The boy skipped back into his bedroom, not closing the door.
Niemand’s eyes met Graham’s and he said, “I like him,” with obvious sincerity. He added, “I hope that what you’re going to read to him will always be true.”
Graham didn’t understand. Niemand said, “ Chicken Little, I mean. It’s a fine story—but may Chicken Little always be wrong about the sky falling down.”
Graham suddenly had liked Niemand when Niemand had shown liking for the boy. Now he remembered that he must close the interview quickly. He rose, in dismissal.
He said, “I fear you’re wasting your time and mine, Mr. Niemand. I know all the arguments, everything you can say I’ve heard a thousand times. Possibly there is truth in what you believe, but it does not concern me. I’m a scientist, and only a scientist. Yes, it is public knowledge that I am working on a weapon, a rather ultimate one. But, for me personally, that is only a by-product of the fact that I am advancing science. I have thought it through, and I have found that that is my only concern.”
“But, Dr. Graham, is humanity ready for an ultimate weapon?”
Graham frowned. “I have told you my point of view, Mr. Niemand.”
Niemand rose slowly from the chair. He said, “Very well, if you do not choose to discuss it, I’ll say no more.” He passed a hand across his forehead. “I’ll leave, Dr. Graham. I wonder, though . . . may I change my mind about the drink you offered me?”
Graham’s irritation faded. He said, “Certainly. Will whisky and water do?”
“Admirably.”