Chadwick Haedaecker was the kind of man who collected college degrees,
both earned and honorary, and had them lettered on his office door like
a collection of trophies. He had enough ability and ambition to get to
the top of his particular heap, and once he got there he had garnered
enough additional power to stay there. He was a tall man with piercing
eyes and an indomitable nature and he used both to quell any objectors
to his plans, projects, ideas, and theories. Twenty years of authority
in a position where no man was permitted to doubt his word or argue
with his self-assured proclamations had completely erased any trace of
humility he ever had.
But whether Haedaecker was a prince among men or a jackal among jackals
depended entirely upon the beholder. When Haedaecker believed in your
idea, he was a staunch supporter, throwing all he had--and he had
plenty--behind your idea. His whip cracked just as hard in your behalf
as it lashed against your back when Haedaecker was not convinced of the
soundness of your idea.
Since Haedaecker was head of the Bureau, his presence here made Paul
blink.
While Paul tried to think of something clever to say, Haedaecker smiled
and nodded, finally speaking after he knew the state of discomfiture
of his employee.
"You've had quite a time, haven't you?" asked Haedaecker.
Paul nodded ruefully.
"Just what happened?"
Paul explained, carefully, completely. He would have preferred to
answer Haedaecker with nods or grunts or shakes of the head on the
theory that opening the mouth is the first step towards spilling
the whole tale, or at least enough of it to give a man as cagey as
Haedaecker to think that there was more equipment in the BurAst
spacecraft than radio beacon checking gear. Haedaecker was not the kind
of man to come forth to console a man; especially one that apparently
came out of the deal with nothing lost. Haedaecker's principle was to
get 'em off balance and keep 'em off balance, because when they're off
balance they cannot get set to swing. Paul knew that he would have to
play this interview with the same finesse that a mouse should use to
escape the cat's corner.
"Have any ideas about this?" asked Haedaecker.
Paul's ideas were all confused ones but he did not say so. "The police
accept it as a plain case of attempted theft," he said.
"And you?"
Paul spread his hands in a universal gesture. "I can't make more out of
it than the police," he said.
Haedaecker speared Paul Grayson with those piercing eyes. "You're not
mixed up in anything, are you?"
"Lord no!"
Haedaecker's glare lessened. "I don't mean anything lawless or
underhanded."
Paul looked at Haedaecker coldly. "Then what else?"
Haedaecker smiled blandly. "You are an ambitious young man. You
are idealistic. You are enthusiastic and energetic. You are also
determined."
"Are those unfavorable traits?" asked Paul with a slight edge to his
voice. He hated this baiting; knew that he should take the sting of
Haedaecker's acid tongue without flaring back. Haedaecker had Paul over
the proverbial barrel, from which position there is little chance for
counter-attack.
"Listen to me," snapped Haedaecker. "You were twenty four when you came
to this department. Two years later you came to me with an idea. You
hoped to link the stars by voice. An ideal. A magnificent hope and plan
for mankind on earth and upon Neosol. For years everybody who has had a
touch of space has been trying, testing, and experimenting towards that
end. Men of learning, both abstract and concrete; men who have spent
years studying that very idea."
"What has that idea got to do with my getting a lump on the head?"
queried Paul.
"Only this. As a member of this department, you were given a job
to do. You have proceeded well and executed this job proficiently.
Four years ago, Grayson, I told you that the experiments you
suggested had been tried. I was patient. I explained that there was
a certain appropriation set aside for communications research; that
the appropriation intended for this galactic survey was under no
circumstances to be used for communications."
"I remember that. I also claim that my experiments have never been
tried."
"Nonsense. I accepted your theory and have had other scientists check
your reasoning. They state that there is no relation such as you claim.
Now, to get back to the correlation between that crack you got on the
head and my presence here, it goes as follows:
"Until last evening I let you alone. I knew that you continued to hold
that mad theory despite arguments against it. But a man can have his
dreams, and so I permitted you to dream. I assumed you to be honest.
I believed that you would not defy orders and employ funds for Z-wave
research. But when a man who has no great wealth, no vengeful enemies,
no polygonal love affairs, and no power to dispute or usurp gets
involved in a tangle as well-contrived as this, there is but one thing
left: I am convinced that you are planning to test the Z-wave!"
Paul laughed, bitterly. "Just why do you assume that this is some sort
of plot? Why not accept it as attempted theft as the police do?"
"If I were a thief," said Haedaecker softly, "And managed to break
into the spaceport, I would not wait until the guards came after me,
then to drop from my stolen spacecraft and run! A thief does not need
the spotter craft to lay his course. He takes off for anywhere so long
as it is off and away. A man contrived to resemble you closely enough
to pass superficial inspection follows you before the take-off, clips
you on the skull, and steals your wallet. You are the traditional
technician, Grayson. You do not dress like Beau Brummel, nor do you
show evidence of affluence. Any footpad would look for a more wealthy
client. He knew you, Grayson. He clipped you for your credentials!"
"So?"
"Why?"
"I don't know."
"I can suggest a theory. Because he knew that you were going to try the
Z-wave."
"Nonsense!"
Haedaecker smiled with a wolfish serenity. "Can you think of any reason
why any man would want to put a monkey wrench into our plans to survey
the galaxy?"
"No--"
"Then it must be your wild schemes."
"But just the same question, Doctor Haedaecker; if I were going against
orders and attempting to test the Z-wave, why would a man attempt to
stop me?"
"You are an idealistic simpleton," snapped Haedaecker. "You have a
manner of convincing people of the worth of whatever idea you happen to
hold dear. Despite the reams of evidence to the contrary, you have the
enthusiasm necessary to convince people who have not the truth at their
fingertips of the validity of your ideas."
"Piling supposition upon supposition," smiled Paul, cynically, "if that
has been done, I fail to see any reason why any man would not want to
be linked to Neosol by voice."
"You have a lot to learn about human nature, Grayson. You'll find as
you grow older that whenever someone proposes a plan for the benefit of
mankind, there are violent factions that will work hard to circumvent
it. How many leagues of united nations have failed throughout history
because of jealousy, aggrandization, megalomania. Both personal and
national. In one instance after the Bomb convinced all men that uniting
as one was the smart, safe, sensible thing to do, people hailed with
joy the creation of a new sovereign state apart from its neighbors.
Another nation blocked amity because of an ideology. A third nation
presented a territorial possession with its freedom and at the same
time contemplated the addition of two new states to its union. Grayson,
once a man rises above his daily job and tries to set up something
beneficial to mankind, he will find other men who see that plan as a
threat to their own ambitions."
Paul leaned forward over the desk. "Why not let me try?" he asked
eagerly.
Haedaecker leaned back wearily. "We've been all through that."
"But why?"
"I will not have one of my own men involved in an experiment as
ridiculous as yours!"
Paul eyed Haedaecker quietly. "But--"
Haedaecker shook his head. "You are not to attempt this." He eyed Paul
angrily.
"Who says I am?" demanded Paul.
"Reason and logic. And," said Haedaecker coldly, "excepting for one
thing, I'd go out and inspect that ship of yours for Z-wave gear. But
Paul Grayson is smart enough to smuggle the Z-wave gear on earlier
trips, not leaving his evidence for the last attempt, so I would find
nothing at this time."
Paul felt his heart pound thrice and then settle down again. The one
thing that he was trying to avoid was not going to come off.
But Haedaecker glared at Paul once again. "I absolutely forbid you to
do this."
Paul glared back. "What have we to lose?"
"I'll not have the ridicule attendant to such an abortive experiment
pinned onto my department."
Paul laughed sarcastically. "It seems to me that a man in your position
might like to have the name of being willing to have himself proven
wrong."
"What do you mean?" demanded Haedaecker.
"Can your own personal ambition be great enough to block and forestall
the linking of Sol and Neosol by Z-wave?"
"You young puppy--"
"Your position is due to the proposal of Haedaecker's Theory," said
Paul. "I am not attempting to insult you, Doctor Haedaecker. I want
you to view this in another light. According to all of the evidence
at hand, Haedaecker's Theory is correct and we cannot communicate
with the Z-wave across interstellar space. The proposition of that
theory and its math have made you a famous man. Perhaps you fear that
if Haedaecker's Theory is shown to be incorrect, you will lose your
position. This is not so. Men have always been on the side of a great
man who was humble enough to doubt his own theories occasionally, who
was willing to see them attacked. It means a lot to mankind; show
mankind that your personal ambition is not so great as to prevent them
from having the benefits of--"
"You're talking as though you knew that your plan would be successful,"
sneered Haedaecker.
"I believe it will be if I am given the opportunity to try."
"I tell you that it will not, and I forbid you to try." Haedaecker
speared Paul with a glance from the icy eyes. "You understand, whether
or not the experiment might be successful, if I hear of your trying
it, you will be subjected to every bit of punitive action that the law
permits."
Paul leaned back easily. "Now," he said with cool candor, "you're
assuming that I have all intention of attempting it without official
permission."
"I would not put it past you. In fact I believe you are."
"All predicated upon the fact that a footpad belted me and swiped my
wallet?"
"Yes. For what other reason?"
"Theft is usually done for--"
Haedaecker stood up angrily. "I've heard enough," he snapped.
Haedaecker strode to the door and hurled it open with one swing of a
powerful arm.
What happened next was not too remote a coincidence. It has happened to
everybody, several times. Someone with the intention of entering a room
will brace themselves, turn the doorknob, and thrust, only to have the
door opened from the other side. The net result is that the muscular
effort, tensed to strive against the mass and inertia of the door, will
find its force expended against no resistance. Doors are pulled from
one side and pushed from the other. If the shover pushes first, the
would-be puller gets slapped in the hand with the doorknob, sometimes
resulting in a broken finger or thumb. But if the puller pulls first,
the shover finds himself catapulted forward by his own muscular effort.
The results of this latter can be both comic or tragic.
In this case the result was a flurry of splash-printed silk, a bare
white arm, a fine length of well-filled nylon, and the frightened cry
of a woman.
Paul gulped.
Haedaecker's reflexes worked fast. He caught Nora Phillips before the
girl went headlong to the floor and he stood her up, retaining a light
grip on her waist until she got her bearings and her breath.
"Young woman," stormed Haedaecker angrily, "Are you used to bustling
into closed conferences?"
Nora looked at Haedaecker with eyes large, luminous, and fetching.
"I didn't know it was a closed conference," she said in her cool
contralto. "I'm most sorry."
"Miss Phillips, Doctor Haedaecker. She is the woman I met last night,
Doctor Haedaecker."
"What are you doing here?" demanded Haedaecker.
"I did not know this was any kind of conference," she explained. "I
came to see Mister Grayson, and the guard said he was in this room,
talking."
"Why didn't you wait?" stormed Haedaecker.
Nora smiled, wanly. "I was excited," she said. "It may have occurred to
you, too, that the man who tried to steal Mister Grayson's spacecraft
last night was not playing a game. Everything seemed wrong. He was not
smart. I got to wondering why he just didn't get into the ship and take
off.
"Well, less than fifteen minutes ago a flash came over the air. Among
the news was the statement that the criminal killed last night in
attempted spacecraft theft was Joel Walsh. He was an escapee from
penitentiary in Antarctica. That explained it."
"How?" demanded Haedaecker, "does that explain anything?"
"Of course it does," said Nora. "He was in jail for ten years. He
must have been sent away when he was about twenty. How many men are
competent space pilots at that age?"
"Not many," agreed Paul.
"And being in jail for the last ten years, it's natural that he did not
know how to run the ship."
"Um," grumbled Haedaecker.
"He probably wanted to stow away," said Nora. "Once he did that, he
could hold a gun at the pilot's head and make the pilot do his bidding
until he learned how to run the ship."
There was one very fine flaw in Nora's reasoning, but Paul did not
want to belabor this point at this moment. He had not intended
to push Haedaecker to the point of firing him for impertinence,
insubordination, or rank carelessness. For on the "BurAst 33.P.G.1"
was the Z-wave gear that Haedaecker's vindictive nature accused him of
stowing away.
Paul laughed. "So much for your intrigue," he said.
Haedaecker glared at Paul angrily. "Your intrigue," he said with heavy
emphasis on the first word. "Just let me find you trying it!"
Paul smiled crookedly and looked Haedaecker in the eye coldly. "Doctor
Haedaecker," he said in a level, voice, "if I ever try it and fail, no
one will know of my failure. If I try and succeed, I assure you that
you will be able to do nothing to me."
Haedaecker nodded, his manner as cold as Paul's voice had been. The
gage had been hurled, the swords measured and weighed. So far it was
stalemate. But only until Paul Grayson really did something against the
rules, large enough to let Haedaecker really clip him deep, lasting,
and legally justifiable.
Haedaecker left and Paul turned to Nora Phillips. She smiled at him and
asked: "What is this intrigue business, or is it a top secret?"
Paul shook his head. "I'd prefer to tell you after I return."
"Do that," she said. "I'd like to hear about it."
Paul pondered briefly. The obvious thing was to offer her a chance
to look over his ship. He could do that, now that he had all of his
credentials and papers back. But the Z-wave gear was evidence against
him, and even though it was parked in a convenient locker, certain
hunks of cable-endings and associated bits of equipment were a dead
giveaway; the same sort of evidence in the shape of capped pipes will
tell the observer that plumbing once existed in a certain room. Paul
had no intention of trusting anybody at this moment.
Mayhap Nora's timely information about the deceased thief were true.
Still, there was a hole in her tale. If the thief wanted only to stow
away until take-off time, he would pick another spacecraft than the
BurAst P.G.33-1. The registry number glowed in luminescent paint a yard
high, and matched the numbers on his identification card. Certainly no
half-idiot would try to stow away in an official ship that was almost
certain to be investigated as soon as the hue-and-cry was heard.
He suspected Haedaecker's hand in this; anything to keep Haedaecker's
Theory in high gear, to keep Haedaecker top man in his field. He might
as well suspect Nora, too. At least until motive or innocence could be
shown.
He decided to lie glibly. "Normally I could take you aboard and show
you the crate," he said. "But this is an experimental run and subject
to security, though I'll not be able to explain why they think it so."
Nora laughed and shook her head. "Space ships are cold, powerful, and
dangerous things to me," she said. "I'd feel uncomfortable on one of
them."
"Then let me show you the elecalc."
"What?"
"Elecalc. Short word for electronic calculator. I'm here to get an
aiming point for my trip tonight."
"Now that I would like to see," said Nora, hooking an arm in Paul's.