Adventurer's hull to align himself. She was not there, gone in the
misty green gloom - and he felt the first heave of his lungs as they
demanded air. And as he denied his body the driving need to breathe, he
felt the fear that had flickered deep within him flare up into true
terror, swiftly becoming cold driving panic.
A suicidal urge to tear at the green ice roof of this watery tomb almost
overwhelmed him. He wanted to try and rip his way through it with bare
freezing hands to reach the precious air.
Then, just before panic completely obliterated his reason, he remembered
the compass on his wrist. Even then his brain was sluggish, beginning
to starve for oxygen, and it took precious seconds working out the
reciprocal of his original bearing.
As he leaned forward to read the compass, more sea water spurted into
his helmet, spiking needles of icy cold agony into the sinuses of his
cheeks and forehead, making the teeth ache in his jaws, so he gasped
involuntarily and immediately choked.
Still holding Baker to him, linked by the thick black umbilical cord of
his oxygen hose, Nick began to swim out on the reciprocal compass
heading. Immediately his lungs began to pump, convulsing in involuntary
spasms, like those of childbirth, craving air, and he swam on.
With his head thrown back slightly he saw that the sheet of ice moved
slowly above him; at times, when the current held them it moved not at
all, and it required all his selfcontrol to keep finning doggedly, then
the current relaxed its grip and they moved forward again, but achingly
slowly.
He had time then to realize how exquisitely beautiful was the ice roof;
translucent, wonderously carved and sculptured - and suddenly he
remembered standing hand in hand with Chantelle beneath the arched roof
of the Chartres cathedral, staring up in awe. The pain in his chest
subsided, the need to breathe passed, but he did not recognize that as
the sign of mortal danger, nor the images that formed before his eyes as
the fantasy of a brain deprived of oxygen and slowly dying.
Chantelle's face was before him then, glowing hair soft and thick and
glossy as a butterfly's wing, huge dark eyes and that wide mouth so full
of the promise of delight and warmth and love.
I loved you/ he thought. I really loved you.
And again the image changed. He saw again the incredible slippery
explosive liquid burst with which his son was born, heard that queruous
cry as a dripping an wet and hairless from the rubber-gloved hand, and
felt again the soul-consuming wonder and joy.
A drowning man - Nick recognized at last what was happening to him. He
knew then he was dying, but the panic had passed, as the cold had passed
also, and the terror. He swam on, dreamlike, into the green mists. Then
he realized that his own legs were no longer moving; he lay relaxed not
breathing, not feeling, and it was Baker's body that was thrusting and
working against him.
Nick peered into the glass visor still only inches from his eyes, and he
saw that Baker's face was set and determined. He was gulping the pure
sweet oxygen and gained strength with each breath, driving on strongly.
