by Bob Finley
Under the close rein of Marcus Justin's experienced hands, the 80-ton craft traversed the width of the MARS control sphere with five pairs of eyes glued to the glass wall, like so many ‘peeping toms’ furtively peeking in at a neighbor's window. His feet a scant thirty feet from the control room floor of the MARS vehicle, Marc could clearly see lights winking on automated data banks, helmsman's island and communications gear. As the VIKING drifted clear of the research vessel Marc made his decision. He kicked his main thrusters, pulled her bow up and leaned the VIKING into a tight port turn. Seventy-five yards out, he came about and steered arrow straight for MARS III. Braking hard he brought his craft to "hover" a hundred feet from and fifty feet above the research platform. Unlocking and rising from the pilot's station, he faced Kim.
"Take over. Stand in no closer to MARS than we are now," he ordered his co-pilot.
In answer to Kim's puzzled expression, Marc gestured toward MARS. "I'm going to board that derelict." And he strode resolutely from the room.
Chapter 14
Marc carefully dogged and activated the lock on the pressure door leading from the airlock into the dive chamber. This done, the specially constructed room could withstand an internal pressure equal to that of the weight of ten miles of ocean. The Marianas Trench off the Philippines being, at seven miles, the greatest known depth in the sea, however, gave the craft a comfortable safety margin. He lifted the spring-hinged cover of a digital timer mounted on the wall beside the airlock door and entered a five minute delay. Powerful compressors would then ram air into the sealed chamber until pressure sensors on the outside hull signaled that internal and external pressure had equalized. Only then could the dive hatch in the floor be opened. Working against the clock now, Marc strode across the room to a metal and glass teardrop suspended by its tapered end from an overhead hydraulic hoist. It resembled his commuter Surrey, but had been elongated and was only five feet in diameter at its acriliglass bow in order to fit through the VIKING's pressure hatch. Though double-thick for extreme working depths, the wall was still optically distortion-free. Just behind the sphere the familiar J-pierced globe of the JOCE logo emblazoned the sleek shape, with the vehicle's name, SQUID, just below it. Releasing the restraining anchor-bolts, Marc swung the small vehicle clear of the wall. He popped the clam-shell canopy open wide enough to allow him to climb into the bubble and squirm into the gimbal-mounted contoured seat. Glancing at the countdown clock he saw that he had just over two minutes left. He pulled the canopy shut and very carefully sealed it from the inside. A pinhole leak at this depth would slice him in half quicker than a surgeon's scalpel.
Flicking switches in rapid sequence, he first brought the life-support system on line, then communications and systems autocheck. Marc took a deep breath of the pure, filtered air. Even though VIKING had the same atmospheric generating equipment, the SQUID's smaller confined space enabled the system to operate much more efficiently. Groping beside his seat, Marc slipped on a bubble-type helmet. Leaning forward, he strapped on a life support chest pack and twisted the helmet connector to it, checking to make sure it had properly locked. Nudging a stud inside the helmet with his chin snapped the visor open with a sharp, electric whine. He clicked the tiny voice-response microphone into position.
"SQUID to VIKING. Systems test." He heard the compressor in the dive chamber kick in.
"Roger, SQUID, audio is five-by, give me video," acknowledged Kim over the headset.
Marc nudged another control stud inside his helmet to turn on the micro camera. Kim assigned one monitor to the helmet's channel and watched a jerky image appear on his pilot's console.
"Don't shake your head," he said. "It makes me seasick."
Marc rolled his helmeted head and Kim smiled.
"Life support?"
"Got it."
"Helmet integrity?"
Marc shut the visor. "Sealed."
"Vehicle hatch integrity?"
Marc glanced at the SQUID's idiot board.
"The board is green," he advised.
"Roger. I show twenty seconds 'til INJECT," Kim warned.
"Very well," Marc acknowledged, "I'm going to 'INJECT' mode."
"Roger," Kim replied.
Marc cut a quick glance at the countdown clock for verification. He watched impatiently until it zeroed out. A klaxon blared in the dive sphere.
Of two red buttons in front of him on the control panel labeled "INJECT" and "RECOVER," Marc jabbed "INJECT." The SQUID emitted an ultra-high frequency sound which triggered the electric motor that powered its winch system. Justin called it his garage-door opener.
The hydraulic coupling arm smoothly lowered the SQUID to within a foot of the massive "door" in the floor of the sub and stopped. It gently swayed there, while Marc turned his full attention to the dive hatch above which the SQUID was suspended. Another five-second warning klaxon blared through the dive room. Then, before his eyes, the floor of the VIKING abruptly, smoothly glided away from him and, in a rush, slid into the dark sea below the ship. Marc had no time to reflect on the liquid wall he was about to penetrate. The SQUID, still on automatic "INJECT," sensed the removal of the barrier. The hydraulic arm impersonally thrust the SQUID, with a mere ripple, through the magic window into the sea.
As he passed from the brightly lit dive sphere into the blackness of twelve thousand feet, Marc's eyes widened involuntarily in an effort to penetrate the inkiness.
"Light me up," Justin murmured. Kim cut the external spotlights on around the dive hatch and Marc was suddenly looking down at the sea floor fifty feet below him. Still dangling in a head-down attitude on the end of the winch arm, Marc eased ‘MAIN THRUST’ to +1 position and jabbed ‘CABLE RELEASE’. The SQUID's bow came up and the small vessel strained gently against the cable like a minnow on the end of a fishing line. With a metallic ‘clack’ SQUID broke free of its shackle. Marc fought to suppress the giddiness he always experienced when he left the safety of the VIKING at extreme depths. Entirely dependent on the SQUID's tiny suit of armor, he was reminded of the similarity between his sense of isolation and that of astronauts working outside their ship.
Kim watched on the external TV monitors as the tiny tear-shape dropped free and angled away from the belly of the VIKING. Then, as Marc came level and homed on the Mars, the familiar shrill whine of the SQUID's turbines reached Kim's ears. The three scientist observers crowded more closely behind Kim at the pilot's console to better observe the SQUID's progress on the monitor. As the SQUID jetted full ahead from under the lee of the VIKING and began to cross the hundred foot distance between it and the MARS, Kim flicked a series of switches on the console. The entire arena out to two hundred feet in front of the VIKING instantly blazed with light from the ship's exterior flood light system, creating the effect of a stage, unreal and surrounded by a sinister black void from whose dark cloak unseen shadows prowled and watched the stage in evil anticipation. Kim tried to shiver away the vague fear that had caught him unaware and mentally reprimanded himself for such superstitious and unscientific behavior. He glanced surreptitiously around and was grateful no one had noticed. But he nevertheless even more intently watched the SQUID's progress as it quickly narrowed the distance between itself and what appeared to be a functioning derelict mysteriously devoid of its human crew.
Commenting intermittently on the proceedings for the benefit of his ‘passengers’, Kim half-pointed toward the SQUID.
"If you'll look closely at the SQUID, you'll see a thirty-inch diameter circular hatch with a built-up metal and rubber rim. That's a ‘pistol’. He chuckled aloud at the look on everyone's face.
"To those of you who care," he explained, "that's Personnel Intra-Sphere Transference Linkage – ‘pistol ‘for short. Anyway, in a few seconds you'll see Marc line the ‘pistol’ up with the matching seal on the MARS, and lock the two craft together." As they watched, they could see Marc executing exactly the maneuver Kim had described. "Now he'll open the hatches on both vessels and," Kim laughed, "someh
ow squirm through that ‘knothole’ of an excuse for a hatchway."
Marc's voice interrupted Kim's monologue.
"SQUID to VIKING. Docking secured. Acknowledge."
"Roger, SQUID. Please state internal pressure of the MARS station. For the record." Kim reminded Marc that every action was being recorded for later debriefing by the Navy and Joint Chiefs.
"Roger, VIKING. One-on-one," Marc replied, indicating equal pressure in both vessels.
"Atmospheric contaminants?" Kim asked.
Marc peered at the group of gauges just inside the massive glass hatch of MARS.
"Gasses look normal."
"Remote mike switch ‘on’?"
Marc unplugged the transceiver intercom cord from his helmet and turned the ‘auto’ switch to ‘on’ position. The SQUID's powerful communications gear would now act as a relay station for his headset.
"Check," he affirmed.
"Very well, SQUID. Proceed with boarding," Kim advised.
Apprehensively but without hesitation, Marc spun the dog of the SQUID's hatch and swung it inward. Then he unlocked the MARS hatch and, shoving it into MARS, squirmed through both hatchways, dropping to the floor. He rose slowly from his squatting position and slowly scanned the room in which he found himself. Nothing moved but the winking lights on the computer console. The hum of generators and quiet sustained whoosh of air vents were the only audible sounds. The silence was suddenly dispelled by Marc's headset.
"SQUID, do you read me?"
Marcus Justin sauntered out into the middle of the room where he turned and looked out through the clear domed roof. The VIKING, lights blazing, hung suspended a hundred feet away on the far rim of the circle of light. The beauty of her sleek form poised there, a universe of warmth and security within her own right two and a half miles down in this cold outpost of inner space, reassured him. Except for wings, she looked like a big airliner on a night landing approach. Knowing Kim could now see him, he gently tapped his helmet with the heel of his hand.
"Is my voice quality okay?" he asked.
"Yeah, why? What's wrong?" Kim responded, alarmed.
"Nothing, I guess. It's just that yours sounded like a crow with a head cold," Marc smiled inside his visor. He pointed his finger like a pistol in Kim's direction and, with his thumb, dropped the hammer.
Kim heard quiet laughter behind him but his ‘passengers’ politely refrained from comment. He made a mental note to break one off in his boss later but smiled in spite of himself.
"You just keep me advised ‘old man’ like you're supposed to do and you won't have that problem," Kim warned him. "For the sake of our employer, give us a running commentary of your impressions as you investigate."
"Alright, VIKING, for the record . . ." Marc slowly, more thoroughly, now began scrutinizing the room around him, seeking any clue to the mystery of this seemingly unmanned, 'manned station' . . ."I'm in the main control room. Atmosphere content and pressure normal . . . lighting and life support systems appear to be functioning properly . . . no welcoming committee." Marc approached the control console and slowly scanned the array of dials, gauges, and winking green lights with his helmet video camera. "Control board shows all systems okay…no, wait a minute! There's one red light on the board." He leaned closer to better read the label. "Oh, that's cute. Would you believe it's a warning light to remind them to transmit the normal ‘OK’ signal?"
From his overhead vantage point Kim watched Marc's distant figure leave the console board and prowl with animal caution deeper into the room. Random static trickled faintly from the public address system into which Kim had jacked Marc's transceiver for his passengers' benefit, both for their curiosity's sake and also because of their role as official observers. Marc disappeared from sight. Several seconds lapsed, became more than several. Only the video cam monitor showed any activity as Marc appeared to be walking from sphere to sphere and sticking his head into doorways.
"Check this out." Justin pointed his helmet camera at a plate of partially eaten food, surrounded by a clutter of electronic components in various stages of disassembly.
"Tell him not to touch it!" warned Janese Cramerton. "It could be toxic!"
"Dr. Cramerton says no touchee, no feelee...could be full of critters," Kim advised.
Marc jerked his finger back and gave a ‘no-no’ shake with it in front of the camera. Then, as an afterthought, he said, "How does she know? She a biologist?"
Janese Cramerton leaned over Kim's shoulder to get closer to his lip mike.
"I ate a bad bologna sandwich once," she said. "Besides, women know about food and cooking and stuff like that...right?" She smiled and winked at Kim, who was wishing she'd put a little more distance between them. There was no answer from Justin. Just a grunt.
"Awright, le's hear a little chatter in the outfield, hey-hey, whaddaya say," Kim's voice trailed into the hollow silence.
Marc popped back into view, hesitated at the top of a descending stairwell. He glanced in the direction of his fairy guardian hovering overhead in the distance.
"Lab looks like everybody took a lunch break and 'll be back any second. Routine projects in progress…no disorder…no Dr. Jekyll lurking in the corners," Marc said. "I'm gonna take a look below in crew's quarters and the engine room. The superstructure may block my transmissions, so don't call in a relief pitcher if we lose contact, coach." He started down the stairway.
"Hey!" Kim's voice arrested him.
"Yeah!" he answered.
"Five minutes. Then you show yourself or I throw a flag on the play and radio topside for help from Uncle," Kim sternly warned.
"Figures," Marc shot back. "Put a punk kid in charge for a few minutes and he turns into a Captain Ahab." He trotted down the carpeted circular stairs.
"Five minutes, y' hear me? Or the game's over!" Kim half-shouted to his boss's retreating back. Then he slumped, resigned, back in his seat and fixed the time by the console clock. After a few moments, Janese asked, "What do you think he'll find down there, Kim?"
Kim shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe nothing. Maybe a room full of bodies." He paused, deep in thought. "What really bothers me," he mused, "is the fact that, now we've found the thing intact, there's nobody in sight."
"Maybe they're all asleep down below," Janese offered.
Kim shook his head and looked at her. "No way. There's a man topside at the control panel every hour of the day…or night," he added.
"Suppose they're sick, then, and laid up in bed," Frank Sheppard suggested.
"Possibly," Kim allowed, "but it's not likely all three of them would get sick so quickly that at least one of them couldn't radio their condition," Kim argued.
"Yeah, I guess so," Frank's voice trailed off. He glanced at the MARS and froze, a look of disbelief on his face. At the same instant, though Kim was looking at Frank, the hair on the back of his neck stiffened and a chill knifed down his back. There was a high-pitched whine, in a mounting crescendo.
Frank half-rose from his seat, pointing.
"That light! It's moving!"
Even as Frank spoke Kim whirled toward MARS, his brain trying to connect the two bits of information: whine…light…moving…moving fast!
"It's a sub!" he exploded. "Coming at us!"
Kim's racing brain began to catch up with itself. A mini-sub had lunged from behind the MARS vehicle and was coming at them full bore. It had locked onto a collision course with a spot somewhere just above Kim's feet and it's jet turbines were screaming at full-power, Cyclops headlight ablaze.
Kim sat paralyzed, partly from fear and confusion, but more so from a feeling of total helplessness.
"Kim…" Janese Cramerton uttered.
"No time…" Kim breathed aloud, "too big…too slow…he'll be here before I can…"
The harsh glare of their external floodlights glittered evilly on the bubble canopy of the small projectile as it rapidly closed the distance.
"Kim!" Janese urged.
Time slowed. Kim dri
fted in a half-frame-per-second world. He became ultra-aware of heightened senses; bits of thought flashed by at dozens per instant; an instant became sixty seconds…sixty feet away…why?...fifty feet…who?"
"Do something!" Janese Cramerton screamed in frustrated desperation.
Kim's answer flashed before him as if on a too-close, gigantic drive-in movie screen. Then he realized that somehow his hand had already drawn the sonic laser cannon into position and his finger had somehow found the trigger. His brain surged back into normal ‘gear’ as the minisub bored in at him like a torpedo from only thirty-five feet away. With one motion he roughly shoved the lever on top to "+10 RESONANCE," his index finger curled; he mentally withdrew and patiently waited for the tiny craft rapidly filling his view to disintegrate harmlessly into a billion pieces like gentle snowfall.
And then an odd thing happened. The VIKING lurched violently backward, spilling everyone to the floor like bowling pins. Kim watched as a mighty, invisible hand carelessly brushed the tiny sub aside, tumbling it slowly in an erratic end-over-end arc like a lazy football. And the attack was over.
With a start Kim realized that the VIKING was in full reverse and was steadily pulling away from the MARS…or was the MARS pulling away? Kim shook his befuddled head. It was then he realized both his legs were in a rigid, knees-locked position on the VIKING's ‘emergency brake’. Some instinct...certainly not the super-cool and calm reasoning he'd like to have claimed...had beaten his trigger-finger to the draw and had used the massive, full-power thrust of the VIKING's emergency brakes, diverted out the front of the ship beneath Kim's feet, to bowl the mini-sub over with a twenty-ton ‘fist’ of water.