when I was. The buzzing mass of brass and
high civilians I knew were there, the old man told me, were and
berthed on the big flattop carrier that idled off to port. Only Smith
dropped in occasionally to rasp my frayed nerves deeper. With all the
activity seething around us, and with only Stein and myself to keep
each other company, we were getting cabin fever. I told that to Smith,
who soothed me with promises.

"Tomorrow's the day."

"It better be. How are we going to work this, anyway?" I was curious,
and I thought I had a right to be. "From what I hear, you better have
your holes already dug."

"Too true," he agreed. "The bomb itself will be released from a drone
plane, radio-controlled. We will, of course, be far enough from this
island and the target installations you might have noticed going up to
be out of range of radiations--"

"You hope!"

"--we hope. Your job will be to keep the bomb from detonating, or if
that cannot be done, to fire it harmlessly, or as much so as possible.
_That's_ what we want to know. Clear?" Of course it was clear. That's
what I wanted to know, too.

* * * * *

The sun came up out of the sea as quickly as it always does, and
although the cruiser deck was almost bare far off we could see the
carrier deck swarming with tiny ants. The odd-angled posts and gadgets
we could see sticking up must have belonged to the technical boys, and
they must have had plenty of it, if we could see it at that distance.
Overhead they must have had at least eight planes of all types, from
B-36's to helicopters to Piper Cubs, all dipping and floating and
racing madly from one air bubble to another. Smith took time to tell
me that, regardless whether the Bomb was fired by Miller or Iron Mike
the explosion data would be immensely valuable.

"These things cost money," he said, "and this is killing two birds
with one stone." I didn't want to be a bird, and my smile was sickly
strained. Smith went off with a wry grin.

The helmet itched the back of my neck and the glasses dug into the
bridge of my nose. From the open space I had to work in they must have
thought I was a ferry-boat, until it dawned on me that all those armed
Marines with their backs turned weren't there just for ornament. Peter
Valuable Miller. Very, very, queer, I thought, that all those
technicians swarming on the carrier deck could be trusted enough to
build and fire a Bomb and yet couldn't be allowed t