Tom Swift and His Diving Seacopter (11 page)

Moment by moment, breathing was becoming more difficult. Evidently oxygen was leaving the cabin at an alarming rate. "Listen up!" Tom cried. He was panting now. "We’d better get to the B compartment while there’s still time!" He prayed that Compartment B, and his best friend in it, were safe and seaworthy.

There was no time to get a flashlight. Sloshing through the almost knee-deep water, groping in the darkness, Tom located the watertight door in the rear bulkhead. Gasping for breath, he and Chow unlatched the clamps and with a burst of strength swung the door in against the pressure of the water.

Fortunately, the passageway was still dry. Ducking low, Tom stepped in. The others followed, guided by touch and Tom’s voice. They could hear the water sloshing in behind them over the raised threshold and quickly yanked the door shut.

"The water will keep it from opening," Tom murmured as he led the way to B’s hatch. Reaching it, he struggled with the latch, then banged with all his strength on the heavy door. There was no response! Tom’s heart sank. Had Bud drowned?
We’ll all be joining you soon, pal!
proclaimed his thoughts, bitterly.

Tom and Chow pounded together. Suddenly they felt the door give, unlatched from within, and a moment later it swung inward. The cabin was in darkness but there was air!

"Bud!" cried Chow, as he closed and barred the hatch behind George and Ham, then caught Bud in a bear hug. "We sure were worried. You okay?"

"Guess so, pard. But what’s going on?"

There was short discussion of the voyagers predicament, then Ham said, "If only we had some light we might figure something out. What do you suppose happened to the power, Tom? With two atomic piles, you surely can’t be out of juice!"

"Yes and no to that. The jolts must have damaged one of the power-feed junctions. Unfortunately, when that happens both reactors go into an automatic shutdown mode that can’t be overridden from the control board. It’s—"

"Let me guess. A safety feature!" Bud chuckled with grim irony. "From all this safety, we could die!"

"I believe I can get the emergency power system working," Tom said. "It runs off one of my solar batteries. I’ll just need to bypass the broken junction. Bud, pull out a flashlamp—there’s one under every seat." Bud held the lamp steady while Tom worked determinedly at his task.

In a few minutes the job was completed. As the air circulation fans hummed to life again, the cabin lights flickered on, then glowed into steady brightness.

"Fantastic, Tom!" said George.

"Keep your fingers crossed. We’re still in a tough fix!" cautioned the young inventor,

"How bad is it?"

"I’m not sure yet. Tell you better after I’ve looked things over."

Glancing outside, he concluded that except for certain portions of the view windows, Compartment B was virtually buried under a load of rock-riddled sediment. Tom now flicked on a light switch, and taking a wrench with him, went back into the one of the two passageways between the compartments that was still completely dry. From the inner wall, he took off the cover of an inspection plate and peered through a circular window. A look at the rotor blades caused Tom to give a whistle of dismay.

"Pretty bad?" asked Bud, who had crowded behind him into the passage.

"Worse than bad. It’s hopeless! The blades are bent and the whole unit knocked out of alignment. Not a chance in the world of fixing it down here."

In silence, the boys returned to B. Chow, Ham, and George waited tensely for a report. Tom mulled over the situation a few moments, then voiced his conclusions. "It’s like this, fellows. Compartment A is flooded and damaged beyond repair. The rotor unit’s wrecked. That means this cabin is our only hope. There’s a mechanism for detaching it from the rest of the seacopter, but as things stand, that won’t do much good. We’re pinned down with rocks and gravel. As far as I can see, we have just one chance of escape.’’

"What’s that?" asked George.

"We can extend the caterpillar treads and try backing off this ledge. There’s just enough battery power to run them for a few minutes. If we get free, we’ll drop deeper into the ocean, of course, because of the rocks and that water-filled compartment. But while we’re falling the remaining rocks should roll off us and I’ll have a chance to release this cabin. However, there’s one danger." Tom paused.

"Name it," said Bud.

"If the releasing mechanism has also been damaged, we’ll plummet clear down to Davy Jones’s locker and be trapped for good!"

Chow gulped and the faces of the others paled in fright. But it was the loyal Texan who spoke up. "If we all stay here, we’re trapped
sure an’ definite
, ain’t we?" he asked.

Tom nodded. "I don’t see any other way out. We’re not carrying diving gear for this depth, and there’s not likely to be any other submersibles in range of the sonophone." His keen blue eyes met his friends’ glances with unwavering frankness.

"Then I reckon we may as well go ahead an’ try it," said the old cook firmly. "I’m with you!"

One by one the others nodded their agreement.

"Thanks," said Tom.

Stepping over to the control panel, he pulled a lever to extend the tractor gear, then pressed a button to start the treads in reverse motion.

"Here goes!" he muttered.

Slowly the
Ocean Arrow
strained to back off the ledge, laboring under its weighty burden. Could she do this, Tom wondered, with the weight of the boulders, rocks, and sediment resting on her roof? For several moments there was no apparent motion, only a slight vibration and a distant rumbling sound. Then at last the caterpillar treads began to grind through the muck.

"We’re moving!" cried Bud.

"Inch by inch," observed Tom cautiously.

After that, no one spoke as they waited anxiously for signs of a breakdown. Would the
Ocean Arrow
be able to pull free? Finally, there came a hard jolt.

"We’re over the edge!" exclaimed George.

"Just a third of the ship," Bud said. "We’ll have to go farther than this to break loose."

Tom swiveled the searchlight around, trying to ascertain their exact position on the ledge. "We should know soon," he muttered. "Another few feet may do it!"

Like a struggling animal, the seacopter clawed its way backward. Another lurch freed the rotor section from the rocks. For a moment the ship hung teetering on the very brink of the undersea precipice. Then the edge of the ledge crumbled away and, with a sickening lunge, the
Arrow
dropped off into the abyss.

As the craft upended, Tom and the others went crashing against the bulkhead. All lay stunned for a moment as the
Ocean Arrow
plunged downward into the blackness, turning slowly like a corkscrew.

Chow stirred. "Tom, what’s happenin’?" he muttered groggily.

"We’re headed for the bottom!" Tom gritted. Scrambling to his feet, he suddenly realized that the lever for the releasing mechanism, next to B’s control panel, was now high above his head in the upended compartment!

Bud sized up the situation in a glance and leaned flat against the now-vertical deck. "On my shoulders, skipper!" The maneuver worked. Tom grabbed the compartment release lever and gave it a yank.

Nothing happened!

Bud stared up at his pal with a look of horror. "It-it isn’t working?" he faltered.

Tom shook his head, grim-faced. "Not yet. The releasing mechanism is either broken or jammed."

"Any chance it may jar loose?"

"I don’t know," Tom admitted.

Hope wavered and began to fade as the mariners stared at the curtain of blackness outside the window. Now and then the hull scraped against the sides of the chasm, jolting them violently. They were not falling too fast due to the seacopter’s buoyancy—but more than fast enough to be deadly.

A wave of despair swept over the young inventor. Would the diving seacopter become their tomb, destined to lie forever on the ocean floor among the other wrecked ships and the broken ruins of a long-lost civilization? With considerable effort, Tom struggled to keep his face from showing what he felt.

Suddenly Ham gave a cry of alarm. "Listen! Good grief, we’re coming apart!"

The cabin echoed with a bizarre creaking, splitting noise. The mariners stiffened with apprehension.

"We’re not coming apart!" cried Bud.
"We’re breaking loose!"

Then came another sound—a sharp crack! The compartment lurched upward as the passengers grabbed at seats and cabinets to steady themselves. For a second their bodies felt the increased weight that comes with sudden acceleration.

"We’re rising!" George gasped. "We’ll all be saved!"

As the deck became level again, the relieved passengers stared out the viewpane. Moments crept by as the inky darkness did not lessen. But little by little—so gradually they could hardly notice the change—the black waters lightened into grayness. Then the gray began to assume tinges of green. In the glow from the cabin the color ripened into a rich, if somber, blue-green.

With a sudden springlike release, Compartment B broke through the waves. Dazzling moonlight poured in through the quartz windows.

"We’re safe!" cheered Bud.

"I’m for going topside to get some fresh air!" George urged.

With Bud in the lead, they scrambled up the short ladder, flung open Compartment B’s hatch, and crawled out. The waves sparkled under a full moon, and a brisk sea breeze was blowing across the water. Hungrily they breathed in great gusts of the salty air.

"Oh, man, ain’t this wonderful!" murmured Chow. "First time I could say that sea air smells better than ranch air!" He hauled out a big red bandanna handkerchief and mopped his brow.

The glittering light of moon and stars revealed open sea that stretched away in all directions to bare horizons. There was no trace of land or another ship.

"Where are we exactly?" asked Ham Teller. "The currents must have pushed us quite a distance during that long ascent."

"That’s easy—the Atlantic Ocean! We’re somewhere between the Azores and the Madeiras, and that’s about the best I can do," Tom admitted. Then he added suddenly, "Say, did someone turn off the aqualamp searchlight?"

His companions all shook their heads.

"It’s off now," replied Tom in a worried tone of voice. "The emitter filament should have a slight glow." Abruptly he turned and yanked open the hatch, followed by the others. For the first time they became aware of a strange silence.

"Hey, the fans have stopped!" exclaimed Bud. "Not to mention the lights."

Working quickly with deft hands, Tom opened a floor plate that uncovered the bay for the emergency power system in the bottom of the hull. The flashlight revealed that the shallow compartment was flooded!

Using a hand-driven mechanical pump, they managed to bail out most of the water. Tom checked and tinkered for several minutes. Then he finally raised his head, a grave expression on his face.

"The solar battery’s dead," he announced. "That means we have no power to run the ship—and no radio to summon help!"

The explorers stared at each other hopelessly as Tom’s words sank home. Stranded in mid-ocean with no way to signal for help, their plight was desperate.

"Guess we can fergit about that there rocket ship," muttered Chow.

"It’s our fault," said Ham Teller bitterly. "If we hadn’t talked so much about Atlantis, we wouldn’t have—"

Tom cut him off. "Don’t. I’m responsible. The seacopter is my design."

Bud was the first to shake off the mood. "Just a bunch of shipwrecked mariners, that’s what we are. Well, Robinson Crusoe Swift, where do we go from here?"

"At least," remarked George, "this is better than a permanent home at the bottom of the ocean." He clapped Tom on the back gratefully.

"Let’s face it," said Ham. "We’re still in a pretty serious fix. What are our chances of reaching land, Tom?"

The young inventor shrugged. "Depends on which way we’re drifting. Let’s take another look topside."

Once again they trooped up the ladder and climbed out on the hull. Tom crumpled a sheet of paper he pulled from his pocket and threw it into the water. They watched for several minutes as it drifted slowly away.

"There seems to be a northwesterly current," Tom remarked. "I’m afraid that’s more tough luck. If we drift in that direction, we have no chance of striking land for a long
long
time. Our only hope is to be picked up by a ship or plane."

A grim silence followed this announcement. Finally George Braun tried to change the subject by asking, "How’s the food situation? I could eat right now."

Chow shook his head mournfully. "Sorry, amigo, but you’re sure out o’ luck. I used up our supplies—figgered we’d be headin’ back to the island afore the next meal."

Bud gave a loud groan and winked at Tom. "This is fine for you, Chow. You’ve been needing to reduce for years. But why didn’t you save some food for the rest of us?"

Chow scratched his head. "I’ll have to figure out somethin’, I reckon."

As he fell silent, Tom remarked, "We’d better keep a pair of lookouts topside at all times. If we’re all down in the cabin, we might miss sighting a plane or ship."

He and Bud offered to stand the first watch. Chow and George took the second, then Ham alone. "Don’t worry," he said. "I’m used to keeping awake. But the rest of you sea buzzards look like you could use some sleep."

Morning dawned bright and hot. Tom and Bud, on watch, were soon dripping with perspiration as the rays of the tropical sun beat down pitilessly from an azure-blue sky.

"Man, it’s getting too hot for me!" grumbled Bud as he shifted about uncomfortably. The metal surface of the hull had become blistering hot to the touch.

"Wait a second!" said Tom. Scrambling down the hatch, he reappeared a moment later with a folded tarpaulin which he spread out for them to sit on. "Ah, that’s better!" said Bud gratefully. "Thank goodness you built this thing with a flat top!"

The greenish waters around them seemed alive with finny creatures. From time to time flying fish would arc through the air. Once a school of dolphins came splashing and diving alongside the half-seacopter.