pints of sweat, now and then groaning as the
submarine grazed horribly close to top or bottom. The dead octopus at
his feet slithered limply around on the crazy-angling deck.

"I can't keep this up forever!" the cook said peevishly. "Now, what
the hell's this thing for?"

* * * * *

He turned it, and the _NX-1_ tilted in one of her dives and raced
forward, midway between ceiling and floor. Her navigator relaxed
slightly. He had found the major controls; at least he had been able
to stop his dizzy game of plunging up and down. Then, just as he was
beginning to wonder where he could go, a large red spot glowed at the
edge of the location chart.

"Oh, Lord!" he cried. "That's the other submarine--an' it's comin'
after me!"

Evidently it was, for the red spot rapidly approached the green one.
The paralyzing ray tingled, and a moment later the enemy's huge bulk
loomed on the teleview screen, a band of violet light spearing from
one of her jutting knobs.

Frantically McKegnie juggled his levers, and then it was that the
_NX-1_ really showed what was in her. She emulated, on a grand scale,
a bucking bronco: she stood almost on her nose, and threatened to
describe somersaults; she tried it the other way, on her stern; she
rolled dizzily; she all but looped the loop, and went staggering
around the cavern in great erratic bounds that must have made the
octopi think she was in the hands of a mad-man--which she practically
was. Her designer would have had heart failure.

In the teleview screen the frantic McKegnie would see the octopi
submarine rush erratically by with a flash of its violet heat ray; the
location chart showed the red spot zigzagging drunkenly around the
green one. Each boat made occasional short, crazy darts at the other;
sometimes they would stand approximately still. It was a riotous game
of tag, and McKegnie knew too well that he was "it."

During one brief pause the anguished cook found himself groaning
aloud: "Oh, Mr. Wells, where are you? I can't keep this up! I can't! I
can't!"

* * * * *

There were still several important-looking controls that were
mysteries to him. But what if he should pull one and open all the exit
ports? He shuddered at the thought.

Things had become nightmarish. The ship was pitted scores of places by
the heat ray. The control room had grown stifling. McKegnie was losing
pounds of flesh, and literally stood