Ramsey caught the rail in front of his board. "What the --"

"The tow," said Bonnett. "Current's playing with it."

"I felt it nudge us when we sat down," said Ramsey.

"But the bumpers --"

They lurched another degree to the left.

"Just pray it doesn't drag us off this mountain," said Bonnett. "We couldn't take the extra 500 feet."

"How do you know?" asked Ramsey. He studied the search board.

"I feel the mountain under my feet all foggy."

Ramsey looked up. "What'd you say?"

"I feel all foggy in the head," said Bonnett. He leaned against the grab-rail. "Fall off the mountain. Hate the fog." He forced himself upright. "Not thinking straight. Take over, Mr. Ramsey. I'm . . . I'm --" He sat down on the deck, one hand above him still clinging to the rail.

An abrupt correlation interlocked in Ramsey's mind. He glanced one more time over his search board, turned away, forced himself to walk calmly across to Bonnett. He bent over the first officer, checked Bonnett's vampire gauge. CO2 diffusion .228. Above normal by .016. He dropped Bonnett's wrist, stood up and made a minute micro-meter-gauge reduction in anhydrase generation.

"What's wrong with Les?" Sparrow stood in the aft door, gaze sweeping over the control deck. He stepped through the door as Ramsey turned.

"Take it slow," said Ramsey.

"Wha --" Sparrow hesitated in mid-stride.

Ramsey bent over Bonnett, again checked his vampire gauge, compared it with the one on his own wrist. No change. Too soon. He said, "I've just formed the Ramsey Theory on why some chimpanzees died and some didn't."

Sparrow again moved forward, bent over Bonnett. "What chimpanzees?"

"The chimps Med. I put under 400 pounds with peak anhydrase. My advice is for you not to overexert, get excited, nervous, or --"

"I know about the chimps," said Sparrow. "Do you think --" He hesitated.

"Some kind of glandular upset," said Ramsey. "What's more likely than an emotional trigger, maybe coupled to physical activity?"

Sparrow nodded.

Ramsey noted the vampire-gauge needles sinking toward normal. He began massaging Bonnett's left arm. "You're okay, Les. Just relax and take it easy. The crisis is over. Take it easy . . . take it easy . . . take it easy . . ."

Bonnett's head rocked groggily.

"We have to avoid excitement," said Ramsey. "Our bodies are walking a tight wire down here. An uneasy balance."

Sparrow stood up, went to the search board. "I gave Joe a sedative. He was crying, raving. Maybe I --" He fell silent.

Bonnett opened his eyes.

"Remain calm," said Ramsey. "Do you hear me, Les?"

The first officer nodded.

"There's no danger if you relax.

"You can't force a man to relax," said Sparrow.

Ramsey reached around Bonnett's head, found the nerve line on the back of his neck, massaged it. "You're feeling better already."

Bonnett wet his lips with his tongue. "'M okay. Get back to your board."

"Breathe slow and easy," said Ramsey. He stood up.

Bonnett swallowed, spoke as though past a thickened tongue. "It was like quicksand. Feelin' better now."

Ramsey turned toward Sparrow. "He'll be okay now."

Sparrow glanced down at Bonnett. "Stay where you are Les, until you feel like getting up." He turned to Ramsey. "I've been on the eyes. The current has pulled our tow to a forty-five-degree angle across our stern. If we slack off the top towline we'll right but that might free the tow for a further shift."

"Best leave well enough alone," said Ramsey.

"How near the edge of this seamount are we? The eyes don't show it."

"Maybe seventy-five yards. For the tow, that is. We were angling away from the edge when we sat down."

Sparrow looked at the ranging computers. "Intermittent signal near extreme range."

"That cold layer is waving over us like a fan," said Ramsey.

Sparrow backed away from the board, looked around him, brought his attention back to Ramsey. There was something in the way he looked at Ramsey of the same attention he gave to his boat's instruments. "What's this 'Long John' business? Joe doesn't make sense."

Ramsey repeated what he had told Bonnett. "Did the Ram benefit from this acquisition propensity of yours?"

"Not this trip, Skipper."

Sparrow glanced upward to the row of reactor-room telltales. "Maybe next trip."

Bonnett spoke from his position on the deck. "We're gonna have a next trip, too. If we don't crack up like poor Hepp."

"We won't," said Sparrow.

Bonnett heaved himself to his feet. "I'm glad we have God's word on that."

Sparrow gave him a searching stare, said, "I'm reassuming command, Les. The circumstances warrant it. I'm in no immediate danger from that radiation overage."

"Of course, Skipper." There seemed a sigh of relief in Bonnett's voice.

Sparrow said, "I'm going back now and have another look at Joe. I'm leaving Johnny on the search board. All clear?"

"All clear, Skipper."

Sparrow turned his angular form slowly, went out the aft door.

"He's an automaton," said Ramsey, addressing the empty air where Sparrow had stood.

"He's under more pressure than the submarine," said Bonnett. He took a deep breath. "Let's you pay attention to that board."

Ramsey frowned, returned his attention to his gauges and dials.

Silence hung between them.

Presently, Bonnett said, "Thanks, Johnny. Maybe you saved my life."

Ramsey shrugged, remained silent.

"I heard what you told the skipper. It feels right. Come to think of it, maybe you saved all of our lives."

"Be damned lonesome down here all alone," said Ramsey.

"You'd probably prefer three well-stacked blondes," said Bonnett. "Come to think of it, that'd get my vote, too."

"Another signal at outer range," said Ramsey, "Six subs in net-search spacing. They'll pass out of range in the south-east quadrant."

"They just ain't looking where nobody could possibly be," said Bonnett. "Can't say that I blame them. I still don't believe I'm here." He glanced up at the static pressure gauge, looked quickly away.

"No need for two of us here," said Ramsey.

"Nothing except the skipper's double-team orders."

"Stupid orders," said Ramsey.

"Take it easy, lad," said Bonnett "You can't fight the Navy chain of command and you can't fight God." He shrugged. "And when the two are on the same team --"

"What makes you believe that nonsense?" asked Ramsey.

Bonnett froze. "I make jokes, boy. That's one thing. What you just said is another thing." He shook his head. "I've been forty missions with the Savvy Sparrow guy. Don't talk to me about nonsense. I know what I've seen."

And you know what you want to believe, thought Ramsey.

Somewhere a faint dripping caught his attention: condensation on the pipes. The Ram suddenly assumed a cold empty feeling around him. We're not going to make it, he thought. A thousand alert enemy subs ranging across our track. It was crazy to send us out. A desperation move.

The lights of his thermocouple monitor winked blindly on the instrument board.

God's cold cloak waving over us! Maybe that's the best thing to believe. Knowledge is the course of our lives. We eat the apple and we learn just enough to make us afraid.

The Ram shuddered briefly as the current tugged at her tow. The deck tilted back toward level.

"If we raise a big mud patch on the surface -- stirring up the bottom like a mud pie -- they'll spot it," said Bonnett. "They'll have a sky full of buzzards this close to their own shores."

"How'll they see it in the fog?" asked Ramsey. He felt a sudden lightening of his spirits.

"Fog topside? How can you tell?"

"Skipper arranged it with God," said Ramsey.

"You think you're joking," said Bonnett. He looked at Ramsey. "You do, don't you?"

Ramsey reset the ranging computer in front of him. "A man has to live with his boat -- be a part of it," he said, speaking lightly. He felt the sudden undertow pull of thought below the words. It was like stepping outside his body and watching it function. "This boat believes in God," he said.

***

The counter hands of the timelog swept around . . . around . . . around . . . The watches changed as the Ram snuggled into the mud of the seamount.

Eleven days, thirty-two minutes from point of departure.

Sparrow stood at the control board with Ramsey, sharing the last half of the electronics officer's watch. The sense of excess pressure outside their hull had become a thing accepted.

"How long since you've heard one of their packs?" asked Sparrow.

"Over six hours."

"How's the tow?"

Ramsey checked the line telltales, switched on the stern eyes one by one. "Laying to starboard about thirty degrees. Towlines clear."

Sparrow tested the drive controls, switched on the motors. A humming sense of expectancy came over the subtug. Ramsey felt it tingle through his body, starting in his feet against the deck.

"Let's go get that oil," said Sparrow. He threw in the drive switch, threw it off. "Just to stir up the mud around us. Drop four waist torpedoes, Johnny. We'll need buoyancy."

"What about the tow? It's not carrying enough pressure to blow at this depth."

"We're going to jerk it off the bottom. Pay out line until we get a good run on."

Ramsey pushed down the flat black toggles which dropped the torpedoes from the waist belt.

The Ram hobbled upward. Sparrow again threw power into the drive. The subtug slanted upward, tow-line reeling out behind them.

"Snub it," said Sparrow.

Ramsey locked the magnetic brakes on the outside reel drums. The tug came almost to a full stop, motors straining. Slowly they struggled ahead.

"Line stretching," said Ramsey. "That's slug's in solid."

Sparrow shook his head. "How much more line?"

"Eight hundred feet more or less."

"Give us some more."

The Ram again angled upward. Sparrow circled left, came back to the right in a snake track, barely moving.

"Operational depth," said Ramsey. "Outside pressure 2994 pounds."

"Snub towlines and blow number-one tank," said Sparrow.

Again Ramsey stopped the outside reels. His right hand went out to the red handle marked "high pressure air." He set it over number one, flicked on the safety toggle, started bleeding air into the number-one tank.

"Give it everything," said Sparrow.

Ramsey turned the valve two revolutions.

Sparrow put full power into the drive. The Ram's bow tipped up to almost ten degrees. By niches, they climbed, twisting soggily.

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