"Water going down, down

Water going up.

...

Water going down, down,

Water going up."

This rhythmic phrasing was repeating itself in his head. How long it had been stuck there he didn't know. Perhaps it had entered because he'd taken a shower thirty minutes before. It felt like his life depended on it. Water going down.

It was funny how it wasn't going up before going down two times. But then, eventually, it did go up. Kind of paradoxically.

Though he didn't understand what the hell did it have to do with his situation. It was just water, water. But it was always tranquil, serene. In his childhood he had always imagined a kingdom which had water as its sole peace regulator - shower water, ocean water, rainwater and pond (drinkable) water was unlimited, and the temperature of the stored all above could be set to whatever point one desired, the hottest baths bringing all sorrows away. It was water who was its saviour, water who was its king, and water with its reinvigorating properties which could restore one to the fullest extent and, even sometimes, protest against attempts of suicide. Water was beautiful. And it had always held a separate place in Led's heart for some unique unknown reason.

Water... Led washed his face, impulsively, waiting for it to stop. The itch in his chest. As if cold water could help his worries.

His phone rang. He swiftly rubbed his face with the beige towel, and stepped to the far side of the bathroom counter.

Meddles called.

Should he have picked up?

"Led," the cheerful voice of the elderly physicist greeted him as he dialled the number, "are you going down now?"

"Yes, already there," the young man answered, and, putting on a blue shirt, rushed to the door of his one-bedroom hotel room, grabbing his key belongings, shot out of the frame, running swiftly to the elevator, squeezing in with some Berkeley-marked associate who had pressed the button of 1st floor.

Once there, Led ran to the little cafeteria they had and turned left towards another set of corridors where he made two rights and a straight.

After that, he was finally in Mischievous Soul's lobby. Only Nobel and other grand prize recipients usually sat there - it was signed "for VIP persona only".

Meaning those who made about 550K dollars a year or more.

Meddles had somehow managed to get them there. He always meddled with some people; but that made him Meddles.

The furnishing was excellent, the atmosphere was also quite posh and elegant; however, Led couldn't find the familiar redhead peeking up from one of the armchairs.

He could already catch strange looks being thrown from every corner by scholars in sofas, and he slightly pinched his index finger. Had Miss Chaisson let the word out...?

"Again," he whispered bitterly to himself, with the remark ending his inner rushing monologue. No one dared to openly verdict his opinion, but still, the looks were incessant. He knew he was an outcast in the scientific world, but not up to that point. He hated this unnecessary attention.

Yet he was forced to deal with it, as Meddles hadn't even come.

But would he?

***

Just as he was walking towards the lobby, a female gripped his wrist and snatched him away into an empty classroom.

Had there ever been an empty classroom?

"You told me you told them about the end," Miss Chaisson muttered through her teeth. "Forgive me for the tautology, but I really thought I could trust you!"

"Forgive me too but I couldn't tell them this soon," Meddles angrily retorted. "They're youngsters! They could've killed themselves!"

"Then you could've told Smith," Chaisson parried, "he's the oldest one and he could easily stomach that!"

Meddles stared at her incredulously.

"He's got three kids and a sick wife, he'd be the worst one."

She took a deep breath.

"I'm gonna tell them."

"You won't."

"I'm gonna do what you didn't. I'm gonna tell them."

"I'd like to see you try."

It took a minute of tensive silence for the woman to come up with a response.

"Well what other choice do I have? They must know who's controlling them. They must know we can't follow their orders. They must find how to stay down as long as possible."

"Down where?"

"The submarine, of course," she sighed. "Otherwise they'll get eaten faster than they could realize they were caught."

"The Golden Union has those plans?" Meddles asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes. But maybe not. Meddles, do you understand how I got here?" she looked at him, some mischievous intent in her voice akin to one of an experimenter testing her subject.

Meddles felt the hairs stand up on his neck.

"Something about m-class subs going sub-speed in deep ocean," Meddles answered. "We clasped the emergency escape hatches together, and then..."

"You're a physicist, Bill. How would you believe this is true?"

Meddles gulped. The atmosphere was getting more and more pressurized.

"Diane, dear... How did you get here?" A faint whisper escaped his lips. Chaisson showed no emotion.

A sudden surmise struck his mind.

"Were you with us all along?"

His eyes widened as he realized even more.

"And they... are they with us?"