Nigel Thompson - Pheia

“Very well.” Williams responded. “I’m going to try to send another message. Please let me know if anything changes.”

He left the bridge for the comms shack. When he got there the technician looked at him and told him there was a message for him. Williams went to the ELF radio console and looked at the message: “Got stuck under a boat. Moved out to clear it. On my way up again.”

Williams sighed. “What boat?” he said aloud.

“Lots of wrecks around this wall sir.”

“Yes, well I’m just glad the Pheia isn’t one of them.”

(1,200 Feet)

There was a lot of activity on the surface barge. Babin and Leclerc had modified the Pheia’s lifting harness so that it could be adjusted for the angle they thought the two cylinders were now at. They had also manufactured several straps from steel cable which would be used to stabilize the cylinders so that they would not shift when the whole rig was lifted from the sea.

The lifting cables and straps were laid out on the deck and Babin was explaining to the dive team how they were to be attached.

Leclerc was a different man. The sea had only a slight swell to it and the sky was almost clear. The hot sunshine felt wonderful to him after the misery of the rain and sea-sickness. He was back to enjoying his work again. He had also developed an addiction to strawberry jam sandwiches, which now formed the bulk of his diet.

The dive team leader, Morrison had not looked very happy all the time Babin was talking. When she asked for questions, he had said nothing but just looked down at the cables on the deck shaking his head.

“Mr. Morrison. It is clear you are not happy. Can you tell us why please?”

Morrison looked up.

“It’s not a matter of being happy or not. It’s whether we can fit these to the structure. None of us have ever seen the sub in person and we don’t have a way to practice the attachment so we’ll be doing this for the first time in a thousand feet of water. What’s not to be happy about?”

“I completely understand your concern and if I were in your position, I’d probably say the same things. All I can say again is that Leclerc and I know the Pheia very well and we have designed the lifting cables to compensate for a much wider range of tilt angles than we believe is possible. We have made the stabilization straps to also be very adjustable and a lot longer than we think they need to be.”

“It’s the think part that bothers me.” Morrison replied.

Babin grinned at that.

Williams had joined the group while Morrison was talking. He moved forward and spoke up.

“As you all know, the Pheia is damaged, and Dr. Moss is alone down there. We would like to secure the hab as soon as possible and thus we plan to be there when it reaches a thousand feet, which Mr. Morrison assures me is a workable depth for the dive team. If things go well, the dive team attaches the cables and joins Dr. Moss for the rest of the trip back to the surface. If there is a problem, the dive team surfaces and we re-assess the situation. We still have three or four days before the Pheia is at the surface, and if necessary we could have it hover safely below the surface while we re-work the lifting rig. And in that event, we’d bring Kate out and do a swim ascent for the final hundred feet or so. I’m sure she’d be out well before that if we’d let her. I think we all understand the complexity of the situation, the risks and the consequences of any problems that arise. However, these are cards we’ve been dealt and we must play them as best we can.”

Babin nodded at him. She wanted to say, “rah rah.” but thought better of it. She wasn’t sure everyone would see the humor.

Most of the divers nodded at Williams too.

Morrison addressed him.

“Yes, we all know the facts. I was just letting my mouth run a bit. We’ll follow the plan and see where that goes. This is what we do.”

Williams liked Morrison. He’d met him in the U.S. a year or so before on a different project. Morrison was a commercial diver with a lot of hours in the water. That was rare these days when ROVs were used whenever possible. Divers were expensive to operate and had very limited working times at depth, unless complex and expensive gas and decompression systems were available. He didn’t know any of Morrison’s team but he doubted Morrison would be working with them if they we’re worth their salt.

On the Pheia, Kate was watching the wall through the portal again. Moving the hab out around the shipwreck had been very easy. She had simply dialed in a large separation from the wall and waited while the Pheia adjusted its position. She had watched from the portal as the wall faded into darkness. With the exterior lights off, she had tried again to see the surface but it just looked black when she tried to see up. She had turned the lights back on just as the Pheia came level with the shipwreck. It was fascinating to see it as she moved slowly past. In the very clear water it looked like a toy, not the massive vessel it actually was. As it moved down below the Pheia in her view she walked back to the console and reset the wall separation to its usual 30 feet. She felt the slight shift in attitude as the Pheia moved laterally.

As she watched now, the wall crept past at its usual slow rate. It had also returned to the usual appearance: dusty grey rock with occasional hollows and protrusions.

Kate checked her depth. She had been doing that more and more often over the last day. She was nearing the depth that divers could operate and was very nervous about what would happen next.

She had not paid much attention to the recovery briefings months ago back at the institute. At the time, it had seemed to her that recovery of the hab would be anti-climactic. They would have new science data to process, and she imagined she’d have a couple of days on the beach before flying home. “So what do you want to do when we get out of here?” she asked herself.

She had been avoiding thinking about the surface as much as possible. Until recently it had been too far away, and she had no desire to jinx the ascent. But now she was just hours from seeing divers outside. It seemed surreal. After so much time alone, the idea of having company was disturbing her and she couldn’t quite figure out why.

On the surface barge Dr. Subramanian was discussing the same topic with Williams.

“Kate is probably a little anxious about what happens next. She has been alone for several days now and is about to have visitors.”

“I can’t see that being a problem.” Williams replied. “She’s told me all about her week long solo mountaineering trips. Why would this be any different? I’m sure she’s just looking forward to being back in the sunshine and getting a change of clothes.”

“I’m sure that is true, but she has been in more of a survival mode than she probably has experienced before. She has successfully managed several serious problems recently and given her nature, she is most likely worried that anyone else joining her at this point might mess things up for her. It might be helpful to send down some information about the dive team. I am thinking that we might also talk to the leader, Mr. Morrison isn’t it? About what to expect from Kate, I mean.”

Williams agreed and went to compose a message to Kate. He was sure Morrison was more than capable of dealing with any other issues that might arise.

When Kate got Williams’ long message she wasn’t sure why Williams had sent it. “So you’re sending divers? I knew that.” She read through the section about Morrison again. Evidently he was some sort of hot shot in the water. The description reminded her of Duncan. Kate had liked Duncan. He had a direct way of speaking that many people didn’t like, but Kate liked the directness and lack of fluff when he spoke. She always knew where she stood with Duncan. During dive training he had been very thorough and quick to point out errors or bad practices. He didn’t usually overstate the situation either, but, “And now you’re dead.” was one of his favorite phrases. When he used it, someone had usually screwed up badly. It had often made her smile if that someone wasn’t her. On the few occasions she had messed up and been the object of Duncan’s ribbing, she was usually too embarrassed to say more than “Sorry.” And that too was a mistake. Duncan didn’t want an apology. “I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to get it right. Got it? OK, let’s do it again.” That was the usual exchange.