The convoy reforms. There's a prescribed drop-off point for monsters, a hundred meters away from the Throat. (The GA has never been keen on letting outsiders wander too far into its home turf.) Once again the vampires leave light for darkness, Scanlon in tow. They travel through a world utterly without form, save for the scrolling circle of mud in his headlight. Suddenly Clarke turns to Caraco.

"I'll go," she buzzes, and peels away into the void.

Scanlon throttles his squid, edges up beside Caraco.

"Where's she off to?"

"Here we are," Caraco says. They coast to a halt. Caraco fins back to the droned squid and touches a control; buckles disengage, straps retract. The canister floats free. Caraco cranks down the buoyancy and it settles down on a clump of tubeworms.

"Len— uh, Clarke," Scanlon prods.

"They need an extra hand back at the Throat. She went to help out."

Scanlon checks his modem channel. Of course it's the right one, if it wasn't he wouldn't be able to hear Caraco. Which means that Clarke and the vampires at the Throat must have been using a different frequency. Another safety violation.

But he's not a fool, he knows the story. They've only switched channels because he's here. They're just trying to keep him out of the loop.

Par for the course. First the fucking GA, now the hired help—

A sound, from behind. A faint electrical whine. The sound of a squid starting up.

Scanlon turns around. "Caraco?"

His headlamp sweeps across canister, squid, seabed, water.

"Caraco? You there?"

Canister. Squid. Mud.

"Hello?"

Empty water.

"Hey! Caraco! What the hell—"

A faint thumping, very close by.

He tries to look everywhere at once. One leg presses against the coffin.

The coffin is rocking.

He lays his helmet against its surface. Yes. Something inside, muffled, wet. Thumping. Trying to get out.

It can't. No way. It's just dying in there, that's all.

He pushes away, drifts up into the water column. He feels very exposed. A few stiff-legged kicks take him back to the bottom. Slightly better.

"Caraco? Come on, Judy—"

Oh Jesus. She left me here. She just fucking left me out here.

He hears something moaning, very close by.

Inside his helmet, in fact.

* * *

TRANS/OFFI/230850:2026

I accompanied Judy Caraco and Lenie Clarke outside today, and witnessed several events that concern me. Both participants swam through unlit areas without headlamps and spent significant periods of time isolated from dive buddies; at one point, Caraco simply left me on the seabed without warning. This is potentially life-threatening behavior, although of course I was able to find my way back to Beebe using the homing beacon.

I have yet to receive an explanation for all this. The v— the other personnel are presently gone from the station. I can find two or three of them on sonar; I suppose the rest are just hidden in the bottom clutter. Once again, this is extremely unsafe behavior.