2
The first reaction of the sector chief to the dreaded words "delayedreport" was a shocked negation, an illusory belief that it couldn'thappen to him.
To the intense annoyance of the communications supervisor, his first actwas to rush down to communications and go through all the routines forrousing the colonists the supervisor had tried. His worry was mountingso rapidly that he hardly noticed the resigned expression of theoperator who knew he would have to go through all these useless motionsagain and again before it was all over, and somebody did something.
"Well," the chief said to the supervisor. "It's my problem now." Hesighed, and unconsciously squared his shoulders.
"Yes, Chief Hayes," the supervisor agreed quickly. Perhaps too quickly,with too much relief? "Well, that is, I mean ..." his voice trailed off.After all, it was.
"You understand my check of your routines was no reflection on you oryour department," Hayes said diplomatically. "It's a heavyresponsibility to alert E.H.Q., pull the scientists off who knows whatdelicate, critical work--maybe even hope to get the attention of anE--all that. I had to make sure, you know."
"Of course, Chief Hayes," the supervisor said, and relaxed some of hisresentment. "Serious matter," he chattered. "Disgrace if an E, withouthalf trying, put his finger on our oversight. We all understand that."He tried to include the nearby operators, his boys, in his eageragreement, but they were all busy showing how intensely they had toconcentrate on their work.
"That's probably all it is--an oversight," Hayes said with unconvincingreassurance; then, at the hurt look on the supervisor's face, added,"Beyond our control here, of course. Something it would take at least ascientist to spot, something we couldn't be expected ... What I mean is,we shouldn't get alarmed until we know, for sure. And--ah--keep itconfidential."
"Of course, Chief Hayes," the supervisor said in a near whisper. Helooked meaningfully around at the room of operators, but did manage notto put his finger to his lips. Those who were observing out of thecorners of their eyes were grateful for at least that.
On his way back to his own office Chief William Hayes reflected that thebit about keeping it confidential was on the corny side. Within fifteenminutes he'd start spreading it all over E.H.Q., himself. Everyscientist, every lab assistant would know it. Every clerk, every janitorwould know it. E.H.Q. would have to work full blast all night long, andsome of the lesser personnel had homes down in Yellow Sands at the footof the mountain.
These would be calling their husbands and wives, telling them not to fixdinner, not to worry if they didn't come home all night. No matter howguarded, the news would leak out, the word spread, and the newscastreporters would pick it up for the delectation of the public. Edencolony cut off from communication. Nobody knows ... Wonder ... Fear ...Delicious ... Exciting....
Or was this the kind of thinking that had kept him from qualifying as anE? What was it the examiner had asked? "Mr. Hayes, why do you feel it isall right for you to view, to read, to know--but that others should beprotected from seeing, reading, knowing? What are these sterlingqualities you have that make it all right for you to censor what wouldnot be right for others?"
He abruptly brought his mind back to the present. Perhaps he'd firstbetter prepare a news statement before he did anything else, somethingnoncommittal, reassuring. No point in getting the populace stirred up.
As he sat down behind his desk, a big man in a brown suit, naturaliron-gray hair, a calm and administrative face, he began to realize thatfor the next twenty-four hours, at least, he would be in the spotlight.Well, he'd give a good account of himself. Demonstrate that he had anexecutive capacity beyond the needs of his present job. More than a mererequisition signer, interoffice memo initialer.
For one thing the scientists would give him trouble. If he had beendeeply hurt that they thought he couldn't open up his mind enough tobecome an E, what about scientists whose limits were reached stillfarther along? He must remember to keep his temper, use persuasion,maybe kid them a little. The blasted experts were almost as bad asE's--worse, in a way, because the E didn't have to remind anybody of hisdignity, or how important the work was he was doing.
But then, you never asked an E to drop what he was doing, and listen.You never asked an E to do anything. He either noticed and wasinterested, or he didn't notice, or wasn't interested.
But nobody ever told an E that he must apply himself to a problem. Oncea man became a full-fledged Extrapolator he was outside all law, allframeworks, all duty, all social mores. That was the essence of Escience, that any requirement outside of his own making didn't exist. Ithad to be that way. That kind of mind could not tolerate barriers, butspent itself constantly in destroying them. Erect barriers oftriviality, and it would waste its substance upon trivial matters. Theonly answer was to remove all possible barriers for the E, lestimmersion in something trivial prevent that mind from seeking out abarrier to knowledge, a problem of significance.
But the scientists! Hayes sighed. If only the scientists wouldn't keepthinking they were cut from the same cloth as the E. They had to haverestrictions, organization imposed upon them. Yes indeed!
They'd grumble at being taken away from their work to assemble a reviewof all the known facts about Eden--a dead issue as far as their own workwas concerned, for Eden had been assayed and filed away as solved.They'd moan and groan about having to drag up the facts that had beenanalyzed and settled long ago.
He saw himself compared with the producer of a show, and theatricalperformers didn't come any more temperamental than scientists. He'd behearing about how much of their time he'd wasted for months to come.Every time any administrator asked why they hadn't produced whatever itwas they were working on, it would be because Chief Hayes hadinterrupted them at the most crucial moment and they'd had to begin allover again.
Oh, they'd drag their heels, all right, and he'd have to remind them,tactfully, that their prime duty was to serve the Extrapolators; thatthey were employed here only because someday, in some co-ordinatesystem, somebody might be able to supply a key fact that some E mightwant to know.
They'd ask him, slyly, what guarantee he had that any E would belistening if they did produce a review of the Eden complex, knowing hecould give no such guarantee.
They'd drag their heels because, deep down, they carried a basicresentment against the E--because, experts though they were, each ofthem, somewhere along the line, had learned the bitter limits in hismind that prevented him from going on to become an E.
They'd drag their heels because the E's, each blasted one of them, wouldregard the absolutely true facts proved beyond question by science withan attitude of skepticism, temporarily accepting the uncontestablyimmutable as only provisionary, and probably quite wrong.
Oh, they'd grumble, and they'd drag their heels at first; but they wouldget into it. They'd get into it, not because the sector chief had babiedthem along, kidded them, coaxed them, but because, as surely as hisname was Bill Hayes, some unprintable E would ask a question for whichthey had no answer. Or even worse, some question that made no sense, butleft the scientist feeling that perhaps it should have!
That was the E brand of thinking which gave everybody trouble--andwithout which man could never have gone on creeping outward and outwardamong the stars. Every new planet, or subplanet, or sun or blastedasteroid seemed to call for some revision of known laws. Sometimes anentirely new co-ordinate system had to be resolved. Oh, science waseasy, a veritable snap, while man crawled around on the muddy bottom ofhis ocean of air and concluded that throughout all the universe thingsmust conform to his then notion of what they must be. As ignorant as adamned halibut must be of the works and thoughts of man.
And often the E was unable to resolve the co-ordinate system--which wassimply a euphemistic way of saying that he didn't come back. And withouthim, man could go no farther. An E, therefore, was the rarest and mostvaluable piece of property in the universe. Whatever else man might be,he will go to any lengths to protect the value of his
property.
All right, Bill, perhaps a part of that is true. But give the scientiststheir full due. They'd work with a will once they grew aware of the needof it, because they were just as concerned as anybody else with whatmight have happened to those colonists.
But first they would argue.
His secretary interrupted his thought by coming in from her own office.She had an inch-thick stack of midgit-idgit cards in her hand.
"Here's that batch of scientists who worked on the original Edensurvey," she said.
"So many?" Hayes asked ruefully. "Maybe I'd better send an all-pointsbulletin."
"You're the boss," she said easily. "But if I know scientists, theydon't read bulletins."
"Yeah, sure," he agreed. "You made sure this is everybody? Nobody isslighted? They'll scream like stuck pigs when I ask them, but they'll beeven worse if I slight anybody by not asking."
"Double checked with Personnel's own midgit-idgit," she replied. "Themachine says if anybody is left out, it's not its fault, that it wouldonly be because we stupid humans forgot to inform it in the firstplace."
"Sometimes I think that machine complains more than people do," heanswered. "Certainly it is a lot more insolent."
"Gets more work done, though," she said comfortably. "You want anythingmore?"
"Not right now."
"Buzz if you do. The idgit is working out the supply list for that newexploration ship, and it wants service, too," she reminded him. "It'sworse than you are," she added.
He looked up at her familiarity with a twinkle.
"It can't fire you," he said softly.
"Oh?" she asked. "You think not? Just let me feed it a few wrong dataand watch what happens to your li'l ol' lovin' secretary." She winked athim, laughed, and went back to her office.
Sector Chief Hayes sighed, and pulled the stack of cards toward him.First he must sort them out according to protocol because his diplomacywouldn't be worth the breath used in it if he called the wrong manfirst. At a glance he saw that the idgit had already sorted themcorrectly according to status.
"If you're so smart," he muttered to the absent machine, "why didn't youcall them too?"
He picked up the first card, and dialed the man's intercom number. Itwould be like opening the lid of Pandora's box....
At that instant the red light of the E intercom flashed on. Hayesdropped the ordinary key back into its slot, and pushed the E key toopen. He did not recognize the voice that came through.
"How soon," the voice asked, "will we be able to get into this Edenmatter?"
"I'm setting it up now," he said quickly. "By tomorrow morning, surely.That is, if we haven't solved it ourselves. Something minor thatwouldn't require an E."
"Morning will be fine. Two, possibly three Seniors will be available."
The red light flashed off, showing the connection had been broken. Hesat back in his chair, suddenly conscious that his forehead was wet withsweat, that his shirt was sticking to his body. Not conscious that hewas grinning joyfully.
Now let those pesty scientists challenge him with the question ofwhether any E's would be listening to their review. Two of 'em. Maybethree. Besides, of course, all the Juniors, the apprentices, thestudents.
He dialed the first scientist again. But this time he didn't mind itbeing Pandora's box. It was a terrible thing for a man to realize hecould never be an E. The scientists had to take it out on somebody. Heunderstood.
"Hello, Dr. Mille," he said cordially in answer to a gruff grunt. "Thisis Bill Hayes, of Sector Administration."
"All right! All right!" the voice answered testily. "What is it now?"