with a kindling tenseness in his gaze. I touched his skinny shoulder, and he started.

“Well, Johnny, this is it. We're putting you off now.”

He nodded. “So be it. I am yours to command.”

“Anything else, sir?” I asked the skipper.

“Nothing else, Sparks. What is to be, will be.”

I turned to Johnny. “I guess that's all,” I said. “Except a private word on my own hook, Pop. The skipper's sure you're okay, or he wouldn't be turning you loose this way. I don't know, myself. We don't know whether you came off a friendly ship or an enemy. And you've had the run of the Grampus for three days. You've seen a lot more than a civilian's supposed to see.”

“I am a meek and miserable servant,” said Johnny, slipping into the old routine of formal, stilted phraseology, “unworthy of the wonders that have been shown me—”

“Yeah, I know. And you're a gone goose if you go back and spill what you've learned. Understand ? We know who you are, and if you turn out to be on their side, we'll come and get you. Is that clear?”

Johnny's strange, fanatic eyes gleamed, “I hear and obey,” he said strongly. “So be it. I gird my loins to battle the forces of evil by your side.”

“Okay,” I said. “Then—so long and good luck!”

I gave him my hand to shake, but the idiot didn't. Instead, he crouched and kissed it. I yanked it away, embarrassed, glancing at the skipper swiftly. But the Old Man simply sighed and nodded, almost as if that were what he expected. He spoke to the sniggering seamen.

“Very well, lads.”

They lifted Johnny into the inflated raft we were scooting him off in, and shoved him off. The sea was high and choppy. The Old Man nodded. “Oil, lads.”

The boys broke loose a canister, smoothing a patch around the Grampus and the life raft. Johnny moved away slowly, and we watched him go until the skipper said abruptly, “It's raining, lads. We'd better go below.”

The first fat drops of rain turned swiftly to a driving sheet as we ran to the tower. The closing hatch dulled the rumbling drums of thunder. The Old Man frowned.

“Sad old beggar! I hope he makes it to shore before he's waterlogged!”

He moved to the periscope, cranked it around to cover Johnny's passage.

“Can you see him, sir?” I asked. “Is he—”

"He's made it. He's landing now. I see people . . . Gad!"

The Old Man shouted, covered his eyes with his hands, and fell away from the periscope blindly. I cried, “What is it, sir? What—”

Then my voice caught in my throat, even as I put out a hand. For the Grampus was humming . . . yes, humming! . . . with a wild, outré cacophony of sound unlike anything I've ever heard. A weird tingling burned through my veins, and black vertigo danced before my eyes. I couldn't breathe; I couldn't stir. I seemed to be rising . . . falling . . . turning