VI

 

 

The word went round the entire survey ship before Platt had brought the launch to a rocking halt beside the three explorers. Everyone, barring the apprentice engineer who had to stand by in the engine room and the radio officer, burst out on the deck, eager to confirm the impossible with their own eyes.

Its effect on Dr. Gordon was tremendous. He came trotting from his office with a stylo still in his hands, his face red with excitement and beaded with new sweat. He clutched the afterrail as though strangling an enemy, and his lips moved silently.

Peter found his powers of mind temporarily suspended. He could not even form ridiculous theories to account for Luke’s return. Damn it, if Eloise and Dick had chanced across his body that would have been acceptable, although it would have made needles in haystacks simple by comparison. But Luke was alive; he clambered over the gunwale of the launch without assistance, and removed his own helmet, squatting in the sternsheets.

Without oxygen. …

He couldn’t have any oxygen left! His reserve had been identical with Peter’s own; sufficient for about six hours altogether, contained in two cylinders. At three-hour intervals one exchanged an exhausted cylinder for a fresh one stored in the ’nef. Consequently Luke must have suffocated within a few hours—four, perhaps—of the ’nef’s departure for the surface.

Peter looked about him at the other people on deck. They were all talking except Mary, of course, and also except the Chief. He had not moved from his rigid stance, hands grasping the rail.

Now the launch was coming alongside; Platt had secured the ’nef’s painter to the mooring line almost without slowing in his haste to get his strange passenger aboard. He came up first into a chorus of questions, but ignored them and turned to help Luke.

Peter had expected Mary to rush forward and throw herself round his neck. Only she did not; she had not even joined the group helping him up the ladder. She was just staring at him. Assuredly, Peter reflected, she had been right to tell him he didn’t understand her.

Eloise and Dick followed, to be plagued with loud questions by those who had not got answers out of Luke. He wasn’t giving any, in fact, except a shake of the head.

But before Eloise and Dick could sort out the inquiries and reply to them, the Chief had thrust his way between Ellington and Hartlund and was dominating the scene, as if he had a power to dominate that he could turn on at will.

“Enough!” he said sharply. “Hartlund, your head’s screwed on properly. Get Luke to sick bay and have him checked head to toe. I’ll be down in a minute. Dick, Eloise, you two come to my cabin and report on what happened. All right, the rest of you. We’ll get at the answers quicker if you stop bothering us. Break it up!”

Obediently, they dispersed, glancing back reluctantly. As Peter moved off, he looked for Mary, and found she was nowhere to be seen.

It was seventeen hundred when the hear-this announced there would be a staff conference in the messroom immediately. Peter was already in the messroom, having a beer with First Officer Ellington and hypothesizing about what was being said by Dick, Eloise and Platt in the Chief’s office. They had been there without interruption since the Chief returned from interviewing Luke.

In a couple of minutes the company was complete. Gordon was at the head of the table. No sign of Luke. Everyone looked for him, sighed, and composed himself or herself to listen.

Gordon was smiling. Almost beaming. But there was a hint of self-satisfaction in the smile which Peter disliked.

“All right!” the Chief began. “Eloise, let’s deal with the first things first. What happened? Tell us as you told me.”

Eloise seemed withdrawn, far away. There was a continual puzzlement in her high voice. “The descent had been perfectly normal, of course,” she said. “And we had very little trouble locating the site of these flagstones Peter found. They gave a real shout on the sonar because they were almost clear of ooze. We’d better beacon the place, though, next time—I’m sorry.

“You were quite right about what you thought were walls, Peter. We were afraid of starting an avalanche if we weren’t careful, so we thought we’d forestall it, and we set off a couple of four-ounce charges in the water near the site. Nothing happened, except that some of the ooze was cleared by the shock wave, so we judged it was safe and started following the line of the walls.

“They outline a gigantic square; a sort of piazza, which may well be a hundred yards on a side. What’s more, it continues downwards. There’s a sort of enormous step higher than I am, on the downhill side. Since you left, presumably the loose ooze which slipped has settled or washed away a bit. Anyway, when we got there the edge of this ‘step’ was showing above the pile of mud.

“Well, that’s as far as we got. Dick was outside clearing the base of a wall, when something that gave a sonar pulse came towards us. From the deep side, more or less on our level. I called Dick back. It was big, and if it was big it was probably also hungry, because down there the fish population eat each other more often than not. Anyway, it came into view. It was Luke.”

Dick picked up the story in response to a cue from Gordon. “Well, I went out to him, not believing my eyes, and tried to talk, but he showed me that his sonar was full of mud and not working. I brought him inboard, and changed his oxygen cylinders right away, and we tried to get sense out of him by giving him the spare sonar set, but that didn’t help either, so we judged his mike must be out, as well.

“We decided this whole thing was so incredible that we must head back at once. So we did. On the way, we managed to exchange messages with Luke by writing, but he was rather weak, and couldn’t write very clearly. All we got was that he had been trapped under the mud fall and lost all track of time. He seems to have been unconscious. When he finally recovered and managed to work free, there was no sign of the ’nef. He waited, hoping it would come back, but just before our arrival, he’d got lightheaded and decided to swim off. Catching sight of the beacon brought him back to sanity.”

“And he is sane,” said Gordon. “We’ve examined him with all the facilities we have. He’s not only sane, but he’s in good health aside from bruises and weakness due to hunger. By the time he’s rested up—he’s asleep, so I haven’t asked him to speak for himself at this conference—he’ll likely be in perfect shape again.”

Peter leaned forward. “Chief, something important. Can I ask Fred Platt a question?”

Annoyed at being interrupted, Gordon grunted consent.

“Fred, did you check Luke’s discarded oxygen tanks? How much reserve did he have left when Dick changed them?”

“The meters said two hours,” Platt answered, and there was a murmur of incredulity. “So I checked them on the master gauge. Same result. Pressure was worth two hours.”

“In which case,” said Peter as calmly as he could, “either he found a means of recharging them six thousand feet under the Atlantic—or we have a resurrected corpse aboard.”

“Good, Peter! Good!” burst out Gordon, slamming his hand delightedly on the table. “It’s fine to hear you reasoning sensibly like that.”

Peter blinked. “It’s inescapable,” he began, but the Chief cut him short.

“Yes, of course it’s inescapable. I said it was even before this happened. Luke is back, and well, from a situation that ought to have killed him. It’s not accidental. Can’t be. And he himself says he doesn’t remember finding what I suppose is just conceivable; an oxygen generator left behind by the builders of the city and still in working order. Yes, I agree that is ridiculous, but it’s just not out of the question. Dismissing that, though, we are left with the likely truth.”

“Which is?” grunted Hartlund needlessly.

“That something—or rather someone—down there helped Luke and either resuscitated him or kept him alive.”