Inside the room, the boy lay trembling in the corner, clutching a large can of something to its chest with one arm. The other pressed in on his ears, frantically wriggling his palm into his temple. He alternated every few seconds, as if to even the burden between his two hands.

He could not have been more than five years old.

“Pressure change. He’s in agony right now.” Shang said. “What do you say we do?”

“The room’s ventilation system has been sealed?” Stromberg said. “Doesn’t look like any water got in.” He pulled the switch on his leg, bringing his hydro-acetylene torch back into arm’s reach. With a flick, the underwater sorcerer’s flame burst to life.

“We can’t open this door. The water will crush him.”

“How much oxygen do you reckon he’s got left?”

Stromberg looked down the hall in both directions.

“Lock those doors.” Stromberg instructed. He pointed down the hall, towards two opened watertight doors segmenting the hallway ten feet down in both directions. “With the water forces equalized and external flow controlled, we should be able to get in and get him out while minimizing any crushing force. Who has a drainage suit?”

Drainage suits, the most sophisticated atmospheric diving suits supplied by DSRR teams, contained within their systems a self-powered water pump to purge water from the suit’s internal mechanics. These suits were most commonly used for shallow-sea or shoreline rescue and extrication, which required the user to enter and exit the suit to complete tasks on land and beneath the sea.

“I do.” Shang responded.

“After we cut the water supply to this hallway, we’re going to cut the door and get you inside. Open up, pull the kid in, and seal the suit. Drain it and get yourself to the surface. There should be space for the boy. Is there?”

“There is.” Shang nodded. Within his suit, a comfortable eight inches of room lay between his thorax and the internal mechanics of the diving apparatus. He hoped that would be enough.

McAllan trudged down the hallway, closing and sealing the watertight door with a turn of the valve. As he closed the second one, his thumb flipped upwards in Stromberg’s direction.

The acetylene torch seared through the steel door, melting away the two-point latching system mounted on door. As the torch pulled away from the latch adjacent to the hinges, a thin jet of water shot from the new opening into the room. The boy inside began to cry, gripping onto his can with all his might.

“I’ll need two of you to hold this. You should be able to slow the passage of water enough so it doesn’t kill him.” Stromberg gestured to the door handle. “Once I bust this latch, the water’s going to rush inside.”

Nekimbe and McAllan nodded, each planting a leg on opposite sides of the doorframe. Shang stood directly behind them, bracing to rush inside after the flow of water had subsided.

Stromberg delicately paced the cutting of the latching mechanism. As the flame sheared through a quarter of and then half of the steel bar, the door bent inwards by the weight of the water outside. A trickle of water turned into a rushing flood as the opening between the wall and the watertight door grew larger.

“Almost there.” Stromberg cut the latch even slower, barely moving the torch. The flame was melting the steel away as if it had a mind of its own.

“GO!” The latch broke. McAllan and Nekimbe heaved at the door with all the might their powered armor could muster, slowing the opening. Water poured into the room, enveloping the boy. Thrashing, he dropped the can as he struggled to keep himself afloat. He shrieked in terror as the water level crept over his head.

The water reached the ceiling. Nekimbe and McAllan released the door handle, allowing Shang to pull himself inside. Inhaling deeply, he grabbed the struggling boy. The front of his suit opened at the turn of a key on his left thigh.

After time spent within the comfortable confines of the suit, Shang was shocked by the weight of the water outside. He pushed to keep his lungs from collapsing as he pulled the boy to his chest, guiding the child’s legs down into the spacious legs of the suit. The suit began its closing operation as he turned the key once again in the opposite direction. The breastplate and helmet folded down, latching into their counterparts towards the posterior side of the rescuer’s body.

The boy kicked and thrashed as if he were about to be devoured. As the suit closed over his head, the crushing of the steel on his breastbone stopped his motion. He hung his limp, lifeless head to the side.

Shang activated a third switch on his leg. With a mechanized whir, an air bubble around his head grew larger and larger within the suit until it enveloped his entire torso. The valves behind his vertebrae relaxed having purged the fluid from their operator. Delighted, he took a deep breath in relief as he looked downwards towards the boy. The sight pulled all happiness from his mind.

“He’s not breathing. Guys… the kid’s not breathing.” His voice rang with panic. The boy’s head flopped limply sideways as Shang shuddered his shoulders.

“Is there space for him in there? Reposition him. Press on his chest a few times to get any water out.” Stromberg moved over to Shang’s side.

Shang’s suit moved oddly as he pulled his arms to the middle. He pressed on the boy’s chest five times, pulling him upwards to a more spacious region of the suit. As slowly as a growing plant, the boy awakened. He feebly wriggled against the immovable plating that pressed on his chest as he coughed up hefty mouthfuls of saltwater.

“He’s alive, boys.”

Nekimbe smiled, quietly overjoyed. He had signed up for a body recovery squad, and had helped in the rescue of a survivor. In one day, he had accomplished more than he thought he could accomplish in his entire career.

“I never knew these suits were big enough for two.” Shang laughed. “I’ll see you boys on the surface.” He trudged down the hallway with an odd gait, towards the forecastle door he had entered the ship from. His stride lurched from side to side and then staggered, compromised by the boy pressed against his forefront.

Stromberg switched his radio to widespread transmission. “Trilobite Six. Looks like there’s some hope for this ship,” he announced triumphantly. “One survivor extricated, en route to the surface with DSRR operative.”

“Copy that. MST squads are approaching your location. Buffalo is en route with fourteen salvage divers,” Allen said. “I ensured they’d stay out of your way.”

Stromberg didn’t answer. He gestured to the other two to move on.

The three lumbered towards the intersection of another hallway. McAllan looked to his right, and froze. The other two proceeded ahead of him until they realized his absence.

“What is it?” Nekimbe asked.

He didn’t answer. The other two approached him and saw exactly why.

“Intrepid IV, you’re going to want to see this.” Stromberg’s voice faltered, his respirations irregular and syncopated.

A gaping fifteen-foot hole identical to the one in the starboard hull had been torn through a door, forty meters down the central hallway.

“I don’t believe this,” Katie’s voice gasped.

Something had ripped its way out of the Argonaut from the inside.