the thoughts dissolving. “A thousand meters,” he repeated. He noticed a tremor in his own voice, but not too bad. Maybe Tanner wouldn’t notice. He put the vidlink through.
“Mothership,” he said. “Come in, mother.”
Tanner’s voice crackled in, weaker now. His image was present but less clear, eaten away at the edges.
“Here, F/Seven,” said Tanner. “Still reading you.”
“One thousand meters,” he said. “Seals good, instruments good, no problems to report.”
“Very good,” said Tanner. “Proceed.”
They kept descending. It seemed even slower than before.
“Everything okay at your end?” Hennessy asked Dantec.
“Fine,” said Dantec. “And for you?”
Hennessy nodded. When he did, it felt like his brain was rubbing up against the walls of his skull, getting slightly bruised.
“Is the oxygen okay?” he asked.
“You just asked if everything was okay and I already told you it was,” said Dantec. “ Everything included the oxygen.”
“Oh,” said Hennessy. “Right.”
He was silent for a while, watching the water illuminated by their running lights. Nothing alive anymore, or if there was, he wasn’t seeing it. Floating through a dark, undifferentiated world. It was like his dream, he suddenly realized, which struck him as a very bad thing.
“I have a headache,” he said, as much to hear the sound of a voice as anything else.
Dantec said nothing.
“Do you have a headache, too?” asked Hennessy.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Dantec said, turning to him. “I’ve had a headache for days now.”
“So have I,” said Hennessy.
Dantec just nodded. “Stop talking,” he said.
Hennessy nodded back. He sat there, staring out at the blank expanse surrounding them and their craft, listening to the creaking of the hull as the pressure increased. There was something else, some other sound he was hearing. What was it? Almost nothing at all, but it was there still, wasn’t it? Just loud enough to hear but not loud enough to interpret. What could it be?
“Do you hear something?” he asked Dantec.
“I told you to stop talking,” the other said.
Did that mean he heard it or not? Why couldn’t he just answer the goddamned question? He’d put it civilly enough, hadn’t he?
“Please,” said Hennessy, “I just need to know if you hear—”
Dantec reached out and cuffed him on the side of the head.
He doesn’t hear it, a part of Hennessy’s mind told him. If he heard it, he’d be wondering about it, too. Which means that either it’s something close to me, near the instrument panel or—
But the or, when he identified it, was too terrible to contemplate. So he bent forward, tilting his right ear toward the panel, bringing it close to each instrument, listening. He kept expecting Dantec to ask him what he was doing, but the man didn’t say anything. Maybe he wasn’t looking at him or maybe he just didn’t care. But, in any case, there was nothing. The noise was still there, but it didn’t grow any louder.
Which meant, he realized, that the sound was in his head.
As soon as he thought this, the noise became many noises, and these quickly became whispering voices. What were they saying? He was afraid he knew. He tried not to pay any attention, tried not to listen and—
“Two thousand meters,” said Dantec.
Yes, thought Hennessy, pay attention to that, to your job. Don’t think about the voices in your head, do your job. Pull yourself together, man, last thing you need is—
“Did you hear me, Hennessy?” Dantec asked.
“I heard you,” said Hennessy, shaking his head. “Two thousand meters. I’ll contact Tanner.”
He called up the link. There was Tanner, very pixilated now. “Two thousand meters,” said Hennessy.
There was a wait of about three seconds before Tanner replied. “Repeat that,” said Tanner, only it came out as a burst of static and then “—peat that.”
“Two thousand meters,” said Hennessy again, slower this
“Mothership,” he said. “Come in, mother.”
Tanner’s voice crackled in, weaker now. His image was present but less clear, eaten away at the edges.
“Here, F/Seven,” said Tanner. “Still reading you.”
“One thousand meters,” he said. “Seals good, instruments good, no problems to report.”
“Very good,” said Tanner. “Proceed.”
They kept descending. It seemed even slower than before.
“Everything okay at your end?” Hennessy asked Dantec.
“Fine,” said Dantec. “And for you?”
Hennessy nodded. When he did, it felt like his brain was rubbing up against the walls of his skull, getting slightly bruised.
“Is the oxygen okay?” he asked.
“You just asked if everything was okay and I already told you it was,” said Dantec. “ Everything included the oxygen.”
“Oh,” said Hennessy. “Right.”
He was silent for a while, watching the water illuminated by their running lights. Nothing alive anymore, or if there was, he wasn’t seeing it. Floating through a dark, undifferentiated world. It was like his dream, he suddenly realized, which struck him as a very bad thing.
“I have a headache,” he said, as much to hear the sound of a voice as anything else.
Dantec said nothing.
“Do you have a headache, too?” asked Hennessy.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Dantec said, turning to him. “I’ve had a headache for days now.”
“So have I,” said Hennessy.
Dantec just nodded. “Stop talking,” he said.
Hennessy nodded back. He sat there, staring out at the blank expanse surrounding them and their craft, listening to the creaking of the hull as the pressure increased. There was something else, some other sound he was hearing. What was it? Almost nothing at all, but it was there still, wasn’t it? Just loud enough to hear but not loud enough to interpret. What could it be?
“Do you hear something?” he asked Dantec.
“I told you to stop talking,” the other said.
Did that mean he heard it or not? Why couldn’t he just answer the goddamned question? He’d put it civilly enough, hadn’t he?
“Please,” said Hennessy, “I just need to know if you hear—”
Dantec reached out and cuffed him on the side of the head.
He doesn’t hear it, a part of Hennessy’s mind told him. If he heard it, he’d be wondering about it, too. Which means that either it’s something close to me, near the instrument panel or—
But the or, when he identified it, was too terrible to contemplate. So he bent forward, tilting his right ear toward the panel, bringing it close to each instrument, listening. He kept expecting Dantec to ask him what he was doing, but the man didn’t say anything. Maybe he wasn’t looking at him or maybe he just didn’t care. But, in any case, there was nothing. The noise was still there, but it didn’t grow any louder.
Which meant, he realized, that the sound was in his head.
As soon as he thought this, the noise became many noises, and these quickly became whispering voices. What were they saying? He was afraid he knew. He tried not to pay any attention, tried not to listen and—
“Two thousand meters,” said Dantec.
Yes, thought Hennessy, pay attention to that, to your job. Don’t think about the voices in your head, do your job. Pull yourself together, man, last thing you need is—
“Did you hear me, Hennessy?” Dantec asked.
“I heard you,” said Hennessy, shaking his head. “Two thousand meters. I’ll contact Tanner.”
He called up the link. There was Tanner, very pixilated now. “Two thousand meters,” said Hennessy.
There was a wait of about three seconds before Tanner replied. “Repeat that,” said Tanner, only it came out as a burst of static and then “—peat that.”
“Two thousand meters,” said Hennessy again, slower this
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