Three thousand six hundred and fifty feet below the waves of the Atlantic Ocean, the silence was total.
Giles Croft stood in the center of the Great Plaza of Thalassos, his boots planted on seamless tiles of white crystal-clear stone that felt as solid and cold as diamond.
The air down here was dense, warm, and rich in oxygen. It pressed against his ears with a comforting, steady pressure of one point one five sea-weights.
He set up his brass sighting scope transit on its wooden tripod, leveling the three leveling screws until the spirit bubbles centered perfectly.
“Height: minus three thousand six hundred and fifty feet below mean sea level datum,” Giles read from the fine-scale.
“Surrounding heat: twenty-one degrees. Air pressure: sixteen point nine pounds of pressure.”
Toby Karr stood beside him, holding the tuned leveling rod.
“At this surrounding pressure, heat-powered smooth speed of our Rankine steam turbines will increase by eight percent, Master Giles.
