difficulty ofpublishing, of getting to scientific meetings, the problem of gettingfurloughs, lack of knowledge of what is going on in my own field, it'sjust a little too much. It's personally irritating, but it greatlyhampers my work as well. Frankly, I'm against the entire securityprogram as it now stands. If it isn't stopped research will ... well,simply be impossible. Free interchange of information is essential to--"His fingers were gripping the arms of his chair.
"Yes, of course, Milt, but corny as it sounds there is a war on youknow. Oh, not a war with military weapons--yet, but a cold war ofscience and engineering, a struggle for supremacy in many fields ofknowledge. If information of our work leaks out, gets to the enemy, wemight as well not do that work. We can't be too careful."
"I agree, but it goes too far." He leaned forward. "My private mail isread, and on my last furlough I am certain I was watched from the time Ileft the gates out there until I returned, and I don't like it. I can'tprove it, but-- That's getting to the point that life's not worthwhile."
"Come now, Milt, don't you think you're taking this a little tooseriously? You're getting stale, overwrought. You need a fresh point ofview. Lots of our people feel as you do at one time or another, but mostof us learn to live with these necessary regulations, and do our work inspite of them. Let me make a suggestion, relax, take a little time off,develop a hobby. Why not do some reading in a field of science otherthan your own. It's good for you. Several of the people here are doingit. I do it, Carter, even Mason for instance--"
Collins could feel the anger rising in him again.
"Look, Gordon, I'm not going to mince words. I'm sick and tired ofthis mess, and you might as well know it. You can have all your damnrelaxations and hobbies, or what have you. I want to do my work, andif I can't do it here, I'm going somewhere where I can do it. In plainEnglish unless we can have an understanding right now--I resign."
It had come out, and Collins was breathing hard, but Gordon's expressionhardly changed as he looked over the tips of his joined fingers, whilethe younger man stopped and crushed out his cigarette viciously in theash disposer on the arm of his chair. Gordon doodled on a small pad fora moment, his eyes not meeting Collins'. Then he spoke slowly.
"I'm sorry you feel that way, Milt. I ... I'm afraid I cannot acceptyour resignation. You see," he said softly, "none of us can leave FairOaks--now."
Collins looked up, amazement and incredulity written on his face.
"What do you mean--can't leave? I can leave any time--"
Gordon slowly shook his head almost sadly. "No, only assistants,technicians, maintenance people, and they are carefully watched orrestricted to this area. People like yourself, like me, we haveinformation, knowledge which cannot be let out of government hands atthis time. We're here probably for the 'duration'; maybe longer."
"But--this is barbarous. I--" the words clogged, jumbled as he tried toget them out. His emotions ran from anger, to amazement, to indignation,followed by a trickle of fear, and as he stared at Gordon, the feargrew. He could scarcely hear Gordon's words--
"Take my advice--relax--and forget your fears--accept the restrictionsand go ahead--read in some other field--come in again when you'vethought it out." He was scarcely aware when Gordon slipped a boundjournal volume into his hands and walked with him to the door--andclosed it behind him.
* * * * *
Collins left Gordon's office in Administration moving slowly, one armhanging loosely by his side, the other clutching the book. The corridorstretched ahead into B Wing with its laboratories flooded with the glowof mid-morning sunshine, bright and unreal. His mind was dazed, histhinking processes stopped in a kind of stunned unbelief. He could noteven quit now. An undercurrent of fear ran close to the surface of hisconfused mind. It was the end of science, the end of all his work. Allof the stifling, strangling restrictions of security on his work, onhis private life, came whirling back as a monstrous, formless threat,something unspeakably big and powerful and unbeatable against which hecould not fight.
To his right as he moved slowly down the hall the double doors of themain library reading room were open with the stacks and study cubiclesbeyond, silent and restful. He paused and then entered crossing into themaze of the stacks through a grilled iron doorway. The important thingnow was not to meet anyone, not to have to speak or smile or think. Itwas very important now to be alone and quiet.
He walked until he found an empty cubicle, the endless walls of books,repositories of knowledge, silent and reproachful around him. Knowledgeand books such as these would soon be added to no longer. He slumpedinto the chair and gazed at the tiny reading desk with its softlyglowing lamp and the small stack of volumes on the rack left by previoususers. Absently he stared for a long time at the volume Gordon had givenhim as if seeing it for the first time. Then with a deliberate effort heopened it and thumbed through slowly only half seeing its pages. _TheJournal of Botanical Research._
The pages in the _Journal_ were like a look through an open window.Outside of classified projects in "harmless" fields of research the workof science went on, papers were published, reputations were made,freedom still existed. He remembered Gordon's sleek smile and adviceto relax and read in other fields. This stupid useless advice stillrankled. Of course, he probably was stale, but to read junk like this!
Silently and in his mind, he cursed the day he had studied physics,better archeology or zoology, anything. Suddenly he stopped riffling thepages and leaned forward, rapidly turning back to something that hadcaught his eye. It was a three and one-half page paper on "TheStatistical Probability of Chromosome Crossover" written in neatsections with several charts and references. It was by M. Mason.
Something clicked in Collins' mind--read the journals--Mason's unconcernwith security, the botany books on his desk the night before. It didn'tmake sense, but it added up to something. Mason knew something and sodid Gordon. He half rose. He had to get to the bottom of it. Clutchingthe bound _Journal_ Collins turned and weaved through the stacks and outof the library waving the protesting librarian aside and strode down thecorridor toward the laboratories.
* * * * *
The door to Mason's lab was partially open, and he looked up quizzicallyfrom taking an instrument reading as Collins burst in.
"Mason, I--" he planked the bound volume of the _Botanical Journal_ onthe lab bench beside the instrument ignoring Mason's wince as theinstrument needle quivered with the jar. "Did you write this?" Hisfinger jabbed at the open page.
Mason glanced at Collins, removed a pair of glasses from his white labcoat pocket, and putting them on leaned forward and studied the page fora moment.
"Yes. Not bad either though I shouldn't say it. I didn't know you wereinterested in Botany." His voice was casual with a slight questioningnote.
Collins suddenly felt ridiculous. What was he accusing the man of? Masonhad a right to publish on anything he wanted to, still a muddled seriesof half facts, incidents and suspicions chased through his mind.
Mason walked over to his desk and filling his pipe sat down thoughtfullyand leaned back motioning Collins into a nearby chair.
"I think I know what is on your mind, Milt. Maybe I can straighten thisout. Gordon told me a little while ago that you wanted to resign."
Collins stiffened. So, these two were working together.
"Milt, did you ever stop to think how lucky we are? Where can you getbetter equipment, help, cooperation in the country than here?" Collinsleaned forward to speak, but Mason went on. "Oh, I know all the problemsof security and how it strangles work." He paused for a moment as thoughtrying to grasp the right words.
"Look, Milt, what's the basic problem? Why do security measures strangleresearch? Isn't it a matter basically of a breakdown in the interchangeof ideas? Sure, and it has come about because there has been no methodof communication which would not get to and be used by our enemies. So,like yourself, I'm forbidden to publish the results of my work here inthe
journals. Why? Because those results are in my field of study, chainreactions.
"I'm frustrated just as you have been and science suffers. What do I do?I write articles in a field that isn't restricted, botany. It's a newfield of interest to me, a hobby if you like. The stuff is published andgets wide distribution. Every decent library in the country gets it.Every scientist all over the country can read the papers if he cares to.Then the word gets around, by the scientific grapevine, with a littlejudicious ear-bending. I get a reputation--in Botany.
"Now the botanists know that I am not a botanist. They understand whatI am doing. The word spreads, and they leave my stuff alone. Thephysicists in my specialty know my name, and