by Alten-Steve
"I agree."
"Good. And when all of this is over, my friend, you will come work with me at the lagoon, okay?"
Jonas laughed. "We'll see."
* * * * *
Masao waited until after dinner to tell his daughter of his plans. Jonas excused himself, exiting the kitchen for the living room as the conversation in Japanese heated up. He had no idea what was being said, but it was obvious that Terry Tanaka was livid.
THE KIKU
Terry rose from her seat on the aisle and headed back toward the plane's rest room. Jonas pushed aside the laptop computer and laid his head back against the seat.
They were on an American Airlines flight five hours out of San Francisco. DeMarco and Terry had been talking Jonas through the computerized "flight" simulator, a laptop program for instructing pilots in the operation of the Abyss Glider II. The AG II was the one-man, deep-sea submersible that had carried D.J. to the bottom of the Mariana Trench. Jonas would accompany him in a second AG on the trip to retrieve the UNIS. He was already familiar with the basic operations of the submersible, having piloted the AG I, the sub's shallow-water predecessor, several years earlier. Now all he needed was to familiarize himself with the new deep-sea design. There'd be plenty of time for that. It was a twelve-hour flight across the Pacific to Guam, plus a stop in Honolulu for refueling.
Terry's attitude toward Jonas had turned cold. She was visibly hurt that her father had ignored her qualifications to back up D.J., and felt Jonas had lied to her about not being interested in piloting the sub in the Mariana Trench. She would help train Jonas on the simulator, but nothing more.
The Abyss Glider simulator used two computer joysticks to "steer" the submersible by simulating adjustment of its midwing and tail fins. Because most of the trip to the bottom was in complete darkness, the pilot had to learn to "fly blind," navigating the craft to the bottom using readouts alone. For this reason, piloting with the simulator was very much like piloting the real thing. So similar, in fact, that Jonas had to stop working, close his eyes, and try to relax.
Jonas thought about his conversation with Masao Tanaka. It had never occurred to him that he could have been focused on tubeworms. Riftia. Jonas had seen smaller varieties of the species growing in clusters around every hydrothermal vent he had ever explored. The tubeworms were a luminescent white, possessing neither mouths nor digestive organs. They relied on thick colonies of bacteria living inside their bodies. The worms supplied hydrogen sulfide, which they extracted from the sulfur-rich waters of the trench. The bacteria inside the worms used the hydrogen sulfide to make food for themselves and their host.
Until man began exploring the deep-sea trenches, no life was thought to exist at the very bottom of the ocean. Man's knowledge of existence was limited to what he understood: Where there is light, then no food. Since no light could penetrate the deepest trenches of the sea, then photosynthesis could not exist to allow life to take a foothold.
But Jonas had seen it for himself. The hydrothermal vents supported a unique food chain by spewing searing-hot water and vast amounts of chemicals and mineral deposits out of cracks in the seabed. The high sulfur content, poisonous to most species, became food for a variety of deep-sea bacteria. The bacteria, in turn, were living inside worms and mollusks, breaking down other chemicals into usable food. The massive clumps of tubeworms also consumed the bacteria, and a variety of newly discovered species of fish ate the tubeworms. The process was called chemosynthesis: bacteria receiving energy from chemicals rather than energy from the sun. Despite man's common beliefs, life flourished in the darkest, seemingly most uninhabitable location on the planet.
D.J. had told Masao that the tubeworm clusters sometimes covered a fifty-foot expanse along the bottom. It was possible, thought Jonas, that he had been staring at a worm cluster, fallen asleep, and imagined the triangular head. Jonas felt ill. Two men had died for his mistake. The Megalodon defense he had convinced himself of for all of these years somehow had lessened his guilt. Coming to grips with the fact that he might have imagined the whole event made him feel sick.
One way or another, Jonas knew Masao was right; he had to face his fears and return to the trench. If a white Megalodon tooth could be found, it would justify seven years of research. If not, so be it. One way or the other, it was time to get on with his life.
Fifteen rows behind Jonas and DeMarco, David Adashek closed the hardback, Extinct Species of the Abyss by Dr. Jonas Taylor. He removed his bifocals, positioned his pillow against the window, and fell asleep.
* * * * *
The Navy helicopter flew low above the waves. The pilot glanced over his shoulder at Jonas and DeMarco. "There she is, people."
"It's about time," DeMarco said, and turned to wake Terry. She'd been sleeping since they'd left the naval station in Guam.
Jonas trained his eyes on the horizon, a faint line separating the gray ocean from the gray sky. He couldn't see anything. Maybe I should have slept, he thought, rubbing his eyes. He was certainly tired enough. They'd been traveling for over fifteen hours.
He looked once more and now could see that ship, a flat speck quickly growing larger. In less than a minute, they were close enough to read the name on the hull: Kiku.
The Kiku was a decommissioned Oliver Hazard Perry class Guided Missile Frigate, disarmed and reconfigured for ocean research. The Tanaka Institute had purchased the 445-foot-long steel ship from the Navy three years ago, rechristening it the Kiku, after Masao's mother.
The frigate was perfect for deep-sea research. Removing the SAM missile launcher from her bow gave the crew plenty of deck space on which to work. Situated in the stern, along the transom, was a reinforced-steel winch, designed to lift even the heaviest submersible into and out of the sea. Behind the winch was a massive spool containing over seven miles of steel cable.
Forty feet of deck separated the winch from two hangars located in the stern. One held the twin pair of Abyss Gliders, the one-man submersibles that D.J. and Jonas would descend in; the other stored the ship's helicopter. Steel tracks embedded within the deck allowed the crafts to be rolled in and out of their respective hangars.
The small pilothouse overlooked the bow from the second deck and contained the navigator's console board, which drove the tow GE LM 2500 gas-turbine engines. A short corridor connected the pilothouse to the Command Information Center (CIC). This once-secured room was always cool, always kept dark, illuminated only by the soft blue overhead lights and the colorful computer console screens situated along the interior walls. The weapons stations which had controlled the frigate's SAM and Harpoon missiles, the antisub torpedoes, and a variety of other guns and countermeasures had been replaced with computers that now monitored the deployed UNIS systems, retrieving data from the robots implanted along the Challenger Deep seven miles below the ship.
The Kiku 's CIC also contained the hull-mounted Raytheon SQS-56 sonar and Raytheon SPS-49 radar systems, the exterior dishes of which could be seen rotating on two towers rising twenty-five feet above the upper deck. All of these systems were linked to a computer integration program that displayed the information across a dozen computer consoles.
Below the control deck were the galley and the crew quarters. The triple-stacked coffin-like bunks of the Navy had been torn out, the interior reconfigured to accommodate more private quarters for the crew of thirty-two. Below this deck were the engine room and the main machinery that drove the twin-shaft propellers. The Kiku was a fast ship, capable of speeds up to twenty-nine knots.
As the helicopter approached the aft deck, Jonas immediately recognized the large reinforced-steel winch attached to the ship's transom which had been used to lower the twenty-five UNIS submersibles to the bottom of the Mariana Trench. Terry peered out the window, pressing close to Jonas. A young man in his early twenties stood face into the wind, waving at the airship's passengers. His body was lean and taut with muscles, his skin a deep tan. Terry waved back excitedly. "D.J.," she said with a grin.
>
Terry's brother grabbed her bags the moment she stepped off the chopper. Terry hugged him, then turned to Jonas. With their black hair, dark eyes, and bright smiles they almost looked like twins.
"D.J., this is Professor Taylor," she said. D.J. dropped the bags and shook Jonas's hand. "So, you're going to be descending with me into the Challenger Deep. Sure you're up to it?"
"I'll be fine," said Jonas, feeling D.J.'s competitive nature.
D.J. turned to Terry. "Does the professor know Dr. Heller's on board?"
"I don't know. Jonas, did Dad happen to mention that to you yesterday?"
Jonas felt the breath squeezed out of his chest. "Frank Heller's part of this crew? No, you father definitely did not mention that to me."
"Is that going to be a problem, Dr. Taylor?" asked D.J.
Jonas regained his composure. "Frank Heller was the physician in charge of a series of dives I piloted for the Navy seven years ago."
"I take it you haven't kept in touch," said DeMarco.
"To put it lightly, there's not a whole lot of love lost between the two of us. If Masao had told me Heller was part of this mission, I doubt I would have come."
"Guess that's why Dad didn't tell you," chuckled D.J.
"If I had known, I would have told you myself," said Terry. "It's not too late to recall the chopper."
Jonas stared at Terry, his patience wearing thin. "I'm here. If Frank has a problem with that, I guess he'll have to deal with it."
D.J. looked at his sister. "How did he do on the program simulator?"
"Not bad. Of course, the program lacks controls for the mechanical arm or escape pod."
"Plan on at least one practice run before we descend then, Doc," said D.J. "We'll wait till you get your sea legs."
Jonas ignored him. "Whenever you're ready. Can you show me the Gliders?"
As they approached the hangars, a large dark-skinned man in a red knit cap walked on deck with two Filipino crew members.
"Professor Taylor," D.J. said, "this is Captain Barre." Leon Barre was French-Polynesian, strong as an ox with a baritone voice. A tiny silver cross dangled from his neck. He gripped Jonas's hand, shook it once. "Welcome aboard Kiku."
"Glad to be here, Captain."
Barre tipped his hat to Terry. "Madam," he said reverently. DeMarco slapped the big man's shoulder. "You putting on a little weight, Leon?"
Leon's face darkened. "The Thai woman, she fattens me like a porker."
DeMarco laughed, turned to Jonas. "The captain's wife is a hell of a cook. We could use a little of that, Leon. We're starving."
The captain grunted an order to the Filipino sailor at his side. The sailor rushed off toward the main cabin. "We eat in an hour," the captain said, then turned and followed his men inside.
Jonas, D.J., DeMarco, and Terry walked across the wide deck to where the two Abyss Glider submersibles were perched on dry mounts.
D.J. turned around to face Jonas. "What do you think?"
"They're beautiful," Jonas said.
"A few modifications since you last took a ride," remarked D.J.
"I piloted the AG I in shallow waters. The AG II was still on the drawing board back then."
"Come on, Taylor," said DeMarco. "I'll give you the nickel tour."
The subs were ten feet long by four feet wide and resembled nothing more than fat torpedoes with wings. They were one-man vessels, the pilot entering through the tail section, then using a joystick to "fly" the vessel, lying prone within the sub. The clear nose cone of the Abyss Glider allowed the pilot to see nearly 360 degrees of his deep-water surroundings.
"Lexan," said DeMarco, pointing at one of the nose cones. "This plastic's so strong, it's used as bulletproof glass in the presidential limousines. The entire escape pod's made of the stuff. The AG I's were refitted with it several years ago."
Jonas inspected the plastic cone. "I didn't realize these subs contained escape pods. It wasn't in the original model."
"You have a good memory," said D.J. "The AG II's were specifically designed for the Mariana Trench. Since there's always the risk that a wing or tail fin will catch on to objects at the bottom, as you enter the tail section you're actually entering the Lexan escape pod. If the Glider gets into trouble, pull the escape lever located in a metal box along your right and the interior chamber will slide right out from the heavier tail and wing sections. It's like being in a bubble. You'll rise right to the top."
DeMarco frowned. "I'll give the tour, if you don't mind, D.J. After all, I did design the damn things."
D.J. smiled at the engineer. "Sorry."
DeMarco took center stage once more, obviously in his element. "As you're aware, Taylor, the challenge in deep-water exploration is to design and build a hull that is both buoyant and strong enough to withstand tremendous pressures. The other problem is the length of time it can take for a submersible to travel to the bottom. The Alvin, the French Nautile, and the Russian Mir I and II are all bulky vessels that can descend at a rate of only fifty to one hundred feet per minute. At those speeds, it would take us well over five hours just to enter the Challenger Deep."
"And," added D.J., "those subs can't even descend beyond twenty thousand feet."
"What about JAMSTEC's Shinkai 6500? " asked Jonas. "I thought she was designed to reach bottom."
"No, the Shinkai was designed for a maximum depth of twenty-one thousand feet," corrected DeMarco. "You're thinking of JAMSTEC's latest unmanned sub, the Kaiko. Until D.J. piloted the AG II last week, the Kaiko was the only vessel, manned or unmanned, to reenter the Challenger Deep since the Trieste in '60. She spent just over a half hour at a depth of 35,798 feet, two feet shy of the record, before suffering mechanical problems."
"Now the record's mine," said D.J. "Guess I'll be sharing it with you soon, Doc."
"Should've been me," mumbled Terry.
"Anyway," continued DeMarco, ignoring the siblings' exchange, "those other subs have hulls made of a titanium alloy, similar to our UNIS systems. Half your power source is exhausted in just piloting the heavily weighted sub along the bottom, just so you can drop the weighted plates later to surface. These Abyss Gliders, however, are made from a reinforced, positively buoyant ceramic capable of withstanding forces over sixteen thousand pounds per square inch. With her maneuverable wings, she'll fly to the bottom at a rate of six hundred feet per minute and float back to the surface without the use of weights. Saves a ton of battery power."
"D.J., how will we bring the damaged UNIS to the surface?" asked Jonas.
"Look beneath the belly of the sub," instructed D.J. "There's a retractable mechanical arm with a claw. The arm has a limited extension of about six feet directly in front of the nose cone. The claw was designed to gather specimens. When we make our descent, you'll take the lead. I'll follow you in my sub, which will have a steel cable attached to my mechanical claw. The damaged UNIS has several eye bolts along its outer casing. Once you clear the debris away from the UNIS, I'll attach the cable and the Kiku 's winch will haul the unit back on board."
"Doesn't sound too bad."
"It's really a two-man job," said D.J. "I tried to attach the cable on my first descent, but there was too much debris covering the UNIS. I couldn't maintain the claw's grip on the steel cable and clear the rocks away. The currents are really strong too."
"Maybe you were too nervous," added Terry.
"Bullshit," responded her brother.
"Come on, D.J.," teased Terry. "You told me it's kind of scary down there. It's not what you're looking at or even the constant darkness. It's the claustrophobia, knowing that you're seven miles down, surrounded by thousands of pounds of pressure. One mistake, one crack in the hull, and your brains implode from the change in pressure." Terry glanced at Jonas, looking for a reaction.
"Terry, you're just jealous." He looked at Jonas, his face full of animation. "I loved it! What a rush, man, I can't wait to go back. I thought bungee jumping and parachuting were cool, but this beats the shit
out of them!"
Jonas looked at DeMarco with concern. "You consider yourself an adrenaline junkie?"
D.J. calmed himself. "No, no... I mean, yeah, I'm an adrenaline junkie, sure, but this is different, Doc. The Challenger Deep... it's like being the first person to explore another planet. These huge black smokers everywhere, and the weirdest fish you ever saw. But what am I telling you? You've been on dozens of trench dives before."
Jonas tugged on one of the red vinyl flags with the Tanaka logo that was attached to the back of each sub. He looked up at the younger pilot. "I've piloted more than my share of dives into deep-sea trenches, but the Mariana Trench is a whole different ball game. My suggestion is to leave the cowboy attitude behind." Jonas looked back toward the Kiku 's interior chambers. "Where can I find Dr. Heller?"
D.J. threw a glance at his sister. "He's in the CIC, I think."
Jonas turned and walked away.
HELLER
"End of the hall on your right," D.J. said, pointing down the narrow corridor. He heaved Jonas's duffel bag onto his shoulder. "I'll leave this in your cabin. Number ten. Right below." Jonas nodded. D.J. headed down the narrow stairwell.
Jonas walked down the corridor to a doorway labeled "Operations." He stepped into the dark cabin humming with computers, video monitors, radar and sonar equipment. A gaunt man with short-clipped gray hair and heavy, black-framed glasses was bent over a control panel, pecking at computer keys with his long fingers. He turned and looked at Jonas without speaking, his moist gray eyes swollen behind the thick lenses. He turned back to his computer, studied the monitor. "Another fishing expedition, Taylor?"
Jonas paused a moment before he answered. "That's not why I'm here, Frank."
"Why the hell are you here?"