t boat,
proceeding toward Sancerre Bay, on course south-by-southwest from the
wreck. Locator signal is being broadcast from the _Javelin_. Other
than that, we do not know our position. Calling all craft, calling
Mayday."

He stopped talking. The radio was silent except for an occasional
frying-fat crackle of static. Then he began over again.

I curled up, trying to keep my feet out of anybody's face and my face
clear of anybody else's feet. Somebody began praying, and somebody
else told him to belay it, he was wasting oxygen. I tried to go to
sleep, which was the only practical thing to do. I must have
succeeded. When I woke again, Joe Kivelson was saying, exasperatedly:

"Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, Mayday..."

11

DARKNESS AND COLD

The next time I woke, Tom Kivelson was reciting the Mayday, Mayday
incantation into the radio, and his father was asleep. The man who had
been praying had started again, and nobody seemed to care whether he
wasted oxygen or not. It was a Theosophist prayer to the Spirit
Guides, and I remembered that Cesario Vieira was a Theosophist. Well,
maybe there really were Spirit Guides. If there were, we'd all be
finding out before long. I found that I didn't care one hoot which
way, and I set that down to oxygen deficiency.

Then Glenn Murell broke in on the monotone call for help and the
prayer.

"We're done for if we stay down here another hour," he said. "Any
argument on that?"

There wasn't any. Joe Kivelson opened his eyes and looked around.

"We haven't raised anything at all on the radio," Murell went on.
"That means nobody's within an hour of reaching us. Am I right?"

"I guess that's about the size of it," Joe Kivelson conceded.

"How close to land are we?"

"The radar isn't getting anything but open water and schools of
fish," Abe Clifford said. "For all I know, we could be inside Sancerre
Bay now."

"Well, then, why don't we surface?" Murell continued. "It's a thousand
to one against us, but if we stay here our chances are precisely one
hundred per cent negative."

"What do you think?" Joe asked generally. "I think Mr. Murell's stated
it correctly."

"There is no death," Cesario said. "Death is only a change, and then
more of life. I don't care what you do."

"What have we got to lose?" somebody else asked. "We're broke and
gambling on credit now."

"All right; we surface," the skipper said. "Everybody grab onto
something. We'll take the Nifflheim of a slamm