Deep Storm (26 page)

There was a collective gasp from the assembled group; groans; a suppressed cry. Someone behind Crane started to weep.

He barely heard.

What lay between the jaws of the robotic clamp was not a shiny, gleaming sphere of transcendent beauty. It was a shrunken tangle of metal, horribly imploded, transformed by the appalling pressure into an unrecognizable grayish wad barely a third its former size. One section of the hull had been split apart explosively and petaled back against itself, exposing countless spike-like struts resembling the quills of a porcupine. Other sections had been compressed so violently they seemed almost to have melted. Not one of the torn and twisted lines was distinguishable as the Marble hed seen before.

An awful pall of silence settled over the hanger, broken only by weeping. For a long moment, the clamp hung there, suspended over the water lock, the operator too shocked to act.

Cut it down, Spartan ordered in a savage voice. Crane glanced over at him, but the expression on the admirals face was too terrible to contemplate, and he returned his eyes to the Marble.

With a shriek of protesting metal and a clank of chains, the remains of Marble One were steered to one side of the water lock, where it sat suspended a foot over the floor of the Drilling Complex, seawater running from it in heavy streams. And not only seawater, Crane noticed with a visceral twinge of dismay: some of the streams that poured from the tangled ruin were thick and red.

It was obvious all too obvious that there would be no need for the cervical collars, the short boardsor anything else. Crane turned toward the marines, ready to tell them to secure the medical equipment.

But even as he did so, he saw a familiar face among the horror-struck crowd that watched from the perimeter of the Drilling Complex. A short man in faded bib overalls, with piercing blue eyes and an unruly cloud of silvery hair. It was Flyte, the strange old man who had approached him in his cabin. He was barely visible behind two technicians, staring at the scene with an expression of pity and almost childlike sorrow. Then he turned toward Crane, catching him with his intense gaze. Slowly, deliberately, he mouthed silently the same words he had uttered before, standing uninvited in Cranes stateroom:

Everything is broken.

Chapter 30

Howard Asher had two laboratories on the Deep Storm Facility: a cramped cubbyhole on deck 8 and a somewhat larger space on deck 4. They were very different. While the deck 8 lab had a lived-in, eclectic, inviting feel, the lab in the classified section was spare, businesslike, and clinical. He was in this lab head in his hands, pondering a complex series of charts and equations that lay before him when the door opened and Admiral Spartan stepped in.

For a moment, the two men stared at each other like sparring partners. Then Ashers tense, drawn face relaxed a little.

Seat? he said in a sad, quiet voice.

Spartan shook his head. The Magnetic Descent Unit the Doodlebug is in poor shape. We plan to use the spare while Fabrication does an overhaul.

So you plan to continue the dives?

Of course. Why wouldnt we?

Asher looked at him in disbelief. Admiral, three men just died.

Im aware of that. Have your engineers come to any conclusions?

About what caused the Doodlebug to malfunction? Nothing definite.

What about ensuring it doesnt recur?

For a moment, Asher stared appraisingly at the admiral. Then he sighed. Doubling or, better still, tripling the strength of the electromagnetic field should guarantee the link remains stable on future dives.

Spartan nodded. Anything else?

Yes. Shut down all robotic or automatic processes that arent absolutely necessary to the construction of the shaft. That goes for the remaining two Marbles as well as the Doodlebug: operate with a bare minimum of instrumentation. And critical instrumentation should use redundant packets, with checksums for validity.

Thats your recommendation?

Asher frowned. My recommendation is that we cease all operations until we have a thorough understanding of what caused this disaster and why.

Thats not an option, Dr. Asher. Theres no telling how long it would take to arrive at such an understanding.

But the deaths

A tragic mishap. Grove, Adkinson, Horst they knew the inherent danger of the work when they signed up. So did you, for that matter.

Asher tried again. Admiral, listen

No, Dr. Asher. You listen for a minute. Havent people always been willing to die in the name of discovery and knowledge? Isnt that why were all here? Look at Robert Falcon Scott, Amelia Earhart, the crew of the Challenger. Were all putting our lives on the line here to push the envelope, to better mankind.

Asher sighed, rubbed at his eyes with a weary hand. Theres the empirical evidence to consider.

What evidence might that be?

Marble One just penetrated into the third, the lowest, level of the crust the oceanic layer. Is it coincidence that this aberrant behavior occurred at the deepest depth weve achieved?

Pressure would not cause a malfunction like that.

Im not talking about pressure. Im talking about getting closer to whatevers down there. The oceanic layer is the thinnest of all. Even if we put these deaths aside for a moment, dont all these strange sicknesses trouble you? Doesnt it bother you that people are beginning to whisper, that there are serious morale issues?

When Spartan did not reply, Asher rose and began to pace the room restlessly. Thanks to Dr. Crane, weve made a huge leap forward.

Dr. Crane should stick to his assignment, Spartan said.

Hes provided us with the biggest break yet. Admiral, those sentinels arent transmitting a signal on one wavelength anymore. Theyre transmitting different signals now, on thousands of wavelengths. Probably millions. In fact, it seems theyre transmitting on every single band in the electromagnetic spectrum. Radio waves, microwaves, infrared, ultraviolet you name it.

And in so doing, they are disrupting our instruments and wireless networks, Spartan said. If its anything, its probably a welcome of some sort.

Thats possible. But it could be something else.

Such as?

I dont know. But what they have to say is so important theyre exhausting all available bandwidths to broadcast it. Asher hesitated. Its my strong opinion we should stop digging until weve translated the message. Youve got more than your share of Naval Intelligence spooks aboard. If I could tap them, pool our efforts, we could decrypt this message faster.

They have other tasks at present. And besides, you dont have proof there are any messages.

Asher threw up his hands in exasperation. What do you think, then? Theyre broadcasting the top forty hits of Alpha Centauri? And he began pacing again.

Spartan watched him for a moment. Very well, Dr. Asher. Lets assume there are messages. As I said, chances are theyre welcoming us. Or perhaps they are transmitting user manuals for whatever were digging toward. Am I curious about that? Very. But am I going to drop everything, stop work, until you discover what theyre trying to say? No. For one thing, you cant give me an estimate for cracking the code. Can you?

I Asher stopped, gave his head an angry shake.

And for another, it doesnt matter what the message is. As you pointed out, were into the oceanic layer now. Were only a week away from reaching the Moho, maybe less. Whatever is down there, were going to extract its contents and study them before anybody else can.

Asher opened his mouth to respond. But before he could speak, the floor trembled: first gently, then violently. Manuals and binders fell from the shelves, and there was a crash of breaking glass as a tray of lab equipment slid off the nearby worktable. Confused voices sounded from the hall, and an alarm sounded in the distance. Spartan leapt to his feet, running to Ashers phone and dialing as another shudder shook the Facility.

This is Admiral Spartan, he said into the mouthpiece. Determine the source of that. If theres any damage, I want instant reports.

He turned to look at Asher. The chief scientist had grasped the edge of the worktable for support. Now he stood quite still, head cocked as if listening. Just aftershocks now, he murmured.

What the hell was that, Dr. Asher?

The price we pay for working in an oceanic ridge. The upside is, the crust of the earth is shallow here the Moho is less than five miles deep. The downside is, ocean ridges are prone to earthquakes.

Earthquakes, Spartan repeated.

Yes. Small in magnitude, generally this is a divergent boundary, after all. He looked over his glasses at Spartan, half sadly, half quizzically. You never read the white paper I sent you on plate tectonics and oceanography?

But the admiral didnt answer. His gaze was focused at some indistinct spot beyond Ashers right shoulder. At last, he shook his head. Perfect, he said. Just perfect.

Chapter 31

The temporary infirmary on deck 4 was as small as the Medical Suite upstairs was expansive. It reminded Crane of the diminutive sick bay on the USS Spectre, in which hed toiled for the better part of a year: all bulkhead and conduit. And yet for all its tininess, at the moment it seemed depressingly empty. Crane had expected to fill it with the three men from Marble One. Instead, there had not been enough left of the crew even for red-bag waste: Marble One had been sealed in heavy plastic sheeting and placed in a low-temperature locker for later analysis.

He sighed, turned toward Bishop. Thanks for coming down. Im sorry I wasted your time.

Dont be silly.

Did you know any of the three?

I knew Horst. Had some trouble with sleep apnea, dropped by for a couple of consultations.

I never got the chance to meet any of them. Crane shook his head.

Dont beat yourself up about this, Peter. Its not your fault.

I know. It just seems like such a tragic waste.

And it wasnt only the death of the three crew members that weighed on him. There was also the fact that he was making precious little progress. Theyd run just about every test in the book CT scans, MRIs, EKGs, CBCs. Nothing. Every fresh theory, every promising new avenue of research, had ultimately led to a dead end. It made no sense: hed been following all the rules of diagnosis, yet the solution remained stubbornly out of reach. It was as if whatever was wrong down here was somehow playing out beyond the laws of medical science.

He shifted, made a concerted effort to change the subject. How are things upstairs? Its been so busy down here I havent even checked your current patient status.

Two new cases in the last twenty-four hours: one complaining of severe nausea, another presenting with arrythmia.

You put a Holter monitor on him?

Yes, twenty-four-hour cycle. Then, the cook, Loiseau, had another seizure worse this time.

Youve admitted him?

Bishop nodded. Thats about it. Actually, its Roger whos been getting more of the action.

Hows that?

Seven maybe eight people have come to see him, complaining of general psychiatric disorders.

Such as?

The usual. Problems with concentration and focus, lapses in memory, disinhibition of character. Roger thinks its localized eruptions of accumulated stress.

I see. Crane was hesitant to disagree without further examination. But his own experience on stealth submarines, working with men and women under constant pressure, didnt bear out such a conclusion. Besides, any questionable personality types would have been weeded out during the Facilitys vetting process. Tell me more about the disinhibition case.