Approaching Quad 3, we had grumbled at each other from the lack of sleep since leaving our rooms but agreed that we now needed food. Briscoe had managed to get a few hours sleep before Ivy woke him and I had sneaked in an hour-and-a-half prior to his obnoxious banging on my door. Amazingly, we both were rested, rejuvenated, and ready to meet Franklin and his guest.
At a long table, Bowman sat with Lt. Williams and two men wearing wet suits. Immediately I remembered seeing one of them on my tour of Umbra headquarters with Admiral Greenfield. He was talking on a phone in a Z-level office when I passed by. He remotely resembled Bruce Willis and that’s how I remembered him so easily. Now dressed in a black rubber suit that revealed his fit body he looked quite different from that day wearing Navy Whites. Even the ID badge clipped to his rubber collar hung with military precision. I had to do a double-take when I noticed three stars on each cuff, signaling a Vice Admiral. Embroidered over his breast pocket area FRANKLIN glistened in the overhead lights.. Custom wet suit. Nice I thought.
When the Chief and I neared the table, Bowman waved a hand back.
“Come meet Admiral Franklin and his esteemed guest Dr. Jonas Silkwood.”
Never expecting them to stand at our arrival, I was surprised when they did.
“Mr. Cross, Mr. Briscoe,” said the Admiral, “I’m honored to meet the naval legends that once graced our Navy. Thank you for your service. I’m proud to have you both aboard.”
Then standing aside, he introduced his guest.
“Dr. Silkwood, this is Matt Cross and Mica Briscoe. Great men on land but superheroes below the surface of any body of water. We’re lucky to have them with us on this project.”
He shook with us and nodded graciously.
“My pleasure. Any experience with particle physics in your work?”
The man was exactly who I expected to meet. I knew particle physicists were not known for their physical prowess, polished appearance or social skills and he did not disappoint. Reminding me of a graying Sagan, he perfectly fit the image of a middle-aged researcher who spent his days cooped up in offices and classrooms writing equations that no layman could possibly understand on whiteboard after whiteboard.
Smiling patronizingly, Briscoe said to him, “No, Dr. Silkwood, I assume that’s why you’re here. We do the diving and you do the thinking and I presume we’re all the best at what we do.”
“Well said, Mr. Briscoe,” Franklin said, “and that’s why I gathered you together. We’re going to need the best minds in the world to solve our problem… if we can.”
“Sit gentlemen,” Chef Saunders said, wheeling a food cart to our table, beaming with pride.
“Your lunch today is from Hawaii. Coq de Mer au Vin my specialty for our visitors.”
Briscoe began to laugh bringing a frown from Saunders.
“What’s so funny? he asked obviously upset.
“Oh nothing, Chef. I don’t know much French but that sounds to me like Chicken of the Sea with wine. Are we having canned tuna for lunch?”
Saunders blushed as his frown faded to a grin.
“I see that I must brush up on my French and my American vernacular, too. It is tuna but fresh yellowfin known on the island as ahi. Definitely not canned. It was accidentally included in the station’s food drop last week so today it’s my gift to you. Bon appétit!”
None of us was prepared for the quality of food he had delivered. With his second bite, the Admiral commented that it was better than a dinner he’d recently eaten at a Michelin two-star restaurant. Even Silkwood was duly impressed with the texture of the braised tuna and overall layered flavors, commenting that he wondered if the chef had known he was a pescetarian: a fish-eating vegetarian.
“So, Dr. Silkwood,” I said, “Do you think our problem is possibly a real monopole? Or something else.”
Chewing a bite he answered, “First I have to explain that every magnet has two poles: a north and a south. Now if you take a magnet and break it in half expecting the poles to stay on their respective ends you’ll find instead that each broken piece now has its own north and south poles. There is no way on earth to create a magnet without two poles so that is an absurd question. Only in theory a can a monopole exist.”
Briscoe scratched his head at Silkwood’s answer and probed further.
“We all know that magnets can be demagnetized right? Otherwise the word wouldn’t exist.”
“Right,” he said without flinching.
“Well then when we demagnetize a magnet where do the poles go?”
He had to think for a second before answering.
“There are millions even trillions of magnetic dipoles in any finite object. When they all align in the same direction, the material is said to be magnetized and have north and south poles. If we heat or physically shake the magnetic object enough, the microscopic dipoles will become disoriented leaving them in magnetic chaos: demagnetized. Simple.”
Seeing the Chief’s direction, poking fun at the physicist and testing him, I joined in.
“So let’s say we take that magnetic object down in size one magnetic dipole at a time until we reach the smallest physical size possible: an infinitesimally small object of Planck’s length. Which pole wins? There can’t possibly be room for two poles otherwise it wouldn’t be the smallest conceivable object.”
“Hmm,” he answered. “Now you’re dealing with the theoretical quantum world. That’s a whole new dimension.”
“Well maybe that’s what we have… or at least had. It has grown much larger adding the four hundred tons of that C5M and escort plane when they spaghettified. And, on the ocean floor below us it’s added a quarter-ton robot and is now sucking in one of our massive tractor wheels.”
Silkwood laughed.
“Now you’re talking apples and oranges. Spaghettification comes from exposure to extreme gravitational forces found near black holes or their event horizons not magnetic forces. That’s just preposterous.”
I countered, “So what we’re really dealing with is a baby black hole? A black hole seed? Is that what you’re saying Dr. Silkwood.”
He shook his head and took another bite.
“No, there’s no evidence on earth of that, Mr. Cross; such an entity would defy the laws of physics as we currently understand them.”
“Then how do those laws explain why our timepieces and system clocks run backwards when we near it?”
Sipping from his wine, he stopped and abruptly placed the stemware on the table.
“You have evidence of this, Mr. Cross?”
With Williams and Briscoe supporting my claim, nodding yes, I answered, “Yes. We’ve seen it twice and probably have it recorded on the ROV’s video as it neared the object just before I cut its umbilical to set it free.”
“And why would you do that? As I understand them they don’t work unless they’re tethered to a remote controller and power source.”
Bowman interjected giving me time to gulp down a large bite of tuna.
“That is correct, Dr. Silkwood, but as the ROV neared the object its data stream was hijacked, for lack of a better word, and our control panel viewed the return signal as a massive stream of randomly sequenced data. Then the station’s power began to weaken causing a power alert from Ivy, Discovery One’s AI attendant. Matt cut the tether to save the station.”
Admiral Franklin finishing his meal turned to Silkwood.
“Now, Jonas, I realize you may be having trouble understanding our situation but in light of the recent collider accident it seems to be a possi---”
“What collider accident?” Silkwood interrupted. “I’ve heard nothing about a collider mishap. Which one?”
“The Large Hadron Collider at CERN. It wasn’t really their problem but a problem with transporting their finding.”
“Oh dear God,” he said, “What happened?”
As Franklin described the eerie incident Silkwood’s eyes grew larger with each detail. He had not been privy to the Code Deep Black
warning but mentioned that he was worried about the possibility of scientists unleashing an uncontrollable monster with their obsession for ever-increasing accelerator energies. He finally admitted that such an accident was inevitable as scientists rushed headlong, recklessly into the infinite abyss of god-like particle physics.
“I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite, Admiral,” he said dropping his fork. “Can one of the station’s crew take me out in a SeaPod to observe this alleged anomaly first hand?”
Bowman directing Silkwood’s attention away from Franklin scanned his guests at the table.
“Matt, you and Briscoe take him out and show him the object. Williams and I will tour the Admiral through the whale-ship then follow you out stopping by its latest victim on the way. Please remember that Dr. Silkwood has only a basic Umbra clearance so please keep your information within those guidelines.”
I nodded my understanding and eyed the physicist.
“Are wearing a watch?”
He pulled up his wetsuit’s sleeve and revealed a new expensive diver’s watch.
“Of course, Mr. Cross. Bought it this morning just to be on time down here although it’s only water resistant to a thousand meters. Why do you ask?”
“Well, Dr. Silkwood, your watch will far outlast you at this depth so don’t worry, but what would you say if I told you that in few minutes that watch will be ticking backwards?”
“An interesting conjecture, Mr. Cross, but again that’s a physical impossibility knowing how watches work. The various springs and ratchets just won’t allow reverse movement. Simple mechanics but I’ll be glad to participate in your folly if only for my curiosity.”
Saunders rushed to our table as we stood, leaving our half-eaten plates on the table.
“Is there something wrong with my food,” he asked.
We all glanced at Silkwood expecting an answer.
His silence prompted me to explain.
“No, Chef Saunders, something disagreed with him and it’s not your delicious lunch. It’s science. And at his request we’re taking him on a fact-finding dive right now.”
“Oh no. Not out of Pod Bay 3, I hope. My pantry is a mess right now.”
“No, no,” I said, “We’ll be using SeaPod 1 but I suspect Dave may want to use your bay.”
“Not to worry, Chef,” Bowman said, “We’ll use the SeaPod in the Quad 4 bay. Simpler access from my office anyway.”
Loading our crew into the SeaPod was uneventful, except Silkwood did slip on the still wet floor slightly injuring an ankle. Once he finally dropped into the cockpit, we adjusted ourselves in our seats and I closed the hatch and drew a slight vacuum sealing it. Having never experienced a flooding diving bay, Silkwood fidgeted with his new watch waiting for the process to begin. Shortly the water rushed above and around us causing him to squirm as it rose over the bubble and filled the bay.
“This is quite an experience,” he said. “Vaguely reminds me of an out-of-control car wash. I’ve actually had nightmares about this exact sensation. Strange.”
“Oh yes, Dr. Silkwood,” Briscoe said smiling, “and you’re about to experience the ultimate level of strange as we visit an object from which those nightmares are made.”
“We shall see,” he said as the bay door opened into the black infinity of the midnight zone.
“Here we go,” I said feeling somewhat like a lackey tour guide but then I realized we were embarking on a trip with possibly no return.
As we left the bay and I flipped on the forward floods, he gasped at the brilliance surrounding us. Accustomed to the bright fog of reflecting particulates I expected to see nothing until we were almost upon it. That was just the way deep-sea diving worked.
Turning to starboard heading toward Pod Bay 2, I checked the sonar screen and saw our target roughly fifteen meters out visually verified by the glimmering point of light below us.
“There that’s the object out there,” I said pointing downward.
He followed my finger. “Ah yes. I see it. Looks pretty benign to me.”
“Just wait. I’m taking us into the periphery of its field so you can observe its effects.”
“But how will we know?”
“Oh we’ll know,” answered the Chief. “You keep an eye on your watch and we’ll monitor our power levels.”
Several minutes passed as we drifted slowly downward toward the object. Then a quick flash of a reflection entered the cockpit from our left distracting Silkwood’s attention from his watch.
“What’s that huge thing out there?” he asked shielding his eyes from the instruments’ glare.
Briscoe glanced out at the huge convex reflecting surface and answered:
“Looks like the hull of its latest victim, a three-thousand-ton submarine that succumbed to the force just before you arrived.
“Impossible!” he argued. “Nothing has that kind of power.”
I thought I remembered the boundary of its influence but the motors slowed slightly and the power meter dropped early indicating I had gone too far. The boundary had grown.
“Check your watch!” I yelled, pulling back the joystick to its limit. Still we drifted forward out of control.
Silently he bolted upright and faced his watch into the control panel’s glow. His mouth was agape but he didn’t speak. Then came his voice, trembling.
“I-I see it. Ti-Time is reversing. Holy mother of God it is what you say it is! It can’t exist yet it does.” Looking at me his face went white with fear.
As he stared out in horror, our motors groaned; straining against the pull, the props began to roar with cavitations and smoke filtered into the cockpit.
“Do something,” Silkwood screamed, “I didn’t come down here to die.”
For a moment, I panicked as we were pulled closer and closer into its relentless grasp. The object in front of us now glowed so brightly we had to shield our eyes from its fury.
“Look!” Silkwood screamed.
“It’s consuming the hull of that ship! Metal’s streaming into it like a plasma jet. The ship is spaghettifying! This can’t be happening!”
Briscoe his voice trembling and shouting yelled, “The ROV is gone. We’re going to crash into the hull of that sub and join that graveyard! Pull back, Marker! Stop this damn SeaPod.”
“I have it in full reverse, Chief! Can’t stop.”
“Purge the ballasts! That worked before!”
I punched the ballast icon and heard the air gasp into the tanks over sounds from the straining, smoking motors but we still drifted forward downward toward our doom.
“Ballasts blown, Chief! Still in its clutches.”
“Marker,” he screamed, “Check for a dead-weight ballast to release! Our DSVs have them. Break us loose from this Goddamn nightmare. Do it now!”
Coughing in the thickening smoke, I wiped my eyes clear and scanned the control panel searching for a ballast-release icon as the blinding light from the approaching object illuminated the cockpit’s smoke. Now feeling as if I was in a white-out snowstorm, I bent closer to the panel to see. I squinted through the blinding choking smoke and finally found an image of a tiny block of bricks hanging from a chain with a down arrow below it. That must be it I thought.
I pushed the icon and waited for something, anything to happen. Loudly with a forceful boom and a sharp upward jolt the ballast dropped, sending us up rising away from the menacing force.
“Thank God Marker! We’re free,” gasped the Chief, coughing and wiping his forehead. It took him seconds to stop shaking and speak again.
“Now get us back into the bay and out of this damned cockpit before we choke to death. Since we’ve regained some power the air scrubbers should work long enough for our return.”
I glanced at Silkwood sitting to my left. He was trembling with his hands over his mouth and his eyes still glued to the receding object’s glow.
“You all right, Dr. Silkwood?” I asked.
“No. Not at all,” he said. “My lifelong wor
k, my beliefs, and my science have just been nullified by that thing. The entire world of theoretical physics will be changed by it. I’m still trying to convince myself that I really saw it and that my watch ran backwards.”
He inhaled shakily.
“We were on the event horizon of something magical yet terrifying. No one’s going to believe me.”
Then he sighed and looked over at me.
“Mr. Cross, can we possibly observe it in more detail without dying?”
“You tell me, Jonas. You’re the physicist. I’ve read about event horizons and the way I understand them is you might pass through them but you can never leave.”
“Now you see our problem, Dr. Silkwood,” the Chief agreed. “We have attempted to approach it for closer observation but since I stood over it yesterday it has grown stronger, absorbing everything around it.”
Distracted by the conversation I realized we were still rising and couldn’t stop. Futilely I struggled with the joystick twisting and shoving it as the motors groaned in response. Yet we drifted upward. Then from a speaker behind my head came a quiet warning message.
“Flood ballasts! Flood Ballasts! This vessel is an uncontrolled rise. Structural damage may occur if maximum speed is exceeded.”
Suddenly reminded of a step I had missed I touched the icon and cautiously waited. Within seconds, the ballasts burped and filled stopping our rise even without the dead-weight ballast.
With the SeaPod seemingly under control, I navigated downward back toward our bay. Down on my left I glimpsed the floods of another vessel traveling far below us.
“That must be Bowman with the Admiral and Williams,” I said.
Briscoe followed my gaze then jolted up in his seat.
“Must be. Oh, crap! They’re too close to the sub. Better warn them of the object’s increased range.”
“SeaPod 4, this is SeaPod 1 above you at one o’clock,” I said tripping the SeaCom switch. “Do not approach the object. Repeat, do not approach the object. Its field has grown much stronger. Very difficult to recover.”
Bowman’s stressed voice sifted through the static with a weakening signal, “Too late, Matt. We’re trapped in its field. Motors can’t break us free. Being drawn downward. Please take control of my station and treat it as your own. I know you can do it, Matt. And remember that I still love you as the big brother I never had. So sorry it had to end this way. Everyone’s screaming and crying in here. Can barely hear you.”
Sea Station Umbra Page 17
