Into the Abyss (Tom Swift, Young Inventor) by Victor Appleton Page B

steered the prototype far enough away from the
Verne-1
to be out of range of any explosion I set off.
    Then I got busy, stripping a long enough piece of the terfidium padding to make a fuse-like strip about six feet long. I hoped it would burn slowly enough to give me time to get out of range before the air tank blew.
    Finally, my improvised explosive device was ready for action. It was time to venture out there, into the pitch-blackness of the deep-ocean floor.
    One more thing before I left. It was time to make contact with the
Nestor
and let them know what I was up to. I fired up the power to full strength, making real-time communication possible.
    “Hello up there!” I said as the monitor blinked to life. “Anybody home?”
    The picture was full of static that came and went, but I could still make out Yo and Bud. The captain was no longer with them, and I could barely hear their responses.
    Tom! … storm … antenna … bad waves … going on down there?”
    From what they were saying, I figured the storm had worsened and was affecting the ships antennae. They had already been damaged once, by the big wave that had knocked me off the deck.
    “I’ve found the
Verne-1
!” I told them. “She’s intact, and they have power, but she’s partially buried. I’m going to try and free her.”
    “… did you say?” Bud asked. “… they alive?”
    “I don’t know,” I said. “I’m going in now for a closer look.”
    “Play … cable?” Yo was saying.
    “I’m going to need all the slack you can give me,” I told her. “I’m going to remove the cable from the prototype and attach it to the
Verne-1
. Then I’ll contact you to haul them up.”
    “… about
you
?” Bud asked.
    The static was getting worse. I could barely make them out now, let alone understand what they were saying. I also had to wonder if
they
could make out
my
words.
    “I’ll be fine,” I said. “I’ll bring the prototype up on its own power.”
    At least, I
hoped
so.
    “Tell Mom and Sandy not to worry,” I said.
    Of course I knew that was a stupid thing to say, but I wanted them to know I had confidence in our chances—even if I really didn’t.
    It made no difference what I said, anyway, because there was now so much static on the line that I was sure they couldn’t hear a word of it.
    I gave up and flicked off the monitor.
    I picked up my improvised explosive device. I would be sacrificing one and a half hours worth of my precious air supply by blowing it up. That would leave me with only the one and a half hours in my other tank and whatever was left of the
Verne-0
’s air supply.
    The question, though, was not whether I could afford to lose it. The question was, could I afford not to?
    “Tom,” Q.U.I.P. said, “you’ll have to take me apart again, so you can use your watch as the detonator. That, alas, will be a true loss to you, if you should need my advice afterward.”
    “I can put you back together again,” I told him.
    “I hope so—for both our sakes.”
    He was right about that. “Let’s do it,” I said.

    I rigged the oxygen tank to the timer and fastened it to the fuse. At the other end—my end—I attached my wristwatch, stripped of Q.U.I.P’s chip, which I left on the control console. Later on, I would try to revive him by connecting him with the prototypes master server.
    I had to attach the cable to the top of the ship, then, hopefully, the force of the explosion would clear away the rubble, freeing the trapped back end of the
Jules Verne-1
. Then I would come back to the prototype and contact the Nestor, telling them to haul the
Verne-1
back up to the surface.
    All fine,
in theory
, at least.
    But I was now about to leave the safety of the prototype and venture out into open water, with no spare tank of air, and with nothing to protect me but my untested diving suit.
    I had worked on it and worked on it. Every adjustment I could think of had been made. It was time to try it out under real-world