The Worlds of Robert A. Heinlein

shave in private. We’re jumpy about the most innocent acts, for fear some

head doctor, half batty himself, will see it and decide it’s a sign we’re

slipping. Good grief, what do you expect?” His outburst having run its

course, he subsided into a flippant cynicism that did not quite jell. “O.K.

— never mind of it, chief,” he added, “and I’m glad to have worked under

you. Good-bye.”

King kept the pain in his eyes out of his voice. “Wait a minute, Cal —

you’re not through here. Let’s forget about the vacation. I’m transferring

you to the radiation laboratory. You belong in research, anyhow; I’d never

have spared you from it to stand watches if I hadn’t been short on No. 1

men.

“As for the constant psychological observation, I hate it as much as you

do. I don’t suppose you know that they watch me about twice as hard as they

watch you duty engineers.” Harper showed his surprise, but Silard nodded in

sober confirmation. “But we have to have this supervision. Do you remember

Manning? No, he was before your time. We didn’t have psychological

observers then. Manning was able and brilliant. Furthermore, he was always

cheerful; nothing seemed to bother him.

“I was glad to have him on the bomb, for he was always alert, and never

seemed nervous about working with it — in fact, he grew more buoyant and

cheerful the longer he stood control watches. I should have known that was

a very bad sign, but I didn’t, and there was no observer to tell me so.

“His technician had to slug him one night. He found him dismounting the

safety interlocks on the trigger. Poor old Manning never pulled out of it —

he’s been violently insane ever since. After Manning cracked up, we worked

out the present system of two qualified engineers and an observer for every

watch. It seemed the only thing to do.”

“I suppose so, chief,” Harper mused, his face no longer sullen, but still

unhappy. “It’s a hell of a situation just the same.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” King rose and put out his hand. “Cal, unless

you’re dead set on leaving us, I’ll expect to see you at the radiation

laboratory tomorrow. Another thing — I don’t often recommend this, but it

might do you good to get drunk tonight.”

King had signed to Silard to remain after the young man left. Once the door

was closed he turned back to the psychiatrist. “There goes another one —

and one of the best. Doctor, what am I going to do?”

Silard pulled at his cheek. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “The hell of it

is, Harper’s absolutely right. It does increase the strain on them to know

that they are being watched — and yet they have to be watched. Your

psychiatric staff isn’t doing too well, either. It makes us nervous to be

around the bomb — the more so because we don’t understand it. And it’s a

strain on us to be hated and despised as we are. Scientific detachment is

difficult under such conditions; I’m getting jumpy myself.”

King ceased pacing the floor and faced the doctor. “But there must be some

solution — ” he insisted.

Silard shook his head. “It’s beyond me, Superintendent. I see no solution

from the standpoint of psychology.”

“No? Hm-m-m. Doctor, who is the top man in your field?”

“Eh?”

“Who is the recognized No. 1 man in handling this sort of thing?”

“Why, that’s hard to say. Naturally, there isn’t any one leading

psychiatrist in the world; we specialize too much. I know what you mean,

though. You don’t want the best industrial-temperament psychometrician; you

want the best all-around man for psychoses nonlesional and situational.

That would be Lentz.”

“Go on.”

“Well — he covers the whole field of environmental adjustment. He’s the man

who correlated the theory of optimum tonicity with the relaxation technique

that Korzybski had developed empirically. He actually worked under

Korzybski himself, when he was a young student — it’s the only thing he’s

vain about.”

“He did? Then he must be pretty old; Korzybski died in — What year did he

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