“But look, Doctor Cargraves,” Morrie put in, “why be so secret about it? It might make our folks feel that it was just a wild-eyed kid’s dream. Why can’t you just go to them and explain where we would fit into it?”
“No,” Cargraves answered, “they are your parents. When and if they want to see me, I’ll go to them and try to give satisfactory answers. But you will have to convince them that you mean business. As to secrecy, the reasons are these: there is only one aspect of my idea that can be patented and, under the rules of the UN Atomics Convention, it can be licensed by any one who wants to use it. The company is obtaining the patent, but not as a rocket device. The idea that I can apply it to a cheap, shoestring venture into space travel is mine and I don’t want any one else to beat me to it with more money and stronger backing. Just before we are ready to leave we will call in the reporters — probably to run a story about how we busted our necks on the take-off.”
“But I see your point,” he went on. “We don’t want this to look like a mad-scientist-and-secret-laboratory set-up. Well, I’ll try to convince them.”
Doctor Cargraves made an exception in the case of Art’s mother, because she was his own sister. He cautioned Art to retire to his basement laboratory as soon as dinner was over and then, after helping with the dishes, spoke to her. She listened quietly while he explained. “Well, what do you think of it?
She sat very still, her eyes everywhere but on his face, her hands busy twisting and untwisting her handkerchief. “Don, you can’t do this to me.” He waited for her to go on.
“I can’t let him go, Don. He’s all I’ve got. With Hans gone. . . .”
“I know that,” the doctor answered gently. “But Hans has been gone since Art was a baby. You can’t limit the boy on that account.”
“Do you think that makes it any easier?” She was close to tears.
“No, I don’t. But it is on Hans’ account that you must not keep his son in cotton batting. Hans had courage to burn. If he had been willing to knuckle under to the Nazis he would have stayed at Kaiser Wilhelm Institute. But Hans was a scientist. He wouldn’t trim his notion of truth to fit political gangsters. He-”
“And it killed him!”
“I know, I know. But remember, Grace, it was only the fact that you were an American girl that enabled you to pull enough strings to get him out of the concentration camp.”
“I don’t see what that’s got to do with it. Oh, you should have seen him when they let him out!” She was crying now.
“I did see him when you brought him to this country,” he said gently, “and that was bad enough. But the fact that you are American has a lot to do with it. We have a tradition of freedom, personal freedom, scientific freedom. That freedom isn’t kept alive by caution and unwillingness to take risks. If Hans were alive he would be going with me — you know that, Sis. You owe it to his son not to keep him caged. You can’t keep him tied to your apron strings forever, anyhow. A few more years and you will have to let him follow his own bent.”
Her head was bowed. She did not answer. He patted her shoulder. “You think it over, Sis. I’ll try to bring him back in one piece.” When Art came upstairs, much later, his mother was still sitting, waiting for him. “Arthur?”
“Yes, Mother.”
“You want to go to the moon?”
“Yes, Mother.”
She took a deep breath, then replied steadily. “You be a good boy on the moon, Arthur. You do what your uncle tells you to.”
“I will, Mother.”
Morrie managed to separate his father from the rest of the swarming brood shortly after dinner. “Poppa, I want to talk to you man to man.”
“And how else?”
“Well, this is different. I know you wanted me to come into the business, but you agreed to help me go to Tech.”