Vostok

by Steve Alten

  But not cold, for the water temperature was fifty-seven degrees and still rising.

  As we descended to twenty-two hundred feet, a gray haze began to appear, chasing away Vostok’s denizens of the deep.

  At twenty-four hundred feet, the water temperature had risen to sixty-three degrees.

  Forty more feet and I saw the first black smoker.

  Hydrothermal vents were first discovered in the Pacific Ocean back in 1977. Since then, they had been found in every ocean as well as in certain rift lakes.

  Vostok was just such a lake, formed when East Antarctica’s crustal plates had separated, creating a valley that became the waterway’s basin. The geothermal vents were switched on when cold water began seeping into cracks along the forming lake’s floor. Heated by molten rock in the earth’s mantle, the water mixed with oxygen, magnesium, potassium, and other minerals before being forcibly ejected back into the lake. Once this hot mineral soup met Vostok’s cold, oxygen-rich water, it generated hydrogen sulfide, which in turn fueled bacteria—the foundation of the lake’s chemosynthetic food chain.

  Avoiding direct contact with the superheated discharges, Ben gave us a tour of the vent field, a petrified forest of volcanic chimneys that spewed billowing dark clouds of mineral-laden water, which spawned a thriving subglacial ecosystem. Piled along the base of these vents was a mosh-pit of life—crustaceans and shrimp, clams and anemone—everything white and twice the size of similar species outside of Vostok. Our sub rocked in eighty-nine-degree water as we passed over miles of vent fields, small fish feeding off the spaghetti-like clusters of tubeworms that grew in acre-size clusters.

  “All right, Zach, Ming—we’ve taken a look. What say we move on before this mineral water clogs one of the engine’s intake valves?”

  Not waiting for our reply, Ben began our ascent as we continued our trek to the northeast.

  We had journeyed another three nautical miles when we discovered another missing cog in Vostok’s thriving ecosystem.

  Upon reaching a depth of 420 feet, we discovered strands of what appeared to be kelp dangling across our cockpit glass. The higher we rose, the denser the growth, until we were surrounded by thick strands of algae.

  As we continued our ascent, sonar revealed the lake’s surface had been replaced by a thick algae mat that carpeted Vostok’s lake for miles.

  “This is bizarre,” I said. “A kelp forest is usually rooted to the bottom. This forest is upside down. Its holdfast is growing out of the geothermal soil and algae that has accumulated along the surface.”

  Ben kept the Barracuda eighty feet beneath the mineralized surface, fearful of the Valkyrie units becoming entwined in long strands of kelp.

  Everywhere we looked, there were fish.

  Hundreds of Miocene rockfish dominated the shallows, their six-foot-long frames carrying a good hundred pounds. They must have been blind, for they remained unaffected by our exterior lights. Their thick hides were a bright orange, rendering the inverted vines a Miocene pumpkin patch.

  “This is incredible. Ming, I hope you’re getting this. Ming?”

  I turned to find her chair spun around as she hovered over the rear instrument panel. “It was recording perfectly until a few moments ago, but now the image is pixelating.”

  “It must be that magnetic interference. We’re probably close to the plateau.”

  “Good,” Ben said. “Once we cross the plateau we’ll be in the northern basin, and the magnetic interference should pass. Looks like we won’t be getting there along the surface, though. Guess it’s back down to the basement.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Are you able to get an atmospheric pressure reading?”

  “Give me two minutes.”

  Before I could object, Ben had powered up the Valkyries, igniting the kelp strands in front of us. Within seconds we were rising through clear water, the lasers evaporating plants and barbequing fish as they burned a hole through the soil-covered surface.

  Ming was livid. “You maniac. Look what you did!”

  “What did you want me to do? We needed a place to surface, now we have one. No one needs to know.”

  “That is not the point. We did not journey into this pristine environment to destroy a fifteen-million-year-old ecosystem.”

  “Don’t go all PETA on me, Ming. So I fried a few fish. Big deal. The dead will be eaten, and the algae will grow back.”

  Before she could retort, the Barracuda’s bow punched through the smoldering mattress of vegetation. The sub leveled out in the midst of a midnight fog swirling beneath a cloudlike ceiling of ice at least twenty stories high.

  While Ben swore at the ice sheet and Ming swore at Ben, I used my night-vision binoculars to survey our new surroundings.

  We were surrounded by a thick, undulating bed of vegetation. To the north the surface layer progressively expanded into a dark, lumpy moss and what appeared to be tens of thousands of snakes. After adjusting my focus, I realized they were roots growing out of the marsh. With no sun to reach for, the growths had twisted horizontally into thick briar patches, nourished solely by the chemosynthetic-rich soil.

  Farther out still, I saw the dark silhouette of a rise.

  Ben and Ming were still arguing in my headphones, distracting my thoughts. “Enough,” I yelled, silencing the voices in my ears. “Ben, I thought the plateau that divides the lake’s northern and southern basin was underwater.”

  “Depth is seven hundred feet, according to Vostok Command. Why?”

  “Because there’s a ridge out there preventing us from entering the northern basin, and it’s definitely not submerged.”

  My two shipmates located their binoculars and panned the northern horizon.

  Ming didn’t seem too surprised. “At least three nations studying Vostok claim the lake has islands and tides. Perhaps these radar scans were completed at low tide and confused the partially submerged ridge for islands.”

  Ben angrily shoved his binoculars back in their pouch. “Maybe Vostok does have tides, or maybe somebody just screwed up. If a high tide is coming, it’d better get here soon. Otherwise we have about nine and a half hours to figure out how to cross a land bridge in a submersible.”

  “There’s something else,” I said. “The external air pressure has dropped again, this time from thirty-nine hundred psi to just over four hundred. That’s a massive pressure differential.”

  Ming theorized. “The geothermal vents heated the water. The warmth melted the ice, which carved out the bottom of the ice sheet, creating more air space. That space filled with compressed oxygen and nitrogen particles, which are perpetually being squeezed to the bottom of the glacier. It is this atmosphere that is counteracting Vostok’s external pressure.”

  “That doesn’t explain the magnetic interference that’s scrambling your cameras. Ben, as much as I’d like to believe in the tides, I think you’d better take us deep. Maybe we can find an underwater passage that leads into the northern basin.”

  The Barracuda slipped beneath the algae mat and descended.

  Dancing in and out of our exterior lights was bio-diversity on a scale I had never seen before. There was the kelp forest—a million inverted olive-brown tentacles swaying with the current. Then there were the kelp-feeders—anchovies and mollusks, along with countless other dark creatures. Finally, there were the packs of carnivore fish, their presence attracting a few rogue predators.

  Perhaps it was to keep Ming on his good side, but Ben made a special effort to maneuver the sub so as not to disturb the wildlife. At one point he even diverted from our descent so that Ming could collect samples of kelp and several anchovies using a vacuum tube.

  Having acquired living specimens seemed to lighten Dr. Liao’s soured demeanor.

  It took Ben twenty minutes to dive beyond the olive-brown tentacles of algae into open water.

  For a long moment we hovered, gazing at the abyss. Particles of brown soot and debris floated past our lights like dark, mesmerizing snowflakes. My eyel
ids grew heavy. I yearned for sleep.

  “Guys, I’m wiped. Maybe we ought to sleep in shifts.”

  “Go on, Doc. I just popped a caffeine pill.”

  “Get some rest, Zachary. I will monitor the sonar array.”

  The Barracuda leaped ahead, jumping from three knots to twenty within seconds. Brown flakes flew past the acrylic glass like a dirty blizzard.

  Settling back in my seat, I closed my eyes…

  13

  “This anomaly is so large that it cannot be the product of a daily change in the magnetic field.”

  —Michael Studinger,

  NASA project scientist mapping Lake Vostok’s magnetic anomaly

  PING.

  PING… PING… PING.

  The acoustic disturbance jump-started my heart like a bad alarm clock. Locating my headset, I spoke into the mouthpiece, the soothing calm of my catnap eradicated. “What’s wrong? Ben, why are you pinging?”

  “We’ve reached the southern face of the ridge. You were right; the plateau runs straight up to the surface. Ming suggested we go active on sonar to see if we could find a breach in this underwater gauntlet.”

  I stole a quick glance at my control console. The depth gauge read 817 feet. Using my night glasses, I glanced out to starboard. We were heading west, moving parallel to an imposing cliff face covered in algae.

  “How much of the plateau have you surveyed on sonar?”

  “Only about four miles, but we’re pinging every three hundred feet. All this algae deadens the sound.”

  Ming set off another ping. I switched my headphones to SONAR, following the rippling sound wave on my monitor as it reflected off the plateau, my eyes catching a blip dancing in and out along the right edge of my screen.

  “There’s something registering on our acoustic periphery.”

  “Tell me it’s an underground river.”

  “Sorry. It’s a biologic. Not a small one, either.”

  “How big?” Ming asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe ten meters. It’s about a kilometer to the west, hovering along the face of the plateau close to the surface. But stay calm. For all we know, it could be a giant sea cow. They were pretty common during the Miocene.”

  “A sea cow? How do you know that? Did you hear it mooing?”

  “Take it easy, Ben. The way it’s moving along the rock face suggests it’s a plant-eater.”

  Ben stared hard at his sonar screen. “Ming, ping again.”

  The gong raced out in all directions, the reflection appearing on our monitors. A bright line swept clockwise across the grid, illuminating the blip to the west—along with a second object rising slowly away from the bottom a thousand yards south of our position.

  Oh, hell.

  “Zachary?”

  “Yes, Ming, I saw it. Ben, bring us as close to the plateau as you can, then ascend the sub so that we’re on an intercept course with that first blip. Ming, no more pings.”

  “That second blip—it’s a predator, isn’t it?”

  “I think so.”

  “How big?”

  “Trust me, Ben, you don’t want to know.”

  Ben quickly closed the distance to the plateau so that the sub’s starboard tailfin was within six feet of the rock face. Keeping our speed at fifteen knots, he ascended the Barracuda steadily from its eight-hundred-foot depth, his voice grumbling in our headphones. “I took this mission hoping to find fifteen-million-year-old mollusks, not thirty-foot lake carnivores.”

  “The thirty-footer is a vegan. It’s the second creature we have to worry about.” My eyes remained focused on the second blip on the monitor, still rising beneath us.

  Ben would not let up. “You’re assuming it’s a predator. Tell me why.”

  “It moves like a carnivore. I think it’s been stalking us. It’s also fifty to sixty feet long, which renders it a threat.”

  “Another eel?”

  “No, Ming. Eels prefer the cold. This creature was warming itself in the vent field like a reptile raising its body heat in the sun.”

  Ben veered us away from an outcropping of rock. “Bastard, you know what this is. He knows, Ming.”

  I ignored him, my attention focused on the second blip, which had suddenly increased its speed. “It’s making its run. Okay, the first blip is grazing beneath the surface about a thousand feet to the west. Ben, you need to circle it without spooking it.”

  “What the hell for?”

  “There’s an old saying: when a hungry bear chases you through the woods, you don’t need to be faster than the bear to survive—”

  “—you just have to be faster than the next guy. Doc, I like the way you think.” Ben accelerated after the first blip as the second blip accelerated after us.

  We were two hundred feet below the surface, kelp whipping past our acrylic glass dome, when we heard a distinct cry over sonar.

  “What the hell was that?”

  “That, Ben, was the other guy. Come to course three-zero-three. Range to target is 260 feet.”

  He accelerated.

  Three minutes later we sighted the first blip. It was moving through kelp ninety feet below the algae-covered surface. An adult female, she was thirty-two feet from her snout to her whale-like fluke, her bulbous body weighing well over ten tons. Her calf was a third her girth, its bulk partially obscured in a cloud of its own blood.

  “It appears to be a giant manatee.”

  “Same family, Ming. Essentially, it really is a Miocene species of sea cow.”

  “Look at those sharks circling below. All that blood in the water is like a dinner bell.”

  “The mother is trying to push her calf back to the ridge.”

  “She’ll never make it,” I muttered.

  As we watched, an eleven-foot bull shark darted in from below like a missile and savagely tore a hunk of blubber from Junior’s gushing belly. The calf cried out again, its almost human-like wail magnified in my headphones. Dozens of sharks were now circling below, hundreds of salmon soaring in and out of the chaos of blood and blubber to snap up morsels.

  It was a Miocene feeding frenzy.

  Then the second creature arrived, and this one scared the Highlands out of me.

  14

  “It would be so nice if something made sense for a change.”

  —Lewis Carroll

  “Ben, it’ll be focused on the calf’s blood, so move us away slowly. Ben, are you listening?”

  Maybe it was the unnervingly quick exodus of the other predators; maybe it was the fear experienced during our confrontation with the eels, but instead of heeding my advice Ben opened the engine up full-throttle.

  As I feared, our sudden movement attracted the trailing predator.

  Hugging the plateau, Ben raced the sub to the west, and the creature closed the distance from below.

  Ming tracked it on her aft camera, the image partially scrambled from the magnetic interference. “Ben, it’s gaining. Do not slow down. Why are you slowing down?”

  “Outcroppings. I can’t react that fast.”

  “Then move us away from the ridge!” I yelled.

  “I can’t. It has the angle. It’ll cut us off. How close is it now?”

  “Eighty feet.”

  Ming screamed, “It’s coming up beneath us!”

  Ben pulled back hard on his joystick, accelerating toward the surface at a steep angle as he ignited the Valkyries. The twin lasers burned through the thick ceiling of vegetation and suddenly we were airborne, soaring high over the algae-infested lake.

  I caught a fleeting glimpse of coastal marshlands on our right just before the Barracuda’s keel slapped down hard against the unyielding chaos of roots and sulfur-rich soil carpeting the surface.

  With the sub resting on its belly, the lasers burned nothing but air and darkness.

  We were marooned.

  Before I could contemplate our situation the vegetation mushroomed as the creature’s snout, skull, and upper body breached beneath us.


  Purussaurus!

  My brain went numb as the forty-ton caiman thrashed and rolled and obliterated the mattress of minerals, churning millions of years of growth into liquefied muck.

  Our vessel slipped sideways back into the swamp and found water. Ben slammed his right foot to his pump-jet propulsor controls, sending us into a barrel-rolling descent just as an eight-foot-long lower jaw snapped at our starboard wing, its fangs catching only vegetation.

  The Valkyries opened a sizzling path in the olive-green kelp forest as we zigged and zagged our way through an underwater maze of jungle.

  Following our trail, the Miocene monster stalked us like a hungry tiger.

  Glancing at my sonar screen, I saw where Ben was headed and nodded tersely.

  Fifty yards… thirty …

  The giant caiman’s frightening head, as big as a tractor trailer, closed on our aft monitor.

  Twenty yards… ten… !

  We swerved to starboard, and the creature turned with us, its head rolling sideways as its jaws widened—

  Crunch!

  The Purussaurus engulfed the dead juvenile sea cow, along with the two whitetip sharks that were feeding upon its gushing remains. The giant croc slowed to swallow its meal, circling its kill zone lest another challenger enter.

  Ben laid back in his seat, sweat pouring down his face. “Take over, Zach. Shut down the lasers. Keep us heading west. Ming… I deserve a bonus.”

  The Chinese beauty leaned over her console and kissed his forehead.

  I engaged the controls and shut down the Valkyries, my eyes catching the air supply gauge as it inched below seven hours.

  We were down to five hours and twenty-two minutes when Ming and I heard the faint sound of rushing water over our headphones. Sonar tracked the sound to the west where a channel of current appeared to be rushing inland. The surface above us had no vegetation, the waves far too violent to allow anything to accumulate.

  I roused Ben from his sleep. “We found something, a channel running inland. If the river cuts across the plateau it could empty into the northern basin.”