Depth

DEPTH

"No one's ever been here before," she kept droning. "No one's ever been here before."

The whistle and hum of the mechanical and engine parts that made up her metal shell accompanied her repeated phrases: Buddhist singing bowls for her mantra. It provided her a locus for her attention, preventing her from obsessing over the data collection. She would much rather focus on the continued operation of the vessel instead of the incredulous depth it had reached. Her life depended on it.

The E.S. Montana was its name. Now, so far away from home. Upon its construction, the refined model of the piloted drill was air-shipped to the four-mile deep Russian bore-hole that had been abandoned maybe ninety years prior. They had reached a depth of fourteen miles before the Kremlin had officially ceased funding.

Liutenant Helena Griffith's employer had purchased the land for an undisclosed sum, and barely 18 months later revealed they had more technology to test. She was recruited, trained for 9 months in subterranean operations, then sealed in the Montana.

The focused blast - equivalent to 25 tons of TNT - pushed the Montana and its pilot easily through the first 4 miles. Had she cared, Griffith would have learned the earth drill created a sonic boom while plunging into the bore-hole.

The Russian bore-hole's terminus had been breached 32 hours ago. Griffith studied the controls with a manic intensity, as if she could have stared through the rock itself. All systems nominal, until now.

For some reason, the Montana's pace was increasing. Slowing to about an estimated 18 miles per hour sometime on the 3rd of November, 2082, at about 0930 on the 4th, speed began climbing. The first jump was to 22, then 31, and now an unbelievable 44 miles per hour, perhaps two dozen miles beneath the surface of the Earth.

Lieutenant Griffith's fingers twitched at the throttle. Her goggles fogged beyond usefulness, she was forced to flick open the lenses to instead stare through her narrowest possible squint that still permitted vision. Her body rested as much as possible, cradled in the shock-absorbent harness of the E.S. Montanta's cockpit. Her leather gloves - now the only protective clothing she could still bear to wear - creaked and flaked in the oppressive cabin atmosphere.

Lights cracked and flickered in the cramped metal cavern. Through her parched eyelids Griffith peered at the gradually-increasing speedometer. This wasn't supposed to be happening. Her tears dried before they were shed.

The whine and screech of the metal was an oppressive, constant hammer. Lieutenant Griffith continued to intone, "No one's ever been here before... No one's ever been here before..."