Deep Storm

There was a moment of stasis. And then came the whoop of a klaxon, the shriek of alarms. "Perimeter breach!" an electronic voice boomed through the echoing space. "Perimeter breach! This is an emergency!"

There was a cry of surprise from the people on the platform. The uniformed woman grabbed her radio, spoke into it quickly. "This is Waybright at Tub Control. We've got a pinhole perforation in the control conduit. Repeat, it's here, the breach is here! Send in a containment crew on the double!"

Someone screamed, and the crowd drew back to the edges of the platform. A couple of people began edging back down the walkway toward the Facility.

"It's go

"We can't wait for the team!" said Conrad. And instinctively he put out his hand to seal the breach.

Instantly, Crane darted forward. "No!" he cried, stretching out an arm to pull Conrad back. But before he could do so, Conrad's left hand passed through the jet of water.

And, neatly as a surgeon's scalpel, the pressurized water severed each finger at the second knuckle.

Then the platform became a pandemonium: screams, cries of surprise and horror, the shrill bark of commands. Conrad slumped to the floor, grasping his injured hand, mouth wide in surprise. The catwalk rang with the sound of booted feet as the Facility hatchway boomed open and men in heavy suits came ru

18

Admiral Richard Ulysses Spartan stood in one corner of the metal platform, severely erect, gazing wordlessly at the scene around him. Ten minutes earlier, when he first arrived, the waiting area fixed to the dome wall had been a little bedlam: rescue workers and medics; engineers; uniformed seamen and officers; and one hysterical, panicked scientist who refused to move. Now it was much quieter. Two armed seamen stood at the edge of the catwalk, barring entry to the platform. Some engineers and maintenance workers huddled around the metal and titanium seal that had been fixed over the pinhole leak. A single housekeeping employee knelt over the gridwork floor with a bucket, swabbing bloodstains from the metal.

Watching it all, Spartan frowned. He detested flaws and errors and was highly intolerant of them. Flaws, even small ones, had no place in any military operation. That was especially true in an installation such as this, where the stakes were so high and the environment so dangerous. The Facility was a highly complex system, a fantastic network of interdependencies. It was like the human body. The fact that it worked at all was a marvel of engineering. But remove just one key system and the resulting chain reaction would shut down everything else. The body would die. The Facility would fail.

Spartan's eyes narrowed further. Truth was, that had come disturbingly close to happening just now. Worse, it was apparently due to another element even more objectionable than error-a human element.

Movement appeared in his peripheral vision. Turning, Spartan saw the trim figure of Commander Korolis walking up the catwalk from the Facility. He arrived at the platform and the two guards immediately stepped aside.

Korolis approached the admiral and threw him a smart salute. Spartan nodded in return. Korolis had the condition known as exotrophia: one eye looked ahead normally, while the other pointed outward. But his condition was mild, making it difficult to know, when he was facing you, which eye was fixed: whether he was looking directly at you or not. It was an unsettling sensation that had proven rather useful in interrogation and other situations. Privately, Spartan disapproved of Korolis's single-minded obsession with military secrecy-he disapproved of any kind of obsessiveness in his staff-but he had to admit the man was fiercely loyal to the service.

Korolis was carrying a thin white folder tucked beneath his arm. Now he handed it to Spartan. The admiral opened it. Inside was a single printed sheet.

Spartan closed the folder without reading the contents and glanced back at Korolis. "It's confirmed?" he said.

Korolis nodded.

"Intent, as well?"

"Yes," Korolis answered. "It was pure dumb luck that it ruptured where it did."

"Very well. And your new men?"

"They should arrive within minutes."

"Understood." And Spartan gave him a dismissive nod.

He watched for a minute, thoughtfully, as the officer made his way back down the catwalk. It was not until Korolis had dwindled to a small shadow outside the Facility entrance that he at last dropped his eyes again to the folder, opened it, and sca

Raised voices roused him. The admiral looked up to see Asher arguing with the guards, who were denying him permission to climb onto the platform. Asher turned toward Spartan, and the admiral nodded his permission. The guards stepped back and Asher came over, puffing slightly.

"What are you doing here, Doctor?" Spartan asked mildly.

"I've come to see you."

"I gathered as much."

"You haven't returned my calls or e-mails."

"I've been rather busy," Spartan said. "Some items of importance came up."

"What I sent you was important, too. Our researcher's report on what he found in the library of Grimwold Castle. Have you read it?"

Spartan's eyes slid away for a moment, toward the engineers working on the seal, before returning to the chief scientist. "I've skimmed it."

"Then you know what I'm talking about."

"Frankly, Doctor, I'm a little surprised. For a man of science, you seem far too credulous. The entire thing could be a work of imagination. You know how superstitious people were back then: old accounts of demons, witches, sea monsters, and other rubbish are i

"If you'd read the document you'd have seen the parallels." Asher, normally so calm and collected, was agitated. "Of course it's possible the two are unrelated. But if nothing else, it emphasizes the need to slow down. Learn a little more about what's down there."

"The only way to do that with any certainty is to expose it. We've already learned quite a bit, found quite a bit-you of all people know that."

"Yes, and look at the results. Healthy people falling sick in alarming numbers. People with no history of emotional problems having psychotic episodes."

"You brought somebody on board to look into that. What's he been doing?"

Asher drew closer. "Working with his hands tied. Because you haven't given him access to the lower levels. Where the real story lies."

Spartan gave a wintry smile. "We've been over that. Security is paramount. Peter Crane is a security risk."

"He's a lot less of a risk than-"

But Spartan made a suppressing gesture. Asher drew back, following Spartan's eyes. A new person had stepped onto the platform: a muscular, sunburnt man in dark military fatigues, carrying a black canvas duffel. His iron-gray hair was cut very short. Catching sight of Spartan, he walked over and executed a crisp salute.

"Chief Woburn, reporting as ordered, sir," he said.

"Where are your men, Chief?" Spartan asked.

"Waiting outside the Compression Complex."

"Then join them. I'll have Commander Korolis show you to your quarters."

"Aye, aye, sir." Another salute and the officer wheeled around.

Spartan turned back to Asher. "I'll take your request under advisement."