The Descent

'Fine,  I  flew  off  the  curve,'  said  Foley.  'One  wild  deduction  should  not  impeach  our search.'

'This  entire  endeavor  is  a  wild  deduction,'  Thomas  said.  'We've  seduced  ourselves with  our  own  knowledge.  We're  no  closer  to  knowing  Satan  than  when  we  began.  We are finished.'

'Surely not yet,'  said Mustafah. 'There's  still so much to know.' Their faces all registered  that sentiment.

'I can no longer justify the hardships and danger,' said Thomas.

'You don't need to justify anything,'  challenged  Vera.  'This  has  been  our  choice  from the start.  Look at us.'

Despite  their  ordeals  and  the  assault  of  time,  they  were  not  the  spectral  figures Thomas had first collected  in  the  Metropolitan  Museum  of  Art  and  sparked  to  action. Their  faces  were  bronzed  with  exotic  suns,  their  skin  toughened  by  winds  and  the cold, their  eyes  lit  with  adventure.  They  had  been  waiting  to  die,  and  his  call  to  arms had saved  their lives.

'Clearly the group wants to keep  going,' said Mustafah.

'I'm just starting in with new Olmec evidence,' Gault explained.

'And  the  Swedes  are  developing  a  new  DNA  test,'  said  Vera.  'I'm  in  daily  contact. They  think it suggests a whole new species branch. It's  just a matter  of months.'

'And  there  was  another  ghost  transmission  from  the  interior,'  said  Parsifal.  'From the  Helios  expedition.  The  date  code  was  August  8,  almost  four  months  ago,  I  know. But that's still a full month more  recent  than  anything  else  we've  managed  to  receive. The   digital   string   needs   enhancement,   and   it's   only   a   partial   communication, something  about  a  river.  It's  not  much.  But  they're  alive.  Or  were.  Just  months  ago. We can't just cut loose from them, Thomas. They're  depending on us.'

Parsifal's remark  was not meant to be cruel,  but  it  drove  Thomas's  chin  down  to  his chest.  Week  by  week,  his  face  had  been  growing  more  hollowed.  Haunted,  it  seemed, by  what he had put in motion.

'And  what  about  you?'  January  asked  more  gently.  'This  has  been  your  quest  since before any of us came to know you.'

'My quest,' Thomas murmured. 'And where  has that brought us?'

'The  hunt,'  said  Mustafah,  'has  intrinsic  value.  You  knew  that  in  the  beginning. Whether we ever  sighted our prey,  much less  brought  him  to  earth,  we  were  learning about  ourselves.  By  fitting  our  own  foot  into  Satan's  tracks,  we've  come  that  much closer to dispelling ancient illusions. Touching the reality  of what we really  are.'

'Illusion? Reality?' said Thomas. 'We've lost Lynch to the jungle. Rau to his  madness. And  Branch  to  his  quest.  And  sent  a  young  woman  to  her  death  in  the  center  of  the earth.  I've  taken  you  from  your  families  and  homes.  And  every  day  we  continue brings new risks.'

'But, Thomas,' said Vera,  'we volunteered.'

'No,' he said, 'I can no longer justify it.'

'Then leave,' came de l'Orme's voice.

Out  the  window  behind  his  head,  dark  thunderheads  were  piling  for  an  afternoon storm.  His  face  was  positively  radiant  with  the  reflected  flames.  His  tone  was  stern.

'You may  hand the torch on,' he told Thomas, 'but you may  not extinguish it.'

'We're too damned close, Thomas,' January said.

'Close  to  what?'  Thomas  asked.  'Among  us,  we  have  over  five  hundred  years  of combined scholarship and experience.  And where  have  we gotten with it in  a  year  and a half of searching?' He dropped the strand of Lynch's teeth  into the  box,  like  so  many rosary  beads. 'That  one of us is Satan. My  friends, we've  looked into the dark  water  so long it has become a mirror.'

A  streak  of  lightning  lanced  between  two  limestone  towers  in  the  middle  distance. Its  thunder cracked through the room. Down below,  the  hired  drivers  and  nurses  fled for the cars just as a mountain squall attacked.

'You  can't  stop  us,  Thomas,'  said  de  l'Orme.  'We  have  our  own  resources.  We  have our own imperatives.  We'll follow the path you opened to us, wherever  it may  lead.' Thomas closed the box and rested  his fingers on the cardboard.

'Follow it then,' he  said.  'This  pains  me  to  say.  But  from  this  day  on  you  follow  your path  without  the  blessing  and  imprimatur  of  the  Holy  Father.  And  you  follow  it without  me.  My  friends,  I  lack  your  strength.  I  lack  your  conviction.  Forgive  me  my doubt. May  God bless you.' He picked up the box.

'Don't go,' whispered January.

'Good-bye,' he said to them, and walked into the storm.

It had ceased to be a blank space of delightful mystery....

– JOSEPH CONRAD, Heart of Darkness

23

THE SEA

Beneath the Mariana and

Yap Trenches, 6,010 fathoms