Robert Walker - Titanic 2012

But David had no desire to go down with it and certainly not to careen into Titanic ’s hull at a hundred miles an hour.

He turned and glared at Kelly and saw the truth in her eyes. You are your ancestor, he thought but did not say.

“Who would do such a thing?” repeated Bowman as Lou slowed the craft to a safer speed.

“Whoever or whatever killed Alandale and Ford, I suspect,” replied Kelly while nursing a bruise.

“Anyone’s suit compromised?” asked Lou. “Check for rents, tears. There’s InstaPatch in your overhead if needed. This is no time to fool with the cold and pressure, people.”

Once everyone was acclimatized to literally being aquanauts, swimming in an oxygenated Perflurorocarbon-413 soup, like spacemen in zero gravity, they each manned their stations. The titanium alloy compartment seemed softened by its being under water with them now. The sealed instruments put off a soft blue glow to the interior. While filled with the commotion and activity of everyone seeing to his job, some readying equipment to travel with them on the outside, everyone did so in a surprisingly calm and orderly manner here in their cramped quarters—much as astronauts in a space capsule. Recordings and monitors beeped, console lights pulsated, while above Forbes and his team mapped their progress and simultaneously sent them information on the terrain around them. The sonar malfunction was playing havoc with the sub but their progress was informed by the signals and messages being sent down to them—details of the ocean floor and how far they were from their destination.

At the same time, Vital signs on all the divers continued to be monitored from above. Data both here and above was being logged simultaneously as well. The number of bells and whistles annoyed David up to a degree; the noise meant all was well at the moment.

“We’re at two miles down,” Lou announced just as everyone became aware that the safe cocoon they were in had become a good deal less safe. At two miles the immense pressure exerted by the ocean against the hull literally shrank it. Scorpio at this depth would be made as thin as toilet paper. It was like being squeezed between thumb and forefinger and one’s cocoon was a gel capsule. Everyone began to feel the exertion this put on their bodies as well. The only thing holding the window bubble in place was a precisely cut angle in the metal that balanced the force trying to squeeze the reinforced glass out balanced against pressure trying to push the bubble in. Having filled the sub with liquid air significantly changed the equation, assuring them of safety even if they had literally shrunk due to the enormous pressures on Max.

Lou had slowed the speed to a crawl by comparison now, and he was slowing even more, so quickly in fact that the sub shuddered in response, and a good thing he had done so as out of the gloom and darkness ahead came an unexpected dark mountainside they were about to slam into as Forbes from above shouted, “Hard-a-port, Lou!” shouted David for collision avoidance. “N-Now, Lou!”

They averted slamming headlong into the giant hull of Titanic and would have if not for Lou’s earlier slowing of the sub’s descent, which he now informed everyone was not his doing; that Forbes had taken control of the sub remotely from above to avert the danger, using the holotank and the holomap of Titanic ’s remains and the position of the sub. Without sonar, they were indeed running blind except for Captain Forbes godlike eye on them even at these depths. Had he waited a moment longer, no warning system aboard Max would have kept them from slamming into Titanic ’s hull at a dangerous rate of speed had come late.

“Everyone OK down there?” Forbes calmly asked, the calmness in his voice only adding to the terror everyone had just swallowed.

“I’d say we’re all palpitating, Captain,” Lou spoke for them all, “but then you guys can see that from our vitals. Thanks, Juris. Had we relied on my skills alone—without sonar—we know damn well that Max would’ve slammed into that mountainside which now in the light ahead of us reveals itself as Titanic ’s hull.”

“From here, it appears you are staring right at her name,” replied Forbes.

“Her name, eh? Her name is covered over by huge rust worms, Captain.”

“Rust worms?”

“Looking like massive cave formations--stalagmites,” added Kelly Irvin. “The kind that are formed by microbial iron-eating life.”

“You should know, Dr. Irvin,” muttered Swigart. “You’re field.”

They all fell silent, everyone staring at rivers of rust that covered this side of the ship, some of it running the length of the exposed vertical hull plating and pouring out over the bottom sediment where it formed great thirty-foot wide pools that looked for all the world like the blood of Titanic .

The dive team felt Max rise now in controlled, slow motion up the ghostly wall of the port stern, running lights reflecting off the gold-red rust and the still unbroken glass of portholes—windows on outside berths. David half expected to see a ghostly face in one of these windows looking back at them, and his mind flooded with the possibility that indeed there must be bodies floating around inside the ship. They’d been warned there could be bodies perfectly preserved in areas cut off to sea life, in which case Ballard was right about Titanic being a place that perhaps the living should not desecrate. Theory had it that anyone dragged down with the ship on a mad, watery slide to the bottom would have had the unpleasant death of implosion so that nothing of significance would remain, and that items such as shoes with toes in the air, pants, blouses, dresses that might be found would have been items tumbling from staterooms and steamer trunks. But David wondered if there might have been those aboard who wound up in secure, sealed quarters aboard, in which case, he imagined the bodies would be intact.

Kelly gasped behind David, making him look over his shoulder. She said, “Check your downward-looking camera, everyone!”

A child’s doll, perfectly preserved had been unearthed from the seabed below where Max had disturbed the surface, and as they ascended alongside Titanic , the sub kicked up silt.

“Look, too, there!” said Mendenhall. “Slightly to eleven o’clock from the doll’s head.”

An eerie row of shoes—their toes sticking up from the silt. An even number by David’s count.

“Sand, silt, and sea life can’t do much with shoe leather,” said David, trying not to allow these sights to disturb him too deeply.

They had risen to come parallel to Titanic ’s once gleaming upper railing – still largely intact. Reddish-brown and sienna stalactites of rust hung down as much as several feet—so many ugly long needle-like icicles that Bob Ballard had dubbed them as rusticles—a name that had stuck.

These formations were proven to be extremely fragile on earlier manned dives to Titanic ; if touched by a robotic hand or a human hand, they would crinkle and crumple and became a cloud of smoke. If the Styrofoam-like outer crust was knocked away, the steel and brass railings and fittings beneath were in places near perfectly preserved, somewhat pitted in other areas, and so shimmering like new in other locations that the manufacturer’s stamp proved easily readable.

As they next lifted up and overtop of Titanic , four feet below they saw the expected destroyed wood decking that Ballard had discovered so long before. The whole of it was replaced by billions if not trillions of wood-boring mollusks. “Bloody worms’ve done more damage than either the corrosive seawater or the iceberg,” David said to no one in particular.