the engineer By FREDERIK POHL and C. M. KORNBLUTH The Big Wheels of tomorrow will be men who can see the big picture. But blowouts have small beginnings.... [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Infinity Science Fiction, February 1956. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] It was very simple. Some combination of low temperature and high pressure had forced something from the seepage at the ocean bottom into combination with something in the water around them. And the impregnable armor around Subatlantic Oil's drilling chamber had discovered a weakness. On the television screen it looked more serious than it was--so Muhlenhoff told himself, staring at it grimly. You get down more than a mile, and you're bound to have little technical problems. That's why deepsea oil wells were still there. Still, it did look kind of serious. The water driving in the pitted faults had the pressure of eighteen hundred meters behind it, and where it struck it did not splash--it battered and destroyed. As Muhlenhoff watched, a bulkhead collapsed in an explosion of spray; the remote camera caught a tiny driblet of the scattering brine, and the picture in the screen fluttered and shrank, and came back with a wavering side-wise pulse. Muhlenhoff flicked off the screen and marched into the room where the Engineering Board was waiting in attitudes of flabby panic. As he swept his hand through his snow-white crew cut and called the board to order a dispatch was handed to him--a preliminary report from a quickly-dispatched company trouble-shooter team. He read it to the board, stone-faced. A veteran heat-transfer man, the first to recover, growled: "Some vibration thing--and seepage from the oil pool. Sloppy drilling!" He sneered. "Big deal! So a couple hundred meters of shaft have to be plugged and pumped. So six or eight compartments go pop. Since when did we start to believe the cack Research & Development hands out? Armor's armor. Sure it pops--when something makes it pop. If Atlantic oil was easy to get at, it wouldn't be here waiting for us now. Put a gang on the job. Find out what happened, make sure it doesn't happen again. Big deal!" Muhlenhoff smiled his attractive smile. "Breck," he said, "thank God you've got guts. Perhaps we were in a bit of a panic. Gentlemen, I hope we'll all take heart from Mr. Breck's level-headed--what did you say, Breck?" Breck didn't look up. He was pawing through the dispatch Muhlenhoff had dropped to the table. "_Nine_-inch plate," he read aloud, whitefaced. "And time of installation, not quite seven weeks ago. If this goes on in a straight line--" he grabbed for a pocket slide-rule--"we have, uh--" he swallowed--"less time than the probable error," he finished. "Breck!" Muhlenhoff yelled. "Where are you going?"