The Wadatsumi, covered with canvas, was already loaded upon the rear deck of the Marine Security patrol boat Hokuto in the harbor at Yaizu when Onodera arrived.
Professor Yukinaga of M—— University caught sight of Onodera on the dock and waved to him: “Hello there. . . . I’m sorry about this. I hear you were on vacation.”
Surprised at the stir aboard ship, Onodera glanced at his watch in surprise. “Is it sailing time already?” he asked as he came on board.
“Well, we have to sail as soon as we can,” answered Yukinaga, looking down at the wharf. “Should the papers find out that the Wadatsumi is going out, you see, it would be awkward.”
Onodera grinned. “The A——Journal is especially eager, I hear. I understand they chartered a seaplane.”
“They’re making too much of it,” said Yukinaga, shrugging. Though his field was marine geology and he spent much of his life aboard ship, his pale skin seemed untouched by the sun. “Anyway, I don’t think there’s any cause for alarm. They won’t learn anything even if they do fly down there.”
“Well, I suppose it’s the slow season for news.”
“There would be quite an uproar, though,” said Yukinaga, dropping his voice and narrowing his eyes somewhat in the strong sunlight, “if something were to come out about the trouble they’re running into with the new Super Express line.”
“Oh?” Onodera was taken by surprise. “You know about that?”
“I’ve heard things,” said the professor, his voice still low. “A colleague of mine was commissioned to make a confidential investigation. . . .”
Suddenly Yukinaga raised his hand. Down the concrete pier swarming with buzzing flies, a broad, plump figure was running toward them in a flurry of sweat. He banged the suitcase he was carrying against a capstan and almost went sprawling when he trampled upon one of the fish that lay scattered over the con crete, but, nevertheless, he finally reached the ship.
“Hurry up,” said Yukinaga, laughing. “We’re on our way.”
“Without me?” the fat man shouted indignantly. “If you want to go, go. I’ll come swimming after you.”
“I know you would,” said Yukinaga, reaching out for the man’s suitcase as he came across the gangplank. “Onodera, this is Professor Tadokoro.”
“Oh, yes, Professor . . . underwater volcanoes . . .” said Onodera, nodding eagerly. “I’m Onodera of Sea Floor Development.”
“The truth is my field is geophysics,” said Tadokoro, “but I stick my nose into everything.” With that, he walked abruptly back to the stern, where the Wadatsumi lay beneath its tarpaulin.
He rapped his hand smartly against the steel plating under the canvas. “So this is it? You know, I asked that fellow Yamashiro at your place again and again. ...”
“Well, there’s been a constant demand for it,” Onodera re plied, smiling awkwardly. “The Wadatsumi 2 will be finished soon, and then I think things will be better.”
“It’s the same design as the Archimedes. So it should be able to dive to thirty-five thousand. Right?” said Tadokoro, eying Onodera sharply. “How absurd to use something like this to study ocean currents and fishing grounds. Like using a laser beam to cut up a chicken.”
“It’s a tricky ship. The deeper you go, the less time you can stay under,” said Onodera, stroking the side of the submarine.
“How many times has it gone down really deep?”
“Thirty thousand feet, four times. Beyond thirty-five thou sand, twice. There was no particular danger, but . . .”
“How about the Vityaz Deep? Would it be safe to go all the way down there?”
“Well, if it were the new submarine ...” said Onodera.
“Yukinaga!” said Tadokoro, moving away from the Wadatsumi with sudden resolution. “Let’s talk for a bit.” He threw his arm around Yukinaga’s shoulders, and the two walked toward the cabin door, leaving Onodera to himself.
Now that everyone was accounted for, the Hokuto’s departure siren sounded. The crew cast off the hawsers, and white water boiled up at the stern as the sleek, shiny gray-blue patrol boat moved away from the dock. Though there were a few people on the dock to wave farewell, it was an austere leave-taking.
Shortly after they were under way, Onodera noticed a small man with an unlit corncob pipe in his mouth coming from the forward deck.
“Yuki!” he shouted. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”
“I’m just here to hand things over to you,” said the little man, grinning nervously. “I’ve been a little concerned. Anyway, if I was back on shore, I’d only be suffering from the heat. I’ll give you a hand with the repairs.”
“I understand that the gondola was scraped,” said Onodera, turning toward the submarine. A revolving gondola was at tached to the bottom of the craft. Heavy and egg-shaped, it was made of steel bolstered with molybdenum.
“Where it scraped was on the side here. The window has a slight crack, but we have a spare one.”
They began to discuss Onodera’s mission. The request for the Wadatsumi, Yuki said, had probably come from scientists in the group already dispatched by the Weather Service to investigate the sinking of the island.
“Have you heard any news since then?” asked Onodera. “I thought that the meteorological people were concerned about volcanic activity in the Fuji area. And so to go to all this effort for the sake of one uninhabited island . . .”
“Not completely uninhabited,” said Yuki, his face showing signs of fatigue. “Some Polynesian fishermen stopped there the night it sank.”
“Really?” said Onodera, surprised. “Were they rescued?”
“Yes. A Japanese fishing boat happened to be anchored in the lee of the island.”