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to read a balance sheet...
"Clifford was an innovator," one of the scientists insisted wearily.
"People can't be trained to innovate. You've either got it or you haven't."
"I refuse to accept that there was anything so special about Clifford
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that you can't get along without him," Corrigan retorted sharply. "If a
surgeon becomes sick before an operation, the hospital can always find
somebody else to perform it. If Clifford hadn't stumbled on a new piece of
theory when he did, somebody else would have done so sooner or later...and
still might. If that somebody else turns out to be in Peking or somewhere,
then we're in real trouble." He screwed up his face as if experiencing a nasty
taste. "And yet all we've heard all day has been lame excuses."
Senchino took a deep breath and clenched his fists until the knuckles showed
white.
"You can't treat the human mind like some kind of machine that you pour raw
material into at one end and get finished products out the other. The only way
you can...
And so it went on...and on...and on.
Meanwhile, in the Clifford household, Aub and Sarah Were watching intently as
Clifford finished describing the sequence of recent events to Zimmermann.
Throughout, Zimmermann had listened attentively and without interrupting,
though his face became increasingly more troubled as the details unfolded.
"Well, Dr. Clifford...I really don't know what to say," he replied. "The whole
situation is deplorable -- disgraceful."
Clifford hesitated, wondering if the question was too presumptuous, but asked
anyway. "Can...can I take it then that you didn't know this was happening?"
Zimmermann's eyebrows shot upward in momentary surprise.
"Me? Good heavens, no! I knew nothing of these things. We are rather isolated
here and have more than enough work to keep us busy. I had assumed that after
my reply to ACRE a program of investigation would have followed as a natural
consequence. That, I'm afraid, Dr. Clifford, is why you never received any
reply from me; it must have seemed most discourteous, and I do apologize, but,
you understand, it did not occur to me that my reply to ACRE
would fail to be passed through to you. Disgraceful!"
"So you really haven't had anything more to do with the project since you sent
that reply?" Aub asked, edging into the viewing angle.
"Certainly not with the politics," Zimmermann said. "But as far as the
scientific aspects go, you didn't really expect me to forget all about it,
surely -- not something like that." He grinned in a vaguely mischievous way
that enhanced the warm feeling they already had toward him. "My goodness me,
no. I have had several of my astronomers doing observational work in
connection with the paper ever since I realized its significance. In fact, we
have a team working on it at this very moment."
"You have!" Clifford was excited. "Anything to report yet?"
"Mmm...not yet..." Zimmermann gave the impression that he knew more than he
was prepared to talk about for the time being, but his manner was cautious
rather than furtive. "Certainly we cannot yet offer any evidence as conclusive
as the experiments of Dr. Philipsz that you described, but...#" his eyes
twinkled mischievously again, "we are working on it."
"So you haven't gotten involved in a dialogue with any other institutions
about it?" Clifford inquired.
"No, we have not, I'm afraid," Zimmermann replied. "I did urge that other
organizations should be encouraged to test out those parts of the theory that
we are not equipped to investigate, but after that I left the matter in the
hands of the powers that be. I had assumed that, should any of those
organizations wish to discuss anything with us here, they would contact us
accordingly. It was my intention to compare notes when we had a full set of
confirmed results to report, but we have not quite reached that position yet."
A brief pause followed while Clifford wrestled in his mind with the problem of
how to broach the object of his call in a tactful manner. Before he
had formed any words, Zimmermann's expression changed to a shrewd, penetrating
stare, but his eyes still sparkled. When he spoke his voice was soft and had a
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curious lilt. "But your immediate problem, of course, is that of deciding
where you go from there, is it not?"
This piece of mind reading caught Clifford unprepared.
"What...well...yes that's right," was all he could manage.
Zimmermann finished the rest for him. "And you called me in the hope that I
might be able to help."
So the problem was solved; there it was, said -- over. Clifford nodded mutely.
He could sense Aub and Sarah tensing on either side of him.
Zimmermann gazed out of the screen for a long time without speaking, but they
could tell from his face that his mind was racing through a whole list of
undisclosed possibilities.
"I do not make promises unless I am certain of my ability to honor them," he
said finally. "Therefore I will not promise anything. I want you to stay near
your terminal for the next twenty-four hours. During that time --
and this I do promise -- either I or somebody else will call you. That is all
I am prepared to say for now. And the sooner we finish this call, the sooner I
will be able to do something about the things I have in mind. Do you have any
further pressing questions?"
The three looked at one another. There were no questions.
"I guess not, Professor," Clifford answered.
"Very well then, good day. And remember -- make sure at least one of you stays
home."
"We will...Good-bye, and thanks again -- thanks again very much."
"Thank me when you have something to thank me for," Zimmermann said, and with
that the screen went dead.
"You did it, Aub!" Clifford exclaimed. "How about that -- you damn well did
it."
"Not me, man," Aub said and pointed a finger at Sarah. "I just pressed the
buttons. It was her idea, I seem to recall. She did it."
"Thank you, Aub; you're a gentleman," she pouted. "See, Brad, you just don't
appreciate me."
"Where'd you learn to do it?" Aub asked. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] - zanotowane.pl
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