“Yes.”
“You did? You never said so.”
“You never asked me.”
Hazelhurst gave credit all right; he referred to it as the “Nivens vector”. I suppose it was natural that I should be asked to comment, though Dad looked my way first.
“I agree with Dr. Hazelhurst,” I started out, “subject to experimental confirmation as outlined. However, he has properly left open for discussion certain aspects which are tactical rather than medical. While it is true that the entire body of titans might be infected from one contact, important considerations of timing—crucial, I should say—” I had worked out my whole opening speech, even to the hesitations, while eating breakfast. Mary does not chatter at breakfast, thank goodness!
“—require vectoring from many focal points. If we are to save a nominal hundred percent of the population of Zone Red, it is necessary that all the parasites be infected at as nearly the same time as possible in order that rescue squads may enter Zone Red after the slugs are no longer dangerous and before any host has passed the point where antitoxin can save him. The problem is susceptible to mathematical analysis—” Sam boy, I said to myself, you old phony, you could not solve it with an electronic integrator and twenty years of sweat. “—and should be turned over to your analytical section. However, let me sketch out the factors. Call the number of vector origins ‘X’; call the number of rescue workers who much be dropped ‘Y’. There will be an indefinitely large number of simultaneous solutions, with the optimum solution depending on logistic factors. Speaking in advance of rigorous mathematical treatment—” I had done my very damndest with a slipstick, but I did not mention that. “—and basing my opinions on my own unfortunately-too-intimate knowledge of their habits, I would estimate that—”
They let me go right ahead. You could have heard a pin drop, if anybody in that bare-skinned crew had had a pin. The general interrupted me once when I placed a rather low estimate on “X”; “Mr. Nivens. I think we can assure you of any number of volunteers for vectoring.”
I shook my head. “You can’t accept volunteers, General.”
“I think I see your objection. The disease would have to be given time to establish itself in the volunteer and the timing might be dangerously close for his safety. But I think we could get around that—a gelatin capsule with the antitoxin embedded in tissue, or something of the sort. I’m sure the staff could work it out.”
I thought they could, too, but I did not say that my real objection was a deep-rooted aversion to any additional human soul having to be possessed by a slug. “You must not use human volunteers, sir. The slug will know everything that his host knows—and he simply will not go into direct conference; he’ll warn the others by word of mouth instead.” I did not know that I was right but it sounded plausible. “No, sir, we will use animals—apes, dogs, anything large enough to carry a slug but incapable of human speech, and in sufficient quantities to infect the whole group before any slug knows that it is sick.”
I went on to give a fast sketch of the final drop, Schedule Mercy, as I visualized it. “We can assume that the first drop—Schedule Fever—can start as soon as we are sure that we will have enough units of antitoxin for the second drop. In less than a week thereafter there should be no slug left alive on this continent.”
They did not applaud, but it felt that way. The general adjourned the meeting and hurried away to call Air Marshal Rexton, then sent his aide back to invite me to lunch. I sent word that I would be pleased provided the invitation included my wife, otherwise I would be unable to accept.
Dad waited for me outside the conference room. “Well, how did I do?” I asked him, more anxiously than I tried to sound.
He shook his head. “Sam, you wowed ’em. You have the makings of a politician. No, I think I’ll sign you up for twenty-six weeks of stereo instead.”