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But this isn’t textbook. Not even theoretical or in the confines of a classroom thought experiment. It either works or it doesn’t. Three people’s lives are at risk, at the bare minimum two. While you’re fairly confident with both your skills and HOPI’s aid, divine intervention certainly wouldn’t hurt.
5.3km. You weld the leak surface.
3.1km. You apply the secondary weld.
1.9km. You stress-test and confirm that the leak has stopped.
“Looks like another boat got hit,” announces HOPI after another explosion rocks the water, “Slowing down, but it isn’t dead in the water. Just coming slower as the other four split into a wide attack formation.”
Pulling away from the leak, you rap sharply on the hull: “LEAK SEALED. PREP 4 STABILIZE.”
“ACKNOWLDEGED,” comes the reply, “THX.”
Then, to Gully: “C’mere a moment and gimme a hand with this…”
With Gully’s help, the two of you manage to get a length of crane-grade, steel-alloy cable through the bars and holes that the knucklebooms would’ve hooked onto. It’s tough stuff, cut from the same cable that lies coiled within your speargun. It can withstand the weight of a PUEXO and however many tons of water, so it should keep the Mackerel from sliding over the edge.
The cable itself isn’t too long, so you have to make do with what you have. Wrapping it around rock formations, driving them into the earth with bolts and stabilizers…all that’s left is to actually supply the Mackerel oxygen-
“They’ve made contact with the Calypso!” HOPI says, alarmed. “Four boats, two on either side! They’re sending boarders-!”
“Sinleq-!” cries Gully.
…you still need a few minutes. Just long enough to give the crew of the Mackerel enough oxygen to last for another handful of hours. And as tempting as it is to open the throttle all the way to get it done with, you know for a fact that too much oxygen is just as bad as not enough of it. You’ll either kill them or cause a catastrophic implosion that drags the cliff, you and Gully down into a deep, dark abyss.
Fear won’t do anyone any good here. You kill your imagination before it can fray your nerves, focusing solely on the gauge that measures your auxiliary oxygen tank. “HOPI, run a timer. Gully, keep a lookout if the Khanate brought any nasty underwater surprises…”
“STANDBY 4 OXYGEN,” the message goes to the Mackerel, “PREP 4 H2O EXTRACTION. SIGNAL WHEN READY.”
The reply comes no later than twenty seconds. “AWAITING OXYGEN.”
No sooner does it appear that you hit the button, and begin the transfer, emptying your mind of all worldly things, thoughts and concerns…
…and after what seems like an eternity, or what HOPI says was only three minutes, you shut the valve off. Gully doesn’t even wait, unhooking you from the submarine within seconds after you give the signal.
“OXYGEN LEVELS STABLE,” the Mackerel says, “THANK YOU.”
(cont.)
