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I caught myself and glanced at the microsonar screen just barely in
time. "Missile! Take evasive action!"
Roger wrestled the conn wheel over and down; the old
Dolphin went into a spiraling, descending turn.
Whump.
It was closer than before.
Roger panted something indistinguishable and grabbed the microphone
again. "Bob! I've got to have more power!"
It was Gideon who answered this time. Even now, his voice was soft and gentle.
"I'm afraid we don't have any more power to give, Roger. The reactor's
overheating now."
"But I've got to have more power!"
Gideon said softly: "There's something leaking inside the shield. I guess
the old conduits were pretty badly corroded that last missile may have
sprung them." The gentle voice paused for a second. Then it went on:
"We've been trying to keep it running, but you don't repair Series K
reactors, Roger. It's hot now. Way past the red line. If it gets any
hotter, we'll have to dump it or else abandon ship!"
For a while I thought we might make it.
At full power, the old
Dolphin was eating up the last few miles to Jason Craken's sea-mount and the
dome. Even the
Killer Whale, bigger and newer and faster though she was, gained on us only
slowly. They held their fire for long minutes, while the little blob of light
that was Craken's dome took shape in the forward microsonar screen.
Then they opened fire again a full salvo this time, six missiles opening up
like the ribs of a fan as they came toward us.
Roger twisted the
Dolphin's tail, and we swung through violent evolutions.
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Whurnp. Whumpwhwnp. Whumpwhumpwhump.
But they were all short, all exploding astern. Roger grinned crazily. "Maybe
we'll make it! If we can hold out another ten minutes ----- "
"Missiles!" I cried, interrupting him. Another spreading salvo of bright
little flecks leaped out from the pursuing shape in the microsonar screen.
Violent evasive action again ... and once again they all exploded
astern.
But closer this time, much closer.
They were using up their missies at a prodigious rate.
Evidently Joe Trencher wanted to keep us from getting to that dome, at any
cost!
The speaker from the engine room rattled and
Bob's voice cried: "Bridge! We're going to have to cut power in three minutes!
The reactor stops are all out.
Repeat, we're going to have to cut power in three minutes!"
"Keep her going as long as you can!" Roger yelled.
He slammed the conn wheel hard over, diving us sharply once more. "All
hands!" he yelled. "All hands into pres-sure suits! The next salvo is likely
to zero in right on our heads. We're bound to have hull leaks."
He shook his head and grinned. "They'll fill us with water, but I'll get us
in, wet or dry!"
In that moment, I had to admire Roger Fairfane. He wasn't the kind you
could like very well but the
Acade-my doesn't make many mistakes, and I should have known that if he was a
cadet at all, he was bound to have the stuff somewhere.
He caught me looking at him and he must have read the expression on my
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face, for he grinned.
Even in the rush of that moment of wild flight he said: "You never liked me,
did you? I don't blame you, Jim. There hasn't been much to like! I ---- " He
licked his lips. "I
have to admit something, Jim."
I said gruffly, "You don't have to admit anything
-------------------------------------------------------------------
"
"No, no. I do." He kept his eyes on the microsonar,
his hands on the conn wheel. He said quickly: "My father isn't a big shot,
Jim! He's an accountant for
Trident Lines, that's all. They let me use the boathouse at the
Atlantic Manager's estate because they were sorry for
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him. But I've always dreamed that some day, some-
how ---- "
He broke off. Then he said somberly: "If I can help open up another
important route for Trident, down here to the Tonga Trench, it'll be a big
thing for my father!"
I shook my head silently. It was a funny thing.
All these months Bob and I had made fun of Roger, had disliked him and yet,
underneath it all he was a fine, likeable youth!
We all struggled into our pressure suits, keeping the helmets cracked so we
could maneuver better. Time enough to seal up when the crashing missiles split
our hull open.. ..
And that time was almost at hand.
But first the blare of a warning horn screamed at us. Red warning
lights blazed all over the instrument panel at once, it seemed. The
ceiling lights flickered and yellowed as the current from the main engines
flipped off and the batteries cut in. The hurtling
Dolphin faltered in her mad rush through the sea.
The yell from the engine room told us what we
already knew: "Reactor out! We've lost our power.
Batteries only now!"
Roger looked at me and gave me a half-grin. There was no bluster about him
now, no pretense. He checked the instrument panel and made his decision
quickly.
He kicked the restraining stops on the conn wheel free, and wrenched
it up far past normal diving angle, to the absolute maximum it would travel.
He stood the old
Dolphin right on her nose, heading straight down into the abyss below.
Minutes passed. We heard the distant whump of mis-
siles but far above us now. Even with only battery power to turn the
screws, the
Dolphin was dropping faster than the missiles could travel, for
gravity was pulling at us.
Roger kept his eyes glued to the microsonar and the fathometers. At the last
possible moment he pulled back on the conn wheel; the diving vanes brought
the ship into a full-G pullout.
He cut the power to the screws.
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In a moment there was a slithering, scraping sound from the hull, then
a hard thud.
We had come to rest without arms, without power, with twenty thousand feet of
sea water over our heads, at the bottom in the Tonga Trench.
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Abandon Ship!
We lay on the steep slope of the Tonga Trench, nearly four miles
down, waiting for the
Killer to finish us off.
Gideon and Bob Eskow came tumbling in from the engine room. "She's
going to blow!" Bob yelled.
"We ran the engines too long the reactor's too hot.
We've got to get out of here, Roger!"
Roger Fairfane nodded quietly, remotely. His face was abstracted, as
though he were thinking out a classroom problem in sea tactics or
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