Sixth Column — Robert A. Heinlein — (1949)

“I would say that is a fair statement,” Calhoun agreed cautiously.

“Very well, then — carry on, and keep me advised at your convenience.”

He got up; the others followed his example. “Oh just one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“I happened to think of something else. I don’t know whether it is important or not, but it came to mind because of the importance that Dr.

Brooks attached to the matter of the rats and mice.” He ticked points off on his fingers.

“Many men were killed; Dr. Wilkie was knocked out and very nearly died;

Dr. Calhoun experienced only a momentary discomfort; the rest of those who lived apparently didn’t suffer any effects of any sort weren’t aware that anything had happened except that their companions mysteriously died. Now, isn’t that data of some sort?”

He awaited a reply anxiously, being subconsciously afraid that the scientists would consider his remarks silly, or obvious.

Calhoun started to reply, but Dr. Brooks cut in ahead of him. “Of course, it is! Now why didn’t I think of that? Dear me, I must be confused today. That establishes a gradient, an ordered relationship in the effect of the unknown action.” He stopped and thought, then went on almost at once. “I really must have your permission, Major, to examine the cadavers of our late colleagues, then by examining for differences between them and those alive, especially those hard hit by the unknown action — ” He broke off short and eyed Wilkie speculatively.

“No, you don’t!” protested Wilkie. “You won’t make a guinea pig out of me. Not while I know it!” Ardmore was unable to tell whether the man’s apprehension was real or facetious. He cut it short.

“The details will have to be up to you gentlemen. But remember — no chances to your lives without notifying me.”

“You hear that, Brooksie?” Wilkie persisted.

Ardmore went to bed that night from sheer sense of duty, not because he felt ready to sleep. His immediate job was accomplished; he had picked up the pieces of the organization known as the Citadel and had thrown it together into some sort of a going concern — whether or not it was going any place he was too tired to judge, but at least it was going. He had given them a pattern to live by, and, by assuming leadership and responsibility, had enabled them to unload their basic worries on him and thereby acquire some measure of emotional security. That should keep them from going crazy in a world which had gone crazy.

What would it be like, this crazy new world — a world in which the superiority of western culture was not a casually accepted ‘Of course,’ a world in which the Stars and Stripes did not fly, along with the pigeons, over every public building?

Which brought to mind a new worry: if he was to maintain any pretense of military purpose, he would have to have some sort of a service of information.

He had been too busy in getting them all back to work to think about it, but he would have to think about it tomorrow, he told himself, then continued to worry about it.

An intelligence service was as important as a new secret weapon — more important; no matter how fantastic and powerful a weapon might be developed from Dr. Ledbetter’s researches, it would be no help until they knew just where and how to use it against the enemy’s weak points.

A ridiculously inadequate military intelligence had been the prime characteristic of the United States as a power all through its history.

The most powerful nation the globe had ever seen — but it had stumbled into wars like a blind giant. Take this present mess: the atom bombs of PanAsia weren’t any more powerful than our own but we had been caught flat-footed and had never gotten to use a one.

We had had how many stock-piled? A thousand, he had heard. Ardmore didn’t know, but certainly the PanAsians had known, just how many, just where they were. Military intelligence had won the war for them, not secret weapons. Not that the secret weapons of the PanAsians were anything to sneer at particularly when it was all too evident that they really were “secret.” Our own so-called intelligence services had fallen down on the job.

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *