basalt."
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to pull rank here," Perry snapped with uncamouflaged exasperation. He'd had it with being ignored. "I want to be taken up to the surface, pronto !" Suzanne swung around to respond but only managed to open her mouth. Before she could form any words a powerful, low-frequency vibration shook the submersible. She had to grab the side of her seat to keep from falling. The sudden quake sent loose objects flying to the floor. A coffee mug hit and shattered; the shards skittered across the floor along with pens that had fallen. At the same time, there was a low-pitched rumbling that sounded like distant thunder. The rattling lasted for almost a minute. No one spoke although an involuntary squeak escaped from Perry's lips as the blood drained from his face. "What on earth was that?" Donald demanded. He rapidly scanned the instruments. "I'm not sure," Suzanne said, "but if I had to guess, I'd say it was an earthquake. There's a lot of them up and down the Mid-Atlantic Ridge."
"An earthquake!" Perry blurted.
"Maybe this old volcano is awakening," Suzanne said. "Wouldn't that be a trip if we got to witness it!" "Uh-oh!" Donald said. "Something is wrong!" "What's the problem?" Suzanne asked. Like Donald her eyes made a quick circuit of the dials, gauges, and screens in her direct line of sight. These were the important instruments for operating the submersible. Nothing seemed amiss.
"The echo sounder!" Donald said with uncharacteristic urgency. Suzanne's eyes darted down to the digital readout located close to the floor between the two pilot seats. It was decreasing at an alarming rate.
"What's happening?" she asked. "Do you think lava is rising in the shaft?" "No!" Donald cried. "It's us. We're sinking, and I've jettisoned all the descent weights. We've lost our buoyancy!"
"But the pressure gauge!" Suzanne yelled. "It's not rising. How can we be sinking?" "It mustn't be working," Donald said frantically. "There's no doubt we're sinking. Just look out the damn view port!"
Suzanne's eyes darted to the window. It was true. They were sinking. The smooth rock face was
moving rapidly upward.
"I'm blowing the ballast tanks," Donald barked. "At this depth there won't be much effect, but there's no choice."
The sound of compressed air being released drowned out Stravinsky's Rite of Spring but only for twenty seconds. At such a pressure the compressed air tanks were quickly exhausted. The descent was not affected.
"Do something!" Perry yelled when he could find his voice. "I can't," Donald yelled. "There's no response to the controls. There's nothing left to try." CHAPTER FIVE
Mark Davidson was dying for a cigarette. His addiction was absolute, although he found giving them up was easy since he did it once a week. His craving was maximum when he was relaxing, working, or anxious, and at the moment, he was very anxious indeed. For him, deep diving operations were always a walk on the wild side; from experience he knew how quickly things could go horribly wrong. He looked up at the large institutional clock on the wall of the diving van, with its monstrous sweep second hand. Its intimidating presence made the passage of time hard to disregard. It had now been twelve minutes since there had been any contact with the Oceanus. Although Donald had specifically warned that there might be a short communication break, this seemed longer than reasonable, especially since the submersible had not responded to Larry Nelson's last message. That was when Larry had tried to tell them that the divers were passing through five hundred feet. Mark's eyes darted down to the pack of Marlboros he'd casually tossed onto the diving van's countertop. It was an agony not to reach over, take one out, and light up. Unfortunately, there was a newly instituted prohibition about smoking in the ship's common areas, and Captain Jameson was a stickler about rules and regulations.
With some difficulty Mark pulled his eyes away from the
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to pull rank here," Perry snapped with uncamouflaged exasperation. He'd had it with being ignored. "I want to be taken up to the surface, pronto !" Suzanne swung around to respond but only managed to open her mouth. Before she could form any words a powerful, low-frequency vibration shook the submersible. She had to grab the side of her seat to keep from falling. The sudden quake sent loose objects flying to the floor. A coffee mug hit and shattered; the shards skittered across the floor along with pens that had fallen. At the same time, there was a low-pitched rumbling that sounded like distant thunder. The rattling lasted for almost a minute. No one spoke although an involuntary squeak escaped from Perry's lips as the blood drained from his face. "What on earth was that?" Donald demanded. He rapidly scanned the instruments. "I'm not sure," Suzanne said, "but if I had to guess, I'd say it was an earthquake. There's a lot of them up and down the Mid-Atlantic Ridge."
"An earthquake!" Perry blurted.
"Maybe this old volcano is awakening," Suzanne said. "Wouldn't that be a trip if we got to witness it!" "Uh-oh!" Donald said. "Something is wrong!" "What's the problem?" Suzanne asked. Like Donald her eyes made a quick circuit of the dials, gauges, and screens in her direct line of sight. These were the important instruments for operating the submersible. Nothing seemed amiss.
"The echo sounder!" Donald said with uncharacteristic urgency. Suzanne's eyes darted down to the digital readout located close to the floor between the two pilot seats. It was decreasing at an alarming rate.
"What's happening?" she asked. "Do you think lava is rising in the shaft?" "No!" Donald cried. "It's us. We're sinking, and I've jettisoned all the descent weights. We've lost our buoyancy!"
"But the pressure gauge!" Suzanne yelled. "It's not rising. How can we be sinking?" "It mustn't be working," Donald said frantically. "There's no doubt we're sinking. Just look out the damn view port!"
Suzanne's eyes darted to the window. It was true. They were sinking. The smooth rock face was
moving rapidly upward.
"I'm blowing the ballast tanks," Donald barked. "At this depth there won't be much effect, but there's no choice."
The sound of compressed air being released drowned out Stravinsky's Rite of Spring but only for twenty seconds. At such a pressure the compressed air tanks were quickly exhausted. The descent was not affected.
"Do something!" Perry yelled when he could find his voice. "I can't," Donald yelled. "There's no response to the controls. There's nothing left to try." CHAPTER FIVE
Mark Davidson was dying for a cigarette. His addiction was absolute, although he found giving them up was easy since he did it once a week. His craving was maximum when he was relaxing, working, or anxious, and at the moment, he was very anxious indeed. For him, deep diving operations were always a walk on the wild side; from experience he knew how quickly things could go horribly wrong. He looked up at the large institutional clock on the wall of the diving van, with its monstrous sweep second hand. Its intimidating presence made the passage of time hard to disregard. It had now been twelve minutes since there had been any contact with the Oceanus. Although Donald had specifically warned that there might be a short communication break, this seemed longer than reasonable, especially since the submersible had not responded to Larry Nelson's last message. That was when Larry had tried to tell them that the divers were passing through five hundred feet. Mark's eyes darted down to the pack of Marlboros he'd casually tossed onto the diving van's countertop. It was an agony not to reach over, take one out, and light up. Unfortunately, there was a newly instituted prohibition about smoking in the ship's common areas, and Captain Jameson was a stickler about rules and regulations.
With some difficulty Mark pulled his eyes away from the
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