The second foghorn blast struck the drilling derrick like a high-explosive artillery shell.
The steel deck beneath Julian’s boots didn’t merely vibrate; it shrieked under sheer acoustic shear. A bone-deep fifty-eight-hertz resonance tore through the caisson walls, atomizing the salt spray on the handrails into an icy, blinding cloud of mist.
“Move!” Julian shouted, his voice cutting through the mechanical thunder.
Julian seized Lin Mei by the heavy canvas sleeve of her coveralls, hauling her back from the open edge of the moon pool.
“Off the catwalk!” Julian ordered. “Back to Station 12-B right now!”
Lin Mei stumbled on the slick grating, clutching her syntax notebook to her chest. “The air pressure! Julian, my ears just popped!”
“Equalize as you run!” Julian yelled. “Don’t stop on the grating!”
Mac scrambled across the vibrating grating, his brass wrench clattering against his prosthetic arm. “What about the shaker?”
