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Reversion

a Novel by Varkel
Fall, 2002



Chapter 19: Pressure


Traceability was an early concern -- meaning investigators'
ability to trace us back to our ultimate base in Cleveland, but
now with Clara staying behind it became paramount.  For a year
the relays had been in place over the mountains for communication
between Cleveland and Ferndep using spread-spectrum radio and
from there on down to Baylor, but shipping the 21,000 dicks from
Cleveland to Baylor presented a problem.  The plan to pass them
through Ferndep would leave the Ferndep-Baylor connection
exposed, if we used a public carrier.  So Fernworks bought a
logo-less ten-wheeler and on an August weekend the four youngest
principals loaded boxes in Cleveland and unloaded a ship's worth
of spare dicks in Ferndep, followed by two ships' worth at
Baylor, 31,500 in all, both installations having been shutdown
for the occasion.  On the following Monday, the Baylor employees
returned on two shifts to install them.

Air tightness was the problem that would have killed us.  Flat
plates covering ships, however well reinforced with stringers,
are susceptible to bulging under the significant pressure of a
full atmosphere.  In our first test, Ship One was so leaky even
the Baylor pumps couldn't raise it beyond half an atmosphere of
pressure.  I was very glad indeed we hadn't tried its tightness
at 100 miles altitude!  Closer set fasteners, more stringers and
thicker calking were applied.  By the first of September, Ship
One had held 15-PSI gauge for twelve hours.  Karl released the
pressure and proceeded with the stealth painting.

The final coat of paint combined ingredients used by Clara's
people plus molecular alignment in the dicks' magnetic field.  It
produced a mirror-like finish of high efficiency.  I noticed
several of our "Rosies" preening before it.  In both my opinion
and that of the 24th Century, flat surfaces that were quality
mirrors would be less susceptible to eyeball detection than the
Gulf War's black paint, even at night.

We applied the tightening improvements to Ship Two before the
first pressure test and found that it needed only a bit more
calk.  Its stealthing began immediately.

* * *

The spread-spectrum transceiver at Baylor was a small metal box
on my desk connected to a Yagi pretending to be a TV antenna on
the roof.  It had a red light to blink for an incoming call.
Second Shift had just begun and I was sitting at my desk working
on the longer-range schedule -- what should we do _after_ we
visited the moon? -- and contemplating supper when the light began
flashing.

I inserted the earpiece that was also the microphone and said,
"Maple here," expecting to hear Hans or maybe Rosalind in
Ferndep.

But it was Clara in Cleveland, voice somewhat strained.  "Tim,
I've just learned something that can't wait."

"A problem with the baby?"

"No, no."  She sighed audibly.  "It's about Cleaver.  Yesterday
he received a letter in the mail and got excited.  He called
someone on the telephone, apparently the writer, and discussed
it.  Listening to his end of the conversation, I pieced together
what it was all about.  Tim, he has learned the essential truth."

"What do you mean, Clara?"

"He has a man in Washington, somebody on Eisenhower's inner
staff.  This man swore that no federal project named Fernworks
exists and further that no one in the federal government is
building a spaceship."

"Good god!  Are you sure that's what was said?"

"Oh, yes.  Cleaver repeated it over and over.  'Spaceships with
government funding, that lying little bastard!'  And I have a
viewer for you.  Alice is on her way to the airport with it now.
She'll land in Charlotte at ten in the morning."

Clara and Rosalind possessed the only equipment capable of
loading viewers, so with Rosalind currently in Ferndep the
fastest way for us to transmit ladybug images was by courier.  I
was silent, thinking fast but apparently not fast enough.

"Tim, did you hear me?"

"Yes, dear.  I hope Alice is coming prepared."

"Prepared?"

"To go to the moon."

"So ... soon?"

"Late tomorrow night, if we can possibly make it."

It was her turn to be silent.  I waited.  At last she sighed.
"We thought you'd do that."

"If you contact Rosalind before I can, tell her to take the
Charlotte flight that arrives soonest without regard to layover
time.

"I'll tell her."

I thought a moment longer.  "What did Cleaver do next?"

"Put in a call to his detectives.  He told Jenkins to meet him at
O'Hare -- in the private section."

"Shit!  Does Cleaver own an airplane?"

"Maybe.  He could certainly rent one."

"In that case he'll probably arrive here before midnight."  I
took a deep breath.  "Clara, I may have to do some things that
could affect our relationship."

She hesitated.  At last she said softly, "Nothing will affect
that.  You'll always be my magnificent hero."

I chuckled with genuine pleasure.  "Clara, having you in my
corner is certainly my greatest advantage."

"Thank you.  I'll always be there, Tim."

"Thank _you_, you darling!"  I sighed and added, "Let me go.  I
have a lot to do now."

"Call me when you can -- when you're airborne, at least."

"I shall.  I love you."

"Oh, Tim!"

The beep sounded, indicated loss of signal.  I removed the
earplug.  A lot to do, but where to begin?

Lacey had gone home and Karl was out of his office.  I dashed out
onto the factory floor.  I found him at Ship Two, listening to
the remarks of Kelliam and a man whose name escaped me.  I
stopped at his side.  They were discussing maintenance of the
fabrication machines.

"Excuse me, Carl: urgent business."

He took a few steps away with me.  I asked quietly, "How close
are the ships to operational state?"

"We put the outer coat of paint on Ship Two yesterday.  It's
dry."

"What about provender?"

He shrugged.  "We haven't put anything aboard yet.  But the
factory water tanks are full, ready to load.  The frozen food
will be delivered Friday."

"That's too late."

He blinked.  "Eh?"

I stared into his eyes.  "I want you immediately to begin
charging the dicks.  Shut down all heavy equipment and divert all
power from the dam, except for factory lighting.  Also draw the
full capacity of our lines from Duke Power.  I want both ships
charging at the maximum rate for the next 24 hours."

He looked away while his fingers danced on his thigh.  "_Mein
Gott_!  That's enough energy to reach Jupiter!"  His eyes widened
on mine.  "What's going on?"

"_We're_ going on -- to the moon as soon as that charge is on
board."

"What's the rush?  What happened?"

"We're going to have visitors," I answered grimly, "probably
beginning tonight but definitely tomorrow.  Also pipe in a half
load of water for each ship.  It's good you had the foresight to
use gravity feed for that.  As to food supplies, grab a few
sandwiches, cakes and pop bottles from the snack bar."

"The blind woman's not here!"

"Do it tomorrow morning when she is."

"But ... but ..."

"And the spacesuits.  What's their condition?"

"We've tested mine and Rosalind's but not yet yours and Alice's."

"Tomorrow verify pressure tightness, at least.  For now make the
connections and start charging the dicks.  Then come to my
office.  We have a lot of detail to cover.  Be prepared to answer
this question: which workers do we actually need to help us
launch the ships?"

He stared at me with a blank face.  I said, "And show a little
enthusiasm.  In 36 hours you'll be sitting on the moon."

* * *

"Mr. Maple, could I speak with you a moment?"

I looked up.  The woman in jeans and red bandanna on my office
doorsill had a worried face.

"Of course, Maryanne.  Come in."

She crossed the room and leaned over my desk, hands clasping the
edges.  "I couldn't find Mr. Haines."  She took a breath.  "Don't
know if it's my business to tell you, but ... I ..."

"Go ahead, Maryanne.  What is it?"

Her mouth worked indecisively.  Finally she burst out, "He ain't
Jimpson!"

"Ah, Jimpson?"

"Arthur Jimpson.  I used to walk him some on Sundays afore I met
my James.  But the man watching the meters ain't him."

"Then who is he?"

"I don't know.  Ain't never seen him anywhere in the hills afore
now."

"Really?"  I smiled.  "Is he what you folks call a 'flatlander,'
Maryanne?"

"Must be.  But he's a-wearing the Fernworks shirt with Arthur's
name on it."

Karl had issued forest-green protective jackets to all workers,
each with his name and our symbol, a curling fern leaf.

"You've been here long enough to know all the workers, haven't
you, Maryanne?"

She smiled slightly.  "I think I was the third one hired."

"And you say this stranger wearing Jimpson's shirt is watching
the charge flow meters?"

"Yes, sir."

I stood up.  "Follow me."

I led her down the hall to the guard's desk facing the front
door.  The husky man currently on duty looked up, saw me and spun
around in his chair to regard me inquiringly.  He wore the gray
uniform of the Fernworks guard staff, incidentally having the
same markings as the federal security agency.

"Strap on your weapon, Judd," I told him, "and come with us.
Maryanne thinks we have an intruder."

He snatched a holstered pistol from the desk drawer and hung it
on his Sam Browne belt.  Shortly we were marching into the
mountain, heels clicking down the main aisle between the rows of
machines, following Maryanne.  The huge room was unusually quiet.
Karl had released most of Second Shift early.

We proceeded along the central assembly area, skirting the two
ships, now free of scaffolding, that waited on their landing
struts.  Despite the electrical cables and water hoses looping
into them they were hard to see: that is, their edges were hard
to locate.  Once again the perfection of their stealthing
impressed me.  Reflected sections of the girder-laced ceiling
seemed to rotate before us at eye-level as we passed.  The
illusion was uncannily perfect.  Apparently the stealth paint
reduced scattering in the visual range also, an unexpected bonus.

"God, I can't get over how they look!" breathed Maryanne, smiling
at me in awe.

"Thank you," I murmured, taking it as a compliment.  "Which one
is he?"

Electrical power was distributed to each ship from its own
control panel.  Karl had assigned a worker for each to monitor
the fluctuations that might signal a failing dick.

"The one on the left," she said.

"You wait here, Maryanne.  Come on, Judd."

The man sat at a desk before the bank of meters, an alarm button
under his hand.  He was turned away from us, in a position to
watch both the meters and the ships.  He craned his neck when he
heard us approaching and leapt to his feet, looking wildly
around.  He chose a direction and sprang away towards the looming
machines of the subassembly area.

"That seals it!" I said.  "Catch him, Judd."

The guard drew his pistol and worked the slide noisily.  "Halt,
you," he shouted, bringing the weapon up into alignment, "or I'll
open fire!"

This was the Fifties.  In those simpler days no one would
question a policeman's right to kill a fleeing suspect.  Running
away was everywhere considered evidence of guilt.  The general
sentiment held that if you ran you deserved what you got.

In any case our intruder obeyed.  He came to a halt after the
next step and turned around to wait with hands in the air.  As
Judd and I closed on him, heads were popping up all around us.  I
heard Maryanne's footsteps behind me.

He was an average sort of fellow, thirtyish with close-cropped
dark hair.  The sleeves of Jimpson's jacket seemed a bit long on
him.  His eyes were brown with whites showing.

"Who are you?" I demanded.

"Arthur Jimpson," he answered immediately.

Joining us, Maryanne declared with conviction, "No, you ain't.  I
used to step out with Arthur."

This guy didn't lack for words.  "Must've been a different
Arthur."

"That's not an Appalachian accent," I noted.

"It shore ain't," agreed the guard.

"Who hired you in Fernworks?" I asked.

He licked his lips, only a moment's hesitation.  He had been told
the bosses' names but he was unlucky.  "John Maple."

The guard grunted and Maryanne sniffed.

I said, "Cuff him, Judd, and take him to my office."

The guard caught the man's shoulder and spun him around.  While
the handcuffs clicked I asked the woman, "What's your assignment
tonight?"

"I just came off supper break and was reporting to Jerome." 

"That's right," said someone behind me.  I looked over my
shoulder at Kelliam, my foreman of the single pinkie.  "She told
me about the false name," he added.  "I would've sent her to Mr.
Haines but he's down at the dam looking at a generator problem."

First things first.  "A _generator_ problem?"

"Number three was out of sync again, but I noticed it just came
back online."

"That's good news," I said, breathing a sigh of relief.  I
grinned at him.  "Our fake Jimpson claims _I_ hired him, but I
never saw him before."

"Well, damn!" exclaimed the miscreant, grinning sheepishly.

I turned to face him.  "I have a question for you."  He stood
straight among us, arms cuffed behind his back.  "What happened
to the real Arthur Jimpson?"

"If you think I'll tell you anything, you're crazy."

I put harshness into my voice.  "If you've hurt my employee
you'll _think_ I'm crazy!"

"Want us to rough him up?" asked Kelliam.

"Ha!" sneered the intruder.  "It'll take more than a few
hillbillies to make me talk."

"You think so?" asked Kelliam mildly.  "Two would do it: one to
chain you to the rivet press and the other to crush your fingers,
one joint at the time."

I could just imagine that; the hair rose on the back of my neck.
Our intruder only sneered the more.  Perhaps he had never seen a
hydraulically operated rivet press.

"I have another way, Jerome," I told him grimly, "one that leaves
no marks.  Judd, take this man to my office and chain him into a
straight chair."

"This way, you," the guard ordered, clutching the intruder's arm.
Away they went up the aisle.

I said quietly to Kelliam, "I want you to take five minutes and
look the whole place over for other strangers.  It's possible we
have more than one intruder."

"Yes, sir," said Kelliam.

"And when Karl gets back, tell him to check in with me, please."

I jerked my head at the hovering woman.  "Maryanne, come along."

Walking up the aisle, I considered quickly how to approach this.
"Maryanne, how is it you didn't go home with the other Second
Shift fabricators?"

"I'm the best with the precision mill."  She grinned unabashedly.
"Mr. Haines wanted me to stay in case we had to mill a
replacement socket."

I nodded.  "A wise precaution.  Meanwhile you have impressed me
by your loyalty to the firm."

"Thank you, sir."  She regarded me with interest.

After the compliments she had offered to Karl and me last year, I
had looked up her record.  She was a widow, now 32, supporting
two children and an elderly mother on her Fernworks pay.
Full-figured, she was not a bad looking woman, despite the care
lines in her face.

"But I have a problem."  I chuckled ruefully.  "I have a new drug
that will make this intruder spill his guts but no way to get it
in him."

"A hypo?"

I shook my head.  "No syringes.  Too bad we never hired a company
nurse, eh?"

"Coffee?"

"He's heard of other drugs like mine.  I doubt he'll drink
anything we give him.  But this drug has some interesting
properties, Maryanne.  It can be tuned to the person.  That is,
it can be set to affect one person but not another."

"Can it?"  Her eyes sparkled and she grinned widely.  "How about
I should kiss him?"

I had to stop and stare in awe.  "My god, you're fast on the
uptake!"

"Is that bad?"

"I mean, you're incredibly intelligent, Maryanne.  What are you
doing working here at two dollars an hour?"

"Two-ten.  You gave me a raise last month."

"I'll do a lot better than that!  But yes, I expect he'd tolerate
a wet kiss from you, if you were left alone with him."

"Well," she said thoughtfully, "he's not nearly as pretty as you
and Mr. Haines, but if you want me to kiss him, I will, Mr.
Maple."  Her expression was determined.  "What do I do?"

"Push as much saliva into his mouth as you can."

"Does it have to be a lot?"

"Actually not.  A taste is probably enough.  This stuff knows how
to reinforce itself."

"All right.  What do I do: chew up a pill first?"

"No, Maryanne."  I sighed.  "I'm afraid you have to kiss me
first.  That's how I'll give you the drug."

Her face blanked.  "Huh?  Then you could kiss him yourself!"

I curled my lip.  "I'd probably have to knock him out first."

"Oh."  She giggled, eyebrows rising.  "Listen to me: trying to
talk myself out of the chance to kiss _you_!"

We were outside the door of my office.  I had already executed
the DISINHIBITOR program, tuned only for masculine non-Kimball
DNA.  A wad of spit filled my cheek like a plug of tobacco.  I
took her in my arms.  She smelled womanly, perhaps my favorite
odor.  Her mouth met mine openly.  In went the drug.  Her eyes
closed but her tongue flirted with mine and I returned the
gesture.  God, I do love willing women, and apparently that was
the right word for my Maryanne!

But we broke apart.  Her eyes were large.  "Tha's a lo'!" she
murmured through pursed lips.

"Can you hold most of it in your cheek?" I asked.  "You may need
to talk to him a little.  The drug won't affect you if you
swallow it."

Her mouth worked.  "I think I can do it."

"Good girl!"

I opened the door.  Judd had cuffed the intruder's ankle to a
chair leg and his arms behind the chair back.  I motioned to the
guard.  "Come on, let's get more manacles.  Maryanne, will you
keep an eye on our guest?  We'll return shortly."

"Yes, sir," she said distinctly.

I jerked my head at the guard, who followed me out into the hall,
leaving the door ajar.  With finger to lips, I caught his arm and
stopped both of us to the right of the door, while continuing to
make walking sounds with my feet.  He, too, was fast on the
uptake.  His feet joined in with mine, even gradually reducing
the force to simulate drawing away.  In a moment we were both
listening to the voices floating around the doorjamb.

The woman said, "Hey, they've left us alone together."

"So what?"

She chuckled deep in her throat.  "So I can find out if you kiss
better'n the real Arthur."

The prisoner barked a laugh.  "Aren't you the girl that fingered
me?"

"Fingered?  If you're a good kisser, I'll do a lot more than
finger."

The ensuing lengthy silence yielded to spitting sounds.  "Guk!"
the man exclaimed.  "You call that kissing?"

Still clasping the guard's arm, I turned us toward the door.
"Come on."

The intruder was licking his lips, glaring at the woman with a
stupefied expression.

She was hovering near, smiling at him smugly.  She said, "You're
a lousy kisser, bo."

"Do all you hill girls keep a wad of spit in ..."  His voice
trailed off as his eyes turned toward me.

"Just for Yankees," she quipped.

I pulled her away from him, slid another chair into her spot and
sank into it face-to-face with him.

"What's your name?" I demanded.

He heaved a sigh.  His mouth worked.

"You have to speak aloud.  Say your name."

"I ... I ...  Dillon Walker."

"For whom do you work?"

Again his lips curled and relaxed.  At last he said, "Don't work
...  'M self-employed."

"What kind of work do you do?"

"P-private detective."

I exchanged glances with Judd, who had left a struggling private
agency to join Fernworks.

"Who hired you, Walker?"

He took several seconds to form the words, "Gerrymander Inc."

Which of course was one of Cleaver's holding companies.  "Very
good," I said encouragingly.  "Now tell me what happened to the
real Arthur Jimpson."

"Nothing."  Walker's mouth twisted.  "He's a sellout."

"For how much?"

"A C-note," he said contemptuously.

Behind me Maryanne sniffed and murmured, "Always was cheap!"

Aware of what my next question might elicit, I glanced around at
Judd and Maryanne.  "Will you two please wait outside?"

"Maybe we ought to manacle his other leg," Judd suggested.

I grunted.  "Don't worry.  He's not going anywhere."

"You're the boss."  Judd and the woman departed.

"What was your assignment here, Walker?" I asked when the door
clicked shut.

"To study the layout, see what's going on."

"Did you figure it out?"

He shrugged.  "You're building some ... some kind of big cars.
Or maybe boats.  Weird."

"Yes, weird."

"What I can't figure is how you plan to get 'em out of here."

"Good.  When are you supposed to report?"

"When the shift ends."

"To whom?"

"Cleaver."  The words were coming easier to him now, enough for
him to volunteer information.

"He's waiting for you outside?"

"He's coming in before midnight.  Some other private dicks are
waiting."

"Where?"

"Cars in the parking lot."

"How do you recognize them?"

"Two blue Ford sedans, brand new."

I thought a moment.  "Walker, who else came into the plant with
you?"

"A ... a woman."

"Under whose nametag?"

"Adele Morris.  She's one who quit last month, according to
Jimpson.  We found a green coat for her at Shicks."  Not
surprising: Shicks was the local clothing store where Rosalind
had contracted for the original jackets.

"What's her real name?"

"I only know her last name: Berman.  She's from Chicago and a
real looker.  Came down last week."

"Last week?  How long has Cleaver been watching us?"

"Months.  I've been down here since July."

That figured.

"She's got one of those little German cameras."

Uh-oh!

"How many times have you people entered the plant?"

"Just tonight.  We got the orders only in time for Second Shift."

"But you must have been expecting them."

"Oh, yeah.  Jimpson sold out on you last week."

"Anybody else in here tonight?"

"Not as far as I know."

"How many jackets did you people buy?"

"A couple -- three if you count Jimpson's."

I thought a moment longer.  "Have you heard anything that Cleaver
plans to do to this place?"

"Not me.  I'm a low man on that totem pole."

Undoubtedly true.  First things first: better round up the woman.
"Walters, I think you'd be more comfortable if you sort of
slouched down in that chair.  Take a nap, why don't you?"

He blinked.  "Okay.  Think I will."  And he was out like a light.

Impressive, the effect of this DISINHIBITOR.  Its name ought to
be something like "INSTANT SLAVERY."  The counter and antidote to
it is called -- you guessed it -- ANTIDISINHIBITOR, programmers
being no more imaginative in the 24th Century than the 20th.  I
made sure to flood my own body with the ANTIDISINHIBITOR
nanobiots.

To my surprise, guard and woman were not waiting in the hall.  I
heard voices from the break room and started to put my head in
there, only to be brought up short by a husky male voice
declaring, "Maryanne, I just realized I'm in love with you."

Cautiously I looked around the doorjamb.  My guard and erstwhile
fabricator were locked in a tight clench beside the coffee pot.
I cleared my throat.  Reluctantly they pulled apart.

"Good gosh a'mighty!" exclaimed Maryanne.  "You can really
_kiss_, Judd."

Apparently I had not witnessed their _first_ kiss tonight.  I
said testily, "We've got more trouble."

Maryanne whirled to face me with a saucy expression and
glistening lips.  "If'n you mean me and Judd --"

"I mean Walters admitted there's another intruder, a woman.
Where might a woman be working tonight, Maryanne?"

She blinked at me.  "In the suit chamber, I bet."

"Of course!" I agreed.  Female seamstresses were sealing the last
two spacesuits, the ones that fit Alice and me.  Important work!
"Come on, let's check them out.  She's supposed to be wearing
Adele Morris's jacket."

"Adele quit last month to have a baby," noted Maryanne, hurrying
after Judd and myself.  With a gulp and a hand swipe at his mouth
the guard had straightened up purposefully.

The suit chamber was in the rear at the end of the huge interior.
The warning sign of a pressure test hung over the door, but I
knew suits were being pressurized, not the room.  I opened it and
pushed in.  And saw our intruder immediately.

Her eyes locked with mine for an instant.  She looked away in
feigned indifference, but a betraying flush graced her pretty
cheeks.  I had to laugh.

"Mona, what in the hell are you doing here -- as if I didn't
know?"

She looked from me to the armed guard.  With a shrug she took up
her purse and walked out of the lab beside me.  Judd and Maryanne
followed us.  Cleaver's beautiful assistant was dressed tonight
as Rosie the Riveter in bandanna, jeans and Fernworks shirt
without the logo.  They were tight jeans, reminiscent of thirty
years in the future, that accentuated the graceful curves of her
thighs and buttocks.  I almost asked her where she had got them.

"Give me your handbag," I told her as we marched down the aisle
toward the shimmering space ships.

"That's an improper request," she announced, raising her chin.

I had to chuckle.  "Yes, it is, but not of a trespasser.  Give it
here."

Sighing, she passed it to me.  It contained a compact, lipstick
and a tissue pack, about all that the camera, an Exacta single
lens reflex, left room for.  Indeed it was a "little German
camera" by the standards of the Fifties.  I removed it and
returned the purse.  The exposure counter indicated zero.

"Is Cleaver's confidence in you justified?" I asked.

"Why not?"

Cameras did not yet have built-in light meters.  "Who taught you
to use so complicated a camera?"

"I own it," she explained with a sniff of amusement at my
presumption of ignorance, "along with a Hasselblad.  Photography
is my hobby," she added with a cool grin, "though I haven't yet
decided what exposure to use for those mirrors of yours."  She
chuckled slightly.  "Did you know that Cleaver calls them
spaceships?  That's an F1.6 lens and I'm using ASA200 film that I
can push to 800.  What do you recommend, Tim?"

Behind me I heard Maryanne laugh incredulously.  "_Space_ships?"

Mona said over her shoulder, "They certainly don't look it, do
they!"  I had to admire her coolness.

At that moment we were walking past the two huge assemblies hung
about with cables.  Again the ceiling struts seemed to rotate
before us as we walked.

"Mirrors on wheels," noted Mona.  "What will they reflect, Tim?"

I shook my head.  "Sorry, Mona.  I'm afraid you've lost the right
to ask questions."

"Oh, surely not!  For example, may I use the bathroom?"

"Not yet."

"And another: where are you taking me?"

"To my office."

"You see: it depends on the question."  She sidled closer,
bumping me with arm and hip, lowering her voice to an intimate
level.  "That moustache becomes you, Tim.  In your office may I
suck your cock?"

The plant was too quiet.  Behind me I heard two incredulous
intakes of breath.  I stopped and turned.  My fabricator and
guard were staring wide-eyed at Mona.  Maryanne's lip curled.  To
forestall her expected comment I raised the camera and twisted
its knobs.  "Let's try F2 at a fiftieth."  I pressed the large
shutter release, which responded with the satisfying thunk I
recalled from the early Exactas.  After advancing the film I
adjusted the speed.  "And another at a hundredth.  Those
assemblies are well lit.  ASA200 should contrast well at that
setting, don't you think?"  I snapped another shot.

Mona's eyebrows were raised in surprise when I turned back to
her.  "Come on," I said.

When we entered my office, I surprised her again by clutching the
shoulder that had stiffened when she recognized the sleeping
Walker, spinning her around and pulling her to me in a slobbery
kiss.  At first she resisted but shortly she relaxed against me.
Her lips parted as her arms went around me.  I heard Maryanne
gasp again.

After a moment I backed away.  "Wait here, Mona.  You can rest in
my big chair if you like.  First I must see to your friends in
the parking lot."

Maryanne suggested, "Let Judd get another set of cuffs."

"That won't be necessary."

I ordered over my shoulder, "Mona, stay here and keep out of
trouble.  Take a nap, why don't you?"

"Y-yes, Tim."

Maryanne gaped at me.  "You gonna leave her free in here?"

I smiled.  "She won't go away, will you, Mona?"

"N-no, Tim."  Her voice was peculiar.  I glanced at her face.
She had the look of a girl who has just taken her first big
marijuana hit.  Only this stuff was worse.  She slipped around
the desk, dropping her purse atop it.

"And leave the telephones alone."

"Yes, Tim."

"B-but --" protested Maryanne.

"Come with me, Judd.  We've got decisions to make.  You too,
Maryanne."

They followed me out, Maryanne looking wide-eyed back over her
shoulders.  But Mona had slumped into the captain's chair and
closed her eyes.  With a sudden grin Maryanne cocked an eyebrow
back at me.  "I get it."

"Wish I did," said the guard, shaking his head.

Maryanne chuckled.  "You did already."

In the main room I handed him the camera.  "Put this in a drawer
of your desk, Judd.  Do we have another guard's jacket anywhere?"

"Gibson leaves his here."

"Get it for me please -- and a pistol."

He went away to the lockers in the adjacent guardroom.  I turned
to the woman.  "Do you really want him, Maryanne?"

"Judd's a good catch," she said wistfully.

"Not in his present state.  Kiss me again."

She blinked innocently.  "You mean --"

"You know what I mean."  I pulled her against me.  She opened her
mouth immediately.  When we parted, I ordered, "Now you kiss him
again before we go out that door."

She drew a breath and said, "Yes, sir," with evident reluctance.

"Don't worry.  You've already impressed him.  You don't need that
drug in him.  And I don't either."

"Oh.  Okay.  Is your name really Tim?"

I had already thought about that question.  "It was when Mona
knew me."

She licked her lips.  Her eyes sparkled.  "I bet she knew you
real good."

I chuckled but said nothing.

Judd returned, bearing a jacket and a belt with holstered pistol
suspended.  I slipped into the jacket.  Gibson, I recalled, was a
hefty fellow about my size.  Both jacket and belt fit me well.
According to the shield on the breast pocket I was now a special
officer by that name.  I raised the pistol, verified its full
clip, worked the slide, snapped on the safety and returned it to
the holster.

Maryanne and Judd were again in a clench behind me.  I waited,
letting her make a thorough job of it, which she did.  When they
parted, the man looked at me guiltily and swiped at his mouth.
"I'm s-sorry, Mr. Maple.  I don't know what --"

I waived a hand negligently.  "Don't worry about it.  We've got a
job to do."

He straightened attentively, awaiting orders.

"A couple of blue Fords are in the parking lot, each with load of
trespassers intent on espionage at least.  They're private
detectives and likely armed, though I doubt they've been ordered
to shoot anyone.  You and I are going to run them off.  You'll
back me up.  If any shooting begins, take out the tires first."

He swallowed.  "Yes, sir."

"Maryanne, you wait here inside."

"Y-yes, sir.  What should I do if ..."  Her voice trailed off.

"We'll come back, Maryanne."

"Yes, sir."

The parking lot was not well lit except near the door.  Tonight
relatively few cars were in attendance because most of second
shift had been cancelled.  The two cars in question were parked
side by side, well apart from the rest.  The lit cigarettes
within them attracted immediate attention.

"Not very good detectives," I commented with a snort.

"Maybe they don't think we care," suggested Judd.

"They're about to find out."

We started forward but another car came chugging up the road and
wheeled without hesitation into the parking slot beside my own
car.  When the headlights had veered away, I saw it was Karl and
caught Judd's arm to bid him wait.

Karl had seen us despite the dark gray uniforms, perhaps because
of my lighter trousers.  He strolled up to us, peered and
demanded, "What's going on?  Huh!  Is that you, John?"

"We've caught two intruders in the plant," I explained, "and more
are sitting in those two cars.  Your choice: come with us or wait
inside."

"I'm not armed."

"I don't think we'll do any shooting."

"Then I'll follow along, if you don't mind."

We had about 100 yards to go.  As we walked I asked, "What was
the cause of the sync problem?"

"I'm not sure.  I suspect number three's bearings.  We should
replace them soon as this crunch is over."

"I heard it was back on line."

"Yes.  I feathered the turbine up a notch, but number three is
running hot."

"It needs to last another 20 hours.  Will it?"

"Maybe.  I've got a hose playing on the base casting."

"Knock on wood."

"On what?  Did you say _two_ intruders?  How did they get in?"

"Easily.  We haven't taken the possibility seriously."

Karl thought that over as we closed the remaining distance.  I
saw a couple cigarettes arc into the darkness from the car
windows ahead and strike the concrete with showers of sparks.

"I'll do the talking," I said in a low voice.

We stopped ten feet from the left side of the first car.  Its
windows were rolled down despite the cool September evening.  It
contained four men.  Beyond it the other car seemed similarly
occupied.

I demanded harshly, "What do you guys want?"

For a moment we heard only the gentle breeze and the distant
calling of night birds.  The driver of the near car finally
answered, "We're waiting for someone."

"The shift doesn't change until midnight.  Please do your waiting
off Fernworks property."

"Where's the line?"

I pointed towards the road.  "Beyond the last light there."

The driver thrust out his chin.  "Thought this was a place of
business."  He grinned sarcastically.  "A flower shop."

"So?"

"So you don't have a 'No Trespassing' sign."

"It's after hours and I'm telling you not to trespass.  That's
just as good."

The man sitting beside the driver leaned toward the window.  "And
if we don't go?"

"Then I'll arrest you and hold you for the sheriff.  And you can
depend on it: Fernworks will press charges."

"_You'll_ arrest us?" sniffed the driver and barked a laugh.

The man beside him said, "In fact he can.  Pull out, Harvey."

"If you say so," argued the driver, "but we're eight to three and
I doubt the dandy in the back even has a gun."

"I said pull out."  The passenger raised his voice.  "You too,
Perkins."

Both car engines started up.  The near driver's eyes glittered.
"We'll be back," he promised before his car leapt ahead.

We stood and watched them depart.  They continued beyond the
curve around the hill.

"They probably will, too," said Judd thoughtfully.

On the way back into the plant Karl asked, "What do they want?"

"We'll discuss it in my office.  Judd, where can you get some
help?"

The guard thought a moment.  "I can call in Gibson and Wilbur, I
reckon.  When do you think they'll come back?"

"Not till after midnight."  Not until they've checked with
Cleaver, I did not say.  "Most likely not until tomorrow."  After
all, Cleaver is in his fifties.  "But when they do, they may come
in strength."

"You want me to call the sheriff?"

"No," I answered without explanation.  "The critical time is
tomorrow afternoon and early evening.  Do you know anyone among
the other employees who might be willing to help us out?"

"I expect they'll all help, Mr. Maple.  Fernworks means a lot to
us."

I chuckled wryly.  "Hate to call on my workers to fight."

"Pate was elected by them crooks in Asheville, not us.  I'm
tickled you ain't gonna call him."  His eyes stared into mine.
"You springing Jerome made Fernworks a lot of friends in the
hills.  I can get fifty or a hundred" -- he pronounced it
_hunnerd_ -- "good boys with guns in here by tomorrow afternoon.
And they know how to use 'em."

We had reached the door.  I paused to smile and shake my head.
"I don't want a war here, Judd, and the man behind those
detectives doesn't either.  But if you can get a sizeable force
_and keep them in hand_" -- I paused for emphasis -- "they'd be
welcome."

He studied me.  "I see what you mean.  Then them detectives would
stay back."

I nodded.  "Right."  Most of our people had no telephone; Judd
would have to go in person.  "See what you can do when you get
off duty tonight."

"Yes, sir."

I returned Gibson's jacket and pistol and ducked to verify that
seated at his desk, he could see most of the parking lot through
the windows.  "Keep an eye out and let me know if any more
suspicious cars arrive.  Who's relieving you?"

"Gibson comes on at eleven."

"Pass the word to him too."

"Yes, sir."

"And give me the key to Walker's cuffs.  Come on, Karl.  I think
you ought to attend Mona's interrogation."

"Who?"

"The second intruder."

Maryanne, hovering nearby, asked, "What about me?"

"Go report to Jerome.  Tell him to call my office if he has
anything new."

"Okay."  I saw her wink at Judd before she turned away.

As we proceeded to my office, Karl noted, "So you know what
they're doing."

"Yes.  You've seen Clara's viewers of Cleaver."  I summarized
events tonight in a few words.

Outside my door he said, "You think Cleaver's men will actually
_attack_ us?"

"He's a determined fellow.  He knows the truth, most of it, and
believes it."

"How did he learn so much, Tim?"

"Mainly because of my mistakes," I admitted and grinned wryly,
"which is a lesson for all of us not to be overconfident with
Clara's powers."

He followed me into the office and closed the door.  Mona sagged
in my captain's chair, Walker in the straight chair.  Both were
unconscious.

Karl's eyes widened.  "They can't be asleep!"

"Yes, they can -- under DISINHIBITOR.  Look it up."

I left him staring up at the ceiling light while I perched myself
on the desk before the woman.  "Wake up, Mona, and let's talk."

As her eyes fluttered, Karl exploded, "In saliva?  I can believe
you kissed her -- _mein Gott, was eine Sch^nheit_! -- but not the
man."

I chuckled, "Maryanne took care of him for me."

"Wh-what?" mumbled Mona, blinking.

"Did you have a pleasant nap?"

"Nap?  Nap?"  Briefly she stared at me.  Her eyes swung from the
sagging Walker to rest on Karl.

"Mona, this is Carl Haines, plant director for Fernworks.  I
suspect you've seen his photo."

She only stared at him.

He bowed in his continental manner and said with a grin, "I am
very pleased to meet such a beautiful spy."

Slowly she produced a smile of her own.  "Thank you.  You're not
so bad yourself."

He bowed again.  "I have yet to try it."

She blinked.

I asked, "Try what?"

"Being a beautiful spy."

"Don't," I advised.  "Mona, tell us what were your instructions
before entering Fernworks."

"To notice everything.  Mainly to photograph anything that might
be a spaceship."

"I want to thank you for the camera, by the way.  In the rush I
had overlooked the means to make a photographic record."  That
was a lie told to dismay her; in fact Clara would recover a far
more detailed record from our cellular memories.

"That's _my_ camera!" she insisted.

"Not any more.  What did you expect to see here?"

"Triangles on wheels.  You've made them into mirrors."

I looked at Karl significantly.  "Jimpson quit before you applied
the finish."  He nodded in understanding.

"Who gave you this assignment?"

"Cleaver, by telephone."

"When?"

"This afternoon."

"The Fernworks jacket was already available for you?"

"Yes.  I've been in Baylor several days."

"Where is Cleaver's local headquarters?"

She sniffed.  "Not his usual quality.  He's rented all the rooms
at Ma Wellington's inn."

"Thank you."  Fernworks had bought a house in town.  Apparently
Cleaver had less permanent intentions.

"What was Walker's assignment?"

"To back me up and help me get out if you discovered us -- as far
as I know.  Cleaver talked to him separately."

"Does Cleaver have other intruders besides you and Walker?"

"Not that I know of."  She licked dry lips.  "Tim, did you drug
me with your kiss?"

"Yes, of course.  Is it so unpleasant?"

"No ... but I feel strange.  I never could resist you anyway.
I'm glad other men can't do this to me."

"But they can, with a different instrument."  I grinned.  "Karl,
do you have any questions for her?"

He cleared his throat.  "Just one: do you know if Cleaver plans
sabotage?"

"No."  She shook her head.  "But I don't think so.  He would like
to control your mirrors on wheels, not destroy them."

"That's reassuring," said Karl dryly.

"It shouldn't be," she mused.  "He does mean to interfere."

"How?" I asked.

"Oh."  She blinked.  "I remembered.  He said if you caught me I
should give you a message."

"Let's hear it."

"I'm only supposed to give it to you."

"Tell us both, Mona."

She sighed.  "He said if he can't make a deal with you he'll make
it with the feds."

After thinking a moment I said, "I know what he wants from me.
What --"

She interrupted.  "For health stuff as well as Fernworks."

I nodded.  "But what deal could he offer the government?"

"Disclose everything to them if they let him in on the raid."

"He'd do that, would he?  How does he think this would get him
the 'health stuff,' as you call it?"

She shrugged.  "He hopes it'll come with Fernworks."

"Well, it won't."  I came to a decision quickly.  "Mona, I shall
let you and Walker take a message back to Cleaver."

"You ... you will?"

"Listen closely.  Warn him that I know about his man on
Eisenhower's staff, that the NSA appropriation covers some
operations that are not disclosed even to the president, and that
if he pushes things too far he'll find himself in quicksand
beyond help from anyone."

She studied me thoughtfully.  "I know how he'll reply."

"Tell me."

"He'll ask, 'What can I offer that interests you?'"

"If he asks that, the answer is, 'Nothing at present.'"

"Harrison controls a _lot_ of resources.  Might some
accommodation be reached in the future?"

I thought a moment and said, "I won't rule it out."

She took a breath and shook her head.  "You're just buying time,
aren't you?  Is something about to happen?  How will you get your
mirrors out of the hill?"

So the secret of the roof opening was intact, though surely
Cleaver would guess it!  Mona herself was bright enough to
understand when she thought it over.

I went to my other captive and released his cuffs.  "Wake up,
Walker!"  The man sat up, groggily at first, straightening with
wide eyes when he saw Mona.  "Both of you get up and take off
those green jackets."

When both Fernworks coats lay on my desk, they stumbled after me
down the hall.  At the guard's desk I produced my car keys.
"Judd, deliver these two directly to Ma Wellington's front walk,
please, and report immediately back here."

He rose to his feet, studying the captives.  I said, "Mona and
Walker, you will obey this guard as if he were I."

"Yes, sir," muttered Walker.

Mona sighed.  "When does this drug wear off?"

"In another hour or two.  You'll be okay.  Now go with the
guard."

* * *

At 0100 with no strangers in the parking lot, Karl bedded down on
the cot in his office while I went "home."  The house in Baylor
was equipped with the SS radio so that I could be summoned
quickly if needed.  Gibson was on duty and Wilbur scheduled for
0700.  With the help of my computer I went immediately to sleep.

Rising early, I showered and treated myself to a heavy
preparatory breakfast at Mel's Diner.  Today was September 14,
1954, the day before a man would take his first step on the moon
if all went well.

The sun was just clearing the eastern peak when I pulled into my
spot next to the Fernworks door.  Most workers had been paid
through Thursday and told to return on Friday, resulting in a
sparsely populated parking lot for a Tuesday morning -- the better
to spot Cleaver's intruders, if any.  But none of the several
cars seemed to contain occupants.

Indeed Wilbur was on duty.  He was tall but slim for a guard,
younger than the other two, earnest and cautious although slow on
the uptake, which I had concluded from a year's observation.  I
stopped at the guard desk.

"Good morning, Wilbur."

"Morning, sir.  Mr. Haines said to tell you he's checking on the
generators."

"Thank you."  My car keys were still in hand.  "Wilbur, take my
car and do an airport run, please.  Ann Brown is landing in
Charlotte at ten.  You should know her; you've picked her up
several times, I believe."

"Yes, sir."

"And she knows you.  She's traveling with another woman on
Eastern Airlines, arriving from Washington National.  Bring them
both back here immediately unless they give you different orders.
You're to tell them the situation as Gibson relayed it to you."

"Ann Brown and another woman at ten on Eastern from Washington,
tell them the situation.  Yes, sir."

"You've got an hour and a half.  You may need it to park at the
airport.  Better take off.  I'll send Lacey in to mind the
store."

"Yes, sir."

"And take your pistol in case you need to defend them."

"But, sir --"

"Leave it under the seat while you're in the terminal.  If the
cops make trouble about it I'll take care of it."

"Okay, sir."  His reluctance was evident.  His hand dropped to
the holstered weapon and he sighed.

"I doubt you'll actually need it," I said reassuringly.  "So far
our opponent has done nothing felonious."  I didn't add anything
about the poor likelihood of that lasting.

* * *

Karl reported by telephone that the survival of Generator Three
through suppertime was uncertain, adding dryly that he had
"knocked on wood."  I told him to go home, take a nap and return
at 1700.  Then I visited the snack bar with a box and stocked
both ships with sandwiches, cakes and cokes.  A thorough
inspection revealed both ready to travel, except for another six
hours of charge time.

I ate lunch with the blind lady in the snack bar and slipped her
a $20 tip to compensate for the unannounced loss of business.

"There you are!" cried Lacey, surprising me as I patted the blind
woman's shoulder.

"Who's covering the front?" I demanded.

"You got an urgent phone call from Wilbur."

And we were too shorthanded today for her to find a messenger.  I
hurried up the hall beside her.  "Did he say what it was about?"

"He can't find his passengers."

The man was stuttering with anxiety.  He had met the two women.
After leaving the concourse they went to the luggage area.  Ann's
bag was delayed and he used the time to disclose the situation
here.   Bags in hand at last, they had insisted on stopping at a
ladies restroom.  He waited and became concerned when half an
hour had passed.  He described the two women and tipped a
floormopper to check.  She reported that no one in the restroom
matched the description.  "I say, 'They gotta be in there!  I
been watching that door like a hawk.'  She laughs at me.  'They's
another door around the corner.'"

Wilbur concluded that the girls had exited by the other door and
become confused.  He instituted a search, checking all the bars
and concourse shops and asking attendants to investigate the
other restrooms: all in vain.

"Finally I give up and call you.  Ain't they there, Mr. Haines?"

Under other circumstances I might have reacted with sympathy to
the pathos in his voice.  Now I said harshly, "They are _not_,
thanks to you!  Is a public telephone in sight of the door where
you left them?"

"Yes, sir.  I can see that door from where I am now."

"Then give me the number of that telephone.  Sit where you can
see the door and hear this telephone ring, but check in with me
every fifteen minutes regardless."

When I hung up the phone, I stood tapping my pencil on the guard
desk, wondering what to do next.  Surely the girls wouldn't
wander off on some fool's errand on this day of all days!  Was
Cleaver at the root of their disappearance?  If so, how did he
arrange it?  I was reasonably certain that he knew nothing of
Ferndep, where Rosalind -- AKA Ann Brown -- had originated, or of
our home in Cleveland.  I decided to wait another hour.  Then
with heavy reluctance I would have to call Cleaver.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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