“I do,” Beth said, and there was silence. “You are the important people,” she said then. “You are the ones who need to be-—saved. Stop this silly chivalry and be practical.”
Grover Frazee said, “Hear, hear.”
“Shut up, Grover,” the governor said. His tone was angry.
Senator Peters said, “All right, my dear, let’s be practical. We’ve had our time. We’ve made what waves we could make, influenced what events we were capable of influencing.” The habit of oratory was strong. He made himself stop elaborating the matter. “The point is,” he said, “that the tradition isn’t just from silly ideas of chivalry. It’s grounded in that practicality you demand. You, not we, are the future of the human race. We manage its affairs while we live, but you see to it that there are those to replace us and you care for them until they are ready.”
The governor said, “You are overruled, Beth.” He smiled fondly. He looked around the office. “All the women,” he said. “You, Pete,” he said to the commissioner, “see to it. The rest of you help him. And hurry!” Beth waited until only they two were left. “I’m not going, Bent. Not without you.”
“Oh yes you are.” The governor walked to the inner wall of the office. “Come here.” He watched her approach slowly, wonderingly, and he took her hand and placed it flat against the wall’s surface. She drew it away. “Hot, isn’t it?” the governor said. “Not much more time, and I want you safe.”
“I told you—”
“But I’m telling you.” He lifted her chin with a bent forefinger and kissed her lightly. “I’m not going to make any speeches,” he said. “For once in my life I don’t have any words to cover what I think and feel.” He was smiling gently. “And if that sounds unbelievable, well, this entire situation is unbelievable, but it has happened.” He put his arm around her waist. “Come along. I’ll see you off.” Still she held back. “Will there be a second load? You? The others?”
“We’ll count on it. First we’ll see you safe.” Together they walked to the door and there they stopped.
Outside someone shouted, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
There were other voices raised, and the sound of running footsteps.
“Wait here,” the governor said and hurried out into the big room.
The scene had altered suddenly, drastically. Like ants around an uprooted nest, the governor thought, everyone seemed to be in haphazard frantic motion.
“Hold it!” the governor shouted. “Hold it!”
Some of the movement stopped. Faces turned in his direction. There was near-silence.
“What’s going on?” the governor said. “We’re supposed to be grown people, responsible people. Just what in blue blazes has changed that?” His tone flayed them all. “They’ve worked a miracle down below,” he said, “and sent us an elevator. It—”
“That is the problem, Bent,” Senator Peters said, his working-class big-city accent more marked than ever. “The elevator is gone, on its way down, and there’s no way to stop it.” He paused. “It has a passenger. One. Can you guess who?”
The big room was still, and all eyes watched him. I don’t have to guess, the governor thought, I know. Aloud he said, “You tell me, Jake.”
“Paul Norris,” the senator said, “who else? J. Paul Norris.”
The governor nodded slowly. Slowly he turned and walked back into the office past Beth as if she did not exist. He sat down at the desk, picked up the telephone, and flipped the desk-speaker switch. “Armitage here,” he said. “The elevator is on its way down. It has one passenger. I want him held.”
Brown’s voice said, “Yes, sir.” And then, incredulously, “Just one passenger?”
“That is what I said.” The governor paused. “I want the district attorney apprised of the fact that the man deliberately stole the elevator. If the district attorney can see his way clear, I should like the man to be charged with attempted murder.’ The governor paused again. “Witnesses,” he said, “may be hard to come by. Tell him that too.”
Brown said, “We’ll send the elevator right back. If we can.”
The governor nodded. “If you can,” he said. “I understand.” He paused. “You’ve done a superlative job, all of you, against apparently impossible odds. I want you to know that we appreciate it, all of us.” He was staring thoughtfully at the telephone. “How long the telephone will last,” he said, “is anyone’s guess, I should imagine. ‘I’m sure that somewhere up here there is a transistor radio. There always is. You can reach us with any information through the city’s radio station. We’ll stay tuned to it.” He looked up then.
The mayor stood in the doorway. He was nodding. “I’ll find a transistor,” he said. And then, “Will they get the elevator up for another trip?”
“Governor?” Brown’s voice on the desk speaker.
“Right here.”
“The elevator is down, Governor. The man inside—” Brown paused. “He’s dead, Governor. Burned pretty bad.” His voice shook.
Nat Wilson’s voice came on, weary but strong. “The heat in the core. There must be a blowtorch effect.”
Ben Caldwell moved in past the mayor. “Masks, Nat?” he said. “Asbestos suits? Spray the inside of the car to cool it off—”
“No,” Nat said. “One chance, and we blew it. We won’t get that car up again. It’s badly damaged and off its rails, so the rails must have distorted. We’ll try another, but—” He left the sentence unfinished.
Caldwell blew his breath out slowly in a silent whistle. “I understand.”
Brown’s voice came on again. “We’re still working the inside of the building,” he said. “Floor by goddam floor. Sorry, Governor. Eventually—” The voice paused. “If only they didn’t build them so big.” Another pause. “What’s left now,” Brown’s voice said, “is that wild idea of Wilson’s.”
The governor’s face was expressionless. “Keep us posted,” he said, pushed back his chair, and stood up wearily. “Time for another report.” He started for the door.
“Do you have to, Bent?” This was Beth.
“My dear,” the governor said, “if there is one thing I have learned in a long career, it is that people behave at their worst when they are kept in the dark. In the face of unpalatable truths they sometimes react unpleasantly; but when they aren’t told anything, rumors start and panic is not far behind.”
As before, the governor stood on a chair in the center of the big room. He waited briefly until all conversation had stopped. Then, “The elevator reached the concourse,” he said and waited.
There was a low angry murmur.
“The man in it,” the governor said, “was dead from the intense heat in the core of the building.” He paused again.
This time there was silence. He had his audience now.
“They are attempting to send us a second elevator,” he said, “and if they are successful, there will be insulated clothing and breathing masks for those who ride in it.” He raised one hand. “If they are successful in sending that second elevator. It is by no means sure that they will be.”
There was hammering at the fire door on the far side of the room. The governor waited while the fire commissioner hurried to it, wrenched at the knob, and pushed the door wide. Firemen Denis Howard and Lou Storr lurched through.
Each carried a halligan tool, a long heavy bar hooked at one end, canted at the other. Their masks hung around their necks. In each face there was a bone-weariness plain to see. Their legs trembled as they walked forward in answer to the governor’s beckoning gesture.
“Close that door,” the governor said. Then, to the two firemen, “We thank you for coming.”