"When they come back," he said. "How much radiation do they pick up?
Don't you people ever test them?"
"Of course not," I told him. I was on secure ground now, with Linda's
information to guide me. "All radiation is cleared from the sleds and
their cargo before they're brought into the building."
"I know that," he said impatiently. "But don't you ever check them
before de-radiating them?"
"No. Why should we?"
"To find out how far the radiation level outside has dropped."
"For what? Who cares about that?"
He frowned bitterly. "The same answer," he muttered, more to himself
than to me. "The same answer every time. You people have crawled into
your caves and you're ready to stay in them forever."
I looked around at my apartment. "Rather a well-appointed cave," I told
him.
"But a cave nevertheless." He leaned toward me, his eyes gleaming with
a fanatical flame. "Don't you ever wish to get Outside?"
Incredible! I nearly poured boiling water all over myself. "Outside? Of
course not!"
"The same thing," he grumbled, "over and over again. Always the same
stupidity. Listen, you! Do you realize how long it took man to get out
of the caves? The long slow painful creep of progress, for millennia,
before he ever made that first step from the cave?"
"I have no idea," I told him.
"I'll tell you this," he said belligerently. "A lot longer than it
took for him to turn around and go right back into the cave again." He
started pacing the floor, waving the gun around in an agitated fashion
as he talked. "Is this the _natural_ life of man? It is not. Is this
even a _desirable_ life for man? It is _definitely_ not." He spun back
to face me, pointing the gun at me again, but this time he pointed
it as though it were a finger, not a gun. "Listen, you," he snapped.
"Man was progressing. For all his stupidities and excesses, he was
growing up. His dreams were getting bigger and grander and better all
the time. He was planning to tackle _space_! The moon first, and then
the planets, and finally the stars. The whole universe was out there,
waiting to be plucked like an apple from a tank. And Man was reaching
out for it." He glared as though daring me to doubt it.
* * * * *
I decided that this man was doubly dangerous. Not only was he a spy,
he was also a lunatic. So I had two reasons for humoring him. I nodded
politely.
"So what happened?" he demanded, and immediately answered himself.
"I'll tell you what happened! Just as he was about to make that first
giant step, Man got a hotfoot. That's all it was, just a little
hotfoot. So what did Man do? I'll tell you what he did. He turned
around and he ran all the way back to the cave he started from, his
tail between his legs. _That's_ what he did!"
To say that all of this was incomprehensible would be an extreme
understatement. I fulfilled my obligation to this insane dialogue by
saying, "Here's your coffee."
"Put it on the table," he said, switching instantly from raving maniac
to watchful spy.
I put it on the table. He drank deep, then carried the cup across the
room and sat down in my favorite chair. He studied me narrowly, and
suddenly said, "What did they tell you I was? A spy?"
"Of course," I said.
He grinned bitterly, with one side of his mouth. "Of course. The damn
fools! Spy! What do you suppose I'm going to spy on?"
He asked the question so violently and urgently that I knew I had to
answer quickly and well, or the maniac would return. "I--I wouldn't
know, exactly," I stammered. "Military equipment, I suppose."
"Military equipment? _What_ military equipment? Your Army is supplied
with uniforms, whistles and hand guns, and that's about it."
"The defenses--" I started.
"The defenses," he interrupted me, "are non-existent. If you mean the
rocket launchers on the roof, they're rusted through with age. And what
other defenses are there? None."
"If you say so," I replied stiffly. The Army claimed that we had
adequate defense equipment. I chose to believe the Army over an enemy
spy.
"Your people send out spies, too, don't they?" he demanded.
"Well, of course."
"And what are _they_ supposed to spy on?"
"Well--" It was such a pointless question, it seemed silly to even
answer it. "They're supposed to look for indications of an attack by
one of the other projects."
"And do they find any indications, ever?"
"I'm sure I don't know," I told him frostily. "That would be classified
information."
"You bet it would," he said, with malicious glee. "All right, if that's
what _your_ spies are doing, and if _I'm_ a spy, then it follows that
I'm doing the same thing, right?"
"I don't follow you," I admitted.
"If I'm a spy," he said impatiently, "then I'm supposed to look for
indications of an attack by you people on my Project."