But if this strange sub somehow did relate to his mission, he could not afford to let it vanish.
All this was reviewed and reconciled in a twinkling of synapses in his brain.
He darted after the sub, closing on it quickly. Then he cruised behind it and a bit below, keeping out of the spiraling wake left by the twin propellers.
Elizabeth rubbed her eyes. She had been staring at the white dot on the green scope for a long time. She flexed her shoulders to loosen the tension from sitting in one position for too long. She figured Ernie must be uncomfortable too, probablv feeling the chill by now, as he was still being slowly reeled in.
When she looked back at the scope, she was startled. She peered at it for an instant. Then she leaned toward the mike. “Ernie, there’s something else down there...”
A new white dot had appeared on the scope, moving slowly toward the dot that represented Mark.
“There’s something else on the scope.”
“What? What do vou see?”
She was briefly relieved to hear Ernie’s firm reply. “Something else down there with Mark, moving toward him.”
“Whale?”
“No. Too deep. And its motion is too regular. It’s moving forward in a straight line. And it must be metallic, electronic, since I’m picking it up.”
“Well, what...”
“It’s getting closer... practically on top of him now... It’s passing him... Moving away...”
She took a deep breath and put a hand on her forehead. “You’ll be up in a minute, Ernie. I’ll keep you posted in decompression.”
“Roger.”
“Mark is moving now.”
“What?”
“Mark’s signal is moving. He’s following the thing...”
Mark trailed the sub easily, never taking his eyes off it. It turned to the right around a ledge of rock, then cruised between two towering pinnacles.
Suddenly, directly ahead of the sub but still a hundred yards away, a bright amber light appeared. As the sub continued forward, another light came on, then a third. They formed a triangle. The sub was aimed for the center of it.
Sonar pinging reached Mark’s ears, and the volume increased as the sub approached the midpoint among the lights.
Then to either side of the sub, two rows of lights flashed on sequentially, like approach lights to an airport. The sub maintained a course between them. Two more powerful beams shot forward from the nose of the sub. They illuminated a huge steel door embedded in a mountain wall. The three amber lights of the triangle rimmed the door.
The sub slowed. Mark slowed equally. The engine noise and throbbing of the propellers diminished. The sonar pinging, however, increased in volume.
The sub gradually adjusted its depth, dropping a few feet to be in line with the mammoth gate.
Then there was a loud hum. The gate began to lift. The interior of a giant cave beyond the gate was bathed in light—as bright as the inside of the Undersea Center.
The sub edged toward the open gate. Mark looked quickly around, turned frantically in brief indecision. Then he straightened, fixed his eyes on the retreating sub, and followed.
The sub inched through the door in the mountainside toward the interior dock. As soon as its props were clear, the gate began to lower. Mark dove for the narrowing slice of light.
He felt the closing door just graze his heels as he slid through. He stopped, submerged just under the surface. The lights blinded him momentarily. But he heard no sounds from the sub. The engines and propellers had stopped.
Elizabeth had watched silently, biting her lip, for several minutes as Mark’s dot had followed the other. She had watched them turn together, watched them wind around the unseen canyons on the ocean floor.
Then suddenly the sonar pinging stopped, the tiny silver dots disappeared. The scopes were silent and blank. Her hands leaped for the diais and controls, she spun them feverishly. But there was nothing.
She sank back into her chair. “He’s gone,” she said softly.
Sunlight filtered through from the nearing surface, a halo above Ernie’s rising platform.
“He’s gone,” he heard her whisper.
Ernie stared down into the gloom through which Mark had disappeared from him, and now from them all.
chapter 6
When Mark’s eyes adjusted to the bright lights, he could see that the sub had surfaced. They were in a narrow concrete waterway, just wide enough to give the sub a cozy berth. A concrete walkway surrounded them. Stark concrete walls curved into a high, arched concrete ceiling where dozens of bright lights were embedded.
Interspersed with the light, and at various spots on the walls, were camera lenses, like small eyes.
The hoisting and loading equipment and other electronic machinery of the dock was confined to an area in front of the sub. Otherwise, the entire dock was bare, pristine, sterile-white.
Most surprising of all was the absence of any people or movement in the dock. Mark had stayed partly submerged, expecting at any moment to see the flood of attendants and dock workers that he was used to seeing attend a mooring at the Center. But no one came.
He surfaced and moved toward the silent sub.
Just then the hatch in the side of the conning tower opened and heads appeared.
Mark ducked under the water and moved quickly to the side of the channel, sliding under the lip of the walkway. It was always his instinct to hide cautiously until he was able to analyze a new situation—that was what kept him alive in his undersea environment, where beings strange to one another cannot sit down and discuss their attitudes and intentions.
Three men and one woman stepped out of the hatch onto the ramp and proceeded to the walkway. They stopped in a cluster and looked around, as if this place was new to them also.
They were not dressed like Navy or even like civilian ship personnel. Two of the men were wearing dark suits and ties, one had a blue sports jacket on over an open-necked flowered shirt. The woman was wearing a powder-blue jumpsuit and a frilly white blouse.
They stood uncomfortably together, looking this way and that as if expecting someone. They spoke English, but the accents varied.
“Beautiful day,” the woman said, with a wry smile, looking around at the enclosure. Her intonations were French.
The others laughed nervously.
“Clean enough to do surgery in here.” Nasal American. “Makes me miss the old lab.”
“Is clean like Moscow subway.” Russian inflections.
“It certainly doesn’t remind me of anything, I must say.” Clipped British. “Wonder if we should be off somewhere, or just stand here, or...”
“Welcome.” A clear, amplified voice came from somewhere. Their heads spun around, looking for the source, not finding it. “We are pleased to see that you are all well and in good spirits. As per your briefing instructions, you will first change into appropriate attire for your work here. Please proceed to the changing rooms, as indicated by the sign...”
A light flashed on above them on the wall. It spelled out CHANGING ROOMS, followed by an arrow indicating a corridor just then revealed as a door slid open in the concrete.
“Then follow corridor 14 to your reception desk. We are happy to have you with us. We are sure your eminent qualifications as scientists will serve us all well in our endeavors within the habitat.”
The scientists looked at each other, then turned and headed through the door and off down the corridor.
Mark quickly emerged from the water, swung himself onto the walkway, and quietly followed.
Up the corridor, the three men stopped, looked up and down at a door marked CHANGING-M, and went in. The woman went through the next door marked CHANGING-F.
Mark stepped back around a bend and waited.
Soon the scientists emerged dressed alike in twopiece white clean-room suits and white slipper-shoes. They stood and looked at each other and themselves, chuckling occasionally.
“I think I loo
k like a Grand Prix driver,” the woman said.
“Nice material,” said the Russian, fingering his sleeve, “expensive.”
“Well, we look official now,” said the American. “Sure gonna miss the World Series.”
They all laughed, except for the British scientist, who examined his garb soberly. “At least it’s a better life than missiles.”
They all nodded, looked around, saw the lighted sign that indicated corridor 14, and headed off down it.
Mark started to enter the corridor behind them, then stepped back. For some distance ahead, there was no place to conceal himself. Corridor 14 was an absolutely straight concrete tunnel—white with high curving walls like the dock—with indirect overhead lighting.
Mark listened to the soft footsteps of the scientists in the corridor. He also heard other soft sounds, mechanical ones. He could identify the rhythmic thrust of hydraulic pumps coming from somewhere within the walls.
At the distant end of the corridor, in an alcove off to the lide, was a wide desk behind which sat three young women dressed like the approaching scientists. One woman was black, with a neat Afro. One was white, with blond hair pulled into a bun at the back of her head. The third was Oriental, with almond eyes and black hair cropped short around the ears.
The scientists came to the end of the corridor, turned, and uneasily confronted the three women.
The black woman smiled and handed out white cards to each of them. “Good morning. I see your clothes fit you well. Would you register, please? Just fill out the cards, answering each of the questions. Leave no Hanks, please.”
The scientists nodded and took the cards and said thank vou. The cards asked for names and addresses, places of birth, current nationality, names of parents, age and sex, and whom to notifv in case of emergency.
The woman handed them ball-point pens, and they bent over the desk to fill out the cards.
The British scientist did not immediately begin to write. He studied his card.
The second woman opened a drawer and took out a metal box and opened it. It was full of flexible metal wristbands in various solid hues. “And would you like to put on your color-coded identification bracelets, please? You’ll find them very helpful here.”
The three women behind the desk were wearing such bracelets.
The British scientist tapped his card with the pen and looked at the women. “Where is Mr. Schubert? We were supposed to meet him straight away.”
“Yes, of course,” said the black woman, smiling. “He’s rather busy this morning, but he’ll see you right after orientation.”
The Frenchwoman accepted a bracelet for herself, then took another from the box and handed it to the Russian.
The Russian held his up in front of him and smiled at it. “Is like my very own Mickey Mouse.”
They and the American laughed lightly. Then they snapped on their bracelets, and their laughter abruptly ceased.
The black woman put a bracelet on the desk beside the British scientist’s card. He looked at it but did not pick it up. “Mr. Schubert said we would all be working together in the high-energy lab,” he said stiffly.
“Why don’t you register and slip on your bracelet,” the black woman cooed, smiling more warmly. “I’m sure everything will be in order.”
The other three scientists were completely still. The Britisher frowned and looked dourly around, noticing a small camera lens high on the wall, aimed at them. “Listen, before signing anything, I’d like to verify that the facilities are as advertised, and that no military applications are permitted.”
“Here,” said the Oriental woman in delicate tones, picking up the bracelet, “let me put it on for you.”
The Britisher leaned forward, clomping his knuckles down on the desk. “See here, we all insist that...”
The woman snapped the bracelet on his wrist. He straightened up. His face no longer showed concern, but was calm and placid. He relaxed.
“Now then,” the black woman pushed the card in front of him. “Would you fill in the card, please?”
He dutifully filled in the card. The others stood watching him.
“Thank you.” The woman took the card along with the others and slid them into a card-file box. “Now,” she rose and beckoned, “would you all follow me, please? Right this way.” She stepped off toward a side corridor, beckoning continually. The four scientists docilely followed.
When the four had earlier left the changing rooms and headed down corridor 14, Mark had waited a moment, then ducked into the men’s changing room. When they were at the desk, he had come out and edged down the corridor, listening to their confusing conversations, timing his entrance for when they had cleared the arca.
Now, dressed like them in a white clean-room suit, he came up to the desk.
“Good morning, sir,” said the woman with blond hair. “Let’s see,” she checked a yellow sheet in front of her on the desk, “we were expecting four...”
The Oriental woman leaned over to scan the sheet with her. “Yes, but...”
“But they could have meant five.” The first woman looked up at Mark and smiled. “Mathematicians have their own ways with numbers, do they not?”
“Yes.”
She reached into the box. “Would you like to put on your color-coded identification bracelet?”
“What is that?”
“Here,” she took out a red one and reached for his wrist, “let me do it.” She slipped it around his wrist and snapped it shut. “There. Now, so that we may get on with the program, would you enter and sign in, please?” She slid a card toward him.
Mark held his wrist up and looked at the bracelet, then looked back at the woman. She smiled, but he did not smile back. He put his olher hand over his wrist as he looked at her. His knuckles turned white, as if under tension. When his hand came away it was holding the disconnected bracelet. He handed it to her. “I do not need a color-coded identification bracelet.”
The faces of the two women remaining at the desk suddenly lost their smiles and went blank.
The mouth of the Oriental woman moved mechanically, her voice calm, but without the prior lilt. “We all must wear our bracelets here. It is for our comfort and well-being. I suggest that you reconsider. It is in your interest to comply with our—”
“Aha!”
A door opened above and behind the desk, under a large pulsing red light and atop a ramp that emerged from the wall. Through the door stepped a big, bald, round-faced smiling man in a rumpled brown suit. “Here’s yet another!” He waddled down the ramp toward Mark, grinning and extending his hand. “Aha. Welcome, young man.” He took Mark’s hand and squeezed it slightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Mr. Schubert, of course.” He slid his hand up to Mark’s shoulder and steered him around the desk.
They started up the ramp, Schubert a half-step behind. “You’ve given us a nice surprise, young man. We expected four new members for our society, and we got five. Good investment, don’t you think? Put your efforts into a goal of four, and receive a surprise bonus of twenty-five percent. I would say that’s a splendid return. Right through here, young man.”
He shoved Mark gently through the door, then stepped through it himself. The door closed behind them. They proceeded down a corridor. Schubert glanced up at the row of red lights on the wall, and narrowed his eyes briefly as he saw that they continued to flash.
“Tell me, my fine fellow, how did you manage to get here?”
“I swam.”
“Swam!” He laughed a deep, rumbling laugh. “Aha! That’s a good one! Yes indeed. You must be an American. Such a sense of humor. Good for the soul. Keeps the juices flowing. And I suppose the fish told you how to reach our door?”
“I do not know the language of fish. The inner current took me to the deep sound channel and I listened to the whales talk...”
“The whales! My, my, my. Heh-heh.” He tapped Mark lightly on the back. “Well, it’s a fact that they do, in their way, but�
�”
“I felt the presence of your submarine far off and waited for it. Then I followed it.”
“Hmmm.” His eyes wrinkled cheerfully. “You do a lot of that, do you? Wait for a submarine as you might a bus? And follow the submarine through pitch-black wilderness at the bottom of uncharted oceans seven miles beneath the surface? Why, that’s marvelous! Stupendous! Extraordinary! My friend, you’re a very clever fellow. A tale I must remember to relate to Mark Twain, should I ever run across the geezer in the land beyond.”
His belly shivered with a deep chuckle. He took Mark’s arm lightly and they stopped. He looked into Mark’s green eyes, and narrowed his own. “By the way, I apologize for that little, um, problem with the identification bracelet. I understand completely. Personally, I can’t abide them either.” He reached into his jacket pocket. “But most people in these environs find they come in handy. Give you a feeling of well-being and security. So here,” he took out a bracelet, “take mine.”
Deftly he seized Mark’s hand and slipped the bracelet on his wrist. Then he turned Mark forward again and they resumed their stroll.
His voice now took on a less jovial tone, became more businesslike. The red lights along the corridor continued to flash. “Now then, suppose you tell me who you are and what’s your purpose in being here.”
“I am... Mark Harris.”
“Aha. Mark Harris. Doesn’t ring a bell. So be it. And the rest?”
Mark turned to look at him. He lifted his arm. The bracelet dangled from lá fingers. “I do not need this... for well-being.”
“I see.” Schubert gingerly took the bracelet from Mark’s fingers and put it back in bis pocket. “Impressive bit of sleight-of-hand, to be literal about it.” He pinched his lips together and studied Mark’s eyes. The flashing red lights reflected off his bald head as if the pate itself were pulsing. “I see. You’re quite an unusual fellow, Mark Harris. May I call you Mark? Quite uncommon indeed. We’ll have to learn more about you, much more. But there’s a time and place for everything. I can see that your, um, aquatic adventures have left you rather tired. Altogether natural. Quite a little dip in the ocean, I must say. Well then, let’s move along. You’ll get some rest now. And later on I’ll show you what some peaceful scientists have created at the bottom of the sea.”
Man From Atlantis Page 11