In unison, Sparrow and Bonnett began to recite: "Be quiet . . . be quiet . . . be quiet . . . be quiet . . . be quiet . . . be quiet . . ."
fainter
fainter
fainter
Garcia's voice was a faint echo, slightly off beat.
deep enfolding darkness
an amniotic darkness
Ramsey felt movement, a humming: the motors. Bonnett's voice: "I think he's coming around."
Sparrow: "Can you hear me, Johnny?"
He didn't want to answer. That would take energy. It would give substance to the world. His years of psychological training abruptly said to him: You are in a tight foetal position.
Sparrow: "Let's try to straighten him out. That may help."
Bonnett: "Break it to him gently, Skipper."
Hands touched his legs, his arms, pulling him from the curled ball. He wanted to resist, but his muscles felt like weak putty.
Break what gently?
Sparrow's voice was imperative: "Johnny!"
Ramsey wet his dry lips with a reluctant tongue. Break what gently? His voice came out faintly: "Yeah."
"Open your eyes, Johnny."
He obeyed, looked straight up into a crosshatch of pipes and conduits. Control room. He sensed Sparrow beside him, turned. The skipper looked down at him, a worried frown tensing the long face. Beyond him, Bonnett stood at the controls, back to them.
"Wha's -- wha's --" He tried to clear his throat.
Sparrow said, "We brought you in here where we could keep an eye on you. We're almost at Charleston."
Ramsey sensed the life pulse of subtug around him, sank into it momentarily. Break what gently? He said, "What happened?"
"You reacted to something," said Sparrow. "Maybe the decalcification shot. It may have had something to do with our over-pressure dives, increased anhydrase. How do you feel?"
"Lousy. How's Joe?"
Sparrow seemed to retreat within himself. He took a deep breath. "Joe ran out of red cells. Nothing we could do."
And there went your miracle, thought Ramsey. He said, "I'm sorry, Skipper."
Sparrow passed a hand over his eyes. "Perhaps it was for the best." He shrugged. "He was too --"
"I have something on the ranging scope," said Bonnett. He keyed the IFF circuits, tested them. "It's a Monitor. One of ours. Coming fast."
Sparrow whirled, went to the communications board, tested the relays from the shack. "Are we close enough for voice?"
Bonnett studied his instruments. "Yes."
Sparrow turned a rheostat, closed the microphone key. "This is Able John. Repeat. This is Able John. We have a full slug. One crewman down with radiation sickness. Request clearance for Charleston. Over."
A voice came from the wall speaker with the eerie wavering of pulse modulation. "Hello, Able John. You're a bit hot. Stand by for snooping. Over."
Bonnett depressed the drive bar and their speed slackened.
From his position on the cot, Ramsey could see the ranging scope, blip lines growing deeper and deeper as the Monitor approached.
Again the eerie voice wavered from the speaker. "Monitor to Able John. You'll pass, Able John. Proceed at entrance depth. We will flank you. Over."
Bonnett pulled up the drive bar. The Ram surged ahead.
"Give us the bow eyes," said Sparrow.
The big screen above the search board came to life. Green water and occasional help.
Sparrow turned toward Ramsey. "We'll have you in good hands soon, Johnny. Before you know it."
Ramsey felt a strange dragging at his senses. He tried to imagine the Charleston tunnel entrance -- a black hole in the wall of an underwater canyon. His mind sheered away. Why was that? he asked himself. Then: Break what gently? Part of him seemed to be standing off, making clinical notes. You don't want to go back. Why? A bit ago you were in a rolled-up ball. Remember? Very interesting.
He sensed an answer, said, "Skipper."
"Yes, Johnny?"
"I went catatonic, didn't I? Catatonic shock?"
Sparrow's voice became brisk. "Just shock."
The tone told Ramsey what he wanted to know. The clinical part of his mind said, Catatonic. Well, well. He was suddenly very aware of the cot beneath him, pressure of his own weight against his back. In the same instant, pieces of his puzzle started clicking into place. He took a deep breath.
"Just take it easy," said Sparrow.
Bonnett glanced back, a look of wariness about his eyes.
"I'm all right," said Ramsey. And he was surprised at the full extent of truth in that statement. Strength was pouring into him. "I went into a full retreat," he said. "But now I know why."
Sparrow stepped to the side of the cot, put the back of his hand against Ramsey's forehead. "You should try to relax."
Ramsey repressed an urge to laugh. "Joe told me, Skipper, but I didn't believe him."
Sparrow's reply was little more than a whisper: "What did Joe tell you?"
"That you've had this situation pegged and under control all along." He nodded. "That marine tunnel's a birth canal. Going through it is like being born. This sub is a perambulating womb looking for a place to spew us out."
Sparrow said, "Maybe you hadn't better talk now."
"I want to talk. We're born into another set of realities. There's one kind of insanity down here; another up there. Just look at the old Ram here. An enveloped world with its own special ecology. Damp atmosphere, ever present menace from the outside, a constant rhythm in motion --"
"Like a heartbeat," said Sparrow quietly. Ramsey smiled. "We're afloat in amniotic fluid."
"How's that?"
"Salt water. It's chemically almost identical with the fluid surrounding an unborn baby. The unconscious knows. And here we are headed for birth."
"You make a more detailed comparison than I ever have," said Sparrow. "What's our umbilical cord?"
"Experience. The kind of experience that ties you to your boat, makes you a part of it. Petite perception. You're the perfect symbiote. We become siblings, brothers, with all the emotional ties and rivalry that --"
"First checkpoint," said Bonnett flatly. "Now on heading for the Charleston mole. Do you want to take over, Skipper?"
"Take her in, Les," said Sparrow. "You've earned the right."
Bonnett reached up, adjusted the range-response dial. His shoulders seemed to take on a new, more positive set. Ramsey realized abruptly that Bonnett had come of age on this voyage, that he was ready to cut his own cord. The thought gave Ramsey a tug of possessive fondness for Bonnett, an emotion touched by nostalgia at the thought of separation.
Truly like brothers, he thought.
Sparrow looked down at Ramsey. "Why don't you transfer out of BuPsych and into the subtugs?" asked Sparrow.
"Yeah," echoed Bonnett. "We need good men."
Sadness tightened Ramsey's chest. "That's the finest compliment I've ever received," he said. "But I can't. I was sent out here to solve a problem: Why were submariners breaking down? You gave me the answer. Now, I'll have to take a hand in applying that answer." He swallowed a lump in his throat. "Dr. Oberhausen of BuPsych has promised me my own department dealing with problems of submariners."
Sparrow said, "That's wonderful, Johnny! A big-time shore job."
"We're going to hate losing you," said Bonnett. "Will you still talk to the likes of us when you're an important brass type?"
"Never fear," said Ramsey.
"What is this solution?" asked Sparrow.
"The breakdowns are a rejection of birth by men who have unconsciously retreated into the world of prebirth. What child would seek birth if he knew that pain and fear -- a constant menace -- awaited him on the other side?"
"There's menace down here," said Sparrow.
"But our little world under the sea fools and confuses the unconscious," said Ramsey.
Bonnett spoke up, faint note of sarcasm in his voice. "That makes sense even to me . . . I think." He kept one hand on the wheel, stepped aside to adjust the tow controls.
"We have to make the complete cycle desirable," said Ramsey. "I'm going to recommend a whole new procedure: the best quarters for submariners. A big jump in pay for each mission."
"That's for me!" said Bonnett.