DOUBLE JEOPARDY
by
STE BERESFORD
RATED FRPT |
 |
Written for the 2014 Tracy Island Writers Forum's FicSwap Challenge Request from a request by LMC. Life Model Copy? Little, Mini and Cute? We may never know...
Original request has been placed at end of story to dodge spoilers.
Part One
She was named after an old, almost forgotten television programme, but had more than lived up to her owners' hopes as a high class, high priced mobile hotel and research centre. The SeaView had been in operation for just over a year, and the first of its kind 'touring submarine', as the adverts had called her, had shown her crew and passengers sights that were beyond their wildest dreams. In looks, she was almost identical to her namesake, the only real difference being that she was much shorter – after all, this SeaView wasn't a military creation, so she didn't carry any torpedoes or missiles in her spine. From hidden coral reefs to long lost shipwrecks, from the midst of marine preservation parks to the hidden treasures of the deep oceans, the SeaView had tackled them all in her stride and performed well in excess of her designers' calculations. Now, though, she was on her way to something new – a group of scientists from the World Volcanic Society had made arrangement for her to visit an active lava vent on the side of a dormant undersea volcano. Deep in the murky black depths, roughly halfway between New Zealand and South America, Adams Seamount rose from the ocean floor to less than a hundred metres from the surface. A small series of recent tremors had opened up a new vent and the WVS wanted to seize the chance to conduct tests – to see how it affected the scant, thermal vent dependent life in the area. The vent was near the limits of the SeaView's safety depth limits, and so the captain was taking his time descending, double and triple checking at each planned point of the dive. He, and the crew, strained their ears listening to the sounds their boat made – picking out the ones they had become familiar with to listen out for the ones they weren't. The new ones which would mean something different was happening, or perhaps more importantly, was about to happen. A few seconds' warning could be all the difference between a recoverable situation and complete disaster. SeaView shuddered and shook suddenly, and her Captain – Hudson - ordered an immediate halt to the dive and a complete safety check. When each station reported back in the green, he held a brief meeting with his engineering and science staff who were of the agreed opinion that SeaView had moved into either an unknown undersea current or a sudden temperature change due to the nearby volcanic activity. After a small delay, when he was satisfied there was no further danger to his boat, Hudson allowed the SeaView to continue on her journey at a slower pace. A frustratingly slow pace for the scientists aboard, as she made her gradual way over to the vent, her powerful spotlights dancing over the ocean's floor.
Part Two
Thunderbird Four's own, equally powerful spotlights danced over the ocean floor as Gordon searched for his target, one eye kept almost glued to the ticking display counting down far too fast for his liking to zero. Granted, there was still over ten minutes to go, but the countdown was still a best guess, the owners of the boat not knowing how much air the missing 'divers' had had, exactly, in their tanks. Gordon had just been about to turn into bed when the call had come through – some half drunken tourists in Australia had decided that the perfect end to a night out would be to go shark diving again, like they had done earlier that day. A stupid idea made even worse by the near-storm weather in the area. They had managed to steal a boat and driven it until it had run out of fuel, chummed the water until the sharks in the area were in a feeding frenzy, strapped the oxygen tanks to the backs of two of them and climbed into the cage. What they hadn't done was secure the shark cage to the hoist correctly, so the moment they climbed inside it the cage had started to sink. The circling sharks, attracted by the commotion, had rammed into the cage again and again, trying to take bites but only causing it to tumble and twist on its journey down into the ocean darkness. The shock of the attack had mostly sobered the tourist left on the boat. After a few minutes of panicked fumbling he had managed to get the radio working and been transferred to the Coast Guard. Unfortunately, by the time they arrived, the boat had drifted from where the cage had originally been dropped and figuring they had, at most, around fifty minutes before the air in the tanks started to run out had sent out the call to International Rescue. Thunderbird One had arrived around fifteen minutes later, Thunderbird Two following hot on her retros five minutes after that. Four had been launched after a rapid conference between Scott, Gordon and the other searchers; the three of them had then split up to try and cover as much ocean as possible as quickly as possible. The Coast Guard had already managed to clear the Danger Zone of the more... hostile life by dropping a series of Anti-Shark buoys. The one piece of luck they had had so far was that the boats owners always filled the air tanks when the boat moored up for the night, rather than in the morning. It still gave the rescuers a deadline to work to, though. Deadline. Gordon hated that word. It always sounded so... final. One of the dials on Thunderbird Four's console suddenly leapt to life and gave a loud electronic whiny humming noise. Gordon watched closely as the needle swung back and forth before settling down, roughly a quarter of the way around. His hand reached out and flicked another control. 'Thunderbird Four to Thunderbird One. Thunderbird Four to Thunderbird One. Scott, do you read me?' 'Receiving you strength three, Gordon. What's your status?' 'I think I might have something, Scott. I've got a strong reading on my metallic sonar – stand by and I'll let you know within two minutes.' 'FAB, Gordon.' The promised two minutes seemed to stretch into two hours as Thunderbird Four made her way, under Gordon's steady control, to the spot indicated on the rocky floor. Gordon found himself holding his breath in anticipation as he approached. Eighty meters. Seventy. Fifty... ...and suddenly there was the tale-tell glint of light on metal flashing ahead of him. Gordon half rose from his chair and leaned forwards, as if just by the act he could extend his field of vision further forwards. Another twenty meters and he could make out the boxy shape of the shark cage. Five more past that and he could make out the figures within – one not moving, the other frantically waving in an attempt to attract his attention. 'Thunderbird One from Thunderbird Four – Thunderbird One from Thunderbird Four! I've found them, Scott!' 'That's great, Gordon! Heading over to your position now.' Even through the radio, Gordon heard the roar of power as Scott swung his 'Bird around and surged forwards. 'How do you want to proceed?' Gordon sucked one cheek in as he rapidly thought. Getting the idiots – the divers up looked straight forwards enough, but there was a high chance of them developing decompression complications. He didn't wish that on anybody. Ever. 'Give me five minutes, Scott. Let me check how much air these two have left.' Gordon stood and started to pull the rest of his diving gear on. 'If they have enough I can bring them up slowly, but I doubt that. I've half an idea otherwise, but it won't be easy.' Part Three
SeaView rested gently on the ocean bottom, her landing skids barely making a disturbance in the black volcanic sand at the base of Adams Seamount. It had taken nearly an hour of negotiation between the vulcanologists and her crew before a compromise on the distance from the vent under study was reached: further away than the scientists had wanted, and closer than the Captain and crew liked, so both sides were equally unhappy. So long as we're both happy as to how unhappy we are', as Captain Hudson had stated. He had been very firm on one point, however – if he felt for a moment that the SeaView was in any danger, then he was going to abandon the survey and leave. Right now, the scientists, along with a few other off duty crew members, were crowded into the observation decks at the front of SeaView, where their equipment had been set up. There were several different stations scattered around, each monitoring a different aspect of the mission. Currently the people in the lounge were gathered around a largish monitor, watching the live feed from the unmanned mini sub they had christened the Bug. Her controller was deftly handling her manipulator arms, dropping a small series of probes and instruments for future study. The SeaView's crew hung back slightly from the scientists: though they were technically off duty, they also knew that they'd be expected to respond rapidly in case an emergency happened. They were also old enough, and wise enough, hands to know to stay out of the way whilst the scientists went about their tasks. At least this bunch didn't ask silly questions - are those real fish? The water seems dirty, could they clean it? Can we feed the fish? What had been voted the all time dumbest question of all: why don't the cabin windows open? - and were almost always willing to answer any questions the crew might have about their work. All in all, for the amount of disruption the vulcanologists were bringing to this trip, it was one of the better ones. Galaup wasn't a technical or engineering member of the crew. He was, quite bluntly, a cabin boy for the passengers. This trip, with the scientists only really spending time in their cabins to sleep and not very interested about going in for any entertainment, he could get their sheets changed and cabins cleaned in two or three hours, leaving him plenty of time to hang out with them. Something nudged against his hand, and then it nudged again and again. He glanced down. It was some kind of metal needle – no, he saw looking closer, it looked like a needle but was drawing a back and forth line on a piece of paper that was slowly scrolling forwards. As he watched the needlepenthingy – what was it called, a stylus? - stopped swinging and carried on more or less straight for a few seconds, before swinging back and forth again. After two or three repeats of this he nudged the scientist closest to him. 'Hey, err... is this supposed to be doing that?' he asked, indicating the machine. 'Huh? What? Is what supposed to be...' the scientist trailed of as he glanced at what Galaup was pointing at, before shoving past him to snatch the scrolled paper up and almost tearing it as he snatched it up. 'Challenger! Quatermass! Look at this!' 'Look at what, Aronnax?' snapped the impressively bearded Challenger, glaring his way. His eyes widened as he saw what Aronnax was holding. One massive ape-like hand reached out and forcibly turned Quatermass around to look, too. The colour drained out of his face as all three realised what the seismograph was saying. 'The Captain, man! Get Hudson on the inter-ship!' Challenger thundered at Galaup. Galaup, for his part, froze at the sight of the three panicking vulcanologists – men who had only moments before been watching and cooing the Bug as it explored the area. Challenger gave a string of curses and reached out with his great hands to grab the front of Galaup's uniform, intending to bodily move him out of the way. Behind him, Aronnax and Quatermass could only watch as the stylus filled the paper with a solid mass of black, swinging wildly back and forth, until the metal tip careened off the edge of its track, small sparks being struck as it connected with the metal edges of its holder - but that was nothing compared to the sudden, blinding flash from outside that filled the observation windows as the volcanic vent being studied exploded.
Part Four
The diver in the shark cage blinked and shook his head in response to the blinding light from Gordon's torch that had just flashed into his eyes. As he was doing so the underwater rescue specialist moved behind him to check his airtank, as well as that of the other diver. Five and seven minutes, respectively. Nowhere near enough time for either a rapid or controlled ascent. Looked like Plan B it was, then, Gordon thought. He reached down and took the lightwriter from its holster on his belt, punching in a message as he contacted Scott. 'Thunderbird Four to Thunderbird Two. Thunderbird Four, to Thunderbird Two. Can you hear me, Virgil?' 'Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird Four. Receiving you strength two, Gordon. What's the action?' 'If I said that things were never easy, would that tell you?' Gordon held the lightwriter up to show the message. SWIM TO AIRLOCK, it spelt out. Gordon raised his arm and very firmly pointed towards the open auto lock on the side of Thunderbird Four. The diver pointed to his friend laying on the floor of the cage, to which Gordon gave a firm shake of the head before stabbing his finger towards him and at the airlock, in a very clear 'You – There!' message. 'I'm getting them into the auto lock now. Be a squeeze, but they'll both fit in. Are the medical team ready?' 'In the Pod and loading now.' Virgil watched on his video screen as the Coast Guard medical team made their way along the inside of the Pod and down to the far end, where Brains was waiting for them. 'Brains is about to start pressurisation.' 'F.A.B. I'll be with them in around fifteen minutes, give or take a couple.' Gordon grunted with effort as he gripped the bars of the cage and tried to push it onto its side. After his first effort, he resettled his flippered feet and tried again. This time, his better stance and grip allowed him to flip the cage over – slowly, trying to move the unmoving diver as little as possible. Gordon had to more or less drag the first diver out and shove him in the direction of Thunderbird Four, waiting until he entered the lock before, as gently as possible, moving the other tourist out of the cage. He felt something grate inside the other man's leg as he gripped it, and a cloud of bubbles burst out of his respirator in what Gordon knew had to be a cry of pain. He winced and changed his hold. That leg was going to hurt for a long time before it could get properly seen to. Gordon wrapped his arms around the torso of the other man. At least they had been sober enough at the time to put wetsuits on, which had kept them somewhat warm at this depth. It took a little longer than he would have liked to manhandle him into a sitting position on the floor of the auto lock, the only position that the limited space would allow. He exited the lock and closed it from the outside, before swimming up and over and back inside his 'Bird. Having the extended auto lock inside the cabin would make for a cramped and uncomfortable, but thankfully brief, journey. It took another minute or so to set the pressure and level and cycle the auto lock: the tricky part being pumping the water out whilst increasing the air pressure to match the waters' depth. Whilst that was happening, Gordon slipped into his command seat and guided his craft to the surface. The water gradually grew lighter the further he rose, until it was almost crystal clear as he broke the surface, the fin of Thunderbird Four looking like a big, metal, yellow shark before the rest of her broke the surface. Pod 4 was floating nearby, and with an ease of movement that came from hours of practice, Gordon lined Thunderbird Four up with the launch rails that still protruded into the water. A brief burst of her rocket motors let her climb onto the rails before they swung down and horizontal, allowing Gordon to glide down them onto the small turntable at the rear of the Pod. It rotated around so Thunderbird Four was once again facing the front before Gordon shut her engines down. From the left side of Thunderbird Four, he could just see Brains moving the Pods' compression chamber forwards. It was roughly five meters long by almost three in diameter, and moved on a low-slung, powered trailer. As Gordon started to climb out of the top airlock – his normal route, the auto lock, being in use – Brains was rapidly attaching a flexible airlock to the external door of the auto lock. Gordon and Brains took a full five minutes to make sure they were firmly clamped together – a single loose seal could be all it took to cause the lock to break and loose its pressure in a violent explosion, causing who-knew-what injuries to not only the divers, but the pair of Coast Guard medics already inside the chamber. Finally, when the duo was satisfied, the two of them signaled to the medics they were safe to proceed. They opened the outer door on Thunderbird Four, then the two of them, with the help of the non-injured diver, swiftly but gently transferred the casualty to the lower of the bunk beds in the compression chamber. 'Brains, Gordon, are you there?' Virgil's normally rich baritone sounded tinny and echoey coming through the speaker of the Pod intercom. The two looked at each other before Brains waved a hand in the intercoms' rough direction. 'Y-you go, Gordon – I, ah, I want to check these seals again before we move the chamber.' Gordon nodded to his fellow International Rescue member before moving to the edge of the Pod, snatching a towel up as he did so. 'We're here, Virgil. What's up?' 'How fast can you get Thunderbird Four refueled and ready to go out again? We've had another call.' Gordon absently tilted his head and ran the towel over his hair as he did some rapid calculations. 'At least twenty, but probably more like thirty minutes, Virgil. What's the situation?' 'We're not exactly sure. John picked up a weak and garbled distress call from what we think is a civilian boat or submarine. He's tried to remake contact with no luck, and satellite scans of the area are showing a mass of under ocean disturbances.' 'Where's the danger zone?' 'Place called Adams' Seamount. Do you know it?' 'I know of it. Was a possible location of a Deep Submerged Research Station, back when I was in the W.A.S.P.s. If I'm remembering right, it was decided the area was too seismically unstable.' 'Right. John thinks there's been some form of underwater event from the little he understood from the message. Scott's heading out there now for a closer look. How are our guests? Gordon glanced over to see Brains unlatching the compression chamber from Thunderbird Four. There was a hiss of escaping air as he accordioned the extended pressure lock into the chamber. 'All pressured up and snug, Virgil. Are we still dropping them off in Sydney?' 'We can't take them with us, Gordon. I'm about to reconnect the Pod locks, hold onto something.' There were several loud thunking noises that Gordon knew were the magnetic locks reconnecting, and the Pod floor surged under his feet. 'We can be at the hospital they recommend in around 12 minutes. Coast Guard say there's no landing area in the grounds, but there's a large open area – Gore Park – just over the road. I'll land there and we can put our guests out the rear Pod door.' Gordon blinked. 'Gore Park, did you say?' 'Yes – why?' 'Nothing – just thinking that somebody must have had a really morbid sense of humour.'
Part Five
Just over forty minutes later, Gordon was again watching the water in front of him turn dark and unforgiving as he descended. At least now International Rescue knew what they were looking for: The civilian submarine SeaView, loaned to the World Volcanic Society for a deep ocean volcanic vent survey. The scientist in Gordon was wondering what new secrets they might have uncovered. The aquanaut was jealous about the amount of time the SeaView's crew was able to spend underwater. The rescuer in him was currently hoping for the best, whilst preparing for the worst. Gordon toggled a bank of switches that activated what he called his 'seeing eye' instruments. The sonar scope directly in from of him flickered into action, thin green rings on the display gently pulsing outwards from the centre. His metallic sonar leapt to life, as did a sensitive microphone. Sound traveled a long way underwater, so Gordon was hoping he could pick up the tell-tale noises of humans in an alien environment. Voices, footsteps, the scrape of metal on metal – every little clue that could help him find his target a few moments sooner. 'Thunderbird Four to Thunderbirds One and Two. Thunderbird Four to Thunderbirds One and Two.' 'Here, Gordon.' 'Receiving you, Gordon.' The voices over the radio weren't very clear – the signal was full of pops and static. 'I'm about to go deep, Scott, Virgil. Communication is likely going to be impossible from now on.' 'F.A.B., Gordon. Update from topside: The World Navy has a pair of ships heading our way, and W.A.S.P. have promised the assistance of at least one of their deep water subs, heading our way now but unsure of its ETA.' 'F.A.B. Thunderbird Four... out.' Gordon took a deep breath and wriggled his shoulders to settle them. He carefully wrapped each finger around his control yoke before pushing it forwards. His bright yellow submarine responded by dipping her nose and surging forwards into the depths. Creaks and groans sounded loud in the silence of the cabin, the only other noise heard being the low whirling of her engines. Gordon's eyes darted from one readout to another. After a particularly loud groan, he frowned and looked up. 'Easy, now, baby,' he comforted his craft. 'We've got a job to do. You've never let me down yet, so don't think about it now.' The duo, man and machine, sunk further into the unknown depths in a slow, long arc. Even with Thunderbird Four's spotlights, Gordon could barely see a dozen meters ahead of him. It was almost as if there was a curtain ahead of him, moving with him, that was deliberately preventing him from seeing further, that was acting to hamper him - A rock wall suddenly burst into the light ahead of him, and Gordon wrenched the yoke hard over to the left. In less than her own length Thunderbird Four swung sideways on, but was carried forwards by her own momentum to scrape against the mountain. Gordon held his breath for the long seconds that passed before she powered free. No warning lights or alarms were activated. No doubt there would be an ugly scrape in her paintwork, but as long as that was the extent of the damage... Down and down. Ever deeper. Ever darker. Part Six
The Volcanic Institute had relayed the co-ordinates of the vent the scientists were due to study, but Gordon knew from past experience the ultimate decision of where to land the SeaView would have been with her captain. Which meant there was, roughly, a potential two to three square mile area to search. Gordon knew the most effective way to search would be to use his instruments. Let them do the job the he and Brains had designed and tested them to do. A rapid beeping had his head turn to the source, eyes searching for the reacting sensor. It wasn't, as he expected, the sonar of metal detector, but the external temperature gauge that was rapidly climbing. Odd, but the quick briefing Gordon had read before launching Thunderbird Four said that the main research the vulcanologists would be performing was on the under-ocean thermal vents known to be in the area. More than likely he was either passing over, or was close by one. But a series of thumps on the hull and windscreen had him looking in that direction, and showed lots of dark rocks and other debris of various sizes colliding with it. Instantly, Gordon knew something disastrous had happened beyond the out of contact submarine. Rocks didn't just float around by themselves down here – something had to have disturbed them, and if they were still unsettled now, what ever it was had to have been massive. Gordon glanced at the temperature gauge again. Combine that with the external heat, in a seismically active area next to a volcano... it didn't lead to any good outcomes. He angled away and down from the Seamount, slowly drifting down until the ocean floor became visible. Gordon rechecked his compass. According to its needle, he was in the right area. Long minutes passed as Gordon started a search pattern. The limited visibility meant he had to stay close to the floor – closer than he liked for safety, but there wasn't any real choice in the matter. The fact he had to stay low to the floor meant he was forced to 'mow' the floor, for want of a better description, in lanes. The issue was judging how long each lane should be. It was on his ninth lane that something caught his eye – a deep scar in the black sand, showing that something had been forcibly moved along it. Two or three scenarios flickered through Gordon's mind. If it had been a volcanic eruption, the sudden heat could have caused water to flash boil into steam and expand, only to cool just as quickly and create a vacuum, sucking everything in the area towards it. Sort of like what happens with an underwater explosion from a depth charge or missile, only much more powerful. Atomic bomb level powerful. Another was that a new crack in the seabed had opened, or a previously sealed cavern in Adams Seamount had cracked open, with much the same result as the ocean rushed to fill the new area. It was possible that the SeaView had been dragged along with the ocean when it happened – Gordon knew that people severely underestimated the power of water and currents. At least now he had a potential starting place. Gordon scribbled down the rough co-ordinates on a pad of paper in case he was wrong, before banking Thunderbird Four around and following the trail. It was now a tricky matter of balancing speed and visibility: following the trail fast enough that if he was wrong he didn't waste too much time, but at a low enough speed to not lose it. He found he had to drop lower in both speed and height as the water become murkier, the searchlights of his 'Bird finding it difficult to cut through the dust and rocks floating ahead of him. The trail led to the base of the Seamount, and then up the side of it, towards what looked like a large opening thirty or forty meters from the base. The rocks around the edges looked freshly disturbed, which added – with no pun intended, he wryly thought – weight to his collapsed cavern scenario. Gordon angled the lightbar on the front of his craft so it shone directly into the opening. It showed a shortish passage before curving around to the left, out of sight. For the briefest of moments he could have sworn he saw something move at the end of it – more debris settling, probably. Increasing power to the engines, he nudged Thunderbird Four forwards, into the passage. As he crossed the threshold he became acutely aware of the millions of tonnes of rock above and around him, rock that might take only the slightest of disturbances to shift and fall... There were more drag marks on the floor – not constantly, but enough that he could follow the trail they left behind. It took a few seconds to reach the curve in the channel. Gordon had just started to turn into it, to explore further, when something erupted out of the murk and knocked Thunderbird Four to the side. Gordon was flung to one side of the cabin before skidding the short distance across the floor to the rear as the submarine was yanked forwards. He scrambled forwards and buckled himself into his chair before looking out of the window. It was almost completely covered by... something. Several things, he saw on a second look. Big and round and fleshy, with a ring of – teeth? Claws? Suckers, the thought leapt to the front of his mind. These were suckers, the size of his torso, which meant whatever was attached to them... Gordon reached out, flicking the switch to turn off the external lightbar, then the internal lights. The only illumination now came from his instruments, a much softer light. Admittedly he was guessing now, but his experiences with deep aquatic life had taught him that most were attracted or affected by bright lights. And this creature that had fastened onto Thunderbird Four – this giant octopus, or squid, he couldn't tell which yet – was more than likely reacting in the same manner. For the moment, all Gordon could do was let the two of them, man and sub, be dragged and taken to wherever the creature was taking them. Just under a minute later the creature dragged Thunderbird Four out of the tunnel and into vast cavern. The suckers moved from its windscreen – a change of grip, was Gordon's thought – to let him see that it was easily a third of the size of Tracy Island – maybe even a half. The tentacle's movement also released the lightbar, allowing Gordon to move its position up and arm his duo of miniature torpedoes. He had no idea if he would need to use them or not, but he wanted the option to be there. Two steadily blinking red lights let him know they were ready. All he could do for the moment, however, was wait and see what happened next – what the creature was planning. It seemed he was being moved to the other side of the cavern. Something else was already there. He could see its outline in the distance as he was moved closer, and his metallic radar started to whine at him. Gordon turned it off. He could see it glinting, shining in the low light as the distance diminished until Gordon recognised it. The SeaView. Well, that solved one problem. At least now Gordon knew where she was.
Part Seven
The outside view suddenly spun as the tentacle released and threw Thunderbird Four in the same rough direction. It took all of Gordon's skill in controlling the bright yellow submarine to prevent the two of them crashing into the side of the SeaView. Even so, he couldn't prevent the two craft from scraping together as he fought momentum to bring Thunderbird Four to rest on the rough, rocky floor in front of the other submarine. Now he was some distance away he could see it was a giant squid, or at least squid like creature, that had captured them both. He applied power to his engines to lift the submarine from the cavern floor, but as he did so the squid lashed out and slammed him back down, rattling his teeth. Gordon shut down the engines, leaving them idling over – there was no way he was going to be able to out-power this behemoth. This called for brains. Who, unfortunately, was out of touch at the moment, so it was down to Gordon. He was no genius like Brains, but he was no slouch in the mental department, either. A flickering from the SeaView caught his attention. A randomly flashing light was coming from the large windows at her bow – no, not random, Gordon realised. Morse! Not often used but still taught. He watched and waited for the message to repeat itself. - SeaView to Thunderbird craft. Can you see this? Something to send a message, something to send a message... SeaView's radio was more than likely not working or they'd be using it. Using Thunderbird Four's lightbar was a possibility, but might attract the squid again. Something smaller, less powerful – the lightwriter! He snatched it up from its charging socket by the console and started signalling back. Thunderbird Four to SeaView. Message seen. What's your status? - Severe damage to several systems. Radio non-functioning. One engine disabled, possible cracking to reactor housing. Were caught in eruption before being taken by creature. Has caused some crush damage and flooded two compartments. Have you tried leaving? - Yes. Creature attacks each time. Tried to send remote probe for help but it was eaten. Decided to play dead until we had a plan to escape. Gordon blinked. Eaten? If the creature was really that hungry, it would have tried to eat the SeaView. He knew it wasn't unusual for animals to take a bite at something foreign to them. 'Can I eat it?' was a big motivation in animal behaviour. Thinking along those lines... if the squid considered the two of them intruders into its territory, then it was defending itself rather than attacking. Not that it really made a difference with something that size. Get your brain in gear, Gordon! he told himself. Now's not the time to be trying to think like a squid, you've got people to rescue. If SeaView could move under her own power, that helped solve the issue of getting her crew and passengers out. Once she started to move, though, she would be making herself an instant target. So the trick would be for Gordon and Thunderbird Four to make a more tempting target. Gordon started to talk to the SeaView again. Can you plot a course and make your way out if you stay dark? he signaled. It took a few minutes for the reply – obviously, the Captain and crew were having a conference. - Yes, but we estimate it will take one and one half to two minutes to fully exit and begin surfacing. Understood. Stand by. Two minutes against that creature. Thunderbird Four might be tough, but this was a challenge and a half Gordon was about to ask of her. His fingers punched a series of commands into his console, lowering the explosive yield of his duo of torpedoes to a minimum – hopefully, enough to drive off, but not seriously injure or kill the creature holding them prisoner. Gordon sent one final message. Wait until you see my lights before escaping.
Part Eight
'That is one brave submariner,' Captain Rodgers murmured to himself as he watched the bright yellow submarine in front of him drift off the cavern floor with a small cloud of dust before achingly gradually moving away, at what seemed to be a slow enough pace to avoid drawing too much attention for the moment. 'Alright, men, you heard – read – the message. Clear the observation deck and get our guest as far away from the outer hull as we can. Stand by the engines, close all watertight doors, and wish that fellow out there all the luck we can spare.' Gordon waited five full minutes before making his move – ample time, he figured, for the SeaView and her crew to prepare her for moving. He took a deep breath to steady himself, slowly taking a firm grip on the yoke, before triggering Thunderbird Fours' lightbar. At the same time he darted forwards, waiting until he saw the creature start to move, then turned the lights off and did an underwater equivalent of a handbrake turn before powering forwards and repeating the manoeuvre from a different direction. Again and again he jousted with the squid, with its arms and tentacles, using all his skill and knowledge of Thunderbird Fours' capabilities to spin and dance around the creature and the cavern, desperately trying to buy time to let the SeaView escape. Sweat started to pour down his body, soaking into his uniform, running down his forehead into his eyes. Gordon blinked furiously, then wiped at his eyes to clear them. It only took a few seconds but that was enough time for the creature to lash out again and take hold of them. Gordon was violently shaken as the tentacle whipped the submarine back and forth, pinpoints of light forming in his vision. Desperately he groped his hand out to fire a torpedo. His hand missed. The switch it landed on triggered the laser cutter. Just as it was designed to do, the obedient little device extended out of the nose of Thunderbird Four and activated itself against the skin of the limb in front of it. Gordon felt the bellow of the giant squid as the laser sliced into its flesh, burning a hole through it. The cutter was only ever set for close range work – its maximum effective range was around a meter in front of it – but obviously, in this situation it was more than enough. Once more, for the he didn't know how many times today, Gordon's view spun and twirled as Thunderbird Four was thrown away from the limb encircling it. Again, he found himself wrestling her under control. This time, he allowed Thunderbird Four to travel a greater distance away, before bringing her around in a wide circle, eyes searching for the SeaView. The only sign of her was a wake, the churning disturbance clearly visible as it disappeared into the exit tunnel. Gordon made one more run at the creature before turning off the lightbar and looping around to head out himself, surging forwards as he increased his thrust. He was racing the creature, now – betting his life that he could make it to the passage and out before it could find him, before it could turn and pursue him. He was also hoping enough time had now passed that the SeaView had managed to escape. Less than thirty meters from the opening Gordon fired his pair of torpedoes at the upper edge of it, matching his speed to theirs. Almost at the same exact moment they struck and exploded, he crossed the threshold and sped down the tunnel. Behind him the roof collapsed, sending thousands tonnes of rock crashing down to block the entrance. The pressure wave from it was focused by the tunnel as it charged down towards the exit, catching up and giving Thunderbird Four a kick in the rear as she was shot out in a cloud of bubbles to begin a long, graceful curve to the surface. Gordon quickly located and kept pace with the SeaView as she steadily rose. After long minutes the radio crackled. 'Thunderbird Four from Thunderbird One' Scott's clipped words sounded like he was in control, but after years of living with his brother he could hear the tell tale signs of stress behind them. 'Gordon, are you there? Can you hear me, Gordon?' 'Thunderbird One from Thunderbird Four. I hear you loud and clear, Scott. I'm ascending with the SeaView now. There's no casualties, but she does have some damage and will need a replacement radio, at least. I'll explain what happened later, but can you do me a favour for now?' 'What is it?' 'Call home and tell Kyrano I'm in the mood for Calamari. Thunderbird Four, out.'
The Request: "I would like to see an underwater giant squid thriller for Gordon and Thunderbird Four, à la Peter Benchley's 'The Beast' or '20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.'"
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