The soldier's eyes faltered. "Abort the mission!"
"I hoped I might persuade you."
"Another would merely follow—!"
"And them."
"But—duty!"
"To whom is duty?"
A head appeared in the round mouth of the tunnel. Learned, the journalist, grinned like an imp. "Nasty crawl," he yelled. "Hope they've got that thing well insulated. Otherwise—I'm unsexed—or hotter than radium myself!" He saw the stranger, and halfway down on the ladder stood still. His eyes, ordinarily shrewd and compassionate, showed first a little amazement—and then twinkled. "A ringer! You would pull one like that, colonel! The American press wants to know who he is!" Learned chuckled and dropped to the metal floor. Strode the two steps forward. Gave his name. Held out his hand. Explained himself. "You're a physicist, I take it?"
"My name is Chris." The dark eyes were luminous and kind.
"Chris who?"
The colonel took the journalist's arm in a hand like steel and whispered.