Dive to Oblivion

4

The Mir habitat program was an immediate byproduct of a United Nations effort to encourage the peaceful exploration and development of the sea floor.

For the first time, scientists, marine architects, and engineers from around the world, collaborated to create a self-sustaining, underwater community, capable of sheltering a group of humans for an extended period of time.

One of the primary objectives of the program was to tap the virtually unexploited resources of the continental shelf, the richest and most accessible region of the ocean. This portion of the sea floor hugged the earth’s major landmasses, and extended to a depth of six hundred feet before dropping off to the black depths. It was home to abundant oil, natural gas, and various minerals such as manganese, gold and even diamonds.

It also provided the ideal location for undersea fish farms and other aquaculture ventures.

By having a stable base on the sea floor, divers would no longer have to decompress each time they surfaced at the end of a day’s work. Decompression was time-consuming and dangerous, and was a necessary evil that divers never looked forward to. A liveable, undersea habitat would free them of this often-painful ordeal.

After searching the world’s oceans to find a suitable place to locate the Mir habitat, it was decided that the waters of the Bahamas offered the best advantages.

They were readily accessible, of the proper depth, and filled with an abundance of marine life. An ideal location was then found off the northeastern coast of Andros Island.

The habitat itself consisted of four major structures, the largest of which was called Starfish House.

This comfortable, underwater villa had five rooms radiating from a central core. One arm was reserved for a complete marine laboratory, while the others held the crew’s sleeping quarters, kitchen, and diver’s ready room.

In addition to Starfish House, there was a domed structure called Habitat One. This all-important building was where the air tanks were stored, and it was here that electricity and water were produced. The team’s mini sub was stored in an onion-shaped hangar, that had a supply warehouse and several fish pens attached to it.

Designed and constructed by a worldwide consortium, the various pieces of the habitat were shipped to Nassau from the far corners of the planet. Here they were put together and towed to the sparkling blue waters off Andros.

It took over two hundred tons of lead ballast to anchor the habitat to a coral shelf, sixty feet beneath the sea’s surface. Once this was accomplished, the world looked on as five brave divers donned their scuba tanks and descended towards the sea floor, to become Starfish House’s first full-time inhabitants.

This multinational group of aquanauts had lived in this watery environment for over three weeks now, and they hoped to extend their stay to over two months if possible. Leading the team was Pierre Lenclud, a fifty four-year-old, retired French naval officer, who was known simply as Commandant to his co-workers. The bald-headed, debonair Frenchman was a former submariner, whose current interest was in the field of marine biology.

Dr. Ivana Petrov was the team’s geologist. A graduate of the Soviet Union’s famed Black Sea Institute, the tall, attractive redhead was also an archaeologist, who gained world renown when she discovered the long-lost remnants of an ancient Greek city, buried beneath the Mediterranean seabed off the Peloponnesian coast in the late 1980s.

From Osaka, Japan came thirty-three-year-old Tomoyaki Nakata, one of the world’s foremost authorities in the field of aquaculture. Tomo as he was called, had already designed several profitable fish farms in the Sea of Japan. While stationed aboard the Mir habitat, he was monitoring the growth rate of several species of edible sea plants, and conducting experiments on the farming of the local sea conch.

The team was also extremely fortunate to have the expert services of a talented, resourceful marine engineer, who at twenty-four years of age was also the group’s youngest member. Karl Ivar Bjornsen had been born in far-off Haugesund, Norway, where he worked as a North Sea oil-rig diver. The likable blond could fix almost anything, and was a self-avowed workaholic.

Rounding out the group was Lisa Tanner, a pert, twenty-five-year-old kiwi from Auckland, New Zealand. Lisa was a premed student, who had been recruited to be both the habitat’s cook and its nurse. She did both jobs extremely well, and was also responsible for making Starfish House a real home, by providing atmosphere in the form of posters of her beautiful homeland. She managed to tack them to almost every available vacant wall space.

Regardless of what was on the menu, mealtime was an event inside Starfish House. It was a time for the group’s members to relax and interact, and this evening’s dinner proved no exception.

The dining table had been set up in the central module, beside a large picture window. Currently seated around the red-checkered tablecloth were all the members of the team, except for their young engineer.

Tomo had picked this evening’s music, and in the background sounded the haunting, new-age strains of Kitaro’s “Silk Road.”

“I’m sorry that the only vegetable that I had to serve this evening is cabbage,” apologized their cook.

“But all the canned veggies that they sent down on the last shipment seemed to be spoiled.”

Ivana Petrov cut into a piece of raw, salted herring and bitterly voiced herself.

“That’s what we get for having a Russian supply ship.”

“I should be able to provide us with a good quantity of fresh sea grasses, in another week’s time,” offered Tomo.

“When steamed, this particular variety is most palatable, with a taste much like spinach.”

“I congratulate you on this conch meat, Tomo,” said Pierre Lenclud, who sat at the head of the table sipping a glass of white wine.

“Why I could swear that it was chicken.”

Tomo looked over to Lisa Tanner and sincerely complimented her.

“We can all thank our cook for preparing it so excellently. But be forewarned, the local natives consider the meat of the queen conch to be an aphrodisiac.”

Lenclud smiled.

“Ah, just what a Frenchman has to hear to ask for seconds!”

The room filled with laughter, which generated a shrieking response from the habitat’s mascot, a large, green-feathered Amazonian parrot with the name of Uige.

“What’s so funny? What’s so funny?” mimicked Uige in his best parrot voice.

Uige had two roles to play inside Starfish House.

Not only was he the only pet allowed aboard, but he also served a more practical purpose. Just as miners took canaries into the pits to warn of high concentrations of poisonous gases, so they had Uige as an early warning system, to detect unhealthy accumulations of carbon monoxide.

“Quiet down, mon ami, and come have a drink,” said Lenclud, who raised his wine glass towards the parrot.

Uige shot across the room and obligingly landed on the Frenchman’s forearm. Lenclud held up his glass, and the parrot gulped down several healthy sips.

“Easy does it, mon petit” warned Lenclud, as he pulled back the glass.

“Or you’ll earn yourself another nasty hangover.”

“I wonder if Karl Ivar will be joining us?” asked Lisa as she finished off her borscht.

Ivana Petrov shook her head.

“I seriously doubt it, Comrade. At least not until he completes his repairs to Misha, so that we can continue on with tonight’s excursion.” “How deep do you plan on going?” asked Tomo.

“At least nine hundred and seventy-six feet,” answered the Russian.

“That’s where I made my initial discovery.”

“Isn’t that awfully deep for the remnants of a stone roadway?” questioned Lisa.

“Not really,” replied Ivana.

“You see, because of this region’s geological instability, it could easily have been pulled into the depths during an earthquake, or other seismic disturbance. And besides, we still don’t know for certain that it is indeed a man-made formation.”

“If it is, it could be the first real evidence of the lost continent of Atlantis!” suggested the excited kiwi.

Lenclud discreetly expressed his own opinion while trading a guarded glance with their archaeologist. “Let’s not jump to any wild conclusions just yet. Lisa.

Don’t forget, as Ivana pointed out when she first reported her find two days ago, that it could be ordinary beach rock or lava that’s been broken away at right angles.

I’ll hold back any further opinion on my part, until I see it with my own eyes.”

Ivana looked at her wristwatch and added.

“If Karl Ivar’s efforts are successful, you’ll be viewing the formation before the next sunrise. Commandant. Shall we proceed to the hangar and get on with it?”

“By all means,” replied Lenclud, who drained his wine glass, then stood and passed Uige over to Tomo.

Lenclud and Petrov put oh their wet suits and scuba gear in the habitat’s ready room. An open hatch was cut into the floor here. Because the habitat’s interior atmospheric pressure was equal to that of the surrounding ocean, this opening to the sea did not need to be sealed.

Before leaving Starfish House, both divers signed a chart and recorded the exact time of their departure.

Then Lenclud led the way down through the hatch.

A ladder protected by a shark proof grill guided him to the sea floor. The water was comfortably warm and pitch black. He switched on his flashlight, and was momentarily startled by a large pair of glowing yellow eyes, that swam by only inches from his masked face.

With his light, he illuminated this creature’s narrow, six-foot long body.

Lisa had named the barracuda Uncle Albert. It lived in the nearby reef, and was a frequent nighttime visitor.

Uncle Albert took a special delight in the scraps of food that Lisa often fed him. And he could even recognize her when she was outfitted in her own wet suit and mask, and he would take food from her hands only.

Ivana’s torch cut through the blackness beside him, and both divers headed towards the glowing yellow dome, positioned on the sea floor less than twenty yards distant. Yet another open hatch was cut into the floor of the hangar, and Lenclud swam between the structure’s adjustable telescopic legs, and directed his flashlight upwards.

Feeling like he was diving upside down into an inverted swimming pool, he swam up through the circular hatch, whose diameter was just wide enough to admit Misha, the name they had given to their diving saucer. His mask broke the surface, and he immediately spotted the blond-haired Norwegian working on Misha’s battery charger.

“Hello, Karl Ivar,” greeted Lenclud as he pulled himself out of the water and pulled off his mask.

Misha hung above him, suspended on an iron cable from a ceiling mounted winch. Originally designed in the Soviet Union, the bright yellow, saucer-shaped mini sub could carry two prone crew members. Its batteries powered a series of pumps that shot seawater out of a set of dual jet nozzles. The pilot could steer by turning these jets, and adjust the craft’s ballast by taking on or jettisoning yet more seawater.

“Karl Ivar, will we be able to sail tonight?” asked Lenclud, who waited beside the hatch for Ivana to show herself.

“No problem, Commandant,” answered the Norwegian.

“Although I can’t really say how long the new alternator that they sent down will last us. This Russian equipment is inventive, yet pure garbage all the same.”

Ivana’s head broke through the open hatch, and Lenclud reached down and pulled her up onto the latticed steel platform that encircled the hangar. She pulled off her mask and questioned Bjornsen while removing her diving gear.

“Did they send the proper parts, Karl Ivar?”

“That they did, Doctor,” answered Bjornsen.

The young mechanic made a final adjustment to the component that he had been working on, then snapped shut the cover panel, and screwed it back in place.

“It’s a miracle that they had the spare parts in the first place,” observed Ivana.

“And then to actually send down the ones that you wanted. Russian bureaucracy never worked so well!”

Bjornsen displayed a dimpled smile as he reacted to this comment.

“Mind you, I can make no guarantee that the new alternator won’t fail once you’re underway.

As far as I can tell, it’s no better than the others that they sent me.”

“As long as Misha can hold enough charge to get us to our destination and back, that’s all that I ask,” returned Ivana.

Bjornsen reached up and depressed a switch located on the side of the hangar. In response, the winch activated, and the diving saucer slowly dropped down into the water. He then removed the iron cable from which it had been suspended, undogged the hatch, and beckoned inside.

“Your underwater chariot awaits you,” he added with a grin.

Ivana was the first to crawl inside. Lenclud followed, and before transiting the narrow access trunk, he took a moment to address Bjornsen.

“Your hard work is most appreciated, mon ami. This entire project would have been impossible without you. Now, go get something to eat and drink. And we’ll be back by the time you’ve finished dessert.”

Bjornsen saluted, and Lenclud returned this gesture before continuing on into the mini sub interior. He dogged shut the hatch, then lay down flat on his stomach, on top of the vacant vinyl mattress to Ivana’s right. The archaeologist was in a similar prone position, with her own individual viewing port situated only a few inches from her face.

With practiced ease, she addressed the control panel and started up the oxygen recirculation system. With the assistance of her shipmate, she completed the pre dive checklist, and then switched on the echo-sounder.

“Here we go. Comrade,” she said as she tightly grasped the joystick.

The ballast pumps activated with a muted whine, and Misha sank straight downwards. With a flick of her wrist, Ivana pushed forward on the joystick, and the saucer shot out through the hangar’s telescopic legs.

Lenclud switched on the powerful, mercury-vapor spotlights and carefully monitored the echo-sounder.

The monitor screen filled with the gently sloping outline of the trench below, and down they plunged into the blackened depths.

A manta ray gracefully swam by the porthole, followed by an immense hammerhead shark, with eyes the color of burning, red hot coals. At a depth of two hundred feet, they passed through a milky layer of seawater some thirty feet wide, and it was the Frenchman who identified it.

“We’re penetrating the first deep submergence layer.”

“It wasn’t here during my last dive into the trench,” commented Ivana.

Lenclud was quick with his reply.

“That’s because your dive didn’t take place at night. That’s when the myriad of microorganisms that comprise the DSL ascend from the great depths, where they live during the daylight hours.” “What’s the reason for this movement?” asked Ivana.

“Would you believe that marine biologists still don’t have a definite answer to that question? My personal belief is that it has something to do with feeding patterns.”

“Well, there’s one brute who’s certainly doing his fair share of feeding,” observed Ivana, in reference to the monstrous whale shark that lazily swam by the porthole.

One of the largest fishes in the sea, the whale shark lived off the microscopic plankton, which it strained from the sea through its gill rakes. To do this, it had to keep its massive jaws wide open, therefore appearing much more vicious than it was in reality.

“I once rode on the back of one of those monsters,” revealed Lenclud.

“Mon amie, that was a ride that I’ll never forget!”

A moment of reflective silence followed, and Misha continued its descent, only to come to an unexpected halt at a depth of four hundred and three feet. Again, it was Lenclud who offered an explanation as to what was occurring outside.

“I bet it’s the thermocline that’s stopped us. This means we’ve reached the spot where the warm surface waters meet the cooler depths, and Misha is now floating on top of this denser, cold layer. Take on some ballast. That should get us moving once more.”

Ivana activated the ballast pump, and several hundred gallons of additional seawater poured into the diving saucer’s ballast tanks. Then all that was needed was a quick flick of the joystick for them to continue their dive.

With each additional foot of depth, the temperature inside the mini sub continued to drop, going from ninety degrees to seventy in a matter of seconds. Fortunately, for the comfort of the vessel’s two operatives, this was the extent of the temperature drop. And it was several minutes later when they finally hit bottom, at a depth of nine hundred and seventy-six feet.

The spotlights were angled downwards slightly, to illuminate the sea floor. Twelve-inch-long nimertine worms were burrowed into the mud, their tapering bodies rippling in the gentle current. Also clearly visible were large brown sea urchins, colorful sea stars, and a gigantic grouper, that was easily as big as the entire mini sub “I’ve heard stories about groupers like that swallowing unlucky divers whole,” reflected Lenclud.

“Some even say that it was a grouper that swallowed Jonah, and not a whale as reported in the Bible.”

“Are those lobsters out there in the distance?” asked the Russian, who made a minor course change to bring them closer to an outstretched line of shuffling, claw less crustaceans, that extended as far as the eye could see.

“Mon Dieu, what a wondrous sight!” exclaimed Lenclud.

“Those are the local variety of spiny lobster all right. This must be some sort of mating ritual. Let’s record it on the video camera.”

Ivana reached up to activate the camera that was mounted on the rounded nose of the mini sub between the two forward portholes. They followed the lobsters for over a quarter of a mile before losing them in a jagged, rock-strewn ravine.

Almost reluctantly, they were forced to turn the diving saucer due south at this point, back to the relatively flat, sloping gradient of the trench.

“Wait until Tomo sees these video pictures,” commented Lenclud.

“Surely we should be able to farm such a vast collection of lobsters. What a delectable way to satisfy the planet’s insatiable hunger for protein!”

Ivana was in the process of unfolding a detailed bathymetric chart, displaying the contour of the sea floor beneath them. With a red grease-pencil, she circled the approximate location of their current position.

This put them well into the northern extremity of the geological feature known as the Andros Trench.

This mile-wide channel-like gorge continued in a southerly direction, where it steadily deepened, until merging with the vast three-thousand-foot-plus depths of the Tongue of the Ocean.

“We should be close to the place where I first discovered the formation,” reported Ivana, who gently pulled back on the joystick causing Misha to slow to a bare crawl.

Sand covered the sea floor here, and they continued due south, to a spot where the current had swept bare a wide swath of sediment. Ivana anxiously switched off the engine, and the mini sub hovered only inches from the bottom and an interconnected network of flat, rectangular stones. Ivana made a minor adjustment to the saucer’s spotlights, and Lenclud peered out the porthole and expressed himself.

“So this is it, mon amie. You know, it does look like a cobblestone roadway.”

“Every time I lay my eyes on it, I think the very same thing. Comrade.”

“Could it indeed be naturally fractured bedrock that’s responsible for this phenomenon?” asked the Frenchman.

“It’s certainly possible,” answered Ivana.

“But if it is, nature has sure done an amazing construction job.

Wait until you see how far it extends.”

They proceeded to follow the stone roadway for a good mile. Though much of the thoroughfare was covered by sediment, other sections were clearly visible, and displayed the same exact workmanship. As wide as a two-lane highway, the smooth stone pavement was uniformly composed of rectangular sections, each of them two feet in length, and one foot wide. It appeared to be laid out on a precise north-south axis, with an ultimate destination somewhere in the Tongue of the Ocean.

Yet long before they could determine this fact for certain, an electronic warning tone began sounding from inside the cramped confines of the diving saucer.

Ivana hurriedly scanned her monitor screen, and in a matter of seconds determined this alarm’s source.

“So much for Russian engineering. I’m showing a partial failure in the new alternator that Karl Ivar just installed. Our battery charge has just gone critical.”

“Will we be able to get back to the hangar?” questioned the concerned Frenchman.

Ivana answered while reaching out to lighten the sub by releasing a substantial portion of its seawater ballast. “Don’t worry. Comrade. Our emergency battery pack has more than enough power to get us back home. Although I’m afraid we’ll be forced to postpone any further exploration of this mystery until a later date.”

Ivana yanked back on her joystick, and the diving saucer angled sharply upwards. Their new course put them on a northwesterly heading, as they steadily climbed the steep walls of the Andros Trench, to reach the relatively shallow coral clearing where the Mir habitat was situated.