Off came the cumbersome space suit; what he needed was speed. Do the job and surrender-better to be a prisoner than to linger in a place as “hot” as this.
He grabbed a ball hammer from the tool rack and got busy, pausing only to switch off the television pick-up. The first bomb bothered him. He started to smash the covet plate of the “brain,” then stopped, filled with reluctance. All his life he had prized fine apparatus.
He nerved himself and swung; glass tinkled, metal creaked. His mood changed; he began to feel a shameful pleasure in destruction. He pushed on with enthusiasm, swinging, smashing, destroying!
So intent was he that he did not at first hear his name called. “Dahlquist! Answer me! Are you there?”
He wiped sweat and looked at the TV screen. Towers’ perturbed features stared out.
Johnny was shocked to find that he had wrecked only six bombs. Was he going to be caught before he could finish? Oh, no! He had to finish. Stall, son, stall! “Yes, Colonel? You called me?”
“I certainly did! What’s the meaning of this?”
“I’m sorry, Colonel.”
Towers’ expression relaxed a little. “Turn on your pick-up, Johnny, I can’t see you. What was that noise?”
“The pick-up is on,” Johnny lied. “It must be out of order. That noise-uh, to tell the truth, Colonel, I was fixing things so that nobody could get in here.”
Towers hesitated, then said firmly, “I’m going to assume that you are sick and send you to the Medical Officer. But I want you to come out of there, right away. That’s an order, Johnny.”
Johnny answered slowly. “I can’t just yet, Colonel. I came here to make up my mind and I haven’t quite made it up. You said to see you after lunch.”
“I meant you to stay in your quarters.”
“Yes, sir. But I thought I ought to stand watch on the bombs, in case I decided you were wrong.”
“It’s not for you to decide, Johnny. I’m your superior officer. You are sworn to obey me.”
“Yes, sir.” This was wasting time; the old fox might have a squad on the way now. “But I swore to keep the peace, too. Could you come out here and talk it over with me? I don’t want to do the wrong thing.”
Towers smiled. “A good idea, Johnny. You wait there. I’m sure you’ll see the light.” He switched off.
“There,” said Johnny. “I hope you’re convinced that I’m a half-wit-you slimy mistake!” He picked up the hammer, ready to use the minutes gained.
He stopped almost at once; it dawned on him that wrecking the “brains” was not enough. There were no spare “brains,” but there was a well-stocked electronics shop. Morgan could jury-rig control circuits for bombs. Why, he could himself – not a neat job, but one that would work. Damnation! He would have to wreck the bombs themselves – and in the next ten minutes.
But a bomb was solid chunks of metal, encased in a heavy tamper, all tied in with a big steel gun. It couldn’t be done – not in ten minutes.
Damn!
Of course, there was one way. He knew the control circuits; he also knew how to beat them. Take this bomb: if he took out the safety bar, unhooked the proximity circuit, shorted the delay circuit, and cut in the arming circuit by hand – then unscrewed that and reached in there, he could, with just a long, stiff wire, set the bomb off.
Blowing the other bombs and the valley itself to Kingdom Come.
Also Johnny Dahlquist. That was the rub.
All this time he was doing what he had thought out, up to the step of actually setting off the bomb. Ready to go, the bomb seemed to threaten, as if crouching to spring. He stood up, sweating.
He wondered if he had the courage. He did not want to funk – and hoped that he would. He dug into his jacket and took out a picture of Edith and the baby. “Honeychild,” he said, “if I get out of this, I’ll never even try to beat a red light.” He kissed the picture and put it back. There was nothing to do but wait.