Erickson glowed a bright pink and swallowed. Harper's small, tense figure gave the ghost of a wriggle, reminiscent of a wire-haired terrier receiving approval. "That's fine, chief. We'd rather hear you say that than get the Nobel Prize."
"I think you'll probably get it. However" — the proud light in his eyes died down—"I'm not going to take any action in this matter."
"Why not, chief?" Harper's tone was bewildered.
"I'm being retired. My successor will take over in the near future; this is too big a matter to start just before a change in administration."
" You being retired! What the hell! Why? "
"About the same reason I took you off the bomb — at least, the Directors think so."
"But that's nonsense! You were right to take me off the bomb; I was getting jumpy. But you're another matter — we all depend on you."
"Thanks, Cal — but that's how it is; there's nothing to be done about it." He turned to Lentz. "I think this is the last ironical touch needed to make the whole thing pure farce," he observed bitterly. "This thing is big, bigger than we can guess at this stage — and I have to give it a miss."
"Well," Harper burst out, "I can think of something to do about it!" He strode over to King's desk and snatched up the manuscript. "Either you superintend the exploitation or the company will damn well get along without our discovery!" Erickson concurred belligerently.
"Wait a minute." Lentz had the floor. "Dr. Harper, have you already achieved a practical rocket fuel?"