Sean watched in astonishment. Never in his wildest imagination could he have seen such remarkable readings. He had honestly believed that the chances of success were no better than fifty-fifty. Even the renowned Irish bookmaker Paddy Power would not have given odds on this pilot project being a partial success.
The operator continued his running commentary.
‘There are so many golf balls – I reckon at least six hundred – generating live data that we’ll be able to generate a detailed 3D map of their progress through the ice sheet. Can you believe how important and impactful this will be for our future research?’
‘Anymore images from the cameras?’ asked Lars.
The operator switched on the PC showing one of the camera golf balls deployed by Alice.
Lars knew what was going to be shown and approved the viewing despite the tragic circumstances.
‘Is that an underground cavern?’ exclaimed Benny.
The team all looked at the image that one of the golf balls was showing, having descended nearly a thousand metres in under six hours. They all reacted simultaneously with shock when they realised that the camera golf ball was attached to Alice’s battered body at her final resting place. She had obviously ended up in a seated posture judging by the camera image display of a panoramic view from water level to ceiling of a cavern of some hundred metres in height and nearly half a kilometre long. While it was dark, they were able to see the general contours of the cavern because Alice’s safety lamp was turned on. This allowed the camera to capture the vastness of the sub-glacial lake. The camera didn’t have a zoom feature but that didn’t matter. This was the eighth wonder of the world. A vision that nobody had ever seen before. Simultaneously one of beauty and one of sadness. Here was the evidence they needed of the hollowing out of the ice sheet.
The other camera balls showed consistent images of fast flowing water through interconnected tunnels, but none as vivid as the footage from Alice’s camera.
‘This data confirms what we’ve suspected for quite some time,’ said Lars.
‘This is the first clear evidence that the ice-melt is fracturing the interior of the ice sheet to a much greater extent than we could have imagined. I had surmised that most caverns were quite narrow – maybe a height of five metres or so. And there are so many! The sinkholes of water are carving deeply into the core of the glacier. It’s early days yet, but I imagine within twenty-four hours some of our golf balls will be out in the North Atlantic.’
The Gulf Stream
Tony Doherty and his team felt a bit redundant. The ROV had indeed completed its research mission in under four hours. The column they were asked to observe had more or less the same characteristics as the one they tested the day before. Salinity at depth was very poor. The column had narrowed to such an extent that it was barely functioning.
As would be confirmed over the coming weeks, the research vessels on location from four other Atlantic nations recorded similar findings. Thirty of the central columns in the mid-Atlantic driving the Gulf Stream had stopped functioning or were at a point of near collapse. The phenomenon was significantly worse in the seas immediately south of Greenland and Iceland where the flow of meltwater from the Greenland Ice Sheet was at record levels.
The collective findings of the four research nations would be coordinated, critically assessed, attributed and presented. The plan was to have all the evidence ready for the annual meeting of the United Nations Climate Change Panel. The findings were potentially devastating, not least because the rapid deterioration of the moderating effects of the Gulf Stream could not be reversed. This was one of the climate change tipping points campaigners had been warning about for decades. The only point of debate was timing, with some scientists predicting extended sea ice formation starting almost immediately in the North Atlantic. An early occurrence of this phenomenon would, ironically, prevent the otherwise total demise of the Greenland Ice Sheet.
Doherty and his team were assembled at the bridge. Their consolation prize was that they had something practical to contribute to Project Big Bang, as they had privately renamed Project Eriador.
‘Please re-direct the ROV to the target location. It should be there in about an hour. Paul could you take charge please,’ instructed Gilmore.
McCrossan manoeuvred the joystick that controlled the ROV’s thrusters and the Holland 2 set off to the pre-designated target area. At the same time the PLU’s dive crew prepared the manned submersible for its second launch. The standard operating safety procedures for the launch were adhered to in detail.
O’Farrell and Gallery listened patiently to Mike Smith as he went through all the pre-dive protocols with McCrossan and the deck hands. They were a bit more at ease. The first dive had been quite an experience, not one they would have wished to partake in unless for strictly professional reasons. Soon, the PLU was winched off the deck, positioned into the water and started its slow descent. In line with protocol, their diver escort saluted them with a tap on the cockpit window.
The sunlight disappeared and, as before, Smith turned around to start up a conversation to distract his passengers from dwelling on the potential challenges that lay ahead. He didn’t succeed as both had donned earphones and clearly preferred music over his dulcet tones. He had enough sense not to interrupt.
O’Farrell was preoccupied with Andre Rieu’s Maastricht summer concert. She removed her earphones as they approached the seabed. ‘Did I miss anything Mike?’
‘Well no. Any thoughts about what conditions we might expect to encounter?’
‘As low seismic readings have been recorded, I expect we may see other small vents along the edge of the Eriador Seamount,’ said O’Farrell. ‘What I’ll be looking for is evidence of recent lava flows and gas bubbles that are a signal of sulphur gas emissions.’
Gallery chipped in. He too had concluded his musical interlude. It was back to business. ‘We’ll have the advantage of getting advanced visuals from the Holland 2. This will forewarn us of heightened activity. How soon can we access the live camera feed?’
‘Let’s ask McCrossan.’ Smith clicked the microphone switch on the console. ‘Paul, Mike here. Any visuals yet from the Holland 2. I reckon we’re about forty minutes above the ROV.’
‘Timely call, Mike. I’m driving the ROV in a north-north-west direction about four hundred metres short of our first target zone. Hold on while I turn on the main arc lamp.’
‘We’ve all the time in the world, Mike. Should I turn on our computer screen?’
‘Sure. Just give me a second.’
The images of the sea floor from the Holland 2 lit up the PLU’s monitor.
‘That’s very clear,’ said O’Farrell.
‘Good to know that Maeve,’ said McCrossan.
‘I reckon the Holland 2 is about ten metres above the seabed. The black grey surfaces are basalt but nothing of recent origin.’
As the Holland 2 glided along with its headlights on full, they saw a myriad of small fish and other creatures that eked out an existence in pitch black at fifteen hundred metres below sea level. None seemed too perturbed by the intense light penetrating their environment. It wasn’t as if they had frequent visitors.
The ROV moved along the seabed at three kilometres an hour, a slow pace, with her tether system expertly managed by McCrossan. The progress of both the ROV and the PLU were monitored constantly by McCrossan and the PLU support team. The main screen in front of him showed both vehicles as throbbing green dots. The one risk they were all aware of was the possibility of the PLU becoming entangled in the power and communication tether lines attached to the ROV. To avoid such a situation the respective plots of both vehicles had been pre-programmed to keep them at least five hundred metres apart.
‘Looks like we’ve some new visuals,’ said McCrossan.
‘Wow!’ exclaimed O’Farrell.
The screen showed a thin crimson line
of lava oozing slowly from a four-metre high vent. Some gas bubbles filled the area around the fissure.
‘Paul, please zoom into the top of the vent but stay at least ten metres away.’
‘Roger.’
The ROV’s zoom lens focused on the head of the vent.
‘See the fluidity of the magma. It is flowing out at a steady pace like melting wax.’
‘What does this mean, Maeve?’ asked Smith.
‘This suggests that the eruption started perhaps several days ago. Its fluidity means there is a chamber close to the surface of the seabed. Though it is strange we didn’t pick up any seismic readings from this location. Perhaps this is a secondary lower vent. Mike, please drive us to where the ROV is positioned so we can have a closer look and take samples.’
McCrossan spoke. ‘Mike, I will move the ROV away along the right side of the Eriador Seamount so allow ten minutes before you move forward. At all times you must avoid the ROV’s tethering system.’
‘Roger that.’
Within half an hour the PLU arrived at the location of the vent. It was still spewing its crimson flow. Expertly, Smith took chemical and rock samples with the PLU’s mechanical arms. The sulphur dioxide sensor lit up immediately showing an above average reading. This was the marker that they all focused on. The scientists at HUGO wanted to gather data from as many sites as possible as these emissions, in particular their intensity, were a possible precursor of more troublesome volcanic activity.
The ROV and the PLU conducted two back-to-back surveys in short order at adjacent vents with similar results.
‘Where next, Gerdy?’ asked Smith.
The Chief Scientist and other scientists across the globe had been monitoring the emerging data from the three sites at the base of the Eriador Seamount. They were all aware that volcanic vents at sea level were a commonplace occurrence but not at this location.
‘What do you think, Maeve?’ asked Gilmore.
‘What strikes me as strange is the intense fluidity of the magma flow and the absence of any explosive activity. This is not unusual at surface level as you know. Perhaps we could take a look up the higher levels of the Seamount?’
‘How is your battery level, Mike?’
‘Five hours at least.’
‘Then let us take advantage of the ROV being with us and proceed up the slope that defines the western flank of the Seamount.’
‘All OK with that?’
‘Let me re-set the Holland 2’s plot before I drive it up the slope,’ said McCrossan.
No sooner had he begun to manoeuvre the ROV than the red warning light on the seismograph screen lit up. The signal was picked up not only on the RV Celtic Explorer and on the LÉ Michael D. Higgins, but by all the agencies who were involved with Project Eriador.
‘It’s a 3.1.’
The PLU Shack was stunned into silence as the seismograph jumped again.
‘There are three sources about fifty kilometres apart,’ said Gilmore with a strange sense of calmness.
‘Mike, all OK?
‘Yes, Paul. There was a small eddy of displaced water that has just buffeted us about a bit but there is no movement now. Let’s just say we were shaken but not stirred. I reckon we are about two klicks from the first seismic reading. It will take us thirty minutes to get to that location. Before you remind me, we’ll proceed with caution.’
‘This is a unique opportunity to witness and record the after-effects, so let’s get going,’ added O’Farrell.
‘I’ll pull back the ROV and hold her in reserve,’ said McCrossan.
The PLU moved upwards slowly and in silence as its passengers tried to absorb the impact of the Richter scale readings. At a distance Smith noticed a small red light that grew into a deepening pulse.
‘Maeve, check out what is ahead.’
‘Slow down Mike. Put the Lumen arc lights on maximum. Hold back until I review the vent with the zoom lens.’
The vent they were observing was quite different from the previous fissures. The slow oozing crimson emission was replaced by a larger cone with small molten rocks being showered across a wide area. At a safe distance of a hundred metres, the PLU’s passengers were agog as the vent’s activity intensified. The vista, against a background of deep black, was of intermittent bursts of red, yellow and crimson lava bursting at high speed from the vent. The PLU’s cameras sent images to a wide body of observers.
After a short while, Mike spoke into his microphone. ‘Paul, I think it’s too precarious to take rock or gas samples.’
‘Agreed, Mike. Best you start to prepare to ascend back to the mothership.’
‘Roger that.’
Three things happened simultaneously.
A new seismic shock, this time 3.4 on the Richter scale, was registered on the PLU’s dashboard. This shook the PLU vigorously.
A plume of deep red lava shot into the air lighting up the PLU’s cabin as if it were daylight.
The PLU lunged violently as it was hit by rocks blasted from a new vent located close to the craft.
‘We’re hit,’ roared Smith as he put the PLU into immediate reverse while switching on the Lumen arc lights to full capacity.
‘Jesus Almighty,’ cried O’Farrell as her head hit PLU’s ceiling.
‘Fuck,’ added Gallery as he was thrown from his seat.
The PLU’s cameras showed the external environment to the horror of those on the surface.
It was evident that the PLU was almost directly above a large vent that had blown its way through the side of the Seamount. The initial explosion would have been fatal to any craft on land in such proximity. The surrounding water had reduced the impact and severity of the blast.
The damage became obvious almost immediately. Smith tried to move the PLU forward, but it barely responded. ‘Paul, I think we’ve a problem. As the propellers and thrusters are at the base of the PLU, I suspect they’ve been struck by volcanic debris.’
Smith tried hard to control his emotions, but he realised immediately that his craft was in trouble. He didn’t have much time to think as a secondary blast struck the PLU. Judging by the sounds at his feet a barrage of rocks clattered against the PLU’s base.
The worst possible thing happened. A barely audible hiss could be heard. Simultaneously, an alarm bell rang signalling that the fabric of the PLU had been compromised.
‘Oxygen!’ roared Smith. Another alarm attached to the monitor detecting a drop in internal pressure levels rang loudly. Very soon the PLU’s crew were all attached to their respective emergency oxygen bottles.
After a few minutes Smith knew the level of oxygen supply wasn’t fully compromised. The gauge measuring internal oxygen levels had fallen but was stabilised. Smith turned around and told O’Farrell and Gallery to disconnect their oxygen emergency supplies, which had enough capacity for three hours.
‘Paul, we’re in trouble.’ Smith spoke the truth. He could not be sensitive to O’Farrell and Gallery’s growing sense of apprehension knowing they all shared the same communications channel.
‘What’s your assessment?’ said McCrossan in a calm voice. Above all else, he needed to remain calm.
‘We’re almost immobile in the midst of an active vent. There is the first sign of an airlock leak.’ Smith struggled to maintain his composure. He knew from experience that his blood pressure was rising.
McCrossan took the initiative. ‘I will drive the ROV towards you and it should be there within five minutes. It has a heavy-duty mechanical arm that I will try to connect to the PLU. If that works, we should be able to pull you away from the vent to the surface using the ROV’s engines and the tethers. In the meantime, use whatever power you have to get out of the direct line of fire of the volcano.’
‘Be quick, Paul,’ pleaded Smith.
O’Farrell and Gallery were so scared they did wh
at they were told without any questions. The current carried the PLU slowly away from the vent. The five minutes it took to drive the ROV to the PLU felt like five hours. The respective cameras of both vehicles captured the scene in slow motion.
‘Mike, I’ll drive the ROV under the PLU to see how bad the damage is.’
Smith’s prognosis was confirmed. The PLU’s aluminium chassis was severely shattered, and the two main thrusters were fractured beyond repair. The base was pock-marked with scars from the lava rock hits.
‘Let me position the ROV astern, then I’ll deploy the mechanical arm. I’ll try to grab the base of the chassis at the rear of the bracket of the remaining thruster. If I get a good connection, we can start the process of using the ROV’s power to bring you to the surface.’
The mechanical arm locked on the chassis on the second attempt. The PLU crew heard the noise of the arm as it locked on the rail surrounding the main thruster. However, in trying to get the best possible grip, McCrossan unintentionally snapped the fibre optical cable that provided communications from the PLU Shack to the PLU. The line went dead. He assumed, incorrectly, that all communications had been severed. In fact, as the inward comms line was unaffected. The PLU’s passengers could hear what was being said aboard the RV Celtic Explorer but could not transmit to the PLU Shack.
‘Damn.’ McCrossan was annoyed with himself for making such a stupid basic mistake. He needed to re-focus.
He moved the joystick and the ROV pulled the PLU away from the danger zone on a slow trajectory towards the surface.
Smith knew the return voyage to the safety of the surface could take more than six hours. It would require great skill and a fair amount of luck for a ten tonne ROV to drag a thirty tonne PLU from the sea floor to the surface.
O’Farrell and Gallery shared his sense of impending doom as the PLU ascended slowly, very slowly, through the darkness of the abyss.
They all sat in silence.
CHAPTER 8
Pico Bejenado
Iceapelago Page 21