Blood Seas

I could tell I wasn't going to like her, almost from the moment she introduced herself. Standing there, staring up at me, all four feet eleven of her, close cropped red hair, her chin stuck out as if she dared me to comment on our height difference. At five feet six inches and feeling huge next to her I took her hand, shook it and thought about how I'd write her up as fox-like - short, shrewd, red-haired. It's a bad habit - thinking of a few words to describe each person I meet while on the job, but it gives my readers a word picture to hold on to. Doctor Eugenie Kimble was fox-like and small; I was solid, dependable, bookish. I'm sure we made quite the odd couple for the rest of her crew of scientists as she walked me toward the wheelhouse.

She made coffee and stood, staring up at me, explaining the rules as she saw them while I stood and listened like I didn't have a degree in electronic engineering and another in journalism, like I'd never been in a sub before. I was more than just a journalist here and she knew it. The rules were there to prove that she was in charge and that I was her cargo. A cargo, she seemed to take pleasure in reminding me that was entirely secondary to the mission.

"Do you really think we'll see a giant squid?" I asked finally, more as a way of changing the topic of conversation than anything else. If there's one thing I've learned interviewing scientists - they want to talk about their own work.

"We've done a lot of research" she replied. "We know that they've been found in this area. We know the technique works and we've seen a few already - that's the footage you've already seen. But we don't know if a particular trip is going to produce any useful footage."

"And I've got complete access to any footage that we capture today?"

"That's the agreement. And in return you'll write favorably about what we're doing here. If it wasn't for the chance of funding we wouldn't be taking you aboard."I tried to sound more confident than I felt. "My story will find you your funding Dr. Kimble."

*

The sub was called the Kraken and it was ancient. The subs I'd first traveled in as a tourist in the Florida Keys were luxury liners compared to this. The subs I'd learned to pilot - old diesel electric models twenty years ago - they were only slightly older than this. A boxy body made out of metal frameworks and hard points like the lighting rig for a rock concert - the crew chamber in the middle with its big observation dome at the front. There were the tanks for the breathable oxygen supply. There were the spotlights.

Attached to the front of the Kraken was an armature, welded in place with a kind of metal basket on the end. That was where bait would be kept when we launched, the cute technician explained as he tightened one of the propeller units within its housing and I watched the way the muscles of his arms moved under his skin. We hoped to attract the squid with the bait, let it feed at the end of the armature while we sat in our little cabin, observing and taking pictures. We would be two privileged humans alone in the deep while we watched the creature.

We climbed in through the hatch at the top of the sub - Doctor Kimble first, of course. We righted ourselves within the small confined space as the sub was hoisted and the bait was placed in the basket. It wasn't like comfort was a priority for us, rather we sat Indian-style, cross-legged on the soft cushioned floor. It's a little-known fact exactly how much mobility a submersible pilot needs within the cabin; she needs to watch the control panels for attitude adjustment, breathable gas regulation, electronic and hydraulic systems control. Some submersibles are lucky enough to have a robotic arm to contend with on the outside - it would be handy to have one to help out on the inside. Kimble let me pilot while she manned the camera controls and of course she gave me the job she felt she could trust me with because it was simple - we were going almost straight down. And then we'd wait.