by Korn, Tracy
Of course that's what she thinks. Come on already before Arco tries to pick you up and carry you for the rest of this trip. I laugh out loud at Vox's words in my head, and Dame Mahgi's eyes go wide.
"Sorry, it just…tickles a little," I cover, flexing my hands and walking abruptly toward Vox, Avis, and the others who are taking long black bags off the walls. I look over my shoulder and smile, "…and thank you! I feel better."
Arco catches my eye and smirks, but doesn't say anything else as we head to the bags.
At the edge of the moon pool, Avis and Fraya are the first to step into the suits like Dame Mahgi's. Dr. Denison hands a bag to Arco and another one to me.
"Pretty self-explanatory…unfasten the bag here and here." He unclips the top and middle of the bag and opens the flap, then lays the bag on the ground and pulls the black jumpsuit up by the shoulders and shakes it a little so the legs roll out. Each of the arms and legs has a thinly padded bumper pocket near the center. The front and back have a Y-shaped panel, and a long cord hangs from the back of the left shoulder. "Put these on, then pair up and meet us on the other side of the air lock. Each Stingray will need to have at least one trained Navigator on board or one mentor for this run."
"I'll go with you," Arco says to me. "Maybe I'll even let you drive." I roll my eyes and unclasp my bag.
"What are these? More jumpsuits?"
"They're divers," he says, and I stare at him blankly. "That's really what they're called," he laughs. "They do everything for you out there, so they might as well just be making the trip on their own—divers, get it?" I raise my eyebrows at him and nod as Arco shakes his head and smirks. "You used to have a sense of humor."
"You used to be funny," I smile, and his eyebrows jump higher as he laughs.
"Here—pull this and step in." He takes my suit and turns it around for me while pointing out the cord that undoes the back. I pull it, then step in. After just a few seconds, it seems to crawl up my body, almost inflating by the time it gets to my ribcage. "Put your arms in…it's ok," Arco continues, chuckling.
Once my arms are in, the torso of the suit envelops around me. It's warm inside, almost too warm at first, but then, it's perfect.
"Can you fasten it?" I say, trying to reach again for the pull cord on the shoulder, but in all my swatting and grasping, I still can't find it. Arco suddenly belly laughs. "What? I can't reach it. Where is it?" I reach and stretch again, trying to turn to see it.
"It's…already fastened, see?" He turns around to show me that his suit is sealed and is barely able to get the words out around his laughter. "There, you're good now," he finally says, and I narrow my eyes at him.
"Very funny. Not all of us spent the morning down here, you know. And how can a diving suit be this thin? What are these little padded pockets for?"
"It's Carboderm, made by the same company that synths the atoms for the port-cloud, the same stuff that's in the Leviathan and the Stingray skins. Those pockets are life support stores: air, liquids, electrolytes. There are even toe covers that expand into a 5'x5' bubble enclosure in case you fall, or, well, if something tries to eat you," he says, nearly straight faced until he sees my horrified expression.
"You have all the jokes today, Arco. They taught you how to be funny in your underwater pilot tuhao class, huh?" I try as hard as I can to look fierce, but he's just laughing too hard, and I can't hang on. "OK, so whenever you manage to wring out, how are we not going to drown again? There's no helmet," I say, looking in the bag for one. I start to walk past him to see if it's on the ground next to where the bags were hanging, and he steps in front of me, not laughing anymore. I stop just in time to avoid running face first into his chest and look up, surprised. "Wh—?"
He stares right into me, the corners of his mouth still twitching, the remnants of all that laughing still crinkling around his eyes. They're almost the color of the water in the moon pool, dark moss and amber with the light hitting it. He leans in and brings his hands over my shoulders, then lets his fingers skim my neck. Small, sharp prickles of heat run up my spine and spread first over my cheeks, then my lips as his fingers wrap around the sides of my dive collar. I try to swallow, but my throat is compromised by the pulse suddenly pounding against the heel of his hands. Waves crash in my ears, and I feel my arms raising up slowly to his wrists, out of my control like they're tied to balloons. I can't seem to move away, but when I try, I realize that I don't even want to. He pulls the edges of my collar toward him, all traces of laughing gone now. His eyes are set on mine as he lets his chin fall. His thumbs stroke my cheeks as he opens his mouth like he's going to say something, and I instinctively take a shallow breath.
Then his eyes spark like a match, and the corners of his mouth quirk the instant I hear air rushing all around me. It starts out slowly, but builds to a steady, loud pressure, the source of which I can't find. Suddenly I feel cool instead of warm, and Arco moves his hands from my face back to my shoulders as a thin window comes down in front of my eyes and fastens to the collar just under my chin. My hands fly to my head, now completely enclosed by a helmet.
"Arco! Are you kidding me!?" I yell, but he taps his ear and shakes his head, his face contorting with restrained laughter again. He yanks his collar down on both sides, and his helmet appears from behind his head, then seals over his face just like mine. He takes my hand, positions my finger and thumb together, and guides them to the corner of my collar. I feel a button there that he presses his fingers over mine to squeeze, then, does the same to his own collar.
"There, now you can yell at me," I hear him say through the microphone, and he gently bumps his helmet to mine.
CHAPTER 36
Falling
Dr. Denison presses his palm to the pearlescent wall, and a port-call version of Mr. Tark appears, flickering at the edges. I grab Arco's sleeve, then pull the edge of my collar to raise my helmet. Arco raises his, and we both watch the feed.
"Mr. Tark, whenever you're ready," Denison says, standing at the edge of the moon pool with the others.
"Blue crew, I trust you're getting comfortable with your stations—some of you already went through the basic operations aboard a Leviathan this morning with our simulator program, and for those who didn't, with the accelerated algorithms of your nanites enhancing your natural abilities, I trust this run has not presented much of a learning curve for you." Tark's green jumpsuit rustles as he widens his stance and clasps his hands behind him, and if it were not for the rough edges of the transmission, I would swear he was standing there in the room with us.
"It's almost like he's right there," Arco whispers, and I raise an eyebrow, wondering if he heard me think it as well.
"Dr. Denison has likely already explained that your rate of acquisition is exponential, so you will all be experts in no time. I have conveyed as much to the Green crew—they will be your counterpart in this year's grouping, and are actually already waiting outside for you," Tark continues, pulling up a map labeled American Preserve, Eastern Seaboard Floor. It's a 3-D aerial exposure that looks like the land just drops off suddenly about a mile or so from the shore, then slopes down into three scooped out underwater areas: the Northern one labeled Hudson Canyon, which gives way to the second scoop labeled Sohm Abyssal Plain, and below these on the map, the Southern scoop is labeled Hatteral Abyssal, which borders the foothills of the Bermuda Rise on the right. "Your crew will cover the East-to-West walls your territory, which runs from the Northern edge of the Hudson Canyon to the Southern intersection of the Hatteral Abyssal and the Bermuda Rise. You will serve homesteads leading up to the Hudson Canyon divide on the Northwestern front, and the Bermuda Rise on the Eastern front."
"That has to be almost 2,000 miles if it spans two-thirds of the coast—and those foothills are just as far out from shore," Arco says, riveted in calculations.
"Your southern barrier is the intersection of the Hatteral Abyssal and the Bermuda Rise, directly west of the Bahama Islands. Any farther south and you will encounter t
he Puerto Rico Trench. There are no homesteads there, only research facilities, but you are not certified for physical travel that far out at this point in your training. Checkpoints are in place, and your equipment will tell you when you are approaching an unauthorized zone like this one. In case you are missing my point, ladies and gentlemen, it is systematically impossible for you to accidentally wander into these areas, so don't get any ideas. Not only will you be risking your own lives, but those of your crew as well," Tark says, scanning us all.
The map pixelates until it disappears, and another image comes up in its place: a shimmery sideways teardrop with a bulbous front window.
"That's a Stingray," Arco whispers. "The outside is like a skin. It's soft like a tadpole or something."
"Eww," I say, squinting at him, and his eyes light with a smile as he chuckles to himself.
"These are the close range roamers you'll be using today—they're called Stingrays, as some of you already know, and are equipped with a hatch behind the stabilization gear, here," Tark explains, pointing to the 3-D cutaway of the craft, which just looks like a paddle boat inside—a few steering wheels, two seats, a small open area behind them, and the hatch on the bottom. What?
"How can that be enough protections for this deep underwater?" I ask Arco, apparently too loudly.
"Good question, Miss Ripley," Tark says. "The hull of the Stingray is made out of Carboderm, the same material as the Leviathan, and in fact, your dive suits. This is a sturdy, but flexible and porous tissue that will absorb the pressure of its environment. The internal chamber pressure will also adjust, as will your suits in conjunction with your nanites. Just think of these vessels as deep sea creatures, and you are their guts," Tark says, and closes the image. "Pair up, if you haven't already. If you have a Navigation classification, choose someone who doesn't. Spread the love, people. I'll link up with you outside."
The transmission fades out, and Denison instructs everyone to get into the moon pool.
"The Stingray vessels are docked along the perimeter below. Once the water recedes, hop down and swim through the divider wall hatch in the floor to load up," Denison says, entering a code into the control panel just off the side of the pool. The water level immediately lowers, revealing a clear floor and crawl space door that I can now see leads to a larger, completely submerged room containing the docked Stingrays. They look like the heads of enormous silver snakes floating in place down there, the bulging eye-like window seamlessly connecting to the rest of the hull, which shimmers like a million tiny scales.
"Coming?"Arco says, already standing on the breaker wall floor of the nearly empty moon pool and extending his arm up to me.
"How did you get down there already?" I ask, incredulous.
"Jumped. Come on," he says, waving me toward him. Almost everyone else has climbed down the ladder, and Avis has already jumped through the floor door near where Arco is standing and is swimming to a Stingray beyond. "Come on...crite, I'm not going to drop you," Arco says, smiling and holding up his other arm now, waving me to him, but suddenly the air feels thick again as I'm acutely aware of the depth, the heaviness pressing down on my chest, and the water all around in every direction. I'm about to crawl into this mini fish-belly of a vessel, then drive along the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean for an outing with this class, all from the inside of a bigger fish-belly ship. How is any of this real? I need to get out of this suit—I want to go home!
"Jazz? Hey…" Arco says from very far away. I sit down hard, suddenly dizzy and scan the clear pool floor for Vox, feeling compelled to find her. Finally, I see her behind the control panel of one of the Stingrays as Fraya swims up through the hatch underneath, then lowers the small divider wall inside to expel the water behind her before resealing it and moving to the controls with Vox.
Jazwyn, you must compartmentalize Vox's feelings. I'm working with her now. Focus on your breathing. Ms. Reynolt says suddenly in my head.
What's wrong with her? Ms. Reynolt, where are you? I reply.
I'm just outside the Leviathan—look straight down the ramp to Mr. Tether's Stingray. Can you see me, Jazwyn? Pull your mind back from Vox's emotions. I am working with her now, and need to get back, so I need you to be strong.
"Jazz, what's happening? The nanites again?" Arco palms the deck of the moon pool and lifts himself out in one fluid movement, then kneels beside me. He brings his hands to my face, turning it side to side, but I don't have the strength to swat him away.
"I'm fine. It's Vox…" I try to tell him. I want to tell him that I feel her trying to leave, but all those words won't come out.
"What's she doing to you?" he says, turning to look for her through the exterior window, then through the clear floor of the moon pool. "She's out in the Stingray. What happened?"
Ms. Reynolt? Vox wants to leave again—she wants to go home, I think.
I know. She wants to, but she can't with Fraya there. Fraya is a projector like Myra and can't be pushed to manipulate the controls. This is why Vox is panicking. This is what you're feeling—her panic—close the door on it, breathe in and out. I need to get back to her now, Jazwyn. Please concentrate.
I close my eyes for a second and grip Arco's hands...stop panicking. I think, hoping to influence both of us.
"Stop panicking…" I tell him out loud and blow out a breath. After a few seconds, an excited, happy feeling begins to fall over me, and at the same time, a violent, wild resentment of it. "I feel both of them, Vox and Fraya. Vox wants to go home. She's trying to push Fraya to panic so she'll go with her, but she can't do it. She can't push her," I say in one breath.
"Is she telling you that? What's happening?" Arco says as Vox's Stingray goes down the ramp and out onto the ocean floor. I see her move past Ms. Reynolt's Stingray and then abruptly stop.
Vox, you can't go. I try to reach out to her so she stops fighting, stops emotionally thrashing to get away. I breathe in again and blow it out to push away the panic like Ms. Reynolt said, loosening my grip on Arco's hands and trying to project the sense of calm over him that I now realize Ms. Reynolt must be trying to help project over both Vox and me.
"Jazz—" Arco says firmly, his hands gripping my arms. I move mine to his and hold onto them.
It's right there…straight up…Vox says in my head, and I can feel her need to go like the need for air.
It's not time yet. Wait for us—you have to wait for us, and we'll all go, remember? She doesn't answer me, but I feel the tether in my stomach let go, and the panic gives way to a feeling of grief and resignation.
"I think she's staying," I say to Arco, letting my forehead fall against his shoulder. Relief rushes through me after I exhale, and I suddenly feel a wave of cold run up my spine that makes my teeth chatter. Arco pulls me to him, and I can feel his heartbeat against my cheek, his warm, heavy breath in my hair. I blink to clear my eyes and pull back to look up at him crouched there with me at the edge of the moon pool. His hazel eyes are wide, his brows bending in, and there are too many emotions happening for me to understand what he's feeling. "Arco…" I suddenly feel compelled to tell him I'm sorry for scaring him. I have to explain, but his hands move too quickly over my face, and his mouth too quickly covers mine.
The hollow aftermath of the adrenaline rush hits me at the same time, and I feel like I would sink right into the floor if he weren't holding me against him. There's a fear, a restraint in the force of his lips pressing hard against mine, and I grip the smooth material of his dive suit, feeling it stretch over the muscles in his shoulders and gather between my fingers. He pulls me into him like I might slip, then consciously loosens the hold…I feel his fear again, fear like he might crush me. His back and forth emotions, and all the effort he's trying to put into regulating them is so endearing, yet so silly, and I'm so exhausted that I just smile uncontrollably against his lips. Then I feel relief again…his relief as he starts smiling too, pulling back and pressing his forehead against mine, both of us too afraid to move.
"I'm
sorry, I just—" he starts to say, but I interrupt him.
"She was going to leave. I couldn't let her leave."
"I know, I see that now. I just felt like I couldn't get to you in time. Again."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean—" I start, but his hands move to my face as he kisses me again, softly this time, not as afraid and not as brave as before, just…sure. He's sure when his smile finds his eyes, and it occurs to me that if he has the latency classification of Empath Receiver…if he's this sure, does that mean so am I?
CHAPTER 37
Setting Out
Arco breaks the awkward silence between us with operating instructions a few minutes after we enter the Stingray, both of us darting glances and looking away when the other's composure slips into a laugh.
"Just push down for forward. We have to do it at the same time and at the same pressure, or we'll spin," Arco says, showing me how the foot pedals work. I nod, then stifle the stupid smile fighting the corners of my mouth.
"I can't believe it's this basic in here when we just came off a ship that has its own little planet inside with fully functioning thunderstorms," I answer, confused by the simplicity of this little craft. "Why don't they have some kind of drone mind control system where you can just think where you want to go?"
