By all the laws of nature, he should have been dead. But if he were alive ... then there was something he had to find.
Shortly thereafter, Cully discovered why he still lived, breathed: a suit. A yellow, plastic, water-tight suit, with an orange-on-black shield on the left breast pocket, and a clear bubble-helmet. He felt weight on his back and examined it: two air tanks and their regulator, a radio, and ... the box.
Suit, tanks, regulator; radio, black water, box; sand, sea, stillness.
Cully considered his world. It was small; it was conceivable; it was incomplete.
Where is it?
"Where is what?" He knew he had a voice--a means of communication between others of his kind, using low-frequency heat waves caused by agitation of air molecules. Why couldn't he make it work?
Words. Thousands of them, at his beck and call. What were they? What did they mean? He shifted uncomfortably in the tight yellow suit, searching the near horizon for ...
Where is it?
* * * * *
A vague calling came from beyond the black sea curtain. Objectively, because he could do nothing to stop them, he watched his feet pick up, move forward, put down; pick up, move forward, put down. Funny. He had the feeling, the con
Great story. A man wakes up with amnesia in a space suit on the seabottom. He has an idea that he has something to do, but can't figure it out, so he just goes through the motions.
The ending gives a new meaning to giving one for the team. An absorbing story.