Cold is the Sea by Edward L. Beach Read Free Book Online

probably contained a cot. Here a person could lie down between particularly interesting evolutions of Mark One, or when he was totally beat, provided only that he was gone before any early arrivals for the day watch. And so, fortified by a few hours of fitful slumber (for fear of an unaccounted-for female), Keith, Buck and Rich often skipped their quonset hut bunks entirely.
    Frequently, toward the end of their stay, they were not even aware of the change of shifts, except that new faces were at the various posts. Once, during a test for flux density under a new control rod program, Keith noted with mock dismay that they had not been outside the windowless prototype building for two and a half days, or even looked out an opened door, except to determine whether it was day or night (i.e., whether it would be safe to use the cot in the ladies’ room).
    Through it all there was the uncomfortable realization that Admiral Brighting must have ordered Dusty Rhodes to make a daily telephoned report on their activities. More than once, Rich saw Rhodes’ honest face become troubled when they unexpectedly observed him speaking into the equipment, and invariably there would follow an episode of exaggerated warmth and high spirits which confirmed the idea that Rhodes was trying to square his conscience.
    Midway through the time at the site, Richardson got into a telephone conversation, and therefore an angry exchange, with Admiral Brighting. The subject was the proposed construction of a cafeteria near the Mark One building, so that on-site subsistence would not have to depend on lunches and dinners brought from home or, as in the case of Rich, Keith and Buck, who never left the site for any reason, from one of the many sandwich-and-soup dispensing machines which must have been a bonanza for their concessionaire. The cafeteria had already been authorized. Dusty Rhodes had circulated a request for opinions as to the most desirable location for it. The three trainees, whose ideas Dusty had solicited as representative of one of the groups affected, had all responded with suggestions. A building contractor from Idaho Falls had appeared, and Rich had been one of several who had talked with him.
    The denouement was begun by Rhodes, who appeared suddenly,on his hands and knees with an unusually long face, alongside the spot where Rich was lying on his back, under the outside skin of the Mark One simulated submarine, tracing one of the nonconforming hydraulic supply lines. In the Nautilus the line had, of course, been inside the submarine. For Mark One it had apparently been deemed unimportant that actual submarine practice be followed to such a degree of detail, an execrable decision which Richardson had decided was surely never made by Brighting.
    â€œYou’re wanted on the telephone in my office!” Rhodes shouted above the roar of the turbine in the hull overhead.
    â€œWho is it? Tell him I can’t talk to him now!” Richardson had already spent hours tracing this particular system and understanding its function. He was out of sorts because of its inaccessibility, angry at the design stupidity revealed, furious at the necessity to inch his way on his back along the dirty, oil-soaked, evidently never-before-visited concrete underlayment beneath the engineroom.
    â€œIt’s the boss! He wants to talk to you right away! He’s already on the line, and he’s mad about something!”
    â€œWhat’s he upset about, Dusty?” Rich had begun worming his way out of the corner into which he had wedged himself. “Is he mad at you or me?”
    â€œDon’t know for sure, Rich. Both of us, probably.” Long since, Dusty Rhodes had become accustomed to using Richardson’s nickname. “It’s something about the cafeteria, but I don’t know what.”
    â€œWell, nothing like finding out,” said Rich, brushing his coveralls and striding toward Rhodes’ office. “Richardson