He glared down at Margaret Soames, his receptionist She glared right back; she had known him too long to be intimidated.
“Anything?” he said.
“Dr. Wald’s waiting for you in your office. There are some field reports, and a couple of Diracs on your private tape.
Any luck with the old codger?”
“That,” he said crushingly, “is Top Secret.”
“Poof. That means that nobody still knows the answer but J. Shelby Stevens.”
He collapsed suddenly. “You’re so right. That’s just what it does mean. But we’ll bust him wide open sooner or later.
We’ve got to.”
“You’ll do it,” Margaret said. “Anything else for me?”
“No. Tip off the clerical staff that there’s a half holiday today, then go take in a stereo or a steak or something yourself. Dr. Wald and I have a few private wires to pull …
and unless I’m sadly mistaken, a private bottle of aquavit to empty.”
“Right,” the receptionist said. “Tie one on for me, Chief.
I understand that beer is the best chaser for aquavitI’ll have some sent up.”
“If you should return after I am suitably squiffed,” Weinbaum said, feeling a little better already, “I will kiss you for your thoughtfulness. That should keep you at your stereo at least twice through the third feature.”
As he went on through the door of his own office, she said demurely behind him, “It certainly should.”
As soon as the door closed, however, his mood became abruptly almost as black as before. Despite his comparative youthhe was now only fifty-fivehe had been in the service a long time, and he needed no one to tell him the possible consequences which might flow from possession by a private citizen of the Dirac communicator. If there was ever to be a Federation of Man in the Galaxy, it was within the power of J. Shelby Stevens to ruin it before it had fairly gotten started. And there seemed to be nothing at all that could be done about it.