepped out into the hallway to shoot it. It took him half the clip, but it finally went off, taking the bell with it, and causing the entire apparatus to grind to a halt. It was surprisingly cathartic. The next one felt even better. Then he started across the ship to the far bay, only then realizing Ralla hadn’t appeared yet.

  What if she was yelling for him?

  He sprinted down to the last bay. The outer lock was jammed open, but the inner was sealed shut. Ralla was in the window banging on it, screaming. Behind her was water. Everywhere. Now he felt the terror he hadn’t felt on his own ship or in any battle. Worse fear than he had ever felt in his life.

  The electronic lock controls did nothing. He lifted up the pistol and showed it to her. Through her own terror she nodded and moved away from the door. The water was up to her crawling up her body rapidly. Thom stepped back, hands shaking, and emptied the clip into the window. Now there were holes in it, but it stayed put. Bracing himself against the walls of the lock, he kicked at it. The tiny window, not much larger than his boot, finally gave way with an unsatisfying pop. Ralla came back to the window and stuck her head through.

  “Don’t do that,” Thom said, “grab the emergency release.”

  “There isn’t one!”

  “What? How could there not be a...”

  “There isn’t one; we were kept in here as prisoners, so there’s no release on this side. Are you sure there isn’t one over there?”

  Thom frantically searched the door and the walls for any kind of manual lever. He looked up, eyes wide. Water started to spill over the edge of the window, the level of water up to Ralla’s shoulders. She was oddly calm.

  “Look, Thom, even if you figured out a way to open this lock, we’d flood the whole ship. Get to the bridge, save the Fountain. I won’t let you kill all these people just to save me.”

  “What people? Ralla, they’re all gone. Haven’t you seen? There aren’t any people here. They’re all in our domes. Thousands of them. All of them. I’ve seen them with my own eyes. There is no one left on this ship to kill.”

  Thom grabbed the edge of the window, braced his feet against the wall of the lock, and stared to pull. There was no movement. Water was spilling out of half the window now, and Ralla had to lift her chin to breathe above the water. Thom pulled harder. The edges of the window cut into his fingers. His blood mixed with the water. He kept pulling. Now there was less than a quarter of the window left that gushing wasn’t cold, rushing liquid.

&n
bsp; “Thom, I...”

  Twisting metal and a scream cut off her words. Something had given way in the back of the bay, and a tidal wave of water had rushed forward. What little air Ralla had was gone, the bay completely filled with water. Thom pulled with his arms, pushed with his legs, the adrenaline surging though his veins. Out of the water came a head as Ralla forced through the hole in a futile attempt to get air. The water squirted past her, filling her mouth and nose, not allowing her to escape from its grasp. She gave up, and Thom felt her cold hand on his as he continued to pull. There was no way he was going to leave. This was it. He wasn’t going to leave her again. Not to die like this, so close. Her hand relaxed, and slid away from his. Thom screamed. It was anguish at first, but it became a scream of rage.

  Suddenly, with a snap the door gave way. Thom flushed into the hallway on a wave of water.

  Now the sea, with its hand in the flooded bay, began its relentless attack on the Population.

  Ralla’s limp body shot out into the corridor, crumpling against a wall, lifeless. Thom struggled to drag her from the current. He hadn’t moved her far before she started coughing. He dropped to her side as the water lapped at their feet. Opening her eyes, she saw him crouched over her, and closed them again, a half smile on her face. She was shivering badly, and her skin was a pale, ghostly blue. But as the water lapped around her head, she snapped awake, instantly alert. They both looked at the lock-sized hose of water flooding the back of the ship.

  “We need to go. Now,” she said, adrenaline temporarily driving her mind and body past her touch with death. They got up and started running. “That whole wall could give way. I helped cobble it together. It’s not great.”

  They made it to the elevators and got out at the main concourse. It was a clear run past the hanging gardens and abandoned food stalls to the shipyard wall. From there it was just a few flights of stairs and a corridor to the bridge. They hadn’t taken two steps when a loud bang knocked them off their feet. “That would be the wall,” she said flatly.