Free Undersea Quest by Frederick & Williamson Pohl Page B

open the envelope. The message said:
    Dear Mr. Eden:
    I am sorry to hear of your difficulties. As you perhaps know, your father, your uncle and I were once closely associated. Perhaps I can be of assistance to you.
    Please come to my suite on A Deck when you receive this.
    I stared at the note with the strangest mixed set of emotions I had ever known.
    For the signature on the note was: “Hallam Sperry.”

11
My Partner, My Enemy
    Hallam Sperry himself admitted me to his cabin.
    It was a far cry from the small stateroom I occupied on the deck below. It was more than a cabin, it was a suite; and properly so, I suppose. After all, Isle of Spain was only one of a dozen giant subsea liners on the Sperry Line! There were giant photomurals on the walls, pressure-tanks of curious deep-sea flower-animals and darting, tiny fish, tinted Troyon tubes to warm the rooms and give them the semblance of upper-air sunshine.
    Hallam Sperry clasped my hand in a grip as sturdy and as cold as steel. He was a giant of a man, as big as my uncle had been but dark where Uncle Stewart had been fair, black-bearded where my uncle was ruddy. His eyes were a curious piercing blue; there was the coldness of the chill sea Deeps in those eyes as they looked into my mind. But there was a smile on his lips and his words were more than merely polite.
    “Jim Eden,” he rumbled. “Know a great deal about you, young man. Knew your father and his brother well—too bad about Stewart, but he was always a daredevil. Heard about your bad break at the Academy from my boy.”
    He offered me a spider-legged chair. What could I say to the man? That the “bad break” at the Academy had been his son’s own doing? That the struggle between him and the Edens was a public scandal?
    I said nothing. We learned much at the Academy, but one of the first things we learned was not to speak until we knew what we had to say. It was possible that Hallam Sperry was not as black as he had been painted; it was not fair to attack him on the basis of rumor and old memories.
    He offered me a crystal glass with a pale-green, stinging liquid in it; I tasted it and set it down—some strange liqueur from the Deeps. He said:
    “An old friend of mine, Stewart Eden. Oh, we had our differences. But I always admired your uncle. Great man. Too bad he had to go like that.”
    I made some answer; but what I had to say made no difference.
    He rumbled right on, in his bass chiming voice. “Worked with Stewart for many years. Your father too. You’ll hear stories about our fights—probably heard lots of them already. No matter, boy. He’s gone now. Our differences are gone too. Question is, what next?”
    I said, “I beg your pardon?”
    “What next for you,” he rumbled impatiently. “What are you going to do now? You’re going to Thetis—why?”
    I said stiffly, “I am my uncle’s heir, Mr. Sperry. He left all of his interests to me.”
    “Interests!” Sperry snorted. “Guff! A bankrupt corporation and a sunk ship—I know what his ‘interests’ were.” He looked at me piercingly. “You may not know this,” he said. “Your uncle owed me money. Quite a lot. More than the value of his estate, boy.”
    I shifted uncomfortably. “I—I know nothing of that,” I said. “Mr. Faulkner—Uncle Stewart’s lawyer—didn’t say anything about it.”
    “Course not. Faulkner didn’t know. Gentlemen’s agreement between your uncle and me; I loaned him the money, no note, nothing in writing. Question is, are you going to honor it.”
    I started to say something but he stopped me. “Belay that,” he ordered. “Put it aside for a moment; business can come later. Tell me first something about yourself.” He paused, and before I could speak the iron face broadened into a smile. “And drink your drink,” he commanded. “That’s an order, boy!”
    I felt myself warming to the man; he had charm and a hard-bitten strength that, to me, was greatly appealing. Perhaps he was telling