Deeptide Vents . . . of Fire Page 6

  The sex had been great, sure. There was something about white women. Some special allure. They smelled different, reacted different, somehow. Not better; women of his own race smelled and reacted better; but different somehow. Sooner, faster, maybe. Almost as much as men, some of them, like, like they were always just about ready for sex. Their skin folded in creases in erotic places, and when those beautiful pink-hued white bodies fell back or rolled over on top of him he felt his member would pulsate through his skin.

  But it had been draining. He was exhausted. And the commander put him on watch. Two and a half hours to go. Man! And then only two hours. He’d try to talk the commander into another two. He was sure she’d give them to him. They could cover him for that period of time. Otherwise he was going to collapse. Bivouac was never this tough to stay awake.

  Two hours twenty-five minutes. Water. He needed water. That might help. It was as though he were asleep with his eyes open, that’s how he felt. The console lights and security video screens of topside jumped and fuzzed, bluing this way and that. He thought maybe he had seen or sensed a shadow behind him. It seemed everything was OK. He could almost hear the commander snoring in the room above. Two hours twenty minutes. He had to keep awake. But was he now awake or asleep? Something had moved! He went to the stairs. A shadow crossed at the bottom. Radio. Where was his radio? The commander was upstairs. He needed to call. He hardly noticed the little dart pricking him in the thigh, through his pants. As he blacked out, all he could think of was who should be his counsel in his court-martial. This strange figure with no face floated up toward him. Then there was no doubt as to whether he slept or not.

  Susan watched Jennifer thrash about in her bed. Later, Jennifer would tell her of the dream. She was naked. A man held her by the ankles, a woman by her hands. They were laying her out on one of those medieval torture machines which stretched a body and broke her bones one by one. She was lashed to the machine now, screaming in agony as the malevolent couple turned the screws of the machine with greater increasing torque. It began to smoke. Straps and gears snapped, broke. The evil couple looked chagrined, concerned. The whole thing collapsed. She was suddenly free and free of pain. Clothing floated down from somewhere and instantly she was dressed with modesty, refreshed with make-up and hair-do. She sat up. She stood away. In a darkened room the bad couple had fallen under the collapsed gears, belts, levers, straps. They lay mangled and bleeding. Then, suddenly, cool water came down, a cascade, a falls. She felt refreshed, relieved. Then a giant worm or squid chased her. Its great maw was about to consume her. She bolted awake, drenched in cold sweat. Susan was close looking at her.

  “Susan.”

  The seemingly frail, but in truth tough scientist, cast off her veneer, and held her friend, like a mother consoles a child.

  “It’s all right, Jennifer. It will all be all right. You’ll see. Nothing bad will happen.”

  “I. I think for the first time, I’m scared.”

  “I know. But it will be OK.”

  And she sang her a song. She held her in her arms and crooned a lullaby. An old Irish lullaby in a soft voice. All of a sudden, Jennifer was transported back, being held in strong but loving feminine arms, a woman’s voice sending her serenity in song. She remembered: A memory so old and deep and buried, as though before time and oceans and air separated.

  They sat like that, the two women, in an ancient Jungian icon of relief and comfort, for the remaining twenty minutes of their respite. The singing ceased. They broke apart.

  “You do know something, don’t you?”

  “No, Jennifer. But I have some suspicions, suppositions.”

  “Why?”

  “They’re speculation for the most part. And antithetical. I, I can’t, well, I’ve gone over and over the readings we took when we were out there.”

  “I know.”

  “The vent describes an opening of an astounding 37 to 50 yards at least, perhaps even nearly 90. That’s huge. An amazing phenomenon. Allrocker’s Ridge vent lines were thought to be the largest, and they’re measured in feet. Anyway, the smoke and fumes on our ridges make it difficult to tell for certain, from our photographs.”

  “We knew it was the largest. That’s why—”

  “No, no that’s not what I mean. Look here. Where is it? Yes, here it is. No, that’s not it, where did I put, oh, for crying out loud, I had it earlier—here! Wait. Let me turn this, now. Look at the spectrograph. The thermographs and the visual. Here, in the area …”

  “It, but that’s impossible. The spectrometer shows these red and yellow-red ranges all through until, but here it’s reverse from—

  “Yes. Perfect description. Reverse from. Here in this, say 20 or 30 yards, if these are accurate—”

  “The cold water is being sucked into the event.”

  “Yes.”

  There was a long pause. Jennifer envisioned herself working at her CAD, drafting cool spectrometer scale water into the vent. She looked again at the thermographs. She was sure she would see a denial. After all, she had looked at them a hundred times. Now she saw the truth of the matter. In that part of the range, no steam rose. There was no smoke. There were no bubbles. There were no weird creatures. She fairly ran across the room. She grabbed her briefcase. She pulled out the video she had shown Barnstone that day, not so long ago but which seemed like an eternity now. She snapped it in the machine, expertly this time. She hit “Play.” Soon the murky images became clear as the fantastic creatures appeared in as much focus as possible. One thing was certain now. In that place, or close to it, no steam arose, no strange vent-creatures floated by or undulated in relief. How had she missed that before?

  On either side, bubbling, frightening steam and red creatures which should not live there belched forth and twitched after.

  “My God. You think that—”

  The phone rang! Susan picked it up. Jennifer heard the conversation as at a distance, as though in a haze of steam of strangeness, until Susan mentioned Allen’s name.

  “. . . been hurt. Right. No. We’re up. We’ll be right down.”

  Susan had never seen Jennifer dress quite so hurriedly.

  By the time they ran in, the entire group surrounded him. They knew how to treat for shock. They had already administered their xylocaine injectors into his chest. He gazed at them. He blinked, as though seeing and not seeing. Jennifer had the idea her lover seemed a rag doll, like the old Raggedy Andy consort of Raggedy Ann, flailing this way and that. It was an odd contrast to the stalwart and strong man who had been so firm just hours ago.

  Susan, the competent health practitioner, arrived at her patient’s side in an instant, already into her patterned physical exam.

  “We’ve got him awake at least, but his pulse is so slow. I’ve never—”

  “Move over, let me see,” Dr. Arthknott ordered.

  The doctor-scientist felt his pulse. With a small pen-light she always had with her, she peered first in one eye, then another. She tried to look close into his eyes. Soon, she stood up. She announced her diagnosis; or lack of one. In an instant, she remembered. She knew what to do.

  “He’s been drugged with, I don’t know, nothing psychotropic, nothing hallucinatory. Something exotic. Damn! I can’t, I don’t know wh—wait a minute. Let me look at his eyes again. Here. Hold his head here. This way. That’s it. If his eyes turn—so. I saw this once in, damn, where was it, where, come on, come on. Yes! Haiti, on a small island off the main one, the Loa ritual, Lwa actually. I recall… . All right everyone. We have to get his clothes off.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t waste time. Hurry. Pants. Shirt. It could be anywhere. Look carefully along. Here let me do it. I’ll start at his feet, ankles.”

  You had to go slow and careful and even then backtrack. Even then, you could miss it. And it was more difficult besides on dark skin.

  Indeed,
she almost missed it but decided to go back up from the left ankle a third time. She saw it. A tiny red circle. There was no dart however. It was probably in his pants leg. She would look later.

  As she suspected, she had seen it once, on her Caribbean investigation of jellyfish.

  “Tetrodotoxin. From the, wait a minute, extracted from the, what, what, yes, the puffer fish. It’s used in the petro black magic rituals, part of the zombie trance death-look drug. The evil side of Voodoo. If treated properly, the patient can make a full recovery, sometimes quite soon. I think the dart failed to deliver the full amount. He would appear dead and who knows what we might have done. You’ve all done splendidly. Not only saved his life, but we’ll be able to bring him out of his coma with little or no damage.

  “The terrible thing is, he sleeps a deep sleep, yet, somewhere above him, he is suddenly aware he knows everything that’s going on. Don’t worry, Allen. You’ll be fine. Jennifer. Hold his head. Talk to him. Right now he’s terribly frightened. I have to return to my room. I have some contraindication medications. They will significantly reduce his time in limbo. Jennifer. Tell him that he’ll be perfectly all right. He has to tough out about four to six hours is all. That’s if I can find, … it would be best if he could simply go to sleep but he may be too full of anxiety.”

  “Hodges. Go with the doctor.”

  “You know something Delores? I think I won’t turn away a bodyguard. How the hell did someone get a dart in him down here?”

  She zipped out the door. Hodges trailed after her trying to keep up, clutching his holstered Glock in tight against his hip as he ran. Jennifer comforted the dazed patient. Delores started barking orders to the rest to check all around for clues. After a while, the two women found themselves at their patient’s side.

  “How is he doing?”

  “A little better, I think. It’s difficult to tell. I’ve just been reassuring him. I think I saw a glimmer for a second in his eyes. Delores.”

  “I know what you’re gong to ask, Doctor. I don’t know. I was upstairs in the cot for my sack time. I violated a cardinal rule. Always post two men, never one alone. But we’re a small unit and we’d all been up all night, except for, well, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …”

  “No, it’s OK.”

  “I’m calling for reinforcements. At least until we haul out of this station. We’d better check all our equipment. Wells. Run a simulation check on all major sequences. Check all switchgears. Battery back-ups, fuses, light bulbs, the whole lot.”

  “Aye-aye, Commander.”

  “Damn. This operation’s turning into a Custer fuck. And it’s my ass strapped in.”

  “Where did you find him?”

  “Here. Over here, at the head of the stairs.”

  “What’s downstairs?”

  “The switchgear. Backup generator. And—Jesus! The download back-up. Every entry into the analog buffer system. A bit of the dinosaur era but accurate as hell. If the tape’s been moved— watch him.”

  She bounded down the steps three at a time. A big woman, solid, muscular, Jennifer was always amazed at how gracefully and lithe she moved. Like a wolf in the wild.

  Jennifer watched the commotion swirl around her. She moved occasionally to get comfortable. Fortunately she had worn pants this time, so she didn’t have to worry about the guys sneaking looks at her exposed parts much. She talked to her patient lying in her lap, as Susan had comforted her only an hour or so ago. She sang soft songs, trying to recall the one Susan had sung to her. Finally she heard Delores and Jones coming up the stairs.

  “The tape was off seat an eighth of an inch. It could be a normal drift. But I’m afraid someone got a heck of a lot of our data. But how did he get in in the first place?”

  “It was Carstairs,” Susan said, holding three syringes. “He’s a ghost. Besides surely you all realize by now, someone in our group is feeding him the scanning codes to get in and out.”

  “What?

  “Who?”

  “It could be anyone. Even Allen. The dosage should have been higher but for the dart falling out. Delores was here, asleep. No one knows. We were all asleep, weren’t we?”

  Everyone looked at everyone else. Clouds of suspicion hovered as loud as the silence. Susan bent to her patient. She injected the syringes. Allen emitted a faint moan.

  “Well, a good sign. A very good sign.”

  Jennifer sighed. She relaxed. She lifted up her eyes. She suddenly realized the men in the room gazed at her, then at Susan, then back to her.

  “I think it’s time you told us just what we are to expect out there. Reinforcements are setting up now. They’ve expanded our perimeter, including three miles out to sea. I’ve ordered double watch, double detail. We won’t have any more security breaches. Clearly something of great significance and moment lies under the ocean currents in some place only you know about. My men and I need to know what to expect down there. Obviously a lot of people know more than we.”

  “Well, not a lot, really. A few.”

  “Nonetheless, Dr. Arthknott.”

  Jennifer peered at Susan. She glanced at Delores. Moment, the woman had said, in the correct usage. Who were these people? She had heard that Special Operations specialists had high intelligence, facility with languages and systems, as well as their formidable physical prowess and highly advanced training. What really was going on?

  Jennifer sighed. She put her fingers to her upper sinuses, the ones underneath the brow ridge but next to the top of the nose. They hurt. So always would they hurt when she was under stress or was tired. Now, here, a double whammy-benefit for the sinus demon. She pushed in, harder, almost breaking her nose cartilage. Sometimes her self-inflicted pressure-pain helped.

  She had gone with a man once who she would have married simply because he had a magic touch in gently massaging her sinuses, making the pain go away, opening her breathing passages. She would lay her head in his lap, like an older dog who knows precisely what familiar ritual position will elicit the desired affection. His long tapered fingers, sculpted almost like a woman’s, relieved her agony. His fingers canon: Nose sprays, antihistamines, decongestants, ointments, steam treatments, these were mere pea shot by comparison.

  Afterwards, they shared some wine, domestic, and … In the morning, she would awaken always to find him gone. The sinus pressure and pain and clogged passages returned later in the day. One night he simply stopped coming. Later, she heard he had taken up with men. Men! Ah well, if only he were here now.

  She felt cramped. She shifted her position. Several hours had passed. They checked their work. They double-checked their equipment. Nothing had been interfered with. But it was clear they had been compromised. It probably wasn’t too bad. Delores felt she had awakened soon after the attack on her guard and had scared the guy off. Unless he was still there; but they had scurried about and poked into every nook, every cranny of the oddly designed place. In fact the new men and women, apparently some Ranger or other special ops group, investigated still.

  Allen started to come around. Every so often, Susan checked his vitals. Occasionally she examined his eyes. It became clear she grew increasingly satisfied with his progression. He peered in a strange fashion, as if seeing a time afar off. His spoke still slurring, in a mumble. Jennifer remembered a time she was very depressed, enshrouded in dark fog. She recalled she could barely generate the energy or link thought together to stimulate her lips and tongue to move in a manner that would produce intelligent and articulated speech.

  “It was weird. I could see you, hear you. But it was like through the small end glass of a telescope and I, I couldn’t, I couldn’t … I kept waking and sleeping and, and …”

  “Shh. Rest, Allen. Just relax and rest. Your recovery will go faster, that way,” Susan said. Jennifer covered him with a blanket after Susan completed yet another exam.

  “Dr. Art
hknott.”

  “Yes, Delores. Yes, quite right. It is indeed time to try to understand what all of you have signed up for. I presume this is a volunteer mission, as they say. Good. Well then.”

  Jennifer was reminded of her old campfire girls group. Like her campfire-mates, this group gathered in positions as comfortable as they could arrange in some sort of pattern pre-ordained by the commonality of the gene pool. They settled in for the story. Jennifer immediately recognized Susan returned to her familiar persona of classroom lecturer. She struck her professorial poses. She engaged her teacher’s tics. She paced. She projected her lecture-voice.

  “As early as the 1800’s divers in pressure suits with air hoses attached to their helmets, limited to an extent only by the length of their precious air umbilical cords, began to report the existence of strange creatures never before seen. Since underwater photography was not yet a particularly good technology, marine biologists, zoologists, and taxonomists could only rely on their reported observations and, in some cases, their renderings based on memory of what the divers saw or thought they saw.

  “Many scientists, knowing well the inadequacy of those early suits which subjected the divers to bends and oxygen deprivations, thought they might simply be experiencing a common form of temporary hallucination. As the decades proceeded and the equipment and training improved, the reports persisted, often quite consistent in descriptive detail: Elongated, eel-like creatures which glowed in red or golden auras, as a future fictional spaceship’s electro-harmonic shields; semi-circular creatures with huge pale blue eyes, a sort of folded-about manta ray with spikes raised all about its partial shell-like, partial soft skin; these and more, crab or lobster-like creatures that had fins or something like them and swam with agility.

  “By the 1970’s the reports were accompanied by decent photographic images or film. Whatever remnants of skepticism somehow remained were finally put to rest. Well, for the most part, anyway. In fact deep sea divers plunged ever deeper now, into abysses of ocean valleys, crags, caves, and beneath overhangs of mountains.