From his position on the cot, Ramsey could see the ranging scope, blip lines growing deeper and deeper as the Monitor approached.
Again the eerie voice wavered from the speaker. “Monitor to Able John. You’ll pass, Able John. Proceed at entrance depth. We will flank you. Over.”
Bonnett pulled up the drive bar. The Ram surged ahead.
“Give us the bow eyes,” said Sparrow.
The big screen above the search board came to life. Green water and occasional kelp.
Sparrow turned toward Ramsey. “We’ll have you in good hands soon, Johnny. Before you know it.”
Ramsey felt a strange dragging at his senses. He tried to imagine the Charleston tunnel entrance—a black hole in the wall of an underwater canyon. His mind sheered away. Why was that? he asked himself. Then: Break what gently? Part of him seemed to be standing off, making clinical notes. You don’t want to go back. Why? A bit ago you were in a rolled-up ball. Remember? Very interesting.
He sensed an answer, said, “Skipper.”
“Yes, Johnny?”
“I went catatonic, didn’t I? Catatonic shock?”
Sparrow’s voice became brisk. “Just shock.”
The tone told Ramsey what he wanted to know. The clinical part of his mind said, Catatonic. Well, well. He was suddenly very aware of the cot beneath him, pressure of his own weight against his back. In the same instant, pieces of his puzzle started clicking into place. He took a deep breath.
“Just take it easy,” said Sparrow.
Bonnett glanced back, a look of wariness about his eyes.
“I’m all right,” said Ramsey. And he was surprised at the full extent of truth in that statement. Strength was pouring into him. “I went into a full retreat,” he said. “But now I know why.”
Sparrow stepped to the side of the cot, put the back of his hand against Ramsey’s forehead. “You should try to relax.”
Ramsey repressed an urge to laugh. “Joe told me, Skipper, but I didn’t believe him.”
Sparrow’s reply was little more than a whisper: “What did Joe tell you?”
“That you’ve had this situation pegged and under control all along.” He nodded. “That marine tunnel’s a birth canal. Going through it is like being born. This sub is a perambulating womb looking for a place to spew us out.”
Sparrow said, “Maybe you hadn’t better talk now.”
“I want to talk. We’re born into another set of realities. There’s one kind of insanity down here; another up there. Just look at the old Ram here. An enveloped world with its own special ecology. Damp atmosphere, ever present menace from the outside, a constant rhythm in motion—”
“Like a heartbeat,” said Sparrow quietly.
Ramsey smiled. “We’re afloat in amniotic fluid.”
“How’s that?”
“Salt water. It’s chemically almost identical with the fluid surrounding an unborn baby. The unconscious knows. And here we are headed for birth.”
“You make a more detailed comparison than I ever have,” said Sparrow. “What’s our umbilical cord?”
“Experience. The kind of experience that ties you to your boat, makes you a part of it. Petite perception. You’re the perfect symbiote. We become siblings, brothers, with all the emotional ties and rivalry that—”
“First check point,” said Bonnett flatly. “Now on heading for the Charleston mole. Do you want to take over, Skipper?”
“Take her in, Les,” said Sparrow. “You’ve earned the right.”
Bonnett reached up, adjusted the range-response dial. His shoulders seemed to take on a new, more positive set. Ramsey realized abruptly that Bonnett had come of age on this voyage, that he was ready to cut his own cord. The thought gave Ramsey a tug of possessive fondness for Bonnett, an emotion touched by nostalgia at the thought of separation.
Truly like brothers, he thought.
Sparrow looked down at Ramsey. “Why don’t you transfer out of BuPsych and into the subtugs?” asked Sparrow.
“Yeah,” echoed Bonnett. “We need good men.”
Sadness tightened Ramsey’s chest. “That’s the finest compliment I’ve ever received,” he said. “But I can’t. I was sent out here to solve a problem: Why were submariners breaking down? You gave me the answer. Now, I’ll have to take a hand in applying that answer.” He swallowed a lump in his throat. “Dr. Oberhausen of BuPsych has promised me my own department dealing with problems of submariners.”
Sparrow said, “That’s wonderful, Johnny! A big-time shore job.”
“We’re going to hate losing you,” said Bonnett. “Will you still talk to the likes of us when you’re an important brass type?”
“Never fear,” said Ramsey.
“What is this solution?” asked Sparrow.
“The breakdowns are a rejection of birth by men who have unconsciously retreated into the world of prebirth. What child would seek birth if he knew that pain and fear—a constant menace—awaited him on the other side?”
“There’s menace down here,” said Sparrow.
“But our little world under the sea fools and confuses the unconscious,” said Ramsey.
Bonnett spoke up, faint note of sarcasm in his voice. “That makes sense even to me … I think.” He kept one hand on the wheel, stepped aside to adjust the tow controls.
“We have to make the complete cycle desirable,” said Ramsey. “I’m going to recommend a whole new procedure: the best quarters for submariners. A big jump in pay for each mission.”
“That’s for me!” said Bonnett.
“There are going to be some changes made,” said Ramsey.
“Johnny, do me a favor,” said Sparrow.
“Name it.”
Sparrow looked away, swallowed. “It sounds like you’re going to be a VIP and—” He hesitated. “Will you do what you can to cushion things for Joe’s wife?”
“Anything I can do,” said Ramsey. “I promise.” He took a deep breath. “Who’s going to get the dirty job of telling her?”
“I will,” said Sparrow. “I’ll break it to her as gently as I can.”
A sudden chill swept over Ramsey’s body. Break it gently! He cleared his throat. “Skipper, that reminds me. I heard Les say something about breaking a bit of news to me. What?”
Sparrow wet his lips with his tongue, looked across at Bonnett working with the controls.
“Break what gently?” repeated Ramsey.
“Joe’s death.”
“But—”
“Each time we tried to bring you out of shock, you—”
“Each time?”
“We tried four or five times. Each time you raved for Joe to come back. We guessed it was delirium, but—”
Silence fell between them.
“The unconscious senses many things,” said Ramsey. He felt a deep emptiness and suddenly recalled his nightmare. Garcia’s voice: “I regret that I cannot thank you in person.”
For what?
Ramsey said, “We had a lot in common. Joe understood me. He saw right through my act … said so. I guess I resented it. Joe was better at my game than I was.”
“He admired you,” said Sparrow.
Ramsey’s eyes burned and smarted.
“He was awake at the end,” said Sparrow. “Worried about you. He said he’d given you a raw deal by feeding our suspicions. Joe thought you had the makings of a top submariner.”
Ramsey turned away.
“Will you do what you can for his wife?” asked Sparrow.
Ramsey nodded, unable to speak.
“We’re approaching the mole,” said Bonnett, his voice oddly casual. “Bottom marked number two coming up.” He indicated the screen above him.
Through a green haze of water, two high-piercement lights keyed to their IFF circuits winked at them.
“Are we set for the automatic pickup?” asked Sparrow.
“All set,” said Bonnett.
“We’ve brought home the bacon,” said Ramsey.
&nb
sp; Bonnett’s voice took on an unconscious mimicry of Garcia’s bantering accent: “We’re a bunch of bloody heroes!”
It was peaceful in Dr. Oberhausen’s Charleston office. The wizened BuPsych chief sat behind a desk like all other BuPsych office desks, leaning back with his hands steepled beneath his goatee. His bat-eye radar box, disconnected from its shoulder harness, rested on the patterned wood of the desk top. Dr. Oberhausen’s sightless ball-bearing eyes seemed to be staring at Ramsey, who sat across the desk from him.
Ramsey rubbed a hand over his head, feeling the stubble of returning hair. “That’s pretty much the story,” he said. “Most of it was in my notes. You’ve had those, even though the medics wouldn’t let you talk to me.”
Dr. Oberhausen nodded silently.
Ramsey leaned back in his chair. It creaked and Ramsey suddenly realized that Dr. Oberhausen purposely surrounded himself with creaking chairs—reassuring signals for a blind man.
“A close thing with you, Johnny. Radiation sickness is a peculiar thing.” He passed a hand across his own radiation-blinded eyes. “It is fortunate that BuPsych agents are virtually indestructible.”
“Does this check with my notes and the telemeter tapes?” asked Ramsey.
Dr. Oberhausen nodded. “Yes, it checks. Sparrow became almost literally a part of his boat, sensitive to everything about it—including his crew. An odd mating of the right mentality and the right experiences has made him a master psychologist. I’m going to see about taking him into the department.”
“What about my recommendation for preventing those psychotic breaks?”
Dr. Oberhausen pursed his lips, tugged at his goatee. “The old Napoleonic fancy-uniform therapy: fanfare coming and going.” He nodded. “Security will kick and scream that it will prevent secrecy of departures, but they’ve already made one concession.”
“What?”
“They’ve announced officially that we’re pirating oil from the EPs.”
“That was a senseless secret anyway.”
“They were reluctant.”
“We’d be better off without Security,” muttered Ramsey. “We should be working to get rid of it. Security stifles communication. It’s creating social schizophrenia.”
Dr. Oberhausen gave a negative shake of his head. “No, Johnny, we shouldn’t get rid of Security. That’s an old fallacy. Use Captain Sparrow’s analogy: In an insane society, a crazy man is normal. Security has the kind of insanity that’s normal for wartime. Normal and needed.”
“But after the war, Obe! You know they’re going to keep right on!”
“They’ll try, Johnny. But by that time we’ll have Security under the control of BuPsych. We’ll be able to nullify them quite effectively.”
Ramsey stared at him, then chuckled. “So that’s why you’ve been moving in on Belland.”
“Not just Belland, Johnny.”
“You scare me sometimes, Obe.”
Dr. Oberhausen’s goatee twitched. “Good. That means my pose of omnipotence is effective even with those who know better.” He smiled.
Ramsey grinned, stirred in his chair. “If that’s all, Obe, I’d like to get away. They wouldn’t let Janet and the kids anywhere near me while I was in the hospital, and now that—”
“I waited, too, Johnny. BuMed’s little dictatorship halted even the great BuPsych. There’s an area of autonomy in radiation medicine that—” He shook his head slowly.
“Well?” asked Ramsey.
“The impatience of youth,” said Dr. Oberhausen. “There are just a few more points to be cleared up. Why do you believe we never saw the need for this fancy-uniform therapy?”
“Partly Security,” said Ramsey. “But it really wasn’t obvious. Wrong symptoms. Napoleon was looking to build up enlistments and stop his gunners from going over the hill. We’ve never had that trouble. In fact, our submariners seemed eager to return to duty. That’s the paradox: they found threat in both spheres—ashore and at sea. When they were ashore they seemed to forget about the menace of the sea because the subconscious masked it. The boat spelled enveloping safety, a return to the womb. But when the men came ashore, that was birth: exposure. The sky’s a hideous thing to men who want to hide from it.”
Dr. Oberhausen cleared his throat. His voice took on a crisp, business-like tone. “Now, I’d like to go back to your notes for just a moment. You say BuPsych should emphasize religious training. Explain your reasoning.”
Ramsey leaned forward and the telltale chair creaked. “Because it’s sanity, Obe. That’s the—”
“It smacks of a panacea, Johnny. A nostrum.”
“No, Obe. A church provides a common bond for people, a clear line of communication.” He shook his head. “Unless BuPsych can uncover telepathy or absolute proof of the hereafter, it can’t substitute for religion. The sooner we face that, the sooner we’ll be able to offer—”
Dr. Oberhausen slapped his hand on the desk top. “Religion is not scientific! It’s faith!” He said faith as he might have said dirty.
He’s needling me, thought Ramsey. He said, “Okay, Obe. All I’m saying is this: We don’t have a substitute for religion. But we’re offering our so-called science as a substitute. That’s all I’m—”
“So-called?”
“How many distinct schools of psychology can you name?”
Dr. Oberhausen smiled thinly. “At least as many as there are distinct religions.”
“We’re following the pattern even there,” said Ramsey.
The BuPsych chief chuckled. “Did I interrupt a chain of thought?”
Ramsey paused. “Only that I’ve never met a psychoanalyst who didn’t—at least subconsciously—offer his system as a substitute for religion. Present company included. We set ourselves up as little gods-all-knowing, all-healing. People resent that and rightly. We have polite labels for our failures. We agree among ourselves that anything bearing one of those labels is, of course, incurable.”
Dr. Oberhausen’s voice held a sense of remoteness. “That’s quite an indictment, Johnny. Do I take it that you’ve been converted by our good Captain Sparrow?”
Ramsey leaned back, laughed. “Hell, no! I’m just going to stop posing as a messiah.”
Dr. Oberhausen took a deep breath. “That’s encouraging.”
“And I guess I’ll go on poking around inside people’s minds. If that describes whatever it is we do.” He smiled. “I’ll keep on being a psychologist.”
“What do you expect to find?”
Ramsey was silent a moment, then: “A good scientist doesn’t expect to find anything, Obe. He reports what he sees.”
Dr. Oberhausen clasped his hands. “If you find God, please let me know.”
“I’ll do that.” Ramsey forced briskness into his voice. “As long as we’re clearing up loose ends, what about me? When do I get out of this damned uniform and into my nice new department of BuPsych?”
Dr. Oberhausen pushed his chair back, resting his hands on the edge of the desk. He tipped his head down, appeared to be staring at the bat-eye box. “First, you’ll have to play out your hero role. The president’s going to pin medals on all of you. That’s Belland’s doing. By the way, the admiral has given Mrs. Garcia a job in his department, his polite way of keeping her under surveillance. But it works out for the best of all concerned.”
“In this best of all possible worlds,” said Ramsey. He sensed hesitancy in Dr. Oberhausen’s manner. “But when do I get out of the service?”
Dr. Oberhausen lifted his chin. “I may not be able to get you out immediately, Johnny.”
Ramsey felt pressure building up inside him. “Why?”
“Well, you’re a hero. They’ll want to exploit that.” The BuPsych chief cleared his throat. “Some things are difficult even for BuPsych. Look, I couldn’t even get past BuMed and in to see you while—”
“You promised me a—”
“And I’ll keep my promise, Johnny. In time.” He leaned back. “Meanwhile, there’
s a commodore on the board of classification and promotion. He’s a presidential errand boy and he needs an—an aide-de-camp.”
“Oh no!” Ramsey stared at Dr. Oberhausen.
The little doctor shrugged. “Well, Johnny, he found out that you’re the clever Long John Ramsey who improvised a vampire gauge from a hypodermic and two glass tubes and saved the Dolphin during that training-mission breakdown. He wants—”
Ramsey groaned.
“You’ll be jumped to lieutenant,” said Dr. Oberhausen.
“Thanks,” said Ramsey bitterly. He curled his lips, copied Dr. Oberhausen’s voice: “Sure, Johnny. You’ll have your own department.”
“You’re young,” said Dr. Oberhausen. “There’s time.”
“He’ll have me polishing his shoes.”
“Oh no. He’s quite impressed by your talents. Says you’re too good for BuPsych. Bringing home that oil has done nothing to reduce his admiration.” Again the BuPsych chief cleared his throat. “And while you’re with the commodore, there are some things about this department that I’d like you to—”
“So that’s it!” barked Ramsey. “Another of your damned spy jobs! You want me to ferret out the dope on the commodore so you can move in on him. I’ll bet you set this job up yourself.”
“I’m sure you see the necessity,” said Dr. Oberhausen. “That way lies sanity.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Ramsey.
“I like your Captain Sparrow’s analogy about sanity and swimming,” said Dr. Oberhausen. “But I would add to it, the swimmer must be prepared at all times to grasp a paddle.”
Ramsey smiled even as he realized that Dr. Oberhausen was amusing him to ease the tension between them. “Okay, Obe. One more. But I’m telling you now: that’s all.”
“Fair enough, Johnny. Now, if you’ll just—”
A door slammed in the outer hall behind Ramsey. He heard a flurry of sounds. A woman’s voice shouted: “You can’t stop me from going in there!”
Janet!
His pulse quickened.
The woman’s voice mounted almost to a scream: “I know he’s in there with that damned Dr. Oberhausen! And by Heaven I’m going in!”
The office door behind Ramsey burst open. He turned. It was a secretary. “Please excuse me,” she said. “There’s—”
The Dragon in the Sea Page 22
