Quickening his pace Perry caught up to the man just as two other deckhands joined him.

“It’s been doing this for about twenty minutes, chief,” one of the roustabouts yelled over the noise of the drilling rig. All three men ignored Perry.

The shift foreman grunted as he pulled on a pair of heavy work gloves and blithely walked out across the narrow metal grate spanning the central well. His sangfroid impressed Perry. The catwalk seemed flimsy and there was only a low, thin handrail to block the fifty-foot drop to the ocean surface below. Reaching the rotary table, the supervisor leaned out and placed both gloved hands about the rotating shaft. He didn’t try to grip it tightly but rather let it rotate across his palms. He cocked his head to the side while he tried to interpret the tremor transmitted up the pipe. It took only a moment.

“Stop the rig!” the giant shouted.

One of the roustabouts dashed back to the exterior control panel. Within a moment the rotary table came to a clanking halt and the grating vibration ceased. The supervisor walked back and stepped onto the deck.

“Chrissake! The bit’s busted again,” he said with an expression of disgust. “This is fast becoming a goddamned joke.”

“The joke is that we’ve only drilled for two or three feet in the last four or five days,” the remaining roustabout said.

“Shut up!” the giant intoned. “Get the hell over there and raise the drill string to the well head!”

The second roustabout joined the first. Almost immediately there was a new sound of powerful machinery as the winches were engaged to do the foreman’s bidding. The ship shuddered.

“How can you be sure the bit’s broken?” Perry yelled over the new noise.