“You’re talking about an entirely new and different kind of a navy, aren’t you, Admiral?” said Richardson.
“Not just a new navy, Richardson! A whole new type of civilization! How long do you expect the world’s stocks of fossil fuels — oil, gas and coal — to last?”
“In 1945 I was reading that oil would last only fifty years or so, but we seem to be finding more oil all the time…”
“That’s true. But have you any idea of how much energy we are using, in just one year, just in the United States?”
“A lot…”
“A hell of a lot, Richardson. That’s something people aren’t thinking of these days, but one of these days they’re going to have to. Since 1957 the United States has expended more total energy than the whole world used up to then, ever since the beginning of time! What do you think of that!”
There was no answer expected. Rich, Keith and Buck merely stared at Brighting.
“Besides, do you know what’s happening to world population? Man’s been around for thousands of generations, but five percent — that’s a twentieth — of all the people who ever lived are living this minute! Now do you see what I’m trying to do?” The puckish look was gone. In its place were the pinched nostrils, the rigid posture, the glaring eyes of the zealot. Only the flat voice was the same. The whole bearing of the man had changed, almost instantaneously, without visible movement of any sort.
Later, Rich would wonder if Brighting had been acting a part. At the time, however, he could only notice the metamorphosis with astonishment, as Brighting continued. “The Navy is just the beginning. War, as you and I have known it, is over. Out the window. What will come next is a struggle to survive on earth. In a hundred years all the oil will be gone. That’s only three generations away. In ten generations all the rest of the fossil fuels will be gone.” The manner in which Brighting pronounced the words “fossil fuels” gave no doubt of the contempt in which he held the ordinary energy sources.
“What about tides, solar energy and the internal heat of the earth?” asked Buck.
The disdain in Brighting’s face was palpable. “Sure!” he said. “We’ve only been talking about all those great things for years. Where are they?” Again it was only a rhetorical question. He gave no time for an answer. “Nuclear power is here now. But it has its own engineering problems, like anything else. So people are afraid of it. They lack confidence in their own ability to control it. And they’re right. Most people are nice. Nice and friendly, like big puppy dogs. And they’ll never do things right if it’s easier to do them wrong. Nobody does things right unless he doesn’t dare do them wrong. He’s got to know he’ll be called to account.”
The pinched nostrils tightened another notch. No one spoke. “You fellows are supposed to be the best submariners in the Navy. That’s rot! Maybe you can handle diesel submarines, but they’re nothing. You’re worthless if you can’t discipline yourself to handle a nuclear power plant. That’s what you’re here for. This program is a lot bigger than just submarines or the Navy. Now do you see why I have to do things the way I do?”
There was a moment during which no one spoke. There was nothing to say. Again Brighting seized the initiative. “Good night,” he said, as he rose to his feet.
Buck Williams put the cap on the evening, as the three officers thoughtfully walked back to the prototype and their interrupted study program. Buck was always the irreverent one, the one given to the apropos comment which tore through obfuscation to expose gobbledygook, the non sequitur or the stupid — or, alternatively, to put things into balanced context. This time, after a minute during which the only sound was their own footsteps on the graveled walk, he did it with a single statement that encompassed what all three were thinking. “No wonder the Navy hates him,” he said, “and still lets him get away with it all. He’s a bully and a genius at the same time. Tonight we saw his genius side. We’re damned lucky to have him in our Navy, and we three are lucky to be working for him.”
The others said nothing. The crunch of their footsteps was loud in the chill desert night.
4
“Captain! Wake up, Captain!” The voice using the unaccustomed salutation came from far away, from far back in the past. He was sleeping on the stool in Eel’s conning tower. The hand shaking him was Keith’s. The voice too. Richardson must have fallen more soundly asleep than he had expected. He rolled upright on the cot in the ladies’ room. “How long have I been out?” he asked, groggily.
“Not long. Probably only fifteen minutes. Buck and I were going to let you caulk off another half hour at least, but we think there’s an emergency on its way.”
“That’s right, sir! It’s a big one, I’m afraid, and you’re the only one here …” Buck was speaking from the other side of the cot.
Richardson’s mind subconsciously recorded the fact that both former subordinates were putting him into the role of years ago. Simultaneously his own habit asserted itself, framed the words for him as his quickening pulses for a precious second drove the blood into his brain. “Yes, what is it?”
“Reactor casualty, I think! There’s steam in the lower level, and all the dosimeter readings are climbing fast. Buck’s and mine have already gone way up the scale.” Keith pointed his pocket dosimeter, a penlike instrument with a frosted glass lens at each end, to the overhead light, squinted through it. “It says I got more than three-quarters of my allowed weekly dose of roentgens during the last half hour!” Hurriedly, he clipped it back into his shirt pocket as he followed Richardson and Williams to the door and down a steel stairway to the main floor.
“Why couldn’t this have waited a few more days,” Buck was saying. “Two weeks ago Brighting was here and everything was fine. Next week we’re supposed to take our end-of-course exams, and then we’re through, finished, on our way back to New London. After that the whole place can go to hell, for all we care!”
“Sure,” said Richardson, “except you’re not fooling anybody. You know you’re not going to let anything happen to our reactor if there’s anything you can do to stop it.”
“That’s why we were in such a hurry to call you, Skipper,” said Keith, catching up. “You’re senior man on board. If something is really out of line, it will be up to you to take charge.”
“Not so fast.” Richardson paused at the watertight door leading to the engineroom. “Old Brighting was pretty clear that when we came here we left our Navy rank somewhere in the Idaho desert. The regular engineering watch officer is in charge until Dusty Rhodes or somebody else shows up. We’re under his orders. There can’t be two bosses here.” He jackknifed through the steel doorway.
There was a crowd at the other end of the engineroom, around the watertight door leading to the reactor compartment. To Richardson’s surprise, among them were the three members of the reactor duty section and the engineering watch officer, a young-faced red-haired civilian employee named Baker. Baker was staring through the glass peephole in the steel door as Rich pushed his way through to him.