pondered what he wanted to say, he glanced up at the monitor where he could see the tops of the heads and the foreshortened bodies of the three men.
"Shit, man!" Michael moaned. "You just kicked me in the balls!" His voice came out as a series of squeaks and squeals that would have been mostly unintelligible to normal humans. The distortion was a function of the helium he was breathing in place of nitrogen.
At the equivalent pressure of 980 feet of seawater, nitrogen acted as an anesthetic. Replacing the
nitrogen with helium solved the problem but caused marked changes in voice. The divers were used to it. Although they sounded like Walt Disney's Donald Duck, they could understand each other perfectly. "Then get your balls out of my way," Richard said. "I'm having trouble getting these freaking fins on." All three divers were wedged up inside the diving bell, whose pressure hull was a sphere a mere eight feet in diameter. Crammed in with them were all their diving equipment, many hundreds of feet of looped hose, and all the necessary instrumentation. "Get out of the way, he says," Michael jeered. "What do you want me to do, step outside?" A speaker crackled to life. It was mounted at the very apex of the sphere next to a tiny camcorder fitted with a fish-eye lens. Although the divers knew they were being constantly observed, they were totally indifferent to the surveillance.
"Let me have your attention, men!" Mark commanded. In contrast to the divers', his voice sounded relatively normal. "This is the operations commander." "Holy crap!" Richard complained as he eyed the swim fin that was giving him the problem. "No wonder I can't get this freaking thing on. It ain't mine. It's yours, Donaghue." Without warning Richard clobbered Michael over the head with the flipper. Michael was troubled by the blow only because it knocked off his prized Red Sox cap. The cap tumbled down into the trunk, coming to a rest on the sealed hatch. "Hey, nobody move!" Michael said. "Mazzola, get my hat for me! I don't want it to get wet." Michael was already fully outfitted for the dive in his neoprene dry suit complete with the buoyancy control vest and weights. The ability to bend over, as would be required to retrieve the hat, was out of the question. "Gentlemen!" Mark's voice was louder and more insistent. "Screw you," Louis said. "I might be bell diver, but I'm not your slave." "Hey, listen up, you animals!" Larry's voice yelled from the tiny speaker. The sound reverberated around the cramped sphere at a level just shy of pain. "Mr. Davidson wants a word with you, so shut up!"
Richard shoved the flipper and its mate into Michael's hands, then looked up at the camera. "All right already," he said. "We're listening."
"Stand by for a moment," Larry's voice said. "We didn't realize the helium unscrambler wasn't on line." "So let me have my fins," Richard said to Michael in the interim. "You mean the ones I have on aren't mine?" "Duh!" Richard voiced mockingly. "Since you're holding yours in your hands they can't be on your feet, birdbrain!"
Michael squatted awkwardly, clutching his fins under his arm, and stripped those from his feet. Richard snatched them away disdainfully. Then the two divers clumsily bumped into each other as they struggled
to slip on their respective flippers at the same time.
"Okay, men," Larry's voice said. "We're on line with the scrambler so stop screwing around and listen up! Here's Mr. Davidson."
The diver's didn't bother to look up. They slouched against the sides of the PTC and assumed bored expressions.
"We haven't been able to raise the Oceanus on the UQC or track it on sonar," Mark's voice said. "We're anxious for you to make visual contact. If you don't see them when you arrive at the well head, let us know and we'll give you further instructions. Understand?" "That's affirmative," Richard said. "Now can we get back to getting ready to dive?" "That's affirmative," Mark said.
Richard and Michael stirred, and by
"Shit, man!" Michael moaned. "You just kicked me in the balls!" His voice came out as a series of squeaks and squeals that would have been mostly unintelligible to normal humans. The distortion was a function of the helium he was breathing in place of nitrogen.
At the equivalent pressure of 980 feet of seawater, nitrogen acted as an anesthetic. Replacing the
nitrogen with helium solved the problem but caused marked changes in voice. The divers were used to it. Although they sounded like Walt Disney's Donald Duck, they could understand each other perfectly. "Then get your balls out of my way," Richard said. "I'm having trouble getting these freaking fins on." All three divers were wedged up inside the diving bell, whose pressure hull was a sphere a mere eight feet in diameter. Crammed in with them were all their diving equipment, many hundreds of feet of looped hose, and all the necessary instrumentation. "Get out of the way, he says," Michael jeered. "What do you want me to do, step outside?" A speaker crackled to life. It was mounted at the very apex of the sphere next to a tiny camcorder fitted with a fish-eye lens. Although the divers knew they were being constantly observed, they were totally indifferent to the surveillance.
"Let me have your attention, men!" Mark commanded. In contrast to the divers', his voice sounded relatively normal. "This is the operations commander." "Holy crap!" Richard complained as he eyed the swim fin that was giving him the problem. "No wonder I can't get this freaking thing on. It ain't mine. It's yours, Donaghue." Without warning Richard clobbered Michael over the head with the flipper. Michael was troubled by the blow only because it knocked off his prized Red Sox cap. The cap tumbled down into the trunk, coming to a rest on the sealed hatch. "Hey, nobody move!" Michael said. "Mazzola, get my hat for me! I don't want it to get wet." Michael was already fully outfitted for the dive in his neoprene dry suit complete with the buoyancy control vest and weights. The ability to bend over, as would be required to retrieve the hat, was out of the question. "Gentlemen!" Mark's voice was louder and more insistent. "Screw you," Louis said. "I might be bell diver, but I'm not your slave." "Hey, listen up, you animals!" Larry's voice yelled from the tiny speaker. The sound reverberated around the cramped sphere at a level just shy of pain. "Mr. Davidson wants a word with you, so shut up!"
Richard shoved the flipper and its mate into Michael's hands, then looked up at the camera. "All right already," he said. "We're listening."
"Stand by for a moment," Larry's voice said. "We didn't realize the helium unscrambler wasn't on line." "So let me have my fins," Richard said to Michael in the interim. "You mean the ones I have on aren't mine?" "Duh!" Richard voiced mockingly. "Since you're holding yours in your hands they can't be on your feet, birdbrain!"
Michael squatted awkwardly, clutching his fins under his arm, and stripped those from his feet. Richard snatched them away disdainfully. Then the two divers clumsily bumped into each other as they struggled
to slip on their respective flippers at the same time.
"Okay, men," Larry's voice said. "We're on line with the scrambler so stop screwing around and listen up! Here's Mr. Davidson."
The diver's didn't bother to look up. They slouched against the sides of the PTC and assumed bored expressions.
"We haven't been able to raise the Oceanus on the UQC or track it on sonar," Mark's voice said. "We're anxious for you to make visual contact. If you don't see them when you arrive at the well head, let us know and we'll give you further instructions. Understand?" "That's affirmative," Richard said. "Now can we get back to getting ready to dive?" "That's affirmative," Mark said.
Richard and Michael stirred, and by
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