you. What he means is this: we’re not faced with a problem in physics, but
with a political and economic situation. Let’s put it this way: King can no
more dump the bomb than a peasant with a vineyard on the slopes of Mount
Vesuvius can abandon his holdings and pauperize his family simply because
there will be an eruption some day.
“King doesn’t own that bomb out there; he’s only the custodian. If he dumps
it against the wishes of the legal owners, they’ll simply oust him and put
in someone more amenable. No, we have to convince the owners.”
“The President could do it,” suggested Harrington. “I could get to the
President — ”
“No doubt you could, through the Navy Department. And you might even
convince him. But could he help much?”
“Why, of course he could. He’s the President!”
“Wait a minute. You’re Director of the Naval Observatory; suppose you took
a sledge hammer and tried to smash the big telescope — how far would you
get?”
“Not very far,” Harrington conceded. “We guard the big fellow pretty
closely.”
“Nor can the President act in an arbitrary manner,” Lentz persisted. “He’s
not an unlimited monarch. If he shuts down this plant without due process
of law, the Federal courts will tie him in knots. I admit that Congress
isn’t helpless, but — would you like to try to give a congressional
committee a course in the mechanics of infinitesimals?”
Harrington readily stipulated the point. “But there is another way,” he
pointed out. “Congress is responsive to public opinion. What we need to do
is to convince the public that the bomb is a menace to everybody. That
could be done without ever trying to explain things in terms of higher
mathematics.”
“Certainly it could,” Lentz agreed. “You could go on the air with it and
scare everybody half to death. You could create the damnedest panic this
slightly slug-nutty country has ever seen. No, thank you. I, for one, would
rather have us all take the chance of being quietly killed than bring on a
mass psychosis that would destroy the culture we are building up. I think
one taste of the Crazy Years is enough.”
“Well, then, what do you suggest?”
Lentz considered shortly, then answered: “All I see is a forlorn hope.
We’ve got to work on the Board of Directors and try to beat some sense into
their heads.”
King, who had been following the discussion with attention in spite of his
tired despondency, interjected a remark: “How would you go about that?”
“I don’t know,” Lentz admitted. “It will take some thinking. But it seems
the most fruitful line of approach. If it doesn’t work, we can always fall
back on Harrington’s notion of publicity — I don’t insist that the world
commit suicide to satisfy my criteria of evaluation.”
Harrington glanced at his wristwatch — a bulky affair — and whistled. “Good
heavens!” he exclaimed. “I forgot the time! I’m supposed officially to be
at the Flagstaff Observatory.”
King had automatically noted the time shown by the Captain’s watch as it
was displayed. “But it can’t be that late.” he had objected. Harrington
looked puzzled, then laughed.
“It isn’t — not by two hours. We are in zone plus-seven; this shows zone
plus-five — it’s radio-synchronized with the master clock at Washington.”
“Did you say radio-synchronized?”
“Yes. Clever, isn’t it?” He held it out for inspection. “I call it a
telechronometer; it’s the only one of its sort to date. My nephew designed
it for me. He’s a bright one, that boy. He’ll go far. That is — ” his face
clouded, as if the little interlude had only served to emphasize the
tragedy that hung over them — “if any of us live that long!”
A signal light glowed at King’s desk, and Steinke’s face showed on the
communicator screen. King answered him, then said, “Your car is ready, Dr.
Lentz.”
“Let Captain Harrington have it.”
“Then you’re not going back to Chicago?”
“No. The situation has changed. If you want me, I’m stringing along.”
The following Friday, Steinke ushered Lentz into Kings office. King looked
almost happy as he shook hands. “When did you ground, Doctor? I didn’t