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"Isn't that a Security school?" asked Bonnett.
"I missed out on my regular class because of illness," said Ramsey. "So they
sent me there." He said a silent prayer that his lie would be believed.
"We'll be over Olga in twenty minutes," said Bonnett.
"I'm going back for another look at Joe," said Sparrow. He turned, went out
the aft door.
"Garcia's trying for homestead rights on the sick bay," said Ramsey.
"I hope he's okay," said Bonnett. "I don't think the skipper should've let him
make that slug repair. I
could've done it."
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"Even I could've done it," said Ramsey. "But I guess the skipper had his
reasons." He frowned. "Only I'd like to know his reason for picking me to do
this snag job."
"Did you ever get into a Con-5 game?" asked Bonnett.
Ramsey suddenly grinned. "Sure. My instructor thought he was a hotshot. So he
said we'd take these two Con-5s, him controlling one, me the other. It was a
touch match in the bay, first nose-hit the winner.
You know, I took --"
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"All right, all right," said Bonnett. "I'm just trying to make a point. I
don't want a blow by blow. That's a young man's game, or at least a school
game. We've been a long time out of school. You haven't."
"Oh."
Bonnett chuckled. "I used to be pretty good at it, too. Tell you what: when we
get back let's hunt up a fish school and I'll challenge you to a snag match.
There's the fun."
Ramsey sobered. "The skipper doesn't make mistakes, does he?"
"Not about people," said Bonnett. "Or about machines, either." He stopped to
correct the setting on the bow planes. "And when we get back home they'll have
him on the carpet for wasting too many fish. And what about all those spare
parts?"
Ramsey thought: A first-year psych man knows the leader of a group is the
integrative force . . . the logos. Of course this crew has the top rating.
Sparrow is --
"It makes my blood boil when I think about it," said Bonnett.
Sparrow came through the doorway onto the control deck. "What makes your blood
boil?"
"All the stupid red tape back at base."
"It's supposed to make your blood boil. That's why it exists. How far to that
seamount?"
"Five minutes."
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"Okay, Johnny. Let's see how good you are at Con-tag." Sparrow gestured toward
the torpedo board at Bonnett's left.
"How's Joe?" asked Bonnett.
"I just shot him full of de-carb. If that hot stuff settled in his bones, he's
a cooked engineer."
Ramsey approached the torpedo board slowly.
Bonnett said, "We caught him in time. He'll be as good as new in a couple of
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days. No calcium, no carbonate, no --"
"Just call him rubber bones," said Ramsey. "Now how about a little quiet?"
"The maestro is about to perform," said Bonnett.
Ramsey stared up at the banks of red-handled switches, the guide screens,
arming triggers. And there in front of him was the little blue stick that made
a Con-5 perform. He chose one off the top of the rack, keyed it to the
controls, said, "Standing by. How far is down?"
"Twenty-two hundred feet," said Bonnett. "You can go any time now. It's
directly under us." He slowed the engines until they were barely moving.
"We'll have hose to spare," said Sparrow.
"Shall I make a recon down to that bottom to see if I can get some muck for
our hull snooper?" asked
Ramsey.
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"No. We have to make this one fast. An EP may pick up our control pulse. If
the bottom's hot, then we'll have hot oil and they can use it to lube atomic
engines."
"Now?" asked Ramsey.
"Take her away," said Sparrow. "Les, put the side lights on that hose reel."
"They're already on," said Bonnett
Ramsey turned the guide screen to the nose eye in his Con-5, activated the
multi-wave projector beside the nose eye. The screen showed a pattern outline
for the hull of the Ram, picked up in waves beyond the normally visible
spectrum. Superimposed was the faint glow of the side light illuminating the
hose reel.
A second super-imposition showed the relative positions of the Ram and the
tiny Con-5.
"A little more ship speed, please," said Ramsey. "It'll steady us."
Bonnett moved the throttle bar forward a fractional notch and the Ram picked
up speed.
Ramsey brought the deadly torpedo in closer. He could not see the fin prongs
on his torpedo, but he knew where they were -- forward projecting edges of the
stabilizing fins, designed for hydrostatic balance and set just back of the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]