There was a single whoop from the rear of the room and more pockets of laughter bubbled.
“But…” she steadied herself against the podium, “this time, it came at a cost.”
She could see that Marcus was pointing the laptop in her direction. When she thought about all they’d been through, and what she must say next, she wished he’d stop recording.
“During the trip…” she felt the tears forming, but was determined to remain strong, “we lost Terry Ford.”
In the quiet that followed, she saw Marcus lowering the laptop to his side, his expression one of blank disbelief.
In the absence of any family, Terry had been the closest thing to a father she’d ever had. As long as she’d known him, he’d done his best to look after her.
Despite having a hard life himself, his gentle approach and ability to simply listen had always been a comfort. Not just to her, but to everyone he’d met at the ARC. His unassuming manner had always given people a sense of calm reassurance.
Although her emotions were still raw, she took some solace from the knowledge that she’d been there for him at the end, listening to him talk and holding his hand as he fell asleep.
“There will be a memorial service, but I wanted to share something with you now. Something he used to say…”
She pictured him placing a single candle on the ledge of a window that overlooked a flooded London.
“His words helped me during some of my darkest hours… But, in this dark new world, I think he was imagining what each one of us will need to become. A light,” she said, “to remember those we’ve lost, and to guide the way ahead.”
Around the room, she could hear a multitude of jangling noises. Without prompting, people were unclipping their standard-issue mini torches and holding them aloft. Slowly, a calm sea of tiny lights filled her view.
“Thank you, Terry,” she said.
Her words then came back to her repeated and amplified by the voices of every person in the room.
As she turned to locate Marcus, the projector clicked off and a siren rang out. Suddenly all the Glaucus doors rapidly spiralled closed and the room’s lighting failed. As panicked voices called through the darkness, the pinpoints of light in front of her became a churning, chaotic mass.
PRESSURE
Mat flicked through the ARC plans on the tablet.
“This is the one of the spheres that Lucy told us about,” he glanced at the airlock control, “It’s flooded alright.”
“Can we avoid it?” Tessa inspected the various section diagrams on the screen.
“Maybe we can sidestep it,” Mat pointed at two adjoining spheres, “Get to the common area by -”
“Cutting through, er, hydroponics,” she completed.
Even though Mat had actually lived here, it seemed that Tessa’s ability to assimilate information had beaten him to the solution.
“How d’you do that?” he found himself frowning at her, “You haven’t even been here before.”
“I just sort of…” she made overlaying, twisting motions with her hands until they were aligned with each other, “move things around in my head until they fit together.”
“How did I miss that?”
“The important thing is that we can move on,” she said, “I wouldn’t be too hard on yours-”
“No,” he interrupted, “It’s been staring me in the face for years and I’ve never put it together.”
“What?” it was her turn to frown.
Mat shrugged, “Tessa Locke. Tessellates.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head.
“Why do I get the horrible feeling I’ve just earned a nickname?” she said.
A metallic clanking sound came from behind them and they turned to see Sabine and Ebony reaching the bottom of the steel steps. It seemed that Sabine had allowed her daughter to walk, or was at least taking a break from carrying her protectively.
“We need to make a diversion,” Tessa told her and pointed to the adjacent airlock, “Through there.”
Mat handed the tablet to Tessa and walked to the second door’s access panel. After pressing a button, the curved metallic plates slid open.
“What the hell?” he stared.
Dotted around the various levels inside were small lights. Not enough to illuminate the whole room but enough to tell him that this wasn’t the view he’d been expecting to find.
“Is it not supposed to look like this?” asked Tessa.
“No,” his voice echoed out, “No, it isn’t.”
Long before the Sea-Bass had departed from the ARC, this space had been dedicated to generating food resources for those who lived here. There was no sign of that apparatus now.
He suddenly became aware that he’d missed something quite obvious: he’d been able to see these shadowy details despite not using his flashlight.
“This sphere still has power,” he thought out loud.
“Everything else is in the dark,” Tessa now cast her light around, “Why would there be power here?”
A thought struck him: it was possible that the other team was already here.
“Pavna!” he shouted out, causing Tessa to swear equally loudly in shock.
Mat could see that he’d also scared Ebony, who was now hiding behind her mother’s legs again.
“Sorry,” he shrugged apologetically, “I thought they might be here, working on the power. I’m going to call them again, OK?”
He called to Pavna and Noah but, despite waiting several seconds, there was no reply.
“OK,” said Tessa, “We’d better move on.”
They walked further into the room and climbed the short steps that wrapped around the inside of the sphere. Being this close to the wall reminded him that, a few feet away, the ocean depths were continuing to exert their phenomenal force on the ARC.
Although the physical pressures had never bothered him during his time here, he knew that pressure of a different kind was now at work. The various attempts he’d been making to inject humour into their situation were perhaps a symptom of the fact that he was a little unnerved.
They moved inward across one of the floors that were suspended throughout the space. This floor had been used to grow crops, but instead of irrigation troughs, pumps and ultraviolet lamps, there were now multiple metal boxes.
The unhelpful thought arrived that, from their proportions at least, they resembled coffins. Something that didn’t help his state of mind was the accompanying detail that they were empty.
“What are they?” Sabine spoke from his side.
“Big boxes,” he smiled, partly to reassure her and Ebony, but mostly to distract himself.
Tessa pointed her flashlight around the equipment.
“Whatever they are, there’s tech on the inside,” she then raised the tablet she was holding, “Maybe we could ask?”
“Worth a shot,” he nodded.
“Fai?” Tessa tentatively spoke to the glowing screen, “Can you hear me?”
“Yes, Tessa, my originator gave me specific instructions to continually monitor the microphone embedded within this device.”
“OK,” she shared a glance with the others, “Please would you analyse the item I’m showing you with the tablet’s camera?”
“Yes. To allow three-dimensional reconstruction, please provide multiple angles of view.”
As Tessa walked around the outside of the box, the flashlight caught the interior protrusions at odd angles, sending shadows stretching through its internal space.
“From the available data,” said Fai, “and comparing it to the technology of an earlier Archive design, I surmise these are Cryo suspension units.”
“As in human hibernation?” Mat now dimly recalled a conversation he’d heard between Cathy Gant and Mike Sanders.
“Yes, a similar design was used aboard the ISS for short duration hibernation. However there are significant differences present here. An attempt has been made to counter the effects of synaptic deg
radation.”
“Did it work?” Mat cast his flashlight around the room.
“Unknown,” said Fai, “The biological component is absent from these units.”
“Then I guess we should find one with a biological component still in it,” Mat mocked the response.
“I concur,” Fai didn’t seem to detect the sarcasm, “If these Cryo units are more efficient, then we should collect data from an active source. It may be useful to Anna Bergstrom’s work.”
“Good point,” said Tessa, moving on, “The Andromeda and Vega ships could take hundreds of years to build. If you could combine long-term hibernation with Bergstrom’s Field tech, the waiting time would just be a skip and a jump.”
“OK,” he said, “Let’s keep checking on the way up.”
CHANGE
Standing on the upper level of the Sea-Bass docking room, Lucy could see the lower deck and the open airlock below it. She’d been moving a few essential supplies a little closer to the ARC’s access point, but the job hadn’t taken long. In the absence of any useful tasks to complete, she now found her thoughts occupied by concern for the away teams.
Although she knew there had been no change to the sub’s background hum, the room seemed to become quieter with each passing minute.
“Fai?” she felt the need to break the silence.
“Yes, Lucy.”
“What do you think about, when you’re not talking with us?”
There was a short pause, then Fai replied.
“The recombination and cross-referencing of all previous interactions and available data.”
Lucy knew she might simply be projecting her own current feelings onto the response, but it sounded as though Fai was describing a state that resembled anxiety.
She looked down at the open airlock in the floor below.
“You worry?”
“No. Worry is the human concern for outcomes that cannot be evaluated or changed. My continuous self-assessment is a long-term error correction routine, designed to revise assumptions about previous interactions. It has proven to be an efficient learning tool.”
Lucy felt the whole room suddenly shift and, without warning, the Glaucus Ring in the floor spiralled shut.
“Fai, what just happened?” she rapidly climbed down the ladder to get to the lower deck.
“Instability within the structure of the ARC forced the closure of the external Glaucus mechanism.”
“What instability?”
“Unknown.”
“Is the ARC airlock intact?”
“Unknown.”
“Thanks, that’s a great help,” she reached the bottom of the ladder and dashed across the floor, “Check communication channels for any changes.”
“Working,” Fai reported, “There are no changes.”
She reached the docking ring and accessed the control panel in the floor. The small display showed that the ring was still open, despite it being quite obviously closed.
“Fai, cycle the Glaucus Ring.”
There was a short pause.
“Unable to comply.”
DROP
The door spiralled open again and Noah saw Pavna standing in the same place.
“Not funny,” he told her, “What if I’d been stuck out here?”
“I thought you were worried you’d be stuck in here,” she replied.
He raised his finger and was about to object, but he knew she was right. Grudgingly he made his way forward to the threshold.
“I’m still not over the USV stuff,” he admitted.
“Believe me,” said Pavna, “I know what you mean.”
Sometimes he forgot that they’d both lost friends on that day under Dover.
“You know,” he began.
“Shh,” she suddenly cut in, holding up a hand and angling her head as though listening for something.
He heard a light creak followed by a rushing, hissing noise from behind him.
“Breach!” she dashed forward and, grabbing him by his bag strap, pulled him over the threshold.
There was a shudder that seemed to vibrate the floor, then the rushing water noise increased. He fell forward into the neighbouring sphere just as the Glaucus mechanism activated, its outer spiral closing a fraction of a second before the inner one. Suddenly the noise vanished, isolated behind two layers of metallic protection.
“No!” he yelled over and over as memories of being trapped in the USV filled his mind.
“Noah!” Pavna’s voice seemed to be calling him from a distance, “Noah!”
“What?!” he turned on her, “We’re trapped!”
“No!” she yelled at him, “We make it out of here.”
“You don’t know that,” he sat up.
She punched him hard in the shoulder, “Yes I do!”
“How?” he looked at the sealed door.
“Because everybody, everybody, knows that Noah escapes the flood, and takes his family with him. We need to find them and save them!”
A metallic buckling noise came from the direction of the door.
He could tell from her reaction that this was not normal.
“We have to get out,” she turned and cast her flashlight in the opposite direction, “If the ring detects water, it’ll shut down this sphere too.”
A muted sound, like an oil drum being struck, came from the door. A single drop of seawater began to grow at the centre of the door’s imperfectly sealed iris.
Thinking quickly, he tipped the contents of his bag onto the floor and opened his first aid kit.
“What are you doing?!” Pavna shouted.
“Buying us time!”
He found what he needed and dashed to the door. Ripping open a large cotton-padded patch, he tore off the plastic backing and stuck it in place over the growing bead of water.
“Get the next door open!” he yelled, ripping open another patch and smoothing it into place under the first.
He heard her sprinting footsteps recede across the floor. He knew the patches would leak, but it might give them a few more seconds to cover the distance and get the next door open.
He gave the last patch an additional push and could feel the intense cold that was building up behind the metal plates. Grabbing the remains of his kit, he scooped up his flashlight and ran; weaving his way between the machinery that filled the dark space.
His flashlight passed over what looked like a workshop lathe and he managed to dodge around it. But in the shadow outside the beam, he didn’t notice the low-hanging pipe until it was too late. He felt it connect with his head and he stumbled to the floor, sending his flashlight clattering out of reach under a heavy piece of machinery.
He grabbed at the stabbing pain in his forehead. He couldn’t see it, but knew he was bleeding; his fingers felt slick and warm.
Staggering back to his feet, he saw Pavna’s beam of light cut through the darkness as she ran to help him.
“Come on!” she lit the way, “It’s open.”
“Go!” he urged her to get to safety.
Following her through the machine room as fast as he could, he saw the open doorway and her backpack on the other side. Wiping the blood away from his eyes, he pushed her ahead of him.
As they cleared the doorway, Pavna immediately turned and slammed the button to close the door. As before, the outer plates irised closed, followed by the inner ones.
Still panting from the exertion, he knelt on the floor and dug through the meagre remains of his first aid kit.
“Let me get that,” said Pavna.
It was possible that the impact to his head had caused a low-level concussion. When he thought about their remaining medical supplies, he nervously laughed out loud.
“I think I used all the good stuff on the door.”
“Looks worse than it is,” she examined the cut on his head, “We just need something to hold it closed.”
“My head or the door?” he winced.
She retrieved her bag and after digging thro
ugh several pockets, eventually found some duct tape.
“Sorry, but this is the best I can do.”
Wiping the excess blood from his forehead with her sleeve, she pinched the wound shut and stretched a piece of the tape over it.
“Noah,” she looked deathly serious, “I don’t think it’s going to hold.”
He suddenly felt a chill at the back of his neck, though it had nothing to do with air temperature or concussions. He knew that she wasn’t talking about his head. They would have to move on, and quickly.
The only way he was going to get out of this situation was by going deeper still into the ARC. Beyond the beam of their remaining flashlight, the sphere that surrounded them couldn’t be seen. But he could feel it; an invisible mass in the darkness, waiting to close in on him. Doing his best to force the image from his mind, he got to his feet.
“How far is it now?” he said.
“A few units,” she pointed downward, “Once we reach the common area, we can get to central control.”
•
While Sabine continued to inspect the various empty Cryo units, Ebony found interesting ways to climb around and through their underlying metallic supports. Once or twice she bumped her head by standing up in the wrong place, but her padded hood protected her so well that she didn’t really notice.
“We got one!” Mat’s echoing voice sounded from the other side of the room.
Taking her daughter by the hand, Sabine dashed around the other units and arrived at Tessa’s side.
“Who is it?” Sabine tried to peer in through the unit’s window, but it was too badly frosted.
“Don’t know,” Tessa held up her tablet, “The info’s been removed.”
Sabine’s heart leapt. When it came to digital systems, Marcus had always been good at hiding himself. Even during their troubled times within the Dover USV, he’d always managed to arrange it so that they were two steps ahead of any search.
She watched as Tessa’s eyes swept swiftly over her tablet.
“Looks like these things were designed for fast access,” she continued to absorb the information at speed, “Quick switching of personnel… a schedule that alternated between awake and ‘stim-sleep’.”
The Bridge Page 21
