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Dillon, evidently, was making a complete tour of the Bridge—not only from end to end, but up and down, too. The tally board showed that he had already activated nearly two-thirds of the ultraphone eyes. That meant that he had been up all night at the job; had begun it immediately after he had last relieved Helmuth.

Why?

With a thrill of unfocused apprehension, Helmuth looked at the foreman’s jack, which allowed the operator here in the cubicle to communicate with the gang when necessary, and which kept him aware of anything said or done on the gang boards.

It was plugged in.

Dillon sighed suddenly, took the helmet off, and turned.

“Hello, Bob,” he said. “It’s funny about this job. You can’t see, you can’t hear, but when somebody’s watching you, you feel a sort of pressure on the back of your neck. Extra-sensory perception, maybe. Ever felt it?”

“Pretty often, lately. Why the grand tour, Charity?”

“There’s to be an inspection,” Dillon said. His eyes met Helmuth’s. They were frank and transparent. “A couple of Senate subcommittee chairmen, coming to see that their eight billion dollars isn’t being wasted. Naturally, I’m a little anxious to see to it that they find everything in order.”

“I see,” Helmuth said. “First time in five years, isn’t it?”

“Just about. What was that dust-up down below just now? Some-body—you, I’m sure, from the drastic handiwork involved—bailed Eva out of a mess, and then I heard her talk about your wanting to blow up the Bridge. I checked the area when I heard the fracas start, and it did seem as if she had let things go rather far, but—What was it all about?”

Dillon ordinarily hadn’t the guile for cat-and-mouse games, and he had never looked less guileful than now. Helmuth said carefully: “Eva was upset, I suppose. On the subject of Jupiter we’re all of us cracked by now, in our different ways. The way she was dealing with the catalysis didn’t look to me to be suitable—a difference of opinion, resolved in my favor because I had the authority. Eva didn’t. That’s all.”

“Kind of an expensive difference, Bob. I’m not niggling by nature, you know that. But an incident like that while the sub-committees are here—”

“The point is,” said Helmuth, “are we going to spend an extra ten thousand, or whatever it costs to replace a truss and reinforce a caisson, or are we to lose the whole caisson—and as much as a third of the whole Bridge along with it?”

“Yes, you’re right there, of course. That could be explained, even to a pack of senators. But—it would be difficult to have to explain it very often. Well, the board’s yours, Bob; you could continue my spotcheck, if you’ve time.”

Dillon got up. Then he added suddenly, as though it were forced out of him:

“Bob, I’m trying to understand your state of mind. From what Eva said, I gather that you’ve made it fairly public. I … I don’t think it’s a good idea to infect your fellow workers with your own pessimism. It leads to sloppy work. I know. I know that you won’t countenance sloppy work, regardless of your own feelings, but one foreman can do only so much. And you’re making extra work for yourself—not for me, but for yourself—by being openly gloomy about the Bridge.

“It strikes me that maybe you could use a breather, maybe a week’s junket to Ganymede or something like that. You’re the best man on the Bridge, Bob, for all your grousing about the job and your assorted misgivings. I’d hate to see you replaced.”

“A threat, Charity?” Helmuth said softly.

“No. I wouldn’t replace you unless you actually went nuts, and I firmly believe that your fears in that respect are groundless. It’s a commonplace that only sane men suspect their own sanity, isn’t it?”

“It’s a common misconception. Most psychopathic obsessions begin with a mild worry—one that can’t be shaken.”

Dillon made as if to brush that subject away. “Anyhow, I’m not threatening; I’d fight to keep you here. But my say-so only covers Jupiter V and the Bridge; there are people higher up on Ganymede, and people higher yet back in Washington—and in this inspecting commission.

“Why don’t you try to look on the bright side for a change? Obviously the Bridge isn’t ever going to inspire you. But you might at least try thinking about all those dollars piling up in your account back home, every hour you’re on this job. And about the bridges and ships and who knows what-all that you’ll be building, at any fee you ask, when you get back down to Earth. All under the magic words: ‘One of the men who built the Bridge on Jupiter!’”

Charity was bright red with embarrassment and enthusiasm. Helmuth smiled.

“I’ll try to bear it in mind, Charity,” he said. “And I think I’ll pass up a vacation for the time being. When is this gaggle of senators due to arrive?”

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