Laura Rikono
Eight Divers Down
Let me tell you about the time I almost died.
Here I am, dive leader for the day, hovering just off the slope of Kalupun Island, caressed by the bubbles from my fellow divers. We’re ten metres down, and the morning sunlight slants through the water above, turning grey fish into rapid glints. It’s a work dive, a survey of the coral cover, but there’s a fierce current driving us along the slope. We can barely stay on our assigned lines, and we’re tumbling, crashing, flailing, finning, until finally I tap my tank three times to signal Stop!
Everyone stops and looks at me, eyes wide in their masks.
Alice, is this your decision to make? You’re just the junior science officer, you know.
I write on my dive slate and show it up for all to see: Do a jolly.
A jolly, Alice? You’re telling them all to just have fun?
Drift dive with the current.
You know what the senior science officer will say, don’t you? He’ll say, “The current wasn’t that strong. You could have swum against it.”
20 mins, then surface.
No one complains, because fighting the current uses up air, and a drift dive for fun around the best coral isle for miles makes a nice change.
You’ve wrecked the survey plan, Alice. The senior science officer will complain to the expedition leader. There’ll be consequences, Alice. Discussions and little chats.
I signal to Andy, my blond beach bum buddy, and off we drift, following the others. I make him hold the surface marker buoy—kept permanently deployed for the coxswain to follow our movements—because though Andy’s a good lad, he’s not the most attentive. I don’t want him to be swept into the Sulu Sea.
Stop mothering the volunteers, Alice.
We drift past the coral isle for twenty minutes. It is a good dive.
By what measure? You aborted the science. The expedition leader sent you out to survey coral and you’ll come back with nothing. You’ve wasted his precious fuel.
Eventually we four teams of two divers surface separately, and the boat picks us up.
“You’re early,” says Stuart, our cheerful coxswain.
“We had a jolly!” Andy crows.
Stuart’s expression falls. “Oh,” he says, glancing at his boat buddy, Sullen Tim.
Sullen Tim shrugs. “Cool.”
They’re jealous, Alice. Look at what you did.
Their faces take on a studied blankness that lingers throughout the dive interval, during which we lounge on the boat, waiting for our nitrogen saturation to sink enough to dive again. I hope the current will slacken so that actual science can happen, but the boat continues to drift towards the Sulu Sea. Several times, Stuart has to start our engines to return us to the island. He moves sluggishly, but drives aggressively. I think he’s resentful.
He’s more than resentful: he’s angry. At you, Alice. You got a fun dive at a coveted spot.
But—
You had fun while he had to sit here with Sullen Tim.
It’s not my fault the current is bad today.
There’ll be whispers, Alice. It’s a small camp, but there are plenty of shady corners for “Who does she think she is?” and “Little Miss Initiative?”
Okay, okay. Okay!
“Stuart?” I call out.
He raises his shaggy head. “Yeah?”
I try on a thoughtful smile. “Do you think you could fit into my dive gear?”
He stares at me like I’ve gone mad.
Because you have, Alice. He doesn’t want to wear a girl’s kit.
At least my fins are lime green, not hot pink.
I need backup, so I wake my buddy. “Hey Andy, can Tim have a go with your kit?”
Andy says, “Huh?”
“Well,” I say. “We had a great dive, right?”
Andy grins. “Yeah. Them turtles.”
“So, what if Stuart and Tim take our second dive while we mind the boat?”
“Oh. Okay.” Andy shrugs. “Sure.”
Under the incredulous gazes of the other divers, Sullen Tim dons Agreeable Andy’s kit while Stuart miraculously squeezes into mine. I take the helm—
You gave away your dive, Alice. To a guy who didn’t even thank you.
—and all eight divers splash into the azure sea. Andy stares wistfully at their bubbles for about five seconds, then shifts to the transom to sunbathe. I perch on the bow, watching the deep blue of the channel beneath us, the waves hitting Kalupun Island, and the roiling clouds on the horizon.
Those storms will be due soon, Alice. Are you sure you can make it back to camp in time?
They are not heading this way. Today’s skies are on an eastward path, as are these seas. Like Stuart, I must periodically start the engines and move the boat because the current is still there, still pushing us, still trying to force us away from the island.
And forcing you into the Sulu Sea, Alice. Home of smugglers, sharks and pirates. And militants who like to lop off foreigners’ heads.
Must we think of that now?
What else is there, Alice? Shall we open the Catalogue of Worst Scenarios?
No. I’m watching the frigate birds above, wondering where they go when there’s no wind.
About fifteen minutes into the dive, as I’m moving the boat yet again, the port engine dies. Simply splutters and cuts out. The boat lurches from the plane and sinks into its own wake.
Alice?
I complete the manoeuvre, settling us near the cluster of bobbing surface marker buoys, and turn off the starboard engine.
Alice, you’ve lost an engine with eight divers down.
Yes, and engine shutdown calls for a checklist. The first item is restart the engine.
I try to restart the engine.
Does it work?
No. What’s the second item?
Check the fuel system. Where does that begin?
The fuel system begins at the tank. I turn to open the seating along the port side, which doubles as the lid of the port engine’s fuel tank. The shiny aluminium sides of the empty tank glare back at me.
Well, that completes this checklist.
I close the tank lid carefully and consider the horizon.
Alice, check the fuel in the starboard tank.
I turn to the starboard side seating and open the lid. There’s a slosh of pink liquid, like the dregs in a cup of tea. I close the starboard tank lid and consider the surface marker buoys.
Get the divers back in. Now. Send Andy.
“Andy?” I call.
“Hmm?” He’s half-asleep on the transom.
“Grab the snorkel gear and head for the buoys.”
His arm falls from his face and he turns his head to gape at me.
“When you get there,” I continue, “give the buoy strings a good tug to get the divers’ attention. Then give them the signal to ascend.”
I give him a thumbs up.
He knows the damn signal, Alice.
I’m being encouraging.
But Andy doesn’t move from his wide-eyed stare.
Alice, you’ve explained badly. He needs to know properly, and he needs to know faster.
“We’re almost out of fuel,” I say. “I don’t know how or why. We need to get those divers on the boat right now before we drift into the Sulu Sea.”
Andy’s mouth snaps shut and he scrabbles to pull the snorkel gear from its cubby. He crams on fins and mask, leaps into the sea and churns towards the buoys. I watch his frothy progress as I measure our drift against Kalupun Island.
You’re drifting fast, Alice.
Yes. And Andy has reached the nearest buoy.
Incidentally, why don’t we have a radio on board?
Not my call. There will be after today, though. Or I’m quitting.
Or you’re fired. What if they don’t surface, Alice? What if they insist on finishing the dive?
I see divers. The first team is up, the air hissing from their regulators.
“Hey!” I call out. “Swim over here!”
They stare at me like netted fish. They want me to pick them up.
“Swim to the boat now!”
They swim. They don’t like it, but they swim. I take their fins and steady the ladder while they climb aboard. They fuss and grumble, and I leave them to it because the second and third teams have surfaced and Andy’s heading for the fourth.
One of the divers actually grabs me as she comes on board. She looks angry. I pat her hand and say, “Let me get everyone in and then I’ll explain everything.”
There’s not much to explain, Alice.
Just keep smiling. The fourth team surfaces and they’re the furthest from the boat. They really don’t want to swim. But then Andy heads back to the boat with that mad stroke of his, the one that cuts through the water like an egg whisk, and that alarms them enough that they follow. I take their fins and steady their ladder, and then they’re on board.
They’re all on the boat, Alice. Relax. They’re not going to be swept into the Sulu Sea in their dive gear, a bobbing group of wet-suited humans under an indifferent sun.
Yes. But we might still be swept away in this boat together.
“Thank you all for coming up so quickly,” I say. “Unfortunately, we are low on fuel.”
“How low?” says the angry diver.
“Almost out, actually.”
“What?” Eight divers explode. Andy grins from the transom because Andy loves drama.
“We are going to head for the nearest beach,” I say, pointing to the mainland, to a cove with an inviting yellow-white strip of beach below the dark-green forest. “So, if you could all just sit tight, we’ll be there in a jiffy.”
I engage my single engine with its teacup dregs and head for that beach.
Hug the coast. Mind the rocks. Although, if the engine dies now, would it be better to drift onto said rocks or continue into the Sulu Sea? Consider both options, Alice.
We’re past the point of those rocks.
But what about those ones over there? And over there? And there? And that headland?
We curve past the headland and into the cove. The current vanishes, and now it’s the waves pushing us, moving us towards the shore.
Oh good, we can surf—
The starboard engine splutters and dies. We coast for a few heartbeats, then start turning, our stern swinging until we’re side-on to the waves. They pummel us from the side, rocking us like a treetop cradle.
“Andy,” I say, “the anchor, if you please.”
Andy, who’s having a great day, launches our thin curve of metal into the sea. It catches on the seabed, and the boat turns until its stern faces the land and we’re rocking lightly.
“All right, everyone,” I say brightly. “We’re going to swim for the shore. It’s not far.”
No one grumbles.
That’s a first.
It’s a hard swim through the turquoise water and its white, crashing surf and up the coral-rubble slope of the beach until we stand in the shade of the sea hibiscus, dazed and bewildered.
Oh, it’s just like Lord of the Flies.
Keep moving, Alice.
“Andy?” I say as I strip off my wetsuit.
“Yep?” He jumps to attention.
“Let’s go. A quick hike to the main road, then we hitch a ride back to camp for fuel.”
He grins. “Okay!”
And so that’s what we do. We leave eight divers marooned and head down a muddy gravel road, barefoot in damp board shorts, breathing in bugs and eyes peeled for spitting cobras. After a mile or so, we meet the asphalt road and settle under some brush to wait for a ride.
It could take a while, Alice. No one comes here.
That’s fine. Everyone is on land. There’s nothing pushing us.
Andy lies back in the grass for a snooze. I consider the jungle across the road.
Right, let’s run through the steps to bring this event to completion, shall we? Once you get back to camp, you’ll have to face the expedition leader and the senior science officer, and they’ll say, “Are you sure you ran out of fuel?” and “Did you check the fuel tank?” and “Did she really check the fuel tank, Andy?” and then you’ll need to sort out the logistics of getting the fuel back here and onto the boat, which might be too far out for someone carrying a jerrycan, but you didn’t think of that when you anchored—did you Alice?— no, you did not consider the fact that a person carrying a heavy object can’t swim and must walk.
The tide’s going out. The longer we take, the shallower it will be.
In that case, let us turn to our Catalogue of What-If Horrors.
No. Stop. We will not. I did everything right. There’s no need for these stupid scenarios because there were no decisions. I did what needed to be done at the only time possible, and I could have done nothing else, and we are now all on land and everything is going to be fine, so shut that fucking catalogue.
But, Alice, what if you hadn’t felt bad for Stuart and Tim?
I… what?
What if you and Andy had taken your second dive and Stuart had been at the helm when the port engine died?
He would have…
Sluggish Stuart would have been the kind of coxswain who doesn’t check the fuel before setting off, and his boat buddy would have been Sullen Tim instead of Agreeable Andy. And the current doesn’t wait for people to argue over the best course of action.
There’s a rumble of a pick-up truck coming down the asphalt. Andy leaps to his feet to point and grin, and I turn to stare at him.
What is it, Alice?
The pick-up truck halts beside us. Andy sticks out a hand to help me up. I take it because I’m shaking. I’m shaking so hard I can barely stand.
Why, Alice? What do you see?
I see… I see what could have been. The worst of What-If Horrors. Andy sunburned and sore from the salt, tied to me with the string of the surface marker buoy because we lost sight of the others long ago, because we surfaced to find the boat a speck on the horizon and we exhausted ourselves trying to swim against the current, and now all we have is a lime green fin we’re waving feebly at a far-off shore.
Laura Rikono is a marine scientist whose fieldwork experience ranges from coral reef expeditions in Southeast Asia to stints as a fisheries observer on North Atlantic trawlers. She now lives on the coast of Sabah, Malaysian Borneo, with her Kadazandusun family. She writes science fiction, fantasy, and fiction of the sea. Her stories often feature small persons living in enormous systems who use dry humour to explore dark places.
