Key Out of Time | Page 6

dark pocket where the bottom had suddenly dipped into a
saucer-shaped depression. The sea growth about the rim rippled in the
water raggedly, but there was something about its general outline....
Ross began a circumference of that hollow. Allowing for the distortion
of the growths which had formed lumpy excrescences or reached
turrets toward the surface--yes, allowing for those--this was decidedly
something out of the ordinary! The depression was too regular, too
even, Ross was certain of that. With a thrill of excitement he began a
descent into the cup, striving to trace signs which would prove his
suspicion correct.
How many years, centuries, had the slow coverage of the sea life
gathered there, flourished, died, with other creatures to build anew on
the remains? Now there was only a hint that the depression had other
than a natural beginning.
Anchoring with a one-handed grip on a spike of Hawaikan
coral--smoother than the Terran species--Ross aimed the butt of his
spear-gun at the nearest wall of the saucer, striving to reach into a
crevice between two lumps of growth and so probe into what might lie
behind. The spear rebounded; there was no breaking that crust with
such a fragile tool. But perhaps he would have better luck lower down.
The depression was deeper than he had first judged. Now the light
which existed in the shallows vanished. Red and yellow as colors went,
but Ross was aware of blues and greens in shades and tints which were
not visible above. He switched on his diving torch, and color returned
within its beam. A swirl of weed, pink in the light, became darkly
emerald beyond as if it possessed the chameleon ability of the
burrowers.

He was distracted by that phenomenon, and so he transgressed the
diver's rule of never becoming so absorbed in surroundings as to forget
caution. Just when did Ross become aware of that shadow below? Was
it when a school of ghost-fish burst unexpectedly between weed
growths, and he turned to follow them with the torch? Then the outer
edge of his beam caught the movement of a shape, a flutter in the water
of the gloomy depths.
Ross swung around, his back to the wall of the saucer, as he aimed the
torch down at what was arising there. The light caught and held for a
long moment of horror something which might have come out of the
nightmares of his own world. Afterward Ross knew that the monster
was not as large as it seemed in that endless minute of fear, perhaps no
bigger than the dolphins.
He had had training in shark-infested seas on Terra, been carefully
briefed against the danger from such hunters of the deep and ocean
jungles. But this kind of thing had only existed before in the fairy tales
of his race as the dragon of old lore. A scaled head with wide eyes
gleaming in the light beam with cold and sullen hate, a gaping mouth
fang-filled, a horn-set muzzle, that long, undulating neck and, below it,
the half-seen bulk of a monstrous body.
His spear-gun, the knife at his waist belt, neither were protection
against this! Yet to turn his back on that rising head was more than
Ross could do. He pulled himself back against the wall of the saucer.
The thing before him did not rush to attack. Plainly it had seen him and
now it moved with the leisure of a hunter having no fears concerning
the eventual outcome of the hunt. But the light appeared to puzzle it
and Ross kept the beam shining straight into those evil eyes.
The shock of the encounter was wearing off; now Ross edged his
flipper into a crevice to hold him steady while his hand went to the
sonic-com at his waist. He tapped out a distress call which the dolphins
could relay to the swimmers. The swaying dragon head paused, held
rigid on a stiff, scaled column in the center of the saucer. That sonic
vibration either surprised or bothered the hunter, made it wary.

Ross tapped again. The belief that if he tried to escape, he was lost, that
only while he faced it so had he any chance, grew stronger. The head
was only inches below the level of his flippered feet as he held to the
weeds.
Again that weaving movement, the rise of head, a tremor along the
serpent neck, an agitation in the depths. The dragon was on the move
again. Ross aimed the light directly at the head. The scales, as far as he
could determine, were not horny plates but lapped, silvery ovals such
as a fish possessed. And the underparts of the monster might even be
vulnerable to his spear. But knowing the way a Terran shark could
absorb