From outside there came a muffled boom, as if from a great distance away. Dr. Flyte had fitted another reinforcing band into place.
The radio squawked. "Marble Three, this is Dive Control."
Korolis plucked the radio from its cradle. "Go ahead, Dive Control."
"Status report on the explosion, sir."
"Let's have it."
"Apparently, there was a breach in the south pressure spoke."
"And the Facility?"
"Deck eight is flooded and almost fifty percent of deck seven is underwater."
"Deck seven? That's not possible-each floor is designed to be absolutely watertight."
"Yes, sir, but because of the location of the breach, water's been coming down through the ventilation shafts. There's a report the explosion was caused by-"
"What about the repair parties? Is it under control?"
"The watertight hatches on the decks immediately above and below the breach have all been sealed. The inflow of water has been stopped."
"Good work."
"But water is rising within the dome cavity, sir. And if any more of deck seven becomes flooded, the Barrier will potentially come under stress."
Korolis felt pain throb across his scalp. "Then the breach in the pressure spoke must be repaired, and fast."
"Sir-"
"I don't want to hear any excuses. Take as many repair crews as you need. Get it done."
"Commander," Rafferty murmured in his ear.
"Stand by," Korolis snapped into the radio. "Yes, Dr. Rafferty?"
"I read incoming movement."
"From where?"
"I'm not sure, sir. A minute ago, nothing. They just appeared."
Korolis blinked. "Sentinels?"
"Unknown. If they are, they're much larger than the others, sir. And moving fast."
Korolis snugged his face against the eyepiece once again, snapped on the exterior light. "Secure the boring machine. I can't see a damn thing in all this murk."
"Aye, aye. Securing tunnel-boring machine."
Korolis peered into the viewscreen. Slowly, the storm of sand and sediment subsided. And then they appeared, like apparitions emerging from a fog.
There were two of them. They had the same ineffable exteriors as their smaller brethren in the Facility: a dazzling, unearthly kaleidoscope of shifting colors, amber and scarlet and hyacinth and a thousand others, so bright in the black depths they threatened to overload the camera's CCD sensors. But these were much larger-three feet long, perhaps four, with glittering crystalline tails that whipped and twitched behind them and dozens of tendrils floating out on all sides. They drifted to a stop just below and to each side of the Marble. As Korolis stared, they floated languorously, as if waiting.
He had never seen anything so beautiful. Korolis felt his headache, the unpleasant prickly warmth that enveloped him, every physical irritant, begin to fall away under their spell.
"They've come to greet us," he whispered.
His radio squawked again. "Sir?"
Korolis forced himself away from the viewscreen. As he did so, the headache returned, full force, so strong that he felt a spasm of nausea. He picked up the radio with a stab of anger.
"What is it?" he barked.
"Sir, we've received a report from the upper decks. It appears some of the scientists are mobilizing."
"Mobilizing?"
"Yes, sir. They are rounding up staff and crew and directing them to the staging area outside the escape pod. They appear to be planning a mass evacuation."
At this, Flyte gave a delighted cackle. "'Gray-eyed Athena, send them a favorable breeze,'" he intoned quietly.
Korolis held the mike close to his lips, spoke in a controlled voice. "Nobody is abandoning this Facility on my watch. Doesn't Chief Woburn have personnel on the upper decks?"
"Yes, sir. They're in the stairwells to deck eight, assisting in the damage control efforts."
"Well, deal with the situation. Korolis out."
"Very good, sir." The radio gave a chirrup, then lapsed into silence.
Korolis turned back to Rafferty. "Distance to the anomaly?"
"One meter directly beneath the dig interface."
"Can you get a read on it?"
"Checking." The engineer bent over his instrumentation. "It appears to be composed of some super-dense material."
"Size?"
"Unknown. It extends in all directions."
"A new layer of strata?"
"Highly unlikely, sir. The surface appears to be perfectly regular."
Perfectly regular. One meter directly beneath. The words set Korolis's heart racing.
He absently wiped his forehead again, licked his lips. "What's the status of the air-jetting system?"
"One hundred percent operational."
"Very well. Have the tunnel-boring machine dig the lateral retaining tunnel. Then maneuver it and the Doodlebug into the tunnel and deploy the stabilizer arm."
"Aye, sir."
Korolis looked from the engineer to Dr. Flyte and back again. Then, without another word, he swiveled back to the eyepiece.
58
It took Crane twenty minutes to complete his sweep of deck 9. Normally bustling at all hours of the day and night, it now looked like a ghost town. The theater was a graveyard of empty seats; the library, utterly deserted. The PX was closed, its windows dark; the tables of the sidewalk café unused and lonely. Crane found a worker sleeping in a carrel in the multimedia nexus, and a lone technician in the Medical Suite, where he stopped to retrieve a portable medical kit. He sent both on ahead to deck 12.
He ducked into the laundry-empty-and grabbed another towel. Then he returned to Times Square, giving the shopfronts one last appraising glance. The stillness was eerie. The smell of roasting coffee hung in the air, and music filtered out from the café. And there was another sound, as welclass="underline" a faint groaning from deck 8, directly beneath. It reminded him irresistibly of his submarine duty, and the strange-almost sinister-creaking of the ballast tanks as they filled with seawater.
As he climbed the stairwell, his thoughts returned to Michele Bishop. He did not want to believe it. And yet a part of him realized it was, perhaps, the only explanation for why she hadn't organized the scientists herself; why she had not called him back as promised. Someday, he would try to figure out her motivation. Right now, he could not even begin to.
He thought back to their final, brief phone conversation. So Spartan's not going to stop the dig? she had asked. One thing, at least, was painfully clear: it was not idle curiosity that had prompted this question.
Reaching deck 12, he made his way quickly through the now-hushed corridors. The staging area for the escape pod was a large chamber adjoining the Compression Complex. As he entered, he found two dozen people lined up before a metal ladder bolted to the wall. It disappeared up through a hatchway in the ceiling. A faint bluish light filtered down, throwing the ladder into spectral relief.
Vanderbilt was supervising the boarding, Hui Ping at his side. When they saw Crane enter, they came over.
"Anyone?" Vanderbilt asked.
"Only two."
The oceanographer nodded. "That's everyone, then. The sweeps of the other three decks are complete."
"What's the head count?" Crane asked.
"A hundred and twelve." Vanderbilt nodded toward the line that snaked its way toward the ladder. "Once these last are aboard, we'll initiate the launch sequence."
"Where's Stamper?"
"He and the rest of his crew are already in the pod. There's nothing more they can do from this side of the breach."
Vanderbilt headed back to the ladder, and Crane turned to Hui Ping. "Why aren't you aboard?" he asked, removing the damp towel from around her shoulders and replacing it with the dry one.
"I was waiting for you."
Silently, they joined the end of the line. As they waited, Crane found thoughts of Michele Bishop creeping back into his head. To distract himself, he turned back to Hui.