The second the airlock cleared, Becca was into the cramped compartment and working Redd’s suit to get him out of his diving gear. He was hanging in front of her, suspended by a metal umbilicus connected to the back of his neck, as she waited for the chest and neck locks to disengage. Freezing water poured over her, soaking her t-shirt in seconds. She wrenched the helmet out the way and his head sagged, loose and lifeless. A quick press of her fingers confirmed an erratic pulse.

“Thready, but he’s still with us.”

Shaw lifted himself clear of his hard suit and landed on the metal grid in his bare feet. His normally jovial face was pinched and washed out.

Becca gave him a quick glance. “You okay?”

“Fine. Let’s get him out of this.” Shaw edged around the side, and between the two of them, they hoisted Redd out of the dive suit.

A large clatter sounded behind them.

“Emergency stretcher unfolded,” Em called. “I’m going to get Dora on the road now.”

“On my count. One. Two. Three.” Becca grunted as Shaw helped her half drag, half lift the dead weight of Redd onto the stretcher. Now that he was lying in front of her, she could see the gash on his leg that the mechanical arm had inflicted. She scanned the three-inch wound. Seawater had washed the tissue clean, revealing globes of yellow subcutaneous fat and pink muscle. The torn ends of veins were visible, but the damage appeared to have missed his femoral artery. She allowed herself a small moment of thanks as she snapped the oxygen mask over Redd’s mouth and nose.

“Em?” she called out.

“We’re moving now.” The Dora throbbed back to life as Em steered the mini sub away from the dig site. Becca glanced at her watch. Fifteen minutes to return to Ceto habitat. She checked Redd’s vitals once more. His pulse was all over the place and his breathing was too shallow. His lips were tinged blue and his fingernails were shadowy with lack of oxygen. It had taken over ten minutes to maneuver the Dora and get Redd on board. She couldn’t tell how long he’d been without oxygen in his suit, but the saving grace was that the sub-zero ocean temperatures had slowed his vitals enough to lessen the impact of oxygen deprivation.

“Is he going to be okay?” Shaw’s face was pale at the foot of the gurney, his hair plastered to the top of his skull. “What about HPNS?”

HPNS. High-pressure neurological syndrome. The words echoed in Becca’s mind. It was a constant threat in the extreme depths in which they worked, but she wouldn’t know for sure until Aimee ran diagnostics back at the habitat.

“He’s going to be fine,” she reassured him in her best professional voice. God, she sounded rusty, but Redd damn well wasn’t going to die on her watch. She tossed a silver emergency blanket at Shaw. “Help me get this around him.” She tore another one open and immediately began tucking the silver material around his torso. “Redd. Do you hear me? We’re going to warm you up. Em’s going to have us back at the habitat in no time.”

Becca grabbed the first aid kit she’d prepped as they’d maneuvered to pick up the two divers. Her fingers flew over dressings, sterile saline, and her sewing kit.

She shot a glance at Shaw, who was looking paler by the minute. His hands were trembling, creating a rustling sound where they touched the insulated blanket. “Owen, sit back down. I’ve got him now. There’s nothing you can do till we’re back at the habitat.” She ripped open a sterile needle pack. “You probably don’t want to watch this.”

Becca cut the final thread on Redd’s stitches as the lights of their underwater home, the star-shaped wheel of the Ceto habitat, blinked past the viewport. Each spoke of the wheel led to one of the main areas of the habitat: the docking bay, living area, engineering, research labs, and—most importantly right now—the infirmary.

Em banked the Dora and steered her toward the docking bay, one of the two hexagonal ports built into the side of the building. Becca had never been so glad to see the boxy outline of the base.

“Ceto, docking umbilical engaging,” Em confirmed over the comms to Tom Preacher, their Biological Oceanographer.

“Copy that, Dora. Prepped to deal with casualty.”

The tightness in Becca’s chest subsided a little as the sub bumped up against the habitat. She would have Redd within the safety of the infirmary within a few minutes. She wrapped her stethoscope around her neck the second the umbilical lock connected under the base of the sub and jacked the stretcher into an upright position with one hard yank.

Em yelled over her shoulder. “Airlock purging. Nearly there, Becca.”

Becca gave a curt nod. “Shaw, get the door as soon as we’re clear.”

He was ahead of her. “Done.” He’d recovered slightly and, although his face was still blanched, some of the customary steadiness in his voice had returned. The door beeped clearance, and Shaw stepped back from the keypad as the door surged open, immediately drenching the interior in a spray of freezing cold water. Becca sucked in a breath as icy liquid blasted her hands, face, and chest.

As soon as the door was wide enough, Becca was on the move, her hands tight on the metal stretcher handles. “Go. Go. Go.”

Shaw helped steer the gurney and they were into the habitat before Em had even left her seat.

Bright light stung Becca’s eyes as soon as they were inside. She squinted and took a breath as Betty Soh rushed forward, her white tennis shoes squeaking on the hard, polished floor. Betty rolled the resuscitation gear toward Becca, who grabbed the trolley gratefully, her pulse easing a little. She was on home ground now. Here, she could take proper care of Redd.

Betty took Redd’s hand from under the silver blanket and rubbed it between the palms of her hands. “You’re going to be fine, Chase. You’re in good hands.” Her words were confident, but her wide mouth was pinched and narrow with stress.

Becca switched on the ventilator and placed the mask of humidified, warmed air over his nose. Redd coughed, and Becca rubbed his shoulder vigorously. “Stay with us, Redd. Nearly there. Okay, let’s get him to the infirmary. We need to get his core temperature up.”

Becca took the stretcher head, steering it toward the exit, where Tom Preacher was holding the door open, his long, serious face at odds with the green shark socks sticking out the bottom of his too-short trousers. “Aimee’s prepped the infirmary as you requested.”

Becca shot him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Thanks, Tom.”

Betty whipped more silver sheets out from underneath the trolley and snapped them open. “Will he have HPNS?” She tucked another layer of sheets around Redd’s shaking form.

Becca jogged alongside the gurney. “Signs are good, Betts. Hopefully, it won’t come to that. I think we got him into the Dora quick enough.”

The infirmary was warm and already humming with energy when they arrived a few minutes later. Becca gave a silent prayer of thanks. She still wasn’t fully on board with an AI like Aimee having complete control of the habitat, but in situations like this, it was a godsend. Like having an emergency team on hand that never got upset or distracted.

Becca guided the stretcher and locked it to one of the medi-consoles. The control panel beeped, and the screen sprang into digital life. Shaw and Betty stepped back to allow Becca space to attach sensors to Redd’s extremities as well as his chest and skull.

The smooth modulated tones of Aimee, Ceto’s resident Artificial Intelligence, filled the room. “I have Dr. Redd online now, Dr. Johnson. Scanning for high-pressure injuries.”

“Thank you, Aimee.” Becca allowed herself a second to wipe her forehead with the back of her hand. She exhaled a slow breath, still monitoring Redd’s vitals even as Aimee took over his life support.

“Minimal pressure damage detected. Commencing intravascular rewarming now, Dr. Johnson.”

Becca grabbed the end of the bed and let her head drop. Now it was just a matter of waiting.

She turned to Shaw and squeezed his upper arm. “Let’s get you checked out and into some dry clothes.”