Deep Storm

"Initiate deceleration," Grove said.

Horst tapped on the little keyboard fixed between his joysticks. "Commencing glide down."

Grove grabbed for the radio. "Dive Control, this is Marble One. Approaching the dig interface now. Commence payload deployment."

"Marble One, roger," came the squawk from the speaker. "Initial load on its way in five."

Grove glanced at Adkinson. That was the signal to get his butt in gear. He nodded back, then began prepping his station. He switched his sonar into active mode, preparing to monitor the lowering of the steel bands. He carefully took hold of the trigger mechanism for the robotic arm, flexed it, checked the half dozen tiny joysticks, then began ru

Strange. The arm seemed sluggish, almost lazy, in response to his movements of the trigger…

Grove's voice abruptly intruded on his thoughts.

"We've stopped," the pilot said. He turned to Horst. "What's up?"

"I'm not sure." The engineer tapped at his keyboard, peered at one of the screens.

"Is there a proximity warning with the tu

"No," Horst replied. "It began work on schedule. It's dug four feet of fresh shaft already."

"Then why has the Doodlebug stopped?"

"Unknown." Horst's fingers flew over the keyboard. "It's only responding intermittently to commands."

"Christ. This is all we need." Grove slammed his hand against a bulkhead.

The pilot was bearable when things went well, but hit a snag and he became a prize asshole. Adkinson fervently hoped this shift wouldn't turn out to be one for the record books.

"Can you up the gain?" Grove asked.

"It's already at maximum."

"Well, damn it, you'd better-"

"There," Horst said. "It's moving again."

"That's more like it," Grove replied, tone settling back to normal. "Okay, Adkinson, prepare to-"

"Oh, shit!" Horst said. And the sudden urgency in the engineer's voice sent a stab of fear through Adkinson. "It's rising!"

"What is?" Grove asked.

"The Doodlebug. It's not descending. It's coming toward us!"

Adkinson swung to face the engineer's center screen. Sure enough: through the greenish wash of sonar, he could see the robotic creature moving upward. Even as he stared, it seemed to increase in speed.

"Well, stop it!" Grove cried. "Shut it down!"

Horst typed desperately. "I can't. It's not responding on any of the cha

There was a sudden, shrill alarm. "Collision warning," said a disembodied female voice. "Collision warning…"

"It's no good!" Horst called out. "Fifty feet and closing."

Adkinson felt another, stronger stab of fear in his vitals. If the Doodlebug rammed them-if it damaged the exterior of the Marble-it could damage the complex webwork of struts that maintained their structural integrity…

In sudden panic he wheeled around, hands clenching and unclenching, looking illogically for an exit.

"I'm scrubbing the mission!" Grove shouted over the bleat of the alarm. "Horst, decouple the EM link. We're heading for the surface."

"It's been decoupled. The Doodlebug's still coming. Thirty feet away now and closing fast!"

"Shit." Grove grabbed for the radio. "Dive Control, this is Marble One. We're terminating the mission and returning."

"Marble One, say again?" the radio crackled.

"The Doodlebug's malfunctioning-we're making an emergency ascent."

Adkinson gripped his seat, desperately trying to keep himself under control. He could sense them ascending now with painful slowness. His eyes were riveted to Horst's screens. Hurry up, goddamn it, hurry up…

"Collision imminent," said the silky female voice. "Collision imminent."

"Ten!" Horst almost screamed. "Oh, Christ!"

"Brace for impact!" yelled Grove.

Adkinson hurled himself over his console, grasping the reinforcing bulkhead as tightly as he could. He clenched his jaw. For a strange moment, it seemed that all the furious noise within the Marble-the wail of the proximity warning, Grove's shouts-were muted in a suspended agony of waiting. Then from below came a wrenching impact; the Marble bucked, yawed sideways, metal squealing and shearing; a sudden, furious, uncontrolled ascent; Adkinson's skull banged violently against the floor…and then darkness closed in over all.

29

Crane trotted along the labyrinthine corridors of deck 3, accompanied by a young marine with close-cropped blond hair.

"What is it?" Crane asked. "What's happened?"

"I don't know, sir," the marine said. "My orders were to escort you to the Drilling Complex. On the double."

The marine stopped to open an unmarked door, which gave onto a narrow service stairwell. They took the metal steps downward, two at a time, until they reached deck 1. The marine threw open another door, and they ran through another warren of passageways. As he ran, Crane noticed that the walls of this-the lowest level of the Facility-were painted a dull red.

Ahead now lay a large set of double doors. As Crane approached, the marines stationed outside pulled the doors open for him. Beyond lay the Drilling Complex, the large equipment hanger he had seen from above the day before. Equipment bulkheads and racks of instrumentation lined three of the walls. Numerous open hatchways led to labs, equipment bays, monitoring stations, and breakout rooms. The ceiling-two levels high in this space-was festooned with cranes, gantries, heavy chains, and hydraulic equipment. Technicians hurried here and there, speaking in low tones, their faces drawn and worried. Somewhere in the distance, an alarm was sounding.

In the center of the hanger, people stood clustered around what was clearly the upper seal of a water lock. Among them was Admiral Spartan. Crane walked quickly over to them.

"What's going on?" he asked Spartan.

The admiral glanced at him for a moment before returning his gaze to the water lock. "There's been some kind of accident with Marble One."

"What kind of accident?"

"We've lost communication with the crew inside, there's no way to know for sure. Apparently, the robotic mechanism that pulls the Marble down the dig shaft malfunctioned. Rammed the Marble. And now, Marble One is rising out of control."

"Oh, Jesus. Did they lose pressure?"

"Exceedingly unlikely. Any injuries are more likely to result from…impact."

"Blunt trauma," Crane muttered. He glanced around, thinking quickly. "You said the Marble has a crew complement of three?"

"Correct."

"I don't have any medical equipment on hand."

"Emergency field kits are being brought as we speak."

A loudspeaker rasped, "Estimated time until impact, two minutes."

"A field kit's not enough, Admiral," Crane said. "I'm going to need to prep the site for emergency treatment. And I'll need Dr. Bishop to assist. Especially if there's triage to be done."

Spartan turned to look at him again. "Not in the Drilling Complex."

"But-" Crane began.

"You can use the temporary infirmary on deck four. I'll have Dr. Bishop brought there." Spartan beckoned to one of the numerous marines stationed nearby. "Locate Dr. Bishop and escort her to deck four," he ordered.

The marine saluted, then moved briskly away.

"What if there are neck injuries?" Crane demanded. "We can't just move those crewmen…" He fell silent when he saw the expression on the admiral's face.

A lab technician looked up from the nearby control console. "Admiral," he said. "Marble One's rate of ascent is slowing slightly."

"What's the current rate?"

"Thirty-four feet per second, sir."

"Equilibrium's off," said Spartan. "That's still too damn fast."