The Dragon in the Sea (29 page)

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Authors: Frank Herbert

BOOK: The Dragon in the Sea
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“Quiet!” barked Sparrow. “Tune that bulkhead screen above us to that pile-room eye.”
Ramsey jumped to obey. The screen came to life. It showed Garcia's figure bulky in an ABG suit. He was bent over, rigging jacks to force the reactor onto its foundation. As they watched, Garcia began to turn the screws. Slowly, the deadly block inched toward its proper position. They could feel Bonnett adjusting the planes to accommodate for the shifting weight.
Sparrow bent over the tools he had removed from the bulkhead rack, hefted a big Stillson wrench. “Let's try one of those dogs,” he said.
“The only way he could've jammed it is from the bottom,” said Ramsey. “If we force it down, break it off and—”
Sparrow fitted the wrench to the upper dog, said, “They drilled you well for your little job.”
Now, what's he mean by that?
thought Ramsey.
“Here, give me a hand,” said Sparrow.
Ramsey took told of the wrench.
Together, they bore down on the handle. Abruptly, the dog twisted, snapped off. Ramsey took a punch and hammer from the stack of tools, knocked the fitting through the door into the tunnel.
Sparrow had the wrench fitted to the other dog.
Ramsey glanced up at the screen. The reactor was back on its foundation, and Garcia was securing it with new lag bolts.
“Let's go,” said Sparrow.
They snapped off the other dog, heard a clatter of metal in the tunnel as Garcia's wrecking bar fell away. Sparrow pried the door open, swung it wide.
The snooper's needle jammed in the red.
“Suits,” said Sparrow. He motioned toward the locker.
“Skipper.” It was Garcia's voice from the speaker. “Tell my wife she doesn't have to be afraid any more. She'll understand.”
“Sure, Joe.”
“Tell her to go someplace and change her name.”
“Why?”
Ramsey passed him an ABG suit, began scrambling into his own.
“Johnny'll understand.”
Sparrow slipped into the suit, looked at Ramsey. “Well?”
Ramsey shook his head, unable to speak.
Sparrow spoke into his mike as he sealed the hood in place. “Joe, we've forced the door. I'm bringing in the detergent hose and a cool suit. Come out of there.”
“I'm too hot,” said Garcia. “Leave me here.”
“Come out or I'll come in after you,” said Sparrow.
Ramsey handed Sparrow a fresh ABG suit, glanced up at the bulkhead screen. It showed Garcia's squat-suited figure, standing beside the tunnel plates. Above him, one of the giant remote-control manuals swung outward. At the same time, Bonnett's voice came over the intercom. “The control bank's free, Skipper. I can take it from here. Get
that damned fool out of there. He may still have a chance.” Bonnett was almost sobbing.
“I'm coming in after you,” said Sparrow.
“You don't understand,” shouted Garcia. “Stay out of here, Skipper!”
“I'm coming,” repeated Sparrow. He freed the detergent hose from its reel clip.
Garcia's voice rose almost to a scream. “Skipper! I'm your spy! Don't be a fool!”
“You're my engineering officer,” said Sparrow. He bent for the tunnel, slid into it, dragging hose and ABG suit behind him.
Garcia's voice came to them: “You can't—” He fell silent, choked, coughed, collapsed onto the reactor-room floor.
Around Ramsey in the engine room, lights brightened, the four motors resumed their normal humming. He could feel the
Ram
's response through his feet as though it were a report from someone outside himself. He was unable to tear his gaze from the screen. The giant manual arm swung out over Garcia's prone figure, clasped him gently, lifted him into the tunnel, replaced the cover plates.
“I've got him,” said Sparrow. A gush of detergent washed out the mouth of the tunnel.
Ramsey jumped to the bulkhead console, started a pump removing the hot fluid.
“Johnny!” Sparrow's voice.
He spoke into his suit mike. “Here, Skipper.”
Sparrow's voice lowered. “You don't have to help in this, Johnny. Get away from the tunnel mouth if you value your virility. Joe's hot. Very hot.”
“I've already got two kids,” said Ramsey. “Bring him out.”
“Here he is.”
Garcia's limp body was extruded from the tunnel mouth like an insect from its burrow. Ramsey eased him to the deck. Sparrow followed.
“I almost drowned him in detergent getting him into his suit. It's already too hot.”
Ramsey bent over, unzipped the front of Garcia's suit. Sparrow helped him pull the limp figure from it. They hustled Garcia into the decontamination chamber. Sparrow removed his own suit, went in with Garcia. Ramsey took the suits, stuffed them into the tunnel mouth, stripped off his own and pressed it in after the others. He closed the door, wedged it with the Stillson wrench.
The door to the decon chamber popped open. Sparrow emerged nude, dragging Garcia after him in like condition. “We'll have to replace every drop of his blood,” said Sparrow. “Get in there and shed your clothes, then come up to the rec room.” He stooped, lifted Garcia over his shoulder and went up the ladder to the catwalk, muscles knotting on his legs and back with the strain of the load.
Ramsey paused to speak into his chest mike. “Les, Skipper is bringing Joe up. Better lend a hand.” Then he ducked into the decon chamber, slapped the medium-jet control. The harsh streams, designed for a man in a protective suit, bit into his flesh with a stinging pressure. Ramsey shucked out of his clothes, kicked them into a corner, stopped the spray, went out and followed Sparrow's wet footprints up the ladder.
He was afraid to look back at the snooper above the tunnel door. Jammed in the red.
We've had it, but good
, he thought.
Bonnett was still at the helm as Ramsey entered the
control room. “Wouldn't let me help,” he said. He motioned toward the door aft.
Ramsey continued after the line of wet footprints.
Naked of soul, naked of body,
he thought.
Now we're down to the simplest essentials.
In the rec room, Sparrow had Garcia stretched out on a cot, a plasma bottle hung above him, its tube leading into a vein. Sparrow was setting up a blood-exchange unit on the opposite side of the cot, adjusting the vein and artery taps, the flow meters, the height of the armrest.
Ramsey went to the live-blood storage, checked the automatic circulation and revitalization systems, found them operative.
“Blood ready,” he said. He turned.
Sparrow said, “Right.” He plugged the blood exchange into the live-blood circulating system, put a hand on the valve. “Monitor what we pump out of him.”
Ramsey went to the head of the blood-exchange unit, glanced at the taps which Sparrow had adjusted to Garcia's arm. The engineering officer's breath was coming in slow, shallow rhythm, the movement of his chest discernible. The skin of his face and chest had a mottled blue cyanotic appearance.
Sparrow opened the exchange valve. Blood from Garcia's body began to flow into the unit's lead-lined storage system as the new blood was pumped into his body. Immediately, Ramsey's monitor snooper swung far right, stuck there.
“He's off the meter, Skipper.”
Sparrow nodded. “Shall I use it all?”
“What do you mean?”
“There won't be any blood left for us.”
Ramsey's memory flashed back to a vision of the tunnel
snooper jammed in the red. “We'll get by with plasma,” he said.
“My thought. I'm glad you agree.” He came around the cot, unhooked the plasma tube from Garcia's left arm. “If we need it, that is. And I'm more apt to than you are. I was in that tunnel.”
“Let's save a couple of changes for you,” said Ramsey. “You never can—”
“I'll be all right.”
Ramsey fell silent, watching the monitor dial. It stayed against the right-hand pin.
“I got his shots into him and took my own before you came up,” said Sparrow. “We'd better check you now.”
“Go ahead,” said Ramsey. He held out his left arm, kept his gaze on the monitor dial. “Three changes through him by now for sure and he's still off the meter. Skipper, I've never heard of—”
“This is the de-carb,” said Sparrow. “It'll hurt.” He grasped Ramsey's arm, injected the serum precipitate into the muscle. “Don't worry about Joe. He's in God's hands, now.”
“Aren't we all,” said Ramsey.
“Skipper!” It was Bonnett's voice over the intercom.
Sparrow stepped to a wall mike, flipped the switch. “Go ahead.”
“I've just checked out the pile. All secure.”
“Set course for Charleston,” said Sparrow. “Force speed.”
“Aye. How's Joe?”
“It's too soon to know.”
“Tell me if—”
“We will.” Sparrow closed the switch.
Garcia stirred on the cot; his lips moved and he twisted his head from side to side. Suddenly, he spoke, his voice surprisingly strong. “I've gotta do it, Bea! They'll get at me through our kids, don't you understand?”
He seemed to be listening.
“I can't tell anybody! They'd shoot me!”
“Easy, Joe,” said Sparrow.
Garcia's eyes flickered open, closed, opened. He stared blankly at Sparrow. “Where's Bea! Did they hurt her?”
“She'll be all right,” said Sparrow.
Garcia shuddered. “If we could've just gone somewhere and changed our name. That's all.” He closed his eyes.
“Do you know where you are?” asked Sparrow.
Garcia nodded. “Nightmare.”
“He's on the meter,” said Ramsey. “But so far into the probable fatal that—”
“Be quiet,” said Sparrow. He checked the change-count dial in the blood system. “Eight down.”
“And sixteen to go,” said Ramsey.
Sparrow reduced the rate of flow.
“You should've left me in there,” said Garcia.
“Don't talk foolish,” said Sparrow.
“I was trained Buenos Aires spy school,” said Garcia. “Twenty years ago. Then I came up here an' met Bea. So I quit. Easy. They'd taught me how to hide in plain sight.”
“He shouldn't be talking,” said Ramsey. “Blood pressure's up.”
“Gotta talk,” said Garcia. “They found me six months ago, said, ‘Come through, or else!' Our kids. Y' understand?”
“Sure, Joe,” said Sparrow. “Now, please be quiet. Save your strength.”
“First time in my life I ever belonged anywhere—really belonged—was with your crew,” said Garcia. “With Bea, sure. But that's different.”
“You have to conserve your strength,” said Sparrow.
“Why? So Johnny Security can take me back to stand trial?”
“I'm not Security, Joe.”
“He's a BuPsych,” said Sparrow. “They put him on to ride herd on me.”
Ramsey's mouth dropped open.
“I spotted that the day we first went down overlimit,” said Sparrow. “It was the way he treated Les.”
“Security, too,” said Garcia.
“Only by adoption,” said Ramsey. “And I can't—”
“If you spill this,” said Sparrow, “I'll—”
“I was about to say that I can't hear so well,” said Ramsey. He grinned, then frowned and looked down at Garcia. “Did you have anything to do with the death of that Security inspector?”
“Nothing, so help me God,” said Garcia.
“How about the sabotage?”
“That was my old friends just being doubly sure.” He shook his head. “I was just supposed to tip off the location of the well when we reached it. Instead, I set it off while we were still in our own waters. Thought they'd just force us up, capture us.”
“How'd you do it?” asked Sparrow.
“By stepping up the sono-pulse system, keyed to weak tube plate.”
“When did you decide not to tip them to the well?”
“I never decided to do it.”
Sparrow seemed to relax.
“I told Bea to take our kids and go to Security as soon as we were out of pursuit range with the
Ram
.” He fell silent.

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