Upsetting the Balance

The buildings on the university campus were dark, but that didn’t mean anything. Except on the East Coast, blackouts had been kind of a joke in the United States after the first few panicky days that followed Pearl Harbor, but the coming of the Lizards turned them into deadly serious business once more. A lot of work got done behind blackout curtains.

He stopped the bike outside the Science Building, then opened the door and went in, pushing his way through the curtains that shielded the electric lights from view. The shining bulbs made his eyes water, not just for their brilliance but also as a sign the twentieth century still lived.

A sentry stood a few paces inside the doorway. By the time Jens got through the yards of black cloth pinned to the ceiling, the fellow had a rifle aimed at his brisket “Who goes there?” he demanded, and then, after a moment, with visible reluctance, moved the rifle aside. “Oh, it’s you, Dr. Larssen. Welcome back” His tone gave the lie to the words.

“Hello, Oscar.” Jens tried to keep what he was feeling out of his voice. Oscar had been his bodyguard-his keeper, if you wanted a less polite word for it-when he got into Denver. Oscar had also slugged him when he had tried to talk sense into Barbara. All right, he’d grabbed her, but still, the bitch hadn’t had any business squawking like that. He fought down the red rage that made him want to throw himself at the soldier. “Is General Groves still working?”

“Yes, sir, he is.” Oscar sounded relieved to be sticking to business. “He works late ‘most every night. You want to see him now, sir?”

“Yeah, I do,” Larssen answered. “I’ve been on the road a long time. The sooner he hears what I have to say, the sooner he can start doing something about it.”

“Okay, Dr. Larssen, you can go on upstairs.” Oscar hesitated. “Uh, sir, you want to leave that Springfield down here with me?” It was phrased as a request, but it didn’t sound like one.

Jens unslung the rifle and leaned it against the wall, not without an inward pang. He did his best to sound light as he said, “Don’t suppose I’ll need to shoot anybody before I come back down.” The one he really wanted to shoot was Oscar. By the way the soldier’s eyes clung to him as he walked over to the stairwell, Oscar knew it, too.

The door to Leslie Groves’ office was ajar. Jens rapped on the frosted glass panel set into the top part of it “Who’s there?” Groves demanded gruffly. Taking that as all the invitation he was likely to get, Jens went in. Surprise spread over Groves’ heavy features. He got up from behind his desk, stuck out a big, thick hand. “Dr. Larssen! We were beginning to be afraid you wouldn’t make it back. Come in, sit down.”

Mechanically, Jens shook hands. “Thanks,” he said, and sank into one of the wooden chairs in front of the desk. With a sigh, he shrugged off his pack.

“You look like something the cat dragged in,” Groves said, surveying him. He picked up the phone, dialed four numbers. “That you, Fred? Listen, send me up some fried chicken, maybe half a dozen of those nice rolls, and some honey to go with ’em. I’ve got a prodigal to feed here, so don’t waste time.” He slammed the receiver down on its cradle. Even in ordering up some supper, he was a man who brooked no nonsense.

Jens fell on the food like a starving wolf, even if all the choices had been Groves’ rather than his own. When he’d reduced it to gnawed bones and crumbs, Groves pulled a bottle of bourbon out of his desk drawer, took a snort, and passed it to him. He had a hefty swig himself, then gave it back.

“Okay, now that you’re not going to fall to pieces right before my eyes, tell me about your trip,” Groves said. “Tell me about this town in Washington you were supposed to be scouting. Did you actually manage to get there?”

“Yes, sir, I sure did.” Larssen looked at him with irritation the whiskey only fueled. He did his best to sound enthusiastic as he went on, “Hanford’s the perfect place to move the Met Lab, sir. The Columbia’s got all the water in the world in it, there aren’t any Lizards for hundreds of miles, and there’s a railhead into town. What more do we need?”

He waited for Groves to leap in the air, shoutWhoopee! and start moving people around with the same verve and aggressiveness he’d used in getting the fried chicken brought up. But instead, the Met Lab’s chief administrator said, “I appreciate all you did, and I sure as the devil congratulate you for getting there and coming back again. But things have changed since you left-”

“Changed how?” Jens demanded suspiciously. “What have you done, started turning out dental floss instead of atomic bombs?”