Frank Schatzing - The Swarm

'But that's impossible – impossible…'

Li was tough, but she was filled with horror. She continued to stare at the living corpse. Anawak crouched beside Browning's body. 'Take a look at this, Jude,' he said softly.

She fought back her revulsion and took a step forward.

'See,' he said.

She peered more closely. The shiny coating on Browning's face had begun to dribble away, and in a flash Li realised what it was. Dissociating jelly ran over the technician's shoulders and neck, disappearing into her ears. 'It's inside her,' she whispered.

'The jelly's trying to control her.' Anawak nodded. His face was ashen – a dramatic transformation for an Inuk. 'It's probably spreading through her body and acquainting itself with the structure. But Browning isn't a whale. The residual electricity in her brain is reacting to the jelly's attempt to take charge.' He paused. 'It'll be over in a moment.'

Li said nothing.

'It's trying out all the functions in her brain,' said Anawak, 'but it doesn't know how humans work.' He stood up. 'Browning's dead, General. What you're seeing is the final stage of an experiment gone wrong.'

HEEREMA, La Palma, Canary Islands

Bohrmann was looking skeptically at the pressure suits in the dive station – two silvery body pods with helmets and in-built dome ports, segmented arms and legs, and manipulators for hands. They were hanging like puppets in a large open steel container, staring fixedly into space. 'I didn't know we were going to the moon,' he said.

'Gairhard!' Frost laughed. 'You'd be surprised. At four hundred metres below sea level you might as well be. Anyway, you volunteered to come along, so you'd better not start complaining.'

Originally Frost had asked van Maarten to accompany him but, as Bohrmann had pointed out, the Dutchman knew more than anyone else about the Heerema and would be needed on board. It was a silent admission that the dive could go wrong.

'Besides,' Bohrmann had added, 'I don't want to have to watch while the two of you mess around down there. You might be excellent divers, but I'm the one who knows about hydrates.'

'That's why we need you here,' Frost had argued. 'You're our resident expert. If anything were to happen to you, we'd be stuck.'

'Hardly. You'd have Erwin, remember? He knows at least as much as I do – probably more.'

Suess had just flown in from Kiel.

'You do realise that this is a deep-sea dive and not a day out at the pool,' said van Maarten. 'Have you dived before?'

'On numerous occasions.'

'I mean, have you ever dived to any depth ?

Bohrmann hesitated. 'I went to fifty metres once. Just regular scuba, though. But I'm in great condition. And I'm not stupid.'

Frost thought for a moment. 'Two strong men should do the trick,' he said. 'We'll take an explosive charge and-'

'An explosive charge?' Bohrmann was horrified. 'That's exactly the kind of thing I mean!'

'OK, OK!' Frost held out his hands in surrender. 'I can tell we're going to need your help – you're in. But don't come crying to me when you decide you don't like it.'

Now they were gathered in the starboard-side pontoon, eighteen metres below the ocean's surface. The rest of the pontoon had been flooded, but there was a small compartment that van Maarten had kept dry. It was accessible from the main platform via ladders, and had been used to launch the robot. Before the operation had begun van Maarten had realised that at some point it might be necessary to send down divers to depths of several hundred metres, and with that in mind, he'd ruled out conventional divesuits. He'd ordered the equipment from a firm with a reputation for pioneering dive technology – Nuytco Research in Vancouver.

'They look heavy,' said Bohrmann.

'Ninety kilos each. They're mainly titanium.' Frost ran his hand affectionately over the dome part of one of the helmets. 'Yeah, exosuits are pretty darned heavy – not that you'll notice when you're under water, of course. You can move up and down the water column as often as you please. You've got your own oxygen supply, and you're cocooned in the suit, so there's no risk of nitrogen bubbles forming in your blood, and you don't have the hassle of decompression chambers.'

"They've even got flippers.'

'Not bad, eh? Instead of sinking like a stone, you'll be swimming like a frogman.' Frost pointed to the numerous articulated joints. 'It's built to ensure complete freedom of movement, even at four hundred metres. Your hands are protected inside two pods – no articulated gloves, I'm afraid: the fingers would be too delicate. Instead you've got computer-operated manipulators on the end of each arm. The sensors provide tactile feedback for your hands inside the pods. They're incredibly sensitive – you could write your own will on the seabed if you wanted.'

'How long can we stay down?'

'Forty-eight hours,' said van Maarten. He saw the alarm on Bohrmann's face and grinned. 'Don't worry, you'll be finished long before then.' He pointed to two torpedo-shaped robots, each measuring roughly 1.5 metres. They were equipped with propellers, and their tips were encased in translucent plastic. Several metres of cable were attached to each robot, connecting them to a console with handles, a display and buttons. 'These are your trackhounds. AUVs. They're programmed to find the lighting scaffold, and they're accurate to within a few centimetres, so please don't attempt to find your own way. Just let yourselves be towed. They go at a rate of four knots, so you'll be there in three minutes.'

'How reliable are they?' Bohrmann enquired.

'Very. Trackhounds come equipped with all kinds of sensors that determine their position and their depth in the water. You're certainly not going to get lost, and if anything gets in the way, the trackhound will dodge it. They're activated via the console at the end of the leash. Descent, ascent – easy. The button marked zero starts the propeller without activating the navigational program, so you can steer the trackhound with the joystick instead. Your dog will scamper in whichever direction you choose. Any questions?'

Bohrmann shook his head.

'Let's go, then.'

Van Maarten helped them into the suits. Entry was via a flap in the back, to which two oxygen tanks were mounted. Bohrmann felt like a knight in full armour, about to take a stroll on the moon. As the suit closed, all went silent for a moment, then the volume returned. Through the visor he could see Frost talking to him from inside his own suit, and then the volcanologist's voice boomed into his ears. He could even hear outside noise.

'Wireless communication,' explained Frost. 'It's more reliable than hand signals. Are you getting the hang of the manipulators?'

Bohrmann wiggled his fingers inside the pod. The manipulator copied his movements. 'I think so.'

'Van Maarten's going to give you the console. Try to get hold of it.'

It worked the first time. Bohrmann gave a sigh of relief If everything was as easy as operating the manipulators, they would be fine.

'One more thing. If you look down at your suit, there's a raised rectangular panel. It's at waist level – like a flat switch. It's a POD.'

'A what?'

'Nothing you need worry about now. It's just a precaution. If we need them, I'll explain what they're for. To turn it on, you push it firmly. OK?'

'What is it?'

'A good thing to have when you're diving.'

'I'd really rather-'

I'll tell you later. All set?'

'All set.'

Van Maarten opened the hatch to the sluice tunnel. Lit up in the artificial light, the bright blue water sloshed towards them. 'Just topple in,' he said. I'll send the trackhounds after you. Don't switch them on until you're out of the tunnel. Stan, I'd suggest you start yours first.'