Norma was saying with fire, “I trust I do not impose on the biological fact that I am a woman, and I don’t expect anyone to impose on me. If Mr. Hubble can’t keep his damned hands to himself I at least expect him to leave me alone during working hours. After hours I can manage to avoid him.”
Bliss Hubble grinned. “Sorry, Norma, but——”
“Lavin!”
“Sorry, Lavin, but I guess I was off-base. I don’t mind ad-
mitting I’m a little jumpy today; this is make-or-break, you know.”
“We’re all a little tense, young lady,” soothed Harry Coett. “I must admit that I, for one, am a little tired of sitting here. You’re sure, Mundin, that your friend—uh—did what he was supposed to?”
Mundin shrugged. After a moment he said, “Anybody want coffee or anything?”
Nobody did. Nobody wanted anything except an end to their vigil. Except for Norma, whose fires were still raging internally, and Don Lavin, who was in a state of chronic joy after his long torpor, every face in the room was showing signs of worry.
And then——
Norvie Bligh, huddling over a muted radio in the corner, yelled, “Here it is!” He dived for the video and volume knobs.
“—AT FIRST BLAMED ON VIBRATION,” bellowed the newscaster; then Norvie got the sound where he wanted it. “Experts from G.M.L., however, said that at first glance this appears unlikely. A team of G.M.L. engineers is being dispatched to Washington to study the wreckage. We bring you now a picture from our library of the First Bubble-House. As it was——”
The slide flashed on; there stood G.M.L. Unit One, dwarfed by the vast Hall of Basics.
“—and as it is——”
A live shot this time: Same site^same hall—but instead of the gleaming bubble-house a tangle of rubbish, with antlike uniformed men crawling about the wreckage.
Norma Lavin blubbered, “Da-da-daddy’s first house!” and burst into tears. The others gave her swift, incredulous looks, and went right back to staring in fascination and fear at the screen.
“Our Washington editor now brings you Dr. Henry Proctor, Director of the Museum. Dr. Proctor?” The rabbit-face flashed on, squirming, scared.
“Dr. Proctor,” asked the mellow tones, “what, in your opinion, might be the cause of the collapse?”
“I—really—I—I really have no opinion. I’m—uh—completely in the—uh—dark. It’s a puzzle to me. I’m afraid I can’t—uh—be of the slightest—— I have no opinion. Really.”
“Thank you, Dr. Proctor!” To Mundin it seemed that all was lost; any fool could read guilt, guilt, guilt plastered on the director’s quivering face and at once infer that Proctor had sprayed the bubble-house with a solvent supplied by someone else; and it would be only moments until “someone else” was identified as Charles Mundin, LL.B. But the newscaster was babbling on; the rabbit face flickered off the screen. The newscaster said, “Ah, I have a statement just handed to me from G.M.L. Homes. Mr. Haskell Arnold, Chairman of the Board of G.M.L. Homes, announced today that the engineering staff of the firm has reached tentative conclusions regarding the partial malfunction——” Even the newscaster stumbled over that. The listening men, recalling the pile of rubble, roared and slapped their knees in a burst of released tension. “The—uh—partial malfunction of G.M.L. Unit One. They state that highly abnormal conditions of vibration and chemical environment present in the Museum are obviously to blame. Mr. Arnold said, and I quote, There is no possibility whatsoever that this thing will happen again.’ End of quote.” The announcer smiled and discarded a sheet from the papers in his hand. Now chummy, he went on, “Well, ladies and gentlemen, I’m certainly glad to hear that, and so, I’m sure, are all of you who also live in bubble-houses. “And now, for you sports fans, the morning line on Grosse
Pointe Field Day. It’s going to be a bang-up show produced
by the veteran impresario Jim, ‘Blood and Guts,’ Hanrahan.
Plenty of solid, traditional entertainment. First spectacle——” “Turn that thing off,” someone ordered Norvell. Wistfully,
he did, straining to catch the last words. Remembering. Harry Coett broke the silence. Brutally, “Well, that’s that.
We’re committed. Is everybody here as terrified as I Jam?” “I guess so,” Hubble said slowly. “You know, Mundin, we