North Cape

Folsom turned away from the screen and started his regular watch tour of the various consoles, checking on the condition of the ship. He was still worried about the deck heaters. Even with the extra heat being piped up from the reactor cooling system, they still were not coping with the ice. Perhaps, now that they were running before the waves, they would not be taking aboard as much spray, not unless the wind veered, anyway. And to judge by the satellite photos of the storm center, if they maintained present speed and heading they would sail into a radial arm of wind within two hours. Then they would be taking the wind and spray across the bow quarter as well as one hell of a cross chop from the waves as the wind tried to push incalculable gallons of sea water from their already set path. It was going to be one hell of an afternoon. Two hours later Folsom was ready to modify his judgment as to what kind of afternoon it would be, but modify it downward. He turhed away from the ship's intercom. Barrows, the engineering officer, had every right to be extremely unhappy with Folsom, but his voice had been steady enough, with no hint that he did indeed blame the executive officer. Barrows had just finished reporting that the main condenser system had frozen solid. It had been Folsom's order to use the major part of the reactor heat to feed the deck heaters. This meant that the heat normally used to maintain the condenser system at an even 36° F had to be channeled into the deck heaters and the reactor crew had to vary the power output to control the condenser system by hand. When Larkin had called for full emergency power from all engines, an overload had been thrown onto the condensers. The temperature had dropped quickly while the reactor worked at full power, until, when the engines had been cut back to one third, the temperature in the condensers stood at 33° F. The reactor crew had gone furiously to work to try and bring the temperatures back up to a safe 36° F, but in the succeeding two hours the system had oscillated widely, and, finally, the first seed crystal of ice had formed in the outside banks. Even rechanneling all heat being fed to the decks had not been enough to stave off the rapid icing. Five minutes later the webbing of pipe was full of half-frozen slush. Barrows had closed down the main system and shifted to the auxiliary condensers. If needed, he could go directly to sea water, but the resulting corrosion would mean a major overhaul for the system and two months in drydock to complete the job. Damn it all, Folsom swore to himself. Why now of all times? This whole blasted cruise seemed to be jinxed. First the collision, then the storm, and now the condenser system. What in the name of the God was next? Barrows estimated that he would need at least three to four hours to thaw and flush out the condensers. In the meantime the auxiliary banks could handle slightly less than eight knots speed. That in itself would put them nearly forty minutes behind on the rendezvous.

He snapped on the intercom and punched the code for engineering viciously. "Chuck, use the auxiliaries. If you can't get the main condensers thawed in three hours, we'll have to use the boost engines to make up forty minutes."

"Right, sir. I've got a crew checking them over right now. How does the deck ice look?"

"Just a minute."

Folsom turned and pressed against the glass. The decks showed up clearly in the searchlights. The glare from the ice was strong, but not so strong that he could not make out the forward winch boom lying horizontal on the deck where it had been lashed. It was covered by ice that barely showed a mound. The' boom, when horizontal, lay three feet above the deck.

"Still too damn thick for me," he said into the intercom. "But that'll have to wait. Use all the reactor heat you need to get those condensers thawed!" Teleman lay relaxed in the acceleration couch, Jotting the liquid pulsing of the aircraft flow placidly through his body. The PCMS was bringing him slowly out of a two-hour nap, a much-needed nap that, while it would not completely restore him, would bring his body systems to the point where the proper dosages of amphetamines could keep him awake and completely aware. He eased the couch forward into a semisitting position and lazily scanned the ground control monitor currently displaying the Pomeranian coastline of Poland 180,000 feet below. Even at this distance he could see specks of white dancing on the surface of the Baltic Sea as it rolled and thrashed to the commands of the storm front beginning to reach across northern Europe.