"Did you say radio-synchronized?"
"Yes. Clever, isn't it?" He held it out for inspection. "I call it a telechronometer; it's the only one of its sort to date. My nephew designed it for me. He's a bright one, that boy. He'll go far. That is" — his face clouded, as if the little interlude had only served to emphasize the tragedy that hung over them—"if any of us live that long!"
A signal light glowed at King's desk, and Steinke's face showed on the communicator screen. King answered him, then said, "Your car is ready, Dr. Lentz."
"Let Captain Harrington have it."
"Then you're not going back to Chicago?"
"No. The situation has changed. If you want me, I'm stringing along."
The following Friday, Steinke ushered Lentz into King's office. King looked almost happy as he shook hands. "When did you ground, Doctor? I didn't expect you back for another hour or so."
"Just now. I hired a cab instead of waiting for the shuttle."
"Any luck?"
"None. The same answer they gave you: 'The Company is assured by independent experts that Destry's mechanics is valid, and sees no reason to encourage an hysterical attitude among its employees.'"
King tapped on his desk top, his eyes unfocused. Then, hitching himself around to face Lentz directly, he said, "Do you suppose the Chairman is right?"
"How?"
"Could the three of us — you, me and Harrington — have gone off the deep end — slipped mentally?"
No.
"You're sure?"
"Certainly. I looked up some independent experts of my own, not retained by the Company, and had them check Harrington's work. It checks." Lentz purposely neglected to mention that he had done so partly because he was none too sure of King's present mental stability.
King sat up briskly, reached out and stabbed a push button. "I am going to make one more try," he explained, "to see if I can't throw a scare into Dixon's thick head. Steinke," he said to the communicator, "get me Mr. Dixon on the screen."
"Yes, sir."
In about two minutes the visiphone screen came to life and showed the features of Chairman Dixon. He was transmitting, not from his office, but from the board room of the Company in Jersey City. "Yes?" he said. "What is it, Superintendent?" His manner was somehow both querulous and affable.
"Mr. Dixon," King began, "I've called to try to impress on you the seriousness of the Company's action. I stake my scientific reputation that Harrington has proved completely that—"
"Oh, that? Mr. King, I thought you understood that that was a closed matter."
"But, Mr. Dixon—"
"Superintendent, please! If there were any possible legitimate cause to fear, do you think I would hesitate? I have children, you know, and grandchildren."
"That is just why—"
"We try to conduct the affairs of the company with reasonable wisdom and in the public interest. But we have other responsibilities, too. There are hundreds of thousands of little stockholders who expect us to show a reasonable return on their investment. You must not expect us to jettison a billion-dollar corporation just because you've taken up astrology! Moon theory!" He sniffed.
"Very well, Mr. Chairman." King's tone was stiff.
"Don't take it that way, Mr. King. I'm glad you called — the Board has just adjourned a special meeting. They have decided to accept you for retirement — with full pay, of course."
"I did not apply for retirement!"
"I know, Mr. King, but the Board feels that—"
"I understand. Good-by!"
"Mr. King—"
"Good-by!" He switched him off, and turned to Lentz. "'—with full pay,'" he quoted, "which I can enjoy in any way that I like for the rest of my life — just as happy as a man in the death house!"
"Exactly," Lentz agreed. "Well, we've tried our way. I suppose we should call up Harrington now and let him try the political and publicity method."
"I suppose so," King seconded absentmindedly. "Will you be leaving for Chicago now?"
"No," said Lentz. "No… I think I will catch the shuttle for Los Angeles and take the evening rocket for the antipodes."
King looked surprised, but said nothing. Lentz answered the unspoken comment. "Perhaps some of us on the other side of the Earth will survive. I've done all that I can here. I would rather be a live sheepherder in Australia than a dead psychiatrist in Chicago."
King nodded vigorously, "That shows horse sense. For two cents, I'd dump the bomb now and go with you."
"Not horse sense, my friend — a horse will run back into a burning barn, which is exactly not what I plan to do. Why don't you do it and come along? If you did, it would help Harrington to scare 'em to death."
"I believe I will!"
Steinke's face appeared again on the screen. "Harper and Erickson are here, chief."
"I'm busy.
"They are pretty urgent about seeing you."
"Oh… all right," King said in a tired voice. "Show them in. It doesn't matter."
They breezed in, Harper in the van. He commenced talking at once, oblivious to the Superintendent's morose preoccupation. "We've got it, chief, we've got it — and it all checks out to the umpteenth decimal!"
"You've got what? Speak English."
Harper grinned. He was enjoying his moment of triumph, and was stretching it out to savor it. "Chief, do you remember a few weeks back when I asked for an additional allotment — a special one without specifying how I was going to spend it?"
"Yes. Come on — get to the point."
"You kicked at first, but finally granted it. Remember? Well, we've got something to show for it, all tied up in pink ribbon. It's the greatest advance in radioactivity since Hahn split the nucleus. Atomic fuel, chief, atomic fuel, safe, concentrated, and controllable. Suitable for rockets, for power plants, for any damn thing you care to use it for."
King showed alert interest for the first time. "You mean a power source that doesn't require the bomb?"
"The bomb? Oh, no. I didn't say that. You use the bomb to make the fuel, then you use the fuel anywhere and anyhow you like, with something like ninety-two percent recovery of the energy of the bomb. But you could junk the mercury-steam sequence, if you wanted to."
King's first wild hope of a way out of his dilemma was dashed; he subsided. "Go ahead. Tell me about it."
"Well — it's a matter of artificial radioactives. Just before I asked for that special research allotment, Erickson and I — Dr. Lentz had a finger in it, too — found two isotopes of a radioactive that seemed to be mutually antagonistic. That is, when we goosed 'em in the presence of each other they gave up their latent energy all at once — blew all to hell. The important point is, we were using just a gnat's whisker of mass of each — the reaction didn't require a big mass like the bomb to maintain it."
"I don't see," objected King, "how that could—"
"Neither do we, quite — but it works. We've kept it quiet until we were sure. We checked on what we had, and we found a dozen other fuels. Probably we'll be able to tailormake fuels for any desired purpose. But here it is." Harper handed King a bound sheaf of typewritten notes which he had been carrying under the arm. "That's your copy. Look it over."
King started to do so. Lentz joined him, after a look that was a silent request for permission, which Erickson had answered with his only verbal contribution, "Sure, Doc."
As King read, the troubled feeling of an acutely harassed executive left him. His dominant personality took charge, that of the scientist. He enjoyed the controlled and cerebral ecstasy of the impersonal seeker for the elusive truth. The emotions felt in the throbbing thalamus were permitted only to form a sensuous obligato for the cold flame of cortical activity. For the time being, he was sane, more nearly completely sane than most men ever achieve at any time.