Deep Time

By Denis Leeman

Mysteries of this planet are many, but none more, or older than the inner Earth dwellers. Signs of these people have intrigued us for centuries and no more than the flying saucer occupants. In this intriguing story I try to show the most probable answer to the problem. BUT DON’T WORRY ITS ONLY FICTION. - OR IS IT

• Language: English
• Publisher: Denis Leeman
• Release date: May 2, 2016
• ISBN: 9781910100769

Book preview

Deep Time

INTRODUCTION

For thousands of years mysterious happenings have been reported at various locations around our vast oceans: ships disappearing, strange craft seen shooting up from between the waves, and aircraft vanishing without trace. One such area of mystery in the vast North Atlantic Ocean is the huge Puerto Rico Trench and, within it, the great Milwaukee Deep, where the ocean floor drops to an incredible depth of 8,605 metres. This is thought to be one of the two deepest points on the Earth’s surface, and is also near to the scene of some of the most baffling disappearances of all: the Bermuda Triangle.

However, on the other side of the great land mass that separates it from the Pacific, even this is surpassed. Situated south east of Japan, in mid-ocean, is the Mariana Trench – its name taken from the nearby Mariana Islands. This is the deepest trench on the planet. Within this vast – over 1,550 miles long by 43 miles wide – scar on the Earth’s crust lies the deepest point of all: the the Challenger Deep. Its awesome depth was caused by plate movement millions of years ago. The event dropped the ocean floor at this point to 10,920 metres – around 7 miles – straight down to the ocean bed. Understandably, at this depth, and with the weight of the great Pacific bearing down at 8 tonnes per square inch, the site has only twice been visited successfully by man. The first attempt was by the French oceanographer Jacques Piccard in 1960, in a specially reinforced diving bell; then, in the early twenty-first century, an attempt was made by another brave adventurer, James Cameron. A further attempt was made in 2054, but was accidentally crushed out of existence, together with the three scientists within the vessel. No man has ventured down there since – or so it was thought …

Chapter 1

Date: 2150

‘No, I’m sorry, Tom, I can’t approve another go at the Milwaukee Deep. The whole area around that point of the Puerto Rico Trench is too active at the moment, with that slight shift between the North American and the Caribbean plates. Don’t forget,’ the Commander nodded, ‘if it hadn’t been for that freak upward current that suddenly occurred, you and your crew would be on the bottom now, 8,605 metres down in the Atlantic Ocean – crushed flat,’ he said grimly.

Captain Tom Blake, a young Englishman, single and in his mid-thirties had been Head Field Investigation Scientist for the United World scientific research department for the past two years. His rank of captain had been obtained through his previous eight years in marine defence, in which he’d served since leaving the military academy. Tom was a tall man, just under six feet, and of good athletic build; and, like most young guys, he had an eye for the ladies, and liked his sport and a good beer. However, on consignment he was a dedicated scientist and a self-motivated no-nonsense action man.

The assignment currently in hand was an investigation into a series of unusual volcanic disturbances on the sea bed. Several had occurred over the past few years, all at deep-sea locations. The first had happened at the Puerto Rico Trench, the deepest point in the Atlantic Ocean; this marks the boundary between the North American and the Caribbean plates. However, this had to be aborted after only a couple of days owing to the eruption of one of the many small volcanoes that dotted the sea bed in that area. Their submarine, a sophisticated converted navel craft now fully fitted out as a laboratory, which they’d nick-named ‘Rosy’, had been engulfed in a vast amount of debris and thrown about by the violent disturbance. Had it not been for a very unusual upward current suddenly forming and shooting them to the surface, they would have either been drawn into the gaping chasm down to the sea bottom or blasted to pieces. However, Tom and his two colleagues were quite prepared to continue their explorations once the activity died down; however, their boss, Commander Frank Lawson, had forbidden it. Frank, an athletic, middle-aged Texan, was head of Marine Science, and also held the military rank of Commander Supreme Government Advisor on Security. He was also a personal friend of the president, Ted Pedley. He said it would be unsafe for at least a month and suggested an alternative investigation off the coast of Alaska, where similar activity and unusually high waves were being created.

Captain Blake was shocked at the proposal of such an insignificant venture. ‘Come on, sir. You know as well as I do that the wave action in an area like that will be mainly caused by wind power. What about that site we talked about when this project first came up?’ he asked tentatively.

‘Woo, I don’t know about that, Tom – very sensitive area politically, that. Furthermore, the last attempt killed three scientists, don’t forget,’ he nodded.

‘How do you mean, politically, sir? I wasn’t aware of anything like that there,’ Blake replied.

Pondering and searching for the right words, his boss replied ‘Err, well, there are sometimes things that have to be kept at cabinet level, for security reasons. Anyway,’ he went on, clearing his throat, ‘I suppose you’re referring to the mysterious Challenger Deep, in the Mariana Trench, aren’t you?’

‘Of course I am, Frank. Someone has got to go down there again sometime – it’s been around a hundred years since that fatal accident, anyway. Surely we’re more capable by now?’

Frank paused in thought for a long moment, then, grimacing, he said ‘But I can’t see the sub taking the pressure down there, Tom. I mean, you were stretching it a bit in the Milwaukee Deep at 8,605 metres, but this bugger is around two miles deeper than that,’ he stated with a jerk of his head.

‘Don’t let that worry you, Frank. She’ll take it – that sub is built like a fortress. And don’t forget, the sealed air-pressure cavity you insisted on having internally surrounding the shell – well, you must have intended it going down there sometime by fixing that,’ he grinned.

Frank stared at his boots for a minute, in silence, before saying reluctantly ‘I realise this will have to be looked into sometime, but, as I said Tom, that area is politically sensitive. We don’t want any disturbance amongst the locals – it could cause bother that affects world government at Alice Springs,’ he stated, frowning.

***

‘I never thought the old bugger would condescend to this, you know, Tom,’ Greg Wade – a big Australian in his mid-twenties and the geologist of the team – said as they were preparing Rosy for the start of the dive into the deepest part of all of the oceans on the planet. The ‘Challenger Deep’, in the Mariana Trench, is 11 kilometres below the surface of the Pacific Ocean; that’s about seven miles, straight down.

‘Yes, I knew he would have submitted to it sometime soon, but I’m surprised he gave in so easily,’ Tom replied. ‘Mind you, I think he knows there’s something not quite right about this place, other than volcanic activity.’

‘What about the pressure down there, Tom?’ Doctor Stevie Campbell called over her shoulder as she filled a large plastic box with instruments. Stevie, a young woman in her late twenties, was born in Edinburgh, Scotland, but had spent most of her adult life in the States with her widowed American mother before joining the government department. She was around five feet seven, and with her long fair hair and blue eyes, she was a real head-turner. She was also a brilliant all-round scientist and the holder of a first-class medical degree.

‘The outside pressure was the main thing troubling the boss,’ he replied, ‘but we know old Rosy can take it, even with her only originally being a small, fifty-tonne surveillance craft. No, even the weight of the Pacific won’t crush her,’ he stated confidently; then, with a grin, he added, ‘hopefully.’

***

Nine hours later, after a good night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast, the little party were back in the little forty-foot sub doing the final countdown.

‘Inform Commander Lawson we’re ready to approach the drop, Greg,’ Captain Tom Blake, at the main control panel, called out to his colleague, who was sitting at his tiny work station within the craft.

‘I hear you, Tom,’ the voice of Frank Lawson replied from a qubit transmitter, on standby to HQ, which was built into the wall of the craft. ‘How long will it take you to reach the target area? By the way, I’ve had a no-go area created for all military and civil craft in the area directly above the target, with a radius of six miles, so you will have no problem there.’

‘That’s great, Frank. You’re certainly being very cautious with this one,’ he chuckled. ‘But thanks, we don’t want to get Rosy scratched by those old fishing boats. I reckon it will take us about four hours to get in place for the drop. By the way, who’s handling the back-up vessel? Did you manage to persuade Captain Rolland?’

‘Yes, he cancelled his holiday when I mentioned what you said about him owing you one,’ he chuckled, ‘but he insists on you having a safety-line attached.’

‘Bloody fusspot! Rosy won’t need that with her anti-matter propulsion system,’ he stated.

***

Four hours later: 9:00 am. Rosy, with static engines, bobbed about on a mildly choppy sea; meanwhile, inside, tension was mounting as Tom adjusted his programme settings for the long, hazardous journey to the bottom. They had assessed their position by radar and Tom was sure they were directly over the ‘Challenger Deep’.

‘Preparation completed, Bert,’ he said calmly to the qubit transmitter in contact with Captain Rolland’s escort vessel.

‘All set at this end,’ the Captain called out from his craft. ‘We’ve also got the safety rope in place’ – this being a slim light carbon steel cable of immense strength, capable of supporting twice the weight of the little fifty tonne boat – ‘Best of luck,’ he added cheerfully.

***

There was a soft purr as the powerful anti-matter system came to life. Greg Wade, sitting at his work station behind a small biological computer, called out ‘Programme set for full descent, sir.’

‘Give me a pressure report every two hundred metres, Stevie, and keep a check on the internal temperature of the boat when we get below five hundred metres,’ Tom said calmly

‘Yes sir,’ she replied as she looked through one of the two specially strengthened portholes.

‘Carry on, Greg,’ Tom called out, and the little craft began a slow descent. The first one-thousand-metre mark passed mainly in silence, as all crew concentrated deeply on the task in hand.

The silence was broken as Stevie casually said ‘Internal temperature two degrees above normal, sir.’

Glancing at the control panel, Tom muttered, ‘Motivation system seems normal; could be the inside–outside pressure coordinator regulating itself. Anyway, it’s not much above – just keep an eye on it,’ he added casually.

The slow descent continued for another hour with no further cause for concern.

‘I consider a power plunge would be safe now, Greg,’ Tom said as he stared at the radar scanning screen on his control panel. He was getting bored. ‘What do you think?’

‘Better give old Bert up there plenty of notice to release enough cable or we might pull them down with us,’ Greg laughed.

‘Suppose so,’ Tom replied. ‘That bloody cable is a hazard anyway – we didn’t use one on the last drop in the Atlantic. If we had have done, we wouldn’t be alive now!’

‘Quite true, we were spinning like a top when that powerful current caught us,’ Greg replied. ‘It would have tied us in a knot and tangled the props.’

‘Anyway, we’re stuck with the bloody thing now,’ Tom grunted as he turned to the communication unit.

‘Old Bert will grumble like hell at us wanting to make a free dive,’ Greg laughed.

‘Bugger him!’ Tom chuckled. ‘Frank Lawson agreed with me about it being unnecessary when we were doing the initial planning, but Bert is too cautious sometimes.’

The two anti-matter units that powered the little forty-foot craft had the capability to propel a large ocean liner; and, as Tom engaged it from neutral, although there was no sound increase, just the present low hum, a deep throb of power seemed to grip the whole vessel. With a slight, but positive energy boost it crept forward on a downwards curve before adapting its motion into a gliding circular pattern so as to keep clear of the falling cable.

The next eight thousand metres took minutes instead of hours; as they dived down into the blackness of the depths, the light from their four powerful surrounding lamps pierced the darkness for thirty metres all round.

‘Sea bed in sight,’ Tom called out as the rough sandy ocean floor came into view, illuminated by the dazzling lights.

Hovering for several seconds Tom eventually found space between the volcanic rocks scattered about from previous eruptions and settled the little vessel down on a patch of smooth sand. He gave a sigh of relief. ‘Good old Rosy! I knew she could do it,’ he cheered, sitting back in his seat.

‘Good for you, Tom Blake.’ Bert’s voice crackled over the qubit transmitter. ‘You took a big chance, free diving like that; you could have got twisted in the cable – you know, that don’t you?’ he scolded.

Looking at the others, grimacing, Tom replied condescendingly ‘Never mind. We made it, Bert. But we’ve some to go yet,’ he pointed out. ‘The main part of our investigation in fact, the very bottom of the world, the Challenger Deep.’

***

The three sat at their stations, calculating their preparations for the final and most hazardous part of the mission.

Stevie, looking through the porthole beside her, said dreamily, ‘It looks so calm and serene out there, lit up with our arc lights. Makes you want to go out for a stroll,’ she sighed.

‘Huh, you wouldn’t last a second if you tried that!’ Greg laughed. ‘You’d be crushed like a pancake and torn to bits by the massive pressure out there.’

‘I know that, you idiot,’ she laughed. ‘I was only dreaming.’

‘It could crush us even with our body reinforcement plates,’ Tom said, ‘if it wasn’t for our air-pressure protection surrounding. Do you realise that if a double deck bus was suddenly dropped out there it would instantly be crushed, like you’d crush an empty beer can – and the pressure will increase a bit more at the bottom of the Deep,’ he grinned.

‘Well, let’s go and sample it, then,’ Greg said jovially. ‘How far are we from the beginning of the slope?’

Tom glanced at his scanner. ‘According to my calculations, about five hundred metres due south. Did you hear that, Bert?’ he said into the communicating speaker. ‘We’re moving now.’

‘Affirmative, heard you loud and clear, will cooperate accordingly,’ Bert replied.

The descent into the Deep started with a slope of about thirty degrees, but sharply increased into an almost sheer vertical drop into the black abyss.

‘Internal temperature up a further three degrees, sir,’ Stevie called out.

But before Tom could reply there was a violent jerk, as if they had been grabbed by a giant hand. They came to an abrupt stop.

‘Fuck the bloody thing!’ Tom yelled out. ‘It’s that bloody cable – it’s got snagged somewhere!’

‘I’ll soon free it for you,’ Bert assured them through the speaker. ‘Are you all okay?’

‘We’re sat here swinging like a pendulum on the rock face, if that’s what you want to know?’ Tom replied sarcastically.

Fifteen minutes passed, then half an hour. Beginning to get worried, Tom enquired as to what the support vessel was doing that was taking so much time.

Eventually Bert Rolland’s voice came back, his tone sombre: ‘I’m afraid the worst has happened Tom. We can’t move the bloody thing. It must be wedged under a rock heavier than our ship. We can’t budge it, Tom. You’re stuck for the moment,’ he said mournfully.

‘What the fuck do you mean, for the moment, you silly old bugger? Don’t you realise that if we keep swinging about alongside this rock face we could dent the craft? And if that happened the air-pressure surround would be punctured and we would be crushed flat within a second!’

‘Well, I’ve sent a signal off requesting a team of deep-sea divers to go down and release it, Tom,’ Bert moaned. ‘They should be here within a few hours.’

Tom gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Look, Bert: first, we can’t wait a few fucking hours; and second, whoever these divers are they won’t be able to come down here with a pressure of 17,000 pounds to the square inch. Do you realise that this sub, with half its weight in extra internal steel support and a reinforced outer shell, wouldn’t stand up to it without the corresponding air-pressure system around it?’

‘Well, I’ll contact them again and say we need another sub to do the rescue,’ he replied.

‘There isn’t one!’ Tom snapped. ‘And you can forget your fucking rescue, I’m casting the bloody cable now,’ he yelled, stabbing the release button. ‘I never wanted the fucking thing on anyway – and but for you and your old fashioned ideas we wouldn’t have had the bloody thing on!’

Free from the restriction of the cable the little sub began to slowly descend once more. Tom gave it a forward power surge and, turning in a small circle, dived for the bottom at a steady pace. The next few thousand feet to the bottom of the Challenger Deep took only a few minutes. Coming into view, illuminated by the brilliant lights from the sub, they were not surprised to see similar large amounts of volcanic rock and debris covering the ocean floor as above. However, they were surprised to see that this was absent directly below one stretch of the sheer rock face: an area of about four square acres was absolutely clear: just a plain, sandy bottom, as if it had just been swept.

‘Steady, Rosy,’ Tom muttered, bringing her down gently on the smooth, hard, sandy surface, flattened by the constant hydrostatic pressure of the Pacific Ocean above it.

‘Uncanny, this,’ Greg said, staring out of one of the portholes at the cleared area. ‘All that volcanic activity over billions of years dropping debris everywhere, but missing this bit coming out from below the cliff face.’

‘Yes, and it’s directly under the cliff face, just where it should be thickest,’ Stevie added.

‘I must admit the situation is very unusual,’ Tom frowned, nodding as he gazed out over her shoulder. ‘The only activity that could move things around down here are strong currents, but they wouldn’t clear it uniformly, like this. Just look, the outer edging is so neat and in perfect alignment with the cliff face.’

‘Excuse me sir,’ Stevie interrupted. ‘The interior temperature has started rising again and it doesn’t appear to be stabilising now either, even though the sea temperature outside is only a couple of degrees above freezing,’ she added with a note of urgency.

‘It does seem to be getting warm since we hit bottom.’ On saying this, Tom turned off the engine power unit. ‘That should rectify things,’ he smiled.

But it didn’t; as they continued to discuss procedure, the temperature continued to rise.

‘Look there,’ Greg called out, pointing through the port hole. ‘Looks like some sort of flat fish. I thought no animal could survive down here, under such pressure, owing to the calcium breakdown, or something like that.’

‘Yes it’s widely thought that calcium can’t exist except in solution at these depths,’ Stevie said, ‘and that would mean that the bones of the vertebrates would dissolve. But,’ she smiled, ‘nature’s adaptability should never be underestimated.’ Then, addressing Tom, she added: ‘the temperature is still rising, sir – up another four degrees.’

Tom glanced sharply at the control panel. ‘No wonder – the auto-circulation system has slowed by fifty per cent. We must have acquired an outer plate perforation when we bumped against that bloody cliff face. Damn that fucking cable,’ he cursed.

‘Well it must be very minor or we would have noticed it long before now,’ Greg pointed out. ‘It may stabilise if it’s only a hair crack,’ he added.

‘It won’t,’ Tom replied, staring at the gauge. ‘Don’t forget, our pressure surround is pushing out just as hard as the sea is pushing in, so whatever the size of the damage it will increase – it could blow a bloody great hole in the side if it got going,’ he added grimly.

‘What the hell do we do, then?’ Greg asked. ‘The heat in here is stifling.’

Just then, all power failed and the lights went out. The darkness was absolute until the two battery-operated emergency lights, one at each end of the cabin, automatically switched on.

‘Now what?’ Tom sighed, sitting back in his seat, purse-lipped and frowning. ‘There’s one thing we can be sure of now,’ he stressed, ‘the temperature in here will start to drop and it won’t take long either.’

Within fifteen minutes of frenzied activity as the crew searched for the cause of the problem, the temperature in the cabin dropped equivalent to that outside – just two degrees above freezing.

‘Tom, you do realise that we’re not going to last long, restricted like this in such a low temperature,’ Stevie called out, as he was bent over the computer, deep in concentration.

‘I do, my love,’ he mumbled out of the side of his mouth as he worked away. ‘I’m just about to switch the power on again and let the main unit turn over slowly to get the generator back in action; it’ll soon be back up to normal.’

‘What about getting out of here before anything else happens?’ Greg enquired.

‘Let’s get the power up and running first,’ Tom replied. ‘We can’t even communicate with the ship until we get that back on.’

The next ten minutes elapsed in silence. Suddenly, Tom said ‘Watch your instruments – I’m starting things moving.’

Immediately the familiar low hum of the main power unit was heard and there was a cheer from all.

‘Well, we know we can get moving again now, anyway,’ Greg said with relief in his voice. ‘Better let Bert know we’re on our way up,’ he added cheerfully.

‘I’m trying,’ Tom muttered, looking down at his control panel. ‘No response – must have blown it with the main power failure,’ he moaned.

‘Bloody hell, we’re really on our own now then!’ Greg said, shaking his head. ‘The sooner we get started for the top the better, I say,’ he added urgently.

As he spoke a slight shudder was felt throughout the boat.

‘Internal pressure increasing – I think we have a definite failure somewhere on the outer shell, sir,’ Stevie called out.

Tom was working frantically at the computer: ‘The automatic control unit seems to have failed also. We’ve no choice now, I’ll have to shut the power off again. It might cause a fatal blow-out where it’s damaged on the outer shell.’

As they discussed the situation, still with only the emergency lighting, Greg said ‘Looks like we’ve had it. We can’t get out without starting the power source, and if we do we risk getting flattened.’

‘That’s about it,’ Tom replied dolefully, staring at the floor. ‘Pity we’re not designed like the old fashioned craft – they just cast off ballast and floated back up.’

Suddenly Stevie pointed excitedly at one of the portholes: ‘Look outside! It’s as bright as day and it’s not our lights.’

Sharply alerted, both men stared outside.

‘Bert must have got another submarine from somewhere,’ Greg shouted in glee. ‘Good old, Bert,’ he laughed with relief.

‘There’s too much illumination out there for it to be coming from a submarine,’ Tom replied, scowling as he viewed the scene outside. ‘And haven’t you noticed,’ he added, ‘there’s no water either? The fucking sea has gone!’ he said, turning to face his colleagues, mouth agape.

Looking over his shoulder, continuing to stare outside, Greg said quietly ‘Have another look, mate – there’s a woman out there, and she’s coming over towards us. Whoa, and what a beauty!’ he added, grinning.

‘This can’t be happening. It must be an illusion of some sort,’ Tom mumbled, staring out of the porthole, wide-eyed.

‘She looks real enough to me,’ Stevie said calmly. ‘By the way, sir, the interior temperature is back to normal now and stabilised,’ she added.

‘Yes; so it is. But this is not natural – where’s the bloody sea gone? Furthermore, there must be normal atmosphere out there: she’s only dressed in normal street clothing,’ Tom stressed, gaping at her in disbelief.

Chapter 2

She was indeed dressed in normal street clothing: pale blue jeans, a white sweater, and trainers. She was about Stevie’s height and build, with medium-length fair hair and a wide smile.

She waved to them through the porthole. ‘Come on,’ she mouthed, beckoning them to join her out on the smooth sandy beach.

‘What do we do, Tom?’ Greg asked quietly, without moving his gaze away from the girl outside.

‘Huh, nothing,’ he replied scornfully. ‘If she is an illusion and we open the hatch we’d have no chance – the boat would immediately flatten, as you know.’

‘With all due respect, Tom,’ Stevie chipped in, ‘all three of us are seeing the same thing and it looks to be quite a normal, solid situation out there, as does the woman. What’s more,’ she went on, ‘we’re stuck down here in a no-win situation, so I can’t see any reason for not joining her to find out what is going on.’

‘She’s right,’ Greg agreed. ‘We would also be able to take a good look at the damage to the outside shell,’ he pointed out.

‘Well, I don’t know,’ Tom pondered, frowning. ‘I suppose the boat would still be safe if I did a normal air-lock rescue exit just to make sure.’ Then, still frowning, he continued: ‘But I think that would be illegal under naval law.’

‘What would?’ Stevie asked, getting up from her seat.

‘A captain leaving his crew behind in a damaged craft,’ he stated, grinning.

‘You are a fool sometimes, Tom Blake!’ she said. ‘Anyway, I’ll go out and meet the lady first, and I gamble no sea will come flooding into your boat,’ she assured.

After a tentative few minutes in the air-lock compartment Stevie stepped out to greet the other young woman with wide smile and a hug.

Greg, watching through the porthole, said ‘Look at that – the natives are friendly! Come on Tom, our turn now,’ he laughed.

***

By the time the two men were outside the young women were on first name terms. Stevie introduced her to them as Peggy, but said she was usually addressed as Peg. She also said Peg had informed her that she and her people lived down here and, as far as she knew, they always had.

Baffled, Tom said ‘I think you’ve quite a bit of explaining to do here, Peg. The first thing I’d