Jenkins made a sound that was expressive of his worry about that. “I’m coming in now and starting the clearing of the pipe. What’ve you been paying insurance for?”
“At a lovely rate, too! O.K., come on in, kid; and if you’re interested, you can start sticking A. E. after the M. D., any time you want. Your wife’s been giving me your qualifications, and I think you’ve passed the final test, so you’re now an atomic engineer, duly graduated from National!”
Brown’s breath caught, and her eyes seemed to glow, even through the goggles, but Jenkins’ voice was flat. “O.K., I expected you to give me one if we don’t blow up. But you’ll have to see Dr. Ferrel about it; he’s got a contract with me for medical practice. Be there shortly.”
Nine of the estimated twelve minutes had ticked by when he climbed up beside them, mopping off some of the sweat that covered him, and Palmer was hugging the watch. More minutes ticked off slowly, while the last sound faded out in the plant, and the men stood around, staring down toward the river or at the hole that had been No. 4. Silence. Jenkins stirred, and grunted.
“Palmer, I know where I got the idea, now. Jorgenson was trying to remind me of it, instead of raving, only I didn’t get it, at least consciously. It was one of Dad’s, the one he told Jorgenson was a last resort, in case the thing they broke up about went haywire. It was the first variable Dad tried. I was twelve, and he insisted water would break it up into all its chains and kill the danger. Only Dad didn’t really expect it to work!”
Palmer didn’t look up from the watch, but he caught his breath and swore. “Fine time to tell me that!”
“He didn’t have your isotopes to heat it up with, either,” Jenkins answered mildly. “Suppose you look up from that watch of yours for a minute, down the river.”
As Doc raised his eyes, he was aware suddenly of a roar from the men. Over to the south, stretching out in a huge mass, was a cloud of steam that spread upward and out as he watched, and the beginnings of a mighty hissing sound came in. Then Palmer was hugging Jenkins and yelling until Brown could pry him away and replace him.
“Ten minutes or more of river, plus the swamps, Doc!” Palmer was shouting in Ferrel’s ear. “All that dispersion, while it cooks slowly from now until the last chain is finished, atom by atom! The theta chain broke, unstable, and now there’s everything there, too scattered to set itself off! It’ll cook the river bed up and dry it, but that’s all!”
Doc was still dazed, unsure of how to take the relief. He wanted to lie down and cry or to stand up with the men and shout his head off. Instead, he sat loosely, gazing at the cloud. “So I lose the best assistant I ever had! Jenkins, I won’t hold you; you’re free for whatever Palmer wants.”
“Hoke wants him to work on R—he’s got the stuff for his bomb now!” Palmer was clapping his hands together slowly, like an excited child watching a steam shovel. “Heck, Doc, pick out anyone you want until your own boy gets out next year. You wanted a chance to work him in here, now you’ve got it. Right now I’ll give you anything you want.”
“You might see what you can do about hospitalizing the injured and fixing things up with the men in the tent behind the Infirmary. And I think I’ll take Brown in Jenkins’ place, with the right to grab him in an emergency, until that year’s up.”
“Done.” Palmer slapped the boy’s back, stopping the protest, while Brown winked at him. “Your wife likes working, kid; she told me that herself. Besides, a lot of the women work here where they can keep an eye on their men; my own wife does, usually. Doc, take these two lads and head for home, where I’m going myself. Don’t come back until you get good and ready, and don’t let them start fighting about it!”
Doc pulled himself from the truck and started off with Brown and Jenkins following, through the yelling, relief-crazed men. The three were too thoroughly worn out for any exhibition themselves, but they could feel it. Happy ending! Jenkins and Brown where they wanted to be, Hoke with his bomb, Palmer with proof that atomic plants were safe where they were, and he—well, his boy would start out right, with himself and the widely differing but competent Blake and Jenkins to guide him. It wasn’t a bad life, after all.
Then he stopped and chuckled. “You two wait for me, will you? If I leave here without making out that order of extra disinfection at the showers, Blake’ll swear I’m growing old and feeble-minded. I can’t have that.”
Old? Maybe a little tired, but he’d been that before, and with luck would be again. He wasn’t worried. His nerves were good for twenty years and fifty accidents more, and by that time Blake would be due for a little ribbing himself.
UNIVERSE
by Robert A. Heinlein
The Proxima Centauri Expedition, sponsored by the Jordan Foundation in 2119, was the first recorded attempt to reach the nearer stars of this galaxy. Whatever its unhappy fate we can only conjecture….
—Quoted from The Romance of Modern Astrography,
by Franklin Buck, published by Lux Transcriptions, Ltd., 3.50 cr.
“There’s a mutie! Look out!”
At the shouted warning, Hugh Hoyland ducked, with nothing to spare. An egg-sized iron missile clanged against the bulkhead just above his scalp with force that promised a fractured skull. The speed with which he crouched had lifted his feet from the floor plates. Before his body could settle slowly to the deck, he planted his feet against the bulkhead behind him and shoved. He went shooting down the passageway in a long, flat dive, his knife drawn and ready.
He twisted in the air, checked himself with his feet against the opposite bulkhead at the turn in the passage from which the mutie had attacked him, and floated lightly to his feet. The other branch of the passage was empty. His two companions joined him, sliding awkwardly across the floor plates.
“Is it gone?” demanded Alan Mahoney.
“Yes,” agreed Hoyland. “I caught a glimpse of it as it ducked down that hatch. A female, I think. Looked like it had four legs.”
“Two legs or four, we’ll never catch it now,” commented the third man. “Who the Huff wants to catch it?” protested Mahoney. “I don’t.”
“Well, I do, for one,” said Hoyland. “By Jordan, if its aim had been two inches better, I’d be ready for the Converter.”
“Can’t either one of you two speak three words without swearing?”
the third man disapproved. “What if the Captain could hear you?” He touched his forehead reverently as he mentioned the Captain.
“Oh, for Jordan’s sake,” snapped Hoyland, “don’t be so stuffy, Mort Tyler. You’re not a scientist yet. I reckon I’m as devout as you are—there’s no grave sin in occasionally giving vent to your feelings. Even the scientists do it. I’ve heard ’em.”
Tyler opened his mouth as if to expostulate, then apparently thought better of it.
Mahoney touched Hoyland on the arm. “Look, Hugh,” he pleaded, “let’s get out of here. We’ve never been this high before. I’m jumpy—I want to get back down to where I can feel some weight on my feet.”
Hoyland looked longingly toward the hatch through which his assailant had disappeared while his hand rested on the grip of his knife, then he turned to Mahoney. “O.K., kid,” he agreed, “it’s a long trip down anyhow.”
He turned and slithered back toward the hatch, whereby they had reached the level where they now were, the other two following him. Disregarding the ladder by which they had mounted, he stepped off into the opening and floated slowly down to the deck fifteen feet below, Tyler and Mahoney close behind him. Another hatch, staggered a few feet from the first, gave access to a still lower deck. Down, down, down, and still farther down they dropped, tens and dozens of decks, each silent, dimly lighted, mysterious. Each time they fell a little faster, landed a little harder. Mahoney protested at last.
“Let’s walk the rest of the way, Hugh. That last jump hurt my feet.”
“All right. But it will take longer. How far have we got to go? Anybody keep count?”
“We’ve got about seventy decks to go to reach farm country,” answered Tyler.
“How do you know?” demanded Mahoney suspiciously.
“I counted them, stupid. And as we came down I took one away for each deck.”
