The Dragon in the Sea (10 page)

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Authors: Frank Herbert

BOOK: The Dragon in the Sea
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Ramsey stared at him.
Sparrow entered, sat down on the bench stool beside the door. “What are you, Ramsey?”
He cleared his throat. “What do you mean?”
“Every man has to wrestle with his shadow down here. You held out a long time.”
“I don't understand you.”
“This life makes you face your fears sooner or later.”
“How did you know I was afraid?”
“Every man's afraid down here. It was just a matter of waiting until you found out you were afraid. Now, answer my question: What are you?”
Ramsey stared past Sparrow. “Sir, I'm an electronics officer.”
A faint smile touched Sparrow's eyes and mouth. “It's a sad world we live in, Ramsey. But at least Security picks its men for their courage.” He straightened.
Ramsey accepted this silently.
“Now, let's have a look at that little box of yours,” said Sparrow. “I'm curious.” He stood up, went out into the companionway, turned aft.
Ramsey followed.
“Why not keep it in the shack?” asked Sparrow.
“I've been using my off time to check it.”
“Don't wear yourself out.” Sparrow dropped down to the lower level, Ramsey behind him. They entered Ramsey's room. The humming of the induction drive came through the bulkhead.
Ramsey sat down on his bunk, brought out the box, put it on his desk and unlocked it.
Can't let him look too close,
thought Ramsey. He noted that the disguise system was working.
Sparrow peered into the box with a puzzled frown.
What's he expect to find?
Ramsey wondered.
“Give me a rundown,” said Sparrow.
Ramsey pointed to a dial. “That monitors the sweep of the primary search impulse. The first models were plagued by feedback echo.”
Sparrow nodded.
Ramsey indicated a group of signal lights. “These separate the pulse frequencies. They flicker red when we're out of phase. The particular light tells me which circuit is bouncing.”
Sparrow straightened, shot a searching glance at Ramsey.
“Tapes inside make a permanent record,” said Ramsey.
“We'll go into it at greater length some other time,” said Sparrow. He turned away.
He expected some Security gadget, thought Ramsey.
“Why'd Security plant you on us?” asked Sparrow.
Ramsey remained silent.
Sparrow turned, stared at him with a weighing look. “I won't force this issue now,” he said. “Time enough for that when we get home.” His face took on a bitter expression. “Security! Half our troubles can be traced to them.”
Ramsey maintained his silence.
“It's fortunate you're a good electronics officer,” said Sparrow. “Doubtless you were chosen for that quality.” A sudden look of indecision passed over his features. “You
are
a Security man, aren't you?”
Ramsey thought:
If he believes that, it'll mask my real position. But I can't just admit it. That'd be out of character.
He said, “I have my orders, sir.”
“Of course,” said Sparrow. “Stupid of me.” Again the look of indecision. “Well, I'll be getting—” Abruptly, he stiffened.
Ramsey, too, fought to keep from showing surprise. The pellet imbedded in his neck had just emitted a sharp
ping!
He knew that the identical equipment in Sparrow also had reacted to a signal.
Sparrow whirled to the door, ran forward to the control deck, Ramsey on his heels. They stopped before the big master board. Garcia turned from his position at the monitor controls. “Something wrong, Skipper?”
Sparrow didn't answer. Through his mind was running a senseless rhyme born of the twenty kills the EPs had made in the previous months:
Twenty out of twenty is plenty … twenty out of twenty is plenty …
Ramsey, standing behind Sparrow, was extremely conscious of the charged feeling in the control room, the stink of the atmosphere, the questioning look on Garcia's face, the clicking of automatic instruments, and the answering response of the deck beneath his feet.
The pellet in his neck had begun sending out a rhythmic buzzing.
Garcia stepped away from the board. “What's wrong, Skipper?”
Sparrow waved him to silence, turned right. Ramsey followed.
The buzzing deepened. Wrong direction.
“Get a signal snifter,” said Sparrow, speaking over his shoulder to Ramsey.
Ramsey turned to the rear bulkhead, pulled a snifter from its rack, tuned it as he rejoined Sparrow. The instrument's speaker buzzed in rhythm to his neck pellet.
Sparrow turned left; Ramsey followed. The sound of the snifter went up an octave.
“Spy beam!” said Garcia.
Sparrow moved toward the dive board, Ramsey still following. The sound from the snifter grew louder. They passed the board and the sound deepened. They turned, faced the board. Now, the signal climbed another octave.
Ramsey thought:
Garcia was in here alone. Did he set up a signal device?
“Where's Les?” asked Sparrow.
“Forward,” said Garcia.
Sparrow seemed to be trying to look through the wall in front of him.
He thinks it may be Bonnett sending that signal,
thought Ramsey. With a sudden despair, he wondered:
Could it be?
Sparrow spoke into his chest microphone: “Les! To the control room! On the double!”
Bonnett acknowledged and they heard a clang of metal as he slipped on the catwalk; then he shut off his microphone.
Ramsey frowned at his snifter. The signal remained stationary although Bonnett was moving. But then a signal device could have been left hidden forward. He moved the snifter to the right, aiming it toward the center of the dive board. The signal remained constant.
Sparrow had followed the motion.
“It's in the board!” shouted Ramsey.
Sparrow whirled toward the board. “We may have only a couple of minutes to get that thing!”
For a mind-chilling instant, Ramsey visioned the enemy wolf packs converging for another kill-twenty-one.
Garcia slammed a tool kit onto the deck at their feet, flipped it open, came out with a screw driver. He began dismantling the cover plate.
Bonnett entered. “What's wrong, Skipper?”
“Spy-beam transmitter,” said Sparrow. He had found another screw driver, was helping Garcia remove the cover plate.
“Should we take evasive action?” asked Ramsey.
Sparrow shook his head. “No, let them think we don't know about it. Steady as she goes.”
“Here,” said Garcia. “Pull on that end.”
Ramsey reached forward, helped pull the cover plate away from the board, revealing a maze of wiring, transistors, high-pressure tubes.
Bonnett picked up the snifter, passed it in front of the board, stiffened as the signal increased in front of the tube bank.
“Joe, stand by on the auxiliary dive board,” said Sparrow. “I'm shutting down this whole section.”
Garcia darted across to the auxiliary board on the opposite side of the control room. “Auxiliary operating,” he called.
“Wait,” said Bonnett. He held the search box steady before a tube, reached in with his free hand and pulled the tube from its socket. The signal continued, but now it emanated from Bonnett's hand as he waved the tube in front of the snifter.
“A self-contained power unit in that little thing!” gasped Ramsey.
“Suffering Jesus save us,” muttered Sparrow. “Here, give it to me.” He took the tube from Bonnett's hand, gritted his teeth at the heat of the thing.
Bonnett shook the hand which had held the tube. “Burned me,” he said.
“It was in the Z02R bank,” Ramsey said.
“Smash it,” said Garcia.
Sparrow shook his head. “No.” He grinned mirthlessly. “We're going to gamble. Les, take us up to discharge depth.”
“Six hundred feet?” asked Bonnett. “We'll be sitting ducks!”
“Do it!” barked Sparrow. He turned to Ramsey, extended the tube. “Anything special about this you could use to identify it?”
Ramsey took the tube, turned it over in his hand. He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a tiny record camera, began photographing the tube from all angles.
Sparrow noted the ready availability of a record camera, but before he could comment on it, Ramsey said, “I'll have to look at the enlargements.” He glanced up at Sparrow.
“Do we have time to give this thing a more thorough goingover in the shack?”
Sparrow looked to the static pressure gauge. “About ten minutes. Whatever you do, don't stop that signal.”
Ramsey whirled, hurried to the shack, Sparrow behind him. He heard Sparrow speaking into a chest mike as they ran.
“Joe, get a garbage disposal container and ready a tube to discharge that spy beam. With any luck at all, we're going to send the EPs chasing after an ocean current.”
Ramsey put a piece of soft felt on his workbench, placed the tube on it.
“If you've ever prayed, pray now,” said Sparrow.
“Nothing this small could have an internal power source to give off that much signal,” said Ramsey.
“But it does,” said Sparrow.
Ramsey paused to wipe perspiration from his hands. A thought flitted through his mind:
What will the telemeter record show on Sparrow's endocrine balance this time?
“Devilish thing!” muttered Sparrow.
“We're playing a big gamble,” said Ramsey. He placed calipers over the tube, noted the measurements. “Standard size for the Z02R.” He put the tube in a balance scale with another of the same make. The spy tube sank, unbalancing the scale.
“It's heavier than the standard,” said Sparrow.
Ramsey moved the balance weights. “Four ounces.”
Bonnett's voice came over the bulkhead speaker above their heads: “Estimating discharge depth in four minutes. We've picked up a free ride on a current.”
Sparrow said, “Do you think you can find out anything else about that thing?”
“Not without tearing it down,” said Ramsey. “Of course, there's a possibility X-ray would show some internal detail we could figure out.” He shook his head.
“There'll be more of those aboard,” said Sparrow. “I know there will.”
“How?”
Sparrow looked at him. “Call it a hunch. This mission has been marked.” He glared at the tube on the bench. “But by all that's sacred, we're going to come through!”
“Two minutes,” said Bonnett's voice over the speaker.
Ramsey said, “That's it. Let me examine what we already have.”
Sparrow scooped up the tube, said, “Move out to full limit.”
“They may detect our pulse,” said Ramsey, then colored as he felt the metronomic response of the speaker in his neck.
Sparrow smiled without mirth, turned, stooped for the door, and disappeared down the companionway. Presently, his voice came over the intercom: “We're at the tube and ready to blow this thing, Les. Give me the static gauge readings.”
Back came Bonnett's voice: “Four-ninety, four-seventy, four-forty … four hundred even!”
Ramsey heard the faint “chug!” of the discharge tube, the sound carried to him through the hull.
Sparrow's voice rang over the intercom: “Ride the vents!”
The
Ram
's deck tipped sharply. The humming of the motors climbed through a teeth-grating vibration.
Ramsey looked to the dial showing their sound-transmission level. Too high. The silencer planes would never cover it.
Sparrow's voice boomed from the speaker: “Ramsey, take over the internal-pressure system on manual. Overcompensate for anticipated depth. We'll worry about Haldane charts and depth sickness later. Right now, I want that cold level and 7000 feet over us.”
Ramsey acknowledged, his hands moving to the controls as he spoke. He glanced at the vampire gauge on his wrist. Diffusion rate low. He stepped up the release of carbonic anhydrase into the atmosphere.
Sparrow again: “Ramsey, we've fired a salvo of homing torps on our back path. Delayed timing. Track the signal if any of them blow.”

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