THE GIANT ATOM (Sci-Fi Adventure Novel). Malcolm Jameson
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was Farquhar!
Farquhar locked glances with him. Evidently he thought he had not been recognized, for he suddenly went into a paroxysm of faked coughing. He clapped a handkerchief over his bowed face and kept it there until after the cars had separated. Bennion leaned over and asked his driver what else was up this road besides the Ward plant.
"Not anything," growled the driver. "When Ward built his castle, he bought all the land for miles around, evicted the people and tore down the houses. That's why Foxboro folks don't like him. And I tell you, mister, if it was night now I wouldn't be taking you there at all. It ain't safe. You might get shot at." He shook his head dubiously. "Funny fellow that Ward, and a screwy outfit he must have. Most guys like you don't get let in, and those that do don't ever come out again. That heavy set man we just passed is the only one I know that comes down again after he goes up."
Bennion accepted that information in silence. He was trying to digest what he had just heard and explain it to himself. Ward's desire for extreme privacy was understandable enough. Hard radiation is destructive to life and difficult to shield completely. Unless he deliberately made the country a desert about him, he might be ruined by damage suits. The reason for strict rules as to entry into the plant was equally clear. Experimental work was not only dangerous, but confidential. But what of Farquhar? For Bennion was certain it was no other. Was he casing Ward's place as a preliminary to another squeeze play here, or was there an alliance between the two men? The answer to that Bennion could not know, but his curiosity was excited.
They began to pass signs that said "Slow — Danger," and "Stop When Bell Rings — Blasting Ahead." Bennion guessed that that was used when the super cyclotron was in operation, and that approaching cars were to halt where they were until it stopped. Then they turned the shoulder of the hill and he caught his first view of the laboratory. He gasped, for there was nothing like it in the world — not even Atomic's giant plant in Kansas.
The driver had referred to it as a castle. It did look like one, though a bare and featureless one. It resembled a huge near-cube of lead, perhaps three hundred feet square and half that tall. There were no openings in it, but up one face climbed open work iron stairs like a fire escape. These terminated about halfway up in a room that jutted out on brackets from the leaden building proper. Later Bennion was to learn a group of bungalows and other buildings consisting of living quarters, offices, auxiliary laboratories and such, stood farther down the hill, protected by another leaden wall.
"Phew!" whistled Bennion, trying to gauge the tens of thousands of tons of lead that had gone into the structure, and of its cost. How could a man like Ward get such backing? And what monstrous super-machine did such a colossal shell house?
"Shall I wait?" asked the driver, coming to a stop at a sign that forbade further passage by vehicles. It was still a good quarter of a mile up to the gate.
"No," said Bennion. "Don't wait. I'm staying."
CHAPTER III
The House of Dread
Then Steve Bennion received another jolt. The closer he drew to the flood-lighted, high-voltage-guarded, woven barbed wire fence, the more the place before him looked like a prison or a fortress. The four hard-faced guards inside grimly watched his approach with wary interest. Two of them carried tommy-guns at the ready. But when they called him to halt a few paces outside the gate, and demanded his name and business, he was amazed by the sensation his name caused. The guns were lowered, and one of the men jumped to unlock the gate. Another went off at a trot toward the nearest of the brick buildings of the office group.
"Excuse us, Mr. Bennion," apologized a guard, "we didn't know what you looked like, that's all. The boss told us to expect you."
"Yeah?" said Bennion, but he walked on in. He relinquished his bag to another guard, but chose to keep his packet in his hand. Then he let them take him to Ward's office.
"How are you, Bennion?" greeted Ward, rising and offering a hand. "Ever since I read in the papers of your hard luck out in Tennessee I have had a hunch you might show up. A good many of the men who've been frozen out by General Atomics come here. I don't talk to many of them, though. Elihu Ward wants only the best. Your reputation, naturally — "
"Thanks," grunted Bennion. His brain was racing. To begin with there had been no mention of the foreclosure in any newspaper he had seen. Nor did he care for the man before him. Ward was a stocky, bald individual of the high pressure salesman type, and Bennion was not fond of the glad-hand, back-slapping technique. And that business of Farquhar's recent visit —
"I presume you are looking for a new connection," Ward said, going straight ahead. "If that is so, you've come to the right place. I am proud of my plant — the finest in the world — and the gang of real experts associated with me. I say associated, for this is a truly cooperative venture — share and share alike. I am sure you will be happy here. I am so sure of that I have already prepared a contract. Here it is. Sit down and read it. Take your time, my dear boy."
Bennion took the long legal document and noted that the bulk of it was in incredibly fine type. It was a thing that would require an hour to read and probably deserved a month's scrutiny by a keen lawyer. The only salient features of it that stood out in readable type were: that he was offered a five-year contract with the Elihu Ward Associates Inc., and that his salary was to be one hundred and twenty thousand a year plus all expenses. On his part he was to contribute freely of his services, and the product of his work was the property of the group.
"All that fine stuff is practically meaningless," said Ward hastily. "Actually we live here like one big family. One for all and all for one."
Bennion's lips narrowed. For his eyes roving the sheet picked out one line buried deep in the text. It was to the effect that he would live in guarded quarters and have no communication with the outside world except through the censorship of Ward himself. An inch below that he found the startling news that a hundred thousand of his annual salary was not to be paid until the end of the five-year period. Then it would be paid in stock! Bennion would have accepted a lot less — if it had been in cash. This contract was tricky and unfair.
"Before I sign anything," said Bennion, without revealing his thoughts. "I'd like to see your plant and how you work. Five years, you know is a long time."
For a moment Ward did hot look pleased. Then he forced a grin.
"Of course I can't expect a man as clever as you to sign up without seeing how you live or what you are to do," he said. "By all means look the place over. When you see the fascinating work laid out for you, you'll probably be willing to come with us for nothing but your keep. Look!"
He pointed to some heavy metal pigs in the corner — cylindrical chunks about three feet high and nearly that much across. One was gold, another silver, and the third a metal that Bennion did not at once recognize.
"We poured those yesterday. One is synthetic gold — think of it. Made out of an equal weight of common dirt dug from the hill here. Down in the vault we have an equal amount of pure metallic radium. That was this morning's run-off. This afternoon we are going to be bold. We intend to jump way up in the atomic table and try a really breath-taking piece of synthesis — Eka-Gold!"
"That ought to be pretty strongly radioactive," remarked Bennion.
"Violently so. Look, here is what Hallam computes its properties to be — liquid at ordinary temperatures, like mercury. Luminous and orange-colored. Then follows a long list of rays that are predicted to come out, and its half-life will be but a matter of a few days. Why, radium will be as harmless as putty compared to it."
"I would like to see it made," said Bennion. He would have felt a lot easier about being present at this daring attempt if he had Hallam's figures, for a quick once-over first. But he knew that that was out of the question. He would not be let into any deep secrets until after his name was on the dotted line.
"Here comes Carruthers," said Ward, glancing