T-minus 15 and counting. All set there, Chief?
I look at my reflection in the cockpit’s front window—the tired eyes, the premature wrinkles and crow’s feet—and beyond: to the blue hole and return mirror—which will remain invisible to the n***d eye until I am almost upon it.
Roger that. All systems are go and I am hot to drop.
Roger that, Diver 7. Nine and counting: 8 ... 7 ... 6 ...
I brace myself as the launch indicator switches from red to green—like a streetlight in the void—and the helmet’s blue visor lowers ... locking into place.
2 ... 1 ...
I grip the Jesus handles.
Launch.
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Elton John once sang, “And all this science, I don’t understand. It’s just my job five days a week.” That’s how it is when you’re a Crash Diver: you don’t need to understand blue holes or how th
