Read The Dragon in the Sea Online
Authors: Frank Herbert
The Dragon in the Sea (28 page)
“Maybe,” said Garcia. “If he didn't like his job and was as tired of this war as I am.”
And that
, thought Ramsey,
is precisely the answer I was afraid of.
He said. “Get some rest.”
, thought Ramsey,
is precisely the answer I was afraid of.
He said. “Get some rest.”
“Bit players hamming up their parts,” said Garcia.
Ramsey stepped out into the companionway and it was a cold gray corridor suddenlyâleading nowhere in either direction. He thought:
My world's gone completely schizoid. Security! Its job is to make us even more schizoidâto break down as many lines of communication as possible.
He turned and looked back at Garcia on the cot. The engineering officer had turned on his side, facing the bulkhead.
That's why it's so important to belong to Savvy Sparrow's group. That's the scratch of sanity.
My world's gone completely schizoid. Security! Its job is to make us even more schizoidâto break down as many lines of communication as possible.
He turned and looked back at Garcia on the cot. The engineering officer had turned on his side, facing the bulkhead.
That's why it's so important to belong to Savvy Sparrow's group. That's the scratch of sanity.
And he remembered Heppner, the electronics officer who had gone mad.
If you can't belong and you can
'
t leave: What then?
If you can't belong and you can
'
t leave: What then?
The shape and substance of things began to reform in Ramsey's mind. He turned up the companionway, went to the control deck. The room seemed to greet him as he
stepped through the door: warmth, flashing of red and green lights, a sibilant whispering of power, a faint smell of ozone and oil riding on the background of living stink which no filters could completely eliminate.
stepped through the door: warmth, flashing of red and green lights, a sibilant whispering of power, a faint smell of ozone and oil riding on the background of living stink which no filters could completely eliminate.
Sparrow stood at the helm, an almost emaciated figure with rumpled clothes hanging loosely upon him. Ramsey was suddenly startled by the realization that Sparrow had lost weight when there didn't seem to be any place from which he could lose it.
“How's Joe?” Sparrow spoke without turning.
Saw my reflection in the dive-board glass
, thought Ramsey.
Nothing escapes him.
, thought Ramsey.
Nothing escapes him.
“He's going to be all right,” said Ramsey. “His vein-counter shows negative absorption. He may lose a little hair, be nauseated for a while undoubtedly.”
“We ought to set him into Charleston,” said Sparrow. “The vein-counter doesn't tell you what's happening in the bone marrow. Not until it's too late.”
“All the signs are good,” said Ramsey. “Calcium leaching out and being replaced by non-hot. Sulphate's negative. He's going to be okay.”
“Sure, Johnny. It's just that I've sailed with him for a long time. I'd hate to lose him.”
“He knows it, Skipper.”
Sparrow turned, smiled, a strangely plaintive gesture. “I guess he does at that.”
And Ramsey thought:
You can't tell a man you love himânot if you're a man. That's a problem, too. We don
'
t have the right wordâthe one that leaves out sex.
You can't tell a man you love himânot if you're a man. That's a problem, too. We don
'
t have the right wordâthe one that leaves out sex.
He said, “Where's Les?”
“Getting some rest. We hit the Arctic stream twenty minutes ago.”
Ramsey moved up to the search-board station, rested a hand on the wheel to external salvage air beside the board. His mind was full of moving thoughts. It was as though the conversation with Garcia had tapped a wellâor had dropped head pressure and allowed what was underneath to come to the surface.
“Les will take the next watch in an hour,” said Sparrow. “I can handle her now. You come on in three hours. We'll need a tighter schedule without Joe.”
“Aye, Skipper.”
He turned, went aft to his quarters, and was suddenly aware of a bone weariness. It was too much trouble to get out the telemeter and inspect its tapes. Besides, he knew what it would show: the iron-hard inner control that simulated normality. Or maybe it
was
normality. He fell asleep on the bunk without undressing.
was
normality. He fell asleep on the bunk without undressing.
The
Ram
bore southwest toward home waters, and the timelog reeled off the days. A monotonous succession of watches amidst the cold pipes, dials, wheels, levers, blinking lights, and telltale buzzers. The same faces and the same danger.
Ram
bore southwest toward home waters, and the timelog reeled off the days. A monotonous succession of watches amidst the cold pipes, dials, wheels, levers, blinking lights, and telltale buzzers. The same faces and the same danger.
Even peril can grow boring.
A distant sound of propellers in an area where all such sounds mean
hunter
.
hunter
.
Wait and listen. Creep ahead a few knots. Wait and listen. Creep ahead a few knots. Wait and listen. The distant sound is gone. The
Ram
picks up speed while red-rimmed eyes watch the ranging and sonar gear.
Ram
picks up speed while red-rimmed eyes watch the ranging and sonar gear.
Garcia was up and about on the fourth dayâa man grown strangely morose and sullen when Ramsey was present.
Still the subtug moved steadily nearer to safety, towing the turgid slug: a prize wrested from death itself.
And a special tensionâa new pressureâcrept into the actions of the
Ram
's crew. It was a tension that said: “We're going to make it ⦠We're going to make it ⦠We're going to make it â¦
Ram
's crew. It was a tension that said: “We're going to make it ⦠We're going to make it ⦠We're going to make it â¦
“Aren't we?”
Ramsey, asleep in his bunk, wrestled with a silent nightmare in which Sparrow, Garcia, and Bonnett suddenly turned to face himâall with the features of mad Heppner.
Slowly, the nightmare lifted and left him peaceful in the womb-like stillness of the boat.
Stillness!
Ramsey sat bolt upright in his bunk, wide awake, every sense crying out against the strange new element: quiet. He reached behind him and snapped on his bunk light. It was dimâshowing that they were on emergency batteries.
“Johnny!” It was Sparrow's voice over the wall speaker.
“Here, Skipper.”
“Get up to your shack on the double. We're having pile trouble.”
“I'm on my way!”
His feet hit the deck, fumbled into shoes. He snapped off his bunk light, ran out the door, up the ladder two steps at a time, down the companionway and into his shack station, talk switch open. “On station, Skipper. Is it serious?”
Bonnett's voice came back. “Full-scale flare-up.”
“Where's the skipper?”
“Forward with Joe.”
“Joe shouldn't be anywhere near that! He's still on the hot list!”
“It was Joe's watch. You know howâ”
“Johnny!” Sparrow's voice over the intercom.
“Here.”
“Secure the shack for minimum power drain and come forward.”
“Right.” Ramsey found that his hands knew automatically which switches to hit. He blessed the long hours of patience with the mock-up board. This was what Reed had meant: “
There is no such thing as a minor emergency aboard a submarine.
” He made the conventional glancearound double check: standby light glowing amber, jacks out, main switch up, relay circuit to control room plugged in and green. He thumbed his chest mike: “Les, she's all yours.”
There is no such thing as a minor emergency aboard a submarine.
” He made the conventional glancearound double check: standby light glowing amber, jacks out, main switch up, relay circuit to control room plugged in and green. He thumbed his chest mike: “Les, she's all yours.”
“On your way.”
He ran out the door, turned right up the companionway, through the control room without glancing at Bonnett, and out onto the central catwalk. The laboring hum of one engine turning slowly on battery power to give them headway permeated the engine room.
Garcia stood beside the tunnel hatch down forward to the left, his hands fumbling with the zipper of an ABG suit.
Ramsey's first thought was:
What
'
s wrong with Sparrow? He can
'
t let Joe go in there!
Then he understood the significance of the scene.
What
'
s wrong with Sparrow? He can
'
t let Joe go in there!
Then he understood the significance of the scene.
The nozzle of a detergent hose was racked beside Garcia. Sparrow stood about twenty feet away on the lower catwalk. The space between them showed raw splashes of detergent spray. As Sparrow took a step forward, Garcia stopped working with the zipper, put a hand on the nozzle.
“Stay where you are, Skipper!”
Garcia's voice was metallic and seemed to echo in the engine room and Ramsey realized the man was talking into the open mike of his ABG suit.
Garcia lifted the hose nozzle, pointed it at Sparrow. “One step more and I'll let you have another taste of this.”
Ramsey went to the left hand-ladder, dropped down to Sparrow's level. He saw that the front of Sparrow's uniform was dripping with detergent, and winced at the thought of what that high-pressure jet spray could do to a man.
“Shall we rush him, Skipper?” he asked. “I could drop down toâ”
“Well, if it isn't the head thumper,” said Garcia. The zipper on his suit suddenly unjammed and he pulled it closed, reached back and folded the hood forward over his head, sealed it. The quartz-plate front gleamed at them like a malignant Cyclops eye.
Sparrow glanced at Ramsey, turned back to Garcia. “We couldn't move an inch against that hose. We have to reason with him.”
“Let the head thumper reason with me,” said Garcia, his voice booming from the bulkhead speaker above them. “That's his department.”
“He's only four days from a radiation overdose,” said Ramsey.
“This is my show,” said Garcia. “This is my big scene. I'm going to crawl that tunnel and there's nothing you can do to stop me. Besides, I know this end of the ship better than any of you.”
Ramsey looked down at the open door to the tunnel, realized abruptly that it was the same tunnel in which they had found the dead Security officer.
Garcia half turned toward the door.
“Joe, stop!” barked Sparrow. “That's an order!” He made a sudden dash forward, was bowled over backward by a hard stream of detergent spray.
Behind him, Ramsey caught part of the spray, slipped to his knees. By the time they had scrambled to their feet, Garcia had disappeared into the tunnel, closing the door behind him.
Sparrow said, “He took a wrecking bar with him. He's going to jam the hatch dogs inside so we can't follow him.”
They heard metal banging on metal.
Garcia's voice came over the bulkhead speaker. “That's right, Skipper. Can't have you fellows trying to steal my scene. You have front-row seats; enjoy the show.”
“Has he gone off his rocker?” asked Ramsey.
Sparrow slipped down to the tunnel door, tested the dogs. “Jammed!”
“Has he gone psychotic?” asked Ramsey.
“Of course not!” barked Sparrow. “There's a full-scale flare-up in that pile room. He's gone in to do what he can.”
Ramsey looked at the snooper above the tunnel door, saw that its needle was jammed in the red. “Skipper! It's hot here!”
Sparrow slapped the snooper with one hand and the needle swung back into the seven-hour-limit zone. “Jammed when he opened the door.” He turned to the tool rack beside the door. “Joe! Do you hear me?”
“Sure, Skipper. No need to shout. I'm almost at the tunnel curve.”
“Joe, defiance of orders is a serious offense.”
Garcia's laughter roared from the speaker. “So sue me!”
“What happened in the pile room?” asked Ramsey.
Sparrow began pulling tools from the rack. “Our repairs didn't hold. Tie bolts sheared. The whole reactor slipped to the left, jammed the remote-control bank.” He glanced at his wrist watch. “The batteries will give us steerage control for about another thirty minutes. When we lose steerage, the planes won't be able to hold us level and over we go. Over goes the pile. If we're lucky it'll reach critical mass. If we're unlucky, the whole boat will be contaminated and us with it. That'll be the slow way out.”
“And if Joe lives through this, you'll have his hide,” said Ramsey. “Even though he's riskingâ”
“You blasted idiot!” shouted Sparrow. “What do you mean
if he lives?
Don't you know there's only one way to get that pile back onto its base?”
if he lives?
Don't you know there's only one way to get that pile back onto its base?”
All Ramsey could think was:
I did it! I cracked through that iron control! Now his emotions can take a normalâ
I did it! I cracked through that iron control! Now his emotions can take a normalâ
“Skipper!” It was Bonnett's voice over the intercom.
Sparrow spoke into his chest mike. “Yes?”
“I'm tuned to the portside pile-room eye over the tunnel plates. They're moving out towardâGood God! Joe! Get out of there! Skipper! He's in the pile room!”
“That's what I meant,” murmured Sparrow. “Our Father, protect him.” He stared at the tunnel door. “âThe Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear noâ'”
“Now hear this.” It was Garcia's voice from the bulkhead speaker. “I can last maybe fifteen minutes. When I
get the remote-control bank cleared, be ready to take over.”
get the remote-control bank cleared, be ready to take over.”
“Sure, Joe,” whispered Sparrow. He swung open a panel on the forward bulkhead, revealing the direct controls to the left-side bank. The telltale lights glowed red when he threw in the switch.
“He's a dead man already,” said Ramsey.
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