life in the performance. She told herself that she could hardly expect it to be otherwise, with a cruise like that ahead of him.
After the show they walked down the empty streets towards the station. As they neared it she stopped at the dark entrance to an arcade, where they could talk quietly. 'Stop here a minute, Dwight,' she said. 'I want to ask you something.'
'Sure,' he said kindly. 'Go ahead.'
'You're worried over something, aren't you?'
'Not really. I'm afraid I've been bad company tonight.'
'Is it about the submarine?'
'Why no, honey. I told you, there's nothing dangerous in that. It's just another job.'
'It's not about a Pogo stick, is it?'
He stared at her in amazement in the semidarkness. 'Say, how did you get to hear about that?'
She laughed gently. 'I have my spies. What did you get for Junior?'
'A fishing rod.' There was a pause, and then he said, 'I suppose you think I'm nuts.'
She shook her head. 'I don't. Did you get a Pogo stick?'
'No. Seems like they're completely out of stock.'
'I know.' They stood in silence for a moment. 'I had a look at mine,' she said. 'You can have that if it's any good to you. But it's awfully old, and the metal parts are rusted through. It works still, but I don't think it could ever be made into a very nice present.'
He nodded. 'I noticed that. I think we'll have to let it go, honey. If I get time before we sail, I'll come up here and shop around for something else.'
She said, 'I'm quite sure it must be possible to get a Pogo stick. They must have been made somewhere here in Melbourne. In Australia, anyway. The trouble is to get one in the time.'
'Leave it,' he said. 'It was just a crazy idea I had. It's not important.'
'It is important,' she said. 'It's important to me.' She raised her head. 'I can get one for you by the time you come back,' she said. 'I'll do that, even if I have to get it made. I know that isn't quite what you want. But would that do?'
'That's mighty kind of you,' he said huskily. 'I could tell her you were bringing it along with you.'
'I could do that,' she said. 'But anyway, I'll have it with me when we meet again.'
'You might have to bring it a long way,' he said.
'Don't worry, Dwight. I'll have it with me when we meet.'
In the dark alcove he took her in his arms and kissed her. 'That's for the promise,' he said softly, 'and for everything else. Sharon wouldn't mind me doing this. It's from us both.'
6
Twenty-five days later, U.S.S. Scorpion was approaching the first objective of her cruise. It was ten days since she had submerged thirty degrees south of the equator. She had made her landfall at San Nicolas Island off Los Angeles and had given the city a wide berth, troubled about unknown minefields. She had set a course outside Santa Rosa and had closed the coast to the west of Santa Barbara; from there she had followed it northwards cruising at periscope depth about two miles offshore. She had ventured cautiously into Monterey Bay and had inspected the fishing port, seeing no sign of life on shore and learning very little. Radioactivity was uniformly high, so that they judged it prudent to keep the hull submerged.
They inspected San Francisco from five miles outside the Golden Gate. All they learned was that the bridge was down. The supporting tower at the south end seemed to have been overthrown. The houses visible from the sea around Golden Gate Park had suffered much from fire and blast; it did not look as if any of them were habitable. They saw no evidence of any human life, and the radiation level made it seem improbable that life could still exist in that vicinity.
They stayed there for some hours, taking photographs through the periscope and making such a survey as was possible. They went back southwards as far as Half Moon Bay and closed the coast to within half a mile, surfacing for a time and calling through the loud hailer. The houses here did not appear to be much damaged, but there was no sign of any life on shore. They stayed in the vicinity till dusk, and then set course towards the north, rounding Point Reyes and going on three or four miles offshore, following the coast.
Since crossing the equator it had been their habit to surface once in every watch to get the maximum antenna height, and to listen for the radio transmission from Seattle. They had heard it once, in latitude five north; it had gone on for about forty minutes, a random, meaningless transmission, and then had stopped. They had not heard it since. That night, somewhere off Fort Bragg, they surfaced in a stiff northwesterly wind and a rising sea, and directly they switched on the direction finder they heard it again. This time they were able to pinpoint it fairly accurately.
Dwight bent over the navigation table with Lieutenant Sunderstrom as he plotted the bearing. 'Santa Maria,' he said. 'Looks like you were right.'
They stood listening to the meaningless jumble coming out of the speaker. 'It's fortuitous,' the lieutenant said at last. 'That's not someone keying, even somebody that doesn't know about radio. That's something that's just happening.'
'Sounds like it.' He stood listening. 'There's power there,' he said. 'Where there's power there's people.'
'It's not absolutely necessary,' the lieutenant said.
'Hydroelectric,' Dwight said. 'I know it. But hell, those turbines won't run two years without maintenance.'
'You wouldn't think so. Some of them are mighty good machinery.'
Dwight grunted, and turned back to the charts. 'I’ll aim to be off Cape Flattery at dawn. We'll go on as we're going now and get a fix around midday, and adjust speed then. If it looks all right from there, I'll take her in, periscope depth, so we can blow tanks if we hit anything that shouldn't be there. Maybe we'll be able to go right up to Santa Maria. Maybe we won't. You ready to go on shore if we do?'
'Sure,' said the lieutenant. 'I'd kind of like to get out of the ship for a while.
Dwight smiled. They had been submerged now for eleven days, and though health was still good they were all suffering from nervous tension. 'Let's keep our fingers crossed,' he said, 'and hope we can make it.'
'You know something?' said the lieutenant. 'If we can't get through the strait, maybe I could make it overland.' He pulled out a chart. 'If we got in to Grays Harbor I could get on shore at Hoquiam or Aberdeen. This road runs right through to Bremerton and Santa Maria.'
'It's a hundred miles.'
'I could probably pick up a car, and gas.'
The captain shook his head. Two hundred miles in a light radiation suit, driving a hot car with hot gas over hot country was not practical. 'You've only got a two hours' air supply,' he said. 'I know you could take extra cylinders. But it's not practical. We'd lose you, one way or another. It's not that important, anyway.'
They submerged again, and carried on upon the course. When they surfaced four hours later the transmission had stopped.
They carried on towards the north all the next day, most of the time at periscope depth. The morale of his crew was now becoming important to the captain. The close confinement was telling on them; no broadcast entertainment had been available for a long time, and the recordings they could play over the speakers had long grown stale. To stimulate their minds and give them something to talk about he gave free access to the periscope to anyone who cared to use it, though there was little to look at. This rocky and somewhat uninteresting coast was their home country and the sight of a cafe with a Buick parked outside it was enough to set them talking and revive starved minds.
At midnight they surfaced according to their routine, off the mouth of the Columbia River. Lieutenant Benson was coming to relieve Lieutenant Commander Farrell. The lieutenant commander raised the periscope from the well and put his face to it, swinging it around. Then he turned quickly to the other officer. 'Say, go and call the captain.
