Sea Station Umbra

by JOHN PAUL CATER

Wide eyed, Briscoe shouted, “Is there a manual override?”

  She pushed the AutoDock icon turning it off. We still drifted off downward now only twenty meters from the docking bay with its bright xenon lights beaming through the water awaiting our entry. I quickly calculated we had about a minute to impact but at our foot-per-second speed, I didn’t expect a disaster.

  “That didn’t help,” she screamed.

  “Pull up! Pull up!” Ivy blasted.

  “Guys? Ideas? I need help here,” Lt. Williams pleaded.

  “Reverse thrust!” Briscoe shouted with a fear showing in his face I had never seen before.

  She pulled back on the joystick.

  “Not helping,” she screamed.

  In my mind amid the chaos, I envisioned the control circuitry of the SeaPod and saw the answer. I’m not sure how I did it but suddenly the solution became clear to me.

  “Where are the power breakers? The breaker panel?” I asked.

  “Behind your seat near the floor. But don’t kill our power we’ll be helpless and blind as a bat out here without lights.”

  Turning rotating in my seat, I reached for the panel. Looking down I opened the cover and felt for the largest breaker switch. The sub’s designers had neglected to put lighting in the panel so I was grasping in the dark. Then I found it.

  “Here goes nothing,” I said switching off what I guessed to be the main breaker.

  In total darkness with the SeaPod’s motors grinding to a halt I counted to ten, ignoring William’s warning and Briscoe’s cursing. Then I flipped it back on.

  The SeaPod returned to life slowly as we drifted forward; our inside lights and exterior floods flickered then brightened to full on as the computer panel flashed with a BenthiCraft boot-up splash screen. Seconds later came the message: Restarting Please Wait.

  Out the bubble with floods reactivated, I could see we were less than five meters from the station’s hull and still falling away from the docking bay.

  “Ten seconds to impact,” I estimated.

  Precious seconds passed as the blue ‘Loading’ bar crept across the screen. I wanted to push it faster.

  “Wait!” Williams said. “I’ve got control back! Halleluiah!”

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I saw Briscoe with his hands clasped in front of him whispering words. I thought it wise to whisper a few words of thanks myself so I did.

  “Pull back now! Pull back now! Pull back now! Impact imminent!” Ivy announced her voice insistent.

  The roar of the thruster motors and the backward push throwing me forward in my seat brought a lump to my throat. How could I have known to do that? Then I remembered my old maxim: When in doubt reboot. That’s all I did.

  Briscoe opened his eyes at the reverse acceleration and looked at me. Then he raised his hand for a high-five.

  “My God, Marker, that was pure genius,” he said. “You saved our lives.”

  Backing us off from the station’s hull Lt. Williams glanced over and smiled.

  “Yeah, Marker, if I can call you that, I agree. I thank you with all my heart. Now I know why you’re here… and Mr. Briscoe said he’s the Navy’s best diver. That makes you better than the best.”

  “Well thank you both,” I told them. “And yes, Lieutenant, you’re on the short list of those who know my middle name. Use it wisely. And, as far as what I just did it’s just called self preservation and you happened to be with me when it happened.”

  “Course corrected.” Ivy announced. “Docking expected in twenty seconds. Proceed at one-half meter per second.”

  The Lieutenant back in control keeping her cool adjusted the joystick.

  “That’s never happened to me before. I’m so sorry. I almost killed us. Wonder what went wrong.”

  Chief Briscoe looking over her shoulder at the screen suggested, “Maybe someone doesn’t want us here. Ever thought of that, Marker?”

  I had not and it sent chills up my spine. My mind was already reeling from being sent into what seemed like a deep-sea death trap and his words confirmed my fears. Only time would tell.

  Nearing the pod bay, only a few meters out we saw the brilliantly lighted room come into focus, ready for our entry. As we slowly drifted inward, the docking chamber appeared as a cavernous swimming pool turned on its side with a ladder climbing the wall at the back. She pulled back on the joystick bringing us to a slow halt.

  “You’re about to experience a sharp bump as we land on the docking pad and are gripped by a strong electromagnet locking us down. Then the pod bay door will close and seal behind us as we wait for pumps to force the water out and fill the bay with air. We’re basically in an open ballast tank with a sea-proof door called a pod docking bay. Once we’re in dry dock we’ll pressurize, open the hatch, and exit the SeaPod.”

  It happened just as she described although it took almost ten minutes to pump the bay empty; it was a painfully slow process but then I had never been on the inside of a huge purging ballast before: it was quite a unique experience.

  When the large indicator on the bay’s back wall changed from red to green an icon illuminated on the SeaPod’s control panel. Then my ears popped as a slight overpressure filled our cockpit from a pump below my feet. Williams reached up spun the hatch lock open and touched the icon starting the hatch cover into motion. Like compressed gas, escaping from a soda pop bottle air hissed past the cover as it drew back from the hatch.

  “Now we wait,” she said.

  “For what?” asked Briscoe, standing glancing around the empty bay.

  “Well you can go now if you don’t mind risking a broken or sprained ankle jumping down from the hatch over a very slick sphere onto a wet very slippery floor. Otherwise we wait for one of our crew to roll that stairway up the hatch so we can exit gracefully… and safely.”

  He sat back and sighed.

  “Not knowing if you have a doctor on staff or even a sickbay I’ll just sit here be safe and wait.”

  “Oh we have a lot of doctors on staff but none of them are MDs, just PhDs. And there is a sickbay but the best treatment you’ll get is from those of our crew who have served as wartime medics.”

  As she spoke a ceiling hatch dropped down at the top of the rear ladder. Feet legs then the body of a crewman appeared in a blue jumpsuit. With his feet grasping the ladder’s rails he slid down to the floor walked to the stairway and unlatched it from the wall, then rolled it up to our bubble’s hatch. Soon a hand followed by a head dropped through the hatch welcoming us.

  “Hi guys I’m Captain Bill Edwards U.S. Navy. Welcome aboard Discovery One. Can I give anyone a hand jumping ship? Take your bags?”

  Laughing, Briscoe said, “Hi. I’m Mica Briscoe. After that wild ride I thought about it, Captain, but ladies first.”

  Williams glared at him.

  “We don’t do that here, Mr. Briscoe. I’m an equal to every crewman on board. No better no worse and I’ll be the last to leave my ship.”

  Watching him blush I felt his embarrassment even though he was just being chivalrous: a trait appreciated in the civilian world in which he worked. Not every ex-Navy California Highway Patrolman would have even offered.

  “I’ll go, Captain,” I said grabbing his hand as he helped me stand from my seat. Then dropping my bag out I wiggled through the hatch to a platform at the top of the steps large enough for several people to stand.

  “Mr. Briscoe, you’re next.”

  He stood through the hatch, dropped his bag on the platform, and took the Captain’s hand.

  “Now Marker here says I’m a tight fit through there---too many donuts. Think I can make it, Captain?”

  “Well if not, Mr. Briscoe, I’ll just have to get our hatch stretcher.” He grinned broadly after his comment and pulled.

  Tugging his hand Edwards brought him easily through the hatch eliciting a quiet applause from Lt. Williams.

  “Enough of that, Lieutenant,” Briscoe chided. “We’re equals remember? Except for a few inches around our waists
, maybe.”

  As Briscoe and I took our kitbags and stepped down to deck level Williams hopped through the hatch and quickstepped down the stairs with the Captain and joined us.

  “Captain Edwards is the second team’s leader,” she said, turning to him saluting. “He’ll prep the SeaPod for the next dive. Now please follow me.”

  She started off and then looked back.

  “Oh, Captain, would you please check the AutoDock function on that SeaPod. It went off course and almost killed us. Mr. Cross had to reboot the system to regain control. Never happened before; hope it never happens again.”

  He nodded and frowned back at the SeaPod then went about his prepping.

  “Wait. I’m confused, Lieutenant,” I said stopping her. “I’ve heard the people on station called the crew in one sentence and staff in the next. Which one is it?”

  “Both,” she said. “When I’m talking about us operating in the maritime environment we’re the crew. When I speak of us acting as scientists collecting and analyzing data we’re staff. Then we also have the support crew. Everyone wears two hats, some three, some four. That’s the way I see it.”

  Briscoe shrugged his shoulders.

  “Same difference to me. Six of one half dozen of the other but which hat do we wear?”

  Smiling slyly, she said, “I guess you’re the MPs. Yet another hat.”

  “I like peacekeepers better,” I said. “Maybe even investigators. MP just sounds too harsh and we’re not even military. Right Chief?”

  “Just call me Chief… and when the Mess Hall opens. I’m here to solve problems nothing more.”

  “Then let’s go do it,” she said. Then she smiled turned and raced up the ladder two rungs at a time through the hatch.

  Briscoe followed her up easily matching her pace.

  By this time of night, I was dragging a bit, but made it up as well.

  Soon we stood in an engineering marvel. Williams had closed the pod bay hatch behind us as we topped the ladder and suggested a brief tour before she released us to our quarters. I reminded her it was approaching 0130 hours and it had been an exhausting day. Brief was the operative word.

  The deck we entered, Deck 1 – Quad 2 from a large sign on the wall, reminded me of the entryway to one of Jeremy’s better sandcastles he and I created when we were kids. That design was a pie-shaped deck cut into four slices with a large circular center section accessible from each slice through one of four watertight bulkhead doors. I called that a submarine core because it resembled a sub hull turned on end.

  I remember him telling me that it was a good idea. He said that the rounded convex bulkhead walls of the central core provided better protection against quadrant flooding pressures. It was all too complicated for me back then but I went along with him and pretended that he knew what he was talking about. Now looking back it all made pretty good sense.

  The stark white surroundings reflecting the intense overhead lights blinded my eyes so I couldn’t see all the details but they were adjusting slowly. Briscoe standing beside me, must have been affected the same way he shielded his eyes waiting for them to adapt.

  Several of the staff in blue jump suits walked hurriedly through the room ignoring us carrying empty coffee mugs to a coffee pot somewhere. Briscoe eyed them curiously until they disappeared behind a wall.

  “Now this is the main level Deck 1. Decks 2, 3 and 4 are above us,” she said sweeping her hand across the room giving us a tour she’d obviously given before.

  “We’re in quadrant two… Q2 with Q1 to our left, Q3 to our right and Q4 opposite the central core. Remember they increase going clockwise when looking down from above. Past that bulkhead door at the end of this room a central core chamber twenty feet in diameter, matching our deck height, joins all four quadrants through watertight bulkhead doors. Above it are more core rooms surrounding an elevator rising to the top of the dome. The top core room is called the panic room a safe haven for us. The last room to be flooded in a dire emergency. Attached---”

  “Wait a minute,” I asked, “So if we have a pressure breach and water rushes in we race up the core trying to beat the rising water to the panic room at the top of the dome. Is that right?”

  “Basically, yes.”

  “Then what from there? We kiss our asses goodbye?”

  Chuckling, she patiently explained:

  “No, Mr. Cross, the panic room is attached to a thirty-man pressurized escape pod bathysphere we affectionately call the EPod. It can separate from the dome and float to the surface buoyantly: a lifeboat of absolute last resort. Why? If we ever use it, it will inundate the station with seawater leaving it forever unusable. That escape pod also serves as our scuttle mechanism if an enemy force ever commits an unauthorized entry. Then sixteen hundred pounds of strategically placed C4 explosives will obliterate the station. Does that answer your question?”

  I gulped loudly.

  “Er… yes, Lieutenant. Thank you. Please proceed.”

  Walking us through the room toward the narrow end, she continued:

  “Each of the quadrants on this deck has almost two-thousand square feet and only two passages in or out: the pod bay hatch we just used and the bulkhead core room door we’re approaching. If we ever have a dome rupture or docking bay accident, God forbid, then we can seal off each quadrant independently from the core for flood control.”

  “Yes, God forbid. What’s behind that wall over there? I smell fresh coffee,” Briscoe added preoccupied looking over a bank of workstation consoles with several seated workers scrutinizing large video screens.

  “Oh, that’s the coffee bar for this quadrant want some?” she replied. “I could use a cup myself.”

  “Well does a whale poop in the ocean, Lieutenant? I thought you’d never ask.”

  Fortunately, that broke our red-eye tour. I mean it was interesting and everything but I was so tired her words were bouncing off my brain; it was so overloaded with new information it couldn’t accept more. Besides, I had started worrying about Lindy wondering if she had been told of my disappearance, what her reaction would be and if she’d hate me forever for this.

  When I finally voiced my concern to Lt. Williams as we sat with our coffee at a small reading table, she suggested, “Ask Ivy. She’ll know.”

  “Really?”

  Surveying the surrounding area filled with bookshelves and a black vault like the one that Greenfield opened at HQ, I asked, “Where is she? Where’s her eye on the wall?”

  “She has four sensors in each quadrant one on each bulkhead wall. The closest one is right by the coffee pot over there. Many of our staff use her for retrieving information as they sip their caffeine trying to find answers to their problems. Ivy has a great scientific mind, is an expert educator and logician. and does pretty well at answering medical and psychological questions too. She can even send email for you but security filtered. Ever use Google?”

  “Of course.” I answered.

  “Well, since you have no laptop or smart phone down here you’ll still have unanswered questions for Googling and a need for external contacts as we all do. Just ask her. She’s your verbal link into that ginormous database they keep plus more from our station’s files.”

  “Mind if I try?”

  “No knock yourself out.”

  Taking my cup to Ivy’s panel, I stood and read a few brief instructions.

  “Ivy, Matt Cross here. I have a request.”

  The dark reddish center brightened and began to pulsate with my heartbeat.

  “I know who you are, Matt Cross. Welcome to Discovery One. What is your request?”

  Her soft voice was eerie but soothing like a voice from my conscience, a guardian angel, a close friend. It drew my confidence and trust.

  “Has my wife Lindy Cross been told of my sudden disappearance? Is she worried or mad?”

  Her lens pulsed faster reading my anticipation of an answer. I didn’t notice my increased heart rate, but she did.

  “One m
oment,” she said. A soft mechanical purring filled the silence for seconds before I heard the sound of a telephone line ringing.

  “Hello this is Lindy.”

  “Hello, Ms. Cross. I called your husband from Florida early this morning and spoke with him. Do you remember the call?”

  “Yes sir, oh-dark-thirty about some new mission I believe.”

  “That’s correct, Lindy. An emergency mission to save a U.S. deep-sea asset and its workers from their demise. We had no choice but to deploy him immediately.”

  “Deploy him immediately? Oh my God! He won’t be coming home today?”

  “No ma’am. Not today or tomorrow. I’m sorry. He’s working with us now. You can expect him to be gone up to a month.”

  “Who’s us? Where is he?”

  “Ma’am, I can’t tell you that but if you need more information please contact his boss Carlos Montoya at MBORC. Do you have that number?”

  “Why yes of course b-b-but---“

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Cross, but that is all I can say. Have a good day.”

  A dial tone replaced the conversation over Ivy’s speaker.

  “Yes, she has been notified, Matt Cross. Does that answer your concern?”

  “Sure, but how did you do that? That was her voice.”

  “You would be quite surprised at my intercept resources, Matt Cross.”

  “Well thank you, Ivy. That comforted me somewhat,” I said worried at the trembling in Lindy’s voice at the end of her conversation.

  “Oh, Matt Cross,” Ivy said as I turned to leave, “I previously printed an ID badge for you and Mica Briscoe. Please wear them at all times on station to insure your identity. I see that neither of you is wearing one.”

  “Understood Ivy. Mine’s in my kitbag; I’ll put it on immediately. I’ll tell Briscoe to wear his too.”

  “Thank you, Matt Cross. Ivy out.”

  Back at the table I found the Lieutenant’s instruction continuing. I sat, pulled the ID from my kitbag and clipped it to my drying wetsuit’s collar, then nodded for Briscoe to do the same.

  Although I was interested in learning everything about my new residence and its wonders, I could hardly keep my eyes open and my wetsuit was beginning to bother me. I needed sleep, dry clothes, and another cup of coffee. Luckily, I had just refilled it while talking with Ivy.