Kennely had been here and made some kind of bargain with Tarman. They had returned the materials slashed from the shop, and Kennely had gone with them. He had gone to steal the show for himself as always, to keep this ultimate of human experiences for himself alone.
Brian Kennely, the cavalier engineer —
Devon's legs began to move against the sluggishness in them. He moved towards the storeroom where every evidence of the mighty engine coordinator had vanished. Then he glanced down and stooped to pick up something from the floor.
The clipped remains of a telephone cord.
So Kennely had been taken just as he was talking with Devon. There was some final, terrible desolation in this. He dropped it quickly and hurried back towards the door where the watchman still slumped against the casing, his eyes squinty with enforced wakefulness and suspicion.
"Open up the developments lab," said Devon. "I'm going to work there the rest of the night."
In the lab, he flooded the place with light and slumped down at his desk. He began rummaging for the note Kennely had said he'd left. Devon finally found it in the middle drawer where Kennely had slipped it through a crack.
For a moment he hated the substance of the note as much as whatever message it might hold, and the man who had written it.
Then he unfolded it and began reading:
O.K., Chris, you're hating my guts right now, but remember what you're always preaching to the dumb junior engineers they hire around here? The right component for the job. Remember? For this job that's me, not you. You've envied the way I've done things. You've made that plain. But isn't it funny that I've always envied the things you've had, too? Don't you know I'd trade you a thousand times over? Yeah, Martha and Kip and Pat. Don't you know you can't go barging around acting like a — cavalier — when you've got them? You wanted that field-engineering assignment on the Navy job and you'd probably have had it, too, and those Jap bullets that came so close to me missed maybe because they had your number on them. Besides, who'd have slugged out that design on the BC-62 command set? Two or three thousand guys, at least, owe their lives to you for that. It all adds up to using the right component for the job, and that's only good engineering. You wouldn't try to use a 600 volt by-pass on a 10,000 volt plate supply. Nor a 10,000 volt by-pass in that beautiful little BC-62. I'm the right component for this job. You're not equipped for it, but you're swell in the job you're doing. Let's not get hashed up with a lot of feedback over this business. I've talked Tarman into smuggling me into his age. He's no different than the Chinese bandits I once slugged it out with in Manchuria, sort of a truck driver and petty racketeer in his own day. He'd have your hide in an hour, Chris. I don't know what I'll find in his territory, but I suspect that there are pretty strict rules against interlopers from unauthorized ages. It won't be easy to fake their customs and mores sufficiently to get by as a local citizen. And then there's the job of getting back if I do succeed in passing myself off and collecting some of their science. Tarman gave me some tips on how it might be done, but I don't trust him. I feel reasonably sure I can do it. This chance at their science is worth the gamble. If I lose there'll be no loss — to Martha and Kip and Pat. So calm down and squelch those parasitics that are no doubt burning up your plates. Look for me back any time. I'll try to swing my return as close to my departure as possible. But when I come I'll have a slug of stuff that'll make us the top outfit in the business — Devon and Kennely. Better start looking around for some offices. If any of the boys ask about me just say I'm on an indefinite binge. Be looking for me. Brian.