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Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from If Worlds of Science Fiction June 1958. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
A Mixture of Genius
BY ARNOLD CASTLE
_Illustrated by Paul Orban_
_Who, but the imaginative young, shall inherit the stars?_
* * * * *
The sleek transcontinental airliner settled onto one of the maze ofrunways that was Stevenson Airport. With its turbojets fading into adense roar, it taxied across the field toward the central building.Inside the plane a red light went off.
Senator Vance Duran unhooked the seat belt, reached for his briefcase,and stepped into the crowded aisle. The other passengers were allstrangers, which had meant that for nearly an hour he had been able togive his full attention to the several hundred pages of proposedlegislation and reports presented to the Committee on ExtraterrestrialDevelopment, of which he was chairman. But now there would bereporters, local political pleaders, the dinner at the Governor's, andthe inevitable unexpected interruptions which were a part of everytrip home.
As he strode through the door and onto the mobile escalator, he donnedhis smile of tempered confidence in the economic future of the nation.A television camera went into action at once and news-men formed asmall circle at the bottom of the ramp.
"That was a great little debate you put on with Ben Wickolm lastweek," one of the reporters said. "You really tied him up."
"You can thank Senator Wickolm for arousing me," Duran answered,observing to himself that perhaps _all_ of his efforts on the Hill didnot go unnoticed in his home state, if most of them seemed to.
"What do you think, Senator, of the FCC's modified ruling on theintegrated lunar relay station plan?" another asked.
"I haven't had time to get fully acquainted with it," the senatorevaded, stepping onto the ground and out of the way of the ramp.
"Say, Senator, what about the Mars colony project?" a third put in."How come it's bogged down?"
"No comment at present," the senator said. But he gave them anambiguous little grimace which was meant to suggest a minor but stickysnarl behind the scenes. He hoped it would satisfy them for themoment.
Making his escape as quickly as possible, he climbed onto the shuttlecar already loaded down with the other passengers. Finding an emptyseat, he folded himself into it, and was immediately joined by someoneelse.
"Well, Senator, how does it feel to be home?" his companion asked withsympathetic irony.
Duran turned, grinned, and reached for the man's hand.
"Great, Wayne," he answered, recognizing an old friend who had been ofno small aid during his earlier years in politics. "Say, I'd ask youover for dinner if we weren't going to the Governor's tonight. Mollywould love to see you. Unfortunately I'm leaving for Washington againin the morning."
"Why doesn't Molly move to D.C. with you, Vance?" the journalistasked.
Duran hesitated. "Maybe in a year or so. After the boys are out ofhighschool. _If_ I get the job again."
The smile on the younger man's face was heartening.
"Don't play coy with me, Vance. You know you've got this state sewedup." Then came the slight frown of doubt. "Just one thing, though. Alot of people are wondering why the hold up on the colony project.You're bound to get a little of the criticism. What the hell's wrong,anyway?"
"Can't you guess?"
"Yeah. I can guess. There's only one possibility, since the governmentscientists assure us they've ironed out all the technical wrinkles.But it's pretty hard to believe that out of the thousands of peoplewho volunteer every week, not even a couple of hundred areacceptable."
Duran considered his answer carefully before voicing it.
"Ever ask yourself _who_ volunteers, Wayne?"
The journalist looked at him oddly, then nodded.
* * * * *
The senator took an elevator directly to the helicopter landing on theroof of the building. It was several minutes before he had located thelittle runabout he had bought for his wife the previous Christmas.Jack Woodvale, their caretaker, gardener, and chauffeur, was justretrieving his suitcase from the baggage lift as the senator arrived.
Waiting until Woodvale had secured the suitcase in the luggagecompartment and climbed into the pilot's seat, Duran squeezed himselfinto the cabin. A minute or two later the little craft was rising fromthe port, directed automatically into the appropriate channel andguided off toward the city.
"How've things been going, Jack?" the senator asked. He felt good.Wayne's friendship and assurances had provided a needed boost."Everything okay?"
"I'd say so, sir," Woodvale told him. "Had a little trouble with thesolar screen. The store sent a man out to fix it. It's all right now."
The new power unit had been another of Molly's ideas, Duran recalled.The old crystal sulfide screen had been perfectly reliable. But Mollyhad thought it looked ugly up there on the roof. Molly's main faults,he decided, derived from her concern with the neighbors' opinions.
"Oh, there was something else came up while I was on my way out to getyou," Woodvale continued abruptly. "The state's Attorney Generalcalled--said it was important you contact him immediately."
Duran sensed anger surging up as he remembered the times when, asDistrict Attorney, Sig Loeffler had openly snubbed him. That, ofcourse, had been back in the days when Duran had been a junior partnerin one of the city's smaller law firms. He had not forgiven Loeffler,nor had Loeffler given him any reason to do so. Only the Governor'sback-slapping mediation had allowed them to reach a politically stablerelationship. The relationship did not involve Duran's compliance withthe man's whims, however.
"Get him on the phone, Jack," Duran said at last. "But just make onecall. If he's not at his office, forget it."
In less than a minute Woodvale was turning around to say:
"He's in, sir. You want to talk to him?"
Duran grunted and lifted the phone from the clamp beside his seat.
"Senator Duran speaking," he said.
"Vance, this is Loeffler," boomed a voice in considerable contrast tothe senator's own mild tone. "Something pretty fantastic has happened.We're trying to keep it quiet, at least until we decide on what actionto take. But if you can make it over here some time this evening, I'lltell you the story. You're going to be in on it eventually, and Ithought you'd prefer getting in on it early."
Duran had intended quite bluntly to explain that he had more importantbusiness. But there was something compelling about the man'sapparently ingenuous urgency that caused the senator to change hismind.
"Okay, Loeffler. I'll be right over."
He broke the contact and told Woodvale to dial his home number.
"Ernie, this is Dad," he said at the sound of his younger son's voice."Tell Mother I'm going to stop off at the Attorney General'soffice--that's right--but that I'll be home in plenty of time to getready for the dinner. Got that? That's right. How's school? Somethingwrong? Okay, son, I'll see you later."
Ernie had said that everything was all right, but with an uneasinessin the way he spoke. Grades, maybe, Duran thought. The boy had beendoing pretty well, almost as well as Roger, but was showing theinevitable adolescent ramifications of interest. Duran found himselfmusing briefly upon his own youthful extra-curricular forays up thetree of knowledge and sighed.
"Go to the capitol building, Jack," he said.
"Which port shoul
d I use, sir?" the younger man asked.
"The official one," Duran told him. This was Loeffler's idea.
* * * * *
The senator was surprised to find one of the Attorney General'sharried-looking secretaries working late. She glanced up from hertypewriter and gave him an equivocal smile of recognition.
"He's expecting you, Mr. Senator," she said, nodding toward the inneroffice. "Go right in."
Sigmund Loeffler was not alone. But the two other visitors were paledby the aura of importance which emanated from the large black-hairedman behind the desk. He rose grandly at Duran's entrance, and