Life and Death in the Abyss
by Daniel Crépault
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Table of Contents parts 1, 2, 3 |
part 1
Shouts rose above the clamour of the Dining Hall, and a flash of peripheral movement caught Jonas’s eye moments before a jarring blow to his back floored him. The tray of food he’d been carrying was underneath him now, mashed into his dark blue uniform. Someone was lying on top of him. Dazed, he heaved himself to his knees, looked down, and saw a young woman sprawled on the deck.
“What the hell? Watch where you’re going!”
She stared at him wide-eyed but said nothing.
“Are you hurt?”
Her heavy-set companion pulled her upright, but she didn’t look away from Jonas or say anything. The hot soup from his lunch was seeping into his clothing now, burning his chest and breaking the spell of the girl’s haunting stare. Jonas brushed off his tunic and reached for the tray containing his obliterated lunch when he noticed a small black object beside it: a quantum drive. Jonas picked it up and extended it toward the pair.
“Help us! Please!” the man said with a rolling, singsong accent. That’s when Jonas noticed their appearance. Both wore dark grey dock-worker uniforms, but that made no sense. Their gaunt faces spoke of malnutrition and bore the rough, pitted scars that all smallpox survivors carried.
“Topsiders,” Jonas said, using the colloquial term his colleagues and neighbours used for anyone who didn’t live in one of the Poseidon Corporation’s deep-ocean habitats. His mind raced, wondering how they had managed to get down here.
The man said something to his companion in what sounded like Hindi or Urdu. She nodded and leaned on his shoulder for support while he turned to face Jonas. “Please help,” he said again, carefully pronouncing each syllable.
A moment later, more footsteps filled the hallway, drawing their attention to the hatchway. The two strangers burst into a run, heading in the opposite direction. Jonas watched as four muscular security staff came running toward him. They were led by a blond-haired man with tribal neck tattoos snaking out from under the collar of his uniform. His arms were pumping as he sprinted towards his prey, a retractable black baton in his hand.
Jonas’s jaw clenched. He had always hated the security staff, whom he called “eggplants” because of their purple uniforms, though never to their faces. He nudged the metal food tray with his foot, sending it into the path of the approaching eggplants.
The blond man’s left boot landed on the tray, which shot out from under him, sending him to the deck headfirst with a sickening thud. His metal baton, extended and ready for use, clattered harmlessly to the ground a few feet away. The three others kept running, but the one closest to Jonas, a woman with a ponytail, turned her head to look at Jonas as she passed.
Jonas looked down to the far end of the Dining Hall, where the fugitives had fled, and saw they had nowhere to go. Another group of security staff had cut off the intersecting hatchways. Now surrounded, the fugitives surrendered themselves, and the eggplants took them into custody, placing their wrists in thick, black zip ties.
Jonas looked down. Blondie was still where he’d fallen, receiving first aid from a medic busy applying a bandage to a gash on the injured man’s forehead. Blood had pooled on the floor under him. Jonas’s stomach convulsed violently, and he suppressed the urge to vomit. He wasn’t used to the sight of blood. Worse still was the realization that he’d done the unthinkable by attacking a security staff. “Not smart,” he whispered. Adrenaline coursed through his body, urging him to run, and his sympathetic nervous system sent blood to his muscles to aid him in his flight. But his mind hesitated and, by then, it was too late.
The hand on Jonas’s shoulder startled him, and he jerked away. The hand tightened its grip and was joined by another that clamped down on his forearm. The guard with the ponytail was standing to his left, red-faced. “You’re under arrest,” she said as another eggplant positioned himself on Jonas’s right.
“For what?”
“Assault on a security officer, obstruction, aiding and abetting, sedition. That’s just for starters.” She looked behind her at blondie, still sitting on the deck, head down, as the med-tech took his pulse. “At this rate, you might want to prepare for a long swim to the surface.”
* * *
The interview room was cold and painted stark white, devoid of furniture save a long table and two metal chairs bolted to the floor. The initial adrenaline of Jonas’s arrest had given way to calm and quiet indignation about his treatment, though by degrees that faded, too, as tiredness began pulling him toward slumber.
The hatch opened with a screech. Jonas bolted upright as a man entered. His hair was cropped short, tinged with grey at the sides, and his face was lined with deep creases. The regulation jumpsuit he wore featured gold-braided epaulettes, and the black trident logo of the Poseidon Corporation was emblazoned on his collar. “Mr. Kazlauskas, my name is Commander Einarsson,” he said, eyes fixed on a datapad he was carrying. “The guard you tripped has a broken orbital bone. He’ll need plastic surgery— ”
“I didn’t trip anyone!”
“And the two illegals you aided were found carrying a forged docking permit—”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“And since both offences are grounds for immediate termination, I’d say that means you are in a world of hurt,” he said, placing the datapad on the table facing Jonas. Security footage from the Dining Hall played on a loop, showing Jonas sliding the metal food tray into the running officer’s path.
“I want to talk to my union representative,” Jonas said.
Einarsson ignored the demand, keeping his eyes focused on the datapad screen. Several seconds passed in silence before he turned his head toward Jonas. “So, you’re married to Margareta Bagdonas?”
Jonas looked up, eyes narrowing. “Yes. What does my wife have to do with this?”
“You’ve made a good life for yourselves down here, haven’t you?” Einarsson said, swiping at his datapad. “You live in nice quarters, enjoy cushy work details, and eat decent rations; not the best, mind you, but still pretty good.” He tossed the datapad onto the metal table. It landed with a clang that made Jonas flinch. “Ever ask yourself why?”
“Why what?” None of this was making sense.
“Why do you get to live a life of luxury on C-level, with all its attendant privileges?” Einarsson tilted his head forward, forcing Jonas to meet his gaze.
“I’m a programmer,” Jonas said. His hands were fidgeting with the edge of his tunic, a nervous habit from when he was a boy.
Einarsson pointed to the datapad. “Yes, I know. A mediocre one at best. A monkey at a typewriter.” He laughed, the sound deep and guttural. “And what does your wife do again?”
Jonas looked down at the datapad. “If you have my file, then you already know.”
“Humour me.”
Jonas’s brow wrinkled. “She’s a subsea engineer.”
“And a talented one at that. Don’t be modest, Kazlauskas. There’s no shame in marrying up.” Einarsson turned his attention back to the datapad. “Her employee file tells a story of hard work and being smart where it matters most.” Einarsson sighed. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”
Jonas made no reply. He sat staring down at the burgundy bruises the zip ties had left on his wrists. The next few moments of silence seemed interminable, broken only by a metallic screech as Einarsson slid his chair backwards and rose from the table. “Sgt. Dela Cruz believes you intentionally tripped Officer Delaney to aid the fugitives. She’s even suggested you may be directly involved in the human trafficking ring that brought them here.”
Jonas’s stomach tightened.
“She has asked that you receive the maximum penalty. Termination of your contract with Poseidon...”
Jonas opened his mouth to protest, but Einarsson raised a hand to cut him off.
“But I’m inclined to be more...” He paused, slowly rotating his raised hand as if trying to pluck the correct word from the air between them. “Generous in my interpretation of what happened.”
“Meaning what?” Jonas had a sour, metallic taste in his mouth. He hadn’t noticed that he’d been chewing his lip bloody.
“I’ve reviewed the video footage from the concourse. It shows that Officer Delaney is clumsy and should be more careful where he puts his feet. You’ll be released as soon as they complete the paperwork. It will show that you came in voluntarily for questioning under article 14 of the employee code of good conduct.”
Einarsson saw the bewilderment on Jonas’s face. He leaned forward so they were only a few inches apart, so close Jonas could smell a woodsy aftershave. Einarsson lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “Poseidon has been good to you. Ever wonder where you’d be if you both had stayed in Vilnius? A mass grave someplace is my guess: just two more virus victims.” He picked up the datapad and placed it under his arm. “Maybe the two of you should think about that.” He turned toward the open hatch. “Go home, Kazlauskas. Give my best to Maggie.”
Jonas waited for Einarsson to leave the interrogation room before he rose from the table and followed. No one stopped him or gave him a second glance. He wandered through the security station, past rows of cubicles and computer terminals, until he found the exit, wondering what it all meant and how he would explain any of it to his wife.
* * *
As he left the security station, the chill reminded Jonas that he’d forgotten his jacket in the Dining Hall during his arrest. It was well after curfew, and the night cold settled in. Each night, temperatures were set to 7 degrees Celsius to give the power plant a rest from its perpetual task of keeping the biosphere warm and liveable in the freezing waters.
Recent blackouts had made these rest and repair periods even more frequent, leading to colder temperatures that lasted for longer. The gangways and hatches were deserted. Few people wanted to be out in the cold. Most of Jonas’s friends and neighbours avoided talking about the cold altogether.
A few were vocal about the necessity of these and other austerity measures. But it was hard not to see the power outages, broken machinery, and the like as anything other than signs of neglect or mismanagement. These contributed to a pervasive and silent dread that things were worsening in Challenger Deep and that things might be far more dangerous than the Corporation would admit.
As he turned toward home, Jonas raised the collar on his tunic and shoved his hands into his pockets, grazing something hard. He closed his hand around it and brought it to his face. The object, faintly visible in the green glow of a luminescent wall panel, was a quantum drive, the one the topsiders had dropped and he’d pocketed when they were arrested.
His pulse quickened as he stared at its inky black surface, wondering if it held answers to the questions plaguing him since the interrogation. This was about more than tripping a guard. Einarsson’s cryptic and unsettling threats had made that clear, and Jonas was desperate to find out why and what any of this had to do with his wife.
Jonas looked around to get his bearings, saw that he was near the Central Annex, and made his way past it toward the Research and Development Complex, where the programmer offices were located. Though a bustling administrative hub in the daytime, the Complex was abandoned after hours, which suited Jonas. He swiped his keycard to access the restricted floor where his cubicle was. But, as he neared it, Einarsson flashed through his mind, and Jonas thought it prudent to use a different terminal than his own.
Crossing the dim maze of cubicles, he entered one of the new ones that hadn’t been assigned yet. He placed the quantum drive in the terminal’s port, which glowed faintly, reading the encrypted data by absorbing photons through crystalline receptors. Jonas’s hands trembled as he touched the terminal controls and accessed the user interface. His forehead creased, and he strained his eyes to adjust to the screen’s brightness. He waited several seconds until the port stopped glowing. Nothing happened. He tapped a key to nudge the terminal’s AI attendant. The holographic image of a woman’s face was projected over the terminal.
“Hello! I’m Lucinda. How may I direct you?” said the smiling face.
“Shh! Not so loud,” Jonas hissed, casting a furtive glance above the top of the cubicle wall.
“My apologies,” whispered the attendant.
“Read the quantum drive and display its contents.”
“Sure. I’ll be happy to assist with that. Please insert the drive when you’re ready.”
“No, no. It’s already in the port. I want to know what’s on it.”
Holographic eyes swept down over the terminal.
“Oh! Curious! I see the drive in the port, but I am not detecting anything. It’s not sending any data, which could mean it’s blank or malfunctioning.”
What a waste of time, Jonas thought bitterly.
“Is there anything else I can assist you with?” the attendant asked.
Jonas tore the cube from the terminal and threw it into the closest trash canister. Disappointment welled up in his stomach, bitter as a pool of acid. He hadn’t realized until then how much he’d been hoping to find answers on that drive. Improbable as it was, he’d hoped to find something that would shed some light on who the topsiders were and where they came from. And why Einarsson had let him go. Jonas took a deep breath, shoved his hands back into his pockets and turned toward home.
* * *
Copyright © 2025 by Daniel Crépault
