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a good day for fishing.”
    Sparrow’s voice rasped over the speakers: “Enough of that! Was there anyone up there to spot the gull’s flop? They could’ve seen our box.”
    â€œNegative, Skipper.”
    Sparrow said, “Les, give me the complete atmosphere check. Vampire gauges everyone. Follow the check. Report any deviations.”
    The patient inspection continued.
    Ramsey interrupted. “I’m in the induction-drive chamber. A lot of static here as I entered.”
    Garcia said, “Did you go back by the lower shaft tunnel?”
    â€œLower.”
    â€œI noticed that myself earlier. We’ll rig a ground for the scuff mat. I think that’ll fix it.”
    â€œI grounded myself before entering.”

    Sparrow said, “Run that down, Joe. Les, where are you?”
    â€œSecond-level catwalk in the engine room.”
    â€œRelieve Joe on the main board. Ramsey, get into your shack. Contact with base in eleven minutes.”
    â€œAye, Skipper.”
    Sparrow moved from his position on the control deck below Garcia to a point at the first-level door which was open to permit visual inspection of the big gauges forward on the radiation wall. That room in the bow , he thought. That’s what worries me. We can see into it with our TV eyes; guages tell us what’s happening. But we can’t touch it with our bare hands. We don’t have a real feeling for that place.
    He mopped his forehead with a large red handkerchief. Something, somewhere is wrong. He was a subtug skipper who had learned to depend on his feeling for the boat.
    A string of Spanish curses in Garcia’s voice, rendered metallic by the intercom, interrupted his reverie.
    Sparrow barked: “Joe! What’s wrong?” He turned toward the stern, as though to peer through the bulkheads.
    â€œWiper rag in the rotor system. It was rubbing the induction ring every revolution. That’s Ramsey’s static.”
    â€œDoes it look deliberate?”
    â€œDid you ever come across a silk wiping rag?” The sound of a grunt came over the intercom. “There, by heaven!”
    Sparrow said, “Save that rag.” Then: “Ramsey, where are you?”
    . “In the shack warming up the transmitter.”
    â€œDid you hear Joe?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œTell base about that rag. Tell them—”
“Skipper!” It was Garcia’s voice. “There’s oil in the atmosphere back here!”
    Sparrow said, “A mist of oil plus static spark equals an explosion! Where’s that oil coming from?”
    â€œJust a minute.” A clanking of metal against metal. “Open pet-cock in the lube system. Just a crack. Enough to squirt a fine spray under full drive.”
    Sparrow said, “Ramsey, include that in the report to base.”
    â€œAye, Skipper.”
    â€œJoe, I’m coming back there,” said Sparrow. “We’re going over that drive room with a microscope.”
    â€œI’ve already started.”
    Bonnett said, “Skipper, would you send Ramsey up here after he gets off the contact? I’ll need help checking the main board.”
    â€œHear that, Ramsey?” asked Sparrow.
    â€œAye.”
    â€œComply.”
    â€œWill do.”
    Sparrow went aft, dropped down to the lower level, crawled through the shaft tunnel and into the drive room—a cone-shaped space dominated by the gleaming brass induction ring, the spaced coils. He could smell the oil, a heavy odor. Garcia was leaning into the coil space, examining the induction ring by magnifying glass.
    â€œThey’re just little things,” said Sparrow. “But taken together—boom!”
    Garcia turned, his eyes glittering in the harsh work lights. “I don’t like the feel of things, Skipper. This is a bad beginning. This is starting like a dead-man mission.”
    Sparrow took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. With an
abrupt motion, he thumbed