Readers may note that the internal descriptions of the Seaview differ somewhat from what was seen on the series, along with some of the equipment. This is deliberate. Rather than wrestle with the myriad of inconsistencies in Irwin Allen’s design, I’ve combined features from the design of the boat in the first season with elements from the second season and integrated those with real world science and technology appropriate to the time period of the mid 1970s. This story is part of my Cross Currents series, but takes place before the events in Encounter 51.

 

 

 

Rapture of the Deep

 

By T. Storm

 

 

Lt. Commander Chip Morton, executive officer of the research submarine Seaview, tapped the cover of the exterior water temperature readout with his finger and frowned. The water was far too warm for this three thousand foot depth. He looked over at Stu Riley, who had been monitoring this station.

 

“Are you sure the sensor is reading properly?”

 

The young blond haired seaman nodded. “Yessir. I checked the backup sensor and it reads the same. That‘s when I called you, sir.”

 

“Very well, Riley.”

 

Morton leaned over and picked up the intercom hand-mike and clicked it. “Admiral, we’ve encountered a temperature anomaly in the water.”

 

“Come to a stop. I’ll be down to see what we’ve got.”

 

“Aye, sir.” Morton clicked the mike again. “Maneuvering, come to a dead stop. Assume station keeping until further notice.”

 

“Aye, aye, sir,” came the reply over the intercom.

 

A motion at the other end of the control room drew Morton’s attention. It proved to be the Seaview’s tall dark haired captain, Lee Crane. He moved with easy catlike grace over to the plotting table where the XO had been standing before the temperature anomaly had been detected.

 

“Is there a problem, Mr. Morton?” he inquired as he cast an experienced eye over the stations in the control room. He really didn’t think there was; the crew was too relaxed for the order to come to a stop to be the result of any kind of problem. 

 

The tall blond officer shook his head. “No, Lee. We’ve encountered a temperature anomaly in  the water column and the Admiral wants to investigate.”

 

Crane almost, but not quite, rolled his eyes. Unlike some of Seaview’s previous missions, this one had so far been rather tame - one might even say boring. He was about to make a comment on it, but the hatch at the forward end of the control room opened to admit Seaview’s designer and builder, Admiral Harriman Nelson. The short, stocky red-haired officer moved briskly over to the station where Morton stood with Riley. He peered at the temperature readout and raised his eyebrows. Definitely above normal. He turned to Crane.

 

“Lee, I need some water samples. I’ll be setting up in the lab to run analysis.”

 

As Nelson vanished back through the forward hatch, Crane picked up the hand-mike by the chart table and clicked it. “Missile room.”

 

“Missile room, aye.” The voice that answered was the new Chief of the Boat, Francis Sharkey. Crane felt a brief pang, still missing the familiar growl of the previous COB, Curly Jones. He’d died suddenly of a heart attack just four weeks earlier and the officers and crew were still adjusting to the change. “Chief, send Patterson to the control room for a special detail.”

 

“Aye, sir.”

 

Morton had noted the fleeting grimace on the captain’s face and sympathized. Despite Crane’s somewhat rocky start as Seaview’s skipper, he and Chief Jones had come to respect one another. Sharkey was a different kettle of fish altogether. He certainly didn’t disrespect the captain, but the officer he seemed to have bonded with was Nelson. That might have been a problem, but Morton had noted that Crane was coming to depend on Seaman Kowalski in much the same way he used to depend on Jones. Ironic, considering that Kowalski was the one that Crane had belted in the chops during his attempt to sneak aboard the Seaview in an effort to test the boat’s security back in the very beginning of his tenure as captain.

 

He gave himself a mental shake and refocused on the problem at hand as Patterson entered the control room from the aft hatch. The captain had turned to meet him.

 

“Patterson, the Admiral wants some water samples.”

 

The brown haired seaman simply nodded. “Did he say how many?”

 

“No, but I expect it’ll take several. We’re going to be tracking an anomalous water plume.”

 

“I see, sir. I’ll get right on it, Skipper.” He nodded to the captain and headed for the bow, where the boat had several specially designed collectors for just this sort of task.

 

Listening to the conversation, Morton had to suppress the urge to snort. A lot of people mistakenly believed that Patterson was a little slow on the uptake because of his calm and deliberating manner. The XO knew better. The young man had been a Navy Seal - not an occupation for the weak of mind. He’d also accompanied the captain on an couple of ONI missions. Nelson liked having him on the science details because he could be depended on to not get fidgety during tedious time consuming processes. More importantly, he wasn’t the sort to panic when things got strange or even downright weird, something that happened all too frequently aboard Seaview. There were times when Morton seriously wondered if the boat wasn’t laboring under some sort of curse.

 

Having satisfied himself that things were running smoothly, Crane caught Morton’s eye. “I’ll leave you to your watch,” he grinned.

 

“Right, leave me with the boring stuff,” Morton mock growled, eliciting a laugh from the other as he disappeared through the aft hatchway. In truth, Morton was the one better suited to such a mission - he had both the patience and the organizational talent for dealing with the endless minutiae of scientific data. That was one of the reasons they made such a formidable team - Crane was at his best in situations that demanded instant decisions, while Morton kept track of the details. It had been that way when they were roommates at the Naval Academy and was a pattern they’d easily fallen back into when Crane was recruited to replace the murdered Captain Phillips as Seaview’s skipper. They’d been best friends at Annapolis and had kept track of one another through the years. While Morton regretted the circumstances that had led to Crane becoming the boat’s captain, he was glad to have his best friend as Phillip’s successor. It wasn’t a job that he’d felt ready to take on at the time, though Nelson had offered it to him. It wasn’t that he didn’t want his own command - he’d just known in his own mind that at the time he didn’t have the experience for it yet. Crane, on the other hand, had fast tracked and already had a previous command under his belt.

 

There was also the issue of Seaview’s nuclear arsenal. Granted that currently only four of the twelve silos had actual war shots in them, but as far as Morton was concerned that was four too many. It wasn’t an opinion he openly discussed with anyone however. Pacifist tendencies would get him court-martialed, especially if that idiot Admiral Tobin ever found out. Morton had discovered as he’d advanced in rank that he didn’t have the attack dog mentality for the hunter-killer boats and had begun to have serious moral qualms about commanding a boomer. Yet he loved submarines and the sea. That was the main reason he’d accepted Nelson’s offer as Seaview’s exec in the first place. She was supposed to be primarily a research vessel.

 

Morton caught himself frowning at Riley as he broke his train of thought. The young man was looking a bit pale, since Morton’s reputation for coming up with diabolical punishments for crewmen who got out of line was legendary. He cleared his expression and motioned the sailor back to his post as he headed back to the chart table. As he turned away he could hear Riley’s sigh of relief that the frown hadn’t really been aimed at him.

 

The tedious process of plotting the perimeters of the mysterious water plume dragged into Bobby O’Brien’s watch. The preliminary results on the chemical composition of the water had raised Nelson’s eyebrows - he’d initially theorized that the plume had a volcanic origin, but the trace elements and minerals suspended in the water were inconsistent with that theory, for there was too much iron and magnesium. There were also traces of ammonia, something that had surprised and intrigued the admiral. Sonar had started picking up odd background noises coming from the direction that the plume originated, but it didn’t sound like an underwater volcano. Kowalski, who as senior sonarman was summoned to consult with the less experienced operator on duty, admitted he’d never heard anything quite like it - though he did comment that something about it reminded him of the old steam radiators they’d had in the apartment building where he’d lived as a kid.

 

Nelson had gotten a thoughtful expression when he’d said that and had gone back to the lab to dig through his scientific journals to look for something. He’d come back a couple of hours later with that excited expression in his eyes that made some of the crew suppress groans. They were on to something scientifically exciting - and that had on more than one occasion gotten Seaview and her crew into deep trouble. Crane had spent his watch fidgeting, waiting for the other shoe to drop, so to speak. Absolutely nothing had happened, except for a brief anomalous contact at the bottom of one of the deep valleys here along the mid-ocean ridge in the area known as the East Pacific Rise, some 500 miles southwest of Acapulco, Mexico. It profiled like a submarine, but was at an impossible depth, far below Seaview’s crush depth of 6600 feet. It had vanished almost instantly and had not returned. The contact had provided a few moments of tension, but had left them with another mystery. Kowalski, who was on sonar, wondered aloud if it might not have been another plume, perhaps more mineral rich and therefore denser. Nelson conceded the possibility and when the contact didn’t return, attention was turned back to their original mission.

 

It was Morton’s watch again. It had taken them nearly two days to finally pinpoint the area that was the source of the plume. Not only was the temperature anomalous, the chemical composition was downright toxic - or would have been in higher concentrations. The water had traces of hydrogen sulfide, along with various metal sulfides and metallic ions, especially of iron and manganese, as well as hydrogen, helium, methane and carbon dioxide. They had spent the last several hours mapping the area using sonar, magnetic anomaly detectors and even infrared imaging, something that Morton had suggested since they were seeking a heat source.

 

The results had been astonishing. They had discovered an area about the size of a football field that seemed to have several individual hotspots pumping out vast quantities of very hot, mineral laden water. Nelson had been ecstatic. He believed it to be a geological phenomenon that had been theorized but never actually seen - the deep-sea equivalent of a geyser basin, a small version of Yellowstone 8000 feet below the surface of the sea.

 

Morton stood at the chart table and pondered the problem. At this depth the only way to actually visit the bottom here was in their little DSV, Sojourner. This would, however, be her first working dive. They’d taken her deeper during testing, down to 18,000 feet, so it wasn’t the depth that worried him. No, what concerned him was that this time the Admiral would be along for the ride. During testing it had been only himself at risk, since he was Sojourner’s chief pilot. He would have preferred that Nelson not come, at least on the first dive, but he knew there was no chance of that. There would be no way Nelson would pass up a scientific opportunity like this. He just had to be confident that the little research sub was up to the challenge. The planning meeting he’d just completed with Nelson and the support team had been cautiously optimistic, both about Sojourner’s capabilities and the potential scientific discoveries awaiting them. No one underestimated the potential danger though.

 

Morton looked at his watch. It was time for him to go start prepping Sojourner for the dive. He picked up the hand-mike and clicked it. “Captain to the control room.” The words had no sooner left his lips than Crane entered through the forward hatch. The captain had obviously been on his way when paged. Morton gave him a wry smile.

 

“I’ve got the con,” Crane told Morton, speaking the time honored words that passed responsibility from one officer to another. Then he grinned and with a look of mischief in his eyes said, “Now you can go play with your toy submarine.”

 

Morton humphed as the duty watch hid smiles of amusement, knowing that Crane had a toy of his own. While designing his brainchild Nelson had also designed two smaller vessels that nested within the Seaview’s huge 620 foot length. One was a flying submarine, known as FS1, which docked in a pressurizable bay in the bow. Crane had fallen for the little saucer shaped craft the first time he’d seen her, despite her unfinished state. He already had a pilot’s license - though he didn’t know it initially, that was one of the reasons Nelson had insisted on him as his choice to replace Captain Phillips. At the Admiral’s insistence, Morton had gotten his pilot’s license as well, but as FS1 neared completion, the XO had firmly insisted that at least two other crewmembers also qualify to fly her. Kowalski had been an obvious choice, since he already held a private pilot’s license. Until Sharkey had come aboard, the other pilot hadn’t been chosen. Since the new COB had some flying experience, he was encouraged to get his license and qualify as well. Morton didn’t want to get stuck shuttling people around - he had too much to do aboard Seaview - and he had plans involving Nelson‘s other creation.

 

The XO had been charmed by the tiny DSV that was to be berthed just aft of the missile room in another bay that also housed the diving bell and a minisub. Despite Nelson’s original plans calling for one of the senior petty officers to be Sojourner’s chief pilot, Morton had finagled the job for himself. It had amused Nelson no end, but he had to admit that the blond officer had a master’s touch with the little submersible and had made some impressive improvements to the design. It had caused the DSV to be completed several months behind schedule, so that she joined Seaview several months after FS1, but Nelson had agreed that the delay was worth it. It had also given them the chance to learn how to operate the launching bays using FS1 and work the bugs out of the equipment. After all, no other vessel in the world launched her auxiliaries while submerged. Overcoming the pressure problems had been a real challenge.

 

Morton drew himself up and gave the captain a mock glare. “At least she’s a submarine, not a yellow UFO.”

 

“Ouch,” laughed Crane, “Touché.” FS1 had on more than one occasion been responsible for UFO reports, so Morton’s return jibe was right on target. “Okay, okay. You win… this round. Go tend your little pet.” Morton grinned, threw him a salute and headed for the aft bay.

 

Arriving in the aft bay, Morton found the techs busy with predive checks of electronics and equipment. Everything was inspected and tested, then inspected and tested again. 8000 feet down was no place to discover a problem. If they got into trouble, there would be no way for Seaview to rescue them except with the diving bell. If Sojourner landed on her side, or worse, upside down, then even that option would be denied them. Morton greeted his support crew and was handed a clipboard with the checklists. Under his supervision everything external was checked a third time. Satisfied that everything to this point was in order, he slipped off his shoes and pulled on a thick sweater, sweat pants and a pair of warm wool socks, then hung his headset around his neck. Climbing up the ladder to the top of the little sub, he slid down into the cramped pressure sphere and settled into the pilot’s seat. It was rather like climbing into the cockpit of a fighter plane, since Sojourner was but twenty-two feet long and the pressure sphere that contained the cabin only six feet in diameter. Plugging in his headset he began the final check of communications and internal systems.

 

He was nearly finished when the light coming in the hatch was momentarily blocked. He looked up to see Nelson climbing through the hatch, followed by Patterson, whom Morton had trained as an observer and backup pilot. The two climbed carefully down, watching to see that they didn’t step on him, then settled into their places beside the small portholes on either side of the pressure sphere. Like him they had removed their shoes and brought additional warm clothing. Nelson had also brought a small tape recorder and a couple of sketch pads. Morton turned back to his task and rapidly finished the systems check. He keyed the mike to notify both the techs and Seaview’s control room that they were ready.

 

Sojourner to control. Systems check A-OK. Ready to seal the hatch.”

 

“Sealing the hatch,” came back over the radio. Morton recognized the voice as Sharkey’s and briefly wondered how Crane was taking having the man in charge of the aft bay instead of Jones. Above his head the light dimmed as the hatch closed and was sealed. At this point they were now self-contained, on internal power and air. There was some jostling as the launching cradle lifted the DSV off the deck. It paused momentarily as the techs checked out the last items and pulled the locking pins that secured Sojourner in her cradle. The hoot of the warning siren, notifying all hands in the launching area to clear out before the bay was flooded, echoed dimly through the submersible. Initially the pressure would only be equivalent to a depth of sixty feet so that divers could enter the bay through an airlock and check the craft one last time for problems before pressurizing to equalize with Seaview’s current depth of 1000 feet. Morton looked out as the water crept up the sides of the launching bay and once Sojourner’s floodlights were covered, flipped them on. He could see the two divers exit the airlock and swim towards them. As they approached he recognized the pair as being Stu Riley and Bo Howard, one of the electronic technicians. While they gave the exterior of the craft a through examination, Morton and the others carefully checked the interior for leaks and made sure the air scrubber was working. The noise of the scrubber blower and other small motors tended to drown out speech, so Patterson and Nelson now donned headsets to be able to clearly communicate with each other and Morton.

 

The ship was ready. Outside, Riley gave him a thumbs up and he and Howard swam back to the airlock. Once they were safely out of the launching bay, Morton keyed his mike again. “Seaview, this is Sojourner. ID light is on, all leaks, dumps and grounds normal. Scrubber is go, O2 is on. Begin pressurization.”

 

Sharkey’s voice responded. “Beginning pressurization.”

 

Morton leaned back and stretched. This process would take about ten minutes and observers would carefully watch Sojourner to make sure that she didn’t develop any problems as the water pressure was steadily increased. This was one of the advantages to launching a DSV from a submarine - up to the point that they were actually released, help was still readily available. The numbers on the face of the depth gauge began to steadily mount. Once 1000 feet had been reached, the bay doors dropped open and Sojourner hung suspended over the abyss.

 

“Request launch altitude and permission to dive.”

 

The reply was only seconds in returning. Crane’s voice came over his headset with the words, “Sojourner, this is Seaview. Launch altitude is 7000 feet. Permission to dive granted.”

 

“Roger, Seaview. Sojourner diving.” Morton flipped the release switch and the small sub dropped smoothly out of her cradle and began her slow fall towards the ocean floor. Above them the cradle retreated and the bay doors closed. Seaview would follow them down as deep as she could, but her test depth was only 5600 feet, so for the last 2400 feet of the dive, Sojourner was on her own.

 

The tiny vessel sank gently downward through an inky darkness that was broken only by the occasional flash of bioluminescence and the lights of the Seaview as she spiraled down with them. The temperature began to drop and condensation appeared on the walls of the pressure sphere as the steel tried to chill down to match the exterior water temperature that hovered only a few degrees above freezing. Morton slipped on a knitted cap, pulling it down over his ears and headset. Patterson and Nelson slipped on their sweat pants, sweaters and caps, but continued to peer out the ports. The cameras were rolling as well, so that they would have a complete record of the dive, but they could not be swiveled to record anything seem by observers to the side. Strange creatures appeared outside the view ports and vanished as the descending submersible left them behind. Most of them appeared to be transparent, formed of gelatinous substances similar to jellyfish, and adorned with iridescent lights. Some were delicate and filmy, while others seemed to consist of long strings. A few looked almost like miniature spacecraft, complete with running lights. Most of them had never been seen before by human eyes. Nelson took notes at a furious pace, trying to make a record of them all.

 

Finally there came a point in the dive where Seaview had accompanied them as far as she could. Nelson and Patterson watched her lights recede above them, growing dimmer and dimmer until they were swallowed by the blackness of the abyss. Morton kept his attention glued to the sonar - the bottom was coming up. “Admiral, Pat, the bottom’s coming up. Tell me when you see it.” The other two directed their attention downward and Pat soon spotted the rocky seafloor below them. Morton dropped the descent weights and adjusted Sojourner to neutral buoyancy, allowing her to hover in the water. It had taken them two hours to descend.

 

Checking his position, Morton determined that the edge of the suspected source of the hot mineralized water was about fifty feet ahead of them. He edged the joystick forward and put Sojourner on a course for the nearest of the hotspots they’d mapped. He proceeded cautiously, since he didn’t know if there might be smaller jets of water waiting to surprise them. He eyed the rocky seafloor with suspicion. This area was formed from pillow lava that had been extruded through rifts in the oceanic crust. The presence of something analogous to a geyser suggested that the area might still be active - plus there was a seismic history for this particular area. Earthquakes were not uncommon. Getting caught too close to the bottom in one could prove to be more than merely interesting.

 

As Sojourner approached the target area, Morton began swiveling the floodlights back and forth, looking for the safest path and making sure that nothing lurked on the bottom to snag the little ship. It was on the end of one of those swings that something off to the left caught his eye. He turned Sojourner to the left and focused the lights on what he’d glimpsed.

 

“What the hell?!” Morton stared in disbelief. At his outburst Nelson crowded up beside him to peer out the front.

 

There before them, rising up from the seafloor was something that vaguely resembled a cluster of crooked chimneys growing out of a huge mound that sparkled metallically in the floodlights. The largest of the group was nearly forty feet tall, towering above the bottom. But the thing that held them transfixed was what appeared to be black smoke billowing from the tops of the each of the chimneys.

 

Morton brought Sojourner to a stop. “What is that thing?” he asked Nelson.

 

“My first guess would be a vent of some sort. We need to get some water samples and temperature measurements.” Nelson’s eyes were shining with enthusiasm. They’d already discovered something that no one had expected.

 

“Okay.” Morton shook his head and surveyed the array of external probes available to him. He selected the temperature probe and sampler arm. Extending them, he gingerly eased the DSV towards the top of the nearest vent. As the temperature probe drew closer to the roiling black fluid, the numbers on the readout suddenly started spinning off the scale. Before the startled Morton could react, he saw the tip of the probe suddenly deform and the readout go blank. He snatched the probe tip out of the stream with a heartfelt oath. Behind him he heard Nelson and Patterson suck in their breaths. Turning the arm to bring the probe up close to the window, the astonished men could see that the instrument had melted.

 

“Christ,” said Nelson, staring at the remains of the probe in disbelief. Morton backed Sojourner away from the smoking vent while they regrouped and considered the implications of what had just happened.

 

“What’s the melting point on the plastic we used in that probe, Admiral?” asked Morton.

 

“I don’t know exactly,” responded Nelson slowly, “but the specs are in Seaview’s data base.”

 

Morton gave him a wry look. “Do you want to be the one who breaks the news to Lee, or shall I? He’s going to be upset with us.”

 

Nelson chuckled, knowing that Morton had understated the case. “I’ll talk to him. After all, I sign his paychecks.”

 

“Better you than me,” grinned the XO, as he switched Nelson’s headset over to the frequency to contact Seaview.

 

Seaview, this is Sojourner, said Nelson.

 

“Admiral?” came Crane’s puzzled voice through the headphone. “Is there a problem?”

 

“No, I just need you to look up the specs on one of the probes. Can you pull up the primary temperature probe and tell me what the melting point of the housing is?”

 

“What?!” Crane’s yelp carried beyond the headset and made both Nelson and Morton squint with momentary pain.

 

“There’s no need to yell, Lee. I can hear you perfectly well. Just do as I ask and I’ll explain later.” He could hear grumbling at the other end of the line, but knew from the background sounds that the captain was complying with his request. A few moments later he came back.

 

“According to this the plastic used in the housing starts deforming at about 350 degrees Fahrenheit and liquefies at 420 degrees. Why do you need to know this?” Crane demanded.

 

“So we’ll have an idea of how hot the water in these vents is,” Nelson told him baldly. There was a gasp from the other end.

 

“What happened?” Crane’s voice had taken on that steely note that meant trouble ahead. Nelson rubbed his forehead and sighed. He hated it when his captain went stubborn on him.

 

“We found our first vent. Chip put the probe in the discharge to check the temperature and it melted. It would seem that the discharge is hotter than anyone, including myself, theorized. Lee, we’re in no danger as long as we keep Sojourner out of the direct outflow.”

 

“If you see it,” came back Crane, clearly upset.

 

“Oh, we can see it alright, Lee. The water coming out of this first vent looks like dense black smoke. You can’t miss it.”

 

“In this one. But what about the next one? Do you think they’ll all be black smokers like this one?”

 

Nelson blinked at the term Crane used to describe the vent, then got a thoughtful look and wrote it down on his notepad. He answered the captain slowly. “I’d be very surprised if they were all identical, Lee. Geysers aren‘t.”

 

“Then you could stumble into one and not know it until it was too late. I don’t like this, Admiral. This is too dangerous. You should abort the dive now.”

 

“I disagree, Lee. We still have the backup probe. We intend to proceed with great caution here.”

 

“Admiral…”

 

“My mind is made up, Lee. Sojourner out.” There was a note of finality in Nelson’s voice that even Crane knew better than to argue with.

 

“He’s going to want to kill us both when we get back,” said Morton, glancing sideways at Nelson, who looked totally unrepentant. He shook his head and turned back to their present problem. “Just how hot do you think that water is, Admiral?”

 

Nelson’s look turned contemplative. “Given just how quick the probe melted, I’d guess in excess of 600 degrees. We’re going to have to rethink our approach plan. We can’t afford for Sojourner to get caught in one of those outflows. She’s not designed to take that much heat.”

 

“No shit,” was Morton’s muttered reply. When the admiral laughed, he realized he’d spoken out loud. Red crept up his neck. “Oops. Sorry, sir,” he said, chagrinned.

 

“Don’t worry about,” said Nelson, smiling. “It’s too small a space down here to stand on too much ceremony.”

 

“Yes, sir,” said Morton, though he was clearly uncomfortable with the idea of getting informal with a four star admiral.

 

Behind them Patterson cleared his throat. “Sirs, you might want to take a look at this.” He pointed out the porthole. Nelson leaned over and looked.

 

“What in the world?” was Nelson’s mystified comment. Morton pivoted the tiny sub to have a better look and get whatever it was in the field of the cameras. His eyebrows climbed up his forehead at what was revealed before them.

 

Clams. Hundreds of huge snow white clams. Several of the nearest creatures snapped their shells shut at the approach of the sub, making it was obvious that the animals were alive and that this was not the bleached out remains of creatures long dead. A small white octopus slithered across the clam bed, disturbed by Sojourner’s lights. White crabs stalked majestically across the foreground, seemingly unperturbed by the presence of the DSV and her passengers. Beyond, just in the fringes of the light, was another chimney. This one however, had only a faint shimmer at the top to indicate water was flowing out. But the most amazing thing was the hairy appearance of the chimney itself. Nelson and Morton looked at each other in puzzlement. Morton pushed the joystick forward and guided the sub in closer to see was responsible for the peculiar appearance of the vent.

 

As they approached the hairs resolved themselves into thousands of long, narrow tubeworms. They could see the bright red tops of the animals moving in the faint current.

 

“Where did all the animals come from?” The spoken question came from Patterson, but it was in the minds of both Nelson and Morton.

 

“I have no idea, Pat,” answered Nelson. “I’ve never seen or heard of any species like these before.” His excitement began to mount. Just within the circles of Sojourner’s floodlights were at least a half dozen species that were totally new to science. Clearly something unusual was going on here. The prevalent thinking was that all deep sea species depended on a slow rain of food from the surface to survive, and so were widely scattered across the seafloor. That could not begin to account for the immense concentration of life clustered around these vents. There must be something about the vents that supported these colonies. His forehead wrinkled in thought. The stuff spewing out of the vents had to be toxic. The plume it formed certainly would be if it wasn’t so diluted. He looked at the metallic glitter that covered the bases of the mounds that the vent chimneys protruded from. Probably metallic sulfides of various sorts, given the chemical composition of the plume. But the toxic nature of the discharge didn’t seem to be bothering the creatures here - just the opposite appeared to be true. He unconsciously rubbed his hands together, considering the implications. They simply had to get samples of the sea life and the mounds.

 

He looked at his watch. Sojourner’s batteries were good for another seven hours, counting their return time. They needed to allow two hours to get back to the Seaview, so he had five hours of bottom time to try and get as much done as possible. He looked up to find Patterson and Morton both watching him.

 

“What?”

 

The other two grinned at him. “Kid in a candy store,” quipped Morton, drawing a laugh.

 

“And you two get to help me stuff my pockets full,” grinned Nelson back. He was in the middle of a marine biologist’s dream come true - a new environment complete with never before seen life forms. He pulled up one of his drawing pads and began making quick sketches to show Morton what specimens he wanted to collect.

 

The next few hours seemed to rush by. Morton was kept busy as Sojourner’s grappling claw and siphon tube plucked clams, mussels, tubeworms and other assorted creatures from the seafloor and deposited them into collecting jars. Waters samples were collected. Temperatures were taken, though Morton was careful not to insert the backup probe directly into the discharge from any of the vents. They would have to come back with a more robust probe to measure the water temperatures directly. Chunks of the seafloor were deposited into a wire basket, along with some slabs carefully pried loose from the lower slopes of several of the vent mounds. They even discovered a fallen chimney and Morton was able to collect several pieces. Two more vents were discovered. One gave off a blinding snowstorm of white flakes that Patterson compared to a snow blower, while the other jetted a roiling whitish smoky looking discharge. Since the first vent had been named the black smoker this one was identified as the white smoker. Patterson and Nelson took copious notes, drew sketches and talked endlessly into the small tape recorder. Sojourner’s cameras rolled the whole time, recording everything. Still photos were also taken, both from an outside camera mounted below one of the floodlights and from inside through the portholes.

 

Somewhere along the way they even found time to eat the sandwiches that had been packed aboard for them. Morton surreptitiously snapped some interior pictures - Nelson sitting with his drawing pad perched on his knees, a ham sandwich in one hand and the tape recorder in the other, Nelson peering out the porthole looking like a kid on Christmas morning, Nelson and Patterson comparing notes. They caught him at it though and turned the tables on him, taking a picture of him in the pilot’s seat, concentrating on delicately navigating the ship around the base of a vent.

 

When the alarm dinged indicating time to begin the ascent, it was difficult for the three men to tear themselves away from the wonders they’d been exploring. Nelson looked longingly out the porthole and sighed.

 

“It’s going to take multiple dives just to thoroughly survey this one site,” he said, “and years to properly study and analyze it. I have a feeling that what we’ve found here today is going to revolutionize a lot of thinking in science, particularly in the fields of biology and geology.” The other two nodded in agreement.

 

Tired, but with a feeling of accomplishment, Morton set Sojourner on her ascent course to rendezvous with the Seaview. The boat was still there at 5600 feet waiting for them. Though too deep to safely take Sojourner back aboard, she kept them company up to 3000 feet. At that point Crane insisted that the DSV be taken aboard, though they were still deeper than what Nelson considered ideal for docking. Morton maneuvered the tiny sub into her cradle. Robotic arms clamped the DSV in place and the entire assemblage retreated within Seaview’s hull. The bay doors closed and the process of depressurization began. By the time Morton had the little vessel nearly powered down, the water had been pumped from the bay and air pressure normalized with the rest of the boat. The techs swarmed in, putting the locking pins in place to secure Sojourner, then unlocked the hatch. Crane was waiting for them, arms crossed.

 

Nelson was first up the ladder, pulling off his knit cap as he went. He waved the captain over as he jumped down to join the techs removing the sample bottles and specimens from their racks and bins, making sure that each was properly labeled as it came out. Crane rolled his eyes, exasperated, but joined him. Patterson appeared at the hatch and started handing out equipment and personal effects while Morton finished the shutdown. With everything out, Patterson pulled off his excess clothing and stuffed it into a sack before climbing down to join the Admiral as he examined his treasures. Morton soon followed, having also shed his extra clothing, but his chief concern was the melted temperature probe.

 

Morton walked around to the front of the craft to examine the destroyed probe. No doubt about it, it was well and truly melted. Nelson and Crane joined him in the inspection. Crane was clearly disturbed by the sight of the damage.

 

“Admiral, you’ve got to find some way of detecting those discharge plumes before you go back down again. If Sojourner had gotten caught in one, it could have been disastrous.”

 

“As it happens, Lee, I agree with you.” Nelson’s agreement took Crane aback. He’d obviously been prepared to have to argue the case. “We’re going to take Sojourner back to the Institute and do some refitting. As much as I’d like to continue the dive tomorrow, it’s obvious that we don’t have quite the right tools for it yet. Chip and I have some ideas, but they’ll take some planning to implement.” The look of relief on the captain’s face warred with indignation.

 

“Then why didn’t you abort the dive?”

 

“We needed more data. By staying down and trying to collect as many samples as we could we got to test out the systems. Now we know what works and where we need to come up with something better.” Crane just shook his head, but had to admit the logic of it. He just wished that Nelson hadn’t risked himself for the information.

 

“So what are you going to change?” Now that he knew they weren’t going back down, Crane allowed himself to relax.

 

“The temperature probes obviously, but we also need to add another camera and a more powerful coring drill. This one had a lot of trouble with the mounds, probably because of the amount of metal in them. We’ll probably be a month or so working the bugs out of our ideas and getting the equipment built.”

 

“Then we’re headed back to Santa Barbara?”

 

“Unless you have a reason not to.”

 

“No, sir, I don’t.”

 

“Then set a course for home. I’m going to the lab and get started working on these samples. Chip, you and Pat are off duty, so go change and eat.” He turned and exited through the hatch, pulling off his sweater as he went.

 

Crane and Morton looked at each other. Nelson had just spent nearly nine hours cooped up in a six foot steel ball with two other men and was still going strong. Morton shook his head as he scratched at the stubble on his face.

 

“I don’t know how he does it. He’s got more stamina than most people half his age. I’m more than ready for a shower and a meal - then I’m hitting the sack. Maybe you can talk him into stopping long enough to shower and eat.” He moved towards the hatch himself, Crane beside him.

 

The captain shrugged and smiled crookedly. “If I can’t, I’ll sic Jamie on him.”

 

“Oooo,” exclaimed Morton, giving Crane a sideways look. “Dirty pool. He’ll find a way to get even if you do.”

 

Crane grinned slyly. “Oh, I’ll just tell him you did it.”

 

“What!? Lee! You snake!” Morton’s yell could be heard at both ends of the corridor. Crewmen stopped and listened, grinning. It wasn’t often that somebody managed to get the XO, but it sounded like the skipper might just have succeeded.

 

***********

 

Epilogue: Six weeks later.

 

Morton looked out the view port at the superheated black water boiling out of the chimneys of the vent complex they’d named The Iron Sisters for the amount of iron pyrite the mound below it contained. This time the probe that Sojourner was carefully extending into the roiling stream was rated up to 1500 degrees Fahrenheit. He watched the readout carefully, Nelson looking over his shoulder. 710 degrees.

 

Morton whistled in amazement. “No wonder the first probe melted.”

 

“Indeed,” mused Nelson. They’d checked the temperatures of some of the other vents first, since analysis of the samples from the first dive had suggested that the outflows from some of the others were mixed with varying amounts of sea water. Not only did that dilute the chemical soup, it cooled the mixture - in  one case down to around sixty degrees. They’d found that the chemical composition of the discharge from the various vents varied greatly as well. With only one site as an example it was uncertain whether or not this was typical and if the color of the discharge was always an indication of temperature and/or composition. There were also mysteries about the sea life they’d collected. Most of the specimens had nothing that resembled the normal digestive tract of ordinary marine species - but they were all full of sulfur loving bacteria. Marine biologists the world over were having fits over the creatures - and demanding more samples for study. Sojourner’s dive was causing both excitement and consternation in scientific circles. Enough so  that other marine research facilities were gearing up to hunt for more hydrothermal vents.

 

They were nearing the end of the dive. As before, they’d filled the collecting jars and bins with specimens and collected numerous water samples. Nelson looked out at the scene and sighed. Even though this was only the second time he’d been here, this had become one of his favorite places in the ocean. It was a truly alien landscape, but he felt in his soul that it was a place that held great significance in the overall scheme of things. He hated to leave, but he knew that they’d return at every opportunity. This place had too many questions that had to be answered.

 

He clapped Morton on the shoulder. “Let’s head back to Seaview, Chip.”

 

Yes, they would definitely be back.

 

END