Into the Abyss (Tom Swift, Young Inventor) (7 page)

He gave me a thumbs-up. “Perfect. See you in ten minutes?”

I nodded, and he hurried off. I reached for my bag and pulled out a fresh shirt.

“Tom? Aren’t you forgetting something?”

I looked down at the shelf next to my bed. My wristwatch, which I’d put there before I’d gone to sleep, was talking to me.

“Hello, Q.U.I.P.,” I said.

Q.U.I.P. stands for Quantum Utilizing Interactive Processor. In plain English, it’s a computerized artificial intelligence—and it lives inside my watch.

I can use Q.U.I.P. to interface with any of the servers at Swift Enterprises, as well as supercomputers
at U.S. government research labs and other agencies. He’s kind of like a PDA with an IQ of two thousand—
and
a sense of humor.

I call him my “back-up brain,” but Q.U.I.P. likes to refer to himself as “the
real
brains of the outfit.”

Oh, yes—he speaks.
A lot.
He’s got a hundred different voices too. I designed him that way—to pick up on my mood and adjust to it. He really keeps me entertained, I’ll tell you.

“What’s going on?” Bud murmured, yawning.

“They’re going to launch the submersible,” I said, strapping on my wristwatch.

“Wha? The sun’s not even up yet.”

“I guess they’re in a hurry. They must want to launch the
Verne-1
while the sea is calm.”

“Wait, I’m coming with you.”

Bud clambered down out of his bunk—stepping right on Yo’s hand.

“Yeeeooowww!!”
She shrieked, sat up, and smacked Bud on the arm. That hurt!”

“So did that!” he said, rubbing the sore spot. “What’d you hit me for?”

“I didn’t know it was you—I was asleep!” Yo shook
her hand back and forth. “What’d you step on my hand for?”

“It was an accident,” Bud said. “I didn’t know it was there.”

“You ought to look before you go stepping on things,” she said.

“Boy, you sure are grouchy in the morning,” Bud said.

“It’s not morning,” she said. “It’s pitch-black outside. Look through the porthole.”

“Would you two guys cut it out?” I said. “We’ve got to get moving if we’re going to see the launch.”

Before you knew it, we were all rushing to make it out on deck in time. No one wanted to miss this moment. The entire crew was out on deck, along with the dozen or so research scientists.

We watched as one of the crewmen maneuvered the
Nestor
’s crane into position, then lowered the winch. Another member of the crew attached the hook to the top of the
Verne-1
.

My dad turned to the captain and shook hands. “Well, this is it, Mark,” he said.

“Good luck, Mr. Swift,” the captain said.

Thanks. We’ll be counting on everyone up here, so good luck to all of us.”

Then Dad spotted me. Tom, you’ll be working with Dr. Fletcher in the control room, monitoring our fuel and oxygen levels, and keeping track of our location as we place the seismic sensors along the sea floor.”

“Right,” I said. I knew the Swift-designed control systems pretty well—operating them wouldn’t be difficult.

“See you soon,” he said, giving me a quick, tight hug. Then he turned, waved to the crew, and joined his two assistants as they climbed into the submersible.

Captain Walters tightened and sealed the hatch, gave the
Verne-1
an affectionate pat of the hand, and signaled the winch operator.

The bright yellow submersible rose into the air. Then the crane swung around, bringing the
Jules Verne-1
over open water.

The winch was lowered once again. The little yellow sub hit the water with a small splash. The hook was removed, and the crane swung back out of the way.

With a whir and a whine, the
Verne-1
powered up its hydrogen fuel cell array. My dad’s face appeared in
the porthole. I waved as it sank beneath the surface.

“All right, everyone,” the captain said. “All hands to their designated positions. Let’s get to work.”

I headed for the control room, with Bud and Yo right behind me. Dr. Fletcher, a heavy woman with short gray hair and thick glasses, was there when we arrived.

I knew her from Swift Enterprises—she’s been one of Dad’s main research assistants ever since I can remember. She found Bud and Yo a comfortable place to sit in an out-of-the-way corner. Then she gave me a nudge. “Come with me, Tom.”

I followed her to the far end of the room, where we sat next to each other in front of the bank of readouts.

There’s the submersible,” she said, pointing to a sonar blip on a field of green, sinking past depth readouts: one hundred feet, two hundred, three hundred …

The
Verne-1
was sinking slowly, carefully—at three miles per hour. At this rate, it would take about an hour for it to reach the bottom.

“Can they hear us?” I asked.

Dr. Fletcher flipped a switch on the control console. “Now they can.”

“Dad? Do you read me?” I said.

There was a crackling sound. Tom? Yes, I read you.”

“How’s it looking down there?”

“A-okay. Dr. Fletcher with you?”

“I’m here,” she said.

“Excellent. All the readouts looking okay?”

“Sure are.”

“Well, you’re really missing something, Tom,” my dad said. “We’ll have to get you aboard next time, so you can try out that deep-water suit of yours.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Sure thing.”

Why did he have to go and remind me? Now I was all bummed out again. My dad goes off on a great adventure, while I’m stuck here, staring at a screen.

A half hour later, with everything humming along, I wandered over to Bud and Yo. “Having fun?” I asked them.

“Man, this is
boring
,” Bud said. There’s no live camera to look at the fish, or anything.”

“Actually, there is,” I told him. “But they won’t be using it until they’re down at the bottom—this isn’t a mission to study mid-depth sea life, after all.”

“So, what’s there to see down at the bottom?” Yo asked. “Giant sea squids?”

“Maybe,” I said. “But it’s really dark down there. All the camera can show is whatever swims into its searchlight.”

“Well, how long will it be till they turn on the camera?”

“Another half hour or so,” I said.

“Aw, man! What are we gonna do till then?” she complained.

“Hey, Yo,” Bud said, “I’m about ready for breakfast. You?”

Yo’s eyes lit up. “Yes! I’m so hungry I could eat a sea monster!”

And why not? She hadn’t been able to get any food down since we’d set sail yesterday morning.

“How ’bout you, Tom—you hungry?” Bud asked.

“Bring me a muffin when you come back,” I said. “I don’t want to leave my post.”

I returned to my seat, and checked all the readouts. The submersible was down to ten thousand feet—almost two miles deep. The gauge measuring external water pressure was well into the “danger” zone. Of course, the
Verne-1
’s titanium hull had been built to withstand even greater pressures. It would hold up. I was sure of it.

Twenty-five minutes later, Bud and Yo returned, bearing a blueberry muffin and coffee for me. “Thanks,” I told them. “Put it down over there—far away from the electronics.”

Just then Dad’s voice came over the speaker system. “We have the bottom in view,” he said. “Easing submersion rate to five feet per second … four … three … two … one … and …”

There was a thudding sound on the speaker. “We have contact with the bottom, a soft landing at 6:24 a.m. Confirmation?”

“Confirmed,” Dr. Fletcher said, reading the monitors intently. “All systems intact.”

“That’s great,” my dad’s voice boomed out.

“Hey, Mr. Swift,” Bud said, “what’s it like down there?”

“Hello, Bud. Well, what we can see from here—which isn’t very much—is a sort of cliff made of extruded volcanic matter. It’s about a hundred feet high, and doesn’t look too stable either.”

“Shouldn’t you move to safer ground?” Yo asked.

“No, we’re in the perfect place to deploy one of the seismic sensors. We’re going to do that right now, in fact. Signing off for a minute.”

“Hey,” Yo asked, turning to me. “How can they do that? Doesn’t the sub have to open its door to deploy something? And how can it do that without the water rushing in?”

“All subs have a double hatch,” I explained. “It functions as an air lock, and it’s pressurized. They enter through the inner hatch, set the seismic monitor on the robot arm, and go back inside. Then the outer door opens, and the arm extends and deploys the device. It’s simple, really.”

“Ha,” Yo said. “If it was really that simple, anybody could do it.”

About fifteen minutes later, my dad’s voice came on again. “First device deployed,” he said. “We are now going to skirt the sea bottom for about five miles to the northwest before deploying the second device. We’ll be skirting the edge of that ridge I was telling you about.”

The camera!” Yo reminded me.

“Right. Dad, can you switch on the camera so we can see what you’re seeing?” I asked him.

“Sure thing, son.”

Dr. Fletcher turned on the big monitor, and
moments later we were staring at the volcanic rock wall my dad had been telling us about. The
Verne-1
appeared to be moving along the wall.

In the glow of the submersibles lights, we could see huge blue tubes with tentacles sticking out of the cliffside, waving in the current. Tube worms,” I said. “They feed off the sulfuric acid that leaks from active deep-sea vents.”

“Awesome!” Bud whispered, staring at them in fascination.

Suddenly the entire scene on the monitor exploded in a cloud of what seemed like dust—except it couldn’t be dust, because it was at the bottom of the ocean.

“What the—?” I heard my dad’s voice come over the system. I heard screams from his crewmates. Then—

“Earthquake!!” my dad yelled.

At that very instant, sirens started blaring all over the control room, as all the readouts went haywire at once. Dr. Fletcher stared at the monitor. “Oh, my,” she said. “It’s massive … massive!”

She leaned over and pressed a button activating the ship’s loudspeaker system. “Secure the ship! Code
red! We have an under-sea quake in progress! Batten down all hatches!”

“Wait!” I yelled. “What about the submersible? What about my dad?”

She looked at me with panic in her eyes. I could see that she had no idea what to do—so I took matters into my own hands.

“Dad! Dad! Do you read me?”

There was the crackling of static. Tom … can’t … maneuver … avalan—”

The transmission cut off abruptly.

“Tom—the sub’s camera!” Bud said, putting a hand on my shoulder.

He was right. While I’d been occupied, there might have been video capture of what had happened to the submersible. “Dr. Fletcher!” I said, shaking her out of her stunned condition. “Can you run back the video capture?”

She nodded blankly, leaned over and pressed some buttons, then pointed at the big monitor. We saw the black cloud erupt from the volcanic wall, just as we had seen it live … then nothing for several seconds.

Finally the murk began to clear …

… and the cliff was
gone
!

In its place was a slope of shattered rubble, reaching nearly as high as the camera itself.

I knew the camera was mounted atop the
Jules Verne-1
, and I also had a pretty good idea of what my dad had been trying to say. The sub had been caught in an underwater avalanche, and he was trying to maneuver it away from danger!

“Dad! Dad, do you read me!” I tried once more.

This time only static answered me.

“Any live video coming through?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Bud said.

“Do we have a location for the sub, Dr. Fletcher?”

She started checking her readouts. “Yes, here we are,” she said.

“What if they’re trapped down there? What are we going to do?”

I could hear the panic in my own voice. I knew I had to calm down—and fast—if I wanted to help save my father.

Dr. Fletcher looked at me and shook her head. “It was a six-point-five on the Richter scale, Tom. This was the quake your father was trying to warn people about. It could spawn tsunamis all along the East Coast!”

Dr. Fletcher bent over her shortwave radio. “Coast Guard, this is research ship
Nestor
, off the Turner Seamounts. Come in, please!”

“Coast Guard monitor zero-one-five-four-nine, go ahead,
Nestor
.”

“Reporting an undersea quake, magnitude six-point-five. Tsunamis possible. Please alert all appropriate authorities to spread the alarm!”

“Are you sure,
Nestor
?”

“Affirmative!”

“All right, we’ll get right on it. Can you give us your exact position, please?”

I couldn’t breathe. I felt as if the weight of fifteen thousand feet of ocean water was pressing down on my chest. I needed to get up on deck … needed some fresh air …

“Hey,” Bud stopped me at the door. “If it was such a big earthquake, how come we didn’t feel anything?”

He was right. The boat hadn’t even rocked.

Suddenly—but right on cue—we were all knocked to the floor as a violent wave hit the
Nestor
head-on!

The lights blacked out, along with every monitor in the control room. Luckily, the emergency lights
kicked in immediately, allowing us to find our way out of the control room and up the stairs.

“Wait here until I make sure it’s safe,” I told Bud and Yo as we reached the open hatch. I stepped through it and inched my way carefully out onto the deck, making sure I had a firm handhold at all times.

It was a gorgeous, sunny day, but the ocean, which had been so calm just an hour ago, was churning madly. It looked like a washing machine in the spin cycle. The
Nestor
was being tossed around in circles, first this way, then that.

Yo, Bud, and I grabbed onto anything sturdy we could find. This was not the usual pitch and roll—the kind we’d had yesterday, the kind that had made Yo so seasick. This was something entirely different, and totally weird.

And next something even weirder happened. The
Nestor
suddenly rose up, riding on the crest of a huge wall of water.