strapped himself in, sealed the gasketed door, and settled the back of his
head into the rest against the expected surge of acceleration.
Five minutes later he knocked at the door of the office of the general
superintendent, twenty miles away.
The power plant proper was located in a bowl of desert hills on the Arizona
plateau. Everything not necessary to the immediate operation of the plant —
administrative offices, television station and so forth — lay beyond the
hills. The buildings housing these auxiliary functions were of the most
durable construction technical ingenuity could devise. It was hoped that,
if der tag ever came, occupants would stand approximately the chance of
survival of a man going over Niagara Falls in barrel.
Silard knocked again. He was greeted by a male secretary, Steinke. Silard
recalled reading his case history. Formerly one of the most brilliant of
the young engineers, he had suffered a blanking out of the ability to
handle mathematical operations. A plain case of fugue, but there had been
nothing that the poor devil could do about it — he had been anxious enough
with his conscious mind to stay on duty. He had been rehabilitated as an
office worker.
Steinke ushered him into the .superintendent’s private office. Harper was
there before him, and returned his greeting with icy politeness. The
superintendent was cordial, but Silard thought he looked tired, as if the
twenty-four-hour-a-day strain was too much for him.
“Come in, Doctor, come in. Sit down. Now tell me about this. I’m a little
surprised. I thought Harper was one of my steadiest men.”
“I don’t say he isn’t, sir.”
“Well?”
“He may be perfectly all right, but your instruction to me are not to take
any chances.”
“Quite right.” The superintendent gave the engineer silent and tense in his
chair, a troubled glance, then returned his attention to Silard. “Suppose
you tell me about it.”
Silard took a deep breath. “While on watch as psychological observer at the
control station I noticed that the engineer of the watch seemed preoccupied
and less responsive to stimuli than usual. During my off-watch observation
of this case, over a period of the past seven days, I have suspected an
increasing lack of attention. For example, while playing contract bridge,
he now occasionally asks for a review of the bidding, which is contrary to
his former behavior pattern.
“Other similar data are available. To cut it short, at 3:11 today, while on
watch, I saw Harper, with no apparent reasonable purpose in mind, pick up a
wrench used only for operating the valves of the water shield and approach
the trigger. I relieved him of duty and sent him out of the control room.”
“Chief!” Harper calmed himself somewhat and continued: “If this witch
doctor knew a wrench from an oscillator, he’d know what I was doing. The
wrench was on the wrong rack. I noticed it, and picked it up to return it
to its proper place. On the way, I stopped to check the readings!”
The superintendent turned inquiringly to Dr. Silard.
“That may be true. Granting that it is true,” answered the psychiatrist
doggedly, “my diagnosis still stands. Your behavior pattern has altered;
your present actions are unpredictable, and I can’t approve you for
responsible work without a complete checkup.”
General Superintendent King drummed on the desk top and sighed. Then he
spoke slowly to Harper “Cal, you’re a good boy, and, believe me, I know how
you feel. But there is no way to avoid it — you’ve got to go up for the
psychometricals, and accept whatever disposition the board makes of you.”
He paused, but Harper maintained an expressionless silence. “Tell you what,
son — why don’t you take a few days leave? Then, when you come back, you
can go up before the board, or transfer to another department away from the
bomb, whichever you prefer.” He looked to Silard for approval, and received
a nod.
But Harper was not mollified. “No, chief,” he protested. “It won’t do.
Can’t you see what’s wrong? It’s this constant supervision. Somebody always
watching the back of your neck, expecting you to go crazy. A man can’t even