Undersea (3 page)

Eerre snorted a laugh and said, “I get it. How about this. I've got a buddy that’s the number two over at Logistics. We served together. His wife cheated on him with me. They divorced. So he owes me. With your piloting skill, I’m sure he could find you something.”

“Thanks, Eerre. That would be great.”

“He’ll probably have you driving sewage scows or shuttling rich kids around or something.”

“That’s not the same thing?” Thom said with a smile. Eerre tipped his head back and let out a bellowing laugh, the chair creaking under the strain.

They said nothing else for several minutes, silently watching the market patrons.

“I like being able to run stuff by you,” Thom said quietly into his plate. Eerre’s face visibly softened, and he turned away from Thom as he struggled with what to say.

“I’m glad you do. Or, you’re welcome. Or, whatever.” The two avoided eye contact at all cost, and focused instead on the fast moving crowd. “Roo wanted me to invite you over for dinner this weekend. Nothing major. She’s just got some fine cut of something and wants to make a big meal.”

“Just tell me when, Eerre. I’d love to,” Thom said with a smile, glad the awkwardness had passed. Glad he had spoken his feelings. He wasn’t sure why it was hard to do with one of his oldest friends, but it just was. Eerre nodded then stood up, using the table and the back of the chair for support. The older man made his way past Thom, and patted him on the shoulder, the last pat lasting longer than the rest. Then he disappeared inside. Thom finished, yelled a goodbye into the seemingly vacant restaurant, and started off for the 20-minute trip down into the bowels of the ship and the docks.

IV

“But you have to. Don’t you see how important this is?” Ralla pleaded. She had pulled her light blond curls back in a bun, thinking it would make her look more serious. Seated in the small office of the editor of the
Uni Daily,
she was now convinced it hadn’t worked.
The newsroom outside the office, really just a cluster of a dozen or so desks with terminals, was busy with people. Inside, there was silence. The editor, a middle-aged man with dark brown hair and a soft demeanor looked down at the papers strewn across his desk.

“What I see is a bunch of maintenance reports.”

“Which all show...”

“...which all show repairs and maintenance. What do you want from me?”

“The ship is falling apart, don’t you see it?” Ralla said just below a yell. “Here. Here, look at this one,” she said, grabbing a sheet off the pile and waving it in his face. “We almost had a hull breach!”

The editor’s eyes darted out to the newsroom, scanning for signs that people had heard her. Satisfied no one did, he looked back at her, his calm face taking a darker turn. He reached out and lowered the paper in front of him without giving it a glance.

“Look. I know who you are, which means you already went to the Council with this, and they ignored you. I don’t know why, and I don’t care. All you’ve shown me is a bunch of reports...”

“That show...”

“That show nothing. What is it you expect me to do? Run a story implying the ship is going to sink and we’re all going to die? I don’t think so. What good would come of it?”

“But it would force the Council to act,” she protested, but she had already lost her nerve.

“I’m sorry about your father, I really am. Maybe if this was his fight...”

“This
is
his fight.”

“So you say. This is an old ship; problems are bound to come up. All you’re trying to get me to do is incite panic. No.”

“But these reports are being repressed. No one below the Council would be able to tie all this together,” she sat back down in her seat, visibly deflated. “They’re hiding it. Don’t you see that?”

“Miss Gattley, in tonight’s edition, we interview the oldest person on board. She’s 143, and doing really well. She still does her own shopping, and finishes every meal with a beer. It’s a feel-good story; people will love it. She remembers being on land. Remembers the Waves. Remembers both wars. In her years, she’s seen every possible catastrophe. She’s seen this ship go through far worse than scattered maintenance reports from techs no doubt trying to justify their jobs. I believe that you believe this is all part of some larger eminent disaster, but I’m sure the Council has a reason for ignoring you, and that’s good enough for me.” He slid the scattered papers together and handed them across the desk to Ralla. She looked on the verge of tears. “I met your father once, at an event a few years ago. He was a great man. He did a lot of good for this ship,” the editor said. Ralla nodded.

“Is.”

“Sorry?”

“You said... never mind. Thank you for your time.” Ralla turned and left quickly.

Eight days later, Ralla was in the back of a small transport, about to leave
Universalis
. There were six seats, three facing three, in the back of the sub, with the pilot at the front. The usual survival gear was stowed, rather sloppily she noticed, above and below the seats. Everything was clean, but worn. The clammy air didn’t help. She hesitated to touch anything.

The sub was released from its loading crane, and it accelerated out of the dock. Turning to look out the tiny porthole between the seats, she briefly saw the starboard hull of the
Uni
before her own sub turned and all she saw was sea.

“Is this your first time going down to a dome?” she asked the pilot. He turned and looked at her. Ralla was surprised to see he didn’t look much older than she, handsome, though rather unkempt. He was unshaven, and his black hair was either too long or too short, she couldn’t decide. He cracked a great smile, and Ralla was shocked that this made her heart do a little jump. OK, she thought, that smile makes up for a lot. She hoped she wasn’t blushing.

“Actually, yes. You?”

“Oh no, I’ve been to a bunch,” she replied. A lie, a flat out lie, she thought. Why did I do that? He didn’t seem to notice.

“Well, then you’ll have to tell me how this one stacks up. My name’s Thom. I guess I’ll be your pilot for the day.”

“Thank you, Thom. I’m Ralla.”

“Well Miss Ralla, if there’s anything I can get you, let me know. I have a full stock of the finest alcohols and treats.”

“Really?”

“No, sorry. Stale rations?”

“Sounds lovely. And I’m not a Miss.”

“Missus?”

“Oh, no, no. Ralla. Just call me Ralla.”

“Ralla it is, then.” This time she knew she was blushing.

Dome M3324 was a mining facility, nestled into a narrow canyon, home to roughly 3,000. The standard duty rotation was three months in the dome and three months back on the
Uni.
Generally, the workers were single, not because the work was especially dangerous, but because it was tough on families. A 50/50 split between men and women was the goal, though it usually ended up being more like 60/40. This occasionally led to problems, but not often.

Before long, Ralla noticed a yellow glow coming from the front of the sub, and tried to sit up in her seat so she could see above the raised console. Thom dipped the bow as he cleared the edge of the canyon, and the brightly glowing dome came into view as the walls of the canyon rose to envelop them.

“Better?” he asked,

“Thank you.” She realized this probably wasn’t what someone who had been to “a bunch” of domes would do, but it was too late now. They skimmed the surface, passing ghostly abandoned structures and massive equipment left to decay after the dome was built. Thom brought the transport around the front of the reinforced transparent hemisphere, slowing their approach as they neared the giant lock at its base. It made the sub seem minuscule by comparison. They moved along a path lit by lights in the sea floor towards a smaller open lock built into the larger door.

The sub settled with a clang onto the metal floor off to one side of the cavernous lock. The water drained quickly, and no sooner had the pumps cycled off than a well dressed, gray-haired gentleman with a boxy build stepped through a door set into the wall. He stood just inside; his posture implied some sort of military background.

Thom powered down the sub, and keyed the toggle to drop the back stairway. Ralla gathered up her things, and disembarked. The still-dripping hull gave her a bit of a shower, and she tried not to appear flustered as she approached the gray-haired man.

“Proctor Wenne?”

“Yes, Miss Gattley. Welcome to Thirty-three Twenty-four.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wenne,” she replied. His gaze drifted over her shoulder, and she turned to see Thom exit the sub. He nodded at them.

“Will there be anything else you need from me, Ra... Miss Gattley?” Thom’s voice echoed in the open space.

“No, thank you, Thom. I believe we’re scheduled to leave at 19:30. Will you meet me back here then?”

“Will do,” he replied. Proctor Wenne led Ralla through the door he had come in, through a small foyer with two technicians sitting lazily in front of the lock console, and into into the dome beyond. Thom waited for them to get out of earshot, and then looked over to the techs.

“Where does the help get drunk around here?”

All three left immediately.

Ralla tried to hide her shock at the size of the space. It probably wasn’t much bigger than the Basket, all told, but it seemed larger. The geodesic dome itself was clear to the sea beyond, giving it the appearance of night despite being late morning. The top portion of the lattice shell was embedded with lights, enough to make the interior of the dome as bright as daylight. The floor was packed with square buildings. Near the edges these were no more than a single story, shops from what Ralla could see, but as they approached the center the buildings got taller and taller in scale with the dome—blocks on top of blocks on top of blocks. The center building stood like a 15-story monolith surrounded by buildings that seemed to step down away from it. The top was less than a story from the apex of the dome. Each wall of each building, save the central tower, was painted a different color: reds, yellows, greens, and even some purple and magenta mixed in with the mostly white. Wenne followed Ralla’s gaze.

 “That’s the main administration building in the center. We try to keep all the governmental stuff in one building so the workers can have the rest of the facility to make their own.”

“That it’s the tallest building of course carries no significance,” she said with a smile.

“The colors aren’t the original design,” he continued, ignoring her comment. “But after a few years of the drab base composite color, people started procuring paint. My predecessor tried to put a stop to it at first, but it became like a sort of color mutiny, with everyone doing it.” Wenne smiled to himself, remembering the incident. “Now my only rule is to keep whatever color you want well maintained. As long as it’s kept up, I say go for it. My wife thinks some of the mish-mash is an eyesore, but the workers love it, so it stays.”

They continued walking towards the mass of buildings. As they moved slightly counter-clockwise around the dome, a narrow street revealed itself between a few of the buildings. They entered and soon much of the light from above was blocked by the ever-growing urban canyon walls. They passed workers, all not much older than Ralla. The men eyed her slowly.

“You have a higher population here than most mining domes. Why is that?”

“We also have a refinery on site, so a lot of the crew is here for that.”

“Ah.”

“It also means we have two ball teams that compete in the Uni Cup each year.”

“That doesn’t create tension among the workers?”

“You’d think, but by the time they get to the finals, everyone is just cheering to bring the Cup back to 3324. Some begrudgingly so, I imagine,” he said, smiling again. Ralla realized it was from pride. “The
Uni
Gov is our biggest client, of course. Their demand determines what we charge for what’s left. We do well, though. As you can see, we have to import all our food, but we can do that without having to go through
Uni
Gov, so that’s a plus. No offense.”

“None taken.”

They were almost at the central building, its height towering over them. The radiance of the dome beyond caused Ralla to squint.

“I heard your father isn’t well. I’m sorry.”

“I’m more than his proxy,” Ralla replied.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply...”

“It’s all right. I’ve just been hearing that a lot.”

“Of course. My mistake. Up ahead is the entrance to the mine shaft. We’ll need ear protection and hard hats. Both are through that door over there.”

Ralla and Wenne emerged over an hour later from the mine, ears ringing and covered in sweat and filth. They returned their ear protection and hard hats, and freshened up in restrooms adjacent to the mining office.

“I was told you wanted to see some of the apartments?” Wenne said as they resumed their tour.

“Yes, please.”

“I assure you, we treat all the workers well here. Many have larger accommodations than if they were shipside.”

“Please understand, Mr. Wenne, I’m not here trying to get some exposé or to shake anything up. You run a tight operation here, and I am sure I’ll relay that to your superiors,” Ralla said as she eyed a restaurant with food on display. Her stomach growled. Wenne seemed pleased with her statement. “I do have one question for you, though it may seem odd.”

“Please.”

“How many people do you think this dome could hold?”

“Sorry?”

“In a pinch, how many people?”

“Well, we run pretty close to capacity as it is. I can’t say more than 3,500. Maybe 4,000.”

“If it were an emergency. Maybe 5,000? 6?” Ralla did her best to seem nonchalant, but caught Wenne staring at her and realized she had failed. He stopped. Thankfully the street was lightly traveled. 

“Miss Gattley, what are you saying? What are you trying to ask me? Is there something I should know?”