Free Twenty Trillion Leagues Under the Sea by Adam Roberts Page A

recoiled flinching.
    He rebuked himself for his foolishness. Lebret and de Chante dragged the heavy rubber outfit from its space, and wrangled it down as Avocat clambered inside. Sensing that his nerves were jangled, Lebret attempted to keep the diver’s spirits up. ‘Have no fear, Monsieur,’ he said, lighting them both a cigarette. ‘You are certainly safer in this ocean – whatever it is, and wherever we are – than you would be in the South Seas or the Mediterranean. There will be no sharks to trouble us here.’
    ‘You think so, M’sieur?’
    ‘I am certain. We know the water is not excessively cold; we know that it is ordinary water – we are breathing it, after all. I have even tasted it! The sonar shows nothing – no shoals of strange fish, no leviathans. It is a huge swimming pool, nothing more.’
    ‘I hope you’re right, sir.’

    Avocat’s helmet was fixed around his skull, the light embedded above his faceplate switched on and the air supply checked and double-checked. Finally, a yard-long spanner and a long-handled hammer were strapped to each leg, and he was helped through into the airlock. The door closed with a chunky sound, and the handle spun through two complete revolutions. Through the little window, no broader than a handspan, it was possible to see the water swirl in until the entire chamber was full.
    The exterior hatch swung open and Avocat ventured into the unknown.
    De Chante remained below; Lebret climbed back up and joined Castor and Cloche in the forward hull where the main ballast tanks were located. ‘If we can only get air back in our ballast tanks,’ growled the captain, ‘then it won’t matter that regaining the control of the propeller seems to have been no use in arresting our descent. We can begin to ascend , retrace our path.’
    ‘There’s also the question of the vanes, Captain,’ said Boucher.
    ‘The vanes, yes,’ grumbled Cloche. ‘But ballast tanks first! A submarine without functioning tanks is just an iron bar dropped in the water.’
    They waited. Distant clanging and knocking could be heard.
    ‘There!’ said Lebret, putting his head on one side like a dog. ‘Avocat has reached the inlets. He is effecting repairs!’ A series of distant, muffled noises of metallic percussion could be heard.
    Suddenly the whole vessel shook, rotating a metre to the left. Then it rolled back through to right itself. Some mechanical arrangement of the vessel’s workings audibly caught, and with a whir of motors the vent on the starboard ballast tank began to close. ‘I’m inflating the tanks now, Captain,’ cried Le Petomain.
    The men in the slant space began spontaneously to cheer.
    The downwards angle of the deck began to right itself. In moments, the slope of the decks reduced considerably. The vessel was not perfectly horizontal, but the angle was agreeably reduced.
    ‘It is done!’ cried Cloche, uncharacteristic delight distorting his face. ‘Once the vanes are sorted, we will have full control of ourcraft and can arrest this interminable descent! We can turn our trajectory about, and return to the surface!’
    Lebret shook his head, slowly, with a sly smile on his face – as if to say that the captain’s optimism was sadly misplaced.
    The banging stopped. ‘Is our descent slowing?’ Cloche demanded.
    ‘A little, sir,’ said Le Petomain.
    ‘Assemble the men in the mess!’ ordered Cloche. ‘Get Pannier to bring out some bottles! We must celebrate!’
    ‘We are still descending, though, sir …’ Le Petomain said.
    But Cloche appeared not to hear. ‘Once the vanes are repaired,’ he announced, ‘we shall start our ascent. And if Avocat could repair the main tank vents so easily, then the vanes should be a simple matter!’
    ‘Sir—’ Le Petomain said again.
    ‘A drink!’ Cloche bellowed. ‘Celebration! Soon we shall return home, my comrades!’
    Boucher hurried along the now-horizontal corridor and went through to the kitchen. He found Pannier