One of Those More Unfortunate Sabbaths

Several things influenced this story.  The first came when I was looking up guitar riffs for a student.  Jimi Hendrix apparently claimed Purple Haze was partially inspired by a dream he had of walking on the bottom of the sea.  The imagery hit me, but beyond that I didn't have anything.

My wife and I had a conversation about how impossible it was for me to write mystery stories.  I've been thinking for some time how important it is to delay sharing information with the audience, a key element of mystery writing.  One of the cooler, and more dangerous, techniques I've seen is juggling the timeline.  The audience doesn't have a clear picture, because they've missed some scenes entirely.  Awesome if done right, appalling if done wrong.

I put these together, threw in some sci-fi and ecoterrorism, and came up with this story.  Enjoy!

~~~

Found and Fallen Low

Sunday.  23 April, 2165.  8:03 am.

The bulb flickered and Chase felt a mild jolt as the circuit shorted.  He took his hand out of the water, and wiped the sweat off his face.  The water numbed his legs, too deep to keep them dry anymore.  The vents, too close, panted their increasingly desperate attempt to regulate the temperature.  He shuddered, pulled his arms close to his body, and rubbed his hands together.  The nausea lurched, and he straightened quickly, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath through his nose.  The urge to vomit reluctantly subsided, but he could still feel a remnant creeping at the back of his throat.

The vents above his head sputtered and died.  Leaving him in complete darkness,

And complete silence.

*

Monday.  17 April, 2165.  4:15 pm.

“A year’s pay for ten days, five years for a whole month.  You are guaranteed payment.”  The man looked a bit desperate, Chase thought.  Likely paid on commission.  “If injury shortens your contract, or if anything else cuts it short – you, and your family, still get the money.”

‘Anything else’.  ‘Anything’ included: kidnapped and killed on a live web stream; crushed, suffocated, or electrocuted by a malfunctioning exocapsule; drowned if another bomb went off during your shift.  He sniffed and shook his head, a small smile crossing his face.  Money was tight – but not that tight.

*

Thursday.  20 April, 2165.  6:32 pm.

“Cynthia, you need to listen to me.”

“My god, Chase.  What were you thinking?  You know what the life expectancy is in those capsules!”

“Cynthia – ˮ

“What if something happens to you?”

“That’s the point!”

She looked at him, her mouth open in shock.

“We don’t know what will happen.  If I was gone, you’d have nothing.  Not even enough to get home.  This way, we’re set.”

“We’re already being paid,” her hand covered his, “Your next salary is just a few months away.  We can wait till then, Chase.”  Her brown eyes searched his blue, “Does this have something to do with the doctor’s appointment?  What did he say?”

He pulled his hand away, “Pancreatitis, like your mother thought.  He gave me some antibiotics.  Should go away in a couple days.”

“Well,” a pause, “That’s good, right?”

“Yeah.”

*

Sunday.  April 23, 2165.  6:00 am.

The exocapsule stank of sweat, machine grease, and faintly of blood.  He hesitated.

“There a problem?” The mechanic snapped impatiently, “I have three others to launch.”

“What happened to the last pilot?”

The mechanic grimaced, “The idiot didn’t wait for the intake portal to seal before he opened his end.  The pressure of the air and water threw the bot at him.  Stove in his skull, and took off a good chunk of his shoulder.”

“That happen a lot?”

“Only to idiots.  Are you getting in or not?”

Chase shook himself, and nodded as he ducked into the capsule.  He flooded the intake chamber, and released himself from the dock.

*

Friday.  21 April, 2165.  9:15 am.

“Chase?”

He turned at the voice, vaguely familiar, “Yeah,” he saw her and blinked, “Jennifer?”

“Yeah!” She looked pleasantly surprised, and more than a little shocked, “You have lost a lot of weight.”

“Oh, thanks.”  He shrugged, “About ten pounds dropped off all by themselves, so I figured I’d diet to see if I could lose anymore.”

“Wow.  That’s a really good diet.”

“Heh,” he forced a smile, the degree of her surprise was getting a bit insulting, “ThComing up on fifty pounds in just three months.”

“No!  What’s the diet?”

“Lots of veggies, a bit of fruit.  Less meat and sweets.  Works like a charm.”

“I’ll have to try that.”

He nodded, the barest suggestion of agreement.  Jennifer had always looked good.  He didn’t need awe from a woman who was paid more for modeling than for engineering.

“Hey,” she looked up at his face, “You want to get some coffee after class?”

“No,” he replied, “I have a date with my wife.”  He didn’t.

“Oh.  Right.” It was her turn to force a smile, “How long have you been married?”

“Coming up on six years, now.”

She blinked, “Has it been that long since we’ve seen each other?”

“Guess so,” he shrugged.  The door opened, and he stepped into the classroom.  She didn’t choose to sit near him, and he muttered a thankful prayer for small blessings.

*

Thursday.  20 April, 2165.  11:45 am.

Davis looked across the desk, a worried frown etched heavily onto his face, “This isn’t a good idea, Chase.”

He said nothing for a long moment, “You have any better ideas?”

“Yes.  Several actually.”

“That leave my family well off?”

“Look,” Davis scratched his head, then loosened his tie, “You’re in a bad way, I get it.  Things aren’t looking so rosy.  But that happens to everyone.  You just – you have to – press through.  And.”  He sighed, “I’m making an ass of myself, aren’t I?”

“A bit.”

“I have a day calendar with motivational quotes I can give you.”

“Tempting.  But no thank you.”

Davis leaned back in his chair.  “I’ll sign you up on one condition.”

“Which is?”  Chase looked up for the first time in several minutes.

“You promise not to deliberately kill yourself.”

A long silence stretched between them.  “Okay,” Chase tried to say it confidently.  It came out as a whisper.

His friend looked wretched, “I’ll get you on the list.”  He ran a hand through his hair.  “Chase,” he said, “You have to tell Cynthia.”

Chase closed his eyes, “I know.”

*

Sunday.  April 23, 2165.  6:24 am.

He glided past the once glorious reef, now dead or dying, and his motion startled small schools of damsel fish.  The grand metal supports of the population platform above him extended deep into the sea floor.  He scanned a nearby construction bot, and checked its maintenance log.  It had been serviced recently, the bots close to shore usually were.

He moved farther out, following the ocean floor as it sloped downward.  Another twenty minutes passed before he found his first unserviced bot.  He flooded his intake compartment, and extended the exocapsule’s nimble arms.  A few basic instructions were transmitted to the bot, and it was gathered into the compartment without any trouble.

He rotated the guidance controls to the side and switched the capsule to maintenance mode.  Several valves hissed as air pumped into the compartment, forcing the water out.  He waited until the seal had been verified.  Then took a deep breath before he opened his compartment. 

*

Monday.  17 April, 2165.  5:30 am.

“Threat assessment is yellow.  Several environmental groups have conventions today across Guam.  None of the groups have any ties with terrorism, but they’re bound to attract some of the crazies.  As always, report any suspicious looking packages, or unfamiliar devices.  If anything seems out of the ordinary, or if anyone is acting unduly nervous or aggressive, let your security supervisory know immediately.”  Their shift manager, a John Alcott, glanced at his itinerary.  “That’s it.  Be safe, everyone.”  He walked out of the room without a backwards glance.

“Is yellow bad?” Ron asked nervously.  Ron was new.

“We get it a lot.” Chase answered, “Usually nothing to worry about.”

“Usually?”

Chase looked at him curiously, “The platform is targeted at least once a week.  You should have been told that before you got here.”

“I, uh,” Ron looked uncomfortable, “Might not have been paying much attention.  The guy who recruited me said everything was fine.”

“Fine is green.” Chase said drily.  “You know how long it’s been since we had a green?”

“How long?”

“Years.”

*

Saturday.  22 April, 2165.  7:45 pm.

Chase pushed open the door, and sank to the floor almost before he had closed it behind him.  He hunched forward, trying to keep weight off his back and stomach, and only partially succeeding.  The nausea attacked him relentlessly, he pushed himself to his feet and to the bathroom.  He vomited into the toilet bowl, and slumped against the ceramic, panting.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?”  Cynthia knelt behind him, pressing her arms against his arms and shoulders, her head resting on the back of his neck.  “You should take time off.  Give the antibiotics time to work.”

Chase didn’t trust himself to speak, then took in a sharp breath, “I have to, honey.  I can’t let anything happen to you.”

Cynthia pulled away, “There’s really nothing I can do to make you change your mind is there?”

He could hear her crying.  “No.”

She fled to her bedroom.  He could hear her sobs from where he slumped on the bathroom tile, his guilt as strongly present as the smell of his vomit.

*

Sunday.  23 April, 2165.  6:59 am.

The first hour had been productive.  Five bots serviced, and he was making his way to the far end of the platform.  Several hundred meters down, following the steep slope even deeper.  He circled around yet another of the platform’s massive stabilizing pillars, and caught sight of another construction bot.

The retrieval went smoothly.  After the seal, he opened his portal then froze.  Several additions had been made to the main body of the bot.  And the parts that it connected would create a large scale chemical reaction.  One of the more straightforward, albeit technically complex, improvised explosives he had been taught to recognize.

He slammed his portal shut, and flooded the chamber.  He punched his radio, “Delta Actual, I have discovered a bomb on a construction bot.”

The response came immediately, “Send us the serial number.”

He transmitted.

“Standby.”

Several long moments passed, and his sweat steadily soaked through his uniform.

“Delta Thirteen, this is Delta Actual.  Describe your posture, over.”

He swallowed, a vain attempt to moisten his mouth.  “The bot is in my intake compartment, I flooded, but I’m not sure how to proceed.”

“Deploy the bot, but don’t reactivate.  We’ll try to power it down on our end.  Do everything slowly, and describe you progress.”

“I am opening the intake compartment.  Taken control of the capsule arms.  Gripping the bot’s fins.”

“Wait!”

He froze, his heart stumbling over itself in panic.

“Very well, go ahead.”

A gasp escaped him, “Gripping the bot’s fins.”  He waited a moment before he actually did, but no further protest was made.  “Deploying.”  His hands felt slick.  “The bot is out of my compartment.  I have released it.  Stowed the arms, and – ˮ He let out a trembling breath, “Secured the compartment.”

“Excellent.”  Delta Actual sounded relieved.  “Good work.  Move two hundred meters away, and we’ll deactivate it.”

“Yes, sir.”  He flipped the engine on, and the bot exploded.

*

Wednesday.  19 April, 2165.  11:45 am.

“Chase,” Dr. Sanjana scratched his jaw, “I don’t know how to say this.”

“Please don’t let it be pancreatitis,” Chase smiled, “That’s what Cynthia’s mother thinks it is.  I’d never hear the end of it.”

“It’s cancer.”

Silence.

“Pancreatic cancer,” Dr. Sanjana continued, his voice soft, but with a certain professional detachment.  “And you have early stage lymphoma.  And it’s spread to both your liver and both lungs.”

Chase walked to the window.  “So…”  He had trouble thinking, “I’m dead?”

“Chase – ˮ

“I mean, uh,” he tried to clear his head, “Is it terminal?”

Sanjana paused, “At the most you’ll have three months.  At the least,” he clasped his hands together, “A week.”

*

Sunday.  23 April, 2165.  7:04 am.

There’s not much fire in an underwater explosion.  Just the white of steam, froth, and incredible outward force.  Force which threw Chase’s capsule clear as the platform’s pillar buckled and several thousand tons of prefabricated metals and plastics pounded into the ocean far above. 

The engines shorted out almost immediately, and Chase tried in vain to strap himself in as he tumbled end over end further out to sea.  A small leak on one of the seals of the intake portal let in a spray of water that covered everything in a moist, saline film.

His capsule spun more and more reluctantly, until at last the ballast righted the vessel.

A tentative touch to the controls and they immediately died.  The radio offered nothing but static.  The light bulb shone brightly, but he had no idea how long that would last.  At least he still had air.

*

Sunday.  23 April, 2165.  8:13 am.

The rescue team found his capsule at a depth of 13,000 meters.  Right on the edge of the Mariana Trench.  He was unconscious, but alive.  He was transferred immediately to the platform’s hospital.

*

Monday.  17 April, 2165.  6:30 pm.

Chase walked in his apartment, and smiled as Cynthia walked out of the study to greet him.  He swept her into his arms and kissed her.  “How did the office treat you today?”

“It was mind-numbingly dull.  But the engineering department will receive five hundred tons of titanium rivets.  And that order’s success can be laid squarely at the feet of yours truly.”

He smiled, “I knew I could count on you.”

“Of course you did.”

They laughed, and Cynthia led him to the study where she had shower invitations laid across her desk.  “Now I know we don’t for sure, but I’m almost positive the baby’s a boy.  Maybe we could order blue in advance.”

“We could just wait and see.”

“But what about the invitations?”

He shrugged, “White’s a good color.”

“It’s not a color!”

“A prism would disagree rather strongly.”

“We have to plan for the future, Chase.”  She looked away from him loftily, “When the baby comes we can’t just choose colors on the fly.  We’ll need to be sure weeks in advance.”

“Or months in advance?”

“That too.”  She kissed him, and they turned back to the invitations.

“I think blue will do nicely,” he put his arm around her shoulder and smiled.

~~~