Lonny Higgens got up slowly, then glanced lazily toward the control
instruments, where the depth indicator had dipped down noticeably.
"That's all very well in due time," he said, "but we're still under the
ledge, and not out of danger by any means. If we don't shove from under
it we'll land back in the same shape."
"Get over to those controls then," ordered Raeburn.
Lonny grinned and went to the familiar seat. The craft was making
larger circles as it descended, indicating that his guess must have
been correct, that they were in a pocket, and that the pocket was
broadening. Somewhere at the bottom of that pocket was a tunnel
opening upon the outer ocean and it was up to him to find that
opening--blindfold. If they could only keep descending until the vessel
entered the channel their main problem would be solved. But if the
pressure generated from the explosion was dissipated too suddenly, his
mud-ship would ascend into the trap and stay forever there on the muddy
ocean floor.
He felt a lurch. The ship had paused and was sinking no longer. This
then, was the limit. It would not go low enough. He saw the horror in
Raeburn's eyes.
They would die from starvation here. The gun in Raeburn's hands would
be merciful, if it relieved them from the more hideous death that was
certain to come.
The hull shuddered, slipped against a rocky outer substance that seemed
to give way suddenly. He felt the relaxation of the outer barrier
through the controls, knew that the propellers were driving it out and
into the true bed of the Uranusian ocean. The needle indicator paused
uncertainly, started to rise. By the expression on Raeburn's face he
knew that the other had not guessed that their trap was behind them.
It was his chance. Lonny's hands moved swiftly on the controls. A surge
of power sent the rear-drive mud-propellers spinning. Too much power.
The ship tilted swiftly and Raeburn lost his balance. The man at the
controls left them in a flash.
Lonny seized the wrist that held the gun, wrenched it away. It went
skidding across the floor. Then he stuck out fiercely at the sardonic
features so close to him. Raeburn rocked backward, flailing out with
both hands, as Lonny came in again, both fists landing solidly. His
antagonist spun backward, then fell helplessly to the decking. Baron
Munchy was jumping up and down in ecstacy.
"Hit'm, Boss! Sock 'im again!" he piped, but Lonny picked up the gun,
slipped it into his pocket, and shook his head in the negative.
[Illustration: _"Hit'm, Boss. Sock 'im again!" Baron Munchy piped,
jumping up and down in ecstacy. "Him all bad. Say Boss no good."_]
"There's to be no more fighting, Raeburn," he said. "I'll pick you off
with the gun if you start anything. When we break the surface you can
get your mud-shoes and go."
Four thousand feet. Three thousand. The mud-submarine was rising
rapidly now, had passed the two thousand mark.
"You've really hurt the little fellow's feelings," said Lana Hilton,
evading his eyes and gesturing toward Baron Munchy, who was beating his
fists against the wall in sheer frustration. "He must have been praying
for blood and thunder."
"I'll plaster 'im!" Munchy was squeaking. "I'll do him in!"
One thousand.
"He's a misfit here," said Lonny slowly. "He comes from Umbriel, or one
of the other moons. On his own world he was used to great activity.
Uranus hasn't affected him--acting upon his nerves--as it has the rest
of us. But he's a misfit here. He expects the normal activity of his
own satellite upon Uranus. That just isn't possible. I think he'd like
it on earth."
"You mean--" began Lana, just as the mud-submarine broke the surface
and began bobbing to a rest. Lonny followed Raeburn up the hatchway,
watched him open it. The upper mists broke in damply, sending heavy
white furlers about their faces. Link Raeburn looked glum and defeated
as he donned the heavy mud-shoes and slogged away into the mist.
Lonny Higgens closed the hatchway and yawned. He was beginning to feel
dog-tired again--a normal sensation on Uranus--but a grim decision had
taken shape in his mind.
"Sure," he said, in answer to the question in her gleaming eyes. "I'm
going to get out of here. I'm going to send an S. O. S. If that doesn't
work I'll get a straight call through to earth, charter a space yacht,
and have it sent to pick us up."
"Lonny, you mean, that--" began Lana, moving toward him with her lips
invitingly close.
But Lonny Higgens evaded her. He turned his back and sat down in a
chair, then yawned again. Uranus had him! Old rocking chair had him!
Something had him, as long as he was on this blasted planet.
Lovely as Lana was, it would take more energy than he could assimilate
to make love to her on this muddy world.
"I guess you'll have to save it," he sighed regretfully. "But you'd not
be safe to try those tactics again--once we get back on earth."