Luci was torn between bringing Flower along, because she did not want her only friend to be lonely and afraid in the dark, and the fear of bringing him, afraid that she may lose him, and she could not bear to lose her Flower. Little Luci knew that her world was fragile and the loss of her friend would push her over an edge she dared not contemplate. So, with tender hands, she lay her animal on her makeshift pillow and covered him up with the same rags she bundled herself in at night.
“I’ll be back soon; please don’t cry,” Luci said, bursting into her own tears anew.
With an extraordinary effort, she forced her tears to stop. She felt along the dark walls of her underground hiding place and moved into the connecting sewer. From there, by the light that entered the storm water drains far above her, she could see that it was daylight outside. She paused and considered going back into the safety of her space and waiting until it was night again. But the light above her, peeking out at her, drew her to itself like a moth to a flame. Her mind and her spirit were hungry for light, any kind of light.
So, Luci carefully made her way up to the nearest drain, wary of any noise that might signal danger. The last time she had gone out in the daylight was a day she tried to forget. It was a day of horror more awful than she could tolerate by remembering, so she managed to bury it in her mind like one of her many nightmares. Yet she knew it was real. While it had been tucked neatly away and just out of reach, it was still real. That was the last time she had ventured out in the sunlight and she trembled with the thought of seeing the light of day again.
Luci’s tiny fingers gripped the edge of the storm sewer drain as she pulled her eyes up to look out onto the street. The brilliance of the sunlight immediately blinded her and she dropped back away from the shaft of light until her eyes could become accustomed to its intensity. But it was so delicious, this light. It was like a feast of pure mental acuity in a mind that had been wrecked by perpetual stimulus malnourishment. She fought to adjust her eyes, and then peered over and out of the drain again.
Through painful, tearing eyes, Luci could see that the Seattle street that she had been accustomed to had radically changed. The streets were all but deserted. In the middle of the day, few people walked the avenues, save a group of men who were all dressed alike in clothing that looked like the color and pattern of trees. They were sitting around in clusters, some behind circular piles of bags. At the end of the street was parked a huge Army tank just like the toy version her brother used to play with.
The buildings on either side of the street were either burned or huge holes had been blasted into their sides. It was not like the street she had last seen. Luci realized that this is what happened to streets when people acted like they were acting when she last looked out. What she was seeing was the result of the madness that had driven her into the darkness for so long. She turned around to return to the safety of her own underground world, but the darkness stopped her like a wall. In just these few minutes her eyes had already become accustomed to the light. Now the underground labyrinth that lay before her was all but impassible, a wall of virtual blackness.
Luci turned back again to the day-lit street before her and, as was her custom, her eyes swept the scene as she silently studied its every detail. She could not allow herself to return without the light she so desperately needed.
The individual who was seated nearest to her was asleep beside his pile of bags. Luci carefully squinted her little eyes against the glare of the sunlight and she could see what she thought was a flashlight. It was a long, black cylinder hanging from the man’s green belt. She could not be sure, but it looked exactly like the flashlight her father had owned, one that her brother had been in so much trouble over for leaving it on and ruining its batteries. In fact, it was Luci herself who had spilled the truth and caused all the problems.
At the thought of her family in such a powerful way on these sunlit streets, a surge of courage engulfed the little girl in a way that she had never known before. These same thoughts before, down in the darkness, would have certainly triggered another round of uncontrollable crying; but here, somehow, the sunlight made her strong. Luci would not, she could not, return without light. Something in her mind told her that this light would make the difference between staying alive and the alternative of permanent darkness that sucked the very life from her mind and her deepest being.
Circumspectly, Luci crawled out of her concrete cavern and inched her body onto the pavement of the street. She then turned around and looked carefully in the direction she could not see from the drain to ensure that no danger lurked behind her. She knew that in just a single motion she could disappear back down the sewer. But for now, the coast was clear and it was safe.
Luci then slowly rose to the balls of her feet and eyed the target just seven feet from her position. She crawled carefully, slowly and masterfully, toward the sleeping figure. With two feet left to go, she paused. The soldier was sleeping soundly; his deep breathing betraying the depth of his slumber. Gradually, Luci inched to his side. With eyes darting around and a quick look behind her, she then reached out to slip the cylinder out of his belt.
By this time, Luci could see the end of the cylinder and was assured it was a flashlight, which emboldened her. Her fingers touched the cold, black metal. Slowly, she began to slide it out of its holder. She removed it a quarter of the way, then a half, before it stopped. She gently tried again, but it would not move a single inch. At that moment she realized the light was clipped on one end to a lanyard that was also attached to the man’s belt. Luci looked about again. She had not been spotted by the others, but she knew her time was about to run out.
Holding the light up with her left hand, Luci’s right hand slowly unlatched the clip and lanyard which freed the prize. But then she made her mistake. In a single moment of uncontrolled excitement, Luci slipped the light out of the soldier’s belt with a snap. Half a second later, his hand closed around her wrist and his eyes opened, looking directly into hers.
“What the….” he said in a loud clear, voice.
The other soldiers nearby all looked up in an instant.
“Hold her! Don’t let her go!” one man shouted.
They all began to converge on her position at once. Luci panicked and began to struggle, attempting to pull her wrist away from the soldier. But he immediately wrapped his other arm around her shoulder as he stood up, lifting her off the street. She bit the man’s arm as deeply as she could, and he screamed in agony and surprise, dropping her.
Luci gripped the flashlight tightly and began running toward her drain as fast as she could. From one eye she could see a soldier running toward the direction of her path to make an intercept, which caused Luci to run even harder. He caught her in a leaping dive across the street which caused Luci to drop her precious light. It skidded across the street and slid by sheer cosmic chance, like a carefully placed hockey goal, into and down her storm sewer drain.
“Hold onto her this time, idiot!” one of the soldiers screamed.
The soldier immediately stood, holding Luci with her back to his chest, and encased her tightly with both arms low, out of reach of her teeth. Luci was only six years old, and certainly not a combat strategist, an anatomist or a martial arts expert by any means. But as the other soldiers all approached her position, with her sole remaining second of freedom hanging in the balance, Luci thrashed one single, powerful time more and placed the heel of her foot perfectly and serendipitously into the crotch of the man who held her.
“Oh God!” he screamed and dropped her, rolling over on the ground, clutching his groin. Luci fell and literally struck the ground in a full run in the direction of her drain. The other soldiers redirected their motions to make the catch, but were just a half second late as Luci quickly covered the few remaining feet and slid perfectly into the hole that would only admit the tiny and the nimble. She could see four hands reaching in to grab her as she inched down the drain clutching her new light tightly in her hands, an
unlikely foothold in a small and very precarious life.
“You guys can’t even hold a little girl for one second! What a bunch of useless morons!” she heard a voice shout from the street as she ran.
As her tiny feet carried her far away from the noise and the voices of the street, Luci vowed, as she had before, that she would never, ever venture out onto the streets by day again. Today she would see the grimy face of her beloved Flower for the first time in days. Tonight she would be able to switch on the comfort of light as she awoke from her nightmares. What Luci‘s child mind did not and could not prepare her for or fully understand was that batteries ran down and the inevitability of darkness engulfing her world once again. But, like the world of countless other humans she had carefully placed just beyond her reach, none among them – young, old or indifferent - were prepared for or could fully understand the appalling horror that would soon approach with the awful light of day.
23
When the passengers who had just landed from the helicopter jets and the Pacifica crew had finally entered the inside of the landing platform, they were guided down a narrow passageway to a ladderway which took them another three full levels deeper into the interior of the structure. Here they were led to a large compartment that was full of chairs very similar to a passenger airliner. Alongside the rows of chairs were wide circular windows that offered a look at the seascape outside. They had descended deep enough into the Landing Platform so that they were completely under water. As they entered the compartment, Seven was immediately struck by the design work that had gone into the space. It was anything but a typical shipboard arrangement, and had clearly and specifically been designed and constructed with care and aesthetics in mind. It was evident to Seven from this first look at Pacifica that the community, like Middlearth, was going to be fantastic in every detail.
As the passengers each took their seats, Seven could smell the scent that seemed to seep into every ship, boat or submarine, the unmistakable odor of machines, fuels, fresh paint and meld of fragrances that defined engineered spaces. He saw that in the front part of the compartment was a small control room that had not been divided off from the passengers. Here, the Pacifica crew who had been performing various functions on the deck were now seating themselves before rows of control panels and monitors. Someone had brought Spencer a blanket which he wrapped around his shoulders as he sat in his command chair near the consoles. A large status board was visible to the crew and everyone seated. Various condition indicators appeared across the screen.
“Everyone, please find a seat and fasten your belts securely,” Spencer ordered. “Mr. Leighthouser, I need a status report.”
The individual who had acted as the Master at Arms on deck replied, “Hatches, watertight doors and engineering systems are not ready for descent, sir.”
“Very well; signal when they are,” Spencer intoned almost mechanically.
Seven took a seat on the front row. He wanted to see every detail of the operation as it unfolded. Conlin sat on his right while Serea and Meghan sat together on his left looking out the window. Seven’s mother and father sat directly behind them.
“Bark, why are we underwater?” an alarmed Lacy asked her husband.
“Trust in God, dear. I’ll have to explain it later.”
“Casper , let the command center know we’re prepping the platform for descent,” Spencer ordered.
“Aye, sir,” a young woman responded, lacing a headset over her ears. “Pacifica , this is LP1. We’re preparing for descent at this time.”
“Roger, LP1, we read you,” came the response from speakers that could be heard throughout the entire compartment. “You’re clear for descent and docking. Set and drift markers are ready.”
“Go.”
“271 by 1 dec 033.”
“Roger that: 271 by 1 dec 033.”
“You got it.”
“All stations: mind your net discipline,” Spencer warned without a pause.
“Aye,” intoned a handful of stations at once. It was clear that Spencer was a micro-managing details man who was also a rigid disciplinarian.
“Leighthouser, status please…”
“All hatches and watertight doors are green, sir. We’re go for descent.”
“Very well,” Spencer responded. “Pacifica , we are go for descent.”
“Roger that, LP1. Flood tanks on your count.”
“All stations: stand by to flood main ballast tanks on my mark,” Spencer said.
“Aye.”
Spencer turned his chair so that every passenger could see him. “We’re about to make our descent to Pacifica ,” he began. “Here’s what you can expect from our short trip down, which will require about 20 minutes or so. We’ll flood the main ballast tanks which will cause the platform to become almost negative, and then we’ll pull down on a mechanical device attached to the bottom of our platform to begin our descent. It’s a slow descent that’s controlled by an electrical winch and ballasting, as well as by a set of propellers located on each axis of the structure.
“At 35 feet we’ll pause and pressurize the platform to 1.7 atmospheres. This is the pressure we live at in Pacifica . The pressurization will be slow and I encourage everyone to chew gum, which we’ll provide during the process to help eliminate any discomfort in your ears. It’s uncomfortable for some people but most have no problems. “Following that pressurization, we’ll change the atmosphere in the platform to what we call an EANx14 Nitrox mix, which matches the atmosphere at Pacifica . This process is so uncomplicated you won’t even notice it. As soon as that’s accomplished, we’ll continue our descent for the remaining 200 plus feet to the docking platform on Pacifica . Are there any questions?”
There were none.
“Very well, then. All stations: report status for descent.”
“Trim and ballast: go.”
“Onboard systems: go.”
“Life support: go.”
“Navigation: go.”
“Mr. Leighthouser, how’s your board?”
“Green, go.”
“Dr. Seven, we’re ready for descent. Request permission to flood tanks,” Spencer said to Seven, catching him off guard.
“Of course, proceed,” Seven replied, surprised. He speculated that perhaps it was Spencer’s way of acknowledging to everyone the change of command and authority.
“Flood all main tanks,” Spencer ordered. “Pacifica , we’re on our way.”
“Roger that,” replied a voice over the speakers.
There was an immediate rumbling in the platform as thousands of gallons of seawater rushed in to take the place of the air that was pushed out forming a cloud of bubbles that appeared outside each window. Seven could not feel any discernable motion as they began their slow descent to the undersea colony, but on the large status board before them, Spencer pointed out the digital display that represented the depth of the platform from the keel, or underside of the platform, to the surface. He noticed that the starting depth was 20 feet - the amount of structure that had remained underwater while the helicopter jets landed on its exposed structure, which rose from the ocean surface another 15 feet above the waves.
As the tanks flooded, their depth began to slowly increase. Seven, and everyone else, strained to look out the nearest clear port trying to gain even a brief glimpse of Pacifica . He could see that the water outside the window was a deep, crystal clear blue with no detail other than the shafts of sunlight dancing by the windows, projected downward by the tousled waves above. As he watched the sunlit rays reflected just beyond the window, Seven shuddered. When the quantum storms commenced, these same beams would not only be beautiful, they would be deadly, able to kill any living organism at this depth in minutes.
“You won’t be able to see Pacifica from here,” Spencer finally noted. “We were required to extend our range about a thousand yards to the east so that we could safely dump the aircraft and not risk impacting the colony as they fell away. The platform’s con
nected by a steel tether to the main structure, which acts as a safety line, as well as a winch cable. We’ll be able to maneuver back to the docking platform using our onboard propulsion. The prevailing current here pushes us east at just over a knot, so we’re having to pull against the current as we dive to reach the docking platform.”
“Now engaging winch,” Leighthouser said, indicating that true descent had begun. With that comment there was a thumping noise and a noticeable turn to the left.
Spencer ordered up a display which depicted the position of the landing platform in the ocean relative to the docking platform target. It clearly showed their progress as they descended.
Seven felt that after even only 15 feet of descent the motion of the ocean swells had noticeably subsided.
“Sir, we have a set and drift shift of 18 percent,” Leighthouser interrupted.
“What are the values?” Spencer asked.
“271 by 1 dec 022.”
“Very well, let’s go with it,” Spencer responded dryly. “Set and drift are the two dimensional values that describe the prevailing current,” he began to explain. “While we’re in the open ocean and the values don’t change as radically as they do in a tidal basin, they’re still prone to constant fluctuation, and we have to carefully monitor them as we descend. They become especially critical in the last few feet of our docking maneuvers. Our propulsion computers make all the adjustments we need, but if we exceed their response limits during docking, we have to back off and try again manually.”
Suddenly a loud metallic groan followed by a noisy thump reverberated throughout the compartment. “Don’t worry about that,” Spencer said quickly. “This is a rather large platform that’s not designed like a conventional submarine’s pressure hull. So, as we descend, its plates shift and groan with the pressure changes. You’ll hear several of those noises as we continue. It’s nothing to be concerned about.”
Quantum Storms - Aaron Seven Page 18