by John Blaine
“What made Alta-Yuan sink under the sea?” Rick asked.
“We can only guess,” Professor Gordon said. “Kwangara is right at the edge of what is known as a fault plane. There is a great deal of volcanic action in the area, and many earthquakes. Some such action doubtless dropped the major part of the land into the ocean and left only the highest spots. Kwangara is a single mountain peak, and near by is Little Kwangara, which is only a huge rock thrusting out of the ocean. In between the two is a valley. Alta-Yuan is somewhere in that valley.”
Hobart Zircon asked, “Are the present inhabitants of Kwangara Polynesian?”
“Largely,” Dr. Warren replied. “But they have a good deal of Mongoloid blood.A strange people. Since Kwangara is very isolated, they’ve had little contact with civilization and they still cling to the old beliefs.”
“Not head-hunting, I hope,” Scotty said. “How come the war didn’t bother them?”
“A great many islands had no contact with the war,” Gordon answered. “Kwangara is too rocky for an airfield, too small for a base, and there are better ship anchorages in island groups not far away. Perhaps patrols landed and looked the place over, but there would be no reason for their remaining.”
“It’s funny for us to be hunting a lost temple after the things we’ve been working on,”
Rick mused. “It’s a long way from theTibet radar relay to a little hunk of real estate in the Pacific.”
Hartson Brant laughed. “It is a change, Rick, but let’s notunderestimate the value of what we’re doing. If the
Submobile proves as excellent a salvage machine as we hope, it will be very useful.
And new refinements can be added from our experiences on this trip.” He smiled at Dr.
Warren. “If we can help a fellow group of scientists while trying out our newequipment, that gives the expedition added value.”
“I trust it will be a successful voyage,” Dr. Warren said.
“Successful and peaceful,” Rick added.
“There’s no reason to think it won’t be peaceful, is there?” Dr. Warren asked.
“No, sir, I guess not,” Rick replied, but he had his fingers crossed.
CHAPTER VI
The High Seas
A school of flying fish broke water with a great thrashing of tails, heading away from the Tarpons bow. Most of them plopped back into the waves after a flight of only a few
yards, but Rick watched one glide between the wave crests for a good 200 feet.
“I used to thinking stories about flying fishes is fairy tales,” Chahda remarked.
“They’re real enough,” Scotty said. “And watching them is about the only excitement you’ll find this far out at sea.”
“Disfellahim belong pigeon,” Rick added, grinning. He was fast learningOtera’s queer lingo, and that was what the native cook called flying fish.
The three boys leaned on the rail, letting the hot sun darken their skins. After twelve days at sea, dressed only in shorts and moccasins, Rick and Scotty were as brown as Chahda.
“Four more days to Kwangara,” Rick mused. “I’m anxious to get there. This life on the ocean wave gets pretty dull.” He had checked the chart after thenoon position shots were figured. They were roughly halfway betweenGuam and the northernPalauIslands .
Otera came out of the galley and tossed a bucket of slops over the side. Rick hailed him.
“Otera!Whatfella belong uskai-kai tonight?”
The native cook grinned widely. “Got’mpigeonkai-kai fashion belong white man.”
Translated from the beche-de-mer, that meant fried chicken. Rick had learned that
“pigeon” meant anything with wings, from fish to airplanes. The boys were continually amused byOtera’s language, and, since they were friendly, he had become fond of them.
At that moment Turk Mallane came out of the pilothouse, and Rick saw the instant change in Otera. The native cook’s smile vanished, and he turned andaknost ran back to the galley.
Turk’s hard voice stopped him.“Otera!”
“Yes,marster ?” the cook replied timidly.
“Rousedisfella lap-lap belong you,” Turk ordered, and, as he passed the boys, he muttered, “Filthy native swine.Wouldn’t change clothes until they rotted off, unless told to.”
Rick was thoughtful as he leaned on the rail again. Turk had ordered Otera to change his apron, which was slightly soiled, but not soiled enough to call forth such a comment.
“There’s a lad with a nice, friendly disposition,” he stated.
Scotty grunted. “Remember I told you to ask me in a week whether I liked Turk or not?
Okay, ask me.”
“Well, do you?”
“No.”
“Also,” Chahda nodded.
Rick agreed with them. In the days since the Tarpon had sailed fromHonolulu , Turk’s affability had entirely vanished. He no longer made a pretense of friendship. It was as though his good manners had been put on like a coat, and removed once they were at sea. But even though the captain was curt and irritable, no one could find fault with his seamanship. The trawler ran like a well-oiled machine. Nor was there any evidence of disloyalty. The search of the ship before leaving had proved negative. Everything was in order. And Turk had cooperated fully, almost eagerly, in aiding the scientists in the setting up of the diving equipment. Even though Professor Gordon had inspected the winches and their engines before leaving, Turk had insisted on personally tearing them down, cleaning them, inspecting each part, and putting them together again in tiptop working shape.
“Can’t be too careful,” he said shortly. “Lives will depend on those winches.”
Digger Sears and the crew seemed to take their cue from Turk. They were all sullen, and spoke only when spoken to. As a result, the Tarpon, while a well-operated ship, could scarcely be called a jolly one.
Rick told himself that it didn’t matter, as long as all went smoothly. With the passing of time he had come to believe that the incidents concerning the Japanese with the broken nose must have been unimportant coincidence.
Professor Gordon called to him. “Rick, want to do a job for me?”
“Yes, sir.What is it?”
“That fluoride powder hasn’t been mixed yet. If you want to tackle it now, I’ll give you the proportions. Scotty and Chahda can help you collect the tooth powder.”
Rick got the tins of fluoride powder and borrowed a set of kitchen measuring spoons from Otera, along with a pan for the mixing. Scotty and Chahda started collecting the
individual cans of tooth powder from the cabins.
Scotty brought back a handful of powder cans and Rick sat down on the hatch cover next to the winches and started mixing according to the formula Gordon had given him.
On the open deck aft, Hartson Brant and Hobart Zircon were at work on the Submobile, completing the installations. The steel protection plates had been removed, showing the fused-quartz observation windows, one on the starboard side,the other on the nose, slightly to port. The scoop had been installed on one side of the blunt nose, and the scientists were just putting the extension arms in place on the other side, under the front observation window. Between the two salvage implements was the shining brass ball of the Sonoscope. A searchlight was set into the nose under the Sonoscope ball, its lens flush with the surface. One of the bronze propellers had been installed at the stern of the Sub-mobile, while the others projected from the sides, two thirds of the way forward.
All of the exterior apparatus was operated by electric motors set within the hull. Levers controlled the propellers, while the scoop and salvage arms were operated from within by pistol grips with motor-control buttons in place of triggers.
Gordon had gone below decks to start the big Diesel generator. In a moment Hartson Brant climbed in through the open door of the Submobile and tested the arms. Rick stopped his mixing to watch. The extension arms moved forward, together, then individually. Then Mr. Brant moved them vertically, one at a time
.
Satisfied with the test, the scientists started putting away their tools. “That does it,”
Zircon boomed, “except for final tests on the propellers. And that will have to wait until we get it into the water. We should have everything installed and checked tomorrow.”
Chahda returned, carrying three cans of tooth powder. His usually pleasant face was angry. “All but Turk’s,” he said, handing the cans to Rick.
“What happened,” Rick asked quickly.
“I start go into Turk’s cabin to get his powder, and he sees me and yells. ‘Get out of there, you little beggar,’ he says. So I do not get his can.”
Rick started to stand up, anger burning in him. If Turk insisted that no one go into his cabin, he could at least be civil about it.
“Please say nothing,” Chahda said quickly. “No trouble. It is Turk’s cabin. He says don’t go in, so I don’t. That is all.”
“He’s right,” Scotty said. “No use making an issue out of it.”
Rick subsided, knowing that they were right. In a few days the trawler would arrive at Kwangara and the experiment would get under way. An open feud with the captain wouldn’t make things any easier.
Scotty and Chahda helped him pour the mixture of fluoride and tooth powder back into the individual cans. There was a lot of the mixture left over, and a full can of fluoride powder. Rick called to Professor Gordon, who was inspecting the packing of one of the propeller shafts.
“No use wasting it,” Gordonsaid, when Rick had shown him the surplus powder. “See if you can find a can with a cover. Maybe Otera has a coffee jar or something.”
Dewey andHughey , two of the crew, were in the galley drinking coffee. The sailors looked up as Rick entered, then looked away, ignoring his presence. They hadn’t spoken more than ten words during the entire trip.
“Do you have an empty coffee jar?” Rick asked Otera. Then, at the cook’s puzzled look, he tried to put it into McM-de-mer. “Yougottem onefella box him belong coffee?”
Otera nodded. Silently he went to a cupboard and brought out a clean coffee jar with a screw top. Rick thanked him and went out on deck, very thoughtful.
There had been a change in Otera since leaving port. At first, he had been perpetually smiling, with some weird little tune on his lips as he worked. He still smiled, when there was no one around except the boys. But when Turk, Digger, or thecrew were near he was quiet and nervous as a frightened rabbit.
“He’s scared stiff,” Rick surmised. “But of what?” Of being beaten, probably. Digger was a heavy-handed mate, although he had shown no outward signs of brutality since Hartson Brant had spoken to him. Turk and the three crew members were also tough customers. Rick wouldn’t put it past them to take a whack at the cook if anything displeased them. He resolved to keep his eyes open for any sign that Otera was being secretly kicked into submission.
He put the extra mixture of tooth powder and fluoride into the coffee jar and screwed the cover on tightly, then took it below to stow with the camping supplies and medical equipment. Scotty and Chahda were returning the tooth-powder cans to the cabins of their owners.
A roar from the deck brought Rick topside again. Turk Mallane was bellowing orders.
“All hands! Smartly, blast it! Secure all loose gear and batten down”
Rick ran out on deck and saw everyone galvanized into hurried activity. Astern, a line squall was bearing down on them, a solid line of black clouds against the sky.
Hartson Brant called, “Help us with the hatch cover, quickly!”
Rick and Scotty ran to him. Chahda was helping Professor Gordon get tools and equipment below decks.
“The wiring of the Sonoscope is exposed,” Zircon boomed. “We must get the hatch on or it will get wet.” The big scientist was working at the block and tackle that had been rigged for the hatch cover, a 200-pound circle of heavy steel, much like a manhole cover. The hatch cover had to be lifted with the block and tackle,then pushed into place over a circle of bolts that projected from the Submobile.
Rick helped Zircon untangle the block and tackle while Scotty jumped and caught the dangling hook. In a moment the tackle was free, and Scotty slipped the hook through the ring of the massive cover.
“Now,” Zircon bellowed. He threw his weight on the rope while Hartson Brant and the two boys guided the cover toward the circle of bolts. The cover struck, bounced off, tearing loose from their hands.
And the squall struck!
The trawler shuddered under the combined force of wind and sea and rocked up on her beam ends. She dove deep, and her nose buried in a sudden swell. Water cascaded down the deck.
Rick jumped to help Zircon, water running around his ankles. The wind whipped the top from the near-by waves, and salt spray and rain slashed into his face.
The heavy cover was dancing in the air, just short of the fringe of bolts. Zircon braced himself and tugged, Rick helping. Then the trawler buried her nose in another swell and water crashed down the deck. Rick tried for a more secure footing, and the rubber soles of his moccasins betrayed him. His feet shot out from under him and a sudden roll of the ship threw him heavily against the steel cradle of the Submobile. He was on his feet instantly, feeling pain shoot through him. He ignored it and jumped back to where Zircon was holding fast to the rope.
The trawler climbed to the top of a swell and hesitated for a heartbeat before plunging into the trough. The brief hesitation was just enough for Scotty and Hartson Brant to slide the hatch cover over the bolts. Scotty held it in place while the scientists spun on wing nuts.
“All right,” Hartson Brant yelled above the noise of crashing water. “Get to cover!”
Rick and Zircon let go of the rope, and Rick started for the companionway that led below decks. His leg buckled under him and he fell heavily against Zircon.
The big scientist scooped him up and carried him to shelter, Scotty and Hartson Brant hurrying anxiously behind.
CHAPTER VII
The Stowaway
Rick sat on the edge of his bunk and examined a leg that was already turning purple. He had struck an edge of the steel cradle with the big muscle of his thigh. It hurt like the dickens, but it wasn’t serious.
“I saw you hit,” Scotty said, “but you were on your feet right away, so I didn’t think you had been hurt.”
“There wasn’t time for me to find out,” Rick said ruefully.
“We can be thankful it wasn’t more serious,” Hartson Brant said. “It will be painful for a while, Rick.”
Chahda grinned. “Also, it will be pretty, like sunset.”
“You and your Hindu philosophy,” Scotty scoffed. “Would you be as cheerful if it was your leg?”
“No,” Chahda said truthfully. “I just try cheer up Rick.”
“Help me up, don’t cheer me up,” Rick said. “I want to walk around a little so it won’t stiffen up on me.”
“Good idea,” Zircon said. “Help him out on deck, Scotty. The squall is past.”
Rick took a turn around the deck,then sat down on the hatch cover. The pain had subsided to an ache and he could walk with only a slight limp. The squall had vanished over the horizon, leaving the air moist and cool.
“Odd how those pocket-size storms come and go,” Gordon said. “Hello . . . what’s up?”
Turk Mallane was striding toward them, his face dark with anger. He held up a piece of black material festooned with wires. Rick recognized it instantly as a radio tube, the glass broken.
“Fine piece of work,” Turk said angrily. “The cover was off the radiophone box and the stupid fool at the wheel didn’t cover it up when the storm broke. This is the result-a smashed tube. A pair of field glasses fell into the box.”
Hartson Brant examined the broken thing. “The final output tube,” he said. “Do you have a replacement, Captain?”
“No,” Turk said.“Thanks to Digger. I told him to pick up some spares and thought he had. It’s my own fault for leaving details to someone else
.”
“That means no ship-to-shore communication,” Scotty said with a glance at Rick.
“I don’t know as it matters much,” Zircon stated. “We haven’t used the radiophone and there would be no occasion, unless we were in distress, which is unlikely. Don’t worry about it, Captain.”
“Thanks,” Turk said gruffly. “I was afraid you’d be upset.”
Rick watched the broad-shouldered figure as Turk went back to the pilothouse. “I don’t like it,” he said. “We should have brought our own radio.”
“There’s no need,” Gordon replied. “AsHobart pointed out, we wouldn’t need it except in case of distress.”
Then Otera arrived with a large platter of fried chicken and the matter was forgotten in the pleasant business of eating.
Gentle breathing from the bunks next to him and above him told Rick that Scotty and Chahda were sound asleep. He had been asleep, too, but not soundly. The ache of his bruised leg had awakened him.
He shifted the leg to a more comfortable position and stared into the darkness. Outside the wooden hull, the gurgle of the water was pleasant, and the throb of the Diesel engines was muffled.
Three more days to Kwangara.He hoped they would pass quickly. He was anxious to make his first dive in the Submobile, to get his first look at the losttempleofAlta-Yuan , buried for centuries beneath the sea. His active imagination drew a picture of it as it must have been before the water swallowed it.
Presently he tired of trying to picture what it would be like when they found it. He decided that he was hungry. He hadn’t eaten much of the delicious fried chicken, because the pain in his leg had robbed him of his normal appetite.
