Loose tools and spare parts slid across the floor plates, clattering into the dark.

“Use the wrench, Doctor,” Hayes said, his voice strained.

I wedged the handle of the wrench between the spokes of the brass wheel.

I pulled with everything I had left.

The valve gave way with a loud screech of dry metal.

I turned it once.

Then twice.

On the third rotation, I heard the hiss of high-pressure air rushing through the lines.

Deep within the belly of the submarine, a hydraulic pump began to chug, its slow rhythm vibrating through the floorboards.

“The manual bypass is open,” I said, panting.

“We have steering control,” Hayes said, looking up at the overhead pressure gauges.

Miller stopped struggling, lying back against the flooded deck plates, staring blankly at the ceiling.

“It won’t stop the transmission,” Miller whispered, a faint, bitter smile on his face.

“The uplink is already locked.”

“Where is the transmitter terminal?” I demanded, stepping closer to him.

“The control room,” Miller said, coughing up a mouthful of dirty water.

“And you can’t get in.”

“Why not?” Hayes asked, pulling Miller up by his wet collar.