Бесплатный фрагмент - At depth

PROLOGUE

It was a dimly lit room, concealed twenty-five meters beneath the surface. A one-and-a-half-meter layer of monolithic reinforced concrete sealed the bunker on all sides. A man in a gray suit, around forty, entered the room. He stopped before the main table but remained standing, immediately beginning to leaf through the folder he carried. Skipping any introduction, he began to speak in a low voice:

— Please take a seat. You have previously been fully briefed on the nature of the work ahead. Given this, I will not waste my time or yours, so I will get straight to the point. All research expeditions to the most restricted areas of our planet are typically initiated and financed by governmental agencies, and the results of such studies are stored in closed archives under a «classified» designation. This expedition, however, is organized by «Best Technologies.» It was personally initiated by the company’s President, Martin Hogan. Therefore, we must clarify a few points immediately. All finds and discoveries made during this expedition are the exclusive property of the company. The expedition is strictly confidential. Under no circumstances must it be disclosed to any third parties. Furthermore, none of you has the right to publicize your discoveries or disclose any data, directly or indirectly, related to the expedition. Only the company is authorized to publish information about specific discoveries and findings, and in doing so, will credit the individuals responsible. We determined your route in advance, based on data concerning map coordinates where strange and little-studied events have taken place. Should any valuable finds be discovered during the expedition, minor deviations from the course are permitted, followed by a return to the original trajectory. From the start to the completion of the entire expedition, you will be subordinate to the ship’s captain. All personnel must act in accordance with his instructions. Any of his orders must be executed without discussion. This is essential both for the successful completion of the mission and for ensuring the safety of all crew members. Questions?

Only silence followed.

— Very well, that concludes the briefing. A helicopter is waiting upstairs to take you to Heathrow, from where you will proceed to your destination. You will receive further instructions upon arrival on the island directly from the submarine commander. — Closing the folder, the man in the suit added: — I wish you all a successful expedition.

1. LUTHER DE BONT

He descended the gangway onto the pier, awaiting the passengers’ arrival. A few hours ago, his jacket’s breast pocket had held a packet containing the last two sticks of chewing gum. Quitting cigarettes had been tough, but now, after two months of abstinence, the old craving surfaced less often, and the urge to light up felt weaker. He knew that if he could hold out just a little longer, the nicotine addiction would finally burn itself out. Not even a career in the Navy had managed to break his reliance on the poison. Yet now, just as he was starting to overcome the damaging habit, the absence of gum in his pocket meant thoughts of a cigarette were monopolizing his mind with increasing intensity.

A man dressed to the nines appeared on the pier. He was a tall, dark-skinned man with a short haircut. His eyes were shielded by narrow sunglasses with thin, neat frames. He wore an expensive beige suit, his jacket casually draped over his shoulder, held by a hook of his index and middle fingers.

The stranger strode effortlessly along the pier until he was close, then spoke:

— Good morning.

— Morning.

— Mr. De Bont, I presume? — the stranger asked.

— Yes — the Captain replied with a note of suspicion.

The man in the suit extended his hand and introduced himself:

— My name is Stephen Frost. Pleased to meet you. Do you have five minutes?

Captain De Bont checked his watch and said:

— Judging by the fact that the concept of «punctuality» is alien to some people, I suppose I do have some time.

With that, the Captain gestured with his hand, suggesting they continue their conversation while walking along the rest of the pier.

— In that case, I will try to be as brief as possible.

— By the way, do you happen to have any gum on you? — the Captain cut in.

— Just lozenges.

— That’ll do.

Stephen Frost placed five lozenges in rustling wrappers on the Captain’s palm and resumed his thought:

— I represent «Best Technologies».

— Yes, I’ve heard of your firm. You specialize in technical development.

— That’s correct — Frost replied with a slight smile. — Though it’s less about DEVELOPMENT and more about our accumulated RESEARCH. We typically conduct studies, and their results are then used by manufacturers of consumer goods, transportation, and various equipment.

— But you’ve also had a hand in the Ministry of Defense’s technology, haven’t you?

— Yes. The software and internal electronics are our doing. But in recent years, we’ve shifted toward manufacturing. Innovative technology, it turns out, is always in demand, and not even exorbitant prices can halt the overwhelming craze — Frost replied, letting out his snow-white smile once more. He lightly scratched his nose with his index finger, paused, and then continued: — Mr. De Bont, when was the last time you commanded a submarine crew?

— Last year, I had a fixed-term contract with the Ministry of Defense for seven months.

— Where were your postings?

— The Bay of Bengal. The Mediterranean Sea. Antarctica. A bit near the Panama Canal.

— And why did they choose not to renew your contract?

— The commander I was filling in for recovered from his chemotherapy and returned to duty.

— So, is the British Fleet so flawless that it has no need for such an experienced captain with a spotless reputation?

— They simply had no vacancies for a Captain’s post. They offered me the position of Chief Mate, but do I look like a man who would be grateful for a demotion?

Frost shook his head slightly and said:

— Yes, that is an insult.

— But they still didn’t want to let me go and offered me command of a surface vessel. They were just about to commission a new aircraft carrier and wanted to entrust it to a seasoned, yet not elderly, captain so that one person would be permanently assigned to the ship, eliminating the constant need for a change of command. They considered a forty-nine-year-old veteran with submariner experience perfectly suited to run things on that ship.

— So you have experience with surface vessels as well?

— That’s where I started. I only transferred to a submarine as Chief Engineer at thirty-one.

— And you turned them down?

Captain De Bont took a deep breath and said:

— I prefer to be submerged. It’s hard to grasp. And even harder to explain. Consequently, I now find myself skippering some plutocrat’s yacht.

Stephen Frost wiped the sweat between his nose and upper lip, then adopted a slightly different tone:

— Well, I won’t beat around the bush or hold you up unnecessarily. Let’s get down to business. Our company wants to offer you a job. It involves commanding a submarine designed for civilian purposes.

— Someone built a submarine for civilian use?

— Yes, I agree, that sounds slightly odd at first glance.

— And what is its nature?

— Unfortunately, I am not authorized to disclose such information. I can give you only a few parameters. Length: thirty-five meters, displacement: two thousand tons, and… essentially, that’s it.

— Where is the intended voyage?

— That detail is still being finalized. At the moment, all that is known is that it will be in the Atlantic.

— Timeframe? — Luther De Bont asked, his voice tinged with skepticism.

— The launch is planned for approximately eight to twelve months from now.

— So the vessel is already in the assembly phase.

— At present, we are at seventy percent completion. As you might gather, given the nature of our company’s operations, this submarine is significantly more advanced than those currently commissioned by any military superpower. But I repeat, the vessel is intended for civilian — specifically, scientific — purposes.

Captain De Bont gazed thoughtfully out at the harbor and asked:

— What is the planned duration of the voyage?

— Between sixty and eighty days. But if the voyage proves successful and the vessel handles well, we would be ready to offer you a permanent working arrangement. I am not pressuring you for a decision. You have more than enough time. And, of course, I understand perfectly well that you will want to see the submarine for yourself before giving an answer.

— My apologies, but that is non-negotiable.

— None taken. This is perfectly understandable. Therefore, our company proposes that you conduct the practical sea trials of the vessel when it is launched. For an agreed-upon fee, naturally.

The Captain ran his fingers across his chin and asked:

— Why did you approach me specifically? Or is there a queue, and I am far from the first on it?

Frost carefully removed his glasses, smiled again, and replied:

— No, Mr. De Bont. There is no queue. If one appears at all, it will be because of you. Since we frequently fulfill government contracts for the Ministry of Defense, our representatives have well-established contacts within the ministry. We requested information on officers who have commanded submarines but are currently unattached to His Majesty’s military service due to circumstances beyond their control. In addition to you, we received recommendations for nine other captains. However, all of them are either near retirement age or lack impressive achievements and valuable skills in their service records. Your service file indicates that you have masterfully perfected the art of underwater maneuvering, that you enjoyed considerable authority among the ranks, and that ninety-eight percent of all ordnance fired throughout your career reached its target. Moreover, any crew placed under your command showed immediate, dramatic improvements in efficiency and organization. As for your psychological testing, you also stood out. You were described as an organized and pragmatic commander, devoid of impulsive tendencies, cool-headed, and able to judiciously prioritize in an emergency. Sustained emotional stability during extended deployments was also noted. But what I liked most was what was listed in the ’flaws’ column: «A severe smoking habit.»

Frost delivered his final words with a chuckle.

— My superiors practically waged war with me over it. I constantly heard that a man capable of organizing an entire crew is incapable of organizing himself.

— Come on. Our company is not the military. Here, you can smoke to your heart’s content.

Captain De Bont, at the mention of cigarettes, more intently manipulated the lozenge in his mouth with his tongue.

F Frost stopped, reaching into his jacket’s inside pocket, and said:

— I’ll leave you my number. Once you decide on the sea trials…

— You have a deal — the Captain cut in. He instantly wanted to blow and pop a bubble, but realized his mouth held a lozenge, not gum.

Frost extended his hand.

— Glad to hear that. — I’ll still leave the number with you, just in case any questions arise. I’ll be available to you twenty-four hours a day.

— Oh, really. That’s rare, even for a customer service hotline.

Frost’s snow-white smile, which shone brightly against his dark complexion, broke out once more. Suddenly he recalled:

— Oh yes, one more thing. Mr. De Bont, do you happen to have a capable Chief Mate in mind?

— Of course. He and I have served together for eleven years — we report aboard together, and we depart together.

— And we can count on him?

— Absolutely.

— Excellent.

After a brief pause, Luther said, an element of doubt in his voice:

— Mr… Frost?

— Yes.

— I haven’t seen the submarine yet, of course, but with parameters like that, two people hardly seem enough to run it.

— You are correct. There will also be an engineer. But don’t concern yourself with that. We will be supplying the engineer.

— And am I correct in assuming this conversation never took place?

— Now I have no doubt I am speaking to a military man. You understand everything correctly. Any further questions?

Captain De Bont shook his head.

Frost shook his hand one last time and unhurriedly walked away. On the way back, he took his phone from his pocket, dialed a number, and raised it to his ear.

Meanwhile, Captain De Bont gazed once more at his employer’s yacht. Suddenly, it repulsed him more than usual. At the mere thought that he would once again have to man the helm of a toy-sized surface vessel today, Luther felt even less inclined to return to the ship. But moments later, he broke into a smile. This might have surprised even Luther himself, but there was nothing strange about it. He simply realized he wouldn’t have long left to skipper this tub. Soon, he would leave it behind.

A few seconds later, Luther de Bont spotted the figure of the yacht’s owner and a provocatively dressed woman, whom the owner was affectionately holding by the fillet, appearing on the pier.

2. HECTOR CAGE

— Doctor Cage! Doctor Cage! — a student called, jogging to catch up with the professor in the corridor after the bell.

— Whoa, whoa. Slow down, Margaret. You’re going to drop everything.

— Sorry, I just wanted to ask you something.

— I’m not running a hundred-meter dash here. There’s no need to rush — the forty-two-year-old professor continued in a mild tone.

Margaret just smiled in response.

— Go on, ask.

— Dr. Cage, I wanted to talk to you about the paper on cetaceans due next week.

— Are you running into some difficulties? — the professor asked, puzzled, as he continued his unhurried walk down the corridor, carrying a leather briefcase.

— Well… I couldn’t really find enough solid data on the Dorudon. Even online, the information mostly boils down to merely mentioning their existence during the Eocene epoch, and the library only has a few encyclopedias that simply define their biological and species classification.

— And why did you choose the Dorudon in the first place?

— I just wanted to write about some kind of monster. You know, a big predator with an unusual look. I liked it in that film you screened.

— I can give you some of my monographs. But they won’t be enough to draw any objective conclusions. My advice is to choose someone else. Say, the Kutchicetus or the Protocetus. They are also Eocene species, but there is slightly more information available about them, and their anatomy is much more interesting.

— In that case, is it alright if I change my topic?

— By all means.

— Thank you.

— Anytime.

— Goodbye, Dr. Cage.

Hector Cage collapsed into the seat of his Ford, exhaling in relief that the work week was finally over. Teaching at the new university had been a struggle. It was his second year, and he still hadn’t managed to secure a spot on a single research expedition to study new and rare fish species. He had a sinking feeling it wouldn’t happen anytime soon. At his previous workplace, he had been a regular on expeditions to Australia, Thailand, Japan, and Malaysia. Now, his entire job was reduced to endless lectures and listening to the droning, self-congratulatory rubbish from students who couldn’t tell the difference between contemporary fish, let alone the prehistoric creatures that inhabited the Earth during the age of dinosaurs.

To avoid burnout from grinding through the same materials twenty times a week, Hector had been forced to see a private psychoanalyst for a sedative prescription. Otherwise, the incident that had gotten him fired from his last university might repeat itself.

It was already dark outside. The city streets were shrouded in a natural gloom, broken only by the glow of streetlights and car headlights.

Once inside his rented apartment, Hector put water on to boil for a cup of strong tea. With the kettle on, he approached his laptop, tapped the keyboard a few times, and a couple of seconds later, the sounds of «Mamy Blue» filled the room from the stereo system. While waiting for the kettle, Hector Cage leaned back on the sofa, listening to Julio Iglesias’s voice and feeling all the accumulated stress gradually dissipate. This continued until the urge to sleep took over and Hector’s consciousness shut down, plunging him into a deep slumber.

Only in the morning did Hector peel his face from the sofa upholstery, six minutes after realizing exactly where his body was. He managed to get to his feet only after his joints had at least partially woken up, which took a good hour and a half.

Turning off the music, he decided to boil water to make the tea that had never materialized the night before. But at the last minute, the scientist opted for coffee instead.

Hector looked into the mirror and wondered who was staring back. He looked as though he had been subjected to relentless torture, deprived of sleep throughout the entire work week. Bags were already prominent under his eyes, and his hair, rumpled from sleeping without a pillow, only accentuated his «vegetable» state.

The clock was showing twenty minutes to nine when the doorbell rang.

Standing on the threshold was a tall, dark-skinned man in a respectable suit.

— Good morning. Dr. Hector Cage?

— Yes. Hello. Yes. That’s me — Hector replied, stumbling over his words.

— My name is Stephen Frost — the man at the door stated, extending his hand. — Pleased to meet you. I represent «Best Technologies.» Might I take up a few minutes of your time?

With a wave of his hand, the scientist invited the guest into his modest apartment.

— Excuse the mess. I simply don’t have the time with work.

— Please, don’t worry about it. If you saw my place, you’d think yours was sparkling.

— Tea? Coffee?

— Whichever you prefer.

While Hector poured the invigorating instant coffee, Stephen Frost intently surveyed the bookcase, most of its volumes dedicated to river and oceanic fauna. Among them were reference works on the inhabitants of the world’s oceans, organized by geochronological time periods, from the Triassic to the Calymmian. The spine titles clearly indicated the scientist’s particular interest in cetaceans.

Hector set two cups of coffee on the coffee table, invited Frost to take the sofa, and settled himself in the armchair opposite.

— So… — Hector prompted, signaling Frost to get to the point.

— Your library is impressive.

The scientist glanced indifferently at his book collection for the thousandth time and said:

— I’ve spent my entire life on this.

— Do you get to study rare fish species from time to time?

— Well, I used to. That’s what I genuinely loved about the work. Observing species live that few others had ever seen. And, of course, researching them…

— Have you written any textbooks in your field?

— Textbooks? No. A mountain of monographs, but not a single book. It was planned, but the change of jobs got in the way. So, what did you want to discuss?

Stephen Frost leaned slightly toward Cage and began his pitch:

— Mr. Cage, our company is planning an expedition into the waters of the Atlantic Ocean. For this to happen, we require a highly qualified expert in marine fauna…

These words caused a noticeable rush of blood to Hector’s brain. It was like a shot of adrenaline to the heart, which was ready to start beating much harder. Hector seemed to be fully awake at last. It was as if a bomb had exploded near his ear, leaving him momentarily deaf, having lost the ability to hear any sound at all. Instead of sounds, a ringing sensation roared in his ears, and Frost’s lips continued to move silently for a moment.

— …never had to before.

— And what is the goal of the expedition?

— A complex of scientific research combining biology, ichthyology, and paleontology.

After a brief moment of reflection, Hector tried to speak, but Frost cut him off:

— Are you concerned about compensation?

— No, no. What is the planned duration of the work?

— Two months. Maybe slightly longer.

— When do you plan to commence?

— Likely within the next few months. The timeline could range from three to seven months. The current focus is on assembling the team. Right now, we are looking for the ichthyologist.

Dr. Cage stood in absolute silence, his gaze lost somewhere off to the side.

— In any case, we don’t require an immediate answer. You have time to consider the offer.

Hector glanced around his apartment: the scattered books, the countless course and lecture materials he had to grind through a hundred times daily. He pondered what his life had become. Its colors remained as bleak as his rented apartment.

But suddenly, Hector snapped back and decided he should at least feign a degree of doubt.

— May I ask one question?

— Of course. Go ahead — Frost replied, taking a sip from his cup.

— Since you brought up compensation, could you provide some clarity?

— Oh, certainly. For two months of work, you will be paid, let’s just say, enough for you to afford to quit teaching and not think about it for a very, very long time. To be more precise, it will be…

Frost took a notepad and pen from his jacket’s inner pocket, quickly wrote down a figure, and slid the notepad across the table toward his interlocutor.

— But you should understand, Mr. Cage, that this is the sum you will receive regardless of the work’s outcome. — Frost simultaneously began to drink his coffee in large gulps. — We fully recognize that this is largely a matter of luck, and the number of specimens or species discovered is not your direct responsibility. Therefore, the contract will stipulate a fixed salary. The amount you see will be paid irrespective of the expedition’s results. And should any discoveries be made-new species found, then… well, you understand.

Hector Cage actively rubbed his nose, while Frost added:

— I’ll leave you my business card. Take your time. Think everything through properly.

— Forgive me, — Hector interrupted, — Mr…

— Stephen. Just Stephen.

— If this offer had come a couple of years ago, I would have thought a thousand times. But under the current circumstances, this vacancy presents too strong a contrast to my current job to warrant any second thoughts. I accept.

— Glad to hear that. Oh, one more thing I forgot to mention. If rare biological specimens are captured, you will be offered a long-term position. You would either study or oversee the scientific work on those specimens placed at our disposal. And one final detail. How do you feel about extreme depths?

— Excuse me? — Hector Cage asked, bewildered, his brow furrowed.

— The expedition our company is planning will take place near the ocean floor, at a depth of around seven and a half to eight thousand meters.

— And you have the suitable equipment for that?

— In fact, we manufactured that apparatus. It has no analogues. At least, not yet.

Cage grew even more thoughtful, and by this point, Frost had already finished his coffee.

Slowly, a look of focused anticipation began to appear on Hector’s face. After a moment, he said:

— Where do I sign?

Hearing these words, Frost broke into a wide smile. But as soon as the smile faded, he immediately adopted a serious tone:

— Mr. Cage, I have one request for you. More accurately, a condition.

— I’m listening.

— No one must know about my visit, nor about this conversation. Is that possible?

— I see no problem.

— I like that. And finally, so you don’t get bored, I’ll leave you a small gift. Perhaps you can formulate a few new theories.

Frost placed a piece of paper with an image on the coffee table and added:

— Take a look sometime. Thank you for the coffee. It was genuinely delicious, and I didn’t say that out of politeness.

They shook hands, and Hector escorted his guest to the door.

Just before reaching the threshold, Frost turned around and asked:

— Mr. Cage, may I ask one final question?

Hector spread his hands in assent.

— With such a successful career, why were you dismissed from your previous university?

Hector felt a surge of energy. No bad memory could possibly spoil his suddenly elevated enthusiasm now. He straightened his back, shoved his hands into his pockets, and replied in a matter-of-fact tone:

— I knocked out eight teeth from a graduate student who was diving into my wife.

— I respect that — Frost tossed out before leaving.

3. KAYLA FOX

In the crowded, darkened lecture hall, the voice of thirty-five-year-old Kayla Fox, Doctor of Biological Sciences, resonated. She was commenting on the images projected onto the screen:

— Before you is a sample of a human zygote — the result of the fusion of two gametes from opposite sexes. In simpler terms, this is what happens when you forget about contraception.

A synchronized burst of laughter filled the hall.

— In this image, we can observe how the tail of one of the two gametes — the sperm — has already been reabsorbed into the egg cell’s cytoplasm. The nuclei of both gametes begin the fusion process, which, once complete, restores the diploid set of chromosomes. Thus, the genetic material for the future organism is formed within the cell, half of which comes from the egg cell and the other half from the sperm. This is how a diploid cell, possessing a complete set of chromosomes — the carriers of hereditary information — is formed from two haploid cells. What questions do you have regarding this section?

— Miss Fox? — a student’s voice rang out.

— Yes?

— What would happen if multiple sperm penetrated a single egg? How would the nuclei react?

— That’s an excellent question. The truth is, for a sperm to penetrate the egg, simply reaching it isn’t enough. The egg is enveloped by a protective layer that must dissolve before the sperm can enter. And here’s the interesting part. For that layer to dissolve, the egg needs to be surrounded by no fewer than three hundred million sperm, as only in that quantity can they release sufficient amounts of the enzymes hyaluronidase and protease to break down the egg’s coat. Once a sperm does get inside, the layer rapidly hardens and thickens, which prevents any other sperm from penetrating.

From the back row, a female student’s voice was heard:

— Now that’s love. The one and only for life.

Laughter erupted in the room, and the professor couldn’t help but join in.

— Love? What nonsense! — objected a student from the row in front. — She let him into her bungalow and then bolted the door. That, my dear, is called a dictatorial matriarchy.

The laughter intensified, subsiding only when the bell finally rang.

Dr. Kayla Fox assigned the required reading and tasks for the next class, after which the students began to disperse, emptying the lecture hall.

This was her final class. Kayla gathered all her teaching materials into her bag and rushed to the parking lot. Descending the stairs, she found herself pondering the jarring slogan she’d read on one of her student’s T-shirts. The text boldly declared: «CHOCOLATE AND MILK MIX,» with the face of a dark-skinned boy pictured beneath. Then Kayla recalled a joke. It had been told that morning by a radio host announcing a countdown of the most unfunny and ridiculous jokes. He had literally said: «Why should scientists worldwide puzzle over how to revive long-extinct animals? Wouldn’t it be easier to take a more direct route? Take a motherfucker, cross it with an orthodontist, and you get a mastodon.»

Just cross a butcher with an orthodontist, and you get a mastodon.» On her way home, Kayla stopped at a supermarket. Approaching the checkout line, she joined the queue behind a young couple with a three-year-old boy. The child was unremarkable until he dropped his toy car. Kayla took her hands off the shopping cart to pick up the toy. As she handed it back to the boy, her eyes incidentally fell upon the cover of a weekly popular science magazine. This particular issue focused on contemporary genetic disorders and pathologies previously unknown to medicine. Kayla began leafing through it, her eyes quickly scanning the article headlines. When her turn came, Kayla placed all her items on the conveyor belt and continued to inspect the pages while the cashier scanned the barcodes. The magazine detailed the discovery of new genetic diseases. In Melbourne, doctors had encountered an unprecedented case. A fetus had to be surgically removed from a woman at six months gestation. The reason for this intervention was the fact that the fetus exhibited a visible tail. While a vestigial tail is observable in the very early stages of pregnancy, in this case, the tail not only failed to recede but was growing at a faster rate than the fetus itself. What particularly horrified the doctors was that, upon terminating the pregnancy, they had not killed the fetus; after its extraction, certain sounds began to emit from its mouth. There were numerous such articles.

— Will you be purchasing this?

Kayla, without looking up from page fourteen, asked:

— What?

— Will you be buying the magazine? — the cashier repeated.

— Ah, yes — Kayla replied, passing the magazine over to be scanned.

The drive from the supermarket home normally took between eighteen and twenty minutes without traffic. This time, Kayla made it in thirteen.

The first thing she did was unpack the groceries that needed to go into the fridge. Everything else, Kayla deferred, leaving the shopping bags and her work bag in the kitchen. To save time, she decided not to change out of her clothes. Once in her home laboratory, a converted bedroom, Kayla pulled on a pair of medical gloves and immediately began examining new samples from her months-long experiment. She retrieved a chicken egg from the incubator. Before commencing the work, Kayla activated the voice recorder on her phone:

— Analysis of sample number forty-five. Twelve days have passed since fertilization. The egg’s external appearance is healthy. No damage or defects are observed on the shell around the injection site where fertilization occurred. I’m autopsying the egg.

Kayla lightly tapped the shell with a scalpel and poured the contents into a plastic container.

— As in all previous attempts, the yolk and albumen are absent. In their place is the same thin, watery consistency, which is partly yellow, but predominantly dark gray. Specimen found.

Kayla lifted the creature, covered in the viscous fluid of its environment, with tweezers. She transferred it to a wide glass receptacle and continued the audio recording:

— The specimen exhibits a fleshy, pale-pink pigmentation. Its size is approximately four to five centimeters long and up to one centimeter wide. Its morphology differs from most previous attempts. At one end, there is a black protuberance resembling an eye. In the middle of the torso, along the edges, there is a distinct outline of what appears to be underdeveloped, unseparated limbs. A slit, about one and a half centimeters in length, is also visible at the opposite end. The specimen is making slight movements near the black protuberance. Compared to previous attempts, this sample is markedly more similar to a human embryo. The higher incubation temperature may have been a contributing factor.

Kayla secured the moving creature with the tweezers, took the scalpel in her other hand, and announced, her eyes fixed on the twitching limb:

— Commencing dissection.

Dr. Fox performed a longitudinal incision, then used a syringe to draw blood samples, which she immediately placed on a microscope slide. She covered it with a second slide, flattening the droplet. Kayla placed the slides under the microscope and began to examine the contents. At that exact moment, the intercom rang.

Feeling both irritated and impatient, Kayla finally made her way to the hallway after the seventh ring.

— Who is it?

— Good day. Dr. Fox?

— Yes.

— My name is Stephen Frost. I am seeking a broad-spectrum specialist in the field of biology. You were recommended by a mutual acquaintance of ours — Miguel Guimaraes. He mentioned your considerable experience in hydrobiology, molecular biology, and microbiology. In light of this, I have a business proposition for you. Will I be imposing too greatly if I take just a few minutes of your time?

A grimace of frustration appeared on Kayla’s face. She replied, trying her best to feign maximum politeness in her tone:

— No, not at all. Please, come in.

Pressing the button on the intercom panel, Kayla quickly rushed to lock the laboratory door.

Pulling the front door open, she watched from the threshold as a tall man in a business suit and highly polished shoes strode down the courtyard path toward her.

— Hello again — Frost said with a smile.

Kayla Fox nodded in acknowledgment and invited him inside. Before he had taken more than a few steps inside her home, Frost addressed her:

— Miss Fox, I will endeavor not to take up much of your time. I understand you are a busy professional, and I’ve been rushing all day myself. Therefore, with your permission, I will get straight to business.

Kayla suddenly noticed that the man was saying these words without taking his eyes off her hands. Only then did she remember she had not removed her rubber laboratory gloves.

— Ah, you mean these. It’s quite alright.

— So I haven’t interrupted anything important? May we talk?

— Of course — Kayla replied, continuing to enact the performance in her own little theater of small dramas. — Please, have a seat.

Sinking into the soft upholstery of the leather armchair, Frost waited for Kayla to take her seat opposite him across the coffee table.

— I represent «Best Technologies» corporation. Have you heard of us?

— Of course. All the labs at our university were equipped with your centrifuges and microscopes this year.

— Then we can omit that part. — Frost then pulled several printed images from his inner jacket pocket and handed them to Kayla, adding: — Before we begin our discussion, would you do me the favor of taking a look at something?

Kayla took the prints and began examining their content in detail.

— What is your professional opinion? — Frost asked, awaiting her reaction.

The biologist stared at the prints in bewilderment for almost a full minute. She turned the images over, examining them from various angles, and then asked, without taking her eyes off the pictures:

— If I may ask, where were these photographed?

— Several years ago, our company initiated a program for the exploration of deep oceanic zones. A team of specialists developed and lowered an unmanned submersible to the ocean floor. And this is what the vehicle discovered.

The first two photographs showed a specimen of a fish species unknown to modern science. The most striking features were the pointed lateral fins, the absence of eyes, and a translucent purple coloration. The other two pictures showed a strange creature that appeared to be a cross between a crab and a squid. The main body resembled a squid, but instead of tentacles, it had crab-like legs.

— The quality of the prints is not very high. We had to shoot under high-powered floodlights due to the absolute darkness. However, the main details are discernible.

Kayla said, letting out a breath of astonishment:

— Well, it is difficult for me to say anything definitive. Such an external morphology could be the result of adaptation to a highly specific external environment. Organisms are shaped by the environment in which they must survive. So, here we are no longer talking about evolution or prolonged acclimatization to external conditions. Rather, these are simply inherent characteristics of organisms that ensure survival within a particular ecosystem.

Having heard her out, Frost began to outline his proposition:

— Our corporation is planning a scientific research expedition to the abyssal zone of the Atlantic Ocean. To carry this out, we require a team of authoritative scientists. How do you feel about participating in this kind of research?

Frowning, Kayla clarified:

— Did you say the «abyssal zone?»

— Precisely.

— But… how is that possible?

— Miss Fox, high technology is our specialty.

Maintaining her puzzled expression, Dr. Fox spent a moment imagining a journey to such remote corners of the Earth. However, the proposal was difficult to fully grasp at once. She posed another question:

— And how long is this expedition planned to last?

— The voyage will extend for little more than two months.

— Is this a single expedition? Or…

— Considering the immense value of the data we stand to gain, a single expedition could provide you with work for years — perhaps for the rest of your career. As you’ve likely gathered, should we discover any novel organisms, you would be offered permanent collaboration. You will be provided with a state-of-the-art laboratory where you can fully research your findings. — After a brief pause, Frost added: — And this concerns the financial aspect of the offer.

Stephen used a pen to write a specific sum on a notepad, then tore off the sheet and handed it to Kayla Fox.

— This figure excludes the bonus component, which will become available should we successfully discover specific deep-sea organisms.

Kayla’s thoughts turned to her experiment: the time she had invested and the limited results she had achieved. She understood perfectly well that she could dedicate her entire life to this research and ultimately gain nothing. And yet, here was this… She placed the prints and the sheet of figures on the coffee table, crossed her legs, adjusted a strand of her black hair, and finally spoke:

— Well, what can I say? I am a scientist first, and a lecturer second. One cannot subsist on theory alone, and an opportunity like this may not present itself again. Given this circumstance, I don’t see the point in prolonged deliberation. I would tell you I agree right now. But, you know, I need a little time for the reality of the destination to fully sink in. I’ll be frank and tell you immediately that I can hardly imagine any reason why I would want to refuse such an offer, but I still require a short period.

— No, no, Miss Fox. No one is rushing you. Please consider everything carefully. Naturally, decisions of this magnitude are not made in a couple of seconds. This isn’t exactly a trip to a nightclub. So please, take your time. You have it.

Kayla paid little attention to his last words. She understood that nothing was truly holding her back.

— I only have one request for you, Miss Fox, one favor?

— Of course.

— Our conversation must remain strictly confidential. It must not go beyond these walls. Can I rely on your discretion?

Without the slightest tremor in her voice, Kayla replied:

— One hundred percent.

The next day, Kayla dialed the number of a former college classmate who worked overseas at a medical research institute in Austin.

— Hello? — a man’s voice answered the phone.

— Hi Miguel. It’s Kayla. Fox.

— Hi beauty. What’s up?

At the word «beauty,» Kayla involuntarily recalled how, during their first year of college, Miguel Guimaraes had asked her out multiple times, only to meet with failure each time, succeeding only in becoming a close friend, as did most of the guys who had set their sights on her.

— Everything according to script — Kayla replied.

— Still married to your microscope?

— Yeah… The years pass, but your humor never changes.

— My bad. It’s just that for the first time in a whole week I woke up without diarrhea, so my mood is soaring this morning.

— Actually, I said your jokes never change, but I didn’t say I don’t like them.

— Got it. My mistake.

It was noticeable over the phone how cheerful Miguel was.

— Well, since you haven’t lost your sense of humor, perhaps you can answer a question?

— Which one?

— Are you still wearing a size three, or have your twins grown to a four?

— I don’t know. I haven’t complained to gravity yet.

Miguel acknowledged the joke with a loud burst of laughter. Waiting for it to subside, Kayla asked:

— I hope I’m not distracting you from anything?

— Not at all. Don’t worry. There are traffic jams this morning, so I have to hoof it to work. Everything’s good. Tell me more.

— Listen, I’m calling to say thank you for recommending me to Frost.

— Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that! There were dump trucks going by! Could you repeat that?

— I said thank you for giving them a lead on me at «Best Technologies».

— What lead?

— What do you mean, «what lead»? Frost came to see me today. He said you recommended me.

Silence held on the line for several seconds. Then Miguel spoke:

— Brown-eyes, you must be mistaken. I don’t know any Frost.

4. TUCKER HUGHES

With unparalleled bliss, he stepped out of the SUV and headed toward a beachfront bar thirty-five kilometers from the city of La Plata, anticipating rivers of rum and whiskey. The forty-five-year-old paleontologist, Tucker Hughes, had spent nearly a month in Argentina, leading a team of archaeologists. For twenty-three days, they had gently and meticulously excavated the remains of a Megaraptor. Now, he and his colleagues planned to get utterly wasted and relax without restraint.

The bar was situated on the ocean shore, where the magnificent sound of the crashing waves, combined with the moonlight, created an especially favorable atmosphere for bidding farewell to sobriety slowly and with small sips.

Tucker was accompanied by his colleague, Jan Vogel, a junior research fellow in the Department of Paleontology, and Fernando Rivera, a staff member of the Trelew Paleontological Museum. Rivera was the one who had initially reported the possible find and requested government permission to involve highly experienced foreign specialists in the excavation.

No sooner had the team of archaeologists finished extracting the Megaraptor remains than Tucker, Jan, and Fernando immediately and synchronously headed for the coast, still wearing their work clothes, which bore traces of sand.

The waitress took their order for a bottle of rum, a bottle of brandy, and three bottles of beer as an aperitif.

Looking toward the incoming waves, Tucker spoke, maintaining a dreamy expression:

— If I could choose the exact moment my life would end in this world, I would choose this one. What could be better than the sound of the surf in your ears, the moon and starry sky before your eyes, and a glass of premium rum in your hand?

— Agreed — Fernando confirmed. — Even losing one’s virginity pales in comparison.

A shadow fell upon the table from behind them. They turned around, expecting to see the waitress with their order on the tray.

— Gentlemen, good evening.

It was a stranger, dressed in white trousers and a black shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

— Are you Dr. Tucker Hughes? — the stranger asked.

— Yes, that’s me.

— Stephen Frost. A pleasure — Frost said, extending his hand and shaking Tucker’s. — Mr. Hughes, if you don’t find me too intrusive, may I steal you away for a moment to discuss something privately?

Tucker did not even attempt to conceal his surprise. The stranger spoke crisp English, which strongly suggested he was not from Argentina, nor from this continent at all. The accent was distinctly British. Tucker found it difficult to imagine that someone had flown across an ocean just to speak with him about something. It was even harder for him to fathom the topic of conversation that had prompted the stranger to travel such a distance. He glanced around, searching for the waitress with their order. Not finding her, he rose from the table and, gesturing toward the far end of the bar’s veranda, said:

— Certainly. Let’s go.

Having settled down at a vacant table in the very corner, Frost asked:

— And how is your fossil doing?

— Apparently, it was a large specimen.

— Do you regret that it will remain here?

— Regret it? — Tucker Hughes retorted in an indifferent tone. He answered the question while maintaining an utterly impassive face. — By no means. I’ve been granted permission to work with the remains. I can fly back later and continue working on the skeleton at any time. As for British schoolchildren not being able to see the skeleton of a robust prehistoric monster, I couldn’t care less. In that respect, I am an egoist and a sociopath. That is just how it is.

— I would call that a very pragmatic approach.

— So — Tucker said, urging them to get down to business.

— I represent the «Best Technologies» corporation. Our firm is organizing a scientific research expedition to the floor of the Atlantic Ocean. We are currently assembling a team of scientists, and there is one remaining vacancy: that of a paleontologist. We require an authoritative specialist with extensive experience and expertise in the field.

— You said «to the floor of the ocean», correct? — Tucker asked with some skepticism, narrowing his eyes.

— Absolutely correct.

The waitress approached the table. Tucker cancelled his order. Frost requested a glass of cold mineral water, and then handed the Latina woman with the golden tan a fifty-dollar bill, asking her to bring the drink after he had left the table.

After the young woman departed, Tucker resumed the conversation:

— Of course, I’ve heard a great deal about your breakthrough technologies, so I won’t ask how you intend to navigate such depths. I don’t doubt that at all. But I have significant doubts about something else. Mr. Frost, I don’t want to sound like a skeptic, but I highly doubt that any preserved remains of creatures could be discovered on the ocean floor.

Before Tucker could even finish speaking, Stephen Frost took several printed photographs from the breast pocket of his black shirt, unfolded them, placed them on the table, and said:

— Mr. Hughes, I, too, do not wish to mislead modern science, so I simply suggest you look at something highly intriguing.

Tucker began examining the photographs, which showed the same object captured from different angles and with varying degrees of clarity. For several minutes, he meticulously assessed every detail of the object.

— You know, I would like to say this is a fabrication, but I cannot state the opposite with one hundred percent certainty, because…

— Look at this — Frost interrupted, handing Tucker his phone with a video recording. — It was taken from our unmanned submersible.

Tucker pressed play. Half a minute later, he returned the phone.

— And do you have the coordinates for the location of these remains?

— Of course. The information is too valuable to be disregarded. Have you ever encountered anything similar? — Frost asked.

— During my student years, I was fortunate enough to join an excavation our university was conducting in eastern Algeria. The professor there asked my partner and me to take tools and increase the depth of the pit, as he suspected some Spinosaurus fragments might remain deeper down. The main part of the skeleton had been removed before us, so we only expected to find some fragmented bones. But as we dug, a small section of soil crumbled from the side, and we spotted a protruding bone. We thought it was another fragment of our dinosaur. We kept digging and digging, but the thing turned out to be massive, having nothing at all to do with the Spinosaurus. It was an entire, separate skeleton. I am bound by an oath and have no right to reveal exactly what it was. But I can say one thing: if the information about that discovery were made public, we could safely rewrite all the history textbooks on the Cretaceous period. And to answer your question, I won’t lie. Yes. I have seen a lot of unexplainable phenomena.

— And what can you say about this find? — Frost asked, pointing to the photographs.

— Based on the skeletal structure, it bears a resemblance to a mermaid from this angle. But it’s difficult to tell; half of the skeleton is buried. — Taking a deep breath, Tucker returned to the main subject: — Alright. What exactly does this expedition entail?

— You will submerge into the Atlantic waters and follow a pre-determined route. Your duty is to use the manipulator arm to retrieve all finds whose size permits it. Those that are too large must be meticulously filmed using the drone, their coordinates fixed, and a superficial examination conducted, relying solely on visual contact. In the future, if these finds prove valuable, the company will take measures to lift those remains to the surface. We will entrust their study to the person who discovered them. Regarding the timeline, the voyage will last approximately two months, perhaps an extra week to allow for on-site delays for studying the finds. The total sum due for your services is indicated on the reverse side of the photograph.

Tucker did not look at the reverse side of the photograph but immediately asked:

— When is the departure scheduled?

— The submarine will be launched within a few days. Practical tests will then be conducted for some time, and if the vessel performs according to all stated specifications and everything proceeds as planned, the expedition will commence in three months.

The scientist gazed into the distance toward the ocean and said:

— You know, I could refuse, because there are plenty of remains of prehistoric beasts on land. However, I’ve grown weary of studying dinosaur bones, and besides, who knows, in a place where no human has ever set foot, the chances of finding something truly extraordinary might be far greater.

Having concluded his statement, Tucker Hughes extended his hand to Frost. Frost shook it and said:

— I sincerely look forward to our collaboration. And since you have made your decision, I should add a few things. You will need to arrive at the destination two weeks prior to departure. You will undergo a medical examination to ensure your body is prepared for the dive; you will also be required to undergo instruction on the operation of the submarine, which will be your home for two entire months, in addition to a few other minor procedures. Do you have any remaining questions for me?

— None whatsoever.

— In that case, I will leave you my contact details…

— I’m afraid that would be futile, Mr. Frost. You see, my colleagues and I are about to embark on an alcohol marathon, and by the morning, I won’t be able to find my trousers, let alone a business card.

Stephen Frost spoke in a serious tone:

— I fear, Mr. Hughes, you’ve slightly misunderstood the gravity of the situation. You must remain sober, because no one else must learn about our conversation.

The paleontologist annoyedly lowered his eyelids, and when he raised them, he said:

— Of course.

— Excellent. I was genuinely pleased with our conversation.

With that, Frost rose from his chair.

— Likewise — Tucker replied, languidly shaking Frost’s hand.

The waitress immediately brought the glass of water and handed it to Frost.

Returning to the table with his colleagues, Tucker called the waitress and ordered a non-alcoholic beer.

— I don’t get it — Fernando burst out indignantly.

— Yes, Mr. Hughes — Jan echoed. — We planned to relax.

Taking a deep sigh, Tucker replied:

— Exactly, we planned to relax. I don’t want to over-relax today, only to have my head aching tomorrow morning because of it.

5. STAGING BASE

His name within the company was known only to those who governed it. He consistently wore the same type of clothing: stark suits in dark shades of black or grey. Notably, his shoes, polished to a high shine, always matched the colour of his suit. He was short-haired, clean-shaven, and possessed a low, resonant voice. On his left wrist, he always wore a luxury brand watch, which he rotated, much like his ties — a different one for each day of the week. Everyone addressed him as «Mr. Smith» or simply «Smith.» He had been appointed the expedition’s curator.

He provided the recruiting staff with information about the scientists whose candidacies he considered most suitable for working aboard the submarine. However, his core competency was the ability to obtain, purchase, extort, and steal data from classified archives. It was his success in this area that made the upcoming expedition possible. With the information he managed to gather, the dive into the Atlantic depths would not be a pointless endeavor and, most importantly, would not be conducted blindly, but along a clearly defined route.

The day of departure was drawing near. The crew’s physical training phase was concluding. All medical and preventative procedures were being finalized.

Late that evening, Smith visited the base’s medical laboratory, where the crew members were being examined. He approached Doctor Kate Moore, who had finished reviewing the examination results for the final crew member just hours before. She was slated to accompany the crew as the resident physician. At thirty-eight, Dr. Moore had firmly committed her future to medicine, sacrificing a family she saw no reason to start if it meant disappearing at work for twelve hours a day, or sometimes not leaving the research institute for two or three days running. While working for a subsidiary of «Best Technologies,» Kate was told she would accompany the submarine crew. Management had presented it as a request. However, Kate understood that immediate consent was advisable, as she was not working for a typical pharmaceutical company. Here, the management offered boundless opportunities, but in exchange, personnel were forced to adapt to a local corporate culture that never truly considered staff input — a fact known to all employees. Previously, she had been tasked with monitoring the condition of volunteers taking part in trials for new drugs. The work ahead, she knew, would be much simpler and more tedious.

Kate was focused on the monitor, examining the blood test results, when Smith approached her. Leaning closer, he asked:

— Well, what’s the verdict on their health?

— Essentially, everything is normal. Kayla Fox is only experiencing minor strain with her lungs; they aren’t functioning at full capacity. But it’s not critical. I’ve already given her two injections. In a week, she’ll be as fit as a fiddle.

— Is there anything else to do?

— No. I’m finished.

— Do you remember everything?

— Saturday, twenty hundred thirty-seven hours, Heathrow, Terminal Six.

— Then see you soon — Smith tossed out nonchalantly as he left the laboratory for the psychoanalyst’s office.

— Ah, Mr. Smith — said sixty-five-year-old psychoanalyst Quentin Duff. — You’ve arrived just in time.

— So, — Smith said, as if drawing a preliminary conclusion, — what’s the status of their mental faculties?

— Let’s go through the list.

They both sat down on the sofa positioned against the wall to the right of the entrance. The doctor began sorting through his notes while simultaneously discussing the examination findings:

— Number one. Luther de Bont. Forty-nine years old. We don’t need to dwell on him. I’ll just say I wish I had nerves of steel like his. In the event of any emergency, he will remain cool-headed and act rationally. I can state that with absolute certainty.

Putting aside the captain’s folder, the doctor moved to the next one:

— Number two. Morgan Sinclair. Thirty-seven years old. Senior First Officer. The captain himself sought him out. That he can endure a long time underwater is clear as day — his previous submarine service experience is a factor here. His candidacy is very promising. He possesses well-developed phlegmatism. A prolonged, unchanging environment is unlikely to throw him off balance. Moving on. Number three. Henry Mills. Forty-one years old. Engineer. Your man.

— Yes. Ours — Smith confirmed. — How did he perform?

— How shall I put it? He is intensely interested in working with cutting-edge technology. The time dedicated to practical testing was clearly insufficient for him. He wants more time to observe how the sub will behave. He possesses a trait that slightly borders on obsessive-compulsive disorder. In other words, he likes to check the same thing a thousand times. For example, if he locks the door before bed, he might check ten times in five minutes to ensure it’s secure.

— On the other hand, that’s a plus.

— Agreed. With a man like him, constant oversight of the equipment’s operation will be guaranteed. Next. Number four. Hector Cage. Forty-two years old. Ichthyologist. He is experiencing an inner suppression stemming from professional dissatisfaction. Since changing jobs, he stopped traveling the world to study rare fish species. His new university does not offer him this opportunity. Consequently, he has very high hopes for this expedition and is eagerly awaiting its commencement. If negative energy builds up, he will prefer to keep it contained until someone happens to catch him at a bad moment. However, given that he hasn’t participated in marine fauna research for over two years, his state is perfectly adequate for the dive. He will perform his work with great fervor. So — Quentin Duff sighed, moving on to the next folder: — Number five. Kayla Fox. Thirty-five years old. Biologist. I must say, she has a very unusual combination of traits. Her psychotype is characterized most prominently by scrupulousness and fastidiousness. Yet, curiously, she also exhibits certain melancholic features — specifically, a proclivity for creative pursuits. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s conducting illegal experiments at home, growing some sort of centaur or alien. It’s also worth noting that she possesses a very valuable quality: she can keep secrets. Though, she might also keep secrets that should rightly be shared with her superiors.

— Could she find something at the bottom and conceal it from us? — Smith asked with a doubtful tone.

— Given that she will be working in a severely confined space for a long duration, I don’t think so. Furthermore, she understands that she could potentially gain permanent employment working with unique materials. So, it is highly improbable. Not in this instance.

— Fine. Who is next?

— Sixth. Dr. Moore. I didn’t spend too long interviewing her. After all, we’ve been working together for several months now. I only asked about things I couldn’t inquire about with my colleague. Her general psychological profile is quite transparent. There is only one weakness that might manifest during the voyage: she is unable to be idle for long periods. In other words, if all crew members remain hale and healthy, she will simply have nothing to do, and this, in turn, will negatively impact her morale. Therefore, however strange it may sound, healthy patients on board could become a problem for her.

Any problem is solvable — Smith thought instantly.

Duff continued:

— Ah! Number seven. The most interesting specimen: Tucker Hughes. Forty-five years old. Paleontologist. He’s ready to work like a beast for months. But I guarantee that after finishing his long and productive labor, he will confidently head to the nearest brothel or pub to remember the finer things in life and embrace oblivion. It might also sound strange, but he is fully capable of restraining his natural instincts and base urges. My diagnosis: eligible.

— Excellent — Smith summarized, shaking Duff’s hand.

Maintaining his iron composure, Smith walked with a confident stride to the technical bay. There, he approached the sole staff technician and said:

— Connect me to the port.

— Right away — the engineer replied obediently. After establishing communication via a secured channel, he handed the receiver to Smith.

As soon as someone on the other end answered, the curator spoke only a few phrases:

— This is Smith. There are no changes anticipated. Everything is progressing in strict accordance with the plan. The captain and the first officer must be back at the base by Friday. They will return with the rest of the crew at the scheduled time.

— Acknowledged.

— End communication.

After the brief call, Smith left the technical bay. Finding the first empty room, which turned out to be a storage closet for housekeeping supplies, Smith dialed a number on his cell phone.

— This is Smith.

— Go ahead.

— Everything is proceeding as planned. But there’s something else that needs to be done before the dive.

— I’m listening.

— We need a pathogen.

— Which one specifically?

— A mild, non-lethal strain that is easily detectable and quickly treatable with standard medications. Several strains with varying incubation periods. The resulting pathologies must not be transmissible to others.

— In what format should it be distributed?

— Via food products.

— Deadline?

— Thirty-six hours.

— Understood.

6. «AMPHIBIA XXI»

At seven thirty in the morning, Anguilla’s Clayton Lloyd International Airport received a charter flight from Heathrow. After eleven hours of travel, the seven passengers were met by a thin man of average height, whom Captain De Bont, First Officer Morgan Sinclair, and engineer Henry Mills knew well by sight. They called him Stanley. Whether or not it was his real name, they didn’t dwell on it. They had met Stanley during the practical trials of the submarine. The others were seeing him for the first time. He was dressed like a typical resort town resident: a baseball cap with a curved brim, a loose shirt with colourful patterns, and baggy white trousers. All the clothing was pure cotton. Stanley’s eyes were hidden behind wide sunglasses. While he occasionally took off his baseball cap indoors, even the captain, first officer, and engineer, who had spent three weeks with him during the trials, did not know the color of his eyes.

Stanley helped load the travel bags into the minibus’s luggage compartment. As soon as everyone was seated, he reversed and drove the vehicle to the eastern side of the island, where an eight-seater seaplane was waiting at the dock. Stanley himself took the pilot’s seat. With a smooth motion, he started both engines and began gaining speed, accelerating until the fuselage lifted from the water, after which Stanley turned the plane toward its final destination.

Even before the seaplane began its descent, an object in the middle of the open water caught their eye through the porthole. This surface station was massive, equivalent in size to two football fields. Most of the area was concealed beneath a roof, the center of which featured a retractable section measuring twenty by forty meters. A control center with a radio mast and repeater station stood tall on the opposite side. Another structure, the accommodation block, was visible between them. All three parts were connected by steel above-water bridges, each a meter and a half wide.

A pier ran along three sides of the perimeter. The seaplane stopped near one of these. After mooring the aircraft, Stanley led the crew along the jetty toward the station’s covered section.

The scientists and the medic, arriving here for the first time, looked around with curiosity. Through the glass windows of the control centre, a silhouette could be seen moving inside. Electronic locks were installed on the doors at the entrance to the accommodation block. The bridges connecting the sections also featured checkpoints in the form of barred doors made of high-strength steel. To the side of the doors were biometric locks with palm and retinal scanners, as well as a microphone for voice reading and identification.

Stanley placed his palm on the panel and tilted his head closer to the retinal scanner. After a few seconds, a message appeared on the screen: «Say «Picturesque Bay».

Stanley articulated clearly into the microphone:

— Picturesque Bay.

A signal sounded and the lock disengaged. Walking forward, Stanley held the door open for the crew members. A few metres later, at the entrance to the station’s covered section, he performed the exact same procedure, only this time, instead of «Picturesque Bay,» the system required him to say «Galvanic cell.»

The entire crew was now inside.

Stanley pulled the main switch, and the darkness was instantly replaced by the glare of powerful LED lamps. An imposing surface hangar appeared before their eyes. The floor providing support underfoot occupied only a quarter of the total area, consisting of a heavy-gauge steel deck welded around the hangar’s perimeter, extending ten metres from one edge and seven metres along the adjacent sides. Tools lay everywhere, including a welding machine, wrenches and adjustable spanners, an angle grinder, a power drill, and a grinding machine. Judging by the fact that only one of the many metal cabinets was left open, all these tools had been used for minor tasks, likely conducted to eliminate small defects. A forklift and manipulator arm, which had evidently finished their work long ago, were visible somewhere at the far end of the hangar. Two cargo launches were moored below nearby.

The gaze of all crew members, and especially those arriving for the first time, was fixed upon the object in the centre of the hangar, almost entirely concealed underwater.

«Amphibia XXI» is an ultra-modern submarine, incorporating the latest technology. It is the newest development by «Best Technologies,» embodying the pinnacle of innovative achievements in the company’s history and a new milestone in global progress. It is the world’s only analog submarine capable of withstanding pressure up to eight hundred and fifty atmospheres, which allows it to reach virtually the maximum depths of the Atlantic Ocean. The displacement of the «Amphibia XXI» when fully submerged is two thousand one hundred and fifty tonnes, with a length of thirty-five meters. Equipped with a nuclear reactor and four engines, the «Amphibia XXI» can achieve an underwater speed of up to thirty-five knots and maintain operational autonomy for up to one hundred and ten days. Functioning thanks to its reactor, the submarine has an onboard system for the autonomous generation of oxygen supplies. Due to the well-tuned system of interconnected equipment and centralized access to its controls, the minimum crew size required to maintain and operate the submarine is just three people.

After having brilliantly passed all practical trials under the command of Captain Luther de Bont, the Amphibia sat dormant in the private cove, located eighteen kilometres north of Island Harbour, awaiting the start of its mission. For now, the only visible parts above the water were the top of the conning tower and the entry hatch. The rest of the hull was concealed beneath the water’s surface, leaving the ichthyologist, biologist, paleontologist, and medic to merely guess at the submarine’s true dimensions.

Captain De Bont hit a button on the wall panel, after which a folding gangway began to extend from beneath the floor. The crew members used it to proceed to the center of the hangar. The Captain opened the entry hatch and was the first to descend the ladder, receiving the others and their travel bags as they followed.

Stanley remained above — or perhaps left the hangar. In any case, it no longer mattered. Only the final stage of preparation remained before launch. All crew members had to quickly acclimatize to life on the submarine. While this was standard procedure for Captain De Bont and his First Officer Morgan Sinclair, and engineer Henry Mills had managed to take his first steps, the rest of the crew required some time for familiarization.

— Well, ladies and gentlemen, — Captain De Bont said, taking a deep breath and spreading his arms wide, — allow me to give you a tour. Morgan, Henry, and I have already become somewhat familiar with it, but everything will be new to you at first. Follow me.

The Captain turned elegantly on the spot, beginning the briefing:

— This compartment is called the «Central Command.» This is where we will control our beauty. I confess, when I was first brought here and shown this marvel of engineering, I was, to put it mildly, stunned. On a standard submarine, you need an entire team of specialists just to correct the boat’s position. But here, you can manipulate all systems from a seated position, using just keys and touch panels. Add some combat equipment and torpedoes, and submarines like this would be priceless to any military fleet.

— And why «Amphibia»? — asked the medic, Kate Moore — Can it move across land?

She instantly turned around when she heard Henry’s voice behind her, answering the question:

— Some people believe that the deep ocean floor constitutes an entirely different environment, one that is markedly distinct from the marine environment we know, concealing something new, previously unknown to humanity. There is still water there, but not the kind we are accustomed to. And our Amphibia is heading precisely there.

— So, it turns out you are one of the people who built this boat?

— Something like that. I was the Senior Assistant to the Chief Designer.

— And why wasn’t he taken on the voyage?

— He’s sixty-nine. He’s a bit too old for these kinds of trips.

The Captain, meanwhile, continued to familiarise the scientists with the central compartment, pointing to the chairs in front of the monitors:

— These are your workstations. From these monitors, you will observe what is happening in the ocean outside. Cameras with floodlights are installed throughout the hull, so keep your eyes peeled and try not to miss anything. Please follow me to the next compartment.

Luther de Bont led the crew through a rectangular bulkhead hatch into the adjacent room, where he drew attention to the entrance labelled «Biolaboratory.»

— Miss Fox, this is your domain. This is where you will perform your direct duties. Everything you need is here: a refrigerator, liquid nitrogen containers, microscopes, a vacuum chamber, a centrifuge, various chemical reagents, and instruments. You’ll figure it out, I’m sure. Now, I ask you to come to the next compartment.

This room was equipped with an array of instruments for comprehensive measurements of skeletal parts, scales, tools for cleaning skeletons of dust and foreign matter, and a computer with a database storing information on all living beings on the planet — not only those currently alive, but every species that has ever inhabited it.

— As you’ve already surmised, Mr. Hughes, this workspace is designated for you. But I imagine everything here is familiar to you, isn’t it?

Dr. Tucker Hughes nodded silently, intently surveying the room allocated for his work.

The next compartment belonged to Hector Cage. The difference between his computer and Tucker’s was that his hard drive contained comprehensive information on fauna, both current and extinct, not only from the ocean depths but from aquatic environments anywhere on the planet, including rivers, seas, and lakes. Additionally, along two walls, a huge aquarium, shaped like an L and made of a high-strength glass and plastic composite, was situated, divided into thirty-four sections of varying sizes. A control panel was mounted on the wall. Using it, one could press a single key to open an inlet valve and fill a specific section with ocean water via a system of hoses whose apertures led through the submarine’s hull. Conversely, water could be pumped out of a specific section using a second line connected to the drainage system.

The next compartment housed the infirmary. It was one of the most spacious rooms.

— This is where we’ll come to complain to Dr. Moore about our health. But let’s hope this cruise proceeds without incident and that everyone remains hale and hearty.

After this interim guidance, Captain De Bont pointed out to Dr. Moore the presence of two isolation wards, in case anyone needed to be separated from the rest of the crew to prevent contagion. On the opposite side were cabinets and refrigerators containing medications, medical inventory, materials, and other supplies. The infirmary was also equipped with the most advanced technology, including several microscopes — among them, electron microscopes; pneumatic injectors, X-ray equipment, a transformable surgical table, and an ultrasound machine.

Next, the Captain directed the crew to two cabins, where they immediately placed their bags with personal effects. Each cabin measured three hundred ten by three hundred eighty centimetres. Inside were two sets of bunk beds and two double-door wardrobes with a clothes rail and three shelves.

— Hold on — Kate Moore interjected, pausing the Captain. — There are five men and two women among us, and one cabin is designed for four people. There are only two cabins. Does this mean one of the men will be keeping Miss Fox and me company?

— Don’t worry, Doctor — the Captain quickly assured her. — I have my own quarters. So, you and Dr. Fox will have to miss the male company together.

Vigorously straightening her hair, Kayla added:

— Well, I, for one, wouldn’t object to some male company.

— We’ll have to bear that in mind — First Officer Morgan backed her up.

After a brief moment of laughter, the crew continued their familiarisation with the «Amphibia XXI.»

Opposite the cabins was the galley, equipped with all the necessary cookware, cooking appliances, furniture, and water. Among other things, there was a television inside with an entire collection of films of various genres. Across the wall from the galley was the provision warehouse. A little further on were the laundry room and the head (bathroom), stocked with ample supplies of personal hygiene products.

In case personal items were worn out or damaged, the submarine had a small wardrobe compartment on board with clothes and shoes of various sizes.

Passing a closed door that led to the engine room, Captain De Bont asked them to follow him down a steep ladder. Descending, Dr. Moore realised that in selecting the crew, among other criteria, the employers had most likely enforced strict requirements regarding the absence of excess weight.

A level below, the Captain revealed to the crew a spacious, sixteen-metre-long hangar. Inside was a small pool holding two two-person bathyscaphes, a manipulator arm, and a dredge, all of which were currently secured by restraints between the floor and the wall.

— Captain, how is it that a bathyscaphe was placed on board a submarine capable of diving eight and a half kilometres? — Kayla inquired in bewilderment.

— You see, Miss Fox, we don’t have a full understanding of the locations that await us. We might stumble upon grottoes that could conceal something interesting. The submarine won’t be able to fit in there, but it won’t be an issue for the bathyscaphe.