by John Blaine
screws turning over just enough to give steerage control.
“All right,” Hartson Brant directed. “Close the hatch.”
The boys jumped to help and the heavy steel cover was lifted into position, the nuts put on, and the wrench hammered firmly to make sure they were tight.
Hartson Brant smiled at his associates. “Well, gentlemen, I think we are ready.”
Digger Sears stood by at the winch controls. Two of the seamen held the boom ropes.
Rick and Scotty would be responsible for clamping the power cable to the heavy steel Submobile cable, but right now Rick had pictures to take, so Chahda assumed that duty.
Turk Mallane turned the wheel over to the third sailor and joined the group on the afterdeck. “We’re 100 feet past the temple,” he stated.“In 700 feet of water. Okay?”
Hartson Brant nodded. “Ready? All right, Sears.”
The heavy drum turned as Digger gave the winch power. The Submobile lifted from the deck. Rick took a picture,then hastily reset the camera. The Submobile rose above the rail level. At a signal, the seamen hauled the boom ropes. The heavy boom slowly swung, and the Submobile crossed the rail and hung over the water.
The steel cable ran out. The Submobile splashed,then slowly settled beneath the surface.
Rick took pictures as fast as he could reset the speed graphic.
“Down,” Hartson Brant said.“Fifty feet a minute.”
“Fifty feet a minute,” Digger repeated.
The steel cable slowly unwound from the big drum, and the creak of the blocks and the cough of the winch engine were the only sounds.
Far below, the Submobile was descending through increasing pressure, into the blackness of the depths. Would it hold up under the enormous weight of water? Or had it already cracked? Was it even now a flattened mass of metal?
Rick peered into the depths and saw nothing but the straight line of cable vanishing into the green water. Near by, Scotty and Chahda methodically fed out electric cable, attaching it to the main cable with patent clamps, otherwise the insulated cable might break of its own weight.
Turk coughed, and the sound was loud.
“Hold at 600 feet,” Hartson Brant said.
The cable slowed. “Six hundred feet,” Digger droned.
There was a sigh from the assembled watchers.
Hartson Brant looked around and smiled. “Bring it up,” he directed, his voice steady.“One hundred feet per minute.”
No one spoke as the minutes passed. Then, as the Submobile broke clear of the water and dangled in the air, there was a spontaneous cheer. The observation ports were intact, and there was no sign of water be-hind the clear quartz.
The sailors pulled on the boom ropes and the Submobile came inboard, to settle on deck without a jar. Instantly the scientists were at work, unscrewing the heavy hatch cover. As they loosened the heavy nuts there was the faint hiss of partially compressed air, then the cover was swung off and Hartson Brant climbed inside.
Rick waited breathlessly until the scientist looked out again. “All intact,” he reported, smiling.“One small leak at the aft propeller.”
The leak was only a trickle of water, but when the packing plate was loosened, it was found that the enormous pressure had compressed the spun-brass packing into a solid, immovable mass.
“We’ll have to clean and repack it,” Gordon said ruefully. “No more dives today.”
It was an accurate prediction. By the time the shaft had been repacked and resealed, the day was almost gone, and Otera was waiting with supper.
“I think we can plan on four dives a day,” Zircon estimated as they ate. “Once we get everything down to a system, that is.”
Hartson Brant nodded agreement.
“Who makes the first dive?” Rick wanted to know.
“I know who’d like to,” Scotty said, grinning.
Chahda said thoughtfully, “We are threeyoungs , and threemens , yes? I have a plan.
Rick, Scotty, and I draw lots, also Sahibs Brant, Gordon, and Zircon draw.”
“A good idea,” Hartson Brant agreed. “We all want to make the first dive, and since that’s impossible, we’ll let chance decide. And now, gentlemen, I suggest that we go ashore and get to bed. We have a busy day before us.
The camp on the peninsula was a cheerful place, the jungle alive with the sounds of birds and insects.
“Evidently the natives haven’t been around today,” Scotty said. “I wonder why? I’m almost tempted to do a little reconnoitering.”
Hartson Brant overruled the suggestion. “Let them come to us, if they will. We’ll give them plenty of time before we approach them.”
“Wish they come soon,” Chahda said. “I have feeling like old Greek they tell me about in school. What is name, please? Man with sword.”
“Damocles,” Rick remembered. “He had a sword suspended over his head by a thread.”
“Is same,” Chahda agreed.
“I know what you mean,” Scotty nodded. “I feel the same way, as though we were waiting for something to happen.”
“Imagination,” Rick scoffed. “Let’s hit the hay, kids.”
“In broad daylight?”Scotty looked shocked.
“It won’t be daylight long,” Rick assured him. “And tomorrow is a busy day.”
Scotty stifled a yawn. “So was today.”
Rick lifted his wrist and looked at the luminous dial of his watch. Hah0 past three!
What had awakened him?
He lay quietly for a moment, listening. It wasn’t a movement.Nothing as tangible as that.
He realized suddenly that he didn’t hear thedeep, regular breathing that would indicate that Scotty and Chahda slept. His whisper sounded loud. “You guys awake?”
“Something’s cooking outside,” Scotty whispered. “I don’t know what, I can -feel people around.”
A shiver traveled the length of Rick’s back. He had felt something malignant in the air, too.
“Not near,” Chahda whispered. “In jungle, I think.”
As though at a signal, there was the rustle of three mosquito nets as the boys swung out of bed. Rick fumbled for his moccasins and put them on. He heard the rustle of plastic as Scotty slipped his rifle from its case, then the sound of the retractor sliding back, followed by the distinctive snick as the bolt rammed home on a cartridge.
Rick kept a seven-cell flashlight under his bed, and Chahda had one of the smaller two-cellkind . With the lights in their hands, ready for use, they tiptoed to the tent flap and looked out. The peninsula was faintly lit by a thin slice of moon, not enough to show them anything. The lap of the waves on the beach was loud.
“Lights,” Scotty said.
Rick’s powerful beam cut a white swath through the night and lit up the jungle wall.
Even his untrained eye could see the movement of foliage.
There was a tiny sound as the safety catch on Scotty’s rifle clicked off. “Holy cow!” he exclaimed softly. “There must be a hundred of ‘em.”
Chahda muttered to himself in soft Hindustani.
“Turn it off,” Scotty said.
The darkness flooded in again as the light clicked off. Instantly Rick shivered, his skin crawling as though from the impact of twice a hundred eyes. Then, magically, the feeling was gone, as though a shadow had been withdrawn from the camp.
“They’ve gone,” Scotty said aloud. “What do you suppose they were after?”
Rick heard a noise behind him and whirled, flashlight lifted as a club. The three scientists stood there.
“What’s going on?” Hartson Brant demanded.
Rick explained in a few sentences.
“I thought something was wrong,” Professor Gordon said.
“I awoke a few moments ago,” Zircon added. “I heard Scotty whisper and awoke the others.”
“Let’s take a look at the jungle,” Scotty suggested.
Rick and Chahda brought their lights into play and the party walked to the lin
e of twine that was their safeguard. It looked ridiculous to Rick, but he had to admit that no native had crossed it.
“Maybe this is why we haven’t seen them,” he suggested.
“I don’t think so,” Gordon disagreed. “If they wanted to make their presence known, they could come out of the jungle behind it.”
Rick’s roving light suddenly gleamed on something that hung from a tree just behind the barrier string. “What’s that?”
Scotty ducked under and retrieved it. It was a polished leather pouch, held closed by a drawstring. He opened it and Rick shot his light into the interior.
“Let me see that,” Gordon demanded. He reached in and produced a bone, a bit of ivory carving, and a piece of dried skin.
“What on earth is that?” Hartson Brant asked.
“I’ve heard of them,” Gordon stated. “But I’ve never seen one. It’s a charm, like the ouanga ofHaiti , used as a warning.” He looked at the faces around him, shadowy in the reflected light. “The snakeskin is a standard symbol of warning. The bone symbolizes human intervention if the warning is ignored. The ivory carving invokes the aid of the ancient gods.”
He stowed the odd things in the leather pouch, pulled the drawstring tight.
“My friends,” Gordon stated, “we have been warned. I gather that we’re not wanted here.”
“What do you suggest doing about it?” Hartson Brant asked.
“Nothing,” Gordon said decisively. “We’re safe unless they cross the tabu, which they
haven’t dared do. Before they break the tabu they’ll have to work themselves up into a great state. We’d know it was coming by the noise. I suggest that we go back to bed.”
Mr. Brant and Zircon agreed. Scotty and Chahda had no objection.
As they walked back to their tents, though, Scotty muttered, “That old Greek Damocles was a piker. He had only one sword. From the looks, we have a hundred spears.”
“Must you always be so cheerful?” Rick grumbled.
CHAPTER XI
The Dragon God
The first thing Rick noticed when he came out of his tent in the morning was that the jungle was quiet again. The watchers were back, probably waiting for some reaction to their warning. If so, they were disappointed. The Spindrift party was too anxious to start diving to worry about whether or not their presence was wanted on the island.
Aboard the trawler, Otera had breakfast ready. The Spindrift group, minus Scotty and Gordon, sat down on the hatch to eat. As Rick spooned fresh grapefruit, the other two reappeared, grins on their faces.
“We’ve been getting ready for our lottery,” Gordon announced. Rick saw that he and Scotty carried hats.
“We wrote all our names on scraps of paper,” Scotty added. He held up his hat. “Rick, Chahda, and I are in this hat.” He held the hat above Zircon’s head. “Will you draw one slip, sir?”
Rick stopped breathing. He wanted desperately to make the first dive.
Zircon fumbled around in the inverted hat for a moment, then came up with a folded slip of paper.
Rick watched as the big scientist took his time unfolding it. He squinted at it, held it to the light for a better look,then carefully folded it again. Rick could contain himself no longer. “Who is it?” he pleaded.
Zircon contemplated the slip of paper,then smiled at the eager faces around him.
“The name on the paper,” he said, “is . . .” he hesitated, and looked at Chahda. Rick’s hopes sank.
“Is Mr. Rick Brant,” Zircon continued.
For an instant Rick stared,then he let out a whoop. Scotty and Chahda shook his hand solemnly.
“Now,” Gordon said, “let’s see which of us goes down with Rick. Chahda, will you draw a slip?” He held out the hat that he carried.
Rick watched as Chahda reached in and produced a folded slip. If only his father’s name werechosen . .but that would be too much luck.
“Mr. Hartson Brant,” Chahda read.
And then everyone was congratulating the twoBrants on their good fortune while Rick and his father grinned happily, too stunned by such exceptional luck to even talk.
It wasn’t until much later that they discovered they had been the victims of a conspiracy. The others of the party, knowing theBrants would never agree to accept the honor of the first dive without taking their chances equally with the rest, had gotten together and worked out a simple plan. All three scraps of paper in Scotty’s hat had carried Rick’s name. Hartson Brant’s name had been written on the three in Gordon’s hat.
Hartson Brant finished his coffee and smiled at his son. “All set, Rick?”
“Yes, sir,” Rick agreed eagerly. He helped arrange the oxygen supply, while Zircon and Gordon busied themselves with the salvage cable. Turk Mallane came aft and reported,
“We’re right over the temple.”
“Good,” Hartson Brant said. “We’ll try for the center of it. Gordon, how’s the cable?”
“Ready,” Gordon replied.
The salvage cable was wound on a drum controlled by a small winch Gordon had added to the ship’s equipment. The thin, strong line of braided steel ran out to the end of the boom, then down to the Submobile where it terminated in a loop, like a steel lasso, that fitted into clamps on the nose. The outer part of the loop fitted into similar clamps on the ends of the extension arms. The size of the loop was automatically controlled by the
distance the arms were extended.
Digger Sears took his place at the winch and the seamen manned the boom ropes.
Hartson Brant made a final inspection,then motioned Rick to climb in. The boy did so, his heart beating rapidly. He waved at Scotty and Chahda, who were grinning like a couple ofCheshire cats, then moved to the back of the Submobile to make room for his father.
The scientist came in after him and the hatch cover was swung into place. Suddenly there was a deafening clatter as the huge nuts were screwed on and hammered tight.
Rick held both hands over his ears.
The clamor stopped and he smiled at his father. Hartson Brant smiled back. “Change places with me, Rick. If you’re going to be a scientist, you might as well start learning to handle delicate equipment.”
“Yes, sir!”Rick exclaimed. “Thanks, Dad.” He had never expected to handle the Sonoscope and the salvage equipment in an actual dive, even though he had been careful to learn about their operation. He moved to the front of the Submobile and took a seat on the metal bench. Hartson Brant went to the aft position where he would watch the oxygen-supply rate, handle the telephone-which was a mouthpiece-earphone unit like that of a telephone operator-and control the three propellers.
The Submobile deck was level, all the electric motors hidden under it. The front panel that Rick faced was like a flat, steel wall, separating the operator from the equipment within the nose.
On the right upper portion of the panel was a ground-glass screen, eight inches long and six wide. It was dark now, because the Sonoscope had not been turned on. Below the screen were four controls that turned on the instrument, controlled the amount of power fed into it, and focused it. Directly above it was an illuminated scale that showed the distance of theSonoscope’s target in feet
The Sonoscope sound transmitter on the nose sent out bursts of supersonic waves, many vibrations per second above the range a human ear could hear. These bursts of sound would strike an object and reflect. This echo would be picked up and translated into electronic impulses. Since the time of the echo would vary, according to the distance of the various parts of the object, the electronic impulses would also vary in strength. Using the electronic impulses to operate a cathode tube and projecting them on the screen, which was actually the wide part of the tube, would give a picture of the object on which the Sonoscope was trained.
To the left of the Sonoscope the wall was cut away to give vision through the forward observation port, a square piece of fused quartz about five inches thick.
Under the observation port were two
pairs of pistol grips. The triggers were motor switches, and buttons under the thumbs of the operator controlled various functions of the salvage equipment. The pistol grips moved in a circle, controlling the direction of the equipment in use. One pair of grips operated the extension arms, the other pair the salvage scoop.
Rick looked up at the bank of instruments at the top of the panel. One told him that the Submobile was receiving normal electrical voltage. Others would show him the frequency of the Sonoscope impulses, inner and outer temperatures, and similar information.
He hurriedly put on his own pair of earphones as the Submobile lifted from the deck.
He caught a glimpse of the trawler’s deck through the observation port as they swung out over the water, then they splashed gently into the sea and green water foamed up past the quartz opening.
“Turn on the searchlight,” Hartson Brant suggested. “You might see some fish.”
Rick snapped the proper switch on the switch panel to his right, but the water was still too sunlit to see the beam.
“Everything all right, Gordon,” Hartson Brant said.
“Right,” Gordon replied in the earphones. “We’re taking you down to 580.”
Rick saw the keel of the Tarpon overhead and the growth of green stuff on her hull. He saw the screws turning over slowly as the ship held position,then the trawler’s keel seemed to slide upward through the green water and vanish from sight.
A brightly colored little fish about two inches long peered through the port with goggle eyes,then disappeared with a flick of a fanlike tail. A brown shape passed, just out of range of his vision, but Rick couldn’t guess what it was.A shark or a porpoise, probably.
“One hundred feet,” Gordon said in the earphones.
The green color had deepened to blue, and now all trace of green vanished. The searchlight cut a yellow, sharply defined path through the blue water. Rick sat spellbound, eagerly watching for signs ofMe outside the observation port. Now and then he saw fish at a distance too great for identification, and once a long, almost transparent
ribbon swam into the searchlight beam and out again.
As the Submobile sank deeper, he began to see flickers of light outside the beam.
