"His technician had to slug him one night... He found him dismounting the, safety interlocks on the cadmium assembly. Poor old Manning never pulled out of it - he's been violently insane ever since. After Manning cracked up, we worked out the present system of two qualified engineers and an observer for every watch. It seemed the only thing to do."
"I suppose so, chief," Harper mused, his face no longer sullen, but still unhappy. "It's a hell of a situation just the same."
"That's putting it mildly." He got up and put out his hand. "Cal, unless you're dead set on leaving us, I'll expect to see you at the radiation laboratory tomorrow. Another thing - I don't often recommend this, but it might do you good to get drunk tonight."
King had signed to Shard to remain after the young man left. Once the door was closed he turned back to the psychiatrist. "There goes another one - and one of the best. Doctor, what am I going to do?"
Silard pulled at his cheek. "I don't know," he admitted. "The hell of it is, Harper's absolutely right. It does increase the strain on them to know that they are being watched... and yet they have to be watched. Your psychiatric staff isn't doing too well, either. It makes us nervous to be around the Big Bomb... the more so because we don't understand it. And it's a strain on us to be hated and despised as we are. Scientific detachment is difficult under such conditions; I'm getting jumpy myself."
King ceased pacing the floor and faced the doctor. "But there must be some solution - " he insisted.
Silard shook his head. "It's beyond me, Superintendent. I see no solution from the standpoint of psychology."
"No? Hmm - Doctor, who is the top man in your field?" "Eh?"
"Who is the recognized number - one man in handling this sort of thing?"
"Why, that's hard to say. Naturally, there isn't any one, leading psychiatrist in the world; we specialize too much." I know what you mean, though. You don't want the best industrial temperament psychometrician; you want the" best all - around man for psychoses non - lesional and situational. That would be Lentz."
"Go on."
"Well - He covers the whole field of environment adjustment. He's the man that correlated the theory of optimum tonicity with the relaxation technique that Korzybski had developed empirically. He actually worked under, Korzybski himself, when he was a young student - it's the only thing he's vain about."
"He did? Then he must be pretty old; Koxzybski died in - What year did he die?"
"I started to say that you must know his work in symbology - theory of abstraction and calculus of statement, all that sort of thing - because of its applications to engineering and mathematical physics."
"That Lentz - yes, of course. But I had never thought of him as a psychiatrist."
"No, you wouldn't, in your field. Nevertheless, we are inclined to credit him with having done as much to check and reduce the pandemic neuroses of the Crazy Years as any other man, and more than any man left alive."
"Where is he?"
"Why, Chicago, I suppose. At the Institute."
"Get him here."
"Get him down here. Get on that visiphone and locate him. Then have Steinke call the Port of Chicago, and hire a stratocar to stand by for him. I want to see him as soon as possible - before the day is out." King sat up in his chair with the air of a man who is once more master of himself and the situation. His spirit knew that warming replenishment that comes only with reaching a decision. The harassed expression was gone.
Silard looked dumbfounded. "But, superintendent," he expostulated, "you can't ring for Doctor Lentz as if he were a junior clerk. He's - he's Lentz."
"Certainly - that's why I want him. But I'm not a neurotic clubwoman looking for sympathy, either. He'll come. If necessary, turn on the heat from Washington. Have the White House call him. But get him here at once. Move!" King strode out of the office.
When Erickson came off watch he inquired around and found that Harper had left for town. Accordingly, he dispensed with dinner at the base, shifted into "drinkin'clothes", and allowed himself to be dispatched via tube to Paradise. Paradise, Arizona, was a hard little boom town, which owed its existence to the breeder plant. It was dedicated exclusively to the serious business of detaching the personnel of the plant from their inordinate salaries. In this worthy project they received much cooperation from the plant personnel themselves, each of whom was receiving from twice to ten times as much money each payday as he had ever received in any other job, and none of whom was certain of living long enough to justify saving for old' age. Besides, the company carried a sinking fund in Manhattan for their dependents; why be stingy?
It was claimed, with some truth, that any entertainment or luxury obtainable in New York City could be purchased in Paradise. The local chamber of commerce had appropriated the slogan of Reno, Nevada, "Biggest Little City in the World." The Reno boosters retaliated by claiming that, while a town that close to the atomic breeder plant undeniably brought thoughts of death and the hereafter; Hell's Gates would be a more appropriate name.
Erickson started making the rounds. There were twenty - seven places licensed to sell liquor in the six blocks of the main street of Paradise. He expected to find Harper in one of them, and, knowing the man's habits and tastes, he expected to find him in the first two three he tried.
He was not mistaken. He found Harper sitting alone a table in the rear of deLancey's Sans Souci Bar. Lancey's was a favorite of both of them. There was old - fashioned comfort about its chrome - plated bar red leather furniture that appealed to them more than the spectacular fittings of the up - to - the - minute place. DeLancey was conservative; he stuck to indirect light and soft music; his hostesses were required to be fully clothed, even in the evening. The fifth of Scotch in front of Harper was about two thirds full. Erickson shoved three fingers in front Harper's face and demanded, "Count!"
"Three," announced Harper. "Sit down, Gus."
"That's correct," Erickson agreed, sliding his big frame into a low - slung chair. "You'll do - for now. What the outcome?"
"Have a drink. Not," he went on, "that this Scotch any good. I think Lance has taken to watering it. I surrendered, horse and foot."
"Lance wouldn't do that - stick to that theory anti you'll sink in the sidewalk up to your knees. How come you capitulated? I thought you planned to beat 'em about the head and shoulders, at least." ' I
"I did," mourned Harper, "but, cripes, Gus, the chief is right. If a brain mechanic says you're punchy, he has got to back him up, and take you off the watch list. The chief can't afford to take a chance."
"Yeah, the chief's all right, but I can't learn to love our dear psychiatrists. Tell you what - let's find us one, and, see if he can feel pain. I'll hold him while you slug 'im."
"Oh, forget it, Gus. Have a drink."
"A pious thought - but not Scotch. I'm going to have a martini; we ought to eat pretty soon."
"I'll have one, too."
"Do you good." Erickson lifted his blond head and bellowed, "Israfell"
A large, black person appeared at his elbow. "Mistuh Erickson! Yes, sub!"
"Izzy, fetch two martinis. Make mine with Italian." He turned back to Harper. "What are you going to do now, Cal?"
"Radiation laboratory."
"Well, that's not so bad. I'd like to have a go at the matter of rocket fuels 'myself. I've got some ideas."