Bud's room, darkness. The door opens and Bud snaps on the light. He assures her his bunk's the only one he can guarantee won't be occupied and she can grab a couple hours rest before they get there. Lindsey slips past him into his tiny state-room, the only private bunk on the rig. Rank had its privileges. As he is picking up clothing, she notices his wedding ring, a massive band of pure titanium.
She questions him why he still wears it. A bit evasive, Bud remarks he forgot to take it off. Lindsey takes a heap of Bud's cloths off the narrow bunk. She starts unconsciously straightening the room and boasts she hasn't worn her ring in months. Bud makes a sarcastic reply that 'the Suit' wouldn't like it. She corrects him, his name is Michael and she's no longer seeing him.
Bud eyes her, sounding too casual, wanting to know what happen. Which she tells him that her life is no longer his business. Being opportunistic, he offers a sly reason, she woke up one day and realized the guy never made her laugh. This furiates her and ends the conversation calling him Dr. Bud, advice to the lovelorn from three hundred fathoms. She closes the watertight door, forcing him out. Locks it. She turns and stews in her anger.
Bud barges into the tiny quarter's head and pulls the ring off roughly, throws it into the toilet, and slams the door. A moment later, he opens the head door. Can't do it. Now really pissed off at himself, he reaches into the toilet bowl, wrist deep in the chemical-blue water, and salvages the ring. He puts it on, but now his right hand is stained blue. He lets out a defeating sigh.
The Deepcore platform is stopped, hovering in place. Like a great spacecraft setting down on a barren planet, the rig settles into the bottom ooze. Flatbed releases its tow lines and heads back to its berth inside.
Later, in the sub-bay, we see a photograph, actually a computer-composited down-looking scan from a towed LIDAR (laser imaging sonar) rig. It shows a faint, blurry outline of the Montana lying on her side on a ledge part-way down the canyon wall. There is no detail. A finger points to a flat ledge nearby. An "X" has been put on with a grease pencil. Coffey explains that X is them, on the edge of the Cayman Trough. The Montana is 300 meters away and 70 meters below them, and lodged against an outcropping.
The rig crew are gathered around the worktable in the sub-bay. The divers, Bud, Catfish, Sonny, Finler, Jammer, and the four SEALs have their dry-suits on. The pre-dive briefing. Lindsey, One Night, and Hippy will crew the submersibles. Wilhite is going around clipping Dosimeter badges on everybody, a radiation sensor. But Hippy wants no part of radiation. Coffey assures him if the reactor or warheads have released radioactive debris, they'll back away. Bud volunteers McWhirter to run Little Geek, in Hippy's place.
Hippy, full of pride, knows Little Geek better than McWhirter, so he's back in the mission. The crew playfully bust his chops, all laughing. But Coffery ends the light moment with a stern warning that they will do absolutely nothing without direct orders from him and he wants everyone finished prep and ready to get wet in fifteen minutes. The rig crew disperses, picking up helmets and diving gear. Some are studying the diagrams of the Montana's interior layout. Bud takes Coffey aside as the others prepare.
Bud explains to Coffey it's three AM, these guys are running on bad coffee, four hours sleep, and he should cut them some slack. Bud doesn't like that Coffey didn't talk to him and started ordering his guys around. But Coffey isn't interested in what Bud has to say and tells him to just get his team ready to dive. End of discussion. Coffey walks away. Burning, Bud crosses to his gear locker. Picks up his helmet. Finler is suiting out next to him and comments about Bud's blue hand. Bud tells him to shut up.
Nearby, Monk comes over to pick his helmet up off the worktable. Hippy points to the heavy equipment case that says F.B.S. DEEP SUIT/MARK IV, which strikes Hippy's curiosity. Mink opens the case and shows them an unfamiliar diving suit, what looks like a space helmet, and a large backpack. Fluid breathing system. They use it if they need to go really deep, how deep is classified.
Pressure doesn't get to the diver, he breathes liquid, so he can't be compressed. Catfish is grappling with the concept. Oxygenated fluorocarbon emulsion. He opens a valve on the backpack and allows some of the fluid inside it to drain into a clear plastic box. He grabs a small wire basket full of valves off the shelf and dumps them out. Then he take Beany by the tail off Hippy's shoulder.
He drops Beany in the basket and, before Hippy can protest, Beany is forced under the surface. He struggles for a second, and bubbles come out of his mouth. Then, completely submerged, the rat is breathing liquid. Catfish and Hippy stare into the box, amazed. Monk takes Beany out and hold him by the tail for a few seconds to drain his lungs. Then hands him back to Hippy. The rat is annoyed, but otherwise alright.
Later at the dropoff, three sets of moving lights move outward from Deepcore. Cab One and Three, with Lindsey and Hippy at the controls respectively, and One Night in the Flatbed. Lindsey is in the lead. She approaches the cliff-like drop-off and starts to descend. They all communicate on radio, confirming their depth as they start their descent.
Eight divers ride the back of Flatbed like itinerant workers on the way to the fields. Bud and his civilian crew, Catfish, Finler, and Jammer... sit across from the SEALs. They are in their gear and breathing from umbilical hooked in Flatbed's low-pressure manifold.