Sperry strode stiffly before us into the entrance hatch of the seacar, never looking back. We followed him.
And then the three of us were inside, and the vessel was sealed, and cast loose from the little dome.
We were free!
“Smart work, Jim,” Gideon acknowledged. “I heard what the operators were saying, but it never occurred to me that this was that first sea-car your uncle built. That makes it yours, I guess—so we aren’t even stealing it!”
“We’ll see what the law says about that!” snapped Brand Sperry, his voice rising. “You men are thieves, plain and simple!”
Gideon only looked at him, and gestured gently with the gun; Brand Sperry was silent—but fuming.
Gideon turned the controls over to me, and I set course for Seven Dome. He stood over my shoulder, thoughtfully watching, until I grew uneasy and said: “Isn’t that where you want us to go, Gideon? Seven Dome? You said—”
“I know what I said, Jim,” he agreed hesitantly. “Only—”
“Only what?”
He looked around him at the inside of the sea-car. It looked much like any other—perhaps there was a slightly brighter glimmer from the Edenite armor, to show that it was stronger, more powerfully charged, than most. Gideon said:
“This one has the same kind of armor as the one your uncle Stewart was lost in, doesn’t it?”
“I guess so,” I agreed.
“So it ought to be able to take quite a lot of pressure, right?”
But this time I was used to Gideon’s long and complicated way of getting at anything he had to say; I only nodded without trying to rush him.
He said, striking off in another direction, “You remember what we saw in the reel that was brainpumped from Catroni?” I nodded, and he went on: “Sure you do. After Catroni pulled out, a man followed him. Only the other man’s armor had been sabotaged; it couldn’t take the pressure, and he was killed.”
“That’s right, Gideon. My uncle.”
“Was it?” Gideon demanded sharply. “We’ve been thinking it was, sure—but how did we know? There was another man on board, after all—Westervelt, the engineer.”
I said slowly, “You mean the man who was killed might not have been my uncle?”
“That’s right, Jim.” Gideon’s dark face was sober as he looked at me. “Now, it’s only a guess—don’t get your hopes up! Even if that first one was Westervelt, your uncle might have tried a little later in another suit, if he could patch one together—or the sea-car’s armor might have failed over the weeks he’s been down there, or he might have run out of air—Oh, it’s only an outside chance. But what if he’s still alive at the bottom of Eden Deep, Jim?”
I looked at him for a long moment. Then I returned to the controls and sent the little sea-car heeling over as I swung it around.
“We’re going to find out!” I said. “Or we’ll sink ourselves trying!”
17
Into the Deeps
We made a curious crew, the three of us, as we bored through the cold, dense waters toward Eden Deep.
Brand Sperry, after the first few minutes, sat himself down in the navigator’s seat and stared unseeingly at the blackness outside.
He didn’t offer conversation; for my part, I was glad to have him quiet.
Fortunately, we knew my uncle’s position when Catroni scuttled the ship. I could still see, through Catroni’s eyes, the entire instrument panel; if the Academy had taught me anything, it had taught me to read the gauges and meters on the control board of any sub-sea vessel in a single sweeping glance. I would have no more trouble putting us right over the hulk of my uncle’s sea-car than I would in finding my way across my bedroom at the Academy in the dark.
The trip, I estimated, would take us another hour and a half. I put the controls on auto; but I was too eager to get up from the pilot’s seat and let the sea-car take itself to the gridpoint. I sat there, watching the distance gauge whirl slowly through its arc, watching the miles reel past, almost unable to keep my hands off the diving rudders and the stabilizers, though I knew perfectly well that the autopilot would do a far better job of keeping the little car on course than any mere human.
Gideon said: “Tired, Jim? Want to take a little nap?”
I shook my head. “I couldn’t sleep,” I said. “But if you want to—”
“Neither could I.” Pause, while Brand Sperry stared stonily into nothingness. Gideon said, “Are you sure you can take us to Stewart’s sub?”
I shrugged. “I can put us right over it, I’ll guarantee. Getting down—that’s something else. All I can do is dive the car; whether or not it will take the pressure is something I don’t know. Don’t forget, Gideon, that this is the first experimental sea-car my uncle built. Maybe it’s as strong as the other—maybe not.”
Gideon nodded slowly. “Well,” he said, “we’ll find out ”
That seemed to cover that.
We plunged on through the dark waters. The little motors of the sea-car whined almost inaudibly, the hissing friction of the waters sliding along the Edenite armor whispered in our ears, the slow, erratic clicking of the autopilot and the instruments lulled me. There were other noises, too—
I realized, abruptly, that some of the other noises didn’t belong there.
I sat up straight, listening. From somehwere in the sea-car there came a faint, furtive scratching. It stopped; in a moment I heard it again.
Gideon heard it too. I caught the look of sudden tension in his eyes as we both got the same idea at the same time…
Someone else was in the sea-car!
Gideon looked a wordless threat at Brand Sperry—who paid him no attention—and silently, holding the captured gun, Gideon stepped to the door to the after compartment. Fools, to have forgotten to search the little sub! I blamed myself angrily.
Gideon flung the door open, peered in, then lunged inside and I heard a scramble of motion.
In a moment Gideon appeared again, frowning. “Jim,” he groaned, “we ought to be kicked. Look who was here, at the aft communicator—heaven knows what messages he was sending!”
He gestured with the gun, and another figure stepped uncertainly through the doorway—
Bob Eskow!
I said, “Bob!”
He stared at me. “I—I thought it was you, Jim,” he said. “I couldn’t believe it! Jim Eden—a thief!”
The expression on his face was impossible to read. Gideon said sharply, “Young man, Jim Eden is no more a thief than—”
I stopped him. I said, “Bob, listen to me. You’ve got to trust me.” As quickly as I could I told him everything that had happened since I came to Marinia—our hopes of finding my uncle’s ship, the duplicity of the Sperrys, the threat to our lives. It was a long story, short as I tried to make it, and I couldn’t tell if he was believing me as I spoke. When I finished he sighed and looked at the floor.
“I—I don’t know, Jim,” he said wearily. “It’s pretty hard to take in. I admit—well, I knew something was wrong. When I saw you at the landing stages and you ran away—”
“Bob! I didn’t run away! I tried to see you—I sent a message—they told me you didn’t want to talk to me.”
He stared at me grimly. “I got no message,” he said. “You see? I can look at that either way—either you ran, or what you say is true, and the Sperry gang kept me from seeing you.” He shook his head. “How can I tell? When you came aboard this ship I was giving it a pre-cruise inspection. I thought it was you, Jim, and it was a hard thing for me to make up my mind what to do. The only solution I could come to was to message Thetis, tell them what happened, let them send a patrol sea-car after us and bring you back. I thought the courts could decide, Jim.”