Read Online The Atlantic Abomination by John Brunner - Free Book Online

normally.”
    “Maybe, but I doubt it,” Gordon sighed. “Did anyone get the impression that Luke thought he ought to have died down there, and needed to go back and finish the job? I’m no psychologist,” he added. “Just an idea.”
    Mary shook her head. “It was the pain that seemed to be driving him.”
    “Well, there is the chance he’ll come back up. Hartlund, do you know of any naval survey ships working this area? We can’t sit around and wait for him, but we could get someone else to quarter the area until it’s beyond doubt he’s lost.”
    “I’ll check,” nodded Hartlund, and thrust his pipe between his teeth before starting towards the bridge.
    Ellington came back from the radio cabin. “Best I can do for you, Chief,” he said despondently, “is a British sub, one of their latest. It’s undergoing trials about thirty-six miles from here. It’s a pure-reactor job, and they’re having trouble with sustained high-speed running, but they’re going to do their best for us. If nothing goes wrong, we can expect them in forty minutes.”
    “What
?” said several people simultaneously.
    “That’s what they said. Forty minutes. Apparently when this thing is working properly it’s a wowser. They wouldn’t say what its top speed is, but it must be seventy knots at least. Trouble is it’s still crawling with bugs, they said.”
    “Let’s hope none of them bite on the way here. That’s the first real glimmer of hope.” Gordon relaxed visibly.
    “Look!” said Hartlund, and pointed to a
Vee
of phosphorescence on the dark water.
    “That was never a sub!” Peter objected, straining to make out the vague silhouette.
    “Of course not. That’ll be the mother ship. Probably a converted torpedo boat, if this thing is really as fast as they told us. Yes. Look, there she blows!”
    The whaling term was appropriate. The bluntly round snout that was breaking water a half mile distant did look like a vast sea animal, although the effect was spoiled by the stub wings which were its control surfaces. Four of them at right angles. Curved back. No conning tower, just a fish-shaped hull with fins.
    The mother ship swung to within hailing distance, and a British voice rang out through a loud-hailer.
    “Hello
Alexander Bache!
I hope you’re all properly disinterested scientists aboard. Nobody except us is supposed to see our baby this close. Tell us what you want done and we’ll try and do it.”
    Hartlund checked his watch. “Thirty-six miles in thirty-eight minutes,” he whispered. “Maybe they’ll catch him!”
    The Chief was answering through their own loud-hailer, giving only the essentials.
    “How fast does this thing of yours dive?” the British officer inquired.
    “It doesn’t dive. It just sinks, and sinks more slowly the deeper it gets. It’s been going down for an hour, and is probably beyond a thousand feet, but slowing down gradually.”
    “Okay! I may say we’ve had nearly three quarters of an hour’s perfect operation on the way here. This means something is likely to blow up any moment now. But cross your fingers.”
    There was a breathless pause. Peter heard a stir along the deck and turned his head to see that Mary had come out, a white bandage on her bruised temple.
    A light showed on the back of the submarine. Very dimly they heard chains clanking.
    “Just rigging something that will hook on to your bathynef if they can locate it,” the officer reported. “Only makeshift, I’m afraid, but if there’s anything to hitch on to, it’ll do.”
    “Make it good and long,” the Chief warned. “The ’nef has an atomic beacon on top. You’ll need to keep as least fifteen feet clear.”
    “We’re allowing ninety fathoms,” said the officer calmly.
    The light went out. Another pause. And then—
    “Good God!” said Hartlund, and nearly let fall his pipe. The submarine had put its nose down in the water so sharply that its tail, with the reactor pipe, blew a