“What… the… devil’s… going… on?”
“I’m studying physics. Sit down and I’ll tell you about it later.”
“Studying?… You… completely… around… the… bend?… You… couldn’t… even… turn… pages… that… fast… by… hand.”
“Sit down,” Bert ordered.
The other returned to his chair, walking very slowly, looking as though he were trudging his way through molasses.
Bert finished the book and went over to his pills and took one of the green ones. The reaction seemed to be all but instantaneous.
Jim was gaping at him. “Will you quit running around like that? You’re making me dizzy.”
Bert settled himself across from Jim. “I just finished a course in Elementary Physics, One and Two.”
Jim was blank. “One and Two? You mean a whole year?”
“Yes.”
“Aw, come off it, Killer. I took physics last year and just managed to squeeze through. It’s all great with these kids, but old duffers like us have got out of the studying habit.”
“Kay. So you’ve taken the same course, eh? Ask me some questions.”
“Okay, smarty pants. Describe the third law of thermodynamics.”
“It states that every substance has a definite entropy, that is availability of energy to do work, that approaches zero as its temperature approaches absolute zero. As the energy becomes unavailable the entropy is said to increase. You want me to go further into it? I can quote you by the page from V. N. Faires, A. L. King, Doolittle or Zerbon.”
“Don’t bother,” Jim muttered. “Describe the principle of operation of a photoelectric cell.”
Bert did.
Jim was staring in absolute disbelief. “And you expect me to believe you got all that in less than a couple of hours?”
“You know this is my freshman year. Where would I have picked up college level physics?”
Jim was silent for several minutes, his face still registering his disbelief. Finally, he said, “What was all that running around like a whirling dervish, and talking like a speeded up old-time tape recorder?”
Bert stood and went over to the table that bore his pill bottles. He held them up. “As Professor Marsh put it, the brown ones turn you on, the green ones turn you off.”
Jim took the brown bottle and shook out one of the pills and stared at it. “You mean, all I have to do is chomp one of these and I speed up to the point where I can take on a year’s course in a couple of hours? Devil! I’ll give it a try.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” Bert said hurriedly. “That’s not the whole treatment. I’ve been taking a series of shots, too. This stuff isn’t to be messed around with. I made the mistake of taking a drink while I was high on one of these brown bombers and it knocked me for a razzle that lasted until morning. I don’t know what might happen to you if you took it without the preliminary shots.”
Bert returned the pill to the bottle and screwed the lid back on.
Jim was frustrated. “Holy smokes, and Jill’s in on this same deal? In a week, she’ll be so smart I won’t be able to talk to her.”
“Evidently she is,” Bert said, looking at his watch. “Let’s give old Marsh a try.”
He went over to the phone screen and tried to get the professor, without result. The other had evidently put a really tight priority rating on his phone.
Bert Alshuler leaned back to think, but then his own phone screen hummed. He activated it. The face of Leonard Katz was there and his rueful smile on it.
Bert snapped, “What’s so funny?”
Katz said, “I’ve just heard from Ralph Marsh. You must think that we’ve taken inadequate provisions for… your project.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Bert said sarcastically. “Kay, Professor. Let’s get together. There are a few things to be discussed. But first, are you in a position to take care of… that situation that developed yesterday?”
“Yes. Steps are being taken. We are not without resources. I want you to meet me here at the Octagon.”
“Where?”
“The Octagon, in Great Washington. Come immediately. Report to the offices of General Russell Paul.”
“No you don’t,” Bert Alshuler said flatly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I don’t like the way things are going. I want to know more of the rules of this game before I play any more.”
“My dear Alshuler, I don’t know what you mean.”
“I can’t make it much clearer, I’m afraid.”
The professor said coldly, “According to your dossier and Ability Quotient, you don’t become afraid, Alshuler, or should I say Major Caine?”
“You should say Alshuler, and if my Ability Quotient says I don’t get afraid, then those tests of yours aren’t as accurate as you think they are. I get very afraid, and that’s one of the reasons I’m still alive, Katz. I’m not coming to the Octagon. I have a sneaking suspicion that you’d have too much muscle there—on the off-chance that I don’t like what you have to say and want to bow out. If I want to bow out, I want to bow out, not be finished off. Oh, you’d be surprised how afraid I can get.”
The other was miffed and showed it.
Bert waited it out. Jim Hawkins began to move in to look over his shoulder into the screen, but Bert waved him away. Jim Hawkins was one of the few cards he had up his sleeve and he wanted him to remain there for at least the time.
Katz said finally, “Very well. The general and I will take the next vacuum-tube to Mid-West University City. We’ll see you shortly.” His face faded.
Bert turned back to Jim, scowling irritation.
“General who?” Jim said. “Is it late enough in the day to decently have a drink? Or indecently, for that matter.”
“No,” Bert said. “Damn it, Jim, stay off the liquor until we find out what’s going on and whose side we’re on. General Paul You remember old “Bugs” Paul. The Octagon yet! I’m beginning to have glimmerings, not to speak of suspicions.”
Jim said, with mock sadness, “I’d just hate to have somebody hit me the final one while all that good hooch is still in there unconsumed.”
“Hooch?”
“Lush, booze, the sauce.”
“Oh, shut up, you rummy.”
“Now you’re getting with it. Rummy. I haven’t heard that one for a coon’s age.” In high irritation, Bert went on into the kitchen and acquired a triple decker sandwich. As always after a bout with the brown-pills-turn-you-on-the-green-pills-turn-you-off routine, he was desperately hungry. He had ironed out one thing, with Jim acting as his stooge. Evidently, whatever Marsh had him on speeded up your metabolism fantastically. That was what was burning up the energy. It didn’t make much difference, under this set-up, but he would have thought they’d give him a shot of glucose or something. Was it glucose they gave you for quick energy?
Still eating the sandwich, he went on back into the living room.
The lanky Jim, sprawled all over a couch, said, “Old buddy, ore you thinking this out?” He waved, all-embracingly, at the apartment. “Here it is, raining beer—holy smokes, champagne—and you’re in a tizzy. What’s wrong with this deal? How can I suck up to it?”
Bert glowered at him. “Would you get into a war without even knowing what side you were on?”
Jim leered. “That’s a good question. First, I’d find out what side was going to win.”
“Yeah. Well, I’m still at the stage where I’m not really sure what they’re fighting about. Come on, let’s see if Jill is up and around.”
“Why not just phone her?”
“Because I don’t know who might be monitoring every call that goes on, in, and around these apartments. The less we use public communications the less business of ours whoever listening in will know.”
“Holy smokes, you’re really running scared,” Jim protested, unwinding himself from his seat. He followed Bert into the bedroom adjoining Jill’s suite.