"Escape From The Crater"

Escape From The Crater

by Carl L. Biemiller

Published by Doubleday & Company, Inc., Garden City, New York.

Moses lifted a sleepy head from his rug position as they spilled through the air lock and stowed gear. He looked like a leader who had done all he could, and that his best, and was pleased with the results of his efforts. He stared at them, the glow in his eyes deep and steady.

“So, young Forerunner and friends, we are ready I see, and perhaps to test the judgment of your civilization as it has not been tested in many years.”

“Anybody have anything to say before we leave?” asked Kim.

“I could eat a touch of something,” said Tuktu.

“That’s a pretty historic comment,” said Genright. “I could eat about a bucket load of something.”

Toby Lee patted Kim on the shoulder. “Would you like a touch or a bucket load, oh Leader?”

“Say a medium-sized pot portion, preferably for two,” he said, and his smile was bright.

It was nearing dusk when the Adam eased out of Old Harbor for the run south across the strait. None aboard seemed inclined to hurry, and Kim let the Adam dawdle in the quiet water. They cruised submerged, some twenty feet below the surface, with the sensing equipment set to normal. There was an odd feeling of something almost approaching a hidden hilarity in the boat, but Kim, keenly aware of the many moods of his shipmates, and sensitive to their new friends, was certain that it cloaked an iron resolve that unified them all. He was sure of it when Major Bell spoke.

“Wonder if I ought to pack a rod in case I have to shoot my way out,” he mused.

“There speaks a forerunner of the young Forerunners, a voice of the world before the holocaust,” said Moses.

“Deuteronomy thirty-one, twenty-third verse… ‘Be strong and of good courage: for thou shalt bring the children of Israel into the land which I swore unto them: and I will be with thee,’” said Toby Lee softly.

“And there is a voice of Forerunners before the Forerunners of the young Forerunners,” added the old Kirl.

“And here and now, the voice of today,” snapped Kim, poking at the com console. “Adam I calling Polaris. Warden Rockwell calling Polaris…”

“My, my, do I hear a sea bird singing?” answered an even flow of audible molasses. “Polaris here, Warden Rockwell…”

“Your head in a bucket, cadet,” said Tuktu.

“I heard that,” said the voice of Polaris. “Naughty for a formal call, especially with so many seeking you.”

“Rockwell, where are you?”

The hydronauts knew that voice. It was all ice splintering. And it seemed to send a chill into the boat.

“Commander Brent, sir,” said Kim. “We’re about fifty miles south-southwest of you on my fix. Could reach you in a couple of hours, sir.”

“Do so with all speed. Also, consider yourself and your associates under formal house arrest.”

Major Bell, his face a study, walked closer to the com console. He pursed his lips and made a loud, rude noise.

The splintering ice in Commander Brent’s voice suddenly became a mountainous berg, and flickers of lightning played about it.

“Who was that?” he demanded. “Who? Who? Genright?”

“The name is Bell,” said the cryo. “Major Bell, United States Army, and officer not subject to either orders or discipline from foreign civilians. And if I find my troops mistreated in any way, I’ll have your ears for a charm bracelet.”

“Out, sir,” said Kim firmly, and broke contact.

“I hope that doesn’t set the tone of forthcoming conversations,” ventured Moses mildly.

“When you got nothing”, attack,” said the Major, grinning. “Besides, I don’t like my rescuers pushed around.”

“So here we are, prisoners, but Major Bell is only a guest,” said Toby Lee sweetly.

“Hey, how about the big man mentioning my name? I didn’t think he remembered me. Wasn’t that nice? Or maybe, yes, it wasn’t.”

“You’re on his list for recycling, ol’ Black Sea Eel,” said Tuktu. “And why, Warden Rockwell, our skipper without peer, aren’t you kicking up the speed of this little fleet unit? You told the man a couple of hours.”

“So I did. Ah, so I did that,” said Kim thoughtfully. “He can wait. Daybreak is a nicer arrival time. Sunshine, and all that, and time for them to make us a big breakfast. Perhaps even time for the hot brass to cool some.”

“Yes,” muttered The Kirl. “It may be that the young have been overlong from the rule books.”

It was daybreak when Kim lifted the Adam, and they broke the top-hull hatch to spill in a light, bright and growing brighter, although mazed with a sea mist. They were well outside the warm bay, which concealed the tunnel that led to the lake, and the water about them was clear and green, unmarred by the tiniest of dawn breezes. The cliffs which enclosed the bay were still dark, as yet untouched by the sun, but beyond them rose familiar peaks, many sending up smoke warnings of the volcanic tumult buried within them.

The Polaris lay a furlong away from them, a sleek, hump-backed, fusiform figure, huge, despite her low silhouette. She was a sea shape five hundred feet in length, a working scientific community, and the submarine flagship of the Service’s Pacific Fleet. Beyond her rode the research vessel, identified on her transom as the Taffy II, and looking like a marine tramp with her work booms poking any which-way and her hull rust-streaked. She was comfortable in beam, and chances were that her crew and her scientists shared in that comfort. Research vessels were famous for stretch-about room and good cooking. Beyond the Taffy II, were a clot of barges, six of them. The reason for their presence was not clear to the hydronauts—unless, as Genright muttered, “They needed room for guys to stand around in.”

The Polaris’ forward hatch was open and two uniformed figures waved to them from a small patch of temporary decking rigged for receiving passengers at sea. One of them held a power bullhorn. He raised it.

“Ahoy, Adam,” cried the voice across the gap of water.

Kim ran a last-moment check. The Major and the hydronauts were in uniform and smartly turned out. Even Moses’ coat seemed slicker than usual. Toby toted a plastic case containing the photo-tapes and a few of Moses’ notebooks from the Kirl archives.

“Well, we get a sort of welcome,” said Tuktu, poking the dinghy out of the hatch and inflating it at the same time.

“That’s two former friends I see, Commanders Torrance and Jensen.”

“In my day, commanders were high brass for a welcoming committee for, ah, ah, disgraced midshipmen. They must still be friendlys,” said Major Bell.

“I begin to feel better,” said Kim. “They are friends, and I know they are old-time buddies with commander Brent. If we were in real deep-six trouble, he might not let them welcome us aboard. There’d be a warden detail all stiff-necked.”

“Optimist,” sniffed Toby.

“Let’s move. And watch those records, Toby. Okay, scramble, Moses.”

“How do you feel, sir?” Genright asked the cryo suddenly.

“Still under great stress and about to go bonkers,” said the Major coldly. “And if you’ve got a needle up your sleeve to shoot me asleep when I’m not looking I’ll…”

“Have my ears for a charm bracelet, whatever that is,” finished Genright.

“Hey,” said Tuktu, “those barges seem full of crates and stuff. Supplies and gear. You suppose they came to stay?”

“Hummmnnm,” hummed Kim. “I wonder. I wonder. One contact conversation and an instant expedition…?”

He felt Toby’s mind warm with his own.

“Maybe,” she murmured. “They can move right fast when they decide to move.”

The dinghy touched Polaris’ hull with a rubbery splat.

“Permission to come aboard, sirs,” requested Kim.

“Took your time, young man,” said Commander Torrance, permitting his lean, crinkled face a small smile. “And granted.”

Commander Jensen kicked them a line with careless accuracy.

“My, you look artificial in uniform,” he said.

They watched with grave courtesy as Moses scrambled up the slope of the Polaris’ sloping hull to the deck platform. Kim made the introductions. “This is Doctor Albert Preston Kirl, sirs, and Major Bruce Bell…”

“Of the United States Army, who collects ears,” said Commander Jensen. “You can call me Jiggs later.” A low, rumbling chuckle moved deep within his bear-like chest.

“Well, we’re all here,” said Genright, his eyes busy with the calm sea from force of habit.

“So we are,” added Commander Torrance quizzically.

“I mean all of us,” said Genright. He waved an arm. “Look, eleven o’clock west to the horizon,” he added. “Water line between sea and sky.”

Something moved out there, and as it did so there was a splash of yellow, as though a giant primrose, caught by the sun, had bloomed in the pale-green garden of the sea.

“Tube Steak,” cried Toby with delight.

“The one and only,” said Genright.

“That your whale?” asked Commander Jensen.

“He’s his own whale. We share him with the Kirl,” said Kim firmly.

“Like that, eh,” said Commander Torrance. “Lets get below.”

“Breakfast, sir?” asked Genright.

“Otherwise you’d faint, I suppose. But yes, and a briefing in my quarters. As a reminder, four of you are prisoners under house arrest. Two of you are honored guests. And there’s a lot of talk to be had and decisions to be arrived at, starting in one hour. You might be interested to know that the Service is graced by the presence of two members of the World Council of Cities. I can’t emphasize how important they are to us all.”

“Difficult people, very aware of their importance and their own positive, if different, rightness. And that’s all I’m going to say,” said Jiggs Jensen.

“How’s Commander Brent?” asked Toby.

“I just explained how he is,” answered Commander Jensen.

“And gave us a warning as well,” said Moses in his flat, deaf-man voice.

Commander Brent came in the Torrance quarters while they were eating. He was as the hydronauts knew him best—stiff, erect, domination and, as usual, in the quiet process of driving himself. He cast an examiner’s quick eye over the wardens. Toby wished she’d polished the third button on her tunic. Tuktu had the wild idea that his uniform trousers were missing. “Ha,” he approved. “Rockwell, you look a trifle older somehow. I hope that doesn’t mean any foolishness.” He was rigidly courteous to Major Bell. “You are well after your experience?” he inquired.

“I am sir. And my personnel?”

“All well,” said Commander Brent.

He was more than courteous to The Kirl. He was respectful and most polite, but, assuming mutual respect, his courtesy did not hamper his curiosity.

“Is that life form comfortable?”

“Very, for the life it was created to lead,” said Moses, as though he were chatting with a familiar associate.

Commander Brent nodded. “We’ll talk more later.” He surveyed the hydronauts again. “I trust your life forms are most uncomfortable. You’ve caused a certain amount of trouble. But I’ll dispose of your cases when I get around to them. Special meeting in the conference room in ten minutes. Try to remember that, compared to the people you’ll meet, you are low in nature’s food chain—practically plankton, in fact—and you, Major Bell, will make only conversational noises. There is no such thing as the United States Army on any table of organization in the world.”

“Correction, sir, there is. You and your own troops revived it. But your admonishment is well taken, sir.”

There was a funny sound. Somebody was breaking brittle sticks. Commander Brent was laughing.

Chapter One	Chapter Two	Chapter Three	Chapter Four	Chapter Five
Chapter Six	Chapter Seven	Chapter Eight	Chapter Nine	Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven	Chapter Twelve	Chapter Thirteen	Chapter Fifteen

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