Voyage To The Bottom Of The Sea (11 page)

“You seem to’ve spent a lot of time listening to him.”

Chip Morton shrugged. “Man’s got to do something with these long winter evenings when the boss says you can’t collect tail feathers.”

“Oh well,” said the Captain, giving back the shrug and a grin to go with it, “I guess he can get you into less trouble than the good doctor would.”

“Now that,” said Morton, “is for damn sure . . . hey: what’s happening?”

It was happening on television: Admiral Nelson, having reached the point in his speech in which he announced his intention to go to the Marianas, leaving immediately. Off camera came loud shouts of “
No! No!
”

The camera remained fixed on Nelson’s surprised face and there must have been some frantic work in the TV booth while they got another camera trained in the unexpected direction. Then the scene cut to a long shot of the Assembly chamber, and a burly figure in black plowing down the center aisle, trailing a number of gentlemen enthusiastically echoing the burly one’s big negative bellow.

“That seems to be,” said the announcer off camera, “yes, it is, Dr. Emilio Zucco. You will recall, if you have been following these sessions, that Dr. Zucco heads a body of opinion, an overwhelming body, I may add, which holds that the dynamics of the firebelt are such that it is self-canceling. It would seem that Admiral Nelson’s proposal to seed the Van Allen field with charged carbon particles is directly opposed to Dr. Zucco’s theory.” The announcer’s voice issued a polite chuckle. “Dr. Zucco is—ah—not usually opposed.”

The Assembly president was whanging away with his gavel; cries of “Quiet” and “Order” were themselves enough to make his cries for quiet and order inaudible. The camera returned to Admiral Nelson, who filled his lungs and shouted in what was called, by his crew, the Old Old Man’s “hurricane” voice, “Mr. President! Let Dr. Zucco speak! I have no objections!”

The president rose and spread out his arms, pounded twice, spread his arms again. The chamber rumbled to something like quiet.

“Admiral Nelson yields to Dr. Zucco,” called the President.

“For a question,” amended the Admiral.

Zucco came snorting and steaming up to the rostrum. He was a black-browed, black-haired man, with burning, deep-set eyes and, under a nose as straight and sharp as an axe-blade, a wide, lipless mouth so cast that it showed a row of straight, white, strong lower teeth and the uppers not at all. His voice was as heavy and, in its way, as black as his hair and his suit. He spoke with the suggestion of an Austrian accent, or the lack or accent: the too-perfect sound of the acquired tongue and a brain behind it which did all things perfectly.

“Go right ahead,” invited the Admiral, and one could see the wind leave the scientist’s sails. The momentum of some as yet unexplained fury had carried him up here, and it took a moment for him to readjust to something like politeness.

“Well,” he said at length. He looked the Admiral up and down and said it again. Then he turned to the Assembly and spoke.

“Mr. President. Members of this distinguished gathering. Admiral Nelson: You will forgive any words I choose, knowing that they are not directed at you personally, but at the pre . . .
pos
—terous suggestion you have just made. Is it possible, Admiral, is it possible, Mr. President, ladies and gentlemen, is it remotely possible that I, Emilio Zucco, might have overlooked the possibility the Admiral suggests? It is not possible! I too have studied the Van Allen belt and its constitution; I agree perfectly, as you all know, with the Admiral’s conclusions as to what this firebelt is and how it began. I too made the hypotheses made by the admiral about seeding and collapsing the belt. And I have given these considerations the treatment they deserve: I have lined my waste-basket with them.”

He paused dramatically and shot a glance of fire at the Admiral, who smiled pleasantly and cocked his big head to one side.

“If,” continued Dr. Zucco, “there was any merit in such a ludicrous procedure, who here would dare suggest that it would have been discarded? Further: if the Admiral’s preoccupation with military toys and games had led him to such an experiment, and if it were only useless, and if, oh especially this: if it pleased him, for he is a worthy gentleman deserving of some pleasures, if it pleased him to take his large shining submarine into the far Pacific in this rendezvous with his nonsensical theory, in order to delight himself with his expensive pyrotechnical displays, I would be all for it. It is a basic premise, gentlemen, of human freedom that the pursuit of happiness is a desideratum, and all of us, even our admirals, should be permitted, even encouraged, to take what pleasure we may find, wherever and however it may be found—providing only that no one else is hurt by it. [Laughter, moderate.] This premise of ethical behavior was clearly enunciated by one of your American savants, I believe it was Mr. Will Rogers, who said, ‘Your freedom to swing your fists ends where my nose begins.’ [Laughter, immoderate.] In short, gentlemen, I should encourage the Admiral in the pursuit of his spectacular hobbies, for to know of the happiness of so worthy a man would give me warm feelings: I should encourage him even knowing that what he is doing is useless. I should favor it if it were useless and also harmful to him, if it made him happy and hurt no one else. But I will not countenance anything he does, or anyone else does for pleasure, if it endangers anyone else: and gentlemen—if this be-ribboned example of every small boy’s notion of a national hero is permitted to indulge this . . . this
whim . . .
he will
kill us all!
”

The shift from light-hearted invective to the final, dreadful charge, was as deft and dramatic as anything ever seen on the stage. There was an instant of frightened silence, while the impact of the scientist’s words reverberated through the audience like a bell tone. Then when Admiral Nelson stepped forward, a low, hushed rumble wafted over the chamber, originating in hatred and far back in the animal part of men’s throats. It was a thing which could not have happened in normal times, but which had to happen to men in danger who until now had been given no specific enemy to hate. Pent fear turns readily to anger.

Nelson waited patiently for silence, and a moment longer for full attention. He then spoke in a voice which, for its quietness, was even more shocking than Zucco’s terrifying shout. He wore the slight, casual smile which men under him had for years known meant important trouble; it was a smile which preceded the keelhauling of some poor unfortunate who had been, not careless, not even disobedient, but willfully antagonistic to Nelson when Nelson knew he was right.

“A personal attack,” he began quietly, “is a wonderful relief to the feelings and a great amusement to the bystander. However, whether it is of any real use in a matter of truth is another question. It is, of course, a weapon of wide use and great antiquity, and has been used against monogamy, the law of gravity, evolution and the sphericity of the earth. Gradually through the years, a percentage of the population has come to realize that to discredit the proponent or a truth may hurt the man, may even destroy him; yet it has no effect whatever on the truth.

“Now, gentlemen, I have no wish at this time to return disfavor with disfavor. My regard for Dr. Zucco and his past achievements remains high, in harmony with what I have just said: no amount of bad manners on my part could change the worth of the things he has done. In that light, I should like to continue this discussion and discover what is it about my hypothesis which Dr. Zucco considers mistaken, where the mistake, if any, lies, and what he considers the result might be.”

The Admiral’s quiet, almost gentle tone, his unshaken dignity, and the inescapable fact that everything he said about the worth of Zucco’s past performances could be applied to his, did not escape his listeners. Back on the submarine Dr. Hiller nodded her head in recognition of the feat: one up for the Admiral while in the observation nose, Chip Morton frowned. “Seems to me the Old Old Man stepped back a pace.”

“You always do,” said the Captain, “before you uncork a roundhouse.”

Dr. Zucco looked the Admiral up and down in that scathing, scanning way he had, and then took the rostrum. “To a man of the Admiral’s many accomplishments,” he hissed, “the error should be obvious.” The reaction of the audience, a murmur, a half-heard boo, the shuffling of feet, apparently told him that he had gone far enough with his sarcasm. In suddenly matter-of-fact language, he said, “My closest calculations inform me that on the 29th of August, when the ambient temperature reaches one hundred sixty seven degrees Fahrenheit, the firebelt will have exhausted its available oxygen and will collapse of its own accord.”

“And mine,” said the Admiral quietly, “inform me that on the 30th, at about 10:37
A.M.
Greenwich time, there will occur an irreversible reaction which will cause the firebelt to widen and englobe the earth.”

“My figures,” said Dr. Zucco with steely patience, “indicate no such thing. By that time the emergency will be over.”

“My figures,” said the admiral, “after original computation by myself, Admiral Crawford, and Commander Emery, were checked by the master computer at the U.S. Naval Observatory.”

“My figures,” said Dr. Zucco icily, “were computed by myself, and checked by myself, in order to eliminate errors introduced by—what is your saying?—too many cooks in the broth.”

“Dr. Zucco,” said the Admiral, after a long slow breath drawn, apparently, to refill his patience tanks, “this—ah, discussion of ours then resolves itself to a matter of checking figures. This will, I think, be a lengthy process, and would be in any circumstances; with communications in their present state, I think it fair to assume that by the time the argument was settled, it would no longer matter to anyone.”

“At last,” said Dr. Zucco, “we agree on a point.”

“Therefore,” said Nelson, “I shall simply announce my intention to leave immediately for the South Pacific. If you are right, I shall have had my trip for nothing. If on the other hand I am right—and I am, you know,” he interjected, suddenly smiling so engagingly that the smile was repeated all over the hall—”I shall be in a position to do something about it.”

The answering of that sudden smile seemed to fuse something in Dr. Zucco, and the fuse was fast and very short; he exploded:

“Mr. President! Delegates! In the name of science, in the name of humanity and its eternal war against bungling and ignorance; this man must be prevented from doing any such dangerous thing!”

His voice then dropped to a hoarse whisper; he had apparently learned from the Admiral, in the last few minutes, the little-known fact that a quiet voice in a noisy room is more commanding than a noisy voice in a quiet one. “Do not be led astray by his assertions. What he says about communications, and the length of time necessary to check the figures, is true, and I am convinced he brought it up at all only in his way, shrewd as a rodent, in order to ram his mad plan down your throats.” He let his voice come up, and bugled out, smiting his chest. “But I, I, Emilio Zucco, am here to tell you that he is wrong, and I will tell you what will happen if this evil and foolhardy plan is followed. The cloud of charged particles which he proposes to scatter in the outer Van Allen belt will have the reverse effect to that which he predicts. Rather than dissipating the field, it will momentarily intensify it. The lens effect will increase, and for a time—two, perhaps three hours—the concentration of energy from the sun will increase many-fold. The increased heat will bring hot atmosphere up into the burning zone at an accelerated rate, the firebelt will indeed widen and englobe the earth—prevented at the last possible instant from doing what I predict it shall do—collapse of its own accord. This is madness—criminal, irresponsible madness, and you must under no circumstances permit it.” He was panting now. He paused for breath and then shouted, “If this argument has reduced itself to a staking of my reputation against this, then so be it. Let me hear your voices: if you agree with me, call my name!”

Zucco!
roared the assembly. ZUCCO! After which was a scattered chattering of Nelson . . . Nelson . . . The scientist had indeed bound them in his spell.

The Assembly President committed the precedent-shattering act of leaping up, standing on his table. He waved both hands and shouted against the roar of comment and argument that swelled up, and at last succeeded in being heard. As he spoke, the audience gradually quieted to hear him.

“I will have order in the chamber or I shall indefinitely adjourn this meeting, and I need not remind you that adjournment at this moment may be a vital matter, affecting the lives of us all. Order! Order!” He paused, and when it seemed possible to be heard at last, he lowered himself to the floor and sat before his microphone.

“Dr. Zucco,” he said flatly, “You must be reminded that this is not the time nor the place for histrionics. The truth, when we find it, is more eloquent than any man, and more moving than any man’s passion. If truth be on your side, it will speak for you. If not, it will speak against you, and with more power than even you, sir, can command. I must further remind you, sir, that you exceed your authority when you call for a vote in this chamber, this being the prerogative of the President.” He fixed Zucco with a cold glare, which was returned by a hot one; yet Zucco had presence of mind enough to mumble what might have been an apology. Having done so, the flashing glance he threw across the chamber and back, and the wolfish grin with which he turned to Nelson, said as clearly as words that he felt he had won, and an apology to the chair for a technicality was something he could easily afford.

“The parliamentary situation,” said the President, at last able to speak in normal tones, “is that Admiral Nelson has the floor, having yielded only for a question. Admiral?”

And abruptly a new face was injected into the scene. “May I have the permission of the chair, and of the speaker, to make a statement at this time?” And into the rostrum area stepped the usually waspish, diffident, round-shouldered figure of Congressman Parker. Now, however, his face was pink, his shoulders square, his eyes, behind the usually cold rimless glasses, flashing.