Deeptide Vents . . . of Fire Read online

  “The overall theme of your work appears to be ‘Life Origins at the Molecular Level in Deep Sea Vents.’ Clearly you’ve made or confirmed some interesting discoveries. These tube worms, for example. But I don’t see yet any empirical evidence to support your theses.”

  “You’ve read Gold, Van Dover, Lupton’s report to the Pacific Marine Environmental Laboratory?”

  “I’ve read your references to them. I intend to pull them later.”

  Susan cleared her throat. She rubbed her hands together. She rubbed slowly. She rubbed fast. Then slow again. Jennifer knew this meant she was getting down to brass tacks. Usually she took longer but they only had seven minutes left. Jennifer had looked at her watch. She knew Susan had a punctual internal clock.

  “Dr. Barnstone, with all due respect, when you first uncovered the findings that nitrous oxide could relax the cavernous areas of the penis, did you think at once you could develop a compound to retard impotence in men so quickly?”

  “Actually almost at once. But now we’re working on retarding the aging process.”

  Dr. Susan Arthknott perceived her opening at once. “Aging process at the molecular level. And we can find the very origins of life, which could provide for you the biology of DNA genesis, the secret to longevity. The Holy Grail, the compound, the pill that would enable a healthy fulfilling life to 120 years before the aging process starts in. Who can say, perhaps 140, 150 years might not be unheard of. More perhaps. The extraordinary wealth that would be generated … but that might be the lesser of the payoffs.” The room grew even quieter if that were even possible. They all stared intensely at Susan.

  “You see, at those depths, we in fact know that what is going on is chemosynthesis. Bacteria are creating energy by chemical reactions. The bacteria are oxidizing hydrogen sulfide and converting other carbon molecules such as carbon dioxide and methane into organic matter. The tube worms are living off of this matter, in effect turning it into protoplasm. Now on earth’s surface, we have photosynthetic organisms which use sunlight as their source of energy to turn carbon dioxide and water into sugar and oxygen. We all learned in the seventh grade that plants use chlorophyll to capture solar energy and with carbon dioxide and water they make glucose and oxygen. So here we can say light becomes food. Deep down under, methane becomes protoplasm.

  Susan was not sure they fully grasped the implications. She spelled it out for them.

  “Methane is a huge nuisance in coal production, a waste product of enormous proportion in the raising of live stock or with dealing with municipal solid waste landfills. With the DNA of the bacteria and the worms, methane could for all intent and purpose be viewed as a food source. Methane that is now burned off at wells would become an invaluable resource. The manufacture of fertilizer would now come from a bountiful source (that is, processing the worms) without any expenditure of added energy. Food production around the world would be hugely supplemented and the use of oil for the agricultural industry would be minimized. Slashing the need for oil would practically decimate the price of oil, up-ending middle east politics in … well, we all could make a fortune just shorting Exxon.”

  Jennifer was a bit taken aback. She had never heard Susan speak of wealth before. Still, she had their budgets worked out. She had known for some time Susan was complex; now she thought even more so. One thing was clear. The woman suddenly held this man’s interest.

  “Go on.”

  “It’s not just worms or whatever they are in these vents. Other life forms are erupting at any new vent that opens, and die when they shut down. These are fantastical creatures of every description, clam-like, crab-like; here are some pictures we took over the last four years.”

  “You have three minutes, Dr. Arthknott.”

  “I know, Dr. Barnstone.”

  “And I have seen most of these before.”

  Susan looked at Jennifer. Jennifer nodded.

  “Three months ago, we went out beyond the Gorda Ridge. There was something about the color of the water, the green-percolating whiteness of it perhaps, that got my attention. Well, in truth, Jennif—ah, Ms. Littleton’s attention, actually.”

  Cornelius Barnstone and Jennifer Littleton looked at one another.

  “It was improbable, quite unlikely. Who could imagine it, such a phenomenon? We were over 100 miles beyond where any of the vents had been seen. The volcano birth places, the tectonic plates were far behind us. But then we saw a bubbling on the surface. As you know, it was our last grant money that we had use of the Alvin sub from the Institute. We submerged. If we may show this video …”

  Jennifer inserted the video. She adjusted the set so all could see. At first the images appeared hazy, blurry, murky. Then, as a camera lens comes into focus, or a person realizes she is awake just before she awakens, as if from the thickening fog itself like an amorphous blob suddenly taking defined shape, out of the mist emerged a huge fissure, with hot steam escaping at every crevice. Sticky and worm-like tube creatures floated in and out of the fissure and up the steam bubble wall for awhile. Jennifer noticed Barnstone was now leaning into the picture.

  “It opened even wider just as we arrived. Watch.”

  “Is it as huge as it looks?”

  “Wait. Let me fast forward. We sent out a buoy for size comparison. Wait now, should be just about here, no, back just a bit, I think—there!”

  “Ah, most satisfactory.”

  Amazing. In many ways his mind was like Susan’s. He saw the whole thing at once, in advance. He used the same vocabulary. Then, for a long while, no one said anything. All eyes peered at the screen.

  “Dr. Barnstone.”

  “Yes, I know. I see. Everything. How much will such a design cost? Have you run a projected cost analysis? Ah, good. Let me see your spread sheets.”

  “Cornelius?”

  The woman in the corner chair spoke for the first time.

  “Hmm?” He kept his hand in the center of the spread sheet packet. He looked over at the woman. “Delores. Don’t you see? They’re going to chase these creatures and their ecosystem partners all the way in. They’ve found a portal to the other side, the possible spawning ground for another form of life itself!”

  Susan and Jennifer looked at one another. Jennifer retrieved the plans and her rendition of the OVIDSIFOE.

  “We call it the Gee – Ex-Gee. The Genesis Explorer, Gee Whiz. Ex-Gee for short. Its actual designation is OVIDSIFOE, Oceanic Vehicle Deep Sea Intra-Fissure Origins Explorer. Its quarters are, well, at this stage of conceptualization, ten feet by six feet, about the same as Alvin. Its bulkhead is squatter however, to withstand the tremendous pressure.”

  “How do you propose to withstand the heat?”

  “Notice that the outer shell extends another foot. We propose a heat shield design, roughly similar to the space capsule and shuttle tiles for re-entry, and here, this—”

  Jennifer put her hand on her friend’s shoulder. Barnstone looked over at Delores. The two women were so different. The little mousy brilliant scientist, this gorgeous blonde with great legs and big feet who made these renderings; yet somehow they were the same; or, at least, somehow they understood one another. In an instant, he had an idea of what the marine biologist was going to say. Some sort of spent uranium shield. Well, he had always had the sense of things before anyone else. That’s what kept him well above the underachievers. He had the feeling of something of biblical proportions was coming. He half expected the scientist to exclaim, “Behold.”

  “See. Here is a three-inch space. Note it adds volume but no weight. And here, on this space, with three inches on the other side to the bulkhead of the ship, is a spent uranium full-closure shield around the entire ship. It would take a temperature beyond anything we’ve recorded on earth save for an atomic bomb blast, to get past this last line of defense, for a while, anyway.

  “I know our time is up. But we ha
ve an animated video of how the ship would look—”

  “Define ‘a while,’ anyway.”

  “Yes, a while. Hmmm, forty-five minutes, maybe. With luck, an hour, and, twenty-forty minutes. Then conduction would generate too much heat for the crew, even if integrity held. After all, we are dealing with unknown factors; that is, no one has ever—”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, as I was saying, uh …

  “The video,” Jennifer whispered.

  “Yes. The video. If we may. Our computer generated projection. Jennifer is a CAD expert, and with some CG animation we did at a California studio, that is how it might appear going through the fissure. However, there is one other thing I haven’t told you.”

  This last bit of suspense had been Jennifer’s idea, hopefully to pique his interest. A ploy, she knew, but she wasn’t sure they could close the sale without it. She wasn’t sure now, even with their, well, their perfume spray, so to speak.

  A pervasive silence clutched the room. Suddenly Jennifer coughed. It was awful. It was one of those sudden violent coughs, unexpected even to the cougher, as in a springtime allergic morning.

  She coughed again. However, already it was better. The tickle felt not as inevitable.

  Barnstone held his first two fingers of his right hand over his mouth. His right thumb played the outline of his jaw. Jennifer had the idea for a moment that they were all sitting at the defendant’s and prosecutor’s tables at a murder trial. The defense had just given an objection. The decision hinged on whether an important piece of evidence could be presented or not; or an answer by a witness that could give confirming proof one way or another.

  Barnstone sat as the judge. He opened his mouth. He closed his mouth. Jennifer become aware of a clock ticking somewhere. Odd she hadn’t heard it before. A cloud passed overhead. The room darkened. Soon the cloud began to pass, restoring most of the light to the room. Barnstone’s hands came down. He folded them over his chest, just above his diaphragm.

  “Let’s see the video.”

  They were never more as one, the two, when they silently felt their collective sigh of relief. Jennifer found the video in her hands. She didn’t remember pulling it out. She started to put it in the machine. Why wouldn’t the damn thing go in all of a sudden? It worked fine before, in all the other machines.

  “Pardon me, Ms. Littleton,” Mrs. Perkins said. “But of course you must remove the previous one before inserting the new one.” Obvious. Officious.

  “Oh. Yes, of course.” And she gave that nervous girlish laugh and giggle that she hated women giving, in serious business moments, but they always seemed to give it and she hated it most in herself.

  Damn, it was hot all of a sudden. She hadn’t noticed it before. When the cloud swirled past on its merry way did the temperature rise at once in some bizarre meteorological phenomenon?

  She removed the previous DVD. She placed her disc at the flap of the slot. She began to push it into the slot.

  Her sweater began to show her nervousness again. Damn! Well, if he saw it, let him knock himself out looking at her. Finally she got the damn thing in. In an instant she realized the “Play” button had disappeared; or it was a manufacturer’s defect. They had neglected to put on a play button. What was it with these manufacturers? How was such a thing possible? God. Breathe, Jennifer. She felt Susan’s hand touch her arm. She knew she was fine. The button came into view.

  She pushed the button.

  A slight momentary hum whirred. The word “play” appeared on the blue field of the screen. Thank God. Then the image suddenly appeared

  It was one of those computer-generated animations. Jennifer was indeed a craftswoman. The film unfolded better than most, richer, more three dimensional even than a Japanese mangra anime. It seemed to the viewers they were in the fathoms of the deep, approaching a huge vacuum fissure with steam, fish, eels, bulrushes, reeds incredibly rising in the percolating water. One almost had the impression of the sudden creation of a world. Bizarre creatures—huge red shimmering worm-like tubules, ameba-like moving forms from a pilot’s viewpoint. Then the objective view of the ship: A squat, oblong gray-white entity, almost like a sculpted whale. The tiles were visible. In the rear a small propeller spun. Two holes to either side rested above the spinning propeller.

  “Rocket engines?”

  “A small nuclear propulsion system on board to generate ion emission. Fully generated and controlled by a Super-Cray processor.”

  “Ion propulsion,” Delores said. “Because you won’t know if the propeller will work on the other side, deep within.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Visual?”

  “Three panel Plexiglas, matching the 3 X 3 inches bevel of the tiles and spent uranium. An ergonomic mechanism closes the windows in one level with titanium shielding if necessary. Of course two cameras forward, two aft, one starboard and one port side. The bow and stern zoom from five inches to infinity. Wide lenses static on the sides. As long as they last.

  “Sound system has directional density microphones all around, again, as long as they last. There are backups in the design stage. Six torpedoes firing capacity forward. Three aft. Laser beam forward. All sonar all four sides. Navigation by chip memory to back out as we entered; we call that the Minotaur Naviguide. Vernier propulsion rockets, two lateral with 180° mobility for multi-directional movement. There’s much more of course, but that’s the gist of it. The computer will figure the angle for entry. Ah, here you can see our conception of the initial encounter.”

  It seemed the ship hovered above a stream bubble column, then defined a double helix curve, like a slow solid whirlpool twisting within a vortex to squeeze through an opening.

  “Tight fit.”

  “The ship should be thinner but it would then be unprotected. If we can get there in time we should find a crevasse on the western edge. That’s where the largest one was. They’re probably all connected somehow. Of course, we can only hope—”

  “Yes. That is, at least as large as the one you enter.”

  Susan rubbed her hands, left over right. She adjusted her glasses, then took them off, to leave them dangling. Jennifer tried to get her foot to stop shaking, then returned to thinking about it shaking.

  “Yes,” Susan said. “That is correct.” She rubbed her hands, right over left. After a moment she began again.

  “The cabin has minimal living conditions; or, rather, travel conditions. We estimate we can only be down a few hours at most.

  “There’s a considerable amount of control equipment, of course. Internal weaponry, harpoons, firearms, flares, and so on. There’s also …”

  “Continue.”

  “We’re designing an electrical charge to the entire body of the ship. In case anything should be large enough in there to want to consider us on the menu.”

  “Nemo’s giant squid.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Please continue Dr. Arthknott.”

  Jennifer was breathing easier now. She noticed it wasn’t quite so hot any more. She thought she might be able almost to gain control of her foot. She looked over at Susan. She knew the woman was warming to her subject.

  “These creatures don’t use oxygen nor do they give off carbon dioxide. They are chemolithotrophic. They, well, they give off of, from, to themselves, simply put, in a feed-back loop we don’t fully comprehend as yet. Or, don’t comprehend very well at all, to be more accurate.

  “That is, to summarize and reiterate. There are large colonies of chemolithotrophic bacteria performing chemosynthesis in some sort of symbiotic relationship. That will be one of the key questions we’ll want to investigate. Quite frankly, we’ll be in a brave new world, so to speak. More accurately, perhaps, a very old one.”

  “Or, a foolish old one. Never mind.” He placed his hand along his lips and jaw line again, playing his thumb, bac
k and forth, forth and back, almost in a rhythmic pattern that could bring on a hypnotic trance. He lowered his arms. He folded his fingers across his belt buckle. “How long. How much?”

  There! Just like that he had said it. There it was. They were well over their time. Jennifer looked at their work. Hot magma conduits, bizarre creatures floating and, yes, swimming, locomoting by. The disc ran its course. She retrieved it. She placed it in its plastic container. She had to force it a little. Finally it gave that satisfying tiny pop. Her colleague and mentor continued.

  “We have a budget. The main thing is we think we have only a window of about two years at the outside. More likely eighteen months. Based on projections of when the more well-known fissures opened and closed.”

  “Crew?”

  “Crew of five. That’s all that can fit somewhat comfortably. Enough food, water, oxygen for thirty-six hours. If anything should be needed. One never knows what one will find. After that, well, there’s only time for one, and we can’t afford the luxury of designing inter-ship passages. What I mean is—”

  “Yes, I understand fully. There won’t be any rescue ship coming in.”

  God, keeping up with either of them. Jennifer was no longer sure who was the quickest. Susan apparently already understood she had met her match or nearly so. She did not acknowledge his attentive interruption. She merely continued.

  “A mother ship above. Jennifer will be in charge of communications there. A lesser submarine ship below, just off the edge. We’ll try the Navy’s low-frequency underwater telecommunications band, but we won’t know for sure if it will continue to the other side, although-–

  “Indeed. In theory, it should.”

  “Six months to manufacture. Six months to trial, re-design, re-calibrate, and retrofit. Three to six months to proceed. I know. A very tight fit. There’s no question it’s a gamble, all the way around.”