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girders, catwalks, and ladders, Ramsey could see Garcia high above him near
the escape hatch unreeling a safety line, readying it for the outside spools.
Ramsey mounted the ladders, came up behind Garcia. "Looks like I'm going
swimming again, Joe."
Garcia glanced back, returned his attention to his work. "This one's on me."
Ramsey bent over, steadied the spool. "Why?"
"I'm the best swimmer aboard. It stands to --"
"Somehow I got the idea you might be afraid of the water."
Garcia grinned, then frowned. "I was responsible for a man dying in a
water-polo game. Broke his neck.
That was supposed to be a game. This is business."
"But you just got up from pressure sickness."
"I've had a good rest." He straightened. "Hand me down that patching kit from
the bulkhead rack. That's
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a good fellow."
Ramsey turned to the bulkhead, found the underwater patch kit, removed it.
Behind him, he heard
Garcia on the intercom.
"Is it compartment twenty-seven?"
"Yes. Why?" Sparrow's voice impersonalized by the speaker system.
"How'm I going to fix --"
"I'm doing this one, Joe. That's --"
"I'm rested, Skipper, and I feel fine. Remember me? Swimming champ?"
Silence. Then: "Are you sure you feel okay?"
"Tiptop, Skipper. Never better."
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"Ramsey."
Ramsey turned, then grinned at the reaction, pushed the button on his chest
mike. "Here, Skipper."
"How's Joe look?"
Ramsey looked at Garcia. "Same as ever."
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"Okay, Joe. But if you start feeling funny, come back in immediately. That's
an order."
"Righto, Skipper. How much oil we losing?"
"It's been going down as we climbed. Now it's about thirty gallons a minute.
Have Ramsey rig you in a detergent suit. That oil is mucky stuff to work in."
Garcia said, "Remember in refresher school when your suit system failed? You
looked like a --"
"All right, Joe. Some other time."
"How hot is it out there, Skipper?"
"You can take it for about one hour, Joe. That means you would be starting
back within forty minutes."
"That's cutting it close, Skipper. Is there a margin?"
"I don't think so. Watch your suit counter. We're stabilized now at 150 feet.
We'll slip down and balance on the pumps. Outside pressure is sixty-six pounds
to the square inch. Milli-R . . . 9050. You're on, Joe.
Be careful."
Ramsey said, "Shouldn't I go out with him, Skipper?"
"I don't want two of us on the radiation-limit list if I can help it," said
Sparrow. "Get yourself rigged and stand by for an emergency call."
"Aye." Ramsey pulled a detergent suit from its locker, helped Garcia into it,
tested the seals.
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Garcia spoke over his suit system. "Make sure I'm tight. The suit will give me
a little margin."
Again Ramsey went over the seals. "You're tight."
"Control deck, do you read me?"
"Loud and clear, Joe."
"I'm going into the hatch now."
"We'll follow you on the eyes. Be careful."
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"Righto." Garcia swung open the escape hatch, clambered through, closed the
hatch behind him.
Ramsey heard the water pouring into the locker chamber. He turned, pulled out
another detergent suit, donned it. His own suit seals came in for a double
check. He could hear Bonnett's voice over the intercom: "Lock pressure
equalized. Outer door open . . . closed."
Sparrow's voice: "Johnny?"
"Aye."
"Into the lock as soon as the water's out of it. Seal the hatch and stand by
to flood it."
High pressure air roared and the green light beside the hatch flashed clear.
"In I go," said Ramsey. He worked the outside dog controls, breached the
hatch, climbed inside the escape chamber, sealed the
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hatch behind him. The flood-valve release light blinked on. He leaned against
the ring rail within reach of the valve, settled down to wait.
"Keep an open talk switch," said Sparrow.
"You mean me?" asked Ramsey.
"Yes. Joe's out of range of the stern eyes now."
Ramsey watched the water dripping from the damp flood-valve control, glanced
at his suit snooper.
Some residual radiation: about twenty-three-hour dosage. He looked around the
oval compartment, up to the egg dome of the outside hatch. Garcia was out
there, probably through the stricture valve by now and into the viscous crude
of compartment twenty-seven. Ramsey could imagine the patient search by feel
in the black muck of oil. His eyes began to get heavy and he opened the oxy
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