Fantastic Voyage - By Isaac Asimov Page 0,4

case we need it, and do it before you leave. Then tomorrow ... "

"Then tomorrow I'll track down what's wrong with the 6951."

"Yes. "

She turned to leave, looked quickly at her watch, and said, "Twenty-one minutes-and they say the. plane's on time."

He made a vague sound and she knew he hadn't heard. She left, closing the door behind her slowly, and with muffled silence.

Captain William Owens sank back into the softly cushioned seat of the limousine. He rubbed his sharp nose tiredly and set his wide jaws. He felt the car lift on its firm jets of compressed air, then move forward with absolute levelness.

He caught no whisper of the turbo-engine, though five hundred horses champed behind him.

Through the bullet-proof windows to right and left, he could see a motorcycle escort. Other cars were before and behind, glimmering the night into a liveness of shielded light.

It made him seem important, this half-an-army of guardians, but it wasn't for him, of course. It wasn't even for the man they were going out to meet; not for the man as a man.

Only for the contents of a great mind.

The head of the Secret Service was to Owens' left. It was a sign of the anonymity of the Service that Owens was not sure of the name of this nondescript man who, from rimless glasses to conservative shoes, seemed a college professor-or a haberdasher's clerk.

"Colonel Gander," Owens had said, tentatively, on shaking hands.

"Gonder," was the quiet response. "Good evening, Captain Owens. "

They were on the outskirts of the air-field, now. Somewhere above and ahead, surely not more than a few miles distant, was the archaic plane, preparing for a landing.

"A great day, eh?" said Gonder, softly. Everything about the man seemed to whisper, even the unobtrusive cut of his civilian clothing.

"Yes," said Owens, striving to keep the tension out of that monosyllable. It was not that he felt particularly tense; it was merely that his voice always seemed to carry that tone. It was that air of tension that seemed to fit his narrow, pinched nose, his slitted eyes, and the high jut of his cheekbones.

He sometimes felt it got in his way. People expected him to be neurotic when he wasn't. Not more so than others were, anyway. On the other hand, people sometimes got out of his way for just that reason, without his having to lift a hand. Matters evened out, perhaps.

Owens said, "Quite a coup, getting him here. The Service is to be congratulated."

"The credit belongs to our agent. He's our best man. His secret, I think, is that he looks like the romantic stereotype of an agent."

"Looks like one?"

"Tall. Played football at college. Good-looking. Terribly clean-cut. One look at him and any enemy would say: There. That's what one of their secret agents ought to look like, so of course, he can't be one. -And they dismiss him and find out too late that he is one."

Owens frowned. Was the man serious? Or was he joking because he thought that would bring relief of tension.

Gonder said, "You realize, of course, that your part in this isn't something to be dismissed off-hand. You will know him, won't you?"

"I'll know him," said Owens, with his short, nervous laugh. "I've met him several times at scientific conferences on the Other Side. I got drunk with him one night; well, not really drunk; joyous."

"Did he talk?"

"I didn't get him drunk to make him talk. But anyway, he didn't talk. There was someone else with him. Their scientists go two by two at all times."

"Did you talk?" The question was light; the intent behind it was clearly not.

Owens laughed again. "Believe me, colonel, there is nothing I know that he doesn't. I could talk to him all day without harm."

"I wish I knew something about this. You have my admiration, captain. Here is a technological miracle capable of transforming the world and there are only a handful of men who can understand it. Man's mind is getting away from man."

"It's not that bad, really," said Owens. "There are quite a lot of us. There's only one Benes, of course, and I'm miles from being in his class, In fact, I don't know much more than enough to apply the technique to my ship designs. That's all."

"But you'll recognize Benes?" The Secret Service head seemed to require infinite reassurance.

"Even if he had a twin brother, which I'm sure he doesn't, I'd recognize him."

"It's not exactly an academic point, captain. Our agent, Grant, is good