Read Online The Atlantic Abomination by John Brunner - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John Brunner
Ads: Link
two-hundred-foot fountain of more-than-boiling water towards the sky. And the deck rocked beneath them as it was gone.
Peter and Mary sat long hours in silence on the deck, and stared at the water or dozed fitfully. Without the ’nef, there was nothing to do prior to turning for home, except to cover the monstrous body on the afterdeck. Platt attended to that, using canvas awnings.
Two of the officers from the submarine’s mother ship came over in a motor-dinghy at breakfast time and inspected the body at Gordon’s invitation. Hartlund and the Chief were asked to lunch in return and warned that they wouldn’t be permitted to see over the vessel because it was classified.
There was no news.
It was approaching dark when the submarine came back in sonar range, and the indistinct reports it made held no hope. Nothing had gone wrong with the sub. They had tracked the ’nef and tried to communicate with Luke, without success. Then they had tied a slip knot in their chain—
“What?” said the staff of the survey ship when they heard that. The British officer coughed and looked blandly surprised.
“Yes, why not? Good practice for the pilot, you know. Why else do you think we put ninety fathoms of chain on?”
“Like a needle and thread?” said Hartlund incredulously.
“Precisely. Then they lassoed the bathynef and got a good hold before starting to drag it upwards. Only this man of yours got out a cutting torch from somewhere and severed the chain.”
“Oh, Jesus!” said Gordon quietly.
“Naturally, that made it difficult to tie another knot. But they managed it all right, and caught him a second time, and he cut the chain again. We didn’t have anyone aboard who’d been through the Ostrovsky-Wong process, so we couldn’t get anyone outside except in a rubber suit, and he was armed with this torch. They said it was a fearsome kind of weapon. Had a flame as long as a man’s arm.”
“It does,” said Platt, listening intently. “At that depth.”
“Anyway, they went after him regardless, but he chased them all round, hanging on to the ’nef with a line, and in the end the commander called them back, deciding it was not worth the candle.” The officer shrugged and looked apologetic. “I’m dreadfully sorry we couldn’t do more.”
There was nothing more to be done—for some considerable time to come. Having lost the ’nef, they would have to wait either until the Russian one was brought from the Pacific or until the next one was built. Unless the Russians had one on the stocks, the “next” one was still on the drawing boards. The sunken city could hardly have been more effectively closed to them if it had been behind locked doors.
A fishery protection vessel of the Royal Navy turned up unannounced just before they pulled dampers to leave the site. It had been asked to stand by at the request of the commander of the submarine, and watch for the ’nef if it returned to the surface. Within another hour the USS
Gondwana
also closed in, dispatched hastily by the Submarine Mapping Department from her usual station on the other side of the Mid-Atlantic Ridge.
As the
Alexander Bache
headed away, the two ships began their patrolling, one on the surface, one a few feet beneath.
“Do you think he’ll come back a second time?” Mary asked Peter as they gazed at the dwindling watchers.
Peter shrugged. “It’s in the lap of the gods,” he said.
“I—oh well, I’ll say it. I don’t care so much this time. You must have thought my behavior awfully peculiar, Peter, and I owe you an apology for snapping at you when you were trying to be helpful and kind. You see, I didn’t tell you the whole story about me and Luke. Would you like me to finish it?”
The breeze, as the ship picked up speed, blew her hair around her face. Peter looked at her, wondering whether she needed to tell him, wanted to, or just felt she owed it to him.
At length he said, “Yes. I’d like to hear.”
She stared
Peter and Mary sat long hours in silence on the deck, and stared at the water or dozed fitfully. Without the ’nef, there was nothing to do prior to turning for home, except to cover the monstrous body on the afterdeck. Platt attended to that, using canvas awnings.
Two of the officers from the submarine’s mother ship came over in a motor-dinghy at breakfast time and inspected the body at Gordon’s invitation. Hartlund and the Chief were asked to lunch in return and warned that they wouldn’t be permitted to see over the vessel because it was classified.
There was no news.
It was approaching dark when the submarine came back in sonar range, and the indistinct reports it made held no hope. Nothing had gone wrong with the sub. They had tracked the ’nef and tried to communicate with Luke, without success. Then they had tied a slip knot in their chain—
“What?” said the staff of the survey ship when they heard that. The British officer coughed and looked blandly surprised.
“Yes, why not? Good practice for the pilot, you know. Why else do you think we put ninety fathoms of chain on?”
“Like a needle and thread?” said Hartlund incredulously.
“Precisely. Then they lassoed the bathynef and got a good hold before starting to drag it upwards. Only this man of yours got out a cutting torch from somewhere and severed the chain.”
“Oh, Jesus!” said Gordon quietly.
“Naturally, that made it difficult to tie another knot. But they managed it all right, and caught him a second time, and he cut the chain again. We didn’t have anyone aboard who’d been through the Ostrovsky-Wong process, so we couldn’t get anyone outside except in a rubber suit, and he was armed with this torch. They said it was a fearsome kind of weapon. Had a flame as long as a man’s arm.”
“It does,” said Platt, listening intently. “At that depth.”
“Anyway, they went after him regardless, but he chased them all round, hanging on to the ’nef with a line, and in the end the commander called them back, deciding it was not worth the candle.” The officer shrugged and looked apologetic. “I’m dreadfully sorry we couldn’t do more.”
There was nothing more to be done—for some considerable time to come. Having lost the ’nef, they would have to wait either until the Russian one was brought from the Pacific or until the next one was built. Unless the Russians had one on the stocks, the “next” one was still on the drawing boards. The sunken city could hardly have been more effectively closed to them if it had been behind locked doors.
A fishery protection vessel of the Royal Navy turned up unannounced just before they pulled dampers to leave the site. It had been asked to stand by at the request of the commander of the submarine, and watch for the ’nef if it returned to the surface. Within another hour the USS
Gondwana
also closed in, dispatched hastily by the Submarine Mapping Department from her usual station on the other side of the Mid-Atlantic Ridge.
As the
Alexander Bache
headed away, the two ships began their patrolling, one on the surface, one a few feet beneath.
“Do you think he’ll come back a second time?” Mary asked Peter as they gazed at the dwindling watchers.
Peter shrugged. “It’s in the lap of the gods,” he said.
“I—oh well, I’ll say it. I don’t care so much this time. You must have thought my behavior awfully peculiar, Peter, and I owe you an apology for snapping at you when you were trying to be helpful and kind. You see, I didn’t tell you the whole story about me and Luke. Would you like me to finish it?”
The breeze, as the ship picked up speed, blew her hair around her face. Peter looked at her, wondering whether she needed to tell him, wanted to, or just felt she owed it to him.
At length he said, “Yes. I’d like to hear.”
She stared
Similar Books
