Melisande Mason: 2042: The Great Cataclysm

The Pacific Fault

The Bunyip crunched to the seabed with a thud and recoiled, bouncing up and down like a yo-yo on a string before tipping at a forty-five degree angle. Nick’s solid frame crashed hard against the curved sides in the cramped interior of the submersible.

‘Christ Beau, what happened?’ He bellowed straightening quickly. He wiped aside the trickle of blood from a cut to his head after hitting one of the sharp instruments lining the walls.

The small man at the helm hunched his bony shoulders, the knuckles on one hand white from grappling the guidance lever, the other snapping switches as he fought to tame the sub. ‘I don’t know!’

A blip, blip, blip sound filled the air followed by a ping and a whir.

Nick crawled over to one of the six small viewing windows located in the thick titanium hull and angled his head sideways, pressing his eye obliquely against the thick round fisheye. The view outside wavered, distorted by the eight-inch thickness of the glass. It was like trying to see through pea soup so he turned to the remote camera display where a larger milky picture beamed onto the green screen mounted above Beau’s console. Surrounding this screen dozens of black needles whirred around inside glass circles, some dancing back and forth, others pointing to coloured-graded sections on dials. A bank of switches arced around the control panel in front of the helm, and it was on these that Beau concentrated his efforts to stabilise the bucking sub.

Another small man with toad-like eyes hunched over a second computer screen. He squinted through rimless glasses at his flickering screen, searching for a quick explanation for the sudden upheaval. He flinched when Nick’s big hand clamped his shoulder. ‘Four points plus that one I’d guess Jeremy?’ Nick said.

‘Spot on boss. Four point nine to be exact. Right under us.’ Jeremy pulled at his shirt collar and squirmed on the padded bench curving around the base of the sub they all shared, it’s edges hard and low to the floor. The air-conditioning in the sphere struggled and fluctuated and small beads of perspiration popped and glistened in neat rows between the furrows crinkling his square forehead. ‘The seismo’s bouncing all over the place.’

Beau worked at the controls, arms flying about him as he flicked first one switch then another. ‘That’s not the only thing. If this’s a taste of what’s coming, then we don’t want to be down here too much longer, that’s if your predictions are right Nick.’

Nick rolled his dark chocolate eyes. ‘Yeah, well I don’t think there’s any doubt now. D’you?’

Nick lurched again and cocked his head over his wide shoulder to Beau. ‘Bloody hell Beau can’t you get her under control!’

Beau’s hands flicked over instruments and switches. ‘I’m trying goddammit! It’s like riding a bucking bronco.’

The Bunyip convulsed, cart-wheeling Nick off balance again. He straightened and peered through the tiny distorted window where the tomblike stillness he expected to see at this depth was replaced by a murky spinning turbulence that created a feeling of eeriness and foreboding.

Then as fast as it began the frantic rocking stopped and quietness descended.

The men waited, their breaths coming in sharp bursts as they prepared for another pounding that didn’t come, instead the Bunyip floated gracefully like a lazy dolphin drifting in a calm sea.

‘Better put a bandaid on that cut boss.’ Beau muttered as he began checking for damage.

‘I’m okay. Maintain six hundred and fifty metres and let Sam know we’re staying down longer than anticipated. I want to check the seismometer out there for damage.’

‘Six fifty?’ Beau responded.

‘Oh, sorry. Two thousand feet.’ Nick often forgot his crew were American.

On the surface Sam Hallam lounged his stubby frame against the heavy oak wheel of the Platypus. The big one hundred and ten metre boat rocked gently on the calm ocean as she kept her station above the Bunyip. Serenity surrounded him and the shimmering sun bounced off the sea’s flat surface, it’s warm rays lulling him into a perfect state of torpor. He looked across to the low lying Mururoa Atoll, just visible in the distance above the indigo ocean, and screwed up his face as a sheet of crackled glass from the sea reflected a bright flash into his drooping brown eyes. The heat of the day burned through the bridge window onto his strong dark arms and he dreamed of tropical Polynesian nights, drenched with romantic island music and sensuous rhythms. He was savouring the excitement stirring his loins when Beau’s animated voice cackled over the ship’s radio jerking him roughly back to reality.

‘Sam! Come in Sam. Over.’

Sam came to attention. ‘Whooo. What’s happening, man? Over.’

‘We’ve been hit by a bloody tremor, no damage though. Nick wants to make sure the seismo isn’t damaged, it’s jumping around like a jack rabbit, so we’ll be down here a while longer. How’s everything upstairs? Over.’

‘Okay. No sign of any trouble here water’s smoo….th as fresh laid satin sheets. Don’t worry about us.’ He drawled. ‘We’ll find somethin’ to do. Standing by. Out.’

Sam flicked the transceiver button and leaned back into the chair kicking his thick legs up onto a table beside the helm. He tucked his thumbs into his belt and slowly laced his fat fingers over a belly swollen by too much good eating and drinking, and a slash of pearly white opened up across his broad jaw. He loved his job as skipper with a passion, he thought Nick was the best dude a man could work for; he never lost his temper and treated the men as equals. Being in charge of the Platypus with her crew of twelve made him feel important and fulfilled.

On board Bunyip things were not going so well, seismic activity continued to rattle their instruments. They had traced this seam of unrest from north of Hawaii to Tahiti, where for weeks they had carried out secret dives to the seabed. Deep cracks in the ocean floor spreading from Tahiti like a giant squid reaching for its prey had led them to this point.

Nick flicked the band holding his shoulder length honey coloured hair loose, and sharp lines crimped his leathered forehead as he squinted over Beau’s head to his monitor. They waited, hoping the mirky water would clear so they could see the metre-square steel box on the seabed containing the seismograph.

‘We can’t stay down with the air-con fluctuating like this.’ Nick said. ‘This muck’s not going to clear anytime soon. We’ll have to surface and come down later.’

‘You think?’ Beau said, memories of the past hour crowded his thoughts. His eyelids drooped and he wriggled his feet to ward off the cramps that were inevitable from inactivity in the confined space they shared. ‘I’ll need time to check her out before we dive again, I’m worried the hull could be damaged.’

Nick flinched at the idea that his precious Bunyip might be damaged. ‘Yeah, no seismo’s worth that risk Beau. Call Sam and take her up.’ Thoughts of the temperate environment on the surface and a hot shower beckoned, although he knew it would be hours before he could relax.

Beau counted off the depth as the Bunyip rose gracefully, taking two hours forty-five minutes to reach the surface. They felt the turbulence increase until it felt like being in a washing machine as the surface waves jostled their cocoon, and they waited for the familiar thump as the sub handlers connected the heavy steel cables, as thick as a man’s arm, in preparation for the lift onboard the Platypus.