A Fiction: Part XXI

II

“I must say it’s really quite remarkable. We never thought you’d make it this far. But clearly we made the right choice with you.” A small square panel embedded in the chamber wall throbs as the words are spoken. The walls are an unfinished metal, the joints of the panels plainly visible. It is clearly a strong, sturdy structure, yet built by someone with little regard for cosmetics. “I apologize for leaving you literally hanging for so long. The environment here takes some getting used to. It requires a process of adjustment.”

At first the tingling in my toes is a small irritation, but it is slowly climbing my leg – growing in intensity as it goes. Then I feel it in my fingertips. Soon it has spread up all of my limbs and begins to work at my chest and groin. I begin to panic a bit, instinctively shaking my arms to get the blood flowing again. Soon I am thrashing to work the crawling itch from below my flesh – its insidious etching like microscopic knives cutting me from the bone to the surface. My eyes are darting from side to side and the once irritant is now agony. I tuck my knees into my chest and wrap my arms around them and squeeze. Behind my now closed eyes, I am a ball floating in a pool of electric fluid, the less I move the easier it washes over me.

Either the sensation is lessening or my senses have dulled as I open my eyes and spread my limbs like newly formed wings. I am slowly spinning in all directions – end-over-end, around and twisting – but it is not disorientating. I see every scratch and imperfection in the surface of the chamber in perfect clarity. My mind builds a map of the welds and scuffs and I could recite the uneven corners like rote. I raise my open hands before my eyes and feel power surge through them. I make fists and can imagine driving them through the walls with little effort. My body feels of perfection – any cuts or bruises are gone, my worn muscles now taut and strong, my mind clear and full of peace.

“What has happened to me?” I cry out – elated.

“Adjustment, as I told you to expect, Mr. Cole.” The voice is from within the room. I spin my head to see the speaker, but am still rotating in the air, and cannot find the man. “We have such hopes for you. We could not wait for you to reach your potential naturally, as that could take years without this type of intervention. Most never achieve it, though you are clearly not like most.” I still have yet to spot my host and am sure I have rotated past every inch of the chamber more than once.

“Why can I not see you?”

“You will learn to see me, Mr. Cole. But you must be patient. You have come a long way towards your goal very quickly, but you still have a few connections to make on your own. And when you do, many things not visible will be seen and many secrets will be revealed.” The voice is stifling a laugh with much effort, and coughs. “But of course even I am not complete yet. We will complete our transitions together you and I. We will do great things, Mr. Cole.”

My imagination reels with the wonders I am hearing for the first time – disembodied voices, physical (?) transformations… and the word appears in my mind as though it were placed there, which I presume it may have been. “Evolution?” I speak to the air.

“Nature evolves over millennia, Mr. Cole. And the individual knows no benefit. Nature is bound by time. You and I, though – we do not have this limitation. We are our own generations and re-generations. We are on an expedition, Mr. Cole, to discover our potential and the ultimate potential of our kind. We will see the infinite.”

As the cloud of thought clears before my eyes, I realize I have stopped rotating and am moving feet first towards the floor. Before me, a doorway slides up and away and I see a dimly lit passage beyond. Testing my legs, I walk through – my first steps towards the unfathomable.

A Fiction: Part XX

Chapter 3

Abyss

I

I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death.

The scrabbling on the harsh ragged ice has torn my fingertips apart. At first, I am cold – cold like I have never felt before. But gradually, the cold becomes a simmering warmth that grows first in my chest and extends out to my fingers and toes. I cannot close my eyes, the blinding light above my only link to the world above ice and above water. I can see a hint of blue through the pane as day lazes above. One final push on the ice and I drift down into the abyss. The light fades as I fall away into the pitch below. Hope fades and I open my mouth to breathe in and end it. I exhale all the air in my lungs, the bubbles rushing past my eyes and coming to rest on the ice ceiling above. Then I inhale. I expect spasms of pain as my lungs fight to reject the liquid being pulled into them, but there are no spasms. There is no liquid. I am breathing air.

I open my eyes to find myself suspended in space in a nicely lit metal-walled chamber. I close my eyes again, and reopen them expecting to find the chamber gone – a figment of my last moments imagining. But the chamber remains. I breathe deep, luxuriating in the act, as my head clears and my heart slows. As I relax, I begin to ponder my surroundings at length. I stretch my one functioning arm out but I am too far to reach the wall. I attempt to shift my weight to see if there is gravity here or if I am held in the center of a weightless room. Suddenly my head begins to spin and my stomach turns. As I throw up the contents of my belly, I note that it does indeed fall past my feet and onto the floor below, splashing up onto my water logged shoes. Gravity indeed.

The force holding me in place seems equally placed throughout my body – not focused on my torso for example – my head feels as weightless as my feet. I can move my limbs, but cannot generate enough force to move myself about. I am fixed in place. It is quite comfortable and after a few minutes I begin to get drowsy, and slip into sleep.

In my dream I float through the pane of ice into the open air. As I float up beyond the ice cliff wall, I see Angel’s Head. There are men climbing off the deck onto the ice with rope and teams lowering supplies. The rear of the ship is lower than the front, and on second look is actually below water at the furthest point. Angel’s Head is sinking and the crew is abandoning her. There is black smoke billowing from the stairwell on deck – a fire below I assume. Suddenly the scene seems to speed up and the sun moves across the sky until it grows darker. I watch as Angel’s Head sinks lower and lower until finally she breaks away from the ice and slips into the depths. The men on shore all turn to look into the sky. They are waving at something… then I realize –they are waving at me! Wait, they’re not waving, but shaking their fists. I am not to blame! It was Hawthorne and the captain, not me! Slowly, the ice they stand upon begins to fail beneath their feet and to my horror, I watch as 30 men are lost to the sea, cursing me with their final breaths…

“Welcome home, Mr. Cole” the voice says as I open my eyes.

A Fiction: Part XIX

VII

The deck of Angel’s Head lurches to my left, and I slide face-first toward the thin wood edge wall. I tuck just in time to avoid my head taking the full blow, but I hit the wall hard, and am winded. At first it’s just hand tools and debris that follow my slide, but the slope of the deck steepens, and the larger equipment starts to slide in my direction.

Despite the danger, I am transfixed by the scene before me: The men that had been trying to get into the control room have now broken the glass and are piling into the room. As the ship tilts, men fall from the high deck to the icy water below. There is another group that has descended upon the snowmobiles and arctic supplies. The clear favored prizes are the vehicles of course, but there is heavy fighting for the boots, jackets, ropes and tools. One man is able to start the one closest to me, but he is pulled from the machine, dragged to deck and beaten as another takes his chance upon the beast. This cycle continues with men fighting to get position in the seat, but being torn down before the throttle can be engaged. Now the men have lost all hope as the snowmobile edges down the sloping deck towards me. They jump aside and begin their own slide toward the icy doom below. I wake from my observational haze and throw myself to the side as the speeding behemoth barrels past me. With a deafening crash, the wall and railing I have been lying on break away, and I fall into the stark white silence of ice and snow.

For a moment, as I fall, there is no sound. My mind races with thoughts of my life and impending death. My expectation of icy water is proven false when my descent is broken by piled snow. My left shoulder takes the brunt of the fall, and I am sure it is broken. In the moment I take to recover, I look up to see the snowmobile, which has landed on its back end, towering above and teetering to fall upon me. I roll to my side, and fall into a large crack in the ice and find myself sliding feet first into darkness. My back and legs are torn as they rip across the jagged ice. But as soon as it started, the slide ends and I am again falling through bright white space and land hard on solid ground. I look up at the sheer ice cliff above, and for a moment take in its pure beauty. The sun glistens off its uneven walls and I am reminded of the cathedral where my grandfather’s funeral service was held - stoic and elegant, with an air of unearthly peace.

Looking up, I notice a puff of ice and snow blown out from the top of the cliff. Then I see jagged shards of ice separating from the wall followed by a large, dark mass. Unable to support its weight, the glacier is passing off the snowmobile once more in my direction and I watch as it falls in a shower of shimmering ice. Again, I get my wits and scramble to my knees. I throw myself across the ice and claw my way as far from the cliff base as I can before the impact.

The snowmobile crashes into the ice floor with an explosive reverb, shattering the ice in all directions, and throwing a spire of water 50 feet into the air above me. A crack appears all around me and I find myself alone on a wobbling plate of ice as it breaks free from the larger floor. I grab the plate’s edge in a desperate attempt to float through the maelstrom, but it tilts up into the air and over, and I find myself below the ice, in freezing water – blackness below and clawing at the light above. My fingers search for an opening, but to no avail. I slam my fist against the ice but only push myself further down into the icy depths. Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic, …

A Fiction: Part XVIII

VI

In my dream, I am standing at the top of a large ice hill overlooking a field of snow. The snow is falling heavily, and I cannot make out the horizon. Above is cold steel grey cloud – no hint of sun, just even, grey light. I hear a small buzzing sound and search the sky. There’s nothing there, but I am sure I hear a small plane. I raise my arms to signal it – They are going to see me. I’m saved!! I squint my eyes and see a small black spot in the clouds. Yes!! It’s headed this way!! The spot grows larger and blacker but I still cannot make the shape of the craft. It nearly fills my vision now and I feel I am floating, my body sliding up towards my head. The buzz is getting louder and louder until it is a mind-shattering roar…

I wake to the roar of the ships engines in full throttle. My head presses uncomfortably into the headboard of my bed as I slide up with the acceleration. I roll towards the small port hole and wince as my sheet tears from a patch of hardened blood on my chest. I run my hand down, incredulous – have I been in a fight? Why am I bleeding? I look out at the water racing past my small, round window. Wherever we’re going, we’re sure in a hurry to get there. I hear heavy footfalls as someone runs past my door. Listening closely, I hear muffled shouting on deck. I roll out of bed and quickly dress, carrying my shirt with me to pull on as I make my way outside.

The cold air stabs my lungs and steals my breath as I step out onto deck and survey the chaos all around. Men are running and shouting in all directions. Some have made a line up the staircase to the control room. Above, a small group is pounding and banging on the outside of the control room presumably to gain access. To my right across the deck, Hendricks is up on a small platform, handing out orange life vests to all who will take one. He spots me and frantically waves me over. I push my way through the crew surrounding him, temporarily warmed by the close contact, and climb up to stand beside him.

“What’s going on? Are we sinking?” I ask. Hendricks is sweating with the work and takes a moment to catch his breath. I look over the rail behind him as something catches my eye. What is that? Are those whales? No, they’re oddly shaped, irregular. I am thrown back from the rail as ice showers over. The towering wall of the iceberg slides past having brushed the side of the ship. Hendricks kneels down and offers me a hand.

“The ship is out of control. Someone has locked himself in the control room and pushed us full out. This area is full of icebergs! Surely we’ll crash!!” Hendricks falls to the floor, his cool demeanor suddenly broken. His breathing is harsh and erratic. He is slipping into shock. I put my arm around him and help him to a seat on the edge of the deck. Overhead, a life boat swings across the deck and out over the open sea. It lowers quickly and crashes dangerously into the side of the boat, breaking away a section of the rail and side wall. Three crew men reach over to hold the boat in place, while two others climb in. I stand and rush over towards them, but too late – all five are inside and the boat is being lowered towards the racing sea below. I look behind to the lift controls and wave my arms to get the attention of the man running the panel - make him stop – but too late. I hear screaming as the hoist jerks wildly and the cables holding the boat snap up into the air. I fall flat on the deck as one flicks down across an unsuspecting crewman racing across. It hits directly between his shoulder and neck, embedding itself 6 inches down through his chest. He is knocked to his knees and falls forward, dead before his face touches wood.

I pull myself carefully to my knees and am about to stand when, with a scream of splintering wood and twisting metal the ship comes to a lurching stop. I am thrown forward – sliding across the wet, ice covered deck – with the rest of the debris strewn about. There is yelling from above as the crew’s fears are realized: we have crashed.

A Fiction: Part XVII

V

“Captain?!” I shout through the locked door. “Captain, open up. It’s me, Cole.” Silence… “Are you sure he’s in there?” I say to Nelson who is standing nervously behind me. I try the handle again, this time with a bit more force. Placing my hand on the door, I estimate its strength. I can surely get through it. Nelson, sensing my intention, grips my shoulder and pulls me back.

“You can’t just break down his door, Mr. Cole. C’mon, let’s go see Mr. Roderick. He’ll tell you what you need to know…” I hesitate but ultimately back away from the door when I sense Nelsons fear. I need answers, I think to myself as I follow Nelson into the sun.

The wind whirls past me wetly as we step out on deck and move towards the ladder to the control room. There’s a flurry of activity around the research teams equipment. Four large crates have been place semi symmetrically down the center of the platform. Men armed with pry bars and hammers work feverishly to pull them open to some success. The second crate from me has a gap slowly opening on one side. I pause in anticipation as the crate is opened. Two men climb inside and start knocking at the walls from the inside. The top is lowered to the deck and the sides are pulled away to reveal a shining blue snowmobile strapped to a sturdy looking wooden pallet.

“What the fuck?” I turn to Nelson who is himself looking up the ladder towards the control room. Roderick and Hendricks are climbing down, apparently to inspect the cargo. Roderick looks to me, then to Nelson and they exchange a concerned look as Roderick reaches the deck and turns to me.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Cole. A bit soon to be up and about I should think.”

“I have a questions I need answered. Where is the captain?” Roderick waves Hendricks away and puts his arm on my shoulder to direct me towards the rail. Nelson follows close so as not to miss a word.

“The captain is under the care of Dr. Sawyer. He has become ill and is in need of extended rest. He must not be disturbed. Surely you understand.” He smiles and pats my back. “Quite an adventure you had down there, eh? Shame about Stuart of course, but the balls you had to swim out… I envy your courage. Not sure I could have done the same.” I am not about to be swayed by flattery.

“You left me. The ship fucking disappeared. I had no choice.”

“Please, Mr. Cole. You must understand – Hawthorne believed we were in immediate danger.” Roderick grips my arm. “We had the entire crew’s safety in mind. You are but one man. One man’s sacrifice could have saved twenty lives. As it turns out, after some extensive tests, the danger proved to be overstated and we returned. To find you floating up to the surface above the Ether… remarkable, really. Well, all’s well that ends well, and all that.” Again, Roderick smiles.

“A man died! Don’t you care?”

“Men die all the time. At sea and everywhere else. Stuart understood the danger when he signed up for this voyage. As did you I believe. Now if there’s nothing else, Mr. Cole, I’m tiring of this conversation. If you are able to work, please be on deck in the morning looking sharp. Otherwise, stay out of the way until you have recovered fully. The rest of the crew is at your service. And I’ll ask you not to make such a clatter around the captain’s door again. Dr. Sawyer rang me to complain. He suggested I restrain you. I will do no such thing, but be clear, Mr. Cole, I will if this behavior continues.”

My face is hot with rage as Roderick turns and walks towards the men on deck. All four crates are open now. Three snowmobiles and a crate of assorted arctic gear. I am too pissed to give it much thought as Nelson walks me back to my room. He says nothing as I step in and close the door behind me. I open a small box near my bed and pull out a fresh single edge razor blade. I slice four clean lines into my chest, the pain releasing my rage. My head goes light as my blood streams down to my belly and I breathe, slowly.

A Fiction: Part XVI

III

“What do you remember?” the hollow voice inquires.

“They were iridescent and bulbous, buoyant and warm. They carried me.”

“Jellyfish?”

“Yes… yes, they may have been.”

“Do you remember what happened to Hawthorne?”

“He never came back. I guess he got lost.”

“And Stuart… where is Stuart?”

“I set him free. Where am I? What is this place?”

“Angel’s Head, of course.”

“Where did you go? Why did you leave us?”

“It was not safe.”

“Safe? Were you attacked? Safe from what?

“Please, Mr. Cole. You’re upsetting yourself. Do try to relax.”

“RELAX? Are you fucking kidding me? I could’ve died out there! And fucking Stuart…” My head begins to throb and the room spins slowly.

“I’m going to be sick…” My stomach twists as everything once again goes black.

IV

“Good morning, Mr. Cole. How you feeling on this fine day?” Nelson is waiting for me at the top of the stairway, his right hand outstretched. I take his hand and he pulls me into an embrace. “Everyone was so worried about you. It’s good to see you up and around,” he says into my ear.

“I feel pretty good. Still a bit green around the gills so-to-speak, but as long as I keep moving, it’s OK.” We walk to the rail and look out to the rolling sea, the sun at our backs. The early morning sky is pale blue, with flecks of cloud scattered along the horizon. “How far have we gone since I was picked up?”

“You ask me, not far at all. We’ve been circling. It’s a big circle, mind you. But it’s hard not to notice the sun rise and set on the same side of the ship.” Nester laughs his hearty laugh. “They left something down there that they still want.”

“Maybe they hope to recover the Ether. I’d like to know what happened.”

“Could be, could be. There sure was a lot of excitement when you were down there. There was cheering in the control room early on. They came pouring out of the room saying you found something or other. But things got pretty somber after Mr. Hawthorne showed up.”

I nearly fall as the blood drains from my face. “HAWTHORNE IS ALIVE? HE’S HERE ON THE SHIP?”

Nelson puts an arm under mine to support me, and helps me to a bench. We sit. “Didn’t they tell you? He was found on the deck the morning after you went down. The dive team was scheduled to go down and try to hook a cable to your sub. But when Hawthorne woke up, he started screaming that we had to leave, that we were all in danger and all that nonsense. Captain made the call to go.”

My head slips into my hands as the deck spins across my eyes. I jump to the rail and vomit over the side. “I have to see him,” I say, a long line of spittle hanging from my lip. “Where is he?”

“Why, he’s gone Mr. Cole. Chopper came for him right after you were rescued. No need to worry. The captain’ll tell you the whole story. Told me to tell you he wants to see you later in the week.”

“Bring me to him now.”

A Fiction: Part XV

II

It has been 9 days since I sent Stuart off. Since then, I have occupied my time with a rigid routine that consists of hourly radio and SONAR checks, power level reviews, and regimented small meals and water consumption. This morning (there is no light this far below, but I have made a conscious effort to maintain a standard night/day schedule) I was able to restart the propeller drives, but a full force attempt in every direction yielded no positive result. I believe we have hooked ourselves onto an object embedded in the sea floor. Either this or the object Stuart brought aboard has weighed us down. I will attempt to open the cargo door and release the object, but again, I do not expect a positive result.

3 days ago I noticed a tremor in my right eye. I was not immediately concerned, as it was a standard common muscled twitch. But it has gradually worsened and I believe it may be indicative of a more serious condition. I find myself digging my forefinger into the muscle as it spasms in an effort to soothe the little beast, but it continues it’s flexing beneath the probing digit. I have considered a bit of self surgery to release the tension in the muscle and have found a blade sharp enough for the performance, but my routine does not allow for the time it would require so it will have to wait.

The enhanced view screen shimmers with hazy blue ghosts as objects pass by my window to the sea. Some are easily discernable as familiar sea creatures but others I do not recognize. My eye muscle spasms as I stare into the black abyss and observe the gaseous bodies drift past. In them I see shapes and visions – of times past and those yet to be. I see my mother’s eyes as they look into mine, so caring and concerned. She wonders when I will be home and safe. She has been dead for nearly a decade, but there she is before me – beckoning. And there are stars and swirling universes of worlds and peoples. They visit me and tell me of my insignificance. They lilt me to sleep and provide me with images of soft places and comforting patterns. I stand and move to the next station of my routine – the radio.

“This is submersible Ether in distress, is there anyone there?” This is my standard message to the outside world, and I send it hourly on all available channels. On each the response is static – always static. I move to the SONAR screen and watch four full rotations. The light green line sweeps the black globe and finds nothing. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. Nothing. I stand to move to the power panels. As I do, my eye is caught by a small dot in the upper right quadrant of the SONAR display. I quickly fall back into the chair and wait for the next rotation. There… THERE IT IS! A dot!!! It’s moving across the circle – not perfectly in my direction but getting closer. How can I signal them? What can I do? I race to the radio and switch on the first channel.

“This is submersible Ether in distress. Please respond.” I count to ten and switch to the next channel. Again. “This is submersible Ether in distress. Please, is there anybody there?” …Ten. Next. “This is the submersible Ether from Angel’s Head. Angel’s Head are you there?”

“PLEASE. IS THERE ANYONE THERE???” I look at the SONAR screen and see the dot moving yet closer. It is within two miles southeast and moving slowly north. In 10 minutes it will be at its closest point – less than one mile. LESS THAN ONE MILE!!! I race to the back and pull out the S.C.U.B.A. gear. I spread it all out and around for easy access and begin tearing off my clothes. As quickly, I start pulling on gear. I badly twist my small toe as I yank up the legging – I think it’s broken. Keep going. Both legs on now. I stand and pull the shoulders up and jam my arms through and into the gloves. I pick up the tank and heave it up onto my back nearly falling as I drill the tank dials into the base of my skull. The stars clear and I pull the cap over my head. I reach down and grab the mask, pull oxygen feed into my mouth and slip on the flippers. Without a look back I pop open the hatch and drop into the water.

I didn’t take into account the temperature – I’m freezing. Well, no time to change my mind. I start to swim to the surface. I wonder how long it’s been – more than ten minutes? What will I do when I reach the surface? Swim to the vessel? I have no flares or signaling devices. My heart is pounding in my chest. I pump with all I’ve got but the water around me is still pitch black. Something brushes my leg and I reach out – it’s the cable for the solar power unit. A life line! I run the cable through my fingers as I continue my journey upward. Every hundred feet, there is a junction of two cables and I begin to estimate my progress. I can’t make it in time! Panic is setting in. I drop the cable to pump my arms and force my way up. I begin to see light around me… is it my imagination? The light takes form and the angelic patterns from the view screen surround me and lift me higher and higher. I fear I may be losing consciousness as the visions pull me upward, their faces calming and soothing. Then suddenly all is dark and quiet. I am not moving. I float still and hang in the depth. My eyes close and my breathing slows as I hear the bell of my air supply ringing.

A Fiction: Part XIV

Chapter 3

Waiting for the sun

I

Stuart died.

When I think of people dying, I always imagine a quiet moment; their faces grow still, their eyes glaze a bit and they look upwards as though seeing the face of God. Peaceful, always peaceful. Maybe I’ve seen too many vid-dramas.

Stuart decided early on that he was going to hold on to the last. He fought death literally with all he had. First, there was the moaning. It started as a pained breath, but over the course of 16 hours it became a near-constant hum. The moaning lasted for nearly 12 hours more until Stuart drifted away into restless sleep. I had been comforting him with a torn bit of my shirt and cool water on his forehead and chest. When he drifted off to sleep, I thankfully did as well. A little over 4 hours later, Stuarts eyes shot open – wild and clear – and the howling and screaming started. His body shook in constant tension as he took deep hysterical breaths and let them go in a swirling siren of agony. He lay there on the cold steel diamond plate floor, my every attempt at comfort swatted away with rigid strength. It was clear I could offer no help, so I moved away and searched the first aid kit for something to close my ears. I cut a few small triangles from a larger gauze pad and rolled them into my ear canals, softening the horror of Stuart’s spasms. I spent the next hour activating emergency equipment and attempting to re-engage the drives. I was under the main console tracing the wiring and looking for damage when I realized… the sub was silent.

I have to admit, I considered my food situation. The sub is stocked with enough dry rations for three individuals at average consumption for one week. I estimate I can ration this for myself for up to five weeks. By then, I expect either Angel’s Head will find me or I will convince myself to suit up and swim to the surface – Stuart will not be edible after a few days – maybe a week. I decided to let him go.

Before I lowered him into the water, I wrapped Stuart in the blanket from the first aid kit and tied it tight with some thin rope I found in the back hold. The concept of God is passé in this day and age, but I feel compelled to say a few words.

“A pleasant voyage, Stuart. Your suffering is at an end, my friend.” With this, I pushed Stuart out into the sea and closed the hatch behind him.

A Fiction: Part VIII

V

The interior of the sub is bathed intermittently with deep red and pitch black. It takes me a few seconds to get my bearings and pull myself up off the floor. The sub floor is slanted towards the back and I struggle to get to the front screen – black as well. Either the screen is damaged or the outside lighting is off. Fuck. I shake my head and take a minute to fully assess the situation. I hear the whirring of fans blowing fresh air from the oxygen converters – that’s good. We at least have emergency power… we... STUART! His body rolled beneath the console on impact and is still there. I sit on the floor next to him, wrap my arms around his torso and drag him out into the main aisle. He was knocked cold – not good. I stand and shut off the emergency systems. The main power comes back up and all the equipment comes to life. Then I pull open the first aid cabinet on the wall. What do I need? A blanket, some bandages for his head, a cold pack…

“Solemn chain flower cold?” I turn and see Stuart sitting up, his hands on his knees. He looks at me curiously. “Flower cold?”

“Stuart, lay down. I don’t know what kind of injuries you have.” Stuart stares hard at me, rolls to one side and lies down. He is shivering. I cover him with the blanket and start to check him for injuries. I gasp as I check his head. The back of his skull is soft and bloody. There is fluid oozing from his ears and his eyes dart back and forth. Oh, Stuart, my friend. It’s not looking good. I need to get help. I stand and move to the instrument panels.

“Fear column lines patsy…” Stuart offers behind me without rising.

“Thanks for the advice, Stu, but I need to try the radio first.” Stuart grunts in what I think is approval. The radio lights up and I hear familiar static. “Angel’s Head, this is Ether. We have an emergency. Please respond…” Static. “Angel’s Head, this is Ether. Please respond. We have an emergency.” Nothing.

I walk over to the SONAR display and watch a full rotation, then another. “Stuart, what am I doing wrong here? I don’t see anything.” Stuart pulls himself up and crawls over to the display before I notice. “Jesus, Stuart. Lie back down! You’re in no shape to…” Stuart puts his hand to my mouth and leans into the display.

“Cage my pollen stone…” he says quietly. He closes his eyes and moves back to the floor.

He may not have said the right words, but Stuart was clear as day: Angel’s Head is gone. We are alone.

A Fiction: Part XII

III

Once I got the hang of it, piloting the sub was fairly easy. You certainly had to predict your stops and turns, but the little sub was more reactive than I expected. Hawthorne was pleased with my progress and even let me pilot the sub to the surface once Stuart was complete with his equipment diagnostics and calibrations. He took over as we approached Angel’s Head, presumably in fear that I would crash into the side, but once we were out and standing on deck, he patted me on the back and said, “Gentlemen, meet your new sub pilot. I’m retired.”

Now, back in my room and thinking back on the day, I smile to myself and lean back in satisfaction on the bed. I wonder what all the secrecy is about. Lost treasure I suppose – afraid that the crew will mutiny to get their hands on the booty. Well, being on the front lines, I guess I’ll know before anyone else what’s going on. A submersible pilot – who would’ve guessed? Angel’s Head is starting to feel like a grand adventure. We’re nearly a month out and I don’t want the trip to end.

Having been turned away from a search for Hawthorne, I make an attempt for the latest headlines.

FORBIDDEN INFORMATION – NOT ALLOWED

What the fuck? I search for entertainment news.

FORBIDDEN INFORMATION – NOT ALLOWED

Music.

FORBIDDEN INFORMATION – NOT ALLOWED

Insects.

FORBIDDEN INFORMATION – NOT ALLOWED

Must be temporarily down, I think to myself. I’ll ask Roderick in the morning.

I turn on the vid screen and choose a classic pirate film. I recall a man swinging from one ship to the next before I drift off to sleep… For the first time in my recent memory, I do not dream.

IV

The next two weeks pass in a blur. Every morning following the Roderick inspection, I stay behind to train with Hawthorne. We are fast becoming good friends (at least in my estimation) and I have grown to trust him more than I’ve trusted another person in quite some time. I am fully functional now as a sub pilot and Hawthorne has been accompanying Stuart and me for the last few days more as a final check of aptitude than to provide any new information. Today, Hawthorne has slipped out for a dive as Stuart collects sea floor samples and I pilot the sub looking for unique specimens. As usual, I have no idea what Stuart is actually looking for or if what he is collecting is just for practice. Most days, he releases all he has collected before we head back up.

“Move us over by that rock formation, Cole. I see something.” I’ve gotten very good at precise movements underwater and we smoothly slide over to where Stuart has directed. “Perfect. Thank you.”

“You should see me parallel park,” I say in my driest tone. Stuart smirks and continues peering into his scope. I watch as the robotic claw rocks back and forth, sweeping away silt from an object half buried in the sea floor. I hear Stuart gasp.

“I’ll need to blind the main screen,” he says and I quickly try to get a look through the cloudy water before the screen goes black. It is a rounded object, about 7 feet across and a foot tall. The surface is grooved or marked with symbols or etched writing. The robotic claw grasps the object and starts to flip it up from the floor as the screen dims. “Sorry, about that. Just following orders,” Stuart says, almost genuinely apologetic. I hear a THUD below my feet as the object is loaded into the hold. A second THUD confirms it has been brought aboard and is secure.

The sea floor once again appears before me and I take a good look at the hole where the object had been. It’s deep - as though the object was moving at high speed and impacted with the sea floor as opposed to softly settling into place. Stuart continues reading his instruments and typing data.

Suddenly he jumps up. “I don’t see Hawthorne on my scope! Where is he?” Stuart pushes me aside to look out the front screen. “Turn the sub around, Cole. He may be lost or in trouble.” I grab the controls and rotate the sub around. The sub grinds across the sea floor. I am shaken and lean forward, driving the nose of the sub down. Both Stuart and I are thrown to the floor as we impact.

A Fiction: Part XI

II

I was introduced to the man named Stuart as I climbed into the submersible for the first time. Hawthorne, Stuart and I were to head down below, and Hawthorne would give me a few lessons in submarine operations and protocol while Stuart performed calibrations on the equipment. I took the co-pilots seat and watched as Hawthorne walked me through the power ups.

“This switch is main power. This one: communications. Here is the CG enhancement display and this one: the turbines.” I looked through the glass wall in front of me and noticed all the solid objects on the deck of the ship were outlined with a faint blue haze. I paid close attention assuming there would be a test later on. Stuart flipped on a light over his seat and began switching on equipment in the back. “Stuart has the robotics controls and the emergency systems.”

Stuart looked up and continued where Hawthorne left off. “Here’s a rundown of the emergency systems: first, we have the solar flotation balloon. Pushing this button releases the balloon and it rises to the surface, collecting sunlight and maintaining power – or at least enough to maintain air pressure and a few other critical systems. The balloon also broadcasts a distress signal. In these cases are three fully functional S.C.U.B.A. systems. This hatch in the floor opens, and as long as the sub is within 10 degrees of upright, the internal air pressure keeps the water out. You essentially just drop in. There’s a week of dry rations here, first aid here, defibrillator…” My mind had begun to wander as I looked around the interior of the sub. I imagined being below the surface and the discoveries to be made. I looked at Hawthorne, my curiosity growing as to what his purpose was. “… SONAR display is here. Got it?”

“I think I have most of it, yes. No quizzes yet, OK?”

Stuart smiled. “The tests come later. Today, you’re just here for the ride.”

As if on cue, the sub was lifted into the air. I held the arms of my seat tightly as we swayed above the deck. We were moved out over the water and quickly lowered to the surface. Soon we were moving away from the ship and heading out to open water.

“This lever is for forward motion. This line is dead stop. This direction moves you forward, this direction, back. The wheel is for steering. Left, right, just like a car. Push the steering column forward to nose down, back to nose up. You also have these two pedals for hard side-to-side. Left goes left, right goes right. Easy enough.” He turned to Stuart. “Ready to submerge?”

“Ready,” Stuart answered.

“This dial is for the ballasts. Turn this way to release air, this way to pump them for buoyancy. Would you like to do the honors?” Hawthorne was giddy. Clearly he was enjoying showing off his toy. I carefully turned the dial and with a loud hiss, we slowly sank beneath the waves.

Of course I have seen the docu-vids of sea life and ocean exploration, but nothing prepared me for the sheer beauty I beheld. The early morning sun filtered through the ocean surface on beams of shimmering light; the schools of fishes darting here then there, then here again lit up like pinpoint bulbs. Once settled below, Hawthorne edged us forward and down to the depths below. My stomach caught in my throat as the darkness filled the glass before me; the once clear and shining sea life now highlighted with artificial blue haze on the screen. Something large skirted the edge of our view and momentarily filled the height of the left side – then it darted away, never to be identified.

“The sub can withstand a depth of 5,000 meters,” Hawthorne said as I fought nausea. “Any deeper and we crumple like a tin can. The sea floor here is only 1,500 meters, so no worries. It’ll take about an hour to get all the way down there, so sit back and relax. Once there, I’ll let you take the wheel and we can do a little ‘joy riding’.”

I leaned my head back in my seat and closed my eyes to settle my stomach. Soon I lost the thread of my thoughts and slipped into dream. I dreamed of birds floating through the sky, weightless. I had no body and land was nowhere to be seen – just birds and sky…

A Fiction: Part X

Chapter 2: Into the Ether

I

FORBIDDEN INFORMATION – NOT ALLOWED

So much for a web search for Elijah Hawthorne, I think as I prepare for sleep. Today was an interesting day and I am becoming more and more curious what the goal of this ‘research’ is. We’ve been heading due south for nearly two weeks without so much as a decrease in speed. The intensity of the labor I am required to do has made the time pass quickly. Today, as the men were gathered on the deck for the morning inspection, the ship was brought to a standstill. Roderick came down as he always does, but today had a dejected look I’ve not seen before.

“Gentlemen, our guests have requested you all spend the day below deck. A few of you may be asked to come up if extra hands are required at any point, but primarily you will stay below. I have drawn up a list of tasks for you to do both in teams and individually.” He sighed, “I hope this is not indicative of what we are to expect of the next few weeks. I can only imagine the state of the ship if we are not allowed access to maintain her over days or weeks. The filth…” He swept his eyes around the deck and ran his hand down the brass rail behind him, looking longingly at the sparkling sheen. “That is all. Have a safe day.” Roderick slowly turned and began to walk in the direction of the control room, his head slightly bowed as if defeated.

Before he reached the stairs, he was stopped by Nelson, who requested to have a word. They walked together out of earshot of the rest of the crew and had what appeared to be a rather animated discussion. At one point they stopped and looked back at the crew, who were now going over the task list and creating a plan for the day’s work. The schedule created, the men started filing below deck for the day below.

“Mr. Cole?” I heard Roderick call behind me. “Please return to the deck.” Hendricks shot me a look of concern as I turned to walk back. Roderick and Nelson stood together at the foot of the stairway waiting for me.

“Mr. Cole, Nelson tells me you have been getting on quite well on Angel’s Head.”

“I feel lucky to be aboard, sir. That is true. I hope I have met your expectations, sir.” Nelson nodded in approval of my tone.

“Mr. Cole, you have exceeded them. As reward for your efforts, Nelson has nominated you to stay on deck today and work with our guests. I hope this opportunity meets your approval?”

“Yes, sir. I appreciate the recognition. But surely there are men below with more experience who may be more deserving.”

“Your inexperience is part of why you have been chosen, Mr. Cole. You have not yet acquired any bad habits from what I can tell. Nelson will bring you to Dr. Sawyer to give you a once over. The physical requirements of the tasks ahead could be dangerous if you have any unforeseen physical weaknesses. A precaution we must take. Surely you understand.”

“Of course, sir. Thank you, sir” With that, Roderick climbed up to the control room and went inside leaving me in the care of Nelson, who directed me to the back deck and the office of Dr. Sawyer. The office was what you would expect of a ship’s doctor: an exam table, a folded X-ray machine strapped to the wall, all the tools of the trade either screwed down or held with Velcro, presumably in case of rough seas.

Dr. Sawyer was seated at a small desk in the corner, head in hands reading through papers. He spun around as we entered and said, “What is it? What do you want?” He appeared distressed in some way and I was momentarily concerned he may become violent. Nelson wasn’t phased.

“And a ‘good morning’ to you Dr. Sawyer. Our Mr. Cole here has been selected to work with our guests in their scientific endeavors,” Nelson said calmly. It appeared he knew what to expect from the good doctor and had learned how to handle him as well. Dr. Sawyer smiled and stood, extending a hand.

“Of course, of course. Do sit down,” he said as he motioned me to the exam table. “Thank you, Nelson. I will send him after you once we have completed.” Nelson bowed his head, gave me a wink and stepped out the door.

It was a surprisingly thorough exam: lifting limits, spirometry, stress tests. He even included a psychological analysis which consisted of him saying a short statement while looking into my eyes with a magnified scope presumably to watch for pupil dilation. A few I remember:

A fish jumps to the shore and is trapped in the sun

A woman is taken against her will by three men

An astronaut discovers a leak in his helmet during a space walk

A man stands outside a burning house,his family trapped inside

That sort of thing. I was distracted throughout the exam by the odor of Dr. Sawyer. I gathered that his unkempt appearance extended beyond his clothes and shaving discipline. His sessions of bathing are few and far between. He can’t have much experience in close quarters, I thought to myself. “Have you been on many voyages, doctor?”

“This is my first,” he answered shortly. Clearly not open to further discussion. “I hereby declare you fit to serve in the name of SCIENCE!” he shouted and raised his hands above his head. I caught a fleeting hint of a smile. “Now go. GO and do not come back unless you are dying.” He attempted a faux German accent. I guess this is what Dr. Sawyer considers humor. I gathered my things, put back on my black belt and coat and headed out the door.

The research team was on the front deck when I made my way forward. Hawthorne was manning a mechanical hoist that lifted the submersible out of the water and over the deck. I could feel Roderick’s eyes from the control room as the sub was lowered to two U-shaped stands, his concern for the condition of the ship. But despite a slow swaying of the sub, Hawthorne expertly lowered it gently to rest.

The sub looks like a large, blue egg with robotic arms extending from beneath and a turbine on each side. The access hatch extends from the top of the sub and there are storage boxes inlayed along the sides. I helped secure the sub to the stands and help attach the ladder to the side so the team can go in. Hawthorne barked a few orders to his team and they quickly began loading the sub with tools and equipment. Then, to my surprise, Hawthorne walked over to me.

“I hear you are joining our team, Mr. Cole,” he said. “Welcome.”

“I’m just here to help. Anything you need, sir.” He put a hand on my shoulder.

“Nonsense,” he said. “You’re coming with us. I am the only one who can pilot the sub on the ship. The rest of my team are lacking in the instincts to learn – scientists – you know. So I have asked the captain to provide me with a member of the crew to become my backup. They named you.”

I was stunned. “I’ve never been in a submersible, sir. Are you sure I’m qualified?”

“Have you ever driven a car? It’s a talent becoming rare these days. Well, have you?”

“Yes, sir. I had a car until just a few months back.”

“Then clearly you are my man,” he said with a large grin on his face.

A Fiction: Part IX

V

At promptly 2:59am, the last rope is untied from the dock, and the Angel’s Head is away. At first we only seem to drift off and I wonder if something may be wrong. But suddenly the engines burst to life, and we quickly reach cruising speed as we draw away from land. With the exception of the captain and the executive officers in the control room, the entire population of Angel’s Head is on deck to say our last goodbyes to land for God knows how long.

I lean over the back rail by myself sipping from a bottled water I found in the small chiller in my room. I reach into my shirt pocket and pull out the earth filled cellophane I had collected on shore. Careful not to lose it in the breeze, I empty the contents into my cupped right palm. In my left, I tip my open water bottle until a thin stream pours into the earth. I stare transfixed as the earth is washed away into the endless ocean below, until finally there is nothing but cool clean water in my hand. I raise it up over my head and let it fall into my hair and down my face; a quick refreshment before the long days work ahead.

I hear footsteps approach behind me. I turn to see Hawthorne lean on the rail beside me.

“I haven’t properly introduced myself. Elijah Hawthorne is the name.” He extends his hand.

“Pleased to meet you, sir. I’m Cole, sir,” I say and shake his hand.

“No ‘sirs’, Cole. Please just call me ‘Hawthorne’. So are you ready for the long trip?” he asks.

“Not 100% sure what to expect to be frank, Mr. Hawthorne. They haven’t told me much.”

“And they won’t. My work is of the utmost… delicacy, Mr. Cole. I’m sure you understand. But I expect things will be a bit clearer as we go along. Can’t be helped.” He pats me on the back and steps away towards the front of the ship. Delicacy. A curious word, I think to myself. I walk to the front deck of the ship and spot Hendricks and soon we are down below for a long day of labor.

A Fiction: Part VIII

IV

Sitting on the end of the bed, I rub my new room key between my fingers. I still can’t believe it – full-size bed, satellite entertainment system, on-screen internet, an above water port hole and a door. My own door! The shared lavatory down the hall has five toilet stalls and eight shower stands. No waiting. If the paid help has amenities such as these, I can only imagine the luxury on the guest deck. I stretch my sore body as I recall the previous two day’s events.

Today the ship sets out, but I’ve stayed on board since Wednesday – no reason to leave. Wednesday night, after an hour to unpack my things, Nelson collected me to give me the grand tour. And grand it was: the gourmet kitchen - fully staffed and stocked, the exercise room with only the best equipment. I was introduced to the rest of the Angel’s Head crew and a few members of the scientific team at Wednesday meal time. I met three of the five team members. Mum’s the word on their mission from what I can gather. All-in-all, everyone seemed pleasant enough.

We sat down to a full formal dinner, during which the captain said a few words: “Gentlemen, in 32 hours we will set out to parts unknown on a mission of the utmost secrecy. The challenges we face are many, the questions we will answer are few. But I am assured that the goals of our guests are pure and of the best interest of man.” With this, the man introduced to me as Hawthorne raised his glass.

“Let me now introduce the newest members of the crew to you all. First, we have Mr. Steadman.” A tall, thin man with wire-rimmed glasses stood at his seat and bowed his head. “Mr. Steadman is a talented meteorologist and assures us he will keep us free from storm.” Steadman smiled, looked around the room and took his seat.

“Next, I will introduce Mr. Cole.” I held up my glass but stayed seated. “Mr. Cole comes to us from the fishing vessel San Pedro. He comes highly recommended as an honest and dependable man.” Having never mentioned my previous vessel, I was surprised by the mention. I hadn’t even filled out any paperwork. They did mention a background check on the flyer, so I guess I should’ve expected them to check me out. Guess I checked out OK.

“Lastly,” the captain said with a sigh, “let me introduce Dr. Sawyer. Having lost our previous ship’s doctor, we performed an extensive search for just the right man for our unique needs. Dr. Sawyer comes recommended by our guest Mr. Hawthorne, and I am confident he will make a great member of our crew.” Dr. Sawyer was a short, stocky man with thick dark glasses and an unkempt scruff of beard. The captain clearly didn’t approve, but seemed to tolerate the man nonetheless. My curiosity passed when the good doctor took the captain’s hand in a hearty shake. Perhaps they are friendly after all…

The meal ended soon after and with a few friendly nods from those around me, I headed off to my room for my first nights sleep aboard Angel's Head. I always dream, and that night I dreamt of the sky. I was not of body, nor was there any sign of land nor sea. Just wide open sky.

Yesterday, I was woken early by a buzz box on the wall. Nelson had told me there was one in every crewman’s quarters. It would go off at the same time for the first few weeks to synchronize the schedules of all the members of the crew. Then, once settled, the buzzer was silenced for the balance of the trip (excepting of course if someone slips out of groove, Nelson had said).

I jumped out of bed, had a quick shower (I was in first rotation. If I missed my 5 minute slot, I could not shower until after night mealtime), and put on one of the ten crisp white uniforms hanging in standing storage. I stepped out of my room and followed the yellow line painted from my door to the deck where I joined the line of crewmen standing at attention.

Roderick appeared from the control room and stepped down the stairs to the deck. He walked the length of the line, looking us up and down. “Mr. Nelson?” he said as he stood in front of me.

“Yes sir,” Nelson said as he stepped forward out of line. He kept his eyes forward.

“Have we no more black belts?”

“Sir?”

“Mr. Cole here is wearing a brown belt. Have we no more to give him?”

Without turning his gaze, Nelson said, “I was just heading into town to get him a new one, sir. The ones we have in storage are not up to your standards, sir.”

“Thank you Mr. Nelson. Please be sure to do so. And hurry up about it. We have much to do before we set out tomorrow.” Nelson stepped back into line. “Mr. Cole, you will spend the morning with Hendricks today. He will give you instructions and monitor the quality of your work. We have the highest standards on Angel’s Head Mr. Cole. Are we clear?”

“Sparkling, sir.”

Roderick smirked to himself and turned back towards the stairs. “Excellent. A safe and productive day to you all.” The group stayed in formation until Roderick climbed the stairs and closed the control room door behind him. Nelson was down the stairs back towards his room before I had the chance to breathe, presumably to leave the ship and fins an appropriate belt. I was impressed with the leadership on the ship and was feeling lucky to be part of such a crack staff.

“So you’re with me,” a gruff voice said into my ear. I turned to see a blonde haired boy of no more than twenty-five reach out his hand to shake. I took it and was taken aback by his weak grip. Hasn’t worked a hard day in his life, I thought to myself. He led me down into the third deck to a large storage area with a small, square door opened to the outside sea air. Through the door poked the end of a conveyor belt turning slowly.

“The last of the supplies are on that truck.” He pointed out the door to a box truck backed up to the other end of the conveyor. Three men stood waiting to unload. Hendricks waved and they started throwing boxes on the conveyor.

“OK, Cole. Get ready. The red marked boxes go in that corner, the blue in the freezer back there and the green over there.” I was quickly corrected of my first impressions as Hendricks started loading in. Fucking shit, this is brutal, I thought to myself.

After an hour of stacking thirty to forty pound boxes around, I was building a pretty mean sweat, so I unbuttoned my jacket and started to pull it off. “NOOOO!!!” Hendricks yelled. “If Roderick catches you out of uniform, we’ll both be tossed overboard.” Not wanting to make a bad impression my first day, I buttoned back up my jacket and kept on.

We stopped for a quick meal in the storage area for a few minutes around mid-day, then continued on well into the evening. “We’ll finish when we’re done,” Hendricks answered when I asked how long our shift was. I’m no stranger to hard work, but I could barely climb the stairs when we were finished and headed towards the evening meal.

“Welcome to Angels’ Head,” Hendricks said after we ate and walked back towards our rooms. Waiting for me at the foot of my bed was a tightly wrapped black belt with shiny brass buckle.