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Quiet, loud

Before I left Phoebe to go below deck myself, Norbert contacted me on her radio. “Matthew, please come up to the bridge.” I took up the mic. “Negative. I’ll be going down to see Simon.” “It’s best that you come up first.” Agitated, I gripped the mic tightly near my mouth and spoke quietly into it. “Norbert, it’s not going to look very good if I bring up the leader of the expedition in a compromised state and then don’t tend to him afterwards.” Norbert was adamant. “I’m afraid I must insist.” I tossed the mic away in disgust. We had never clashed before, and Norbert, as captain, outranked me. I made my way off deck, up the companionway ladder and on to the bridge, feeling something odd about the air as I went. A stillness that was preternatural, expectant, like a held breath. Norbert would normally have finished shift by now, but he was deep in conversation with the bridge crew, in low voice, when I entered. By then my irritation had given way to concern and curiosity. “What’s up
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Simon

There was an instant of searing, blinding pain as if the atoms of my body were cut away from each other by nanoscale knives. It passed so quickly that I interrupted the next intake of breath with which I would have screamed. Nothing had changed. I slowly lowered my arms. The interior of the craft was whole, intact. A shaken but unhurt Simon looked back at me. Out front I could see the rest of the craft, returned. Beyond that, just the black of the deep. No dolphins. “Did you feel something” I asked Simon. He nodded. “Yes. I felt – pain. Raw pain. But only for a moment. What about you?” “The same.” I picked up the mic. “Phoebe to surface.” There was no reply. I tried again: “Phoebe to surface. Frank, please respond.” Nervously I attempted to adjust the comms equipment to re-establish connection, and tried calling again and again. After a couple of minutes I gave up. “Simon, we’re heading back.” “Yes, I...” He was looking out. His eyes widened. “Wait.” He retrieved the marine
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Phoebe

As soon as Phoebe was lowered to the water’s surface I kept my eye on the dolphins. The event with Laura had unsettled all of us, and our radio communications were curt, businesslike and sombre. Dolphins aren’t quite the lovable children of the ocean as they are often portrayed in the press: they are still wild animals and are quite capable of savagery and viciousness. Their intelligence can even lend a bit of perversity to their behaviour. I’ve seen them torture their prey playfully like a cat would a trapped mouse. But I’ve never seen or heard of them grouping together to bully an individual like they had done to Laura. We were all concerned that they’d turn on the dive team. I watched expectantly as two of Meredith’s team released the harness securing us to the A-frame. Since she was wearing a full face mask with comms on this dive I could converse with the team leader. “Everyone OK, Meredith?” “They’re not paying us any attention, Matt. They’re just off on their own. To be honest I
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Laura

With the Mimas following the dolphin pod, our diving for the day was over, but our working day was not. We still had a couple of hours of routine procedures to follow. Checking over Phoebe and stowing her safely under wraps, washing salt water from equipment and suits, uploading files from the cameras and sensors, delivering samples to the lab for Simon’s team to analyse. As soon as I could, I took a desk in the command centre and played the footage from the dive. The rest of the crew drifted in, two or three at a time, and crowded around the screens to watch the new discovery for themselves. Presently I heard Simon in heated conversation as he entered. He was with Lizzie, who supervised the team of lab staff that came with us on the trip from Christchurch. “The university-” she began. “-Will be very happy with the publicity.” “They will be very unhappy to have arranged a research expedition only to have its leader gallivant off in search of personal glory.” “Don’t be so dramatic,
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Dolphins

‘Enchanting’ is an extremely apt word to describe what it’s like under the ice. We had a Christmas tree erected in the mess on board, but every day I was taking the submersible out to play in a seascape that was like a surrealist artist’s impression of a tree. The ice above is of varying thickness, and in places the strong sun shines through with a soft blue glow. These are my fairy lights. There are baubles and adornments scattered over the ocean floor – pink and white starfish, cerise urchins, and delicate ice crystals like clusters of glittering feathers. The desmonema jellyfish, drifting serenely through the clear water, have strings of tentacles that stream for many metres, and they are my tinsel. The Weddell seals are my choir. Their calls whoop and beat and whistle, sounding like abstract electronic music. We’d been working at and under the ice for a month and a half. After a programme of mandatory survival training for those in the team who were new to Antarctica, we took a tra
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Going to the Ice

The kettle finished boiling and Simon poured water into two mismatched mugs. "Have you ever gone to the ice before?" he asked as he yo-yoed teabags on strings in and out of the cups. "No," I replied. "But the Mimas has done some time in the Norwegian Sea, filming and tagging the humpbacks. Meredith and her dive team have logged hundreds of hours of ice diving. We've not taken Phoebe under the ice itself." (Editor's note: 'go to the ice' is the colloquial term used by scientists, technicians and support staff to refer to taking a trip to Antarctica. Phoebe is the name given to the submersible used by the Mimas) "It's actually the open water that's more dangerous for the submersible," he said, handing one of the mugs over. The teabag had given the water a warm, bright red tint. The drink smelled like a bag of sweets. "The 'bergs collide on the surface and break up. When that happens they might turn over to find a
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Matthew

(Editor: The account begins with fragments of sentences which were crossed through. Evidently the author found it difficult to begin, and made several attempts before the writing becomes ordered and coherent. Of the  'hesitations', I show here the ones which lead naturally into the first full paragraph.) I DIDN'T KILL THEM I DIDN'T KILL ANYONE These were my friends, I swear I didn't do this Simon died too, but he didn't die with the others, he was killed by Everyone in the command centre died of fright. And now I think, having written that, I can carry on writing more. Because I wrote it and I stopped to laugh. Strange to laugh after what's happened. It was a laugh of despair and sickness, of course, but it feels like I just dislodged a stone from my chest. Died of fright. Ridiculous. It's a phrase for another time, the sort of thing a man with mutton chops would exclaim while raising a lantern. "They appear to have died of fright, consta
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