Nodding in agreement then looking back at Bowman I saw he had activated the bridge’s forward floods and was studying a large map lying on the console.
“Got the CHUS intercept coordinates I sent down, Dr. Bowman?” asked Franklin.
“Yep, looking at them right now. Thanks.”
“See any problems?”
“Nothing unusual. The usual hills and valleys and a seamount we have to bypass. No canyons or abysses. Smooth riding all the way. I see no problem with the scheduled arrival ti---”
Interrupting him Ivy announced a message.
“Dave Bowman the ten-minute delay has expired, You may proceed when ready.”
He turned back to her panel and commanded her.
“Pull the anchor, Ivy. Inform me when it’s secure.”
The result of his command was a deep rumbling banging from below the floor at the rear of the bridge. It sounded like a slow motion clunk-clunk-clunk as the anchor’s chain rolled into its reel wherever that was. I expected something more elegant than a standard bulky anchor chain but then I realized they always worked. Then the sounds stopped.
“The anchor is secure. Start motion when ready. All systems, hatches, and decks show go,” Ivy said.
“May I ask a question before you start?” Franklin said placing his hand on Bowman’s shoulder.
“Sure Admiral. Shoot.” He dropped his hands from the joysticks and looked back at him.
“Which way do you plan to drive out? Forward or Reverse?”
“Well I normally drive out forward unless there’s an obstruction. See a problem with that? Anyone?”
Pointing down toward the ominous starboard glow, Franklin responded, “Only that you’re going to run six perfectly good wheels over the debris collecting around that monopole down there including what’s left of the old wheels and the ROV.”
“Good point Admiral. Reverse it shall be. Everyone please take a place in the surrounding seats and harness up. This may get tricky.”
I sat, then Briscoe and Williams, in a row of seating behind him. Finally, Franklin sat in the copilot’s seat beside him. Four harness clicks signaled him to start.
“Wish me luck,” he said firmly grasping the twin joysticks in his hands.
Loud vibrating harmonizing hums arose from the bridge’s exterior telling me that he was moving, activating the huge motors but with such precision I couldn’t see which direction. Then I felt a comforting backward lurch. The calming feeling lasted only a second until I felt something else like balancing on a teeter-totter nearing the tipping point. Then all at once, we tilted more. The front starboard side plunged at least five feet down to the surface throwing up silt and mud over the windows. The right edge of the forward window looked down into an eerie glowing blue-black bulls-eye.
“Holy shit!” Bowman yelled as pencils, clipboards, screwdrivers and other things flew down to the floor then scraped noisily across it into the corner and settled in the growing puddle of water under the window.
“What the hell just happened?” he shouted.
“We’ve tilted our starboard hull down on the monopole. It’s got a grasp on us. Can you move forward?” Franklin yelled.
Bowman shoved both joysticks forward creating a collection of sounds. Some motors were grinding some were growling and others were whining at full speed.
“We’re raised off the aft wheels off the surface like a tripod,” shouted Franklin. “Nothing’s going to gain traction with our tilt. Can you go back? Get all the wheels back on the ground?”
“Don’t know. I’ll try,” he panted.
From my seat behind him, I saw Dave was in trouble as he flashed his hands between the joysticks and his forehead wiping sweat from his eyes. I wanted to help but there was nothing I could do.
“C’mon, Dave, you’ve got this,” I said. “Take your time and think it out.”
Releasing the sticks, he silenced the motors. Then delicately he pulled the joysticks toward him starting different sounds: ones of distorted hums and growls but still creating no movement.. Then one-by-one the green lights over wheels #5 through #20 flickered and flashed to red.
“They’ve failed! The motors are gone,” he shouted lowering his head in obvious defeat.
Williams scanned the helm for damage and fixed her gaze on the objects floating in the puddle under the front window.
“Uh-oh,” she said, “We’ve got more problems. There’s now a blue glow under all that crap in the corner and the water’s starting to rise.”
Just as she completed her sentence, a tiny pencil-sized shaft of water flashed across the room striking the rear bulkhead wall and scattering into a thick freezing mist, spraying us with a shower of icy water.
Suddenly from the overhead speakers Ivy’s voice blared, “Condition Red. Condition Red. I am detecting a sudden pressure fluctuation in the bridge. Attempt repair or evacuate immediately! Please acknowledge.”
“Heard, Ivy.” Bowman released his harness and fell awkwardly to the floor.
“Watch the tilt,” he grumbled.
Righting himself, he ignored our new increased list and surveyed the damage.
“We have to leave now unless anyone has an idea how to repair that rupture.”
Feeling his eyes on me I said, “I got nothing, Dave. Sorry. Time to leave.”
Nodding, unbuckling his harness the Chief agreed, “We have to leave before that leak grows. It’s right over the monopole now and its force is more directed. That hull won’t last long.”
Horrifying seconds later, we were all standing together holding hands for stability clumsily trying to reach the ladder without slipping in the rising water.
Williams went up first opening then dropping down the hatch.
“All clear up here! Come on up. Hurry, the water’s rising!”
She was right. I felt the frigid liquid seeping into my socks and then looked down and saw it slowly rising up my boot.
“Need a hand Admiral,” I asked. Before I could finish he was at the top climbing through the hatch.
“You go now, Dave.”
“No, I’ll go last. You first, Matt. Then Briscoe. I’ll follow and close the hatch behind me.”
Rather than argue I sped up the ladder surprising even myself at my agility and turned to help the Chief. He face was right below me revealing a fear he seldom showed.
“Thanks, Marker,” he huffed grabbing my hand. “Not as young as I used to be. And I hope it continues past this. You still owe me Bear Lake.”
I smiled and pulled him up, suddenly realizing for the first time that we might not escape our imminent doom. “Oh, you’ll get it. I promise.”
Then breathing heavily Bowman poked his head through, climbed out, and spun around to seal the hatch. As he reached down and tugged it upward. it forcefully slammed closed almost injuring his hand. Squatting he twirled the hatch wheel until it locked and glanced up at us standing over him.
“That pressure’s building down there and it has a powerful force. Be very careful around it.”
He jumped up wiped his hands on his jumpsuit and frantically turned toward the Admiral.
“We have to start emergency scuttle procedures as soon as possible.” Then grabbing the Admiral’s arm he pulled him toward the door stumbling awkwardly into the core room.
“Come with us,” Briscoe said spinning toward Williams. “We’re cold wet and thirsty. Let’s see if there’s anything left of the mess and regroup there.”
Shivering she answered, “I’m right behind you.”
Chapter 23. Mayday
With Bowman rushing off somewhere to call Mayday, we found ourselves in a tilted wacky-world station forced to manhandle our way around the deck grabbing the nearest object to pull our bodies along without falling and sliding to the front starboard corner of the room. Disoriented, we struggled into Quad 3 and found the mess hall cluttered with tables and chairs piled against the starboard wall rising almost to the ceiling.
Briscoe looked around c
uriously sniffing the air.
“Is that coffee I smell, Chef Saunders?” he called out.
“You bet! Just perked it,” said his voice from the pantry. “It’s such a damn mess back there I don’t know how I’m gonna feed my next meal,” he said stepping carefully, slanting to port, back into the kitchen.
He side-stepped through to the jumbled wall grabbed a four-top table from the pile and dragged it over for us. Then from a roll of tape he was carrying, he taped down the legs and went back for the chairs.
Briscoe, Williams, and I smiled at each other, watching his resourcefulness ignoring the disaster we faced.
“In a world gone sideways there has to be sanity,” he said finishing the last chair’s taping. “And I’m making it right here. Seat yourselves, please. I’ll bring us coffee. Two sugars for Mr. Cross and none for the Lieutenant and Mr. Briscoe, right?”
“Correct,” we answered in unison.
With the cup carrier carefully balanced in his hands he slant-walked back to the table and handed us coffees, keeping one.
“We’re doomed aren’t we?” he asked sliding into his seat. “I heard Ivy’s announcement about the bridge. How bad is it down there?”
Ready to answer I glanced at Williams, noticed teardrops forming in her eyes, and deferred to her.
“It’s bad Bill,” she said. “It’s sealed off from the station never to be entered again. Fully compromised with the pressure.”
“So we can’t be leveled?”
“No I’m sorry. Unless a miracle occurs we’re not going anywhere… or leveling the station.”
“But-but I can’t cook or serve like this. How can I provide meals in this mess?”
“I’m afraid you won’t have to. We’ll be scuttling Discovery One before your next meal.”
With his eyes and mouth agape, he stared back.
“What?” His lips began to tremble and a sorrow fell over his face.
“But why? There are no alarms. There’s no panic. We’re just tilting. I love it here. This is my family. This is my home.”
Briscoe put a hand on his shoulder.
“But there soon will be, Chef. This station is an engineering marvel of safety but there’s a cancer eating away at its base. It can only sustain the damage for a few days before the dome’s final involvement. Then it’s too late. We have to evacuate now while there’s still time.”
From the ceiling Ivy spoke, startling us.
“All station personnel please assemble in the mess for evacuation instructions. Please report to the mess hall for evacuation instructions.”
Ivy’s announcement jolted Saunders into action. He stumbled around grabbing tables and chairs and hurriedly began taping them down. Empathizing with his motivation, Briscoe and I helped him by holding them for taping. Then he backed off and counted.
“Four long tables with twenty-one chairs should seat everyone including me. Thank you guys for your help. Gotta go make more coffee.”
As I talked plans with the Chief and Williams waiting for Dave to arrive, members of the station’s crew began to file in and sit around the tables hooting and cheering. At first that confused me: revelry in this time of extreme danger seemed frivolous but then the Lieutenant explained to me that it was for Chef Saunders’ thoughtfulness. Suddenly I realized that all the crew, not just us, loved him as family. She told me that he had always gone out of his way to please them and they were just showing their appreciation in the final hours of the station’s existence.
“Fresh coffee!” he yelled from behind the tilted serving line. “It’s on me today. Come and get it.” Another cheer arose from the small crowd as they filed up to the urn and filled their cups then returned to their seats awaiting the exit briefing.
Soon Bowman entered the mess with Franklin, looked over our table and nodded then headed for the coffee. I could see from his resigned expression that this was not going to be an easy meeting for him.
Sitting down at our table squirming into his seat to keep his balance he glanced around the room and sighed.
“Mayday has been sent and acknowledged. Rescue vessels are on their way and should be hovering over us within the hour.”
Then he put his head into his hands and closed his eyes.
“So it’s come down to this. My hopes and dreams dashed by a physical impossibility from hell. Why did it have to land here? I just wanted this station to work and demonstrate the feasibility of deep-sea habitats. I guess I must have happened on one of its hidden gotchas.”
Williams put her hand on his.
“Dr. Bowman you have already proved it to me and everyone else in here. I’ve heard them talk. All of their experiences have far exceeded their expectations. You have nothing to regret and it’s certainly not your fau---”
A loud gasp came from the crew with the jolt as the starboard side dropped again, further increasing the tilt.
Bowman’s eyes widened when he realized what was happening.
“Goddammit!” he cursed, “It’s going too fast. We have to go.”
Rising from his seat, he turned to the anxious crew.
“That’s our signal. We must leave now for the panic room and board the EPod. Is everyone here?”
Several of the support crew lifted from their seats and scanned the room looking from table to table.
“Broyles and Simon aren’t here,” said one. “They may be trapped on the third deck. The elevator doesn’t seem to be working.”
With veins in his neck rising he yelled, “What? The elevator’s not working? Are you kidding?”
The crewman hesitated before answering.
“No sir, it won’t rise above the first deck. Just bumps up and down a few inches like it’s stuck on something.”
“Oh shit,” Bowman said. “It’s the tilt. It’s binding with side friction against the tube. I never designed it to be used this far off vertical.”
“Then how do we get them down from Deck 3?” he asked. “We can’t just leave them there. Is there an emergency stairway? Ladder?”
Shaking his head, he answered.
“No. Too complicated. The sealed-compartment safety design between watertight decks wouldn’t allow for them. The elevator’s our only means of vertical movement and it would work if we weren’t listing so badly.”
“So, Dr. Bowman,” he asked, “Are they as trapped on Deck 3 as we are on Deck 1? How can we get to the panic room and the EPod without the elevator?”
“We can’t,” he said flatly, “but we’re only trapped until I find an alternative exit. Do not worry. I will find a way.”
“What about using the SeaPods?” another crewman asked. “Can’t we load them up and make multiple trips?”
“You’re talking many hours of up and down travel to clear the station and we’ll still have two men trapped on level three. I expect more pressure breaches by then. The last trips won’t make it.”
Then fortunately, in an apparently premeditated move, Saunders entered the room from the pantry with an armload of MREs and spread them over the serving area.
“Come and get it. This may be your last meal… for a while,” he laughed. “I hate to see bad food go to waste.”
The laughter he created saved Bowman from the lynch mob forming in the mess. As they lined up for food, he nervously sat back with us and bowed his head.
Then he whispered, “What can I do now? I’m done. Someone please help me.”
As we began to discuss possible exit methods around the table, my mind wandered back to my civilian life at MBORC seeking an answer. The Alvin-class submersible, which I drove and had driven for years, had an ingenious emergency escape mechanism where the self-contained bubble cockpit could be released from its wrecked or trapped propulsion hull by a simple pull of a lever sending it soaring free-floating to the surface. I compared that to the station’s design and saw a great similarity: a disabled crawler base with a watertight pressurized dome over it. Could they be separated? I wondered.
“Da
ve,” I said interrupting his conversation, “Exactly how does the scuttle escape process work? I’ve heard that the EPod sealed in the apex of the dome is released by its crew then as it floats up uncovering the core, water rushes in and floods the submarine core and decks. Then a ton of explosives blows the station to smithereens. Is that an accurate view?”
“Not entirely, Matt. Scuttle is only intended to destroy all the computers, the terminals, and their data,” he answered with a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. “The EPod is manually released by its occupants and does float to the surface as you said. But then to prevent the destruction of the nuclear power plant in the base with all the radiation it would spew, the dome mounted on explosive bolts, is released, floats up, and at a preselected distance, I think around five-hundred meters above the base, sixteen-hundred pounds of C4 explosives obliterate the station and spread it widely over the ocean’s floor. It’s basically like an underwater fireworks cannon.” He tilted his head. “Why do you ask?”
“Dave, your station is similar to our submersibles only they don’t blow up the life-saving sphere. Why use the EPod? We can’t access it anyway. Use the entire station as the rescue pod. Save everything don’t destroy it.”
“Hmm. Interesting idea, Matt.”
I could see the gears churning as he considered my idea. It was a slim hope but the only hope for us.
Briscoe catching on added, “So we release the dome without flooding it and ride it to the surface? Can that be done? It won’t have power without the nuclear plant. And we’ll be blown to bits halfway up.”
“But that can be fixed, Mr. Briscoe. The station has an internal battery bank that runs it for a short while around an hour or two allowing it to rise to its explosion depth. But I can bypass that to prevent the explosion… I think. Then all we have to do is break through the dome once it surfaces since there are no escape doors above the Pod Bay doors. Those doors will be useless without main power. And since we’ll still be trapped on Deck 1 we’ll have to break through one of the walls surrounding these four quads.”
“Is there any C4 on this deck?” I asked.
Sea Station Umbra Page 20
