Yogi continued. "We don't know yet just how this radioactivity works on
the body. In fact, we're not even sure it is the radioactivity alone.
There may be some added effect from the Lunette climate or water. But
we have proved, to the satisfaction of everyone here, that almost all
Earth diseases and most injuries can be cured on Lunette.
"The mess sergeant had a trick knee when he came here. The trouble
disappeared completely when we arrived. One of the geologists had an
ulcer. Hasn't felt a pain since the second day. Another guy had some
bad powder burns from a lab experiment that disappeared over night,
just like your burn did.
"When we first suspected what was going on, we asked the crew at Silver
Spring to send up white rats, guinea pigs, and dogs, with everything
from cancer and T.B. through rabies to polio, and the results were one
hundred per cent perfect, with complete recovery in every case inside
of a week. _And_, this is important, they stayed cured when sent back
to Earth."
Yogi's eyes were burning like one of them gospel preachers at a
revival, and his voice was shaking. I was catching the excitement
myself. The Captain took over the story.
"I suppose you're wondering what we want of you?"
"I sure am. This is a big deal, isn't it?" I looked at the little scar
on my hand again, to convince myself nobody was kidding.
"Here's our problem, and our plan, Tuck. Yogi told me what you said
about the taxpayers' right to know where their money is going, and it
ties in with what a lot of us up here have been discussing.
"Most of our fellows are like Yogi--technicians who chose their line
of work because they thought they could help make the world a better
place to live in. Now that they have the chance to make the biggest
contribution of their whole lives, they're all hemmed in by military
rigamarole and red tape. It goes against the grain for scientists."
"You mean the Army is keeping the place top secret, so it can't be used
for a ... well, a health resort?"
The Captain nodded. "I'm not arguing with the military reasons for
security. Maybe they're right on that score. But in the meantime,
thousands of people are dying every day of disease, needlessly, while
the Army keeps the secret that could end those deaths. The people
will find out about it eventually, and I don't think they'll like it.
Suppose your mother were to die of cancer a few months from now, and
you were to find out later that her death was unnecessary, and that
your own government could have stopped it. What would you think? How
about it, Peters, are you with us? What do you say?"
* * * * *
The Captain had been talking louder and faster till he was practically
out of breath.
"I got just one thing to say, Captain. My baby sister died of T.B.
just before her eighteenth birthday last year. You can bet your bottom
nickel I'm with you on this deal, right down the line. Just give me the
scoop. I'll go along."
Yogi and the CO slapped me on the back.
They explained to me, Mr. President, all about this secret
Congressional hearing to be held on the Lunette project next week, and
how I should go to Washington and get my Congressman to spring me as a
surprise witness--a civilian who had been to Lunette and knew the score.
They knew all about what strings to pull to be sure I could get in,
and they helped me figure out what I should say. They seemed to think
that my word, you know, the guy on the street or something like that,
would carry some weight and make Congress see that the health angle on
this Lunette project is a darned sight more important than keeping the
secret of a guided missile station. Why, for Pete's sake, Mr. President
Uncle Sam owns Lunette, doesn't he? When the other side hears about
this they'll want to get in on it so bad they'll be awful anxious
to stay in our good graces. Probably turn out to be an even better
military defense than guided missiles.
Time was important now, so just at five o'clock, when I generally
report for work, Yogi and I walked down to the Matter BARS and shook
hands. Yogi took a polaroid picture of me standing there and gave me
the print. You know, Mr. President, I kind of hated to leave. That
Lunette sure is a pretty place.
Yogi moved the two little balls together, and sure enough, like he had
told me, I felt like I was catching a fit of sneezing. That was all,
and there I was back at Diversified, in the restricted Signal Corps
section, with the inspector staring at me.
He looks ready to pull a gun on me, so I laugh at him, nervous as
heck inside but trying not to show it. "What's the matter, you seen a
ghost?"
"How did you get in that cabinet, Peters?" He's really mad, and I'm
wondering if I can pull it off.
"Well, I know you spend all your time over here by yourself, so I
thought maybe someone should break the monotony. I just crawled in
there a couple of minutes ago to surprise you." (That was true in a
way, wasn't it?)
"Don't do that again, Peters. No harm done, I guess, but if I had moved
those two little balls together without seeing you in there I don't
know what would have happened to you!"
Mebbe you don't, but I do, I thought to myself. I scrammed out of there
as soon as I was sure I had him sold on my story.
And that's all there is to the story, Mr. President, except that last
week like a darned fool I had to drop that picture. It was one Yogi
took of me with his Polaroid, standing by the Matter BARS with a bunch
of Lunette coconuts (the boys call them Ikenuts, sir).
So my foreman sees the manhole cover in the picture and thinks that
something must be funny and turns it in to our personnel manager. And
_he_ turns it over to the FBI, and I wouldn't tell em anything, and
here I am in the clink.
So it looks like I've fouled up the boys' plans to use me as a secret
weapon, and it looks like I've fouled up my own life real good unless
you can figure out a way to help me.