Abduction (11 page)
Authors: Robin Cook
Tags: #Fiction, #Suspense, #Onbekend, #Unabridged Audio - Fiction, #Suspense & Thriller
framed pictures on the walls. Within the chamber he noticed that the floor sloped toward the center,
where there was a grate, and the ceiling peaked to a central point with a second grate. "Well?" Suzanne questioned. From where she was she couldn't see what lay ahead. "It looks encouraging," Donald said. "There's a relatively normal looking corridor beyond a glass door." "Then let's move," Richard called impatiently from behind Suzanne. With both hands on the doorjamb for support, Donald moved first one foot onto the sloped floor and then brought the other to it. As he'd anticipated he began to slide once he let go. He slid for about three feet with his hands flailing to keep from falling. At that point the floor angled out to be almost level. He turned and warned the others.
Everyone was careful except Michael. Having grown up in Chelsea, Massachusetts, where he'd played hockey since age five, he wasn't concerned about the slick floor. But its angle took him by surprise. His feet went out from under him on his first step, and he careened into the others like a bowling ball. In a flash the entire group was a pile of entwined naked limbs. "For chrissake!" Donald snapped. He extricated himself and helped Suzanne to her feet. The others struggled up by themselves. Michael was hardly remorseful. Now that his eyes were open, he was much more interested in appreciating Suzanne's body. Richard swore and cuffed Michael on the top of his head. Michael shoved Richard in return, effectively sending them both to the ground again. "Knock it off!" Donald shouted. Being careful not to fall, he separated the two divers. Richard and Michael obeyed, but continued to glare at each other. "My god!" Suzanne voiced. "Look!" She pointed back at the doorway they'd just come through. Everyone gaped in astonishment. The doorway was silently sealing over, as if the metal wall were fusing together. Within moments the opening was gone without a trace. The wall was seamless. "If I'd not seen that with my own eyes, I'd never believe it," Perry said. "It's supernatural, like a movie special effect."
"I can't begin to understand the technology," Suzanne said. "I think it lets the Russians off the hook." A deep gurgling sound then issued from the central grate. All eyes turned in its direction. "Oh no!" Suzanne said. "What's coming now?" Before anyone could respond, a clear fluid that looked like water bubbled up through the central floor grate. The group shrank back, then scrambled toward the glass door. The angle and slippery surface of the floor forced them to their hands and knees. The first to the door began to bang on the glass, desperate for a way to open it. Behind them the inrushing water had become a geyser; the water level was rising rapidly.
Within minutes they were waist-deep in water. Moments later they were all treading water watching with horror as the ceiling approached. Even if they could keep treading indefinitely, there soon would be no room to breathe. Rapidly the group was forced together while struggling for the last remnants of air in the very peak of the ceiling. As the strongest swimmers, Richard and Michael were at the center directly below the grate and, in a desperate attempt to find more air, they stuck their fingers through the holes and
where there was a grate, and the ceiling peaked to a central point with a second grate. "Well?" Suzanne questioned. From where she was she couldn't see what lay ahead. "It looks encouraging," Donald said. "There's a relatively normal looking corridor beyond a glass door." "Then let's move," Richard called impatiently from behind Suzanne. With both hands on the doorjamb for support, Donald moved first one foot onto the sloped floor and then brought the other to it. As he'd anticipated he began to slide once he let go. He slid for about three feet with his hands flailing to keep from falling. At that point the floor angled out to be almost level. He turned and warned the others.
Everyone was careful except Michael. Having grown up in Chelsea, Massachusetts, where he'd played hockey since age five, he wasn't concerned about the slick floor. But its angle took him by surprise. His feet went out from under him on his first step, and he careened into the others like a bowling ball. In a flash the entire group was a pile of entwined naked limbs. "For chrissake!" Donald snapped. He extricated himself and helped Suzanne to her feet. The others struggled up by themselves. Michael was hardly remorseful. Now that his eyes were open, he was much more interested in appreciating Suzanne's body. Richard swore and cuffed Michael on the top of his head. Michael shoved Richard in return, effectively sending them both to the ground again. "Knock it off!" Donald shouted. Being careful not to fall, he separated the two divers. Richard and Michael obeyed, but continued to glare at each other. "My god!" Suzanne voiced. "Look!" She pointed back at the doorway they'd just come through. Everyone gaped in astonishment. The doorway was silently sealing over, as if the metal wall were fusing together. Within moments the opening was gone without a trace. The wall was seamless. "If I'd not seen that with my own eyes, I'd never believe it," Perry said. "It's supernatural, like a movie special effect."
"I can't begin to understand the technology," Suzanne said. "I think it lets the Russians off the hook." A deep gurgling sound then issued from the central grate. All eyes turned in its direction. "Oh no!" Suzanne said. "What's coming now?" Before anyone could respond, a clear fluid that looked like water bubbled up through the central floor grate. The group shrank back, then scrambled toward the glass door. The angle and slippery surface of the floor forced them to their hands and knees. The first to the door began to bang on the glass, desperate for a way to open it. Behind them the inrushing water had become a geyser; the water level was rising rapidly.
Within minutes they were waist-deep in water. Moments later they were all treading water watching with horror as the ceiling approached. Even if they could keep treading indefinitely, there soon would be no room to breathe. Rapidly the group was forced together while struggling for the last remnants of air in the very peak of the ceiling. As the strongest swimmers, Richard and Michael were at the center directly below the grate and, in a desperate attempt to find more air, they stuck their fingers through the holes and
tried to pull the grate from its housing.
But their efforts were fruitless. The grate would not budge, and the water level continued to rise until the room was filled to the ceiling. No sooner had everyone gone under, than the room began to drain, and at an extraordinary rate. Within seconds there was headroom again; within minutes Donald and Richard, the tallest of the five, felt their feet brush the floor. Soon there was a loud, rude sucking noise as the last of the water disappeared down the drain, and the group was left in a wet, naked heap in the central basin of the concave floor. For some time no one moved. A combination of utter terror, panic-driven exertion, and having inadvertently swallowed sizable gulps of the fluid left them physically and emotionally exhausted. Donald finally pushed himself up to a sitting position. He felt light-headed. He had an odd feeling that more time had passed than he could account for. It occurred to him that they might have been drugged by the water that had filled the room. He closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed his temples. When he reopened his eyes he looked at the others. They all appeared to be sleeping. He looked toward the glass door when his gaze shot back to Suzanne. "Good Lord!" Donald muttered. He couldn't believe his eyes. Suzanne was bald! Donald ran a hand over the top of his head, but he'd kept it shaved for several years. He felt for his mustache. It was gone! Raising his forearm he saw that, too, was totally devoid of hair. He glanced down at his chest; there wasn't a hair there.
Donald shook Perry, then nudged Suzanne. When both of them were awake enough to understand what he was saying, he filled them in.
"Oh, no!" Perry cried. He sat bolt upright. Using both hands he reached up and gingerly touched his scalp. There was no hair, only smooth skin. He pulled his hands away as if he'd touched something hot. He was horrified.
Suzanne was more curious than dismayed. Something had rendered them completely hairless. How had it happened--and why?
"What's happening?" Richard asked. His words were slurred. He sat up, then had to steady himself. "Ooo . . . I feel like I tied one on."
"I'm a bit dizzy myself," Perry admitted. "Maybe there was something in the water. I know I swallowed some."
"I think we were drugged," Donald said. "We all swallowed a lot of the water," Richard said. "It's hard not to in that kind of ordeal. That was worse than submarine escape training."
"I think I know what is going on," Suzanne said. "Yeah, me, too," Perry said. "We're being tortured and humiliated." "All techniques of interrogation," Donald added. "I don't think it has anything to do with interrogation," Suzanne said. "The strange intense light, the acrid
But their efforts were fruitless. The grate would not budge, and the water level continued to rise until the room was filled to the ceiling. No sooner had everyone gone under, than the room began to drain, and at an extraordinary rate. Within seconds there was headroom again; within minutes Donald and Richard, the tallest of the five, felt their feet brush the floor. Soon there was a loud, rude sucking noise as the last of the water disappeared down the drain, and the group was left in a wet, naked heap in the central basin of the concave floor. For some time no one moved. A combination of utter terror, panic-driven exertion, and having inadvertently swallowed sizable gulps of the fluid left them physically and emotionally exhausted. Donald finally pushed himself up to a sitting position. He felt light-headed. He had an odd feeling that more time had passed than he could account for. It occurred to him that they might have been drugged by the water that had filled the room. He closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed his temples. When he reopened his eyes he looked at the others. They all appeared to be sleeping. He looked toward the glass door when his gaze shot back to Suzanne. "Good Lord!" Donald muttered. He couldn't believe his eyes. Suzanne was bald! Donald ran a hand over the top of his head, but he'd kept it shaved for several years. He felt for his mustache. It was gone! Raising his forearm he saw that, too, was totally devoid of hair. He glanced down at his chest; there wasn't a hair there.
Donald shook Perry, then nudged Suzanne. When both of them were awake enough to understand what he was saying, he filled them in.
"Oh, no!" Perry cried. He sat bolt upright. Using both hands he reached up and gingerly touched his scalp. There was no hair, only smooth skin. He pulled his hands away as if he'd touched something hot. He was horrified.
Suzanne was more curious than dismayed. Something had rendered them completely hairless. How had it happened--and why?
"What's happening?" Richard asked. His words were slurred. He sat up, then had to steady himself. "Ooo . . . I feel like I tied one on."
"I'm a bit dizzy myself," Perry admitted. "Maybe there was something in the water. I know I swallowed some."
"I think we were drugged," Donald said. "We all swallowed a lot of the water," Richard said. "It's hard not to in that kind of ordeal. That was worse than submarine escape training."
"I think I know what is going on," Suzanne said. "Yeah, me, too," Perry said. "We're being tortured and humiliated." "All techniques of interrogation," Donald added. "I don't think it has anything to do with interrogation," Suzanne said. "The strange intense light, the acrid
gas, and now the depilation suggests something else."
"What's depilation?" Richard asked.
"It's what happened to your head," Perry said. Richard blinked. He stared at Perry, then touched the top of his head. "My god, I'm bald." He looked over at Michael, who was still slumbering. Then he reached over and gave him a shove. "Hey, you hairless wonder. Wake up!"
Michael had trouble opening his eyes.
"I think we're being decontaminated," Suzanne said. "I think that's what all this is about: getting rid of microorganisms like bacteria and viruses. We've effectively been sterilized." No one spoke. Perry nodded as he considered what Suzanne had said. He thought it was possible. "I still think all this is to prepare us for interrogation," Donald said. "Sterilizing us doesn't make sense to me. I don't know if it is Russians who are behind this or not, but somebody wants something from us." "Maybe we're going to know pretty soon," Perry said. He nodded toward the glass door, which was now ajar. "I think the next stage is ready." Donald unstably struggled to his feet. "There was definitely some kind of drug in the water," he said. He waited until a fresh episode of dizziness passed, then headed toward the open door. Where the slippery floor angled up he had to go on all fours. Once he reached the doorway, he stood up and looked down a white, fifty-foot corridor.
"I feel drugged but I also feel strangely hungry," Suzanne said. "I was just thinking the same thing," Perry admitted. "Listen, you guys," Donald called. "Things are looking up. There're living quarters down at the end of this hallway. Let's mobilize!"
Suzanne and Perry got their feet under them and stood up, battling the same fleeting dizziness Donald had experienced.
"I guess living quarters means beds," Suzanne said. "And that sounds good to me. Besides, I want out of this room in case that water comes back." "My feelings exactly," Perry said.
Richard and Michael had fallen back asleep. Suzanne gave them both a poke but neither stirred. Perry lent a hand.
"Whatever was in that water affected them more than us," Suzanne said as she shook Richard to get him to open his eyes.
"They felt drugged from being in the spheres, even before the dousing," Perry said. He pulled Michael, who groaned to be let alone, up to a sitting position.
"What's depilation?" Richard asked.
"It's what happened to your head," Perry said. Richard blinked. He stared at Perry, then touched the top of his head. "My god, I'm bald." He looked over at Michael, who was still slumbering. Then he reached over and gave him a shove. "Hey, you hairless wonder. Wake up!"
Michael had trouble opening his eyes.
"I think we're being decontaminated," Suzanne said. "I think that's what all this is about: getting rid of microorganisms like bacteria and viruses. We've effectively been sterilized." No one spoke. Perry nodded as he considered what Suzanne had said. He thought it was possible. "I still think all this is to prepare us for interrogation," Donald said. "Sterilizing us doesn't make sense to me. I don't know if it is Russians who are behind this or not, but somebody wants something from us." "Maybe we're going to know pretty soon," Perry said. He nodded toward the glass door, which was now ajar. "I think the next stage is ready." Donald unstably struggled to his feet. "There was definitely some kind of drug in the water," he said. He waited until a fresh episode of dizziness passed, then headed toward the open door. Where the slippery floor angled up he had to go on all fours. Once he reached the doorway, he stood up and looked down a white, fifty-foot corridor.
"I feel drugged but I also feel strangely hungry," Suzanne said. "I was just thinking the same thing," Perry admitted. "Listen, you guys," Donald called. "Things are looking up. There're living quarters down at the end of this hallway. Let's mobilize!"
Suzanne and Perry got their feet under them and stood up, battling the same fleeting dizziness Donald had experienced.
"I guess living quarters means beds," Suzanne said. "And that sounds good to me. Besides, I want out of this room in case that water comes back." "My feelings exactly," Perry said.
Richard and Michael had fallen back asleep. Suzanne gave them both a poke but neither stirred. Perry lent a hand.
"Whatever was in that water affected them more than us," Suzanne said as she shook Richard to get him to open his eyes.
"They felt drugged from being in the spheres, even before the dousing," Perry said. He pulled Michael, who groaned to be let alone, up to a sitting position.
"Let's move it!" Donald called. "I don't want this door to close before you're all out of here."
Despite their groggy state, the warning about the door penetrated Richard and Michael's stupor, and they got to their feet. As they moved their mental state rapidly improved. By the time the group joined Donald, the divers were even talking.
"This isn't half bad," Richard said as he inspected the corridor with lidded eyes. Instead of mirrorlike metal, the walls and ceiling were a high-gloss white laminate. Framed, three-dimensional pictures lined the walls. The floor was covered with a tight-weave white carpet. "These pictures are something else," Michael commented. "They're so realistic. It looks like I can see into them for twenty miles."
"They're holographs," Suzanne said. "But I've never seen a holograph with such vivid, natural color. They are startling, especially in this otherwise white environment." "They all look like scenes from ancient Greece," Perry said. "Whoever our tormentors are, at least they're civilized."
"Let's go, men!" Donald called. He was standing impatiently just over the next threshold. "We've got some tactical decisions to make."
"Tactical decisions," Perry mimicked in a whisper to Suzanne. "Doesn't he ever relax this military posturing?"
"Not often," Suzanne admitted.
The group walked the length of the hallway and paused, taken aback by the scene in front of them. After the series of stark, industrial chambers, they were unprepared for the room's sumptuousness. The decor was futuristic, with lots of mirrors and white marble, yet it had a calm, cool, inviting ambiance. A dozen, canopied, couchlike beds with white cashmere blankets lined both walls. Five of the beds were invitingly turned down with folded clean clothes lying atop each pillow. In the background, soft instrumental music completed the mood.
Down the center of the room stretched a large, low table with chaiselike, deeply cushioned chairs. The table was laid for a meal with covered servers and pitchers of iced drinks. The dishes were white, the tablecloth was white, and the flatware was gold. "If this is heaven, I'm not ready," Perry said when he had recovered enough to speak. "I don't think chow smells this good in heaven," Richard said. "And I just realized I'm more hungry than tired." He started forward with Michael at his heels. "Hold up!" Donald said. "I'm not sure we should eat anything. The food's probably drugged or even worse."
"You really think so?" Richard said with obvious disappointment. He wavered, looking back and forth between Donald and the laden table.
"And those mirrors," Donald said, pointing to the huge sheets that formed the far end of the room. "I'd
Despite their groggy state, the warning about the door penetrated Richard and Michael's stupor, and they got to their feet. As they moved their mental state rapidly improved. By the time the group joined Donald, the divers were even talking.
"This isn't half bad," Richard said as he inspected the corridor with lidded eyes. Instead of mirrorlike metal, the walls and ceiling were a high-gloss white laminate. Framed, three-dimensional pictures lined the walls. The floor was covered with a tight-weave white carpet. "These pictures are something else," Michael commented. "They're so realistic. It looks like I can see into them for twenty miles."
"They're holographs," Suzanne said. "But I've never seen a holograph with such vivid, natural color. They are startling, especially in this otherwise white environment." "They all look like scenes from ancient Greece," Perry said. "Whoever our tormentors are, at least they're civilized."
"Let's go, men!" Donald called. He was standing impatiently just over the next threshold. "We've got some tactical decisions to make."
"Tactical decisions," Perry mimicked in a whisper to Suzanne. "Doesn't he ever relax this military posturing?"
"Not often," Suzanne admitted.
The group walked the length of the hallway and paused, taken aback by the scene in front of them. After the series of stark, industrial chambers, they were unprepared for the room's sumptuousness. The decor was futuristic, with lots of mirrors and white marble, yet it had a calm, cool, inviting ambiance. A dozen, canopied, couchlike beds with white cashmere blankets lined both walls. Five of the beds were invitingly turned down with folded clean clothes lying atop each pillow. In the background, soft instrumental music completed the mood.
Down the center of the room stretched a large, low table with chaiselike, deeply cushioned chairs. The table was laid for a meal with covered servers and pitchers of iced drinks. The dishes were white, the tablecloth was white, and the flatware was gold. "If this is heaven, I'm not ready," Perry said when he had recovered enough to speak. "I don't think chow smells this good in heaven," Richard said. "And I just realized I'm more hungry than tired." He started forward with Michael at his heels. "Hold up!" Donald said. "I'm not sure we should eat anything. The food's probably drugged or even worse."
"You really think so?" Richard said with obvious disappointment. He wavered, looking back and forth between Donald and the laden table.
"And those mirrors," Donald said, pointing to the huge sheets that formed the far end of the room. "I'd
assume they are two-way, which would mean we're being watched."
"Who the hell cares, if they treat us like this," Michael said. "My vote is we eat." Suzanne's eyes fell on the folded garments on each bed. She had not noticed them sooner because they were white like most everything else and blended perfectly with the white linen. She went over to the nearest bed. She lifted the garments and shook them out. There were two simple pieces: a long-sleeved tunic that opened at the front and a pair of boxer shorts. Both were made of a silky white satin, and both were curiously seamless.
"My word! Pajamas!" Suzanne commented. "Now this is downright thoughtful." Without a moment's hesitation, Suzanne pulled on the shorts. The tunic was generously proportioned and came to knee length, covering the boxers. It tied with a gold braided rope. Along the sides were several pockets. Suzanne's dressing reawakened everyone's self-consciousness. The four men grabbed clothing sets from the beds and donned them.
Michael eyed himself in the mirrors at the end of the room. "Not much to these things," he said. "But they're comfortable."
Richard laughed at him. "You look like a faggot." "As if you don't, asshole," Michael shot back hotly. "That's enough!" Donald barked. "There's to be no fighting among ourselves. Save it for whoever it is we'll be facing. Which brings me to the issue of setting up watches to stand guard." "What the hell are you talking about?" Richard asked. "This isn't some kind of military exercise. I'm going to eat and then I'm racking out. I'm not standing any watch." "We're all tired," Donald said. "But there is a door to consider that we don't have any control over." All eyes swung around to gaze at the door at the end of the room opposite the mirrors. It was white like everything else and was without a knob, latch, or hinges. "We have to stay vigilant," Donald added. "I don't want these Russians or whoever these people are sneaking in here and doing whatever they want to us." "Judging by the pains they have taken with these accommodations, I don't think your paranoia is justified," Suzanne said. "And I thought we decided we're not dealing with Russians here." "Well, you people argue about all that," Richard said. He walked over to the table and lifted the cover of one of the chafing dishes. The savory aroma filled the room. "What is it?" Michael asked. He leaned over to look. "I don't have a clue," Richard said. He lifted the spoon. The steaming food was cream colored and had a pasty consistency, like hot cereal's. "It looks like Cream of Wheat, and it smells mighty good." He brought the spoon to his mouth and tasted it. "Well, I'll be damned! How'd they know? It tastes like my favorite food: steak."
"Who the hell cares, if they treat us like this," Michael said. "My vote is we eat." Suzanne's eyes fell on the folded garments on each bed. She had not noticed them sooner because they were white like most everything else and blended perfectly with the white linen. She went over to the nearest bed. She lifted the garments and shook them out. There were two simple pieces: a long-sleeved tunic that opened at the front and a pair of boxer shorts. Both were made of a silky white satin, and both were curiously seamless.
"My word! Pajamas!" Suzanne commented. "Now this is downright thoughtful." Without a moment's hesitation, Suzanne pulled on the shorts. The tunic was generously proportioned and came to knee length, covering the boxers. It tied with a gold braided rope. Along the sides were several pockets. Suzanne's dressing reawakened everyone's self-consciousness. The four men grabbed clothing sets from the beds and donned them.
Michael eyed himself in the mirrors at the end of the room. "Not much to these things," he said. "But they're comfortable."
Richard laughed at him. "You look like a faggot." "As if you don't, asshole," Michael shot back hotly. "That's enough!" Donald barked. "There's to be no fighting among ourselves. Save it for whoever it is we'll be facing. Which brings me to the issue of setting up watches to stand guard." "What the hell are you talking about?" Richard asked. "This isn't some kind of military exercise. I'm going to eat and then I'm racking out. I'm not standing any watch." "We're all tired," Donald said. "But there is a door to consider that we don't have any control over." All eyes swung around to gaze at the door at the end of the room opposite the mirrors. It was white like everything else and was without a knob, latch, or hinges. "We have to stay vigilant," Donald added. "I don't want these Russians or whoever these people are sneaking in here and doing whatever they want to us." "Judging by the pains they have taken with these accommodations, I don't think your paranoia is justified," Suzanne said. "And I thought we decided we're not dealing with Russians here." "Well, you people argue about all that," Richard said. He walked over to the table and lifted the cover of one of the chafing dishes. The savory aroma filled the room. "What is it?" Michael asked. He leaned over to look. "I don't have a clue," Richard said. He lifted the spoon. The steaming food was cream colored and had a pasty consistency, like hot cereal's. "It looks like Cream of Wheat, and it smells mighty good." He brought the spoon to his mouth and tasted it. "Well, I'll be damned! How'd they know? It tastes like my favorite food: steak."
Michael took a taste. "Steak? What, are you crazy? It tastes like sweet potatoes."
"Get outta here!" Richard complained. "You and your sweet potatoes." He sat down on one of the chaises and helped himself to a sizable ladle of the food. "You're always talking about sweet potatoes." Michael sat opposite and took a portion for himself. "Hey, I'm sorry," he said sarcastically. "I happen to like sweet potatoes."
Suzanne and Perry stepped to the table, their curiosity piqued by this exchange. They were experiencing almost irresistible hunger. Suzanne was the next to try the food. "That's incredible," she remarked. "It tastes like mango." "That's hard to believe," Perry said. "Because to me it tastes exactly like fresh corn right off the cob." Suzanne took another taste. "To me it's mango, without a doubt. Maybe there's some way it tricks our brains to interpret the taste according to our own predilections." Even Donald was intrigued. He came over to the table and tried a minute amount. He shook his head in disbelief. "It tastes like biscuits to me: fresh buttermilk biscuits." He took one of the chairs. "I guess I'm as hungry as everybody else."
Everyone helped themselves to varying amounts of the curious food. They found it difficult to resist going back for seconds. They also discovered that the iced drink had a similar variable effect. It tasted different to each person, according to his or her preference. As soon as the group's ravenous hunger had been slaked, the exhaustion and sleepiness that they'd experienced earlier returned, and with a vengeance. Fighting against sagging eyelids they pushed back from the table and sought their separate beds. No sooner had they drawn up the covers than everyone but Donald fell into a deep, hibernating sleep. Donald struggled vainly in hopes of maintaining a vigil, but it was impossible. Within minutes he, too, was slumbering. The moment Donald's eyes closed, tiny red lights appeared on the canopy of each bed. At the same time, a glow emanated from the canopy and enveloped the sleeping individual below in a violet halo. CHAPTER EIGHT
The tiny red lights above the beds in the living quarters switched momentarily to green and the violet glow faded. A moment later the green lights blinked off. Perry was the first to wake up. It was not a gradual transition but rather a sudden change from deep sleep to full consciousness. For a few seconds he stared at the canopy above him, attempting to put the strange structure in context and orient himself. But he couldn't. He'd awakened to nothing like what he expected: namely, the blank ceiling of the supposed V.I.P. suite on the
Benthic Explorer.
Perry was confused, but as soon as he turned his head, it all came back to him. It hadn't been a dream. The
Oceanus
's horrifying plunge to unfathomable depths had been a reality. There was a simple, black clothes tree standing within reach of his bed. A set of white satin drawers and tunic similar to those he'd put on were hanging on it. Perry realized he felt quite naked under the coverlet.
"Get outta here!" Richard complained. "You and your sweet potatoes." He sat down on one of the chaises and helped himself to a sizable ladle of the food. "You're always talking about sweet potatoes." Michael sat opposite and took a portion for himself. "Hey, I'm sorry," he said sarcastically. "I happen to like sweet potatoes."
Suzanne and Perry stepped to the table, their curiosity piqued by this exchange. They were experiencing almost irresistible hunger. Suzanne was the next to try the food. "That's incredible," she remarked. "It tastes like mango." "That's hard to believe," Perry said. "Because to me it tastes exactly like fresh corn right off the cob." Suzanne took another taste. "To me it's mango, without a doubt. Maybe there's some way it tricks our brains to interpret the taste according to our own predilections." Even Donald was intrigued. He came over to the table and tried a minute amount. He shook his head in disbelief. "It tastes like biscuits to me: fresh buttermilk biscuits." He took one of the chairs. "I guess I'm as hungry as everybody else."
Everyone helped themselves to varying amounts of the curious food. They found it difficult to resist going back for seconds. They also discovered that the iced drink had a similar variable effect. It tasted different to each person, according to his or her preference. As soon as the group's ravenous hunger had been slaked, the exhaustion and sleepiness that they'd experienced earlier returned, and with a vengeance. Fighting against sagging eyelids they pushed back from the table and sought their separate beds. No sooner had they drawn up the covers than everyone but Donald fell into a deep, hibernating sleep. Donald struggled vainly in hopes of maintaining a vigil, but it was impossible. Within minutes he, too, was slumbering. The moment Donald's eyes closed, tiny red lights appeared on the canopy of each bed. At the same time, a glow emanated from the canopy and enveloped the sleeping individual below in a violet halo. CHAPTER EIGHT
The tiny red lights above the beds in the living quarters switched momentarily to green and the violet glow faded. A moment later the green lights blinked off. Perry was the first to wake up. It was not a gradual transition but rather a sudden change from deep sleep to full consciousness. For a few seconds he stared at the canopy above him, attempting to put the strange structure in context and orient himself. But he couldn't. He'd awakened to nothing like what he expected: namely, the blank ceiling of the supposed V.I.P. suite on the
Benthic Explorer.
Perry was confused, but as soon as he turned his head, it all came back to him. It hadn't been a dream. The
Oceanus
's horrifying plunge to unfathomable depths had been a reality. There was a simple, black clothes tree standing within reach of his bed. A set of white satin drawers and tunic similar to those he'd put on were hanging on it. Perry realized he felt quite naked under the coverlet.
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