Things were beginning to look up as I put down the phone and started back to the street. I could get my bags without trouble—the customs men would have had a chance to examine them by now if they wished—and then I had the rest of the day to myself.
As I headed for the door, a tall, lean man turned away from the bar right in front of me. I stopped, but not quite quickly enough; I jarred him slightly, and a few drops spilled from his drink.
He whirled on me. “Watch it, Mac!” he growled.
“Sorry,” I said, and waited for him to step aside. But he wasn’t stepping. He carefully set his drink down on the bar and moved even closer to me.
“Think you own the place?” he demanded. “Come in here looking for trouble, is that it?”
It hardly seemed reasonable—but he gave every indication of looking for a fight. I’m not afraid of a fight if I must have one; at the Academy, there had been plenty of man-to-man boxing and sometimes it was done less for exercise than to work out differences of opinion. I had carried a shiner around with me for a week after one such bout. And, though the man was inches taller than I, he weighed little more; I wasn’t afraid of him.
Still—a bar-room brawl was not my idea of the best way to spend my first day in Thetis. I said, “Excuse me. I didn’t mean to bump into you. Will you let me pass?”
He seemed to take that as a personal insult. “Let you pass?” he demanded. “Sure, I'll let you pass. You lubbers think you can trample all over us, don’t you? Well, you’re wrong!” He was actually touching me, he stood so close; I could feel his hot breath fanning me as he talked.
It looked like a fight, all right. I stepped back a bit to give myself space…
Then a rumbling bass said: “What’s the matter, Kelly? This kid threatening your life and limb?”
It was the sea-police. Tall and square in his scarlet tunic, he stood in the doorway. His tone was heavily humorous, but the look he gave the thin man was not humorous at all.
The thin man made a quick estimate of the situation. “Ah,” he snarled, “you cops give me a pain. Why don’t you mind your business?”
The policeman’s eyes sparkled dangerously, but all he said was, “All right, son. If you’re coming out of here, come on.”
I walked past Kelly without looking at him. The policeman closed the door behind us.
“Thought you might get into trouble there,” he rambled. “As soon as I sent you in to phone, I says to myself, ‘Shaughnessy, a kid like that don’t belong in a place like Mother Sea-Cow’s.’ So I just walked over to see what might be happening.”
I said, “Thanks, officer. I don’t think there would have been any trouble, though.”
He gave me a quizzical look. “Lubber, aren’t you?” he said. “Well, never mind. Get along with you.” And he stood watching while I headed for the elevator banks.
It took me only a few minutes to reclaim my baggage. Loaded with it, I studied the street and level markers, trying to find the best way to the hotel.
I suppose I should have asked someone; but I have always disliked seeming ignorant. Many’s the wasted hour I have spent wandering around a strange city, stubbornly trying to find a street number by myself, when any passerby could have pointed the way in a matter of moments.
After racking my brains, I came to the conclusion that the best way to get to the hotel was to walk through a narrow connecting passage to another bank of express elevators. They would whisk me to Level 18, where the hotel was located, without stops.
Staggering under the weight of the bags, I started off. The way led through an alley of warehouses. It was the middle of the morning, but few persons were about; I suppose that, as in the cities on the earth’s surface, the warehouses and markets are busiest during the pre-dawn hours, getting ready for the day’s trade. Of course, under four miles of sea, the time of day made little difference; the lights were the same blue-violet Troyon tubes, though it seemed to me that these flickered more weakly than most. The warehouse fronts cast curious shadows; some of them seemed almost to be lurking human figures.
And some of them were.
I found it out to my cost. I set the bags down where another passage crossed the one I was traversing, a little doubtful as to which turn I should take. I heard footsteps behind me; nothing of any importance, it seemed, until of a sudden the steps got closer, and speeded up, as though an assailant were closing in for the kill. I turned, less in alarm than in curiosity.
I turned too late. Something hard and large came swinging through the violet-lit shadows at me. It crunched against my temple; and that was the last I saw for some time.
I awoke.
I was lying on the cold, smooth metal floor of a totally dark room.
My ankles were trussed together. A cord was about my waist; my wrists were fastened to it at my sides. The knots were so tight that the circulation was stopped, and my hands and feet were numb.
I could see nothing, feel nothing, hear nothing. My only knowledge of the room I was in came through my nose—and that was a puzzler. The room smelled stale and musty, like a damp cellar underground. Where in Thetis could such a room be?
Since I could not guess, I gave up trying. I struggled uselessly for a while; then I lay there, trying to make an estimate of the situation as coolly and dispassionately as the instructors had demanded at the Academy. I remember the lectures: “Panic is your worst enemy. No matter how bad the situation is, giving in to it will make it worse.”
It had all seemed so logical and lucid, back in the warm Caribbean sunshine!
But they had never told us exactly what to do when tied up by person or persons unknown, in what seemed to be the subcellar of an undersea city. The whole thing seemed ridiculous to me. Why would anyone attack me in the first place? I had harmed no one…
However, the important question at the moment was not “why,” but “how”—how to get out of this. There seemed very little to do in that direction. I could scarcely move a muscle. Whoever tied me had taken lessons from a master at the art.
Still…I found that I could wriggle one arm slightly. If I could find something to rub the ropes against, there was always the chance I could fray them through. Fumbling about on the floor for a sharp projection was like trying to recognize the denomination of a coin through heavy mittens; my numbed fingers had scarcely any tactile sensation left. But I kept on trying.
Fruitlessly. The floor was flat and bare.
And I could not reach any of the knots, however much I strained.
I think I gave in to desperation there for a moment. Perhaps it helped; I don’t know. But I flung myself violently back against the floor…
And I felt the bonds around my waist slip a little. Ever so little.
They were not coming off, of course—that was too much to hope for. But they slipped around a couple of degrees; my right hand was a little behind me now, my left hand a little in front. I wrenched at the rope again, and it slipped a fraction more.
It must have taken me half an hour to do it, but at last my left hand was within range of my belt buckle. Thanks be to the sea sprites, the Kelpies who watch over the submariners! I still wore my Academy belt, with the fouled anchors sharp on the buckle.
It was not much in the way of hope, but it was the best I had. I strained my wrist cords against that buckle, back and forth, back and forth. I kept it up until I thought my arm muscles would knot and freeze… and then I kept it up some more.
I began to feel as though, given time, I might get free.
But time ran out for me right then.
There was a sudden, soft clicking sound behind me. Dim light entered the room. I could see only what was directly before my eyes—smooth metal walls, glistening with a thin film of moisture; nothing more. But someone had, behind me, opened a door.