That promise cheered Norris' grieving mind. He got out and helped Kincaid carry the heavy lead cylinder into Headquarters Building.
The technicians they passed in the lower rooms saw nothing surprising in the two Project men staggering along under the weight of the cylinder. Nor did Petersen and Thorpe, at first.
Petersen and Thorpe were the two technicians on duty in the big, sacred inmost chamber of controls. Visors here gave view of every part of the distant, mighty atomic piles—the massive lead towers that enclosed the graphite and uranium lattices, the gas penstocks that led to giant heat turbines, the gauges and meters. And the banks of heavy levers here could switch those lattices, make any desired change in the piles, without the necessity of a man entering the zone of dangerous radiation.
Petersen had surprise on his spectacled, scholarly face as he greeted the two scientists.
"I didn't know you had another uranium consignment for us," he said.
Kincaid helped Norris place the lead cylinder in the breech of the tube that would carry it mechanically to the distant pile.
"This isn't uranium—it's better than uranium," Kincaid announced impressively.
"What do you mean, better than uranium?" Petersen asked in a puzzled tone. He opened the end of the lead cylinder. "Why, this stuff is bismuth! What is this, a crazy joke?"
Young Thorpe had been staring closely at Kincaid and Norris.
"They're both plastered!" he burst out.