Cross pulled back the throttle, bringing the Glider to a halt a few meters over the pi-ball and Adam. With the ballasts balanced, the Glider hovered there, slowly drifting in the deep-water currents. “You’re good to go, Chief,” he said. “Look it over and see what we’re dealing with. Watch out for traps, too. If we suddenly see God, We’ll know it was rigged.”
“Don’t be so pessimistic, Marker. We’ll never feel it.”
The amplified click of the harness unlocking jolted Cross; light from the suit’s external floods adding to the Glider’s revealed a scene from Finding Nemo. His eyes adjusting, the ocean floor glowed in the artificial light, iridescent fish flickered above and below them, curiously watching. Adam was there, resting cone down, in a neon-colored coral growth.
“Such beauty with such destruction: beauty and the beast,” Briscoe said, drifting off the platform toward the warhead. The small fins on his feet propelled him forward. Catching his balance he narrowly avoided tripping over Adam. Wedging himself against the coral, he stood, bending over the warhead inspecting it.
“What do you see, Chief?”
“Looks like it’s been modified. The tip of the nose cone is gone, replaced with a thick metal cover. It’s secured with eight locking levers. Should I try to open it. I think I can.”
“Uh, I don’t recommend that, Chief. It may be the last thing you do. Do you hear anything? See any lights? Bubbles?”
“Shhh,” he said. “Let me listen.”
Through the viewport, Cross watched him bend over the warhead, frozen, listening.
“I hear a quiet beeping, about once per second. That means it’s still alive. Want me to load it into the manipulators?”
“Yeah. I need a few seconds first. Gotta talk to my Maker. Tell him it’s not time to meet him, yet. You know what I mean?”
“Me too.”
Briscoe signaled he was ready by standing upright, then motioning Cross to approach.
“Easy does it,” he said. The Glider moved closer. “Stop!” He reached down with his claws, grasped the narrow part of the cone and lifted it into the left manipulator arm. The added weight dropped the Glider to the floor, kicking up silt around them.
“Can you see to slide the other arm under it?” asked Briscoe.
“Not really, but I’ll try.”
“I’m going to lift the heavy end a few inches off the floor. When I do, slide the arm forward.”
“You sure, Chief? Talk me through it.”
“Ungh! Okay, go now. I can’t hold it long.” His voice was straining.
Cross nudged the joystick forward, moving the arm toward Briscoe.
“Stop! This ain’t going to work, Marker. It’s too angled and too heavy for me to lift with this suit.”
“What about your buoyancy, Chief? Can you blow some ballast and lift it that way?”
“I’ve got a heads-up display in my helmet. Let me see if I can do that. Just a moment.”
While he read the display, Cross began thinking of a contingency plan.
“Nope, I don’t think I can. There is something on blowing ballasts, but can’t read it with the sweat in my eyes.”
“Well. I’ve got a way, I think. Can you reach the cable loop below the rack?”
“What for?”
“It’s a tow cable for underwater emergencies. Just flip the levers holding it to the hull and pull it off. You might be able to loop it around the warhead, then over the manipulators and tie it on.”
“Let me try. I’ll give it a shot.”
Briscoe blocked the viewport removing the cable, then returned to the warhead, and began wrapping the cable around it, under and over it, until he bound it tightly to the arms.
“Try moving them up,” he said. Releasing his grip, he waited.
The arms budged, then with hydraulic pumps roaring, rose from the floor, holding the warhead tightly in place.
“I think that’s got it, Marker.”
“Okay, hop on the platform. We’re taking him back.”
Seconds passed, Briscoe straining but not moving. “My right leg is caught between two corals. Stuck. I can’t pull it free.” His voice was calm, yet anxious. He had been in the same position many times before. Coral reefs, outgrowths and cables seemed to have an affinity for legs.
“Can you pull yourself up on the manipulators?”
“Unh. Argh. No, apparently not.”
Cross could hear his heavy breathing as he struggled against the coral. “Okay, I’m going to turn the Glider into a bulldozer for a minute. Try to stand clear of the manipulators; I’ll push the coral away from your leg.”
“Watch the warhead. Don’t lose it.”
Inching forward, the manipulators dropped, contacting the coral. Cross pushed the throttle forward, the propulsion motors groaned, then the coral shifted, moving the slightest amount.
“I’m free,” Briscoe yelled. Excitedly, he pulled away and swam toward the Glider. In an instant, he was on the platform, attaching himself, ready to surface. “Let’s go home, Marker. Get this monster moved.” He stared at it, inches away, imagining the destruction it could cause.
“Hang on tight, Chief. This nightmare is nearly over.”
The two-and-a-half-hour trip back to the ship seemed like days. The added drag of Briscoe’s suit and the warhead, crosswise in the manipulators, slowed the Glider’s progress to a crawl. Even though Cross wanted to rush, his watch was nearing twelve, he kept it moving cautiously, slowly through the water until he saw the surface above them lighten. As if studio lights were turned up, the world around them came back to life, fish swimming around them, water glittering in the midday sun, the dark shadow of the ship looming over them. They were home.
“Trident bridge, can you drop the rail dock another meter or so. We’re riding lower in the water.”
The radio squawked, “Welcome home, Glider. Got a delivery for us?”
“Yep. Prepare the Osprey. It’ll be topside in a few minutes. Let’s get this thing out of here,”
“Roger, Glider. Winching you up.”
Back on deck, the Glider was surrounded by crewmen, rushing to remove Briscoe and unravel the cable holding Adam to the manipulators. Cross threw back the hatch and crawled up, gulping fresh sea air into his lungs. The Glider’s air scrubber had weakened with the added loads, but he hadn’t noticed. He jumped down to the deck, ran up to Briscoe and helped him down, off the platform.
“Doing okay, Chief?” he asked, glancing down at the mangled foot joint.
“I think so. Good to be back.”
As he helped him back to the suit rack, the crewmen moved Adam away from the Glider and slid a harness over him. A loop at the top awaited the Osprey’s hook. They waved back toward the helipad, signaling Harper. Spinning slowly at first, the rotors came to full speed, roaring and lifting the Osprey from the pad. White caps on the waves below blew off in all directions in the rotors’ downdrafts.
The aircraft made a small circle overhead, then came to a stop, hovering over the rail dock. Only fifty feet overhead, the rotors caused hurricane force winds over the deck.
Cabled to the deck, the crew of four grabbed the hook as it swung over their heads, pulled it down to the warhead’s harness and thrust it through, locking the safety catch over it tightly. The lead crewman looked up and gave a thumb’s up to the hook operator, standing in the open doorway above. The Osprey roared, rising skyward, lifting the warhead off the deck. Slowly it turned west and headed off toward the horizon.
It’s roar was quickly replaced by another one from the deck. The crew knew their task was complete. They could go home. Not caring where the warhead was going, they rejoiced as it disappeared.