"When some forty-odd people have been killed by something inexplicable
at one time that we know of," said Davis, "--and we don't know how many
others have been killed at other times, or may be killed by it in the
future--I don't think that's a laughing matter."
He surveyed what should be the direction of the land. A light showed
there and vanished, then came on again and vanished. A minute later it
showed and disappeared, then came on again twice. It was very far away.
Davis said in a different tone, "We can change course now, Deirdre. You
know the new one."
The _Esperance's_ bowsprit forsook the star at which it had been aiming.
It swung to another. Davis moved about, adjusting the sheets alone. On
the new heading the yacht heeled over a little more and the water
rushing past her hull had a different sound. The sky seemed larger and
more remote than it ever appears from a city. The yacht's wake streamed
behind her in a trail of bluish brightness. Even the moon was strange.
It had the cold enormousness of something very near and menacing. It
looked as close as when seen through a telescope of moderate power.
The _Esperance_ seemed very lonely on the immense waste of waters.
Next morning, of course, the sense of loneliness was gone. There was
neither land nor any ship in sight, but gulls fluttered and squawked
overhead, and the waves seemed to leap and gambol in the sunshine. Just
before the foremast a metal plate in the decking had been lifted up, and
a new, stubby, extensible mast rose almost as high as the crosstrees. A
tiny basket-like object rotated monotonously at its upper end. It was a
radar-bowl, and somehow it was not unusual, except in the manner in
which it was mounted. Yet, such a collapsible radar mast was reasonable
on a sailing yacht with many lines aloft that could be fouled. Anyhow,
the radar was concerned with human affairs, and so it was company.
The housekeeping work on the boat was in progress. Doug and Jug scrubbed
the deck. The other crew-cuts gave signs of industry from time to time,
appearing and vanishing. Davis smoked tranquilly at the wheel. Terry
felt useless, as well as puzzled.
"Can I do anything?" he asked awkwardly.
"You're your own boss," said Davis.
"Then I might as well see what can be done about that submarine
noisemaker."
"If you feel like it," said Davis, "fine!"
But he did not urge. Terry waited a moment. There was a sort of
contagion of purposefulness in this eccentric small group on the
_Esperance_. They had something they were trying to do, and it seemed
important to them. But Terry was an outsider and would remain one until
he became active in their joint effort.
He got out his equipment and materials and spread them out. There was no
need to build a recorder, since there was one among the supplies. The
rest wouldn't be unduly difficult. He established a working space and
set systematically to work. The task he'd accepted was essentially
simple. A submarine ear was to pick up underwater sounds. He had to
modify a microphone and enclose it in a water-tight housing, with
certain special features that would make it highly directional. The
recorder would take the pick-up and register it on magnetic tape, while
playing it for simultaneous listening. Then he had to assemble a
machine for playing back the taped sounds under water. That required a
unit for a submarine horn, to broadcast the amplified sound. It isn't
difficult to make a sound under water. One can knock two stones together
under the surface and a swimmer can hear it a mile or more away. But a
horn to reproduce specific sounds is more difficult to build. It needs
extra power. A sound-truck in a city, competing with all the traffic
noises, will turn no more than fifteen watts of electricity into noise.
But much more power would be needed to produce a similar volume under
water.
Terry modified the mike into a submarine ear--an _orejas de ellos_. Then
he began to assemble an audio amplifier to build up the volume of the
sounds already taped for re-use under the sea. He had the parts. It was
mostly just finicky labor. He sat cross-legged in the sunshine, not far
from the _Esperance's_ unusual winch.
Nick came up from below and went aft. He spoke to Davis. Terry couldn't
hear what was said, but Davis gave orders.
The _Esperance_ heeled over; away, away over. The four crew-cuts
adjusted the sheets for maximum effect of the sails on the new direction
of motion. The yacht seemed to tear through the water like a racing
boat. Terry had to rescue some of his smaller parts which started for
the scuppers. He looked up. Deirdre said cheerfully, "Our radar picked
up a boat that's probably _La Rubia_ on the way back to Manila. We don't
want her to see us."
Terry blinked.
"Why?"
"We're going to take a look at the spot where we think she catches her
fish," said Deirdre. "It's strange enough that she catches so many, but
what's even stranger is the kind of fish she catches at times."
"How?"
Deirdre shrugged. Then she said irrelevantly, "_La Rubia's_ skipper
would like to have the only radar in the world, as you've reason to
know, and he doesn't think of radars, except his own and possible
competitors. But there are lots of others. We're probably a blip on
somebody's radar-screen right now. In fact, we're supposed to be. So
when my father got interested in _La Rubia_ and her--catches, he was
able to have somebody notice where she goes every time she slips away
from the fishing fleet. And so he was told. It was all quite unofficial,
of course."
Terry bent over his task again while the _Esperance_ sped along over the
off-shore swells. There was no land in sight anywhere. An albatross
glided overhead for a time, as if inspecting the _Esperance_ as a
possible source of food. When Terry looked for it later it was gone.
Once there was a flurry in many wave-flanks, and a small school of
flying fish darted out of the sea with hazy, beating fins, and dived
back into the sea many yards from where they started.
But nothing of any consequence happened anywhere. Terry fitted and
soldered and tested. By noon he had a rather powerful audio amplifying
unit, set up to magnify any sound the tape-recorder fed into it. Deirdre
prepared a meal. The galley of the _Esperance_ was admirably supplied
with all kinds of food. After the noon meal the yacht changed course
again to a line which would intersect her original morning course at
some point.
Terry found himself fuming. He'd set to work to make something that
Davis apparently wanted, but his most elementary questions still ran
against a blank refusal to answer. Both Davis and Deirdre had spoken of
oddities in the catches of _La Rubia_. There could not possibly be any
reason for them to refuse to tell him what they were. Terry worked
himself into irritability, recalling how he volunteered to come on the
_Esperance_ but not thinking that he would be treated as someone who
wasn't allowed to know what everybody else aboard most certainly did.
In the afternoon there was guitar music down in the forecastle, and Doug
came out and settled himself on the bowsprit with a book of poetry.
Presently Nick sat down close by Terry and watched interestedly as he
put mysterious-looking electronic elements together into
incomprehensible groups. When he had finished, Terry did not admire his
handiwork. The noisemaking unit came last. The electrical part had to be
enclosed, water-tight, with a diaphragm exposed to the water on one
side and its working parts protected from all moisture on the other. The
device looked cobbled, but it worked, and made monstrous sounds in the
air.
Now he plugged the submarine ear into the recorder. He dropped it
overside and taped the random noises of the sea: the washings of sea
water against the _Esperance's_ hull, frequent splashings, and very
faint, chirping noises from who-knew-what.
"Watch the volume, will you?" Terry pointed out the Indication that
should not be exceeded. Nick nodded. "I'm going to whack the paddle
overside and see what we get in the way of noise."