Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net Seed of the Arctic Ice By H. G. Winter [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Astounding Stories February 1932. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] [Sidenote: Killer whales and seal-creatures tangle Ken Torrance in an amazing adventure under the ice-roofed arctic sea.] Sleepily the lookout stared at the scope-screen before him, wishing for something that would break the monotony of the scene it pictured: the schools of ghostly fish fleeting by, the occasional shafts of pale sunlight filtering down through breaks in the ice-floes above, the long snaky ropes of underwater growth. None of this was conducive to wakefulness; nor did the half-speed drone of the electric engines aft and the snores of some distant sleeper help him. The four other men on duty in the submarine--the helmsman; the second mate, whose watch it was; the quartermaster and the second engineer--might not have been present, so motionless and silent were they. The lookout man stifled another yawn and glanced at a clock to see how much more time remained of his trick. Then suddenly something on the screen brought him to alert attention. He blinked at it; stared hard--and thrilled. Far ahead, caught for an instant by the submarine _Narwhal's+ light-beams, a number of sleek bodies moved through the foggy murk, with a flash of white bellies and an easy graceful thrust of flukes. The watcher's hands cupped his mouth; he turned and sang out: "K-i-i-ll-ers! I see killers!" The cry rang in every corner, and immediately there was a feverish response. Rubbing their eyes, men appeared as if from nowhere and jumped to posts; with a clang, the telegraph under the second mate's hand went over to full speed; Captain Streight rolled heavily out of his bunk, flipped his feet mechanically into sea-boots and came stamping forward. First Torpooner Kenneth Torrance, as he sat up and stretched, heard the usual crisp question: "Where away?" "Five points off sta'b'd bow, sir; quarter-mile away; swimming slow." "How large a school?" "Couldn't say, sir. Looks around a dozen." "Whew!" whistled Ken Torrance. "That's a strike!" He pulled on a sweater and strode forward to the scope-screen to see for himself, even as Captain Streight, all at once testy with eagerness, bawled: "Sta'b'd five! Torpoon ready, Mister Torrance! Mister Torr--oh, here you are. Take a look." * * * * *