The Dragon in the Sea (5 page)
Read The Dragon in the Sea Online
Authors: Frank Herbert
Sparrow looked astern at the set of the tow.
Oil. War demanded the pure substance born in the sediment of rising continent. Vegetable oil wouldn't do. War was no vegetarian. War was a carnivore
.
Oil. War demanded the pure substance born in the sediment of rising continent. Vegetable oil wouldn't do. War was no vegetarian. War was a carnivore
.
The tow tug shifted to the side of the
Ram
and now the sub was being nosed into the traveler rack which would carry it down to the underwater canyon and the gulf.
Ram
and now the sub was being nosed into the traveler rack which would carry it down to the underwater canyon and the gulf.
Sparrow looked at the control console in the conning tower, and the green
clear-away
light. He flashed the standby signal to the tug below him and, with a practiced motion, touched the controls to retract the tower. It slid smoothly into the sub, its plasteel lid twisting into the groove seats.
clear-away
light. He flashed the standby signal to the tug below him and, with a practiced motion, touched the controls to retract the tower. It slid smoothly into the sub, its plasteel lid twisting into the groove seats.
A chest microphone hung beside the tower console. Sparrow slipped it on, spoke into it: “Rig for dive.”
He focused his attention on the dive board in front of him.
Back came Bonnett's voice, robbed of life by the metallic mutes of the intercom: “Pressure in the hull.”
One by one, the lights on Sparrow's dive board shifted from red to green. “Green board,” he said. “Stand by.” Now he could feel the hull pressure and another pressure in his stomach. He closed the signal circuit which told the outside crews that the subtug was ready to go down tunnel.
The
Ram
shifted, lurched. A dull clang resonated through
the boat. Across the top of the dive board amber lights flashed: they were in the grip of the tunnel elevator. Twenty hours of free ride.
Ram
shifted, lurched. A dull clang resonated through
the boat. Across the top of the dive board amber lights flashed: they were in the grip of the tunnel elevator. Twenty hours of free ride.
Sparrow grasped a handhold beside the dive board, swung down and out onto the engine-room catwalk. His feet made a slithering sound on the catwalk padding as he made his way aft, crawled through the control-room door, dogged it behind him. His gaze paused for a moment on the hand-etched brass plate Heppner had attached beside the doorâa quotation from some nineteenth-century pundit:
“No one but a crazy man would waste his time inventing a submarine and no one but a lunatic would go down in it if it were invented.”
Through the gulf shelf in the Florida elbow, De Soto Canyon slashes the soft peninsula limestone like a railroad cut: fourteen fathoms where it starts in Apalachee Bay, more than two hundred and sixty fathoms where it dives off into the ocean deeps south of Cape San Bias and east of Tampa.
The gulf exit of the marine tunnel opens into the canyon wall at fifty fathoms: a twilight world of waving fan kelp, red fingers of gorgonian coral, flashing sparkles of reefdwelling fish.
The
Fenian Ram
coasted out of the dark hole of the tunnel like a sea monster emerging from its lair, turned, scattering the fish, and slanted down to a resting place in the burnt-umber mud of the canyon bottom. A sonar pulse swept through the boat. Detectors in the triple hulls
responded, registered on control gauges of the navigation deck.
Fenian Ram
coasted out of the dark hole of the tunnel like a sea monster emerging from its lair, turned, scattering the fish, and slanted down to a resting place in the burnt-umber mud of the canyon bottom. A sonar pulse swept through the boat. Detectors in the triple hulls
responded, registered on control gauges of the navigation deck.
Garcia's clipped accentâoddly squeaking in the oxygen-high atmosphereârepeated the check list as he watched the Christmas tree lights of the main board. “ ⦠no leaks, trim weights balanced, external salvage air clear and pressure holding, atmosphere free of nitrogen, TV eyes clear and seeing, TV periscope surfaced and seeing; periscope gyro checks withâ” His laughter echoed through the intercom: “Seagull! It tried to land on the peri-box as I started to reel in. Lit on its fanny in the water.”
Bonnett's crisp tones interrupted: “What's it like topside, Joe?”
“Clear. Just daybreak. Going to be a good day for fishing.”
Sparrow's voice rasped over the speakers: “Enough of that! Was there anyone up there to spot the gull's flop? They could've seen our box.”
“Negative, Skipper.”
Sparrow said, “Les, give me the complete atmosphere check. Vampire gauges everyone. Follow the check. Report any deviations.”
The patient inspection continued.
Ramsey interrupted. “I'm in the induction-drive chamber. A lot of static here as I entered.”
Garcia said, “Did you go back by the lower shaft tunnel?”
“Lower.”
“I noticed that myself earlier. We'll rig a ground for the scuff mat. I think that'll fix it.”
“I grounded myself before entering.”
Sparrow said, “Run that down, Joe. Les, where are you?”
“Second-level catwalk in the engine room.”
“Relieve Joe on the main board. Ramsey, get into your shack. Contact with base in eleven minutes.”
“Aye, Skipper.”
Sparrow moved from his position on the control deck below Garcia to a point at the first-level door which was open to permit visual inspection of the big gauges forward on the radiation wall.
That room in the bow
, he thought.
That's what worries me. We can see into it with our TV eyes; guages tell us what's happening. But we can't touch it with our bare hands. We don't have a real feeling for that place.
That room in the bow
, he thought.
That's what worries me. We can see into it with our TV eyes; guages tell us what's happening. But we can't touch it with our bare hands. We don't have a real feeling for that place.
He mopped his forehead with a large red handkerchief.
Something, somewhere is wrong.
He was a subtug skipper who had learned to depend on his feeling for the boat.
Something, somewhere is wrong.
He was a subtug skipper who had learned to depend on his feeling for the boat.
A string of Spanish curses in Garcia's voice, rendered metallic by the intercom, interrupted his reverie.
Sparrow barked: “Joe! What's wrong?” He turned toward the stern, as though to peer through the bulkheads.
“Wiper rag in the rotor system. It was rubbing the induction ring every revolution. That's Ramsey's static.”
“Does it look deliberate?”
“Did you ever come across a
silk
wiping rag?” The sound of a grunt came over the intercom. “There, by heaven!”
silk
wiping rag?” The sound of a grunt came over the intercom. “There, by heaven!”
Sparrow said, “Save that rag.” Then: “Ramsey, where are you?”
. “In the shack warming up the transmitter.”
“Did you hear Joe?”
“Yes.”
“Tell base about that rag. Tell themâ”
“Skipper!” It was Garcia's voice. “There's oil in the atmosphere back here!”
“Skipper!” It was Garcia's voice. “There's oil in the atmosphere back here!”
Sparrow said, “A mist of oil plus static spark equals an explosion! Where's that oil coming from?”
“Just a minute.” A clanking of metal against metal. “Open pet-cock in the lube system. Just a crack. Enough to squirt a fine spray under full drive.”
Sparrow said, “Ramsey, include that in the report to base.”
“Aye, Skipper.”
“Joe, I'm coming back there,” said Sparrow. “We're going over that drive room with a microscope.”
“I've already started.”
Bonnett said, “Skipper, would you send Ramsey up here after he gets off the contact? I'll need help checking the main board.”
“Hear that, Ramsey?” asked Sparrow.
“Aye.”
“Comply.”
“Will do.”
Sparrow went aft, dropped down to the lower level, crawled through the shaft tunnel and into the drive roomâa cone-shaped space dominated by the gleaming brass induction ring, the spaced coils. He could smell the oil, a heavy odor. Garcia was leaning into the coil space, examining the induction ring by magnifying glass.
“They're just little things,” said Sparrow. “But taken togetherâboom!”
Garcia turned, his eyes glittering in the harsh work lights. “I don't like the feel of things, Skipper. This is a bad beginning. This is starting like a
dead-man
mission.”
dead-man
mission.”
Sparrow took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. With an
abrupt motion, he thumbed the button of his chest mike. “Ramsey, when you contact base, request permission to return.”
abrupt motion, he thumbed the button of his chest mike. “Ramsey, when you contact base, request permission to return.”
“Aye, Skipper.”
Ramsey's thoughts leaped.
What will that do to morale? The first raider in months turns back without getting out of the gulf
.
Bad
. He stared at the wavering fingers of the dial needles. His contact timer hit the red line, buzzed. He rapped out the first pulse with its modulated message: “Able John to Red Hat. Over.”
What will that do to morale? The first raider in months turns back without getting out of the gulf
.
Bad
. He stared at the wavering fingers of the dial needles. His contact timer hit the red line, buzzed. He rapped out the first pulse with its modulated message: “Able John to Red Hat. Over.”
The speaker above his head hissed with background noise like a distant surf. Presently, a voice came out of it, overriding the noise: “This is Red Hat. Over.”
“Able John to Red Hat: We've discovered sabotage aboard. A silk rag was put in the motor system of our drive room. A static spark from the rag could've blown us out of the bay. Over.”
“Red Hat to Able John. Stand by, please. We are routing your message to Bird George.”
“Security!”
Again the speaker came to life. “Bird George to Able John. This is Teacher. What is the situation? Over.”
Clint Reed!
Ramsey could almost see the humorless face of his Security teacher.
Teacher Reed. Impromptu code
. Ramsey bent over his own mike: “Teacher, this is Student.” He repeated the story of sabotage.
Ramsey could almost see the humorless face of his Security teacher.
Teacher Reed. Impromptu code
. Ramsey bent over his own mike: “Teacher, this is Student.” He repeated the story of sabotage.
“Teacher to Student. What's your suggestion? Over.”
“Student to Teacher. Permit us to go on with inspection out here. There's less chance for an unknown factor. Just the four of us aboard. If we check safe, allow us to continue the mission. Bad for morale if we came back. Over.”
“Teacher to Student. That's the way we see it. But stand by.” Pause. “Permission granted. How much time do you need? Over.”
Ramsey turned on his intercom microphone. “Skipper, base suggests we continue the inspection here and not return if we check secure.”
“Did you tell him what we'd found?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What'd they say?”
“That there's less chance for a Security slip out here. Fewer personnel. They suggest we double-check each other, give everyâ”
“Suffering Jesus!”
“They want to know how much time we'll need.” Silence.
“Skipper, theyâ”
“I heard you. Tell them we'll need ten hours.”
Ramsey turned back to his transmitter. “Student to Teacher. Skipper says give us ten hours. Over.”
“Teacher to Student. Continue as ordered. We'll clear new check points for you. Over and out.”
Ramsey sat back, thought:
Now, I've really stuck my neck out. But Obe said this one has to go through
.
Now, I've really stuck my neck out. But Obe said this one has to go through
.
Bonnett's voice rasped over the intercom: “Ramsey! If that contact's over, get your ass up here and help me on this board!”
“Coming.”
In the drive room, Sparrow hefted a socket wrench, looked at Garcia crouched under the secondary coils. “They want this one to go through, Joe. Very badly.”
Garcia put a contact light on two leads. It glowed. “Yes,
and they give us a green hand like that Ramsey. A near dryback.”
and they give us a green hand like that Ramsey. A near dryback.”
“His service record says limited combat in gulf Security patrols.”
“Get the priest and the parish!” He shifted to a new position. “Something odd about the chap!”
Sparrow opened the plate over a condenser. “How so?”
“He strikes me like a ringer, a chap who pretends to be one thing when he's actually something else.”
“Where do you get that idea?”
“I really couldn't say, Skipper.”
Sparrow shrugged, went on with his work. “I dunno, Joe. We'll go into it later. Hand me that eight-inch flex wrench, please.”
Garcia reached up with the wrench, turned back to his own work. Silence came over the little room, broken only by the sound of metal on metal, buzzing of test circuits.
Sparrow ducked through the door into the control room, stood silently as Bonnett and Ramsey reinstalled the final cover plate of the main board.
Bonnett straightened, rubbed the back of his neck. His hand left a grease smear. He spoke to Ramsey: “You're a boy, Junior. We may make a submariner out of you yet. You've just gotta remember that down here you never make the same mistake once.”
Ramsey racked a screw driver in his tool kit, closed the kit, turned, saw Sparrow. “All secure, Skipper?”
Sparrow didn't answer at once. He looked around the control room, sniffed the air. Faint smell of ozone. A distant humming of standby machinery. The round eyes of the
indicator dials like symbiotic extensions of himself. The plucking disquiet remained within him.
indicator dials like symbiotic extensions of himself. The plucking disquiet remained within him.
“As secure as mortals can make itâI hope,” he said. “We'll repair to the wardroom.” Sparrow turned, ducked out the way he had entered.
Ramsey put his tool kit into its wall rack. Metal grated against metal. He shivered, turned. Bonnett was going through the door. Ramsey stepped across the control room, ducked through the door, followed Bonnett into the wardroom. Sparrow and Garcia already were there, Garcia seated to the right, Sparrow standing at the opposite end of the table. Ramsey's eyes widened. An open Bible lay on the table before Sparrow.
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