Zak opened the valve for the bailout tank on his back. The cylinder’s emergency supply of heliox would buy him four minutes, maybe a couple more if he regulated his breaths. That wasn’t enough to get him to the surface. He would need a slow ascent to prevent his internal body tissues from exploding. Hours, not minutes, of decompression. But if they were aware of the situation topside—and they had to be—they would be working like hell to restore the connections to him. The same for Rawls. And there were built-in fail-safes in case of critical system malfunction.

Zak urged himself not to panic. They weren’t going to let him die down here. Not if they could help it.

He breathed. Almost sipping from the bailout tank. Wanting to conserve the precious gas mixture.

Then the light shone in his eyes. That circle of light in the darkness. It was coming on fast, about ten feet above the seabed, slightly above him.

The light fanned out. The detritus in the water refracting and dispersing and attenuating it. Zak stood there, baffled. Then saw the craft take shape underneath it.

He realized it was some kind of deep submersible. A bubble capsule in front under the light, a large arm on either side of the capsule. There was something vaguely crab-like about it.

It slowed, drew closer still, then stopped. Hanging there above him, its lamp shining through the black.

Zak’s mind raced along three parallel tracks. He was acutely aware his bailout canister was emptying with each breath. Aware he’d heard nothing from Rawl or the control van. And he was aware of a human form looking out through the bubble.

Blurred. Barely visible. But there.

Watching him.

He was mystified and afraid. Those were alien feelings on a dive.

“Rawls? Murph? Do you copy?”

Silence. The submersible hovered motionless for another long second. Then a sudden burst from its thrusters sent it flying forward.

At first Zak thought it would shoot past him. But it didn’t. It stopped again. This time directly overhead, its metal grapplers snatching at his umbilicals. He felt a hard tug as they clamped shut over the lines, sinking into them, clipping them like giant wire cutters.

The second tug was even harder. It lifted him with a jerk, hoisted him upward. And then his feet were no longer anchored on the seabed. The submersible was carrying him away, dragging him through the pitch-black water like it was a hungry predator and he was its helpless prey.

He hung below it. He couldn’t see anything. He was cold. Terribly cold.

Zak was swept through the water for what felt longer than it must have been. Dangling from the severed lines, he struggled desperately to breathe as the submersible carried him along. His heliox was running out. There was a pressure gaining behind his eyes, in his head, his chest. Like they were all bursting from within.