'That's why this mission has been kept so secret?'
Fricker shrugged in the darkness. 'Not quite secret, but our lords and masters are keeping it pretty close to their chests.'
'Any particular reason for that?'
'Yeah-habit. Okay, I'm going to take some film, then we'll souse the lights and concentrate on getting to the bottom.'
It was getting cold inside the sphere, but the two men were too busy re-checking instruments and making adjustments to notice much. Fricker triggered the camera again at 5,000 feet and reported their progress to the waiting destroyer. At around 10,000 feet a small leak started.
'It's coming through one of the hull connectors,' Whitesell informed Fricker, his voice quite unconcerned. 'It'll stop when we go deeper and water pressure packs the sealer more tightly.'
'I hope you're right.'
'Trust me.' Whitesell grinned.
At 20,000 feet Fricker used the underwater phone again. 'We've lost them,' he said after attempts to make contact with the Quayle.
'We may pick 'em up later,' said Whitesell. 'You know how freaky conditions can get. Let's take another look outside.'
'I want to check out the sonar transducers first to make sure we haven't drifted too close to the trench wall.' He touched buttons and watched the lighted panel before him. 'Hell, that can't be right.'
'What is it?' Whitesell's question was sharp; for some inexplicable reason, the lower they sank the more uneasy he was becoming.
'I'm not getting anything that makes sense on the sonar.'
'Let's get the forward lights on again.'
Fricker pressed the switch.
'Holy Mother…' he heard Whitesell say.
At this depth, Fricker knew he might possibly see anything from red shrimps to flat fish swimming through the midnight waters, even though any such activity was rare; but on this occasion there was just a thick wall of what looked like moving sludge.
'That's mud out there. We must have stirred it up from the bottom of the trench,' said the lieutenant.
'No way,' Fricker replied. 'We've got at least another 15,000 feet to go before we touch bottom.'
'I'd check the fathometer if I were you.'
'I already have and I'm right.'
'Okay, Brains, you tell me what it is.'
'It's the plankton,' Fricker said quietly. 'Now it's mixed with silt from the ocean bed.'
'Impossible.'
'Not really. Like I said, recently our weather satellites have been discovering plankton blooms rising to the surface anywhere and everywhere. It's quite a phenomenon. In this case we figure the plankton's been gathered and swept along the Mariana Trench by fierce currents and for some reason is being pushed to the surface right here.'
'That's interesting, Carl, but at this point in time I gotta tell you I'm not entirely happy about being down here in this slime.'
'You know how valuable this life form is to the Earth's atmosphere.'
'Sure. It exchanges carbon dioxide with the atmosphere. That doesn't make me feel any better.'
'It absorbs carbon dioxide at higher latitudes and releases it nearer the Equator. The point is the oceans store about fifty times as much carbon as the atmosphere, so the more manmade gas it soaks up the better to counter-balance the greenhouse effect.'
'But we're in a warmer latitude here. All this shit is going to upset the balance.'
'No, most of the blooms are in the northern and southern regions. This one's a freak.'
'And we're here to find out why.'
'We're just here to take a look.'
The bathyscaph was abruptly buffeted and both men grabbed hand-holds.
'Yeah, well it seems obvious to me something's happening below to disturb the normal-or should I say abnormal?-flow. Are you thinking of going lower to find out what?'
'That's the idea.'
'I don't think I like it.'
'You have to make the decision; I'm only a passenger. But it could help a lot to know exactly what's going on.'
'The hell you say.' Whitesell thought for a moment. 'I guess the commander wouldn't be too happy to hear I'd chickened out, and if it starts getting rough we can always turn about. How deep d'you want to go?'
'Another 10,000 at least. Ideally I'd like to get down to the floor, but that may not be possible in all this.'
'You got it. Ten thousand and then we have another conference, right? Let's keep the forward lights on as we go-these currents are getting tricky and I'd hate to hit the trench wall.' He grumbled softly to himself. 'Not that we'd have much chance of seeing it through that stuff.'
'I'm switching on the camera-I want to get a visual record of all this.'
A long time went by with Whitesell using the directional propellers constantly to resist the strong currents and keep their descent on course. Because of the bathyscaph's unnatural buoyancy in the upflow, more and more gasolene had to be released. Conversation was at a minimum as the occupants of the sphere concentrated on the job in hand, and the deeper they sank the more edgy Whitesell in particular became.
At nearly 30,000 feet visibility outside was a little clearer. 'It's mainly silt out there now,' Fricker said. 'I think we've passed through most of the plankton.'
'At this depth that's hardly surprising.'
'So-do we keep going?'
'You realize how long it's taken us to get to this point?'
'Almost six hours.'
'Right. And it'll take us quite a while to get topside again. Think about that if we get into trouble.'
'I'm thinking about it right now, Hank. Just a little deeper, huh?' There was still nothing to see, nothing worthwhile for Fricker to report back with. He'd get Whitesell to take them to the ocean bed even if it meant persuading him foot by foot.
'I'm gonna dump some more shot ballast to slow us down again.'
Fricker smiled. 'Fine. No rush at all.'
They busied themselves with instruments again, both of them happy to be occupied as they sank further into the deep. Fricker tried the underwater telephone once more to no avail; the mess above them was making contact with the surface even more difficult than usual. Between checks and adjustments Whitesell glanced out of the observation window, his unease mounting to a distinct nervousness. There was something wrong but he didn't know what. Years of similar dives and the few odd scary moments had seasoned him well, and he had the reputation of being one of the most relaxed and capable bathyscaph divers in the service; but something was spooking him on this voyage and it irritated him not to know the cause.
Fricker turned on the sensitive fathometer. That's strange,' he said and waited for Whitesell's groan to fade. 'We're not getting a steady reading. It's as if
He was about to say it was as if the ocean floor was fluctuating when the lieutenant gripped his arm.
'D'you see what I see?'
Fricker peered through the circular window. There was something whitish out there in the murk, something that was rising smoothly and slowly, unaffected by the currents that rocked the sphere to and fro.
'Is it a fish or a luminous plant?' Whitesell wanted to know.
'Beats me.' Fricker flipped off the cabin lights and then the outside forward lights.
The glow became stronger, and continued to rise steadily.
'It's a light,' said Whitesell in almost a whisper. 'It's-a-God-damn-light.'
That's impossible,' Fricker said incredulously.
Yet it did appear to be a light of some kind. Its soft radiance was unchanging, although shadows of eddying silt curled around it. Because of the thickness of the glass and the distortion of the dense water, its size was difficult to judge, but Fricker thought it might have a radius of between six inches and one foot. They craned their necks to follow its progress, but it was soon gone from view.
In the small glow of the cabin's console lights they looked at one another.
'I got no idea what it was, but it scared the shit outa me,' said Whitesell.
'It… Fricker was almost lost for words. 'It was fantastic.'
'Yeah, incredible, but I still didn't like it.'
'Let's go after it,' said Fricker, already reaching for the switch that would release more ballast.
'Wait, it's moving too fast, we'd never-'
The terrible muffled rending that emanated from somewhere below the bathyscaph caused both men to freeze. The sound came again, only this time it was a roar that the layers of water did little to mute. Other sounds followed, the cracking of rock, the thumps of objects striking the steel of their vessel. The sphere began to tremble, then to bounce, and Fricker and Whitesell were thrown against the curved walls and instruments.
'Get the forward lights!' Fricker shouted. 'Let's see what's going on down there!'
Trained to act on command no matter what, the lieutenant struck the switch. Unfortunately, before they could look outside, the bathyscaph was hit by a sudden upwards surge; it tilted violently, throwing the two men together in a tumble of arms and legs.
'What's happening?' yelled Whitesell.
Fricker had a strong notion as to the cause of the turmoil, for deep ocean trenches such as this often lay close to rows of active volcanoes and had always been areas of powerful geological activity. Many earthquakes occurred within their vicinity.
'Get us up, fast as you can!' he shouted at his companion, aware that 'fast' could only be a relative term when inside pressure had to adapt to that of the outside throughout the ascent.
And anyway, it was already too late for them.
Through the sphere's observation window, and because the bathyscaph's lights were shining directly towards the ocean bottom, they could see what looked like a huge bubbling grey cloud hurtling towards the Dauphin, turning the freezing waters around it to steam as it came and bringing with it tons of broken bedrock.
The submersible was pushed upwards before the rising spume at a tremendous speed and blood was already pouring from Fricker and Whitesell's eyes and ears and every other orifice when the bathyscaph flipped over.
Strong as it was, the steel hull of the Dauphin cracked, the glass of the observation window burst, and the two men inside imploded.
21
The sun was tinged red and nearly touching the tips of the furthest mountains when Rivers drove back through the long glen.
He was tired, drained almost. But there was a wonderment in his eyes that had not been there since his childhood.
A deer ran ahead of him along the bumpy track, only scuttling up an embankment when the car drew too close.
Clouds that were now golden-edged swept over the landscape, driven on by westerly winds, and the waters of the loch rippled that same gold, while the hillsides were burnished a false autumnal brown.
Rivers drove the vehicle skilfully enough, but his thoughts were on other matters, for it had been a day of learning, of understanding. A day of revelation.
It had also been one of confusion and anxiety, for the lessons learned had not come without debate or initial fearful rejection. The old man had been patient with his pupil's cynicism as well as his trepidation, and had explained with enormous care and gentle warmth.
Yet this wise man had not claimed to know all the answers, for there were mysteries that the human mind could never comprehend in its present state of evolution. There was one certainty that he impressed on the climatologist, however: whatever turmoil lay ahead, they were not alone in the struggle; unity was their ally, and the force it brought with it was their champion. Change was about and there were many to be tested; Rivers was but one of their number.
Shadows were long in places along the valley way and the coming dusk teased visibility; with his mind far from the movement, Rivers switched on the car's headlights. A jack-rabbit, followed by another, and then another, bounded across the track in front of the car, quickly disappearing into the undergrowth and reappearing further up the slope, their speed as fast as Rivers' and their direction the same. Soon they were swallowed by the tall grass.
The loch was narrowing, coming to an end, and the track was beginning to rise. As he rounded a slight curve Rivers glanced over his shoulder at the long valley. His foot jammed on to the brake and the car skidded into a small area levelled out as a tourist viewpoint. He pulled on the handbrake and stared back down the length of the glen.
There must have been at least a hundred of the glowing orbs hovering over the great stretch of water, each one a tiny shimmering star enhanced by the gathering dusk.
22
Josh angled his head to give his drawing a new perspective. He added a few more touches with his crayon, then held the picture up. He smiled and turned towards his mother who was still on the telephone.
'You're sure, Hugo?' he heard her saying.
A tinny sound from the old-fashioned receiver, his granddad speaking.
'Give her our love, won't you?' His mother smiled over at Josh. 'Yes, he's fine. I bought him a little sketch pad today to keep him occupied. He's busy with it now. Jim? I still don't know-he hasn't returned. Yes, I'm very anxious. I can't understand why he didn't leave word.' A pause while Grandad Poggsy spoke. 'Yes, Hugo, soon as I know myself. We'll be back soon.'
Diane said goodbye to her father-in-law and replaced the receiver. 'Grandad sends his love, Josh,' she said to the boy who was sitting at the dressing-table in his pyjamas. She went to one of the single beds and sat on the edge. 'You got a cuddle for Mama?'