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asked.
    â€œNewly developed alloy. Light, nonreactive, exceptionally strong.”
    They reached an intersection and Asher turned left. From the image, Crane had assumed the chief scientist of the National Ocean Service to be in his late sixties, but he was obviously a decade younger. What Crane had taken for age lines was really the weathering of a life spent at sea. Asher walked quickly, and he toted Crane’s heavy bag as if it were nothing. For all his apparent healthiness, however, the man kept his left arm cradled against his side. “These upper levels of the Facility are a warren of offices and dormitories, and they can be disorienting at first,” he said. “If you ever get lost, refer to the schematic diagrams at major intersections.”
    Crane was impatient to learn more about the medical issues and the dig itself, but he decided to let Asher set the agenda. “Tell me about the Facility,” he said.
    â€œTwelve decks high, and exactly one hundred eighty meters per side. Its base is embedded into the matrix of the ocean floor, and a protective titanium dome has been placed over it.”
    â€œI saw the dome on the way down. That’s some piece of engineering.”
    â€œIt is indeed. This Facility we’re in sits beneath it like a pea under a shell, and the open space between is fully pressurized. With the dome and our own hull, there are two layers of metal between us and the ocean. And it’s some metal, too: the skin of the Facility is HY250, a new kind of aerospace steel, with a fracture toughness above twenty thousand foot-pounds and a yield strength in the range of three hundred KSI.”
    â€œI noticed the surface of the dome was punctured by a horizontal tube, running inward,” Crane said. “What’s the purpose of that?”
    â€œYou must mean the pressure spoke. There are two of them, actually, one on either side of the Facility. Given the water pressure at these depths, the ideal shape would be a perfect sphere. The dome being only one half of an ideal sphere, those two tubes—open to the ocean—help counterbalance the pressure. They also anchor the Facility to the dome. No doubt the propeller-heads on deck seven could give you more details.”
    This second hallway they were walking through resembled the first: a ceiling busy with cabling and pipes, lots of closed doors with cryptic labels. “I also noticed a strange object attached to the top of the dome, maybe thirty feet across,” Crane said.
    â€œThat’s the emergency escape pod. Just in case someone accidentally pulls the plug.” Asher laughed as he said this—an easy, infectious laugh.
    â€œSorry, but I have to ask. That dome around us isn’t exactly small. Surely certain foreign governments have taken interest?”
    â€œNaturally. We’ve carefully disseminated a disinformation campaign about a secret research sub that went down at this site. They think we’re involved in reclamation operations. That doesn’t stop the occasional Russian or Chinese sub from doing a drive-by, of course, causing our military contingent all sorts of angst.”
    They passed by a door with a retinal scanner beside it and a complement of two marines, rifles at their sides, standing guard. Asher didn’t offer an explanation, and Crane didn’t ask.
    â€œWe’re on deck twelve right now,” Asher went on. “It’s mostly support services for the rest of the Facility. Decks eleven and ten are crew quarters, including the sports complex. You’re bunking on deck ten, incidentally. We’ve got you sharing a bath with Roger Corbett, the mental health officer. Most rooms share baths—as you can imagine, space is at a premium. We’ve already got a full complement, and you’re an unexpected addition.”
    He paused before an elevator, pressed the button. “Deck nine is crew support. The medical suite—where you’ll be