“Sure thing, kid,” said Lieutenant Oppowitz. Fiske could tell he was trying to not look at Fiske as if he was the weirdest kid that the lieutenant had ever met. The lieutenant scratched behind his ear. “So, yeah, let’s go on down.”
There was a gangplank from the dock to the flat top of the submarine, and then a hatch that was propped open. A ladder dropped down from there, leading into the dark of the submarine. Fiske followed the lieutenant over the gangplank and onto the submarine’s top. He expected it to wobble — like he was getting on a sailboat — but it was still and heavy in the water.
“This way, Mr. King!” said Lieutenant Oppowitz, gesturing at the hatch. There was a small ladder to a level platform and then, through another hole in the floor, a much longer ladder that led down into the belly of the boat.
Fiske looked down the hatch at the thirty-foot ladder, swallowed hard, and went down into the deep.
The young sailor sat in the car, a pair of binoculars held to his eyes. “That’s him?” he asked. The boy was small and skinny; he’d be easy to find again among the ranks of muscle-bound military personnel.
“Yes,” said the driver. “I know it wasn’t part of your original mission, but it seems that it’s become necessary.”
“Don’t worry,” said the sailor. “I can handle it.”
“You have to,” said the driver.
“I said I can do it,” the other snapped. He flung the car door open and stormed out, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. It was heavier than he expected, though, and he nearly dropped it. The driver closed his eyes and shook his head. The sailor flushed a deep scarlet.
“You nervous?” asked the driver. “It’s your first mission.”
“No,” said the sailor. “I’m not nervous at all. I know what’s expected of me. I’m fully capable of succeeding.”
“Don’t forget this,” said the driver. He passed the sailor-turned-Vesper a device with a long barrel, a handle, and a trigger. At the end of the barrel were two wires. The sailor took it and stuffed it in his bag. “Remember: Learn everything. And then kill the Cahill.”
He nodded. Kill the Cahill. It would be nothing at all, to kill the Cahill.
The hatch was small, and the ladder dropped straight down. Fiske was afraid he would slip and accidentally kick Lieutenant Oppowitz in the face, or fall on top of him. After all, his last try at climbing down something hadn’t turned out so well.
“Sorry!” he blurted when his foot slipped, knocking into the lieutenant’s hand. This was going to be a disaster. He couldn’t even get into the submarine without nearly wrecking everything.
“Nothing to worry about,” said the lieutenant, pausing to shake the sting out of his hand before continuing down the ladder.
Below, the world was so much smaller than Fiske thought it would be. The ceilings were low and the hallways narrow. Equipment hummed and monitors beeped all around him. He didn’t think that Lieutenant Oppowitz would be able to walk down the hall without getting stuck, but the officer moved like, well, a fish in water.
“This is the maneuvering room,” said Lieutenant Oppowitz. “Through that door there are the engines. Here is where we control the speed and the propulsion and all of that.”
Fiske followed along, trying not to stare. Maybe he wasn’t exactly interested in submarines, but that could change. This was a masterful piece of machinery, a perfectly tuned instrument of war. At least, that’s what it looked like. It was brightly lit and shining, like a new quarter. Like a very huge, very expensive, very deadly new quarter.
At the same time, it looked and felt almost unfinished. Wires and circuits and screens were stuck out in plain sight, with no panels to cover their guts. Passing people in the halls meant that someone had to flatten himself against a wall.
“This is the nuclear reactor,” Lieutenant Oppowitz was saying, and that’s when Fiske almost fell over. They had passed through to another room, and there it was: the humming, throbbing heart of the boat. It didn’t look like much: just a great metal block with pipes leading in and out of it. He stared at it, and then at his skin, half expecting to see new limbs sprouting up all over the place, or scales, or a clone springing forth. “No need to worry about anything here,” said the lieutenant. “There’s a lot of steel between you and me and that overgrown battery. We’ll make sure you get back to your grandfather in one piece. We’re the top two percent of the Navy, Seaman King. No one’s going to take a risk at radiating a mind this sharp.” He winked and tapped his temple. “Oh, some of the others, sure, but I’m here as a safety measure for all of that. Right? Ha! Right?”
Fiske almost smiled. That was a relief, at least.
“Through here is the mess and the cold storage. You’ll be having your meals here, and spending any leisure time. You’ll want to be around for meals. Best food under the sea — and above it, too. We don’t have too much to brag about down here — it’s cramped and dark and let me tell you it’ll start to smell after a day or less — but there’s nothing that beats the food.”
Fiske looked around. The tables were long and narrow. Everything felt as if it had been shrunk by half. In a way, it was nice. He almost felt swaddled, like it was too small of a space for anything bad to creep into. There was simply no room.
“That through there is the head, and up above there is the control room. Anything that happens down here happens right up there. I’ll have to ask you, politely you know, to keep any curious fingers away from any buttons they might want to push. Not that I think you would — but it’s a condition of your trip.”
“Of course,” said Fiske. As if he would want to push any buttons at all. He’d be perfectly content to sit on his bunk for the next few days and not mess about with anything.
Even though he was here — and a full twenty minutes into his mission — he still felt unprepared. Still, there was something about it that was . . . exciting. Maybe this was what it was like to be Grace — to be half-terrified and yet half-thrilled. There was something arming about it; something that made him feel like he could do anything.
“This way to your bunk. We’re set to launch in about twenty minutes. Exciting, isn’t it? I’ve seen a lot, you know, been around the world a couple of times. But a nuclear submarine! We’re going to go the whole way from Connecticut to Puerto Rico underwater. The whole way! I’ve been underwater before, in the diesel boats, but the whole way — boy, I’ve never heard anything like it,” said Lieutenant Oppowitz. Fiske thought he practically puffed up his chest, like a proud bird about to fly. “And so are you, you know,” he added.
“I — I know,” said Fiske. Oh, didn’t he know.
“This here is your suite,” said Lieutenant Oppowitz. They’d traveled down a narrow stairway and were in a skinny room lined with bunks. There was scarcely eighteen inches from mattress to mattress, and only a little curtain to pull for any kind of privacy. Folded on top of Fiske’s bunk were two pairs of blue coveralls. “These here are your poopy suits.”
“My what?!” Fiske said, trying hard not to giggle. But there was something unmistakably funny about a naval officer saying the word poopy.
“Poopy suits,” said the lieutenant, his own eyes twinkling with a suppressed laugh. “I know. I can’t help it, either. I’ve got a son that gets a kick out of it, too. Walk-in closet is here,” and he lifted the mattress to reveal a small drawer for Fiske’s things.
“Thank you,” said Fiske, his voice a little squeak. This was happening. It was all really happening. He was going to live on a submarine.
“You don’t talk much, do you?” said the lieutenant. Fiske turned pink. “Ah, that’s okay. Nothing to be ashamed of. What is it they say? Better to keep your mouth shut and be foolish, or keep it closed and be a fool? Something like that? I don’t know. But you’re a smart kid, I see that.”
“Thanks,” said Fiske again, fiddling with the strap on his bag.
“I’ll leave you to get your things put away,” the lieutenant said. “The
other boys have already been down — they’ll be getting to their stations soon enough. I’ll come and grab you once we’re at sea. I’ve something incredible to show you. We can finish looking around, and I’ll be able to answer any questions you might have. It would be a real honor, to be at sea with someone like Admiral King. I’ll bet it’s just as much an honor to set to sea with his grandson.” Lieutenant Oppowitz stuck out his hand, and Fiske took it with a bit of hesitation.
As soon as the lieutenant was gone, Fiske ripped his bag open and set about digging through it. He knew it was in there; he knew because he had laughed when Grace had made him pack it but now it was going to come in so handy he could hardly stand it.
And there it was: a small sewing kit. A missing button didn’t seem like it would put humanity at risk, but there was something about the Clue hunt that could make a person look at the world in a different way. Now this sewing kit was going above and beyond its call in life.
Fiske grabbed a poopy suit and the ring from his pocket and as best he could — which wasn’t very good, but would do — he sewed the ring into the front of the suit. He stored the other set and his other clothes beneath the mattress; he wasn’t going to take the suit off for anything.
He was just buttoning his poopy suit when another boy entered the bunks. He didn’t seem that much older than Fiske.
“That your bunk there?” the boy asked. Fiske nodded, smoothing the creases out of his suit. It was clean and blue and made him feel like a proper seaman. And there was the ring, tugging slightly on the fabric of his suit like a tiny little anchor.
The boy threw his own bag atop a different mattress. “They don’t give us much room, do they? Better not have a nightmare or end up sleepwalking, right?”
“Sure,” said Fiske, but the other sailor kept talking.
“This your first time going down below?” asked the boy. Fiske nodded.
“It’s my first time going down, too. I just graduated from sub school. Of course, there’s still a lot of work to do. I’m just a puke. That’s what they call the new submariners. It’s exciting, isn’t it? A nuclear sub, and it’s just my first trip. Amazing how they can take something like the bomb and turn it into a way to power things. Not that you could pay me to go near that reactor. I’ll be in the control room — far, far away. Very far. Legions. Do you have a specialty?”
“Oh,” said Fiske. “N-no. I’m — no.”
“Ah, I heard a rumor about you. Well, once you’re on a submarine, doesn’t that make you a submariner, even just a little bit?” asked the boy. He pulled his mattress back down. “Welcome aboard. I’m sure you’ll be a fine addition to the crew.”
Fiske blushed and muttered thanks, even though he was sure it made him look silly and he wanted to look brave and serious in front of the real Navy men. “You, too.”
“Oh, well, thank you,” said the other boy. “Should we head to the mess? I think everyone is gathering before the launch.”
“Sure,” said Fiske. “I’m Fiske, by the way. Fiske Ca — King. Fiske King.” He put out his hand.
“Nice to meet you, Fiske King,” said the boy, shaking his hand. “I’m George.”
Fiske and George were making their way to the mess hall when Lieutenant Oppowitz hailed them from the galley.
“Oh, Fiske!” Lieutenant Oppowitz lifted his arm and waved Fiske over. Fiske, feeling rather sailorlike in his crisp blue poopy suit, went willingly. It was easy to slip into a role when you had a costume for it. “We’ve more of our tour to get on with.” He led Fiske off down another narrow hall. “Did you know that the Nautilus is the first submarine to have a staircase on it? Look at us! It’s like a five-star hotel down here.”
Lieutenant Oppowitz charged up the stairs like a rhinoceros and Fiske trailed behind him. It was easy to follow the lieutenant — Fiske could hear him coming and going no matter where his eyes had wandered — and it was easier to like him. He talked enough for both of them, and Fiske didn’t feel a need to fill any awkward silences.
The stairs led to the control room. If Fiske had thought that the other halls and rooms in the Nautilus had been complex, they were put to shame by the control room. The entire room was bustling, like a giant robot brain that was half-human, half-machine. Every inch of space was telling some sort of story about the boat: the depth, the outside and inside pressure and temperatures, speed and direction, sonar readings, oxygen levels. A sailor not much older than Fiske sat in front of what looked like a steering wheel, his eyes on the small monitor just above the wheel.
Standing in the middle of the crowd was a short man with dark hair and an intelligent face. “Fiske, may I introduce you to Commander Eugene P. Wilkinson, United States Navy,” said Lieutenant Oppowitz. Commander Wilkinson stuck out his hand for Fiske to take. Fiske thought he looked like he might be a literature professor, or a man who sold well-made hats, not a naval commander. “Commander Wilkinson is the boss of the submarine, so to speak. If you don’t mind my being so informal about it, sir.”
“Not at all, Lieutenant. Pleasure to meet you, Fiske King,” said the commander when Fiske took his hand. “I hope you understand what kind of privilege you have being down here, young man.”
“I do, sir,” said Fiske, his voice catching on something dry in his throat. “Yes. Nice to, um, meet you, too.”
“A lot of young men would kill for the opportunity,” said the commander. “I hope you’ll learn a lot while you’re down here. I hope you’ll be a credit to your family name.”
“I — I do, too.”
The commander seemed satisfied by this and turned back to the business of the control room. “All right, then. Ranker, the engines are ready?”
“Yes, sir,” said a sailor.
“Let’s make this a good one. I want to blow them all away. Let’s cast off.”
Ranker flipped a switch that sent a hum through the boat, and put the radio at his side to his mouth. “Underway on nuclear power.”
“We’re moving?” asked Fiske. He could barely feel it. He expected the boat to lurch, to plunge down into the depths.
“We sure are,” said the lieutenant. He pointed to the sonar screen. A sailor stood with a pad of paper before him and a pencil in hand. He watched the screen and made a note every few beeps. The bottom of the harbor beeped along, alerting the room to every lump of sand, every dip in the seafloor.
Fiske watched in fascination. It was something like a dance, with the commander calling out the steps and each of the sailors stepping around the floor with their screen, their map, their control panel.
It made him feel safe. Nothing bad could happen down here. Someone would notice the moment that anyone was out of step, and then it would be corrected immediately. There was simply no room for error.
Lieutenant Oppowitz called him out of his thoughts, his openmouthed gazing at the control room.
“Ready for something even better?” asked the lieutenant.
“Better than this?” Fiske asked. The lieutenant grinned and nodded.
“There’s nothing like it,” he said. “Especially the first time you see it. It’s my favorite thing, to take a puke up here.”
Fiske followed obligingly as they made their way back to where they had first entered the sub. Lieutenant Oppowitz climbed up the ladder, a great dark block above Fiske. And then, with a quick scramble, he was gone. And all he left behind was a pure blue circle of sky.
Fiske followed, and the first thing that hit him was the smell of the air. It was clear, cut through with salt and water. He pulled himself out and he was swallowed up by the blueness of it all.
The Nautilus was slicing through the water. The sky above was cloudless and a perfect, clear blue that Fiske thought he might reach up and touch. The wind was strong and he was a bit cold, but it seemed a small price to pay for this exhilaration.
There were no railings around the top of the submarine; there was nothing between him and the rippling water. The nose of the submarine was blunt and round, an
d it didn’t pierce the waves like the prow of a ship. Instead of a crisp slice through the water with a foaming V spreading behind the boat, the water bubbled and rolled away from the hull in great white plumes.
Fiske had to hold his arms out to keep his balance, but the other sailors went about their duties on top of the submarine as if they had grown up on the thing. They checked the antennae sprouting from the periscope tower and bundled up the rope that had held the gangplank in place, but a few of them just stood there to watch the horizon. Fiske couldn’t blame them. The wind whipped the loose fabric of his poopy suit around and pitched his well-combed hair into a bird’s nest. He felt like a bird, like any moment he would take off and leave the whole world behind. He’d swoop around in the clouds and drop in on Grace, stealing her away from whatever was breathing down her neck.
Grace. His arms dropped. How could he even think of having a good time when she was out there, risking her life for the ring? He put his hand on his chest; it was there.
“They’ll want their last bit of good sea air before we’re all stuffed down under like a bunch of stinking sardines,” said Lieutenant Oppowitz, gesturing at the sailors. “Sometimes I wish we could hover about and do some good fishing. You ever been fishing on the Mississippi, Fiske?”
“Uh, no, sir,” said Fiske.
“Best fishing there is. There’re people who will try to tell you that nothing beats the ocean, and sure, it’s nice. But there’s nothing like that slow old river with your own son at your knee and a worm on the line.” The lieutenant threw his arms out wide and waved them back and forth, stretching the muscles in his neck and back. “Won’t be able to do that again for some time, right?”
Below, the Klaxon sounded and the sailors began to pull themselves away from their duties.
“That’s the call to come on inside,” said Lieutenant Oppowitz. “We’ll be going down soon. Certainly wouldn’t want to be caught out here when that happened!”
“No, no, not at all,” Fiske said, hurriedly following the lieutenant back into the boat. Not that he really thought that the sub would go underwater with a dozen of the crew members above decks. But just in case, he wanted to be well away from any doors or hatches when it happened.
The Submarine Job Page 3