Heinlein, Robert A – Expanded Universe

and led her into Manning’s office.

The Colonel greeted her with the urbanity that had made him such a success with

women’s clubs, seated her, and offered her a cigarette.

“I’m glad to see you, Major,” he said. “I’ve been intending to drop around

to your shop.”

I knew what he was getting at; Dr. Karst’s work had been primarily physiomedical; he

wanted her to change the direction of her research to something more productive in a

military sense.

“Don’t call me ‘major,’ ” she said tartly.

“Sorry, Doctor-”

“I came on business, and must get right back. And I presume you are a busy

man, too. Colonel Manning, I need some help.”

“That’s what we are here for.”

“Good. I’ve run into some snags in my research. I think that one of the men

in Dr. Ridpath’s department could help me, but Dr. Ridpath doesn’t seem disposed to

be cooperative.”

“So? Well, I hardly like to go over the head of a departmental chief, but

tell me about it; perhaps we can arrange it. Whom do you want?”

“I need Dr. Obre.”

“The spectroscopist. Hm-m-m. I can understand Dr. Ridpath’s reluctance, Dr.

Karst, and I’m disposed to agree with him. After all, the high-explosives research

is really our main show around here.”

She bristled and I thought she was going to make him stay in after school at

the very least. “Colonel Manning, do you realize the importance of artificial

radioactives to modern medicine?”

“Why, I believe I do. Nevertheless, Doctor, our primary mission is to

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perfect a weapon which will serve as a safeguard to the whole country in time of

war-” She sniffed and went into action. “Weapons-fiddlesticks! Isn’t there a medical

corps in the Army? Isn’t it more important to know how to heal men than to know how

to blow them to bits? Colonel Manning, you’re not a fit man to have charge of this

project! You’re a. . . you’re a, a warmonger, that’s what you are!”

I felt my ears turning red, but Manning never budged. He could have raised

Cain with her, confined her to her quarters, maybe even have court-martialed her,

but Manning isn’t like that. He told me once that every time a man is

court-martialed, it is a sure sign that some senior officer hasn’t measured up to

his job. “I am sorry you feel that way, Doctor,” he said mildly, “and I agree that

my technical knowledge isn’t what it might be. And, believe me, I do wish that

healing were all we had to worry about. In any case, I have not refused your

request. Let’s walk over to your laboratory and see what the problem is. Likely

there is some arrangement that can be made which will satisfy everybody.

He was already up and getting out his greatcoat. Her set mouth relaxed a trifle and

she answered, “Very well. I’m sorry I spoke as I did.”

“Not at all,” he replied. “These are worrying times. Come along, John.” I

trailed after them, stopping in the outer office to get my own coat and to stuff my

notebook in a pocket.

By the time we had trudged through mushy snow the eighth of a mile to her

lab they were talking about gardening!

Manning acknowledged the sentry’s challenge with a wave of his hand and we entered

the building. He started casually on into the inner lab, but Karst stopped him.

“Armor first, Colonel.”

We had trouble finding overshoes that would fit over Manning’s boots, which

he persisted in wearing, despite the new uniform regulations, and he wanted to omit

the foot protection, but Karst would not hear of it. She called in a couple of her

assistants who made jury-rigged moccasins out of some soft-lead sheeting. The

helmets were different from those used in the explosives lab, being fitted with

inhalers. “What’s this?” inquired Manning.

“Radioactive dust guard,” she said. “It’s absolutely essential.”

We threaded a lead-lined meander and arrived at the workroom door which she

opened by combination. I blinked at the sudden bright illumination and noticed the

air was filled with little shiny motes.

“Hm-m-m-it is dusty,” agreed Manning. “Isn’t there some way of controlling