own world. The shriek cut across the vibrating background like a flash of lightning against a dark storm cloud. It faded swiftly away Into a banshee wail, an ululation that dwindled and died, yet was repeated a moment later from a more distant source. Then a chorus of screams broke out, a pandemonium that caused the pilot to reach swiftly for the volume control.
'What in the name of God was that?” gasped Jan.
“Weird, isn't it? It's a school of whales, about ten kilometres away. I knew they were in the neighbourhood and thought you'd like to hear them.” Jan shuddered.
“And I always thought the sea was silent! Why do they make such a din?”
“Talking to one another, I suppose. Sullivan could tell you—they say he can even identify some individual whales, though I find that hard to believe. Hello, we've got company!”
A fish with incredibly exaggerated jaws was visible in the viewing screen. It appeared to be quite large, but as Jan did now know the scale of the picture it was bard to judge. Hanging from a point just below its gills was a long tendril, ending In an unidentifiable, bell-shaped organ.
“We're seeing it on infrared,” said the pilot. “Let's look at the normal picture.”
The fish vanished completely. Only the pendant remained, glowing with its own phosphorescence. Then, just for an instant, the shape of the creature flickered into visibility as a line of lights flashed out along its body.
“It's an angler: that's the bait it uses to lure other fish. Fantastic, Isn't it? What I don't understand is—why doesn't his bait attract fish big enough to eat him? But we can't wait here all day. Watch him run when I switch on the jets.”
The cabin vibrated once again as the vessel eased itself forward. The great luminous fish suddenly flashed on all its lights in a frantic signal of alarm, and departed like a meteor Into the darkness of the abyss.
It was after another twenty minutes of slow descent that the Invisible fingers of the scanner beams caught the first glimpse of the ocean bed. Far beneath, a range of low hills was passing, their outlines curiously soft and rounded. Whatever irregularities they might once have possessed had long ago been obliterated by the ceaseless rain from the watery heights above. Even here in mid-Pacific, far from the great estuaries that slowly swept the continents out to sea, that rain never ceased. It came from the storm-scarred flanks of the Andes, from the bodies of a billion living creatures, from the dust of meteors that had wandered through space for ages and had come at last to rest. Here in the eternal night, it was laying the foundations of the lands to be.
The hills drifted behind. They were the frontier posts, as Jan could see from the charts, of a wide plain which lay at too great a depth for the scanners to reach.
The submarine continued on its gentle downward glide. Now another picture was beginning to form on the screen: because of the angle of view, it was some tune before Jan could interpret what he saw. Then he realized that they were approaching a submerged mountain, jutting up from the hidden plain.
The picture was clearer now: at this short range the definition of the scanners improved and the view was almost as distinct as if the image was being formed by light-waves. Jan could see fine detail, could watch the strange fish that pursued each other among the rocks. Once a venomous-looking creature with gaping jaws swam slowly across a half-concealed cleft. So swiftly that the eye could not follow the movement, a long tentacle flashed out and dragged the struggling fish down to its doom.
“Nearly there,” said the pilot. “You'll be able to see the lab in a minute.”
They were travelling slowly above a spur of rock jutting out from the base of the mountain. The plain beneath was now coming into view: Jan guessed that they were not more than a few hundred metres above the sea-bed. Then he saw, a kilometre or so ahead, a cluster of spheres standing on tripod legs, and joined together by connecting tubes. It looked exactly like the tanks of some chemical plant, and indeed was designed on the same basic principles. The only difference was that here the pressures which had to be resisted were outside, not within.
“What's that?” gasped Jan suddenly. He pointed a shaky finger towards the nearest sphere. The curious pattern of lines on its surface had resolved itself into a network of giant tentacles. As the submarine came closer, he could see that they ended in a great, pulpy bag, from which peered a pair of enormous eyes.
“That,” said the pilot indifferently, “is probably Lucifer. Someone's been feeding him again.” He threw a switch and leaned over the control desk.
“S.2 calling Lab. I'm connecting up. Will you shoo away your pet?” The reply came promptly.
“Lab to S.2. O.K. — go ahead and make contact. Lucey will get out of the way.”
The curving metal walls began to fill the screen. Jan caught a last glimpse of a giant, sucker-studded arm whipping away at their approach. Then there was a dull clang, and a series of scratching noises as the clamps sought for their locking points on the submarine's smooth, oval hull. In a few minutes the vessel was pressed tightly against the wall of the base, the two entrance ports had locked together, and were moving forward through the hull of the submarine at the end of a giant hollow screw. Then came the “pressure equalized” signal, the batches unsealed, and the way into Deep Sea Lab One was open.
Jan found Professor Sullivan in a small, untidy room that seemed to combine the attributes of office, workshop and laboratory. He was peeping through a microscope into what looked like a small bomb. Presumably it was a pressure-capsule containing some specimen of deep-sea life, still swimming happily around under its normal tons-to-the-square-centimetre conditions. 'Well,” said Sullivan, dragging himself away from the eyepiece. “How's Rupert? And what can we do for you?”
“Rupert's fine,” replied Jan. “He sends his best wishes, and says he'd love to visit you if it weren't for his claustrophobia.”
“Then he'd certainly feel a little unhappy down here, with five kilometres of water on top of him. Doesn't it worry you, by the way?” Jan shrugged his shoulders.
“No more than being in a stratoliner. If anything went wrong, the result would be the same in either case.”
“That's the sensible approach, but it's surprising how few people see it that way.” Sullivan toyed with the controls of his microscope, then shot Jan an inquisitive glance.
“I'll be very glad to show you around,” he said, “but I must confess I was a little surprised when Rupert passed on your request. I couldn't understand why one of you spacehounds should be interested in our work. Aren't you going in the wrong direction?” He gave a chuckle of amusement. “Personally, I've never seen why you were in such a hurry to get out there. It will be centuries before we've got everything in the oceans nicely charted and pigeonholed.”
Jan took a deep breath. He was glad that Sullivan had broached the subject himself; for it made his task that much easier. Despite the ichthyologist's jest, they had a great deal in common. It should not be too hard to build a bridge, to enlist Sullivan's sympathy and aid. He was a man of imagination, or he would never have invaded this underwater world. But Jan would have to be cautious, for the request he was going to make was, to say the least of it, somewhat unconventional.
There was one fact that gave him confidence. Even if Sullivan refused to co-operate, he would certainly keep Jan's secret. And here in this quiet little office on the bed of the Pacific, there seemed no danger that the Overlords—whatever strange powers they possessed—would be able to listen to their conversation.
“Professor Sullivan,” he began, “if you were interested in the ocean, but the Overlords refused to let you go near it, how would you feel?”
“Exceedingly annoyed, no doubt.”
“I'm sure you would. And suppose, one day, you had a chance of achieving your goal, without them knowing, what would you do? Would you take the opportunity?”
Sullivan never hesitated.
“Of course. And argue later.” Right into my hands thought Jan. He can't retreat now—unless he's afraid of the Overlords. And I doubt if Sullivan is afraid of anything. He leaned forward across the cluttered table and prepared to present his case.
Professor Sullivan was no fool. Before Jan could speak, his lips twisted into a sardonic smile.
“So that's the game, is it?” he said slowly. “Very, very Interesting! Now you go right ahead and tell me why I should help you.”
