The Descent

The  wall display ticked down to three  minutes.

As  if  signaled,  the  passengers  began  their  final  rites.  A  number  of  men  tied  rubber tubing  around  their  biceps  and  gently  slid  needles  into  their  veins.  Those  taking  pills looked  like  birds  swallowing  worms.  Ali  heard  a  hissing  sound,  men  sucking  hard  at aerosol  dispensers.  Others  drank  from  small  bottles.  Each  had  his  own  compression ritual. All she had was this orange.

Its  skin glistened in the darkness  in her cupped hands. Light bent upon its color. Her focus changed. Suddenly it became a small round center  of gravity  for her.

A tiny chime sounded. Ali looked up just as the time display dissolved to zero. The  chamber fell silent.

Ali  felt  a  slight  motion.  The  chamber  slid  backward  on  a  track  and  stopped.  She heard  a  metallic  snap  underfoot.  Then  the  chamber  moved  down  perhaps  ten  feet, stopped  again,  and  there  was  another  snap,  this  time  overhead.  They  moved  down again, stopped.

She  knew  from  a  diagram  in The  Nazca  News  what  was  happening.  The  chambers were  coupling  like  freight  cars,  one  atop  another.  Joined  in  that  fashion,  the  entire assembly  was about to be  lowered  upon  a  cushion  of  air,  with  no  cables  attached.  She had no idea how the pods got hoisted back to the surface again. But with  discoveries  of vast  new petroleum reserves  in the  bowels  of  the  subplanet,  energy  was  no  longer  an issue.

She  craned  to  see  through  the  big  curved  window.  As  they  lowered  one  pod  at  a time,  the  window  slowly  acquired  a  view.   The   LCD  said  they   were   twenty   feet underwater.  The  water  turned dark turquoise, illuminated by  spotlights. Then Ali  saw the moon. Right through the water,  a full white moon. It  was the most beautiful sight. They  dropped  another  twenty  feet.  The  moon  warped.  It  vanished.  She  held  the round orange in her palms.

They  dropped  twenty  feet  more.  The  water  turned  darker.  Ali  peered  through  the window.  Something  was  out  there.  Mantas.  Giant  manta  rays  were  circling  the  shaft, drafting on strange  muscular wings.

Twenty  feet  lower,  the  Plexiglas  was  replaced  by  solid  metal.  The  window  went black,  a  curved  mirror.  She  looked  down  into  her  hands  and  breathed   out.  And suddenly her fear was gone. The  center  of gravity  was right  there,  in  her  grasp.  Could that be his gift? She looked down the row. The  stranger  had laid  his  head  back  against the chair. His goggles were  lifted onto his forehead. His smile was small and  contented. Sensing her, he turned his head. And gave  her a wink.

They  dropped. Plunged.

The  initial  surge  of  gravity  made  Ali  grab  for  purchase.  She  grasped  the  armrests and  slugged  her  head  against  the  back  of  the  seat.  The  sudden  lightness  set   off biological alarms. Her nausea was instantaneous. A headache blossomed.

According   to   the   LCD,   they   didn't   slow.   Their   speed   remained   a   constant, uncompromising  1,850  feet  per  minute.  But  the  sensation  started  to  even  out.  Ali started  to  feel  her  way  inside  the  plummet.  She  managed  to  plant  her  feet  and  relax her grip and look around. The  headache eased. The  nausea she could handle.

Half  the  chamber  had  dropped  asleep  or  into  drugged  semiconsciousness.  Men's heads  lolled  upon  their  chests.  Bodies  dangled  loosely  against  seat  harnesses.  Most looked  pale,  punch-drunk,  or  sick.  The  tattooed  soldier  seemed  to  be  meditating.  Or praying.

She  made  a  rough  calculation  in  her  head.  This  wasn't  adding  up.  At  1,850  feet  per minute and a depth of 3.4 miles, the commute should  have  taken  no  more  than  ten  or eleven  minutes. But the  literature  described  'touchdown'  as  seven  hours  away.  Seven hours of this?

The  LCD  altimeter  soared  into  the  minus  thousands,  then  decelerated.  At  minus

14,347  feet, they  braked  to a halt. Ali waited for an explanation over  the intercom,  but none  came.  She  glanced  around  at  the   asylum   of  half-dead   fellow  travelers   and decided that information was pretty  unnecessary,  so long as they  got where  they  were going.

The  window  came  alive  again.  Outside  the  shaft's  Plexi-glas  wall,  powerful  lights illuminated  the  blackness.  To  Ali's  awe,  she  was  looking  out  upon  the  ocean  floor.  It might as well have  been the moon out there.

The  lights  cut  sharply  at  the  permanent  night.  No  mountains  here.  The  floor  was flat,  white,  scribbled  with  long  odd  script,  tracks  left  by  bottom-dwellers.  Ali  saw  a creature  treading  delicately  above  the  sediment  upon  stiltlike  legs.  It  left  tiny  dots upon the blankness.