“What do you need?”
“Electricity. Right now! There’s a line from our power company into your place for emergency power in case you need it. Now the emergency is the other way. If you’ll close the switch and put on your generators, your power will flow to us. Everybody is sound asleep in Arco, and the power company has already open-circuited all its lines except the one to us. So all the juice you can pump into that line will come right to the hospital. It was an emergency when the patient came in here. Now it’s life or death! We have three surgeons in town, and all three of them are with her in the operating room this minute. If the lights and power come on soon we may be able to save her. Otherwise, she’s gone!”
The doctor’s voice bespoke a condition of frantic urgency, of a critical concatenation of circumstance in which, suddenly and shockingly, unforeseen technological failure had brought human efforts to a standstill. This could not be a fake. The unworthy thought flashed into Richardson’s mind, was cast aside. The speaker’s distress was too genuine. In tiny Arco, he probably knew the patient well. It was not only a professional but a personal thing.
Richardson could feel a quickening of attention, the heightened awareness of imminent action, and, down underneath, the unmistakable scent of danger. It was a different sort of danger, but otherwise it was all so much like a few days ago, with the steam leak, or many years ago, with the enemy lifeboats in sight. Rich paused only long enough to get the doctor’s telephone number.
“Keith!” he barked. “Find the shore power switch. You can trace the line in from where it enters our compound. Figure out how to transform our four hundred and forty volts into whatever they need in Arco. Maybe the Arco power company can step it down. If not, maybe we can give it to them direct from the hundred and twenty volts AC end of our motor-generator sets. Take half of our electricians on watch to help you!”
“Got it, Skipper,” said Keith. He had been standing beside him during the whole of the telephone conversation.
“Buck, we’ve got to do this fast. Keith can’t do it all from that end. You take the rest of the electricians and start from the turbo-generator sets. Find out what’s the best way to pump power into that shore line, and meet Keith halfway!”
“Right!” Like Keith, Buck dashed away.
“Dan”—to the new trainee who had called them back from their hut—“you get on another phone and try to find Dusty. Maybe he’s gone somewhere for the weekend. Keep trying until you get him. He’s got to be somewhere near here, even if it is Sunday morning. Someone must know how to get in touch with him!”
The task of finding and communicating with Admiral Brighting, in Rhodes’ absence, Richardson had allocated to himself. But in this he was unsuccessful. There was no answer at Brighting’s Washington apartment; several hours would elapse before even the Sunday duty officer would be at his office. True to form, there was no executive officer or second-in-command, nor home telephone numbers of any of those in Washington who might be expected to have some useful information as to where Brighting was. Between efforts somehow to get in touch with him, Richardson lost himself in the welter of reports, impediments, suggestions and countersuggestions, interspersed with increasingly urgent calls from Dr. Danforth.
Three moments—two decisions and an instant of warm satisfaction—stood out. Wiring had to be improvised to bring the output from the turbo-generator sets around to the transformer; this took several hurried conferences with Keith and Buck, and their electricians, to determine the circuit. Then there was the decision to close the emergency power switch and build the paralleled generator sets to full power, so that current could begin to flow into the Arco line. As Rich gave the order, it was suddenly with much the same sense of commitment he remembered from combat long ago. This was the point after which there could be no turning back.
The instant of satisfaction occurred when he told Dr. Danforth there was now power on the line, and heard the gratitude in the doctor’s voice reporting that the operating room lights were functioning at last, the operation was proceeding normally, and the patient’s life would be saved.
“Everything’s fine now at the hospital,” Richardson reported to the nucleus of his working group. He was in the process of describing Danforth’s final call as Keith and Buck entered Rhodes’ office.
After all the others had left, Keith and Buck put into words the shadow lying in the back of his mind, the one flaw in the success. “Boss,” Keith said in a low tone, “did you ever get in touch with Brighting?”
During the months in Idaho, Richardson had many times pondered the clear dictum in the standing instructions for the site that under no circumstances whatever was power to be provided off-site. It might be brought in, in emergency, but never sent the other way. Dusty Rhodes’ explanation had been un-illuminating: “Far as anyone knows, he figures there’ll be a temptation to count on us as an area resource if we ever do anything like that. Then sometime when we might want to go down for overhaul or a drill or something, we might not be able to without their okay. It would cut into his complete control of this place.”
A life-or-death emergency clearly lay outside the scope or intent of Admiral Brighting’s instructions. Could he have been reached, he most certainly would have authorized provision of emergency assistance to the Arco hospital. Rich had done only what Brighting himself would have done, he mused uncomfortably, realizing the while that, unquestionably, he had disobeyed not only the written standing orders of the training site but also the personal order about leaving his rank and title outside the chain link fence enclosing the complex. He had done this twice recently, in fact. But Rhodes’ telephoned report of the repair of the steam leak under the hot reactor had not mentioned Richardson’s part in marshaling the repair effort. Likewise, no one (he hoped) had told Brighting yet that those present that night, at least the Navy people—and tonight as well—had automatically reverted to old training and addressed him as “Captain.”
This had not happened through any desire of Richardson’s. It had been a subconscious wish for and acceptance of leadership on the part of everyone. But in responding to one of Dr. Danforth’s anxious telephone calls before the power hookup was complete, Richardson had himself used his title as the quickest and simplest method of indicating his acceptance of responsibility. He was as guilty as the rest. More so. With the town of Arco and its power company involved, there was no way Brighting could fail to learn all the details almost immediately, wherever he was.
Rhodes, when he finally came to the telephone after being rousted from the duck blind in which he had barely settled for his first try at duck hunting in Idaho, was incredulous when he learned what Rich had done. “You know I’ll have to tell the old man,” he said unhappily. “There’s no way I can not tell him. Arco’s been trying to get us to agree to do this for years. They’ve even gone to the State Power Commission to try to force us. Now this will be all over the papers.”
It was a badly shaken Dusty Rhodes who greeted Richardson Monday morning. “He chewed me out all over the Bell Telephone System,” he said. “He already knew all about it. He must have spies everywhere. I didn’t even get a chance to talk at all. The way he carried on you’d have thought I had done it myself, instead of being off in a duck blind. Even early on a Sunday morning, I’ve got no right to be in a duck blind. Said I’m in charge and should have been here. So now I’ve got to move into the quonset alongside yours and be on board whenever the reactor is critical. To hell with family life. We’re critical for months at a time, and I’ll just have to stay on board. And the Navy calls this shore duty!” Rhodes audibly expelled his breath. “Also, I’ve got to tell you you can’t take the exam. It’s okay for Keith and Buck, but not you. He won’t even listen. Twice I tried to tell him how it was, and both times he said you were like the gunner of the Claymer, or something like that. What’s this Claymer business? And what’s it got to do with knocking you out of taking the operator’s exam? That’s all he’d say, except that he doesn�
�t want to talk to you.”
“It’s a famous story by Victor Hugo,” said Richardson, thinking of something else, almost absently answering the question. “A gun broke loose on a ship named Claymore during a storm. It rolled around on deck smashing things and killing people and nearly sinking the ship, which was carrying some big general back to France during the French Revolution. The gunner risked his life to secure the gun, and after he finally got it lashed so it couldn’t move, the general gave him a medal and then had him shot. Some say the general was supposed to be Napoleon, but I’m not so sure.”
“What did he have the poor guy shot for?”
“The medal was for heroism in tying up the gun again. He was shot because he was responsible for it getting loose in the first place. I get the message all right, mainly that Brighting won’t listen to my side of the story. But his analogy is mixed up. I didn’t let any guns get loose!”
Rhodes looked curiously at Richardson. “You’re awfully calm about it,” he said. “I thought you’d be mad as hell.”
Rich grimaced. “Well, I’m not happy about it,” he said. “That make you feel any better?” He had not been able totally to keep the bitterness out of his voice, even knowing that Dusty Rhodes had been a very unwilling bearer of bad news. He had expected something like this, had spent a good portion of the past day considering the manner of his defense during the telephone conversation with Brighting which he believed to be inevitable. The unfairness of the summary decision cut deep. He had been denied even the opportunity of saying a single word in his defense, as if he counted for nothing. The effort he and the others had made, the good accomplished, the life saved, the agonized decision to proceed in the emergency without permission which was, in the circumstance, unobtainable, all were being treated contemptuously. Fury suddenly boiled within him. Brighting had no right to do this to him!
But the inner rage could not come out. It would be unseemly. More, it would be stupid for him to let Brighting goad him into saying or doing something which could be construed as disrespectful. So far, he was morally certain of the right of his position and the support of the Navy. He must not forfeit this by losing control now, no matter what the provocation.
With Buck and Keith, however, both of whom announced they would also skip the exam, he could be less reserved. It was almost a relief to shout at them. “Certainly not!” he blazed. “You two damn fools get in there and take that exam! And you’d both better come out with damned near perfect marks, both of you!”
But then, as the morning wore on to noon—a can of soup warmed by the vending machine while he waited—and the afternoon turned into evening, it became too painful. The study program had all been directed to the end of taking the qualifying examination for reactor operator, one of several qualifications it was possible to attain. All three men had already done all the physical testing and watch-standing work, had passed all the practical factors required for qualification. Remaining was only the theoretical test, the examination. Mark One was already programmed for a following study group, this time prospective engineers instead of skippers. Even in Mark One there was nothing for him to do except observe some other students follow the same learning path, make the same mistakes, learn the same basics. Reading for relaxation or trying to occupy himself in some other way did not work. He found a magazine which someone had surreptitiously brought in, threw it down after only a few minutes. The operating manuals were hopeless. His eyes glazed over the words.
As he paced restlessly about, conjuring up new errands, torturing himself with his inability to control his bitter emotion, wishing he were anywhere but where he was and yet not able to go away for more than a moment at any given time, Richardson could not help occasionally seeing Keith and Buck, sitting on opposite sides of the examination room, concentrating on the question sheet before them, scribbling madly on pads of ruled paper, drinking cup after cup of coffee. In this, at least, he could participate; getting coffee for his friends was one of the ways his life could be meaningful. Frequently one or the other, sometimes both at once, cast him a quick glance of gratitude for the coffee, of sympathy for the pain he was feeling, of worry for their inability to help assuage the anguish. But the demands of the test were primary. For the most part they kept their eyes on their papers, their pencils in ceaseless motion.
Several doors away, in the officer-in-charge’s private office, the same which Rich had commandeered for a command post only thirty-six hours ago, an associated drama was taking place. Rhodes’ telephone rang more often than usual, and most of the time it must have been Brighting.
At least, Rhodes’ alacrity to answer, the somber sympathy of his secretary or the hurried search organized when Rhodes happened to be absent could spell no one but Admiral Brighting on the other end of the line. Once Rhodes spoke louder than usual, and Rich heard him say, “No, sir, he’s not. He’s not in there.” The negatives were emphatic. “He’s down in the prototype somewhere. Do you want me to get him to the phone?”
Evidently Brighting did not, for no one came for Rich. It was not his intention to eavesdrop, but Rhodes might have realized he was only a few feet away and could not help overhearing. Maybe this was a hint. Perhaps Rhodes was more subtle than he thought. Anyway, he would take it as such, would force himself to find something of interest in the drills down in the prototype.
Keith found him in the reactor compartment, two hours later. “Well, we’re finished,” he said. “Buck’s winding up his last question right now, so that’s done. He’ll be here in a couple minutes. Boy! That was some exam!”
“How did you do?”
“Oh, I’m sure I did pretty doggone well. It was fair enough—it just asked me everything I ever knew. That’s why it took all day. They’ve already started to grade my paper, and we’ll know pretty soon what Dusty’s crew thinks of it. I’ve got a great case of writer’s cramp, and a permanent dent in my finger where I held the pencils, and I’ll bet Buck has, too! But what a lousy deal this is for you! I wish there were some way we could square this!”
“We can’t help that,” said Richardson, speaking as normally as he could. “Don’t forget I learned what I came out here for, nuke ticket or no. I’m just glad he didn’t lay on you and Buck for helping. You’re the guys who will really need the tickets on your records with your nuke boats.”
“Ships, you mean,” said Keith, sensing that Richardson would like to change the subject. “Some of us have been calling them ‘ships’ ever since the Triton went in commission—about time, too. She’s as big as a cruiser. I suppose we’ll be heading home tomorrow. Dusty’s already cut our orders, I think, and I’m anxious to get back to Peggy and the Cushing, both.”
“Spoken like a true sailor,” Rich began, glad for the chance to take up a new topic. “I’ve got interest in New London, too. . . .”
“I don’t know which needs me the most, Manta or Cindy,” said Williams’ voice behind them, “but I know which one I need most, and she’s no damned submarine!”
“You young bucks are all the same,” growled Richardson with mock disdain. “Can’t keep away from women!”
“You just now said something about New London yourself, Skipper,” said Buck, mischievously. “Is there anyone there in particular . . .?”
Someone was approaching rapidly on the other side of the reactor housing. Rhodes. “Rich,” he said, “Brighting’s changed his mind! Can you take the exam right away?”
“You mean right this minute? You bet! What’s happened?”
“Damned if I know,” said Rhodes. “He suddenly called up again, and out of the clear blue he said to give you the test immediately. Now. Then he hung up. It’s now or never, the way he said it. He’s not even willing for you to wait till tomorrow morning. Can you start right now?”
There was neither disrespect nor lese majesty in the blows Keith and Buck were suddenly raining on his back, and their delighted exclamations. Dusty Rhodes joined them after a moment and in a somewhat more inhibited fashion,
and within minutes Rich found himself seated in the same examination room lately occupied by his friends, fortified by a cup of black coffee and staring at his first question.
“There’s no time limit, but you have to do it all at one sitting,” said Rhodes. “Just work till you finish, and then lay your papers on my desk. I’ll get them in the morning. I couldn’t give you the same test as the others, though. Brighting’s orders. It’s a little tougher, so it won’t be lying on my desk very long, I don’t think. This is the one for reactor supervisor, which we normally use to qualify top-grade technicians who’ve been out here at least a year. I’m afraid you’ll be working pretty late.”
After Rhodes had left, Keith said quietly, “If this exam is tougher than ours, it’s going to be a long night for you. Buck and I will go watch-and-watch on you, so there’ll be one of us around for moral support and coffee. We’ve got plenty of quarters for the soup machines, too; so all you have to do is yell when you need something.”
The examination taken by his two friends had contained thirty questions, they had said, and it was with some dismay that Rich found forty-two in his. Dusty’s sure not going to find all these finished and on his desk when he gets there tomorrow morning, that’s one thing certain, he thought. It took Keith and Buck nine hours to do theirs, so they averaged ten questions every three hours. At the same speed this one will take more than twelve hours. He put his wristwatch on the table in front of him, picked up the first of a boxful of sharpened pencils and began.
Cold is the Sea Page 7
