The Descent

They   had  not  yet   broken   camp  that   morning   when   Walker's   communications specialist picked  up  the  signals.  The  entire  expedition  had  waited  while  more  sensors were  laid  out  and  the  long-wave  transmission  was  patiently  harvested.  It  took  four hours  to  capture  a  message  that  was  a  mere  forty-five  seconds  long  when  played  at normal speed. Everyone  listened. To their disappointment, it was not for them. Luckily,  one  woman  was  fluent  in  Mandarin.  It  was  a  distress  signal  sent  from  a People's Republic of China submarine. 'Get  this,' she told them. 'The message was  sent nine years  ago.'

It  got stranger.

'June 25,' Ali recorded, '1840, 4,618 fathoms: More radio signals.'

This  time,  after  waiting  for  the  long  waves  to  pulse  in  through  the  basalt   and mineral  zones,  what   they   received   was   a  transmission   from  themselves.   It   was encrypted  in  their  unique  expedition  code.  Once  they   finished  translating   it,  the message  spoke  of  desperate  starvation.   'Mayday...   is  Wayne   Gitner...   dead...  am alone... assist...' The  eerie part  was that the dispatch was digitally dated five months in the future.

Gitner  stepped  forward  and  identified  the  voice  on  the  tape  as  his  own.  He  was  a no-nonsense   fellow,   and   indignantly   demanded   an   explanation.   One   sci-fi   buff suggested that a time warp might have  been caused by  the  shifting  geomagnetics,  and suggested  the  message  was  a  prophecy  of  sorts.  Gitner  said  bullshit.  'Even  if  it  was  a time distortion, time only travels  in one direction.'

'Yeah,'  said  the  buff,  'but  which  direction?  And  what  if  time's  circular?'  However  it had been done, people agreed it made for a good ghost story.  Ali's  map  legend  for  that day included a tiny Casper ghost with the description 'Phantom Voice.'

Her  maps  noted  their  first  genuine,  live  hadal  life-form.  Two  planetologists  spied  it in a crevice  and came racing to camp with their  capture.  It  was  a  bacterial  fuzz  barely half an inch in diameter, a subsurface lithoautotrophic microbial  ecosystem,  or  SLIME in the parlance. A rock-eater.

'So?' said Shoat.

The  discovery  of  a  bacterium  that  ate  basalt  impeached  the  need  for  sunlight.  It meant the abyss  was self-sustaining. Hell was perfectly  capable of feeding on itself.

On June 29 they  reached a fossilized  warrior.  He  was  human  and  probably  dated  to the  sixteenth  century.  His  flesh  had  turned  to  limestone.  His  armor  was  intact.  They guessed  he  had  come  here  from  Peru,  a  Cortes  or  Don  Quixote  who  had  penetrated this  eternal  darkness  for  Church,  glory,  or  gold.  Those  with  camcorders  and  still cameras documented the lost knight.  One  of  the  geologists  tried  to  sample  the  sheath of rock encrusting the body, only to chip an entire leg off.

The   geologist's   accidental   vandalism   was   soon   exceeded   by   the   group's   very presence.  In  the  space  of  three  hours,  the  biochemicals  of  their  combined  respiration spontaneously   generated   a   grape-green   moss.   It   was   like   watching   fire.   The vegetation,  spawned  by  the  air  from  inside  their  bodies,  rapidly  colonized  the  walls and coated the conquistador. Even as they  stood there,  the  hall  was  consumed  with  it. They  fled as if fleeing themselves.

Ali wondered if, in passing this lost knight, Ike  had seen himself.

INCIDENT IN GUANGDONG PROVINCE

People's Republic of China

It  was getting dark, and this so-called 'miracle' city didn't exist  on any maps.

Holly  Ann  wished  Mr  Li  would  drive  a  little  faster.  The  adoption  agency's  guide wasn't  much  of  a  driver,  or,  for  that  matter,  much  of  a  guide.  Eight  cities,  fifteen orphanages, twenty-two  thousand dollars, and still no baby.

Her husband, Wade,  rode  with  his  nose  plastered  to  the  opposite  window.  Over  the past  ten  days  they'd  crisscrossed  the  southern  provinces,  enduring  floods,  disease, pestilence, and the edges of a famine. His patience was in rags.

It  was  odd,  everywhere  the  same.  Wherever  they  visited,  the  orphanages  had  all been  empty  of  children.  Here  and  there  they'd  found  wizened  little  deformities  – hydrocephalic,  mongoloid,  or  genetically  doomed  –  a  few  breaths   short   of  dying. Otherwise, China suddenly, inexplicably, had no orphans.