I would be landed, he said, somewhere, someplace, and I'd be my own
boss, up to a point. Stein would be with me, and the secrecy routine
would still be in effect.... His voice trailed off, and I neither saw
nor heard him leave.
* * * * *
Three miserable weeks I spent somewhere in some stinking Southern
Pacific mudhole. Cocker spaniel Stein was never out of reach, or
sight, and gave me the little attention I wanted. From a distance I
occasionally saw Army and Navy. The enlisted men were the ones who
brought me not everything I asked for, but enough to get along. Later
on, I knew, I'd get the moon on ice if I were actually as valuable as
appeared. At that time no one was sure, including some brass who came
poking around when they thought I might be asleep. They stayed far
away from me, evidently under strict orders to do just that, although
they took Stein aside several times and barked importantly at him. I
don't think they made much impression on Stein. I was aching for an
argument at that stage, and it's just as well they dodged contact.
When Smith showed up, with the usual officious body-guard, I was
itching to go.
Bikini I'd seen in the newsreels, and this wasn't it. The back forty
would have dwarfed it. Just a limp palm or two and an occasional
skinny lump of herbiage. Ships of all naval types and a civilian
freighter or so spotted themselves at anchor like jagged rocks around
the compass. The gray cruiser we were on never once dropped its hook;
it paced nervously back and forth, up and down, and I followed, pacing
the deck. With Stein at my heels, I saw daylight only through the
ports. Only at night did I get to where I could smell the salt breeze
free of the stink of paint and Diesel oil. From what I know about
ships and their complements we must have had at least the captain's
cabin, or pretty close to its mate. We never saw the captain, or at
least he was never around when I was. The buzzing mass of brass and
high civilians I knew were there, the old man told me, were and
berthed on the big flattop carrier that idled off to port. Only Smith
dropped in occasionally to rasp my frayed nerves deeper. With all the
activity seething around us, and with only Stein and myself to keep
each other company, we were getting cabin fever. I told that to Smith,
who soothed me with promises.
"Tomorrow's the day."
"It better be. How are we going to work this, anyway?" I was curious,
and I thought I had a right to be. "From what I hear, you better have
your holes already dug."
"Too true," he agreed. "The bomb itself will be released from a drone
plane, radio-controlled. We will, of course, be far enough from this
island and the target installations you might have noticed going up to
be out of range of radiations--"
"You hope!"
"--we hope. Your job will be to keep the bomb from detonating, or if
that cannot be done, to fire it harmlessly, or as much so as possible.
_That's_ what we want to know. Clear?" Of course it was clear. That's
what I wanted to know, too.
* * * * *
The sun came up out of the sea as quickly as it always does, and
although the cruiser deck was almost bare far off we could see the
carrier deck swarming with tiny ants. The odd-angled posts and gadgets
we could see sticking up must have belonged to the technical boys, and
they must have had plenty of it, if we could see it at that distance.
Overhead they must have had at least eight planes of all types, from
B-36's to helicopters to Piper Cubs, all dipping and floating and
racing madly from one air bubble to another. Smith took time to tell
me that, regardless whether the Bomb was fired by Miller or Iron Mike
the explosion data would be immensely valuable.
"These things cost money," he said, "and this is killing two birds
with one stone." I didn't want to be a bird, and my smile was sickly
strained. Smith went off with a wry grin.
The helmet itched the back of my neck and the glasses dug into the
bridge of my nose. From the open space I had to work in they must have
thought I was a ferry-boat, until it dawned on me that all those armed
Marines with their backs turned weren't there just for ornament. Peter
Valuable Miller. Very, very, queer, I thought, that all those
technicians swarming on the carrier deck could be trusted enough to
build and fire a Bomb and yet couldn't be allowed to know that there
might be a possible defense to that Bomb. I watched Stein scratch his
back against a projecting steel rib as the Smith strolled absently out
of nowhere. Stein straightened sheepishly, and the old man smiled.
"Ready?"
Why not? I gave him the same answer as before. "Ready as I ever will
be."
He handed me a pair of glasses, 7 x 50. "The drone ship took off ten
minutes ago. Look due north--no, north is that way--and whenever it
comes into whatever you consider your range--"
"Bingo!"
"Bingo!" He liked that. "When you fire it--"
"You mean, _if_ I fire it."
"If you fire it, just before, you slide the filters over the ends of
your binoculars like so. Or better still, turn your back."
Turn my back? I wanted to see what was going to happen.
"All right, but make sure you get those filters down in time." He
cocked an ear as someone shouted something that was carried away in
the freshening breeze. "Must have picked it up with radar. Let's see
if we can find it," and together we set to sweeping the northern
horizon.
Radar must have been sharp that day, because the drone, a battered
B-24, was right on top of us before we picked it up, a mote in the
sun's brazen eye. A flurry of orders relayed to the control ship sent
it soaring back into the distance, a mile or so high. Just at the
limit of visibility I used the corner of my mouth to Smith.
"Hold your breath and help me out." Maybe he did, at that. "Motors.
I'll try to get the motors first."
* * * * *
The slapping of the salty waves against the cruiser's armored hull
seemed to pause in midstride. Nothing happened--nothing, until the
waves, with a frustrated sigh, gave in and began again their toppling
roll and hiss. Then slowly, ever so slowly, so faintly that it was
only a speck in the sky, the distant dot tilted and hung suspended on
a wingtip, hung, hung, hung.... A jerk, and a warped spiral. My ears
rang, and the falling leaf, now swooping and sailing in agonized
humpbacked scallops, seemed to double and triple in my tear-swimming
eyes. Then I tried--
There was no sound. There was no booming roar, no thunder. But I
forgot to yank down those dark filters over the ends of the Zeiss.
They had told me that it would be like looking at the sun. Well, the
sun won't throw you flat on your back, or maybe I fell. Not quite
flat; Smith threw a block as I reeled, and held me upright. I tried to
tell him that I was all right, that it was just the sudden glare that
paralyzed me, and to get his arms off my neck before I strangled. No
attention did I get from him at all in that respect, but plenty of
other unneeded help. Wriggle and swear as I might, with that helmet
scoring a raw groove in my neck, I was toted below and dropped on my
bunk with, I suppose, what whoever carried me would call gentleness.
The anxious officer in front of me, when the action was over, had the
physician's harried look. He liked my language not one little bit, and
only Smith's authority kept him from calling corpsmen to muzzle me
while he examined my eyes. When my sore eyes had accustomed themselves
to the dim light in the cabin, Smith led the officer to the door of
the hatch or whatever they call it, explaining that the recalcitrant
patient would doubtless be later in a more receptive mood.
"If you think so," I yelled at his indignant ramrod back, "you must
try sticking in your head and see what happens." I don't like anyone
to poke anything in my eyes anytime.
Smith shut the door quickly. "Must you bellow like that? He was trying
to help you."
I knew that, but I was mad. "I don't want any help. I could have made
it down here under my own power, and you know it."
Smith sat down. "These your cigarettes? Thanks." He lit his own and
puffed furiously. "I don't think you can reasonably expect to be let
alone, Peter. After all, you're a very valuable--"
"--piece of property. Sure. In the meantime I don't want anyone
fooling around me."
He smoked in silence, thinking. That meant trouble.
"Well?"
"Well, what?"