Dead Space Martyr Part 18

"Would Markoff want that?" asked Hendricks.

"I think he'd welcome it," said Altman. "I think he'd congratulate us for taking the initiative."

"How long will it take?" Hendricks asked.

Altman shrugged, holding his face utterly neutral. "Not too long," he claimed.

When Hendricks nodded, he showed him how to recalibrate the device and start it recording. Altman himself kept the bathyscaphe descending, extremely slowly now. Below them, maybe fifty meters farther down, were the robotic dredgers and the MROVs. Most of the MROVs had stopped, he saw, were on standby, waiting for the next command from the surface. The signal wasn't reaching them. He made a mental note to suggest that arrangements be made to control the MROVs from the bathyscaphe rather than from the floating compound.

The machines that were still working had cleared a large circle of the ocean floor of muck and slurry, digging down to more solid rock. They had begun to break this up as well and cart it away, digging downward to form a funnel. The machines at the bottom were perhaps another two hundred meters down. It was difficult to judge; the water there was murky with mudrock particles and matter of other sort from the rock they were removing. They were deeper than Altman had thought they would be; Markoff must have started them digging well before the floating compound was moved into position.

He descended a few meters into the cone the MROVs had dug out and then stopped. If he went too much farther, he would risk being jostled by one of the robotic dredgers moving into and out of the hole. He decided to wait until he could control the dredgers and MROVs from the bathyscaphe and move them out of the way. Besides, there was Hendricks to consider.

He turned back to Hendricks. "How are you doing?" he asked.

"My head hurts," said Hendricks.

"That's normal," claimed Altman, though he wasn't entirely sure it was. His own head didn't hurt, or at least not any more than usual, and since the cabin was pressurized, their descent shouldn't have had any effect. "It's just from the pressure," he lied. "It'll go away soon."

Hendricks nodded. "Oh, right," he said, and gave a weak smile. "Normal." And then he squinted at the observation porthole. "I think my father's out there," he said, his voice filling with wonder.

Startled, Altman asked, "What did you say?"

"My father," Hendricks said again. He waved. "Hi, Dad!"

Altman started the bathyscaphe ascending, gently, never taking his eyes off Hendricks. "No," he said. "I'm sorry, Jason. It doesn't seem possible."

After a moment staring out the gla.s.s, Hendricks gave a little laugh.

"No, it's okay," he said. "He's explained it to me. He is is dead, and so the pressure can't hurt him." dead, and so the pressure can't hurt him."

"If he's dead, he's not here," said Altman. "If he's dead, he's not anywhere."

"But I see him!" said Hendricks, starting to get a little angry. "I know what I see!"

"All right, Hendricks," said Altman, smiling and keeping his voice level. "I'm sorry."

Hendricks turned back to the observation porthole, mumbling to himself. Altman risked glancing down at the instruments. The pulse signal had increased in intensity just around the time that Hendricks had started seeing his father. He told himself that that wasn't logical, that it was just coincidence, but it was hard for him to believe that. It dipped back down again and he watched Hendricks's eyes, which had been intensely regarding the observation porthole, suddenly go out of focus. He snapped his fingers in front of his eyes.

"Hendricks," he said. "Look at me. Look here."

Hendricks began to and then stopped, his eyes drifting back to the porthole. Another glance: the signal had gone up again, was even stronger than it had been before.

"He wants to come in," said Hendricks. "He's cold out there. Don't worry, Dad, we'll help you."

"I don't think that's such a good idea," said Altman.

Hendricks got up from his chair and stumbled to the observation porthole, knocking his head against the gla.s.s. He hit it with his head again, and again.

"Hendricks," said Altman, grabbing his arm. "Don't!"

Hendricks shook Altman off and then elbowed him hard in the face, knocking him out of his chair.

"Come in, Dad!" he was shouting now. "Come in!"

Altman pulled himself up and moved to the far end of the cabin. The controls, he realized, had been knocked in the struggle; they were descending again, slowly, and he hoped he could stop it before they plowed into a dredger. Hendricks was pounding on the porthole with his fists now, stopping only to claw at its edges with his fingernails.

Altman searched frantically for a weapon. There was nothing, at least nothing he could immediately see. He searched his pockets, his person, nothing.

He crept forward, crouching. He reached past Hendricks's waist and flicked the lever even, was trying to nudge it forward to make the craft rise when Hendricks cried out and knocked him to the floor.

"Don't touch him!" he was screaming.

Dazed, Altman stared at the base of the console. He's going to kill me, He's going to kill me, he suddenly realized. he suddenly realized. I was wrong. I signed my death warrant when I cleared him. I was wrong. I signed my death warrant when I cleared him.

He didn't want to die. There had to be a weapon somewhere.

Slowly, trying not to alert Hendricks, he wriggled backward and away from him. Once he was as far away as he could get, he sat up with his back to the bulkhead and removed his shoes.

The shoes were modified bluchers, with a pebbled Vibram sole but a hard heel in back, the sole flexible and with a snap to it. He stood up, took hold of each shoe by the toe box, made a chopping motion with his arms. Yes, he thought, it might be enough.

"You're not going to get him inside that way," said Altman. "You need to bring him through the hatch."

Hendricks stopped, turned around to look at him. "I thought you didn't want him to come in," he said suspiciously.

"Are you kidding?" said Altman. "I heard your father was a great guy."

"He is is a great guy," said Hendricks, and smiled. a great guy," said Hendricks, and smiled.

"Fine," said Altman. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's get him in here."

Hendricks stumbled toward the hatch, then stopped. "Wait a minute," he said slowly. "Why are you holding your shoes?"

Oh, s.h.i.+t, thought Altman, but tried to stay calm. "They're my favorite shoes. I thought I'd give them to your father," he said. thought Altman, but tried to stay calm. "They're my favorite shoes. I thought I'd give them to your father," he said.

This answer seemed to satisfy Hendricks. He nodded once and turned toward the ladder leading up to the hatch.

As soon as his hands touched the ladder's rails, Altman was on him. He hit him as hard as he could in the back of the head with the heel of each shoe in turn, employing the shoe like a blackjack. Hendricks swayed, started to turn. Altman struck him again, then again. He crumbled and collapsed into a heap.

"Sorry about that," said Altman to his unconscious friend. "I couldn't think of any other way."

He quickly stripped off Hendricks's s.h.i.+rt and unders.h.i.+rt. He tore them into strips, twisted them into ropes. These he used to tie Hendricks's hands and arms behind his back and then hogtie his legs to his hands.

He sat down and put his shoes back on, then examined the controls. Nothing had been hurt that he could see. They were floating just above and to one side of the hole the robotic units had dug out, probably carried there by some deepwater current.

He was about to start back up again when something caught his eye. An odd fish, drifting awkwardly into his lights. It had a flayed, incomplete look. It was less like the prehistoric-looking fishes that he had seen so far on the dive than the corpse of a fish that had been dead and floating in the water a few days. And yet as he watched it, it moved under its own power.

There was something else puzzling about it. Rather than a long slender body like a viperfish or a thick bulbous one like a lanternfish, it looked like a long fish that had been folded in half and then glued together. The head was surmounted by a wavy translucent curtain of flesh that resembled nothing so much as a tail. In the place of fins, it had what looked like little spurs of bone undulating from its sides. As he watched, a snaggletooth entered the lights and the first fish darted toward it. The first fish caught the snaggletooth on its spurs and, undulating, began to tear it apart until the other fish was dead and in pieces. Intrigued, Altman pressed a b.u.t.ton and filmed the end of the fight and the fish as it pa.s.sed in front of them and into the darkness.

And then he saw something else even stranger. Here and there, floating through the water, were patches of what looked like flat, pale pink clouds. At first he thought it was a ray, but it wasn't differentiated in the way a ray was. It was just a floating, billowing sheet of something. A strange jellyfish maybe? A fungus of some kind? He nudged the bathyscaphe in for a closer look. When the craft touched it, it draped over the hull then split apart, slowly reknitting after their pa.s.sage. Some of it, though, adhered to the observation porthole and remained there, caught on the rivets.

"Well I'll be d.a.m.ned," said Altman.

Behind him, Hendricks groaned. He was tied up, but who knew how long his bonds would hold? They had to get to the surface as quickly as possible.

He turned off the override for the pellet release valve and pressed a b.u.t.ton. The bathyscaphe began to rise.

37 He started broadcasting a looped SOS at 2,500 meters, but got only static. Hendricks was starting to come around. By two thousand meters, he was back to his hysterical babbling. Altman tried to ignore it. Through his earpiece, Altman caught brief bits of something that he recognized as a human voice submerged in a wash of static. By 1,700 meters, it was less static than voice, but Hendricks was shouting now, straining at his bonds.

"Michael Altman, please respond," he finally heard the voice say. "Michael Altman, do you read?"

He turned the loop off and went live. "This is Altman," he said.

The other voice started to answer and was suddenly interrupted. Markoff's voice came on. "Altman?" he said. "What the f.u.c.k is going on?"

"Hendricks flipped out," Altman said. "I've got him tied up. That's him screaming in the background."

"What happened?"

"Just a minute," said Altman. Hendricks had started to work his way loose. He took off his shoes again, slowly crept up next to him. Altman? Altman? Markoff's voice was saying in his ear. Markoff's voice was saying in his ear. Are you all right, Altman? Are you all right, Altman? He struck Hendricks hard in the back of the head, twice, and he stopped moving. He struck Hendricks hard in the back of the head, twice, and he stopped moving.

"What was that sound?" asked Markoff.

"That sound was the sound of me trying to stay alive," said Altman. He undid the ligature and re-hogtied Hendricks. "I'll tell you more when I get to the surface," he said. "Oh, and it might be a good idea to have a few guards on hand in the submarine bay."

Markoff had started to speak again, but Altman turned the transmitter off. He began to think. It wasn't likely that Hendricks would break free. As long as he didn't forget about him, things would be okay. He looked out the observation porthole. The tatter of the pale pink substance was still there on the rivets, undulating slightly as the submarine rose. He knew if Markoff saw it, he'd take it away for testing by members of his inner circle and he, Altman, wouldn't hear anything further about it. Same with the footage of the unusual fish.

He removed his holopod from his pocket and connected it to the console, then copied the vid footage of the fish onto it. He'd have to leave it in the system as well. Markoff and his minions would no doubt be able to tell if something had been erased, but maybe they wouldn't be able to tell it had been copied. He had to try to find some answers on his own.

The pink swath was a little harder. But a plan began to form in his mind.

He checked the pulse signal monitor. The signal had fallen off again. He checked back through the history. If the pattern continued, it should start to rise again.

What he was planning to do was dangerous. No doubt Ada would tell him to leave well enough alone, that he was only likely to get himself killed. Which was why he would never tell her about it. Maybe she was right, but his desire to know was much too great.

He slowed the bathyscaphe as he came up, trying to time it so that the signal would be strongest and Hendricks would be regaining consciousness just at the moment the craft moved into the submarine bay.

Hendricks was groaning, his eyes fluttering, by the time they were fully in. Altman knelt down and undid the ligature that hogtied Hendricks, then undid the rope around his legs but left his hands tied. He unrolled one of the ropes and tore a square of fabric off it, which he tucked into his pocket. Then he helped Hendricks get to his knees.

It was cruel, but he couldn't think of another way.

"Where's your father, Hendricks?" he asked.

The man's eyes focused briefly then moved independently of each other, wandering about the sockets.

"Hendricks," he said again. He had to hurry. The bay was almost drained down to the catwalk. Soon enough water would be pumped out and the guards would be there. "Where's your father?"

Hendricks's eyes focused again and this time stayed focused. "My father," he said. "He was just right here."

"We left him down there," suggested Altman. "We abandoned him. You You abandoned him." abandoned him."

For a moment there was no response, and then, abruptly, Hendricks let out an unG.o.dly howl of pain and slammed his head into Altman's chest. It hurt like h.e.l.l. Then he fell on top of Altman, slavering, trying to bite his face.

Altman got his hands up against his shoulders and tried desperately to hold him away, watching the man bare his teeth and shake his head like a wild animal. But he was too heavy, was bearing down too hard, his teeth getting closer and closer to Altman's face. He cried out and pushed out as hard as he could, genuinely terrified now, trying to roll him off but failing.

Just when he thought he couldn't hold him back any more, the bathyscaphe's hatch hissed open and a guard dropped in and wrapped an arm around Hendricks's neck. Altman scrambled back and away, dodging a second guard who had dropped down and scurrying up the ladder to the hatch. There was a group of guards around the hatch, pointing their weapons at him when he came out. He pushed past and, stumbling, rolled off the curve of the bathyscaphe not onto the catwalk but into the water.

He had only a few seconds. Holding his breath, he floundered briefly to the observation porthole, tugging the square of cloth from his pocket and using it to gather up the pale pink swath. Through the porthole he caught a glimpse of Hendricks struggling with the two guards, who had forced him back to the floor. He balled up the sodden cloth and thrust it deep into his pocket and returned to the surface.

He broke to shouts and cries. Hands were immediately there, pulling him onto the catwalk and out of the water. Somebody wrapped a blanket around him.

"Don't kill Hendricks!" he heard himself shouting. "He doesn't know what he's doing!" And then he was hustled out.

38 They let him stop off in his room to get a change of clothing. He managed to slip the rag out of his pocket and force it and the pink substance into an empty water bottle. He secured it in his drawer and then let the men lead him out.

He stripped his clothes off and showered. When he stepped out, he saw that his clothing was gone. When he asked the guards about it, they didn't answer.

He got dressed as the guards impa.s.sively watched. When he was done, they opened the door and gestured him out.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"Debriefing," one said.

A few minutes later, he was on the command deck. As soon as he entered, the other people in the room started to clear out. In the end, only he and Markoff were left.

"All right," said Markoff. "Let's hear it. Tell me everything."

He told him almost everything. He mentioned the strange fish, knowing that Markoff would see the vid recording anyway. He told him about the pink swaths but didn't mention the sample he had retrieved. He told him about the problems with the MROVs, that they either weren't receiving their commands or had failed in some other way. He described the progress that had been made. Markoff just nodded.

"What happened with Hendricks?" he asked.

"How's he doing?"

Markoff shrugged. "Delirious," he said. "They're shooting him full of something to calm him down. He keeps talking about his father."

"He was doing that down there," Altman said. "He thought he saw his father outside the bathyscaphe. He wanted to let him in." He gave a wry smile. "I, quite understandably, was opposed to this."

"I thought Stevens gave him a clean bill of health," said Markoff.

"He did," said Altman. "No reason to think otherwise. I thought he was okay most of the way down. He was a friend. I'm sorry this happened to him."

"He was unstable."

"No," said Altman. "I think there's more to it than that."