"Johnson. Dr. Curtis Johnson. He's here."
Rage spread upon Carlson's face. An oath exploded from his lips. "No wonder the situation doesn't compute with him out of the Prime Continuum. Why did he come there?"
"Dell sent him. Dell died too quickly. He didn't have time to instruct Johnson. I have told him what we want of him."
"Do you understand?" Carlson demanded of Curt with abruptness that was almost anger.
Curt looked slowly about the room and back to the face of his questioner. Understand? If they sent him back, allowed him to go back, could he ever be sure that he had not witnessed a thing of nightmare in this shadowy dream world?
Yes, he could be sure. He had seen the blasted city, just the way he knew it could be—would be unless someone prevented it. He had seen the pattern on the scope, attuned to the tiny tributary of the Prime Continuum that was the life of Dr. Dell, had seen it run out, dying as Dell had died.
He could believe, too, that there was a little farm near Atomgrad, where a tomato on a scientist's table was more potent than the bombs building in the arsenal.
"I understand," he said. "Shall I go back now?"
Sark put a paper into his hands. "Here is a list of new names. You will find Dell's procedures and records in his desk at the farm. Do not underestimate the importance of your work. You have seen the failure of the Prime Continuum to compute properly with you out of it. You will correct that.