by G R Matthews
Looking up, I could see absolutely nothing. No large or small subs. No people in emergency suits swimming and surviving. There were, amongst the suspended detritus, the plastic fragments and the sheets of paper slowly drifting apart, small fish that had already moved in to make this place their home. But there were no subs and nothing I could use to survive.
I checked the suit status. Eighteen hours of oxygen left and about sixty percent power. The prospect of floating in the deep ocean for two-thirds of a day, waiting to die did not appeal to me.
Then another light entered the pool. It stabbed in through the ring of the moon-pool and was accompanied by the hum of a large motor. I turned off my own lights and waited.
This could be a friend who’d arrived to help. It might not. Sometimes it pays to wait and be sure before you stick out your arm and wave.
Chapter 20
I watched the new sub nose its way through the circle of the moon-pool’s rim. The lights on the front moved left and right, up and down, controlled by the sub pilot. Each light would have a camera attached to it and the view would be projected on screens inside the sub’s cabin. They wouldn’t see me though. As soon as my lights were off, I had swum over the edge of the vertical moon-pool and clung on there. By moving my head I could see what was happening and duck back out the way if the lights headed in my direction.
The light bounced off the opposite wall and illuminated the newcomer to a degree. Not enough for a stranger to identify the vessel, but for someone else, me for instance, who had been looking for that very sub prior to the destruction of the city it was simple to work out who owned it. Keller.
And that identification rang loud bells in the back of my mind. So loud that they couldn’t be ignored and when I started listening I could pick out the tune they were playing. It wasn’t a nice one, but it was clear and obvious, and it told me I had been stupid. Keller was new to the city and the crew. The city had only reported problems since he had joined, though some of that could be squarely laid at the feet of the architect, engineers and construction crew for the shoddy build. Once I’d found the boxes, he had disappeared. Then the city blew up and fell down. It wasn’t the greatest feat of deduction ever, but it rang true.
Sadly, it also led to the thought that Keller’s sub was the only working vessel in the area and, if I didn’t want to die out here, it was my ride to somewhere safer. I had to add the ‘r’ to ‘safe’ a few moments after I finished the thought. Safety was a relative term.
For the second time that day I took the motors offline. Keller’s sub would be on the lookout for energy readings. It was probably my suit that had brought him here. Even the low level that they put out could be spotted and I wasn’t trying to be stealthy. It was either that or he was coming in to gloat over the destruction and death he had caused. A ghoul drawn by death, a vampire by the taste of blood, a shark looking for a meal. Whatever the reason, I couldn’t afford to be spotted and I needed a ride. Luck too. Wherever he was bound, it needed to be less than eighteen hours away.
I wormed my way back over the edge of the moon-pool and let myself drop onto the sub. I touched it lightly, using my hands as a guide, and kicked my feet. Keller’s sub was one of the typical two-man vessels used in the construction trade. A fat, rounded shape reminiscent of a lozenge or those headache capsules the medics liked to prescribe. There was no bubble of clear material that some subs had to enable their pilots to get a clear view of the surroundings. This one was built to work at depth and in conditions where, nice as the view would be, readouts and view screens were much more useful. It also made them cheaper to mass produce.
At the front of Keller’s sub were two mechanical arms that would normally be used to shift pieces of whatever was being built around. They were strong and quite dextrous, as long as the object was in front. They couldn’t reach towards the middle or rear of the sub. It was quite possible to use them for other purposes, but they hadn’t put those explosives in place. This sub couldn’t get close enough and the arms weren’t long enough. After all, that’s why they had brought me in. A Fish-Suit was the only viable way to get in close and Keller, by his own admission, knew a lot about the suits. Another bell tolled in my head. Maybe he hadn’t said how much he actually knew.
Down each side of the sub were the protuberances of sensors, lights and cameras. All of which I had to avoid but were, conversely, fantastic handholds. Also, I had to be careful of the small propellers and motors that gave Keller’s sub a great range of precise movement, a necessity for construction. At the rear were the really powerful propellers that pushed the sub through the water. I needed to stay clear of those too.
I found a spot halfway down the sub. A space that was clear enough of cameras and sensors for me to lay the full length of my body against it and still have my feet far enough away from the propellers.
Keller’s sub began to back up, out of the destroyed city. In a few seconds he would have passed below me and out into the depths and I would have been captured on any number of cameras that dotted the hull. There was no time to get settled into place with the degree of stealth I would have liked. With no choice, I engaged the magnets in the gloves and slapped them down flat on the sub’s hull. A dull clank sounded in my ears. There would have been a similar sound ringing through the hull of the sub. A sound Keller couldn’t avoid hearing. Nothing was scarier on a construction site than an unexplained impact on your sub’s hull.
Keller’s sub came to a halt. It was standard procedure to stop and evaluate any potential problems. I could picture him flicking from camera to camera, screen to screen seeking the reason for the noise. All I could do was hope he put it down to a piece of falling city that had bounced off and sank without being seen. It was a likely scenario. Whilst he carried out his checks, I used the time to get into a better position.
My whole body was now, like my palms, flat against the sub’s hull. The only way it would stay there was with the magnets in my gloves, the pressure of the water flowing over the hull and me, and the fact that I had hooked my feet under two of the sensor vanes. I made sure my arms and legs were bent then locked the exoskeleton in place. That would make sure that my arms weren’t ripped from their sockets if the water resistance was too great.
From then on I stayed still. It took Keller a few minutes to run his checks before he re-engaged the motors and finished backing out of the city. When he had finally made it out, he executed a simple turn and moved off into the dark. The Silent City, now even quieter, was left behind and with it the first crew I’d felt part of for a long, long time. Left behind too, Elena, only the second woman to show any interest in me for an even longer period of time.
The scavengers would move in and colonise the wreck. In a few years it would be encrusted with molluscs, home to crustaceans and almost unrecognisable. That is the way of the ocean. One disaster is another person’s lucky day.
# # #
By the end of three hours my arms were aching. Even with the exoskeleton locked in place, they ached from staying still. Fifteen hours of oxygen left, give or take an hour for exertion and other unforeseen events. I’d be far happier if it gave, rather than took one.
Keller’s sub had run dark all the time. No lights and no bursts of speed, just a steady pace. I wouldn’t have guessed he pushed it any faster than ten knots, so, at most, we were fifty four kilometres from the city. A more cautious bet would be to place the speed at around eight knots and, therefore, a little over thirty five kilometres.
I was only aware that his destination was in reach when the motors changed pitch. The sub slowed and turned. It held course for a few moments and then the lights snapped on. The illumination was useful as a wall of stone came into view and the sub slowed further to a crawl. Through my helmet, I could see the sub lights play across the surface of cooled lava. Whatever Keller was looking for he found and the sub turned left, parallel to the stone and began to move again.
The lights picked out a cave, or lava tube, ahead and Kel
ler’s sub turned into it. The echo of the motors gave the measure of the tube as it widened and narrowed. The light beams showed a relatively smooth surface which hinted that humans had something to do with the construction or, at the very least, widening of the tube.
There were mines on the ridge. NOAH owned a few that I knew about and probably many more that I didn’t. The volcanic activity brought up rare minerals from the centre of the earth and encased them in hard basalt. Getting hold of those minerals was a multi-billion credit industry. Corporations guarded their mines jealously. The lack of guards or security systems in this tube meant that this was either an abandoned mine or had been built to stay hidden.
Before long, I could detect another source of light filtering through the water and Keller’s sub began to rise. The last thing I needed to be was stuck on when it surfaced. Any guards there would certainly be wondering why there was a man shaped limpet attached to the sub.
Releasing the exoskeleton locks was like learning to walk again. The joy in the freedom of movement in my arms and legs was incredible. Then it was incredibly painful as joints that hadn’t moved for hours and muscles which had done little were suddenly asked to perform their tasks. They let me know in no uncertain terms that they were not happy about this. When I shut down the magnets holding me to the sub, it was all I could do to roll off and sink into the dark.
Chapter 21
The water in the lava tube was clear and the light showed the rippling mirror surface of the water above me. As I fell, I watched Keller’s sub rise.
His sub broke the surface and the water foamed. I hit the base of the tube at the same moment and bounced a little. There was no need to engage any motors or attempt to swim. For the moment, I was content to stay at the bottom, hidden from the lights in the shadow of the sub.
The thrumming of his engines changed pitch for the last time and were silent. In their absence, other sounds could be heard. The creak of the sub hull as the lesser pressure let it expand ever so slightly, back into its original shape. The patter of water droplets falling from the side of the sub, reminiscent of the showers in the arboretum, where the last remnants of terrestrial plants were cared for. Beeps and warning noises from the sub as its power unit shut down and the hatch opened. A rhythmic series of metallic clangs from the hull. Then nothing.
I waited in the shadow. One minute. Five. Ten. Fifteen. I had time. The city was destroyed, everyone on it was dead, and the only link to why, and coincidentally my only way back to Base 1 or even my own city, was up in whatever base the sub had brought me to. Somewhere up there was Keller. Once the city’s foreman and forever its destroyer. He and I were due a conversation which, I hoped, would be short and mostly communicated through body language. The universal method of conversation, my fists in his face, and he was going to do most of the listening.
After twenty minutes, I rose towards the surface, coming up under Keller’s sub, edging around, and peering through the strange refraction of the water’s surface. The roof was high, domed and strung with lights. The sub itself was nestled up against the rock and ropes tied it to the dock. I would have to pull myself out of the water to get a good look at the land beyond. Once I did, I was going to be noticed.
No one is graceful, out of the water, in a Fish-Suit and the last thing I needed was for Keller to find me still wearing it. Another disadvantage of being out of the water in a Fish-Suit is the almost total lack of hearing. Sound waves in the sea propagated easily through the Oxyquid and into my ears. Not necessarily understandable or clearly, but I could hear. Out of the water they acted the exact opposite.
No sense putting off the inevitable any longer. Head above water, I pulled myself around the sub to the rock ledge that served as a dock. Through the Oxyquid, another view from a refracting medium, the area looked clear. There was a bulkhead door in the wall, a bank of computers and screens, and a set of gas canisters which were likely there to keep the atmosphere in the base, mine, whatever, breathable. The sub itself had its own supply and carbon dioxide scrubbers. If it lacked oxygen, or nitrogen or any of the other trace gases we needed to survive, the sub could draw it from the sea water itself. There were a few things that subs couldn’t produce for themselves, including food, and that’s why we had cities and factories.
Most importantly, the dock was clear. No guards and no Keller. The next task was going to be difficult. I had to climb out of the water. You know why a Fish-Suit exits a city through airlocks and not moon-pools? It is easier to step out, into the ocean or use the motors to bring yourself level with a door and step into a city than it is to climb a ladder or, in this case, try to lever yourself out of the water. In the water, the suit, its motors, exoskeleton (such as it was), the user and all the thick Oxyquid that kept you alive, was pretty much the same density as the sea water. It was neutrally buoyant. Out of the water it weighed a lot. Lifting it, and your own weight, out of the water was a young man’s game. I wasn’t young, but I was bloody determined.
After a few minutes of effort, augmented by the relatively weak exoskeleton, I had managed to get my chest and stomach out of the water. I did not look the picture of grace and beauty, my top half floundered on the rocks and my bottom half dangled over the edge. I stayed like that for a few minutes sucking in the Oxyquid and expelling it with the deepest breaths I could take. Now just to get my hips over the edge.
I heaved myself back up onto tired arms and then wormed, and squirmed, my top half a little further along the dock. My feet scrabbled against the smooth rock, desperate for purchase, something to assist in the process. In the end, I had to go down on one elbow and use the new angle to swing my hips like a pendulum until I managed to get one over the side. From then on it was an easier process, though any crab shedding its shell would look at me and think I had it easy. To be fair, I probably did, but if I caught that crab I’d boil it in water and eat it. Just to teach it to keep its thoughts to itself.
# # #
The next problem, and choice, was the suit. The readouts showed thirteen hours of oxygen left, which was useful to know, but if I was going to steal Keller’s sub then I didn’t need it. Actually, I was going to inherit Keller’s sub and thinking about it that way made me feel a lot better.
Still, the suit? Back-ups and contingencies. That had been my training and was foremost in my mind. The sub stealing, inheriting, was one plan. The suit was the back-up.
I’ve no idea who designed the Fish-Suit or who developed it. It never interested me, however, right now, I would sing their praises. If I could sing and if it wouldn’t alert whoever was in the base. I giggled at the thought.
I needed to be out of the suit. I haven’t giggled in years and out-of-character behaviour, so my training said, was an early sign of oxygen deprivation or shock. Taking a deep breath of the Oxyquid, I held it for a count of five before exhaling. Shock was the more likely of the two. After all, a city had fallen on me.
A Fish-Suit, apart from being quite a simple device, has back-ups and I was intending to use one that I’d never known anyone ever use. On the pack, near the filters, was a compressed watertight bag. My fingers flicked at the control pads in the gloves, searching through the myriad menus, looking for the commands buried deep within. It took three or four goes to find the right subsystem menu and a further minute to read all the instructions on the screen.
Essentially, they told me, all of the Oxyquid would be drained, sucked, from the suit and forced, under pressure, into the watertight bag. A bag that would weigh over 100 Kilograms, my weight and a little bit more. Essentially, it was the normal de-suiting procedure with the added complication of air entering the suit under high pressure. I was encouraged to breathe out as much of the liquid as possible before it began. Survive the process without any breath in my lungs. Easy, if you liked drowning in reverse. Liquid, liquid everywhere and not a drop to breathe.
Chapter 22
I slicked my hair back. At this point, I usually liked a shower to remove the remnants of the
all the Oxyquid. There wasn’t the chance for that luxury. The unwieldy bag of Oxyquid and my Fish-Suit, I stowed onboard Keller’s sub. That was going to be my route out of here. I was tempted to take it there and then. However, I had something to do first.
The bulkhead door was closed. After a quick inspection, I twisted the large wheel in the centre and it swung open. As the door moved, I made sure to stay behind it. When there were no shouts of alarm, sirens or running feet, I peeked around the corner. The corridor beyond was long and empty. Strip lighting ran down the centre and doors were recessed into the stone. At the far end, I could see what appeared to be a T-junction, corridors leading off left and right.
I stepped through and closed the bulkhead behind me. Safety first. Anyone coming around the corner would see a man dressed in very little but skin tight underwear and vest. I’ve never found men in pyjamas particularly scary and I doubt that any guards here would either.
Below my bare feet the smooth rock floor was warm. An unexpected feeling until I recalled that a volcanic ridge was not far away. The first door on my right was unlocked and swung inwards on quiet hinges. It was a bedroom. A very simple metal framed bed with a thin mattress and thinner blanket. There were no pictures on the wall, no washing gear, no clothes on the floor. The impression of it being uninhabited was strong. Apart from the bed, the only other piece of furniture was a chest of drawers. The bottom draw was empty, but I struck lucky in the second. A green jump suit, zipped at the front and free from any markings. I dragged it on over my still damp body. The material clung to the patches of Oxyquid I hadn’t managed to clear off.
