Harold set his toolbox on the floor, pulled out a small flashlight, and began to walk. He moved around the turbines slowly, crouching occasionally to examine specific components from angles that required getting his knees close to the deck, a movement that clearly cost him something physically. He pressed his hand flat against certain sections of piping, closed his eyes briefly, then moved on. He touched the casing of one turbine and held his palm there for several seconds.
“What are you looking for?” Johnson finally asked, keeping his voice low as if in a library.
Harold didn’t answer immediately. He continued his circuit, examining the fuel delivery system with particular attention, before straightening up and speaking in a voice that seemed directed partly at the machinery itself. “This ship isn’t broken.” He ran one hand along a section of piping. “It’s being choked.”
Morgan and Johnson exchanged a look. “Choked?” Morgan repeated.
“It means the problem isn’t where you’ve been looking.” Harold pulled a small notebook from his jacket pocket—paper, spiral-bound, the kind sold at drug stores—and began writing in it. “I need the maintenance logs for the past six months. Specifically anything related to ventilation and cooling systems.”
“Ventilation?” Morgan’s frown was genuine. “The sensors indicate critical pressure loss in the propulsion system. We’ve been focused on the fuel delivery components and the—”
“I know what the sensors say.” Harold’s interruption was gentle, almost apologetic. “But sensors show symptoms. Not causes. You’ve been treating the fever without looking for the infection.”
Johnson was already moving toward the corridor. “I’ll pull the logs.”
While Johnson was gone, Harold approached a bank of ventilation ducts running parallel to the main turbines—large, industrial-gray conduits that most people walked past without a second glance because they were background infrastructure, the unglamorous plumbing of a warship. He knelt beside one, bracing himself against the slow descent with a steady hand on the duct’s surface, and pressed his ear against the metal. He closed his eyes. His breathing slowed. He stayed that way for nearly a full minute.
Morgan watched in silence, unsure what to make of the sight. Finally, he said, “You really worked on four Nimitz-class carriers?”
