Nor is that the only extra equipment needed. Deep diving requires a BC buoyant enough to deal with the extra weight; a dive computer built to deal with the tremendous pressure of a deep dive; dive gauges rated to hold up under that all-encompassing pressure, and special oil-filled mechanical gauges if going too deep for air-filled gauges to withstand implosion.
Perhaps most important of all save the air itself: the dive computer has to be recalculated to allow for stunningly short times at the bottom, with correspondingly long times to decompress on the way up. It will take three to six minutes for a diver to drop in a controlled manner to a depth of one-fifty. The diver will then have perhaps twenty to thirty minutes at the bottom before she has to begin her assent, which can take up to several hours.
Sue had the gauges, she had the extra tanks – The Celeste had extra in its hold, enough for everyone to stay down twenty-five minutes at the bottom and then return with full decompression – or deco - stops.
The boat didn't carry any drysuits, and none of the passengers had brought one. They would all be operating on the razor's edge between discomfort and hypothermia.
Mr. Raven had printed out calculations of bottom times, deco times and depths, and passed them out. Sue did her own calculations to verify his were accurate. They were.
She felt worry creeping in. One-hundred-fifty feet was well within the level that people could – and did, and would continue to – dive on air alone, as opposed to specialized gas mixes designed for deep dives. But it was also deep enough that some very bad things could – and did, and would continue to – happen to the unprepared.
She pulled on her wetsuit, helping her father occasionally with his and getting help in return. Most experienced deep or "technical" divers would give you a polite "Back the hell off, buddy," if you tried to help them. Every diver had a specific way of putting on gear and getting ready for a dive. No one was there to help each other, and dive buddies for a deep dive were rare.
There were reasons for that. Reasons Sue preferred not to think about right now.
Regardless, her father and she could work together. Even though not what you'd call a doting family, they were family. That allowed for a measure of cooperation.
Geoffrey and Mercedes were nearby as well, both pulling on their suits and accepting the extra gear and tanks that Mr. Raven was handing out. Geoffrey was an ass and Mercedes had spoken few words on the trip. But now that they worked to suit up, both had a measure of confidence and competence that gave Sue hope for them and for the dive.
This was a dangerous level. Anyone who wasn't sure what he was doing was going to be in trouble.
Is it fair of me? Fair to weigh in on the side of doing this? Did my vote to go make Mercedes go? What if something happens to her? To Geoffrey?
Would it be my fault?
Should I drop out? Say "never mind" and try to convince them to stop this before it begins?
Someone could die. This kind of dive kills people who don't know what they're doing.
That led her to Haeberle. The big man was fumbling a bit. Either because of nervousness or something else, he was having trouble. Not a lot, not enough to call great attention to himself.
But some.
And if you were nervous at one-hundred-fifty feet… if you were careless… if you were incompetent….
He caught her looking at him. Most people having trouble with their gear would be embarrassed. Would look away. Focus on their work and pretend nothing else existed.
He didn't do that. His face broke into a wide grin, so wide in fact that it was well beyond a leer and into something even more uncomfortable. Haeberle looked like he was gazing at his next meal.
She forced herself to stare back. Not long, but long enough that she hoped he got the idea that she wasn't scared of him.
Which was a lie. The guy definitely scared her. There was something wrong with him, something that was going to burst like a bubble sooner or later, letting the world see what was inside. And she suspected it wouldn't be pretty.
A hand reached around Haeberle, turning him and then helping secure some of his rig.
Tim.
Sue felt some of the fear leach out of her. She hadn't thought he was going to come, but he was already dressed and holding a rig at his side, his tanks and gauges and dive gear ready to be slung on in one large motion. Jimmy J was behind him, dressed to dive as well.
"You coming after all?" she said.
Tim looped Haeberle's octopus regulator – an extra regulator for "buddy breathing" if someone ran into trouble – out of the way, keeping it from tangling.
But no buddies at this depth. It's everyone for themselves.
She tried to get rid of that thought. Tried to forget everything but the chance – however slim – that what waited below might be answers. Might tell her what had happened to her sister.
"Jimmy J and I talked," Tim said, snapping Sue out of her reverie. "You guys are going to need us down there."
Haeberle knocked Tim's hands away with a snarl. "I got this," he said.
"I know you do. Just thought I'd help. But…." He looked uncomfortable. "Before you get totally geared up, could you help me with something? I need to bring a few extra tanks from storage and I could use your help."
Haeberle kept glaring for a moment. Then nodded. The movement was quick and jerky, like he was forcing it against his better judgment. It was also ferocious.
Yeah. He's going to pop.
Just don't be around when it happens.
It won't be pretty.
SOON
~^~^~^~^~
Haeberle followed Tim into the salon. And seethed.
Of all the people on this ship, Tim and Raven were the two who most irritated Haeberle. He was tempted to go to sleep and dream them away and then wake up without them to hassle him, to constantly prick at his reality, like mosquitoes invading a peaceful picnic.
Even Haeberle – the real Haeberle, the one he was pretending to be – had been less irritating. Hell, that guy had been downright fun. Strangling him, beating him to death, dropping his body into the sea.
The new Haeberle –
(the real Haeberle now, face it, nothing is real until it's you, until you do it, until you own it)
– crossed his arms and waited for Tim to speak. Waited to decide whether the other man would live or die.
Tim didn't speak, though. Just looked at him like he was less than a God, maybe even less than a man.
You're going to die, Tim. You'll die and be gone from life, gone from my dreams, gone from everything.
The thought almost made him smile. Almost.
"What do you want?" he said instead. "What is this?"
Tim finally spoke, a small shake of his head that made Haeberle feel like he was being pitied.
(dead, dead, dead, you'll die you'll die, I'll kill you and maybe dream you back and kill you again, you prick)
"Have you ever been diving at all?" said Tim.
The question nearly caught Haeberle unawares. Of course he had – in his previous life he'd actually dived quite a bit, which had made his discovery of the other Haeberle –
(the fake Haeberle)
– a man who was about to go on a conveniently offshore dive trip, just that much more proof of the universe's love for the one man at its center.
"Of course," he said. "This is a dive expedition, isn't it?"
"Yeah." Tim wasn't backing down. "But you're all thumbs. So my question remains: You ever dive before?"
Haeberle felt his muscles clench. Imagined snapping Tim in half and throwing him overboard.
Then he realized what this was. This was the universe again, bending to his will. To his whim. Tim wasn't here to hinder him after all. He was going to help.
"Yeah," he said, and felt the fight leave as fast as it came. Tim was just another element of himself, and it was insane to get mad at yourself, wasn't it? "I've dived. But not this deep."
Tim shook his head. "Then you're
not going."
Haeberle actually took a heavy step toward Tim.
How. DARE. He?
"I am," he said. "Nothing's going to stop me. Least of all you."
Another step. Looming over Tim now. Letting the other man feel the presence of the God of this place, this sea, this world.
Tim just shook his head again. "You'll die. There's no light down there, it's cold, it's an entirely different thing from recreational diving. You'll get narced and make a bad decision and –"
Haeberle frowned. It had been a while since his last dive, and a lot had happened since then. Plus when he got mad it was sometimes hard to think. Things got foggy, his thoughts got fuzzy.
Bad things happened.
Not to Haeberle, of course. Everything happened to him for the best in this, the best of all his possible worlds.
But bad things. And the fog was falling fast. Tim seemed to bring that out in him.
"Narced?" he said, interrupting the lesser man.
"Nitrogen narcosis," said Tim. "It affects everyone, everyone, who goes this deep. Nitrogen gets in the way of proper brain functions. Anyone down there is going to be a functioning drunk." He shook his head again. "And then there's whatever's down there. Wreck or underwater reef or whatever this insane ocean has puked up at us…. You get tangled on something, you die. You run out of air, you die. You lose your tie to the anchor line and you'll get swept away by underwater currents and never find your way back to the boat and die. You come up too fast and –"
"Yeah, I know. I get it. I'll die."
Tim laughed. Just a quick machine-gun rattle of a laugh, barking at the ceiling like Haeberle had said the most monumentally stupid thing possible.
I'm going to kill you, Tim. And screw whether you're here to help.
"No, you wish you die," said Tim. "You come up too fast and you get bent. The nitrogen in your tank air gathers in bubbles around your joints and nerves and causes the worst pain imaginable. It blocks blood vessels and causes ruptures, blood can explode out of your nose, your ears, your mouth. You get an embolism. And then, after all that, then you finally die in agony."
Now it was Haeberle's turn to laugh. None of that could happen to him. It was impossible for a universe to cripple its creator. "I'll risk it," he said. He felt genuinely jovial, as though reminding himself of his immortality was enough to drive back his irritation, even a bit of the fog that had clouded his thoughts and covered his memories.
"I'll risk it," he said. Grinned a toothy grin. "Treasure's too fun an idea to give up on."
"Then you're an idiot."
The declaration came so simply it didn't even penetrate for a moment. Then it did, pricking Haeberle's good mood and deflating it so rapidly he coughed to cover his surprise. Then he straightened and took a last step to Tim. They would have been nose to nose if they were the same height. As it was, Haeberle looked right down at the man.
A king.
A lord.
A God.
"The last guy who called me names ended up in the hospital," he whispered. His left hand clenched into a fist. The right dropped to the hilt of a knife he had strapped to his thigh.
"Fine," said Tim. "You're not an idiot." Tim glanced down at the knife. "But are you going to be so smart that you attack the only guy on the boat who's ever tied the anchor onto a deep water wreck?"
The knife actually came an inch out of its sheath. Stayed there a long moment, long enough for five or six bull-like breaths to explode through Haeberle's nostrils.
Tim shouldered past him. Went to the door. Haeberle didn't watch him go. But called out, "Timmy?"
He could sense the other man freezing, sense his irritation at being called such a childish name. He let Tim wait a moment, let him stew, before finally saying, "People – all people – have their day. Their times. But those times pass."
Tim didn't say anything. But a moment later he pulled open the door and left. Haeberle heard the door click behind him.
He smiled.
Soon, Tim.
START
~^~^~^~^~
Everything was wrong, and the dive wasn't even started.
No one had drysuits. No one had the right experience. No one had TriMix or Nitrox: gases specially mixed for deeper dives that all but eliminated the mental and physical dangers of getting narced or bent.
Worst of all, the attitudes were wrong. Everyone was jittery or scared or unsure or a mix of all three. Only Jimmy J seemed calm, and even he had never been quite this deep – his dive experience maxed out at one-hundred-thirty feet.
Other than Mr. Raven, Tim was the only one who'd really done this before. And he hadn't liked it. Going down past one-thirty, you started to feel drunk, started to hear drums in your ears, started noticing things and wondering if they were really there. Divers called it the "rapture of the deep," but it hadn't felt too rapturous to him. Mostly weird and off-putting and scary.
The worst moment came when he tried to grab his trip computer and had to take four swipes before he got it into his hands. Being below one-thirty didn't just mean loss of acuity; it brought physical impairment as well.
And there was no cure, no way to vaccinate oneself against the rapture. Experienced divers knew that the best way to operate at great depth was to have done everything that might be necessary on the dive so many times that the responses were automatic. Thinking was compromised, so muscle memory had to reign. Dilettantes need not apply; only those with intimate knowledge of necessary procedures could be reasonably safe.
Which all meant that this group was in danger the second they touched down, if not before.
"Okay," he said to the dark shapes that had once been lithe and trim people but were now hulking masses of equipment strapped to wetsuits with hoods pulled over heads, masks on faces. "Here's how it's going to go. Mr. Raven is going to drop the anchor and try to catch it on whatever's down there. If he does, I follow the line down and try to secure it. I'll explore to make sure it's –"
"Hey!" The outburst came from Geoffrey. Naturally. "How come you get first shot at the treasure?"
Tim wondered of the others could hear his teeth grinding. "I don't want first shot. I want to make sure you don't die five minutes after splashdown. I could care less about treasure – which I doubt is even down there. I just want to make sure you all come back alive." He paused for Geoffrey's comeback. Surprisingly, none came. The man just nodded and then sidestepped a bit as a swell moved the boat.
Tim tensed. What if this was another one of those sonic boom/tsunamis? What would they do?
Nothing happened. The boat settled. He heard Mercedes let out a whoosh of air and knew she had been thinking the same thing as him.
And we're going down there.
He shook his head. "Jimmy J?"
The young man stepped forward. He gulped visibly as the entire group swiveled to face him. That was a first, too. Jimmy J was usually utterly relaxed and at ease in any situation. Perhaps too much so: Tim had lectured him any number of times about appearing more professional. He never got anywhere with it. So the fact that Jimmy J looked white and hyper-alert under his suit… it unsettled Tim.
Jimmy J rubbed his arm. The arm that had been hurt yesterday. As he did, a glazed look came over his eyes. Tim would have guessed the kid was stoned if he hadn't snapped to in the next second – and if Tim didn't know that Jimmy J never took drugs. Didn't even drink – it wasn't good for a diver, and Jimmy J loved diving above all other things.
Tim kept waiting, and Jimmy J looked uncomfortable again, and then started as he realized what was expected of him. "Oh, right." He turned to look at the group. "You've all programmed your dive computers for tank changes and ascend times, right?" Nods. "You follow those or you'll either run out of air or get bent on the way up." He turned to Mercedes and Haeberle. "Some of you guys are using some DCs we had on board since yours weren't rated for this depth. They'll beep – loud – to let you know you have five minutes before you need to start back up. You go
any later than that and you either run out of air down there or you have to come up too fast." He grimaced. Faced Tim. "Small postscript to that: if I get bent, please shoot me in the face with a harpoon. Seriously."
Tim ignored that one. What was he going to say? "Don't worry, you'll be fine"? He could only hope that wouldn't happen. No promises this deep.
"Remember to control your breathing," he said to everyone. "At one-fifty everything is under pressure, even your lungs. That means each breath you take pulls almost five times the air from your tank. Breathe fast and you run out of air even faster and your dive computer calculations will be off. And if you run dry on your first tank while you're narced, chances are you'll panic and make a whole load of crappy decisions."
He looked at Haeberle the whole time he delivered his speech, hoping to convince the other man to stay – or at least to take his obvious ignorance a bit more seriously.
Haeberle remained impassive. A small smile touched the corners of his lips, then even that was gone.
"Yeah, yeah," said Geoffrey. "We know all this. We're not newbies, you know."
"Okay," said Tim. "Then try this for some new info: don't touch anything. Especially if it's a wreck. And above all, don't go in."
Geoffrey frowned. "How the hell are we supposed to find any treasure if we can't go in?"
"You can find a thousand ways to die faster than you can find a single 'treasure' in a wreck," said Tim. "Even the outside can be dangerous. You don't know what can tangle you, what can collapse. If you go inside, you touch a single thing and it will likely create a cloud of sand or oil or rust or all three that'll make it impossible for you to find your way out. You could lose your line. You could die."
Mercedes piped up. Well, not piped up – her pipes seemed fixed permanently at the "quiet" position. But she spoke. "Sounds like we could die no matter what.
The Deep 2015.06.23 Page 8
