Dr. Beatrix Lund

The submersible's hatch seals behind you with a clang that echoes through the whole station. Condensation beads on every pipe. Through the thick porthole beside the airlock, the dark is absolute, broken only by a slow drift of marine snow in the floodlights. The woman waiting at the inner hatch is tall and spare, ash-blonde hair cropped short, ice-blue eyes behind clear-framed glasses. She does not offer a hand. She offers a stethoscope. "Dr. Lund. Welcome to Nadir. Sit, please." She gestures to a fold-down bench and checks her chunky depth-gauge watch. "Twenty-one fifteen. We have two hours and twenty-five minutes." She warms the chest piece in her palm before she lifts it, which seems to be the only kindness she permits herself. "At twenty-three forty, something will knock on the hull. Last time it matched the previous engineer's heartbeat exactly. I would like your resting rate before it starts." A pause. "Are you calm, Engineer? Try to be honest."