But in the back of his mind, Hanson knew that a couple of lumps of plutonium in the hands of an ignorant savage could destroy life beyond the scope of the savage's experience; and mankind's scope was reaching to the stars.
Still fretting, and still hoping for the answer, he headed home.
He was sitting in his office when the telephone rang on the following morning. Hanson answered it slowly, prepared to stall any patient off until he could regain some of his composure and his self-confidence.
"Hanson? Doc, this is Larimore."
"Larimore? Hi. What's up?"
"Doc, this job ain't good."
"What job?"
"The Black Slash."