The Fire Ship Read Online Free PDF Page B

of a spark. And even that nonexplosive gas, protecting them from explosion, was nevertheless quite deadly. But there should be no inert gas in the tank now. Now they were at rest. Now the tank was full of air while the work on one of the automatic cleaners went ahead; of air and God knew what else.John had expected to be waiting for days before Prometheus ’s tanks were filled. He had taken the chance to pump the gas out of this tank, fill it with air, and send down the team to fix a faulty washer in it.
    Air was in many ways the most dangerous thing of all to allow down here, for it contained oxygen, and that could combine with the hydrocarbon gasses oozing from the ever-present oil sludge to create the most lethal cocktail imaginable. It hung invisibly all around them in the darkness. It could lie low, like ground fog at sunset. It could sail high, deadly clouds floating under the night-black sky of the tank’s roof. It could form bubbles, discrete, absolute, where the concentration went from 0 percent to 100 percent in a millimeter. He had seen gas readers jump from SAFE to DEADLY in a step. And once you were trapped in one of those bubbles, you would be lucky to break free; the stuff clung like gaseous glue. But no matter what circumstances you started breathing the gas under, you had only four minutes of life left unless a crash team brought you oxygen. Yet it was impossible to work down here for any length of time wearing heavy breathing equipment. The team he was racing toward would have had breathing equipment with them but they would have been breathing the air unprotected as they worked.
    The malfunction of the automatic tank washing unit had shown up on Smyke’s computers during routine checking yesterday. Now it was important to get the unit fixed and clean the tank before loading a new cargo—hence the visit by more than a normal survey team: the first name on John’s crayon-written list was that of the irreplaceable American chief engineer, Bob Stark.
    God! He hoped Bob was all right. They had sailed together regularly during the last five years, and theircurrent lazy, friendly rivalry for the attentions of Asha Quartermaine hid a deep affection.
    His feet skidded, thick rubber soles suddenly failing to find traction. He looked down, surprised to find himself standing on the tank floor, virtually up to his ankles in black ooze. “Captain here. On tank floor. Beware thick oil scum.”
    He glanced at his watch again and Asha was at his side. Four minutes clicked up. Kerem joined them. That was it. One man remained on platform 3 looking for lights. Bob’s team should have been signaling since they radioed for help, to guide the crash team in. Ominously there had been no lights: that darkness over by the suspect unit made John fear for his chief engineer’s life.
    He turned toward the first of the seven steel walls between them and their goal, only to bite back a shout of fright. Straightening into the beam of his torch came the figure of the man he feared dead. And, behind him, the rest of the team. Alive, unconcerned, all of them breathing the air.
    John tore his headset off, gulping in the oil-tainted, nonlethal atmosphere. “Bob!” he stepped forward, hand thrust out, almost overcome with relief. Stark’s open, cheerful countenance folded into a look of concern as he took in Asha’s presence. He swept one hand back through the tousled gold shock of his hair, letting the farmboy cowlick fall to his narrow blue eyes in an unconscious gesture.
    “What’s this?” he demanded. “Some kind of exercise?”
    “Didn’t you broadcast an emergency?”
    “Us? Nope. Clear and clean. Fixed the unit. No problem.”
    “Then what…”
    “Captain!” Distant voice from the headset in the helmet in his hand. “Deck here. Capt…”
    They set off at a run, everything else forgotten but the urgent need to answer that panic call from above.
    John didn’t even think to switch off his stopwatch. It had just