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by Mahlon B. McQuillin Book Opening: Hal Reynolds swore under his breath as he watched the drill shaft rotate in place on the video monitor. It was the same damn thing as the last time. He keyed his headset mike on.
“It’s not going anywhere,” he told the team. The news was greeted by groans over the intercom.
The core bit had stopped at 437 feet, hitting something too hard to penetrate.
The current bit was designed to take ice core samples, not rock samples. While it could go through dirt and soft rocks, it couldn’t deal with harder material like granite, which was probably what they had hit.
“I’m going out,” he said.
“Wear a sweater,” Sinclair advised over the intercom. Reynolds allowed himself a grin. “Yeah, right,” he thought to himself. |
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NOTE: All material is copyright protected. No portion of this material may be copied or reproduced, either electronically, mechanically, or by any other means, for resale or distribution without the written consent of the author. All copy has been dated and registered with the American Society of Authors and Writers. Copyright 2007 by The Swetky Agency |
