“Easy, Doc, it’s O.K. Ummm, so they teach women some science nowadays, eh, Mrs Jenkins… Sue… Dr. Brown, whatever your name is? Don’t worry about it, though — the old principle of Brownian movement will keep any colloid suspended, if it’s fine enough to be a real colloid. We’re sucking it out and keeping it pretty hot until it reaches the water — then it cools off so fast it hasn’t time to collect in particles big enough to sink. Some of the dust that floats around in the air is heavier than water, too. I’m joining the bystanders, if you don’t mind; the men have everything under control, and I can see better here than I could down there, if anything does come up.”
Doc’s momentary despair reacted to leave him feeling more sure of things than was justified. He pushed over on the plank, making room for Palmer to drop down beside him. “What’s to keep it from blowing up anyway, Palmer?”
“Nothing! Got a match?” He sucked in on the cigarette heavily, relaxing as much as he could. “No use trying to fool you, Doc, at this stage of the game. We’re gambling, and I’d say the odds are even; Jenkins thinks they’re ninety to ten in his favor, but he has to think so. What we’re hoping is that by lifting it out in a gas, thus breaking it down at once from full concentration to the finest possible form, and letting it settle in the water in colloidal particles, there won’t be a concentration at any one place sufficient to set it all off at once. The big problem is making sure we get every bit of it cleaned out here, or there may be enough left to take care of us and the nearby city! At least, since the last change, it’s stopped spitting, so all the men have to worry about is burn!”
“How much damage, even if it doesn’t go off all at once?”
“Possibly none. If you can keep it burning slowly, a million tons of dynamite wouldn’t be any worse than the same amount of wood, but a stick going off at once will kill you. Why the dickens didn’t Jenkins tell me he wanted to go into atomics? We could have fixed all that — it’s hard enough to get good men as it is!”
Brown perked up, forgetting the whole trouble beyond them, and went into the story with enthusiasm, while Ferrel only partly listened. He could see the spot of magma growing steadily smaller, but the watch on his wrist went on ticking off minutes remorselessly, and the time was growing limited. He hadn’t realized before how long he’d been sitting there. Now three of the crane nozzles were almost touching, and around them stretched the burned-out ground, with no sign of converter, masonry, or anything else; the heat from the thermodyne had gassified everything indiscriminately.
“Palmer!” The portable ultrawave set around the manager’s neck came to life suddenly. “Hey, Palmer, those blowers are about shot; the pipe’s pitting already. We’ve been doing everything we can to replace them, but that stuff eats faster than we can fix. Can’t hold up more’n fifteen minutes more.”
“Check, Briggs. Keep ’em going the best you can.” Palmer flipped a switch and looked out toward the tank standing by behind the cranes. “Jenkins, you get that?”
“Yeah. Surprised they held out this long. How much time till deadline?” The boy’s voice was completely toneless, neither hope nor nerves showing up, only the complete weariness of a man almost at his limit.
Palmer looked and whistled. “Twelve minutes, according to the minimum estimate Hoke made! How much left?”
“We’re just burning around now, trying to make sure there’s no pocket left; I hope we’ve got the whole works, but I’m not promising. Might as well send out all the I-231 you have and we’ll boil it down the pipes to clear out any deposits on them. All the old treads and parts that contacted the R gone into the pile?”
“You melted the last, and your cranes haven’t touched the stuff directly. Nice pile of money’s gone down that pipe — converter, machinery, everything!”
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., anytime 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 Jenkin’s 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 miles 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 kids 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.”