we lost all communications with engineering!” rasped Lesher. “No responses from anyone aft of us!”
“Emergency lights, and activate secondary power grid,” ordered Frost as the bridge seemed to bounce now and sway. The lights came back on and the computers flickered back to life.
“Mister Bingham, are those torpedoes ready?” There was no answer. “Mister Bingham?”
“Sandra Lynn!” Frost turned towards Lesher’s voice. He and Bingham were kneeling over Evans who was laying on the deck hyperventilating. Her face had lost all color and her eyes were bulged.
“She’s in shock,” said Bingham. Frost left her command chair and knelt next to the young woman.
“I’ll take care of her. Go, on, Mister Bingham, man your position. Prepare the next spread of torpedoes.” She turned to Lesher. “Prepare to jettison the photonics sail, Roy.” She sat down on the deck, raised Evans up so that her head pressed against her chest and cradled her in her arms. “Someone get me a wet cloth and some water.”
Lesher struggled to get back to his position as the bridge rolled violently from left to right. Then it subsided momentarily, as did the noise, just in time for Lesher to yell.
“CAPTAIN! THE IMAX!” She raised her head to a chorus of gasps from her crew.
“NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!” someone wailed. Frost herself didn’t know if what she was seeing was real. The cameras amidships delivered the ghastly view of half the sub separated and slowly plummeting into the darkness. The open maw that was once the birthing compartment and the reactor room vomited wreckage and oil. Lights from sparking circuitry flickered continuously as it sank. As much as 200 feet of submarine, and over 100 men and women—still alive—disappeared into the abyss in a belching vortex of debris and bubbles.
“WE’RE STILL FLOATING!” gasped Price on the verge of tears.
“All subs from 2015 were designed with compartmented insulation in the event of a hull breach,” responded Lesher. “The insulation is between hulls and inflates automatically.”
“Then why didn’t they float!? WHY DIDN’T THEY FLOAT!?”
“Keep your voice down, Mr. Price, if you please.”
“I’m sorry, Captain.”
“Those blades must have severed the Co2 igniters that pump the insulation.” Lesher had no other answer for the petrified young man. He himself didn’t know how long he could keep his cool.
“At this depth, we don’t have much time,” said Frost again in perfect calm. “The insulation is only designed for depths of 500 feet or less. Especially on this boat. We’re older, so we got the insulation system as a late refit.” Evans had come to, but was crying softly in Frost’s embrace.
Lesher looked at his commanding officer for a brief moment and was reminded why he fell in love with her years ago. No sweat, no nervous twitching or shaking hands. Her face looked placid; her voice was not only calm, but acquiescent. It occurred to him that she had made peace with herself and the situation.
“THERE IT IS! DEAD AHEAD!” yelled Price. The vessel was sailing away again, but before it was completely out of view, Frost looked up.
“Fire full spread, Mister Bingham.” Once more the torpedoes blew out of their tubes; four perfect bubble trails speared into the darkness. Moments later, four brilliant explosions lit up the IMAX screen to the vengeful cheers of all.
“SINK, MOTHER FUCKER!” thundered Price.
“GREAT SHOOTING, BING!” cheered another. But the laughter and applause soon died as the grinding sound emerged again in the distance. They could see the blurred object approaching.
“NO FUCKING WAY!”
“Everyone, come to me,” said Frost. “Sit down around me. Everyone.” The crew got up and knelt or sat in a small campfire circle.
“Give me the 1MC, Roy.” Lesher reached up and pulled the corded phone down. Evans did her best to sit up on her own and moved over to Bingham.
“This is the captain. For those of you still with me, I want to say that it has been an honor serving you on this great vessel. Our names will now be immortalized in the halls of the great submariners who have served before us. I am, and have always been proud of you. May God bless you all. Farewell.” She gave the phone back to Lesher and looked at everyone. Most had tears in their eyes.
“Roy, jettison the photonic sail.” With the touch of a button, the long tubular camera apparatus detached from the main mast. It’s auto-discharge pin fired, inflating airbags within and launching it on its long journey to the surface.
“It’s done, Captain.” Lesher sat back down next to her.
The IMAX automatically went black, darkening the bridge.
“Hold hands, everyone. Let’s be together.” They did so immediately, their grips tightening as the massive grinding sound drew deafening again. She looked at them all.
“Let us not forget our friends whom we served with. Let us be proud of what we did, and let us not forget what we’ve shared together.” Lesher could see her tears in the darkness. She reached her hands behind her head and untied her hair bun. She shook free her long blonde hair and nestled her head on Lesher’s chest.
“You’re all my heroes,” she uttered as their world began to shudder violently around them. “And I love you all.”
She then raised her head to face Lesher’s, her hand caressing his cheek.
“Hold me, Roy. Like before.” He pulled his arms tightly around her and held her like he used to. She buried her face in his chest. He closed his eyes and smelled the honey and lavender fragrance of her hair for the last time.
Chapter 2 — First Impressions
Pacific Rim Academy of Science (PRAS)
Micronesia Division
Ritidian Point, Guam
The drive to Ritidian Point, Guam’s northernmost point, was relaxing and extremely refreshing. After being on the 747 for more than 16 hours, breathing stale air, plane food, cheap perfumes, port-o-potty disinfectant, feet and God-knows-what that Korean lady was eating in front of her, it was wonderful to breath the fresh island air. She found the sign she was looking for and made a left off the main road and onto a single-laned path that zigzagged through the dense jungle.
When she saw the “PRAS” sign and an arrow painted under it, she made that turn and suddenly hit the brakes. She had come to a bluff that overlooked the expanse of the Pacific Ocean. She got out and stood on the edge of the bluff and looked down. A sheer drop to the rocks and surf below must have been more than 500 feet. She swallowed, got back in the SUV, and continued along the road down. With her right hand on the emergency break, she traveled slowly and cautiously down the steep slopes and serpentine turns, not daring to look at the beautiful and breathtaking view off to the side. It took her 12 minutes to finally get to another sign, a more official one that read:
PACIFIC RIM ACADEMY of SCIENCES (PRAS)
MICRONESIAN
