Voyage To The Bottom Of The Sea Read Online Free PDF

“We’ll continue this at a later time, Connors.”
    “Yes, sir,” she said demurely: and it was over.
    The episode was over, but the Big Brag, wrapping itself in a coating like one of those delayed-action pills, awaited only the right environment to be released. And the world, and space itself got exactly the right environment ready, by the millions and millions of cubic miles.

2
    D AY AFTER DAY THEY DROVE NORTH . The Seaview behaved like a dream—the dream of a hard-headed, demanding, detailed and logical dreamer, which indeed she was. If ever Admiral Nelson had his Big Brag moments—and he really rated them—Lee Crane could see no sign of it. Not that he was ever persnickety—he was too big for that. But he ranged the sub from stern to keelson to stem to bilge, not so much looking and listening as reading and hearing. Any mere expert can be spoken to by a generator or a pump or a computer; Nelson seemed able to have conversations with rivets and the seam of a weld. In another man, this would come out looking like worry, like fear and mistrust of design and materials. But in Nelson, it was more as if the thousands upon countless thousands of components making up the submarine were a great body of friends of his, to each and all of whom he had said, “Now if anything ever bothers any of you fellers, you tell me about it, no matter who you are. That’s what I’m here for.” This, to a rivet.
    A warm friendship sprang up between Dr. Hiller and Cathy Connors; from the second day, it was “Sue” and “Cathy.” Dr. Jamieson spent his time in one of the higher levels of heaven, at Dr. Hiller’s beck and call; he admired her with a touch-me-not whole heartedness which, to give her credit, she took no advantage of. Chip Morton minded his manners and his own business, though anyone who knew him well—and the Captain knew him very well—was aware of his constant corner-of-the-eye awareness of the svelte psychologist, and of tension like that in a cocked crossbow, as the Executive Officer searched for a chink in the doctor’s armor. Lee Crane, however, trusted the latch that held it cocked. Chip Morton might be headstrong, but stupid he was not.
    Staying most of the time at the 500-foot level, the Seaview slipped under the ice on the second day. For six more days she cut herself off from the world, traveling north by and large, but zigging and zagging, diving, lying doggo, and rehearsing drills: collision, fire, and various breakdowns: air plant, power, even food shortage. Nelson ran an elaborate series of observations on Earth magnetism and another on crust temperature on the bottom, either of which would have been full time work for a specialist in either field, and still was able to get some sleep.
    On the ninth day Cathy Connors entered the office of the sick bay with a thick folder under her arm, and found Dr. Hiller transcribing notes from the little book she always carried, to a tiny tape recorder. “Hello, Cathy. I have some hot coffee here.”
    “Hi, Sue. Brought you the personnel file you wanted. Yes, I think I will.” She hopped up to sit on the edge of the examining table and swing her feet.
    Dr. Hiller poured the coffee, handed a cup to Cathy, put her own safely back out of the way and placed the heavy folder before her. Leafing rapidly through it, she said, “Your Captain Crane is surprisingly young for a job like this.”
    “He was the youngest sub captain in the whole United States Navy,” Cathy said proudly.
    “He must have a friend at court,” said the doctor, but Cathy knew she was teasing. “The Admiral?”
    “Wrong diagnosis, Doctor. They’re almost like father and son, but the captain earned his rank. Neither he nor the Admiral would want it any other way. If anything, I’d say it was harder that way than if they hadn’t been so close. The three of them have always fought hard to keep personalities out of—”
    “Three of them?”
    “Admiral Nelson, the Captain, and Chip