No one bothered to ask how. If Dr. Roberts said it could be done, that meant he had already worked out a plan of campaign. The director, as usual, bypassed the minor technical details involved in hauling up several tons of fighting squid from a depth of a mile, and went straight to the important point.
“Will Research pay for any of this? And what will you do with Percy when you’ve caught him?”
“Unofficially, Research will provide the additional equipment if we make the subs and pilots available. We’ll also need that floating dock we borrowed from Maintenance last year; it’s big enough to hold two whales, so it can certainly hold one squid. There’ll be some additional expenditure here — extra aeration plant for the water, electrified mesh to stop Percy climbing out, and so on. In fact, I suggest that we use the dock as a lab while we’re studying him.”
“And after that?”
“Why, we sell him.”
“The demand for hundred-and-fifty-foot squids as household pets would seem to be rather small.”
Like an actor throwing away his best line, Dr. Roberts casually produced his trump card.
“If we can deliver Percy alive and in good condition, Marineland will pay fifty thousand dollars for him. That was Professor Milton’s first informal offer when I spoke to him this morning. I’ve no doubt that we can get more than that; I’ve even been wondering if we could arrange things on a royalty basis. After all, a giant squid would be the biggest attraction Marineland ever had.”
“Research was bad enough,” grumbled the director. “Now it looks as if you’re trying to get us involved in the entertainment business. Still, as far as I’m concerned it sounds fairly plausible. If Accounts can convince me that the project is not too expensive, and if no other snags turn up, we’ll go ahead with it. That is, of course, if Mr. Franklin and his colleagues think it can be done. They’re the people who’ll have to do the work.”
“If Dr. Roberts has any practical plan, I’ll be glad to discuss it with him. It’s certainly a very interesting project.”
That, thought Franklin, was the understatement of the year. But he was not the sort of man who ever waxed too enthusiastic over any enterprise, having long ago decided that this always resulted in eventual disappointment. If “Operation Percy” came off, it would be the most exciting job he had ever had in his five years as a warden. But it was too good to be true; something would turn up to cancel the whole project.
It did not. Less than a month later, he was dropping down to the seabed in a specially modified deep-water scout. Two hundred feet behind him, Don Burley was following in a second machine. It was the first time they had worked together since those far-off days on Heron Island, but when Franklin had been asked to choose his partner he had automatically thought of Don. This was the chance of a lifetime, and Don would never forgive him if he selected anyone else.
Franklin sometimes wondered if Don resented his own rapid rise in the service. Five years ago, Don had been a first warden; Franklin, a completely inexperienced trainee. Now they were both first wardens, and before long Franklin would probably be promoted again. He did not altogether welcome this, for, though he was ambitious enough, he knew that the higher he rose in the bureau the less time he would spend at sea. Perhaps Don knew what he was doing; it was very hard to picture him settling down in an office…
“Better try your lights,” said Don’s voice from the speaker. “Doc Roberts wants me to get a photograph of you.”
“Right,” Franklin replied. “Here goes.”
“My — you do look pretty! If I was another squid, I’m sure I’d find you irresistible. Swing broadside a minute. Thanks. Talk about a Christmas tree! It’s the first time I’ve ever seen one making ten knots at six hundred fathoms.”
Franklin grinned and switched off the illuminations. This idea of Dr. Roberts’ was simple enough, but it remained to be seen if it would work. In the lightless abyss, many creatures carry constellations of luminous organs which they can switch on or off at will, and the giant squid, with its enormous eyes, is particularly sensitive to such lights. It uses them not only to lure its prey into its clutches, but also to attract its mates. If squids were as intelligent as they were supposed to be, thought Franklin, Percy would soon see through his disguise. It would be ironic, however, if a deep-diving sperm whale was deceived and he had an unwanted fight on his hands.
The rocky bottom was now only five hundred feet below, every detail of it clearly traced on the short-range sonar scanner. It looked like an unpromising place for a search; there might be countless caves here in which Percy could hide beyond all hope of detection. On the other hand, the whales had detected him — to their cost. And anything that Physeter can do, Franklin told himself, my sub can do just as well.
“We’re in luck,” said Don. “The water’s as clear as I’ve ever seen it down here. As long as we don’t stir up any mud, we’ll be able to see a couple of hundred feet.”
That was important; Franklin’s luminous lures would be useless if the water was too turbid for them to be visible. He switched on the external TV camera, and quickly located the faint glow of Don’s starboard light, two hundred feet away. Yes, this was extremely good luck; it should simplify their task enormously.
Franklin tuned in to the nearest beacon and fixed his position with the utmost accuracy. To make doubly sure, he got Don to do the same, and they split the difference between them. Then, cruising slowly on parallel courses, they began their careful search of the seabed.
It was unusual to find bare rock at such a depth, for the ocean bed is normally covered with a layer of mud and sediment hundreds or even thousands of feet thick. There must, Franklin decided, be powerful currents scouring this area clear — but there was certainly no current now, as his drift meter assured him. It was probably seasonal, and associated with the ten-thousand-foot-deeper cleft of the Miller Canyon, only five miles away.
Every few seconds, Franklin switched on his pattern of colored lights, then watched the screen eagerly to see if there was any response. Before long he had half a dozen fantastic deep-sea fish following him — nightmare creatures, two or three feet long, with enormous jaws and ridiculously attenuated feelers and tendrils trailing from their bodies. The lure of his lights apparently overcame their fear of his engine vibration, which was an encouraging sign. Though his speed quickly left them behind, they were continually replaced by new monsters, no two of which appeared to be exactly the same.
Franklin paid relatively little attention to the TV screen; the longer-range senses of the sonar, warning him of what lay in the thousand feet ahead of him, were more important. Not only had he to keep a lookout for his quarry, but he had to avoid rocks and hillocks which might suddenly rear up in the track of the sub. He was doing only ten knots, which was slow enough, but it required all his concentration. Sometimes he felt as if he was flying at treetop height over hilly country in a thick fog.
They traveled five uneventful miles, then made a hairpin turn and came back on a parallel course. If they were doing nothing else, thought Franklin, at least they were producing a survey of this area in more detail than it had ever been mapped before. Both he and Don were operating with their recorders on, so that the profile of the seabed beneath them was being automatically mapped.
“Whoever said this was an exciting life?” said Don when they made their fourth turn. “I’ve not even seen a baby octopus. Maybe we’re scaring the squids away.”
“Roberts said they’re not very sensitive to vibrations, so I don’t think that’s likely. And somehow I feel that Percy isn’t the sort who’s easily scared.”