A general said, "We’d have to try a literal atom-bombing, of course."
"Naturally. Arrangements have already been made to build a mock-city at Eniwetok. We could build a generator on the spot and drop the bomb. There’d be animals inside."
"And you really think if we set up a field in full power it would hold the bomb?"
"It’s not just that, general. There’d be no noticeable field at all until the bomb is dropped. The radiation of the plutonium would have to energize the field before explosion. As we did here in the last step. That’s the essence of it all."
"You know," said a Princeton professor, "I see disadvantages, too. When the field is on full, anything it protects is in total darkness, as far as the sun is concerned. Besides that, it strikes me that the enemy can adopt the practice of dropping harmless radioactive missiles to set off the field at frequent intervals. It would have nuisance value and be a considerable drain on our pile as well."
"Nuisances," said Grant, "can be survived. These difficulties will be met eventually, I’m sure, now that the main problem has been solved."
The British observer had worked his way toward Grant and was shaking hands. He said, "I feel better about London already. I cannot help but wish your government would allow me to see the complete plans. What I have seen strikes me as completely ingenious. It seems obvious now, of course, but how did anyone ever come to think of it?"
Grant smiled. "That question has been asked before with reference to Dr. Ralson’s devices – "
He turned at the touch of a hand upon his shoulder. "Dr. Blaustein! I had nearly forgotten. Here, I want to talk to you."
He dragged the small psychiatrist to one side and hissed in his ear, "Listen, can you persuade Ralson to be introduced to these people? This is his triumph."
Blaustein said, "Ralson is dead."
"What!"
"Can you leave these people for a time?"
"Yes… yes – Gentlemen, you will excuse me for a few minutes?"
He hurried off with Blaustein.
The Federal men had already taken over. Unobtrusively, they barred the doorway to Ross’s office. Outside there were the milling crowd discussing the answer to Alamogordo that they had just witnessed. Inside, unknown to them, was the death of the answerer. The G-man barrier divided to allow Grant and Blaustein to enter. It closed behind them again.
For a moment, Grant raised the sheet. He said, "He looks peaceful."
"I would say – happy," said Blaustein.
Darrity said, colorlessly, "The suicide weapon was my own knife. It was my negligence; it will be reported as such."
"No, no," said Blaustein, "that would be useless. He was my patient and I am responsible. In any case, he would not have lived another week. Since he invented the projector, he was a dying man."
Grant said, "How much of this has to be placed in the Federal files? Can’t we forget all about his madness?"
"I’m afraid not, Dr. Grant," said Darrity.
"I have told him the whole story," said Blaustein, sadly.
Grant looked from one to the other. "I’ll speak to the Director. I’ll go to the President, if necessary. I don’t see that there need be any mention of suicide or of madness. He’ll get full publicity as inventor of the field projector. It’s the least we can do for him." His teeth were gritting.
Blaustein said, "He left a note."
"A note?"
Darrity handed him a sheet of paper and said, "Suicides almost always do. This is one reason the doctor told me about what really killed Ralson."
The note was addressed to Blaustein and it went:
"The projector works; I knew it would. The bargain is done. You’ve got it and you don’t need me any more. So I’ll go. You needn’t worry about the human race, Doc. You were right. They’ve bred us too long; they’ve taken too many chances. We’re out of the culture now and they won’t be able to stop us. I know. That’s all I can say. I know."
He had signed his name quickly and then underneath there was one scrawled line, and it said:
"Provided enough men are penicillin-resistant."
Grant made a motion to crumple the paper, but Darrity held out a quick hand.
"For the record, Doctor," he said.
Grant gave it to him and said, "Poor Ralson! He died believing all that trash."
Blaustein nodded. "So he did. Ralson will be given a great funeral, I suppose, and the fact of his invention will be publicized without the madness and the suicide. But the government men will remain interested in his mad theories. They may not be so mad, no, Mr. Darrity?"
"That’s ridiculous, Doctor," said Grant. "There isn’t a scientist on the job who has shown the least uneasiness about it at all."
"Tell him, Mr. Darrity," said Blaustein.
Darrity said, "There has been another suicide. No, no, none of the scientists. No one with a degree. It happened this morning, and we investigated because we thought it might have some connection with today’s test. There didn’t seem any, and we were going to keep it quiet till the test was over. Only now there seems to be a connection.
"The man who died was just a guy with a wife and three kids. No reason to die. No history of mental illness. He threw himself under a car. We have witnesses, and it’s certain he did it on purpose. He didn’t die right away and they got a doctor to him. He was horribly mangled, but his last words were ‘I feel much better now’ and he died."
"But who was he?" cried Grant.
"Hal Ross. The guy who actually built the projector. The guy whose office this is."
Blaustein walked to the window. The evening sky was darkening into starriness.
He said, "The man knew nothing about Ralson’s views. He had never spoken to Ralson, Mr. Darrity tells me. Scientists are probably resistant as a whole. They must be or they are quickly driven out of the profession. Ralson was an exception, a penicillin-sensitive who insisted on remaining. You see what happened to him. But what about the others; those who have remained in walks of life where there is no constant weeding out of the sensitive ones. How much of humanity is penicillin-resistant?"
"You believe Ralson?" asked Grant in horror.
"I don’t really know."
Blaustein looked at the stars.
Incubators?
Hostess
Rose Smollett was happy about it; almost triumphant. She peeled off her gloves, put her hat away, and turned her brightening eyes upon her husband.
She said, "Drake, we’re going to have him here."
Drake looked at her with annoyance. "You’ve missed supper. I thought you were going to be back by seven."
"Oh, that doesn’t matter. I ate something on the way home. But, Drake, we’re going to have him here!"
"Who here? What are you talking about?"
"The doctor from Hawkin’s Planet! Didn’t you realize that was what today’s conference was about? We spent all day talking about it. It’s the most exciting thing that could possibly have happened!"
Drake Smollett removed the pipe from the vicinity of his face. He stared first at it and then at his wife. "Let me get this straight. When you say the doctor from Hawkin’s Planet, do you mean the Hawkinsite you’ve got at the Institute?"
"Well, of course. Who else could I possibly mean?"
"And may I ask what the devil you mean by saying we’ll have him here?"
"Drake, don’t you understand?"
"What is there to understand? Your Institute may be interested in the thing, but I’m not. What have we to do with it personally? It’s Institute business, isn’t it?"
"But, darling," Rose said, patiently, "the Hawkinsite would like to stay at a private house somewhere, where he won’t be bothered with official ceremony, and where he’ll be able to proceed more according to his own likes and dislikes. I find it quite understandable."
"Why at our house?"
"Because our place is convenient for the purpose, I suppose. They asked if I would allow it, and frankly," she added with some stiffness, "I consider it a privilege."
"Look!" Drake put his fingers through his brown hair and succeeded in rumpling it. "We’ve got a convenient little place here – granted! It’s not the most elegant place in the world, but it does well enough for us. However, I don’t see where we’ve got room for extraterrestrial visitors."