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“You like it so much,” Canidy said, “it can just as easily be arranged that I hold the box while you go topside.”
Tubes smiled.
“Aw, that’s all right. You’re already in it and all. I wouldn’t want to stress out an old man.”
Canidy stared at him, then grinned. They both knew they were only a year or so different in age. While Tubes’s surfer mentality tended to annoy Canidy, he had found himself starting to like the guy. His laid-back personality certainly eased the gravity of the situation.
Which really isn’t all that grave.
This exercise borders on the academic. It’s purely precautionary.
The risk of gas poisoning at this point is extremely low.
Yeah, that’s right, Dick. Keep telling yourself that.
And keep discounting Rossi’s scenario that those munitions are leaching gas from the harbor bottom.
See where that gets you….
Canidy glanced at Frank Nola. He looked extremely emotional, maybe even scared. He remained silent, lost in thought.
Canidy heard L’Herminier’s encouraging voice.
“You should have no pressurization problem with the main hatch,” the commander said. “The secondary hatch might be a bit stiff. We do not use it hardly at all. I personally tested it, then had one of the crewmen lubricate the moving parts as well as the seal.”
Was that for my benefit, Canidy thought skeptically, or yours, Cap’n?
Oh, hell, it is Jean’s job to protect the boat and the lives of his crew.
“Thank you, Commander.”
Canidy, with some obvious effort in the heavy, stiff suit, clumsily made his way up the conn tower, his heavy leather boots clunking on the U-shaped metal bars welded to its side that served as steps.
When he got past the first round hatch, he sat on its lip and reached down with his right gloved hand.
“Okay, hand ’em to me,” he called down. The hood made his voice sound distorted, and he figured what Tubes heard was probably garbled beyond understanding.
Tubes, though, reached into the box and nabbed two mice by the nape of the neck—a male and a female, in case one proved more sensitive to poisoning than the other—and put them in a soft cloth pouch that had a pull-string closure. He tugged the pouch closed.
He held up the pouch, which now wiggled, to Canidy’s gloved hand.
“Adolf and Eva coming up,” Tubes said.
Behind the mask, Canidy grinned.
“Got ’em,” Canidy said.
“Good luck!” Tubes said.
Canidy nodded and gave a thumbs-up.
Then he swung he legs up and inside the hatch opening. Carefully, he put the pouch of mice in a corner behind him, then turned to reach for the hatch door.
The heavy steel door, two feet in diameter and mounted on a hinge, almost closed under its own weight when Canidy started to rotate it downward.
How much lube did that guy use?
The door now covered the hatch, making the small space in the tower completely dark. Working only by feel, Canidy next found the V-shaped iron handle on back side of the door—there was another above his head, on the main hatch door—and he began turning the handle clockwise. This tightened the threaded “nut” that was at the bottom of the V, which cinched the door snug to the hatch.
