Chapter 16 #2
Brent’s voice came again. “Remember, you’ll be lowered vertically. Don’t do anything until the hoist gets released, then I’ll walk you through basic movements.”
“Got it.” That sounded composed, didn’t it? Not so bad.
The crane swung her out over the side of the boat, and beneath her the waves swelled and rolled, dark and heaving. As the suit dipped lower, the surface drew closer, spray splashing onto her visor.
“Steady now,” Brent said. “Might be a bit rough going in. Just wait until I give you the all-clear.”
“I remember.”
The boat lifted and fell as the waves rolled beneath the hull, and the effect felt magnified as she was swung through the air on the end of the hoist. It was nauseating, and she knew exactly how Noah felt. Her stomach roiled, and she swallowed hard.
Don’t throw up. That would be bad. That would be very bad.
The crane groaned as she was lowered, the sound carrying through whatever cable was attached to her suit. The crane wasn’t designed for this—Brent had said it three times already—and judging from the jerky descent, he wasn’t wrong.
The world tilted sideways as the boat lurched with a passing wave. Cally felt the sick twist of inertia as the suit tipped and spun.
Not the controlled descent Brent had promised.
A wave caught her dangling legs, slamming her into the shock rest. The suit lurched, striking the water side-on, and a metallic twang echoed from behind her head.
She had a half-second to register the crane hook releasing before she splashed into the sea.
Thrown again into the suit’s padding, she sank fast, the waves disappearing overhead.
All sound from the surface vanished, replaced by her own breathing, loud in her ears, echoing off the helmet’s interior.
A sharp hiss reverberated through the suit, like gas leaking out. Was that normal?
A light flashed amber on her HUD, and despite going over them all a dozen times, she couldn’t remember which one it was.
“Brent—”
“Shit. Okay, don’t worry. That wasn’t as smooth as we’d hoped.”
The ocean swallowed her in one brutal pull. The lights from the trawler vanished, replaced by the cold, deep dark.
“I’m not vertical, Brent.” Her voice came out high and tight, with an edge of panic that made her grit her teeth.
It felt like she was half on her side, half teetering forward.
But up and down were nebulous concepts as the water dragged at her.
She was weightless, drifting, the water too dark to even give a hint of orientation.
A low hum vibrated through the suit as the stabilizers strained, too late to right her fully.
“Brent!”
Her left hand flexed, wanting to grab the joystick and regain control, but Brent had warned her to touch nothing. Besides, she had no idea which way was up.
Shit. Shit.
“—your depth.” Brent’s voice crackled through the radio.
“What? Say again.”
“Too much background noise on the VOX. Can you hear me now?”
“Yes. Fuck. What’s the VOX?”
“Don’t worry about it. You’re sinking, okay?”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
A tinny chuckle sounded in her helmet. “All right. So we have a thousand feet of nothing beneath us. Plenty of time to get you sorted.” His tone was reassuring and gentle.
Right. Plenty of time. “I’ve got a leak. I heard a hiss.”
“Are you wet? Can you hear it still?”
“No, I’m…” She forced a steadying breath. “No leak, huh?”
“Pressure equalizing. Perfectly normal.”
“And the flashing light?”
“Amber, top left?”
“Yes.”
“Attitude error, because you’re sideways.”
Of course it was.
“You’re too far over for the gyros to auto-stabilize,” Brent added. “As good a time as any to put our theory into practice. Do you see the digital horizon?”
It was difficult to miss. “It’s right in front of my face.”
Another chuckle, this one sounding a little more forced. “Gentle movements, remember? Side of the right pedal down. Roll level.”
It was like turning in bed when drunk. Lethargic, heavy, with a hint of the unreal.
“Good. Now your pitch. Same pedal, heel down.”
The exosuit came up slowly, and as it did, Brent’s figure came into view, the LEDs of his suit shining bright through the murky water. Cally had been drifting face-down practically at his feet, like a kowtow in the dojang. That was embarrassing.
“There you are,” he said. She couldn’t see his face through his visor, especially with his suit lights shining in her eyes, but there was warmth in his tone.
Cally let out a shuddering breath. “What the hell is the point of this visor when I can’t see shit anyway?”
Another chuckle. “Hold the button on the top of your joystick.”
She did as he said, and multiple beams shot out like car headlights, illuminating his suit floating in the ocean before her, his equipment basket clamped in the jaws of one robotic arm. “Thanks, that helps. Let’s get on with this. Joystick down to descend, right?”
“Don’t rush, little rabbit. Check your neutral buoyancy first.”
“Little what?”
“Uh, scratch that. Military hangover, sorry. You’re doing good. If your line is steady in the center of your HUD, we’re ready to go.” He paused, then spoke again. “Actually, you’re not just doing good, you’re doing great. First time out, and recovering from an entry like that? Impressive, Cally.”
It sounded half true and half necessary encouragement, but she chose to take it at face value. “Is that you saying we’re up to twelve percent survival chance?”
“Hell, maybe even thirteen. Let’s go get Antoine.”