* * * * *
Walton threw himself energetically into his work. It was taking shape,
now. There were still some loose ends, of course, but he was beginning
to feel that some end to the tangle of interlocking intrigues was in
sight.
He checked with a public recreation director and discovered there would
be a block forum on West 382nd Street at 1830 that night. He made a
note to attend, and arranged to have a synthetic mask fashioned so he
wouldn't have to reveal his own identity.
Twenty-four hours. In that time, Fred's employers would presumably
be readying themselves to loose Lamarre's serum on the world; an
extraterrestrial being would be landing on Earth--and, by then, Walton
would have been called to render an account of his stewardship before
the United Nations.
The annunciator chimed again. "Yes?" Walton said.
"Mr. O'Mealia of Mount Palomar Observatory, calling long distance to
talk to you, sir."
"Put him on," Walton said puzzledly.
O'Mealia was a red-faced individual with deep-set, compelling eyes.
He introduced himself as a member of the research staff at Mount
Palomar. "Glad I could finally reach you," he said, in a staccato burst
of words. "Been trying to call for an hour. Made some early-morning
observations of Venus a little while ago, and I thought you'd be
interested."
"Venus? What?"
"Cloud blanket looks awfully funny, Mr. Walton. Blazing away like
sixty. Got the whole staff down here to discuss it, and the way it
looks to us there's some sort of atomic chain-reaction going on in
Venus' atmosphere. I think it's those terraforming men you Popeek folk
have up there. I think they've blown the whole place up!"