The Dragon in the Sea by Frank Herbert

am tired.” He turned aft, said, “See you later.”

    Garcia’s “Righto,” floated after him.
    Ramsey hurried to his room, dogged the door, dragged out the telemeter box, unlocked it, extracted the first record strips, sat back to examine them.
    Pituitra and adrenaline high points showed early on the scrolls. Ramsey noted that one was before he arrived and the other coincided with the moment pressure was first bled into the hull.
    The first tense moments, he thought. But that’s normal.
    He reeled the scrolls of telemeter tape forward to the moment the sabotage was discovered, double-checked the timed setting, scanned backward and forward across the area.
    Nothing!
    But that can’t be!
    Ramsey stared at the pattern of rivets on the bulkhead opposite him. The faint whispering of the drive seemed to grow louder. His hand on the blanket beside him felt every tuft, every thread. His nostrils sorted out the odors of the room: paint, oil, soap, ozone, perspiration, plastic …
    Is it possible for a person to go through anxiety without glandular changes? he asked himself. Yes, under certain pathological circumstances, none of which fit Sparrow.
    Ramsey remembered the sound of the captain’s voice over the intercom during the period of stress: higher pitched, tense, clipped.
    Again, Ramsey examined the tape. Could the telemeter be wrong?
    He checked it. Functioning perfectly. Could there be
dysfunction in the mechanism within Sparrow’s flesh? Then the other fluctuations would not have registered.
    Ramsey leaned back, put a hand behind his head, thought through the problem. Two major possibilities suggested themselves: If Sparrow knew about the wiper-rag-oil-spray thing then he wouldn’t be anxious. What if he planted the rag and set that lube-system petcock himself? He could’ve done it to disable the ship and stop the mission because he’s lost his nerve or because he’s a spy.
    But there would’ve been other psychomotor indications which the telemeter would have registered.
    This led to the other possibility: In moments of great stress Sparrow’s automatic glandular functions are taken over by the higher cortical centers. That could tie in with the known paranoiac tendencies. There could be a systematic breakdown of normal function under stress: such a turning away from fear that the whole being believes there could be no danger.
    Ramsey sat bolt upright. That would fit the pattern of Sparrow’s religious attitude. An utter and complete faith would explain it. There had been religious paranoiacs before. They’d even tried to hang the label on Christ. Ramsey frowned. But of course Schweitzer made the ones who tried look like fools. Tore their arguments to shreds.
    A sharp rap on Ramsey’s door interrupted his thoughts. He slipped the tapes into the false bottom of the telemeter box, closed the lid, locked it.
    Again the rap. “Ramsey?” Garcia’s voice.
    â€œYes?”
    â€œRamsey, you’d better take a couple of anti-fatigue pills. You’re scheduled for the next watch.”

    â€œRight. Thanks.” Ramsey slipped the box under his desk, went to the door, opened it. The companionway was empty. He looked at Garcia’s door across the companionway, stood there a moment, feeling the ship around him. A drop of moisture condensing from the overhead fell past his eyes. Abruptly, he had to fight off a sense of depression. He could almost feel the terrible pressure of water around him.
    Do I know what it is to be truly afraid? he asked himself.

    The Ram moved to the slow rhythm of the undersea currents, hiding under every cold layer her crew could find because the cold water damped the sound of her crew; creeping between the walls of underwater canyons like a great blimp with a tail because the canyon walls stopped the sound of her passage.
    Watches changed, meals were eaten. A chess game started between Sparrow and Garcia. The