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 torch from under his feet and switched it on, stood up and aimed the beam off to the far side from me.
He held the torch for a long moment, frozen in place.
“What is it? Is it the dolph-”
“Mmm- Matthew...” he stammered, his body and breath shuddering. “Get us out of here.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked, while starting to turn Phoebe to the direction that he pointed the torch.
That caused Simon to snap. He dropped the torch, which clattered over the controls and onto the floor, making reeling areas of light and shadow in the cockpit. Simon clutched my shoulders and pushed his face, twisted with fright, down close to mine. “GET US OUT, GET US OUT, GET US OUT!” he screamed hoarsely, over and over, deafening me, spraying spittle at me.
I pushed him away. He retreated to his seat, where he drew his legs up, covered his head with his arms, hands clutched on his scalp, and leant over to his side, away from me.
I didn’t pause. I guided Phoebe to face the surface and throttled up full. After a moment the pain hit me again, somehow unexpectedly. I tensed up and gritted my teeth. Beside me, Simon whimpered like an injured animal. “Simon,” I spoke softly, “are you alright?” I reached over and touched his side. He jerked away from my touch as if it burned him, but otherwise didn’t move or respond.
I turned back to my console, and picked up the mic, to try establishing contact again. “Phoebe to surface, please come in.”
This time there was a response. There was a short sequence of thumps as if the mic in the control room were being fumbled and dropped. “Matthew, it’s Frank! Oh, God, are you OK? What happened?”
I frowned. I didn’t understand why he sounded so relieved – we hadn’t been out of contact for long. “I don’t know, we...I’ll explain later. We’re on our way up.”
“Are you both OK?” he repeated.
“Yes. Simon...”, I began, and Simon flinched at the mention of his name, “...had a - a panic attack. He’s not hurt though. We’ll be back before - ”
I glanced at the clock display in the cockpit. It was wrong. I checked it against my watch, which showed the expected time. Phoebe showed almost an hour ahead.
“Frank, what time you got?” He confirmed the time that Phoebe showed on controls. When they were in contact, Phoebe automatically synchronised time with the Mimas. We’d had a synchronisation event since re-establishing contact. “We were only out of contact for about five minutes!”
There was a moment before Frank replied. “Matthew, we lost you for an hour.”
For a long while we ascended in silence, the only sound being the thin whine of the electric motors powering Phoebe’s jets. The deep gradually brightened from black to blue gloom. When Simon spoke, it was so unexpected I jumped.
“Matthew, I saw it.”
There was a quality to his voice, a flatness, that unnerved me. He didn’t move from his quasi-foetal position, face turned away from me. He said no more so I prompted him. “What did you see?”
I can’t pretend to repeat verbatim what he whispered: it was ravings, delirium, even though it was delivered in the flat monotone of one hypnotised. The following is an approximation of the things he said
“I saw it, and now I know. It didn’t tell me, it didn’t show me, you just see it and then you know. It’s black. It’s so black, how can it be so black but when I saw it I saw so much? I saw the dreams. Oh, the dreams, they drift around Him and they drift through my head now. He just dreams and he makes those things by dreaming. God help us, he must not wake! He is dead, but He isn’t, He dreams and waits. And the city is sealed, He can’t escape, but the seal bends time and space, He can be dead and wait until the seal is broken. They sealed Him in the tomb, and they sealed the city, the time is wrong there but only that seal could keep all His dimensions in place. All we can see is part of Him, like a shadow on the wall, and we are shadows to Him. But we can still wake Him. We must not wake Him! We must not find Him! We...we must not bring the World to him!”
Simon continued in this vein, low, continuous murmuring, saying this and other more incomprehensible phrases, all the way up, tailing off when Frank called in to co-ordinate our surfacing procedure. It was past sundown when approached the surface, and two of Meredith’s team were waiting in the water to tether us to the A-Frame. Without scuba gear, just wetsuits, they looked like dark skinny wraiths moving through the water above Phoebe.
Usually breaking surface at night is a wonderful experience: to come from the beautiful underwater world, to see the sky awash with stars like faint foam. This time there were no stars. The sky was overcast, featureless. Simon stirred and looked about as we were hauled out and deposited on the deck. Liz was waiting for us, and when the clamshell hatch was opened she took hold of him gently and guided him out, as if caring for a child, and led him away below deck.
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 torch from under his feet and switched it on, stood up and aimed the beam off to the far side from me.
He held the torch for a long moment, frozen in place.
“What is it? Is it the dolph-”
“Mmm- Matthew...” he stammered, his body and breath shuddering. “Get us out of here.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked, while starting to turn Phoebe to the direction that he pointed the torch.
That caused Simon to snap. He dropped the torch, which clattered over the controls and onto the floor, making reeling areas of light and shadow in the cockpit. Simon clutched my shoulders and pushed his face, twisted with fright, down close to mine. “GET US OUT, GET US OUT, GET US OUT!” he screamed hoarsely, over and over, deafening me, spraying spittle at me.
I pushed him away. He retreated to his seat, where he drew his legs up, covered his head with his arms, hands clutched on his scalp, and leant over to his side, away from me.
I didn’t pause. I guided Phoebe to face the surface and throttled up full. After a moment the pain hit me again, somehow unexpectedly. I tensed up and gritted my teeth. Beside me, Simon whimpered like an injured animal. “Simon,” I spoke softly, “are you alright?” I reached over and touched his side. He jerked away from my touch as if it burned him, but otherwise didn’t move or respond.
I turned back to my console, and picked up the mic, to try establishing contact again. “Phoebe to surface, please come in.”
This time there was a response. There was a short sequence of thumps as if the mic in the control room were being fumbled and dropped. “Matthew, it’s Frank! Oh, God, are you OK? What happened?”
I frowned. I didn’t understand why he sounded so relieved – we hadn’t been out of contact for long. “I don’t know, we...I’ll explain later. We’re on our way up.”
“Are you both OK?” he repeated.
“Yes. Simon...”, I began, and Simon flinched at the mention of his name, “...had a - a panic attack. He’s not hurt though. We’ll be back before - ”
I glanced at the clock display in the cockpit. It was wrong. I checked it against my watch, which showed the expected time. Phoebe showed almost an hour ahead.
“Frank, what time you got?” He confirmed the time that Phoebe showed on controls. When they were in contact, Phoebe automatically synchronised time with the Mimas. We’d had a synchronisation event since re-establishing contact. “We were only out of contact for about five minutes!”
There was a moment before Frank replied. “Matthew, we lost you for an hour.”
For a long while we ascended in silence, the only sound being the thin whine of the electric motors powering Phoebe’s jets. The deep gradually brightened from black to blue gloom. When Simon spoke, it was so unexpected I jumped.
“Matthew, I saw it.”
There was a quality to his voice, a flatness, that unnerved me. He didn’t move from his quasi-foetal position, face turned away from me. He said no more so I prompted him. “What did you see?”
I can’t pretend to repeat verbatim what he whispered: it was ravings, delirium, even though it was delivered in the flat monotone of one hypnotised. The following is an approximation of the things he said
“I saw it, and now I know. It didn’t tell me, it didn’t show me, you just see it and then you know. It’s black. It’s so black, how can it be so black but when I saw it I saw so much? I saw the dreams. Oh, the dreams, they drift around Him and they drift through my head now. He just dreams and he makes those things by dreaming. God help us, he must not wake! He is dead, but He isn’t, He dreams and waits. And the city is sealed, He can’t escape, but the seal bends time and space, He can be dead and wait until the seal is broken. They sealed Him in the tomb, and they sealed the city, the time is wrong there but only that seal could keep all His dimensions in place. All we can see is part of Him, like a shadow on the wall, and we are shadows to Him. But we can still wake Him. We must not wake Him! We must not find Him! We...we must not bring the World to him!”
Simon continued in this vein, low, continuous murmuring, saying this and other more incomprehensible phrases, all the way up, tailing off when Frank called in to co-ordinate our surfacing procedure. It was past sundown when approached the surface, and two of Meredith’s team were waiting in the water to tether us to the A-Frame. Without scuba gear, just wetsuits, they looked like dark skinny wraiths moving through the water above Phoebe.
Usually breaking surface at night is a wonderful experience: to come from the beautiful underwater world, to see the sky awash with stars like faint foam. This time there were no stars. The sky was overcast, featureless. Simon stirred and looked about as we were hauled out and deposited on the deck. Liz was waiting for us, and when the clamshell hatch was opened she took hold of him gently and guided him out, as if caring for a child, and led him away below deck.
Comments
Post a Comment