Sea Trap
by Steve Lazarowitz
"Dr. Evans, what's it like, living under the sea?" The reporter's voice was only slightly muffled, in spite of the mile of water between him and his subject.
"Beautiful, mysterious and a bit cramped, I'm afraid. The next station I design will be bigger."
"The Atlantis Research Station took more than five years to design and another to build at a staggering cost of one hundred and fifty million dollars, much of it privately funded. Why did you feel such a station was necessary?"
"The ocean is Earth's last great frontier. It's part of our everyday lives and yet vast areas remain completely unexplored. At the Pacific's deepest points are mountain ranges that dwarf the Himalayas and chasms that make the Grand Canyon look like a crack in the sidewalk. There are forms of life down here that task the imagination. Were all life on the surface to perish today, many of these creatures would remain unaffected."
"How long will you be down there?"
"Barring unforeseen circumstances, this mission is to last three months, during which time my two companions and I will record our findings for the benefit of mankind. At this time, I'd like to dedicate this mission to Dr. Arthur Emerson."
"You're referring to your colleague who was hit by a drunk driver a few months ago. It must have been quite a setback to the program."
"It was. Fortunately Michael Freeman, who replaced him at the last minute, has been a godsend. Though he has only recently come aboard, he's been invaluable."
"I understand your wife and daughter are listening to this live broadcast back at home in Redwood City. Is there anything you'd like to say to them?"
"Hi, June! Hi, Elayne! I'll be home before you know it and I'll take you both out for your favorite food."
"And what kind of food would that be?"
"Why, seafood, of course!"
The reporter chuckled. "That's about all the time we have. Good luck, Dr. Evans, and thanks for joining us. This is Chad Rawlings live from Atlantis Control in San Francisco. Back to you, Gene!"
Dr. Robert Evans rose and shook his head. Eric Miller grinned at his colleague's annoyance. Miller was both an oceanographer and an electrical engineer. Like Evans, he'd been involved with Project Atlantis since the beginning. "Way to go, Rob! Can I have your autograph?"
Evans scowled. "You can't imagine how much I hate that kind of thing. How is it that astronauts never have to go through that?"
"That's because they're funded by popular appeal. Space is the final frontier. Don't you watch Star Trek?"
Evans had entertained those same thoughts himself. The very mention of the word "space" brings to mind images of aliens, star ships and black holes. No one has ever seen an alien before. Everyone's seen a fish, which is why it was so difficult to get funding for the project initially. He walked toward the door, anxious to return to his research.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" asked Miller.
Evans turned, stared at the console and sighed. He'd been so distracted by the interruption of routine, he'd forgotten to reset the communications parameters. He'd have to be more careful in the future. He returned to the console. As he made the adjustment, a burst of noise momentarily filled the room.
"What on Earth was that?" Evans scanned, trying to recapture the correct frequency. After a few moments, sound again filled the room.
Miller was already sliding into the contoured chair, making minute adjustments as he sat. Evans leaned forward, straining to make some sense of the sound. Miller continued his attempts to clear the interference.
"It sounds almost like a series of slow motion barks."
Miller nodded. "The source is very close."
"Submarine?"
"I doubt it. I know this sounds crazy, but I think its coming from beneath the sea floor."
Evans studied his companion to make certain he wasn't joking. Then he cursed, leaned forward and switched on the recorder.
The two sat for a long time, trying in vain to gain some insight into the strange transmission. An hour later it stopped abruptly, leaving in its wake a myriad of unanswered questions.
Evans didn't have time to think about the incident, though at odd intervals it would play through his mind. Under other circumstances he might have been fascinated by the occurrence, but the press of work required most of his concentration. The phenomenon would have to wait.
With a background in both marine biology and geology, Evans found he barely had enough to time to handle his real work. Each day remote aquatic robots collected new biological specimens, many of which had never before been catalogued. Sorting through each haul was more than enough for one man, but it didn't stop Evans from fulfilling his primary objective.
Atlantis was set up fairly close to a fault line and although all computer simulations placed them well within the safety zone, he needed to constantly monitor conditions to make certain they remained so. He'd already accurately predicted several eruptions within an hour or so of the actual event.
The eruptions fascinated him. He could watch the complex reaction for hours as molten rock poured into the sea from underground vents. Once the magma entered the water, it cooled almost immediately, reshaping the ocean floor. Such eruptions also created wild currents that were astounding in and of themselves, much like an undersea hurricane, but dozens of times stronger than any seen on land.
Equally fascinating were the creatures that lived around those vents, deriving their nutrition through chemosythesis. Until recently, such organisms were unknown to science.
Evans looked down at the most recent batch of specimens and sighed. There was nothing he wanted more than to delve right into them, but he hadn't eaten in many hours and he knew that, once he began, he wouldn't be able to tear himself away. In spite of his hunger, he almost gave into temptation when a creature that looked almost like a tailless scorpion caught his attention. He reached for a pair of tongs, then pushed them away. He really did need food. The decision made, he rose, forced his eyes from the holding tanks and walked quickly from the lab. After all, the sooner he finished, the sooner he could return to his work.
As he moved through the narrow corridors, Dr. Robert Evans felt great pride. Not only had he helped to design the Atlantis Research facility, but much of it had been from his original concept. Evans had always loved the sea and this base was a reflection of that love. And this was only the beginning.
It wasn't hard for him to envision a not too distant future when men and women lived in submerged cities. There would be fish farms and new forms of exercise and entertainment. Eventually mankind would find efficient ways to harness the power of the currents, thus creating an inexpensive source of energy. Nor was such an eventuality as far away as most people thought. Most of the technology was already in place.
By the time he reached the mess, Evans was so deeply involved in his visions of the future, he was startled when Miller spoke. "Hey there. I'm surprised you remembered to eat."
Evans grinned. "You never seem to forget."
"Hey, I have to maintain my figure."
Evans walked to the counter and broke out a standard rations pack. He carried his meal to the table.
"How do you eat that? We do have real food, you know."
"I don't have the time for food. I've got at least a hundred new specimens to catalog, and, believe me, it's harder than it looks. Several of the coelenterates that I thought were new species were actually juveniles of known species. After the mission is over, it will take me months, if not years, to sort it all out."
"A common lament of biologists everywhere. You'll live."
Miller waited until Evans had taken a few bites before talking again. "You know, I've been analyzing that recording. The more I play with it, the more certain I am. The sound is some sort of language."
"A language." Evans didn't bother trying to mask his skepticism.
"I've been working overtime on the problem. I took several courses in linguistics at Columbia, you know."
"And who speaks this language? Are we talking Russians, cetaceans or what?"
"If you want my opinion, we're dealing with an "or what." Look, I can tell you don't believe the implications. I'm not certain I do myself, but you're a scientist. Shouldn't you wait until the evidence is in, before forming conclusions?"
Immediately, Evans was sorry. The fact was, Miller was competent, if not brilliant, in his field and deserved better. "All right. What have you got?"
"The repetition of the sounds is simply not natural. The same sets of syllables are repeated too often for it to be a totally random occurrence. The signal itself is not terribly different from the type we use, though admittedly it was broadcast at an odd wavelength. The bandwidth is definitely not natural."
For a few moments the two sat in silence. What could possibly exist on or beneath the ocean floor that would emulate a communication signal? Evans spoke first.
"Okay, assuming we haven't accidentally stumbled upon another country's secret project, what the hell is it?"
"I wish I knew."
"We should tell Mike about this."
"Give me a day or two. I'll have more by then. You know how he is."
Evans did know. Michael Freeman was younger than both of them and quite the skeptic. He hadn't been in the field long enough to know that almost anything was not only possible, but likely. "Very well, but let me know if you get something."
Miller nodded. Both men were so lost in thought, the remainder of the meal was eaten in silence.
The next time it came up was two days later, shortly before Miller was about to go outside. External missions were scheduled throughout their stay and it was Miller's turn. Evans couldn't wait to go again.
The pressure and temperature of the water precluded the use of normal wet suits, which made direct outside exploration somewhat problematical. The solution was found in robotic machines that provided a direct human interface. Atlantis boasted two such devices. The first was a powered exoskeleton that fit rather awkwardly over the human form, making whoever was wearing it look like a robot from a fifties "B" movie. Just walking in the heavy metal suit was arduous and learning to use the electromechanical arms and claws took many hours of practice.
The second type of vehicle, and the one Miller would be using today, was called an Underwater Explorer Module. Evans had dubbed the vehicle the crab, because of the proliferation of robotic arms that jutted from its front and sides. Without those appendages, it could have been mistaken for a futuristic hovercraft.
Evans helped Miller climb inside, while Freeman monitored the operation from the control center. As he waited for the results of the system diagnostics, Miller turned toward Evans. "By the way, I told Mike about the transmission. He didn't quite laugh at me, but he clearly thinks I've lost my mind."
"What did you expect?"
Miller shrugged. He turned toward the controls, activated the intercom and spoke. "How's it on your end?"
After a second, Freeman's deep voice came back. "Everything checks out here. Remember, don't go out too far and don't stay too long. Mission parameters state no more than thirty minutes."
Miller smiled. "You mean, don't be like Rob. Well, you don't have to worry. I'm positively claustrophobic out there."
"Strange problem for an oceanographer. See you in half an hour."
Evans stepped back and watched the clear dome slide forward to cover the cockpit. After a few final checks, the vehicle sank beneath the surface. Evans watched until it disappeared from sight, then started toward the command center to help out on that end.
Freeman was busy monitoring readings when he entered. He stood behind the younger scientist, watching to make certain everything ran smoothly. After all, officially, he was in charge. After a few minutes, Miller's voice emerged from the speaker.
"It's so beautiful out here. Dark and cold, but beautiful."
"Roger that," replied Freeman. All three men had been outside already.
"I'm moving toward the volcanic area."
"Remember what we've discussed," said Evans. "We know in theory what stress tolerance the crab can take, but let's not put it to the test, okay?"
"You don't have to convince me."
Evans smiled. Freeman watched the screen. "You're getting a little close. Maybe you should back off a bit."
Miller didn't reply, though the crab did change direction. It continued forward for another few seconds, then stopped completely. Freeman waited for forward motion to resume. A full minute passed before he tried to raise the explorer module again. "Eric...? Eric, do you copy?"
There was no reply. Freeman turned back to meet Evan's concerned expression. "Try it again." Even as he spoke, Evans sat down at the next terminal and began to enter instructions.
Beside him, Freeman complied. "Eric, this is Atlantis. Do you read?"
Evans called up the remote status display, which gave him access to the crab's control panel. In an emergency, he could operate it remotely from any terminal. He stared at the monitor. "Shit. Cabin temperature's dropping fast. Sixty degrees Fahrenheit, fifty-nine…"
"Damn it, Eric, get out of there."
"Fifty-five and falling."
"Eric…" Freeman's voice fell off. "Cabin pressure is increasing. There's been a hull breach." And that was it. Pressure at that depth would kill a man instantly.
Helplessly, Evans continued to watch the temperature plummet. For the next few minutes, the readings held a bizarre fascination for him. He wondered what it would feel like to know that you were dying and how long it had been before Miller realized. Somewhere in the distance Freeman's voice continued the attempt to establish contact. For how long he stared at the numbers, he didn't know. Only when Freeman's hand touched his arm, did he turn.
"What next?"
"One of us has to go out there."
"He's beyond our help."
Evans nodded. "I know that, but we need to know what happened. I've been out in that craft. If there is some design flaw, we have to find out."
Both men looked at each other, then back at the monitors. Evans knew he was the logical choice. As the newest member of the project, Freeman had logged far less time in the exoskeleton. If there was something dangerous, Evans had a far better chance of handling it.
"All right. Log the incident and I'll suit up."
"You're not using the other crab?"
"Would you?"
"No. But after what happened, I don't know that I'd be comfortable in the exoskeleton either."
"They don't pay me to be comfortable."
It was the last he said on the matter.
Freeman accompanied Evans back to the Dive Bay. "I want constant voice contact. Go slow. Anything at all amiss, you get your ass back." He paused for a moment, perhaps aware that he was giving orders to a superior. "I don't want to be alone down here."
Evans smiled, in spite of his sadness. "I'll be fine. Back before you know it!" Both men were silent as the magnetic suit locks snicked shut. There really was nothing to say. As he pulled the helmet over his head, he thought again of his friend, crushed and freezing in the black depths of the sea. No one should have to die that way.
What could have happened? He'd been out in that very vehicle only three days ago. There'd been no sign of trouble. He turned toward the bay and carefully maneuvered the machine down the steps. He could feel resistance as he entered the water, but the suit's environmental unit prevented him from feeling the cold.
Once submerged, he spent a few minutes walking around to regain his feel for the equipment. As he performed the familiar rituals, his mind returned to the transmission. Could that have had something to do with it?
He would have laughed then, if circumstances had been different. Miller's suspicions were beginning to play on his nerves. What was he thinking? Was the explorer module attacked by some technologically advanced race of sea dwellers? He shook his head. He needed to read less science fiction. He forced the thought from his mind and turned his attention to the matter at hand.
He walked slowly to the airlock and triggered it via the suit's remote unit. As the door slid open, he drew a breath and entered. He felt his breathing accelerate. Though he was already submerged, walking around in the enclosed Dive Bay was completely different from going outside. He switched on the suit light and forced himself to breath regularly. In spite of what awaited, he had to remain calm. When the outer door opened, he stepped out into the Pacific.
At first, Atlantis's lights gave some additional illumination, but as he progressed it faded quickly. "Okay, I'm out! I'm heading 270 degrees through."
"You'll pass him. Turn to 265."
He nodded, forgetting momentarily that the other could not see him. To his left, several fish moved away from his light, while others, probably blind, continued to swim around him. Several small crab-like creatures scurried from his path as he walked across the ocean bottom. "I can't see it, yet. He couldn't have gotten far."
"You should make sight contact in the next minute or so."
"Roger that."
"Did Miller mention anything to you about a transmission?"
Evans almost stopped. "Yes. I was there when he received it."
There was a long silence at the other end.
"Mike?"
"I'm here. Just odd, that's all."
"What is?"
"I mean, what if there is something down here?"
"Like what?" Before Freeman could answer, he continued. "Okay! I see it. I'm moving in for a closer look."
Darkness parted before him and closed in after he'd passed. The lamplight was at best a meager attempt to cut a path through the blackness. The explorer module looked out of place in what he could see of the stark landscape. He approached slowly, not certain whether he wanted to find the body or not. As he circled the vehicle, he saw the breach.
"Shit! Looks almost like it was blown outward from the inside. He must have been dead in seconds."
"I think you should come back now."
"Just a minute." He approached the wreckage, looking for something, but not certain what. If he didn't know better, he'd have thought that something on board had exploded. Yet Evans was intimately familiar with the design of the module and could think of nothing in the cabin that would account for that type of anomaly. Sabotage? Suicide? Neither explanation really fit. Reluctantly, he moved even closer.
There wasn't much left of Eric Miller, certainly not enough to bury. He scanned the interior for what seemed like hours but must have been only minutes. He barely heard Freeman's attempts at conversation. As he stood there, peering into the cabin turned coffin, he felt a pang of regret. Perhaps it would be better if man stayed ashore. Around him, the Pacific teemed with life forms that were meant to be here. Homo sapiens was clearly not one of them.
He took one final look at his friend, before turning and starting back toward Atlantis. Freeman kept up the running monologue until he returned.
Once inside the relative safety of the base, Evans shed the exoskeleton. Even though the chill of the ocean depths could not have touched him, he shivered and moved close to a heating vent. Perhaps he would never feel warm again. He could certainly never go out there without the image of Miller's body looming somewhere in the back of his mind. He closed his eyes and though he was not religious, said a prayer for his friend's soul.
Freeman found him and helped him back to his quarters. Once there, he lay on the bed and fell into a deep sleep that lasted many hours.
Dr. Robert Evans was disoriented. It took him many long seconds after waking to remember what had happened. Then the image of his dead colleague filled his mind. He sat up too quickly. His joints felt stiff. He stretched painfully. He had no business sleeping when there was work to be done.
He hoped they wouldn't cancel the rest of the mission, but felt they would. He wondered who would be selected to break the news to Miller's wife. He tried to picture the way his family would react, had it been him instead. With effort, he shrugged off the thought, left his quarters and made his way down to communications.
Once there, he crossed the room and lowered himself slowly into the chair. Evans knew he had to inform mission control of the event, but found himself hesitating. He needed to find the proper words. He absently played with the controls, allowing himself to be distracted from the unpleasant responsibility. When the sound began, he almost didn't recognize it. He looked down. It was exactly the same frequency. Remembering the last time, he switched on the recorder.
Evans sat and listened, trying to abandon preconceptions. It was not difficult to believe it was some kind of language. He closed his eyes, trying to absorb the sounds as if by osmosis. Then as he listened, a few recognizable syllables appeared in the midst of the flow of sound. Eric Miller.
He opened his eyes and stared at the console. It had to be his imagination. Or so he thought, until a few moments, when the name was repeated. Evans was so mesmerized by the sound, he almost didn't hear Freeman enter. The younger scientist stood for a while, just listening. Then he approached.
Evans glanced back at him. "This is similar to the transmission Eric told you about."
"Is that a fact?"
Freeman's tone made him turn. Evans was surprised to find his subordinate aiming a pistol at him. "The game is over. At least, for you it is."
"What the hell are you saying?"
"More than two thirds of the Earth's surface is covered by water. If an alien intelligence were going to land undetected, what better place than the ocean? With all the media attention to UFOs, I'm surprised it hasn't been theorized more often. We've been here for quite some time, of course, but we didn't think you would find us this soon. The failure of Project Atlantis will be a tremendous setback to sea exploration."
"This is insane. If there is an alien race, why haven't you contacted us? Why the secrecy?"
"Those are very naive questions. You are a race of barbarians. How could we trust you? Look at how you treat your own kind. We have no desire to marry into your dysfunctional family."
"So you're going to kill me in cold blood, just as you killed Eric. Who's the barbarian?"
"It is an unfortunate circumstance, but your death and that of your friend will give us the time we need."
"The time you need for what?"
Freeman paused, as if listening to the transmission. Evans moved his hand slowly across the console. The other was too involved to notice. He flicked a switch and a high-pitched squeal emerged from the speaker on the wall to his right. Freeman turned briefly and Evans lunged at him.
He slammed into the alien, knocking the gun from his hand. Both dove for it, but Freeman was closer. Evans saw the odds, didn't like them and ran from the room. Behind him, the alien let out an unearthly hiss that made Evans' blood run cold. Evans ran as fast as he could. A shot echoed through the corridors and he turned. Behind him, Freeman was closing the distance.
Evans ran to the next section, leapt to the side and hit the emergency button. Immediately, a steel containment door slammed into place, the echoes filling his head. It could be raised of course, but not from that location. It gave him the time to escape.
As he made his way swiftly down the corridor, his mind flew. Freeman was an alien. He repeated it again and again, but still couldn't make himself believe it. If it were true, Arthur Emerson's accident suddenly had far more sinister undertones. Could the aliens have had him killed, so that Freeman could replace him? The implications of such an intricate conspiracy were not lost on him.
If the aliens could arrange such a set of events, what else could they do? What else have they done? How many organizations, businesses and governing bodies had already been infiltrated and to what end? Suddenly, it was very important to get word to the surface.
Evans made his way toward the escape pod. In an emergency, the vehicle could have held all three of them. By himself, it was positively spacious.
He began a systems check before he was even finished strapping in. He didn't know how much time he had before Freeman found him. He almost ignored the intercom light, but curiosity got the better of him. He pressed the button. "Yes."
"My dear Dr. Evans. Are you so anxious to leave me, that you are willing to risk life and limb in the dark, cold depths of the Pacific?" He could hear the smile in Freeman's voice.
"It's over."
"I think not. Did you think I was idle, while you slept?"
At first, Evans didn't understand. Then he did. "You son of a bitch!" The fuel gauge read empty.
"I understand the reference, of course, but it is somewhat inaccurate. In fact, I'm not even a mammal, though I do a hell of an impression, don't you think?"
Evans emerged from the pod and began to move. He had only one advantage. As one of Atlantis' designers, he had a far more intimate knowledge of the layout of the station than his adversary.
He made his way into a nearby maintenance bay. Such shafts ran throughout the station providing access to areas that would normally be hard to reach. During the construction phase, he'd spent much time in such crawl spaces. Freeman would certainly have trouble finding him in there.
The problem was, avoiding the traitor was not his main objective. He had to find a way to get a message to the surface and that meant the communications room, the very place he'd left the alien. He drew a breath and began the long, slow crawl, hoping desperately that Freeman was out searching for him.
He moved as quietly as he could, without sacrificing speed. As he pulled himself along, Evans strained to hear any hint of his nemesis, not that it was likely through the steel walls. By the time he reached his goal, he was bathed in sweat and a pounding had begun in his right temple. He spent several more minutes waiting and listening, before lifting the grate above him and emerging into a corridor. The communications center was very close.
Now that he was out in the open, Evans moved more swiftly. The fact that Freeman still had the gun didn't help to calm him, though he reached communications without incident. He crossed the room to the console. He needed to get enough information out and somehow not sound like a madman. It wouldn't be easy.
Only when he was seated did he notice the intercom light flashing. He ignored it for a few moments, before once more giving into temptation. Pausing only to activate the recorder, Evans pressed the button. The voice that came through was not quite Freeman's. "Hello there."
Evans didn't respond.
"I'll be taking my leave of you now. If you look at the monitor behind you, you should be able to see me."
Slowly, Evans turned. At first, he didn't understand. When he did, he cursed. Freeman had donned the exoskeleton and was now outside standing beside the antennae assembly. The suit's great claw was poised around the connection cable. Without that system, he would be unable to raise the surface.
He shook his head in horror as the claw closed. It took only five seconds for it to cut through the thick cable.
"It is now no longer necessary for me to return to Atlantis. You see, I've been recalled. The human race has come too close and my people can no longer wait to take action. We were hoping it would be many years yet, but alas, it is not so. I suppose I owe you some small explanation, since it was partly your own ingenuity that helped bring about the mass destruction that will soon occur."
Evans watched the monitor, unable to respond.
"It's rather ironic really. You may well survive life on the surface. After all, you can sustain yourself down here for some time. And with no way to leave and no way to communicate, you're no longer a threat to us. Unfortunately, the rest of humanity is."
Evans found his voice. "What will you do?"
"Within a short span of time, life on the surface will cease to exist. It is the only way we can protect ourselves."
"We'll find a way to stop you."
"Who? No one knows about us, remember? Even now, you can barely believe it yourself. Perhaps, if they had warning, your people could find some defense or even understand what was happening, while it was happening, but who's going to inform them? Certainly not you."
"You don't have to be our enemy. We could negotiate. I'm certain our respective governments could come to a compromise."
The was a short silence, during which, Evans began to check the system. The sabotage had been effective. There was no way to send a message.
"There will be no compromise. We have seen the way humans honor their commitments, and have no desire to extend to you that trust. I have wasted enough time. I leave you with one final thought. As a scientist, you should be able to appreciate that natural selection always favors the creature most fit to survive. We are that creature." With those words, the image on the monitor faded.
Evans sat silently. He was helpless. Stranded a mile below the surface of the ocean completely unable to communicate or leave. And every moment he sat there, the human race came just a little closer to extinction. He dropped his head on the console and closed his eyes. Think. There had to be some solution.
He sat bolt upright as sound filled the room. It took him a moment to understand. While he couldn't send a report, the alien transmissions were close enough to receive without the benefit of an antenna. He might even be hearing the very orders that would end life on Earth as he knew it. He held his hands over his ears, but could not drown out the sound or its implications. He screamed until his throat was raw, until he could stand it no longer. Finally, he fled the room barely able to think.
Several hours later, Evans was back in his lab, sorting specimens. There didn't seem like anything else to do. After all, he was still getting paid. He smiled as he recalled various apocalypse stories he'd read over the years, where people who were waiting to die, continued to practice their profession during their final hour. He'd always thought it was terribly stupid of them, yet here he was doing the very same thing. Perhaps there was comfort in habit. If it weren't so pathetic, he'd have laughed.
After a time, he began to work with the seismic equipment, almost absently. He wondered how long humanity had left and how its destruction would be accomplished. He tried not to think about his friends and family, with little success. What would they be doing when the end came? Would it be a terrible explosion or perhaps some deadly incurable disease that finally did them in?
As he worked, charting and plotting, an idea began to form. A long shot certainly, but anything was better than waiting. With growing determination, he began to compile data. He couldn't overlook anything. He logged a full report, including a copy of the alien broadcast and the recording of Freeman's last message. He compressed the report into a digital communications packet and returned to his lab. He had to get it right the first time. He wouldn't have a second chance.
After checking his computations several times, he entered the escape pod. He placed the report disk in the unit's communication system. Of course, the limited output of the smaller transmitter couldn't reach the surface from this depth, but if he could get within 450 fathoms of the surface, the closest repeater would receive it.
Evans sealed the pod and strapped himself in. He paused only briefly to check everything one last time. Once he was gone, there would be no turning back. He took a deep breath, said a short prayer and ejected the pod. He closed his eyes as the unit accelerated briefly. Then the sensation ended. The pod drifted downward, until it came to rest on the ocean floor. He activated the external camera and tried to gauge his position. He checked the pod's computer coordinates, against his own visual clues.
Next he began to type commands into the keyboard. Though not as proficient as Miller, he was fast enough. He had to be. Using remote commands, he maneuvered the crab toward the escape pod. He had tested the response briefly from the base and knew it was still functional. Intense concentration prevented him from thinking about his friend. It wasn't long before he had visual contact. The next phase would be the most difficult.
Using all his considerable skill, Evans used the crab's remote arms to maneuver the pod away from Atlantis. He continually checked his position and the time. At first he thought he might not make it, but he forced himself to remain calm. He would not be able to reposition himself, if he didn't do it right the first time. He continually had to stop to wipe the sweat from his brow, although it wasn't all that hot. He could hear his own breathing clearly above the hum of the pod's power system.
When he was satisfied, he backed the crab away and let out a breath. There was nothing to do now, but wait. He reduced all systems to minimum consumption, fully aware that the battery that sustained life support did not have an infinite charge. His own life didn't matter. He was as good as dead anyway, but if his calculations were off, the rest of humanity would be joining him.
He waited in darkness, breathing slowly, occasionally allowing small amounts of artificial atmosphere into the pod. He didn't know how long he had, but if it didn't happen soon, it would all be for naught.
He'd almost fallen asleep when the vibration began. Suddenly he was alert. It was the only warning. Within a few seconds the pod lurched and was raised upward. Below him, the volcanic eruption flared with a violence that would have torn the ship apart, had he been any closer. He watched the temperature gauge rise and found himself wondering if the pod could handle the increase in heat. He felt warmer, but it might well have been adrenaline that caused the sensation.
He switched on the communications console and prepared to transmit. Two words blinked green on the black background: "No carrier." The ship continued its bumpy ascent.
He continued to ride the shock wave ever higher. He could feel the cabin's pressure changing as it adjusted to the sea around it. He swallowed several times trying to clear his ears, but found himself unable. Several severe medical conditions could occur from a sudden change in pressure, but he wouldn't be alive long enough to worry about any of them. He kept his eyes on the monitor.
At seven hundred fathoms, the hull temperature began to drop again. His head began to pound, though whether it was from physical or emotional pressure he couldn't tell. He kept his finger poised over the transmit button. The words on the screen blinked back at him relentlessly.
Six hundred fathoms and still climbing, though his rate of ascent was beginning to slow. He cursed softly. He wouldn't make it. He'd almost lost consciousness when a low beeping caught his attention. He studied the monitor, but found himself unable to make out the words. At least they were no longer flashing. He hit the transmit button all too aware that breathing was increasingly difficult. He didn't have much longer.
He tried to occupy his mind. He thought of Dodger Stadium at night. It was the only place he'd ever eat a hotdog. He'd spent many hours there, watching baseball. It was the only sport he enjoyed. Perhaps this year, they would win the series.
He thought about his mother and how she would take his death when she finally received the news. Perhaps she'd be cooking pot roast. That was his favorite. She made it whenever he came home for dinner, which had been all too infrequently in recent years.
Finally, almost reluctantly, he thought of June and Elayne, his wife and daughter. He had managed to avoid that until now. What would become of them? His daughter had just turned seven. How would she cope with his passing?
Gradually he became aware of the display again. He concentrated with all his might, until he could read it. The pod was sinking. The transmission wasn't finished. Soon it would be too late.
He closed the lights altogether and allowed his mind to drift. It was over. Not just for him, but for the future of man. He wanted to cry, but couldn't. Evans was afraid. He did not want to die alone.
Perhaps he lost consciousness for a time, he must have, for the next thing he knew, he heard another beep. He tried desperately to interpret the flashing words. There were two of them. He struck himself in the face and looked again. His vision swam. Slowly the screen resolved before him. He did cry then.
As he sank into the cold Pacific waters, only one thing mattered in the whole universe. He looked again at words. "Transmission complete." He closed his eyes and drifted. Suddenly, it no longer mattered that he was going to die. Whether they believed it or not, they'd have to check the report and somehow humanity would find a way, just as he had. June and Elayne would make it, too. At least he had given them a chance.
Dr. Robert Evans died with a smile on his face.
Copyright © Steve Lazarowitz ~ All Rights Reserved~