Kathryn van Hise was sitting straight in her chair, her hands resting on the brown envelopes. Her fingers were interlaced and the thumbs rose to make a pointed steeple.
Saltus laughed. “You always have it, Katrina.”
Her responding frown was a quick and fleeting thing. “I am your briefing officer. My task is to prepare you for a mission which has no precedent in history, but one that is very near culmination. It is desirable that the project now go forward with all reasonable speed. I must insist that we begin preparations at once.”
Chaney asked: “Are we working for NASA?”
“No, sir. You are directly employed by the Bureau of Standards and will not be identified with any other agency or department. The nature of the work will not be made public, of course. The White House insists on that.”
He knew a measure of relief when she answered the next question, but it was of short duration. “You’re not going to put us into orbit? We won’t have to do this work on moon, or somewhere?”
“No, sir.”
“That’s a relief. I won’t have to fly?”
She said carefully: “I cannot reassure you on that point, sir. If we fail to attain our primary objective, the secondary targets may involve flying.”
“That’s bad. There are alternatives?”
“Yes, sir. Two alternatives have been planned, if for any reason we cannot accomplish the first objective.”
Major Moresby chuckled at his discomfiture.
Chaney asked: “Do we just sit here and wait for something to happen — wait for that vehicle to work?”
“No, sir. I will help you to prepare yourself, on the assurance that something will happen. The testing is nearly completed and we expect the conclusion at any time. When it is completed, all of you will then acquaint yourselves with vehicle operation; and when that is done a field trial will be arranged. Following a successful field trial, the actual survey will get underway. We are most optimistic that each phase of the operation will be concluded in good order and in the shortest possible time.” She paused to lend emphasis to her next statement. “The first objective will be a broad political and demographic survey of the near future; we wish to learn the political stability of that future and the well-being of the general populace. We may be able to contribute to both by having advance knowledge of their problems. Toward that end you will study and map the central United States at the turn of the century, at about the year 2000.”
Saltus: “Hot damn!”
Chaney felt a recurrence of the initial shock he’d known on the beach; this wasn’t to be an academic study.
“We’re going up there? That far?”
“I thought I had made that clear, Mr. Chaney.”
“Not that clear,” he said with some embarrassment and confusion. “The wind was blowing on the beach — my mind was on other things.” Hasty side glances at Saltus and the Major offered little comfort: one was grinning at him and the other was contemptuous. “I had supposed my role was to be a passive one: laying out the guidelines, preparing the surveys and the like. I had supposed you were using instruments for the actual probe—” But he realized how lame that sounded.
“No, sir. Each of you will go forward to conduct the survey. You will employ certain instruments in the field, but the human element is necessary.”
Moresby may have thought to needle him. “Seniority will apply, after all. We will move up in the proper order. Myself first, then Art, and then you.”
“We expect to launch the survey within three weeks, given the completion of the testing schedule.” Her voice may have held a trace of amusement at his expense. “It may be sooner if your training program can be completed sooner. A physical examination is scheduled for later this afternoon, Mr. Chaney; the others have already had theirs. The examinations will continue at the rate of two per week until the survey vehicle is actually launched.”
“Why?”
“For your protection and ours, sir. If a serious defect exists we must know it now.”
He said weakly: “I have the heart of a chicken.”
“But I understood you were under fire in Israel?”
“That’s different. I couldn’t stop the shelling and the work had to be done.”
“You could have quit the country.”
“No, I couldn’t do that — not until the work was done, not until the translation was finished and the book ready.”
Kathryn van Hise tapped her fingers together and only looked at him. She thought that was answer enough.
Chaney recalled something she had said on the beach, something she had quoted or inferred from his dossier. Or perhaps it was that damned computer profile rattling off his supposed resolution and stability. He had a quick suspicion.
“Did you read my dossier? All of it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ouch. Did it contain information — ah, gossip about an incident on the far side of the New Allenby Bridge?”
“I believe the Jordanian government contributed a certain amount of information on the incident, sir. It was obtained through the Swiss Legation in Amman, of course. I understand you suffered a rather severe beating.”
Saltus eagerly: “Hey — what’s this?”
Chaney said: “Don’t believe everything you read. I was damned near shot for a spy in Jordan, but that Moslem woman wasn’t wearing a veil. Mark that — no veil! It’s supposed to make all the difference in the world.”
Saltus: “But what has the woman to do with a spy?”
“They thought I was a Zionist spy,” Chaney explained. “The woman without a veil was only a pleasant interlude — well, she was supposed to be a pleasant interlude. But it didn’t turn out that way.”
“And they nabbed you? Almost shot you?”
“And beat the hell out of me. Arabs don’t play by the same rules we do. They use garrotes and daggers.”
Saltus: “But what happened to the woman?”
“Nothing. No time. She got away.”
“Too bad,” Saltus exclaimed.
Kathryn van Hise asked: “May we continue, please?”
Chaney thought he detected a touch of color in her cheeks. “We’re going up,” he said with finality.
“Yes, sir.”
He wished he were back on the beach. “Is it safe?”
Arthur Saltus broke in again before the woman could respond. “The monkeys haven’t complained — you shouldn’t.”
“Monkeys?”
“The test monkeys, civilian. The critters have been riding that damned machine for weeks, up, back, sideways. But they haven’t filed any complaints — not in writing.”
“But supposing they did?”
Airily: “Oh, in that event, William and I would wave our seniority rights to you. You could go riding off somewhere to investigate their complaints, find out the trouble. The taxpayers deserve some breaks.”
Kathryn van Hise said: “Once again, please.”
“Sure, Katrina,” Saltus said easily. “But I think you should tell this civilian what he’s in for.”
Moresby caught his meaning and laughed.
Chaney was wary. “What am I in for?”
“You’re going up naked.” Saltus lifted his shirt to slap a bare chest. “We’re all going up naked.”
Chaney stared at him, searching for the point of the joke, and belatedly realized it was no joke. He turned on the woman and found the flush had returned to her face.
She said: “It’s a matter of weight, Mr. Chaney. The machine must propel itself and you into the future, which is an operation requiring a tremendous amount of electrical energy. The engineers have advised us that total weight is a critical matter, that nothing but the passenger must be put forward or returned. They insist upon minimum weight.
“Naked? All the way naked?”
Saltus: “Naked as a jaybird, civilian. We’ll save ten, fifteen, twenty pounds of excess weight. They demand it. You wouldn’t want to upset those engineers, would you? Not with your life riding in their hands? They’re sensitive chaps, you know — we have to humor them.”