Cold is the Sea Read Online Free PDF Page B

level as the sea, to a horizon any seaman must know was false. The road was obviously built for speed, though only two lanes wide. There was hardly a curve and only a single intersection, and during the entire trip, which took just minutes longer than an hour, they saw only two other cars, both of them headed in the opposite direction.
    The road had but a single destination, and it came in sight while still some twenty miles distant, a square white dot poised on the horizon at the base of glowering, slate gray mountains. “That’s the prototype, or rather, the building it’s in,” said Rich’scompanion. “It’s six stories high, and most folks can’t believe it’s that far away.”
    At closer range, the dot grew into a graceless, windowless, sand-colored cube, dominating a number of lower buildings of industrial character. A tall chain-link fence surrounded the complex, and a cloud of steam rose from a broad, squat structure alongside the boxlike bulk of the prototype building.
    â€œThat’s the cooling pond,” said the driver, answering Richardson’s question. “We’ve been critical for three months. There’s not much heat going into it right now, though. At full power it steams up a lot more than this.” The speaker, who had introduced himself as Lieutenant Commander John Rhodes, officer-in-charge of the prototype, was a short, dark young man. He had not been talkative during the ride from the airport, and was clearly ill at ease. “Rhodes with E. G. Richardson,” he said to the guard at the gate, and instantly Rich felt he knew at least part of the reason for his discomfiture.
    â€œHere’s where you’ll be staying, Mr. Richardson.” The car had stopped in front of one of a small group of quonset huts of wartime vintage. “I’ll help you with your luggage, and then I’ll take you over to the prototype and start you off. It’s warm in there, so don’t bother with a jacket or a tie.” The speech had been rehearsed. Admiral Brighting’s instructions must have been very specific. Rhodes tried to look squarely at Rich, but his gaze faltered. He was, clearly, having difficulty overlooking the thousands of Navy precedence numbers by which Rich was his senior. Until recently, his indoctrination had been all the other way.
    â€œFine, John,” said Richardson, searching for the way to start off his study period on the right note. “Look,” he said, “I’m here for one thing only, to learn everything you fellows can teach me. So why don’t we just knock off the rates for the time being—that will make things a lot simpler. My friends call me ‘Rich,’” he continued. “Is yours ‘Dusty,’ like all the Rhodes in the Navy?”
    â€œRight—uh—Rich. Nobody calls me ‘John’ anymore. I guess I sort of like ‘Dusty.’”
    â€œOkay, and don’t forget that ‘Rich’ business.” Rhodes’ handshake contained considerably more warmth than at the airport. “That goes for everybody else here, too, Dusty, and now that’s settled, is there time for me to shave before coming over?”
    â€œI really don’t think so, Rich.” This time Rhodes’ eyes were unflinching, and again Richardson had the sense of a hidden message, some concealed urgency, behind the words.
    Once in the prototype building, however, Richardson was surprised to discover only a duty section, a very small percentage of the total force, present. Rhodes had a small office suite opening directly into the cavernous interior housing Mark One, as the prototype reactor for the Nautilus was known, and there were desks for an assistant and two secretaries, all three vacant. The main room of the building, occupying almost all of its interior from concrete floor to metal roof, had the air of being full of activity even though few persons were present.