The Descent

In  those  first  weeks  they  rarely  saw  their  scout.  Ike  had  vaulted  into  the  night  of tunneling,  and  kept  himself  a  day  or  two  ahead  of  them.  His  absence  created  an  odd yearning  among  the  scientists.   When  they   asked   about   his  welfare,   Walker   was dismissive. The  man knows his duty,  he would say.

Ali   had   presumed   the   scout   was   part   of   Walker's   paramilitary,   but   learned otherwise.  He  was  not  exactly  a  free  agent,  if  that  was  the  term.  Apparently  Shoat had purchased him from the US Army.  He was essentially  chattel,  little  different  from his  hadal  days.  Ike's  mystery  mounted,  in  part,  Ali  suspected,  because  people  were able  to  attach  their  fantasies  to  him.  She  limited  her   own  desires   to  eventually interviewing  him  about  hadal  ethnography,  and  possibly  assembling  a  root  glossary, though she could not get that orange out of her mind.

For the time  being,  Ike  did  what  Walker  termed  his  duty.  He  found  them  the  path. He  led  them  into  the  darkness.  They  all  knew  his  blaze  mark,  a  one-foot-high  cross spray-painted  on the walls in bright blue.

Shoat informed them the paint would begin degrading after  a  week.  Again,  it  was  an issue  of  his  trade  secrets.  Helios  was  determined  to  throw  any  competitors  off  their scent.  As  one  scientist  pointed  out,  the  disappearing  paint  would  also  throw  them  off their own scent. They  would have  no way  of retracing their own footsteps.

To  reassure  them,  Shoat  held  up  a  small  capsule  he  described  as  a  miniature  radio transmitter.  It  was  one  of  many  he  would  be  planting  along  the  way,  and  would  lie dormant until he triggered  it to life with  his  remote  control.  He  compared  it  to  Hansel and  Gretel's  trail  of  crumbs,  then  someone  pointed  out  that   the   crumbs   Hansel dropped had all been eaten by  birds. 'Always  negative,' he griped at them.

In  twelve-hour  cycles,  the  team  moved,  then  rested,  then  moved  again.  The  men sprouted  whiskers.  Among  the  women,  roots  began  to  grow  out,  eyeliner  and  lipstick fell  from  daily  fashion.  Dr.  Scholl's  adhesive  pads  for  blisters  became  the  currency  of choice, even  more valuable than M&M's.

Ali  had  never  been  part  of  an  expedition,  but  felt  herself  immersed  in  the  tradition

of what  they  were  doing.  They  could  have  been  whalers  setting  sail,  or  a  wagon  train moving west.  She felt as if she knew it all by  heart.

For  the  first  ten  days  their  joints  and  muscles  were  in  shock.  Even  those  hardy athletes  among  them  groaned  in  their  sleep  and  struggled  with  leg  cramps.  A  small cult  built  around  ibuprofen,  the  anti-inflammatory  pain  tablet.  But  each  day  their packs got a little lighter as  they  ate  food  or  discarded  books  that  no  longer  seemed  so essential.  One  morning,  Ali  woke   up  with  her   head  on  a  rock   and  actually   felt refreshed.

Their  farewell  tans  faded.  Their  feet  hardened.  More  and  more,  they  could  see  in quarter-light  and less. Ali liked the smell of herself at night, her honest sweat.

Helios chemists had infused their protein bars with extra  vitamin D  to  substitute  for lost  sunshine.  The  bars  were  dense  with  other  additives,  too,  boosters  Ali  had  never heard  of.  Among  other  things,  her  night  vision  grew  richer  by  the  hour.  She  felt stronger. Someone  wondered  if  the  food  bars  might  not  contain  steroids,  too,  eliciting a  playful  round  of  science  nerds  flexing  their  imaginary  new  musculatures  for  one another.

Ali  liked  the  scientists.  She  understood  them  in  a  way  Shoat  and  Walker  never could.  They  were  here  because  they  had  answered  their  hearts.  They  felt  compelled by  reasons  outside  themselves,  for  knowledge,  for  reductionism,  for  simplicity,  in  a sense for God.

Inevitably,  someone came up with  a  nickname  for  their  expedition.  It  turned  out  to be Jules Verne  who most appealed to this bunch, and  so  they  became  the  Jules  Verne Society,  soon  shortened  to  the  JV.  The  name  stuck.  It  helped  that  for  his Journey  to the  Center  of  the  Earth, Verne  had  chosen  two  scientists  for  his  heroes,  rather  than epic  warriors  or  poets.  Above  all,  the  JV  liked  the  fact  that  Verne's  small  party  of scientists had emerged  miraculously intact.