Cold is the Sea by Edward L. Beach

though. Brighting’s orders. It’s a little tougher, so it won’t be lying on my desk very long, I don’t think. This is the one for reactor supervisor, which we normally use to qualify top-grade technicians who’ve been out here at least a year. I’m afraid you’ll be working pretty late.”
    After Rhodes had left, Keith said quietly, “If this exam is tougher than ours, it’s going to be a long night for you. Buck and I will go watch-and-watch on you, so there’ll be one of us around for moral support and coffee. We’ve got plenty of quarters for the soup machines, too; so all you have to do is yell when you need something.”
    The examination taken by his two friends had contained thirty questions, they had said, and it was with some dismay that Rich found forty-two in his. Dusty’s sure not going to find all these finished and on his desk when he gets there tomorrow morning, that’s one thing certain, he thought. It took Keith and Buck nine hours to do theirs, so they averaged ten questions every three hours. At the same speed this one will take more than twelve hours. He put his wristwatch on the table in front of him, picked up the first of a boxful of sharpened pencils and began.
    â€œSketch and describe the control rod configuration in Mark I,” the question read. “Show the relationship between control rod geometry and the fuel element geometry. Explain the effect on nuclear flux. Draw a three-dimensional sketch of the flux density at various control rod positions, describing the theoretical considerations pertaining to each. . . .”
    What could have caused Brighting to reverse himself? Or had he been hazing him the entire time? This special test was certainly far more difficult than the one for which he had prepared. And he had been forced to begin it at the end of analready long and emotionally exhausting day. Maybe this, too, was part of the hazing.
    No matter. Whatever the cause, or causes, he had been given his chance. There was no time limit; so he could work as long as necessary, or as long as his brain could function. He would budget twenty minutes per question, three questions per hour. It was now just seven o’clock. With luck, he might be dropping the completed examination on Dusty Rhodes’ desk sometime in the late morning, about fifteen hours from now.

6
    I t was nearly noon of the next day when Richardson carried into Rhodes’ office ninety-two sheets of ruled legal-size paper, closely written with pencil and ball-point pen. “Here it is, Dusty,” he said. His mind was still awhirl. Sometime during the all-night grind there had come on him some inner strength, an increased alertness, a mental second wind. He had been sixteen hours at his desk, except for necessary trips to the head, had used up all the pencils provided—and faithfully sharpened—by Keith and Buck, and had drunk many cups of coffee, also brought by his two friends. True to their word, they had split up the night so that one of them was always there. Shortly after midnight a large mug filled with hot soup had appeared, and at eight, wonder of wonders, a plate of scrambled eggs.
    â€œCompliments of Mrs. Dusty Rhodes,” Buck had said, “only she doesn’t know it yet. Now that Dusty has to stay on the site she fixed him up with a hot plate in his quonset and will keep him supplied with stuff. He’s not allowed to do anything for you,you know, but he can’t help it if I swipe a couple eggs while he’s shaving.”
    Richardson had expected to be exhausted, physically and mentally. To his surprise, he felt positively ebullient. He wanted to talk, could not sit still, paced up and down in front of Rhodes.
    â€œYou’d better turn in, Rich,” said Rhodes. “You’re so wound up right now you’d go boing if I tapped you with a pencil. We’ll start marking your paper right away; so when you get back