The Dragon in the Sea by Frank Herbert Page B

the tube resting on the black mastic sealer inside the jar. He removed the jar, arranged a small remote-control console, replaced the jar.
    Sparrow watched carefully, still undecided about Ramsey.
    â€œThis is going to be slow,” said Ramsey.
    Lord in heaven, if I only knew! thought Sparrow. Is he a spy? How can I tell? He doesn’t really act like one.
    Ramsey locked a stool in place before the bench, sat down. “Slow and easy,” he said.
    Sparrow studied him. It could be a clever act. I’ll get busy checking the shack tubes, watch him . He said, “I’ll
start checking out your tubes.” He removed a cover plate at the left, found scales, began removing tubes, weighing them.
    Minutes ticked away—an hour, two hours … two hours and forty minutes. Inside the bell jar, the parts of the tube were laid out in rows. Sparrow long since had finished his job, was watching the work at the bench.
    â€œNo booby trap,” said Ramsey. He activated a magnet arm inside the jar, lifted a grid section. “And I still don’t see how they rigged this thing to go off. This looks like standard stuff.” He rotated the part on the magnet. “There’s nothing arranged to fuse with an overload. Nothing extra at all except that micro-vibrator and its capacitor power source.” He replaced the grid section. “Our boys are going to want to see that.” He picked up a cathode segment, turned it over, set it down. “No trigger. How was it done?”
    Sparrow looked to the camera which had been capturing every movement of the examination, turned back to Ramsey. “We have another problem.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” Ramsey straightened, rubbed the small of his back.
    Sparrow slid off his stool. “How’re we going to get word of this back to base? If the EPs get us, the things we’ve discovered are lost. But I have an ironclad order against breaking radio silence.”
    Ramsey stretched his back. “Do you trust me, Skipper?”
    Before he could stop himself, Sparrow said, “No.” He frowned.
    Ramsey grinned. “I’m still the one with the solution to your problem.”
    â€œLet’s have it.”

    â€œPut the whole story onto a squirt repeater and—”
    â€œSquirt repeater?”
    Ramsey bit his lip, coughed. Damn! Another BuPsych-Security secret. It had slipped out.
    â€œI’ve never heard of a squirt repeater,” said Sparrow.
    â€œIt’s something new in … uh … electronics. You code a message onto ultra-stable slow tape, then speed up the tape. You set the message to repeat—over and over—a little squirt of sound. It’s recorded at the receiver end, slowed for playback and translation.”
    â€œThat’s still breaking radio silence.”
    Ramsey shook his head. “Not if the message is broadcast by a little set in a floater rigged to start transmitting long after we’ve gone.”
    Sparrow’s jaw fell. He snapped his mouth shut. Then “Could you rig it?”
    Ramsey looked around him. “We have all the essentials right here.”
    Sparrow said, “I’ll send Garcia in to help you.”
    Ramsey said, “I won’t need any help with—”
    â€œHe’ll help you anyway.”
    Again Ramsey grinned. “That’s right. You don’t trust me.”
    In spite of himself, Sparrow grinned back at the amusement in Ramsey’s face; then wiped the grin from his features and from his thoughts. His brows drew together. Is this all an act on Ramsey’s part? he wondered. Amuse me. Throw me off guard. It could be.
    Ramsey glanced at the wall chrono. “My watch.” He indicated the parts in the bell jar. “This’ll keep.”
    â€œI’ll stand your watch,” said Sparrow. He thumbed his chest mike. “Joe, come to the shack. Johnny’s figured out
how to get a message to home base. I want you to help