Free The Dragon in the Sea by Frank Herbert Page A

against the port pressure hull, emerged without his ABG suit. He looked up to Ramsey, his long face drawn into serious lines. “Is Joe on his way out?”
    â€œHe’s on his way,” said Ramsey.
    â€œFoss’s ID card shows he was Catholic,” said Sparrow. “Ask Joe if he’ll read the service for the dead.”
    Ramsey relayed the request.
    Garcia, emerging from the tunnel, paused. “He couldn’t have been Catholic,” he said. “Either that, or he was murdered. A good Catholic doesn’t commit suicide.”
    Sparrow heard Garcia’s voice on the speaker, said, “Suffering Jesus! He’s right.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, found his chest mike, asked, “Will you read the service?”
    Garcia said, “Under the circumstances, yes.” He closed the tunnel door, dogged it, stepped into a decontamination chamber and emerged without a suit.
    Bonnett swung up to the central catwalk, anchored the hoist’s load with a side line, returned to the lower deck and reeled out the detergent hoses. He began to spray the area.
    Sparrow and Garcia mounted to the catwalk beside Ramsey.
    â€œWe’ll surface at midnight local time for burial,” said Sparrow. He went aft through the number-one door without glancing up at the bundle swinging from the hoist.
    Ramsey, watching Bonnett at work below him, again
had the feeling of looking at a marionette show. Last act, scene one.
    Garcia, beside him, said, “My watch coming up. I’ll take it on the main control deck.” He released Ramsey’s portable board from the rail, carried it up to the central catwalk, ducked through the door in the aft bulkhead.
    Ramsey followed, turned at the door for one last look at the long bundle swaying in the hoist net: a body in a sack. He turned, passed through the control room, went directly to his quarters and pulled out the telemeter tapes.
    No significant deviations!
    He coded the tapes for identification, placed them in the false bottom, lay back on his bunk. Around him he could feel the faint vibrations of the subtug: a feeling as of life. He seemed to fit into the pattern of the room, one with the crisscross of pipes overhead, the ventilator ducts, the repeaters for the electronics-shack instruments, wall mike and speaker.
    Presently, he fell asleep, dreamed that he was a deep-dwelling fish trying to figure out a way to climb to the light of the surface far away above him.
    The problem was that a terrible pressure held him trapped in the deeps.
    At midnight they committed the body of Lieutenant Foss to the ocean. A cold, starless night, a high-running sea. Ramsey stood shivering on the deck while Garcia mumbled the service for the dead.
    â€œInto Thy hands we commend this spirit.”
    For Lieutenant Arthur Harmon Foss; last act, last scene.
    Afterward, they homed into the depths as though fleeing the scene of a crime. Ramsey was startled by the faraway look in Sparrow’s eyes, heard the captain whispering the lines from the first chapter of Genesis:

    â€œâ€˜ … and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters … .’”
    From some recess in his memory, Ramsey recalled the next lines: “‘And God said, Let there be light: and there was light.’”
    Ramsey thought: If there is a God, let Him make things right for that brave guy . It was his nearest approach to a prayer since childhood. He was surprised at the stinging sensation in his eyes.
    Then another thought mingled with the memory of Garcia’s voice: And what if Garcia is the sleeper?
    The thought spurred him to hurry into the electronics shack, examine the contaminated tunnel through the internal scanners. The scanners showed only the pile-room end. Nothing appeared amiss. Ramsey activated one of the control-room scanners to check on Garcia. The engineering officer was bent over the portside grab rail,