“Hi Kate.”
Chas Dunsworth had walked up beside her.
“Hi Chas. Didn’t see you in there.”
“I was at the back reading. I hate these press things. They are always just so much hand waving crap and no science.”
Dunsworth was a technician who worked in Kate’s lab. She knew he had a crush on her big time, but although she found Chas to be pleasant and a very capable assistant, she had no romantic interest in him.
They walked along the hall to the outside door which was propped open letting in the sunshine.
“I’m going for a run.” Kate said. “Wanna come?”
She knew Chas would say no. He wasn’t a runner and she teased him about it occasionally. He always took it well. At least that’s what she thought.
“Nope. Got a date with a cheeseburger over the road.”
Kate looked at her watch. It was lunchtime. Maybe she should eat now and run later. She also had a lot of work to tidy up before she left for Cayman next week. The warm sun felt wonderful.
“OK. Enjoy. I’ve got to run in the sun.” She smiled at him and jogged off towards the gym.
Martin was still in the auditorium with Babin and another engineer called Leclerc. A reporter from Boston was grilling the engineers about the systems in the Pheia. Martin saw that the reporter was very interested and obviously very bright but could not see him writing any of this in his paper or even in his own online blog. Most people would care nothing about the Pheia. They would only be interested in what they found down in the bottom of the Cayman trench. And only then if it was some new life form. In Martin’s view, most of the public cared less about science than they did about where the gas for their cars came from — and they didn’t care much about that as long as it was cheap.
Martin cared deeply about the Pheia. It had taken him a long time and a lot of hard work and lobbying to raise the huge amount of money required to build the habitat and fund the expedition. The institute had several deep sea submersibles but only one was manned, and that one was a pressurized design large enough for just three crew members. Keeping the Pheia unpressurized allowed them to send a much larger crew.
The expedition to the bottom of the Cayman trench would be a massive step forward for undersea research, and when they got there he desperately wanted the institute to get all the credit it deserved.
Kate ran along the bike path by the sea. It was a beautiful calm day. Tiny breakers rolled onto the beach making gentle swishing noises. Her mind was full of details of her work and in particular what she would be doing in just over two weeks when they reached the bottom of the trench. In the distance she saw someone sitting on one of the many benches. These were popular places to sit and watch the sea on sunny days. As she got closer she saw the small cloud of smoke from the cigarette and recognized the dirty windbreaker. She was just thinking of a wave and running right past when the figure stood up in her way making her stop.
“Hello miss Moss.”
“Hi Boris” Kate replied.
Segei Bazhanov, or Boris to the people who knew him well, was the son of a Russian space engineer. It was Boris’ father who had arranged for the nuclear power plant in the Pheia. Boris was on the team to monitor the reactor — despite many assurances from the Russians that it could take care of itself. He was a competent mechanical engineer and so doubled as one of the mechanical support staff on the Pheia.
Kate found Bazhanov to be very good at whatever he applied himself to but rather too fond of himself for her liking. She imagined he saw himself as charming but that was not how she saw him.
“Going for run?” he asked.
“I was.”
“Ah yes. Sorry. I am in your way. I do not wish to stop you. Please continue.” He waved his arm in a grand sweep in the direction Kate had been running.
“Thanks” she said, and jogged past him.
Once she was about 20 yards away, she glanced back. Boris waved at her and she wished she hadn’t looked. “Don’t need to encourage him.” she thought.
Martin finished with the reporter and walked out of the empty auditorium. He was feeling pleased with himself but a little disappointed that more people from the press had not attended the event. He made a note to work on publicity over the next week or so before the dive started.
Back in his office he checked his email. The surface support barge carrying the Pheia was on its way down the coast. It would be several days before it got to Cayman. The weather forecast was excellent and the tug crew were anticipating a smooth trip to the island.
He pulled up his TODO list. It was still very long. He checked off ‘Press Conference’ and scanned the rest of the items. They were mostly things his staff or members of the expedition would take care of. His job now was to make sure nobody forgot anything and to do a little coordination with the Cayman authorities to ensure things went smoothly there.
Martin had only been to Grand Cayman once before and was looking forward to going back again. They would be spending most of their two or three weeks on the surface barge but he would have at least a few days to sit on the beach in the sunshine and read.
He was slightly concerned with the way the locals worked though. They worked on Cayman time which had no allegiance to any clock. People he had engaged to do work for the expedition tended to show up when they felt like it. And that wasn’t necessarily on the same day Martin had booked them. It wasn’t that they were lazy. They worked well enough. They just seemed to have different priorities. If they had a job scheduled but plenty of cash from previous work, they might decide to sit on the beach for the day instead of working.
Martin had spoken to several ex-pats living there on his last visit. They had horror stories of home construction or repairs that took two or three times as long as they had been expecting. In some cases the owner had gone through several different local companies to get the work completed.
Martin had tried to convince the Cayman authorities to let him bring his own people for everything but they had politely declined. So he had hired a number of locals through an Englishman who had lived there for over 20 years and seemed to understand what he wanted. He had been promised that they would be ready to help at the dock when the barge arrived and that all the fruit and vegetables he had ordered would be fresh and waiting to be loaded. No problem.
He thought about phoning the contractor but decided there was no point. The man had given him all the assurances anyone could wish for. Martin just hoped they were true. In any case, Williams was on site now and should be able to deal with anything before the Pheia arrived.
Boat Yard
Edwin Gross stood outside building number seven in the morning sun smoking a cigarette. He looked around the yard at the cranes, assembly jigs and material stands. He liked it here. This was his real home. He had been a machinist at the company for 10 years before deciding to become a welder. It was late in life to be making a big change but he felt the need for something different after his divorce. The training had been easy. He took night classes at the local community college and amazed himself at how quickly he picked up the science behind welding and the techniques to make it work in practice. It was fortunate that the teacher had also worked at a boat yard. They had a lot in common and Edwin spent a lot of extra time after class practicing while the teacher recounted tales of his own work experience.
Five years later Edwin was the one they put on the bigger, more complicated jobs. He was still very nimble and had no problem climbing through the assembly jigs to get set up for an overhead weld. The younger welders called him Mr. Tig. They had built a myth that he could weld anything given the right shield gas. The truth was that Edwin loved his job. He kept up on welding research and practiced new techniques whenever he heard about them. If new alloys showed up in the shop, Edwin was always there looking for offcuts to try a weld on. He was on the top of his game.