The Dragon in the Sea by Frank Herbert Page B

up?”
    â€œHe’ll tell you.”
    Bonnett closed the circuit, opened the call network. “Ramsey.”
    â€œAye. In the rec room.”
    â€œStand by on the control deck.”
    â€œRight away.”
    Bonnett clicked the call switch off, joined Sparrow at the tunnel door forward. Garcia was with them almost immediately, still buttoning his shirt, black hair tumbled over his forehead. “Something wrong?”
    Sparrow said, “You made the last pile check, Joe. Did you open the tunnel doors?”
    â€œSure. But I didn’t go inside. The Security crew gave us a clean—”
    â€œThat’s okay. Did you smell something?”
    Garcia frowned. “You mean like with my nose?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œI don’t believe so.” Garcia scratched his head. “Why?”
    â€œTake a sniff,” said Bonnett.
    Garcia wrinkled his nose, inhaled. Again. “Rotten.”
    â€œLes has been smelling it for a couple of days.”
    â€œHas anybody checked the ventilator duct?” asked Garcia.
    â€œFirst thing,” said Bonnett. “I couldn’t be certain. Far enough in there it’d be a race between bacteria and sterilizing radiation.”
    â€œWith the bacteria winning as soon as we hit high oxy,” said Sparrow. He pointed to the screened outlet of the tunnel vent. “It’s worst right there. Joe, get me a length of our spare high-pressure tubing.”

    â€œHow long?”
    â€œAbout twenty feet. Something that’ll bend for the center dip of the tunnel and reach out into the open section.”
    â€œRighto.” Garcia went aft and into machine stores.
    Sparrow turned to a wall rack, broke out a portable TV eye and spotlight. “All of us have a blind spot on the reactor room. We don’t like to think about it. We count on the stationary eyes being arranged for maximum inspection. This way we’ll lose one portable eye and one spotlight when they get hot, but we’ll see into the odd corners.”
    Garcia returned with the tubing. “What’re you going to do?”
    â€œRig a portable eye and light on the end,” said Sparrow.
    Garcia blushed. “I didn’t think of that.”
    â€œLike I was telling Les,” said Sparrow. “Our minds don’t function right on—”
    Ramsey’s voice came from the speaker on the bulkhead above them. “I have you on my screen here. What’s doing?”
    Bonnett thumbed his chest mike. “Something rotten in this pile-room tunnel.”
    Sparrow looked up from where he was rigging the TV eye and light to the tubing. “Have him take it from the portable board you left up there on the catwalk railing. We may need his help.”
    Bonnett relayed the order.
    Presently, Ramsey came out on the catwalk above them, checked the portable control board. He leaned over the railing, looked down at them. “I just smelled it,” he said. “Do you think it’s a rat?”
    â€œDon’t know,” said Bonnett.

    â€œHere.” Sparrow passed the tubing to Garcia, turned to the tunnel door, undogged it, paused. He looked up at Ramsey. “Take that board back a ways.”
    Ramsey complied, moving about ten feet back along the catwalk.
    Sparrow nodded to Bonnett. “Les, move over a bit.”
    Bonnett stepped back out of line of the door. “What’re you expecting?”
    Sparrow nodded toward the fixed radiation counter above the tunnel door. “It may be a little warm. Keep an eye on that thing.”
    Garcia brought a portable radiation snooper from its wall rack, stood beside Sparrow.
    â€œOkay,” said Sparrow. “Here goes.” He pulled the door open.
    Garcia gagged.
    â€œWheee-ew!” gasped Sparrow.
    â€œIf you’ll excuse the pun,” said Bonnett, “I don’t like the smell of that.”
    Ramsey leaned over the railing. “That’s no rat,” he said.