"But I don't think we've got that many unmarried men in the service."
"Then get all you can. Get enough so they can stand close together in
the cordon--close enough so no one can wander through. Look--this isn't
a case of us hunting down a crook who knows we're after him. We're
trying to pick up a couple who are perfectly innocent--who may wander
through the cordon. We're trying to prevent an accident, not a crime."
They got four hundred and ten all told. The whole little regiment was
mustered before headquarters and the C-S made a beautifully concocted
speech about a criminal and a crime that had to be prevented and
hoopus-gadoopus, I forget most of it. Naturally we couldn't let them
know about the Prog Building any more than we could the citizens--and I
suppose you understand why the secret had to be kept.
You don't, eh? Well, for the benefit of the hermit from the Moon I'll
explain that, aside from the important matter of Stability, there's the
very human fact that the Prog would be besieged by a million people
a day looking for fortunetelling and hot tips on the races. Most
important of all, there's the question of death. You can't let a man
know when and how he's going to die. You just can't.
There wasn't any sense keeping the news from the papers because
everyone around Central Park was going to know something was up. While
the C-S was giving instructions, I slipped into a booth and asked for
multi-dial. When most of the reporters' faces were on segments of the
screen, I said: "Greetings, friendlies!"
They all yelled indignantly because I'd been out of sight for three
days.
I said: "No more ho-hum, lads. Carmichael sees all and tells all.
Hot-foot it up to the north end of Central Park in an hour or so. Big
stuff!"