The Dragon in the Sea by Frank Herbert
“Nothing certain,” said Ramsey. “I’ve heard it argued both ways.” He glanced at the scope in front of him. “I think it may be our only chance.”
“Joe, take over here,” said Bonnett. He stepped away from the controls as Garcia took hold of the helm.
“What’re you going to do, Les?”
“Unhook the governor from the anhydrase generator system.”
Garcia’s head jerked around. “You’re not paying serious attention to this punk’s suggestion!”
Bonnett already was removing the cover plate from the atmosphere controls. “I am.”
“That’s suicide.”
Bonnett looked to the scope in front of Ramsey. “We’re already dead. What do we have to lose?”
He put the cover plate carefully on the deck, returned to the maze of wiring which had been revealed.
“It’s those red primaries at the top,” said Garcia.
“I know,” said Bonnett. He reached in with cutter pliers, snipped the wires. “Do you think the skipper’s all right?”
“This is no time to worry about that.”
Bonnett nodded, adjusted a pump control. “Johnny, what’s the helium reading?”
“Point four.”
Bonnett took out his own vampire gauge, adjusted it on his wrist. “Joe, take us down. Heading 215 degrees. Johnny, how far to that seamount?”
“Six minutes.”
Bonnett’s head snapped up. “You been working time-over-distance in your head?”
Ramsey busied himself with the search controls as the Ram’s deck slanted downward. “Yes.”
“We’ll make a submariner out of him yet,” said Garcia. He looked at Bonnett. “Are you sure it wouldn’t be better to try floating up again?”
“They’re too close,” said Bonnett. “Besides, I’m afraid to take another chance on rolling. We sheared off the damper-control base in there.” He nodded toward the bow. “No telling what we did to the pile base.”
Garcia wet his lips with his tongue.
“Won’t they hear us go down?” asked Ramsey.
“They know our depth limit,” said Bonnett.
“This was your idea,” said Garcia. “Are you getting cold feet?”
Ramsey swallowed.
“Their metal detection is poor,” said Bonnett. “I’m counting on their thinking we’ve taken the deep six rather than risk their fish.”
“They won’t hear any breaking up noises,” said Garcia.
“We hope,” said Ramsey.
Garcia paled.
Ramsey looked to the big static pressure gauge. “Outside pressure 2900 pounds.” He glanced at Bonnett, “Skipper .”
“We have only one skipper,” said Bonnett. “He’s aft in sick bay.”
“No, I’m not!”
They whirled. Sparrow stood in the aft doorway, hand on the metal rim, face pale and beaded with perspiration. “What is the situation, Les?”
Bonnett told him.
Sparrow turned a searching look on Ramsey. “This was your idea?”
Ramsey nodded. How long was he standing there? he wondered.
“What are your orders?” asked Bonnett.
“Carry on,” said Sparrow. “You are in command.”
Bonnett turned back to the pressure controls. “Helium below detection range,” he said. “Shall we go sit in the mud, Joe?”
“The medics say it’s theoretically possible for the human body to take 400 pounds under pure oxy and carbonic anhydrase conditions,” said Ramsey.
“Do all of them say that?” asked Bonnett.
“No, only some of them.”
“I can see it, now,” said Garcia. “An account of the reactions of four human bodies to 400 pounds atmospheric pressure in a Hell Diver Class submarine, with technical commentary on the autopsies.”
Ramsey shivered, looked at the red center dial on the static pressure gauge showing the Ram’s internal pressure: 297 pounds to the square inch. He glanced at the vampire gauge on his wrist, said, “CO2 diffusion is now .266. We have .054 to go under present conditions.”
Bonnett said, “I’ll give us 350 pounds internal as a starter.” He opened a valve, increased the anhydrase pump setting.
“Two minutes to bottom,” said Ramsey. “It’s a long thin seamount, ridge running parallel with our course. About ten miles.”
“Pressure is holding,” said Bonnett. “How long until that pack ranges us?”
“Fifteen minutes.”
Behind them, Sparrow said, “Now we’re going to find out how well these Hell Divers are built.”
“I’m more interested in how well I’m built,” said Garcia.
“I’d say the good Lord did an excellent job, all things considered,” said Bonnett.
Ramsey thought: Now that was a strange remark from him. More what I’d have expected from Sparrow.
“Lord, we beg your indulgence upon us,” said Sparrow. “We who have no right to ask it. Amen.”
“Flatten the glide angle,” said Bonnett.
Garcia brought up the nose.
“Give us the nose eyes and two searchlights.”
The main screen above them came alive, showing a path of light through green water. Pale phosphorescent shapes ranged beyond the limits of the light.
Ramsey looked at the internal-pressure reading: 400 pounds even.
“Ease her down,” said Bonnett.
The deck tipped.
Outside pressure passed through 3400 pounds … 3420 … 3440 …
Ramsey found himself unable to tear his gaze away from the dial.
3500 … 3520 … 3540 …
“Diffusion is normal,” said Bonnett. “Is anyone feeling ill effects?”
“I feel silly,” said Garcia.
“Steady,” said Bonnett.
“Be alert for oxygen intoxication,” said Sparrow.
The pressure dial passed 3600 pounds … 3620 …
“Flatten the glide,” said Bonnett.
Garcia complied.
“How far to the bottom?”
Ramsey forced himself to look at his instruments.
“Fifty feet.”
“Down,” said Bonnett.
Again the deck tipped.
Now, they watched the big screen below the pressure gauge.
“There!” said Garcia.
It seemed to come at them out of a green fog; a long pie cut of red ooze slashed from the darkness by the searchlights. A uniform ripple pattern stretched diagonally across the ooze. It showed not a sign of sea life.
Garcia eased up the bow planes and the Ram grounded gently, stirring up a fog of the red ooze which clouded the screen.
“Kill the drive,” said Bonnett.
Garcia’s hand already was on the switch. The motors fell silent.
Ramsey whispered, “It’s 8460 feet.”
“A new world’s record,” said Garcia.
Sparrow stepped forward onto the control deck. “Thank you, Lord,” he said.
“I’ve come to a decision,” said Ramsey. “I’m just a natural-born coward. Nothing ever came so easy to me in all my life.”
“Is anybody feeling ill effects from the pressure?” asked Sparrow.
“I’m still feeling silly,” said Garcia.
“Anybody else?”
Ramsey shook his head, studied the search instruments in front of him.
“Diffusion is .214,” said Bonnett. “We’re still rid of it faster than we take it in.”
Ramsey said, “Great God in heaven!”
“Where else would you expect him to be?” asked Garcia.
“There’s a cold current moving in,” said Ramsey. “Right over us.”
“God spreads his cloak upon us,” said Sparrow.
“Pack ranging over us to the south,” said Ramsey. “Eight thousand yards.”
Bonnett said, “Any indication that they smell us?”
“No.”
“They won’t look where they don’t believe we can be,?
“I’m losing’em through that cold layer,” said Ramsey.
“Skipper an’ God are buddies,” said Garcia. “Good close buddies. Do favors for each other alia time.” He staggered slightly.
Ramsey grabbed Garcia’s wrist, looked at his vampire gauge. “Diffusion normal. What’s—”
“Oxygen reactions vary,” said Bonnett.
“What’s wrong with you chaps?” Garcia’s head wobbled. He peered at them owlishly.
“Take it easy, Joe,” said Sparrow.
“Easy?” He squinted up at Sparrow. “I know you, Skipper. You’re King David all over again. I’ve heard you.” He shook his head loosely, lifted his right hand. “‘In my distress I called upon the Lord, and cried to my God: and he did hear my voice out of his temple, and my cry did enter into his ears.’”
“All right, Joe. Let’s go back and hit the sack.” Sparrow took Garcia’s elbow, urged him toward the aft door.
“Leggo me,” said Garcia. He shook off Sparrow’s hand, staggered, caught his balance, turned, and stared deliberately at Ramsey. “I know all about you, Mr. Long John Ramsey. You look down your long nose at me! Think you know somethin’ bout me. You don’t know nothin’. Nothin’!”
“That will be quite enough, Mr. Garcia.” Sparrow’s voice had iron in it, a harsh note of command.
“Sorry, Skipper.” He turned toward the door. “Le’s go.’M tired.”
Sparrow stared at Ramsey, then turned, urged Garcia out the door.
In the control room there was silence for a moment broken only by the faintest murmuring of standby machinery. Then Bonnett said, “Long John? How’d you get a nickname like that?”
Ramsey studied his instrument before turning toward Bonnett. That damned nickname! It could mean only that Garcia knew about his past—his real past.
Bonnett said, “I asked—”
“Yes, I heard you. A supply officer christened me. Said I was a worse pirate than the original Long John Silver. That’s all.”
“Pirate? Why?”
“For scrounging extra equipment. Moonlight requisition.”
Bonnett smiled. “I don’t see why that’d put Joe on his ear. Unless he’s jealous of someone better at it than he is.”
And Ramsey was thinking: Garcia will tell the skipper. Sure as hell he will.
“Is it extra hot in here?” asked Bonnett.
Ramsey looked at the beads of perspiration on Bonnett’s face, glanced at his vampire gauge. Blood temperature normal. He looked at the dial of the thermo-system monitor on his board, said, “Seventy-one degrees.”
“My skin feels itchy,” said Bonnett.
Ramsey resisted the impulse to scratch at his own forearm, said, “I’ve been noticing the same thing.”
Bonnett glanced at the exposed wiring of the atmosphere controls, checked a dial setting. “Anhydrase generation is double the normal. Gas volume twenty cc’s per cubic meter.”
“We’re off in a wild unknown,” said Ramsey.
“We shouldn’t be,” said Bonnett. “We’ve had carbonic anhydrase for forty years.”
Ramsey reset a kick-out meter on his sono-board, looked up at the primary oscilloscope.
“Hear anything?”
Ramsey shook his head. “This C-A is funny stuff, Les. We’ve pushed chimpanzees to 400 pounds with it for extended periods. Some lived. Some didn’t. A few of the bright boys think they know why.”
“Why?”
“Well, the theory is that C-A acts on a rather nebulous central nervous system thing called the ‘metabolic governor’ in such a way as to keep us from burning up when available oxygen is increased. They think sometimes the governor gets a little bit off—out of timing kind of—and the organism gets caught in a feedback situation: oscillates to death.”
“Why?”
“That they don’t know. Maybe the ‘metabolic governor’ gets tired.”
“What’re the chances one of us’ll get caught that way?”
Ramsey shot a sharp glance at him, looked at the search board. “That’s a stupid question, Les.”
Bonnett colored. His jaw set.
“If you’re trying to get me to reassure you, no dice,” said Ramsey. “All I know is we’re still alive, even if we are a bit uncom—Signal!” He slapped the switch on the ranging computer, read the dial. “Five hundred yards. They’re quartering southwest.”
“Do we still have God’s cold cloak over us?”
Ramsey caught a jibing cynicism in Bonnett’s voice he had never noted before. He glanced at the thermocouple dial. “It’s been over us periodically. Gone now. I think this seamount acts like a barrier to the Arctic Current. Probably sets up complex whorl patterns.” He looked back to the ranging dials. “The EPs are holding course. They’re drawing away now.”
“Was there any doubt that they would?” asked Bonnett.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve some things to learn yet about our skipper,” said Bonnett. “Joe wasn’t joking. There’s an unca—”
The Ram gave an abrupt lurch and the deck tipped two degrees left.
Ramsey caught the rail in front of his board. “What the—”
“The tow,” said Bonnett. “Current’s playing with it.”
“I felt it nudge us when we sat down,” said Ramsey. “But the bumpers—”
They lurched another degree to the left.
“Just pray it doesn’t drag us off this mountain,” said Bonnett. “We couldn’t take the extra 500 feet.”
“How do you know?” asked Ramsey. He studied the search board.
“I feel the mountain under my feet all foggy.”
Ramsey looked up. “What’d you say?”
“I feel all foggy in the head,” said Bonnett. He leaned against the grab-rail. “Fall off the mountain. Hate the fog.” He forced himself upright. “Not thinking straight. Take over, Mr. Ramsey. I’m … I’m—” He sat down on the deck, one hand above him still clinging to the rail.
An abrupt correlation interlocked in Ramsey’s mind. He glanced one more time over his search board, turned away, forced himself to walk calmly across to Bonnett. He bent over the first officer, checked Bonnett’s vampire gauge. CO2 diffusion .228. Above normal by .016. He dropped Bonnett’s wrist, stood up and made a minute micro-metergauge reduction in anhydrase generation.
“What’s wrong with Les?” Sparrow stood in the aft door, gaze sweeping over the control deck. He stepped through the door as Ramsey turned.
“Take it slow,” said Ramsey.
“Wha—” Sparrow hesitated in midstride.
Ramsey bent over Bonnett, again checked his vampire gauge, compared it with the one on his own wrist. No change. Too soon. He said, “I’ve just formed the Ramsey Theory on why some chimpanzees died and some didn’t.”
Sparrow again moved forward, bent over Bonnett. “What chimpanzees?”
“The chimps Med. I put under 400 pounds with peak anhydrase. My advice is for you not to overexert, get excited, nervous, or—”
“I know about the chimps,” said Sparrow. “Do you think—” He hesitated.
“Some kind of glandular upset,” said Ramsey. “What more likely than an emotional trigger, maybe coupled to physical activity?”
Sparrow nodded.
Ramsey noted the vampire-gauge needles sinking toward normal. He began massaging Bonnett’s left arm. “You’re okay, Les. Just relax and take it easy. The crisis is over. Take it easy … take it easy … take it easy …”
Bonnett’s head rocked groggily.
“We have to avoid excitement,” said Ramsey. “Our bodies are walking a tight wire down here. An uneasy balance.”
Sparrow stood up, went to the search board. “I gave Joe a sedative. He was crying, raving. Maybe I—” He fell silent.
Bonnett opened his eyes.
“Remain calm,” said Ramsey. “Do you hear me, Les?”
“There’s no danger if you relax.”
“You can’t force a man to relax,” said Sparrow.
Ramsey reached around Bonnett’s head, found the nerve line on the back of his neck, massaged it. “You’re feeling better already.”
Bonnett wet his lips with his tongue. “’M okay. Get back to your board.”
“Breathe slow and easy,” said Ramsey. He stood up.
Bonnett swallowed, spoke as though past a thickened tongue. “It was like quicksand. Feelin’ better now.”
Ramsey turned toward Sparrow. “He’ll be okay now.”
Sparrow glanced down at Bonnett. “Stay where you are, Les, until you feel like getting up.” He turned to Ramsey. “I’ve been on the eyes. The current has pulled our tow to a forty-five-degree angle across our stern. If we slack off the top towline we’ll right but that might free the tow for a further shift.”
“Best leave well enough alone,” said Ramsey.
“How near the edge of this seamount are we? The eyes don’t show it.”
“Maybe seventy-five yards. For the tow, that is. We were angling away from the edge when we sat down.”
Sparrow looked at the ranging computers. “Intermittent signal near extreme range.”
“That cold layer is waving over us like a fan,” said Ramsey.
Sparrow backed away from the board, looked around him, brought his attention back to Ramsey. There was something in the way he looked at Ramsey of the same attention he gave to his boat’s instruments. “What’s this ‘Long John’ business? Joe doesn’t make sense.”
Ramsey repeated what he had told Bonnett.
“Did the Ram benefit from this acquisition propensity of yours?”
“Not this trip, Skipper.”
Sparrow glanced upward to the row of reactor-room telltales. “Maybe next trip.”
Bonnett spoke from his position on the deck. “We’re gonna have a next trip, too. If we don’t crack up like poor Hepp.”
“We won’t,” said Sparrow.
Bonnett heaved himself to his feet. “I’m glad we have God’s word on that.”
Sparrow gave him a searching stare, said, “I’m reassuming command, Les. The circumstances warrant it. I’m in no immediate danger from that radiation overage.”
“Of course, Skipper.” There seemed a sigh of relief in Bonnett’s voice.