BioShock Rapture

Bill tried to conceal his shock. “The rest of your life, guv’nor? All of it? Down here?”

“Oh yes. The ant society up above is not for us. And radiation from the atomic wars, when they come, will last for many years above the surface of the sea. We’ll be safe down here.”

That’s when Bill noticed the hissing sound of wheels through water—he looked over the lower window frame of the little transport and saw two inches of water accumulated on the floor of the tunnel.

“What’s that! Wallace—pull us over! Look at the floor!” The two vehicles jarred to a stop and Bill climbed out. He knew that Ryan wasn’t pleased to have him suddenly giving orders, but he also instinctively knew this could be a matter of life and death. “Look there!” Bill pointed to the thin coating of water over the amalgam floor.

Wallace was getting out, flashing an electric hand torch. “What the devil! We haven’t had any leaks in this section!” His eyes had grown big; his hands trembled, making the light jiggle on the wet floor.

“Didn’t you say the water pressure wasn’t a problem…?” Bill asked, examining the curved walls of the tunnel more closely.

“Well, these tunnels aren’t entirely made of the new alloy—it’s tremendously expensive to make. We keep most of that back for Rapture itself. Only the support ribs … But they should be enough, when you consider the steel mesh in the concrete, the doubling of—”

“What’s this about?” Ryan asked nervously. “Wallace—is there something I should know?”

“Need to get you back to Dome One, sir!” But Wallace, eyes flicking about, looked more scared for himself than for Ryan.

“Let’s identify the problem first!” Ryan snapped.

“There!” Bill said, pointing. “You see—the support ribs, they’re about a foot and a half farther apart in that spot—someone’s been sloppy! The weakened support’s yielding to pressure, stressing the concrete. You see? It’s trickling through at the bottom…”

“I swear to you this flooding wasn’t here two hours ago!” Wallace said, looking around desperately. “I … I passed through this very section! There was no leak!”

“That’s bad,” Bill said. “Means it’s happening fast! And it’s going to accelerate! We’ve got to get Mr. Ryan back right bloody now before it—”

A resounding, high-pitched crick!—and water began to sheet powerfully down from the edge of a metal rib supporting the tunnel, about forty feet down. A crack spread visibly through the ceiling, like a slithering, living thing; there was a squeal, an extended creaking sound of metal buckling.

A sizzling sound, then, followed by sparks spitting down—and several of the lights went out near the spraying, hissing leak.

Wallace backed away from it—bumping into the little funicular where Ryan was staring down the tunnel.

Bill grabbed Wallace’s arm, squeezed it hard to snap him out of his panic. “Wallace, listen—this thing I came here in, can it go back without the gripper?”

“Yes, yes, there’s a switch, I can reverse it—but there’s not room for three men, and I doubt it could carry so much weight, it’s not meant for—”

“Quiet and listen! Get in it, take Mr. Ryan back to the next dome! Soon as you get there, communicate with the other domes—there must be some kind of public address system—”

“Yes, yes—there is—” Wallace was staring aghast at the sheets of water shooshing down, spraying hard on the tunnel floor, driving water to surge against their ankles.

“Tell them to seal off the domes connected to this tunnel!”

“What about you?” Ryan asked.

“Someone can watch for me—and if there’s time they can let me through! I’m going to work up a temporary support to slow this down! Go!”

“Right! Right, I…” Wallace jumped into the little transport beside Ryan and flicked a switch.

Bill just had a glimpse of Ryan’s appalled face looking back at him as the transport lurched off down the tunnel the way they’d come.

He turned and ran splashing through deepening water, up to his shins now, to the idling gripper. He climbed into the cockpit, aware of the strengthening smell of brine and a kind of fog thickening in the tunnel. Mist rose from the swirling, swishing flood. In the wan light of the gripper cockpit he found a series of switches, levers, a small steering wheel, a gearshift, an accelerator pedal …

Bill flicked the toggle on a switch labeled Grip, and the mechanical arms extended and opened their pincers in front of him, like a lobster warning off a rival. Two levers jutting beside the steering wheel seemed to control the arms …

The rising water was already seeping into the cockpit when he worked out how to manipulate the mechanical arms. Bill leaned out of the cockpit, peering upward in the muted light, and made out the spot he was looking for before another two overhead lights sparked, sizzled, and went out. He shifted gears and drove the gripper forward a few yards, leaving a wake in the water behind him as cold brine gathered around his ankles.

God send the gripper mechanism didn’t short-circuit before he could do the job.