Tom Swift and His Aquatomic Tracker by Victor Appleton II Page B

Brooklyn-tinged voice was blasé. An oblong bulge lay inert far below, showing a sweeping edge obviously fashioned by the hand of man, half buried in sand and silt.
    It was obviously far too small to be the colossal Centurion . "A Viking ship, perhaps," suggested Alix. "They plied these seas for centuries en route to Iceland, Greenland—even North America, before that ‘Columbus’ fellow."
    Taking the initiative, Tom jetted downward. He circled the hulk once, closely, then returned.
    "Well?" demanded Bud. "What did you see?"
    "There were inscriptions on the side."
    "What did they look like? Could you make them out?"
    "Sure, flyboy—easily. They were in English. ‘ Divers do it deeper ’."
    Tom could imagine the expression on his friend’s face. "And so !—on we go."
    As they split up again, Alix Tuundvar sonophoned a question. "The boy—why did he say parakeets ? Nothing looked to me like a bird, not a bit."
    "It’s an Omaha expression of amazement," George Braun explained. "Like ‘ jetz ’. I’ve gotten used to it."
    "Guys, in Nebraska we try to keep it clean ," declared Dan Walde coolly. He elaborated by running over a list of words he would never say—in Nebraska.
    The hydronauts proceeded in their quest. Sonophone conversation fell off. A distance off and feeling alone, Bud amused himself by watching the fish that glided, blinking and gaping, past the diamond beam of his lamp. One that made him gasp was an enormous oval sunfish over seven feet long. "Boy! Chow could feed a ship’s crew on that baby!" Bud said to himself.
    Then suddenly the young Californian became tense as a tone erupted inside his mask, whose inner surface functioned as a stereo loud-speaker. He was being automatically alerted to something big and moving that the suit sonarscope had detected. "Tom—guys― "
    "I see it on my scope, Bud," came Tom’s reply.
    Added Alix, "Approaching from the rear. Shall we scatter?"
    "No," decided Tom. "There’s no sign of its being a threat."
    "And it may be interesting," remarked Ham Teller.
    "Perhaps this ‘Great Orme’ of yours?" Alix speculated.
    "Maybe-might. And by the way, it’s Conqueror Worm , please."
    The hydronauts drew together protectively and proceeded with caution, alert for possible trouble, as the sonar shadow overtook them. Tom breathed a sigh of relief when he made out a blimp-shaped hull, diving planes, and slim, knifelike conning tower.
    "Relax, everybody. It’s a U.S. Navy nuke," Tom signaled.
    "Wonder where she’s headed?" Bud replied.
    Dan Walde asked, "Do you suppose they’ve spotted us yet?"
    "Not by sonar they haven’t," stated Tom confidently. "The Antitec-Tomasite coating on the diversuits prevents it. But still, we’re not invisible to sight. It might be best to hail them on standard sonarphone."
    "Permit me," Bud volunteered.
    Inside the American sub, the communications operator was monitoring the craft’s sensitive hull phones with a puzzled look. "Thought it was a school of porpoises at first, sir," he reported to the skipper, "but that squeal I’m getting now sounds like a regular sonarphone carrier wave."
    "And nothing on the scope for miles around. Try the Gertrude," the captain ordered.
    The enlisted man switched on the underwater telephone as the captain issued commands to slow the ship for a more intense sonarscope search. Presently all hands stared in amazement, eyes popping, as a voice from outside came over the speaker:
    "And now back to Talking Fishheads . Today’s panel of experts are debating the probing question, Should an octopus try to meet a squid in an oyster bar? You be the judge! Lines are open—first caller, please!"
    Red-faced, the captain strode to the underwater telephone and barked into the mike, "Captain Frost speaking. Who’s out there? What’s going on?"
    Tom could not help laughing as he visualized the amazed reaction inside the submarine to Bud’s joke. He waved his pal to silence, then replied, "Sorry, sir. I apologize for the