Voyage To The Bottom Of The Sea Part 16

"Emery, Alvarez told me that that was who I am, and that the firebelt, which he says is G.o.d's punishment, is my firebelt, made by me personally. It's the payoff. I am to be executed for my sins.

My sins as Lee Crane and my sins as every one else, you name 'em.

"Now, what I have to tell you is that I believed him. I didn't know I was believing him while he was talking. I even argued with him. It was afterward I began to know I had believed him all along."

"I know that too," said old Emery, quite as if he knew that too.

Crane said, "It sums up to this: there is one real individual, and that's me. This 'me' includes all of humanity. All the rest of them, you and O'Brien and the O.O.M. and Cathy, they're scenery and shadows, and maybe my own nerve endings or local irritations on my nerve endings. Sure, they're born and they die, the shadows, they quarrel among themselves, but they aren't real. As long as they aren't real, whatever they do doesn't really matter very much. It can't."

He leaned forward and pointed at Emery's nose. "But look," he said harshly, "I know that's crazy talk and I know you think it is. But that doesn't matter, any more than Jimmy Smith's death or anything else. I'm still me, I'm still captain of this vessel, I'm still going to make deadline for that Polaris XII shoot, I still mean to knock out that firebelt."

"You tell that to Alvarez?"

"Sure I did! And you know what? My saying it, and even if I succeed in doing it-that doesn't matter to him. For a while there I thought I had some way to cope with this: I'd succeed with this in order to prove Alvarez wrong. But it wouldn't prove anything to him-he wouldn't care. You know why not? Because he's a shadow too. That's right. The only difference between him and the others is that he knows he's a shadow, and you and all the others think you're real." Crane fell back, as exhausted as if he had just finished carrying a heavy weight up a long hill.

Emery sat still for a long while and then asked, "Did it ever occur to you that maybe he told this same story to other people?"

"Sure it did! That's the first thing I asked him, before I knew I had been... believing him while he talked. I said what I'd come there to say: I demanded to know if he had filled Hodges up with this kind of c.r.a.p. Because if he had, with Hodges a little tilted anyway, I can easily see how Hodges might have gone off course altogether and killed O'Brien and himself."

"What did he say to that?"

"He said no, he hadn't told Hodges anything of the kind."

"And you believed him?"

"You believe him," said Crane forcefully. "When he opens his mouth, you believe him. You believe him because he doesn't care; nothing matters: lying wouldn't help anything. You believe him."

"You believe him," nodded Emery, who had, Crane knew, believed Alvarez himself. He waited, and then asked, "Is that all?"

"That's all," said the Captain. He glanced at his desk. "Shadows or no shadows, I didn't want the crew doing what I've been doing-chasing the meanings of everything-new meanings for everything-the way I have."

"But they wouldn't, Lee. They wouldn't. He doesn't upset anyone else-I don't think he can.

Don't you know why?"

"Well, why?"

"Not one of them is the man-ecce h.o.m.o-that man."

"Then what the h.e.l.l does he say to them?"

"Different things, different men. Some don't say anything, they just go sit where he is. n.o.body makes any fuss about it. He tells them things... about birds, or fish-d.a.m.n him, he's a marine biologist, did you know that?-surviving an expedition studying the mat of life that lives in and on the underside of polar ice. Wouldn't you think a marine biologist would have flipped his wig when he found he was aboard with the famous Lucius Emery? But no-Lucius Emery had to come to him, and he didn't give a d.a.m.n about Lucius Emery any more than he does about marine biology or anything else-it's all shadow play anyhow, and about to come to a close."

"You believe him."

"I believe he believes what he says," said Emery carefully. "I believe he doesn't, or perhaps can't, lie. The things he says are one hundred per cent beyond the borders of pragmatic proof." He turned and picked up the paper, holding it as if it was something a little distasteful. "This is just not needed, Lee. We've got little enough to hold us together just now- it's hard for us all to choke down what Chip said a while back about that killer s.h.i.+p maybe being American-and cutting the men off from Alvarez would be only a disaster. That might not affect you much, being what you are, but it'll play h.e.l.l with us shadows."

Emery had a bantering tone, but Crane was not sure what he meant by "being what you are" and hesitated to ask. "Are you telling me the crew's getting what's called 'spiritual solace' from this man?"

"That's a mighty good word for it. Nothing churchy, you understand, but somehow... well, they have no books they haven't read, by now, and they have no radio or TV. Alvarez, whatever else you think of him, is a source of an outside something." He leaned back and grinned. "You never asked me what he told me."

"Go ahead," said Crane.

"Nothing that shakes the cosmos like your ecce h.o.m.o," grinned Emery. "He just told me the thing I wanted most to know-which was where he himself heads in in this matrix. Now here's a basic physical fact that you know: a thing floats, or it sinks. It doesn't do anything between. Sh.o.r.eside, most people don't know that or have never thought about it; on a sub, it's the central fact of the way we live.

Float a cork in a tall vase, and start loading it with lead shot; you'll come to the place where it quits floating and sinks. Bring it up, cut that one pellet that made the difference and put half of it on. The cork will either float or it will sink. Cut the shot again and you'll get the same result. You will never be able to weight that cork so exactly that it hangs in the middle, hovering. Okay? Okay.

"Now in this world is a great ma.s.s of people who want to be liked and admired. Let's for the sake of argument put them in the 'float' category. And there are a number who actively want to be disliked-put them in the 'sink' category. Sometimes, by a s.h.i.+ft of whatever would be weight in this a.n.a.logue, an individual will move from one category to the other. But n.o.body, n.o.body at all, has ever hit the exact balance that would enable him to stay in between without outside forces, without effort, naturally and stably. Well, Alvarez has made it. He is by definition, and all by himself, a whole new category of human being because of it. He literally doesn't know, doesn't care, is not aware of the one thing that weighs most with the social animal-whether or not others like him. Maybe it's one of the things that frees him to speak the truth as much as he does." Emery chuckled. "And I got that out of him by observing his dog"'

"His dog?"

"Did you ever in your life hear of a man who had a dog and was loved and admired by that dog, who didn't give a d.a.m.n when in his presence that dog was adopted by a whole crowd of other guys?

He hasn't given up that dog. Nor has he kept it. It comes in and nuzzles him, he strokes it, it goes away, he lets it go. This guy doesn't even care whether or not a dog likes him. He doesn't need it. He doesn't need visitors either, which is probably why he gets them. Guys come, soak up something-something different each man, each time-and they go away again."

"All right," said the Captain. He took the paper, tore it across, and dropped it in the basket.

Emery rose. "Thanks, skipper," he said warmly. "You didn't have to do that. You don't have to do anything. But I'm glad you did."

He turned to the door. "Emery-"

"Aye."

"What have I done to deserve..." Crane pointed up, through steel, through water and air, to the burning sky. Emery understood instantly.

"I don't know, Cap'n. You'll have to search that out for yourself."

He left, and that was when Crane hunted until he found the Big Brag, and remembered it, and began to believe that he was going to have to pay for it at, and with, the end of the world.

Of course, there was nothing normal about these times.

MILES AND DAYS LATER, NORTH OF TONGA-TABU and east of the Fijis, they sighted the sub-chaser. The Seaview Seaview was skimming the surface at the time, all four full ahead and making better time than even the O.O.M. would have bragged about, when Kaski spotted the s.h.i.+p on the horizon. was skimming the surface at the time, all four full ahead and making better time than even the O.O.M. would have bragged about, when Kaski spotted the s.h.i.+p on the horizon.

They crash dived, but not before Morton, who was on watch at the time, ran the periscope camera up to full magnification and got a whole strip of telescopic pictures.

Running at a hundred and fifty feet, they found a copy of Jane's Jane's, the index of the world's naval vessels, and closely comparing silhouettes, identified the s.h.i.+p as a sub-chaser, a year or two old, British-built, manned at the moment by G.o.d knew whom, and equipped to the gunwales with radar, asdic, more kinds of sonar than was decent, multi-seeking torpedoes, rocket-launched, and some "turtles." These were a recent unpleasant invention incorporating a sink-or-swim device of gas release plus water intake which would keep the gadget floating at a predetermined depth for a predetermined length of time, which could be quite a long one-a necessity to allow the turtle-layer to get the h.e.l.l out of there. For once it went off, it wasn't bang or boom, it was-whatever the noise of a hydrogen bomb is.

They were on collision course with this vessel, and therefore lay doggo at three hundred feet, listening to the wheeze, clash, clack, buzz, whine, and clatter of more detection than they had believed possible. Cathy Connors, who had kept herself to herself for the past few days, wordlessly sought out the captain and stood beside him while she waited, while he and all the others waited, to be found.

The chaser sloped up to them, squawking and chattering, changing course twice to draw a finer bead. The personnel on the Seaview Seaview, one and all (even the dog) found themselves wordless and staring at the overhead as if they could see through it. The noise became unbearable, and when it was directly overhead, ceased so suddenly that everyone gasped and Cathy Connors screamed. There was nothing left but the grind of the chaser's propellers, and then an abrupt metallic whistle, which came in staccato bursts for perhaps ninety seconds, Fortunately for the sanity of all hands, Sparks had his wits about him, or had his training so inground in him that he didn't need wits; whichever it was, he s.n.a.t.c.hed a pencil and wrote down what was undeniably Morse International. He said later that someone on the chaser must have hung a telegraph key on the tone generator of their biggest and noisiest sonar transmitter. When the signal, for such it was, ceased, all the other gear started up again, and the chaser wheezed, clashed, clacked, buzzed, whined and clattered on its way. They lay, fearful yet hopeful, while the racket died away into the wet distances, and then someone thought to look into the radio shack, where they found Sparks leaning back in his chair, his eyes streaming fit to soak his earphones off, laughing like a fool. They read the message: CANT SEEM TO SEE A RUDDY THING JUST NOW CHEERIO YOU CHAPS.

Which told them how some of the English had voted in the UN, and also how some of the English felt about it.

ON THE 25TH OF AUGUST THE AVERAGE AIR temperature was 165.4, within eight degrees of Dr. Zucco's "burnout point"-or Admiral Nelson's "burn-up point." Almost half a day ahead of schedule, the Seaview Seaview ran submerged, not only to escape detection in the event that enough armament had reached the launching point, but also to avoid the heat. A mere 165-plus, ran submerged, not only to escape detection in the event that enough armament had reached the launching point, but also to avoid the heat. A mere 165-plus, Seaview Seaview could handle, but the nature of some of the rays, all but uns.h.i.+elded now because of the thinning of the ozone layers, made for a very deep penetration; the water at fifty feet actually was warmer than at the surface, where evaporation still operated and air, even warm air, still could cool it. Fifty feet being the depth could handle, but the nature of some of the rays, all but uns.h.i.+elded now because of the thinning of the ozone layers, made for a very deep penetration; the water at fifty feet actually was warmer than at the surface, where evaporation still operated and air, even warm air, still could cool it. Fifty feet being the depth PDF Transform PDF Transform Y.

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w A B B YY.com which contained most of the Seaview Seaview when she was theoretically at surface, made surfacing an when she was theoretically at surface, made surfacing an activity more suited for the potatoes in an Irish stew than for human beings. They rigged a camera buoy and towed it to get what surface lookout it could give them, and ran as fast as they could at a hundred feet, with all eyes and all detectors straining ahead. It is certain that they saw the other atomic submarine before they were seen. They did the only thing they could do-they went down.

They went 'way down. At a hundred fathoms they had pa.s.sed almost directly under the other submarine; but this time there was no lying doggo and waiting; they were too close to their destination, time was too short. They tried to run for it, and were detected.

The other sub, handled and manhandled by evidently a very determined crew, peeled off and dove at them more like an aircraft than a U-boat; it nosed down and dived under power instead of merely sinking as it ran. The Seaview Seaview did likewise, and rather faster. The U-boat launched two torpedoes, and did likewise, and rather faster. The U-boat launched two torpedoes, and Seaview Seaview degaussed and made them miss, luckily guessing these two right. After that there were no more torpedoes-just a headlong flight, down, and down, and down. degaussed and made them miss, luckily guessing these two right. After that there were no more torpedoes-just a headlong flight, down, and down, and down. Seaview Seaview tried to level off and run, but the other craft gained alarmingly, and Crane nosed her down again. tried to level off and run, but the other craft gained alarmingly, and Crane nosed her down again.

"Look!" gasped the O.O.M., who, though he stonily kept hands off, had been unable to keep himself out of the greenhouse. He pointed to the No. 2 screen, which held a magnified view of the sleek side of their pursuer. He stepped closer and laid his finger on the image of the forward torpedo tube, and again on one mounted on a swiveling turret on the aft quarter. Protruding from the mouth of each was the blunt head of a tin fish.

"Two fish, jammed in the tubes!" said Chip.

"Jammed, h.e.l.l," said the Admiral. "The pressure's too great for their launchers. They just can't push 'em out. No wonder we haven't had any more."

"She's not built for this," said Crane. Uselessly, to the oncoming U-boat, he yelled suddenly, "Pull up, idiot! Pull up!"

"Ah, let 'em dive," said Chip Morton, grinning wolfishly, and then had the grin frozen to his face by the sudden, sickening disruption of the other submarine, along which formed a dent, a crease, a dozen splits as transverse bulkheads were forced out through the collapsing hull; then there was nothing but a cloud full of spinning, broken, crushed wreckage as the craft completely imploded.

"G.o.d have mercy on their-" someone started to say, and then the concussion hit them, s.n.a.t.c.hed the deck sidewise, spilled half of them off their feet. Shaken and terrified, they had no sooner climbed to their feet when a second impact shook the sub-but this one quite different; a strange, sliding lurch, a queasy motion, or cessation of motion, like the application of big hydraulic brakes while in the beginnings of a skid. "Stop all!" yelled the captain, and fell.

The engines stopped, but the motion did not; the submarine heaved and stirred as if it rested on the surface of a rubber river running over rapids.

Crane rose to his feet, clutching a wrenched shoulder, and hit the light controls. The floods and the twin searchlight banks shot out-and were stopped, soaked up, by a featureless wall not twenty yards ahead.

"Look what we almost ran into," gasped one of the lookouts.

Cathy screamed suddenly. The submarine, lying on what seemed to be a bed of soft silt, still shuddered and trembled: now it began to list to starboard. Crane set his teeth and cranked the searchlights around. The bright spot traveled up the wall ahead, up and up, forty feet, sixty, and settled on a great bowl-like protuberance that looked like... that was... an eye.

Then the cliff ahead began to go concave, the edge above to lean...

"Full astern all!" bellowed the Captain, and the submarine awoke and s.h.i.+vered with effort. Gouts of leathery flotsam drifted by and away from the churning propellers, great sickly ma.s.ses of some whitish, gooey material.

And the Seaview Seaview simply stayed where she was, shuddering, while the wall with the eye in it bent close. simply stayed where she was, shuddering, while the wall with the eye in it bent close.

Suddenly a rounded something appeared on the upper quarter of the transparent nose, and slid snakelike across it. It came from the upper left, slid across the tip of the prow and vanished in the lower right. It gleamed in the floods, and in the light from inside. It kept coming and coming, an endless belt of sucker-studded horror. Emery said, "A tentacle. Only one tentacle! If it's an octopus it'll have seven more. If it's a squid it'll have nine more. It's... the kraken kraken..."

Crane stared at the tentacle, still coming, sliding, still thickening. They could have no idea of the size of the thing or things, the shape-it was too overwhelmingly huge. The engines strove helplessly; the props must have been cutting cruelly into whatever held them, but that did not stop the endless sliding of the tentacle, the curving, cupping toward them of that eye-bearing cliff of slime.

"Well, Captain?"

Crane turned to old Nelson. The Admiral was holding the edge of the console for support, but all the same, riding the surging deck with the practiced balance of a windjammer man.

Well, Captain, what? Was the O.O.M. asking him for an answer? He had no answers. Did the O.O.M. have an answer? If so why didn't he come out with it?

Well, who was in command around here?

Crane suddenly grinned, and said to the Admiral, "Take over for me, will you, sir?"

The Admiral shook his head slowly, but it was not a negation: it was an expression of almost admiration of the nerve, the incredible gall of the request. "Certainly, Captain," he said courteously, and, half turning, flicked two controls.

'Degaussing, Stand By' and 'Degaussing, On.'

If it took the engine-room by surprise, it was a surprise that did not last long. The alternators began to scream and the lights dimmed. The submarine humped, tipped, rolled back to an even keel, and shuddered there. Suddenly it was whirled around and held up into clear water; for a moment they thought they were free, but a glance showed the monstrous tentacle, fourteen feet thick, endlessly long, and no longer sliding, still clamped to the transparent herculite nose. The loom of the lights fled across a tremendous outcropping-undeniably rock, this time-a hundred yards away, and the great gaping hole that opened in it. Under them was an undulating plain of flesh, which they realized was the body of whatever horror it was that held them. The rock cliff seemed to be creeping nearer; it could be seen, then, that the monster was oozing across the ocean floor toward that black hole, trailing the part with the tentacles and the submarine.

The leading edge of the rippling, snail-like body climbed the talus at the foot of the cliff and poured upward and into the black portal. As the whole animal tipped back and up, climbing, the floodlights were directed upwards.

Someone screamed-a man this time, and no one, then or ever, blamed him. One, three, four other huge tentacles shot over the edge of the cliff above; one, two enormous eyes.

"Another one..." Emery cried.

Two of the new tentacles streaked down the cliff face. One of them drove deep into a tattered, oozing wound, probably chopped by the Seaview Seaview's propellers. The second serpentine finger probed out and down toward the submarine.

The effervescence of steam began to appear around the herculite. They saw the suction discs flatten out, withdraw, s.h.i.+ft and flatten again. Then abruptly the whole tentacle was gone, and they were free. The engines were still churning away full astern, and they shot backwards, just in time to see the second monster launch itself from the cliff and come down on them like a writhing cloud. It clutched them close, drew them into its embrace... spun it about and hurled it away, apparently not having reckoned with its stinging heat. If the average temperature of the ocean trenches is around four degrees, as has been estimated, contact with anything above the boiling point must be an experience for which any creature born to those depths is unequipped and unprepared. As the Seaview Seaview hurtled away backward, her screws adding to the momentum of that hysterical cast, her broad floods and sharp searchlights stroked across the awesome sight of the second monster, stung and angry, falling upon the first, which waited with hundred-foot tentacles outspread. hurtled away backward, her screws adding to the momentum of that hysterical cast, her broad floods and sharp searchlights stroked across the awesome sight of the second monster, stung and angry, falling upon the first, which waited with hundred-foot tentacles outspread.

"Pictures!" screamed Emery in tones of total and tragic loss, "didn't we get any pictures?"