The foreman looked down at him. “Experience,” he yelled then turned and strode off toward the ship’s stern.

Perry had to run to catch up. Each of the foreman’s strides was double his. Perry tried to ask another question but the foreman either didn’t hear or was ignoring him. They reached the companionway and the foreman started up, taking the stairs three at a time. Two decks above he entered a passageway and then stopped outside a compartment door. The name on the door was MARKDAVIDSON, OPERATIONSCOMMANDER. The foreman knocked loudly. At first the only response was a fit of coughing but then a voice called out to come in.

Perry pressed into the small compartment behind the foreman.

“Bad news, chief,” the foreman said. “I’m afraid the drill bit’s busted again.”

“What the hell time is it?” Mark asked. He ran his fingers through his messy hair. He was sitting on the side of his bunk dressed in skivvies. His facial features had a puffy look, and his voice was thick with sleep. Without waiting for a reply he reached for a pack of cigarettes. The air in the room was imbued with stale smoke.

“It’s around oh-six-hundred,” the foreman said.

“Jesus,” Mark said. His eyes then focused on Perry. Surprise registered. He blinked. “Perry? What are you doing up?”

“There’s no way I could have slept through that vibration,” Perry said.

“What vibration?” Mark asked. He looked back at the foreman, who was staring at Perry.

“Are you Perry Bergman?” the foreman asked.

“Last time I checked,” Perry said. Sensing the foreman’s unease gave him a modicum of satisfaction.

“Sorry,” the foreman said.

“Forget it,” Perry said magnanimously.

“Was the drill train rattling?” Mark asked.

The foreman nodded. “Just like the last four times, maybe a little worse.”

“We only have one more diamond-studded tungsten carbide bit left,” Mark lamented.