_In the Cavern_
"That's the story, Knapp. They got Bowman, and I had to run away.
Their ship disappeared into the cavern. I've got a hunch, though, that
it's not just a cavern, but a tunnel, leading through to some
underwater world. That series of sub-sea earthquakes probably opened
it up; and now these devil-octopi are free to pour out. I've _got_ to
find out what's what, and that's why I'm going down again as soon as
the torpedo system's ready!"
Keith and Robert Knapp were in the _Falcon's_ chart room. On the table
before them lay a broad white map with a cross-mark indicating the
position of the mysterious dark cavern.
Wells was striding up and down like a caged tiger in his impatience to
be off. Every other minute he glared down to where the _NX-1_ lay
alongside. On her conning tower stood the tall blond-haired figure of
Graham, the first officer of the day shift, supervising the final
details of the work of installing a system of jury controls whereby
the submarine's torpedoes could be fired from her control room.
Keith stopped short and faced Knapp. "It won't be so one-sided this
time, Bob," he promised. "You see: when the location chart shows the
enemy ship, I'll rush all men into the control room, where the
paralyzing ray can't harm them. I don't know but what they have in
other weapons, but I'm gambling on getting my torps in first. They've
killed Bowman; they've ravaged a whole fishing fleet; they're free to
emerge from their hole and maraud every ocean on the globe! They've
got to be stopped! And since I'm armed and have the only submarine on
the spot, I've got to do it! I know how to fight them now!"
* * * * *
Captain Robert Knapp's sense of things was badly disordered. He had
just heard a story which his common sense told him couldn't be true,
but which the evidence of his eyes had grimly authenticated. He had
seen fifteen men slung aboard his ship from the _NX-1's_ silent hull;
men stretched in grotesque, limp attitudes; men struck down by a
paralyzing ray. Why, no nation on earth had developed rays for
warfare! Yet--a crew of helpless men was even then in the sick bay,
receiving attention in the hope that they might recover.
"You're going right through that cavern, then, Wells?" he asked
incredulously. "You're going to investigate what lies beyond?"
"Nothing else! And I won't come out till I've blown that octopi ship
to pieces!"
"It sounds preposterous," Knapp murmured, shaking his head. "Octopi,
you say--and clad in metal suits! Running a submarine more powerful
than the _NX-1_! Armed with a ray--a paralyzing ray! I can't
believe--I can't conceive--"
"You've seen the men!... Knapp, if I were you I'd swing my
eight-inchers out, bring up the plane catapult and keep the deck
torpedo tubes loaded and ready. It's best to be prepared; God knows
what's going on underseas these days!"
First Officer Graham appeared at the door. "Work finished, sir," he
said. "Ready to cast off."
"Thank heaven!" Wells muttered, and stretched out his hand to Robert
Knapp. "Broadcast what I've told you, Bob, and say that the _NX-1_
won't be back till everything's under control. I'll keep in touch with
you. So long!" And he was gone before the captain could even wish him
good luck.
* * * * *
Orders raced from her commander's fingers on the stud board in the
control room. "Crash Dive" filled her tanks and put her nose
perilously down, so that in thirty seconds only a swirling patch of
water was left to show where once she'd lain. A brief command to the
helmsman and she pointed straight for the dark cavern marked on the
chart.
When well under way, Keith descended with Graham to inspect the new
torpedo firing system, and found it in good working order. "Graham,"
he ordered tersely, "instruct the crew fully about rushing to the
control room on one ring of the general alarm. And send the cook up to
me in a minute or so. I'll be in Sparks' cubby."
Above again, he instructed the radio man to rig a remote control
sender and receiver in the insulated control room. The need for
centering the whole crew there during engagements would crowd the room
awkwardly, but at other times, while proceeding on their inspection of
the cavern lair, they could remain at their regular posts.
That, at least, was Wells' plan.
He looked up and found the cook, McKegnie, grinning at him from the
door of the control room. Keith smiled, running his eyes over the
portly magnificence of his gently perspiring figure. "Keg," he said
cheerfully, "I want you to move your hot plate and culinary apparatus
up here; you see, we're all likely to be crowded in here for some
time, and your coffee's going to be an absolute necessity." He
couldn't resist a crack at McKegnie's well-known and passionate
curiosity as to what made the thigmajigs of the control board work:
"And besides, it'll give you a chance to observe the instruments and
perfect yourself for your future career as a naval officer. Much
better than a correspondence course in 'How to Be a Submarine
Commander,' eh?"
Cook McKegnie grinned sheepishly, and left. He was well used to such
jests, but he never would admit that his extraordinary interest in
watching the ship's wheels go round was accompanied by a miraculous
inability to comprehend why they went round....
* * * * *
Fifteen minutes later the helmsman's cry, "Cavern showing, sir!" swung
the commander to the teleview screen. The dark, kelp-shrouded opening
he knew so well was already looming on it. And he was prepared.
"Enter," he said, while his punched studs ordered, "Quarter Speed,
Ready at Posts, Tanks in Trim." The _NX-1_ slackened her gait,
balanced cautiously, and struck a straight, even course as she crept
closer to the cleft entrance through which, some two hours earlier,
the octopi ship had nosed.
Screws turning slowly, she edged through the jagged cavern. Shades of
inky blackness grew on the teleview and danced in fantastic blotches;
the screen turned to a welter of black, threatening shadows; became a
useless maze of ever-changing forms. Keith mouthed curses as he stared
at it; he now had nothing by which to judge his progress, to maneuver
the submarine, save directional instruments and, perhaps, chance
scrapings of the tunnel's ragged walls against the outer hull. The
_NX-1_ was running a gauntlet of immeasurable danger, her only
assurance of success being the fact that a larger craft had preceded
her.
But how far, Keith wondered, had that ship preceded her? How was he to
know that it had gone straight through? There might be a dozen
different turnings in this tunnel: the submarine could easily tilt
head-on against a jagged rock and puncture her hull. There might be
mines planted directly in their course; he might be swimming straight
into some hideous ambuscade.
He drove these thoughts from his mind. The passage had to be made on
the fickle authority of the senses; and, realizing this, Wells took
the helm into his own hands. Graham was posted at the location chart,
with instructions to report the red light if it showed.
* * * * *
Down below, the Edsel electrics were humming very softly; the men
stood vigilantly at posts. On their brows were little beads of sweat,
and here and there a hand clenched nervously. All knew they were in a
tight place; otherwise they were ignorant of where their commander was
leading them. Occasionally a long, shivering rasp ran through the ship
as her hull nudged the rough tunnel wall. Then the course rudders
would swing gently over; and perhaps, almost immediately, another
grinding cry of rock and steel would come from the other side. Then
would come quickly indrawn breaths as the rudders swung again and the
humming silence droned on.
The scrapings came quite often. Often, too, the motors would go silent
altogether, and the _NX-1_ would rest almost motionless as her
commander felt for an opening. It was a tense, nerve-wringing ordeal.
The silence, the waiting, the dainty scrapings were maddening.
Keith Wells' skin was prickling. He kept only fingertips on the tiny
helm: he was playing that uncanny sixth sense of the submarine
commander. When it misled him, the rasping rock groaned out, scarring
the submarine's smooth skin. Generally, the tunnel was straight; but
each time he heard his ship rub against some exterior obstruction, his
teeth went tight--for who knew but what it might be a mine?
They had penetrated perhaps a half-mile when Graham, eyes steady on
the teleview, reported: "Light growing, sir!"
* * * * *
Wells saw that the screen was filling with a soft, faintly glowing
bluish color. The walls of the tunnel became visible, and he noted
that they were widening out, funnel-like. He dared to increase speed
slightly. Three minutes later he saw that the blue illumination was
seeping from the end of the tunnel. They continued out.
"Thank God, we're through!" he muttered to Graham. "You see, I was
right! It's an underground sea--and we're at the top of it." For the
instruments indicated a depth beneath them of roughly three miles.
They were in, evidently, a large cavern, of vast length and depth.
The _NX-1_ continued slowly forward, two pairs of eyes intent on her
teleview screen. Keith jotted down the tunnel's position, and the
funnel-shaped hole sank away behind their slow screws. And then, upon
the location chart, a faint red dot suddenly glowed!
It was upon them in a flash. A small tube of metal, shaped somewhat in
the form of the big octopi submarine, had darted up from below,
hovered a second close to them, and then, almost before they realized
they were being surveyed, sped back into the mysterious depths from
which it had come.
"A lookout, I suppose," Keith muttered, breathing more easily.
"Couldn't have held more than two of those creatures.... Well, the
alarm's out, I guess, Graham, but it can't be helped. Let's see what
it's like down below."
* * * * *
They plunged steadily down, then ahead. And presently there grew on
the teleview vague forms which widened their eyes and made their
breath come quicker. Keith had guessed the tunnel led to a
civilization of some kind, but he was not prepared for the sight that
loomed hazily through the soft blue water.
Strange, moundlike shapes appeared far below, mounds grouped in
orderly rows and clusters, with streets running between them, thronged
with tiny, spidery dots. Octopi! It was, the commander realized, a
city of the monsters--a complete city like those of surface peoples!
For several miles in every direction the water-city spread out,
farther than the teleview could pierce. Wells marveled at this
separately developed civilization, this deep-buried realm of octopi
whose unexpected intellectual powers had permitted such development.
Perhaps, he pondered, this city was only one of many; perhaps only a
village. He could but vaguely glimpse the queer mound buildings, but
saw that they were of varying height and were filled with dark round
entrance holes, through which the creatures streamed on their
different errands....
He saw no schools of fish around. "I guess they're been all killed
off, or eaten," he commented to the wonder-struck Graham. "Probably
the octopi have separate hatcheries where they raise them for food."
"But--good Lord!" the first officer exclaimed. "A city--a city like
ours! Down here, filled with octopi!..."
"Yes," answered Wells grimly, "and this 'city' may only be a small
settlement; there may be scores of these places. We'd better continue
ahead now that we're here; for we've got to get all the information we
can. I only hope these monsters haven't more than one big submarine.
We can expect an attack any minute...."
* * * * *
The _NX-1_ pressed on. The city dropped behind. A breathless tenseness
had settled down over the submarine; she was proceeding with utmost
caution, her anxious officers alert at the location chart. The great
fear that tormented them was that they might be attacked, not by one,
but by a fleet of the octopi ships....
Then, at the rim of the chart, a red dot appeared! It grew rapidly,
charging down on them at great speed. The spot was large; this was no
small sentry boat! At once the alarm bell shrilled its warning; the
crew below left their posts and raced to the control room. With sure
mechanical fingers the emergency system gripped the valve handles and
motor levers; Keith swung the _NX-1_ onto a level keel, straightened
her out, and decreased speed still more. Giving the rods of the motor
and rudder controls to Graham, he moved to the small lever which would
unleash his bow torpedoes, and fingered it lightly. The _NX-1_ was
ready for action.
Scarcely had the men reached the small control room than the familiar
electric charge tingled. They stared wonderingly at each other, half
afraid. No one seemed hurt. One hand on the torpedo lever, Wells
watched his charts and instruments. He thanked God that there was only
one of the enemy.
The ray's shock came again--and stronger. The red dot was practically
upon them. The screen was still empty. Coolly, Keith slowed the
submarine to a dead stop. The crimson stud came closer....
* * * * *
And then he saw it. It was the same fearsome, hulking form. The same
curving windows, dark and lifeless. The same knobs on its bow, one now
leaping and pulsing with the paralyzing glow. At a distance of a few
hundred feet the octopi ship swerved to a halt, dousing the NX-1 with
its ray unceasingly. Again those two underwater craft, so oddly
contrasted, were face to face. And again the weapon that had once
struck the American ship's crew down at their posts was directed full
onto the _NX-1_.
But it was harmless! It merely tingled, and did not paralyze! The
control room sheathing held it out stoutly. The men's faces showed
overwhelming relief.
Keith smiled grimly. Now, at least, he had the devils where he wanted
them; now it was his turn to strike with a--to them--terrible,
mysterious weapon. They had attacked; had failed--and now he could
square up for Hemmy and send a pair of torpedoes into that ship of
hideous tentacles.
"Port five!" The ship swerved slightly. "Hold even!" The enemy craft
was very close. The _NX-1's_ bow tubes were sighted in direct line.
Her torpedoes could not possibly miss. This time, destruction for the
octopi ship was inevitable....
Keith Wells gripped the lever that held the torps in leash.
"_Wait!_"
Sparks, a bare foot from him, yelled out the word. Wells, alarmed,
released his grip on the knob. The radio operator was listening
intently, a circle of taut faces around his crouched back. He swung
excitedly around.
"For God's sake, don't fire!" he cried. "Hemingway Bowman's on that
submarine! He's alive--and calling for you!"