The Master Shipwright nodded grumpily "They have a vast industry concerned with environmental engineering. We do not have the infrastructure to do the proper research yet."

"They have a much hotter climate. I was in Washington once, in July. Hell could scarcely be worse."

"That bad?"

"The embassy chap who took me around said it was once a malarial swamp. They've even had Yellow Fever epidemics there. Miserable climate."

"I didn't know that."

"Thirty percent," the engineer called.

"When were you there?" the Admiral asked.

"Over ten years ago, for the Incidents at Sea negotiations. My first and last diplomatic adventure. Some headquarters fool thought they needed a submariner. I was drafted out of Frunze for it. Total waste of time." Dubinin added.

"How was it?"

"Dull. The American submarine types are arrogant. Not very friendly back then." Dubinin paused "No, that's not fair. The political climate was very different. The hospitality was cordial, but reserved. They took us to a baseball game."

"And?" the Admiral asked.

The captain smiled "The food and beer were enjoyable. The game was incomprehensible, and their explanations just made things worse."

"Forty percent."

"Twelve knots," Dubinin said. "The noise is picking up "

"But?"

"But it's a fraction of what the old pump put out. My men have to wear ear protection in here. At full speed the noise is terrible."

"We'll see. Did you learn anything interesting in Washington?"

Another grunt. "Not to walk the streets alone. I went out for a stroll and saw some poor woman attacked by a street hooligan, and, you know, that was only a few blocks from the White House!"

"Really?"

"The young crook tried to run right past me with her purse. Like something from a film. It was quite amazing."

"Tried to?"

"Did I ever tell you I was a good football player? I tackled him, a little too enthusiastically. Broke his kneecap, as a matter of fact." Dubinin smiled, remembering the injury he'd inflicted on the worthless bastard. Concrete sidewalks were so much harder than a grassy football pitch

"Fifty percent."

"Then what happened?"

"The embassy people went mad about it. The ambassador screamed a lot. Thought they'd send me right home. But the local police talked about giving me a medal. It was hushed up, and I was never asked to be a diplomat again." Dubinin laughed out loud. "I won. Eighteen knots."

"Why did you interfere?"

"I was young and foolish," Dubinin explained. "Never occurred to me that it might all be some CIA trick - that's what the ambassador was worried about. It wasn't, just a young criminal and a frail black woman. His kneecap shattered quite badly. I wonder how well he runs now - And if he really were CIA, that's one less spy we have to worry about."

"Sixty percent power, still very steady." the engineer called. "No pressure fluctuations at all."

"Twenty-three knots. The next forty percent power doesn't do very much for us and the flow noise off the hull starts building up at this point. Run it up smartly, Vanya!"