Chapter 4: In the Cavern

“That’s the story, Knapp. They got Bowman, and I had to run away. Their ship disappeared into the cavern. I’ve got a hunch, though, that it’s not just a cavern, but a tunnel, leading through to some underwater world. That series of sub-sea earthquakes probably opened it up; and now these devil-octopi are free to pour out. I’ve got to find out what’s what, and that’s why I’m going down again as soon as the torpedo system’s ready!”

Keith and Robert Knapp were in the Falcon’s chart room. On the table before them lay a broad white map with a cross-mark indicating the position of the mysterious dark cavern.

Wells was striding up and down like a caged tiger in his impatience to be off. Every other minute he glared down to where the NX-1 lay alongside. On her conning tower stood the tall blond-haired figure of Graham, the first officer of the day shift, supervising the final details of the work of installing a system of jury controls whereby the submarine’s torpedoes could be fired from her control room.

Keith stopped short and faced Knapp. “It won’t be so one-sided this time, Bob,” he promised. “You see: when the location chart shows the enemy ship, I’ll rush all men into the control room, where the paralyzing ray can’t harm them. I don’t know but what they have in other weapons, but I’m gambling on getting my torps in first. They’ve killed Bowman; they’ve ravaged a whole fishing fleet; they’re free to emerge from their hole and maraud every ocean on the globe! They’ve got to be stopped! And since I’m armed and have the only submarine on the spot, I’ve got to do it! I know how to fight them now!”

Captain Robert Knapp’s sense of things was badly disordered. He had just heard a story which his common sense told him couldn’t be true, but which the evidence of his eyes had grimly authenticated. He had seen fifteen men slung aboard his ship from the NX-1’s silent hull; men stretched in grotesque, limp attitudes; men struck down by a paralyzing ray. Why, no nation on earth had developed rays for warfare! Yet--a crew of helpless men was even then in the sick bay, receiving attention in the hope that they might recover.

“You’re going right through that cavern, then, Wells?” he asked incredulously. “You’re going to investigate what lies beyond?”

“Nothing else! And I won’t come out till I’ve blown that octopi ship to pieces!”

“It sounds preposterous,” Knapp murmured, shaking his head. “Octopi, you say--and clad in metal suits! Running a submarine more powerful than the NX-1! Armed with a ray--a paralyzing ray! I can’t believe--I can’t conceive--”

“You’ve seen the men! ... Knapp, if I were you I’d swing my eight-inchers out, bring up the plane catapult and keep the deck torpedo tubes loaded and ready. It’s best to be prepared; God knows what’s going on underseas these days!”

First Officer Graham appeared at the door. “Work finished, sir,” he said. “Ready to cast off.”

“Thank heaven!” Wells muttered, and stretched out his hand to Robert Knapp. “Broadcast what I’ve told you, Bob, and say that the NX-1 won’t be back till everything’s under control. I’ll keep in touch with you. So long!” And he was gone before the captain could even wish him good luck.

Orders raced from her commander’s fingers on the stud board in the control room. “Crash Dive” filled her tanks and put her nose perilously down, so that in thirty seconds only a swirling patch of water was left to show where once she’d lain. A brief command to the helmsman and she pointed straight for the dark cavern marked on the chart.

When well under way, Keith descended with Graham to inspect the new torpedo firing system, and found it in good working order. “Graham,” he ordered tersely, “instruct the crew fully about rushing to the control room on one ring of the general alarm. And send the cook up to me in a minute or so. I’ll be in Sparks’ cubby.”

Above again, he instructed the radio man to rig a remote control sender and receiver in the insulated control room. The need for centering the whole crew there during engagements would crowd the room awkwardly, but at other times, while proceeding on their inspection of the cavern lair, they could remain at their regular posts.

That, at least, was Wells’ plan.

He looked up and found the cook, McKegnie, grinning at him from the door of the control room. Keith smiled, running his eyes over the portly magnificence of his gently perspiring figure. “Keg,” he said cheerfully, “I want you to move your hot plate and culinary apparatus up here; you see, we’re all likely to be crowded in here for some time, and your coffee’s going to be an absolute necessity.” He couldn’t resist a crack at McKegnie’s well-known and passionate curiosity as to what made the thigmajigs of the control board work: “And besides, it’ll give you a chance to observe the instruments and perfect yourself for your future career as a naval officer. Much better than a correspondence course in ‘How to Be a Submarine Commander, ‘ eh?”

Cook McKegnie grinned sheepishly, and left. He was well used to such jests, but he never would admit that his extraordinary interest in watching the ship’s wheels go round was accompanied by a miraculous inability to comprehend why they went round...

Fifteen minutes later the helmsman’s cry, “Cavern showing, sir!” swung the commander to the teleview screen. The dark, kelp-shrouded opening he knew so well was already looming on it. And he was prepared.

“Enter,” he said, while his punched studs ordered, “Quarter Speed, Ready at Posts, Tanks in Trim.” The NX-1 slackened her gait, balanced cautiously, and struck a straight, even course as she crept closer to the cleft entrance through which, some two hours earlier, the octopi ship had nosed.

Screws turning slowly, she edged through the jagged cavern. Shades of inky blackness grew on the teleview and danced in fantastic blotches; the screen turned to a welter of black, threatening shadows; became a useless maze of ever-changing forms. Keith mouthed curses as he stared at it; he now had nothing by which to judge his progress, to maneuver the submarine, save directional instruments and, perhaps, chance scrapings of the tunnel’s ragged walls against the outer hull. The NX-1 was running a gauntlet of immeasurable danger, her only assurance of success being the fact that a larger craft had preceded her.

But how far, Keith wondered, had that ship preceded her? How was he to know that it had gone straight through? There might be a dozen different turnings in this tunnel: the submarine could easily tilt head-on against a jagged rock and puncture her hull. There might be mines planted directly in their course; he might be swimming straight into some hideous ambuscade.

He drove these thoughts from his mind. The passage had to be made on the fickle authority of the senses; and, realizing this, Wells took the helm into his own hands. Graham was posted at the location chart, with instructions to report the red light if it showed.

Down below, the Edsel electrics were humming very softly; the men stood vigilantly at posts. On their brows were little beads of sweat, and here and there a hand clenched nervously. All knew they were in a tight place; otherwise they were ignorant of where their commander was leading them. Occasionally a long, shivering rasp ran through the ship as her hull nudged the rough tunnel wall. Then the course rudders would swing gently over; and perhaps, almost immediately, another grinding cry of rock and steel would come from the other side. Then would come quickly indrawn breaths as the rudders swung again and the humming silence droned on.