pushed Perry's face away, which was inches from his own.
"I was doing mouth-to-mouth," Perry said. He got to his feet. "I didn't think you were breathing." "I'm breathing!" Michael insisted. He made a face of disgust and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Believe me, I'm breathing."
Richard's coughing jag came to an abrupt end, and he blinked away the tears it had brought on. His first concern was Michael. When he saw that his buddy was alive and well, he glanced around the room before looking up at the others.
"What's going on?" he asked. "What happened?" "That's the million-dollar question," Perry answered. "Where the hell are we?" Richard asked. His eyes took a second quick dash around the room. A perplexed expression clouded his face.
"An equally interesting question," Perry said. "Were you looking for us on your dive?" Donald asked Richard. For a moment Richard merely looked confused. Then Donald's question helped restore his memory. "Oh, my god!" he cried. "We were on a nearly thousand-foot sat dive! We didn't decompress!" Richard
struggled to his feet. His legs were wobbly, especially on the slippery floor. "Michael, we've got to get
into the DDC!"
"Take it easy!" Donald said. He grabbed Richard around the upper arm to calm him and keep him from falling. "There's no DDC here. Besides, you're all right. Obviously you don't have the bends." Richard's confusion deepened. He extended his legs and his arms to check his joints. Blinking repeatedly, he looked around the room again, and while doing so noticed the umbilical connecting him to the base of the collapsed sphere. "What the hell is this?" he demanded. He grasped the composite group of hoses and wires and immediately let go. His lips curled in revulsion. "Jeez, it feels soft, like I'm holding someone's intestines."
"It has to be some kind of life support," Suzanne said, speaking up for the first time since the divers had emerged from their shells. "Considering the shape you're in without decompressing, I guess it had something to do with that as well."
Richard gingerly touched the device attached to his stomach. It was the size and shape of the head of a toilet plunger. As soon as he touched it, it detached. Catching it in his hand, he looked at its business end. To his horror a series of wormlike appendages protruded from it, their wriggling heads soaked in blood--his blood.
"Ah!" Richard cried. He dropped the device, which quickly retracted into the base of the flattened sphere like a disappearing vacuum cleaner cord. In a panic Richard unzipped the front of his neoprene suit down to his pubis. When he looked at his stomach he cried out again. There were six puncture wounds in a circular pattern around his navel. After watching Richard, Michael struggled to his feet and hesitantly looked down at his own stomach. He was dismayed to see a similar apparatus. With an expression mirroring Richard's, he reluctantly touched it with his index finger. To his relief it immediately detached and retracted. Opening his dive suit he found the same peculiar pattern of oozing stab wounds around his umbilicus. "Holy crap!" Michael voiced. "It looks like we were stabbed a bunch of times with an ice pick." He shivered. "I can't stand blood."
Richard zipped his suit back up and then tried to take a few steps on shaky legs. He reached out and supported himself against the wall. "Man, I feel like I've been drugged." "I feel like I was run over with a goddamn truck," Michael said. "Where's Mazzola?" Richard asked.
"We wouldn't have any idea," Donald said. "What happened during your dive?" Richard scratched the back of his head. At first all he could remember was getting into the DDC for the compression, but then, with Michael's participation, they both were able to remember sketchy details of the descent in the bell and entering the water. "Is that it?" Donald asked. "Nothing after you left the bell?" Richard nodded. Michael did the same.
"How come you guys all look like you've
"I was doing mouth-to-mouth," Perry said. He got to his feet. "I didn't think you were breathing." "I'm breathing!" Michael insisted. He made a face of disgust and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Believe me, I'm breathing."
Richard's coughing jag came to an abrupt end, and he blinked away the tears it had brought on. His first concern was Michael. When he saw that his buddy was alive and well, he glanced around the room before looking up at the others.
"What's going on?" he asked. "What happened?" "That's the million-dollar question," Perry answered. "Where the hell are we?" Richard asked. His eyes took a second quick dash around the room. A perplexed expression clouded his face.
"An equally interesting question," Perry said. "Were you looking for us on your dive?" Donald asked Richard. For a moment Richard merely looked confused. Then Donald's question helped restore his memory. "Oh, my god!" he cried. "We were on a nearly thousand-foot sat dive! We didn't decompress!" Richard
struggled to his feet. His legs were wobbly, especially on the slippery floor. "Michael, we've got to get
into the DDC!"
"Take it easy!" Donald said. He grabbed Richard around the upper arm to calm him and keep him from falling. "There's no DDC here. Besides, you're all right. Obviously you don't have the bends." Richard's confusion deepened. He extended his legs and his arms to check his joints. Blinking repeatedly, he looked around the room again, and while doing so noticed the umbilical connecting him to the base of the collapsed sphere. "What the hell is this?" he demanded. He grasped the composite group of hoses and wires and immediately let go. His lips curled in revulsion. "Jeez, it feels soft, like I'm holding someone's intestines."
"It has to be some kind of life support," Suzanne said, speaking up for the first time since the divers had emerged from their shells. "Considering the shape you're in without decompressing, I guess it had something to do with that as well."
Richard gingerly touched the device attached to his stomach. It was the size and shape of the head of a toilet plunger. As soon as he touched it, it detached. Catching it in his hand, he looked at its business end. To his horror a series of wormlike appendages protruded from it, their wriggling heads soaked in blood--his blood.
"Ah!" Richard cried. He dropped the device, which quickly retracted into the base of the flattened sphere like a disappearing vacuum cleaner cord. In a panic Richard unzipped the front of his neoprene suit down to his pubis. When he looked at his stomach he cried out again. There were six puncture wounds in a circular pattern around his navel. After watching Richard, Michael struggled to his feet and hesitantly looked down at his own stomach. He was dismayed to see a similar apparatus. With an expression mirroring Richard's, he reluctantly touched it with his index finger. To his relief it immediately detached and retracted. Opening his dive suit he found the same peculiar pattern of oozing stab wounds around his umbilicus. "Holy crap!" Michael voiced. "It looks like we were stabbed a bunch of times with an ice pick." He shivered. "I can't stand blood."
Richard zipped his suit back up and then tried to take a few steps on shaky legs. He reached out and supported himself against the wall. "Man, I feel like I've been drugged." "I feel like I was run over with a goddamn truck," Michael said. "Where's Mazzola?" Richard asked.
"We wouldn't have any idea," Donald said. "What happened during your dive?" Richard scratched the back of his head. At first all he could remember was getting into the DDC for the compression, but then, with Michael's participation, they both were able to remember sketchy details of the descent in the bell and entering the water. "Is that it?" Donald asked. "Nothing after you left the bell?" Richard nodded. Michael did the same.
"How come you guys all look like you've
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