The Abyss

by Orson Scott Card

  Something was out there. It had made no attempt to communicate with them. Therefore until he knew otherwise, he assumed it was Russian and he assumed it was hostile. That meant they had to function under military discipline from now on. No more of this lackadaisical attitude that Brigman liked so much. That was fine while they were recovering from the crash, when they needed to restore morale. Now they had to be watchful.

  Instead, they were busy setting up tables, laying out blankets and pillows, trying to turn the mess hall into a reasonable bunk area. As if sleep were the most important thing on their minds. He was trying to explain this to Brigman, trying to work out with him what was needed. All Coffey wanted was cooperation. So he was asking Brigman, "We've got to set up twenty-four-hour surveillance on the exterior cameras." One Night brushed past him, carrying blankets. "How many men have you got? You've got six people, I've got - "

  Catfish hustled a table into the room, calling out, "Watch out, coming through."

  It was impossible to concentrate with all this going on. Coffey turned to the group and spoke loudly, his command voice. "Everybody just stop!"

  They stopped. They looked at him.

  He waited. Waited until they changed position, set things down, got ready to listen and stay listening until he was done. Waited, in other words, until they had reached the civilian equivalent of standing at attention. They didn't like it, but they did it.

  "All right," he said. "I want round-the-clock manning of the sonar shack and the exterior cameras. If that Russian bogey comes back, I don't think we should be taking a nap."

  It was the Brigman woman who resisted, of course. "Give me a break, Coffey. Those things live three and a half miles down on the bottom of an abyssal trench! Trust me, they're not speaking Russian."

  Coffey knew that nobody took her ideas seriously - except the kid with the rat, maybe. But the contempt in her voice, that was damaging. It let the others think that they didn't have to treat him with the respect that was essential for a commanding officer. She was dangerous, even when she was crazy.

  Still, this wasn't the time to shut her down. The best way to deal with her disdain was to answer with even more disdain. He ignored her completely, went on with making assignments as if she hadn't spoken. He turned to One Night. "Have you finished the repairs on the acoustic transmitter yet?"

  "Nope." She sounded sullen.

  Coffey knew how to deal with this sort of thing. You hold people accountable, that's what you do. "Why not?" he said.

  She turned around slowly, her face filled with hostility. "I was having my nails done."

  This was open insubordination, not like the Brigman woman's whining about UFOs. He had to meet one challenge with another. "Well, get it done," said Coffey. Nobody ever talked back to him when he spoke like that.

  "Kiss my ass," said One Night.

  Coffey looked around at the others. Nobody was acting embarrassed or apologetic. They were all looking right at Coffey, which meant they were joining One Night in her challenge. Especially Catfish. He thought of himself as a fighter. If he got out of hand, this could be very bad. Not that Coffey was afraid he couldn't take the man. But if it actually came to blows, then it wouldn't be a challenge anymore. It would be mutiny.

  This had gone far enough. Coffey looked them all in the eye, one by one. "All right. Get something straight. You people are under my authority, and when I - "

  Catfish interrupted him, stuck out his hand - but it wasn't a threatening gesture, not yet. His hand was open, as if to ward away danger; not a fist, not an attack. Catfish was as much scared as belligerent - like a cornered animal. This wasn't some barroom brawl shaping up here - Catfish knew that Coffey was trained as a killer, not a fighter. But Coffey was pushing them farther than any of them meant to go. Scared or not, it was stopping here. They had been willing to help the Navy out of a bind - for triple pay - but they sure as hell hadn't enlisted. "Look, partner," said Catfish. "We don't work for you, we don't take orders from you, and we don't much like you. Besides which, your mama dresses you funny."

  Nobody laughed at the old ritual insult. Fighting words. Catfish was drawing the line. Daring Coffey to push any further.

  Until now, Bud had been content to let Coffey run his own show. Now, though, it was plain that Coffey wasn't functioning very well. He was sweating, tense. Didn't he realize that his very nervousness was a confession of fear? An open invitation to rebellion? You don't lead independent-minded people by letting them see how much you fear their disobedience. "Hey Cat," said Bud. "Cat."

  Catfish turned to him. Reluctantly. "Yeah?"

  "Why don't you take the first watch in sonar. OK?" He looked at him steadily, not in challenge, the way Coffey had, but in a way that told him, I need you to do this, for all of us.

  Catfish got it. He looked back at Coffey, as if to say, For Bud I'll do it. "Right on," he whispered. Then he walked out, past Coffey, heading for the sonar shack.

  "Sonny," said Bud, "you get a couple hours' sleep, then you spell Cat, all right? Hippy, you handle exterior surveillance." They went, avoiding Coffey's gaze. That got easier when he turned his back, leaned on an overhead beam.

  Bud came up behind One Night. Because Coffey had as much as accused her of not doing her job, she was the angriest, the one least likely to go along. So he sat down behind her, close, like he was flirting. It was an old joke between them, to flirt a little bit. He was reminding her of all their years of friendship. That she was somebody he could trust. "One Night, will you do me a favor and see if you can get that transmitter fixed? All right?"

  For Bud. She'd swallow her pride for Bud. "Give me a couple of hours." It was a good thing Coffey didn't see her glare as she walked on past him out of the mess hall. It might have turned him to stone.

  Coffey took it. It was humiliating, it burned deep, but he took it because he was a soldier who would do his duty for his country even if his country was represented on this rig by a bunch of disloyal, selfish, mutinous shitheads.

  Even with all the oxygen Lindsey had found, he couldn't count on more than twelve hours in which to complete his assignment. And with the civilians acting like this, he might have even less time. It was certain that he couldn't count on any of them to help him at all, not now. Wilhite was dead. Monk was laid up with a broken leg, so he was only marginally useful. That meant it was up to Schoenick and him to get the warhead into place and blow the Montana off the ledge and down into the abyss before the Russian bogey could get any more information from it.

  So little time. He felt it like somebody's breath on his neck. He had to hurry.

  Hippy was in the control room, driving Big Geek around outside Deepcore. Officially he was supposed to be watching out for the NTI Lindsey had seen. But hell, she said it was friendly, didn't she? If he saw it, he'd be glad, but in the meantime he wanted to look for what really scared him: Coffey. He found him through the viewport of maintenance room B. There was a light inside, and he carefully jockeyed Big Geek until the ROV's video camera was pointing straight in the window. "Come on, A.J. Squared Away," murmured Hippy. "Move to the left. That's it."

  He had a pretty clear view. He couldn't see details, but he didn't have to. You didn't need a Ph.D. in nuclear physics to figure out what the silver cone on the table was. It sure as hell wasn't part of Deepcore's equipment, which meant it was the thing they'd brought back from the Montana. It had to be a nuclear warhead. And there it was, opened at the base, with Coffey sticking his hands right up the warhead's ass.

  "Oh, man. This isn't happening," Hippy murmured. "Oh, come on. I am not here."

  He had to get a picture of this. Nobody'd believe these guys would be stupid enough to arm a nuclear weapon right here in Deepcore, not unless Hippy got the evidence. He stepped over to the VCR that was always hooked to Big Geek, pushed in the tape, pressed Record.

  "Oh, man. Are you for real?"

  Bud knew Hippy was a little paranoid, but he'd never seen him this flat-out scared before. Either Hipp
y was over the edge or something pretty bad was going down. Either way, Bud had to take it seriously. So he sat in front of the monitor, watching Hippy's videotape. One of the SEALS had his back to the window, blocking out whatever was on the table. Bud looked around the edges of the screen, trying to figure out what room he was looking at. "This is the maintenance room, right?"

  "Yeah, this is the maintenance room. Look at me, I'm shaking, man."

  Right, Hippy, I already noticed that.

  Hippy put his hand down on the VCR, as if he could squeeze the right information out of it if he pressed hard enough. "All right, wait wait wait wait. And now, heeeeere's MIRV."

  Bud saw the cone. He heard what Hippy said. He just didn't want to jump to a conclusion.

  Hippy knew what Bud's silence meant. "Come on, man. What else could it be?"

  "Why bring it here?" It's got to make sense before I believe it.

  Hippy had it all figured out, of course. "It's got to be some kind of emergency plan to keep it away from the Russians, right? Look look look, they hotwire one of the nukes, they use some kind of detonator that they brought, then they stick it back in the sub, fry the whole thing up, bam, slicker'n snot."

  Bud just sat there, watching the screen, thinking.

  Hippy answered him, though, as if Bud were arguing with him. "I'm telling you, and I'm not being paranoid - " He saw some kind of motion out of the corner of his eye and looked toward the door. "Hi, Lins," he said.

  Bud turned around, saw her standing there. How long had she been there? She must have seen and heard enough to know what was happening - or what Hippy thought was happening. Otherwise she'd be in here asking questions, demanding to know.

  She stood there for a long moment, waiting for Bud to say something. But he couldn't think of anything to say. So she turned and left, moving like she meant to go somewhere and do something major.

  If Hippy was right, Coffey was up to some real crazy shit down in the maintenance room. This must be the Phase Two DeMarco had ordered back when they reported the first time Lindsey saw something. But that also meant that the craziest thing anybody could do was try to confront Coffey about it.

  Bud got up and followed her down the corridor. "Lins! Will you just wait a second!"

  "Look, goddammit, if you won't do something about it, I will."

  "Lindsey, we'll do something about it, just wait a second!"

  She was at the door. She looked in the window, trying to turn the wheel. It was dogged down from the inside. "Hello!" she cried, a challenge, not a greeting. She slapped on the door.

  "Lindsey!" said Bud.

  She didn't stop. She took a fire extinguisher from the wall and started banging on the door with the bottom of it. "What?"

  "Will you just stop and think about this for a second!"

  "For what?" She kept banging.

  The door opened.

  Schoenick stepped back as Lindsey came in. Coffey stood there in front of the table, a blanket over the warhead. Lindsey went straight for the table. Coffey sidestepped a little, but he could tell by the way she was acting that she already knew what was there. So when she reached around to pull the blanket off, he didn't break her arm. He let her do it. What did it matter now if she saw what a MIRV looked like? Besides, Brigman was with her. Coffey had to find out whether he was with this woman or if maybe he was still reasonable. If not, if things went too far, he was ready.

  The Brigman woman was all full of moral outrage. "You've got some huevos bringing that thing into my rig. With all that's going on up in the world, you bring a nuclear weapon in here?"

  What, thought Coffey, your little rig is some holy temple of peace? What do you think has kept you free and safe to build your little underwater toys, Mrs. Brigman? It's been weapons like the one behind me, it's been men like me. So go ahead, be righteous about what is too filthy and vile to bring into your rig. All your life you've been spending the freedom that this filthy weapon earned for you.

  But he said nothing. Let her wear herself out with talking.

  She turned to the others - Brigman, the kid with the rat, even Schoenick. Didn't she know that Schoenick was loyal to the core? She'd get no support there.

  "Does this strike anyone as particularly psychotic, or is it just me?" Lindsey demanded.

  Coffey was still in control of himself. Just like always. He spoke to her calmly, reasonably. "Mrs. Brigman, you don't need to know the details of our operation. It's better if you don't."

  In reply, she got even more unreasonable, her voice rising in pitch and volume. "You're right. I don't. What I need to know is that thing is off this rig! You hear me, Roger Ramjet?" By the end of her speech she was yelling.

  As if she really believed that this would impress Coffey, would cause him to recognize that she had authority over him, would cause him to deviate from his mission. "You're becoming a serious impediment to our mission," Coffey said. He spoke in careful, measured tones. "Now you either do an about-face and walk out of here, or I'll have you escorted out."

  She shook her head, laughing in fury. "I will not do an about-face and get out of here." She began yelling again. "Who the hell do you think you're talking to?"

  Coffey nodded at Schoenick, who was standing behind her. Schoenick moved quickly, seized her around the body, pinning her arms to her sides. She went apeshit, yelling, struggling to get free. Coffey wasn't worried about her. It was Brigman who worried him. If he suddenly got macho about protecting his woman, somebody was going to die right here.

  Bud reached behind him and punched the fire alarm on the wall by the door. It rang loudly as he held down the button on the P.A. and said, "Emergency! Maintenance room B. Emergency!"

  Hippy dodged out into the corridor, yelling for the rest of the crew. "Now! Come on! We got trouble! Now! Come on!"

  Coffey was taking all this in, trying to decide what to do. The rest of the crew were pounding down the ladders, along the corridors. But so far Brigman hadn't made a move. Brigman was clearly angry. He was watching Coffey, never took his eyes off him. Didn't even bother watching Lindsey as she struggled to get out of Schoenick's grasp. The man was smart. He knew that until Coffey said the word, no way was anyone getting that woman out of Schoenick's hold. And as long as Brigman didn't lose his head, Coffey wouldn't have to do anything final.

  Catfish, Hippy, One Night, Sonny they were all crowded around the door. They would have charged in, would have mixed it up right away, but Brigman stopped them. "All right, all right, all right, all right." They stopped. They waited.

  So did Coffey.

  For the first time, Bud turned and spoke to Schoenick. "All right, man, you let her go. Do it." Schoenick didn't respond in any way. Bud raised his voice. "Do it, now!"

  Coffey had to decide. Brigman was beginning to lose it. Whether it was real or just for show didn't matter. What mattered was this: Coffey's mission. Phase Two. The warhead behind him. Not holding this Brigman bitch. So Coffey softly gave the order to Schoenick. "Let her go."

  Instantly Schoenick released her. She moved quickly away, backed up to where Bud stood at the front of the crowd. Solidarity.

  Bud glanced at her to make sure she was OK. Then he looked back at Coffey. "That's the smartest thing you ever did."

  Maybe, Coffey said silently. Let's see what you do next. Let's see if you're smart.

  The Brigman woman thought that she was still part of the battle. She picked up right where she left off. Yelling. "Coffey, you son of a bitch!"

  But this time Brigman didn't stand by and let her do it. "Lindsey!" he shouted. Then, softer: "Cool it." It seemed to startle her, make her realize that this wasn't a problem she could solve by yelling louder or cussing harder. She had no authority here. She fell silent.

  Catfish spoke up. "What's the problem?"

  That's right, fighter, tough guy. You butt in, prove you're hot stuff. Coffey watched Brigman, to see what he'd do.

  "Nothing," said Brigman. "We were just leaving." He turned to Lindsey. "Wer
en't we."

  That was what Coffey was looking for. Brigman knew what was at stake here. He knew Coffey was never going to back down. He knew that if things went one inch further, somebody was going to die. The Brigman woman had been way out of line coming down here, poking her nose into top-secret activities.

  The crew backed out through the hatch. Bud lingered in the doorway, never taking his eyes off Coffey, never turning his back until all of his people except Catfish were safely out. Then he stepped back through, letting Catfish have the last glare, the final gesture of defiance. Then the hatch swung shut. Coffey and Schoenick were alone again.

  Coffey pulled the pistol he had been holding from behind his back, rested the muzzle on the table. The confrontation hadn't turned into a showdown, but if it had, Coffey would have been ready. He would have had to kill Brigman first, then Catfish. That would slow down the others, make them think again. And the Brigman woman. He would have had to kill her, because nothing else would ever stop her.

  "We don't need them," Coffey said to Schoenick. "We can't trust them. We have to take steps. We're going to have to take steps."

  Walking down the corridor, Bud knew he had to have it out with Lindsey, right now. It was one thing, her going off half-cocked back during the days when they were building the rig, training for it. Then all she did was offend guys in suits, crewmen, civilized people. Bud always had time to go back, smooth things out. Not so much was at stake.

  But Lindsey didn't have sense enough to know that Coffey was a different kind of person. And it wasn't just that he was in the military. Bud had been watching him there in the maintenance room. The way Coffey was sweating. The way his glance kept sliding off sideways, like he couldn't keep looking straight at anything.

  "Lins, I want you to stay away from that guy. I mean it."

  Hippy had seen it, too. "Yeah. That guy is gone. You see his hands?"

  Lindsey finally got the picture. "What, he's got the shakes?" It was unbelievable to her that she hadn't noticed it. If Coffey had been a machine, she would have noticed in a fraction of a second that it was malfunctioning, that it was dangerous. But because he was a person, he could wear the signs of HPNS as bright as neon and she'd never see it.