The Old Man’s eyebrows shot up when he saw me but he said nothing. A sergeant who seemed to be doorman tried to stop me. “Good morning, Mrs. Nivens,” he said to Mary; then to me he added, “I don’t seem to have you on the list.”
“I’m putting myself on the list,” I announced to the entire room and pushed on past him.
Colonel Gibsy glared at me and turned to the Old Man with one of those “Hrrumph-hrrumph-what’s-all-this?” noises. The Old Man did not answer but his eyebrows went still higher. The rest looked frozen faced and tried to pretend they weren’t there—except one WAC sergeant who could not keep from grinning.
The Old Man got up, said to Gibsy, “Just a moment. Colonel.” and limped over to me. In a voice that reached me alone, he said, “Son, you promised me.”
“And I withdraw it. You had no business exacting a promise from a man about his wife. You were talking out of turn.”
“You’ve no business here, son. You are not skilled in these matters. For Mary’s sake, get out.”
Up to that moment it had not occurred to me to question the Old Man’s right to stay—but I found myself announcing my decision as I made it. “You are the one with no business here—you are not an analyst. So get out.”
The Old Man glanced at Mary and so did I. Nothing showed in her face; she might have been waiting for me to make change. The Old Man said slowly, “You been eating raw meat, son?”
I answered, “It’s my wife who is being experimented on; from here on I make the rules—or there won’t be any experiments.”
Colonel Gibsy butted in with, “Young man, are you out of your mind?”
I said, “What’s your status here?” I glanced at his hands and added, “That’s a V.M.I, ring, isn’t it? Have you any other qualifications? Are you an M.D.? Or a psychologist?”
He drew himself up and tried to look dignified—pretty difficult dressed in your skin, unless your dignity is built in, the way Mary’s is. “You seem to forget that this is a military reservation.”
“And you seem to forget that my wife and I aren’t military personnel!” I added, “Come on, Mary. We’re leaving.”
“Yes, Sam.”
I added to the Old Man, “I’ll tell the offices where to send our mail.” I started for the door with Mary following me.
The Old Man said, “Just a moment, as a favor to me.” I stopped and he went on to Gibsy, “Colonel, will you step outside with me? I’d like a word in private.”
Colonel Gibsy gave me a general-court-martial look but he went. We all waited. Mary sat down but I did not. The juniors continued to be poker-faced, the lieutenant colonel looked perturbed, and the little sergeant seemed about to burst. Steelton was the only one who appeared unconcerned. He took papers out of his “incoming” basket and commenced quietly to work on them.
It was ten or fifteen minutes later that a sergeant came in. “Dr. Steelton, the Commanding Officer says to go ahead.”
“Very well. Sergeant,” he acknowledged, then looked at me, and said, “Let’s go into the operating room.”
I said, “Not so fast. Who are the rest of these supernumeraries? How about them?” I indicated the lieutenant colonel.
“Eh? He’s Dr. Hazelhurst—two years on Venus.”
“Okay, he stays.” I caught the eye of the sergeant with the grin and said, “What’s your job here, sister?”
“Me? Oh, I’m sort of a chaperone.”
“I’m taking over the chaperone business. Now, Doctor, suppose you sort out the spare wheels from the people you actually need for your work.”
“Certainly, sir.” It turned out that he wanted no one but Colonel Hazelhurst. I gathered an impression that he was glad to get rid of the gallery. We went on inside—Mary, myself, and the two specialists.
The operating room contained a psychiatrist’s couch surrounded by a semi-circle of chairs. The double snout of a tri-dim camera poked unobtrusively out of the overhead; I suppose the mike was hidden in the couch. Mary went to the couch and sat down; Dr. Steelton got out an injector. “We’ll try to pick up where we left off, Mrs. Nivens.”