Talbot dressed numbly. It was early, damned early, and his head
throbbed. Aside from the physical discomfort involved he didn’t mind a
hangover. He was more sensitive when he hung one on.
He was going to need that sensitivity when he talked to Soleri.
The man had a pretty phenomenal empathy index himself--say about 0.95.
The more he thought about it the more certain he became that it must
be at least 0.95. The executive had displayed uncanny acumen the night
before.
Talbot swung a rack out of the closet and automatically selected
a light conservative suit. Soleri would expect him to dress
conservatively. He didn’t care what Soleri thought, but it was a matter
of pride with him to fit neatly into any situation.
He dialed a cup of coffee, and then on second thought changed it to two
cups, and gulped both of them. He studied his reflection in the mirror.
It would do. He was the perfect picture of the successful executive.
All he lacked was success.
He resisted the impulse to phone Laura. He was convinced she wouldn’t
answer at seven in the morning. Probably she wouldn’t answer later in
the day. Maybe in a week he’d call her _after_ he got the job with
TRANSPORTATION.
He went down and hailed an aircab which took him to the far side
of the city. He alighted and read for the third or fourth time the
instructions Soleri had written on the card. He located the entrance
without difficulty and went in. Normally, he supposed, there would be a
receptionist in the lobby. He didn’t see one. It was not important, for
Soleri had cleared the way for him.
He ascended three flights of stairs, walked around a turn at the
corridor, and there he was--in front of Soleri’s office. It would be
just his luck to find that he had arrived too early. But there was
definitely someone in the office. He conquered his trepidation and went
in.
Soleri smiled and came toward him from behind the desk. His hand was
extended and he was laughing. It was friendly laughter, and Talbot
could sense the friendliness. But he was unemployed, and for that
reason he resented it.
“My God,” said Soleri. “If we looked anything alike we’d be twins.”
Talbot stared intently, reviewing and adding to his original
impressions of the other. They were within an inch and a pound of each
other. Moreover they now wore identical suits and identical shoes and
if there was a difference in their ties and shirts, it would have taken
an expert to detect it. Talk about empathy! Soleri really had it.
But actually they didn’t resemble each other at all. Soleri’s hair was
black, and Talbot’s was brown. Soleri’s eyes were dark, Talbot’s gray.
Viewed from the back with a hat on they were indistinguishable. But
face to face no one could have mistaken one for the other.
“It’s an impressive trick,” Soleri chuckled. “If you’re trying to
convince me you’re good--relax. I believe it.”
“I’m not trying to convince you of anything,” said Talbot.
Soleri looked at him keenly. “You probably aren’t,” he said. “It ties
in.”
Talbot blinked. “Are you saying it’s _my_ empathy? One point four or
five isn’t _that_ good. Your own index must be zero point ninety-five.”
“How did you know?” said Soleri. “I never told you.”
“Why--” began Talbot, and stopped. How _had_, he known? It was one
thing to think you knew, quite another to be always right. Something
was startlingly out of place.
Empathy measurements started in adolescence. Before then the body was
in a state of flux. It was still building, exploring. It did not have
the experience on which to base valid opinions.
The adolescent was primarily aware of himself. He scarcely knew why
he thought and felt the way he did, and had no time to encompass the
emotions of others. But as he matured and some of his own problems
became settled, an increasing awareness grew in him. He became better
able to anticipate and participate in the feelings of others. Not
merely to react to them, but to feel them as if they were his own.
After adolescence the ability to identify with others continued to
increase--rapidly at first, and then more slowly. Plotted out as age
against understanding, the curve resembled an hyperbola reaching for
the asymptote.
Soleri smiled. “I see you’ve figured it out for yourself. We don’t
think you’re usual either. A test will decide the matter.”
“The test can come later. Who’s ‘we’?”
“Myself and Randy, my secretary.”
Inwardly Talbot sighed. He could hardly blame the guy. With a secretary
like that he couldn’t picture himself spending much time in an office
either. Evidently Soleri and Randy didn’t. No doubt Soleri would claim
that last night’s meeting had come under the heading of business as
usual.
“Another thing,” he said. “How did you know I’d be at that bar?”
Soleri shook his head in humorous resignation. “You don’t let much get
by you. To be wholly frank, that’s why we want you. Well, if you must
know, we called your apartment several times in the last few days. You
were never home. So we put plant protection on you. It’s outside their
normal jurisdiction, but they learned your habits quickly enough.”
“I don’t like to be snooped at,” protested Talbot. “I don’t even know
how you got my name.”
“That one’s easy,” said Soleri. “Several years ago you filed an
application with us. I looked it over recently. I’m a mathematician--an
amateur but fairly good. I decided that if you’d put down the various
empathy measurements correctly you might be better than you thought.
Over a short portion of the curve, you know, a cubic or another
equation can resemble an hyperbola. After Randy gets here we’ll see.”
Talbot nodded. He could accept that. It helped to explain why he’d had
so much trouble. People resented his competition. The thought gave him
confidence, and he reached out easily for the next conclusion.
“But you’re not being altruistic about this,” he said. “I may have an
index of zero point nine, better than yours, way at the top of the
executive class. But for all you know I may have no knowledge, no
subject matter in my head.” He paused to formulate the thought clearly.
“You want me for something else. Specifically you’re in trouble.”
“We may not need that test. But we’ll take it anyway,” said Soleri.
“Yes, it’s trouble. Do you want to see if you can tell me what it is?”
Talbot didn’t so much think as contact Soleri’s personality. He knew
that atomic energy was advanced and with it almost any degree of
temperature could be attained. And the hotter the exhaust, every other
factor being equal, the faster the rocket. He allowed the thought to
float closer.
“The technical problem is liners,” he said. “You’ve got to have
something that won’t be melted or eroded by the exhaust.”
“True,” said Soleri. “Metal or ceramics won’t do--not at the
temperatures we’re working with. We have made certain mathematical
investigations which indicate there _is_ a solution. Metal plus
certain energy states might turn the trick.
“We can discuss techniques later. It’s sufficient for now that we’ve
narrowed it down to a matter of trial and error. The rest should be
easy enough: a million or so experiments and we’ll have it. We’ve hired
the best brains in the field, and you can be sure we haven’t spared
time or money. Only we aren’t making progress. The perfect rocket motor
should drive us at--or near--the speed of light. We’re nowhere near
that.”
* * * * *
Talbot leaned on the desk. “Competition?” he asked thoughtfully.
Soleri smiled painfully. “Perhaps. We’re big, but we’re not the only
company after the motor. The difficulty arises from the fact that
there’s nothing definite we can point to as wrong. If there was, plant
protection would find the person or persons responsible and put an end
to the obstruction in short order. What happens is simply this. Costly
experiments have one insignificant detail wrong, and blow up or fail to
function at all. Elaborate computations have one decimal point moved
and it takes a month to locate the impediment. Who’s behind it? What
official or worker is out to sabotage us? That’s what we’re trying to
discover.”
“Did it ever occur to you that the perfect rocket motor may be an
illusion? Perhaps it can’t be built.”
“We have Frescura to say otherwise. Rocket construction is his life’s
work. Other experts in the field agree with him--though they are not
always able to follow his theoretical explanations.”
“I won’t argue with them,” said Talbot. He glanced uneasily at the door
of the office. A breeze was blowing it open slightly. “I see now why
you wanted me to come so early. It was to make sure I wouldn’t be seen?”
“Right,” Soleri said. “I wanted to explain the situation and have you
leave before the regular shift gets here. I’ll make arrangements for
the test to be given outside the plant. When you come back you’ll
be hired through regular channels. That way there’ll be no apparent
connection with me. You’ll simply be given a position in the shop. It
will be high enough to enable you to meet everyone, but it won’t be so
top-level that you’ll be prevented from mingling freely.”
“I’m not sure I’m interested,” said Talbot. “If I’m as good as you
think I am--why should I take a job like that?”
“It’s temporary, don’t you see? With your degree of empathy you can
track down the trouble without arousing suspicion. After that we’ll
put you where you belong. And your salary will be scaled to your test
rating from the beginning, regardless of your workshop status. How does
that sound to you?”
“Forthright,” said Talbot. “And quite generous.” He didn’t like to
snoop any better than he liked being snooped at. But he’d listen.
“Randy’s due any moment,” said Soleri. “Let’s see that employment card
again.”
Talbot reached for his wallet. The container the card was in didn’t
detach easily. He opened it, and handed the wallet to Soleri.
Soleri examined the card with interest. He made a rough sketch of it
on paper, plotting the points of the series of tests and joining them
with a free-hand curve. He was so intent on the task that he failed to
notice that the office door had opened the width of a man’s hand.
Talbot wouldn’t have noticed either, had he not turned at that precise
instant to get a better view of the sketch and seen the hand in the
crack. The hand threw a small dark object on the floor, then whipped
back quickly. The door closed.
Talbot’s reactions were good but not good enough. He jogged Soleri’s
elbow. “What’s that?” he said uneasily, indicating the object.
It was round and dark, hard to distinguish on the floor. It took Soleri
a second to see it--a second too long. “Get down,” he shouted, shoving
Talbot behind the desk.
The action threw Soleri offbalance and he fell the wrong way. He
scrambled frantically for the protection of the desk but only his hand
with the wallet still in it reached the merciful shadow.
A chaotic sound echoed somewhere near Talbot. He’d never heard
anything like it. He didn’t have time to wonder where it came from
because it was followed by another louder sound.
Instinctively he closed his eyes as an incandescent sheet of flame
whipped across the room. It was accompanied by a vast thermal
concussion which blotted out all sound. Take a tiny piece of the
interior of the Sun--not the center, but somewhere between that and
the visible outer portion--and wrap it with unimaginable insulation.
Transport it to an office and strip away the covering in a microsecond.
Within a limited area the explosion was even more frightful than that.
At first the desk shielded Talbot. In the intolerable light paint
and pictures were burned from the wall. Chairs disappeared and the
fireproof floor bubbled and vaporized. By the time the thick steel and
thermoplastic desk collapsed in ashes around Talbot’s body the tiny
speck of matter had dissipated most of its energy and there was only
fire to fear.
Clouds of steam came from the ceiling as the sprinkler system went into
action. It didn’t function well because most of it had been melted away
in the first blast. Nevertheless water gushed out and turned to steam.
Talbot struggled to get out. But he was badly burned. Steam and smoke
were searing his lungs, and a section of the ceiling had peeled off and
fallen on his legs, pinning him to the floor. He saw a hand, all that
was left of Soleri, clutching the wallet. And then he couldn’t breathe,
couldn’t see or feel anything at all.