as MacHeath and Griffin
came into the gun chamber. "I just thought I'd come down and see how
you were getting along," he said. His voice was a low tenor, with
just a touch of Midwestern twang. "Sometimes the creative mind gets
bogged down in the nth-order abstractions that have no discernible
connection with anything at all." He chuckled. "When that happens, I
drop everything and go out to find something mundane to worry about."

Nordred was only an inch shorter than the slim MacHeath, and he
weighed in at close to two hundred pounds. At twenty-five, he had had
the build of a lightweight wrestler; thirty more years had added
poundage--a roll beneath his chin and a bulge at the belly--but he
still looked capable of going a round or two without tiring. His shock
of heavy hair was a mixture of mouse-brown and gray, and it seemed to
have a tendency to stand up on end, which added another inch and a
half to his height. His round face had a tendency to smile when he was
talking or working with his hands; when he was deep in thought, his
face usually relaxed into thoughtful blankness. He frowned rarely, and
only for seconds at a time.

"It seems to me you have enough to worry about, doctor," MacHeath said
banteringly, "without looking for it." He put down his instrument case
and took out a cigarette while Griffin closed the door to the
acceleration tube.

"Oh I don't have to look far," Nordred said. "How long do you think it
will be before we can resume our work with the Monster?"

"Ten days to two weeks," MacHeath said promptly.

"I see." One his rare frowns crossed his face. "I wish I knew why the
exciter arced across. It shouldn't have."

"Don't you have any idea?" MacHeath asked innocently. At the same
time, he opened his mind wide to net in every wisp and filament of
Nordred's thoughts that he could reach.

"None at all," admitted the mathematician. "Weakness in the
insulation, I suppose, though it tested solidly enough." And his mind,
as far back as his preconscious and the upper fringes of his
subconscious, agreed with his words. MacHeath could go no deeper as
yet; he didn't know Nordred well enough yet.

There were suspicions in Nordred's mind that the insulation weakness
must have been caused by deliberate sabotage, but he had no one to pin
his suspicions on. Neither he nor anyone else connected with the
Redford project was aware of the true status of Dr. Konrad Bern.

"Well, let's hope it doesn't happen ag