Quoted By:
“…fair enough,” you concede. “But don’t quit your day job until after I come up, alright?”
“No promises, Razor,” she replies drolly.
The deeper you go, the more that sunlight struggles to penetrate the ocean depths. The LZ isn’t too far down, but you can already see the differential by looking out the viewport. There’s a very clear divide between the sunny-bright blue, a more ominous cobalt towards the horizon line, and a place in the middle where everything goes green-blue.
The finer scientific words escape you, but the shorthand you learned in the PUEXO program could be boiled down to the following:
“Sunlight good, twilight okay, midnight bad, abyss fucked.”
But you can already see it clearly, as you pass fifty meters and cycle through the cameras.
As far as sunken cities go, the ruins of Kingston have been surprisingly well-preserved. But it still bears the scars of the Scourging. Only the tallest buildings, ones with deep-foundations built for earthquakes and tsunamis, are still standing. And even they’re halfway lost to corrosion, erosion and the weathering of tide and time.
Everything else – neighborhoods, boroughs, thoroughfares – have long since been washed away, overtaken by the reef, or buried beneath thousands of tons of hardened lava. There’s a sort of picaresque quality to it, the gradual erosion of the manmade as the ocean stakes its claim. If you were sentimental, you’d make some sort of pithy remark, or have someone paint you a picture to hang on the wall.
There’s no denying you’re sentimental. You wouldn’t be in this situation if you weren’t. But you’re on the clock. Any tourism beyond scouting out for salvage is a waste of time and oxygen.
Depressing the TALK button, you radio: “Razor to Sybil, I just cleared a hundred meters, and the LZ’s in sight. Maintaining a vertical speed of 1.4 knots.”
“Copy that. Be advised, once you make touchdown, <span class="mu-i">Calypso’s</span> gonna move out towards the other half of the ship. Gully and the <span class="mu-i">Mackerel</span> will be coming down in a few moments.”
“Acknowledged. ETA to landing is three minutes.”
“Roger that. Anything else?”
“Nothing to report. Razor out.”
The designated LZ is the ruins of National Heroes Park. According to Elishani, it was once a botanical garden and a resting place for the country’s heroes. Not much has changed, even though the biome’s since switched from freshwater to saltwater. There’s a noticeable absence of trees, but some of the ornamentation’s done a good enough job of surviving.
“Standby to drop shot,” you mutter, finger on the trigger. The depth gauge continues to rise at 132, 145, 159 meters below sea level. “And decelerate for final approach.”
“Standing by,” HOPI confirms.
…189.
…223.
…264.
You flick the switch. “Dropping shot.”
“Reversing thrusters," adds HOPI.
(cont.)
