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It defied all logic. Colder, saltier water was more dense than warm freshwater. It sank to the bottom of the world’s oceans, sliding down into the subterranean canyons the way glaciers slid between the peaks of high mountain ranges.
At the bottom of every ocean were frigid pools and briny currents. Oceanographers considered them rivers because as they crept across the globe, they refused to mix with the rest of the sea.
As the Remora entered the canyon, Gamay turned on the lights. Sediment wafted by the camera like falling snow.
“One thousand feet,” she said.
“What depth is the Remora rated for?”
“Three thousand,” she said. “But Joe built it, so it’ll do twice that.”
From the sonar reading, they could see that the canyon was narrowing.
“Picking up the bottom,” Gamay said. “Shall we take the full tour?”
“We paid for it,” Paul said. “Might as well go on the ride.”
Gamay set the Remora onto a new course. “I’m really fighting the current now,” she said. “I have to keep five degrees down angle on the thrusters just to hold the depth.”
“So the current is flowing up the canyon?”
Gamay nodded. “It’s like we’ve entered opposite world.”
Paul pointed to something on the sonar scan. “What’s that?”
Gamay angled toward a strange rise in the bottom of the canyon. The Remora had to fight like crazy to get near it, pushing and weaving like a bird flying into the wind. As it got closer, the target resolved into a cone-shaped rise. Crossing over it, the Remora was pushed violently to the side and then away.
Before Gamay could circle back, another cone-shaped structure appeared on the scan. And then another.
“What are they?” Gamay asked.
“I think I know,” Paul said, “but keep going.”
Traveling down the canyon and zigzagging as it widened, they found dozens upon dozens of the protruding cones.
“I’m moving in closer to one of them,” Gamay said.
Using full power, the Remora crept up to the cone. The camera focused on its edge. Small amounts of sediment were blasting out of the cone, streaming toward the surface like ash from a volcano.
“It’s a subsurface geyser,” Paul said. “It’s venting water.”
“Geothermal?”
“Has to be.”
“Let’s get over the top,” Gamay said. “It’ll give us an idea of how much water is being ejected and allow us to get a direct sample.”
“Great idea,” Paul said.
She maneuvered the Remora up and over the very center of the cone. The submersible was immediately caught in the grips of the outflow. The view spun as the craft was thrust violently upward and outward, rising like a scrap of paper caught in the breeze on a hot summer day.
Gamay maneuvered the submarine away from the rising column of water and got it back under control. “The water in that plume is nearly two hundred degrees,” she said, checking the readings. “Salinity is zero.”
Paul sat back and scratched his head. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Black smokers on the Mid-Atlantic Ridge,” she suggested.
“Not the same,” he said. “They vent toxic sludge, high in sulfur and all manner of dangerous chemicals. Basically, volcanic soot. From the look of this chemical profile, you could bottle that water once it cooled down.”
