Read The Dragon in the Sea Online
Authors: Frank Herbert
The Dragon in the Sea (3 page)
“Staterooms yet.”
“Stop dodging the question.”
“Wise guy! Let's see: captain is top-level starboard behind the electronics shack. First officer portside behind the recreation room-sick bay. Engineering officer starboard below the captain's quarters and behind the machine shop. Electronics officer portside below the first officer and aft of galley stores. That's the place for me. Gonna cut me a private door into galley stores.”
“Where's the galley?”
“That one I can answer. It's far port, top level, entered through the wardroom. Selector controls for the prepackaged meals are against the bulkhead separating galley and wardroom. The galley-wardroom unit is between control deck and rec room.”
“What's behind the staterooms?”
“Machinery of the Palmer induction drive.”
“Why an induction drive?”
“Because at the dive limit for Hell Divers, there can be no weak points in the hull, therefore no shaft through the hull.”
“You're getting the drive on the hypnophone tonight. Every man blindfolded. There'll be a model for you to work on day after tomorrow.”
“Oh goody!”
“What's the pressure hull limit for Hell Divers?”
“Three thousand and ten pounds to the square inch or 7000 feet.”
“Stick to your first answer. Pressure varies with different water conditions. You'd be okay at 7100 feet in one place, dead at 6900 another. Learn to depend on your static pressure gauge. Now let's go to the atmosphere composition. What's a vampire gauge?”
“A little device worn on your wrist during deep dives. Needle goes into your vein, tells you if your CO
2
diffusion is fast enough so you won't crock out. It also tattles on nitrogen.”
2
diffusion is fast enough so you won't crock out. It also tattles on nitrogen.”
“What's minimum diffusion?”
“When you get below .200 on CO
2
you get the jeebies. If your blood CO
2
count goes to four percent you're in trouble. With nitrogen it's different. The subtug atmosphere is supposed to be entirely cleared of it. A small quantity of helium is substituted.”
2
you get the jeebies. If your blood CO
2
count goes to four percent you're in trouble. With nitrogen it's different. The subtug atmosphere is supposed to be entirely cleared of it. A small quantity of helium is substituted.”
“How do you get by with the high atmospheric pressure?”
“Aerobic carbonic anhydrase is fed into the atmosphere by the ventilator system. This speeds up the CO
2
loading and unloading of the blood, prevents gas bubbles forming.”
2
loading and unloading of the blood, prevents gas bubbles forming.”
“You're good on that. Did you know it before?”
“My emotional telemeter is just a glorified vampire gauge.”
“Oh, sure. Now, why is the electronics officer so important?”
“Contact with the exterior control motors is by coded wave pulse. If the E-system breaks down when a subtug is submerged, it stays submerged.”
“Right. Now, let's go through the plans again.”
“Not again!”
“Start with the reactor room. In detail.”
“Slave driver!”
The nightly hypnophone sessions flooded Ramsey's mind with the new knowledge: pressure hull, resonating hull, tank hull ⦠pressure compensating system ⦠header box ⦠reactor controls ⦠search and sounding ⦠diving plane controls ⦠valve controls ⦠pile check-off ⦠sonoran automatic-navigation board ⦠atmosphere controls ⦠automatic timelog, Mark IX ⦠external and internal TV eyes, specifications for servicing of ⦠gyro controls ⦠tow controls ⦠plastic barge, oil, components of ⦠needle torpedoes, external racking system ⦠torpedo homing systems ⦠scrambler systems ⦠systems ⦠systems ⦠systems ⦠.
There were times when Ramsey's head felt filled to the bursting point.
Dr. Oberhausen appeared in Ramsey's quarters on the fourth day of training. The doctor's unpressed clothes gave him the appearance of a bedraggled robin. He came in quietly, sat down beside Ramsey, who was seated in a viewerscope-sequence training hookup.
Ramsey pulled the fitted faceplate away from his eyes, turned to Dr. Oberhausen. “Ah, the chief of the inquisition.”
“You are comfortable, Johnny?” The sightless eyes seemed to stare through him.
“No.”
“Good. You are not supposed to be comfortable.” The doctor's chair creaked as he shifted his weight. “I have come about the man Garcia who is engineering officer of this crew.”
“What's wrong with him?”
“Wrong? Have I said anything was wrong?”
Ramsey completely disengaged the viewerscope, sat back. “Come to the point.”
“Ah, the impatience of youth.” Dr. Oberhausen sighed. “Do you have a file on Garcia?”
“You know I have.”
“Get it please, and read me what you have.”
Ramsey leaned to his right, took a file folder from the bottom ledge of his coffee table, opened it. Garcia's picture on the inside front cover showed a short manâabout five feet seven inchesâslim. Latin featuresâdark. Black curly hair. Sardonic half smile. The picture managed to impart a sense of devil-may-care. Under the photograph a note in Ramsey's handwriting: “Member Easton championship water-polo team. Likes handball.”
“Read to me,” said Dr. Oberhausen.
Ramsey turned the page, said, “Age thirty-nine. Came up from ranks. Ex-CPO machinist. Ham radio license. Born Puerto Madryn, Argentina. Father cattle rancher José Pedro Garcia y Aguinaldo. Mother died at birth of daughter when Garcia age three. Religion: Catholic. Wears rosary around neck. Takes blessing of priest before each mission. Wife: Beatrice, age thirty-one.”
“Do you have her picture?” asked Dr. Oberhausen.
“No.”
“A pity. I am told she is quite beautiful. Continue, please.”
Ramsey said, “Educated at New Oxford. That accounts for his British accent.”
“I grieved when the British Isles were destroyed,” said Dr. Oberhausen. “Such a lovely culture, really. So basically solid. Immovable. But that is weakness, also. Continue, if you please.”
“Plays bagpipes,” said Ramsey. He looked at the doctor. “Now there's something: a Latin American playing the bagpipes!”
“I see nothing wrong with that, Johnny. For certain moods, nothing is more soothing.”
Ramsey raised his gaze to the ceiling. “Soothing!” He looked back at the BuPsych chief. “Why am I reading this?”
“I wanted to get the full flavor of Garcia in mind before imparting the latest morsel from Security.”
“Which is?”
“That Garcia may be one of these
sleepers
who are giving Security so many
sleepless
nights.”
sleepers
who are giving Security so many
sleepless
nights.”
Ramsey snorted. “Garcia! That's insane! As well as suspect me!”
“They are still investigating
you,”
said Dr. Oberhausen. “As to Garciaâperhaps; perhaps not. Counter-Intelligence has turned up the description of a sleeper supposed to be in the subtugs. The description fits Garcia. Security almost called off the mission. I convinced them to go ahead by suggesting that you be primed to watch Garcia.”
you,”
said Dr. Oberhausen. “As to Garciaâperhaps; perhaps not. Counter-Intelligence has turned up the description of a sleeper supposed to be in the subtugs. The description fits Garcia. Security almost called off the mission. I convinced them to go ahead by suggesting that you be primed to watch Garcia.”
Ramsey returned to the color photograph in his file folder, observed the sardonic smile. “I say we're chasing shadows. And that may be what the EPs really want. If it's carried to its illogical extreme, certain Security-thinking is first cousin to paranoiaâdementia praecox type.”
Dr. Oberhausen lifted himself from the rattan chair. It gave off a reedy creaking. “Do not say that to the Security gentlemen when they come to brief you on Garcia,” he said. “Oh, and one other thing: the commodore is sharpening knives with which to carve you if there is some error on this mission.”
“I have you to thank for that,” said Ramsey.
“I take care of my own,” said Dr. Oberhausen. “Fear not on that score.” He waved toward the viewerscope. “Continue with your studies. I have other work.”
Ramsey waited for the door to close, threw the file folder back onto the coffee table, took twenty deep breaths to calm his nerves. Presently, he leaned to the right, captured the folders on the other two crew members, scanned them.
Commander Harvey Acton Sparrow
. Age forty-one. Picture of a tall, thin man with balding sandy hair, a face of sharp planes, stooped shoulders.
. Age forty-one. Picture of a tall, thin man with balding sandy hair, a face of sharp planes, stooped shoulders.
He looks like a small-town college professor,
thought Ramsey.
How much of that is conditioned on his early desire to teach mathematics? Does he resent the fact that his hard-crust Navy family forced him to follow in the old man's footsteps?
thought Ramsey.
How much of that is conditioned on his early desire to teach mathematics? Does he resent the fact that his hard-crust Navy family forced him to follow in the old man's footsteps?
Father: Rear Admiral Acton Orwell Sparrow, lost with subcruiser
Plunger
in Battle of Irish Sea, 16 October 2018. Mother: Genene Cobe Sparrow. Invalid (heart), lives at Watters Point Government Rest Home. Wife: Rita. Age thirty-six. Blonde? Childless.
Plunger
in Battle of Irish Sea, 16 October 2018. Mother: Genene Cobe Sparrow. Invalid (heart), lives at Watters Point Government Rest Home. Wife: Rita. Age thirty-six. Blonde? Childless.
Does Sparrow know that his wife is unfaithful?
Ramsey asked himself.
Most of their friends are aware of it.
Ramsey asked himself.
Most of their friends are aware of it.
Qualifications: navigatorâsuperior; gunnery officerâsuperior; medical officer (advanced first aid and pressure syndrome)âexcellent; general submarine competenceâsuperior.
Ramsey turned to the other folder.
Lieutenant Commander Leslie (none) Bonnett.
Age thirty-eight. Picture of a heavy-bodied man (just under six feet) with brown wavy hair (artificial wave?), aquiline nose, overhanging eyebrows, the look of a brooding hawk.
Age thirty-eight. Picture of a heavy-bodied man (just under six feet) with brown wavy hair (artificial wave?), aquiline nose, overhanging eyebrows, the look of a brooding hawk.
Orphan foundling. Raised at Cape Neston Home for the Unwanted.
For the Unwanted!
thought Ramsey.
thought Ramsey.
Married four times. Two childrenâone by each of first two wives. Maintains marriage relationship with wife number four: Helene Davis Bonnett. Age twenty-nine. Miss Georgia of 2021.
The Unwanted
, thought Ramsey.
He's carrying out an unconscious revenge pattern against women, getting even with the mother who deserted him.
, thought Ramsey.
He's carrying out an unconscious revenge pattern against women, getting even with the mother who deserted him.
Qualifications: navigatorâgood; supply officerâexcellent; gunnery officerâsuperior (top torpedo officer of subtugs four years running); general submarine competenceâexcellent plus.
Ramsey looked at the note in the psych record: “Held from advancement to his own command by imperfect adjustment to deep-seated insecurity feelings.”
The Unwanted
, he thought.
Bonnett probably doesn't want advancement. This way, his commander supplies the father authority lacking in his youth.
, he thought.
Bonnett probably doesn't want advancement. This way, his commander supplies the father authority lacking in his youth.
Ramsey tossed the folders back onto the coffee table, leaned back to think.
An association of twisted and tangled threads.
Sparrow and Bonnett were Protestants, Garcia a Catholic.
No evidence of religious friction.
These men have evolved a tight working arrangement. Witness the fact that their subtug has the highest efficiency rating in the service.
What has been the effect of losing Heppner, the other electronics officer? Will they resent his replacement?
Damn! Heppner was the wrong one to go! A case history with no apparent clues. Quiet childhood. Calm home life. Two sour notes: a broken love affair at age twenty-four; a
psychotic blowup at age thirty-two. It should have been someone like Bonnett. The Unwanted. Or Captain Sparrow. The frustrated mathematician.
psychotic blowup at age thirty-two. It should have been someone like Bonnett. The Unwanted. Or Captain Sparrow. The frustrated mathematician.
“Sleeping?”
It was Reed, the constant tutor.
“It's three o'clock,” he said. “I brought a layout plan of the electronics shack on these Hell Divers.” He handed a blueprint to Ramsey, pointed as he spoke. “Bench here. Vise there. Wrench kit. Micro-lathe. Vacuum pumps. Testingboard plugs.”
“Okay, I can read.”
“You have to be able to plug into that test board in total darkness,” said Reed. He sat down squarely in the rattan chair lately occupied by Dr. Oberhausen. “Tomorrow you're going to start training on a mock-up.”
“Tomorrow's Saturday, Clint!” Ramsey glared at him.
“You don't get out of here before 1800,” said Reed. He bent forward over the plan. “Now, concentrate on that plug layout. This here is emergency lighting. You'll be expected to find it the first time.”
“What if it takes me two tries?”
Reed leaned back, turned his flinty gaze on Ramsey. “Mr. Ramsey, there's something you should understand so thoroughly that it's second nature to you.”
“Yeah? What's that?”
“There is no such thing as a
minor
accident on a submarine.
minor
accident on a submarine.
Commander Sparrow trotted down the ramp from the tube landing, slowed as he stepped into the cavernous,
floodlighted gloom of the underground submarine moorage. A fine mist of condensation from the rock ceiling far away in upper blackness beat against his face. He picked his way through the pattern of scurrying jitneys, darting, intent people. Ahead of him, the bulbous whale mound of his subtug rose above the pier; a 140-foot Wagnerian diva center stage beneath banks of floodlights.
floodlighted gloom of the underground submarine moorage. A fine mist of condensation from the rock ceiling far away in upper blackness beat against his face. He picked his way through the pattern of scurrying jitneys, darting, intent people. Ahead of him, the bulbous whale mound of his subtug rose above the pier; a 140-foot Wagnerian diva center stage beneath banks of floodlights.
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