Heinlein, Robert A – Expanded Universe

all-enclosing armor. “Who’d I draw?”

“Erickson.”

Page 17

“Good enough. Squareheads can’t go crazy-eh, Gus?”

Erickson looked up momentarily, and answered, “That’s your problem,” and

returned to his work. Cummings turned back to Silard, and commented, “Psychiatrists

don’t seem very popular around here. O.K.-I relieve you, sir.”

“Very well, sir.”

Silard threaded his way through the zig-zag in the outer shield which

surrounded the control room. Once outside this outer shield, he divested himself of

the cumbersome armor, disposed of it in the locker room provided, and hurried to a

lift. He left the lift at the tube station, underground, and looked around for an

unoccupied capsule. Finding one, he strapped himself in, sealed the gasketed door,

and settled the back of his head into the rest against the expected surge of

acceleration.

Five minutes later he knocked at the door of the office of the general

superintendent, twenty miles away.

The breeder plant proper was located in a bowl of desert hills on the

Arizona plateau. Everything not necessary to the immediate operation of the

plant-administrative offices, television station, and so forth-lay beyond the hills.

The buildings housing these auxiliary functions were of the most durable

construction technical ingenuity could devise. It was hoped that, if the tag ever

came, occupants would stand approximately the chance of survival of a man going over

Niagara Falls in a barrel.

Silard knocked again. He was greeted by a male secretary, Steinke. Silard

recalled reading his case history. Formerly one of the most brilliant of the young

engineers, he had suffered a blanking out of the ability to handle mathematical

operations. A plain case of fugue, but there had been nothing that the poor devil

could do about it- he had been anxious enough with his conscious mind to stay on

duty. He had been rehabilitated as an office worker.

Steinke ushered him into the superintendent’s private office. Harper was

there before him, and returned his greeting with icy politeness. The superintendent

was cordial, but Silard thought he. looked tired, as if the twenty-four-hour-a-day

strain was too much for him.

“Come in, Doctor, come In. Sit down. Now. tell me about this. I’m a little’

surprised. I thought Harper was one of my steadiest men.”

“I don’t say he isn’t, sir.”

“Well?”

“He may be perfectly all right, but your instructions to me are not to take

any chances.”

“Quite right” The superintendent gave the engineer, silent and tense in his

chair, a troubled glance, then returned his attention to Silard. “Suppose you tell

me about it.”

Silard took a deep breath. “While on watch as psychological observer at the

control station I noticed that the engineer of the watch seemed preoccupied and less

responsive to stimuli than usual. During my off-watch observation of this case, over

a period of the past several days, I have suspected an increasing lack of attention.

For example, while playing contract bridge, he now occasionally asks for a review of

the bidding which is contrary to his former behavior pattern.

“Other similar data are available. To cut it short, at 3:11 today, while on

watch, I saw Harper, with no apparent reasonable purpose in mind, pick up a wrench

used only for operating the valves of the water shield and approach the trigger. I

relieved him of duty, and sent him out of the control room.”

“Chief!” Harper calmed himself somewhat and continued, “If this witch-doctor

knew a wrench from an oscillator, he’d know what I was doing. The wrench was on the

wrong rack. I noticed it, and picked it up to return it to its proper place. On the

way, I stopped to check the readings!”

The superintendent turned inquiringly to Doctor Shard. “That may be true-

Granting that it is true,” answered the psychiatrist doggedly, “my diagnosis still

stands. Your behavior pattern has altered; your present actions are unpredictable,

and I can’t approve you for responsible work without a complete check-up.”

General Superintendent King drummed on the desktop, and sighed. Then he

spoke slowly to Harper, “Cal, you’re a good boy, and believe me, I know how you

feel. But: there is no way to avoid it-you’ve got to go up for the psychometricals,