"You mean the book's just a blind?"
The scientist eyed Greg carefully. "You're too old. You can't be one of them." He rolled back the mattress and took out a thin file of paper, holding it tenderly in his hand. "I'm analyzing the cause, sir. I'm going to demonstrate how the children have made us believe they are able to defy the laws of physics. When I publish this, the nightmare will be over."
Vayle handed over the file reluctantly. Greg turned back the cover—and the shock sobered him. Vayle was an established authority; Vayle was an eminent scientist; Vayle was a man Greg had learned to respect. But the book Vayle showed him contained nothing but blank pages.
"You're interested in our project?"
The throaty, silky voice came from the open door. Greg whirled. He saw a tall, thin woman, heavily painted. She was wearing a bangled, scarlet gown, which hung loose from her shoulders. Her beauty had faded long ago; her face was a lined, marble mask; her yellow hair was streaked with gray. Fifteen years ago Greg could have found her counterpart lurking in any Port City honky tonk, her thin hips swaying with the brassy jargon of the music and invitation in her eyes.
"This is Holly Wilson," Vayle said. "My secretary."
Secretary! Greg thought. So that's what they were calling it now. Holly Wilson's profession had gone by many names. The pickings on earth must have become mighty thin, if she were satisfied to saddle herself with a white-haired professor of astrophysics. Greg introduced himself, grinning contemptuously.
"You're just in from the colonies, Captain?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Staying long?"