Cue for Quiet

or Middletown. And I always had wanted to be rich enough tocarry my own insurance....

  Before Smith left he told me it might be a month or two before hewould see me again.

  "These things aren't arranged overnight, you know."

  I knew that.

  I would be landed, he said, somewhere, someplace, and I'd be my ownboss, up to a point. Stein would be with me, and the secrecy routinewould still be in effect.... His voice trailed off, and I neither sawnor heard him leave.

  * * * * *

  Three miserable weeks I spent somewhere in some stinking SouthernPacific mudhole. Cocker spaniel Stein was never out of reach, orsight, and gave me the little attention I wanted. From a distance Ioccasionally saw Army and Navy. The enlisted men were the ones whobrought me not everything I asked for, but enough to get along. Lateron, I knew, I'd get the moon on ice if I were actually as valuable asappeared. At that time no one was sure, including some brass who camepoking around when they thought I might be asleep. They stayed faraway from me, evidently under strict orders to do just that, althoughthey took Stein aside several times and barked importantly at him. Idon't think they made much impression on Stein. I was aching for anargument at that stage, and it's just as well they dodged contact.When Smith showed up, with the usual officious body-guard, I wasitching to go.

  Bikini I'd seen in the newsreels, and this wasn't it. The back fortywould have dwarfed it. Just a limp palm or two and an occasionalskinny lump of herbiage. Ships of all naval types and a civilianfreighter or so spotted themselves at anchor like jagged rocks aroundthe compass. The gray cruiser we were on never once dropped its hook;it paced nervously back and forth, up and down, and I followed, pacingthe deck. With Stein at my heels, I saw daylight only through theports. Only at night did I get to where I could smell the salt breezefree of the stink of paint and Diesel oil. From what I know aboutships and their complements we must have had at least the captain'scabin, or pretty close to its mate. We never saw the captain, or atleast he was never around when I was. The buzzing mass of brass andhigh civilians I knew were there, the old man told me, were andberthed on the big flattop carrier that idled off to port. Only Smithdropped in occasionally to rasp my frayed nerves deeper. With all theactivity seething around us, and with only Stein and myself to keepeach other company, we were getting cabin fever. I told that to Smith,who soothed me with promises.

  "Tomorrow's the day."

  "It better be. How are we going to work this, anyway?" I was curious,and I thought I had a right to be. "From what I hear, you better haveyour holes already dug."

  "Too true," he agreed. "The bomb itself will be released from a droneplane, radio-controlled. We will, of course, be far enough from thisisland and the target installations you might have noticed going up tobe out of range of radiations--"

  "You hope!"

  "--we hope. Your job will be to keep the bomb from detonating, or ifthat cannot be done, to fire it harmlessly, or as much so as possible._That's_ what we want to know. Clear?" Of course it was clear. That'swhat I wanted to know, too.

  * * * * *

  The sun came up out of the sea as quickly as it always does, andalthough the cruiser deck was almost bare far off we could see thecarrier deck swarming with tiny ants. The odd-angled posts and gadgetswe could see sticking up must have belonged to the technical boys, andthey must have had plenty of it, if we could see it at that distance.Overhead they must have had at least eight planes of all types, fromB-36's to helicopters to Piper Cubs, all dipping and floating andracing madly from one air bubble to another. Smith took time to tellme that, regardless whether the Bomb was fired by Miller or Iron Mikethe explosion data would be immensely valuable.

  "These things cost money," he said, "and this is killing two birdswith one stone." I didn't want to be a bird, and my smile was sicklystrained. Smith went off with a wry grin.

  The helmet itched the back of my neck and the glasses dug into thebridge of my nose. From the open space I had to work in they must havethought I was a ferry-boat, until it dawned on me that all those armedMarines with their backs turned weren't there just for ornament. PeterValuable Miller. Very, very, queer, I thought, that all thosetechnicians swarming on the carrier deck could be trusted enough tobuild and fire a Bomb and yet couldn't be allowed to know that theremight be a possible defense to that Bomb. I watched Stein scratch hisback against a projecting steel rib as the Smith strolled absently outof nowhere. Stein straightened sheepishly, and the old man smiled.

  "Ready?"

  Why not? I gave him the same answer as before. "Ready as I ever willbe."

  He handed me a pair of glasses, 7 x 50. "The drone ship took off tenminutes ago. Look due north--no, north is that way--and whenever itcomes into whatever you consider your range--"

  "Bingo!"

  "Bingo!" He liked that. "When you fire it--"

  "You mean, _if_ I fire it."

  "If you fire it, just before, you slide the filters over the ends ofyour binoculars like so. Or better still, turn your back."

  Turn my back? I wanted to see what was going to happen.

  "All right, but make sure you get those filters down in time." Hecocked an ear as someone shouted something that was carried away inthe freshening breeze. "Must have picked it up with radar. Let's seeif we can find it," and together we set to sweeping the northernhorizon.

  Radar must have been sharp that day, because the drone, a batteredB-24, was right on top of us before we picked it up, a mote in thesun's brazen eye. A flurry of orders relayed to the control ship sentit soaring back into the distance, a mile or so high. Just at thelimit of visibility I used the corner of my mouth to Smith.

  "Hold your breath and help me out." Maybe he did, at that. "Motors.I'll try to get the motors first."

  * * * * *

  The slapping of the salty waves against the cruiser's armored hullseemed to pause in midstride. Nothing happened--nothing, until thewaves, with a frustrated sigh, gave in and began again their topplingroll and hiss. Then slowly, ever so slowly, so faintly that it wasonly a speck in the sky, the distant dot tilted and hung suspended ona wingtip, hung, hung, hung.... A jerk, and a warped spiral. My earsrang, and the falling leaf, now swooping and sailing in agonizedhumpbacked scallops, seemed to double and triple in my tear-swimmingeyes. Then I tried--

  There was no sound. There was no booming roar, no thunder. But Iforgot to yank down those dark filters over the ends of the Zeiss.They had told me that it would be like looking at the sun. Well, thesun won't throw you flat on your back, or maybe I fell. Not quiteflat; Smith threw a block as I reeled, and held me upright. I tried totell him that I was all right, that it was just the sudden glare thatparalyzed me, and to get his arms off my neck before I strangled. Noattention did I get from him at all in that respect, but plenty ofother unneeded help. Wriggle and swear as I might, with that helmetscoring a raw groove in my neck, I was toted below and dropped on mybunk with, I suppose, what whoever carried me would call gentleness.

  The anxious officer in front of me, when the action was over, had thephysician's harried look. He liked my language not one little bit, andonly Smith's authority kept him from calling corpsmen to muzzle mewhile he examined my eyes. When my sore eyes had accustomed themselvesto the dim light in the cabin, Smith led the officer to the door ofthe hatch or whatever they call it, explaining that the recalcitrantpatient would doubtless be later in a more receptive mood.

  "If you think so," I yelled at his indignant ramrod back, "you musttry sticking in your head and see what happens." I don't like anyoneto poke anything in my eyes anytime.

  Smith shut the door quickly. "Must you bellow like that? He was tryingto help you."

  I knew that, but I was mad. "I don't want any help. I could have madeit down here under my own power, and you know it."

  Smith sat down. "These your cigarettes? Thanks." He lit his own andpuffed furiously. "I don't think you can reasonably expect to be letalone
, Peter. After all, you're a very valuable--"

  "--piece of property. Sure. In the meantime I don't want anyonefooling around me."

  He smoked in silence, thinking. That meant trouble.

  "Well?"

  "Well, what?"

  He reached for the ashtray. "Ready to talk now?"

  "Sure," I said. "Talk or listen?"

  "A little of both."

  I talk too much. It would do me no harm to listen. "Shoot."

  "This, then, Peter, is the situation; you, without a doubt, are themost remarkable person in the whole wide world. Almost an institutionin yourself."

  I grinned. "Like the Maine farmer; a