He thought of sunshine. It had been beautiful sunny day on the surface, birds gliding overhead. The sky a bottomless blue. Now a man's voice came on. It was that of Palmer Gabriel, the man who had financed the expedition, speaking calmly and in control, as always. "We're starting rescue procedures, Steve. A sub is already being lowered. We'll get you up to the surface as soon as we can." There was a pause, then, "Can you see anything? What are your surroundings?"

"I -- I'm resting on a shelf just above the vent."

"How much detail can you make out?"

"What?"

"You're at six thousand eighty-two meters. Right at the depth we were interested in. What about that shelf you're on? The rocks?"

I am going to die, and he is asking about the fucking rocks.

"Steve, use the strobe. Tell us what you see." He forced his gaze to the instrument panel and flicked the strobe switch.

Bright bursts of light flashed in the murk. He stared at the newly revealed landscape flickering before his retinas. Earlier he had focused on the worms. Now his attention shifted to the immense field of debris scattered across the shelf floor. The rocks were coal black, like magnesium nodules, but these had jagged edges, like congealed shards of glass.

Peering to his right, at freshly fractured rocks trapping his wing, he suddenly realized what he was looking at.

"Helen's right," he whispered.

"I didn't copy that."

"She was right! The iridium source -- I have it in clear view -- "

"You're fading out. Recommend you ... " Gabriel's voice broke up into static and went dead.

"I did not copy. Repeat, I did not copy!" said Ahearn.

There was no answer.

He heard the pounding of his heart, the roar of his own breathing.

Slow down, slow down. Using up my oxygen too fast ... Beyond the acrylic dome, life drifted past in a delicate dance through poisonous water. As the minutes stretched to hours, he watched the Riftia worms sway, scarlet plumes combing for nutrients. He saw an eyeless crab slowly scuttle across the field stones.