The Big Eye (6 page)

 

 

David glanced quickly at Dr. Dawson and remembered. First, the New
Mexico job, and later, Maryland. Over the Old Man's violent protests
they had dragged him off Palomar Mountain and bludgeoned him into the
top post with the Ballistics Research Laboratory where his knowledge of
measuring the speeds of galaxies had been applied to measuring the speeds
of projectiles. David had gone along on both trips. He had participated
in all details, and he knew how much the Old Man hated the whole setup.

 

 

But Dr. Dawson ignored the general's thrust and asked:

 

 

"About these phenomena. General. Do you know whether similar ones have
taken place in the Soviet Union?"

 

 

The general grunted. "If they have, I haven't heard anything about it.
Neither have our agents. Anyway, a field mouse couldn't get through the
Iron Curtain these days. But aside from that, my dear Doctor, the question
is academic. Why should these disasters happen in Russia? If the Russians
have this new weapon, they obviously wouldn't be using it on themselves."

 

 

"Obviously not, assuming that your arbitrary assumption is correct,
assuming that they do have some kind of weapon."

 

 

General Hawthorne exploded. "There's no doubt about it! You can indulge
in the luxury of scientific skepticism all you want. Doctor, but I'm a
realist, and I know what I'm talking about. And the last two weeks have
proved me right."

 

 

The general's jaw set in a hard block as he went on: "In the last two
weeks, Doctor, the Reds have stepped up their damned offensive. They've
begun to hit us in the belly, where it hurts, in ways that the public
doesn't know about yet, thank God. Last Monday a flight of long-range
jets set out for a routine flight over the North Pole. Their instruments
suddenly went out, they lost communication with their base, and we never
heard from them again."

 

 

The Old Man leaned forward now. He became tense, interested in what
General Hawthorne had to say; he seemed to hang on every word.

 

 

"This weapon of theirs, we have discovered, can deflect and sabotage
magnetic instruments," continued the general. "We've noted fluctuations
in our own magnetic equipment from time to time. Our air navigators
and pilots have been losing their directional beams, they've been going
far off their course, their radar has ceased to function." The general
paused. "You can see what effect that would have on our A-projectiles,
my dear Doctor, on our rockets, on our air force. Apparently the Reds
have found a way to deflect them at will."

 

 

The Old Man was silent, but his bright eyes betrayed his interest.
Finally he said:

 

 

"And this meeting on the East Coast tomorrow morning, General?"

 

 

"We're going to pool our brains and try to figure out just what the
Russians have. If you and the other scientists there can't figure it out,
can't put it down to any naturalistic phenomena, then we have only one
conclusion. The Reds have got something, and we've got to beat them to
the punch." The general's face grew brick red, and he flung his cigar
in the wastebasket. "If it was up to the General Staff and myself, we'd
be throwing everything we have at the Soviet right now. But no! The
President doesn't want to make any overt move. Neither does State. For
the record," General Hawthorne snarled. "For the record. What the hell
good is any record going to be in a couple of more days?"

 

 

David watched the Old Man as he rose from the desk. He seemed perplexed,
as though trying to come to some inner decision. The general picked up
his hat.

 

 

"That's all, Dr. Dawson. When you reach New York City tomorrow morning,
phone military headquarters, R-Section. They'll pick you up and drive
you to the meeting place."

 

 

The Old Man turned and then said slowly, "I'm sorry. General, but I'm
not going."

 

 

"You're not what?"

 

 

"I'm not going," Dr. Dawson said levelly. "In the first place, I cannot
morally be a party to any arrangement that may set off a world war. And
in the second place, I am in the midst of a tremendously important piece
of research here at Palomar."

 

 

"Research be damned!" blazed the general. He slammed his hat down on the
table. "Look here, Dawson, I've had enough of this nonsense from you
and from those other fools you call your colleagues. You've sabotaged
me every step of the way, like a pack of Reds."

 

 

The Old Man suddenly blazed back. "You know what I think of the Soviet
system of government. General. You know how I despise it, what it's done
to its men of science, how it's bent them to the will of the state. I hate
anything that smacks of a totalitarian society. I am still technically a
free citizen in a free democracy and not yet a member of the military. And
I resent your inference that my colleagues and I "

 

 

"Listen, Doctor, I'm not going to argue with you," Hawthorne
interrupted. He pounded the table with his fist. "You're going to stop
your stargazing for a few days, and you're going to get back down to
earth and Hy East and be at that meeting tomorrow morning. And those
are orders!"

 

 

"I'm sorry, General," said the Old Man stubbornly. "I am willing
to compromise and send my assistant. Dr. Hughes, here, in my place,
provided he is willing to go. But I repeat, I cannot go myself -- not now."

 

 

The general saw there was no moving the Old Man and changed his
approach. His voice was suddenly very quiet.

 

 

"I warn you. Doctor, this is treason."

 

 

"A matter of definition. General. It's your concept of treason."

 

 

"Suppose I told you that under the present military law it is conceivable
that you could be shot for this."

 

 

"It would not change my mind, I assure you," the Old Man said calmly.

 

 

For a long time they stared at each other. Then finally General Hawthorne
turned his cold blue eyes on David.

 

 

"We'll expect you at that meeting tomorrow morning, Hughes," he said
curtly.

 

 

He put on his hat, turned, and walked from the room without looking back
at the Old Man.

 

 

At Sixty-fifth Street a taxi swerved around the corner.

 

 

David hailed it, and it came to a stop with brakes squealing.

 

 

"One Hundred and Tenth Street, between Broadway and the Drive," he said,
settling back. The driver made no attempt to operate his meter.

 

 

"That'll cost you ten bucks."

 

 

The man behind the wheel caught David's incredulous look through the
reflector and turned.

 

 

"Ain't you heard, buddy? There's a war on. Now, is it a deal or ain't it?"

 

 

David nodded.

 

 

They drove through the darkened streets toward the place where Carol
lived.

 

 

He rang the bell, and Carol opened the door.

 

 

"David!"

 

 

Then she was in his arms. He could feel her body taut against his for
a moment, then begin to tremble violently. Her nails bit into the back
of his neck as he kissed her.

 

 

"David, David . . ."

 

 

Her body relaxed and blended into his now. He could feel the soft warmth
of her; her lips inflamed him as she half cried, half laughed his name
against his ear. After all, it had been three months since he'd last
been East, since he'd last seen her.

 

 

He lifted her up, carried her into the room, and kissed her again.

 

 

Finally he set her down, and she said breathlessly: "Darling, darling,
give me your coat and hat." She put them on a chair and turned back to
him. "I'm not even going to bother hanging them up. Not now. Sit here,
David, by the fireplace. Wait a minute, here's an ottoman for your
legs; you have such long, long legs and you always like to lean them on
something." She was excited now, nervous, all quick movement. "You've
left the door open and your bag's still standing out in the hall. No,
darling, don't move, I'll get it. Just sit here by the fire and don't
go away. I've got scotch and soda ready in the kitchen -- I know you
never drink anything else."

 

 

He started to say something, but she put a finger on his lips and shook
her head.

 

 

"No, David. Don't say anything. Not now. Not until I bring in the drinks
and we can really sit down together. Not until I have a chance to really
look at you again. Then we'll talk. . . ."

 

 

He watched her go into the tiny kitchenette, and he thought. She's
coming back to Palomar with me. Tomorrow, right after that meeting,
she's leaving this deathtrap and going back with me, if I have to beat
her over the head and drag her with me.

 

 

He had written, wired, and telephoned her frantically to leave New York
and come to the Coast. But Carol had refused, she had stayed on, she had
business in New York. A talented and successful radio and television
actress, she was making half-hour film television transcriptions for
shipment to isolated military outposts. But more important, with her
fluent knowledge of French and German, she was broadcasting short-wave
to Occupied Europe.

 

 

The Department of Information was responsible for Carol's being in New
York. The department, a super-streamlined agency, and a long cry from
the old Office of War Information of World War II, had finally managed to
tear itself away from the State Department. Now it stood on its own feet,
its Secretary occupied a seat in the Cabinet, its power over all media
was far-flung and virtually authoritative. It did not order an editorial
line -- not yet. It merely "suggested." But there was hard steel in the
suggestions. And every day, in the temporary capital somewhere in the
Middle West, the Secretary of Information lunched with the Secretary of
National Defense.

 

 

"Information" had "suggested" that Carol and others like her volunteer
for the hazardous New York post. It would be only temporary, the Secretary
had pointed out. In another week the networks would complete the transfer
of their entire New York radio and television operation to a new and
emergency Radio City in Kansas.

 

 

David leaned back on the couch and listened to the clink of ice in
glasses in the kitchenette. It was a relief to be here, in this warm
and comfortable room, away from the graveyard outside. He looked about
the room, noted that the furniture had been changed since he had last
been in town three months ago. It was the new plastic and non-inflammable
furniture -- the kind they called "Modern Translucent." It was, he decided,
a little too modern for his taste.

 

 

But then, he thought, he might have become a little stuffy, fallen behind
the times, in his roost at Palomar. He could never quite understand how
a lovely and talented girl like Carol could have fallen for a rather
prosaic person like himself. True, he had a certain amount of prestige
in his own field; he was first assistant to the Old Man himself.

 

 

But you couldn't eat prestige. And the fact that Carol made four or five
times as much money as he did sometimes nagged him.

 

 

"David!" She spoke suddenly from the kitchenette. "I know you said you
wouldn't tell me, but I just can't stand it. Why are you in New York now?"

 

 

"Military secret," he said lightly.

 

 

"Something in that brief case you brought in with you?"

 

 

"Yes."

 

 

"And you can't even tell your own wife?"

 

 

"You're not my wife yet." He grinned. "But that reminds me -- there's
something I can tell you." Then he paused dramatically. "I've found a
place for us to live."

 

 

"David!" she cried out in delight. "No!"

 

 

"Yes! Right in the observatory colony. A cottage -- fieldstone and white
shingles, and two bathrooms. Wait'll you see it!"

 

 

"But, David, how on earth ?"

 

 

"Just one of those lucky breaks. That is, lucky for us -- unlucky for
someone else. The place belonged to one of our research associates --
the man who ran the Schmidt camera. Anyway, he and his wife broke up,
and they moved. He went to Lick Observatory, and she took the children
and went back to her mother's. Anyway, there it is, all furnished and
everything, waiting for our new name plate. We'll send out a hundred
invitations for our housewarming."

 

 

She sounded surprised at that. "A hundred? Are there that many people
at Palomar?"

 

 

"Sure. On the staff alone we've got four research associates, twenty-one
research workers, and twelve computers. Not to mention their wives
and children. And then there's all the other personnel -- the cook,
and steward, and chauffeurs, and engineers, and telescope mechanics."
He listened to cupboards slamming and the pop of a soda bottle from the
kitchenette. "But never mind that. What's taking you so long?"

 

 

"I'll be right in." A pause, and then: "David, did you really miss me?"

 

 

"Hurry up and come back in here," he said. "And I'll show you how much!"

 

 

She laughed. "Why, darling, you sound positively dangerous."

 

 

Maybe I do, he thought. He was one of the few bachelors at the observatory
colony, and for him it was rather a lonely life. Palomar was a graduated
society, in the manner of a small and isolated Army post, and its social
life was restrained and somewhat clannish. Couples naturally entertained
couples, and he was always the extra man.