Heinlein, Robert A – Expanded Universe

you use the fuel anywhere and anyhow you like, with something like ninety-two

percent recovery of energy. But you could junk the power sequence, if you wanted

to.”

King’s first wild hope of a way out of his dilemma was dashed; he subsided.

“Go ahead. Tell me about it.”

“Well-it’s a matter of artificial radioactives. Just before I asked for that

special research allotment, Erickson and I-Doctor Lentz had a finger in it too,” he

acknowledged with an appreciative nod to the psychiatrist, “-found two isotopes that

seemed to be mutually antagonistic. That is, when we goosed ’em in the presence of

each other they gave up their latent energy all at once- blew all to hell. The

important point is we were using just a gnat’s whisker of mass of each-the reaction

didn’t require a big mass to maintain it.”

“I don’t see,” objected King, “how that could-”

“Neither do we, quite-but it works. We’ve kept it quiet until we were sure.

We checked on what we had, and we found a dozen other fuels. Probably we’ll be able

to tailor-make fuels for any desired purpose. But here it is.” He handed him a bound

sheaf of typewritten notes which he had been carrying under his arm. “That’s your

copy. Look it over.”

King started to do so. Lentz joined him, after a look that was a silent

request for permission, which Erickson had answered with his only verbal

contribution, “Sure, doc.”

As King read, the troubled feelings of an acutely harassed executive left

him. His dominant personality took charge, that of the scientist. He enjoyed the

controlled and cerebral ecstasy of the impersonal seeker for the elusive truth. The

emotions felt in his throbbing thalamus were permitted only to form a sensuous

obbligato for the cold flame of cortical activity. For the time being, he was sane,

more nearly completely sane than most men ever achieve at any time.

For a long period there was only an occasional grunt, the clatter of turned

pages, a nod of approval. At last he put it down.

“It’s the stuff,” he said. “You’ve done it, boys. It’s great; I’m proud of

you.”

Erickson glowed a bright pink, and swallowed. Harper’s small, tense figure

gave the ghost of a wriggle, reminiscent of a wire-haired terrier receiving

approval. “That’s fine, Chief. We’d rather hear you say that than get the Nobel

Prize.”

“I think you’ll probably get it. However”-the proud light in his eyes died

down-“I’m not going to take any action in this matter.”

“Why not, Chief?” His tone was bewildered.

“I’m being retired. My successor will take over in the near future; this is

too big a matter to start just before a change in administration.”

“You being retired! What the bell?”

“About the same reason I took you off watch-at least, the directors think

so.”

“But that’s nonsense! You were right to take me off the watch-list; I was

getting jumpy. But you’re another matter-we all depend on you.”

Page 34

“Thanks, Cal-but that’s how it is; there’s nothing to be done about it.” He

turned to Lentz. “I think this is the last ironical touch needed to make the whole

thing pure farce,” he observed bitterly. “This thing is big, bigger than we can

guess at this stage-and I have to give it a miss.”

“Well,” Harper burst out, “I can think of something to do about it!” He

strode over to King’s desk and snatched up the manuscript. “Either you superintend

the exploitation, or the Company can damn well get along without our discovery!”

Erickson concurred belligerently.

“Wait a minute.” Lentz had the floor. “Doctor Harper… have you already

achieved a practical rocket fuel?”

“I said so. We’ve got it on hand now.”

“An escape-speed fuel?” They understood his verbal shorthand a fuel that

would lift a rocket free of the earth’s gravitational pull.

“Sure. Why, you could take any of the Clipper rockets, refit them a trifle,

and have breakfast on the moon.”

“Very well. Bear with me. . . .” He obtained a sheet of paper from King, and

commenced to write. They watched in mystified impatience. He continued briskly for

some minutes, hesitating only momentarily. Presently he stopped, and spun the paper