Burnt Black Suns: A Collection of Weird Tales (16 page)

“Your friend is out of danger. You may see him if you’d like.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” I nearly cried. “Do you know—”

“It’s best you see him,” he interrupted curtly, then turned to the nurses’ station, filed away his clipboard, and strode away. The nurses started at me.

Linden was not asleep when I entered his room, but his face was bandaged fiercely. I asked if he could speak.

“Of course I can. I didn’t forget!”

I found myself fighting to hold back tears.

He did not have much to tell me about what happened. He remembered the instruments telling him he was close to the underwater vent, but his memory grew hazy after that. He did have some recollection of the water heating and of dead fish suspended before him before everything went dark. He confessed some astonishment he resurfaced at all.

“And your face? What happened to your face?”

“The doctors aren’t sure. They think I was stung by a school of jellyfish, or perhaps an anemone of some sort. I should only be here a day or two, just enough time for the swelling to subside and whatever poisons there are to work their way out of my system. Don’t worry: we’ll be back on the
Oregon
as soon as I can manage it.”

“Please, Linden. Your health is most important.”

“The only way I’m going to get healthy is to get back on that boat. We were so close—I’m not going to let us miss our chance!”

I’m not . . .

I don’t know how to describe . . .

Linden wasn’t himself today. He looked . . . puffier . . . than I was used to, which I can understand, given his accident, but even so his demeanor was
off
. The accident must have had more of an effect than I’d thought, as he seemed positively withdrawn when I knocked upon his motel room door to resume our expedition. Nothing he said was strange, let me be clear, and were I to have transcribed his reactions today and any day previous, nothing on the page would indicate a difference. And yet, his manner . . .

I asked him before we launched, once the gear had been checked and re-checked, if he was up to returning to the water. He did not look directly at me. Instead, he looked out across the ocean at the clear blue sky. “There’s a storm coming. We have to hurry.”

The trip across the water was smooth and quiet as the dead. Linden did not utter a single word, and rather than prompt him I kept my distance, going over the charts again. It wasn’t strictly necessary, but I needed to distract myself from the funereal atmosphere on the
Oregon.
It did not take us long to arrive at the coordinates where I had lost Linden the day before, as though he were able to home in on them instinctively, and when he called me up to the deck I found the wind over the water was chillier than it had been on land. I tilted my head back to see where the thinnest sliver of darkness edged the horizon.

The doctor had warned me that Linden would not be in any condition to dive for some time, and judging by his lack of expression I wondered if what we’d already done had been too traumatic for him. Linden dismissed my concern perfunctorily by claiming he simply missed Olivia, and made a suggestion I’d been contemplating since I pulled him from the churning waters a few days before.

“Maybe it’s time to unleash the submersible.”

I couldn’t have agreed more.

In happier times, we both loved the submersible; me most especially. There’s no reason for it, of course. The thing is quite cramped to drive and difficult to maneuver. Perhaps it goes back to the child in me, mesmerized by everything I had read in
National Geographic
about deep-sea exploration. Or perhaps I simply like toys. Regardless, though I was excited, we still had to go through proper procedures to ensure it was safe to operate. The sea air makes short work of even the best mechanics. Sure enough, some of the wiring had corroded and needed to be fixed. Linden worked on that while I prepared the rest of the necessary gear.

By the time we were ready to go, clouds had rolled in to the west, dark enough that Linden questioned whether we should continue. I waved him off; perhaps I shouldn’t have, but I was worried that any storm would knock us too far off the mark. The GPS anchor would help, but I did not want to take the chance.

The submersible was as cramped as I remembered it, if not more. I folded myself in and looked up at Linden as he sealed the clear portal. The water had already began to chop, albeit slightly, yet it was enough to draw concern on my first mate’s face. I assured him it would be fine and told him via the radio to warn me if things became too violent on the surface. Then I filled the tanks with water and slowly descended into the briny depths.

It did not take long to find the Onkoul Vent. Linden’s coordinates were exact, and even if they weren’t, once I came close enough I noticed the precipitous increase on the thermosensors. I switched on the submersible’s halogens to see what might be before me, and saw the strangest creatures moving past the small beam of light. That far down, the sun could not fully penetrate, and I could not direct the beam quickly enough to follow everything that skirted by. There were cephalopods of different sizes and colors—one going so far as to extend its tentacles toward me, trying to pry the light off the roof. It was unsuccessful, but for a few minutes it pressed its body against the bulb’s housing, blocking anything from showing the way, and instead making its gelatinous body glow as though phosphorescent. Part of me was glad for the momentary darkness, as it hid some of the stranger, more disturbing creatures that swam through my narrow field of view. But once I fully experienced the darkness and knew what had been there, previously unseen, I realized which was the greater evil.

The Onkoul Vent was spitting up a solid plume of carbon dioxide and hydrosulfuric acid as I approached it. In the depths, it was as dark as smoke, and it did not stop or waver for an instant. It was a marker, and a distinct one, and yet it was amazing how quickly it dissipated into the vastness of the ocean. I would have at least expected a microbial algae plume at the surface, but there was nothing. No sign of the hydrothermal vent beneath. The temperature sensors on the submersible’s surface heated considerably, well into the supercritical range, but from within I felt none of the effect. I was close enough by this time that the halogen light had lit the plume’s originating crevasse, that crack in the earth’s surface from which lava pillowed, bringing the hydrothermal vent fractionally closer to the light of the world. But for the time being it would remain a hidden secret.

I moved closer to the opening of the crevasse, taking care to remain out of the way of the supercritical expulsion. The rock around the opening was dark and jagged, volcanic glass formed by the intense heat. Upon its surface, however, just where the hottest, most sulfuric water would be spewing, I could see the thin smear I had travelled so far and so deep to find. Even under the halogen light it was clear the bacteria were luminescent, and I hoped that they would be the key to my research. All I needed was a sample to return with to Sandstone, where Randal and Olivia would help me analyze its makeup and discover how it could survive such inhospitable conditions. Would it be a silicone-based life form, hitherto unknown to us? Would it be the key to detecting life on other planets? Help us to colonize other worlds? There were so many possibilities I felt myself turning giddy within the craft, and I had to force myself to remain calm and conserve my oxygen. I tried to radio Linden at least to let him know what I’d found, but no signal could be transmitted. Instead, I alone was able to witness the beginning of the world’s future.

I extended the submersible’s arm and used it to break a piece of the glass rock free. It came apart much easier than I expected, and I was careful not to disturb the colonies that might be living on its surface. The arm was then retracted, along with a few gallons of surrounding water in order to properly preserve the sample. A few further photographs of the site were all that was required before I backed the submersible away. I could see the façade of the Onkoul Vent fading into the dark once again as I turned the submersible and headed back to the coordinates of the ship before I resurfaced. It would have to be slow to avoid causing decompression sickness, and my impatience would be excruciating, but I knew it was but a small price to pay for what was to come.

Upon surfacing, I nearly recoiled from the look on Linden’s face. It had swollen again, though he seemed unaware, and it gave him the appearance of an angry Chinese spirit come to haunt me. His pale complexion only magnified the illusion.

“The storm,” was all he said, and I removed my mask to see the dark clouds had proliferated across the sky in my absence, and the water itself had already begun to chop.

“Let’s get the submersible secured,” I said with haste, motioning for him to lower me the ropes so I might prepare it to be winched up. We both rushed to get everything in place and locked down while the light was still with us, but it was quickly draining from the world as we worked. We managed to get the boat ready for departure as the first cracks of lightning lit the western sky, and before the thunder rolled over us Linden was already throttling the engine. With a cough of black smoke we moved, faster and faster, the sound of hissing rain behind us intensifying like the sound of the ocean boiling. We narrowly escaped the looming clouds as the boat bounced across the water toward the marina and our motel rooms. There was a tension in the air due to more than our narrow escape from the looming clouds. In our haste I had forgotten about the sample I had managed to retrieve of that strange glass. Had I recalled I might have mentioned it to Linden instead of here for the first time. Still, he seemed uncharacteristically in no mood to listen, so I said nothing on the subject. I suspect now in hindsight that was for the best.

I cannot say anything for certain beyond the facts, and they are as follows. I was unable to sleep well during the night—the storm battered the entire town of Zihuatanejo with a ferocious intensity as we rested there. I tossed and turned, the thunder waking me when my own nightmares did not. I dreamed I was in the submersible once more, only this time the motor had failed and tanks could not pull me to the surface. Instead, the entire thing sank as I approached the Onkoul Vent, sank deep into the inky blackness below, and try as I might I could not let go or do anything to stop the decent. Deeper, deeper into the black I fell as the air was choked from me. A thunderous tear across the sky erupted, transformed in my dream into something so horrendous I’m not sure if it was that image or the sound of the storm that woke me. Blissfully, I forgot the sight instantly, but the sensation clung to me like a shirt soaked with sweat, and my shivering succeeded where everything else had failed. It was long before dawn and I could no longer sleep. All I could do was think. And I thought of what I had discovered deep below the ocean’s surface.

I found myself overcome with the urge to examine my discovery, this time without the windows of the submersible acting as interference. It never occurred to me that the storm might be merely a lull, that to venture out in the dead of night was unusual. In my insomniac daze I only thought of what I had discovered, and knew the way one knows things in the middle of the night that the best course of action was to visit the boat, the submersible, and retrieve the sample. My befuddled mind twisted upon itself to rationalize the journey, convincing me that the samples would surely become contaminated were they to remain where they were, and only by retrieving them could I ensure their survival. I think somewhere deep down I realized my curiosity was to blame for my actions, but it did not seem so at the time. In hindsight, bearing in mind what I now know, my midnight confusion was at the very least a stroke of luck.

The streets were drenched as I walked the short distance to the marina, but the sky remained clearer than I had seen it in some time. Stars peered down like a million eyes, watching me when no one else was. The gates were not locked, and I was able to walk up to the
Oregon
without difficulty and access the submersible Linden had ratcheted into place no less than eight hours earlier. I retrieved the glass rock and placed it and the bilge water carefully into the rubber crate I’d brought, then with the greatest care slowly walked the now-heavy container back to my rooms. Even energized by my overwhelming obsession, I am still an old man, and by the time I returned exhaustion had finally taken hold of me. I put the rubber container down in the empty wash tub and returned to my rented bed. This time I slept peacefully, perhaps with the security of knowing the sample was close at hand.

When the telephone rang in the morning I was in no mood to wake. My excursion into the night seemed as hazy as a dream, and I would have taken it as such had I not heard Linden on the other end of the line, his voice no more or less lively than before. He told me the storm had been too rough the previous night and had done damage to the
Oregon
that needed to be repaired before we could travel again. It would be at least of day of repairs, he warned, but then cautioned that that news was not the worst part. During the height of the storm, he told me, our submersible had been washed from the ship, and it was doubtlessly lost to the waves and the tide. Everything we had was gone. I was surprised by how certain he was of this, and he informed me he had spoken to the cantankerous old man at the marina that morning and been appraised of the full situation. There were discrepancies, of course—namely, my visit to the
Oregon
after
the worst of the storm, when the submersible was very much still there, but I thought it best that I keep that to myself. I suppose it’s possible the storm returned after I finally fell asleep . . . I cannot be certain of anything. But as Linden has said to me in the past, it doesn’t
smell
right. I tried to reassure him and let him know we could gather enough of what we needed during that day to continue the exploration, but his voice betrayed a flutter that concerned me. Nevertheless, he was eager to get to work fixing the
Oregon.
Meanwhile, I’ll be spending the day trying to locate replacement diving gear and computer equipment. It won’t be the same, but frankly I think it will be more secure. At least we won’t have to worry about that crazy fool from the marina much longer.