Deep Fathom

“He teach many things. Mostly he teach us to guard the old places. He tell us where they are. Word pass from father to son. Forbidden to speak. He say none must open the heart of old places.” He stared hard at Karen.



She ignored his accusing eyes and sat pondering. “A secret sect assigned to guard the Pacific’s countless megalithic ruins…by the last survivor of some lost continent.” She swung one more time on Mwahu. “You say Horon-ko died here.”



He nodded.



“Is he buried here?”



He nodded again and turned toward the watery ruins of Nan Madol. “I will take you. But we must leave before night.”



“Why?” Jack asked.



Karen answered instead. “A superstition about the ruins. If someone stays among the ruins overnight, it is said he will die.”



“Great,” Miyuki mumbled from the backseat, eyeing the low sun.



“It’s only myth,” Karen said.



All their eyes swung to Mwahu. The man slowly shook his head.



5:45 P.M., Neptune base, Central Pacific



Ferdinand Cortez rode as passenger aboard the researchers’ two-man submersible, the Argus. The pilot, seated ahead in his own acrylic dome, signaled a thumbs-up as he guided the vessel under the sea base and up into the entry dock on the station’s underside. The docking hatch sealed under them and the seawater was pumped out.



Ferdinand watched the waterline recede down his dome. The whole docking procedure took less than five minutes. He smiled at his success. After his wife died, he’d devoted all his energies to the Neptune project. It had been a goal he and his wife had shared.



A functioning deep-sea research station.



“We did it, Maria,” he whispered to the station. “We finally did it.”



As the central computer calibrated the air pressure in the docking bay, a green light flashed on the wall, indicating it was safe to depart the Argus. Ferdinand unscrewed the dome’s seal using a motorized winch. The seal broke with the barest hiss of pressure differentials. Ferdinand smiled. Perfect.



He pushed back the dome and climbed out of the sub, hauling his bag with him. The pilot remained in his forward dome. He had another four research members to ferry down to the deep-sea station.



Free of the sub, Ferdinand breathed deeply. The air tasted stale, but that couldn’t be helped. No amount of conditioning would freshen it.



Waving a thanks to the pilot, he crossed to the door and unscrewed its three latches. Beyond the door, he found John Conrad wearing a wide shit-eating grin.



“We’re here,” his friend and colleague said. “We’re on the goddamn bottom of the ocean.”



Ferdinand smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Then how about a tour?” he asked—not that he needed one. The Neptune had been based on his own design specs. He knew every inch of the base, every circuit, every switch.



John took his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “C’mon. Everyone’s waiting.” He led the way to the ladder up to the second tier of the station. As John climbed, electronic sensors marked his presence and opened the hatch overhead. It was all automated. Once both men clambered up to Level 2, the hatch self-sealed. Another safety feature. Each of the tiers were sealed from one another unless a crew member was on the ladder. The hatches could also be cranked shut and locked in case of power failure or a system malfunction.



Stepping from the ladder, Ferdinand surveyed his domain. Level 2 contained a circular series of labs: marine biology, geology, climatology, physiology, even archaeology. The base’s tiny hospital ward also shared a wedge of this floor’s space. The tier above this, Level 3, housed the living quarters, galley, tiny recreation room, and unisex bathroom.



Ferdinand could not wipe the smile from his face. The Neptune was finally up and functioning. As he passed through the labs, other scientists called to him, congratulating him. He acknowledged the well-wishes and continued to his own wedge: the geophysics laboratory.



John accompanied him. “Can’t stop working, can you?”



“How can I? Especially with that pissant Spangler gone. He’s been hobbling my work ever since we first arrived here. This may be my only chance to be free of the asshole, and I’m going to take advantage of it.”



Ferdinand settled onto a fixed stool before a smooth metal console. He hit a button, and like a rolltop desk, the airtight seals on his station wheeled open to reveal a bank of computers, monitors, and tools. “Is the Perseus over by the crystal pillar?” he asked.



“Yep. Lieutenant Brentley has been waiting for an hour, and he’s growing a bit impatient. We had to argue against him collecting your sample on his own.”



“Good, good…I should oversee the sampling. We can’t risk damage to the pillar.”



“Brentley’s audio is on Channel 4. Video feed on Channel 3.”



Ferdinand called up the proper channels on his central monitor. “Perseus, this is Neptune. Do you read?”



Lieutenant Brentley answered. “Aye, Neptune, read you loud and clear. Just cooling my thrusters.”



Ferdinand adjusted the monitor to pick up the video feed from the Deep Submergence Unit’s sub. He was surprised at the clarity of the image. The sub faced the crystal pillar from a distance of ten yards away. Its faceted surface filled the screen. Across its smooth planes the silver etchings were plainly evident. “Have you recorded the entire pillar?”



“Aye, completed and recorded. Just waiting to collect the sample.”



Ferdinand heard the exasperation in the man’s voice. “I appreciate your patience, Lieutenant. We’re ready to proceed. Try to collect a sample without marring any of the writing.”



“Aye, sir. I’ve studied the pillar. There’s no writing near the top. Should I attempt a sampling there?”



“Yes. Very good.”



On the screen, Ferdinand watched the Perseus circle the forty-meter length of crystal, climbing toward its apex. Once there, the image focused on the faceted top of the obelisk. “I’ll try to nip a bit off the very tip.” The pilot’s voice crackled with static as the vessel edged toward the pillar.



“Be careful.”



As they watched, the video feed began to flicker with static, too. The sub floated toward the pillar, slower and slower. It was almost as if the video feed were playing in slow motion. As the sub neared its goal, a titanium arm reached cautiously outward.



“Careful,” Ferdinand warned. “We don’t know how fragile that thing is.”



A few jumbled words answered, frosted with static: “…odd…trembling…can’t hear…”



John touched Ferdinand’s shoulder. “The crystal’s emissions must be messing with the sub’s communications. Remember the reports from the salvage ship’s sub.”



Ferdinand nodded, worrying that perhaps he should’ve waited until Spangler had returned. If the Navy’s sub were damaged…



The titanium claw reached for the pillar, intending to pinch the tip off the crystal. It was agonizingly slow.



“The first deep-sea circumcision,” John mumbled.



Ferdinand ignored his friend’s attempt at humor and held his breath.



The pincer closed on the faceted point. Brentley’s voice suddenly came through the speakers, crystal clear again. “I think I’ve—”



The video image froze. Both John and Ferdinand glanced in puzzlement at each other. Frowning, Ferdinand tapped the screen. For a brief moment he thought he saw the submersible vanish then flicker back.



Abruptly, the video image resumed. “—got it!” Brentley finished. On the screen, the sub retreated from the pillar, its titanium arm held up high, a chunk of crystal in its grip.



“He did it!” Ferdinand said.



“To hell with the glitches!” John blurted out happily.



A cheer arose from the crew—but broke off as a fierce rattling began to shake through the base.



A wary hush descended. Ferdinand held his breath.



The rattling grew into a savage shaking. Doors rattled. Shelved containers tumbled.



“Sea quake!” John yelled.



Cries rose from the various science stations. The video connection to the Perseus disappeared as the monitor’s screen shattered into a spiderweb of cracks.



John stumbled to one of the porthole windows. “If any of the seals break—”



Ferdinand knew the threat. At a depth of six hundred meters, the pressures outside were close to half a ton per square inch. Any rupture would lead to immediate implosion.



Emergency klaxons bellowed; red warning lights flared.



Ferdinand yelled in a firm tone of command. “Retreat to Level 3! Prepare to evacuate!”



One of the marine biologists ran toward them, almost colliding with John. “The interlevel hatches have sealed themselves. I can’t override on manual.”



Ferdinand swore. In case of flooding, the safety systems automatically locked down and isolated each tier—but the manual override should have worked. He stood up on the bucking floor as the main lights flickered out. Everything became red-tinged in the glow of the emergency lights.



“Oh, God!” John said. His face was still pressed to the porthole.



Ferdinand stumbled to a neighboring port. “What is it?” It took him a moment to comprehend what he was seeing. The neighboring forest of lava pillars shook and vibrated as if a mighty wind were blowing through it. Distantly, bright fiery glows marked opening magma fissures. But neither sight was what had triggered John’s outburst.



In the direction of the pillar, a jagged crack split the seabed floor. As Ferdinand watched, the rift widened, and in vicious zigzags it raced toward the Neptune.



“No…”



There was no time to evacuate.



Other scientists took up positions at other portholes. A heavy silence settled. From somewhere across the way, a whispered prayer began to echo.



Ferdinand could do nothing as his lifelong dream was about to end. His fate was in the hands of God. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the cold glass. How many had he killed down here? As fear and guilt clutched him, it took him a moment to realize the rumbling roar had begun to recede. The temblors underfoot calmed.