"Not exactly. But--"
"It's caused me a lot of grief in the past; it's one of the reasons why
I've never been a howling social success. However, saying and doing
what I think makes a fine physicist out of me."
"That I believe," said Dave. The jeep drew up to one of the buildings.
"Now," he said, "where's that typer?"
"In the office. Or better, we have a few empties; maybe you'd like to
use one until you go back to Chicago?"
"That would be good," he told her. "I'm going to stay right here until
you folks get this problem solved--or go up taking Merion Laboratory
with you. Maybe," he said cheerfully, "I'll be able to use your typer
to write the description of that, but it's unlikely."
Jane faced him as he climbed out of the jeep. "We've got a job to do. I
know it sounds like a chunk of lousy script, but the bunch of us are
devoted to the job of increasing human knowledge. So we're ready to
accept the danger. But there's no reason why you should risk your hide.
You can write from here and be safe."
"I wouldn't miss the fun for anything," he said. "When will the new
crystal be ready?"
"Tomorrow morning."
Jane climbed out after him. "I'll arrange for that office," she said.
"Come on."
From the window of his office Dave Crandall watched Jane drive off in
her jeep. Then he turned to the desk and put through a long-distance
telephone call.
"Meteridge speaking."
"Dave Crandall, doc."
"Yes, David. How're things going?"
"About the same."
"Fine. Keep the chin up."
"Doc--there's nothing can be done?"
"Five years ago we could have--"
"I couldn't see it."
Meteridge swore. "And now, like everybody else, you've changed your
mind too late?"
"No, doc. I haven't changed my mind. I just wish it had been different."
"So do we all. But five years ago--"
"I know. I know. Five years ago you could have given me twenty years
more, but it meant staying on my backside for the whole route. I took
six years of active life in favor of twenty years as a total loss. I'd
do it again."
"I suppose you would. So would I, to tell you the truth."
Dave chuckled. "So I just called to tell you the usual. I'm okay and
feeling no pain."
"Good. Keep me informed. And when you start feeling the pangs, let me
know. We can give you some relief."
They hung up and Dave, deliberately putting the thought out of his
mind, went to work on his news story. It was the sort of thing that
a stable man does not dwell upon; within him, burning at his vitals,
was a fission fragment. Dispersed, it was. Too widespread for a
single removal; years and years of almost continuous operations and
convalescence would remove the danger, but it would leave Crandall abed
most of his active life.
He--and Doctor Meteridge--knew that he had been no hero when he stayed
behind with the crystal. At the worst it had meant an instant death; at
the best, saving the lives of other people. What could Dave lose?
Nothing but a forfeited life.