Titanic 2012

spilled India ink.

At this ‘destination’ depth, the total pressure on the crew compartment became—as everyone expected— seventy thousand tons per square inch. No lunar landing could be as dangerous as this. In times past, no human could have withstood these pressures as no airlock or dive suit could withstand it, but liquid air technology had changed the rules of the game if not natural law itself, and had in fact beat nature and the North Atlantic Ridge by in a sense sending evolved man back to the sea from which he came.

“What a vacation spot, hey?” David said into his com-link to ease the tension he felt even here under water inside their protective cockpit. Now both the submersible and the men and women inside it were coming in sight of the major portion of Titanic’s remains, and David added, “For the first time in history mankind will have “touched” down on Titanic in the manner of free-swimming divers, and Max will document it all remotely from a nearby hovering position while we stood atop Titanic for a photo op.”

Everyone’s eyes now went to the forward bubble to stare at the awe-inspiring ship they had come to plunder—the same one that nearly killed them moments before. As everyone expected, the ship loomed before them in profoundly sad shape—horribly torn and broken apart. And yet it somehow exuded a certain pride and pulled from David a sense of power and prestige he hadn’t expected. Its bow and stern sections were separated by a good mile or more with a scattered debris field all round. In fact, the place looked as Ballard had so aptly described it. From the portals of the sub, all aboard must be feeling the same as David, that they hovered above a cemetery—one without individual headstones but rather one gigantic mausoleum—Ballard’s hollowed ground of his discovery, of Titanic’s awful remains.

“Thar—Thar’ she blows!” Swigart called out the old seaman’s call for sighting a whale. “That’s a sturdy looking metal roof there on the boat deck. I say we park there. We’ve arrived, everyone. Prepare to board Titanic.”

“From the rivet patterns, I make it out to be a sound surface,” David agreed.

“The top of the bridge would be my guess,” added Mendenhall, looking out from over their shoulders. “Let’s do it, but I’d place her hovering above us. Too risky otherwise.”

Lou began to maneuver the submersible to a perfect position for the group photo to be shot. David stared at him through their snug-fitting helmets and saw Lou smile wide and mouth the word ‘Perfect’. He seemed a man fixated on one thing—this group photo, and David had to wonder how much money he expected to receive from the news hounds for its use alone.

David would have been extremely disappointed rather than just mildly so, had he not much bigger worries to concern himself with, but given their circumstances and the extremes to which Kelly had gone, the photo op business felt like small potatoes.

Everyone readied and steadied themselves for exiting Max for Titanic, dreams of a lifetime filling their minds, the anticipation palpable.

TWENTY FIVE

Above on Scorpio, Captain Juris Forbes indeed monitored the vital signs of all the divers, and pictures from the MHD’s mounted cameras were being sent in real time to the screens in the control room. The scientific team, officers, crew, and camera crew from CNN had all crowded round the various monitors, and together they had cheered when Titanic came into view.

“Think of it, people,” Forbes told the others. “Aquanauts will walk on Titanic’s decks, skim along the promenade, and enter her compartments.” He then spoke to Lou’s divers. “You aquanauts will become a part of Titanic history—a part of ‘her’ very habitat and to completely and wholly sense her; indeed to become one with her. I so envy you people.”

“Enough with the waxing and waning,” replied Swigart to topside.

“No, no, never enough, Lou,” Forbes shot back. “Think of it! Men and women will do the exploration not machines—not robot but human hands will take hold of her secrets. And we are privileged to see and hear it all in real time.”

Another cheer from the appreciative surface team went up for Captain Forbes’ cheerful speech.

From Max so far below came Lou’s reply to this. “Well said, Juris.”

“Still…” began Forbes anew, “armchair exploration from up here… seeing this,” he indicated the wreck image flashing on the screen in the CIS room; another screen displayed the submersible called Max in real time circling, hovering into position. “It just makes me want to dive… to go down there and be a part of it all, people! A part of history, gentlemen.”

Lou got everyone’s attention back to the job at hand. “Now short of one of you keeling over,” he said to his divers, “we go in-step with the topside team and Captain Forbes who has us on camera. Test your cams for Forbes; he wants eyes on everything.”

Each diver had a small camera hooked over a section of their helmet—the helmet itself necessary for full suit coverage and liquid atmosphere to buffer divers against the cold and pressure. The helmet secured about the head for protection against implosion, of course, but also to hold microphone and camera. Built into their suits via electrodes, their vital signs, too, were monitored.

The helmet held the camcorders about the size of a large computer thumb-drive. They sent real-time images up to the surface. “What you divers see, those above will see,” Swigart reminded them.

“Everyone ready? All recording devices on?”

Aside from the camcorders, Dr. Entebbe and others above had monitored each diver’s vital signs as they underwent the small death, and thereafter how they were doing in terms of blood pressure, breathing, heart rate, brainwave activity, down to skin prickles. Swigart was in constant communication with Forbes and Entebbe regarding his divers’ internal ‘attitude’ as it was referred to—and he was concerned with Swigart’s vital signs.

“Setting the camera aboard Max for automatic, Juris, to get some shots of us all arriving and venturing out onto the deck now. Coming around to landing… closer… closer…”

All aboard struggled to get a sight of Titanic from the large bubble over the top front of the sub—having to take turns to do so. The sight amazed the divers. Kelly grabbed David’s hand and squeezed hard, unaware just how hard. He nodded to her, a signal he was here to watch her back. She squeezed harder before letting go.

Swigart had positioned the sub to hover over the over the ‘safe’ deck which sent up a cloud of debris and particles, but he announced, “The deck here will hold us. I’m putting Max on auto hover while we are away. We’ll get an exterior shot of Max hovering over Titanic as well, eh? We’re OK. Don’t let the slime and rust frighten you.”

“It’s so surreal,” said Kelly, speaking for them all. “Like it’s someone else’s dream, and we’re just intruders.”

“Don’t want to hear it, Irvin,” ordered Swigart.

“We’re not here to wax poetic,” Mendenhall backed Swigart. “Leave that crapola for Bob Ballard’s generation.”

“Yeah!” said Lena. “We’re in it strictly for the money and the adrenaline rush! Right, Will?”

“We’re here to plunder.” Bowman sent up a fist overhead, creating a wave throughout Max’s interior.

“Best remember that,” muttered Mendenhall.

“Get the hatchway door, Fiske?” commanded Swigart. “Best remember we don’t want this compartment flooded with salt water!”

It was the only reason the sub had a hatchway for the divers where they must take turns entering and leaving as only two divers fit into the space between the two hatchway doors. Once the hatchway was clear of saltwater, they exited and another pair entered. For safety precautions, this hatchway opened manually from the outside as well with a mere push of a button that opened the hydraulic portal.

Now, two by two, they ventured out and away from the hovering submersible that looked for all the world like a hovering Chinook helicopter with no blades. From Max, they went directly for the target area and were almost immediately assembled onto the deck of Titanic, including Swigart, leaving the sub to