The Abyss

BUD: You done impressing yourself, ace?

ONE NIGHT: No way that could just be seawater.

ONE NIGHT: Gimme a three-eighths socket on a long extension. So there you were--

BUD: There we were, side by side, on the same ship, for two months. I'm tool-pusher and we're testing this automated derrick of hers. So, we get back on the beach and... we're living together.

ONE NIGHT: Doesn't mean you had to marry her.

BUD: We were due to go back out on the same ship. Six months of tests. If you were married you got a state-room. Otherwise it was bunks.

ONE NIGHT: Okay, good reason. Then what?

BUD: It was alright for a while, you know. But then she got promoted to project engineer on this thing, couple years ago.

ONE NIGHT: She went front-office on you. Tighten that for me, right there. That's it.

BUD: Well, you know Lindsey, too damn aggressive-- Son of a--!!

ONE NIGHT: Right through the brainpan. Deader'n dogshit, boss.

BUD: Where're you?

BUD: This ain't no drill, slick. Make me proud.

ONE NIGHT: Piece of cake, baby.

BUD: Goddamnit! D'you tell him we need it right now?

ONE NIGHT: I told him we had to get the umbilical unhooked ASAP.

BUD: Nice shot, Lins.

SONNY: What is that? You drop your dive light?

SONNY: Benthic Explorer, Benthic Explorer. Do you read, over? This is Deepcore--

BUD: Forget it, Sonny. They're gone.

SONNY: You got it?! You got it?

BUD: Yeah, yeah... yeah. It's turning.

BUD: How you guys doing?

SONNY: I'm alright, I'm dealing.

SONNY: She-hit.

BUD: We're being asked to cooperate in a matter of national security. Now you know exactly as much as I do. So just get your gear off and get up to control. There's some kind of briefing in ten minutes.

BUD: Thanks. How you feeling, big guy?

JAMMER: Figured I was dead, there, when I seen that angel comin' toward me.

BUD: Okay, Jammer. No problem. You stay right here. I have to go there to the end... you'll see my lights. We'll stay in voice contact. Just hold onto the rope. Five more minutes. Okay?

JAMMER: Yeah, okay. Okay.

BUD: Deep and slow, big guy. Deep and slow. Just breathe easy.

JAMMER: I... they're all dead, Bud. They're all dead. I thought... some of them... you know...

BUD: I'm taking you back out.

JAMMER: No! I'm okay now. I just don't... I can't go any further in.

JAMMER: Lord Almighty.

BUD: Hey, you okay?

JAMMER: Where are we?

BUD: Missile compartment. Those are the launch tubes.

BUD: Okay so far.

JAMMER: How deep's the drop-off here?

JAMMER: What's goin' on, Boss?

BUD: Folks, I've just been told to shut down the hole and prepare to move the rig.

JAMMER: Bud! Hippy's on the bitch-box. It's a call from topside. That new company man.

BUD: Kirkhill? That guy doesn't know his butt from a rathole. Hey, Perry!

LINDSEY: Hello, Brigman.

BUD: Hello, Mrs. Brigman.

LINDSEY: No, Bud, no... not you.

BUD: Who then?

LINDSEY: Hey... big boys don't cry, remember?

BUD: Hi, lady.

LINDSEY: Hi, tough guy. I guess it worked, huh?

BUD: 'Course is worked. You're never wrong, are you? How d'you feel.

LINDSEY: I've been better. Next time it's your turn, okay?

BUD: Oh God, Lins... I--

LINDSEY: Tell me later.

BUD: It is insane.

LINDSEY: It's the only way, Bud. Now trust me.

LINDSEY: Listen... will you listen to me for a second!? You're for the suit on and you're a better swimmer than me. Right? So I got a plan...

BUD: What's the plan?

LINDSEY: I drown, you tow me back to the rig--

BUD: WHAT KIND OF PLAN IS THAT!??

BUD: Lindsey, just put the thing on and shut up--

LINDSEY: NO!! Now be logical, Bud, you're--

BUD: FUCK LOGIC!!

BUD: Alright, put this on.

LINDSEY: What, you growing gills all of a sudden? You got it on, keep it on.

BUD: Don't argue, goddamnit, just--

LINDSEY: No way! Forget it. Not an option.

LINDSEY: Okay, look, you swim to the rig and come back with another suit.

BUD: Seven, eight minute swim each way... not enough time. Look at this... Time I get back you'll be--

BUD: Okay... okay. We gotta get you out of here.

LINDSEY: How?

BUD: I don't know how!

LINDSEY: We've only got one suit.

BUD: I know! I know! But we better come up with something.

LINDSEY: Aaargh!! I'm freezing!

BUD: Son of a bitch!

LINDSEY: Calm down, Bud.

BUD: Can't get to it. Have to pull this panel off. You go any tools?

LINDSEY: I don't know, look around.

LINDSEY: You see where it's coming in?

BUD: Somewhere behind this panel. Hold this.

BUD: Good hundred yards, I'd say.

LINDSEY: They'll come out after us.

BUD: Yeah, but it's gonna take them a while to find us. We better get this flooding stopped.

LINDSEY: Well, that's that.

BUD: Wonderful. There's some light from somewhere...

BUD: Try again.

LINDSEY: Deepcore, this is Cab One. We need assistance, over. Deepcore, this--

BUD: It's flooding like a son of the bitch.

LINDSEY: You noticed.

BUD: You totaled it, huh?

LINDSEY: Yeah. So sue me.

LINDSEY: You did okay, back there. I was fairly impressed.

BUD: Not good enough. We still gotta catch Big Geek.

LINDSEY: Not in this thing.

LINDSEY: You owe me one, Virgil.

BUD: Can we negotiate later? There's Big Geek.

BUD: Okay, I'm gonna free-swim to hatch six... get inside, get the door open from the other side.

LINDSEY: Bud, that water's only a couple degrees above freezing.

BUD: Then I guess you better wish me luck, huh?

BUD: He's jammed the mechanism.

LINDSEY: Now what?

LINDSEY: They must've learned how to control water... I mean at a molecular level. They can plasticize it, polymerize it... whatever. Put it under intelligent control.

BUD: Maybe their whole technology is based on that. Controlling water.

BUD: I think it likes you.

LINDSEY: It's trying to communicate.

LINDSEY: He's got the shakes?

BUD: Look, the guy's operating on his own, cut off from chain of command. He's exhibiting symptoms of pressure-induced psychosis. And he's got a nuclear weapon. So, as a personal favor to me... will you put your tongue in neutral for a while?

LINDSEY: You dumb jarhead motherf--

BUD: Chill out, Lindsey!!

LINDSEY: Look, goddamnit, if you won't do something about it, I will.

BUD: Lindsey! Wait a second--

LINDSEY: It was a machine, but it seems almost alive. Like a... dance of light. Bud, you have to trust me... please. I don't think they mean us harm. I don't know how I know that, it's just a feeling.

BUD: How can I go on a feeling? You think Coffey's going to go on you 'feeling'?

LINDSEY: We all see what we want to see... Coffey looks and he sees Russians, he sees hate and fear. Bud, you have to look with better eyes than that.

BUD: All I'm saying is when you're hanging on by your fingernails, you don't go waving you arms around.

LINDSEY: I saw something! I'm not going to go back there and say I didn't see it when I did. I'm sorry.

BUD: God, you are the most stubborn woman I ever knew.

LINDSEY: I need you to believe me, Bud. Look at me. Do I seem stressed out? Any of the symptoms of pressure sickness, any tremors, slurred speech?

BUD: No.

LINDSEY: Bud, this is me, Lindsey. Okay? You know me better than anybody in the world. Now watch my lips... I saw these things. I touched one of them. And it wasn't some clunky steel can like we would build... it glided. It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

BUD: Jesus, Lindsey--

LINDSEY: Bud, something really important is happening here.

BUD: Look. I'm just trying to hold this situation together. I can't allow you to cause this kind of hysteria--

LINDSEY: Who's hysterical? Nobody's hysterical!

LINDSEY: Come on, you guys... look, this is the little one right here. You can see how it's kind of zigging around.

BUD: If you say so. It could be anything.

LINDSEY: I'm telling you what is there. You're just not hearing. The impulses somehow aren't getting from you ears to your brainpan. There's something down there. Something not... us.

BUD: Hey, Lins... I'm glad your here.

LINDSEY: Yeah? Well I'm not.

BUD: Need some help?

LINDSEY: Thanks. No, I can handle it. Bud... there won't be enough to run the heaters. In a couple hours this place is going to be as cold as a meat locker.

BUD: What about O-2?

LINDSEY: Brace yourself. We've got about 12 hours worth if we close off the sections we're not using.

BUD: The storm's gonna last longer than 12 hours.

LINDSEY: I can extend that. There's some storage tanks outboard on the wrecked module. I'll have to go outside to tie onto them.

BUD: What's the scoop, ace?

LINDSEY: I can get power to this module and sub-bay if I remote these busses. I've gotta get past the mains, which are a total melt-down.

BUD: Hippy, just relax. You're making the women nervous.

LINDSEY: Cute, Virgil.

LINDSEY: Jammer saw something in there, something that scared the hell out him--

BUD: His mixture got screwed up. He panicked and pranged his regulator.

LINDSEY: But what did he see that made him panic?

BUD: What do you think he saw?

LINDSEY: I don't know. I DON'T KNOW!

BUD: Did you get anything on the cameras. Video or anything?

LINDSEY: No. Look, forget it. I don't want to talk about it.

BUD: Fine. Be that way.

LINDSEY: I don't know what I saw. Okay? Coffey wants to call it a Russian submersible, fine. It's a Russian submersible. No problem.

BUD: But you think it's something else. What? One of ours?

LINDSEY: No.

BUD: Whose then? Lindsey? Talk to me...

BUD: So what about "Michael" then... Mr. Brooks Brothers... Mr. BMW. You still seeing him?

LINDSEY: No, I haven't seen him in a few weeks.

BUD: What happened?

LINDSEY: Bud, why are you doing this? It's not part of you life any more.

BUD: I'll tell you what happened... you woke up one day and realized the guy never made you laugh.

LINDSEY: You're right, Bud. It was just that simple. Aren't you clever? You should get your own show... Ask Dr. Bud, advice to the lovelorn from three hundred fathoms.

LINDSEY: I haven't worn mine in months.

BUD: Yeah, what's-his-name wouldn't like it. The Suit.

LINDSEY: Do you always have to call him that? The Suit? It makes you sound like such a hick. His name is Michael.

LINDSEY: What are you still wearing that for?

BUD: I don't know. Divorce ain't final. Forgot to take it off.

BUD: No, I think you were. Come on, admit it.

LINDSEY: I was worried about the rig. I've got over four years invested in this project.

BUD: Oh, yeah, right... and you only had three years with me.

BUD: I think you were worried about me.

LINDSEY: That must be it.

BUD: You wanna know what I think?

LINDSEY: Not particularly. Jeez, look where this is set! Morons.

LINDSEY: You need me. Nobody knows the systems on this rig better than I do. What is something was to go wrong after the Explorer clears off? What would have you done?

BUD: Wow, you're right! Us poor dumb ol' boys might've had to think for ourselves. Coulda been a disaster.

BUD: I can't believe you were dumb enough to come down. Now you're stuck here for the storm... dumb, hot-rod... dumb.

LINDSEY: Look, I didn't come down here to fight.

BUD: You never did like being called that, did you?

LINDSEY: Not even when it meant something. Is that One Night up in Flatbed?

BUD: Who else?

BUD: Well, well. Mrs. Brigman.

LINDSEY: Not for long.

LINDSEY: I can't believe you let them do this!

BUD: Hi, Lins. I thought you were in Houston.

LINDSEY: I was, but I managed to bum a ride on the last flight out here. Only here isn't where I left it, is it, Bud?

BUD: Wasn't up to me.

LINDSEY: We were that close to proving a submersible drilling platform could work. We had over seven thousand feet of hole down for Chrissake. I can't believe you let them grab my rig!

BUD: Your rig?

LINDSEY: My rig. I designed the damn thing.

BUD: Yup, a Benthic Petroleum paid for it. So as long as they're hold the pink slip, I go where they tell me.

LINDSEY: You wimp. I had a lot riding on this. They bought you... more like least rented you cheap--

BUD: I'm switching off now.

LINDSEY: Virgil, you wiener! You never could stand up to fight. You--

BUD: Did you find Wilhite?

COFFEY: No.

BUD: Coffey, we're a little pressed for time.

COFFEY: Monk, Schoenick... secure the package.

COFFEY: We'll go in through that large breach.

BUD: Let's go, guys.

BUD: Look, it's three AM. These guys are running on bad coffee and four hours sleep. You better start cutting them some slack.

COFFEY: I can't afford slack, Brigman.

BUD: Hey, you come on my rig, you don't talk to me, you start ordering my guys around. It won't work. You gotta know how to handle these people... we have a certain way of doing things here.

COFFEY: I'm not interested in your way of doing things. Just get your team ready to dive.

COFFEY: We'll take reading as we go. If the reactor's breached or the warheads have released radioactive debris, we'll back away. Simple.

BUD: Okay... Hippy's not going... McWhirter, you can run Little Geek.

BUD: Is that it? Is this right?

HIPPY: Yeah! I mean, I don't know... it looks right.

BUD: All right. Do it!

BUD: Go to the infirmary... get the cart .. oxygen... de-fib kit... adrenaline in a... ten cc syringe... and some... heating blankets. You got all that?

HIPPY: Got it. Over.

BUD: Meet me in the moonpool. Move fast.

BUD: Lins, stay away from that guy. I mean it.

HIPPY: Yeah. The dude's in bad shape... you see his hands?

HIPPY: Come on, man. What else could it be?

BUD: Why bring it here?

HIPPY: It's gotta be, like, an emergency plan to keep it away from the Russians... Hotwire one of the nukes with some kinda detonator, put it back in the sub, and fry the whole thing, slicker'n snot. Oh, uh... hi, Lins.

HIPPY: That's Perry.

BUD: That's it then. Finler, McWhirter, Dietz, and Perry. Jesus.

HIPPY: Do we just leave him there?

BUD: Yeah, for now. Our first priority's to get something to breathe.

HIPPY: No, I mean it. Those SEALs aren't telling us diddly. Something's going on.

BUD: Hippy, you think everything's a conspiracy.

HIPPY: Everything is.

BUD: What's the matter with you?

HIPPY: Now we're right in the middle of this big-time international incident. Like the Cuban Missile Crisis or something.

BUD: Just get around so your lights are on the hatch.

HIPPY: Check. Then I just hang with these guys, right?

HIPPY: Virgil?

BUD: God, I hate that bitch.

HIPPY: Yeah, well you never should have married her then.

BUD: Hafta... go on to... the moonpool. Only way.

CATFISH: I can't... make it... podner.

BUD: 'Fish'?

CATFISH: Yuh?

BUD: Take the first watch in sonar. Hippy, you handle the exterior surveillance. One Night, see if you can get that transmitter working for me, okay?

BUD: He's convulsing!

CATFISH: It's his mixture! Too much oxygen!

CATFISH: Triple time sounds like a lotta money, Bud. It ain't. I'm sorry...

BUD: We're here now. Let's get her done.

BUD: Hey, you guys are milking that job.

CATFISH: That's cause we love freezin' our butts off out here sooo much, boss.

LINDSEY: We should be dead. We didn't decompress.

CATFISH: Out blood oughta be fizzin' like a warm, shook- up Coke.

LINDSEY: I think they're from 'you know'. Some place that has similar conditions... cold, intense pressure. No light.

CATFISH: Happy as hogs in a waller down there, prob'ly.

CATFISH: Y'all could be more specific.

LINDSEY: Not us. Not human. Get it? Something non- human, but intelligent...

LINDSEY: You better not say you missed that.

CATFISH: Missed what?

LINDSEY: Cat, you tie onto this manifold. There's some tanks on the other side; I'm gonna go check them out.

CATFISH: You watch yourself.

CATFISH: Howdy, y'all. Hey, Lindsey! I'll be damned! You shouldn't be down here sweet thing, ya'll might run ya stockings.

LINDSEY: Couldn't stay away. You running mixture for us? Good. Couldn't ask for better.

CATFISH: Okay, here we go. Start equalizing, y'all.

HIPPY: SHIT!

CATFISH: Give me that!!

HIPPY: That thing was probably their version of Big Geek... like an ROV.

CATFISH: Just checking is out, huh? How come?

CATFISH: Are we talkin' little space friend here?

HIPPY: Right on! Hot rods of the Gods. Right, Lins? Hey, no really! It could be NTIs. The CIA has known about them for years. They abduct people all the time. There was this woman I knew in Albuquerque who--

CATFISH: Quiet! Quiet!

HIPPY: Turn it up, bozo.

CATFISH: Hippy, you pussy.

HIPPY: What good's the money if your dick drops off in six months?

CATFISH: Those guys ain't so tough. I fought plenty of guys tougher'n them.

HIPPY: Now we get to hear about how he used to be a contender.

LINDSEY: You've got some huevos bringing this... thing... into my rig! With everything that's been going on up in the world, you bring a nuclear weapon in here? Does this strike anyone as particularly psychotic, or is it just me?

COFFEY: You don't need to know the details of this mission... you're better off if you don't.

LINDSEY: You're right... I don't. I just need to know that this thing is out of here! You hear me, Roger Ramjet?

COFFEY: Mrs. Brigman, you're becoming a serious impediment to this mission. I believe the stress is affecting you. Escort her to quarters and have Monk prepare a tranquilizer.

COFFEY: I want 'round-the-clock manning of the sonar shack and the exterior cameras. We need early warning if the Soviet craft try another incursion.

LINDSEY: Gimme a break! Coffey, these things live three and a half miles down on the bottom of an abyssal trench! Trust me... they're not speaking Russian.

COFFEY: Radiation is nominal. The warheads must still be intact.

LINDSEY: How many are there?

COFFEY: 24 Trident missiles. Eight MIRVs per missile.

LINDSEY: That's 192 warheads... And how powerful are they?

LINDSEY: Copy that, continuing forward. You just want me to get shots of everything, right?

COFFEY: Roger, document as much as you can, but keep moving. We're on a tight timeline.

LINDSEY: Copy that.

COFFEY: Cab One, radiation readings?

LINDSEY: Neutron counter's not showing very much.

COFFEY: Wilhite, anything?

COFFEY: Cab One, do you see it yet?

LINDSEY: The magnetometer is pegged. Side-scan is showing a big return, but I don't see anything yet. Are you sure you got the depth right on this?

COFFEY: Look, we've all made chamber runs to this depth. We're checked out.

LINDSEY: Oh... chamber runs. Uh huh, that's good. Well, hey... you guys know any songs?

LINDSEY: Get comfortable. The bad news is we got six hours in this can, blowing down. The worse news is it's gonna take us three weeks to decompress back to the surface later.

COFFEY: We've been fully briefed, Mrs. Brigman.

LINDSEY: Don't call me that, okay... I hate that. Alright, from now on we watch each other closely for signs of HPNS...

COFFEY: Lady, we better fish or cut bait.

LINDSEY: Just hold your water, okay? So Kirkhill, we gonna do this or we gonna talk about it?

HIPPY: Uh, oh...

LINDSEY: What kind of luminous things, Bud?

HIPPY: 12000 feet. Jesus, I don't believe he's doing this.

LINDSEY: Shut up, Hippy. Bud, how you doing?

HIPPY: He can't get to the door... I think he's going to try and take him himself.

LINDSEY: He couldn't be that dumb. The guy's a trained killer. Bud's idea of a fight is arm-wrestling One Night over laundry duty.

LINDSEY: Schoenick... your Lieutenant is about to make a real bad career move...

HIPPY: That guy's crazier'n a shithouse rat!

LINDSEY: No. Just you and me. We get some proof, then tell them. Hippy, look... if was can prove to Coffey it's not Russians, maybe he'll ease off the button a little.

HIPPY: I gotta tell you, that guy scares me a lot more than whatever's down there. A.J. Squared Away goddamn jarhead robot. Okay, gimme a couple hours on this.

LINDSEY: Look, you can just punch into his little chip where you want him to go, and he goes, right?

HIPPY: Well, yeah, but the tether off it ain't gonna be fancy. When he gets down there he'll just sit, like a dumb-shit. Unless something wanders through view of the camera, you'll get nada.

LINDSEY: Let's go for it. We could get lucky.

LINDSEY: A non-terrestrial intelligence.

HIPPY: Non-Terrestrial Intelligence. NTIs. Yeah, I like that better then UFOs. Although that works too... Underwater Flying Objects.

LINDSEY: Figured that out for yourself, did you?

HIPPY: We got Russian subs creeping around. Shit! Something goes wrong they could say anything happened down here, man. Give our folks medals, know what I mean?

HIPPY: Cab Three, check. Right behind you.

LINDSEY: What's you depth, Cab Three?

HIPPY: 1840... 50... 60... 70...

LINDSEY: Going over the wall. Coming to bearing 065. Everybody stay tight and in sight.

LINDSEY: Deepcore, Deepcore... this is Cab Three on final approach.

HIPPY: Gotcha, Cab Three. Who is that? That You, Lindsey?

HIPPY: You boss is having a full-on meltdown. Guy's fixing to pull the pin on fifty kilotons and we're all ringside!

MONK: What's the timer set for?

MONK: Getting a reading?

HIPPY: It's twitching but it's below the line you said was safe.

MONK: Stand by on the ROV.

HIPPY: Perry, stand by on the ROV. Sorry about this, little buddy. Better you than me, know what I mean?

HIPPY: Hey!

MONK: Check this out.

MONK: Fluid breathing system. We just got them. We use it if we need to go really deep.

HIPPY: How deep?

MONK: Deep. It's classified... you know. Anyway, you breathe liquid, so you can't be compressed. Pressure doesn't get to you.

LINDSEY: Would we see the flash?

MONK: Through three miles of water? I don't know.

LINDSEY: What kind of light?

MONK: He's hallucinating badly.

MONK: He can still make it.

LINDSEY: I know how alone you feel... alone in all that cold blackness... but I'm there in the dark with you, Bud you're not alone...

MONK: He's losing it. Talk to him. Keep him with us.

LINDSEY: Bud, it's the pressure. Try to concentrate. Concentrate on my voice. Just listen to my voice.

LINDSEY: 8500 feet, Bud. Everything okay?

MONK: Ask him a pressure effects. Tremors, vision problems, euphoria.

LINDSEY: Ensign Monk want to know how you feel.

MONK: 4800 feet. It's official.

LINDSEY: Bud, according to Monk here, you just set a record for the deepest suit dive. Bet you didn't think you'd be doing this when you got up this morning.

MONK: High-Pressure Nervous Syndrome. Muscle tremors, usually in the hands first. Nausea, increased excitability, disorientation.

LINDSEY: Very good. About one person in twenty just can't handle it. They go buggo. They're no way to predict who's susceptible, so stay alert.