Read The Dragon in the Sea Online
Authors: Frank Herbert
The Dragon in the Sea (15 page)
“It was wedged against the hinge,” said Garcia. “Now
it's broken free again.” He looked at the scram board. Red, green, red, green, red â¦
it's broken free again.” He looked at the scram board. Red, green, red, green, red â¦
Each time the light flashed red, the swinging arm touched a control-circuit cable. A blue arc of electricity splashed upward.
Garcia pointed to the lower half of the screen which showed the base of the control system. “There's the real trouble. The whole control base is twisted. See those sheared bolts?”
Sparrow whirled to the forward hatch, undogged it. “Les, I've changed my mind. Stay here with Johnny on the main board. Joe, come with me.” He glared at Ramsey, hesitated, then said, “Take us down below wave turbulence.”
Ramsey's hands went to the controls: diving planes two degrees, compensating system open, hull pressure holding. He found that it was better to let his body react, to accept the results of his training, secure in the knowledge that this way he would be right.
Sparrow went through the door, out onto the engine-room catwalk. Garcia followed.
Ramsey activated the engine-room scanners to follow their movements.
What a time I picked to go into my act,
he thought. He gave a mental shrug.
But one time's as good as another.
What a time I picked to go into my act,
he thought. He gave a mental shrug.
But one time's as good as another.
“We're going to make it,” said Bonnett. “Nothing can stop us.”
Startled, Ramsey darted a glance at the first officer.
Bonnett was staring at the screen. Ramsey followed the direction of his gaze. Sparrow and Garcia were scrambling down the ladder to the right-side tunnel. Sparrow jerked open the door to the bulkhead locker, swung out an ABG suit on its traveler rack.
“The EPs are crazy to think they can beat him,” said Bonnett. “He's like a god!”
Something in Bonnett's voice â¦
Ramsey fought down a shudder.
The screen showed Garcia helping Sparrow into the bulky suit.
Ramsey turned back to his controls as the subtug steadied. He found the need to say something, said, “We're out of wave turbulence.”
Bonnett looked at him. “Do tell.” He turned his attention back to the screen.
Ramsey adjusted the controls, brought the deck to level.
Now, Sparrow was completely sealed into his suit. He turned clumsily, helped Garcia.
What does the telemeter show?
Ramsey wondered.
Is Sparrow under control? Or is the wild feedback starting?
Ramsey wondered.
Is Sparrow under control? Or is the wild feedback starting?
In the heavy suit, Sparrow felt the perspiration begin to roll off him. His fingers seemed unwilling to obey him as he assisted Garcia.
Damned sweat suits! There!
The final seal went into place.
Damned sweat suits! There!
The final seal went into place.
Sparrow took a deep breath, spoke into his suit mike: “Testing ⦠testing. Do you read me, Les?”
The captain's voice boomed out of the speaker on the control deck. Ramsey turned down the volume.
Bonnett spoke into his chest mike: “Loud and clear.”
“Joe,” said Sparrow. “Are you receiving me?”
“Righto, Skipper.”
“Now get this, Les,” said Sparrow. “If that damper arm swings out too far it'll begin clubbing the side of the pile. Monitor me on your screen. I might not be able to see a position change soon enough.”
Bonnett looked to the screen showing the reactor room.
“It's quiet now, Skipper. Resting against the first-stage clamps.”
“It's quiet now, Skipper. Resting against the first-stage clamps.”
“Those bolts are sheared off, though,” said Sparrow. “The whole unit could fall over onto the pile.”
Bonnett studied the screen. “Skipper, there's a chance you could catch the main drive bar with the grapple of the forward manuals.” He bent closer to the screen. “It'll be a near thing. You'll have to snake past that broken hinge.”
“How much clearance?”
“Maybe six inches. No more. The mirror's at a bad angle.”
“Talk me in,” said Sparrow. “We can do it.” He turned, undogged the tunnel hatch and snapped on his helmet light. “Joe, stay here unless I call you.” He reached a hand into the tunnel, found the filter-system switch, started it. He plugged his suit hose into the traveler, tested the air.
Garcia said, “I'll time you. Have Les monitor the tunnel radiation.”
Bonnett, listening to the conversation over the intercom, said, “I'll give you the time-over-radiation from here.” He twisted a dial, plugged in a jack, tested the circuit.
“I'm going in,” said Sparrow. He bent, slid into the tunnel. “I'll give you a running commentary when I reach the manuals, Les. Get everything on tape. Base will want a complete record of this.”
“Take it slow and easy, Skipper,” said Bonnett.
Sparrow said, “Joe, dog that tunnel door behind me. If that base falls to the right it'll smash the end plug. There'd be hot stuff all over the place.”
“Righto.”
A faint thump behind Sparrow and a feeling of pressure
change told him when Garcia had complied. Sparrow felt the isolation like a physical band tightening on his forehead. Perspiration rolled down his cheeks, down his nose. His clothes were damp with it, clinging to him.
change told him when Garcia had complied. Sparrow felt the isolation like a physical band tightening on his forehead. Perspiration rolled down his cheeks, down his nose. His clothes were damp with it, clinging to him.
Garcia's voice came over the phones like a sound from another world. “What do you see, Skipper?”
“Tunnel's clear. Nothing hot yet.” His helmet light cut a bright path through the metallic darkness.
It's another birth canal
, he thought. And he remembered all the times he had crawled the mock-up tunnel at training school without ever encountering that thought.
There's a first time for everything: a first time to be born, a first time to die
. He longed to wipe the perspiration from his forehead.
Lest ye be born again ye shall not enter â¦
, he thought. And he remembered all the times he had crawled the mock-up tunnel at training school without ever encountering that thought.
There's a first time for everything: a first time to be born, a first time to die
. He longed to wipe the perspiration from his forehead.
Lest ye be born again ye shall not enter â¦
The light picked up the safety door near the end of the tunnel. This was the limit of the bulkhead. Beyond that was the lead soda straw jutting into the pile room. And at the end: the manuals. He undogged the door, swung it back into its recess.
Pile-room floodlights cast their blue glare onto the tunnel floor ahead of him, reflected through the mirror system in a weird splotching of brilliance and shadows. Sparrow inched his way into the glare.
“I am at the manuals,” he said. He turned onto his back, fighting against the terror that threatened to overwhelm him. Out there in the blue glare of the pile room was ⦠what? The world and all its threats.
Garcia's voice came over the intercom: “Are you okay, Skipper?”
Sparrow took a deep breath. “Yes.”
I'll pretend I'm still in school
, he thought.
This is a test
.
I have to pass or take a black mark. They've yanked the
control units free of their base and I have to make repairs under simulated action conditions. Old Lieutenant Maurey is back at the tunnel mouth hoping I'll fail. That's not really a reactor out there; it's just a mock-up. They wouldn't risk an unimportant student with the real thing. They have to wait until you've had all that expensive training and it's cost something to lose you. Thenâ
, he thought.
This is a test
.
I have to pass or take a black mark. They've yanked the
control units free of their base and I have to make repairs under simulated action conditions. Old Lieutenant Maurey is back at the tunnel mouth hoping I'll fail. That's not really a reactor out there; it's just a mock-up. They wouldn't risk an unimportant student with the real thing. They have to wait until you've had all that expensive training and it's cost something to lose you. Thenâ
“Skipper,” Les's voice, metallic in the phones.
“Yes?”
“Are you ready?”
“Just a moment, Les.”
“Right.”
Sparrow slipped his hands into the fitted grips of the manual controls, pulled the stud which hooked him into the grapple. He pulled back with his right hand, watched in the mirror as the grapple came into lift position.
“Les?”
“I see it, Skipper. Bring it up about three feet. Line it up with the spring bar, but keep it back away from the broken hinge.”
Sparrow pulled down on the right grip, turned it slightly to bring the hydraulic booster into play. The grapple darted upward.
Too fast!
Sweat popped out on his forehead.
Too fast!
Sweat popped out on his forehead.
“A little slower,” said Bonnett.
Sparrow whispered, “âLord, I am like David. I am in a great strait: let us fall now into the hand of the Lord; for his mercies are great: and let me not fall into the hand of man. Stay now thine hand. I have sinned and I have done wickedly: but these sheep, what have they done? Put thine hand over mine, Lord. Guide me.'”
Steadiness came to him.
“Did you say something, Skipper?” asked Bonnett.
“I'm all set, Les. Guide me in.”
“Okay. You have to come up about six inches and to the left about an inch. Take it slow.”
Sparrow lowered the thrust of the hydraulic booster, put his muscle into the grip. The manual arm went up slowly, paused, shifted to the left.
“Right on, Skipper. Bring it forward three feet and lock it while you lift the rear hinge section into place.”
The grapple moved as though it were a part of his body. He twisted his left grip to lock the end section, eased the next element of the grapple arm into alignment.
“How's that?”
“Perfect. Now, can you lift the whole arm about an inch? You're a little close to that broken hinge.”
“I can't see the end of the grapple and the next element at the same time, Les. I'd better watch the element.”
“Okay. Fine it down and bring the grapple end up a quarter of an inch at a time.”
Sparrow grunted as he made the first lift.
“That was a half inch, Skipper. One more exactly like it.”
Again Sparrow grunted as he moved the grip.
“A hair over, Skipper, but you still have clearance.”
“Do you want me to fine it down?”
“No. Let it stand there. Now bring the grapple end past the hinge. One straight push about three feet.”
Sparrow twisted his head to get a view of the grapple in the mirrors. It looked as though it would smash directly into the broken hinge.
Poor angle of view,
he thought.
How'd a piece of bad planning like that get by?
He lifted his right hand grip. The grapple surged forward, stopped.
Poor angle of view,
he thought.
How'd a piece of bad planning like that get by?
He lifted his right hand grip. The grapple surged forward, stopped.
“Hold it right there a second, Skipper.”
Sparrow heard mumbling over the phones.
Bonnett's voice returned: “You'll have to get three elements of the grapple arm past that break before you can drop the tip. Better align the next element.”
Sparrow brought up the next hinged section, straightened it. “How's the alignment?”
“Right on. Bring it forward.”
He complied, his hands moving the controls with increased sureness. The next element came up, was aligned, sent forward.
“Another foot forward, Skipper.”
He moved the grapple arm.
“Now comes the ticklish part. Drop the end at number-three joint. Take it down slowly and stop when I tell you.”
Sparrow bent the end elements downward. He thought that it was almost as though he could feel the moving part as he could feel his own arm. He sensed the position and stopped it while Bonnett was forming the order on his lips. The grapple end now was out of sight below the control base. It would take four adjustments of the mirrors to bring it back into view.
“You're about ten inches above the main drive bar. To reach it, you'll have to angle down with that section spanning the broken hinge.”
“I don't dare jar that hinge,” said Sparrow. “There's a lot of leverage that far up. I could break it right off.”
“I've used the calipers on the screen,” said Bonnett. “You'll have about an inch to spare.”
Sparrow felt the fatigue in his wrists and forearms, whispered, “Just a little longer, Lord. We're making it.”
“You ready?” asked Bonnett.
“Yes. Talk me down.”
“Okay. Take the tip toward you about four inches.”
Sparrow moved the grapple.
“Now down six inches.”
Sparrow eased the tip downward, felt the sureness of his control, said, “How's the lateral alignment?”
“Half inch to the right.”
He shifted the descent angle, continued down with the tip. “How's the upper clearance?”
“You still have two inches.”
He felt the grapple jaws touch the drive bar, lowered them onto it, gripped the bar.
“Skipper, you couldn't have done that better if you'd had your own hand out there.”
Sparrow locked the grapple into position, brought up secondary grapples to brace it. He slid backward down the tunnel until he could reach the manual controls at number-two position, reached up with a short grapple and clamped it onto the broken unit. The control shivered.
“Lordy,” said Bonnett. “It would've gone right over without the bracing on that drive bar.”
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