You guessed it, I suppose, as soon as you saw the envelope. (I
suppose this is what they really mean by a ‘dilatory correspondence?’
I’ve gotten to feel as if I’ve known you for years, just through
exchanging delaying letters--)
Turns out now we can’t do it on the 31st. Johnny got some sort of
(hush-hush) job onto the drawing board today, and they’ve got to have
it Aug. 3, he says. Has to take his first plans in Saturday, and then
he could leave, if they like what he’s done, but he won’t go until he
sees the final blueprints, so--
Frankly, as you realized (from what you said in your note last week),
I can’t really say I’m sorry to see him so wrapped up in new work.
But must confess I am getting kind of wistful about the trip up too--
Anyhow, I rearranged my own schedule as soon as he told me about this
last night, and have now got things set so the recording series will
be finished by Aug. 5--working all next week like mad--so that _I_
won’t have any dates I can’t break, and I’ll be free to pick up and
go any week after this coming one, any time Johnny can tear himself
away from the drawing board.
Did Phil finally make it? I know he’s been champing at the bit the
past week or so, since he made up his mind to the trip.
(Just phoned his office, found out he took off yesterday.)
Tell him hello from us, and I hope the whole thing works out. He
never said whether it would mean his staying up there or not, but
I gather this trip is just a visit anyhow? Maybe we’ll make it up
before he leaves--?
_Do_ give him regards, anyhow.
Very best, and from J.,
Lisa
P.S. Will assume any date after the 31st is okay, unless you let us
know otherwise....
L
_Mexcity--July 27, 1977_
“I guess they’re not going to pick up on it,” the General admitted.
“You can’t win _every_ time,” Prentiss said.
“I know. But how many battles lose a war? Any bright thoughts?”
“Only complicated ones.”
“Okay. Even not-so-bright. Something is better than nothing.”
“Well, it’s not _that_ complicated, I guess. Just tricky. Pick up on it
ourselves.”
“You mean plant it?” Harbridge was thoughtful. “No,” he said. “Too
risky. If we got caught out on the first plant, so we’re devious
bastards with something up our sleeves. If we didn’t do the first one,
and got caught on this, we’re not so devious, and it’s obvious we’re
out to get Christensen. If we got caught on both, it would smell real
funny--and too many people have good noses in this town--hey!”
“Something?”
“I think so. This thing is a windfall to anyone who’s after Chris’
hide. Or it ought to look that way, if they were just looking. I think
you did too good a job, Al. They just didn’t realize there was anything
there _shouldn’t_ have been in that article.” Which shows just how much
_any_one is worried about what goes on up there, he thought. Chris used
to keep an eye on his public relations, but he’s been out of touch too
much. Well, let’s give a push--“I think--let’s see, that Dartmouth
boy we got shoved at us, what’s his name?, Jennings? Yuh. He’s Andy
Jennings’ son?” Prentiss nodded. “Okay. That’s it. I _think_ this kid
is just dumb enough so if you clucked at him about the kind of leaks
that let important stuff like that get out, he’d be very likely to
go home and tell his pop. And in view of the fact that Andy Jennings
just bought himself a small interest worth a half million dollars in
Undersea, I think we might just get our work done for us.”
“You think Jennings can remember a whole sentence that long? I mean,
get home and tell it straight?”
“Well you better make it _very_ clear.” The General laughed.
Prentiss went out to find young Jennings, and Jed sat down to write to
Chris.
_Dollars Dome--July 28, 1977_
NESNETSIRHC .RD said the lettering on the translucent plastic door and
then, underneath it, ROTCERID HCRAESER. Nature’s own idiot, spelled
backwards, the Director thought. Peter Andrew Christensen, Big Brain.
If you’re so smart, why aren’t you a University President? Or Research
Director for General Atomics? Or a respectable dues-paid master
plumber, maybe?
Irritably, he flipped the reader switch and swung his chair ninety
degrees to the glowing screen beside his desk, where Lisa Trovi’s
ragged typing explained, as adequately as possible, why the visit had
to be postponed _again_. He flipped the frame, and got Jed Harbridge’s
carefully composed message on the screen. Might as well start writing
answers--get them on the shuttle back. He sat, thought about what to
tell Jed, and flipped back to Lisa’s note. Switched on the dictaphone,
and thought some more.
Knock on the door. “Come in!” The shadow behind the panel moved, and
the door opened. “Oh, Phil.” _Good._ He turned off both machines.
“Busy? I can come back....”
“You couldn’t have picked a better time. I’ve just been sitting here
stewing in my own juices--such as are left. Sit down. What’s on your
mind?”
“Questions, mostly.”
“Like...?”
“Like, to start with, what’s in _your_ mind?”
Chris grinned briefly. “You decided I’m a case too?”
“Sure. What of? If it’s all the same with you, I haven’t had an
agoraphobiac in a long time....”
“You know, I might’ve been better off that way.” He laughed. “What can
I do for you outside of that? I don’t suppose you’ve had time enough
yet to have any idea....”
“Pretty damn good idea,” Phil broke in cheerfully. “I’ll do you up a
proper report when I get back down, but I can tell you offhand now that
I think any kind of half-decent psych staff up here could solve most of
the problem, without half trying. In fact, the most interesting damn
thing about it isn’t the diseases, but the patients. They _don’t want_
to be sick. I’ve never seen a more co-operative group in my life. It’s
a headshrinker’s heaven, man!”
“That right?” Chris thought it over. “Well. Of course, I guess it helps
to start out with a high IQ level and--” He broke off at the doctor’s
amused headshake.
“Chris, if you asked me before I came up here I’d have said you
_couldn’t_ take a batch of human beings, selected for ability rather
than stability, and shut ’em up in an enclosed system where the
environment violates every bit of early conditioning, and expect any
thing but Trouble, with a capital T. You did it. Which proves only that
my preconceptions are as useless as yours or anybody else’s.”
“You think we’re in pretty good shape, then?”
“No. _Astonishingly_ good shape. I have never seen a group of human
beings working with such a high integration of aims and abilities;
or expressing their own emotions so satisfactorily, with so little
apparent hostility--or in such good physical shape, for the most part,
considering the unfamiliar conditions.”
“Well, of course, those rest-leaves have a lot to do with it,” Chris
conceded.
“I’ll bet. If it wasn’t for that, I couldn’t honestly even consider
taking the job. I’ve been counting noses, and I figure there are enough
of ’em ready to try giving up their leaves so I can count on a few
cases, anyhow....”
It finally penetrated. “Say! Do you mean you’ve decided?”
“I haven’t decided anything. I just want to know: where and how do I
apply for employment around here? And _which_ is more to the point?”
“You mean it?” The depression that had weighed on him for the
past week, and had hung so thickly in the air all morning that it
immobilized him, began to lift. “Damn it, that’s great! Never mind the
employment office, you’re hired! How much do you want and--?”
“Who-a-oa.... Like I said, first I want to know what I’m hired _for_.”
“How do you mean?” Chris asked slowly. “We went all through that to
start with...?”
“That was the official request. Now suppose we lay it on the line
for each other. I don’t think you’d sacrifice any work-time up here
just to solve the pro-tem personnel problem. And I frankly would not
be interested in giving up a fairly well-established and moderately
lucrative Earthside practice, just to solve your hiring problems.
You’ve got your own reasons, and I’ve got mine, but I think what we’re
both interested in is finding out how to make human beings tolerate
life off of Earth--here, or on Mars, or in a starship or any other
place. Do I read you right, friend?”
“Well--I’ll--be--damned!” He looked across the desk at the young doctor
with a new respect. “Am I all _that_ transparent?”
Phil smiled. “Let’s just say I’m a trained observer.”
“No, I mean it,” Chris said earnestly. “Does it all show right out
there on my face? I mean, I can see where you’d know what was going
on--but I’d hate to think of some of these Decagon jerks or the buggers
down in Accounting knowing everything I thought about--”
“Relax, man! No, it doesn’t show that much, Chris. Like I said, I’m a
trained observer, and--” He broke into laughter. “Don’t worry, Chris.
Unless you go around feeding the Decagon boys the same stories you gave
me, I doubt they’d be fretting about your intentions. You gave it away
when you dragged Johnny into it. Or rather, you got me hooked that
way, so it wasn’t too hard to figure maybe you _meant_ what you said.
I don’t know if I’d have read it the same way at all, if I didn’t have
this jazzy old Johnny-monkey on _my_ back--so to speak.”
Well, what in hell did you say to something like that? “Oh! By the
way--I have another note from Lisa today. Begins to look like they
won’t make it at all, the rate he’s stalling.” He had a sudden worried
thought. “I hope that wasn’t what you were counting on--?”
“Noooooo. Tell you the truth, I never figured that was better than an
outside chance. Last I heard, he still was flipping his lid if anyone
even _talked_ about space. I don’t know how he’d face up to the trip
out here.”
“Yeah, I know.” He was thinking of Lisa’s frantic efforts to control
the conversation that one night at their home--to keep away from
_any_thing that bothered John. He scowled. “As a matter of fact you
could’ve knocked me over with any handy feather when I got that first
letter from him, but I guess--dammit!” He cut himself off, and switched
on the reader speaker briefly.
“Note: If John Wendt comes up, he is to have sedation for full trip.
Copies to all Earth launch sites. Request special handling. Full
sedation, delivered as much as possible according to pre-Messenger
routine, without comment, as if still normal procedure. That’s all.
“Excuse me,” he said to the doctor. “I’ve been meaning to get that
notice out ever since he said he was coming. Didn’t want to forget it
again. I just don’t want to take any chances.”
“Good idea,” Phil nodded, then, explosively: “Damn it to hell anyhow!”
“That boy really is under your skin, hey?” He watched the doctor’s face
with interest; it was the first time he had seen the professional mask
completely gone.
“Well, hell, we were old buddies, and--That’s not it, though, really. I
used to be fond of Johnny, but I don’t think that’s even specially true
any more. It’s just--well, put it this way:
“Suppose a patient comes in and tells me he keeps imagining that he’s
chained to the floor of a dungeon and that a gorgeous babe comes in
every evening to give him a good time? Chances are, I’ll nod my head
like a wise old doctor and start explaining about erotic fantasies,
masochism, and all that. _But_--
“Supposing, for instance, this guy really _is_ getting chained up every
night, and this gorgeous doll really _is_ raping him each time? It’s
so damn unlikely, the guy might even think he was dreaming if it _did_
happen. Right?
“_Or_--supposing this fellow was sure enough imagining things, only
he wasn’t having erotic or masochistic fantasies at all? Like, let’s
say he works in a bicycle chain factory, and hates his job, and maybe
there’s a supervisor who’s a beautiful dish, and she’s always giving
him a hard time. So maybe his fantasies are fear and revenge instead?
“Okay, so this I’d find out a lot easier than I would anything about
the guy who’s really getting tied up. But that’s because everybody
talks about their jobs and bosses, on the couch or off it. So you take
Johnny Wendt, and Doug Laughlin for that matter, too. Here are two guys
who got psych-tested inside out and upside down before they left. They
also got all kinds of training and preparation for the things they
might encounter, and I’ve taken the trouble to find out--you probably
already know--that homosexuality was an eventuality the training
program prepared them to cope with. Plus, neither one of them showed
any appreciable tendency to panic over anything like that, if it _did_
happen.”
“Okay. I know all that,” Chris said. “It still happens to be what
_did_ happen. So, like with the guy who really gets the chains and
the babe, maybe there was something in the psychological--I don’t
know--atmosphere?--that we couldn’t prepare for and don’t know about,
and--Hell, whatever the reason was, at least you found out _what_
happened. _Why_ is something else.”
“Sure as hell is,” Kutler said wryly. “And maybe you’re right that what
Johnny--or rather, Johnny’s unconscious--thinks happened _did_ happen.
Only I don’t think so. I find it easier to think there was something
in the _physical_ environment which was just so completely different
and new and unprepared for that maybe neither one of them could even
perceive it fully; and to the half-assed extent that they were aware of
it at all, they interpreted it by association of some kind and--I just
wish to hell Laughlin hadn’t torn those pages out! If we knew what _he_
thought was the matter, it might--Well, hell, forget it. I just thought
you might like to know what’s pushin’ _me_.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” There ought to be something better to say, he thought.
“Tell you what: _you_ get the money for the next trip, and I’ll see to
it you get to go in person.”
Kutler shrugged and smiled. “It’s a deal. Meanwhile, suppose I start on
my elementary-school work up here? Your people have problems people on
Earth don’t have. Maybe they have nothing to do with Johnny’s troubles.
Or maybe they do. But the principle is the same. When you already know
five languages, the next three are easier to learn. If I find out what
one-sixth gravity and Dome atmosphere do to people, maybe I’m that much
closer to what one-third and a Mars atmosphere can do?”
“I take it,” Chris said slowly, “that what you mean is you want the
job, and you’ll do what you’re hired for, but with the understanding
that you expect to be free to do more than that, too?”
“Man, you dig me the most!”
“Okay. Let me lay it on the line now, and make sure we _both_ know what
goes on. When I first thought of you for the job, it was mainly because
I knew you were bugged about Johnny. Well so am I. But a different way.
Frankly, if we never find out what happened to Doug or to Johnny, it
don’t make no never mind for me--just _so_ we can get the next guys
back alive--and get ’em _there_, to start with.”
He stood up and walked around the desk; turned and went back and stood
at his own seat looking at the doctor across the desk top. “Listen,
Phil, you talk about me being ‘a case.’ Well, I am one, all right,
and I guess you know it as well as I do. Johnny was my friend. So was
Doug. But I’d send ’em again, even if I knew it would happen the same
way again--unless I knew some _better_ men to send. And I figure I
owe Johnny a whole lot now--but that comes second with me. If it came
first, I’d leave him alone, I guess.”
“I think you might do a lot more for Johnny by _not_ leaving him
alone,” Kutler broke in.
“Good. Only it’s still secondary. I’ve been busting a gut to get him
back on the job with us, but you know as well as I do _why_ I want him.
It all comes down to Congress, the Care and Feeding Of.”
“I know,” the doctor said slowly, “Okay, so while we’re showing our
cards, let me add this: that’s one of the reasons I want this job.
_Another_ one of the reasons. I know what you’re trying to do--but I
don’t want to see Johnny fouled up any more either.”
“Okay, so stick around and keep an eye on me. That’s all right too.
The way it is right now, Kutler, I can see a good chance of every damn
thing we’ve done so far going right swoosh down the drain for God only
knows how long--another ten, twenty, thirty years, maybe. Unless the
Reds make it, that is--”
“Yeah, that’s something else. What’s _with_ them over there? You’ve had
these bugs Johnny brought back and the other stuff to work on--I take
it the bugs get the most attention now?” Chris nodded. “So what are
they doing there? They run shuttles up and down, and from what I saw
coming up, and the scuttlebutt hither and yon, there’s enough espionage
going on to support a half dozen space programs. So what are they
_doing_?”
“I wish to hell I knew! About the only thing I’m pretty sure of is,
they haven’t got anything big going out soon. If they _did_--well,
frankly, I’d be the last to know. But the Decagon boys would know all
about it before the New Kremlin did, I’ll guarantee. Then maybe we’d
see some changes here too. _Maybe, hell!_ That’s the _only_ thing that
would get us off the ground again, the way it is now.”
“_A la_ Sputnik?”
Chris nodded. “_And_ Muttnik, _and_ Lunik, _and_ Mechta--and the
_Lenin_, for that matter. Frankly, Phil--” He hesitated. It was
tempting to talk to this man; it would be a damn big help to have
_someone_ to talk to. But--“I wonder if some of the big-scare reaction
to the whole _Lenin-Colombo_ bust wasn’t--encouraged a little? After
all, Johnny _did_ bring the ship back. It _went_ to Mars. It came
_back_. He’s alive, in one piece, sane--as much as anyone, I guess?”
Phil nodded, smiling.
“So why the big scare? The way it adds to me--bearing in mind that
I’m a wild-eyed scientist, see? Not a politico--” He grinned. “I keep
thinking, the _Colombo_ puts us one-up. As long as they don’t make
another move, we stay one-up. As far as the politicians go, that means
the Space Program has done its bit for God and country--for now,
anyhow. And meantime, for this new Undersea Corporation.... And the
Arctic Circle crowd has some big money behind it too. So why throw
away the taxpayers’ hard-earned loot on spaceships? No profits, no
porkbarrel, not even any damn propaganda value. See?”
“That figures,” Kutler said thoughtfully. “So?”
“So I don’t know. I’m just trying everything I have. Or can get.
Including--” He hovered on the brink of filling in the rest of the
picture, and decided against it. Not till he knew Phil Kutler a little
more. And not till Harbridge was fully committed. “Including you, and
Wendt, and the psych program and the bug research, and anything else I
can dream up that might either be some _real_ help, or might work to
push Congress the right way, or both.”
“But right now if you have to make a choice, what counts is the
propaganda end of it?”
“Frankly--yes.”
“Okay.” The doctor stood up. “I just like to know what I’m doing when I
do it. Where do I sign up?”
Chris stood too and held out his hand. “You just did. I’ll get the
contracts and stuff taken care of. When do you think you can start?”
“Hard to say for sure. As soon as possible--could be two weeks, could
be six. I can’t make the move till I get my patients settled with other
men. Call it three-four weeks, with moderate luck.”
“From when you go down?” Chris frowned. Add a week and a half, and it
was going to run right into September anyhow.
Kutler nodded. “Is it too late to catch the Messenger back this trip?”
He hadn’t thought of that. “No. The passenger shuttles don’t leave till
evening anyhow. But don’t you need more time--?”
“What for? I had my case histories before I came up, and I’d already
seen twenty-five per cent of your people. I’ve seen enough up here now
to know there’s a job to do, and I want to do it. The rest can wait.”
Chris nodded. _Damn it, I like this guy!_ He thought. Then he
remembered. He switched on the deskreader and flicked back to Lisa’s
letter. “Say, I almost forgot, Lee sent you all kinds of regards.”
* * * * *
He was ridiculously conscious of Chris’ eyes on his face as he read,
and of his own determinedly neutral expression.
The note was typically Lisa: the wording, punctuation, even the typing,
held that quality of--what?--mock-effrontery?--that had drawn him so
strongly that day in front of the restaurant.
Then he got to the bottom, and smiled. Great little intriguer _she’d_
make--like real subtle messages, hey?
“I take it she thinks I should haul out of here before Buster gets on
board,” he murmured.
“Well, you thought so too, didn’t you?”
He nodded and glanced at the other man’s face. _Just what is it that
girl’s got?_ he wondered again. _And what difference does it make?
Never mind her ... what about him?_
“Looks like _some_thing’s going on with our boy, anyhow,” he said
carefully. “Maybe my hunch wasn’t all the way off after all. I’m glad
you got up there, Chris. Maybe you scared him back to work at least.”
_Unless she meant “sideboard” where she wrote “drawing board.”_
Chris switched off the screen. “That’s quite a gal,” he said--a shade
too casually.
“First time you met her?” Phil asked.
“Yup.” _Very_ casual now. “What’s with those two, Phil? I mean--” He
let it trail off.
Phil shrugged and refrained from smiling. “I guess the girl knows what
she wants,” he said noncommitally.
“I mean--well, hell, what’s the deal? How come he doesn’t break down
and propose?”
This time he let himself smile. “He does. Every day and twice on
Tuesdays, the way I hear it. _She’s_ the one who won’t play.”
Chris looked up sharply. “What the hell--?”
“Look, I’m not telling any stories out of school; I would have thought
you’d know that much anyhow. Don’t your people keep any tabs on Wendt
at all?”
“Not _my_ people,” the other man said bitterly. “Just Security. And
what they don’t tell _me_ would--would probably launch a thousand
spaceships, come right down to it. Hell, I wouldn’t even know as much
as I’ve told you if I didn’t take that trip Earthside last month.”
“Oh?” _Well, you’ve got some connection, then._... He caught himself
up, astonished at his own hostility. _Well, something new has been
added!_ Only it wasn’t new at all. The only thing was that Chris had
joined the club. Phil Kutler grinned inside himself, not pleasantly.
_Strange bedfellows_, he thought--_goddam strange!_
_Mexcity--Thursday, August 4_
The General dictated the last letter of the morning, dismissed his
secretary with a tired pleasantry, and buzzed Al Prentiss.
“You seen the papers yet?”
Prentiss was in a good mood--and a good thing, Harbridge thought. He
himself was beginning to think again wistfully about the pleasures of
retirement.
“Only the _Times_,” he said warily. He hoped Al’s good humor was not
the fine edge of battle. This would be a good day not to get clobbered
by anything.
“I’ll be right in.” _Click._ That’s the trouble with civilians,
Harbridge thought. No damn manners. Al came bursting in, three folded
newspapers under his arm, all early afternoon editions.
“Like a charm,” he said, spreading them to the marked articles.
MOON DOME ADMINISTRATION
SCOURGED BY CONGRESSMAN
_McLafferty Will Investigate
Dome Security Practices_
Iquique, Aug. 4: Representative Ramon E. McLafferty (I., E. Ch.)
announced today that he was in receipt of ‘evidence of incredible
sloppiness’ in the handling of what ought to be Top-Secret space
research projects at Moon Dome.
The Congressman, who is newly appointed Chairman of the Security
Subcommittee of the Joint Space Affairs Committee, declined to reveal
his sources, but promised an ‘immediate and vigorous investigation.’
Asked if his statement was connected in any way with his interview
earlier today with Andrew Jennings, a close neighbor and friend
of Rep. McLafferty in the northern mountains, the Industrialist
Congressman refused to comment....
That was the gist of them all, except for one columnist’s item: “Ray
McLafferty will gain a lot of momentum for the Senatorial elections
this fall, if the Moon Dome hearings turn out half as popular as you’d
think. Not to mention a well-known neighbor of Ray’s who has what you
might call a small interest in persuading Congress that some of the
Space Research funds could be better applied under water....”
Harbridge chuckled. The day was not going to be so bad after all. “I
hope it doesn’t get _too_ rough,” he said.
“It’s what the man ordered,” Prentiss reminded him.
“I know. I just hope it doesn’t get too rough. I forgot about
McLafferty.”