The Descent

After  a  patio-type  supper  of  hamburgers  and  cold  beer,  they  had  been  promised  a just-released  Hollywood  movie.  But  the  machine  would  not  work,  and  that  was  when Shoat stumbled. To this point, his day  of  orientation  had  featured  scientists  who  were practiced  speakers,  or  at  least  in  command  of  their  topics.  Seeking  to  enliven  the evening with a change of entertainment, Shoat tried something different.

'Since we're  getting to know each other,' he announced,  'I  wanted  to  introduce  a  guy we'll  all  come  to  depend  on.  We  are  extremely  fortunate  to  have  obtained  him  from the  U.S.  Army,  where  he  was  a  famous  scout  and  tracker.  He  has  the  reputation  of being  a  Ranger's  Ranger,  a  true  veteran  of  the  deep.  Dwight,'  he  called.  'Dwight Crockett. I see you back there.  Come on up. Don't be shy.'

Shoat's tracker  was apparently  not  prepared  for  this  attention.  He  balked,  whoever he  was,  and  after  a  minute  Ali  turned  to  see  him.  Of  all  people,  the  reluctant  Dwight was  that  very  same  stranger  she'd  insulted  on  the  Galápagos  elevator  yesterday. What on earth  was he doing here?  she wondered.

With  all  eyes  on  him  now,  Dwight  let  go  of  the  wall  and  stood  straight.  He  was dressed  in  new  Levi's  and  a  white  shirt  closed  to  the  throat  and  buttoned  at  each wrist.   His   dark   glacier   glasses   glittered   like   insect   eyes.   Sporting   that   awful Frankenstein  haircut,  he  looked  completely  out  of  place,  like  those  ranch  hands  Ali had  sometimes  seen  in  the  hill  country,  troubled  in  human  company,  better  left  in their  remote  line  shacks.  The  tattooing  and  scars  on  his  face  and  scalp  encouraged  a healthy distance.

'Was I supposed to say  something?' he asked from the back of the car.

'Come up here where  everyone  can see you,' Shoat insisted.

'Unreal,' someone whispered next  to Ali. 'I've  heard of this guy. An outlaw.'

Dwight  kept  his  displeasure  economical,  the  slightest  shake  of  his  head.  When  he finally  came  forward,  the  crowd  parted.  'Dwight's  the  one  you  really  want  to  hear from,'  Shoat  said.  'He  never   got  around  to  graduate   school,  he  doesn't   have   an academic  specialty.  But  talk  about  authority  in  the  field.  He  spent  eleven  years  in hadal  captivity.  The  last  three  years  he's  been  hunting  Haddie  for  the  Rangers  and Special Forces and SEALs. Now I've  read  your  résumés,  folks.  Few  of  our  group  have

ever  visited  the  subterranean  world.  None  of  us  has  ever  gone  beyond  the  electrified zones.  But  Ike  here  can  tell  us  what  it's  like.  Out  there.'  Shoat  sat  down.  It  was  Ike's stage.

He stood before their patter  of applause,  and  his  awkwardness  seemed  endearing,  a little pathetic. Ali caught a few of the murmured remarks  about his  scars  and  exploits. Deserter,  she  heard.  Berserker.  Cannibal.  Slave  runner.  Animal.  It  was  all  traded breathlessly,  in  the  superlative.  Strange,  she  thought,  how  legends  grew.  They  made him sound  like  a  sociopath,  and  yet  they  were  drawn  to  him,  excited  by  the  romance of his imagined deeds.

Dwight  let  them  have  their  curiosity.  The  tracks  sibilated  in  their  growing  silence, and  people  turned  uncomfortable.  Ali  had  seen  it  a  hundred  times,  how  Americans and  Europeans  chafed  at  silence.  In  contrast,  Dwight  was  downright  primal  with  his patience.  Finally  his  reticence  proved  too  much.  'Don't  you  have  anything  to  say?' Shoat said.

Dwight  shrugged.  'You  know,  I  haven't  had  such  an  interesting  day  in  a  long  time. You  people  know  your  stuff.'  Ali  wasn't  prepared  for  that.  None  of  them  were.  This odd  brute  had  been  sitting  in  the   rear   all  afternoon,  deliberately   unremarkable, quietly getting educated. By them! It  was enchanting.

Shoat  was  annoyed.  Maybe  this  was  supposed  to  have  been  a  freak  show.  'How about questions. Any  questions?'

'Mr Crockett,' a woman from MIT  started.  'Or is it Captain, or some other rank?'

'No,' he said, 'they  busted  me  out.  I  don't  have  any  rank.  And  don't  bother  with  the

"mister,"  either.'

'Very  well. Dwight, then,' the woman went on. 'I wanted to ask –'

'Not Dwight,' he interrupted.  'Ike.'

'Ike?'

'Go on.'

'The  hadals  have  disappeared,'  she  said.  'Every  day  civilization  pushes  the  night back a little further.  My  question, sir, is whether  it's really  so dangerous out there?'

'Things have  a way  of flying apart,' Ike  said.

'Not that we'll be going out in harm's way,' the woman said. Ike  looked at Shoat. 'Is that what this man told you?'

Ali  felt  uneasy.  He  knew  something  they  didn't.  On  second  thought,  that  wasn't saying much.

Shoat moved them along. 'Question?' he said.