The Age of Discovery, Chapter 10: Tidal Wave

 

Moving diatom oil to the stranded Cyclops

Day 8: 1600 hours…

Excerpt from Engine Master’s Log

With each arm’s length of hemp line released I watched Captain Adler and Lyra slowly descend and disappear down the dim interior of the plant’s hollow shaft.   I had let out about one and a half centimeters of the rope when the resistance suddenly ceased.  Attached to the block, the fishing bell alarm made no sound.  I could only assume that the skipper and Lyra came to rest somewhere down there, hopefully at a depth where they might easily collect and harvest the diatom oil that we need to get back to our mission. 

Had I been granted more time to prepare for this excursion it would not have been overly difficult to rig a telegraph or a simple voice pipe to allow for basic communication between myself and the descent team.  But as I am reminded by the gigantic insects emerging around us, time was short.  The fishing bell would have to suffice.

I secured the line to a pike anchored deep into the plant tissue, and withdrew from the cathedral-like interior.  Green illumination gave way to daylight as I passed through the carved entrance hall and stepped back onto the impenetrable liquid of the pond, a consequence of physics at this micro scale to which I shall not ever become accustomed. 

I glanced momentarily across the water to Cyclops, still resting awkwardly at an angle, her weight causing a very slight dent in the otherwise featureless surface.  Our helplessness up until now to remedy her condition sickened me.  Our ship, our home, looked both clumsy and vulnerable, imparting a sense of urgency – getting her below the surface and under steam again was critical not only for the mission, but for our survival. 

Beyond the ship the pond-scape blurred into a green blue haze – the fringes of the visible micro verse.  And in the next instant my senses became heightened.  Something set my awareness afire – a momentary darkening of the sky, like a passing shadow.  This was followed by a sound, or a sensation… the report of a collision of some kind, an impact event for certain.

Then I saw the wave, a thickening line materializing on the blurry pond horizon, beyond Cyclops.  It crawled up the sky, millimeter by millimeter.  It was easily ten times the height of the ship when I turned and sprinted for the rush portal.  I glanced over my shoulder just once and saw the wave lift Cyclops higher and higher, up and over its smooth summit.  In the next instant the water beneath my feet was rising, sloping upward behind me.  I reached the door through the outer skin of the rush and dove inside. 

The wave struck.  The rush bent.  I braced myself against the carven inner corridor.  The wave rose up and over the portal as it swept around and past the plant.  Instinct told me that water would come pouring into the carved entrance, but it did no such thing.  The water bulged inwardly like a hand reaching for me, but the same physics that had stranded us, now prevented the water from entering that microscopic space.  In the next moment the water withdrew and the rush steadied.  I hoped that my colleagues down below were safe as well.

I moved quickly to the outer portal to see how Cyclops had faired. She had come to rest several millimeters from her earlier resting place, but seemed undamaged.  The tiny figure of Gyro was outside the ship, apparently performing a post-wave inspection.  He waved.  I returned the gesture, but did not immediately notice that he continued waving, and somewhat enthusiastically. 

A rasping sound, like wood against stone – scratching and grating, resonated through the walls of the plant, becoming louder – closer!  When the sound reached an almost deafening volume, a monstrous insect easily ten times the size of the Cyclops, burst from the water in front of me as it clawed its way up the rush.  I staggered back into the entrance hall, felt a warm wind from the animal’s fluttering gills as it clambered up the plant. 

The monster came to a stop, completely blocking the exit portal.  A section of its pulsing abdomen filled that rectangular incision.  I had a perfect view of its geographic network of veins, arteries, and lymph, all visible through the translucent exoskeleton of its belly.  But as fascinating as this unique perspective was, my only path of egress was now blocked.

Ting-a-ling, reported the fishing bell – finally!  Excitedly, I returned to the vertical shaft. The hemp line was being yanked repeatedly from below.  Here was the signal I had hoped for.  I unfastened the anchor knot and began the arduous hand-over-hand retrieval of the explorers.