Lights went out, emergency lighting clicked on. The blockhouse heaved like a boat in a heavy sea. Their eyes were still dazzled, their ears assaulted by cannonading afternoise, and physicists were elbowing flag officers at the port, when an anguished soprano cut through the din. "Oh, dear!"
Reynolds snapped, "What's the matter, Grandma? You all right?"
"Me? Oh, yes, yes—but I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do it."
"Do what?"
"I was just feeling it out, thinking about all those little bitty neuters, ready to spit. But I didn't mean to make it go off—not till you told us to."
"Oh." Reynolds turned to ‘the rest. "Anyone else jump the gun?"
No one admitted it. Mrs. Wilkins said timidly, "I'm sorry, Doctor. Have they got another one? I'll be more careful."
Reynolds and Withers were seated in the officers' mess with coffee in front of them; the physicist paid no attention to his. His eyes glittered and his face twitched. "No limits! Calculations show over ninety per cent conversion of mass to energy. You know what that means? If we assume—no, never mind. Just say that we could make every bomb the size of a pea. No tamper. No control circuits. Nothing but..." He paused. "Delivery would be fast, small jets—just a pilot, a weaponeer, and one of your ‘operators.' No limit to the number of bombs. No nation on earth could—"
"Take it easy," said Reynolds. "We've got only a few telekinesis operators. You wouldn't risk them in a plane."
"But—"
"You don't need to. Show them the bombs, give them photos of the targets, hook them by radio to the weaponeer. That spreads them thin. And we'll test for more sensitive people. My figures show about one in eighteen hundred."
"‘Spread them thin,'" repeated Withers.' "Mrs. Wilkins could handle dozens of bombs, one after another—couldn't she?"
"I suppose so. We'll test."
"We will indeed!" ‘Withers noticed his coffee, gulped it. "Forgive me, Doctor; I'm punchy. I've had to revise too many opinions."
"I know. I was a behaviorist."
Captain Mikeler came in, looked around and came over. "The General wants you both," he said softly. "Hurry."
They were ushered into a guarded office.. Major General Hanby was with General LaMott and Vice Admiral Keithley; they looked grim. Hanby handed them message flimsies. Reynolds saw the stamp TOP SECRET and handed his back. "General, I'm not cleared for this,"
"Shut up and read it."
Reynolds skipped the number groups:
"—(PARAPHRASED) RUSSIAN EMBASSY TODAY HANDED STATE ULTIMATUM: DEMANDS USA CONVERT TO ‘PEOPLE'S REPUBLIC' UNDER POLITICAL COMMISSARS TO BE ASSIGNED BY USSR. MILITARY ASSURANCES DEMANDED. NOTE CLAIMS MAJOR US CITIES (LIST SEPARATE) ARE MINED WITH ATOMIC BOMBS WHICH THEY THREATEN TO SET OFF BY RADIO IF TERMS ARE NOT MET BY SIXTEEN HUNDRED FRIDAY EST."
Reynolds reread it—"SIXTEEN HUNDRED FRIDAY"—Two P.M. day after tomorrow, local time. Our cities booby-trapped with A-bombs? Could they do that? He realized that LaMott was speaking. "We must assume that the threat is real. Our free organization makes it an obvious line of attack."
The admiral said, "They may be bluffing."
The air general shook his head. "They know the President won't surrender. We can't assume that Ivan is stupid."
Reynolds wondered why he was being allowed to hear this. LaMott looked at him. "Admiral Keithley and I leave for Washington at once. I have delayed to ask you this: your people set off an atom bomb. Can they keep bombs from going off?"
Reynolds felt his time sense stretch as if he had all year to think about Grandma Wilkins, Norman, his other paranormals. "Yes," he answered.
LaMott stood up. "Your job, Hanby. Coming, Admiral?"
"Wait!" protested Reynolds. "Give me one bomb and Mrs. Wilkins—and I'll sit on it. But how many cities? Twenty? Thirty?"
"Thirty-eight."
"Thirty-eight bombs—or more. Where are they? What do they look like? How long will this go on? It's impossible."
"Of course—but do it anyhow. Or try. Hanby, tell them we're on our way, will you?"
"Certainly, General."
"Good-by, Doctor. Or so long, rather."
Reynolds suddenly realized that these two were going back to "sit" on one of the bombs, to continue their duties until it killed them. He said quickly, "We'll try. We'll certainly try."
Thirty-eight cities, forty-three hours and seventeen adepts. Others were listed in years of research, but they were scattered through forty-one states. In a dictatorship secret police would locate them at once, deliver them at supersonic speeds. But this was America.
"Find them! Get them here! Fast! Hanby assigned Colonel Hammond to turn Reynolds' wishes into orders and directed his security officer to delegate his duties, get on the phone and use his acquaintance with the F.B.I., and other security officers, and through them with local police, to cut red tape and find those paranormals. Find them, convince them, bring pressure, start them winging toward the proving ground. By sundown, twenty-three had been found, eleven had been convinced or coerced, two had arrived. Hanby phoned Reynolds, caught him eating a sandwich standing up. "Hanby speaking. The Président just phoned."
"The President?"
"LaMott got in to see him. He's dubious, but he's authorized an all-out try, short of slowing down conventional defense. One of his assistants left National Airport by jet plane half an hour ago to come here and help. Things will move faster."
But it did not speed things up, as the Russian broadcast was even then being beamed, making the crisis public; the President went on the air thirty minutes later. Reynolds did not hear him; he was busy. Twenty people to save twenty cities—and a world. But how? He was sure that Mrs. Wilkins could smother any A-bomb she had seen; he hoped the others could. But a hidden bomb in a far-off city—find it mentally, think about it, quench it, not for the microsecond it took to set one off, but for the billions of microseconds it might take to uncover it—was it possible?
What would help? Certain drugs—caffeine, benzedrine. They must have quiet, too. He turned to Hammond. "I want a room and bath for each one."
"You've got that."
"No, we're doubled up, with semi-private baths."
Hammond shrugged. "Can do. It means booting out some brass."
"Keep the kitchen manned. They must not sleep, but they'll have to eat. Fresh coffee all the time and cokes and tea—anything they want. Can you put the room phones through a private switchboard?"
"Okay. What else?"
"I don't know. We'll talk to them."
They all knew of the Russian broadcast, but not what was being planned; they met his words with uneasy silence. Reynolds turned to Andrews. "Well, Two-Gun?"
"Big bite to chew, Prof."
"Yes. Can you chew it?"
"Have to, I reckon."
"Norman?"
"Gee, Boss! How can I when I can't see ‘em?"
"Mrs. Wilkins couldn't see that bomb this morning. You can't see radioactivity on a watch dial; it's too small. You just see the dial and think about it. Well?"
The Negro lad scowled. "Think of a shiny ball in a city somewhere?"
"Yes. No, wait—Colonel Hammond, they need a visual image and it won't be that. There are atom bombs here—they must see one."
Hammond frowned. "An American bomb meant for dropping or firing won't look like a Russian bomb rigged for placement and radio triggering."
"What will they look like?"
"G-2 ought to know. I hope. We'll get some sort of picture. A three-dimensional mock-up, too. I'd better find Withers and the General." He left.