orders."
"Explain that, please. About Hot Rod, I mean."
"Why, it was struck by a meteor shortly after the flare last night. Ithink I heard someone say that it burned out Thule Base before theymanaged to turn it off."
Without waiting for more, Elbertson brushed past the doctor and headedfor the bridge.
The captain was startled by the mad-looking, unshaven scarecrow of anofficer that approached him, demanding in a near-scream, "Whathappened? What have you done? What did you DO to Project Hot Rod? Noone should have tampered with it without my direct order! Captain, ifthat mechanism has been ruined, I'll have them nail your hide to thedoor!"
"Major!" The captain stood. "This may be a civilian post, but you arestill an officer and I am your superior. Return to your quarters andclean up. Then report to me properly!"
For a moment there was seething rebellion on Elbertson's already wildfeatures. Then, automatonlike, he turned and walked stiffly awaywithout saluting.
But the stiffness left him as he passed through the door. Momentarilyhe sagged against a wall for support, far weaker than he thoughtpossible for a man of his youth and what he thought of as hiscondition. Making his way almost blindly to Security's quarters inrim-section B-5, he staggered through the door and on towards thelatrine, shouting at Chauvenseer to "Get out of that sack and give mea detailed report on events since the flare. Oh, and send somebody forcoffee--lots of coffee."
* * * * *
On the bridge the captain flipped the intercom to Dr. Green's station."Is Major Elbertson under the influence of any unusual drugs, doctor?"he asked when he'd reached the medical staff chief. "Anything thatmight make his behavior erratic?"
"Only sedatives, captain. And, oh yes, those new sulph-hydralanti-radiation shots. We're not too familiar with what they do, thoughthe reports indicate the worst effect is a mild anoxemia, whichgenerally results in something of a headache. Of course, that's if thequantity of the drug was precisely calibrated. They can be fatal," headded as an afterthought.
"Would anoxemia cause a change in character, doctor?"
"It might. It might make one behave either stupidly orirrationally--temporarily or permanently, depending on the severity ofthe effect."
"Did Major Elbertson seem normal to you when you discharged him fromhospital?"
"I did not discharge him, captain. I ordered him to remain under mycare. But he seemed greatly upset, and short of force I could not havekept him from leaving."
"I see." The captain paused, then asked: "Doctor, please considercarefully. Would you consider Major Elbertson's condition seriousenough to warrant confining him to bed by force?"
"Probably not. He should come out of it in a few hours. Exercise maypossibly be good for him, though I doubt if he's capable of much ofit." The doctor chuckled as though at a private joke with himself,then added, "He's really quite weak physically, you know, even withoutthe after effects of radiation and drugs."
"Thank you, doctor."
* * * * *
Back in his quarters, Elbertson was refusing to admit to himself thefact of his own weakness. He had been quite ill in the shower, hadmanaged to slash himself rather badly with the razor while shaving,but was now smartly attired in a clean pair of the regulationcoveralls, with the insignia of his rank properly in place--and soweak he could hardly move.
The coffee hadn't helped much.
The briefing had helped even less. The major knew himself guilty ofnegligence while on duty. Inadvertently, but as though by his veryhand, certainly through the agency of some saboteur he had failed tospot, his weapon had been turned on his own troops at Thule, key postin the plan.
It was possible that the entire plan had been sabotaged, though thatseemed quite unlikely. Its ramifications were too great. So long asHot Rod still existed, was still within their reach, the plan wasoperational.
The nonsense about a magneto-ionic effect he discarded withouthesitation. Obviously it was sabotage, possibly by someone with a planof his own, more probably by someone in the pay of one of the bigpower companies that would like to see the operation at leastpostponed. Obviously--he gave up.
Nothing would be obvious until he knew in exact detail what hadoccurred, what the plans of the enemy would be, where next they wouldstrike--and who was the enemy.
But that last, at least, was almost obvious. Who else, but the man whohad carried the political battle, against all odds, that Hot Rod becreated? Who else but Captain Naylor Andersen could possibly havedelivered this sneaking, underhanded attack against himself and hiscomrades?
Who else, he thought, but a man so callous as to order _him_, sick ashe was, as though he were a mere cadet, to leave the bridge.
Major Elbertson's mind was made up as to the identity of the enemy.
But he would have to proceed with care, or he would key the planbefore the time was ripe. There must be no great shake-up inpersonnel, or undue attention from Earth to the potentials of ProjectHot Rod.
Perhaps the saboteur's cover-story of a magneto-ionic effect wouldserve his ends as well--at least until his comrades on Earth signaledthat the time was ripe.
Yet now that Hot Rod had proved its power, the time was ripe. It wasthat proof on which the plan had waited. And perhaps this verysabotage would prove to be the "incident" on which the plan hinged....
Even as he fought to clear his normally organized mind of theweariness of his body that now sapped at its strength, the call came.
Chauvenseer appeared at his side, saluting smartly. "Com OfficerClark, sir, reports a message from Earth. _The_ message, sir. 'BeginOperation Ripe Peach.'"
Major Elbertson pulled himself to a military stance, returning hisaide's salute with complete precision.
Briefly he considered gathering all his men, all the Securitypersonnel, and storming the bridge.
No, obviously the enemy was organized--an unforeseen circumstance.Obviously the captain was not alone. Obviously _his_ men included atleast some of these slipstick boys--and he would command the loyaltyof them all, since he was somewhat of their ilk himself.
No, an officer must seek the most advantageous position from which todeliver his ultimatum.
He must use Hot Rod itself to control them. If Hot Rod itself wereactually sabotaged, then the plan must wait until he could have itrepaired. He doubted it was hurt.
The flare had thrown off all original sequences--but perhaps that wasto his advantage.
To Chauvenseer he snapped: "This is the detail of our immediateoperation. Get four of our best men besides yourself. Have each ofthem come separately and unobtrusively to the south polar lock, whereI will meet them. I will bring Smith with me.
"Have each of the others take his assigned post for Operation RipePeach--but order them to take no action other than to prevent anyoneon board from doing anything unusual that might be an enemyoperation--until I alert them that Operation Ripe Peach isoperational.
"Their orders will, of course, come on our personal radios, SecurityBand 2Z21.
"Execute!" he ended, saluting smartly.
* * * * *
As the Security squad moved, with individual secrecy, towards theirvarious posts, Captain Andersen was considering that Elbertson wouldprobably snap out of it as soon as he had had coffee and a shave. Theman had probably been severely affected by the drugs he had beengiven. He would make no further reference to the incident of erraticbehavior, unless it continued.
Bessie, having at the moment nothing else to do, was busily plying theSacred Cow not only for her own horoscope for the day, but also thoseof the several persons of whom she was most fond, while carefullykeeping a shielding bunch of paper work in a place to make it appearthat she was officially busy. The captain's horoscope, sherecognized, didn't look much worse than the rest of them, but wasdefinitely the worst. One of those mathematical jumbles that somehowdidn't interpret clearly. None of them looked very good today.
Out on t
he rim, things were getting back to normal. The labs werefunctioning again, most of them according to their assigned, routineprocedures; but in some, heads were drawn together over the absorbingdiagrams supplied by Mike and Ishie.
Mike and Ishie themselves had already put in twelve hours almostwithout a break. Working under stress, neither of them had rememberedto eat.
There was a cough at the entrance to the machine shop, and Dr. MillieWilliams' soft voice said "May I come in?"
The two looked up as the slender figure of the dark-skinned biologistentered the lab, balancing "trays" with plastic bottles atop.
"If I know you, Dr. Ishie; and you, too, Mike--you haven't eaten," shesaid with a smile. "Now, have you?"
"Millie," said Mike, "you've just reminded me that I'm as hollow as