And Gunnar, the strong one, sobbed in his sleep.
The ship was loaded at last. The time for departure was near. The crew of The Nebula—over two hundred men, women and children—went quietly into the tunnel. Thousands of relatives and friends had come to the Tower to see them off. There was little weeping though most of the faces were sad and lined.
Ato and Wolden had some last words with the captains who were working upon the rebuilding of Opal.
“We can talk to you from the moon,” Wolden was saying. “Beyond that, when we swing into the Fourth Drive, we cannot. May your work prosper.”
The last man had filed up the ramp to the sphere at the center of the hour-glass shaped craft. The door was finally closed and sealed.
There were no portholes in the Nebula. But at least a dozen screens were mounted at convenient locations. These showed the outside world as clearly as a window.
The ship moved along its rails to the Great Door. The door opened. Then it closed behind them. The second door—the one that opened upon the sea—slowly parted and slid back into the walls of the tunnel. The water poured in. For a second or two, all that Odin could see was swirling bubbling water. Then water was all around them. Seaweed still swirled in mad little whirlpools. A fish swam close to an outside scanner, and seemed to peer closer and closer at them until there was only one great staring eye upon the screen. Then it flirted its tail at them and sped away.
The ship moved on. Far out upon the floor of the Gulf, it paused. There were twenty minutes of last-minute checking.
Then, swiftly, as a cork bobs upward, the Nebula arose through the parting waters.