Raeburn was a pudgy, balding civil service sycophant. He had little quick brown eyes, a loose wide mouth filled with an unpleasantly self-conscious smile—and practically no chin to balance the naked shine of his brow. He made bad jokes and thought he was quite the boy.
Since I was never at the head of the class for tact I started the ball rolling down the center alley. "What's your interest in this trip, Vechi?" I said.
I heard Charley sigh resignedly.
"I'm a civil engineer," Vechi said. "It seems they need technical people as well as reporters. Technical people to save as much as they can and newsmen to dramatize what hasn't been saved."
Score one, and not for us! I grinned at him. "Got any ideas for the press on what caused the power failure?"
Vechi smiled a gentle, patronizing smile. "Apparently, the Martians use diranium as a source of atomic power. But since no one knows the characteristics of diranium it would be difficult to imagine the type of power installation they employ. It seems evident to me, also, that we will know as little about diranium, later, as we do now—with the strong security measures taken to safeguard the secrets of diranium.
"Furthermore, the Martians have evolved totally different scientific systems based on materials, limitations and planetary conditions which are alien to us. Entirely different engineering skills are required."
"Then what earthly good are our boys going to be?" I asked.
Vechi stretched his legs. Raeburn listened and said nothing. "We have no way of knowing that Ul station did not sustain a physical catastrophe—in which case a knowledge of construction, how to salvage tunnels, buildings, bridges, heating systems and the like will probably prove useful. We know something of their building techniques from Marsport."
"Well, you certainly appear to be well qualified," I said as courteously as possible. But somewhere a dim instinct warned that this was eye-wash. Why wasn't this joker with the other engineering boys up front?