“Major, I use that prefix for state occasions. I am Miss Inly.”
He smiled at her, sleepy-lidded.
As the sweep second hand touched the hour and the minute hand clacked, the door swung open and General Sachson came in, small blue eyes full of electric crackle, neat heels striking at the rug. He was of minimum stature for Army requirements, with a face like a dried butternut, a man of snap and spit and polish and a score of uniforms tailored by experts.
“Hen shut!” Powys brayed. Only Sharan remained seated.
Sachson rounded the corner of the table, flicked his eyes across them in the moment of silence and then sat down, indicating with a chopping gesture of a child’s thin brown hand that they should do the same.
“Meeting to order!” he snapped. “For God’s sake, Sergeant, get the names right this time.”
“Yes sir,” the sergeant said in an utterly uninflected voice.
“Report damage, Dr. Lane. And keep to the point.”
“Kornal broke down the door of the lab where the control panels were being assembled. He was alone in there for an estimated ten minutes. Adamson estimates that Kornal set us back four full months.”
“I assume,” Sachson said in a deceptively mild tone, “that the door was not considered sufficiently important to be guarded.”
“There were two guards. Kornal knocked them down with a piece of pipe. One is all right. The other is in danger. A depressed skull fracture.”
“The military, Dr. Lane, has discovered that the use of a password is not exactly a childish device.”
“Kornal was privileged to secure a pass at any time to enter that lab. He was working long hours.”
Sachson let the silence grow. The sergeant sat with his waiting fingers poised on the stenotype keys. The blue eyes swung slowly around to Sharan Inly.
“As I understand the theory of your work, Dr. Inly, it is your responsibility to anticipate any mental or emotional breakdown, is it not?” Sachson asked. His tone was replete with the mock gallantry which showed his distaste for the involvement of women in such projects as the one at hand.
Bard Lane saw Sharan’s pallor increase a bit. “As William Kornal had access to all portions of the project area, General, it is self-evident that he was a double A risk on a psychological basis.”
Sachson’s smile was thin-lipped. “Possibly I am stupid, Dr. Inly. I don’t find things to be as ‘self-evident’ as you seem to think they are.”
“He was given a routine check three days ago, General.”
“Possibly the error, Dr. Inly, is in applying so-called routine methods to special cases. Just what is a routine check?”
“A hypnotic is administered and the employee is asked a series of questions about his work. His answers are compared with the answers he gave on all previous checks. If there is any deviation — any deviation whatsoever — then the more exhaustive special investigation is instigated.”
“You can prove, of course, that Kornal was actually given this routine check?”
Sharan blushed. “Am I to consider that a question, General?”
“Forgive me, Dr. Inly. I am a very blunt man. I have seen post-dated reports before. It merely occurred to me that—”
“I can back up Dr. Inly on that, if you feel she needs proof,” Bard said in a harsh voice.
The blue eyes flicked over toward Bard. “I prefer, Dr. Lane, to have my questions answered by the person to whom they are directed. It saves confusion in the records of the meeting.” He turned back to Sharan. “Why are not all the tests special rather than routine?”
“They could be, General, if my staff were tripled and if the persons to be tested were relieved of all project duty for a three-day period.”
“That would build up quite an empire for you, Dr. Inly.”
Sharan’s eyes narrowed. “General, I am perfectly willing to answer your questions. I realize that somehow I should have anticipated Kornal’s violent aberration. I do not know how I could have, but I know I should have. I accept that blame. But I do not have to accept innuendos regarding any possible dishonesty on my part, or any desire on my part to make myself more important.”
“Strike that out of the record, Sergeant,” Sachson snapped.
“I would prefer to have it remain in the record,” she said quietly.
Sachson looked down at his small brown hands. He sighed. “If you feel that the record of this meeting is inadequate, you are privileged to write a letter to be attached to all copies that go forward from this headquarters. So long as I conduct these meetings, I shall direct the preparation of the minutes. Is that quite clear?”
“Yes sir,” Powys said quickly, sitting at attention in his chair.
“Sergeant,” Sachson said. “Kindly stop tapping on that thing. This will be off the record. I wish to say that I have had a reasonably successful military career. It has been successful because I have consistently avoided all those situations where I could have been given responsibility without authority. Now I am faced with just such a situation. For any ranking officer, it is a death trap. I do not like it. I cannot give you orders, Dr. Lane. I can only make suggestions. Each time you fall further behind schedule, it affects my record, my two-oh-one file, my military reputation. You civilians have no way of knowing what that means. You can switch bosses. Things are forgotten, or overlooked. I always answer to the same boss. There are always Siberias to which an officer can be sent.”
“Isn’t this project considerably more important than any one man’s reputation?” Bard asked, hearing Powys’ shocked in-suck of breath.
“That, Dr. Lane,” Sachson said, “is a pretty ethereal point of view. Let me tell you exactly what I think of Project Tempo. On all previous extraterrestrial projects, the armed forces have been in complete control. Civilian specialists have been employed on a civil service basis in a technical and advisory capacity. Our appropriations have been part of general military appropriations. And, I might add, those projects which I was privileged to command were all completed on or ahead of schedule.
“Now, Dr. Lane, you are in command, if I may use that word. You have the authority. I have the responsibility. It is a damnable situation. I know far too little of what is going on up in your hidden valley in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. I know that a properly run guard detail, along military lines, would have prevented this... this accident. Now I am making this request of you. As soon as we start talking for the minutes again, you will ask me to detail Major Leeber to the project area in an advisory capacity. Major Leeber will report directly to me on all matters which, in his good judgment, may tend to endanger the promptness of completion of the contract.”
Bard Lane tensed at the threat hidden behind the words. “And if I object?”
“I have given this considerable thought, Dr. Lane. If you object, I shall ask to be relieved of all future responsibility in connection with Project Tempo. That will, of course, make a stink. It will be wafted to the nostrils of our lawmakers. Already there is some discernible pressure for a senate committeee to investigate this project and the apparently endless number of dollars required. My resignation will crystallize that move. You and your project will be investigated.”
“And?” Bard Lane said softly.
“And you will find that many people in Washington, many important people, will have the same idea that I have: the only way to deep space, my scientific friend, is through further perfections in physical propulsion units, such as the current A-six tubes. All this Einsteinian space fold, time field stuff is so much dreaming.”
“If you’re so certain of that, General, why don’t you recommend that the project be discontinued?”
“That is no part of my responsibility. My responsibility is to get your ship, the Beatty One, off the ground. If it fails in flight, it is no reflection on me. If you can’t get it off the ground, we can use the hull for a military project now under consideration. You have your choice, Dr. Lane. Cooperate in the matter of my assigning Leeber, or reconcile yourself to giving up the project.”