by G R Matthews
When I was confident I had enough fabric stuffed between the door frame and bulkhead I connected the pipe to a gas canister. Turning the valve there was a short eruption of bubbles and I imagined following the compressed air up the pipe and into the fabric. There it started to balloon outwards, forcing the door open, breaking a seal that hadn’t been broken in longer than I’d been alive. More air, caught between the door and its housing when it was last closed, escaped in a flurry of bubbles.
More of the fabric balloon went into the gap created and I inflated that too. It was multi-stage process, but after an age, really an hour according to my clock, the gap was large enough for me to squeeze into. Applying the strength in my muscles, with the assistance of the exoskeleton, along with some more balloons, I forced the door wide enough for me, even in my full suit, to enter the room beyond.
I jammed the strong metal brace I’d brought with me into the space between door and bulkhead. The last thing I wanted was get trapped in the room. A few magnetic straps, thick fabric with a strong magnet at either end, went around the air sacs to keep them in place, an added level of security in case the door closed.
There was just enough of a gap for me to squeeze through and I did so, careful not to hook a cable, a hose or any other piece of equipment that kept me alive down here. Death at depth was not pretty. I’d never done it myself and I didn’t want to, but I’d seen it happen and cleaned up the aftermath. It wasn’t that bodies were crushed so far as to be unrecognisable, that’s not what happens. Lungs rupture and rib cages collapse, eardrums rupture and space that was once full of air is crushed or filled with near freezing salt water. Alternatively crushed and blown up by the water. Not a nice way to go.
Sadly, faces were all too recognisable. Carrying a friend’s body through an airlock and placing them in a body bag was made worse by the accusing look in blood swamped eyes. Why them and not you? Survivor’s guilt was a heavy burden and I carried it with me every day.
The room beyond the door, the one I’d spent days working to effect entry to, was a mess. The high pressure jet of water I’d introduced had done some serious damage to the crates, boxes and other items in the room. The translator had assured me that the objects I was after would be safe from water which meant it wasn’t paper or sensitive electronics. Other than that I had little idea what it could be. Some precious antique was my best guess.
Another problem with working in water, if sudden and painful death wasn’t enough, was the manner in which everything moved a little more slowly than you expected it to. Add to that the problem of buoyancy. Everything wanted, if that’s the right word, to float upwards even those things that were to floating what a bullet to the brain is to life-saving surgery. So you moved slow and everything seemed to weigh a little less than it should. It gave you confidence and then something would fall on you and you’d realise you couldn’t get out of the way quick enough and actually that thing that should have weighted a tonne did in fact weigh a tonne. At that point, you had no chance to tell the old man who’d stood at the front of the class, the one with the thick glasses and all the charm of an algae colony, that he’d been right. Death tends to rob you of those opportunities.
I turned up the suit’s exterior lights and the room leapt into blurry obscurity. Water or rather the particles within it tend to diffuse light and there were few places of true clarity. This room wasn’t too bad, most likely due to the amount of time it had spent empty, but now I’d added salt water and disturbed all the dust, muck and rotten paper, it wasn’t crystal clear. It didn’t matter. I had enough light to see by and all I had to do was shift and search amongst the boxes for the one I wanted.
I brought up the image of the box I was searching for on my visor. Around a metre in length and about thirty centimetres wide, the box was inlaid with a circular design of black and white intertwined teardrops and some writing. The characters were Asian, the language of Da Long Inc, which, so legend and history informed me, hadn’t changed in thousands of years. However, my suit’s software and that of the Pad back in the city had not been able to translate it.
I spent a few moments rooting through the first pile of boxes. A lot of it was mundane family items; pots, pans, clothing and ornaments. Opening one, I confirmed the translation. A large, round metal pan with a handle on each side.
The second pile was much the same as was the third. It was when I searched the fourth pile that one of the heavier boxes fell on me.
Chapter 8
It hurt. The blow to my pride was one thing, but the weight of the crate hitting my leg was the main source of agony. I lay still, unwilling to move, and let the suit cycle through its diagnostics. There was no tear in the fabric, the motors were working, and the Oxyquid cycler was operating perfectly. In truth, I was fine and not in danger of imminent death. My leg hurt and there’d be a nasty bruise.
On the bright side, from my position on the floor I could see, in the suit’s lights, the box I was after. It was at the bottom of a pile in the far corner.
I tried to shift my leg, to pull it out from under the box. A wave of pain rolled up my leg and crashed across my hip and groin. An interesting fact about breathing Oxyquid is that you can’t scream. Not even a bubble escapes.
It took a few minutes to get my senses back in order. Pain is a constant friend, normally confined to my head and usually after a few too many drinks. In the past few months I’d been beaten up and shot so the range of pain I understood was wider than it used to be. It didn’t make it hurt any less.
A quick scan, by the suit, showed no external bleeding and my blood pressure was fine. There was a chance of a fracture, but the suit couldn’t tell me that. That’s why doctors existed and why I had to pay for treatment. Sadly, here there was just me and no chance of a friendly, and cheap, medic stopping by.
Gritting my teeth I sat up and assessed the situation. I had a heavy box on my leg. I couldn’t reach it with my hands, the suit wasn’t that flexible, and there was nothing useful in reach. All I had was my free foot, so I wedged it under the lip of the box and took a deep gulp of the oxygen filled liquid. Without thinking too much because that would just postpone the inevitable, I kicked and lifted with my foot.
It hurt. I didn’t shout or scream, there was no point, but the box moved and I shifted the trapped leg. Pulling my other leg out of the way, I watched the box sink back to the floor with a faint billow of sediment.
A quick visual inspection of the suited leg revealed no damage whatsoever. It pays to be certain. Double check everything and don’t rely on a computer to tell you the truth.
I used a small kick from the motors to lift myself upright and tested the strength of my leg by letting my weight settle on it. The pain was less, more being stabbed with a blunt spoon than a rusty knife. A definite improvement. A few flexes of my knee, a stretch of the leg and the pain didn’t increase or wane, just throbbed in time with my pulse. Good enough for now.
The box I was after hadn’t moved and, taking care, I bent down to retrieve it. The wood was dark, the grain running along its length, and varnished. Comparing it to the picture on my visor all the symbols appeared to be in the right places. Turning it over in my hands, I could see the brass or bronze hinges and a clasp of similar metal which kept it closed. There was no way to determine whether or not water had got in to the case, now or in the past.
I was under strict instructions not to open the box and, it being a sacred item on a sacred site, I was more than willing to comply. The days of clearing the sediment out of the way had all been worth it, I hoped.
The motors pushed me up and out of the room, along the corridor and through the superstructure towards the deck. There were times when I had to guide myself around obstacles, or use my gloved hands to ward off sharp edges, but I refused to use my legs to walk and jump. Better not to cause any more damage than I really needed to.
Dark water greeted me as I rose through the hatchway. It was the only way to really tell that I was free of the wr
eck, the walls were gone and unending darkness replaced it. Another kick from the motors and I went in search of the sub’s cable which would tow me back to the city. I could take my mind off the ache in my leg with another episode of that clips show.
# # #
I’ll give them this, they knew how to look after a patient in the hospital. Once I warned the doctor with the sharp needles away with the promise that I could find some more interesting places to stick them everyone was very polite. A complete change to those on the streets outside. Of course, it isn’t every day they treated the man who’d returned a priceless cultural artifact to them.
No alcohol, but some fragrant teas and soups with lots of bits in. Like a traditional sea vegetable soup but instead of being lumpy and murky, this was clear and you could see the ingredients. In my own city that would have scared me half to death, here it meant I could choose what to chew. I chose it all.
The nurses were attentive, checking my chart on the Pad at regular intervals and making sure I was comfortable. I’d no doubt there would be a load of reporters at the door, all clamouring to talk to me and get the inside story on the recovery of the antique.
Admittedly, I hadn’t seen it since I was dragged out of the airlock. Yunru’s people had been waiting for me. They’d taken the box right out of my hands with such careful reverence they must have been concerned that it would fall apart any second. I’d carried it back for the past hour or so with the ocean current pushing past me and it hadn’t suffered any damage. Three men dressed in white lab coats and wearing thin, translucent gloves had prised it from my fingers and placed it in a cushioned box which was, in turn, secured to a cart. A fourth had spoken into the Pad on the wall as I tried to explain, mostly through pointing and grimacing, that my leg hurt.
A few moments later a trolley turned up and whisked me off to the hospital. A few scans, a prod, a poke, an injection and it was done. The pain was gone and a kind nurse tried her best to explain it to me. We were both left, well she walked away shaking her head and I stayed in bed, with some confusion. I gathered though, from the translation software, that I had a bruise and no fracture. A chance to do nothing and get paid for it. Perfect.
Around dinner time, they ate late here, there was a commotion down the hall. Not quite raised voices, but those hushed, sharp tones people use when arguing in places that are traditionally quiet. The voices, unintelligible, were followed by the clatter of heels on the tiled floor. They could, of course, be heading to one of the other rooms on this floor, but that’s not how my luck works.
The door swung open and would have slammed into the wall if not for the spring on the top which cushioned the movement and, no doubt, was a health and safety feature. My translator, grin gone, stood in the doorway.
“Where is it?” he said.
“Hello, Bojing.” I gave him a smile which he declined to return. “Where is what?”
“Box,” he said.
“What?” Fast becoming my favourite word. “Your scientists took the box from me when I came out of the airlock.”
“Empty box was,” he said and for the first time I saw the crowd behind him. All of them looking as though they were handy with a surgical blade, but none of them doctors or nurses.
“It was empty?” Stating the obvious is something I do when faced with imminent pain. “But it was sealed. I didn’t open it. Maybe it fell out and I missed it on the ship. Give me a day or two and I’ll go back and look.”
He stared. I gulped. He stared some more. I recalled my desire to punch him and wished I’d done it earlier. It wasn’t looking likely I’d get another chance.
“Yunru, see you now,” he said.
“Do I get my call first?”
“Now.”
I could see the sense in not arguing mostly because I could see excruciating pain coming if I did.
Wisdom, Grasshopper, comes in small leaps.
I must finish the first season of that show one day.
Chapter 9
“Where is it?” Bojing translated for Yunru.
She was sat on a wooden chair, real wood, I could see small iron rings around the legs to keep it from splitting, and staring at me with small, hard eyes that were burrowing into my brain, trying to stab individual thoughts for examination.
“It must be on the ship still,” I said. My hospital gown wasn’t much protection from the cold metal chair they’d given me to sit in. It was the chair or the floor.
“No,” Yunru said, her voice quiet but carrying without effort.
“Lying, Honoured Yunru says you are,” Bojing added.
I heard feet shift behind me. I didn’t have to turn to know that three large gentlemen stood there. No doubt their role was to make sure I was agreeable enough to answer every question truthfully.
“Listen,” I started and the feet shifted again. I took a calming breath. “The box you wanted was in the room. I picked it up and brought it out just as I found it.”
Bojing leaned over and whispered to Yunru. The old lady’s eyes didn’t leave mine as she replied.
“Sealed the room was before went in you did,” Bojing stated.
I nodded. “Yes.”
“No one been in it has since sunk the ship did.”
I nodded again. “I’d say that was the case.”
“Why sword not in case then?”
“I don’t know. Like I said, it must have fallen out when the water entered the room.”
“No,” Yunru barked.
“Lock open when case you give us,” Bojing said and I took a moment to rearrange the words into a sentence I could understand.
“Which means the sword must have fallen out.” I smiled, gifting them my logic all wrapped up in a neat bow.
“No.” She really had a handle on that word.
“Box inside box,” Bojing said. “Unlocked outside one was. Inside box closed.”
“Then the sword is in there,” I jumped to a conclusion that would get me out of here.
“No.” I didn’t even have to look up to see who’d spoken.
“Inside box closed. Not locked and wet,” Bojing said. “Sword you took and hide away.”
“I didn’t. Look, if the box is wet that’s no surprise, the room was flooded. Water gets in everywhere.”
“Sword was in there. Records are clear and exact. Never been wrong. You take sword,” Bojing said. I didn’t respond as Yunru beckoned the translator with a sharp pointed claw.
The two whispered to each other for a short time. There was no point trying to lip read or make sense of the gestures they punctuated their conversation with. I resigned myself to sitting still and tried hard not to think about the shifting feet behind me. Eventually, though it could only have been, at the most, a minute, Bojing stepped away from his employer.
“The honoured Yunru has much invested in operation of recovery. Opinion she holds is you are telling us not the truth.” At his side, the honoured Yunru, all painted face and piercing eyes, nodded. “Requested she has that you spend time with us. Encouraged to tell us truth you will be.”
“That’s kind,” I said with a shrug, “but I’ve got to get back to my own city. My company will be expecting me. Much as I would love to stay and help out, I really can’t.”
“You stay,” Bojing said, his tone firm.
“I’ll be missed,” I said. There are times when I am not as quick on the uptake as I should be, as I would want to be, but even I could see the graffiti on the wall here. The request to stay, couched as it was in polite terms, wasn’t really a request. They meant to keep me here.
“Explain we will. Needed for more work.” Bojing smiled that smile as he spoke.
“Right,” I answered. “I suppose I can spare a day or two.”
# # #
They didn’t bundle me out. No handcuffs. No restraints or overt threats. Just the three men and Bojing.
An electric vehicle was waiting outside and it whisked me, at a sedate, safe pace, to the edge of the main city. I
had no choice but to follow them down into a Box. Déjà vu and memories of being locked in a squalid apartment surfaced in my mind. However, it wasn’t to a single apartment they led me. Instead, after a few staircases and sharp corners, I was deposited in a large warehouse.
In the cities, and the Boxes, space was expensive. Warehouses were usually set on the edge of a city or Box, where submarines could reach them to deposit their goods. That meant an airlock, sub dock or moon-pool. Any one of those was an escape route I could use, if I needed to. If I had my suit. Which I didn’t.
I scanned the large room as I entered and couldn’t see a moon-pool or dock, which meant airlock. Worth knowing. Knowledge is power, it was all I had. Sadly, I didn’t know the whereabouts of the sword they wanted. In fact, I didn’t even know it was a sword they’d wanted me to retrieve until they’d told me a short while ago.
My experience of warehouses was dominated by one key fact. They were always full of crates, barrels and other containers. You couldn’t see from one end to another. Growing up, I’d worked in a few, earning some pocket money by helping to shift the items around and, if I was quick enough, letting a few of the smaller things fall into a deep pocket. The workers had all been at it, to one degree or another. Being too honest was a good way to lose a job and I’d seen a few boys, and grown men, run afoul of the foreman who generally turned a blind eye for a cut of the profits.
This warehouse couldn’t be more different. Absent were the crates and containers. Nowhere to be seen were the workers and foreman. Instead, this warehouse had been altered to house little cubes with doors dotted across the floor. Each cube was around two and half metres tall and the door was a standard size. None of the cubes appeared to have windows, unless they were always on the side I couldn’t see. At the back, on the far wall, a raised platform could be reached by a flight of stairs on the left hand side. Further down, the platform had itself been boxed in, but a window had been cut in the wall and from that a stern face gazed out.
