“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.