"Siren of Atlantis Massif"

MARCH 21 - I hate this submarine. Some of the crew called my uneasiness claustrophobia, but it’s not that. I don’t mind the enclosed spaces, the bare walls, the recycled air. I don't even mind the proximity to a nuclear reactor. I hate the lack of portholes. On any self-respecting boat you can look out, and get a sense of going somewhere. On this tub, for all you can see we might as well be back in a Norfolk harbor. We aren’t, of course. I can only wish we were. I feel like I need to see something. Some sign of a world beyond the bulkheads. I shouldn’t think too hard about it, or I’ll spend the whole trip doing nothing but.

After we submerged this morning, Captain Giles caught me wandering listlessly around, chewing my lip as [i]Carter[/i]’s hull creaked and settled. He asked why I’d chosen this job if I didn’t like submarines, and I told him that I didn’t choose this job. I’m trained to program robotic equipment, not play glorified tech support for gear on-site, deep in the crushing, cold blackness of the Atlantic. I was just the guy on the project least popular with management.

This whole writing pad thing isn’t my idea, it’s the captain’s. He said that if I just write things down when I begin to feel panic it will help me calm down. It seems to be working. Hopefully it’ll keep working for the next five weeks, or until Carter is crushed by the water pressure, whichever comes first.

MARCH 23 - At least Carter isn’t as crowded as it would be if it were still a Navy attack sub. With all the weaponry and hyper-advanced combat computers torn out and replaced with twice its weight in hull support, the crew doesn’t need to be nearly as big. Besides myself, there are only about sixty people on board - less than half of the Navy compliment. I think maybe if I’d boarded this tub when it was new and almost 150 people crewed it, I might feel claustrophobia. Thank God for the small mercies. I’m still going to lose my sanity to the niggling frustration of not being able to see outside, but that’ll take longer.

I went to look at the rig today. It’s amidships, where they used to keep Carter’s really cool toys before it was decommissioned. Control panel looks just as it should, nothing looks damaged. It’s about the only thing in that section, every other compartment there is empty and bare.

Well, except one. They left the pressure lock in place, which used to be used to deploy Navy divers. Every time I see that door it gives me the creeps - I know enough about engineering to know that if Carter’s going to spring a leak anywhere during this trip that’s probably where it will happen.

I found a way to get to the rig without going past that pressure door. It’s a little longer, of course, but that’s fine by me.

MARCH 28 - Not much for me to do until we get to the first drop point, so I mostly just wander around (where the crew lets me), and read books on my slate viewer. Can’t get a data connection from here, of course, but I saved fourty-three full length novels to the thing’s card before we set out. I’ve already finished four. None of them were particularly good.

Giles says we’ll be at Atlantis Massif in three days. If I’m lucky, I’ll go the entire time reading and sleeping, and forget where I am until I’m needed.

MARCH 29 - Woke up in the middle of the night, hearing the hull creak as we slowly descend. This boat is six years older than I am, and it wasn’t originally designed to go this deep - will it be able to take the pressure? Giles thinks so, of course, but I have my doubts.

MARCH 31 - Hit the first drop point today. Finally felt useful, though all I had to do was start the sequence and watch the equipment do its work. Program went off perfectly, no problems - the sensor piton went into the seabed easily. The automated site selector did fail, because Carter’s screws blew the mud right up into the sensors. The hardware guys put in a camera in case that happened, so I just gave it a good spot manually from my control console. Ten minutes of usefulness in ten days of idle nervousness isn’t an ideal ratio, but it’s good to be reminded that I have a purpose here.

Interesting thing - I found out that no-one powered off the external gear when we got underway toward drop point two. That means the cameras on the arm are still running. I guess if you’re powered by a military-grade nuclear reactor you don’t really need to conserve power. My control console still gets the feed from the cameras, and the flood lamp is still on. Sure, can’t see much out there besides dark water and the occasional debris, but it makes me feel better that I can see something.

APRIL 2 - Been spending a lot of my idle time sitting at my equipment control console. It’s got a decent enough chair, and even if I’m just reading on my viewer it’s almost like I’m reading next to Carter’s only window. Don’t know why, but it lets me relax a little.

One of the off-duty crew, an engineer (Gomez, was it?) came into the console room today, and tried to make conversation. I think I offended him, though, because I had nothing but one-word answers for his questions, and he left stiffly. I couldn’t believe he would choose this sort of work.

Tomorrow we hit the second drop point.

APRIL 3 - I could tell we were getting close to the drop point when I started seeing the rocky, sloped bottom on the screen. Atlantis Massif is covered in irregular rock formations, and I sat at the console for hours watching the formations go by below us. Maybe I’m going crazy, but like a child watching the clouds I assigned them shapes. One long, sinuous formation became the remains of a great sea dragon, slain in time immemorial. Another set of rocks became the corroded hulk of a World War era cruiser, its rusted cannon mounts turned to fire just before the killing torpedo hit home. Still others became to my mind buildings, great monsters, huge objects, and more. I sat in the console chair for hours, finding shapes and histories for every rocky outcrop and spire that loomed out of the murk. Soon misty spouts of hot water also came into view - this drop point was close to a field of thermal vents. Most of the plumes were surrounded by colors - whites, reds, and yellows - and I began seeing things swim by every few seconds.

I was still there when Captain Giles signaled down that I should ready the placement gear, and I stayed there after the piton was in place and we were moving again. I only retired to my bunk to write and to recharge my slate viewer - after all, I’m not doing anything that justifies feeling tired.

APRIL 5 - I think when we got close to the seabed around those vents something decided to hitch a ride. I keep seeing something come just barely into the edge of the camera’s view - a fin, looks like. My going theory is that some fish liked the heat that Carter gives off and stowed away in between the pieces of the piton placement equipment. Maybe one of these days it’ll move enough that I can get a good look at it. I could move the driver arm and scare it away, but the mystery fish is something that keeps my mind off the monotonous passage of time on this tub. For now, it’s welcome to stay.

I’ve stopped eating in the mess hall. I keep getting stares from the crew. Apparently Gomez passed the word around that all I do is read books all day, and it’s probably better for everyone if I keep from rubbing that in anyone’s face.

APRIL 7 - Hit the third drop point today. Probably means my fishy stowaway is gone - I haven’t seen anything since we got underway.

APRIL 9 - Against all my predictions, I think I’m actually getting used to living on Carter. Being able to see the water outside on my control console helps, of course. I haven’t had a really bad panic attack in a few days. Getting used to something and liking it are of course different things - I can’t wait until I can go back to working at a desk in a room with a real window.

We’re already nearing the fourth drop point, and there are only eight on this run. Strangely enough, I've started seeing fins again, so the moving equipment didn't scare off my fishy stowaway. I catch a few glimpses of tail fin and narrow, scaled tail now and then. It’s a pale off-white color, and the scales that I’ve seen are iridescent. I imagine from my limited information that it’s some sort of gulper eel, hoping that Carter will take it to where there’s food. Hard to get a sense of size without seeing the whole thing, but it’s big - if it is one of those eels, it’s probably around eight or nine feet long.

I could always use the loader arm to try to grab at the fish and drag it into view, but that would probably injure or kill it even if it worked. No sense being cruel.

APRIL 10 - Fourth drop point today. Since the last one didn’t chase off the fish, I didn’t think this one would, and sure enough I started seeing it less than two hours after I locked down the rig.

When it did show again, I got a good, long look at the tail fin and a bit of scaled body. Doesn’t look like the tail of an eel at all. I think it wasn’t sure about the camera at first, but it’s getting used to it. How it accepted nesting itself among all the moving parts and yet was afraid of the camera, I’m not sure. I’m probably over-analyzing things, but I had a suspicion that it’s hiding from the rig’s “eyes” and thinks it can’t be seen.

Captain Giles stopped by the control rig to tell me that he’d heard grumblings about my presence, and that if I felt unwelcome I should let him know. I told him promptly that there was no way I’d ever felt welcome on Carter, that it was no fault of the crew, and that I would try to avoid them for the rest of the trip. He seemed to accept that, and let me get back to the book on my tablet.

APRIL 11 - I’m going to have to start hiding this logbook so Giles doesn’t think I’m going crazy. That’s probably futile, though - I think I’m going crazy. I was sitting at the console, just staring out into the water, when a set of slim, pale, long-boned fingers grasped the top of the camera lens. I jumped so high I fell out of the chair, and when I got back up they were gone. I probably imagined it, probably conjured this impression from a fleeting look at the stowaway fish’s fins, but I can’t shake the image in my mind.

APRIL 12 - I slept a lot last night, a lot more than usual, but it was sleep troubled by nightmares, where rotting corpses of drowned sailors were aboard Carter and hunting me down. Probably related to me thinking I saw human fingers on the camera.

My fish isn’t moving much today - only saw fins once or twice. No “fingers”.

APRIL 14 - Fifth drop point today. This is the first time I’ve really earned my keep - the arm fouled halfway through the planting routine when the silt seized one of the motors. It only took a few minutes to write a jam-clearing routine, and soon we were on our way again.

This drop point was near the vents, like some of the others, except the vents seemed... I don’t know. Organized. Tended, like little farms. Maybe my imagination again. I haven’t been sleeping well - each time I fall asleep I have nightmares, and they all take place on this tub.

APRIL 15 - If I’m crazy, it’s elaborately so. I saw the hand again, but this time I stayed still and watched, a chill running down my spine. It tapped on the glass playfully with two fingers, as if to get my attention, vanishing as soon as my brain started to process what I was seeing. Very disconcerting. Obviously, I won’t be sharing my hallucinations with Captain Giles.

I made up an excuse to have Giles lock the control console room and give me the key. It was a lame one, something about suspecting that someone had moved the driver arm while I wasn’t around, but he seemed to buy it.

APRIL 16 - I am crazy, I’m sure of it. We had to go to all stop today to let the engine people replace some part or other, and... well, I got a good look at the “fish” that’s been living in my piton placement gear.

Almost as soon as we were dead in the water, something pale and iridescent darted past the camera. I watched patiently, and it soon reappeared, easing skittishly into view. I couldn’t believe my eyes, so I squeezed them shut and shook my head, but what was out there was still staring intently at my camera when I was done wishing it away.

I can say it no other way than to describe what I saw as a mermaid. The tail I’d seen fleetingly in the camera joined seamlessly to a very human-like bare female torso, which would explain the hand I’d seen earlier. She was hauntingly beautiful, with big, white-less black eyes, flawless off-white skin, and translucent, anemone-like tendrils on her head in place of hair.

I just stared for a few seconds, and it seemed that she could tell someone was looking, because she smiled, revealing even, pointed predator’s teeth. I should have been wondering how this was possible, but the first thing that came to my mind was an entirely different question - why was she revealing herself now?

When Carter started moving again, she darted back behind the camera. I realized that she probably can’t keep up with the sub when it’s at speed without holding on, and that pale face reappeared briefly, smiling impishly as if to agree with me. I must admit, I’m considering the possibility that this creature can “hear” my thoughts - after all, if an entity like that one can exist, how much more far-fetched is mind-reading?

APRIL 17 - Sixth drop point. I’m fairly sure now that my stowaway can indeed read my thoughts, at least when I’m at the control console. Maybe I can use that to teach her some simple hand gestures. Probably means she’s been listening to my thoughts this whole time.

She can’t get entirely in front of the camera while we’re under way, but I get the occasional hand gesture (more and more of those), and sometimes she ducks her head down to smile toothily at me or to frown at untoward thoughts, but otherwise I don’t see more than I did before. She really is beautiful. Part of me regrets that we could never meet in the same room.

APRIL 18 - From what I gather, my stowaway’s purpose in hitching a ride was curiosity, nothing more. It’s probable that none of her species has ever seen a human vessel - the might only guess at our existence from the occasional wreck or refuse that makes it down this far. She surely had never heard about us. Carter looked to her like a strange sea creature, and only after hitching a ride did she find out that it was a machine.

That she would risk her life and certainly forsake any chance of seeing her home again to satisfy mere curiosity is something that strikes me as foreign, perhaps even primitive. It’s surely not something a modern Western human would ever do... But I’m not sure that it’s a good thing that we wouldn’t. There’s a certain romantic allure to that mindset.

APRIL 19 - Second to last drop point. I tried to make her understand that we have to go back to the surface in a few days, but I’m not sure that I succeeded. I know that if my stowaway tries to follow the ship up, the pressure difference will likely kill her. She has to leave Carter after the last drop point.

Not that I care too much anymore, but they’ll probably want me to do this job on the next run too. I’ll probably do it, but I won’t see this strange being ever again after we start the ascent, and that is a very depressing thought. She’s easy on the eyes, yes, but that’s not why. I’m having my mind read, and I don’t feel it as a violation - it’s actually rather a relief, especially when I’m deceiving everyone else on this blasted tub, it’s good to have someone around who can’t be lied to.

APRIL 20 - Tomorrow we reach the last drop point. I think I’ve gotten through to my aquatic friend that she will die if she follows us up, and that is a big load off my conscience. I’d hate to let Carter’s dropping a bunch of sensor pitons kill someone.

I’m not sure if Giles suspects me of hiding something, or if he’s worried about my sanity. It’s probably the latter. I have myself wondered if I am not just hallucinating this whole thing, but I am led to believe otherwise. I don’t think even my brain could come up with something this crazy, so it has to be real.

APRIL 21 - Can’t believe it’s been a month to since we submerged. We placed the last piton today, and there was a sense of relief on-board: everybody clearly wants to be back topside. Except me, of course - it’s funny how these things turn out. Captain Giles broke out a stash of beers, and he’s throwing a party for everyone as I write. I’m at my console, as usual, and since Carter is stopped my companion is floating in front of the camera, reading my dejected thoughts. There’s nothing but rocky ridges and mud flats on the bottom here, so I’m not sure where she’ll go, but she doesn’t seem concerned. We start the ascent tomorrow, after everyone has had a good night’s sleep.

APRIL 22 - She beckoned for me this morning to come out to her. Sure, I could leave Carter - even without risk to the rest of the crew, thanks to the pressure lock - but I’d be crushed immediately, and I let her know that. She seemed disappointed, more that I didn’t trust her than that I couldn’t leave the sub. Does she know a way to protect me from the pressure, to keep me alive underwater?

I have about an hour before Giles orders the screws restarted, and Carter starts the long ascent. Is it crazy that I’m really considering trusting my mystery companion, and leaving Carter? Even now, she floats there, beckoning to me, and smiling. If our positions were reversed, she’d already have taken the plunge. She's a lot more adventurous than I am.

Is what I might experience in her world worth the risk, the probability that even if she can keep be alive that I'll never be going back?

There’s only one way to find out.