THE GIANT ATOM (Sci-Fi Adventure Novel). Malcolm Jameson
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from the power house. But though the food was excellent and well served, everyone wore a strained air. Hallam became so jittery he got up and stalked out of the room in the midst of the meal.
There was absolutely no effort made by any present to keep up a conversation. It made Bennion think of a bunch of condemned men waiting for their turn to do the last mile. But the depressing meal was soon over. Bennion, on the pretext of washing up, went to his room for last-minute preparations. He wanted to get that Anrad garment on next to his skin, for he had the growing conviction that there would be not a few casualties before the day was over.
While he was slipping his clothes off his mind flashed once at the tight spot he was in. It was a safe bet that he could not get out the gate now on any terms.
Bennion shrugged. A curious blend of scientific interest and plain curiosity drove him on. He drew on the tight fitting undersuit, and then proceeded to cover it with his ordinary clothes. It was hot and awkward to wear such a garment, but not so awkward as to be caught in a beam of fifth order Gamma rays without it. Bennion had seen more than one fried remnant of a man dragged out of a heavy lead suit.
"All set?" called Carruthers, through the door.
"Rarin' to go," replied Bennion, and went to meet him.
They ducked through the zig-zag opening that pierced the first barrier wall. From there they climbed to the foot of the iron stairway that lead up the side of the main building.
"How thick are those lead walls?" asked Bennion.
"A hundred feet," replied Carruthers in a matter-of-fact tone. "Not all of it is lead, only a foot on the outer face and nine for inside lining. The rest is barium concrete. Figuring barium cement at one tenth the resistance of lead, it comes out to twenty equivalent feet altogether. It stops most everything, though leaks do occur."
Bennion could only blink. He had worked on some grand conceptions, but nothing that equaled Ward's project. Either a madman or a genius had thought this one up, and Bennion had seen too little to be sure of which.
The square iron box at the top of the stairs proved to be a large locker room, subdivided into smaller compartments. An attendant handed Bennion a lab suit which bore a prominent number. He went into one of the booths, slipped off part of his ordinary clothes and into the lead armor. It was thicker and heavier than any he had seen. There was a radio-power pickup on the shoulders and a small motor box.
Bennion found that he could move about in the suit quite easily; due to some magic of inner levers and gears.
The helmet matched the suit. It was a straight globe, without eye-panes, and as blank in front as behind, except that two small horns stuck up out of the crown where the eye-panes would have been. After Bennion had it on, he found it a marvel of comfort, barring the feeling he was on stilts. For he saw through periscopes that ran up into the little horns. He heard and talked through regular helmet circuits. He found the air good and plentiful.
He joined the gang of robot-appearing monsters waiting at the yawning door to the inner passage. Like himself, each man there was numbered — for ready identification. They tested phones and found out who was who.
"Let's go," said Hallam, but his tone was more that of a man in desperation than of a man selected to make cosmic history. Without a word the metal monsters shambled after. Again they traversed a zig-zag tunnel through the mighty wall. At the end of it they did not come put into a great central hall, as Bennion expected they would, but to a "T". It was a transverse passage — a lateral running around the hall. Hallam and part of the men went one way, Carruthers and Bennion the other.
"Along here there are still nine feet of lead between us and it," said Carruthers in a tense, hushed way. The way he pronounced that fateful "it" was enough to make a man's skin crawl. There was awe and horror in his voice.
They went on, turned a corner, and started down a long passage. Halfway down it they came to another offshoot to the right. Carruthers slowed down as he approached, and at that point he came to a dead stop. Bennion looked at him curiously, for he seemed to be swaying on his feet. He put out a hand to steady him, but Carruthers brushed it off.
"I'm all right," he muttered thickly. "Just a little nervous, that's all. You get that way after awhile. Three more steps and we'll be in the booth, with nothing between us and it but shuttered lead-glass lookout ports. You'd better leave the shutters up and stick to the periscope."
"Okay," said Bennion. He was plenty nervous himself, but he wouldn't have admitted it.
Bennion heard Carruthers catch his breath with a quick panicky sob, and then the click as he shut his transmitter off. After a moment, Carruthers started forward again. Then they were in the booth. Bennion focused his periscopic eyes on the switchboard that stood there. Then he knew exactly what to expect. For it was his own design — one he had made several years before when he was younger and less experienced. It was a big idea he had had that time, but it wouldn't stand rechecking. He abandoned it and laid the papers away. Later he had missed them, but thought the loss of little importance. He supposed that General Atomic's spies must have stolen them, but he didn't care. This particular invention was more of a hazard than an asset.
A loud speaker on the wall blared.
"All guards have manned their stations in the corridors. Engineers and operators please take theirs and make reports. We pull the switch in five minutes."
Bennion stepped to the doorway and looked out — by the way they had come. Two armed guards were in the long corridor at the turn.
"Well," he thought, as he twiddled with the eyepiece of the booth's periscope through which he hoped to watch what went on in the great hall below, "Maybe this is it."
Carruthers' trembling voice came in. "West wall booth manned, and ready."
There was a long, tense wait.
"Alert! Stand by!" came the raucous warning over the loud speaker.
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