Chapter 8

Brent Taber stood in front of the desk of Authority and said, “Mr. Porter, I don’t think you people realize the gravity of this situation.”

Porter’s eyes were frosty. “And just what gives you that idea?”

“The fact that I’m being hamstrung at every turn. Men I assigned to search out the last android have been taken off the job, transferred away from me without notice.”

“You speak of being hamstrung.” Porter pronounced the term with an inflection of disgust, as though it were a vulgarism no gentleman would use. “You say we do not realize the gravity of the situation. Perhaps we realize it far more than you do. It may be that your activities have been indirectly curtailed because you have not recognized the vital need of harmony in government.”

“Are you telling me Crane’s ego is still smarting?”

“Senator Crane did, in the spirit of co-operation, mention certain leaks in your department.”

“What in hell are you talking about?”

“I’d watch my tone if I were you, Taber. You aren’t talking to one of your legmen now!”

Taber’s teeth came tight together. “I’m sorry. Let me repeat the question. Exactly what was the nature of the leak to which the Senator referred?”

“A tape--transcribed at one of your top-secret meetings.”

Taber’s fist closed and opened. “I guess maybe I have been lax,” he said softly.

Porter, grimly happy to have made his point, went on. “As to policy up above, I’ll be quite frank. We have not necessarily gone along with your theory that the so-called androids were from outer space.”

“Then where do you think they originated?”

“We have put data into the calculators on that point. So far, the results have been inconclusive.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Your sarcasm is uncalled for. I am quite willing to tell you, however, that we have been proceeding in the matter. You are aware, no doubt, of the recent space shot that ended disastrously?”

“Who isn’t?”

Still insistent upon treating Taber like a backward child, Porter said, “The missile was safely launched and made five orbits and then suffered destruction.”

“There was a lot of newspaper copy written on the failure; a lot of questions asked as to the cause.”

“The releases were entirely true,” Porter said with prim severity. “There was malfunction of crucial units under stress. But another phase was not made public. The astronaut’s mission--one of them, at least--was to hunt outer space for foreign bodies of any description.”

“What did he report?”

“Nothing.”

“I recall a story printed by some Washington columnist that some of the code picked up from the missile was not translated for the press. This, he stated, in view of the Administration’s current ‘Open End’ policy on such matters, was strange.”

“If you’re implying that we censored certain information, that’s quite true. In the public interest.”

“To keep scientific information out of Russian hands?”

“In this case, no. The astronaut fell victim to a psychological stress that was unforeseen. What he sent made no sense whatever. We blame the medical men for not finding the flaw in his psyche.”

“And I would be entirely out of line in assuming he did discover hostile foreign bodies and was destroyed by them?”

“Entirely,” Porter snapped.

Brent Taber’s eyes were stony. “But I am to assume that you’re asking for my resignation.”

Now Porter shrugged. “If that is the way you see it, I can, of course, only tender my regrets.”

“Well, you won’t have to. I’m not resigning.”

The sharp declaration made Porter blink. “It’s rather unusual that a man, after a vote of no confidence--”

“To hell with that. If a tape got out of my office, it’s my fault. I’ll grant that. But there’s more to this. I’m willing to bet the man who told you was the same one who engineered the steal.”

“That’s ridiculous! Are you accusing Senator Crane of--?”

“I’m accusing an opportunist-demagogue of playing fast and loose with national safety to further his own ends and salve his ego. I’m accusing the men above me of being too weak-kneed to back their own against outside interference.”

“I’ll stand for no insults from you, Taber!”

“You’ll take it and like it,” Brent Taber said savagely. “You’ll take it because you can’t knock me out of my office overnight. It will take time. You’ve got to go up through the command and you’ll have to go pretty high before you’ll find anyone who’ll do it with the stroke of a pen. Nobody wants to stick their neck out.”

“Of course,” Porter replied icily, “if you care to keep functioning as a discredited person--”

“I can. And I will. I’d be a coward if I didn’t.”

Porter was obviously disappointed but he shrugged. “That’s your privilege. You, of course, will not be taken off the payroll.”

“The payroll be damned. Send my checks to the Red Cross!”

And Brent Taber strode out of Porter’s office, a man who stood alone in the Washington jungle of clashing ambitions, of purposes and cross-purposes--but a man who had no thought of quitting.

After Brent left, Porter put through a call to Senator Crane’s office.

“ ... so, while severing Brent Taber from official activity would be rather difficult, Senator, I have, in the interests of efficiency, withdrawn most of his facilities.”

“A wise move, Porter. A very wise move.”

“By the way, Senator, that hydroelectric project on the Panamint River your Conservation people have in the works. I’m quite interested in it.”

“Is that so?” Crane asked guardedly.

“Yes. Perhaps because of my experience along those lines in South America. I consider it a great opportunity to serve and I understand the administrator’s post is still open.”

Porter’s tone was vague. “Yes. I believe it is.”

“Of course, I’m quite happy where I am, you understand. I’m not looking for a change. However, the challenge does intrigue me.”

“I’ll give you a ring, Porter. Just sit tight until you hear from me.”

After hanging up, Porter sat back and wondered. He tried to analyze the tone in which Crane had made the promise to call. It had been falsely cordial, beyond a doubt. Maybe Crane figured Taber’s scalp was too small a price to pay for the hydroelectric plum. Well, in that case, Porter philosophized, he hadn’t lost a great deal. It was all in the game.

Frank Corson was confused and troubled by the changes that continued to come over Rhoda Kane. He could not quite put his finger on the start of it, but as he saw her now, a scant two weeks after the incident of the man with two hearts, he could clearly see the changes. Where she had been a beautiful, poised, self-controlled woman, she was now more nervous and quick of movement, brighter of eye, full of a new restless energy he could not account for.

Also, the dominance in their affair had shifted. He had always, it seemed, been the dominant factor, in that Rhoda had continually catered to his moods and bent to the winds of his own unrest and dissatisfaction.

But one evening when he was free of duty at Park Hill, Rhoda came home and entered the apartment without glancing toward the double-width sofa by the window. Frank, stretched out with a drink in his hand, watched her as she took her key out of the lock and put it back in her purse. He was struck by the fact that with this new “personality” that had become a part of her, she was even more attractive than before. A glow had been added. The quiet, dignified, statuesque beauty of before had been mysteriously vitalized by a new kind of inner life.

She turned from the door and, looking into the bright glare of the eight-foot windows, she saw him on the sofa and took a quick step forward.

“Oh,” she cried. “It’s you!”

“Of course, it’s me.”

Rhoda stopped dead and Frank was sure that the look of eagerness died as suddenly as it had been born.

“Well, good lord! Whom were you expecting?”

Rhoda laughed. “You just surprised me, that’s all.”

“Well, you gave me the keys to your apartment. Wasn’t I supposed to use them?”

“Of course, silly.” She came across the room and sat down on the sofa beside him. She bent down and kissed him.

“Golly,” he said, sarcastically enthusiastic, “that was about as stimulating as a meeting between two dead fish.”

“Frank! For heaven’s sake! What’s got into you lately?”

“I think that question should be reversed. ‘What’s got into you?”

“I think you’re being unreasonable.”

“Am I? Is it unreasonable to wonder why you did a complete about-face?”

“I don’t understand.”

“You understand. I’ve brought it up before. You spent weeks convincing me I ought to carry through with my internship and establish a practice. You said the time element didn’t make any difference to you. You talked me out of the silly idea I had about cashing in on the man with two hearts. I admitted it was a silly idea. I turned away from it completely. Then you did the world’s fastest about-face and began asking questions. You began pushing me in the direction you’d been arguing against.”