Childhood's End - Arthur C. Clarke [52]
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 time 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 hatches 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