by John Blaine
Hartson Brant called, “Who’ll volunteer to ride with the load?”
“We will,” Rick said hastily.“Scotty and Chahda and I.”
“All right.We’ll meet you at the ship. Have your driver follow Dr. Warren’s car.”
Rick gave the driver instructions,then climbed up on the crates with Scotty and Chahda.
The trailer rolled out through the pier gate and into the street.
“Why the frown?”Scotty asked.
Rick told him of the Japanese who had acted so strangely.
“A Nip, huh?” Scotty said. “Do you suppose his actions had anything to do with the equipment?”
“I don’t know,” Rick answered. “His being in the doorway might have been a
coincidence. Only why did he duck back when he saw me?”
“You frighten him, maybe,” Chahda said.“Could happen. When I first see famous Brant face, I am frighten, too.”
“That’s enough out of you,Gunga Din,” Rick retorted. “But seriously, we’d better keep our eyes open.”
“We can’t afford to take chances,” Scotty agreed.
The big trailer moved through traffic, the object of much attention from pedestrians.
“They like its looks,” Scotty said, winking at Rick. “Too bad we can’t leave it shiny.”
Chahda took the bait. “We paintingit?”
“Yep.Bright red.”
“But why is painting red?”
“Because of the big fish we might run into,” Scotty explained seriously. “If we left it shiny silver, some big fish might mistake it for a can of sardines.”
Chahda nodded gravely.“Is most true. But painting red is also mistake. Maybe along comes big fish and thinks it is a radish.”
Rick laughed. “He’s too sharp for you, Scotty.”
“Sharplike tick,” Chahda agreed, chuckling.
“Tack,” Scotty corrected. “I’ll blunt his sharp edge one of these days.”
The trailer truck followed Dr. Warren’s station wagon across the bridge over theAlaWaiCanal , turned right, and came to a stop next to a row of piers. The boys jumped down, and Rick looked around eagerly for his first glimpse of the ship that was to be their home.
“There she is,” he exclaimed, pointing at the distinctive lines of the trawler.
Turk Mallane appeared in the doorway of the pilothouse and waved. “Come aboard,” he called.
The boys accepted the invitation with alacrity. Turk shook hands all around,then introduced them to the thin, bald man who had been with him in the pavilion. “This is Digger Sears, boys, mate of the Tarpon for this cruise. He’ll show you around.”
“Three husky blokes to make seamen out of,” Digger said jovially. “Let’s hop to it, lads.
I’mthinkin ’ you’llbewantin ’ to see what kind o’dinkum tub you’ve shipped aboard of.”
The Tarpon was a typical trawler, the superstructure set forward leaving considerable deck space aft. On that Open space, where huge nets with tons of fish had once been dumped, the Submobile would rest. The heavy booms that had been designed to take the weight of a loaded net would serve to handle the Submobile, which was surprisingly light for its size, due to special lightweight alloys used in its construction.
Below decks, in what had once beenfish holds, cabins had been built . In one space forward, a big Army-type refrigerator had been installed. Rick opened the door and went inside, shivering in the sudden low temperature. The refrigerator room was jammed with food. Meat hung on hooks up by the freezing pipes, and down lower crates of fresh vegetables rested. There were crates of oranges, too, and an open barrel of apples near
the door.
“Only a few feet from the cabins,” Scotty said with satisfaction.“Handy for a late snack.”
Rick’s retort was stilled by the sudden appearance of a smiling black face.
“This is Otera,” Digger Sears said. “Only a bush boy from downHebrides way, but adinkumcook for all that.Otera, say a cheery word to the lads.”
Otera had bushy, frizzy hair that stood straight up like a starched mop, and a smile that seemed to light up the hold. “Disfellamarsterwantkai-kai ?’ he inquired hopefully.
“That’s beche-de-mer,” Scotty explained. “Pidgin English, most people call it. It’s a real language instead of just bad English. He wants to know if we three want anything to eat.”
Digger Sears looked at Scotty, his long face thoughtful. “You been in theIslands ?” he asked.
“The Marines,” Scotty said briefly.
“Aye?Afightin ’ lot, them Yank Marines.‘Most as good as the Aussie Ninth.”
Rick had heard of the famous Australian Ninth Division. “Were you in the Ninth?” he asked. “I should think you would have been in the Navy.”
“Not ‘arfI” Digger exclaimed. “Ifiggered I’d end up on a Limey ship for sure, and I don’t like Limeys. I’m an Aussie, I am. No Limeynyvy for this bloke.”
Rick grinned, more at Digger’s accent than at his explanation.
“What is up there?” Chahda asked, pointing forward.
“Paint locker and a glory hole with odds and ends o’ junk.” Digger pronounced it
“pynt.”
Up on deck, the boys were introduced to the three seamen. They looked and dressed alike, in worn dungarees and soiled shirts. They were dark of skin, and rather sullen.
Scotty christened them “Dewey,Hughey , andLewey ” after Donald Duck’s three
nephews, because, as he explained, “They look alike and act alike, and they’re sailors.”
“Besides,” Rick added, “we could never remember those names.”
The three seamen, Gordon explained later, were part Hawaiian, part Portuguese, and part something else he hadn’t figured out as yet. Their names were Hawaiian and seemed to consist mostly of vowels and the letter K.
The boys went ashore, to find the trailer already being unloaded with the aid of the boatyard operator who had brought his ship crane into service. The crates were being stacked around the walls of a vacant boathouse directly behind the Tarpon.
“What are we going to do with the Submobile?”Kiel asked his father.
“Stand it next to the boathouse door. Theweathe ’ can’t hurt it, and we’ll need the room in the boathouse for unpacking.”
Scotty asked: “How about guards?”
“I’ve arranged that with Mallane. The crew will stand watches until we sail. It won’t be hard on them. They’ll just look out at the stuff once in a while.”
Rick was satisfied. The boatyard was a pretty public place, and the equipment was within fifty feet of the trawler. It would be safe.
The Submobile was the last to be unloaded. The crane, designed to lift good-sized boats completely out of the water, lifted the undersea craft with ease and placed it against the boathouse wall.
After a quick lunch, prepared by the smiling Otera, Hartson Brant consulted his watch.
“It’s still early. We could uncrate our personal equipment and stow it aboard. That would leave only the big stuff to uncrate tomorrow.”
“A good idea,” Gordon -agreed.
All hands turned to and dragged the smaller crates to the center of the boathouse floor.
Rick and Scotty found tools and began ripping open the wooden crates while Gordon showed the others which cabins had been assigned to them.
Chahda returned and reported that the boys had been given the forward cabin, right next to the refrigeration room. “Rick is aviator,” the Hindu boy said, referring to the fact that Rick was a licensed pilot. “He should get high bed, maybe?”
“You mean the upper bunk? We’ll toss for it.” Rick took a coin from his pocket while
Scotty and Chahda followed suit. “Odd man gets the upper bunk,” Rick said.
They flipped, and Scotty’s coin came down tails while the other two showed heads.
“Okay,” Scotty said. “I’ll do the high flying on this cruise. Now, let’s get our own stuff out of the crate
s and take it aboard.”
The boys had been allotted one locker box apiece for their clothing. Each found his own, removed it from the wooden shipping crate, and carried it to the cabin -on the trawler.
Scotty sniffed. “I know what Dr. Warren meant. This place smells like a fish market.”
“I noticed it,” Rick agreed, “but it’s not bad. The paint smell covers most of it.”
Suddenly Chahda held up his hand for silence. “What is noise?”
Rick heard a scuffling from somewhere overhead, then a yell of pain. Instantly he was on his way to the deck ladder, Scotty and Chahda on his heels.
“It’s forward,” Scotty said.
Pots and pans fell with a terrific crash. Rick sprinted for the galley, found the door and looked in.
Otera, the cook, was on the floor in a litter of cooking utensils. He was holding his head in both hands, and cringing away from Digger Sears, who was standing over him.
“Blasted black scum!”Digger roared. “Give me any ofyer lip and I’ll knockyer black head clean off, blimey if I won’t!”
“What’s going on?” Rick demanded.
Otera started to get to his feet, but Digger’s fist knocked him to the floor again. The cook subsided, whimpering.
“Stop that,” Rick said angrily. “What are you hitting him for?”
“I’ll teach the blighter a lesson,” Digger growled. “Give me any of hisbloomin ’ back talk and I’ll carve his tongue out.”
Hartson Brant demanded from the doorway, “What’s happening here?”
Digger’s face changed at the sight of the scientist. “The filthy bloke never washes his pots. I took ‘imup on it and he gave me some back chat.”
“Is that any reason for striking him?” Hartson Brant asked coldly.
“It’s the only language these blasted gooks know,” Digger said sullenly.
“You’ll keep your hands offhim, and off everyone else on this ship,” Hartson Brant snapped.
Digger’s pale eyes flamed. “You ain’t the captain,” he retorted.
“I’m the leader of the expedition,” Hartson Brant stated, “and I’m responsible for all aboard. You’ll take orders from me, Sears, as well as from Captain Mallane. And if you don’t like that idea, pack your duffel and get out. We can find another mate.”
For a moment Digger’s eyes locked with the scientist’s,then he looked away. “Ayeaye ,”
he said, and pushed out of the galley.
Hartson Brant looked at the boys. “Where is Captain Mallane?”
“I think he went ashore, sir,” Scotty said. “He was telling Professor Gordon something about checking up on the delivery of Diesel oil.”
“All right.I’ll have a talk with him when he gets back.” Hartson Brant turned and went aft.
Rick helped Otera to his feet. The native cook managed a feeble grin, rubbing a prominent bruise on his forehead.
“It won’t happen again,” Rick told him kindly. “You don’t have to be afraid of the mate any more.”
Otera brightened. He looked at Scotty and Chahda, and his smile flashed. He bobbed his head gratefully. “Disfellayoungmarster , he get plenty goodkai-kai .My word!”
The boys left him alone to straighten up his galley and walked toward the stem of the ship.
“He’s our friend,” Scotty said. “He said he’d see that we were well fed.”
“What’s that my word’ stuff?” Rick asked.
“It’s his way of being emphatic,” Scotty explained.“Sort of a verbal exclamation point.”
The scientists had stowed their personal stuff and were uncrating the cases of camping equipment. There were two pyramid tents, complete with metal tent stakes, cots, pads, mosquito netting, and a small, electric lighting system. The scientists hoped to find a suitable place for a base camp, since there would not be enough room on the ship for cleaning and examining the large bits of the temple they hoped to find.
In a short time the camping equipment was stowed in a spare gear room aboard ship, and Hartson Brant announced that it was time to return to the hotel for dinner.
“Mallane hasn’t returned,” he said. “However, tomorrow will be soon enough to talk with him. I don’t intend to stand for any brutality on this expedition!”
Zircon, Gordon, and the boys nodded silent agreement.
Rick debated telling his father about the Japanese he had seen at the dock and decided not to. Hartson Brant was upset over the incident aboard ship. There was no point in giving him something else to worry about unless the Jap’s actions proved to have some bearing on the expedition.
CHAPTER IV
Caught by Infrared
Rick was feeling restless, and he couldn’t account for it. Everything was going smoothly, the equipment was well guarded,nothing remained to be done but the uncrating and stowing of the heavy Submobile gear and electronic equipment. They would sail on Saturday.
Perhaps his uneasiness grew out of the fact that everything was progressing too well.
There had never before been a Spindrift experiment or expedition without something unforeseen cropping up. The very nature of the scientific projects seemed to invite the unexpected.
The incident at the dock stuck in his mind, too. He had tried to think up reasons for the Jap’s strange actions, but none came to mind. That in itself was disturbing, because he had learned that there was a reason behind every event and he was afraid that theJaps
reason for hiding was somehow connected with the expedition.
Scotty came up to where Rick sat on the cottage steps.
“Let’s take a walk,” Scotty invited. “It’s a nice night.”
“All right.Where’s Chahda?”
“He’s in with the professors. They’re talking about archeology. It’s away over my head.”
They walked down the path toward the water front, noticing that most of the cottages were dark.
“I guess people don’t stay home nights,” Scotty said. “It’s too early for anyone to be in bed.”
Rick looked toward TurkMallane’s cottage. “The skipper is out, too. Decided whether you like him or not?”
“I’m reserving judgment,” Scotty said. “Ask me in a week.”
The hotel water front was dark, the pavilion a black bulk against the faintly phosphorescent water. But out on the reef there were flickering lights. Rick watched them for a moment.
“Wonder what those are?”
“Torches,” Scotty told him.“Hawaiians fishing by torchlight. They’ll be moving in toward shore in a while and you can see them.”
“What are they catching?”
“Search me.Squid, maybe, and small fish of some kind.”
It was a colorful sight. Now and then, out beyond the reef, Rick saw the lights of a vessel.
“We ought to have a picture of it,” he said idly.
Scotty took him up on it.“Why not? We have the camera, and we could get some good shots with infrared.” “You’re the eager beaver,” Rick said. “You get the camera.”
“Just to show you my heart’s in the right place, I’ll do it.” Scotty trotted back up the path toward the cottage. He returned presently accompanied by Chahda. Scotty was carrying the speed graphic. He had attached the flash gun and inserted an infrared film pack. Extra bulbs were in his pocket.
“I brought company,” he greeted Rick. “Chahda wanted to see the torch fishermen.”
The Hindu boy watched the moving torches for a while, then he asked, “But how they catching fishes with torches?”
Scotty took the infrared bulb out of the flash gun and reinserted it more firmly. Rick grinned. He knew that Scotty was thinking up some fantastic yarn.
“It’s the heat,” Scotty said at last.
“Heat?How you catch fishes with heat?”
“I’m surprised at you,” Scotty said gravely. “You should be able to figure that out.
Look, the torches are hot, right? Well, the fishermen hold them close to the water. And wha
t happens? The water gets warm. The fish get warm, too. Now do you see?”
Chahda thought it over. “Not see yet. Try some more.”
“Okay. What happens when you get warm? You have to sweat, don’t you? Well, how can you sweat under water? You can’t. So the fish come to the surface to sweat and the fishermen hit ‘em over the head with clubs.”
“Very good system,” Chahda said soberly. “But more better if they use onions, I think, like inIndia .”
Rick waited, smiling in the darkness. Chahda had fallen for Scotty’s tall yarn, and had put out bait of his own. Scotty knew the bit about onions was bait, too, but he wouldn’t be able to suppress his lively curiosity long.
Sure enough, after a long silence, Scotty asked: “How do they use onions?For bait?”
“Kind of bait,” Chahda agreed. “They put peeled onion on string and lower into water.Makes poor fishes’ eyes watering. Poor fishes coming to top to cry -bop!Gets hit with club also. You see?”
“I see,” Scotty said with a chuckle.
Rick noticed that the torches were coming nearer. “Think we could get a shot now?” he asked.
“We can try,” Scotty said. “Here. You’re the camera expert.”
Rick took the speed graphic and shot a picture of the nearest torch. With luck, the developed film would show the fisherman as well. Infrared could see things the eye couldn’t.
It was late when the fishermen finally moved out of sight. Rick rose and stretched. He set the camera for one more picture, intending to take a shot of the open sea, thinking that he might get an interesting view of the surf on the reef. Then he decided against wasting the film.
“Want to turn in?” he asked his friends. “We’ll have a lot to do tomorrow.”
“It’s all right with me,” Scotty agreed.
“Also,” Chahda said.
They walked up the path through almost total darkness. Then, as they neared their cottage, Scotty suddenly stopped.
“Someone’s in the shrubbery to our left,” he whispered in Rick’s ear.
Rick tensed, listening, but his ears weren’t jungle-trained, as Scotty’s were.
