Language is a powerful tool, even birds figured out how to manage pitches and tunes to act as a call to mates or a warning to others. Having language severed from him, Paul was in a dizzying sort of confusion. The entire world around him was alien and the one contact he had, his brother, almost felt like a world away simply because neither could speak to one another. They shuffled one after another down a narrow corridor, different styles of lightbulbs whirring with electricity, the chief walking in front and an unknown diver hulking behind in the heavy suit. Tom’s gait had shifted with the box he was cradling awkwardly, the chief had held it with one arm and Tom was struggling to keep balance and grip with both. They neared a ladder well just as the lights dimmed for a moment before coming back on, brighter than before. The chief paused and craned his body around in the cumbersome suit to gaze emptily back at Paul and Tom who stared expectantly back. Whatever reaction was hidden in the darkened helm remained unseen, but the sailor behind them nodded and turned about, leaving the group. Silently, Tom and Paul watched the chief ascend the ladder.
Paul turned back to face his brother; what he would have said was, “What the hell is going on, why did he give you a box of books, where the hell are the others…” but what he did instead was offer out his hand to help Tom get the box up the steep steps. Tom was grateful for the chance to share the load and together they gingerly made their way to the deck above. They passed through a few more sets of water tight doors, Tom peaking left and right to get a larger understanding of the ship.
They passed a room that looked as though it had one time been a bunk room, the ships birthing, but the rows of beds suspended by pairs of chains from the bulkheads were collapsed and secured against the walls from which they hung. The space was filled with tables and shelves of varied quality and make, like a strange Ikea show room. Paul noticed the various electronics bits and the gear the sat in the shelves in various states of disassembly. Tom thought it reminded him of the mill, Paul thought it reminded him of shop class all those decades ago. The group arrived in front of a closed porthole door, a hammer secured to a chain hung from the locking mechanisms. The chief faced the brothers and reached out past their heads, tapping their air tanks and giving a thumbs up, the international sign for “good thing you’ve got that”, Tom guessed. Then he grasped the hammer and slammed it against the porthole door twice.
In a moment there was a light hum, then a thunderous blast of sound that managed to penetrate into their respiratory masks. The ground rumbled rhythmically, a harsh hum that seemed to have a crunching edge to it for the first two or three cycles before easing off. Then a single light bulb near the chief blinked on and off and he reached out to clack the locks open, swinging the door into the next room.
Water glistened on the metal walls of the next room and a single tight ladder went straight up to a narrow hatch. A light coat of rust had developed on all the equipment and no lightbulbs shone proudly. It was dank in the truest sense of the word. Everywhere else in the ship had been polished, neatly kept, and proudly organized to a German efficiency, this room was different. Narrow and oblong around the base they craned their backs to follow the ladder well up. They were in the tower. If Tom could talk he would have said something that sounded like, “the ship is on its side, why aren’t we crawling on all fours right now?” Instead, he was pushed into the cramped room where a waiting, forth bulky dive suit stood, hand holding a lever in anticipation. The chief locked the door behind them and the room was plunged into nothingness.